#and discovered it was inbred

[soulmvtes]

ethel cain being tiktokified is my villain origin story

[40kmps]

CARNAL

werewolf husband x reader | 18+| 3k

your husband is a painter who makes a meager, but comfortable living for you both creating portraits for nobles. his love of painting stems from his adoration of the night sky and the moon. he disappears one night and returns three days later—changed, distant, aggressive, and ravenous. not long after, you discover the reason for his behaviors and face the consequences of curiosity.

warnings; dead dove, dubcon, explicit sexual content, yandere content, knotting, breeding kink, grotesque + horrific imagery, detail + prose heavy.

proofread by @hantaslittlearsonist . ty, my lovely friend for your time and skills🙏🏻.

this is a repost from my deleted blog.

to see more of my work, both old and new, please interact and reblog this post!!

He was the wretched thing you kept behind locked doors with the rising of each full moon.

Once, the pale moonlight had been a thing of beauty to you both. To you it was an exquisite, lustrous pearl which seemed so small pinched between your fingers, squeezed and blurred through narrowed eyes. He, on the other hand, admired it in a different manner, staring adoringly at its craggy features and the wan, white halo it emitted.

By trade, he was a painter and made a meager living for you both from it. His portraits were most popular as nobles found his style palatable, brushwork concealing all flaws that showed in their faded clothes, tarnished jewelry, ravaged flesh and inbred faces. He knew what they'd wanted in a painting and created these fabrications as they wished because it meant more than old bread and leathery meats for dinner.

For you, he endured such mundanity if it meant you could eat well and dress warmly and in an enviable way to the neighbors. He enjoyed your simple delight; how little it truly took to keep you happy, how easy your marriage had been up until that point. You loved him and you loved the things he provided for you.

When it came night-time, far into the blackest hours where the world seemed seized in so forceful a hush, you made no objections when he pulled you from bed to go outside with him to view the sky. There, he painted by the orange embers of lantern light and tried to capture the likeness of the night sky with its misty moonlight and glittering, starry veil.

Sometimes you held the lantern for him, sometimes you did nothing but sit by his side holding the paint palette and lean into his hip, leaching away warmth from his body. Most nights, you were a handsome fixture and most beloved companion, trying to squash the moon like a grape with your fingers while speaking every thought out loud.

But, one night he went out alone and did not return for three days. He had left with his easel and stretched canvas and precious paint board, yet had come back to stand in the doorway with neither.

“Darling,” you hesitated, starting out firm in case he was inebriated or altered aggressively in some way. You looked at him as though he were some strange person. “Where are your things? Your paints? Your canvas? My love, where have you been?”

“I—I don't have much of an answer to that. I'm sorry.” Then, he strode past you to the bedroom, shuttered the windows to muffle light and sound, declaring he needed rest. “Please, let me be. I'll look for my things another time.”

Later, he was ravenous at the dinner table and ate more than you thought it’d ever be possible for one man to do. You sacrificed your own portion in hopes he'd be sated, but he only turned irritable and mute, as if he were aware nothing good would come of his words to you. At the time, you'd feared that you had upset him in some way, that he perhaps no longer thought you lovely and fashionable or dependable as his partner and wanted to do away with your marriage.

That would mean you could only return home to rural hardship, or to the slums in the neighboring kingdom. The world would know your unwanted status, how much of a disappointment you'd been to satisfy your own husband, and you would never know another moment of quiet luxury again.

You couldn't accept such a fate, so you bathed him carefully that night. Purposeful with how you dragged the soapy sponge down along his back, fingernails a featherlight graze between the valleys of muscle and flesh protecting his spine. You kissed the back of his shoulders, lips a smouldering touch against his neck.

Then, you felt from stomach down to his hips, swirling your fingertips against the bony protrusions and in the fragrant water before wrapping your hand around his cock, stroking him to hardness. He still said nothing as he kissed your lips, tongue relentlessly pursuing your teeth to get inside your mouth, and pulled you into the tub with him fully clothed.

He fucked you deep and hard and bent over the edge of the tub that night, hips pistoning up against your ass, skin slapping raw, thrusting into your wet walls at an angle that had you writhing with a face warped in equal parts exquisite bliss and agony. It wasn't until one of his hands gripped you around the neck, levering you against him, that you noticed a wound on his forearm right below where purple and green veins pulsed under his skin, translucent.

They were tooth marks—two rows of them. Crooked and sharp, arranged in a way that reminded you of jagged spears wet by sea spray at the base of a cliff. They looked deep, like whatever had bit him held on, yet hadn’t had the intention to tear his arm off of the rest of him. The punctures were purple-red and abyssal as you studied them, vision jarred by his cock ramming you, his panting in the crook of your neck. The bruise surrounding it bloomed a concentration of colors resembling spilled ink.

How had you not noticed it before?

