#molar spur

[roseate-felidae]

Rabbit worries and greif

My poor baby black rabbit was born with recessive congenital tooth problems.

Her undershot incisors can be taken care of easily and affordably.

But she has developed the dreaded molar spurs. They require anesthesia that leads to £300 biannually burring or £600 removal.

It's considered a pre-existing condition and cannot be covered by insurance. I also tried contacting the local RSPCA for help and they said they were full from rabbits and recommended euthanasia.

I only work part time minimum wage. Anesthesia is hard on rabbits and she is so young that it doesn't look good. The vets don't even recommend removal due to the anesthesia toll. But I can't afford £300 twice every year for potentially 10 years.

My step mum had talked about euthanasia aswell. It's what the RSPCA recommended. I agree that this is most likely the best option.

But that does not make it any easier, she is very friendly and trusts me quite a lot. I feel as if I'm taking the easy way out and betraying her. This will be the first pet I've ever had to put down.

The parents (rabbits) had perfectly healthy teeth, but they obviously carried a recessive gene. I will not be breeding the rabbits again. Thankfully her sister is perfectly healthy.

It's going to be a very tough time for me, she shall be done next month.

@themarginalthinker @mekanikaltrifle @robotslenderman

#rabbit #bunny #bunblr #my pets #molar spur #tw:pet death #tw: pet death #tw: euthanasia #juno babies #personal

[johnnycats]

Baxter finally got his first checkup today since being adopted (my rabbit vet has a long intake waiting list). As I could have guessed, he had a long molar spur. I suspect the previous owners rarely, if ever, offered him and Bentley hay. This may explain his GI issues. Poor guy. It was digging into his cheek pretty bad. Anyway, it has since been trimmed, and he honest to god seems super happy after. Always remember to offer your rabbitations plenty of timothy hay! Small Pet Select is my go-to brand, simply because they offer all three cuttings, so I can specifically oder first and second cut (sometimes third as a treat). With Oxbow (which is good stuff), you get what they send you. It's often 1st, which is perfectly fine, and that is the cutting that is best for their chompers.

#rabbit #lop #rabbit molar spur #bunny

[meanbossart]

Couple of asks about DU Drow's scars/teeth

Made sense to me to put these together in a single post, so here you go!

He did it to himself before being tadpoled, while active in the Bhaal temple. It was an impulsive decision likely spurred completely out of frustration; he needed to feel something and he needed to feel it hard, fast, and now. He's a bit of a pain-pervert!

Alas, he can't just get off on any sort or source of pain - certainly not self-inflicted. It hurt too badly/bled too much and so he stopped before he could "complete the job" (whatever that means - I don't think he knew it himself) Sceleritas had to come to the rescue shortly after.

And thank you so much!!!

Save for his forearms, all of DU drow's scars were done by Orin. their location has to do with the setup that would have been most "comfortable" for them to carry out these little rituals - likely with him lying down on his back and her hovering over/right on top of him.

DU drow left the placement of these scars up to her, and she never asked to do anything below his waist. On the day she offered to work on his back, she scrambled his brains and put a tadpole in his head instead.

He was definitely a little surprised LOL but just like with seeing his face and the rest of himself, that startle was probably quickly followed by an unexplainable familiarity. He didn't know why it looked like that, but on a subconscious level he knew it had been that way for a while and that he was "used" to it.

He's very good at rolling with the punches!

It was most of his molars! but the rest of his teeth were "fine", just permanently stained. This is a decision I made semi-recently, so, they might still be present in old art where I happened to draw the back of his mouth - assuming that ever even happened, I'm honestly not sure LOL

#du drow lore #ask compilation #bg3 spoilers

[xbunnybunz]

if not love [Alastor X Reader]

Summary:

Love.

A coin he could not barter with. A coin he was born to never spend or earn, never desired to, until he had seen your foolish dedication to him. 

Genres: Romance, Angst, Horror

The world outside is pale and slow. Snow drifts gently from the skies above, the expanse painted in a gentle lavender hue bleeding into a rusted orange dusk– a sign you’ve learned meant an oncoming snowstorm. This softness, this mellow mood in the belly of hell, this is how you know he’s caught you again between layers of reality.

Your footsteps echo in the maze of hallways of an abandoned Hazbin Hotel. 

You’re running because of course you are, no matter how many times he does this, he never tires of finding new means to torture you.

And you’re tired because of course you are, but no matter how many times he does this, you will never ask him to stop.

When you run past framed photos on the wall and shadows snake onto the portraits and paint the faces with a new layer of malice, upturned lips shrouded with darkness, shaking with laughter that you do your damndest to ignore. You know he’s watching you, waiting for you to walk into the next set scene, for your mind to unravel like a ball of unending twine, spinning and spinning and never stopping.

He calls it entertainment, but he just likes the hunt and you know this. 

In his true form, he is terrifying. Twisted and gnarled at the spine, bent and wickedly stretched at the neck like a hung man, ribs protruding and gaunt with hunger, Alastor terrifies you. 

In his more presentable form (he refers to it as his “showtime suit”) he acts as a proper gentleman. He carries a microphone and uses it delicately as a cane, pinky lifted. He wears gloves. Wears a sharp pinstripe set, tailored perfectly to his waist, hiding his emaciation. He smiles with all of his tapered yellow canines, licks his lips, says please and thank you. Never raises his voice except to call to you, and oh, does he call to you.

In your time with him, he’s found a myriad of things to name you: doll, darling, sweetheart, dove– all terms of endearment, all terms that send shivers up and down your spine, spur the butterflies in your stomach. But his sugared words hide a dark underbelly, drilling black holes into your teeth, deep into your molars and past that, into your mandible, into your head, into your mind.

Alastor plays with you. You suppose the hotelier could only go so long without being entertained while Charlie struggled against Heaven’s will. And you supposed this is why no one but him noticed when you stumbled on your words only when speaking to him, blushed when he brushed a hand against yours, smiled at him shyly when he offered a feline grin in response to the pinkish hue of your cheeks.

If not love, then what?

From the beginning, he had regarded you with a predatory gleam in his eye– this, and one of keen interest. 

Affection.

This is not a currency that Alastor can barter with and you know this, knew this, because he had told you: “Ah, French, perhaps, my dear. But love?” He spat it and punctuated it with a radio static laugh, “‘Love’ is a tongue I do not speak.”

But despite his words, he eyed you with an almost cruel curiosity. 

He began to linger more in the doorways of rooms you were in. He took it upon himself to help you complete your menial, mundane tasks, took it upon himself to brush his gloved fingers against your hands with more and more frequency, took it upon himself to listen to your woes, offer a shoulder to cry on, push your hair behind your ear, look into your eyes, speak in that voice:

“Whatever could be the matter, my dear? Come now, Alastor is here. I’m here.”

If not love, then what?

You wrap your clammy hands around a golden doorknob, feeling the ornate carvings pressing deep into your palms as you grip it with whitened knuckles, trembling, breathing labored from running in his infernal trap.

When you throw open the door, you give a muffled scream and throw your hands over your mouth to keep the bile down. 

In the center of the room there you are, hunched over and dragging the shiny red intestines from the wet gut of a doe, still weakly kicking one of its hind legs. Your body is twisted into a sickly and ghoulish state, unrecognizable other than by the bloodied clothes and ragged length of clumped hair on its scalp. 

Your form in his likeness, a wendigo.

The doe whines and whines then picks up its head and stares at you with those glassy, milky eyes, chilling you bone-deep.

“Help…Me… Help… Me… Help–”

You slam the door closed. You want to sink down against the wall and curl up in a ball on the carpet, but you don’t because you know he’ll send the wendigo after you if you stop for too long. Almost immediately you’re sent reeling back by a pounding and scratching on the closed door, the same doe voice screeching in warped tones.

“HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!”

He does this because he can’t stand to be bored. You know this, so you keep running.

Alastor can be sweet, sometimes. 

Alastor can knock on your door sometimes, in the dead of night, when he’s feeling kind and when he’s feeling particularly generous.

And Alastor can be gentle sometimes, when he holds you in his arms, lying in the plushness of your bed with his body curled softly around yours. When he asks you about love, about sex, you answer him with a hammering heart, fluttering eyelashes, his face inches away from his but the distance ever unclosable.

