#oil sacs

[backtodecember-taylorsversion]

ooh my photography skills is amazing. Look at these.

[olyoil]

[assigned-boyking-at-birth]

Nobody gets it…it’s not the same thing, but it is the exact same thing

[iguanodont]

Emerges from my cave to announce I have created a new sophont

Tentatively calling swimslugs for now, as their designs mostly draw from mollusc anatomy. These small, colorful creatures dwell on a high gravity world dominated by shallow golden seas. Electrical engineering came early in their history, inspired by the ability of some of their native animals to generate electrical currents… and their own natural electroreception. The last few centuries have been peaceful and prosperous; their myriad cultures emphasize an exchange of art, culture, and friendly competition to sport the tackiest color schemes imaginable. Due to the high gravity of their world and their own physical limitations as aquatic creatures, swimslugs have a very limited history of aviation and have been generally uninterested in space travel, despite having been digital penpals with another group of sophonts for generations now…

On their biology:

Swimslug life relies on symbioses with two different organisms: a worm and a sessile “tunicate”. The worm (also simply referred to as an ‘arm’) is functionally a parasite; biting into the flank under the gills of its host early in life and fusing with its nervous and circulatory systems. This union allows the swimslug to develop fine motor control over the untethered end of the worm by adolescence. Most swimslugs only host a single arm; two or more become difficult for most individuals to acclimate to and can lead to health issues. Many genetic and cybernetic variations of the arm are available in the current era. The ‘tunicate’ (I will refer to as the Vase) is essential to swimslug reproduction; all parents spawn into the Vase to ensure a safe shelter and a steady current of oxygenated water for the developing offspring. The average swimslug has at least two fathers; the hybridization of multiple sets of gametes is essential to the proper development of their species. Family groups often consist of the egg layer, her family Vase (these can last for generations), and a 3 or 4 mates, though the particulars vary enormously by culture. Their eggs have a relatively low hatch rate; unviable eggs are consumed by surviving larvae shortly after hatching. The Vases themselves periodically produce free swimming larvae that are affectionately kept around dwellings as pets.

Swimslugs communicate by grinding and clacking modified stomach-teeth, as well as percussing on the adjacent ‘oil-sac’ organ that also serves to regulate buoyancy and store energy. They come in a dazzling variety of colors owing to both their complex hybridizations and genetic engineering. Cosmetic nanobots applied to their slime coats enhance their appearance by functioning as artificial chromatophores.

And that’s the gist of em! Many thanks to @nknatteringly for all the idea pitching and bouncing in their early development, wouldn’t have felt half as inspired without ya. Not sure how much further I’ll develop these guys, they exist mostly as a fun diversion to contrast the gritty, low-tech world of the birgs and a love letter to all the sparkly stuff I liked as a kid.

If you’d like to support my art, you check out these links here

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

candy girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you're about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend's dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

You steer onto the cul-de-sac, the savoury smell of teryaki and honey garlic cloying at your stomach. A loud growl erupts from inside you as you come in sight of your destination. The suburban beacon stands two-storeys above ground and its white washed window frames seem to watch your approach with wide eyes. The home, even if it’s not your own, is welcoming. 

You pull in beside the white picket fence and park right behind the large slate grey BMW. It’s both gargantuan and sparkling compared to your beat up Fiat. Your steed isn’t a noble one but it gets the job done. Literally. 

The summer night hums with the call of the crickets and the drone of pool filters from the sprawling HOA-mandated yards. You get out and open the back seat, pulling out the stacked boxes that radiate with the mouth-watering aromas. You even managed to get Karl to give you a free tray of garlic knots before you clocked out. 

As you balance the wide load, teetering slightly at the awkwardness, you use your hip to shut the car door. You eye the vehicle in front of yours. You didn’t think he’d be there, at least that’s what Magni said. You suppose you can’t complain, it isn’t your house. 

A figure sits on the porch, as if waiting for you. At first, you think it’s your boyfriend but the build is slightly too broad to be him. The sheen of the light beside the front door also reveals a head of silvering blonde waves and not Magni’s shanky red hair. His father sits with his phone cradled over his lap, a metallic noise sounding from the speakers. 

You come up the front walk between the floating orbs cast by the solar lanterns implanted in the earth. Your soles scuff as you near the steps and Mr. Odinson lowers his phone as he looks up. You put on a smile though you don’t think he’ll see it. 

“It’s just me,” you announce as you hit the step with your toe and stumble. “Oof!” 

He’s quick to stand and rush over but you steady yourself and clammer up the steps in a graceful recovery. You giggle at yourself and even out the boxes to keep the pizza from getting to messed up. He stops nearby, looming over you as he blocks out the porch light. 

“Y’okay, little one?” He asks in his way. 

You laugh again, “all good! Clumsy old me.” 

“Mm,” he hums and gives an emphatic sniff, “I suppose you didn’t bring all that for me.” 

“There’s more than enough to go around,” you assure him. 

“Ah, well in that case, my son is in the garage,” he points, “I will gladly make sure the food gets to the kitchen unscathed.” 

You tilt your head at him and scoff, “don’t worry, I didn’t count the chicken wings or anything.” 

He chuckles and takes the boxes from you, “allow me,” he insists, “far too much for you to be carrying all this around.” 

“It’s my job, Mr. Odinson,” you shrug, “anyway, I’ll go find, Mag.” 

“Tell him to put his things away before he comes in,” he warns and backs up, easily carrying the full load of food in one hand, turning to pull the screen door open with his other. 

You hop back down the porch and along the walk, coming back down the driveway to the garage. You knock on the wide door as you hear raging metal music crashing from within. You like some of it, but a few songs just make your head hurt. 

The door reacts as the motor above whirs and reels it up. You bend to peek under and wave at Magni. He sits on a low rolling stool, his hands darkened with oil, and his motorbike half torn apart. Again. 

“Wow, what’s all this?” You ask as you dip under the door. 

“Eh, stupid thing got a rock in it, then I was thinking about modifying it... got a bit carried away.” 

He grabs a rag from his pocket as he stands and wipes his fingers. He’s about as tall as his father, though he’s lanky where the elder Odinson is bullish. You suppose he might fill out with age, not that you’re complaining. You have more than enough cushion for both of you. 

“Your dad took the pizza,” you say. 

“Ah, yeah, he was supposed to be out of town,” he grumbles. “Been lecturing half the night about this thing.”  

He gestures to the bike as he nears and bends to kiss you. You tilt your head up to meet him and get a bit more tongue than you expect. He grabs your ass as he pulls you against him and you gasp, pushing on his stomach. 

“You’re getting grease on my pants,” you part and tut at him. It’s only your uniform but you have two pair of work pants and one them is ripped. 

“Blends right in,” he gives you another tap. 

“Ugh, I was gonna do laundry on the weekend.” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs and continues to twist his finger into the dirty rag. “Too bad dad stayed,” he grumbles, “if he wasn’t here...” 

Heat razes your neck and you sway in place, digging your toe into the ground as you look away. You know what he was expecting and you tried to tell him you weren’t sure yet but he just doesn’t get it. You’re almost grateful you don’t have to repeat yourself. As much as you like him, it’s just too much too soon. 

“Mm, yeah,” you come forward and gather up the loose wrenches and bolts, putting them into the open box, “shouldn’t leave this all a mess.” 

“Eh, I’ll just be working on it again tomorrow,” he sniffs. 

You ignore his protest and continue to clean up after him. If you mention his dad, you don’t think it will motivate him. They can be volatile at times. Stubborn to say the least. It surprises you to see the discord between them. With a life like this, how could anyone be unhappy?  

You close up the tool box and roll it against the wall. Magni hits the button for the door and it rolls back down. You follow him to the interior door and climb the steps up into the main house. You leave your shoes on the mat as he keeps his on. 

Mr. Odinson pulls out plates as you enter the kitchen. He huffs as Magni tramps through and goes to the sink, flipping it on with two fingers and leaving grease on the silver. 

“Shoes on?” His father grumbles. 

“Forgot,” Magni utters. 

“Mm, wipe the faucet off when you’re done. You’re getting oil all over.” 

“Yeah, dad, I’ll do it,” Magni sneers. 

You gulp awkwardly as Mr. Odinson offers you a plate. 

“Gotta wash up too,” you wiggle your fingers at him, showing the dirt from the tools. 

“Ah, more work after work, I see,” he muses dryly. 

You smile and shrug and go to the sink as Magni shuts it off. You turn it back on and take your time lathering up your hands. You rinse off and make sure to wipe the smear on the silver too. As you turn around, Magni is loading up his plate with food. 

You wait patiently by Mr. Odinson as he hands you a plate. 

“Geez, save some for the rest of us, kid,” he chortles. 

“There’s lots,” Magni dismisses flippantly and walks away. 

“Eat at the table,” his dad calls after him. 

