#boni layouts

[heyniniy]

𐙚 ׁ ˳ boni - dreamnote lockscreens

[aesverse]

ೀ ⁺ you tie up me a breath rose up to jaw

tightly, I see I'm addicted to you now ﹒

○˳ Everywhere, I look at you

🍱❜ but you are gone ೃೀ

[laninha-1]

' miso { dreamnote } lockscreens ও

[gowesito]

mb boni (dreamnote) plis

ઇ ˚ (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ ( ℬ )

⋆ You got me looking for αttention🪡 ۪ ݁ 𓈒

[ayatxt]

[kalee-world]

𓆩♡𓆪⠀⠀⪩•⪨⠀⠀💐⠀⠀﹫ֺ𝑘ᥲꪶᥱֺ⠀⠀꯭꯭꯭꯭✿⠀⠀lꪱ𐑦𐑬ᧉ૪⠀⠀☁️

[y0oni3]

》 * . ♡ @i04rei 💭 　(˘ᵕ˘)

》 * . ♡ 🦷 　(˘ᵕ˘)

[ourdadai]

dreamnote [ boni ] lockscreens ♡

[haeivn]

°    🍨 ◞   (　˘ᵕ˘)

[chae-zita]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 🌬 : ͏𝒟reamnote layouts

[i9jiwon]

## dreamnote icons

ෆ eunjo, boni, lara, youi, sumin, miso

fav / reblog if saved, used, or liked them !!

[azures-grace]

happy wednedsay!

thank you @inkoherentwriting for tagging me :]]

i have a bit of an animation i'm hopefully gonna finish next week (maybe) and some writing (it's kinda ehh)

everything under the read more, and i'll tag uhhh @mistythedritten @nyarevar @silkwxtch @distractedrighter @atomiclace and anybody else who wants to hop on!

and now a chunk from my book, actually. for once

Peter is sitting at a table, with his face in his hands. His bony elbows rest on the surface, propping his sagged head up. Stress hangs around him like fog, almost tangible as I walk over and sit across from him. "Hey… um… you okay?" I ask. He looks up from his hands and shrugs. "Could be worse, I guess. We could be on fire, or in space, or in jail, I guess." His face disappears into his palms again. "Or, you know… we're harbouring fugitives." "Let's talk about the plan for tomorrow, okay?" I say in an effort to pull his attention away from our unfortunate situation. "When do we need to be out of here?" "Fifteen hours Domum time is when the vehicle leaves, so… maybe twelve hours? We'll want some daylight to walk in. We're in the season of long nights, right now." He starts drawing invisible lines on the table with his fingertip after rolling his cheek onto one hand. "We called that winter on Earth." "They don't really call it that here. The climate is pretty stable after all of the installations to the atmosphere got set up a few dozen centuries ago." He chuckles to himself. "It was quite the shock when we came to NAT and had temperatures vary based on the season." I nod and chew on my lips. "So… tomorrow we go to a party, get into the palace proper, then steal some documents and get out?" Peter nods and hands me a thumb drive. "It has 32 terabytes. That should be enough to get what the Apollumi are after. I hope." I take it and inspect the little thing. "Discreet." He shrugs. "You're going to be in restricted areas. You're more likely to get that in than a weapon." I nod. "Good point." He pulls a paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. "Here's a layout of the place." I take it. "Paper?" "They can't track paper like they can devices. You know to leave yours, right? Powered off, here." He taps the table for emphasis. "On the table?" I joke. He shrugs. "If that's what gets you to leave it here." "Okay, okay. I'll leave it." I take the device out and power it down in front of him. It drops to the table with a thunk that makes Iris stir. Peter sighs and takes his own out before turning it off and setting it down by mine. "You ready?" he asks. "Hell no." "Me neither, I feel like I'm going to throw up again." I nod. "We'll be okay."

[pennycat83]

Wanted to make a fanfic for my AU

TLDR: stupid idiot tardigrade tries to wake up a creature than can very much fuck her up just 'cause she wants to check up with it for work stuff.

(⚠️:Mild body horror and violence)

Brief gasps of light crawled the windows of the house, slinking back with the sun. It traced the abandoned furniture that now strewed the back garden, finally bidding farewell to the newly lit Jack o lanterns that guarded the backdoor.

A silhouette stirred in one of the derelict rooms, eye twitching with the silent glare of the sunset, tail flicking slowly, her eye dragged around the room. It took her a moment to adjust to the layout and recognized she wasn't gazing from the center of the mildly cramped space, and the dangerous lack of any familiar plush clutter and cosy technology.