“I fear what may come on certain nights from now on. When I ask it, lock the bedroom and shutter the windows from the outside. Do not ask me questions for I have no answers to give you.” He did not offer you the reassurance you had wanted, but it was enough to help you confidently stride through the days, knowing that your marriage wasn't in crisis.

Afterwards, it became imperative for you to act as someone educated because you needed to understand what was happening to your husband those nights.

It started days before a full moon: he became impatient, easy to displease, indignant upon any perceived blunder you made. He did not gorge on wine, but whatever meats were preserved in storage and what you could afford now with his inconsistent employment. You tried hiding these poor portions in thick stews with vegetables that had been infused in simmering beef stock for hours, but he was never fully sated by it.

At the same time he started to demand distance from you, he ravaged you at strange hours in your shared bed, tearing at your clothes to suck on your nipples, to lap the glisten between your legs. New was his biting to leave marks and sup the blood mixed with his own saliva. More than once, he would come on your body in hot, thick ropes and squirt piss on you like an animal marking its territory.

When the night of the full moon arrived, he was transformed and horrifying. You had heard furniture crashing and shattering in the bedroom where he'd barricaded himself. Even his yowls throughout the evening had changed, no longer sounding like agony in the cries of the man you'd married, but something far more bestial. It came from within the chest, in the lungs behind the ribs, and was wholly not human.

You had made the mistake only once to check in on him during this point in his shift, as you hadn't known any better. Your voice was a panicked flutter, a whisper of fear that something else might have broken through the fortress of wooden boards nailed against the windows from either side of it.

“My love? Darling, are you alright?”

He was there. You thought he was there because of the silhouette clambering across the broken remains of your shared dresser and vanity. The difference was that this thing was enormous. A creature with a bristling back, hair or spines standing out like a porcupine threatening with its quills.

It stood and was forced to hunch from the low ceiling of your house. A canine-like countenance glowered at you, red eyes partially obscured by patchy fur. Raw skin shined in the barren spots in the lantern light you'd forced into the room. That hair didn't fully cover his abdomen nor his groin.

He was as much still human as he was this ugly beast. You'd thought to take another step into the room when he snarled and lunged towards the door. A shrill shriek pulled from your throat as you fully withdrew from the room, bolting the door shut with an iron key. He never made a ruckus against the door, and you left for the neighbor's immediately after, claiming that your husband had wanted space after an argument.

The next morning, your husband had somehow managed to escape the bedroom and sat in the kitchen clothed from the waist down, disoriented by the sunlight and his placement at the table. He didn't remember his transformation into the beast, but he did remember you.

Perhaps that's what gave you the courage to try to enter the bedroom the night of yet another shift. His yells of anger and pain had cooled after several hours, quieting to beastal groans and his heavy footfalls endlessly pacing the floorboards inside.

The door squealed, a call out to the darkness and creature within, and that creature responded with a growl—low, reverberating in darkness, a warning that you wouldn't be tolerated. You invaded the space carefully, meat and fish and other morsels for offering in a basket you'd woven yourself, that he had told you he thought was particularly artful at completion.

“Darling, I've brought you something. It's food. I've put fresh milk inside, too.” You caught sight of him near the boarded window, massive back rounded as he crouched low into a posture which looked as unnatural as when he tried to stand on his bent legs. “I know it— I know it won't ease your suffering, but you must still eat.”

He approached you, but it was unlike times before where he'd jump at the door to scare you away. This time he crawled towards you instead of intimidating you with his height— he wanted you to stay, and tried to appear small by dragging his long tail across the floor. The fur sounded like the coarse bristles on a broomstick.

“Oh, my love. My love. My love. What has happened to you?” You moved away from the coverage of the door into the dark space, using your body to close it behind you so that he couldn't get out. You couldn't be sure how he'd behave if he left the house. “I'm here. Oh, you're so sweet. Look at you.”

You'd placed the basket aside neatly, making your movements obvious so as not to inspire ire, and didn't react when his long snout pressed into your abdomen. Stubble and whiskers pulled back to reveal long, stalagmite teeth which chewed mindlessly at your clothes. His damp nose nudged under your layers, pressing flush to your skin, startling you with a nasally gasp.

It was the instance where his nose left your stomach and went lower, pushing between your legs to lick you through your pants that you tried to cower, sidle out of his reach. He must've retained some semblance of himself because his arms rose to flank you at the waist, claws digging to the grain of the door, his strong snout pinning you, tongue knowing your shape even through cloth.

The fabric between your legs was wet, sticking flush to you, giving him as much nearness he could achieve without stripping off the layers separating him from your taste. The luscious imprint of you was unfulfilling, not even a teasing drop of what he instinctively knew he could have.

Your pants were removed unkindly; ripped at the waist, torn through impeccable artistry and threads and delicate fabric he had once paid for. Neither complete fear nor anger kept you silent, motionless for him to do as he pleased by yanking the pants off of your legs, but swelling curiosity. You wondered how much of your husband still remained inside this beast when the full moon was high.