“How does falling in love feel, sweetheart?” He asks, eyes half-lidded. His red sclera glows, crimson irises boring into yours. In moments like these, you wonder if his voodoo practices gave him talents in hypnosis, and you wonder if he’s ever hypnotized you before. 

But even you know the truth: he doesn’t need to lift a finger to control you.

“It feels like…” You paused to exhale shakily and you swear his grin pulled upwards even further. “It feels like your heart will beat right out of your chest.”

He traced a clawed finger– ungloved, because he learned you were more jittery without– from the corner of your jaw to the pulse on your neck. Carefully. Delicately. He pressed down and you whimpered at the feeling of his nails digging almost painfully into your sensitive skin.

“Just like this, then?” He asked, his breath a whisper, warm, cascading over your face. 

Yes, you reply, softly. You watch a flash of emotions pass through his face. 

Pride. Sadism. 

Jealousy.

You turn the corner sharply and throw another door open, eyes searching frantically amidst the room for any signs of him, any signs that this would be over soon.

Instead, there’s a hanging woman in the middle of the room, dangling heavily from the ceiling. She looks familiar and you’re unsure why, you’re almost certain you knew her once before but you just can’t recall how. Your head hurts from trying to remember and you clutch it in agony, nearly collapsing to the ground.

On her rope she spins in a slow circle, you watch in horror as she rotates to face you, hair matted to her face with vomit, eyes bulging and bloodshot, face purple and veiny. Her mouth opens and drool leaks from her parted lips, tongue swollen and fat.

“Get out, get out, get out of my head!” She screams hoarsely and begins flailing on the noose, cutting the rope deeper into her skin. “Get out, get out, get out!”

You choke on a sob and slam the door closed, hearing her cries through the walls even still. 

“I wonder how you taste.” He asked you once with the air of being cordial. He asked it slowly, mulling each word over before he spoke it over a cup of steaming tea, as if he had been asking about the weather. Almost nonchalantly. Almost flippantly. Almost.

You had seen how his crimson tongue darted out to pass over his lips, seen how his Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp, seen how his jaw tightened with anticipation for your response, pupils constricting, waiting for you to respond, waiting, waiting. This is how you knew that his imagination had been whetting an insatiable appetite for you. 

Alastor had been a cannibal killer in his past life, Vaggie had divulged as much to you, warily, when she noticed you both spending more time with each other, you with hearts in your eyes, him with much less. Still, the question sends a shockwave up your spine. He wanted to taste you. To lathe your flesh, savor the sinewy muscles, chew through your skin. You, you, you.

That day you made a decision you’d grow to loathe, to love. Your vision tunneled and sweat began to press at the skin of your temples. 

You turned to him shakily. He’d watched you carefully, in that sly way he always did, in the manner that stated he had nothing to lose, measuring for your panic, your apprehension, your devotion. 

But that day, he seemed a little tenser. Smile a bit tighter. You wondered why, and with euphoria, you understood: today, he had you to lose. 

You wanted to reassure him, comfort him in the ways he had comforted you many times before on moonless nights, ignore how you’d hear him swallow his salivation as he dragged his hand up and down your back, muttering a gentle, hungry, “there, there.” 

And so with everything to lose and nothing to gain, you looked him in the eye with the most courage you could muster, you asked: 

“Would you like to know?”

His grin twisted wickedly.

There’s another door up ahead, the energy crackling through the gaps undeniably Alastor’s. The foreseeable end to your terror, for the time being.

You lift your hand up to the doorknob and pause, watching the green-red light seep past the door’s cracks and keyhole. It was hard to forget that Alastor was as powerful as he was, he made sure no one ever forgot, especially not you, when you came crawling to him in these fabricated realities. Here, he could hurt you as much as he could undo the pain, undo the damage. 

But it was never that you had forgotten, moreso that you had– despite endless suffering– forgiven him.

When you step in, he’s sitting next to a fireplace on a red armchair, sipping at a cup of tea. You note the lack of steam, a stale brew. You wonder with a foolishly aching heart how long he’s been waiting for you.

“Alastor.” You say, and cringe. You had wanted it to come out steadily, collected, but your voice had broken in relief, betraying your honest emotions.

“Ah, there my dove is.” He sighs, and you nearly melt with the tone of his voice. His eyes still trained on his cup. He swirls his tea and you can see the leaf grain kissing the edges of the cup from where you stand. “I’m so glad you could make it, my dear.”

He looks up at you and drinks in your panting figure, your pale face. His face is a mask with that smile plastered on his lips.

“Oh? Not having a good time today?”

It’s a challenge. You know he wants you to deny you’re miserable, show him a false face. Show him you don’t trust him enough to show weakness. 

But you do.

Because with him, you’ve learned to wear your heart on your sleeve, speak honestly, cry openly.

“No...” And somehow, you know you should feel ashamed of your earnestness. “...I’m sorry.”

His grin stiffens. 

With a wave of his finger, a chair identical to his is manifested under you, dropping you into the seat. He quirks the finger and tilts his head. The chair screeches over until it is in front of him, the speed at which it moves slams your head into the headrest and you groan in pain.

“Better?” He asks, sweet as honey, daring you to complain. 

You don’t. Instead, you hold your head and shudder. 

“Yes, thank you, Alastor.”

He relaxes into his seat and puts down his cup on the table beside him. All his attention is on you now.

“Good, good. I do want my dove to be as comfortable as possible. We don’t want you passing out like last time, now, do we?” 

You shiver under his unblinking gaze, your voice coming out as a squeak. “N-No…” You instinctively bring a hand up to the crook of your neck, a shake beginning to form in your fingers, then your hands, traveling to the rest of your body.

He watches with a deepening smile, brows lowering, then he stands. 

You always forget how tall he is until he’s looming over you, all seven feet of him bent over you, eyelids shuttered halfway and smile nearly sultry in nature.

“Ah ah ah!” He tuts, then peels off his gloves one at a time, left, then right, revealing the pale grey skin underneath. You swallow thickly at the sight of them.

He reaches forward and with one finger, taps the hand covering your neck. 

“Can’t have this now, can we?”

You drop your hand away, a fierce blush tearing through your face at his gall and at your unwavering obedience.

“Excellent, my dove. Now…”

He places his hands on your shoulders, leaning in close. One hand drifts from your shoulder to your cheek, a single clawed finger tracing soft patterns into the skin, testing the tautness of the meat. He cups your face and coos at you, his breath scented perfectly with his favorite oolong and oleander tea leaves.

“You’re so feverish, my deerest. Are you sure you’re still up for this?”

“Yes!” You intervene too soon, pressing yourself against the cushions of the chair and looking away when Alastor grins at you. “I mean, yes, please. I’ll be okay. I promise.” You give him a nervous smile and he stares at you with a certain placidness that makes you squirm in your seat. With what? Fear? Anticipation?

“Close your eyes for me, darling.”

His use of darling is an accessory to his sentences, you tell yourself, always hanging off the beginning or the end of a statement like a silver-tongued embellishment, but it still makes you shake in your shoes, helpless as ever.

You obey. You always do.

Alastor takes note of this, this action souring the taste of you on his tongue yet sweetening the pot, enticing him twice, threefold, and exponentially. 

You never had to tell him you loved him. You didn’t need to, every day you said it with your eyes. With the way you offered your smile, your flesh, your blood. It was painfully obvious and so very hard to ignore, despite his best efforts.

Love. 

A coin he could not barter with. A coin he was born to never spend or earn, never desired to, until he had seen your foolish dedication to him. 

You close your eyes. You feel him lower his lips to your neck and you tremble when he exhales heavily onto you, sounding nearly whiney with how he breathed, hot and sweet, onto your skin. You can hear the bones of his body cracking as he morphs into his true form, hear his antlers, thick with velvet, scrape the fifteen-foot high ceilings.

“Darling,” He murmurs against you, voice warped with static, he ghosts his lips across your neck, finding it ravishing how petrified you are of him. “Darling. Always so willing for me, aren’t you?” He sounds mean, beyond the usual teasing. “Always.” He spits harshly, and you flinch.

He draws back, takes you in with a look of disdain, of awe.