She hadn't bothered investigating the house so far simply out of basic respect, but something forced her out of the mountain of blankets. She crouched over the smashed bookshelf. A good amount of 'Alex's' things had been left outside both to make navigation easier, alongside some lingering...things.

Most of it was things she had expected, 'notebooks...notebooks, oh shit blank VHS-no they're filled with stuff'. She hesitated pocketing it for research purposes but decided on one of the recent notebooks that was the plumpest with sticky notes and clippings.

After a few hours she finally gave up, claws subconsciously pawing at her neck. She grimaced, shuffling over to her suitcase and pulling out a toiletry kit. Leaving the bathroom almost an hour later with a cloud of humidity and a clump of sleepwear tucked under her shoulder.

She froze. '17:43...', her neck whipped to the guest room, throwing the laundry back into the 'guest room'. She was more than opposed to being adverse to client requests...but-

The door had been slammed shut, splinters of wood still littering the ground as freshly ripped police tape hung limp around the edges of the frame and floor. She shuffled close, her paws straining to flip flop closer. Pressing her ear against the door in a stupid attempt to make anything out.

The door creaked open, the piercing light of the hallway seeping into the dank space. She froze; huffed slightly, snapping her arms to her side in an awkward confidence boost maneuver, as her neck jutted up and down slightly.

Her heart lapped at the sides of her ribs as she stood over the nest of furniture. A familiar orange ball of a spikey onesie slumped inside, heaving slightly amidst the rubbish and random knickknacks.

"M...Mr Clyde?". She tussled the form slightly, straining slightly over the table, her paw pads instantly searing with brief pain...nothing. "Mr Clyde...".

Moving somewhat clumsily atop the table. She shoved him harder, the skin of her paw pads tightening and loosening. She huffed, flopping cross-legged before him, arms folded. "...Fuckin' fine!". Moving to the dresser top and stumbling atop it's form.

It's side was somewhat warm. Most of it's body almost resembled the state of it's victims, tight almost bony skin drowning in a baggy claws wrapped around itself in a futile attempt to provide extra comfort.

She was unironically considering spooning up into the little gap between it's chest- 'N/A! Clients are clients, we RESPECT motherfucking couples...I think-'. Penny chan sighed, considering any other space around him aside from simply annoying him awake.

Fuck it, scrambling off the padded form, she began moving up the dresser again, too short. Pulling a stool up from the surrounding hoard, she stood over him...just right~.

In a single swan dive she flung herself from the drawer, pile driving her elbow sharply into Clyde's side. An unpleasant wheeze sputtered out from the Veldigun, it almost reminded her of a hoarse child's cry and the remains of a demonic groan tube.

"WHAT?!". In a single grab the demon loomed over head, claws digging into Penny chan's neck as her legs dangled weakly. "Y-you...d-didn't respond- YOU DIDN'T FUCKIN' RESPOND TO MY WAKE UP ASSHOLE!". The lash out didn't phase it in the slightest, unlike the now set of piercing canines digging into it's claws.

Dropping her to the floor in another pained wince, whipping out a palchion blade from her back. "やめて!!". They both froze, if only out of the length of the blade just piercing the skin between Clyde's eyes.

She exhaled shakily, "now then...clearly, I made a mistake pounding your ass. But I need you awake so I can relay information clearly, I'm fully aware you're nocturnal, but I rely HEAVILY on communication".

"Christ man, I get yer pissed but like, I'm kinda sorta doin' this from the bottom of my heart here. Like ya sure I could easily ramsack this place for all it's worth 'n ditch ya. But I ain't I...", she heaved slightly from the sinking frustration in her chest.

"Look, why don't we...like plan shit downstairs 'n I can go through s'me stuff, right?". The piercing gaze of the demon in front remaining as stoic as usual. "If we talk downstairs you get to hold my bat plushie".

At that, the demon's head cocked slightly. "...fine", "y'can also...bite my arm 'r somethin' if it makes you feel better". It huffed slightly, wasting no time in sinking it's teeth into her arm. It's quivering twin rummaging around her jean pocket until it pulled out a familiar bat plush.

Handing it awkwardly to the demon, the weight on her arm lightened slightly. Turning her gaze away until she turned back to face it. The bat plush now safely tucked in the onsie, it's little eyes gazing at her.

"Right, now then...I'm gonna head downstairs 'cause I need a fuckin' moment". With that she started slumping her way out of the room.

