hiatus

TW: aliens, experimentation, torture, inhumane treatment of sentient beings, dissection, death, haphazardly mixing together different lifeforms without a care for the life quality of the experiment, body horror.

[it’s less graphic than it seems, we swear.]

Welcome to the Hearts Laboratory- A scientific research center based around the unknown, the uncertain, and the unintentional. Made up of three departments- the ‘Beating Hearts’, which specialize in experimentation on mutants and aliens to find the limits of their being; the ‘Broken Hearts’, specializing in dissection, disposal, and cleaning up the other department’s mistakes without a speck left as evidence; and the ‘Bleeding Hearts’, which works solely with care of the creatures in between experimentations, provided quality of life is high enough- it isn’t quite like any place you’ve likely ever seen before… Unless you’re familiar with the study of mutant beings, aliens, and mankind’s mistakes resulting in especially messed up creatures!

This blog follows the adventures of the Bleeding Hearts in particular as they handle their most challenging project yet… An actual otherworldly life form, or an ‘alien’ in simpler terms. Nicknamed ’Aika’, this subject seems a little harder than what they’re used to, but with the newly-added member to the team, known as Asa, it’s a better time than ever!

…Well, that’s what they’re being told, at least. Little do they know what may be working behind the scenes… Or, rather, who.

A project by @servantparent and @pandrena that has plans to become a comic sometime soon! If you’re interested, why not check us out? This is the exact text in the about- If you want to know more, you can check out our characters, or send an ask!

hi hello howdy we here at bunjywunjy dot tumblr dot com feel that it’s been a while since we’ve talked about/relentlessly mocked a weird animal, so now it’s time to explore Mother Nature’s basement once again. (it’s where she keeps all the cool stuff)

we’d like to formally introduce you to the Remora, which is an important-sounding name for a very strange fish.

I don’t even know what to say to this. look at it.

JUST FOR STARTERS: they totally look like god read the ikea instructions wrong and assembled them upside-down.

in his defense, we’ve all done that thing where you assemble an ikea chair backwards because you can’t fucking read

their true weirdness shines out in the fact that Remoras use the strange pad-like-structure on top of their heads (yes, that’s the top) to literally suction themselves onto the bodies of passing animals. like a car window garfield hitchhiker.

life imitates art

their instinctual drive to become a living hood ornament to any passing object larger than themselves drives them to attach to sea turtles, whales, boats, aaaaand sharks. it’s usually sharks.

imagine if your life goal was to glue yourself to a lion. face-first.

surprisingly, sharks appear to tolerate these hitchhiking freeloaders. the Remora becomes the shark’s personal vacuum cleaner, in exchange for a ride and hardly ever getting eaten.

yaay! now to find myself an unsuspecting animal to glue myself to!

privateer- eloquent speech, blood-stained gold coins, rubies, yellowed letters with red wax seals, cursive handwriting, engraved silver, God Save the Queen, fleurs, music boxes, feather quills

rebellious- calloused hands, long loose skirts, whales breaching, gleeful dancing, rusted telescopes, screaming from the crow's nest, vengeance, stargazing, rough tattoos, Steal From the Rich!

adventurer- sprawling paper maps, staring at the horizon, cool breezes, wishing on stars, mist over the ocean, golden compasses, old marked up books, swimming, billowing sails, daydreaming

lawless- knives between teeth, crossed bones, knots of rope, cannonfire, darkness illuminated by firelight, red flags, silver teeth, tangled windswept hair, bags of money, notched wood, gunpowder

Please read this if you follow any of my (pandrena / chris ) art projects.

My tablet monitor has broken. I cannot draw digitally. My dad offered to buy me a new one for my birthday, but that won’t be until January. And I don’t want to burden my parents anymore financially than I have - but I cannot afford a new tablet.

Drawing is one of my only hobbies and stress reliefs amongst a really stressful family life. While yes, I can draw traditionally, please understand I’m not fond of it. But I can’t work on Crop haven nor Panda Pearl like this. And the realization I can’t draw the way I’m most familiar and comfortable with is hitting me really really hard and I’m trying not to cry as I type this.