Mr. Odinson lets you go first. He makes you feel tiny as he patiently awaits his turn. You take more knots than you should but only a single slice of triple cheese. 

“I see you go the cinnamon bites...” he intones, “did you remember they’re my favourite?” 

“Oh, mine too!” You chime, “I didn’t but I’ll try to next time.” 

“Next time,” he echoes, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

You ignore the cryptic comment and grab a dipping sauce, “enjoy, Mr. Odinson.” 

“Mm, looks delicious,” he winks and his eyes linger on you before they drift over to the boxes. “Mmm, I prefer thighs but these wings smell amazing.” 

You turn and give the wall a strange look. He’s a funny guy, sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. You head off to join Magni in the dining room. He bends over his phone and quickly swipes with his pinky, bringing up his wallpaper. 

“I’m starving,” you sit down, “work was so hectic.” 

He growls into a chicken wing as he eats ravenously. You feel a similar hunger but you don’t want to be rude. It’s funny, growing up in a place like this, and he can be so... sloppy.  

Mr. Odinson walks in and drops a stack of napkins at the center of the table, “don’t stain the tablecloth.” 

You take a few and Magni just continues his feast. His dad sits with a cringe and shakes his head. He takes a garlic knot between two fingers, the morsel seeming so small, and bites into it delicately. He hums and you can’t help but share the sentiment, while you restrain yourself from mimicking his son as your stomach roars again. 

[needle-noggins]

The Biology and Riding of Thoma

Thoma, also known as Thomases (singular: Thomas), are the primary animal used on No Man's Land for transportation, meat, eggs, feathers and oil. The meat can be eaten fresh or dried into jerky, and thoma meat, fried in thoma oil and sprinkled with worm dust, is a popular street food. These massive birds were genetically engineered early on in No Man's Land history and are well-suited for the desert, making them easy to raise and care for. Plus, they're easy to ride.

Biology

Thoma are a combination of several bird species, genetically similar to Emu and Ostriches, but with the stature of much larger birds such as the extinct Terror birds (Phorusrhacids), standing near 5-6 feet tall at the withers. Their bright blue plumage and loosely-packed feathers helps dissipate heat. They have long eyelashes to keep out dust, and they have a second eyelid that protect the cornea from grit and bright UV light. This does, however, decrease visibility, making them more prone to tripping over rocks.

Thoma have a long, feathery neck that helps balance them at faster speeds along with the heavy, muscled keel. The keel is engineered to be similar to that of a broiler chicken, as their vestigial wings are useless except for thoma mating displays. Under the throat is a vocal sac, which can be used to transmit low rumbles over long distances. Most thoma, however, prefer to chirp at a frequency easily heard by their human caretakers and riders. They have long, powerful legs, capable of galloping up to 40 iles an hour, and a kick that can disembowel an attacker or rip into a worm's exoskeleton. The three talons on their feet need to be trimmed by an experienced farrier every 4-8 weeks, depending on a bird's mileage.

Thoma eat a diet of seeds, grains, worms, and (when available) fruits and vegetables. Like many birds before them, they will sometimes ingest small rocks and pebbles to help grind their food in the gizzard. The thin, short beak is perfect for pecking at the ground, and when provoked, they will also peck at an enemy. Thoma are, however, generally good-natured creatures, as they have been bred to be.

Riding

Thoma are easy-going and very trainable with a nice floating gait, making them great mounts for humans on No Man's Land. Like many birds, they can move their legs independently from the movement of the spine, which allows the use of saddles. Most saddles are similar to old Western saddles, and are optimized for comfort and long journeys. However, in the bigger cities, some people may ride Thoma in competitions, typically using more English-style tack for greater control of the bird. typically two straps are used to secure the saddle - a breastplate to keep it from sliding back, and a girth/breeching to prevent it from sliding forward. The strong legs are left free to move as needed, giving the bird great flexibility.

The tack on the head often consists of a bridle, a canvas covering on the neck, and a headpiece with blinders. Headpieces and bridles may vary, as the design has been through several different iterations, but the general idea is to generate gentle pressure on the beak when the reins are pulled and to protect the eyes. The headpiece often has blinders and a screen over the eyes, allowing the bird to travel without using the second eyelid. This allows the thomas to move with greater agility, picking its way around desert rocks even at high speeds. The canvas across the neck protects the feathers from the reins and keeps the bird cool. Some headpieces also include a protective metal beak piece that can be used as a weapon.

Thoma make excellent mounts as they are docile, easy to train, have very few natural predators, little fear of humans, and can live on worms alone in a pinch. They do require some water, not having ability to store much themselves, but their ability to dissipate heat and the ways in which the tack can help keep them cool minimizes the need. There are a few wild herds, but most thoma live on ranches or in stables, marked with a leg band or brand.

[aeriona]

How Inkfish Change their Ink Colour

Here's an extremely long, (poorly) illustrated speculatory post about how ink and inksports could THEORETICALLY work in Splatoon! yippee!

Ink is a mucous that Inklings, Octolings and Cuttlings produce with their ink sac, where it can be expelled through the mouth and siphon (and through the skin via the ink vessels, but don't worry about that just yet). You can take a look at my diagram of the ink vessels here.

Spitting up or sweating ink is a common stress response in ink-bearing cephalopods, it also serves as an extremely rude gesture if you happen to aim it at someone else's face.

Inkfish actually can't change ink colour on their own, so instead they have to rely on artificial means to brighten and saturate the colour into something more easily recognisable.

The history behind inksports is extensive. In ancient times, inkfish would use naturally occurring dyes (such as clay, plants etc.) to change their ink colour, often to denote a particular social group. In modern times, colours are artificially synthesised and treated to have a minimal impact on the inkfish's body as possible, as believe it or not constantly eating red clay wasn't exactly good for you.

The colour of an Inkling or Octoling's skin is determined by chromatophores, which can be basically any colour or shade they choose. The chromatophores function completely independently from the ink sac, so it's possible to have differing skin and ink colours (although you'd probably confuse your teammates a fair bit).

This is fine and cool and all, but how do inkfish prevent different team colours from just blending all together in a match? WELL! While turfing capsules also change ink colour, they can also alter the chemical qualities of the ink itself by introducing something called polarity!

There are two kinds of turfing ink- polar and nonpolar. In easy terms (I am not a chemist), it's what allows two different colours of ink to sit on top of each other in separate layers instead of diluting together like paint. Before a match starts, each turfing team is given dye capsules in their respective team colour, with each team having opposing polarities to prevent inks from mixing together during the game.

Before technology got involved, people would simply use oil and water to prevent one ink colour from mixing with another's. Nowadays, oil and fat derivatives are commonplace as it's less likely to cause health problems as the body slowly processes it out.

Splatting works when enemy ink reacts with the outermost ink vessels in an opposing team member's skin, forcing the victim to contract their ink sac and spit up all their ink (usually in the form of a super-jump back to spawn, though in the moment it's not uncommon to overshoot it). It's also possible to splat someone with blunt force trauma, but we tend to call that assault. Splatting is usually not dangerous, but it's still not a terribly pleasant experience and is somewhat painful, akin to a nasty static shock.

This splatting reaction is also why water is used in turf stages as a restrictive barrier, as water causes the same splatting reaction in the body as enemy ink does (at least until the dye wears off).

Okay that's all I got, I'm not gonna go into ink weapon mechanics because I'm tired... perhaps another day haha. Hopefully that all made sense and I apologise deeply if it didn't. Feel free to shoot me an ask if something needs to be cleared up or explained in further detail haha

[precious-little-scoundrel]

🍸 Harry Crosby headcanons

18+ -helluva lot of nsfw under the cut but interspersed with a lotta fluff and domesticity…to me that’s the appeal of this man, cannot be separated one from the other: the unassuming sweater wearing vet at the block party is also a man of hidden depths.

Long promised and woefully incomplete, the word count was getting out of hand so I’m tossing it out, there’s more where this came from. Not edited so, apologies

Entirely co-written by myself and my comrogue @crazymadpassionatelove , enhanced and bedazzled by chats with @ab4eva including special additions from other guests who commented under my announcement post, credit is given at each specific point for their contributions

|screencap cred grabbed from: @hawkinsfuller

First off let me say it’s been ages since I read A Wing and A Prayer. I remember loving it, loving him and I cannot stress how much I respect and admire the real Harry Crosby and his Jean, the Missus of our dreams.

This is purely for fun, a heavy mix of both Boyle’s portrayal and a tad of Crosby’s real life vibes as taken from his accounts by me. Sometimes you gotta take historical figures’ virtues in one area -say navigation and math- and translate it to the more suggestive aspects of life -say, how to find a clitori- *gunshot*

Because this man’s biography is the most oral-leaning, drink-your-respect-women-juice book ever. Ok, almost ever. For a wwii book at least. Uhem so -I am prejudiced, sue me.

