#receding mandible

[jomindraws]

Sixth Phylum of Superphylum Near Bilateral !!

The noodle boys !! We love our snakes !!!!1 SNAKES !!! ALIEN SNAKIES !!

PHYLUM BIOGLASS SERPENTASIMILAE

Phylum containing a five-pointed nerve plexus and an internal skeleton of bioactive glass.

(AN1 A2-e) Clade: Vitroserpenta Retrognatha

A clade of vitroserpenta that have jaws set backward only connected to the skull with collagen at a sliding joint; spinal vertebrae connect to the back of the skull superior to the jaw.

Class Ognathed Lostsnakes

Class that have a small, receded jaw structure, use an incredibly elastic integumentary mandible-like structure to consume prey, and have an exaggerated five-pointed skeletal structure for defense.

Class Flatsnakes

Class that have a collapsed and flat pelvic structure stretched across the coronal plane, a flat rudder-shaped posterior end, eyes positioned on the dorsal position of the skull, and have armor-plated heads.

Class Upright Snakes

Class that have a strong, angled, and pointed pelvic structure for upright movement, a lattice-like skeletal structure for extending and leaping, and have skeletal spurs that allow for stability when vertical.

Class Seasnakes

Class that have a collapsed and narrow pelvic structure stretched across the sagittal plane, pointed skeletal spurs that form caudal fins, and use anguilliform locomotion in marine and lacustrine environments.

(AN1 A2-f) Clade: Vitroserpenta Porrognatha

A clade of vitroserpenta that are set forward connected to the skull at a base cheekbone with collagen at a hinge joint; spinal vertebrae connect to the back of the skull level-with or inferior to the jaw.

Class Sandsnakes

Class that have exaggerated bone spurs for fossorial limbs, regulate heat with feather-like or quill-like keratin plates, utilize lateral undulating locomotion, and have extending sensing quills surrounding the head.

Class Multitail Snakes

Class that have multiple split pelvic structures allowing for the differentiation of limbs within the body.

Class Single Tubesnakes

Class that have no pelvic structure, differentiated head morphologies, only have one, thin body segment that ends in a point, and locomote via lateral undulation or brachiation.

(forgot the last measurement on single tubesnakes, he is 4mm long)

Now you may be thinking, wtf ??? Glass skeleton snakes?? ABSOLUTELY!! Bioactive glass is a special crystalline structure that develops in this phylum. While more fragile and harder to initially grow, bioactive glass is much easier to repair, mold, and refuse. This, along with the five nerve cords instead of one, allows for Bioglass Serpentasimilae to reform after a predator attack, maintain control of most of the body after tissue damage, and take on a multitude of forms that require metamorphosis WITHOUT completely liquifying the body !!

Secondly, you may be thinking, wtf ??? Dude, why do you have SEVEN CLASSES of snakes? SEVEN? Earth doesn't even have ONE class. Snakes are half of an ORDER that they share with other lizards, why did you do this??? Well, there is a very scientific explanation for this: i like snakes. Secondly, snakes have had EONS to develop into a multitude of classes orders families genera species. Earth had its 300 million year long dinosaur phase, Jom'Gol had its 200 million year long snake phase ! What remains now are ALL the ancestors of ALL the snakes that once ruled terrestrial environments. Incidentally, reducing limbs is an evolutionarily advantageous strategy. NOODLE TIME !!!

[colderdrafts]

2: A small reprieve

Underground visitor, gn reader x monster (male drider). Sfw. Previous Next

It’s an awkward trek back toward the rocky formations. Your host for the night has underway introduced himself as Dren, and you’ve offered you name in turn. The storm is getting worse, as Dren said, wind picking up to harsher levels and rain pouring still.

Dren keeps a respectful distance, mindful not to scare you, though he still hovers behind you as if preparing to catch you should the wind cause you to fly off.

Adrenaline has somewhat worn off by the time you get back, and, now able to feel your body again, you find yourself downright miserable.

Dren quickly ushers you inside the cave, relieved of being out of the storm. The entrance is pitch black, and you note now that this open hole in the rock formation indeed stretches deeper into the ground. Instinctively you reach for your phone to get a flashlight out, but the disappointingly empty pocket of your jacket reminds you it's currently lying in a bush somewhere being useless.

You watch as Dren vanishes in the pitch blackness as he casually walk further in, dark body blending in perfectly. You hear his scuttling footsteps falter when he realizes you’re not following.

“Is something the matter?” his voice reaches you from the dark, and you can’t help but shudder when you can’t locate its origins at all.

“It’s very dark,” you tell him, staring into the gaping abyss. “I don’t know where to put my feet.”

“Oh,” the voice says. “You can’t – hold on. Stay right there, please.”

There a moment of pause where you just feel eyes on you, so you nod at the dark. You hear Dren’s footsteps receding.

The storm rages outside, and you turn around to watch the violently jerking movements of the trees and plants, watching fallen leaves rake across the night sky and the rain still pouring. This could be an opportunity to change your mind and leave this place before you enter the darkness. But what is more dangerous? The elements or the benevolent spider?

You may have to take a chance and stay put to find out.

A few minutes later you hear the clicking noises of Dren’s steps approaching and whip around. To your surprise, an actual light source is hastily coming your way.

Dren is holding an old-time lit oil lantern. It gives a decent light in the dark. He stops in front of you and holds it out to you, looking somewhat relieved you’re still there.

“I rarely get guests, and I can see fine in the dark. I had forgotten that you might not,” he explains, sheepish. “Luckily I kept this thing.”

You gingerly take it, mindful not to brush against his clawed fingers, and now you’re finally able to really get a look at your host.

His entire lower body is a pitch black spiders body, with rough hairs running along his abdomen, eight pointed legs protruding from under his upper body. Said body is a humanoid naked torso with a pudgy but strong build, chest and upper arms partially covered in the same rough looking hairs. Those on his head are long and dark, currently wet and plastered to his face. Hidden behind the stray locks you see now he indeed has four eyes in total, colored like obsidian, two on each side of his face. On top of the mouth are two fanged mandibles.

It’s hard not to gawk.

He tilts his head at you, and you realize you’re staring. “Sorry,” you say, quickly glancing away. “I’ve just never seen anyone like you before.”

Dren gives you an odd look. “..Never?” he seems somewhat perplexed. “But you’re – well. Let’s talk when we get settled in,” he nods at your drenched clothes. “I may have some spare fabrics for you as well.”

Dren leads you through a series of tunnels dug into the earth, wide enough to comfortably house his large form and you walking next to him. The ceilings are covered in webbing, and you thank the stars it’s not on the ground you’re walking on, lest you got stuck in the stuff again.

“Did you dig this out?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence.

Dren nods. “Took a while, but it was worth it. I even managed to dig out an underground water source that was connected to the main cave system,” there's a slight pride in his voice, and it’s not hard to see why.

Looking nearer, you spot multiple intricate carvings running along the walls and floors, skillfully crafted into the dirt. They run along the entire distance you walk, the circling patterns almost hypnotic to look at. It must have taken him weeks if not months to do them.

The route he leads you contains multiple twists and turns, and the tunnels branch off in different directions several times, some even vanishing up and above you, some falling further down below.

You have no idea how Dren navigates them, taking turns left and right seemingly, to you, at random. After just a few minutes walking you realize you’re hopelessly lost in the system, which does not speak well for your confidence being here.