The same unkindness followed him shredding through your underwear with his strange teeth, gnawing the fabric to a thin, sopping string before he could finally have you. Inhale you. Taste you with the paddle flatness of his tongue and make you squirm when his teeth skimmed you.

“O-oh—” this wasn't like when he did it with his human tongue, as masterful as it was. He licked you with fervor you'd never felt, like he was reaching for something deep inside your viscera, blood and gore. Every subtle change of his immense nose and tongue was white heat behind your eyes, jostling pulses of electric, immodest moans, your hips driving forward on their own accord to help him find the treasure he sought within you.

Then, he stopped and hauled you to the floor with a single arm twice the thickness of that of his human counterpart. He knew no gentleness even now, dropping you onto your knees and palms against splintery floorboards which vented cool air up through the gaps, into your skin from the draft rising from underneath the house.

That cold reached deeper, seemed to lift off the ground to meet you as your husband—the beast—thrust your chest against the stiff boards and spread your legs apart with his mass. His claws sank into your hips without piercing your flesh, though their sharpness was undiminished to you regardless.

You knew agitation would not serve you here, neither would bursts of courage to escape. He would catch you with those talons, eat your insides with them and fuck you all the same.

He mounted you clumsily, then.

Enormous, coarse-haired hips grinding against your bare ass, prickling you, making you wince from where your face was nearly pressed into the wood below. You shivered at the first pass of his cock between your legs. Stiff and girthy, arched so well that you felt the moist tip drag across you, catching on spots he'd licked to flinching sensitivity, eagerly prodding at you.

The beast made a sound; a suffering groan with the tremble of his hips before he was thrusting inside of you. The sheer viciousness of his hips hammering against the globes of your ass and his heaviness forced you flat to the floor, where you reached out from the sides of your body for something to hold and grip for comfort. It was barren everywhere you touched.

Your walls were still tight around his cock even as the moments passed, growing no closer to accommodating his size than before, strokes animalistic and messy. While his fur muffled the friction of your skin, the airless dark of your bedroom was compacted with lewd squelching and moans you'd never known you were capable of making. Your noises were high-pitched and vile, paced with his hips, the curve of his cock stroking your velvety insides, and the wet suction releasing when he'd partially withdraw.

Above you, he panted with his long tongue lolling, dripping strings of saliva onto your back where they cooled upon contact and made you feel filthy. Your body ached from his weight pinning you to the inflexible floorboards, cold numbing your skin, hardening your nipples, grinding them down with each of his thrusts.

The enclosed space held an unusual smell, one apart from what you knew was sex. How sweat and salt and cum clung to the mustiness of old places. This was more pungent; earthier and heavier as it filled the room and leaked out of your hole, oozing down your thighs like nectar from a weeping peach.

You continued to let the beast—your husband—fuck you into the wood, the grain, to make you an impression in the floor as nothing else could be done. But you were sore now and sure to be swollen, as you were an uncomfortable fit for him again; virgin tightness which gripped every vein and ridge in his cock.

The grinning beast bared even more of his teeth, clicking them together as he released a shuddering sound, too distant to be human but not entirely monstrous. He rutted into you carnally, pushing your legs as far apart as they could go from where you were on your stomach, and went deeper inside of you still.

Something about the depth was so wrong—not meant to be, not meant to be experienced by a creature so simple as yourself. It was divine pleasure and pain, it was a threshold that shouldn't have been crossed, yet he had persevered and fucked you into screams.

His hips stuttered violently and he growled; he snarled; he whimpered like an actual beast mortally wounded. You gasped in awe at an enormity of sensations: his cum gushing inside of you, spurting out in thick ribbons to join the rest that had dried on your thighs, and his knot stretching your walls, locking his hips against your ass.

You fidgeted from the bulbous growth, clenching around it, whining wanly while he insistently humped you to burrow the knot as far as it could go. He was trying to breed you; plug his spend inside of you just as he would have had another creature of his sort. Because you were his spouse, perhaps he was only able to perceive you as his mate.

His movements soon slowed, calmed in the way of someone who'd been taken by blows of exhaustion and draped his large body across your back, prodding you with his spinose fur. There was some tenderness in how he kept his arms outside of you, bracing his weight onto them so as to not smother you. He did it to adjust his knot and half-hard cock inside you as well, unforgiving to the idea that you might have forgotten his fullness, that you were brimmed with his cum and felt bloated from it.

Nothing would come from this, only the shame of knowing you'd moaned and screamed for this beast, but not the human you'd married.