See, sometimes it’s the quiet, stressed ones with a self consuming desire to please who have the cozy sweaters and the attentive appreciation for your interests and the stubby fat schlongs and the propensity to keep you in suburban comfort all your days

The compulsive drive to call you “button” and be on time for church and thank you for your scrambled eggs each morning with eager kitchen countertop oral before waking you children up with annoyingly soft catchphrases they’ll recite fondly at his funeral: “rise and shine” etc

Also back to the perfectly respectable schlong for just a moment -This is a Thing! Justice for the perfectly adequate plug stoppers, not everyone needs a rolling pin, who can resist giving head when the head is the same gorgeous color as his lips?!

Mr Crosby is skipping off to lecture college kids about literature post-war with a pep in his step that you put there without fail, you can’t help it, it’s as essential as the matching “his and hers” coffee mugs you bought during your honeymoon

Cookies slightly burned cuz you’re busy as bunnies in the bathroom while the kids ride bikes in the cul-de-sac is a Crosby staple

This is a man who as husband keeps you well supplied with mixers and microwaves and cute little nighties and also loves your brain -SCORE.

Loves to gift you with bath oil and fun stuff to smell good. He's into lavender. It benefits him in the end, loves to sit on the edge of the tub and just talk with you for ages

Croz’s go-to distresser is to have Jean sit on his face until his vision spots

She knows as soon as he walks in the door. Fixes him a Shirley Temple, takes him by the hand to the bedroom and …..boom.

De—stressed

As for the ptsd nightmares? He just barely starts to thrash in his sleep and Jean is rolling that man over and taking matters into her own hands

You’re Jean now, you do realize that don’t you? It was never ever going to be anyone but Jean

This man leaves love letters on your pillow, in your apron pocket, in the dash of your car anywhere at all that you’re likely to be. All of this even though he’s gonna be home by six that evening.

Also, hear me out: lots of evenings he just lays down next to you for ages, facing each other on your sides, absentmindedly mapping your body with his calloused palms and fingering you for ages while talking about Persuasion.

Actually gives a shit about your opinions too, and not in the way of wanting to argue them. When you make a good point his eyes get even droopier and he grabs your neck and…

“You're one smart cookie Mrs Crosby”

“My clever, wise, beloved…”

Honestly though, deep connections and the ability to go vulnerable, and if those moments are often concluded with little laughs to shake off the moment -it doesn’t diminish it

Can actually talk about dying to you, not in a morbidly preoccupied way, but he can face it and admit it and be vulnerable enough to acknowledge the likelihood

Then get on with what needs doing

He appreciates how well you grow to know him, and he in turn makes a lifelong study of you

Also, this man is so highly attuned to your well being.

Yes you have to put up with his stress but for you? He will man-up repeatedly and without thought. He doesn’t even think twice about just up and leaving whatever situation is tiring you. did you see him hop up to get the fuck outta that bar fight? Yeah so, you’re bored? Tired? Stressed? It’s not even machismo it’s just a homebody not giving a fuck with the subtext of “my wife and I would like to go home and read and cockwarm”

Often gives the shiftiest excuses to army buddies and coworkers just to go home and hang with you, swears he has to repair that squirrel feeder -or that an alligator is in his swimming pool, “sorry guys maybe drinks next week”

Don’t tell the guys but…HE PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS

Maybe some of your high school friends snickered about Harry Crosby way back when. Making googly eyes at you and barely getting out the most stammered greetings? Bookish and a little clumsy at times?

Ha, you won in the end

He comes home in one piece, that beautiful schlong still intact

you prayed for that ok?

“Lord keep my husband safe -- and his girthy manhood in tact as well” …for the babies you’re hoping for of course...just that… kneeling in silk pajamas each night, adding this addendum with a blush but was always faithful to keep it in your prayers

Sometimes you have that thought in church as well...so you has to take a couple deep breaths and calm yourself...it's because you want children...not because you’re already so sprung off this man's dick after only a couple weeks of married life.

weeks that feels like a lifetime ago now, by the way

Prim and lovely Jean Crosby staring off into stained glass worlds thinking of having her tight little hole tugged open and her guts rearranged, it’s even worse than her thoughts prior to the wedding, because she’s had the experience, then suddenly it was ripped away

And she’s empty and scared to death for him

She gets asked to sing at the funeral of a lieutenant who never even got off the ground during a training flight,

work and church and such are hopeless distractions

Wanders through the department store wondering if every other wife misses this way, does everyone feel the same primal ache?

Dear Jean Crosby terribly worried she’s a freak yet entirely unrepentant for it

But ya know what’s probably funny? Across the ocean Harry Crosby is sometimes so direly missing his wife in the carnal way that he just about spaces out too, and god knows there’s zero privacy anywhere and the showers are the showers but like???? it’s just a no-go most times and everyone gets very confused when he’s in this mood?? Not at all suspecting baser distractions are what’s at play. Somehow someone figured it out, maybe he actually snapped a little about having five seconds to himself while reading a letter and they’re like

OH

And somehow there seems to suddenly be five minutes or so when NO ONE but Crosby is in the showers?!

It only takes him two minutes to get there but he needs to stand there catching his breath and clutching at his heart while he thinks of Jean sprawled beneath him

This is probably Douglass’ doing? Because he’s a good dude, he doesn’t underestimate Croz AND he’s a dirty little bastard himself

“Fellas, the man got himself a wife while half of you guys are virgins? Of course he has urges?”

In a quiet, rare moment, Gale bends his ear -Harry is so modest and low key...unlike some folks *looking at you Bucky*- “So, uh, where'd ya say you and the missus went off to before ya came here?“

Gale’s gotta casually open the door for this conversation “Lots of good sights to see? I, um, haven't done much traveling myself”

It takes Croz a few conversations until he realizes just what Gale means, until then there’s a lot bewildered eyebrows at the inquiry and bashful appreciation for the interest: “Major Cleven I-I already told you, sir, we had a little cabin in the Alleghenies for a week?“

He's been telling Jean about Major Gale Cleven, about how she'd really like him. Gale is a good fella. He tells her about all their "travel talk"

Until one day Jean writes back: “Oh honey, that Cleven of yours is a virgin”

Whether Harry divulges to Gale anything he learned about ladies in that little cabin in the mountains writhing before a fire on a bearskin rug, that first time Harry actually didn’t stop and ask if Jean was dying every time she made a noise but instead, kept going until her cried properly built and she screamed…

well, it was probably an abbreviated account that mostly consisted of “wives are just wonderful people, Major Cleven” with a far off look in his eyes

Gale leaves him to it after all- Harry was married for like 3 seconds before he left, It's literally either playback of the last horrific mission or thinking of the curve of her spine

He gets the dreamiest look on his face, eyes all shiny, mouth a little slack

Somehow these two can be so passionate and yet it’s so wholesome and good and angelic?!!! It’s the allure of them

Because it’s all in these gentle and safe and good boundaries? Like it isn’t complicated and yet it’s not simple and it’s neither settling nor is it turbulent. something to be said for “doing it right”

They genuinely thank God for each other, they’re so sure it was always intended to be just them

I have 1k of headcanons just for the homecoming ok? Y’all will have to request those separate

But once home:

The eye contact they make at social events?? It’s a whole language, the most loving and adorable thing ever

He may not be a real gem of a singer but he’s an excellent hummer. so much gentle humming around the house while he’s fixing the stove light or rocking a baby to sleep or-

You know what I mean don’t you? Some men can just humm and you’re instantly wet? No I don’t mean humming a Billie Holliday tune

I mean humming when you make a new reaction to his incessant fingering while he’s reading, makes him look away from the page and arch a brow, highly inquisitive puppy dog look on his face, reading glasses pulled down.

*a new spot? After all this time? Must investigate further*

This man, when in his element, is a goddamn tease, he’s impossible, he’s goofy, he makes sex the joyous sacrament its supposed to be every damn time and he ain’t shy to remain stark naked for ages

Praise kink for miles in that, once you’ve praised him, he will keep doing whatever earned it for the next two hours. Brace yourself

He can recite your favorite literature passages (he knows them and took pains to memorize them by your tenth anniversary) when he’s gently plowing you from the back with his hand on your neck and your ear lob in between his teeth

He’s a biter my friends -gotta keep quiet somehow, can’t scar the passel of children y’all made, after all

So many excuses given to kids about “mama and I need to talk about the mortgage” -very rarely is mortgage even thought of once the door is closed and locked

But that brings us back to the early days, it’s one thing to know someone so well after all those years but the early days?