You adored him so, and for the first time in decades, he wondered how that blasphemous, dooming emotion worked- love- wondered how it felt to have that burden weighing so heavily in his heart he would lend himself to stupidity, time and time again. He wondered and he wondered, and oh, how he loathed that he couldn't know, and oh how he loathed you for making him desire it so endlessly.

He presses a close-lipped kiss onto your skin, sampling the flavor, and you shiver under his touch, biting back a low whine in the back of your throat.

“...You're quivering, my dear.”

You grip the armrests with so much strength your knuckles creak, heart pounding, skin running cold, then hot, cold, then hot.

He rests his hands on top of them, the guise of comforting you with the underlying threat of pinning you if you begin to struggle too hard against him. You hear him take a deep inhale through his nose, burying his face in your hair, just at your nape.

“Goodness, you smell delectable. And I’m feeling absolutely starved for you.”

You shudder and pull your head back, angling your body so that you are offering a prime cut to him on a silver platter, garnished and ready to consume, readily, willingly, dumbly.

Alastor pauses at this, something foreign tearing a hole in the blackest pits of his stomach. He's been feeling this a lot as of late and chalked it up to hunger, it was only his appetite he reasoned. But hunger was familiar to him, wasn’t it?

No, this was something much more dangerous, whet his appetite for more than just consuming flesh. 

He stares at you dispassionately. 

You’re shaking. You’re terrified, you know what will happen next. He’s done this dozens of times now, consumed you, restored you, pursued you again and again. Yet you serve yourself to him, plate yourself, meal and maître d'.

“...Oh, my dove.” 

He speaks in a near whisper, eyes narrowed, grin stretched tight, he laves a tongue out and licks you from your shoulder to your jaw. He’s salivating now, you can feel the drool, hot and pungent with the scent of carrion, leaking down your neck.

 “I will never understand you...”

You hear the squeak of his teeth as he passes his tongue over them, feel the heat of his breath on your neck, the hot splash of saliva hitting your skin then cooling almost just as quickly. His grip on your hands tightens painfully, cracking your knuckles against the upholstery and you hiss in pain but don’t dare do more.

“...That about you, I detest most.”

You feel hot tears pressing against your eyelids, from fear, from your heart breaking yet again, you do not know. 

But you do, don’t you? You know. You know. You know.

Because love feels like slow cooking over an herbal fire. Love feels like being hungry for roadkill. Love feels like being eaten alive.

If this is not love, then what is it?

Alastor sinks his teeth into you again and you know, you know, you know.

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #alastor x you

[wordywarriorwrites]

Burning Hearts

Burning Hearts | A03 | Master List | Rating: M

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie gave you up for all the right reasons, but he just can't seem to let you go...

Pairing: Frankie Morales X F! Reader, Triple Frontier AU

Warnings: Language. Smut. Mentions of violence.

It’s well past last call, but the bartender pours Frankie another without him having to ask.

He knocks it back and chases the burn with a long drag off his cigarette. The combination of nicotine and booze gives him a pleasant buzz, but his favored tried-and-true vices bring him no relief.

All the club’s patrons shuffled out about an hour ago, but the staff carries on, seemingly content to remain open just to wait on him. Frankie knows they won’t cut him off or boot him out, but the need to maintain appearances, at least in public, prompts him to reach for his wallet.

He doesn’t pay for drinks – not at this particular watering hole – so, the Benjamin he slaps down on the counter is more for the speedy service and absence of questions than anything else. He stabs out his smoke, and when he gets to his feet, the peanut gallery on the peripheral of his pity party of one simply moves off to do other things.

An armed enforcer – especially a drunk one, out after hours and clearly spoiling for a fight – would prompt most people to run for cover, but the strippers are pros, and the guards don’t flinch easily. Plus, Frankie’s part owner, which means he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and what he wants, more than anything, is to see you.

So, he gives in to the urge.

He walks by the stage, tips the lone dancer for still bothering to put on a show, and salutes both the DJ and bouncer as he exits out the back. His driver is seated behind the wheel of his always-at-the-ready Bentley, and Frankie parks his ass on the supple, buttery leather of the backseat for the journey. By the time he reaches your estate, he’s sobered up a bit, answered all the texts he’s been ignoring, and pulverized about a half-dozen mints into the grooves of his molars.

The security guys at the gate know who he is. They take pity on him, allowing his vehicle to pass and continue on up the winding driveway. As the car crests the small hill, Frankie’s eyes sweep over the acreage, taking note of the tables and chairs set up on the grass. There are also at least a dozen catering trucks and twice as many hands, all busily taking apart centerpieces, pushing overflowing bins of linens, packing away decorations, and breaking down a podium, dance floor, and sound system.  

There are other armed guards – way more than usual, in fact. Vested bodies dressed in black, with their intimidating visages dispersed in strategic places along the peripheral and in blind spots. Frankie isn’t nervous; he knows they’re on the job, and he doesn’t intend to do anything that would spur them or their semi-automatics into action.

Foregoing the bell, he uses the knocker, allowing the old, iron lionhead to wallop against the mahogany front door. Your head of security, Will Miller, answers promptly, weapon drawn and ready for action. He’s young and a bit tetchy, but he’s got sharp eyes and knows how to handle himself. Will’s been by your side for years and takes his job very seriously, and though Frankie would never admit it aloud, he’s relieved the guy is ready and able to protect you with unhesitating ruthlessness.  

“Morales,” Will greets tersely. “State your business.”

“I just wanna see her,” Frankie replies without preamble.

He scoffs and curls his upper lip, but before he can reply with something undoubtedly and deservedly curt, your voice lilts through air.

“William?” you call out. “Who is it?”

It’s clear by Will’s thunderous expression that Frankie’s unexpected arrival has caused a disruption of the regularly scheduled programming. He’s positive the guy is just itching to plug him, but that doesn’t happen. Instead of being pumped full of lead, a quiet exchange between you and Will takes place, ending with him re-holstering his weapon and you graciously inviting Frankie inside.

The polonaise runner just beyond the threshold guides Frankie into the foyer, the hardwood floor beneath it polished to a high shine and positively gleaming under the soft light emitting from the chandelier hanging overhead. The ornate mirror situated above the marble console in the entryway reveals his slumped profile and wrinkled suit, and Will’s unimpressed sneer is all it takes to get him to straighten his tie and square his shoulders.

Will resets the alarm, and takes your slight nod and murmured thanks for the polite dismissal it is. Once he’s gone, you motion for Frankie to follow you, traversing a familiar path toward the kitchen. He clocks the sway of your hips as he trails behind, paying no mind to the cleaning crew who stops mid-task to hurriedly make themselves scarce. The chef and small army of assistants packing up leftovers and scrubbing the hell out of cookware are just as respectful, filing out in a silent, quick procession.

The two of you are alone, so, you play hostess, going for the fridge and emerging with a bottle of Voss in hand. After placing it on the island within his reach, you move off, and the physical distance between you isn’t lost on him. It hurts, but affords Frankie the opportunity to take you in. Louboutin heels. Trendy cocktail dress with a modest hem length and neckline. Tasteful jewelry, light make-up, and hair pinned back in an elegant twist.  

You’re straight-up class. And so far beyond his reach.

You – blue-blooded and born into generational wealth. Him – a nobody from nowhere. Your name commands respect. His incites fear. You’re an admired, contributing member of the community, full of kindness, and always willing to help. He’s a trigger man, constantly on the precipice of chaos, dragging around a sordid reputation, and always ready to run.

You’re the real deal. You’ve got the pedigree that demands a high-class match with someone important. Someone who doesn’t have a permanent target on his back. Someone safe, who doesn’t always have to fight, fuck, kill, or steal to keep what he’s got. And he knows – damn it, he knows he’s not worthy…   

“Why are you here, Frankie?” you prompt gently.

Thoughts grinding to a halt and at a loss for the right words, he simply shrugs. The picture of patience, you remain silent, which is just as well. He knows he can’t keep doing this to himself or to you. He needs to do right by you. He needs stay the fuck away, but it’s always so much easier said than actually done.

In fact, it hasn’t been that long since he last saw you. A month, maybe? He wondered then, as he does now, if you’ve moved on because he certainly, obviously, hasn’t. And the thought of anyone else touching you? The mere idea of you with another? Someone who could be part of your world, whose mere presence wouldn’t put your life at risk? It makes Frankie reexamine both you and his surroundings with a more observant, suspicious gaze.