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #1 for @elodieunderglass

When I was young, back in the early 1980s, I rode horses for a living. Show jumpers. This is a story about me being an asshole to a prince and almost causing an international incident. I would like to preface this by saying that I regret reinforcing the 'ugly American' stereotype. I regret being rude, as I was a guest in the country. So...I'm sorry, England, your royalty is and always has been trash, but it was wrong of me to be rude. Anyway. I was 14 years old, and riding in the Royal Windsor Horse Show in England. It was my first international show, my first time ever leaving America. There was a Protocol Officer provided by the American embassy, to teach us how to bow and curtsey, how to address various members of the royal family we might encounter, since they were personally handing out the prizes. I was an utter nightmare at 14. I was a brat. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Plymouth Rock, I hated every form of authority, I had just discovered punk rock...I was a horrid creature who should have been confined in a barrel, not let out onto the world's stage. The Protocol Officer reminded me of my mother, which was not a good thing. She was bitchy and superior, and it was clear that she idolized the royals. Worshipped them. Wanted to be them. I loathed her on sight, and immediately tuned out everything she said, while mocking her mercilessly. I was like that. So, I rode in the Open Jumping, and we won! There was a full ceremony, with a band playing God Save The Queen, fancy soldiers saluting, the whole nine yards. Then, the royals arrived. Prince Charles was going to hand out the prizes. He was there with a whole entourage...assistants? secretaries? royal ass wipers? Who knows. The lackeys followed him around like baby ducks as he approached. One of them carried bouquets of flowers for him to hand us, plus the ribbons and medals. First, he handed the goodies to the third and second place winners, then he approached me. There was a big crowd, and I resolved to be on my best behavior. Truly. I was going to be so good, and a credit to my country. I listened to the other winners say "Thank you, your Grace. It is a great honor." Right. I could do that. And he approached me and said "That was a very nice ride...for a 14 year old." And all of my hatred and resentment sprung loose. This chinless, brainless, inbred parasite who couldn't even ride a complete polo match without falling off his horse at least once (and sometimes more) dared to condescend to me? About my riding? Fuck that noise. He handed me the bouquet and ribbon, and put the medal around my neck. And I looked him in the eyes, smirked, and said: "Thanks, Chuck. Y'know, if you keep your heels down, maybe you won't fall off your ponies so often." Chuckles looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. His entourage fluttered and moaned. The end result was a Sternly Worded Letter sent to the embassy, a screaming match with the Protocol Officer, and a real question as to whether I'd ever be allowed out of America again. ............................................................................................................................ If you like my posts, please check out my pinned post. We are going through truly horrific times, and really need help. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[serpentface]

The (now extinct) utosai, the last of the great lacetors.

Lacetors are a clade of warmblooded reptiles that fill niches as large grazers. The only genera surviving in the contemporary are relatively small (averaging about the size of cattle), but many older species grew bigger than elephants. Utosai were the last remaining members of this branch, dwindling towards extinction as their once vast grasslands experienced rapid desertification over a period of a mere few millenia, becoming the massive, mostly uninhabitable desert region colloquially known as the Deadlands.

They would historically live in herds consisting of one male, several (sometimes dozens of) females, and their associated young, which would migrate vast distances to follow seasonal rains. Males would fight each other to gain control of their mates or tempt away singular females, with young males roaming in bachelor herds. As reliable grasslands grew sparser, these herds grew much smaller, with the last remaining utosai being found largely as small bands of females and lone, wandering males that would opportunistically mate when they were lucky enough to find each other.

Utosai had very thick scaly skin that folds in plates, in part a vestigial defense mechanism against large predators that had LONG vanished. Like many other lacetor, they had partly bony facial pads that grew large and colorful in males as display features. Their tremendous curving horns served predominantly as additional display features, while the smaller, jutting horns partly figured into intraspecies combat, with males standing side by side and front to back and swinging these horns at each other in ritualized combat behavior.

These horns were clearly of value to the people who once inhabited the same ranges as utosai, as their ivory figured heavily into their craftwork and holy objects and can be found near-ubiquitously in the burials of high ranking people in the east interior Deadlands. These surviving utosai ivory artifacts are of tremendous value, with the mere prospect of obtaining them tempting many graverobbers and other such wealth-seekers into the remains of ancient human settlements (a mostly futile and often deadly task, most accessible tombs have already been plundered and those still left in peace are hidden deeply beneath the sands).

Utosai lasted far longer than many of their counterparts, surviving on (and trapped within) dwindling patches of coastal grassland fed by ocean rains, too isolated within stretches of desert for any chance of migration to grasslands further from the equator. These last fragmentary populations were discovered by traders and treasure seekers sponsored by the early 2nd Burri empire, with many hatchling utosai being taken back overseas hundreds of miles north. It is unknown when the last wild utosai died, but all but the tiniest fragments of their coastal grasslands are gone and the great beasts are nowhere to be found.

The captive animals were bred in Bur and eventually produced a relatively large (and heavily inbred) population, probably maxing out at around 1000 individuals. They were never truly domesticated but could be made tame and well accommodated to handling, which eventually developed into their use as mounts, forming an elite cavalry unit used in warfare. A war utosai was outfitted with a shielded tower upon its back from which archers could fire from height, and would be driven by a rider on its neck. Their use was functionally similar to irl war elephants, being utilized for intimidation, to scatter enemy formations, and to lead (or break) charges. These were the largest animals that most people would have ever seen, and were often reckoned as nigh-invulnerable. The utosai was heavily used in Bur's wars of conquest, and became an esteemed animal emblematic of the second Burri empire's might.