Two Virgins named Jean and Harry went straight from the chapel to fucking like Bunnies before he went to war

Harry had done his research tho. All that reading…

Harry Crosby totally ate his wife out on their wedding night.

even though he’d never really seen a full vagina before

he’s a bit methodical, yeah? At first? with a hint of overly flustered and terribly delighted

So I’m just picturing him like hunkering down there, tentative but firm hands on your thighs: “to get my bearings, honey pie” as he takes in the lay of the land

because there’s a lot happening down there on a lady, ok? -there’s petals and more petals and slippery slopes and little buttons and a tiny hole that has to be for pee, no way he’s supposed to go in that one?! but, but she doesn’t have another? Well the backdoo- no can’t even think of that. Oh god ok, ok, vaginal opening, -I guess that’s a vaginal opening?! and due north, a little button that makes her squeak when I touch it. ok ok, might as well start there…

I can see him with a metaphorical pencil behind his ear, ready to jot down notes

Jeanie finally sighs and grips him by the ears and hauls him up for a kiss and just grinds against him and insists it’s lovely

“just kiss me, silly.” she says to him after awhile.

“Mmm, I do like kissing you, Jean” he grins back

he’s naturally kissing his way to her boobs and staying there a lovely long time but she starts pushing at his dark head, *hint hint* lower down her belly and lower, and lower and he’s so caught up he doesn’t even realize it until there’s a sweet little patch of curls under his chin and he looks up with the oddest expression of curiosity and doubt on his face only to be met with Jean’s expectant eyebrow

She wouldn’t want me to?—-*ah, she just face planted me in pussy, ok then*

Lapping at it with the biggest grin, there may or may not have been some noise complaints

the whole apartment complex just knows he’s a good husband, never would peg him as a stud if you met him in the hallway but, Jean sure takes forever to say goodbye to him in the mornings so he must do something right

All the neighbors just can't help but be happy for those two kids

They cook them food and leave the casserole dishes on the landing so they can savor each other for as long as possible before he leaves

Next Sunday they show up at church like dutiful little Americans and they’ve got hickies everywhere and his cheeks are a permanent pink, Her knees are red and raw under her church dress

I feel like maybe they get a little adventurous as their time together draws to a close? Maybe they break a dining room chair? She's too mortified to put it out on the curb

*saves it for 50 years*

Some of those wedding china ends up in pieces on the floor. Can't explain to her aunts why they don't have a full set all of a sudden

i really hope he never loses that occasional hair trigger premature ejaculation tendency.

Sometimes it even shocks him, “O-Oh...shoot”

The last day together is a dismal and precious night

The poor man probably laid there on her sweaty boobs after blowing his last load with the saddest *fml* face on as he processed it being, indeed, his last

But HOMECOMING!

and now the war is over they can set up house and make babies

A small breeding kink, after all, these men marched home from war and basically were told "get a job and let's repopulate for all the boys we lost!"

It’s so damn primal when you think about it but under the veneer of the starched and polished 50’s

Croz can't think straight in that tight little hole, let alone think of the ramifications of another baby

“Give it to me, give me another, come on Harry, we've got an empty space in the Christmas card anyway, think of it!! fill me up baby oh godddd Jesus bless your pretty dick-*

it’s the most mundane reasons and he still busts a nut like she’s some filthy vixen and not his sweet and slightly too optimistic wife

frantic love making with a sweater and socks still on, too

Jean is a writher because the longer they are married the longer he lasts and soon she’s come and he just keeps going and she cannot keep quiet then and he’s too big to ignore or calm down between, just thick enough to always be tugging just right and she fully sobs from it sometimes

Often she’s trying to cup herself?!? Fully spasming and shaking and curling in but his strong forearm is over her belly and his lips on her ear

This man is a god at spooning sex

she is so cock feral when she falls pregnant it almost alarms him

The books didn't say anything about this?! He's exhausted and dehydrated and his classes are suffering as a result

Wants to ask Egan if he encountered this phenomenon

His war buddies become a new father support group

"Hang in there pal, only three more months"

They’ll be in the kitchen just chatting before dinner, she wants to tease him. Scoops a little cherry pie filling onto her finger. He licks it and sucks it off -- bites the finger too, in the background dogs are barking and kids are running amuck

As the Crosbys you’re in for a life of very benign but nauseatingly idyllic Christmas parties.

Snow globes, y’all

Sweaters, spiked eggnog and very well thought out gifts

Harry is the sort to carry Jean's purse when they are out shopping and she is trying on clothes. He also has no problem going and buying her sanitary napkins at the drugstore when she's on her period, because it's completely normal and there's nothing for anyone to be embarrassed about. Basically, he is just stupidly in love with her. He's like a puppy who will always follow, but she doesn't take advantage of that fact (credit to:@noneedtoamputate)

He is Harry “Have You Met My Wife?” Crosby back home, too, it’s even worse when he gets tipsy and his confidence grows and good luck shutting him up about how beautiful she is

This is the sorta man whose kids only learn Daddy was a goddamn boss during the war when they’re outta college, a very casual “oh yeah, that was sort of a thing, pass the salt.”

It’s canon this man cut his own son’s hair all his little life, propped him up on a little stool in the back yard and got to trimming -some of the only times the boy ever heard of those devastating missions

Imagine? Same man who used to take you out on the porch into the night air and rock against his sweater when you were a baby and wouldn’t settle is the same man who bombed the hell outta Fortress Europe

He’s the kind of man whose kids are so enamored over how both sides of the coin could settle in the same man, they end up making a documentary about him

Now I also need you to think of this man at bath time in the early 50’s -Shirt sleeves rolled up, top two buttons on his pristine white button up shirt popped with a peak of chest hair showing through, his curls getting steamed by his kids bubble baths

He’s got the prettiest slightly hairy forearms, y’all -according to Jean at least

Gives himself a bubble beard to make his kids laugh, will stay on his knees watching them play for ages, fully participating

His white shirt gets fully transparent with all this splashing and Jean has to really keep her mind on what’s next when she can so easily see his hair and pretty little nipples pebbled in a chill under them. Stops her whining about water on the floor in seconds.

Harry’s already hushing her and mopping it up with a towel anyway

The Crosby kids will have memories of their idiotically in love and enthralled parents who loved being parents, wrapping their baby selves snuggly into towels and setting them on the counter and just cracking up over how cute they looked with their chubby and shiny widdle faces poking out of terry cloth

Jean and Harry spend a lotta time doing that, they just love their kids, ok?

Brushing their cute little Croz curls

Jean can’t say no to a single one with their sad puppy eyes their daddy gave them

Sometimes they sit the kids in front of the fireplace (they obviously needed a house with a fireplace after that honeymoon) and line them up. Talk about them as if they aren't sitting right there. "Honey, look at those gorgeous eyes -- and his smile! Oh my, who do these cuties belong to?"

But it’s not all placid domesticity. Picture this:

Crosby with a mega phone, organizes a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He's in charge, his aviators on, taking this so seriously

There are maps, he’s planned this for weeks, some of those traits and skills he picked up during the war come back at the oddest times

this gets even more intense if any of the war buddies are there

Harry writes letters to them strategizing, they all come and bring their own kids

It makes the local paper for being one of the biggest Easter egg hunts the state has ever seen

Night falls, children fall asleep and there are still some eggs left. Armed with booze and flashlights, the boys go out to collect the rest

Harry and Jean don't collect any though, they end up in a bush necking somewhere

Bucky gets very adamant about finding them and Brady is just as adamantly begging him not to

But Major Egan cannot be stopped, he rallies his men, hopping on the kids’ bikes and scooters

Everyone heckling each other in the dark suburban neighborhood

"Ya lost your touch Buck, keep up will ya?"

They all end up in a schnapps induced heap in the Crosby's backyard, long limbs all folded up on too small equipment

Jean and Harry leisurely stroll back up the street under lamp glow to their house where everyone is feral and collapsed and calling loudly for their hosts

Sharing soft little smiles and picking twigs out of each others hair

They tuck these idiot men in on the couches and floor, blankets, sleeping bags and dogs

Hear me out: Jean is the only human able to talk a belligerent Bucky out of his thirtieth beer

She has that sweet way about her that makes every person wanna be a better man for her

When he finally gives in and throws his arm over her little shoulders and swears she’s a good woman, Harry is there with the pan and the aspirin and the blanket

She makes them all the most perfect hangover breakfast the next morning, gingham checked apron stretched over swollen belly

Harry nuzzles her belly when she stops at his plate to dish up the eggs

Everyone wants to gag over how perfectly content these two are but that would be a waste of the best breakfast in the USA

And if Jean happens to make the best baked goods on the block - Croz is making sure everyone knows just who’s muffins those are on the bake sale table. Or if she wants to pursue a career or education? Harry is her biggest cheerleader, doing anything and everything to support her and being sure that everyone knows how incredible she is at what she does. (Credit @blurredcolour)

They may be the sweater wearing, block party and Sunday school couple but don’t think anybody gets away with being snide to Mrs. Jean Crosby -there will be comeuppance, even if it’s just an exquisitely literate verbal evisceration.