Beyond the obvious chaos of a messy kitchen is a small chef’s table, and on the surface, a half-eaten chartreuse board and an open bottle of Merlot. Two pieces of stemware; one stained with lipstick matching your shade, and the other, blemished by the remaining inch of red at the bottom. The lingering stench of a cigar. The presence of your favorite handbag on the chair.

What he perceives amounts to nothing more than a collection of assumptive, so-called evidence that fits the wild narrative in his mind. Still, Frankie seethes with jealousy. Mind and body all tilt-o-whirl, he snarls – deep and nasty, like he’s some sort of fucking animal protecting his territory, but you don’t balk. Instead, you reach for your clutch, pop the clasp, and fish out what looks like a folded piece of paper.

“The charity fundraiser was this evening, remember?” you explain without any guilt or guile. “Pope asked for a private audience after. Apparently, I forgot to rescind his invitation.”

Frankie runs the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, eyes narrowing at the nondescript check you slide across the island’s countertop. Temper unjustifiably flared and now subsequently doused, he snatches up the proffered bottle of water, uncaps it, and forces gulps past the fist-sized lump in his throat.

Fuckin’ Pope. When it comes to making money, he’s merciless, indiscriminate, and not one to let personal feelings get in the way of business dealings. Of course, he’d want to rub elbows with your people. His presence at your soiree, along with Will’s trigger-happy mood, and all the extra staff and guards? It makes complete sense.

But a one-on-one so late afterward? It must’ve been important – something urgent that couldn’t be spoken of in mixed company or discussed over the phone. There are only so many things a man like Pope and a woman like you would have to talk about. Last Frankie knew, the police were still sniffing around, and the lawyer you have on retainer is having a fucking field day, but the heat isn’t bad enough to warrant a face-to-face.

Then again, maybe Pope sought you out for personal reasons and professional gains. Pairing up with the big Boss would guarantee your continued safety and silence a lot of wagging tongues. Your connections would also open up a plethora of new revenue streams, providing Pope with unfettered access to some very deep pockets. Shit, Frankie can practically hear Pope listing the mutual benefits, spinning the rationale of it all, and it makes him feel sick.

Sick and absolutely fucking murderous.

You’re an honest, good woman. All that forthrightness and decency – it’s right there, in your beguiling, steady gaze. And you’re not stupid. In fact, you’re too damn smart for your own good, and the thought of you putting yourself at risk makes Frankie itchy all over. You’re so disarmingly calm, while he’s barely fucking holding it together, and damn it, he has to know for sure…

“Did Pope –” Frankie croaks, scraping a hand through his hair. “Did he ask you to do something for him? Or want to take you out on like, a date, or whatever?”

Lips parting in shock, you blink as if taken aback, and that’s answer enough. Relief buoys and deflates him, and Frankie downplays his seesawing emotions and outlandish, self-sabotaging thoughts by moving over to the table and busying his hands. He pokes at the slices of baguette and the cubes of gourmet cheese. Feigns interest in the thinly sliced prosciutto. Tilts the wine bottle to glance at the label.

None of it interests him because the only thing Frankie’s interested in is you. He gave you up for all right reasons, but still, the feelings you stir inside of him, and the white-hot desire he has for you – they’ll never go away. They roll through him now, stronger than ever; dark possessiveness and furious agony punching him in the gut and pulsing between his legs and clawing at his already tender, bleeding heart.

Frankie met you while scouting some swanky restaurant ripe for poaching, and after cajoling you into abandoning a dinner party, he somehow talked you into drinks, and then, seduced you into his bed. What should’ve been an amazing one-night stand morphed into eight months that quite literally rocked his world. Your acceptance of who he is, your ability to compartmentalize, the way you simply fit in and adapted to his extremely fucked up reality – hell, if the shoe were on the other foot, Frankie’s not sure he could’ve risen to the occasion or withstood it.

What he’s found and experienced with you – it’s fucking lightning in a bottle. Insane, magical, incomprehensible. It never happens for guys like him because guys like him don’t get the girl or the happily-ever-after. Too good to be true? Maybe. Was he in too deep? Absolutely. But it didn’t matter if you were ignorant or a willing participant – it was dangerous either way.

And Pope’s not just the Boss – he’s Frankie’s best friend. His brother. And Frankie’s a loyal soldier – has been since the two of them were in diapers. Yes, he’s in love with you, and if you moved on, he’d get over it eventually. Someday. Maybe. But if you moved on with Pope? He wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive that. And because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment, he has to ask the million-dollar question.

“What if he wanted to?” Frankie asks, pressing his thumb into what he believes is a hunk of Parmesan Reggiano and mashing it flat. “Would you consider it?”

“Consider what?” you wonder. 

“Being with him?”

A sharp breath. A ragged exhale. Your lower lip trembles before it gets bitten into submission by your teeth, and when you meet his gaze, he sees his own pain reflected back at him a thousand times over.

You tell him to leave, heels tap-tap-tapping as you hastily move for the intercom system, voice clipped and cold as you inform him a maid will see him out. He hasn’t just offended you; he’s hurt you, again, but a halting hand on your waist and a fervently whispered apology keeps you from the call button.

Frankie knows he’s got no fucking right – no right to question you or touch you, and certainly no right to step forward when you step back. He’s got no right to dig his fingers into your hip or press you up against the pantry door or burrow his nose against the crown of your head and slowly, greedily inhale.

“I’d fuckin’ kill him,” he growls. “If he ever – I swear, I’d fucking rip his throat out.”

You place your hand over his, and your touch is so soothing, immediately calming his too-hot temper like top-shelf whiskey. Your index finger ghosts over his knuckle tattoos. Ink that means nothing to outsiders, but showcases to anyone who knows his world just how dangerous he is. It’s the hand he uses to dispense justice; it’s scarred, tainted and stained with blood, yet, you touch it with such reverence, such fearlessness…

Frankie closes his eyes and rolls his jaw, “I shouldn’t have – I didn’t mean –”

“I wouldn’t,” you interject, words weighted and insistent. “Not ever.”

“You don’t – shit, you don’t need to tell me that,” he insists, shaking his head at his own uncouth stupidity. “Besides, it’s none of my business. And you’re right – I should go. I should go and stay gone.”

You let out a soft, contrary sound, “You shouldn’t have left.”

He swallows hard. You turn your head. Then, your nose and cheek are brushing against his jaw in a gesture of affection that settles something inside of him that’s too feral to define. Your palms gliding up his arms, along his shoulders, and down the expanse of his chest – it pulls him back from the ledge he’s been tiptoeing along since the day he said goodbye to you.

Frankie meets your eyes. Cups your cheek. Allows his thumb to caress your soft skin. You say nothing, but you look at him as if he’s the only one – as if there could never be another – and he wonders if you can tell that he feels the same way.

“I love you, Frankie,” you assert. “It’s always going to be you.”

“Cariño…” he sighs against your temple.

You’re braver – so much braver than he’ll ever be – and you’re the one who gives into it. You press your lips to the scruff covering his chin, and that gentle, achingly familiar prelude to a kiss destroys his already too-flimsy resolve. Frankie is the one surrendering to you, but you’re the one who yields to him, tilting your head back and opening up to his eager mouth.

He dreamt of you every night. Woke up every day to cold sheets. Had been unable to throw away your toothbrush or part with the half-full bottle of your shampoo. Was unwilling to change the lock screen on his phone from a picture of you to something less painful to look at. He couldn’t delete the playlist you made for him or stop buying the books you put in his Amazon cart. Your favorite fuzzy socks are still in his top drawer, tucked safely next to the pristinely folded, ridiculously threadbare boyband t-shirt you’ve had since you were a teenager.

You have no idea what you do to him. No clue about the kind of hell he’d raise for you, the bodies he’d put in the ground, the lives he’d destroy – all for you. He can’t explain it, not in words, so, he coveys it with his body. Seeking the taste of you with his tongue and searching for your skin with his hands. Sliding his thigh between your legs and rocking into you because he just wants to be close – he just wants to feel you, to lose himself inside of you, to make you smile at him again.

“Upstairs,” you whisper into his ear. “Come upstairs with me, Frankie.”