Very few consistently effective counters to the war utosai were discovered during the duration of their use. One very famous, very successful counter was used by the pre-Wardi Ephenni tribe in its war of independence against the second Burri empire (which was already beginning to collapse). The province of Ephennos was of key import to the empire as a breadbasket, being highly fertile lands and providing much of the grain that sustained the empire. A cavalry of ten utosai (a VERY excessive number against a less well-trained, less well-armed group of soldiers) was brought overseas to assist in crushing dissent and were devastating in battle, with only two of the ten being killed in three years of protracted warfare.

In an act of cleverness, desperation, or both, a trio of khait were covered in pitch and set ablaze, and spurred into hurtling towards the bulls in the utosai cavalry. The utosai panicked and fled, trampling many Burri soldiers in the process and utterly destroying their formations, with three of the eight utosai falling onto their sides (weighed down by their towers) and killed by Ephenni soldiers. This allowed for victory in battle, and this victory ultimately turned the tide in favor of the kingdom of Ephennos and its eventual independence. A motif of three khait wreathed in flames is still widely used in this region and as emblematic of Ephenni heritage (who, while broadly assimilated into Wardi nationality, still retain a sense of individual identity, and pride in their city-state being a center of power and birthplace of kings within Imperial Wardin).

The use of utosai in warfare dwindled after the discovery of this fairly effective counter. They were no longer reckoned as nearly invulnerable, and the great cost of transporting and feeding these animals became increasingly inviable. Captive breeding began to dwindle along with their use in warfare. The last utosai were lost, killed, or slowly died off in the Burri wilderness during and after the empire's tumultuous collapse. Some folklore describes hidden populations surviving in some wilder areas- there are several places in Bur where people claim to sometimes see the silhouettes of these great beasts against the horizon, and the rural parts of Ephennos are rumored to have a few of them (perhaps descendants of the surviving war utosai, perhaps their ghosts). Otherwise, they are lost to the world.

[kedreeva]

Super curious, what do you mean by genetic deterioration? Why does that happen if in theory you are breeding with the same genetics? What makes generation 9 different from generation 15? How do you or the people to initially discovered it know when that to outbreed? Are they more likely to be ill/have physical issues after so many generations?

"deterioration" is a bit of a misnomer or maybe just not meant the way you're probably thinking. It's less that dna is "breaking down" (it's not. Well it's probably not, but we're not talking about cloning species), and more "diversity is deteriorating."

The thing is, there's no way to know for sure you've removed EVERY "bad" gene, and some bad effects are either mild enough not to be a problem in an otherwise healthy bird, or only a problem if there's not enough or the right other genes to prevent it from being a problem. And without removing all of them, eventually the population of inbred animals will lose enough genetic diversity that genetic drift can cause a deleterious gene with a weaker phenotype (ie, a non-lethal phenotype but still not a good one) to become fixed in a population with no (or so little as to virtually be no) diversity left to breed away from it, and while 1 things might not be a problem, if it's compounded with other things, it can be. The length of time this kind of thing takes can vary. Maybe you won't catch it until generation 15 or 100. Or, maybe you'll get lucky and happen into a perfect line with no bad genetic variations left- and then random mutation will get your ass and you still don't have enough genetic variety left to fix it. Or, enough homozygousity in things you may not necessarily see in the phenotype outright can start to cause a loss of fertility you can't really get back in a home breeding operation- partly because you generally can't know which gene is the problem or can't know which animals have it and which don't until it's a problem, which is made worse by the smaller and smaller groups of offspring to choose from, and the continuance of genetic drift.

So, yeah, if you had a 100% perfectly healthy bloodline with NO deleterious genes at all AND that line never ever had a deleterious de novo mutation pop up (and no DNA damage occurred in gametes or anything) in theory you could inbreed forever without a problem. But in practice, no one has that line. There's always something, and it WILL eventually rear its head, it's just a matter of how long you can maintain some/enough diversity to avoid it, if it's not obvious enough to cull out at the start or self limiting enough to kill off any carriers.

As for how you tell when to outcross- it's kind of subjective. When you notice less vigor, health problems that seem persistent, fertility problems, growth problems, etc, it's probably time for an outcross if you have been breeding a line to itself for a while. There's not a set "when" and it would vary hugely between species. When you talk to some more practical rodent breeders, they'll say you can go 100+ generations with a healthy line of mice. A horse breeder would perish at the thought of that for a horse because they're already having to do genetic tests to check that they're not doubling up on Shit That Will Kill Or Maim Offspring because there is no healthy line. Quail tolerate inbreeding more than horses. Probably worse than mice there are research mice from lines that have been going longer than I've been alive and they're fine despite being genetically identical. Generation 9 isn't different from 15 unless there's a de novo mutation, which they probably cull out anyway because they CAN do genetic testing.

