#because big teefs!!!

[vietbluecoeur]

My Nosferatu character Liêm, who’s just a funky lil’ man with some funky scary hands.

Current era + pre-Embrace (circa 1930s).

[hrodvitnon]

SIGNALIS Big Teef Fic Preview!

Did anybody want a fic with the Big Teef? No? Well, too bad, you're getting one anyway. Have a taste!

---

"Hey, when were you going to tell me you have fangs?"

Elster pauses, having just gotten engrossed in a scene of tense questioning.  "Excuse me?"

Ariane sits beside her at the table, lays down the Replika overview, leans her elbows on it and rests her chin on folded hands, giving the Replika a look that to any Gestalt would be similar to a parent wanting to know why their kids didn't do what was asked of them – or rather, like she's taken on the role of detective in the midst of questioning.  Elster lifts her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

Ariane elaborates as if telling an anecdote from her Rotfront years.  "I looked through the Replika overview again to see if there was anything I could pick up to help you out, or do something for you, when... in the corner of my little eye, I spy... a schematic.  A schematic, El Bell.  Of retractable canine teeth.  Which you are in possession of, and neglected to inform me."

Elster closes her eyes, knowing where this is going.

"Ariane."

"Now, I don't ask the time of day from a clock..."

"Liebchen."

"But I'm not shy about how hot I am for nibbles and love bites..."

"Light of my life."

"And you didn't think to tell me?  When were you going to tell me?"

"Settle down, dramatic.  They're for self-defense, not for sexy time.  Besides, it's not even unique to LSTRs – all Replikas have them."

Ariane blinks in surprise.  "Wait, seriously?  Even Eules?"  Having such teeth makes sense for a Storch or Star, but an Eule?

"Absolutely.  I once heard that a secretary unit back at headquarters almost bit the fingers off an untrained Storch who got too ugly with her.  Not sure how it ended, but I like to think Frau Beißer got off with a warning and the Storch never lived it down.  Self-defense, like I said.  With combat units it's a last resort in case one runs out of ammunition or doesn't have a melee weapon ready."

Ariane's eyes widen.  Eules always looked so delicate to her with how lightly they carried themselves, but it seems even those domestic units are made of sterner stuff than expected.  Her eyes lower to Elster's mouth.  Elster gives her a knowing look.

"No."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You have that 'in the interest of science' look on your face."

"I just want to see them for myself!  There's nothing wrong with that!  Show me, please?  It's not like I'll ever see them in a combat situation, unless we get picked up by aliens or something."

Elster stares.  Ariane stares back, pleading and doe-eyed, just seconds away from deploying the dreaded pouty bottom lip.  Elster gives in, of course.  She can never really refuse humoring her love, so she teasingly grouses like it's such a chore.

"Ach, fine."

Ariane tries not to drum her fingers happily while Elster pops the mandibles in her jaw, mouth opening.  Nothing out of the ordinary, just 28 white teeth – go figure Replikas aren't manufactured with wisdom teeth – and then Elster curls her lips back wolfishly, her canines extending with an audible click.

There is, of course, the knee-jerk flicker of saucy fascination since Ariane does so love when Elster bites her, but in the moment it's also tempered by actual scientific curiosity.  Elster's lengthened teeth are only sharp at the very tips, as Ariane knows from experience, so while they probably can pierce through flesh or biomechanical components they must be intended for crushing and tearing, clamping down and keeping a steady grip thanks to powerful jaws.

A rather specific detail from the Replika overview comes to mind: the LSTR unit has a bite force of 1250 PSI at minimum.  Ariane's heard of certain Vinetan animals having a comparable bite, capable of piercing through the skulls of their prey.  The knowledge of this results in a revelatory daydream of hostile alien forces intercepting their little ship and abducting Ariane, causing Elster to crush an extraterrestrial skull or spine between her teeth as she goes in a rampaging rescue...

"Ari," Elster drawls.  The extended fangs seem to mess with her speech, an added lisp causing her accent to border on nonsensical.  "Ye hab dat look."

Ariane shakes her head.  "I wasn't thinking of anything sexy this time, honest!"

"Uh-huh.  Cad I pud dese away now?  Iz hahd to talk."