It means you’ll have to trust Dren to lead you safely to the outside again.

You glance up at him. He’s looking ahead with a neutral expression that’s a bit hard to read, though he catches your eye and offers a small fanged smile with a tilt of his head.

You look away again.

Your host leads you into a larger room dug out of the ground. The lantern illuminates it well enough. The first thing you notice is the walls and floors here are, like the tunnels, carved full of intricate designs and patterns. Flora, fauna and symbols unknown to you decorate the surfaces all around you. Looking up, you find the ceiling here is also covered in web.

In a corner, you spot a pile of different items put side by side - clothing, blankets, both neatly folded, some skins and furs, but also cups, pots, and different kitchen utensils. Opposite that is a large table, upon which decorative wooden sculptures are set. There’s a hole dug into the further wall, perhaps acting as a fireplace judging from the shape, though it doesn't seem to have seen much use.

In the other end of the room, you spot two other entrance points, though the lantern is not powerful enough to illuminate what lies further inside.

"This is where I spend most of my waking hours," Dren says, watching you take in the surroundings. "I guess you would call it something like a 'living room'."

You put a palm across the intricate carvings in the walls, surprised at how sturdy the soil is. It almost feels like running your hand over wood. "You did these as well?" you ask him.

"I did," he nods. "Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful."

Dren rubs his arms, sheepish. "Thank you. To be honest, one of the reasons I dug out so much space is to carve the walls," he chuckles. "I get bored down here easily."

"Must be handy that you can just carve out another room whenever you want. Although, the tunnel system has me completely lost," you laugh nervously.

"I'd imagine so," Dren says, and smiles gently. "I designed them that way."

You ignore the small goosebumps on your skin. "You made them confusing on purpose?"

"Confusing perhaps if you're not the one who built the system. What kind of constructor couldn't find his way in his own home?" he replies. "It's mainly because of snatchers. A confusing system means they waste time trying to find their way around. Their wasted time becomes extra time for me to stop them."

"What's a snatcher?" you ask.

Dren laughs, but stops once he realizes it's a serious question. He gives you that same odd look. "You - you truly don't know?"

You shake your head no and shrug.

"You're really not from around here, are you?" he muses. "Well, put simply, they snatch our eggs, hence the name. Roughly your size and shape, as I mentioned. They just happen to have scales, eyes and teeth like a snake. Nasty little things.”

Dren clasps his hands together and, as if in some sort of uncanny imitation, so does the pedipalps of his lower body. “But first things first, we should get you dry."

He walks over to the pile and start picking up some of the folded clothing items, mumbling something about sizes and temperature. He glances at you once in a while, as if using you for reference.

"These should do," he picks out a beige woolen shirt, a pair of brown leather pants and some long undergarments, and hands them to you. "I was going to use these for trading come spring, though you would probably have more use of them now."

You nod your thanks. "Is there somewhere I can go change?" you ask politely, not too keen on being exposed in front of a complete stranger, humanoid spider or not.

Dren looks at you puzzled, but only briefly. "Oh - of course. I'll give you some privacy. Actually, if you would hand me the lantern-?"

You're reluctant to part with your only source of light down here, especially considering you're not entirely trusting Dren yet.

It must have shown on your face, as he quickly adds: "You can have it back, I just want to use the already lit flame to light up more around here. It would be incredibly rude to have my guest stumbling around in the dark, after all. You can get changed while I light up some of the tunnels."

You hand it to him, and he quickly gets to work picking out more lanterns from inside some hollowed out parts of the wall that must act as a storage.

Why would he have a bunch of lanterns lying around if he doesn't need them?

Dren lights them, and you watch as he stretches himself up, and grabs onto the ceiling with his legs. In one fluid motion, he brings himself up.

Suddenly seeing him climbing around upside down causes you to take a wary step back, but he merely uses this new position to more easily attach the lit lanterns to some strings in the web covering the ceiling.

Three of them are now illuminating the room nicely.

Dren crawls over you you, still upside down, and reaches out the lantern he borrowed back to you. "I will not be illuminating everything for now. That would take hours, and far exceed my supply of lanterns," he smiles. "Keep this one in case you turn up somewhere you can't see."

You take it, quietly pondering just how big this cave system must be.

"Please make yourself comfortable. I'll return in a few minutes."

With that, Dren walks across the ceiling down one of the other hallways and out of view.

Once you're sure he's gone, you hastily shrug out of your wet clothes, shuddering a bit against the cool air as it hits your exposed skin. To your surprise, the clothes Dren has selected for you fit you like a glove. They have a pleasant earthy smell, and quickly a cozy warmth spreads through your body. You wonder why Dren would have something like this as well, seeing as he doesn't exactly require pants, nor a shirt judging from his bare torso.

You fold your own wet clothes and place them on the table, unsure what to do with your hands.

A few minutes later Dren returns, and lowers himself back on the floor at the entrance to the living room.

"That should do for now," he sighs and stretches. He looks you over. "They fit you well. Are you comfortable?"

"Much better dry," you reply. "Thanks."

Dren nods, and walks over to the pile and picks out some skins. He hands you a sheepskin.

"I - don't have chairs," he says, apologetic, and motions for you to sit.

You get settled on the ground, and Dren folds his legs in and settles across from you, leaning his torso on his pedipalps and peering at your face. The casual notion of just sitting on the floor is an odd contrast to your current level of wariness.

“I am curious to where you actually are from,” he starts. “Even with their custodian it’s odd to find a sentry roaming around at night, and you have seemingly ventured out on your own. Did something happen?”

“You mentioned that before,” you note, subtly scooting a bit back in a subconscious attempt to avoid his staring. “But I’m not sure I follow. What do you mean custodian? What’s a sentry?”

He blinks. “What’s a – hm.”

He goes eerily quiet for a moment, contemplating. “I must admit I find it somewhat hard to believe you’ve never met a drider before. How come you haven’t?”

Drider, that’s the word. Your brain must have had a field day cooking up this fever dream from somewhere in your subconscious. At least it had the decency to provide the horrifying person in front of you with manners.

His sentence catches up with you. Oh. He thinks you’re lying. That’s probably not good.

How come you’ve never seen one like him before? Well, usually the forests you’re familiar with have other more comprehensive beings that could potentially chase you through the dark.

You cough. “Well, I don’t really know how to explain it. Until I met you, I had no idea anything like you even existed. I promise, I’m as confused as you are.”

He frowns at this, concerned. “Have you been isolated somewhere?” he asks gently. “Are you running away from someone? You can tell me, I won’t make you go back.”

“What? No, no, nothing like that.”

“Then what?” he prods, lower body quietly chittering. “I think it’d be in both of our best interest if you didn’t lie to me.”

You feel a bit scrutinized, suddenly finding yourself under a weirdly gentle interrogation. The slight amount of ease you’ve felt has been efficiently herded away by the calculating expression on Dren’s face.

He’s barely done a thing, and yet you suddenly feel like you’re being measured, like your response will be a deciding factor in how your stay here will go. You wonder if you’d have time to run if he decides to not host you here anymore.

Which brings another clarity.

You can’t exactly get away from here if you had to, can you?

Dren has utilized a calm demeanor to ease your tension, provided shelter and a light in the dark to lure you in. He has managed to twist and turn you through the caving system, and now you find yourself trapped in a maze you could never find your way out of with a being who could end you on a whim.