Powerless to resist, he follows you to the privacy of your room, located on the second floor at the very end of the hall. Jacket, belt, tie – you divest him of his modern-day armor, letting the pieces fall like petals leading up the path to the altar that is your California King-sized bed. Frankie’s shoulder holster is last, and once he’s placed his gun safely on the nightstand, you begin frantically working apart the buttons on his shirt.  

“Love you, cariño,” he pants as he yanks his arms free of the sleeves. “I love you so goddamn much.”

You kick off your heels before giving him your back, “Show me.”

Frankie lowers the zipper on your dress. Pushes at the straps. Watches the inky, supple material slip and slide off your figure. You work your panties down, ass teasingly meeting his crotch as you push the delicate silk and lace past your garter belt. Then, you ease down onto the bed, back hitting the downy comforter with a soft thud.

He’s palming himself through his pants, trying to decide where to start, and your thighs parting in invitation help him make up his mind. He kneels. Hooks his arms around your calves. Yanks you forward until your ass is practically hanging off the mattress. You let out a peal of laughter, and he grins up at you rather dopily as he hitches your legs over his shoulders.

“This okay?” he breathes against your calve.

You touch the tip of your tongue to your upper lip and nod, “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Are you?”

It’s impossible to miss the vulnerability and doubt in your eyes. Frankie knows he wasn’t the only one brokenhearted and that his mistakes hurt you both. An apology seems so inadequate, but he says it anyway, listing the litany of ways he intends to make it up to you, but only if you’ll allow it.

You cup his face and let out a sigh, “I just want you. That’s all.”

Frankie nods. Presses a kiss to your palm. Allows his lips and tongue to trace a path up your thighs, canines sinking into supple flesh along the way. He seeks the center of you with a parched tongue and fingers longing to touch, and when he reaches his destination, you cry out for him.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, suckling your clit and dipping his tongue inside for a taste. “Let me take care of you, cariño. Just let go for me, yeah?” 

Your left breast – plump, soft, and encased in silk – spills free when he yanks the cup of your bra down. Frankie pinches the hardened peak of your nipple, and you arch into his caress, clamping down on his fingers and writhing all over his face. You’re lost to it, just like he is, and when you come against his mouth, it’s indescribably beautiful.

“I need you,” you declare fervently. “Need you inside me, Frankie.”

He doesn’t heed your call until he makes you come again. When he does get to his feet, you’re boneless, but still, you sit up and reach for him. As soon as he’s popped the button on his pants and worked the zipper down, your hands are there, tugging at his boxers. You take him out and wrap your fingers around him, nice and snug, just how he likes. He’s leaking like a goddamn faucet, unable to stop his hips from pumping into your firm hold, and he has to put a halt to your teasing or risk coming in your hand. 

His boxers and pants are in a tangle over his shoes, but he manages to kick everything off and crawl into the soft pile of blankets and pillows after you. Frankie peels off your stockings. Winds your silky-smooth, bare legs around his waist. He kisses you, teasing you and bumping your clit with his hard length until you beg him for it.

He lines up. Pushes in. And then, it’s paradise – pure and true.

You twine your arms over his shoulders, pulling him down into the cradle of your embrace until he’s practically smothering you. Forearms braced on either side of your head and face buried into the crook of your neck, Frankie eases back and slowly thrusts forward to the hilt with a roll of his hips. You meet him halfway, tilting your pelvis up and bearing down, engulfing him in a fist-tight wetness that forces him to work for every deep stroke.  

“You feel so fuckin’ good, cariño,” he groans, smearing his lips along the hinge of your jaw. Frankie puts more effort and weight behind each thrust, hitting deep and keeping a firm, steady pace that he knows gets you off. “Did you miss this? Miss me?”

You mewl. Nod frantically. Forehead pressed to yours, he reaches for the bend of your knee and loops your leg over the crook of his elbow so he can put his back into it. Driving and grinding into you possessively, gaze fixated on yours, flitting between nipping at the tops of your breasts and licking into your mouth and sucking at the pulse point of your neck.

“N-no more,” you stutter, biting into the meat of his shoulder. “No more running, Frankie.”

Frankie nods and snaps his hips forward, “No more running.”

The promise is sealed with another kiss, and when you come for him again, Frankie loses what little finesse he still possesses. You encourage his rutting, whispering in his ear that you want it, that you need him to come inside you. And you’re so wet, he can hear it – how turned on you are, how good he makes you feel, and it’s so good – so goddamned good – that when he comes, his vision dims and all the noise in his head goes silent.

Save for your mingled, harsh breaths, it’s quiet. Peaceful. You welcome his weight on top of you, holding him, scratching at his scalp and kissing his forehead and running your hands up and down his spine. Affection, freely given, without any expectation or ulterior motive behind it. It reminds him of what he almost lost, and he vows to himself that he’ll never let you go again. 

Frankie looks up at you with sleepy, half-lidded eyes, “What did Pope actually want?”

“He begged me to take you back,” you reply, letting out an amused sound as you trace a fingertip over the shell of his ear. “Said he’d donate ten thousand dollars if I did.”

“Is that so? And what did you say?”

“I told him it wasn’t my decision. Then, he upped the offer to twenty, so, I said I’d think about it.”

Frankie snorts and squeezes your waist, “Oh, I bet he hated that.”

“Well, you’ve apparently been a real pain in his ass lately,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug. “So, I told him to donate fifty, and that I’d call him when you came to your senses.” 

He laughs – full-bodied and freely. He kisses you – proud of the hard bargain you drove. And once Frankie’s tucked into bed beside you, absorbing your warmth into his cold bones, he makes a mental note to thank Pope for his meddling in the morning.

#frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fic #triple frontier au #triple frontier fanfic

[bunposting]

Turns out an 80% hay diet - which House Rabbit Society purports as part of what they consider to be the only humane diet for rabbits - may actually be in and of itself actively harmful to rabbits.

Post directly copied from MMC Farmstead on Facebook:

"This is what the back teeth and cheek of a rabbit who was feed a 80% hay diet looks like.

the dental spurs caused by the hay are razor sharp and sliced groves into the inner cheek and tounge.

Every bite this rabbit took was agony due to how a hay heavy diet unevenly wears the teeth and causes malocusion.

Pellets are formulated to help prevent this by being the correct hardness. A healthy well bred rabbit does not require any thing special to keep teeth in check they file them down naturally in a motion referred to as " Bruxing".

This is one of many reasons why Hay should be restricted in Rabbit diets , and is not nessicarry when fed a properly balanced complete pellet .

We do not recomend Feeding hay to rabbits as a staple.

Hay is for enrichment and medicinal/transitional use only.

Hay dilutes the nutrients already in a balanced feed regimen, causes dental impaction, tooth spurs, abscesses. Its difficulty to chew causes mechanical maloculsion.

Hay from a nutrition perspective is not easily defined as a base nutrient , with the levels of protien and quality of other nutrients dependent on the individual harvest .

Hay is also a vector for disease, coccidia, mites, RHDV2, EC ,And many other vectors are carried into the Rabbitry on hay.

We also Run bunclub which is an educational group here: Bun Club

references :

2017 Shape Variation in the Craniomandibular System and Prevalence of Dental Problems in Domestic Rabbits: A Case Study in Evolutionary Veterinary Science

Vet Sci. 2017 Mar; 4(1): 5. Published online 2017 Jan 24. doi: 10.3390/vetsci4010005 PMCID: PMC5606619 PMID: 29056664 Christine Böhmer1,* and Estella Böhmer2 Patrick Butaye, Academic Editor https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5606619/

" Hay seems to be the most mechanically challenging food as it is tougher and stiffer than pellets ......... [70]. It requires more chews per gram to be processed which results in longer chewing bouts compared to pellets and carrots. This means that over a longer period of time the teeth are predominantly axially loaded due to the elevated bite force. If we take into consideration that hay with a lot of hard stems has reduced nutritive properties and potential limits on digestibility, then rabbits eating predominantly hay need to consume large quantities to meet basic metabolic and nutritional demands [70]. All of this promotes retrograde tooth elongation and incursion of the apices into the adjacent bone (most common finding in malocclusions) [1]. Furthermore, hay also promotes periodontal diseases (impacted food) and, therefore is not the best nutrition for rabbits [31]. Grasses and other fresh plants, however, are abrasive, but relatively soft and, thus, can be ground down with relatively low axial load of the cheek teeth as the primary strain on the (pre-) molars occurs in a more physiological laterorostral direction with the aid of the shearing power stroke"""