[feralghxuls]

wow...after. Months. of chronic illness flares that put me out of work and absolutely fucking debilitating fatigue. i find myself today thinking about some of my wips in like a. constructive, i might actually be able to work on something relatively soon, type of way

instead of a. guilty, depressing sort of way.

so thats nice <3

[mo-ok]

warrior god titan

[hunterwritesstuff]

I am cringe but I am free.(Can you guess who my current fucking main is? /j /silly)(Reblogs appreciated, fanart is appreciated and encouraged lmao)(This is just for fun, I know jack shit about the lore, I'm taking my time to educate myself lmao)

[teefsintheweb]

Ace, my laptop but personified as a funky android!!

Info dump on Ace:

This robot is sentient and has organic parts in their inners.

They were purchased by Teefs long before Marble or the current Andy.

[Purchasing of sentient beings is currently being debated in this world...]

Ace was in a coma for almost 2 years after falling off a cliff.

Ace's personality is very relaxed but when it comes to doing a job she gets very excited and pumped up. Morals? Never met her.

Teefs and Ace are a dangerous duo as they will both maul you to death if they feel like it.

Ace bullies Andy relentlessly.

[keeps-ache]

teeth achieved. [goes to sleep]

[woundedheartwithin]

Tied up in a sordid love affair with the neighbor’s filly (read: they’ve got the cutest little red roan filly on earth and she’s the sweetest thing and I love all over her at our shared fence line which she’s started to anticipate because she’s there waiting for me every morning)

[teaboot]

Please explain your reasoning behind rabbits are orcs

Rabbits are orcs to mice because

Big

Large pointy ears

STRONGK

Displays of aggressive power (foot thumping)

Complex social language centered around vulnerability and prosperity

Comfortable with subterranean environments

BATTLE READY

TEEFS

CLAWS

May or may not engage in. Occasional cannibalism. SOMETIMES.

LEGENDARY BONE GAME

Will absolutely kick, bite, and shred the everloving shit out of a far bigger and stronger opponent if need be

Horrific screaming

Turbohorny

[bbyboybucket]

After watching GOTG vol 3 for a second time, I wanna take a minute to talk about Rocket and Lylla’s relationship. I believe Lylla is Rocket’s mother figure. Hear me out, because I know a lot of you will disagree, especially since their relationship was romantic in the comics.

But as with the rest of mcu, there can be big changes from the source material and Lylla going from a love interest to a mother figure can totally be one of them. Hell, it actually wouldn’t be the first time either considering Alexi was Natasha’s husband in the comics and now father in the mcu.

Back to Lylla and Rocket though, I really think they made this change intentionally and wanted the audience to see her in that motherly light. Her dialogue, her tone, all of her mannerisms actually are incredibly nurturing. I mean, just their first interaction itself sets up this mother figure idea. Lylla is introduced to a frightened, literal baby and immediately starts to soothe him, almost cooing, in a way that a mom would for a crying baby. Lylla then essentially licks his wounds and cleans Rocket up.

Of course Teefs and Floor were also welcoming and sweet but not in the same way as Lylla; they were excited for a new friend and were ready to accept him as their own (they also had more childlike personalities themselves), but Lylla was more calm and tried to help Rocket adjust to the situation emotionally. From there on, she literally raises Rocket. As Lylla said herself, there are hands that guide you, and for all of Rocket’s time growing up, she was the one guiding him. She was his biggest comfort and source of love, and she was his biggest supporter too.

She taught him, not in the ways the High Evolutionary did, but rather socially and emotionally. Lylla is the one who lifted him up, encouraged him, and was beyond proud of him. The scene where they hug right after Rocket breaks them out, reminds me of a mother who is so proud of what her baby grew up to accomplish. Even in the after life scene, Lylla’s physical affection was platonic and once again, her showing she’s proud of him. Even the words, “my beloved raccoon” sounded like a mother’s love and admiration for her child.

And to me, once you realize what Lylla really was to Rocket, her murder is infinitely worse. Because not only she die right before his eyes, but he spent the rest of his life blaming himself for his mother’s death.

[monimccoythings]

Tiny and cute!

Here I come with a new one! Thanks to all the shitposts that give me life and inspiration to write this! I think this might be the last one I write of this series for now, because I’m literally out of ideas lol. But it has been really really fun. I really enjoyed it. But don’t worry, I’ll keep posting if I get more ideas.

Ayyy lmao when I get a better quality of the angery boi in a pickle jar I update it. This contains spoilers!!! If you haven’t watched the movie yet, go and watch it now! It’s worth it!