There's even more often a roaming band of local kids who kick the shins of everyone who's mean to Mrs. Crosby, because she gives them sweets and feeds them when they're hungry and cleans up their scrapes when play gets too rough and -if Mr. Crosby hands out a comic or two to the boys that "accidentally" tripped some bloke who was harassing his wife, well. All is fair in love and war. (Credit to @promptedwordsmith)

When in the summer of 49 the Crosbies get a swimming pool dug? It might as well be considered public property.

not just the kids who are attached to the crosbies, though. your home is a constant revolving door of visitors - including a bunch of ex-servicemen. if it's not bucky lounging in the pool, or rosie painting the fence in his shirtsleeves because he wanted to be helpful, then douglass is smoking a cigarette in the yard while trying to make you laugh. ev is asking harry to show him how to read this goddamn map bc they're supposed to be taking a trip to the grand canyon in a month, and bubbles is over for dinner every other night. even brady sometimes shows his face, if only to carp at harry for getting them lost over france that one time while working the barbecue because you asked him to. when you and harry bought the house with an extra room you weren't sure you would ever use, you didn't expect it to be occupied as often as a popular hotel. if anyone ever had any bad intentions toward the crosbies, they're definitely rethinking it. those that don't...well. being in the air corps teaches one all sorts of creative ways of getting back at people. (Credit to @fidelias)

Imagine all the different skills the Crosby kids (_and their neighbor friends who never seem to leave_) learn from these guys?

“Oh yeah, Bucky Egan taught me how to swim while wearing his aviators…”

In other words:

Harry Crosby went home and built himself a little Norman Rockwell Camelot and then opened the doors of the kingdom to his buddies and -that’s as it should be.

And that’s not even mentioning how the Air Force and the CIA walked up to his front porch and interrupted a backyard ballgame to ask him for his help

It sucks to be super smart and needed when all ya wanna do is teach literature, go camping and help keep the church life going

But still

Jean sure looked good in Pakistan, the kids enjoyed a new culture and Harry likes to say he may have done some good

[strangelittlestories]

After we had finished rising up out of the clay, after we had spread ourselves across the spiked and shaking ribs of the world, we discovered two things.

First, that despite how much we believed, our world showed no signs that it was home to any gods.

Second, that it certainly did offer a home to *monsters*.

But we did not see why we should face the toothed maw of this earth alone. Why, just because the divine did not spring into the world fully formed, should our prayers go unheard? After all, if demons can sprawl across the peaks above us and cast their shadows upon our crowns, does that not imply a space from which deities might offer us their light?

A person named Jana was the first to turn our vision into action. Atop a mountain near their home, they could see a great beast - a dragon of rock and ichor and slime moss - squatting on the apex and drinking the sunlight. Jana and their people assembled supplies - candle tallow and lumber and fragrant oils - and the group began the climb to the summit.

They caught the monster while it slept (for these creatures slumbered months at a time, between their ruinous devastations). These canny folks pried apart its craggy teeth with levers and wedged its mouth open long enough for Jana to drag the cart of supplies inside.

Weeks passed. The dragon did not wake. Jana did not emerge.

Some of the people grew tired of waiting and gave Jana up for dead.

But some stayed, huddled beneath makeshift shacks and gathered round pitiful little wasteling campfires made of dried moss and dung.

Then, one day, the beast's mouth opened on its own. But its eyes stayed shut and no cantankerous breath issued forth to spread its slow death of sulphur, ash and nightshade.

Staring down its throat, the faithful saw a gentle glow.

They stepped into the mouth. Inside, the craggy passage was shored up with sanded wooden arches and decorated with softly burning candles. But the *glow*, the glow came from deeper still.

Traversing the corpse of this strange dreadnought (for it was clearly dead), they saw a creature that had been transformed into a building. Its dense flesh was calcified and hollowed out. Bones were shaped and chiselled into arches, beams, pillars. In its cavernous lungs, the air sacs had been turned into sparse cells furnished with sparse pallets.

They knew, when they saw this, that this was a place they could shelter. A place they could be safe. A place where - free from the ravages of beasts - they could begin to live.

And in its heart, there they found the thing that had once been Jana. It was a figure of light and smoke and absence. It was our first god.

---

In the times that came after, many new gods were made. Each born in the heart of some awestruck hellspawn or monstrosity.

Over the years, the presence of the gods sharpened our faith and with those blades of belief did we drive back the darkness. And with power, so did the gods become more distant.

Their monstrous temples, too, ceased to be places of succour and became places of worship. They turned from homes into holy houses. And, in their way, they became prisons. For we walled up our gods, who had once been our *friends*, behind blockades of reverence.

We forgot what it was that made these places holy:

That these temples were beautiful because people had made them and because people had lived in them.

And that our gods were beautiful because people had made them and because *people* had lived in them.

One day, perhaps, a person like Jana will walk down the halls of that first temple and drive a blade of faith into the first god’s chest.

And they will live in the empty temple and it will become beautiful again (for a time).

Perhaps.

[fluffle-writes]

hello! I loved the weirdcore au, such a cool idea, i wanted to ask, how do vil and rook clean their wings? taking a bath seems kinda risky, imagine the pain of getting soap on multiple eyes! Actually their self care routine as a whole makes me curious, does vil still wear makeup here? Or he just takes care of his hair?

Weirdcore AU Masterlist Here!

I AM AWAKE AND READY TO TALK MORE ABOUT MY AU :D

Vil and Rook's wings! They definitely need to work around the eyes, but they have third eyelids for each of their eyes - similar to crocodiles! This allows them to fly with them open to observe the ground beneath them - which can assist in hunting or searching for something. It can also mean that irritants are more difficult to get into their eyes - but there are still problems with using cleaning agents on their wings.

Generally though, they actually don't use soaps on their wings! A thorough enough job of preening with clean water washes away any accumulated dirt, blood, dust, or dead skin cells away well enough - and damaged feathers come loose quite easily to be pulled out during preening sessions. Not to mention, soaps can strip the wings of natural oils that protect their skin and feathers.

(Chances are, if you visit in the evenings, you may come across groups of Pomefiore students preening one-another's wings in little cliques - as it's a common bonding activity for individuals with feathered wings.)

As for the rest of their self care routines, it would really need to differ from person to person... I'll speak more in depth about how their features work as well as how they maintain their appearances under the cut.

Vil's flesh has an almost malleable feel to it - it's almost slime-like to the touch but without any residue left behind, while also having the texture of human skin. Looking at him closely enough reveals that his body is actually semi-transparent. He uses pigment sacs - similar to octopi - to imitate the appearance of galacies on his skin's surface, but he can just as easily manipulate light to alter his appearance as he wishes.

Because of this, his skin may be more fragile and need more gentle cleansers and a thorough moisturising routine - which Vil keeps on top of, of course. Additionally, although I was unable to include it in his sprite edit, Vil has near-invisible glass-like talons instead of fingernails and toenails which he keeps well maintained and filed sharp.

Vil's hair is odd in the sense that it's more like liquid than hair. It's quite viscous, but leaves no residue when touched like his skin, and anything that touches it can pass through with little difficulties aside from the viscosity. Touching it can leave a tingling (almost electric) sensation in the hands, and ingestion can spell death due to the toxicity of the oils and hormones Vil's body produces to ward off danger. It doesn't need cleaning as it maintains itself for the most part, but Vil often adds ground up gold and gemstones to colour it how he wants to.

His wings and tail, as mentioned above, are kept neat and tidy through preening sessions with Rook and, more recently, Epel. He has glands that secrete natural oils under his feathers, which can be spread across them to moisturise them properly and strengthen them.

(Fun fact - When Vil was a newborn, he looked more like an amoeba with six stubby little limbs (which later grew into his wings!) He learned how to maintain a much more structured body shape and control his pigment sacs like his father later on in life)

Rook's self care routines are more focused on his animalistic traits - polishing his horns and brushing through his fur any time it gets a bit too unruly. He also often applies moisturising oils to the palms of his hands, as they are similar to paw pads that foxes have and need more tlc to keep them soft and reduce irritation/itchiness.

Bathing habits of his are similar to Vil, vetoing the use of soap on his wings but still using them on the rest of his body. Due to his fur, though, Rook may have a hard time getting thoroughly dry after without help - although he often opts to shake himself off and flap his wings to create wind to help him dry faster. Because of this, bathing has to be an evening task for him - lest he end up with skin irritation from trapped moisture.

(Vil spent a god awful amount of time combing through Rook's fur and applying potions to his skin to prevent irritation when he first moved to Pomefiore - and since then Rook's always been manhandled a little bit if Vil suspects he's falling slightly behind on that area of self-care. He is NOT sitting with Rook in his lap for hours untangling that mess of a coat again - his shedding in the spring is bad enough!)