You have no control of what happens to you right now. Nothing is holding you down, yet you still find yourself caught. It brings a bad taste in your mouth, having been manipulated so easily.

But even so, nothing of this conversation so far has shown any intend to physically harm you.

Your host just wants to be sure who you are.

Right?

To be fair, if you were in Dren’s position you would probably also have a hard time believing some random person just appeared out of thin air and start making assumptions as well. Though, having already been on the receiving end of his wrath, albeit undeserved, you’re not keen on getting there again.

But what more can you do when you’re already telling the truth?

You force yourself to look at his face. He’s watching you gather your thoughts, patient as ever.

“I just – I don’t think this is my world anymore," you start, feeling the puzzle pieces fall into place. "I know how it sounds - I was just walking home. Then the storm happened, the darkness, I couldn’t see anything. I stumbled around until I found the entrance to the cave and well – that’s it. I have no idea how I got here. I promise, this is all foreign to me.”

Dren watches you for a moment, thoughtful. You hold your breath.

“'Not your world'?” he repeats slowly, tasting the words. “Truly?”

“Not anymore,” you affirm.

There’s a heavy silence for a bit where you hold his eye.

Eventually, Dren nods. “Alright then. Blue moons, no wonder you’re so confused.”

You blink at him. Just like that? “You're taking this quite well."

"If that is your truth, then that is your truth," he shrugs.

Okay. You can't tell if that means he either still doesn't believe you but doesn't want to 'pry', or he's taking your words at face value.

Or maybe he just thinks you're insane and thus unaware you're lying. Honestly? You’ll take whatever if it means you’re not about to be lunch.

You let out a breath. "I wouldn't have believed me either. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m not just dead and this is all some sort of Limbo.”

“Hah. Well, not to worry. I’m quite sure you’re still very much alive,” Dren says, glint in his eyes. “But I’m afraid I don’t have much answers to your predicament. I’m not exactly an expert in – well. Out-of-world-things.”

“That we have in common,” you mumble.

You try and think back to what might have happened. The all-encompassing darkness did seem alive somehow. And the storm kicked up rather abruptly. But normally, you would just throw that off as you being exhausted and climate change.

You wonder how you vanishing to wherever-this-is has an effect on wherever-home-is and frown in worry. What will happen to the things you left behind? And how do you get back to them?

If you even get out of this cave again.

"You took a lot of turns down here on purpose, didn't you?" you ask. It's not judgmental, just stating a fact.

Dren smiles again, seemingly pleased you caught on. "I may have tipped things in my favor. You understand I had to make sure you weren't a threat to me. I'm now convinced you're not."

“A threat to you?" you say, incredulous. "Why would you bring me here if you didn’t think I was harmless?”

“No one’s ever harmless,” he chuckles. “Your story is hard to believe, but given your strange reaction upon seeing me, your foreign clothing, your genuine confusion – well, stranger things have happened.

“Usually, if a sentry is out alone, one of two things have happened. Either their custodian is dead, or they’re running away. One leaves them fragile, the other with immense potential danger to me. I had to be sure which you were. Just odd it turns out you are neither.”

"Huh," you say. "I think I have some terminology to catch up on to understand anything of what you just said.”

Dren laughs. “Apologies. I’ll explain what I can. Shortly put, a sentry is a being such as yourself. You only exists few and far between here. It is exceedingly rare to see one. I'll count myself lucky.”

You shake you head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m a human,” you tell him. “A sentry is like a position in a job.”

He shrugs. “I assume that’s your word for your kind, but you're very much the same. But I suppose you could look at it as a job. You keep watch, after all. Mostly when the custodian is asleep or otherwise incapacitated.”

“And the custodian..?”

“In return for their watchful eye, the custodian provides shelter, protection,” Dren elaborates. “Since you’re very rare, most tend to become a little overprotective. There’s a lot of competition. It’s not unheard of that one custodian will fight the other for their sentry.”

Your brow furrows. “They fight? For us? Why?”

Dren nods, and counts on his fingers as he speaks. “For one; you're capable of creating and maintaining a bond with custodians that other species simply cannot - You connect differently.

"And two, no less important, you don't hibernate. Most custodians are attacked and killed when they’re at their most vulnerable during this time,” he frowns momentarily, focusing on you. “Having a sentry to keep watch through winter is almost guaranteed survival.”

Huh.

You guess that explains Dren’s previous mistrust of your confusion if he thought you were one of those things and related to a 'custodian'. It seems there’s a very intricate balance between the two. You wonder what one of them might look like.

“But then – why would a sentry run? If they're supposed to work together?” you ask.

Dren’s eyes darken. “Not all custodians do their jobs well.” It hangs heavy that he chooses not to elaborate. “I was worried that was what had happened to you.”

“Oh. Well, no worries. I just fell out of the sky,” you jest. “Not any of the .. other business.”

He chuckles. “While that is also hardly a satisfactory situation, I am glad to hear you haven't gone through an overly aggressive custodian.”

You nod mutely. This is all a lot to take in and you get the feeling there’s way more for you to learn about this place. This dynamic seems odd at best, though what he has told you does spark some hope.

If humans and sentries are indeed the same, it must mean that there are other people like you out there. Maybe there’s a reason you’re a rarity in this world – maybe someone else got here the same way you did? Could someone else have found a way to get back?

But even if so, where would you even start looking?

“You look exhausted,” Dren notes gently, his voice bringing you out of your thoughts. “I can set up a place for you to rest? We can talk more in the morning.”

“That obvious?” you sigh. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Dren gets to his feet and starts collecting some more furs and skins from the pile. He ventures toward one of the tunnels he vanished behind before. “This way.”

While you’re hesitant to traverse even more of the huge labyrinth that makes up Dren's home, thankfully he doesn’t lead you far from the ‘living room’. The (now lit) tunnel takes an easy right, and opens into a medium sized room with different sized pockets dug out of the earth.

Dren carefully deposits his pile of soft items into one of them – thankfully one close to the ground, you note – neatly putting things in place. He turns to you.

“I hope this is – adequate, for now,” he fidgets, “I don’t have things your kind usually use.”

“At this point I could sleep on a boulder if I had to,” you joke, and peer inside the makeshift nest of furs he’s made for you. It looks cozy enough, for a literal hole in the ground. “I’ll be fine.”

Dren nods, but keeps looking at you for a moment. “If you need water, just exit again and turn left instead. You’ll come across a stream,” he says, listing off things like you would to politely inform a house-guest back home and cover their basic needs. He turns, and heads toward the exit. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Dren?” you call just as he’s about to vanish.

He looks over.

“I know we had a – rocky start,” you snort, “but, I’m grateful for all this. Thanks for letting me crash.”

He frowns in worry. “Crash?”

“Oh – uh. Stay. Thanks for letting me stay.”

His look softens as he smiles. “Sleep well.”

His footsteps recede as he vanishes down the tunnel.

You try and settle in under the unfamiliar covers. The furs have a quite potent musky scent to them that you'll need to get used to, though they prove quite warm and soft. They provide decent padding on the hard ground, but it's still not the most comfortable place you've settled in for some rest.

Is it okay to fall asleep here? You don't know if you can. So much have happened in such a short amount of time, and you're not sure how to exactly process everything. Some part of you is still holding out hope you'll wake up and find yourself awakening from a coma in a hospital bed.

What are you going to do if that's not the case?