Previous parts: 1 and 2

Next parts: 4 and 5

tags: @loveforfandomsstuff @harpy-space​

After so many tiring weeks working your ass off for the minimum wage, you finally got a very well deserved vacation. Which you were totally planning to spend with your friends and your little pal.

He was such a grumpy pants, he cussed you whenever you came close, but deep down inside his little black heart you knew he craved the attention. If only he didn’t try to bite your fingers with his hampter teef.

So, you, Peach, Mario, Luigi and Toad set off on a journey to the Kong Kingdom, a tropical paradise, for a week of unashamedly lazing off. Since nobody trusted Bowser to be left on his own without causing a ruckus (throwing the piano over and over again against the bars of the cage), you so kindly offered to bring him along in a pet carrier. Oh he was big mad now.

Didn’t help that you kept feeding him apple slices through the bars saying “does the Big Boy want his appy slices?” and it certainly didn’t help either that the Big Boy really wanted his appy slices. To make up for the embarrasment, maybe you’d let him take a sip of your Caipiranha plant cocktail.

The Kong Kingdom was something you wouldn’t have even imagined in a thousand years, and you came from the Mushroom Kingdom. Throw tropical paradise, with Aztec aesthetic and Nash Car in a blender, mix it, and that’s what you get.

One of the Kongs kindly took you all to your huts and very wisely ignored all the Traffic regulations and laws of safe driving, which moved you so much, you spent the entire journey with tears in your eyes and your mouth open in a never ending scream of pure terror.  Yeah, next time you were walking.

One of the most peculiar traditions of the Kongs that you experienced there was some kind of tournament in a stage that was literally floating on air. You had to say it was a bit awkward when the kinda handsome? and cocky prince of the Kongs invited you all over to ‘smash’. Oh well, it would be way too difficult and weird to explain it to them anyways, and quoting Mario, ‘that was a pipe that wasn’t worth exploring’.

The tournament was like watching a real gladiator battle, but the gladiators had superpowers, and they were monkeys. Of course DK won, since, until Mario, he was the undefeated champion. He was a show off, you were truly impressed and cheering for him. He sent a flirtatious wink your way. And a loud thump was heard from inside the carrier. Awww, potato man didn’t want anybody else catching your attention. That was so sweet of him, actually.

The truth was, that despite this being a bit of a holiday, the real reason you all were there was because the turtle had to answer for his crimes against the Kong Kingdom. Godzilla v. Kong. It was jury duty for your friends, yaaayy.

Apparently Bowser didn’t get the memo. He was absolutely angery, screaming, raging, fighting. There was no way to handle him. To try an coerce him out of the carrier and into a proper cage was a task no Kong was patient enough to endure.

Would have it been easier to handle if he had remained in his temporary enclosure? Yeah, it would, but Kongs were monkeys with deeply rooted traditions, and if the teeny mutant ninja toitle had to be in a cage on the witness stand, then he would be in it, conscious or not. Looks like they had very little regard for the rules of the courtroom, but he had tried to kill them, so they were even.

Nobody took into account the possibility that he would manage to break free and make a run for the entrance. Tbh, it was kinda sad to watch him give the effort of his life trying to get to a door that was like ten feet away from where you all were. Still, no Kong was able to lay a hand on him, given how slow he was and how eager he seemed in getting hit, it was as if they were avoiding him on purpose. Peach would later explain you that given the nature of the power up, if he got hit in any way the mushroom would loose its effect and would turn him back to his original size, which was a big nope.

While the jury was debating wheter let him enjoy what little freedom he would have before he was tricked back into the pet carrier or just pick him and finish it, you had a moment of enlightment. That was it, the moment you had been waiting for for the last months, what you had unconsciously been training for your entire life. This was your moment to shine, your moment to be the hero, your moment to-

“Look at you so tiny and cute!” You gushed, picking him up, mindful of the spikes in his shell. He wiggled, trying to be set free and demanding you to put him down that instant or throw him as hard as you could against the wall. But the only thing you wanted to do was...

* smooch * You kissed the tip of his nose. You had been wanting to boop it since day one, and its scales were as soft as you had imagined. Your life dream had been achieved.

Bowser went very still in your hold. His eyes were wide and his pupils had shrunk with shock. The Kongs looked horrified at you so casually holding a narcissistic and psychotic tyrant like a pet, Peach was awkardly smiling at the eldest Kong, Cranky, while Mario and DK were trying as hard as they could to not burst out laughing. Luigi quietly snapped a pic and quickly hid the phone in his overalls, when the guards shot him dirty looks.