That’s why i’m making this donation post. I won’t make this into a sob story, and please don’t feel pressured to donate if you cannot, but. If you can spare anything towards me getting a new tablet, I will literally be in your debt. 

My ko-fi is here. I don’t have any other way to be paid. 

 If you leave a drawing request with your donation I can draw you a traditional doodle, but please know it won’t be the best quality and that my phone camera stinks.

If you can’t donate, please spread this. I understand my situation is not as dire as many others’, but it’s very, very important to my mental health that I can work on my projects. I’m very scared.

Uh- Hey everyone! I’m not the best at intros, but Sonic left me this job for a bit. The name’s Knuckles - Knuckles the Echidna. This here is a blog where you can vent and ask for support and advice from various guys like me!

This is a positive space, Sonic says, so I’ll…ya know. Keep my cool too. 

Our ask box is wide open if youre having a rough night or day. I guess that’s about it!

There’s a pelican so huge you can’t possibly dive down far enough to evade its beak

If you get bitten by a deep-sea shark when it comes up to the surface to die, you’ll transform into one and have to live in the abyss

Hagfish can fill up a dead mermaid, make it look alive and use it to trick you

A mysterious mermaid wanders at night waiting to startle you with the horrible crustacean in her mouth. If you flinch, she steals your tongue and leaves the creature in its place.

You might think you’ve made a nice new friend who just doesn’t talk much until she grabs you with her metal hook hands and drags you away on an invisible line to get eaten by land people

If you eat too many jellyfish, one might turn out to be a vengeful jellyfish ghost that will only choke you to death from the inside*

you can now get “Eye Candy” on shirts and as a tote bag!

halloweens over but that doesnt mean you gotta stop the spooky train! >:3c

She does the same, the second and third and fourth times, careful, wary, mindful of her mother’s lessons. Remembers the way her mother’s hands had chafed on her soft cheeks, rough with cooking and cleaning for her fisherman husband, the way her mother’s peat-dark eyes had been tense and harsh with the lesson.

“Mind me, Niahm. Never let them find your cloak.”

The way her mother’s mouth had curved, a sickle of dissatisfaction and relief and envy, as she had escaped into the waves.

So she minds her mother’s lesson, and she takes care with her cloak.

Would that she had taken as much care with her heart.

The fifth time, she wears the cloak to the girl’s door, clutched about her throat, dripping along the darkened lanes.

She enters the home, welcomed with soft kisses and gentle touches and kindling passion. She drapes the cloak, artful in her carelessness, across an old wooden chair, the one that creaks and tilts slightly if you don’t sit just right.

When she wakes, in the wee hours of the morning, even before her lover, the cloak still rests, supple and dappled by the sea, on the back of the chair.

She frowns into the softening dawn, dons the cloak, and returns to the sea.

And again, the sixth time. And the seventh.

The eighth time, she finally breaks, prickling and hurt with longing, gripping a handful of russet hair in her hand, firm with emphasis.

“Surely you know what I am,” she says to her lover, the cool froth of sea foam and the call of gulls curling around her voice.

“Of course,” her lover responds, soft and tender in the dawnlight, throat arched willingly, pale as the inner whorls of a shell. “You taste of the sea,” the girl whispers, reverently.

She shakes her lover’s head gently, fingers tangled still in russet locks. “Why?” she demands. “Why won’t you keep me?”

A long silence that waits and fills, like a tidepool, stretches between them. Cool as a current. Deep as the Channel.

Her lover’s eyes are dark and tender. “Must I trap you to keep you, my heart? Is that the shape of love that you desire?”

She sinks into the thought, struck and stymied, remembering her mother’s harsh hands, her cold eyes. Her hand eases into russet waves, caresses where her grip had punished. Her lips press cool and damp as the sea against the arching curve of her lover’s shoulder. “What shape of love will you give to me?”

The answer is easy, quick, certain. “Myself. Only myself, whenever you should wish it. Your cloak by the door, your body in my bed, and the freedom to go, whenever you must. As long as you wish.”

It’s not an answer a fisherman could ever give, nor would think to.

fish design getchur fish design here

transcript below the cut

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