Epel needed a LOT of TLC when Vil first spotted him - his body, hair, and wings are all made of a marble-like material. Had he practiced self care often enough, Epel would have handled the cold climate in Harveston perfectly well. However, he would often insist that applying protective wax and oils to maintain smooth skin was unnecessary since he could handle the cold just fine without it.

This meant that, once he arrived at NRC, what would have been smooth and well cared for features was instead rough around the edges with damage done by the cold and the snow from years spent outside in that environment. Epel's self care routine is chock full of revitalising tinctures designed to help his skin regain it's strength and smoothness, as well as a special type of beeswax to protect him from any more damage - which is also applied to his horns.

As for cleaning, soap and water works well except for on his wings - which instead has a special cleanser Vil made with keratin-boosting properties to ensure that they're strengthened properly without interfering with Epel's ability to fly.

(Epel himself is a little miffed with all of the routines Vil made him keep up with after he joined Pomefiore, but will admit that he feels much better a lot of the time now that he's actually properly taking care of himself.)

[bethanythebogwitch]

All of my recent Wet Beast Wednesday posts have been about relatively small animals, so this time let's go big. This week's topic is on the sperm whale, a winner of multiple size-based records, including being the largest toothed predator and largest of the toothed whales. These absolute units are known for their famous rivalry with giant squid and their history with the whaling industry.

(image id: a mother sperm whale and her calf. They are both large, long, grey animals with squarish heads. The calf is behind the mother and about half the size. The calf also appears to have multiple remoras attached to it)

First of all, why is it called a sperm whale? When I started researching for this post, I thought it must be a quirk of translation or a word that changed meaning over time and surely couldn't be named after THAT sperm, right? Well, I'm sad to say that's not the case. It really is the cum whale. More specifically, it is named after spermaceti, a substance inside the whale's head, that was believed to be semen. Spermaceti even translates to "whale semen". Yeah I'm not happy about that either. Sperm whales are also called chacalots and nobody really knows why. There are suggestions that it comes from old French words for "big teeth" or the vulgar Latin word for a sword hilt. At least it's not sperm this time. Its scientific name is Physeter macrocephalus, which means "blowhole big head", which is also fortunately lacking in references to sperm.

(image id: a sperm whale seen from the font and left. It is just under the surface of the water, with the tip of its snout touching the surface.)

Sperm whales are big even by whale standards, though there are still baleen whales that are bigger. In an extreme example of sexual dimporhism, males can be 30 - 50% larger and three times as heavy as females. An average adult male reaches an average of 16 meters (52 ft) and 45000 kg (100000 lbs) while females reach an average size of 11 meters (36 ft) and 15000 kg (34000 lbs). The average sizes of sperm whales has decreased since record were first kept. This is likely a result of the largest individuals being targeted heavily by whalers, resulting in only the smaller animals being able to pass on their genes. Some recent studies suggest that trend may be beginning to reverse itself now that the animals are no longer actively hunted.

(image: two sperm whales seen from above. They are at the surface of the water, with their backs avome the surface. One of them is releasing a spout of water vapor from its blowhole)

Possibly the most notable feature of a sperm whale is that giant, square head. Cetacean heads contain melons, organs filled with oily or fatty tissue that are used in echolocation. Unlike other cetaceans, the sperm whale has two such organs: the spermaceti organ and the junk, the latter of which is analogous to the melons of other whales. The spermaceti organ is a sac filled with the spermaceti, a waxy substance composed largely of wax esters. Harvesting of the spermaceti was the main reason sperm whales were hunted as it could be used for lubrication and as candles and lamp oil. Spermaceti is liquid when within the whale and solidifies at around 30 degrees C. A single whale can hold up to 1,900 liters of spermaceti. An air tube runs through the head and ends in a pair of phonic lips (the sperm whale has a single pair while all other toothed whales have two pairs). The lips produce the clicks used in echolocation and that sound travels through the spermaceti and reflects off another organ called the frontal sac, which acts as a sound mirror. Think those satellite dishes that you can whisper into and people standing way away from you can hear it. The frontal sac reflects most of the sound through the junk, which amplified it further. The sound that does not go to the junk is reflected back and forward through the spermaceti organ to create multiple clicks with each vocalization. The spermaceti organ and junk amplify the sound of the clicks to such an extent that the sperm whale is the loudest animal on earth, capable of making 230 decibel clicks. That's louder than a jet engine at takeoff. Side note, why is a jet engine the default comparison for loud things? In addition to echolocation, sperm whales also use vocalizations to communicate with each other. Types of vocalizations are learned from parents, creating multiple distinct "dialects" of sperm whale sound. The Spermaceti organ and junk are also believed to add protective padding to the head. One hypothesis says that the spermaceti is also used in buoyancy regulation. The idea is that before a dive, the whale would pump cold water through tis head, cooling and solidifying the spermaceti to reduce buoyancy. Then on the dive, body heat and heat transfer would melt the spermaceti again, increasing buoyancy for the trip back to the surface. This hypothesis is considered poor due to a lack of evidence and the fact that solidifying the spermaceti would impede echolocation right when the whale would need it the most.

(image id: a diagram showing a side cross-section of a sperm whale's head. Most of the head is taken up by the spermaceti organ (top) and junk (below). Below the junk are the upper and lower jaw bones)

Sperm whales are master divers. They hunt in the deep ocean and of all marine mammals, only the elephant seal and Cuvier's beaked whale dive deeper. Their dives can reach up to 2,250 meters (7,382 ft) deep and can stay underwater for up to 2 hours, though most dives last around 45 minutes. To accommodate for such deep dives, special adaptations are needed. Their lungs can collapse under the pressure and their ribcages will close to protect them. The lung collapse reduced excess nitrogen intake (which can lead to nitrogen narcosis) and they can slow their metabolisms to reduce oxygen usage. Their muscles contain more myoglobin (which stores oxygen) and they more red blood cells than most animals. When oxygen levels get low, they can redirect blood flow to the brain and other essential systems. Their eyes are the largest of all toothed whales and they have good vision and sensitivity to light, helping them see in the deep ocean. Their jaws are also adapted to hunt their prey. The jaw is very skinny and has teeth only on the lower mandible. The teeth grow rings like trees, allowing them to be used to age whales. The teeth do not seem to be essential for feeding as toothless whales have been found still well-fed. They are carnivores who feed primarily on squid but will also eat octopi, bony and cartilaginous fish, and salps. While sperm whales are famous for eating giant squid, most of their diet is composed of medium-sized squid weighing between 12 and 650 grams (0.026 and 1.43 lbs). We do know they eat giant and colossal squid both from finding squid beaks in the stomachs of beached specimens and from the scars left by the suckers and hooks of the squid on the whales' skin. While classic depictions of the hunts depicted a titanic struggle between two equals, with the squid eating the whales just as the whales ate the squid. Now its believed that the fights are entirely one-sided with the whales winning the vast majority of encounters. Tagging has shown that the whales swim upside-down as they hunt. They are likely looking for the silhouettes of prey against the surface or for bioluminescence. They also hunt with echolocation. While it has been suggested that their sonar clicks are powerful enough to stun prey, recent research has show this is likely not the case. Sperm whales eat about 3% of their body weight every day. Sperm whales, as well as other deep-diving predators, help circulate nutrients in the ocean. They consume nutrients in the deep ocean, then defecate in surface waters, releasing those nutrients where they can fertilize plankton. This also helps carbon sequestration as phytoplankton fertilized by the feces remove carbon from the atmosphere and carry it to the deep sea when they die. It is calculated that whaling in the Southern Ocean resulted in a release of 2 million tonnes of carbon into the atmosphere each year.

(image id: a pod of sperm whaled beginning their descent into the deep sea. There are 8 individuals, three of which remain parallel to the surface of the water. The rest and aimed downward)

Like other cetaceans, sperm whales are social animals. Females and juveniles live in groups called pods while adult males live outside the pods either alone or in small groups of other bachelors. Sperm whales who live together do so in groups called social units that are often, but not always, the same as their pod. Leaving and joining social groups is rare, leaving their membership very stable. When socializing, sperm whales use unique patterns of clicks called codas. It was formerly thought that codas were used as names, not it is now known that whales will use multiple codas. They also spend time nuzzling each other. They are also believed to use group hunting tactics to herd prey. The only predator of adult sperm whales is the orca, and they prefer to target calves or weaker adults. Orca pods will attack sperm whale pods to try to isolate a vulnerable member. Pod members will protect these vulnerable members by circling them, usually facing tail-out. The tails are capable of delivering powerful blows that could kill an attacking orca. This formation is called a marguerite formation. Lone males may come to the defense of a nearby pod under attack. On some occasions, sperm whales will swim alongside other cetations and there is a recorded instance of a pod adopting a bottlenose dolphin with a spinal deformity for unknown reasons. Sperm whales sleep together, suspended vertically just under the surface. While most cetaceans only sleep half of their brain at a time, it is possible that sperm whales can sleep their entire brain at once.