So it's not that there's some hard line of "this animal WILL show x issues after this set number of generations" it's more "you can only roll the dice so many times before you lose." If you slowly make every number on the roulette wheel the same, you're going to hit it eventually. Even if you do manage to do everything right, you can't prevent new mutations from popping up. The longer you go without adding more numbers to the wheel so to speak, the higher the chance of hitting the wrong genetic lottery result.

[obsidian-lantern]

Could you please elaborate on what Naveed meant by "about 90% of earth's genetic pool" ? I thought everyone on the Valeazean Voyager were humans from earth

He meant that he was mixed. If Naveed were to take an ancestry test, it would show that he is from all around the world. And I am not talking about some silly percentage that showed he was 70% European and then scattered 1% of everything else. It has to be more spread out than that.

The serum they give them evolves with the body and threw human trials, they discovered that if a person is too pure or inbred (Ugly word, I know) the serum turns into a cancer instead of an enhancement. This is because the serum is forcing the body to evolve in a rapid rate. Now, there is more to it than just this, but explaining all of it will exceed the text limit of what I can post XD

[myloveonherknees]

favorite photo of ethel cain. you can only choose one

now why would you say this to me...

if i'm being real, my answer probably changes a lot over time! if i were to choose an all-time favourite, i feel like it has to be one where hayden is in all white in a vaguely pastoral setting because that imagery made me really resonate with the ethel cain project when i first discovered it. it may have to be this shot from briscoe park because it hits the white dress requirement and also reminds me of discovering inbred (ethel cain - inbred (official audio) you will always be famous....)

name-dropping some additional photoshoots as honourable mentions because i love being too much:

moni haworth for paper magazine – i love when hayden has a boy drag moment, and i love how she looks with a bleached brow

jason nocito for hommegirls – bleached brows! and i love the use of the veil

shots from the punish music video by silken weinberg – i loved the eeriness of the all black veiled figure we first got to see during the childish behaviour tour. it's a throwback to a moment of time for me!

(edit: adding a link to a post that includes the photo if you also love it and want it on your blog in a cuter format than this ask)

[andythesilly]

Tally Hall fans when your favorite song is Hidden In The Sand instead of a song from a performance from July 16th 2007 in SXSW '07, where they perform a cover of a song called Badingus Jibbily 4012 Nib which was created by aliens who invaded the exoplanet K2-197 d 70 beyond 642 trillion Solar Cycles ago and crashed their spaceship and calculated the binary system into sound waves and turned it into a language which was later discovered by an inbred Polish-American scientist called Stinkberry Fudgeeye on September 23rd 1962 who put it on a website called www.thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com and During the performance Zubin's bass got broken into approximately 481902 pieces by the evil whales in Hawaii and the aliens with antlers who are made out of cerebrospinal fluids and can shoot maple syrup out of their exoskeletons, Andrew gets possessed by the Chuck E Cheese mascot and starts screaming "哪怕是最苛刻的弗洛伊德追随者，表达感激之情也会感到高兴。" which means "Even the most critical Freudian would be happy to express gratitude." and means absolute nonsense while being forced to eat a mix of chicken soup and asafetida with a side of a rhubarb and tiny bits of dragonfruit as he starts to transform into a 2005 Honda Civic slowly and the mitochondria in his cells vomit marijuana flavored styrofoam, Joe gets flashbacks from January 6 1988 when he was 166,838,400 seconds old when he tried to peel the skin off a banana suddenly someone poured 35 buckets and 21,5 spoonfuls of fluoroantimonic acid on him and later stuffed exactly 27830 peas in his mouth which caused him to explode and Joe starts foaming from the mouth but goes insane from it because the foam reminded him of the peas so he starts foaming from the earlobes and he starts hearing the mystical sounds from the universe TOI-849 b

[frithwontdie]

the average immigrant is smarter and harder working than you and your crowd of inbred entitled conspiracy theorist crackers<3

Not even close. Very few are, most no. I've worked with immigrats. Some of them were really hard working. Like the Asians I actually enjoyed working with. Who were hard working and smart. And some Hispanics. But most of the others, were incompetent, entitled, arrogant, rude idiots. Most mooch off of our welfare programs, are a net loss to the economy. Claiming they're smart when we had to lower our standards, test scores and things too easy for them. Each proved to be a failure. Oh, and you really need to see who's truly inbred in this scenario. Don't like it? Chimp out about it.

Although rare in the Americas and modern Europe, consanguineous marriage is notably common in North Africa and the Middle East, where it is a traditional and respected aspect of many Arab and Muslim cultures.

Today, 70 percent of all Pakistanis are inbred and in Turkey the amount is between 25-30 percent (Jyllands-Posten, 27/2 2009 “More stillbirths among immigrants”). A rough estimate reveals that close to half of everybody living in the Arab world is inbred. A large percentage of the parents that are blood related come from families where intermarriage has been a tradition for generations.