You were lucky enough to at least find some shelter for now, though you still don't exactly trust your host for a multitude of reasons. Is going to sleep with him still roaming around to do whatever when you're out cold really a very safe option? For all of Dren's hospitality and his seemingly friendly disposition, you can't forget he's still made sure you can't find your way out if you so did desire. Does that make you a captive?

Maybe it does. You're honestly not sure.

Fact still remains, you're exhausted. What's done is done. You're better of figuring all of this out with a clear head.

You reach over and turn off the lantern. The darkness envelopes you immediately, and the first thing to notice here is just how silent the dark is. Your previous residence has accustomed you to the occasional sound of muffled voices from your neighbors, the passing of a car outside your window, the faint creaking of the walls settling.

Other than an occasional drip from condensed water or the gentle hum of the cavern echo, there's no sound down here at all. Without the lanterns on it's like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. There's just nothing. How Dren hasn't gone completely mad down here seemingly alone in the dark is beyond you, but maybe that's a spider thing.

You clutch the furs covering you a bit tighter and curl up. It's going to be a long night.

[chilopodacrudus]

POV Trei introduces you to his vivisection table.

I did a creative writing prompt for someone and I figured I'd try sharing it here too.

Content Warnings: Medical gore; mouth trauma, physical violence, bug mention, general evil doctor being evil. (Gender neutral pronouns)

Consciousness; the feeling of cold metal on bare skin then the rush of blinding light floods your eyes. You find yourself restrained; loosely but he knew you wouldn't be able to run very far. In your vision directly above you; the face of what could be called an abomination, an insect humanoid visage. Gnashing mandibles and long sweeping feelers curved back like horns; flickering around to gain information from you. Pupil less milky white eyes and gnarly fangs. You dart your eyes to the side and see the rest of him; or most of him, his centipede like body stretched so far into the shadows he might as well be endless. Long legs tapping against the concrete floor as he moves his hand to tuck under your chin and look at you more closely. "The subject is awake; they were out for some time." He lists a string of numbers after checking your vitals; you find yourself unable to move at all but he notices your muscles tense. "Don't struggle too much; I don't want your heart rate escalating too high…this is a delicate process. One false move…and you'll bleed out much too quickly."

There's a cold and callous feeling to his voice; deep and guttural, almost tired, he's done this many times before. Despite his experience however; you can tell he's at least somewhat enjoying this. He tucks his thumb claw roughly into your mouth and forces it down against your tongue causing you to gag and choke; his eyes narrow as he drags the point across causing you to taste blood. "Just seeing if you're with me…you haven't been very talkative…that's fine; I understand you well enough."

The clank of metal against metal startles you as he tosses down a wide variety of tools; none of them look very ethical despite supposedly being for medical purposes. He spends a moment looking at them and then folds them back up holding his razor sharp claws in your vision. "You know…I haven't done this hands on in awhile…and I could use some stress relief…" He hoists himself up higher and seizes your shoulder with one hand; the weight of such causing a loud crack and sudden sharp burning pain along your sternum as the razor claw slices down to your lower belly in one smooth motion. You cry out and his face lights up "You have something to say now mm.."

The machine you're hooked up to beeps frantically as your heart rate quickens but is strongly ignored. He rattles off comments to his computer as he tucks his hands underneath the layers of your skin; exposing raw muscle and sinew. You panic and go to call out in anguish as he peels you open; using hooks to keep your innards exposed but your cries are met with his thumb again choking you and paying mind to your tongue, torturing the surface with pressure and sharpness. This is very clearly no longer about any scientific gain; it may never have been.

"Subject is quite resilient; much more than any other human I've examined before…I'll have to get to the bottom of this one. I'm sure the results will be…useful." The lights dim; and a large nozzle and face mask comes into your vision; he finally pulls his thumb from your mouth and attaches the apparatus to your face. It's not exactly comfortable but it's keeping you alive. "I'm afraid I'll have to put a bookmark in this operation…an endurance test. Don't worry…I'll always be just one room away; do call me if you need anything." His voice sounds nearly mocking as the lights in the room flicker out and the giant creature recedes into the shadows. You're not sure how long you'll be able to withstand this but you know for sure he isn't letting you out of this one easily.

[taysericommunity]

Since drawing turians is my kryptonite . I tried my best but he’s a short story based off a oc fic I’m writing.

Tayseri Short Story #1

“Markus, if we could've met in a different way would you.” Cleo asked, she had pulled a extra chair next to his desk. Cleo looked expectedly up at him her hands tucked between her thighs.

Markus looked up from his stack of data pads. “What?” he leaned on his arms to see if she was on any substances. Cleo blinked her large brown eyes up at her. “We met cause you're a-” his words faltered, as hes been told ‘criminal’ was too harsh so he tried to look for a new word.

“A criminal, i know.” Cleo’s eyes turned to look at the floor, her smile slightly faltering. Markus’ mandibles fluttered slightly, one side more tight than the other. “But its more of hypothetical! Its not a serious question. Aha!” she laughs. “But if we could be anyone!” Cleo moved closer to him as he relaxed into his chair. 

“Uh, I’d have to think about it. Meet as different people on the Citadel?” Markus asked. Cleo shrugged.

“it doesn't have to be just on the Citadel, we could meet on Mars or on a ship. OH! We could be pirates!” Cleo jumped up in her seat, now leaning closer hand under her chin.

Markus looked down, curiously. This hypothetical question came out nowhere. How else would they have met? Pirates? Mars? Why would he even be there? That was a Human settlement. Why would he want to meet Cleo in any other way?

“you're overthinking this way too much. Its supposed to be fun.” Cleo gave him a blank stare. To an outside observer would take his silence as thinking but the fluttering of his mandibles gave him away. Cleo noticed that when Markus was receded into his mind, forgetting the world outside, the movements of his mandibles became more scattered with random flicking.

“Cleopat- Cleo.” He corrected himself as he saw her squint her eyes. “If you weren't in this program, we would never have met.” he stated, its was a simple fact, undeniably truth. So why did Cleo give hum such a heavy sigh, throwing herself to the back of her chair, crossing her arms. He raised a brow plate at her.

“Ugh! I'll go first- even though its not fun anymore.” Cleo sighed and Markus noted one side of her mouth frowning. “If I HAD to meet you…we'd be…hmm. Oh, on Omega.”

Now it was Markus' turned to lean back in his seat. “Why…Omega?”

“You'd be a dancer at one of their night clubs. Not a good spot like Chora's Den. Something seedy and gross. And I'll be a merc, for the Blue Suns. Cause blue is my favorite color.” Cleo ignored his question.

“Blue Sun? Heh, they'd eat you alive.” Markus couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled to the back of her throat. Him, a dancer and her, a Blue Sun merc? It was funny, the opposite of what would happen. Her file and demeanor suggest someone not so violent. And him a dancer? Not her? His mandibles tucked on each side before going lack. A image of her in one of Chora's Den uniforms. Markus could feel a heat rise up his neck, he quickly looked away.

“whatever, I'm too sneaky for them anyway, im more like an assassin or professional thief.” Cleo stood up, staring down at him smiling. Markus shook his head, this human was the strangest he'd have ever met. “Maybe in alternate universe…”

“you really think we'd meet in another universe? In another way?” Markus didn't understand why she would ask such a ridiculous question. He admired her persistence and it was innocent enough.