(image id: a pod of sperm whales sleeping. There are six positioned vertically in the water, with their head facing up. A seventh members remains horizontal and appears to be awake)

An individual whale can live for up to 70 years. Females reach sexual maturity at age 9 and bear a single calf at a time. The calf will nurse for an average of 19 - 42 months, but sometimes significantly longer. Sperm whale milk is extremely fatty, consisting of 36% fat (compare to 6% fat in cow milk) and has a texture like cream cheese. This high fat content helps the juvenile develop its blubber and its thickness keeps it from dissolving the the water. While giving birth, a mother will be protected by other members of her pod. After birth, other pod members sometimes jostle and bite the newborn. Most females give birth every 4 to 20 years and these rates were higher during the peak of whaling years. Females seems to become infertile in their 40s. Older, post-fertile females will lead the pods and provide assistance to younger mothers. Males provide no parental care. A male will mate with multiple females and they do fight each other for dominance and access to mates, but do not form harems. Fights seem to involve ramming each other and biting.

(image id: a sperm whale calf nursing. The mother is positioned vertically and her front half extends beyond the picture's frame. The calf is suckling at her side near the ventral surface. A cloud of white milk is around its mouth)

Like other whales, sperm whales were highly affected by whaling. While the spermaceti was the main target of whalers, they were also hunted for their blubber, teeth, and ambergris. Ambergris is a substance that forms in the intestines in response to irritants. The sperm whale can't digest the squid beaks and while it can vomit out a lot of them, some pass into the intestines. To prevent the sharp beaks form damaging the intestines (which can reach 300 meters/948 ft long and are the longest of any animal), the bile duct secretes the ambergris to surround the beak and ease its passage. It can be considered analogous to an oyster forming a pearl around a grain of sand. Ambergris is a think, waxy substance known for its extremely pungent, fecal smell. It was famously used as a fixative in perfume recipes and was therefore incredibly valuable. Now that whaling is much rarer, most ambergris is found when it floats to shore and perfume companies have switched over to artificial fixatives. The teeth were used for their ivory and were often carved into ornamental pieces called scrimshaw. Sperm whales were notable for their ability to fight back against the whalers, often by ramming the boats. At least a few whaling ships were sunken by their would-be targets. Famously the sinking of the whaling ship Essex inspired the writing of the novel Moby Dick. Large whales, including sperm whales, were nearly driven to extinction by whaling. The International Whaling Commission gave the species legal protection in 1985, though Japan still hunts them and has caught an reported 51 individuals since 2000.The peak of sperm whaling happened in the 1960s, causing the population to drop dangerously low. Since then, the population has been recovering and is currently estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands. Sperm whales have recovered from whaling better than many other species and are classified as vulnerable by the IUCN. Threats include illegal whaling, global climate change, and noise from ships that appears to increase beaching numbers.

(image id: a chunk of ambergris. It is an irregular object with multiple lumps. It is a pale orange color. Part of a squid beak is visible at the side, appearing as a smooth surface with a dark orange color)

jizz whale

[pokemoncenter]

On Disability in Pokemon

In humans, there are myriad ways one can be disabled. There are physical disabilities- Missing limbs, paralysis, overgrowth of some organs, and the like. There are mental disabilities- learning disabilities, inability to regulate one's words, or impaired cognition of others.

And Pokemon, having infinitely more variety than humans, can have infinitely more ways of being disabled, as well. There are the physical- There is a shelter in Kanto which specializes in caring for "tripod" Growlithe, as an example. There are mental- Pokemon can have learning disabilities as well, or an inability to regulate their emotions.

But Pokemon and their special abilities lead to further ways they can be impaired. I have spoken before about Beans, my Zorua who cannot use illusions. I also remember, when I was a child, there was a Ditto who made the news for not being able to transform its face. There are examples such as a Drifloon who cannot fully inflate.

Pokemon and their biology are so complex and so malleable that it can be difficult to pin down what is a disability and what is not. For a time, there was an umbrella term called Quercus' Disease, when a Pokemon could not emit its elemental powers. However, in 1993, Quercus' Disease was officially removed from all the books, and is no longer a diagnosis, due to the term being so broad as to be functionally useless. It made no distinction between Pokemon who could not generate their elemental power, and those who generated and stored but could not emit them. There have been several attempts to fill the hole left by the lack of this diagnosis, but none have passed muster.

Let us use Cyndaquil as an example. Why might a Cyndaquil be unable to emit flames from its back? It might not be generating the proper chemicals to catch fire, or it might not have the spark generation to light the fire. It might also have the burning oils on its back dry out. It might overproduce, and thus the fire would be dangerous even to itself. The oils generated might be in the body, but not make it to the surface of the back. It might simply even just be clogged and clumped up. All of these things would be very different disabilities, with very different treatments. Yet, they all have the same appearance, and so they would all be lumped under a single umbrella term of Quercus' for a long time. And all of this is for one type of disability from one type of Pokemon.

There are so many others. Some Pokemon simply cannot evolve- Their bodies will either never trigger the correct hormonal surge, or the threshold is simply different, or any other number of things. Some Pokemon can experience gigantism or loss of cartilage upon evolution. Some Pokemon will only 'half-' evolve, and those are usually (but not always) left in... very poor quality of life. Sometimes, a Pokemon simply cannot handle its own needs, and... I digress.

Injury can also lead to disability. When a Pokemon is 'paralyzed' in battle, that is not true paralysis- In fact, there are two different things that are both called 'paralysis'. I would personally think they should be referred to as 'stunned'. An Electric attack may stop a Pokemon by causing the muscles to contract irregularly for a bit, or a heavy physical blow may stun by disrupting a Pokemon's balance for a bit.

True paralysis can occur in battles, though, as a result of spinal injuries. Pokemon have a recovery ability far greater than that of humans, so it is possible they can recover from even a broken spine that would otherwise cause permanent paralysis, but... not always.

A puncture to a Pokemon's flame sacs can also become a crippling disability. A cut to Pikachu's electric sacs that goes too deep may cause their electricity to interact with their bloodstream in... unpleasant ways.

And then there are some who simply cannot control their abilities. A Charmeleon who exhales flame whenever it breathes, regardless of its will. Slowpokes who cannot stop causing rain. Munna emitting a full fog of dream mist.

A veterinarian's job involves being able to handle most things for most Pokemon that will come to them. I very, very rarely practiced for anything outside of Unovan Pokemon, but now I am learning much of Johtonian Pokemon as well. But a veterinarian by necessity must be flexible, and able to handle any kind of Pokemon, even those they have never seen before.

[fallershipping]

I checked Toxicroak and Croagunk's (seen above) dex entries, and none describe the frogs having poisonous skin, but instead poison that is secreted from the middle fingers and held inside sacs.

Poison Dart Frogs, at least what I've heard with the wild ones, can be handled barehanded just as long as you do not have wounds or refrain from touching your eyes/mouth/openings afterwards. You need to wash your hands. Apparently the golden dart frogs could be toxic enough to be fatal through sweat pores.

But Croagunk seems to have poison SACS and locations where the, well VENOM now, is located and transported to for use. There's no record of the Croagunk line being poisonous.

Clodsire has the potential to have the ability Poison Point, which can poison a Pokemon that is attacking it. However, Croagunk can have the ability Poison Touch, which can poison the opponent if Croagunk uses any kind of physical move. This is to say that it's more dangerous to touch Clodsire than it is for someone else to touch Croagunk (anywhere but its hand.)

Also, Poison Dart Frogs have a poison that is indeed a painkiller, much like Croagunk here. Nice!

so Looker can indeed pet Croagunk.

... On occasion. Croagunk is still an amphibian and he doesn't need Looker's secreted human oils (we all have this, it keeps our epidermis healthy and moisturized) disrupting his own froggy skin LOL. Just as long as Looker doesn't touch Croagunk with soap or lotion, I'm sure the Pokemon will be fine.