It were a couple of uncomfortable minutes that felt like years for all of you, until someone decided to clear their throat, snapping all out of their stupor. Bowser was still frozen so putting him inside the cage was easy. And so, the trial went on without any more disturbances. Whetever the sentence was, he didn’t hear it, nor did he care. Because his mind was occupied by something else. The kiss.

BONUS SCENE

You didn’t know how it had all started but suddenly there was a loud explosion and the entire castle was on flames. Tumbling, you made your way through a bunch of screaming toads towards the source of the blast. Because you perfectly knew where it had started.

The thick smoke made your eyes watery and you blinked several times, trying to clear your vision through the tears. You coughed several times, your lungs ached and you felt like you were going to pass out at any given moment. But you had to keep going fowards, make sure everyone got out safe. And by everyone you meant every single one of the creatures inhabiting this castle.

Finally, you reached the giantic doors. Exhausted, you tripped and desperately clinged onto the golden knobs, burnng your palms in the process due to the overheated metal. Thankfully, your weight was enough to pull the doorknob and push the door open.

You fell against the cracked marble floor, the only things in front of you were the dark columns of smoke that clouded your vision and the burning roar of the flames in your ears. Until, you saw it.

A gigantic dark shadow with glowing red eyes pulled out from the darkest of nightmarish Hells. The eyes burned with a flaming passion and seemed to be piercing your soul. For the first time in a long time, you felt true fear running through your veins. Still, you were too stunned to move.

A low rumble came out of that disturbing sight. It started to approach you, with every step it took the ground shook, and the less time you had to make a run for it. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought that were you brave enough to run, this monster would catch you in a matter of seconds despite its size.

A sob got caught in your throat when the smoke cleared and you got to see the owner of those eyes.

Your little fella. Your beloved tiny musical tot that played piano. Literally everyone’s warnings against him suddenly came to mind. He was not so little now.

Bowser extended one hulking arm, and with one of his meaty fingers, he dragged a claw through your collarbone without breaking the skin, like some twisted version of a caress. He let out a low purr, certainly deepest than it had sounded merely days ago. “Look at you...So tiny and cute...”

[animentality]

You know how James Gunn annihilated us with just one line in the Suicide Squad, where Starro, this big bad starfish monster villain, says, "I was happy...floating...looking at the stars?"

An abused, experimented on, mutilated alien creature, that was exploited and tortured into insanity and vengeance...? Having a touching moment of humanity?

He made a cinematic parallel with Guardians of the Galaxy 3, where he had a found family of abused and mutilated animals being experimented on deep within the bowels of a hell laboratory, but comforting themselves by saying one day we'll see the stars and we'll follow them, forever and ever, up and away from this darkness.

But it was worse.

Because Lylla took one step out of her cage and was killed.

And Teefs and Floor didn't even have that.

They never saw the stars.

[iron-sparrow]

⸺ talk so pretty, but your heart got TEETH ♪

Thanks for letting me use Fornax, @verysmallcyborg! They're so damn cool. I really love those sharp teefs, and so does Yein.

My second tumblr collab (Or is it called an OC swap?) just kind of fell into my lap. I seized the opportunity, because my brain's been itchy. This was also a wonderful cleanser to the end of a long, stressful Tuesday.

Also, also! Please feel free to DM me if you have ideas or want to pose our Barbie dolls. Renee, Fornax's creator, was kind enough to reach out after seeing my tags somewhere else, and I was really happy.

P.S. My friends are so delighted and stunned by how Fornax towers over Yein, an already very big person. We joked about the sparrow accidentally flying into Fornax's mouth...

[thesiltverses]

I don’t know who types up the ask answers on this blog but to whoever’s reading this: how do you all feel about being alive and sentient? What keeps you going, what purpose propels you through this chaotic void? What do you think (or hope) waits for you after your inevitable end? What do you think constitutes a life well lived?

I'm going to answer this in the most wayward and stupidly overlong manner possible, because the previous ask had me thinking about puppets, and I was already mid-way through writing up a book recommendation that's semi-relevant to your questions.

Everyone (but especially people who've enjoyed The Silt Verses and all the folks on Tumblr who loved Piranesi by Susanna Clarke) ought to seek out Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.

Riddley Walker is a wild and woolly story set in post-apocalyptic Kent, where human society has (d)evolved into a Bronze Age collective of hunter-gatherer settlements. Dogs, apparently blaming us for our crimes against the world, have become our predators, hunting us through the trees. Labourers kill themselves unearthing ancient machinery that they cannot possibly understand.