"Considering additionally that hay is more resistant than fresh grasses, it seems logical to develop further the hypothesis that pet and breeding rabbits had to develope stronger jaw muscles and secondarily larger axial bite forces than their wild counterparts to be able to crush their unnatural food more effectively. This might be supported by a shorter skull and more vertically oriented muscle fibers whereas a longer skull with a more anteriorly positioned masseter muscle (as seen in wild rabbits) reduces the vertical bite force due to a greater distribution of bite forces on all cheek teeth. As teeth at the rear of the dentition generally exert higher bite forces than the more rostrally positioned teeth, this might be an explanation for the found tendency of the cheek teeth to shift caudally in the group of the domestic rabbits. Furthermore, the presence of stronger muscles may explain the more salient appearance of the caudoventral part of the masseteric fossa (mandibular angle) in pet rabbits, as in different mammals (re-)modeling of the mandibular cortical bone has proven to be associated with oral processing of tough food (reviewed in [70]). This research has shown that especially a postnatal variation in diet-related jaw-loading patterns had a marked influence on the masticatory bone formation, leading to morphological variations between sister taxa in the long term [70]. With age, however, plasticity decreases. Based on this, rabbit breeders feeding predominantly pellets and hay seem to promote malocclusions in adult rabbits unknowingly as the masticatory apparatus of the weanlings is exposed to unphysiological strains that may result in changes of the skull morphology."

"

Genetic and environmental factors influencing tooth and jaw malformations in rabbits

Korn, A. K., Brandt, H. R., & Erhardt, G. (2016). Genetic and environmental factors influencing tooth and jaw malformations in rabbits. Veterinary Record, 178(14), 341–341. doi:10.1136/vr.103293

https://sci-hub.se/https://doi.org/10.1136/vr.103293

<- this describes tooth morphology but also makes a strong case to increasing rabbit calcium levels as I have stated in earlier posts. all these rabbit were fed with free choice hay . latter studies showed a correlation between hay and instance of tooth issues when rabbits were fed a limited diet."

Pictures mentioned in the post added below 👇

#absolutely wild #rabbits #there are some things they said that may not totally have scientific basis in their own words but #still entirely worth sharing

[poppy-metal]

omg i never sent this but i guess i’ll just dump it on you i’m sorry

you wake up in a sweat — bleary eyed and rosy cheeked, but not from your usual hawkins induced night terrors ( i’m not sure what your stance is on somno or cnc , so feel free to ignore if you’re against it but 🥺 )

no, it started with his fingers, lithe and dexterous against your oversensitive little clit , nudging the abused little button like he was searching through cupboards in the dark. even sheathed under the recesses of rem , eddie still managed to bring fanfare to your sleepy mind .

but then his fingers just weren’t enough . he’d battered against your walls long enough to get his palm wet , your slick coating his fingers , dripping past his knuckles , smearing into stringy puddles with each curl of his fingers against your walls . each little huff and pant that spilled from your lips only spurred him on more , and he was left wondering how you couldn’t feel him straining against your back . his cock , hot and heavy , pressed between your bodies while he idly played with your pretty little pussy .

and that’s when he realized —

he knows you too well .

knows that , even in the mansions of rest , you can’t stop yourself from absentmindedly following his motions . each thrust is met with a sigh , of not a lazy roll of your hips . each kiss is sealed by your hot breath , or your tongue peaking out to chase his lips . you’re a sweet little thing when you’re asleep , so nice and pliant and good for him .

which means , at the moment , you aren’t sleeping . with your heart knocking against your back , and your thighs tight around his fingers , you’re putting on a ridiculous show of sleeping . a weird , foreign hologram that , for all intents and purposes , prides a mischievous smile to his lips . because you want him to keep going , you want to see how far he’ll take you , but you know this slice of peace will end as soon as you wake up .

and now he knows .

and who is he to disappoint you ?

so that’s how he throws his length into the mix , cradling your knee with the length of his hand and nudging it upward , creating just enough space to nestle himself against your slit . that’s how you find your molars tearing into the thin stretch of skin inside your cheek , trying to swallow your moans and cries as his cock catches against your opening , nice and easy and deliberate .

he definitely knows you’re awake when your ass searches for his hips , nestling further into his back as his weepy tip continues to tap on your clit , and it only prompts him to hum against your shoulder , somehow soft and all knowing —-

“ this sweet little body even knows i like it sloppy while you’re asleep , got your messy little cunt to match that drooly little mouth of yours — didn’t know which one to fill up first . ”

you didn’t realize you were drooling until his fingers were a part of your mouth , heavy against your tongue , sweet and tangy and familiar against your tastebuds . you couldn’t tell if it was your drool or your slick covering his hand .

and he’d already fucked you open just right last night , splitting your walls till they were bruised with the shape of him . his cock has no trouble filling you up , bottoming out in one solid thrust . but he didn’t expecting for you to squirm at the intrusion — hushed , muted sounds against his hand and struggling movements pressed right up into him until your crawling away from him , crawling right off his cock , slick and shiny when it hits his abdomen again . .

and he’ll admit it , he’s ogling at the seam between your thighs as you struggle to maneuver yourself on wobbly arms and legs , but how can he not ? when it’s winking at him , all wet and shiny pink , practically begging him to come back , to get all cozy warm in that snug , tight home of it all .

next thing you know, your cheek finds a home in his ratty little comforter , and his chest melds , all sweat and chest hair , into the curve of your back as he sheaths himself inside you again . as if your poor little hole wasn’t still recovering from the night before .

he laughs at the way your arms still shake , even as they’re curled beneath your chest , and outright cackles when you push back against his cautious rutting . even when you feel unbearably full , your body is still searching for him , clinging to that fullness in the most visceral act of betrayal .

your whines are muffled into the mattress , “you’re such a pervert”

“ yeah , baby . ” he kneads his fingers into the plush of your cheek , manhandling your head just enough to access your profile . sweat crops along the edge of your jaw , your temple , all the slopes and curves in between , his hot tongue scorching the earth behind , salting the clearing of sweat that’s blossomed in its wake , “ but c’mere . come . ”

and you do , mindlessly so , greeting his mischief riddle gaze with an expectant one . your lips part near comically to greet his , welcoming the tang of your sweat , your juices, you , you , miles and piles of you — to share between your tastebuds . and you moan . you fucking moan straight into his mouth .

hence the laughter , sweet and syrupy against your teeth , before he interrupts the sloppy embrace with a thumb to your bottom lip , “ you’d be a pervert too if you were balls deep in this tight little pussy . “

he ruts into you, like punctuation, and your thighs are sandstone , crumbling beneath his brutal onslaught , and your arms are no better , but he’s right .

for a glimpse of a moment , you feel it , like a phantom touch . the gut wrenching stretch of his cock plugging your tired little hole holds no boundary to the way your walls hug him for dear life , twitching and thrumming in tandem — each pulse of your cunt is a push and a pull toward something devastating . a crest you might never see again , if not for long —

and so you barrel toward it , press your ass further into him and let him take you however you want , because it’s eddie , and sometimes he knows you better than you know yourself .

#ask #JESUS H. CHRIST. #tw: somnophilia #tw: dubcon #eddie spaghetti #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

[giantologist]

Hello, Professor! Have you ever been in a giant's mouth?

Good morning!

Ah, yes, I've been waiting for this question. The innate fear of consumption by larger beings that dwells within us all is often the first thing that surfaces when first meeting a giant, i.e. the stereotypical pleading not to be eaten, despite it not being mentioned beforehand. Your question, therefore, is one I've anticipated for a while!

My first encounter with a giant's mouth was when I was visiting a village tucked away in the mountains, as they had a village giant. His name was Ochre, a gentleman of 85ft tall. I introduced myself and my profession to the elderman of the village, only for him to immediately lead me to their giant, who I was told had a very bad toothache. As it seemed I had been mistaken for a physician of giants, I resolved to utilise the opportunity.