Cleo nodded, waiting for his response, she sat back down. She watched his face as Markus looked off to the side, more deep thinking.

“If…if we might ever- if there's probability where there's a universe where we'd ever meet. I think I probably be in the military and you…” Markus held his chin with his pointer and thumb finger. “You'd be a colonist, the ship would land to refuel and during that, I'd get some much needed R&R. That's how we'd meet.” Markus' voice was even, plain. Cleo stared at him, her mouth flat in a neutral position. That answer was so him, lame and boring. Markus wasn't known to be touchy, so before he took her silence for something else, she let her smile grow.

“Cleo…” His golden eyes peered into her own. Cleo kept his gaze, and his mandibles flexed before he spoke. “I don't think you're a bad person.

Cleo felt her face flush as he spoke. “I-” Cleo swallowed. “You helped me a lot, Markus. To be a better person.”

[korea-medical-news]

"Complications After Orthognathic Surgery + Facial Contouring + Facial Liposuction: A Cautionary Case"

In the previous post, I mentioned a patient who underwent a major surgery that combined orthognathic surgery, facial contouring surgery, and facial liposuction. Many people have experienced serious problems or even died from this surgery, which should be performed by highly skilled and specialized doctors.

Orthognathic surgery is a cosmetic surgery performed when there are problems with the position or size of the maxilla (upper jaw) and mandible (lower jaw). The goal of this surgery is to improve facial proportions and balance and restore proper occlusion, thereby resolving functional issues. However, the woman who was harmed in this case did not have a problem with her occlusion. It is speculated that the surgery was performed to show dramatic effects or for the doctors at the hospital to gain experience. If only good results had been achieved, I wouldn't be writing this article. However, this patient faced the following issues:

1. Development of a "dog jaw" phenomenon

The "dog jaw" refers to a sagging of the skin below the jawline, and in many cases, additional surgery is needed to preserve the jawline after contouring surgery. In this case, a submental lift is deemed necessary.

2. Prominent fat below the jaw

The patient, who originally did not have a prominent chin fat, had noticeable chin fat after orthognathic and contouring surgery. This is because the area of the jawbone has decreased, but the area and volume of the original chin skin and fat remain the same.

3. Pain in the cheek area

There are various reasons for nerve pain after contouring surgery. Nerve damage during surgery, nerve compression due to swelling and inflammation, or changes in the location of the nervous system can cause discomfort or pain to persist. Usually, the pain is temporary, but this patient has been experiencing continuous pain for a year.

4. Collapse of the jawbone

As a result of the orthognathic surgery, the jaw has receded, and the end part of the jaw near the ear has moved too far inward, making the line itself not visible. The temporary solution proposed by the hospital is to hide the contour that should be bone with soft fat through fat grafting.

The solution proposed by the hospital is a jawline lift and fat grafting to the problematic jawline, but it was argued that the necessary submental fat grafting is not needed, and fat grafting to the jawline is not the ultimate solution, so it is advised not to proceed.

In conclusion, the patient's expectations, the doctor's capabilities, and professionalism play important roles in these surgeries. Minimizing potential problems after surgery and prioritizing the patient's health and safety are crucial, and it is essential to make the right decision through sufficient consultation with experts.

In the next post, I will discuss how to properly address these issues.

[a-drop-of-nightshade]

He tried, he tried so hard but his vision was tinged red and he was done playing nice when no one was going to treat him nice in the first place. It was no different before he had woken up on the sprawl, he was hurt and hated, belittled and isolated, he was hated, a mistake, something that wasn’t supposed to be and someone who was useless, unable to do anything. He had spent how whole life being a thing used for money, a thing used as a scapegoat, a toy for others satisfaction. He was done with that.

As he spoke his voice had shifted, it wasn’t human at all, deep, twisted and what most would call demonic. His skin rippled, Izzy and Alice would see, he was trying so hard to keep himself together, to keep himself whole and vaguely human. To keep himself sane, when he walked out he barely even knew what he was doing, his face split the necrotic blood ran down his face as he just let out a frustrated and angry roar, the birds in the forest took of panicked moment before he punched the tree. He was trying so hard to focus his anger and not loose control that he didn’t hear her gasp.

He had ripped the damned tree apart with his hands, tearing it into chunks ready to be used as foreword, trying to be productive with his anger. Because he wasn’t just a monster, he wasn’t just one of them, that was the point! He wasn’t and they hated him for it, they tried to rip him down, every blood moon they dragged him into the network just to mock and belittle him, they tried to break him down and gods did the brother moons to their best. But he refused, he couldn’t let himself become one he had fought and tore away and apart with all his might, trying to get back to his body, to cut the connection.

Izzy’s voice cut through his mind, a like a cold blue blade her voice cut through the burning red haze that had swallowed him and he turned, his mandibles twitched, spikes had ripped through his pats and he had been hacking the tree apart with them, he blinked a few times his eyes focusing as he became aware. He turned away for a moment hating when she saw him this way, he snarled slightly as he struggled and pulled himself back together the spikes receding back into his palms his face closing up it took a few moments for the wounds to close up.

He let out a shuddered breath, his head was pounding, “I… I fucked that up didn’t I?” He muttered tiredly, his voice back to normal, he looked down at the pile of shredded wood he just staggered over to the side of the house he slumped back and slid down to sit there, holding his head in one hand. Doubt, years of a lack of confidence, being bullied and hated, called a mistake and useless by the woman who gave birth to him just crushed his mind in that moment, “I really am fucking useless.” He muttered.

Necro L frowned confused, “Your father? I thought you said he died?” He asked Izzy, looking down at her puzzled, he didn’t understand that technology allowed the storing of minds and memories, allowing a upload into another, healthy body.

( @a-drop-of-nightshade )

"He did die. An he died horribly." She frowned pulling him down again so she could finish fixing his hair. "Apparently he got sent ta his backup body an kept in stasis by my asshole of a grandfather. He jus got free an found out I survived the Sprawl an shit. He wants ta meet the man who saved his daughta. There now ya look all handsome as sin an good enough ta eat."

[fischotterkunst]

im thinking way too much about Chocobos bc video game creature design is my jam and birds are my jam and also i just got finished writing a lecture so brain is in Lecture Mode, and i'm noticing something very peculiar about their design.

the first thing that got me is their feet. these examples are from FFVII and FFXIV, but the design is consistent as far as i'm aware throughout every iteration. they have foot structures unlike literally anything i'm aware of in the natural world:

this structure with two toes facing forward and one facing back seems unique to Chocobos, and i started thinking about what kind of lifestyle would cause them to evolve such an unusual arrangement.

here is a very excellent diagram of modern bird foot structure (source below image also links to highly informative twitter thread if anyone is interested in further reading):

(source)

following these real-world patterns, we can see that the primary purpose of the backwards-facing toe, the hallux, is grasping [prey] and perching. this is a very significant digit, and we can see clearly that Chocobos do possess one. however, in species adapted to a lifestyle on the ground, eg. flightless birds, a long hallux is a hazard as it could easily be broken or cause tripping if it gets snagged on the ground. therefore the group of birds most well-adapted to running rather than flying, the Struthioniformes, show different foot structures in which the hallux has receded altogether, as seen on the left. Ostriches are the only bird in the world with didactyly, having only two toes as seen on the right.