A travelling crowd of thugs led by a Pry Mincer collect taxes and attempt to impose themselves upon those around them with a puppet-show - the closest possible approximation of a TV show - that tells a mangled story of the world's destruction, featuring a Prometheus-esque hero called Eusa who is tempted by the Clevver One into creating the atomic bomb.

Riddley himself, a twelve-year-old folk hero in-the-making surrounded by strange portents, ends up sowing the seeds of rebellion and change by becoming a conduit for the anti-tutelary anarchic madness (one apparently buried in our collective unconscious) of Punch 'n' Judy.

It's a book in love with twisted reinterpretation, the subjectivity of interpretation, buried or forbidden truths coming back to light (the opening quote is a curious allegory about reinvention and cyclical change from the extra-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which is a good joke and mission statement on a couple levels at once) and human beings somehow stumbling into forms of wisdom or insight through clumsy and nonsensical attempts to make sense of a world that is simply beyond them.

It rocks.

The book starts like this:

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he wernt all that big plus he lookit poorly. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and made his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later.'

Riddley's devolved language - a trick which has been nicked/homaged by many other works, most notably Cloud Atlas and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome - is a masterwork choice which may seem offputting or overwhelming at first, but which has its own brutal poetry and cadence to it, and ultimately which makes us slow down as readers and unpick the wit, puns, double-meanings and playful themes buried in line after line.

(Even those first five sentences get us thinking about cyclical change, ritual and myth in opposition to the dissatisfactions of reality, and 'tern' to paradoxically indicate a rebellious change in direction but also an obedient acceptance of inevitable death.)

In one of my favourite passages in literature and a statement of thought that means a lot to me, Riddley has been smoking post-coital weed with Lorna, a 'tel-woman', who unexpectedly declares her belief in a kind of irrational, monstrous Logos that lives in us, wears us like clothes, and drives us onwards for its own purpose:

'You know Riddley theres some thing in us it dont have no name.' I said, 'What thing is that?' She said, 'Its some kynd of thing it aint us but yet its in us. Its lookin out thru our eye hoals...it aint you nor it dont even know your name. Its in us lorn and loan and shelterin how it can.' 'Tremmering it is and feart. It puts us on like we put on our cloes. Some times we dont fit. Some times it cant fynd the arm hoals and it tears us a part. I dont think I took all that much noatis of it when I ben yung. Now Im old I noatise it mor. It dont realy like to put me on no mor. Every morning I can feal how its tiret of me and readying to throw me a way. Iwl tel you some thing Riddley and keap this in memberment. What ever it is we dont come naturel to it.' I said, 'Lorna I dont know what you mean.' She said, 'We aint a naturel part of it. We dint begin when it begun we dint begin where it begun. It ben here befor us nor I dont know what we are to it. May be weare jus only sickness and a feaver to it or boyls on the arse of it I dont know. Now lissen what Im going to tel you Riddley. It thinks us but it dont think like us. It dont think the way we think. Plus like I said befor its afeart.' I said, 'Whats it afeart of?' She said, 'Its afeart of being beartht.'

While Hoban is, I think, deeply humanistic to his bones and even something of a wayward optimist, the notion of human beings as helpless and ignorant vessels, individual carriers - puppets, if you like - for an unknowable and awful inhuman power-in-potentia and life-drive that lacks a true shape or intent beyond its own continued survival (even when that means destroying us or visiting us with agonising atrophy in the process) conjures up the pessimism of Thomas Ligotti, another big influence on our work and a dude who was really into his marionettes-as-metaphor.

Let's go to him now for his opinion on the thing that lives beneath our skin. Thomas?

Through the prophylactic of self-deception, we keep hidden what we do not want to let into our heads, as if we will betray to ourselves a secret too terrible to know… …(that the universe is) a play with no plot and no players that were anything more than portions of a master drive of purposeless self-mutilation. Everything tears away at everything else forever. Nothing knows of its embroilment in a festival of massacres… Nothing can know what is going on.

Curiously, both Ligotti and Riddley Walker have appeared in the music of dark folk band Current 93, whose track In The Heart Of The Wood And What I Found There directly homages the novel and ends with the repeated words,

"All shall be well," she said But not for me

These words, in turn, hearken back to Kafka's* famous reported conversation with Max Brod:

'We are,' he said, 'nihilistic thoughts, suicidal thoughts that rise in God's head.' This reminded me of the worldview of the gnostic: God as an evil demiurge, the world as his original sin. 'Oh no', he said, 'our world is only a bad, fretful whim of God, a bad day.' 'So was there - outside of this world that we know - hope?' He smiled: 'Oh, hope - there is plenty. Infinite hope, just not for us."