[ayatxt]

[birdwriter]

Tw: Torture and racism

Chapter Three

Argyle wakes with a start as the door is pulled open, metal grinding against metal with a sickening squeal. A guard walks into the cell holding cuffs and a long beige strip of.. Something tipped with metal. The same beige material binding Rali’s wings. Someone else is going to be taken.

Argyle presses flush against the stone, crimson eyes reflecting torchlight as he stares at the guard. The guard that is walking directly to Argyle.

Rali moves to hide Argyle behind his arm protectively and bares his teeth when the guard continues closer, unperturbed. The guard kicks Rali aside with a firm blow to the stomach and grabs Argyle, dragging him by the wrist into the center of the room.

Argyle kicks and thrashes, bony limbs moving in a whirlwind of desperation. But he’s weak, tired, and starved. He’s cold, and feverish, and so, so afraid.

The guard stills Argyle with the press of a blade to his throat.

Argyle looks desperately to where Rali is crumpled on the ground, gritting his teeth and trying to claw his way to Argyle. But he, too, is weak.

The guard cuffs Argyle’s wrists and begins the process of binding his wings. He wraps the binding cloth tight enough to hurt and locks the ends together before hefting Argyle up to his feet and pulling him from the cell.

The door slams behind him, overpowering and drowning out Rali’s shouts of protest.

The guard drags Argyle through the corridors and up a stairwell, across narrow passageways and down an incline. The layout of the prison is complex and inconvenient, making no technical sense in order to prevent any and all attempts at escape.

Argyle distantly notes that he isn’t wearing the clothing he was in when the village was attacked. Instead he’s shirtless and wearing ratty, torn pants. I wonder why I didn’t notice sooner.

His bare feet scrape against the stone as the guard continues to drag him to… wherever they’re going. Argyle assumes that he’s being taken to the same place as the others. He has to suppress a shudder.

The guard stops and turns to open a windowless door, keys reflecting the light of the splendor stones sat in the sconces embedded in the stone walls. This must be a more frequented area of the prison, then.

Inside of the room is a circular stone platform surrounded by water. There’s a pump on the far wall and a lever near the door. On the platform there’s a short chain with a thick clasp on one end bolted into the stone. A few feet from that is a drain.

The guard shoves Argyle into the room and drags him onto the platform, pushing him to his knees and connecting the chain to the cuffs around his wrists. “General Nutaaq will be here for you soon. Be a good lad and stay put.”

Argyle gets the feeling he isn’t meant to respond.

Shivering as the cold stone sucks the heat from his skin, Argyle moves to wrap his wings around himself, only to pause as he remembers that the appendages have been bound. The ever present drip, drip, dripping coming from the pump is the only sound that permeates the silence. The scrape of chain against stone echoing each time Argyle moves.

Heavy footsteps break the quiet, thumping against stone outside of the metal door. Is that General Nutaaq? Keys rattle as metal scrapes against metal.

Click.

The door opens with a painful groan, the imposing frame of a man clad in golden armor revealed as the hinges squeal. The man walks into the room and slams the door shut behind him, paying no mind as the lock clicks into place.

The man–General Nutaaq discards his helmet, freeing a grinning face twisted with scars from the shadows it created. Cold blue eyes glint in the light created by the splendor stones, reflecting nothing but cruelty and the chilling assurance that Argyle will suffer.”So you’re the venēficus I’ll be breaking, huh?”

The general approaches Argyle and grabs him by the chin, yanking his face upwards. “Look me in the eyes when I speak to you, Koldun.”

Argyle flinches, neck extending painfully as his face is tugged upwards. Gravely and strained from misuse, Argyle’s voice shakes as he speaks, “Why are you calling me that?” When the general doesn’t respond, Argyle elaborates further. “You called me venēficus, and koldun. Why?”

The general kicks Argyle’s rips, knocking him down and leaving him gasping against the stone. “Because you are one. A venēficus, a koldun, a sorcerer, a wahsh, whatever you uncivilized Ecrians call it. You possess the ability to harness the natural arcana of the world and bend it to your will.”

What? Argyle would know if he were an āsimatenya— a magician. Wouldn’t he? Inat and abbat would have told him, would have—

Smack.

Argyle’s thoughts are interrupted by a harsh slap across his face, once again knocking him into the stone. His ears ring as he looks up at General Nutaaq, vision blurring. “Pay attention, boy. You will join Emperor Rhassah’s ranks and use your curse for the betterment of Veibos, or you will be broken and bent until there is nothing left of you to resist the Emperor’s demands. If you fail to follow orders, you will be disposed of. So, I ask you, boy. Will you come willingly?”

No. Nonononononono— Before Argyle can think better, before he can try to preserve his life, he speaks. “No.”