[pompadourpink]

Les prépositions

A

À - to (je vais à la plage - I’m going to the beach), at (le chat est à la maison - the cat is at the house), indirect object/complément d’attribution (c’est au chat - it’s the cat's), adverbial phrase of way (une peinture à l’huile - an oil painting), adverbial locution introducer (à l’instant - just now), price indicator (le kilo de pommes est à deux euros), infinitive form introducer (c’est à prendre ou à laisser - take it or leave it), approximation introducer (c’est à dix minutes d’ici - it’s about ten min. away), against (dos à dos), after (pas à pas), until (aimer à la folie)

Après - after (je te rejoins après le travail - I’ll join you after work)

Avant - before (je me suis levée avant toi - I got up before you did)

Avec - with (je vis avec mes deux chats - I live with my two cats)

C

Chez - at X’s > person or brand of a shop (je suis chez mon père - I'm at dad's)

Concernant - regarding, about (concernant ton offre, je la refuse - about your offer, I'm refusing it)

Contre - against (je suis contre ta décision - I stand against your decision, le chat est assis contre le mur - the cat is sitting against the wall)

D

Dans - in (le chat est dans mon sac - the cat is in my bag)

D’après - according to (d’après Victor Hugo, Fantine est blonde)

De - of (au bout de la rue - at the end of the street)

Dedans - inside of it (le chat est dedans - the cat is inside of it)

Dehors - outside (le chat est dehors - the cat is outside)

Depuis - since (j'ai mon chat depuis que j'ai dix ans - I've had my cat since I was 10), from (tout était beau, depuis la décoration jusqu’aux couleurs - everything was lovely, from the decoration to the colours)

Derrière - behind (le chat est derrière toi - the cat is behind you)

Dès - as soon as (je te préviens dès que j’arrive - I’ll let you know as soon as I get there), immediately (si je pouvais, je partirais dès maintenant)

Dessous - under (la clé était dessous le lit - the key was under the bed)

Dessus - on (le chat est assis dessus - the cat is sitting on it),

Devant - in front of (j’attends devant la maison - I’m waiting in front of the house)

Durant - during (il est mort durant la famine - he died during the famine), for (elle a vécu là-bas durant des années - she lived there for years)

E

En - at (je suis nul en Français - I’m bad at French), material indicator (une table en bois - a wooden table), change indicator (il s’est transformé en papillon - it turned into a butterfly), division mood (couper en deux - cut in two pieces), during (en hiver, j’ai toujours un rhume - during the winter season, I always get a cold), gerundive element (elle tomba en criant - she fell, screaming), shape/appearance indicator (un arbre en fleurs - a blossoming tree)

Entre - between/out of (entre tous les garçons, Louis est le plus grand - out of all of the boys, Louis is the tallest)

Envers - towards/to (il est méchant envers elle - he’s mean to her)

Ès - in (licencié-e ès sciences - bachelor of sciences) - rare, uni titles

Excepté(e/s) - except (exceptée Louise, elles sont toutes arrivées)

H

Hormis - except (hormis Pierre, nous avons tous le permis - except from Pierre, we all have a driving license)

Hors - out of (il est hors de lui - he’s beside himself)

J

Jusque/jusqu’à (+ subjunctive) - until (il a miaulé jusqu'à ce que je le nourrisse - he meowed until I fed him)

M

Malgré - despite (il est venu malgré sa grippe - he came despite his flu)

Moyennant - in exchange for (moyennant un changement de ton, tu pourras rester - If you change your tone, you’ll be allowed to stay) - rare

N

Nonobstant - in spite of (”Charles Myriel, nonobstant ce mariage, avait, disait-on, beaucoup fait parler de lui” Les Misérables) - rare/old

O

Ôté - taken of from (6 ôté de 10 égale 4)

Outre - besides (outre mes deux cats, il n'y a personne chez moi - outside of my cats, there's no one at my house)

P

Par - by (la Joconde a été painte par Léonard de Vinci), direction indicator (il est parti par là - he went that way), with (je commence par une entrée - I start with an entree), per (j���en prends trois par jour - I take three per days)

Parmi - amongst (parmi mes chats, c'est le plus petit - he’s my smallest cat)

Passé - after/past (passé 2h, tout est fermé - past 2AM, everything is closed)

Pendant - during (je t’appellerai pendant ma pause - I’ll call you during my break)

Pour - for (je suis là pour toi - I’m here for you), to (je pars pour Paris - I’m heading to Paris), according to (pour moi, c'est une erreur - I think it's a mistake)

Près (de) - near (je suis près de Paris - I’m near Paris)

S

Sans - without (je suis sans voix - I am speechless)

Sauf - except (j’aime tout sauf la pluie - I like everything but rain)

Selon - according to (selon moi, tu as tort - in my opinion, you’re wrong)

Sous - under (le chat est sous la table - the cat is under the table)

Suivant - according to (suivant ce que j’ai entendu, il ne reviendra pas - according to what I’ve heard, he won’t come back)

Sur - on (le chat est sur la table - the cat is on the table), about (c’est un film sur la guerre - it’s a movie about the war), towards (regarde sur ta droite - look on your right), out of (deux fois sur trois il est en retard - two out of three times he's late)

V

Vers - towards (elle avance vers moi - she’s coming towards me), somewhere around (elle habite vers l’église - she lives near the church), about (Elle est rentrée vers minuit - she got home around midnight)

Voici - here is/are (voici mon chat - here’s my cat)

Voilà - there is/are (et voilà les miens - and there are mine), it’s been (voilà deux ans que je ne les avais pas vues - it had been two years since I last saw them)

Vu - given (vu la situation, c’est mieux comme ça - given the circumstances, that’s better that way) - casual

Movie: La Chinoise - Jean-Paul Godard, 1967

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[thatswhywelovegermany]

The 11 most venomous animals you can find in Germany

Ususlly you would think about exotic species when it comes to venomous animals, particularly species from Australia. Others are so common that they spontaneously don't come to our mind, such as bees, wasps, or hornets.

However, there are indeed venomous species that live in Germany, which can cause discomfort to severe pain, and – in rare cases – death.

Ammen-Dornfinger (Yellow Sac Spider), its fangs can penetrate the human skin and inject poison into the tissue. Symptoms are usually not worse than a bee sting, but can also cause nausea, vomiting, and shivers.

Gelbbauchunke (Yellow-Bellied Toad), the mucus contains a poison that is irritating to the skin and particulaly the mucosa and the eyes.

Petermännchen (Weeverfish), likes to bury itself in the ground near sandy beaches so that only the venomous spines stick out, causing a danger to the feet of tourusts. The symptoms include excruciating pain, swelling, redness, heat, neusea, vomiting, joint aches, headache, lightheadedness, increased urination, tremors, and in rare cases abnormal heart rhythm, seizures, gangrene, tissue degeneration, and unconciousness. This fish is considered the most dangerous venomous species that lives in Germany.

Spitzmäuse (Shrews) have venomous teeth. However, they rarely bite humans, and even more rarely have the power topenetrate the skin. They mostly use their venom to kill insects.

Kreuzotter (Common European Viper) are elusive animals, so very few peple have actually seen one. Their venom is three times more poisonous than that of the most dangerous rattlesnake. However, the viper doesn't like to waste its venom, that it also uses for hunting, for defense, and it has a much smaller reservoir. That's why the viper is only dangerous for small children and elderly people. Between 1959 and 2003, no viper-related deaths were recorded, and in 2004, an 81-year-old woman died. Victims often have to be hospitalized, about 10 % of them required ICU treatment. The symptoms include severe swelling, shortness of breath, and heart issues, in rere cases paralysis of the affected limb. On the other hand, numerous cases are known where the victims had no symptoms at all, probably because the viper didn't inject the venom.

Aspisviper (Aspic Viper) occurs only in the southern parts of the Black Forest and is very rare. The venom is similar to that of the common viper. It is expected to expand its territory in the future due to global warming.

Schwarzblauer Ölkäfer (European Oil Beetle) sprays a substance that is severely irritant to eyes and mucosa.

Eichen-Prozessionsspinner (Oak Processionary), hairs of the larvae easily break off and float through the air. They contain a venom that causes symptoms that reach from mild urticaria to severe dermatitis. If inhaled, the hairs can cause bronchitis, painful cough, and asthma.

Feuersalamander (Fire Salamander) has venom on the surface of the skin. In humans, it causes a slightly burning sensation on the skin, but it is absolutely deadly for dogs.

Gelbe Haarqualle / Feuerqualle (Lion's Mane Jellyfish): Touching this jellyfish causes excruciating pain, eczema, fever and breathing trouble.

Wasserspinne (Diving Bell Spider) can penetrate the human skin and inject venom. The effects are usually mild and not worse than a bee sting.

[wired-messiah]

Exit Survey

transcript under the cut

The fire inside me is flickering out.

By night, the blood creaks in my body like hardened oil,

and there's nothing left to burn.

The cogs grind against rust. The joints wail and groan,

and the pharmacy sells little white pills that will carry this wreck an inch further,

but none of them tell you where to take it.

Nothing waits at the end of this road,

but there's no shortage of ditches to die in.

I'm dream-walking a little more. Day-walking a little less.

What is green and verdant and so painfully fucking young in my sleep

dies on my tongue like a broken promise

when the yearning stirs me awake,

and the patron saint of cul-de-sacs and burnouts

creaks and wheezes out the air that's grown stale:

a bellows that can't stir the embers;

an accordion that's forgotten its songs.

Still, the exit survey awaits:

'Did you do your best? Did you save who you could?'

'Was any of it ever enough?'