So, we walk on.

We carry this thing that's riding on our backs, endlessly bonded to it, feeling its weight more and more with every passing day, unable to turn to look at it. Buried truths come briefly to life, and are hidden from us again. Perhaps they weren't truths at all. We couldn't stand to look the truth directly in the eyes in any case.

If there is hope, it's for the thing that looks out from our eyeholes, which thinks us but cannot think like us. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. There's no hope for it. Perhaps we don't want it to win anyway. It's nothing, and the key to everything.

The Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas says:

'When you see your own likeness, you rejoice. But when you see the visions that formed you and existed before you, which do not perish and which do not become visible - how much then will you be able to bear?'

Kafka, writing to his father, begins by expressing the inexpressibility of his own divine terror:

You asked me why I am afraid of you. I did not know how to answer - partly because of my fear, partly because an explanation would require more than I could make coherent in speech…even in writing, the magnitude of the causes exceeds my memory and my understanding.

Kafka concludes that while he cannot ever truly explain himself, and that the accusations in his letter are neat subjectivities that fail to account for the messiness of reality, perhaps 'something that in my opinion so closely resembles the truth…might comfort us both a little and make it easier for us to live and die.'**

It doesn't bring comfort to Kafka, whose diarised remarks both before and after the 1919 letter make it clear that he views his relationship with the things (people) that birthed him as an endless entrapment that prevents him from attaining any kind of self-actualisation or even comfort, since he cannot escape their influence or remember a time before them:

I was defeated by Father as a small boy and have been prevented since by pride from leaving the battleground, despite enduring defeat over and over again.

It's as if I wasn't fully born yet...as if I was dissolubly bound to these repulsive things (my parents).*** The bond is still attached to my feet, preventing them from walking, from escaping the original formless mush. That's how it is sometimes.

Samuel Beckett returns again and again (aptly) to this pursuit of a state of true humanity and final understanding that is at once fled and unrecoverable, yet to be born, never to be born, never-existed, endlessly to be pursued, pointless to pursue. From the astonishing end sequence of The Unnameable:

alone alone, the others are gone, they have been stilled, their voices stilled, their listening stilled, one by one, at each new-com- ing, another will come, I won’t be the last. I’ll be with the others. I’ll be as gone, in the silence, it won’t be I, it’s not I, I’m not there yet. I’ll go there now. I’ll try and go there now, no use trying, I wait for my turn, my turn to go there, my turn to talk there, my turn to listen there, my turn to wait there for my turn to go, to be as gone, it’s unending, it will be unending, gone where,where do you go from there, you must go somewhere else, wait somewhere else, for your turn to go again

I’m not the first, I won’t be the first, it will best me in the end, it has bested better than me, it will tell me what to do, in order to rise, move, act like a body endowed with despair, that’s how I reason, that’s how I hear myself reasoning, all lies, it’s not me they’re calling, not me they’re talking about, it’s not yet my turn, it’s someone else’s turn, that’s why I can’t stir, that’s why I don’t feel a body on me, I’m not suffering enough yet, it’s not yet my turn, not suffering enough to be able to stir, to have a body, complete with head, to be able to understand, to have eyes to light the way

From Thomas' Jesus:

When you make the two one, and you make the inside as the outside and the outside as the inside and the above as the below, and if male and female become a single unity which lacks 'masculine' and 'feminine' action, when you grow eyes where eyes should be and hands where hands should be and feet where feet should stand and the true image in its proper place, then shall you enter heaven.

Tom's Jesus makes a particularly Gnostic habit of both insisting that the hidden will be revealed and demonstrating the impossibility of attaining a state where the hidden ever can be revealed. Contrary to C.S. Lewis, we will never have faces with which to gaze upon the lost divine and the mysteries that shaped us, and crucially, as Christ puts it, we would not be able to bear the sight of ourselves if we did.

We will never become the thing that's riding on our backs.

Jesus again:

The disciples ask Jesus, 'Tell us how our end shall be.' Jesus says, 'Have you found the beginning yet, you who ask after the end? For at the place where the beginning is, there shall be the end.'