Apparently none of the villagers trusted that they wouldn't come to harm, as most of them looked upon me with awe as I tethered a rope to my middle and was taken up into Ochre's hand with hopefully well-disguised anticipation. He assured my safety, to which I thanked him, though my reply may have trailed off as his jaws opened wide.

The problem was visible to me almost immediately, a large chunk of wood slotted between two molars and embedded in his gums, just out of reach of his tongue. There I paused in thought. A few moments more pain for my 'patient' while I studied his mouth seemed slightly unethical, but it was a spur of the moment decision.

[image taken from my journal]

I remember being unable to stop staring, my blood cold, my heart fluttering, my hair on end. It had been everything I had imagined, like peering into a cathedral dedicated to some lord of the aether realm. My emotions soon made way for scientific observation, my eyes immediately drawn to his teeth. The central incisors were between pre-canines rather than lateral incisors, indicating less of a need for shearing food, which I attributed to the fact that most food simply fit into his mouth without the need to be bitten. Most likely due to enormous bite strength, the molars were wide and flat, the surface seeming more like a rocky path than a deep mountainous cleft. Though the diets of giants now are known, seeing a complete set of teeth that I didn't have to dig for gave me many theories as to the food of ancient colossi. I did make a point, however, to advise him to get some better flossing habits.

Ochre's tongue, broad and flat, filled his lower jaw, and I attempted not to view it as a red carpet as my shoes sank into its give, saliva pooling around my ankles as I ducked into the scorching miasma of stale breath. I hoped that in my awed stupor I hadn't dawdled, but I was informed later that most assumed it to be hesitation.

I had a task, however, and the wood came away with only a few attempts to gain purchase on it. In his pain and relief, a loud groan rumbled around me, thundering my ribcage as the budded flesh beneath me lurched, and the halo of light filtering through his enamel was briefly cut off. It was in that fleeting moment of inky blackness that I felt a liminal stillness. The precipice before the fall. The foot poised to kick the hanging stool. A single movement is all it would take to seal my fate, and I clutched the wooden spike with a rushing sensation of pure thrill.

After clenching his teeth for a moment, light seared my eyes as Ochre opened his mouth, revealing the aghast faces of the villagers, and the comforting stretch of his waiting palm. I appreciated him not simply swilling and spitting me, as it left me with a moment more to appreciate my fleeting venture. I cast a last look at the archway of his throat, guarded by that fleshy hanging sentinel that swayed with his breath. I couldn't help imagining holding desperately to it as I dangled over infinity, the last hope one would have before endless nothingness. I then gazed at my exit, still amazed that the ruby red room in which I resided was nothing more than this gentleman's mouth. How I wanted to linger, to settle back against the pillowy flesh and write all I could see. Too soon the needs of convention gripped me, and I stepped into the relative cold of the summer air, my skin damp with condensation, my shoes squelching, my eyes wide and full of wonderment.

Ochre thanked me for my help, and the villagers were relieved that some poor visiting soul was able to do their terrifying work for them.

In payment, I only asked for an evening's interview with Ochre, who was more than happy to give me an abridged version of his life, from mountain whelp to protector of his village.

I left with a spring in my step, still riding the high of my first venture into a giant’s maw. Thankfully it was by no means the last!

Cordially,

Professor J. Finch

#No vore (just mouthplay kind of) #giant/tiny #g/t #giant tiny

[aceya-boyo-soap]

Natural history of rabbits.

Do you know your rabbits? Do you know where these come from? (Part 1)

The Lagomorphs have been around for a very long time, with fossil records found in Asia places the first appearance of Lagomorphs at around 60 million years ago, in the Paleocene.

Most of the fossil data analysed from Lagomorphs (and the common way of differentiating between the subspecies) are their molars! From Mimolagus to Nuralagus, the only consistent thing found throughout time were their molars.

With them we can see when the Lagomorphs around the Paleocene and the Eocene divide into the now well-known two families: the Ochotonids (Pikas) and Leporids (Rabbits and hares).

Gobiolagus (Asia) was first described by Burke (1941), and fossil analysis can be seen done by Meng, J., et al. (2005), where we see similarly-structured teeth and no teeth spurs!

Mytonolagus (US), also described by Burke (1934) also had similar teeth structure, with the main difference with Gobiolagus being the length of said teeth.

(Continued in the second part)

#boyo soap #bunnies #bunny #rabbit #natural history #fossils #paleontology

[roseate-felidae]

Pepsi at 4 months old, taken today

You can tell her apart from her Mum, Juno by her squarer face (Juno is narrow) and softer fur.

She is almost as big as her mum now.

Still has her front incisors cut bi monthly. Thankfully, her molar spurs have not progressed. If they don't, hopefully she can live a long and happy life.

#Pepsi #juno babies #rabbit #bunny #bunblr #my pets #mini rex

[harpagornis]

Symmetrodonts: A Missed Opportunity

Chronoperates paradoxus by Diego Ortega Anatol.

Symmetrodonts are a group of mammals that is distinguished by, what else, semi-symmetrical molar tooth cusps – an in-between between the triconodont condition of earlier synapsids and the more complex cusps of more derived mammals. Most of the clade seems to be a wastebasket taxon, but a clade with more triangular molars seems to form a genuine genetic clade, relatively closely related to therians and lasting from the Early Cretaceous to possibly the Paleocene in the form of Chronoperates paradoxus.

Symmetrodonts included some of the smallest mammals of all time, and complete specimens show hallmarks of early mammals such as tarsal spurs like those of the platypus as well as epipubic bones, and we can infer that like other non-placental mammals they had a cloaca and two-headed penises. They were mostly insectivorous, living up to the stereotype of tiny mammals among dinosaurs.

In Multituberculate Earth, their fate was slightly better than in our timeline. During the Paleocene and Eocene they diversified as small insectivores much as before, but in Europe and Balkanatolia in particular some forms attained larger sizes, including otter-like swimmers and badger like predators. But their success was rather limited; with the Grand Coupure, these island continents were invaded by Asian competitors alongside a disruption of their forest habitats, and alongside their more conservative North American cousins they perished.

This goes to show that, even in this timeline, some groups just aren’t lucky enough for the long run.

#speculative biology #speculative zoology #speculative evolution #spec evo

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

[ massage ]

🐝  *  ―  𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝒀 𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶𝑺. ═══ LEAGUE VERSE ═══ [ massage ] your muse is giving my muse a sensual massage

A soft keen slid from his lips when clawed hands gently traved down the curve of his spine and caressed his ribs along the way, as though he were plucking violin strings - and my, the soft gasps from Robin did count as sweet melodies, didn't they? His long, now quite long, white hair was brushed away in order to avoid being sprinkled on by the hot oil dripping along his skin, the mage's breath hitching with each warm drop. Robin languidly - lazily - lifted his head, hardly even noticing the red silks behind oh so beautifully tied around his wrists and ankles, keeping him in place like a moth ready to be pinned. The motions nearly blurred together with how quick Vlad was, and how soon enough those clawed hands were rubbing deep rhythmic strokes into his muscles and he couldn't help but shift his hips into their caress as the hemomancer's palms cupped him. Hungrily, eagerly - it had always been easy for the noble to slip into possession, and Robin's mind teetered on the edge, ready to launch into a pool of his own incensed desperation.

But he knew that the noble was patient. Dreadfully so.

And its such that Robin felt the entire massage out, not a singular though passing through his head as he was taken care of and pleasured. He feels Vlad's hands cradle his hips as though their were communion, the only holy act he could ever hope to be apart of - and the low growl from above him paints his vision with a delectable delirium. Fangs like knives slid threateningly along his pulse before soft, plush lips mended over the would be wound, covering the nape of his neck in blossoms of red and dints of violet.

Finally, he spoke - or tried to - his voice was susurrated and low, hardly able to get a word out before those sharp ivories plunged into his throat, dripping scarlet down the pale collar of his neck painted his flesh. Pleasure and pain dizzied him for only a brief moment as his lover retracted and kissed over the spot to heal it, the mage hardly able to get enough... and more he was denied as darkness covered his vision and a soft coo resounded in his ear. A request, a command moreso, for him to lift his hips ever so slightly to be able to feel the length of Vlad's desire pressed against him while the bed shifted under him.