A BBC investigation in Britain several years ago revealed that at least 55% of the Pakistani community in Britain was married to a first cousin. The Times of India affirmed that “this is thought to be linked to the probability that a British Pakistani family is at least 13 times more likely than the general population to have children with recessive genetic disorders.”

The BBC’s research also discovered that while British Pakistanis accounted for just 3.4% of all births in Britain, they accounted for 30% of all British children with recessive disorders and a higher rate of infant mortality. It is not a surprise, therefore, that, in response to this evidence, a Labour Party MP has called for a ban on first-cousin marriage.

[dolphin-lover1]

The functionally extinct orca ecotype (that no one speaks about)

Type 2 Eastern North Atlantic orca (exactly how they should be classified is up for debate, but for the sake of simplicity this is what I'll go with) inhabit the shores of Britain. With just 2 males remaining, each in their sixties - W001 'John Coe' and W008 'Aquarius' - the ecotype faces certain extinction. But what happened?

(Aquarius left/John Coe right - photos from HWDT)

Though this pod could have numbered >15 at one point, only 10 individuals have ever been officially recorded - never with a calf. The main reasons for this being inbreeding and pollution.

Having never been recorded interacting with the other orca pods that are occasional visitors to their home range, they certainly are a highly inbred group of orca. With only one small pod of this ecotype known, they've always been in a fragile state, perhaps destined to fail from the start. It's believed that these are orca from a different region that tried - and, unfortunately, failed - to cut out a niche for themselves in waters where orca were a rare sight. Their population simply wasn't sustainable long term - however, this is no doubt due to pollution, as well as inbreeding.

The most polluted marine mammal discovered thus far was the last female of the pod, Lulu. Lulu passed away after becoming entangled in a creel rope. Her body contained almost 1000 mg/kg of PCB's (a toxic compound used in the making of electronics). A safe amount is considered anything below 20. Evidence suggests that Lulu never had any calves, despite being well over the age of maturity. The combination of PCB's and inbreeding likely rendered her, perhaps even the entire pod, infertile.

It's a tragic end for a beautiful group of orca - with large, downward sloping eye patches, colossal dorsal fins, and an impressive size, these are absolutely beautiful orca. Very little is known about them, unfortunately - in fact, we have only 3 clips of their vocalisations (which are adorable, by the way) vvv

What we do know is that;

° they travel alot, and fast

° they prey on mammals

°they are quiet and reserved (ignoring boats, somewhat inactive, rarely vocalising)

We're witnessing the devastating end to an incredible group of orca - we can only hope this doesn't happen to others. :')

Here are some photographs from HWDT of the beautiful 'West Coast Community' orca.

[boycentriccplot]

ngl some of you "gay cowboy" people piss me off. a month ago you were making fun of southerners for being "uneducated" or "inbred" but you discover one ethel cain song and watch brokeback mountain and now everybody wants a pair of spurs

[issdisgrace]

Can I please have Thomas Hewitt x male reader where the reader is also serial killer?(he was a serial killer before he met Thomas)

🔪

MOVED AWAY

WARNINGS: Talks of bullying. use of the f slur, murder

I met Thomas Brown Hewitt when I started working at the local slaughterhouse. He was a big quiet guy that wore a leather mask covering the bottom half of his face. Because of said mask and his quiet nature, he was frequently made fun of, called names, and made the butt of many jokes. But Thomas was a hard worker. He worked harder than any of the low lives that made fun of him. He was always the first one there and the last one to leave. I admired him from a fair for a while until one day the harassing was just so bad and Thomas was just taking it. It had started since those low lives arrived for work today, and now it was well into the afternoon. It was getting on my last nerve and when they started calling him an inbred faggot, something inside of me snapped. I finally said something and let’s just say some words were exchanged and coupled with the fact Ii was similar in height and stature as Thomas, they backed away, clearly not brave enough to face me like true men.

 From then on, me and Thomas started to become friends and good ones at that. He was much smarter than they had given him credit for. And as I grew to know Thomas more, that burning desire that got me here in this shit town was back again. The only reason why I was in this town in the first place was because my little hobby was discovered, but I manage to avoid police and ended up here. The law didn’t take too kindly to people like me, anyway I guess they just don’t enjoy ridding the earth of scum. God where those people that said all those things to Thomas scum. A couple of them had already “moved away.” But there were still some to go, like David Sinclair, one of the biggest piece of shit that made fun of poor Thomas. He “moved away” a yesterday.

Now with every mostly quiet. Me and Thomas were left in peace for the most part. Our relationship was flourishing. It was nice, so nice that today I asked Thomas if he would like to have dinner with me tomorrow as it was both of our day off. He nodded, and we made it a date. It was around 5 when I started getting dinner ready nothing to fancy, just some steak and potatoes. It was around 5:30 when Thomas arrived. He looked nice. You could tell he cleaned up, and he cleaned up nicely. No doubt by his mother??? Luda May that I have been told much about but yet to get the privilege of meeting. I let him in and we made small talk while we ate.