The Unnameable:

I’ll recognise it, in the end I’ll recognise it, the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again, then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place, the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again, how can I say it, that’s all words, they’re all I have, and not many of them, the words fail, the voice fails, so be it

The final passage of The Unnameable, which often is hilariously shorn and misinterpreted as an inspirational quote about how if you don't succeed, try again:

all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on. I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know. I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on. I’ll go on. †

We bear this thing that's riding on our backs. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. If it was born, it'd be too terrible for us to bear. There's nothing riding on our backs.

It will never speak us into being.

We keep on calling out into the silence, we keep trying to explain or understand the thing that's riding on our backs, searching for a way to birth it before we die. Our words about the thing are crucial, and they're meaningless, and they're all we have, and they're nothing at all. We cannot name it and we cannot express it, but we cannot stop trying, and we will keep turning back to our words about the thing, obsessing over them, tearing them to pieces, putting them back together.

I'm fumbling at something I can't think or say, but fumbling is all we're capable of. There could be beauty and meaning and comfort in the fumbling, but it's also vain, and foolish, and pointless, and we're lying to ourselves about the beauty and the meaning and the comfort, and we're indulging ourselves pointlessly by going on and on about the pointlessness of it. Nothing can know what's going on. We will never get close enough to understand without being destroyed.

Thomas' Jesus again, warning those who seek to reveal what's hidden:

He who is near me is near the fire.

Riddley Walker, reflecting on the Punch puppet's inexplicable desire to cook and eat his own child:

Whyis Punch crookit? Why wil he al ways kill the baby if he can? Parbly I wont ever know its jus on me to think on it.

If you got to the end of this, congratulations: but the above is honestly the most appropriate patchwork of what I believe, what propels me, what I feel.

As for what comes after life, I think it's fairly straightforwardly a nothingness we are tragically incapable of fully knowing or accepting - it's Beckett's unimaginable and unattainable silence, a silence that his characters' voices keep on shattering even as they cry out for it.

-Jon‡

*I can't remember if Kafka makes prominent reference to Czech puppets in his work, which is interesting in its own right given the thematic relevance (the protagonist in The Hunger Artist is perhaps a kind of self-directing puppet show?).

However, Gustav Meyrink - who some unsourced Google quotes suggest was pals with Czech puppeteer Richard Teschner - did write a strange little story, The Man On The Bottle, about an audience watching a 'marionette show' who are too wrapped up in performances and masks to interpret the reality that they're actually watching a human being suffocate to death.

**Thomas Ligotti: "Something had happened. They did not know what it was, but they did know it as that which should not be.

Something would have to be done if they were to live with that which should not be.

This would not (be enough); it would only be the best they could do."

***Beckett's Malone Dies actually kicks off with a related sentiment:" I am in my mother’s room. It’s I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there...In any case I have her room. I sleep in her bed. I piss and shit in her pot. I have taken her place. I must resemble her more and more."

† I don't necessarily align myself in humour with Ligotti on a lot of this stuff but I imagine he would recognise both Beckett's writing and Kafka's frustrations re explaining the causes of his hatred for his father as sublimation: finding artistic and philosophical ways of sketching the inexpressible horror and uncertainty of our existence in order to reckon with it at a remove without destroying ourselves. A higher form of self-deception, but self-deception nevertheless.

‡Muna's more of an anarcho-nihilist, I think.

[raintailed]

rain rain rain rain how do you draw iterators and slugcats btw like all your gyus are so shaped its so fun to look at theyre just little guys...

i'm gonna start with slugcats! my old guide from 2023 is here.

Note: "slugcat" refers to multiple species (slugcats are in a species complex). It can be hard to differentiate slugcat species, since some are very similar and hybridization between them is common where their ranges overlap. The species that Monk and Survivor are members of is called the "common slugcat."

Slugcats are weird sorta-feline creatures that walk bipedally and have little hands. Their average height is 3'3" or about 1 meter tall.

Their basic body shape is a round head on top of a trapezoidal body. Their legs are digitigrade, they have human-like arms (that are often skinny lol), and their tails are thick and tapering. Slugcats also have retractable arms ig??? I have no idea how that would work

In terms of head shape, it's similar to a cat's, but with a somewhat taller forehead (bigger brain! more room for being Smart!). Slugcats usually have short muzzles, big eyes, and long ears.

Note: slugcat arms usually rest in front of the body (think meerkats) rather than to the sides like a human.