(source)(source)

the interesting thing about Struthioniformes is that they are typically herbivorous in addition to being flightless, further removing the need for the hallux. there are, of course, other modern birds adapted to running that do display anisodactyly, such as the Seriema, or zygodactyly, such as the Roadrunner. a major difference in Seriemas and Roadrunners as opposed to Struthioniformes other than the ability to fly is that these birds are carnivorous.

(do you see where i'm going with this yet?)

something else about Chocobos strikes me as odd, and that's their beaks. this is where, unlike their feet, their design does vary from game to game, but a particular feature from more modern iterations, such as the FFIIV remake and FFXI, stands out to me.

i'm talking about the shape of their beak, and also that little hook on the bottom of their upper mandible. that's called the Tomium, and we see it in several classes of modern birds as well as some other animals like turtles. its function is serration of either flesh or vegetation. you can see it on this Red-tailed Hawk (left) as well as this Lear's Macaw (right):

(source) (source)

as both source links do a fantastic job of explaining, the differences in the hawk's beak designed for tearing flesh and the parrot's bill for tearing fruit are most evident in the variations on their shape and their relation to their skulls - the short of it is that the shorter skull of the parrot and its more dramatic overbite allow greater prying leverage against the shells of fruit and nuts, whereas the length of the hawk's skull and beak lend to ripping and cutting.

it does appear, interestingly, that different iterations of the Chocobo's beak fall along different points of the scale between the hawk beak and the parrot bill, but it looks to me that generally the Chocobo has a more uniform mandible size and longer skull. while the tomium, as i mentioned, can be used for tearing grasses like those that Chocobos are typically fed in various games, the scissorlike shape of the Chocobo's beak looks as though it would lend itself much more readily to tearing meat.

thus my study can be boiled down to two major factors based on Chocobo's design vs. evolutionary design: 1) the hallux is necessary for grasping, and Chocobos possess a hallux, and since they are flightless and do not need to perch, it stands to reason that the hallux must be needed for holding onto prey; and 2) the presence of the tomium combined with the shape of the Chocobo's skull indicates a meat-based diet.

i think now is a good time to introduce the Phorusrhacids, more commonly known as "Terror Birds". thankfully for us, these carnivorous flightless birds are now extinct, but the largest of their species could be up to 10 feet tall and dined on the ancestors of modern horses and deer. to support this lifestyle, they evolved strong anisodactyl feet for grasping prey and a strong curved beak for tearing it into bite-sized chunks. here is a reconstructed skeleton of a Terror Bird species, specifically Titanis walleri:

(source)

and here is an artist's rendition according to modern scientific understanding of the closely related Paraphysornis brasiliensis:

(source)

THAT SURE LOOKS FAMILIAR, DOESNT IT??

in conclusion, i think Chocobos are carnivores and may be Final Fantasy's modern living relatives of Terror Birds. thank you for coming to my TED talk. if you read this whole thing, please know that i love you and you are welcome to message me your favorite color so i can draw a Chocobo just for you <3

[meggannn]

Tides, Receding: Chapter 6 Shepard/Garrus | 44k (wip) | teen

With the Hierarchy alliance secured, Garrus submits his request to leave the Normandy and rejoin Primarch Victus’s complement, shipping back to a Palaven set ablaze. Shepard, unraveling at the seams, must make a long-overdue decision.

Chapter 6

“Vakarian.” She gestured to the seat across from her. “We have some housekeeping items to discuss.”

“Do we?” Garrus asked cautiously, taking it. He broke the bones of whatever he was eating—it looked a bit like a black turkey leg—and waited obligingly.

Humor. He liked humor. Start with that. “As a new contractor onboard the Normandy, we should review the terms of your duties here.”

His mandibles flared. She interpreted that as something between amused and exasperated, but as usual with turians, the range of a single movement was often too wide to pinpoint with confidence.

“For one, your seniority begins tracking on your first day. Contract work does not take any prior service with Alliance military into account.”

“Since I’m not Alliance, I never qualified for time-in-grade promotions anyway.” Garrus passed the ball back, unimpressed, before stripping off a chunk of the meat. “But nice try.”

[nightmarefuele]

Ruffling her feathers. Rustling through the dead-leaf bank that seems as if to clutter her nimble tongue, and staunch whatever disruption sputters there, past her throat. Places where dermis pinkens and pulse quickens. The body is a lair, after all. This hesitating does not surprise him —

The shop is a receding bustle outside the pressure-folds of their alcove. Beyond the binds of his question. Eyes. They vivisect, relinquishing nothing. Beth belongs in a vial. Briefly, he wonders about the chemical signature that fear leaves behind in the wake of perspiration, and what might her closeness smell like, refined thusly?

— that she services him with an answer, does.

Glasses go to hair. (His eyes lift apace with this. 'Stalling tactics. Furtive movements.') His pen disappears between folded, slender, delicate hands. Listening.

It isn't entirely what he expects. Expect. As if he's wondered. Bath. There's a reflection of amusement across his face. Like a light that strides across a night-hour pond. Has he? (It's in his own breathing — expectation. Her 'too close,' living night come to ensconce his ventricles in cavity of awakened stillness.) Jonathan watches her hands. His eyes rest there like unlit embers, chafing the skin. Curling fingers — So diminutive. Saint-Saëns. His lips experience their own softness, pulling up on the stroke of her clarification: Jasmine. Jonathan carries his embers up to the sloping ridge across which her pulse carries her fretful nervous. There is a similar sort of pulsing in his jaw. No heat or passion. Uncomfortable. Furtive movements.

And sin. Jonathan Crane doesn't answer to sin.

' "Quiet, Jonny. Shush. You know what happens when you're bad. You did it anyway." '

Ah. Doesn't answer to sin, Jonathan thinks, does he?

' "I will not repeat myself to insolent little boys." '

Jonathan recalls the clatter of wooden bar over door. And then the crows come, to pluck out his soul.

The way he smiles is reflexive. Beth would find it is not to spite her, and in fact is joyless. He questions how she might be so skilled at tempting the subject matter back toward his parentage at every other turn. Which personal memory of your father stands out as the most formative? How would you describe your mother, using three words? He questions why she's so tenacious.

Father: Perhaps when he told me he was proud of me — after introducing himself. Perhaps when I nearly killed him.

Mother: Fickle. Deficient. Dead.

'What was the first . . .' is not the same question. Suppose it had been, and provided in its asking the manner through which he might refuse. Would that he had a better riposte above wordless, wintry staring.

Because Jonathan's eyes are dilated things. Not for lack of composure — he is rigid in his impassivity. He might be thinking backward in time; except that he does not need to. He might be questioning whether it was worth it: acquiescing to Beth Riley's proposal of partnership.

He inhales and scatters 'might be's' to the wind. A lack of that typical, procedural smoothness about his diaphragm; a tautness between lips, as he wets them. "About as pleasant," he says, finally, and pauses, just so, to ensure his meaning goes unmissed, "an experience as yours. I —"

Fuck. Shut your mouth. It's more physical demand than instinct. There's an uncanny sort of dissonance, which occurs when the body is locked away from the mind: Trauma, or a related memory, or even a sound can produce that high. As pure and enduring a source as any drug — more so. A psychopharmacologist's dream. He feels the pallor as it seeps through his face, his fingers. He feels the cold in his fingers and the sting of corvids' mandibles, and the vile violence of old hands, clutching where they should not be.