It was halfway through dinner when a thud is heard, then followed by David bolting out of the room, he moved to down the hallway towards the front door. I quickly get up, not paying attention to Thomas any more, grab one of the steak knives and chase after him. Stabbing him in the back before he was even able to make it off the porch. He screamed as I dragged the knife down his back, cutting him open. I got off of him as he started to bleed to death. I sighed as I stood. This was definitely not how I expected my night to go. I look back to the door way there Thomas standing there watch his eyes flicker from David to me.

“Look, I can explain. Trust me.”

The conversation that followed was quiet, along with one. Starting with why I moved to the town in the first place and my hobby. Then to why David was well kidnapped and now dead to the others that “moved away.” It was hard to tell if Thomas was flattered or not, but he didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Not by the murders and, least of all, not bothered by my feelings for him. It was nice to have confirmation that he felt the same way I do about him. It was refreshing, to say the least. I could tell that this would be the starting of a very long relationship. 

[mysillydragonhoard]

my friend, upon discovering that lestat is still alive: "he's like a cockroach. But if the cockroach was horny. And blond. And French. And probably a little inbred"

[despazito]

I saw your tag on the egyptologists with the insensitive colonialist LARP thing going on about them having basenjis. I'm curious, is there some shady breed history I'm unaware of?

I mean besides being first discovered and exported by europeans during the scramble for africa there's nothing really bad about them (besides how inbred they are, the foundation stock began with only a dozen dogs and they're slowly importing more)

But many basenji enthusiasts say they belonged to pharaohs because similar looking dogs are in Egyptian art. They certainly look similar and I'm sure they're closely related to modern basenji but my personal peeve is wishing they were instead labeled basenji-type dogs

Idk I feel like it implies the congolese people haven't developed their hunting dogs any further in the last 3000 years, meanwhile a yorkshire terrier with white markings becomes a biewer terrier

But yeah it's so predictable that those two loons would own basenjis. Fork spotted in kitchen

[vampyr3wife]

February sucked but it wasn't all bad so! a little diary entry update of the things that happened while I was gonee :3 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Peanut continues to be the bravest girl in the world... she's getting much more confident about coming inside a bit + she has discovered the joys of forehead kisses and being blanketed in cuddles =) ... also I saw a rabbit that was as big as her last week. Cleo was reunited with her beloved gen 3 my little ponies and Loki has been an even cuddlier bug than usual ! The weather got a lot nicer for a while so I started exploring again n I managed to expand my dead-things collection a bit! I also visited some really cool places that r said to be haunted and I've been making a list of more.. I'm going 2 a cat expo this weekend and I'm hoping my next adventure will be to a cat graveyard / shrine I know of that was built by witches..

During my exploration I also discovered a colony of feral cats.. Despite making kitty friends it is not a good thing.. there were around 15 cats I saw around a small group of houses and the majority of them were not fixed. I made some calls to my friend who was experienced with TNR in the area and she told me that there is a lady in that neighborhood tht is known to feed & let ferals breed in her yard without letting anyone try to get them fixed. Of course this results in giant inbred colonies and sick kittens. One of the first cats I spotted there was a black kitten that was very clearly sick with some kind of eye and respiratory infection. I was able to catch her the day after I found her and I brought her to the kitty clinic.. she is still there getting help right now and I've been calling every once in a while to check up on her. I very much feel like I was meant to find her because not even 10 minutes after I scooped her up a rainbow appeared in the sky n stayed until I got home from dropping her off.. but I am still unsure of what to do about the colony,.. many people see it as a lost cause but I still feel like I should try to help. If I see that evil lady I'm genuinely gonna start cryign about it right in front of her.

I was very heartbroken in the summer when my sweet beloved ancient laptop joined the angels in heaven .. n WELL !! I was pretty much given a laptop tht my dad fixed up bc no one was using it.. ?? I feel extremely lucky.. Aside from that I've been giving into my urge for Projects ... I also found a mini chainsaw so uhh look out for that I guess

[nightfury-2001]

The dragons going back to dragon prison the Hidden World at the end of The Nine Realms is the absolute cherry on top of why that show was a waste of time

Because when you hear the premise you think:

“Oh wow! Some random boy discovered Toothless’s hideously inbred descendant thousands of years later! This must finally be the time humans and dragons are meant to co-exist after the Berkians did nothing to help make the world a better place for humans and dragons to co-exist because the dragons left them!”

But no. The dragons piss off back to their hole in the end.

So…I guess there will never be a time where humans and dragons can co-exist? What an uplifting and heartwarming saga!

It really was a waste of time and it once again shows why every single dragon going off to hide in a mushroom infested hole while the Berkians chill in the middle of nowhere on top of a Minecraft chunk error was, perhaps, not the best way to pave the way for peaceful co-existence between humans and dragons.