Uhhh I like giving slugcats dewlaps (rabbit dewlaps are a good reference)!

And for fat slugcats, fat is usually stored in the tail (and dewlap) first. So naturally my gourmand has a big tail and a big dewlap :]

And!! I like to think that some slugcats have fur, and some don't. Hairless slugcats are slimy; furred slugcats have oily, waterproof coats. Some shorthaired slugcats have smooth fur like otters and seals do.

TEEFS!!! Except technically, slugcats don't have teeth. Rather, they have sharp, jagged beaks (think cephalopods). Their beaks continually grow and they are self-sharpening. Because their beaks are really sharp, slugcat bites are always serious injuries.

The length of their "fangs" varies by species. Some carnivorous species have long fangs, for example.

And! They have bristly tongues like cats (and kinda like the radula of a gastropod).

For their paws, slugcats have 3-fingered hands and feet. Their claws vary; some individuals have blunt claws, some have sharp claws, others have retractable claws, etc.

The inner toe of a slugcat's foot is opposable, making it easy for them to grab onto poles with their feet. (Compare to scavengers, who mostly use their arms to climb.)

SLUPPIES!!!!!! (don't worry about the fluffy one, they're just eepy)

Slugpups have different proportions than adults! Including having a bigger head, chubbier body, etc. Fluffy slugpups can also be a bit scraggly like longhaired kittens are.

My slugcats are basically egg-laying marsupials. They lay eggs, store them in their pouch, and then the eggs hatch into itty bitty babies. The babies stay in the pouch, feeding on milk until they're big enough to venture outside.

When pups are too big for the pouch, they ride on their parent's head or back. They also begin the process of weaning around this time, since by then they've started growing a sharp beak (i guess before that, their beak is dull and too small to self-sharpen?).

Note: some slugcat species are unisex and others are trioecious (having male, female, and hermaphrodite individuals).

For expressions, ears are important!!

Neutral: ears relaxed. The relaxed position varies by individual; some slugcats have their ears rest slightly tilted back, for example.

Alert/interested: ears perked up.

Angry: ears pinned back. Very angry slugcats have their ears positioned so they're almost in line with the top of the head.

Afraid: ears pinned down (sometimes slightly to the sides, too).

Sad: ears droop to the sides.

Slugcats mostly use their tails for balance, but they're used for some emotes too.

Upwards-curled tail is an excited or enthusiastic hello! Kinda like how some cats raise their tail when they see their human.

When upset, annoyed, or grumpy, slugcats may thump their tail against the ground (kinda like how rabbits stomp).

Some slugcats wag their tails when playing or excited. This isn't a universal thing, though.

Slugcats with fur may puff up their tail when startled or scared. They may also puff their tail when excited or playing, too.

[bleunicorn]

it's been EIGHT YEARS since i first met jelly bean!!

first couple pictures were from 9/30/2016. we have a local cat shelter/sanctuary where they're happy to have visitors that just wanna hang out with cats, even if they're not looking to adopt. i wasn't able to even think about adopting a cat at the time so when i took some pictures with the lil calico in my lap i didn't think much of it.

i started visiting more and more often, at first just to pet cats in general, but eventually was going specifically to hang out with that cute dilute calico that liked to sit in my lap. there's a few different cat rooms open to visitors, but she was living in one where most of the cats aren't actually available for adoption. each room has a little booklet with the names and pictures and some basic info. her name in the shelter was Mother Goose, she had been there since 2013, and she was actually available to adopt!

next pictures are from a visit on 10/6/2017. i still wasn't in a position where i could adopt a cat, but was starting to think about moving houses to where i'd be able to have a pet. i started asking a lot of questions about her (she has severe unidentified skin allergies that need to be managed) and she started to recognize me when i came in. she'd usually be sleeping in the same spot on a little shelf thing, i'd gently wake her up, and she'd run over to the bench or chair and wait for me to sit down so she could get in my lap. that was a huge honor because overall she seemed pretty standoffish and shy and independent.

i finally brought her home on 3/1/2018 and renamed her jelly bean. i was expecting her to be nervous and hide-y, and prepared for her to keep her aloof personality in general. but within minutes of being home she was snuggling up to me in bed, purring and drooling like crazy. i don't think she was necessarily unhappy in the shelter, but her personality blossomed after coming home.

last pictures are from 9/28/2024, just hangin out. she's 12 years old now and doesn't have teef anymore but she's still just a little babie to me. still a big fan of curling up in a lap.