Clinically. Everything that comes is so, very clinical, locked behind the frozen slates that regard Beth. His jawline is too tight. Tendons along his neck, too pronounced. He wore a dress shirt, no jacket. He's undressed.

Parasympathetic response. Acetylcholine. He pictures the flood from release to blood vessels. He pictures just how much it must take. He knows his thoughts are distorted, but he doesn't need to think to know it's been over a decade, since last he felt so much. More gold in her irises than I thought there was. Between the honey, and green.

His tongue clicks. But the sound is . . . soft.

"I. Understand."

Furtive movements, now, are locked away under rigidity. He speaks very prudently, but with indubitable exactness. He does not retract his gaze.

"The sensation of . . . violation, that permeates your own body." (Waiting. Breathing.) "You. 'Sin.' Where did that start?"

The sound is soft.

@nightmarefuele may have had a certain Corvid-Boy ask how often does she self-pleasure....for science, of course.

To Add a Little Spice || -

In an instant Beth comes to several different conclusions after he crisply bites out each word of the question. The first is that she is grateful they occupy space in a coffee shop that lies in a triangle between his place, her place, and the university library where they'd begun this latest assignment. An exercise in verbal intimacy and navigating emotional openness in a clinical setting. Becoming familiar and empathetic toward one's patients. The second is that despite being at this for over two hours, the permafrost in his gaze remains. A shiver runs down her spine. One that tasks her will not to allow be visible, though maybe if she weren't wearing her knee-length cardigan, he'd see the rush of chicken-skin it provokes. Third is that this is the first time in weeks she's seen a touch of amusement curve his lips. By no means a full smile, there's a grim sort of tilt to his mouth. Something she'd more likely call smug than welcoming. Beth considers refusing him an answer. There are hundreds of other questions on the list that they'd been given. It would only be fair as Jonathan at various intervals refused certain ones; anything about his family. Anything regarding his childhood in general. Not that she blames him, her first refusal came over the question about the relationship she has with her parents. Sea is her mother. The earth is her tutu. He would likely never understand what she means by that and it skirts too close to a truth that can not ~must not~ be spoken aloud. Not that he'd believe her if she told him. He's too much a creature of logic and reason. Even if she were to flay him down to the bone, down to the soul, Beth would be hard-pressed to find any wonder at all in him. Jonathan isn't an old man for banality to have him so tightly in its claws. She picks through the ways she could answer him. How truthful she's willing to be. She can't quite shake the feeling that she's going to both bore him but also make him question how many of the rumours are true. Will he ask about her brother, then? Make a lot of the same assumptions? If she were anyone else, would she do the same? Will he think she's frigid? Disdainful of anyone she deems beneath her and not in the way meant in later questions? Will he think she's lying? Their notes aren't due for review until next week. Maybe she could suggest reconvening? No, that would be a victory for him. Knowing he got the better of her. Beth sighs. Leans forward and picks her chai off the table and takes a sip. She looks at Jonathan's hands ~elegant, aren't they? expressive~ at his notes, at everything but his eyes, vivid behind his glasses. She takes hers off and perches them in her hair. She can almost hear him purr the words 'staling tactics and furtive movements'. "I…uh….I tried it once. Alone one night, anxious an' maybe a small kine irritable. Night was too hot, too close. Almost felt…alive. I'd try yoga, a bath…." She enunciates the word pitifully so there is no misconstruing her meeting. Her hands end up folding in her lap, knuckles fitted together, fingers upward and curled before lacing together. Her pulse ticks at her throat. Her breath is shallow, uneven. "Swimmin' in da indoor pool. Reading. All da usual sort of t'ings, right? An' jus….put on some music. Saint-Saëns ~ Le Cygne, f'ya curious. Poured myself some wine, lit some pikake flower candles. Uh…jasmine. Dat's what pikake means. I pick up my phone, look at some videos jus' so I had an idea. But….but it no work f' me, you know? No reaction suppose t' have. No heat or passion, no…you know. If anyt'ing it was awkward. Uncomfortable." Her voice lowers to just a bare movement of her lips. "Guilty. Sinful." She swallows and shrugs, now not looking at anything but her hands, almost accusatory. "Don' see a point in it. Don' really see one to any of dat." Now he knows. Now he can dissect her, make fun of the fact that she's … "Wha' ya firs' memory of bein' sexually 'roused?"

[archersartcorner]

Oh GOD another character focused comic. My brain moves at 1847297329 MPH but my dreadful hands draw so slow…

I had more to this but I wasn’t feeling the direction so I’m just gonna leave it at this. TLDR, Val is struggling with a broken heart and is confused and somewhat angered as to why Ingo isn’t. But I suck at conclusions so here we are LMAO

IDs below cut!

[ID: A digital, non-colored, sketchy comic spread across 5 images.

3 characters are featured. The main character is Valerio, who has jaw-length, wavy black hair, parted in the middle by a widows peak; a triangular face, rounded at the edges to highlight his youthfulness; a thin, hooked nose; and two healed facial scars, one above his right eye, one on his left jawline. He has a thin and lean frame, with slight musculature, and a large scar on his left hip. He’s only wearing briefs, having been trying to get to sleep. The other two characters are Ingo and Emmet, twins with only some slight differences. Both of them have more oval-shaped heads, wrinkled around the eyes, mouth, and brow to show age; thin, long noses that are slightly upturned; strongly receding hairlines, although not completely bald, hair short and slightly fluffy; and sideburns that look almost like an insects’ mandibles, cus that’s how my brain wants to describe them. Ingo appears to be slightly more muscular than Emmet, who’s more on the thinner side, and Ingo’s mouth tends to be depicted like an upwards triangle, a constant frown, while Emmet’s mouth tends to be depicted like a downwards triangle, a constant smile. It’s implied both of them sleep near-nude as well, and are shirtless throughout the comic.

The first image contains three panels, one on the left and two to the right of it, one on top of the other. The first panel shows Ingo and Emmet in bed, Emmet resting on Ingo’s chest, while Ingo looks off panel at a ringing noise heard to his right. The second panel shows the source of the ringing, Ingo’s phone, being held up by Ingo off panel. The incoming call is from Valerio. The third panel is Ingo and Emmet again, but Ingo’s answered the call, a tired and confused look on his face. Emmet scrunches up his face in annoyance. Ingo says, “Valerio? Sorry, it’s late over here, but are you okay?” In small text, Emmet whispers, “Why the fuck is he calling?” Ingo whispers back, “Emmie, hush.”

The second image contains four panels in a 2-2 format, top to bottom. The first panel is Ingo and Emmet again. Emmet is smiling, but in an irritated and annoyed way, and Ingo appears less confused and more worried. From the phone, Valerio asks, “… Do you… feel real, Ingo?” Ingo replies, “… What?” In small text again, Emmet mutters, “Does he have to do this shit right now.” Ingo mutters back, “Emmet. Hush.” The second panel shows Ingo worriedly getting out of bed, looking back at Emmet who’s sitting up, still appearing annoyed. Ingo says to Emmet, “Just give me a second, Em.” Emmet replies, “Fine. Fuck off.” Ingo says, “Emmie…” and Emmet replies, “Just go and help the fucking kid out, Arceus fuck.” Ingo replies, “Alright, alright…” The third panel shows a cup of coffee with Ingo’s hand laying over it, leading into the fourth panel where Ingo is speaking with Val over the phone, coffee in his other hand. Ingo says, stretching between both panels, “Talk to me, Valerio. What doesn’t feel real? Is it just being back home? Do you maybe feel a little… out of place, being away so long?” Valerio responds, “… didn’t you?”