That was, evidently, the wrong thing to say. General Nutaaq’s lips curl into a cruel imitation of a grin, “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been meaning to test some theories.”

The man presses a foot down on Argyle’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs and crushing his wings against the stone beneath him. “The savages of Ecrium have higher lung capacity, don’t they? Show me how long you can go without air, death-bringer.”

Argyle gasps and claws at the general’s foot, head pounding as blood rushes upwards. He can feel his ribs creaking under the pressure of the man pressing down on him. The general only presses down harder. Argyle chokes as his vision goes spotty, tears blurring what little he can still see.

Something in his chest cracks, a rib, perhaps. Argyle’s vision goes white with pain as he lets out a breathless whine. The noise only makes General Nutaaq more aggressive, pressing down with the entirety of his weight against Argyle’s chest.

Snap.

White hot pain sears throughout his chest and back, a silent scream torn from his lips. It hurts, I can’t breathe, ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts—

The general kicks Argyle, sending him flying across the floor before the chain yanks him back, wrenching his shoulders painfully. Tears streak across his cheeks as he greedily gulps down air, the searing pain that accompanies each expansion of his lungs making it difficult to get any air in.

His wings spasm as he tries to curl them around himself once more, straining against the cloth binding them. A sharp, stabbing sensation rips through the appendages. Broken.

General Nutaaq is speaking again, but Argyle can’t hear him over the blood rushing through his ears. Over the ringing stabbing through his head. He can only guess that the man is asking if he surrenders. “N– No,” Argyle rasps. It hurts to speak, it hurts to think, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it–

A leg comes down onto Argyle’s head, slamming his skull into the stone. Black overtakes Argyle’s vision as he collapses, blood streaking his forehead and trickling across the cracked ground beneath him.

[miratiwari-7]

Best 3 and 4 Wall Decompression Surgery in India

Orbital wall decompression is a surgical procedure directed at managing/treating medical conditions such as thyroid-associated orbitopathy (TAO) – commonly called Graves ophthalmopathy – and exophthalmos – which is also known as proptosis. The figures (that is, 3 and 4) preceding the ‘wall decompression’ show the number of bony walls to be removed before the operation can be done. The 3- and 4-wall decompression surgeries are usually recommended for severe cases of the aforementioned medical conditions. The objective of the procedures is to increase the space within the orbital cavity thereby easing up the pressure that had built as a result of the effects of proptosis and Graves ophthalmopathy.

Anatomy of the Orbit

As the orbit is the surgical site for orbital wall decompression procedure, it is expedient that we discuss it briefly. The orbit is the skull socket that houses the eyes and their accessory organs, and its surrounding is filled with nerves, muscles, and fatty tissues. It is made up of seven different bones – maxilla, frontal bone, zygomatic bone, ethmoid bone, lacrimal bone, sphenoid bone, and palatine bone. The frontal sinuses and brain are located above the orbit while the maxillary sinuses are below and the ethmoid bone [along with the nasal cavity] occupy the area between the two orbits. The orbital roof is formed by the horizontal part of the frontal bone and the lesser wing of the sphenoid bone. The orbital floor is formed as the maxilla orbital plate connects to the zygomatic bone orbital plate and palatine bone orbital plate. This anatomical layout shows how confined the orbital cavity is, and this means any rise in the volume of tissues or muscles can markedly affect the integrity of the space. It, therefore, follows that the oculoplastic surgeons carrying out decompression procedures, do so with great care in order not to compromise certain delicate parts within the orbital cavity.      

Indications    

3 and 4 orbital decompression surgery is indicated in:

Severe exophthalmos whereby the eyes bulge out in the direction of the eyeball. This causes a significant increase in pressure in the orbital cavity – which is the area behind the eyeballs – thereby constricting the tissues, nerves, and muscles therein.

Severe Graves ophthalmopathy. This results as increasing muscle volume causes the compression of the optic nerve, leading to its damage. Additionally, there is corneal damage which makes it difficult for the patient to close his/her eyes.

For whom 3 and 4 Orbital Wall Decompression Surgery is Not suitable for in India?

There are instances where it is not fitting for patients of exophthalmos and Graves ophthalmopathy to have 3 and 4 wall decompression surgeries. In such cases, the surgeon, in cooperation with the patient’s physician, will thoroughly evaluate the situation. In light of the foregoing, individuals having the following conditions will not be able to undergo wall decompression surgery:

Impaired immune system

Chronic sinusitis

Bleeding disorders like haemophilia, Von Willebrand’s disease

Atretic sinuses