The third image contains only two panels, side by side, mostly dialogue heavy. The first panel contains Ingo, calmly talking into the phone. His dialogue stretches into the second panel, finally showing Valerio, who’s crying heavily, laid on his side in bed, phone next to him. Ingo says, “Not particularly, actually. I know, I’ve been there for a decade, but… I saw Emmie, and it all came back to me. I realized what I missed, who I missed. I still have my memories of Hisui. The people there will always be in my heart, the time I spent with them will always be important to me. But I’m glad to be home now, Valerio. This is our home.”

The fourth image contains four panels, 2 on top and 2 on bottom. The first panel shows Ingo, still speaking into the phone. There’s not really a whole lot of dynamic movement here lol, sorry. Ingo says, “… Why do you think you feel so differently, Valerio?” Val responds, “Fuck if I know. I just feel so… hollow. Wrong, here…” The second panel shows Valerio, who moved to lay on his back, staring away from the phone, his left hand grabbing at the bed blanket. Ingo asks, “… Do you miss anybody, Valerio? … You miss Volo, don’t you?” Val responds, “I… goddamnit.” The third panel shows Val sitting up, dangling his feet off the edge of the bed. He’s holding his phone now in his right hand. Val says, “… I went to Hisui the other day - “Sinnoh,” I mean…” Ingo asks, “How was it?” Val continues, “… I went to Volo’s grave.” The fourth panel closes up on Valerio’s face, panicked, confused. Sad. Val continues, “It… it didn’t - I was JUST talking to him, just a few weeks ago, I… fuck, it’s like there’s the rational part of my brain, that reminds me that was all 200 years ago, but… It - it can’t be, he can’t be dead… he was just here…”

The fifth image contains 4 panels, two on top and two on bottom again. The first panel shows Valerio, quieted from his previous panic, replaced by an overwhelming sadness. He holds his face in his left hand, phone in the other. Val finishes, “… I do miss him. A lot…” Ingo replies, “Oh Valerio… I’m sorry. I visited the burial sites for the clans some time ago as well. It was cathartic, for me, at least… but it sounds like it was too soon for you.” The second panel shows Ingo, still talking through the phone. Valerio says, “Fuckin’ seems like it, huh?” Ingo replies, “Valerio… do you have someone to talk to about this?” The third panel shifts back to Valerio again, still sad, but now confusion shows in his expression. Val responds, “… I’m talking to you.” Ingo says, “Valerio, I can’t help you with this. I’m sorry, I don’t have the means-” Val interrupts, “So what, some shrink would? Ingo, please, you’re literally the only one on earth who understands…” The fourth panel shifts back to Ingo, who says, “Valerio, I get the weird space-time bullshit, I do. You’re dealing with a broken heart, son. You’re dealing with grief. Maybe a therapist wouldn’t totally understand, but they know how to help with grief. Just… consider it, please, Valerio. A therapist, or your mother, your cousin, anyone.”

It ends there. The comic was purposefully left incomplete.

END ID.]

[beautiless]

i have one of the most considered “ugly” can someone have which is receded chin and the fact it’s considered deformity makes me want to unlive myself

im struggle so hard to let go of wanting to be beautiful but i cant when i have this thing it’s driving insane

do you have tips or anything to say i would really really need it rn 💕

oh i'm so sorry you're feeling like that :( i really get it, i obsess over my supposed flaws like crazy too... sometimes i'll literally be sitting by myself doing whatever and suddenly i start spiralling into that kind of thought, that i must somehow fix myself right now bc how dare i exist in an "ugly" state

do you watch a lot of tiktok? bc i swear never did i give a second thought to chin shapes before i started seeing shit about it there, these stupid body trends are really out of control. i think as long as your mandible placement isn't causing you health issues (in which case you can get braces if i'm not wrong?), it's just a characteristic like any other: pointy noses, wide foreheads, etc. just because people are calling it a "deformity" doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it. i know it must be hard to hear them refer to it that way though :(

this may be TMI but one of my biggest insecurities is my labia shape, which isn't helped AT ALL by plastic surgeons calling visible labia minora "hypertrophied", as if it was a horrible disfigurement. but it's not. it's funny how we can obsess over random, specific body parts, isn't it?

i'm sorry if i'm just rambling, but something that does help me sometimes is thinking about the infinite inscurities different people have: just as i never think about people's chins, some people find it insane to worry about labia shape. i know people who are insecure of their hands or even their nails, and i know for a fact i personally would never think of judging theirs... so in the end, everything is just a characteristic. a neutral state.

i know face insecurities may be harder to overcome this way, because your face is usually much more tied to your identity, so here's a last thought: i have a cat with very weird, asymmetrical markings on her face. i don't think much about it but sometimes i see her reflection on the mirror and it really stands out when flipped. she's also the loveliest creature in the entire world :) her little face, unique as it is, is very dear to me. and i hope people who love me will see my unique face the same way.

[introvert-celeste]

TOH Spoilers

I have so much I want to say about Knock, Knock, Knockin' on Hooty's Door (which is a damn mouthful), but the first thing I'd like to discuss is the flashback/dream with Eda's dad.

First of all, here's some random thoughts I have about this scene:

So, Dell Clawthorne. I wonder if "Dell" is short for anything; seeing as the rest of his family has their own nicknames ("Gwen" for Gwendolyn, "Lily" for Lilith, and "Eda" for Edalyn), it's definitely possible. I also have to wonder what he's going out to do, since they mention that he's traveling to the mandible for awhile, which is another name for the jawbone. In other words, he's traveling to the base of the Titan's skull, which seems like a very important location in the isles. Just something that might be noteworthy in the future.

It was absolutely heartbreaking how Eda ran up and hugged him, saying "it's so good to see you again." I get the impression that, while she's had to deal with her mother every year for the past 3 decades, she hasn't seen her father in all this time. She blames the owl beast as the reason why she "never got close to anyone" but that isn't exactly true.

She completely loses control and claws his eye, just like that, and all it took was one little firework to trigger it. She never got close to anyone because she didn't want to hurt the people she cared about, because she saw the owl beast as something to be ashamed of, to fear. It's no wonder her relationship with Raine didn't work out; she would rather hide the severity of her curse and pretend that everything is fine rather than rope them into this mess.

This scene also makes the flashback from Keeping Up A-Fear-Ances all the more painful, and pretty much explains Gwen's desire to get rid of the curse by any means necessary. While it still isn't okay and Eda was completely entitled to feel upset, Gwen is also justifiably upset, especially if this event took place immediately after the attack. The safety of her family is at stake, after all. She doesn't want Eda to suffer, as transforming into the owl beast is obviously very painful and distressing, but she also doesn't want her to hurt anyone else. What happened to Dell was bad enough.

It's already obvious that she wouldn't blame Eda for this incident at all, but I like how you see Gwen run to Dell's side, look at Eda, and as the flashback recedes, Eda says "it wasn't your fault" in her mother's cadence. Maybe that wasn't intentional, but I just like how those elements mesh together, and I would hope that Gwen would immediately try to comfort Eda even as she's tending to her husband.

All in all, I'm seriously looking forward to seeing all the Clawthornes together again and I can't wait to properly meet Dell.