A claw slithered up the crux of his throat and slipped between his lips, the taste of salt, the oil and Vlad's skin spurring himself forward as he obediently sucked on the digit while a long, hot tongue lapped at his pulse and finally joined upon his own. Granted by now he would have preferred something else pressing its way into his throat, past his molars until his breath cut off and the only sound he was capable of making were disgustingly needy and desperate moans. Robin's hum practically oozed with excitement as he felt lips press against his own while his throat bulged, a vignette of black surrounding his vision before air returned to his lungs - nearly seering them. The length of the creature's tongue painted his throat as it departed, and brought his senses back to the forefront - a gentle, soft kiss placed onto his forehead reminding him how special he was as he gulped down the last of Vlad's taste and saliva.

He thought he heard him ask something, but his thoughts were soup and all he could do was eagerly nod, especially when felt Vlad's fingers dip below and press against him.

#hm. #kinky scenarios #verse: league #ℝ𝕆𝔹𝕀ℕ 𝔸. 𝔹𝔸𝕌𝔻𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 ... 【 ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ-ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 】 #suggestive tw #hemoplagued #ic #rp #im so sorry- #MKLGFNL #monsterfucking tw #tongue fucking tw #blood tw

[i-should-have-studied]

Mod 4 General Topics

Subclass Prototheria

Primitive, oviparous mammals.

Has a single order, Monotremata.

Confined to the Australia region.

Ex: Platypus and Spiny Anteater.

Has reptilian, avian, and mammalian affinities along with some other peculiar characters.

Reptilian affinities: Presence of Cloaca, Body temp. not constant, can withstand starvation for a long period, and eggs are large with a leathery shell

Avian affinities: Shape of platypus beak resembles a duck bill, teeth are absent and feet are webbed.

Mammalian affinities: Body covered in hair, skin richly glandular, a typical mammalian diaphragm divided the body cavity, heart 4-chambered, and presence of milk glands secreting milk.

Peculiar characters: Presence of tarsal spurs in male, milk glands derived from sweat glands and without teats, temporary abdominal marsupial pouch in female during breeding season, and the right ovary is smaller and usually functionless.

Dentition in Mammals

Arrangement of teeth in vertebrae is termed dentition, teeth are most specialized in mammals.

Teeth play an important role in everyday life of animals. They

1. Grasp and hold prey or food in the mouth cavity

2. Serve as a grinding mill for chewing food.

3. Serve as weapons for offence or defense to tear organs.

I. Shape of Teeth: teeth can be differentiated into homodont or heterodont.

Homodont teeth are all similar in shape and size, common in vertebrate other than mammals.

Heterodont teeth are dissimilar in shape and size. They are distinguished into several types such as incisors, canines, premolars, and molars. The differentiation depends on the nature of food eaten and the manner of securing it.

II. Attachment of Teeth: The manner of attachment of teeth at the bases with the jaw bones varies.

Acrodont: Teeth are attached to the free surface or summit of the jaw bone. Can break easily but also are replaced. Ex: shark

Pleurodont: Teeth are attached to the inner side of jaw bone by their base and well as one side. Ex: lizard

Both of the above are rootless, nerves and blood vessels enter the pulp cavity along the lateral side.

Thecodont: Teeth have well developed roots implanted in deep individual pits called theca in the jaw bone. Ex: mammals

III. Succession of Teeth: According to their permanence or succession:

Polyphyodont: Teeth can be replaced an indefinite number of times during their life. Ex: Lower vertebrates

Diphyodont: Teeth develop in two successive sets, common in mammals.

The first set are called milk teeth, they erupt after birth in most but in bats they form and shed before birth. Milk dentition has no molars.

Milk teeth are later replaced with permanent teeth which last throughout life. Can't be replaced if lost. Anteaters have more milk teeth than perm.

Monophyodont: Only one set of teeth develops, found in some mammals like platypus.

IV. Kinds of Teeth: 4 types, incisors, canines, premolar, molars.

Incisors: The front teeth which are borne by the premaxillae in upper jaw and tips of dentaries in lower jaw. They are single-rooted, monocuspid and long, curved and sharp-edged. They are adapted for seizing, cutting and biting

Canines: A single canine tooth occurs in each half of each jaw, just outside the incisors. Upper canines are the first teeth on maxillae. Canines are generally elongated, single rooted and with a conical sharp monocuspid crown. They are meant for piercing, tearing, offence, and defence.

Cheek Teeth: includes both premolars and molars. Their crowns have broad surfaces with ridges and tubercles meant for crushing, grinding and chewing.

Premolars: usually have two roots and two cusps and are represented in milk dentition.

Molars: generally have more than two roots and several cusps, do not have milk predecessors.

V. Dental Formula:

The number of teeth varies in different

species. However, enough teeth are constant and characteristic for every species of mammals. Therefore the number of teeth in a species can be represented by an equation called the dental formula.

Since two halves of each jaw are identical, only the teeth of one side are recorded. Those of the upper and lower jaws are separated by a horizontal line. Kinds of teeth are denoted by their initial letters: i, c, pm and m. Number of teeth shown in the formula multiplied by 2 gives the total number of teeth in a species.

Examples below

VI. Structure of Teeth

Aquatic Adaptations in Mammals

Mammals are primarily terrestrial animals, but some of them have secondarily adopted an aquatic mode of life. All of them still breath air though lungs.

Some have reverted to water because of extreme competition for food and shelter on land.

Aquatic adaptations fall into 3 main categories: modification of original structure, loss of structure, and development of new structure.

Modification of Original Structure:

1. Body Shape: Their external bodies have adapted into a fish like form with an elongated head, indistinct neck, and a tapering streamlined body which offers little resistance and swims rapidly.

2. Large size and weight: The larger size reduces skin friction and heat loss, but creates no problem for support in water due to buoyancy.

3. Flippers: Forelimbs are transformed into skin-covered unjointed flippers which have no separate fingers, they can move as a whole at the shoulder joint. Flippers serve as balancer and provide stability.

4. Hyperdactyly: Extra digits, up to 14 or more, serve to enlarge the surface area of the flipper for greater utility when swimming.

5. High and Valvular nostrils: Nostrils are placed far back on the top of the head so the animal can breath hair without having to raise it's head out of water too much. They can also be closed by valves as they dive.

6. Mammary ducts: During lactation, ducts of mammary glands dilate to form large reservoirs of milk which are pumped directly into the mouth of young by the action of a special compressor muscle. This allows suckling of young underwater.

7. Oblique diaphragm: An oblique diaphragm makes the thoracic cavity larger, dorsal, and barrel shaped, providing more space for lungs to expand.

8. Large lungs: Large and highly elastic lungs ensure taking in the maximum amount of air in before diving down. Like swim bladders in fish, the dorsal lungs also serve to maintaining a horizontal posture while swimming.

Loss of Structures:

Most hair is lost with the exception of some sensory hairs on snout or lips. Pinnae absent too. Both may obstruct the even flow of water over body surface and interfere with the speed and elegance of movement through water.

Eye cleansing nictitating membranes, lacrimal glands, and every other kinda of skin glands are absent because they are useless under water.

Skin loses its muscles and nerves due to thickening and immobility.

Hindlimbs are only represented in fetus as little nobs, disappear in adults.

Pelvis is rudimentary.

Fingernails are absent but present as traces in fetus.

Scrotal sacs are absent as testes remain inside the abdomen.

Development of New Structures:

1. Tail flukes: the tail develops large, lateral or horizontal expansions of skin called flukes. They are not supported by fin rays. Their up and down stroke both propel the body in water and help in rapid return to the surface.

2. Dorsal fin: An unpaired adipose dorsal fin without skeletal support, serves as a rudder or keel.

3. Blubber: The thick subcutaneous layer of fat. It compensates for the lack of hair by acting as a heat insulator. It also provides a ready reservoir of food and water during emergency. The fat also reduces the gravity of the animal and imparts buoyancy.

4. Harderian glands: Eyes under water remain protected by a special fatty secretion of harderian glands.

Flying Adaptations in Mammals

Flight can be seen in two ways in mammals: gliding and flapping.

Gliding is seen in flying lemurs and squirrels while flapping is seen in bats.

Gliding Adaptations:

The body is elongated, flattened and streamlined. The limbs are long and equal, tail is long and gradually tapering.

There is a double fold of furred skin called patagium or parachute membrane, stretched on either lateral side between neck, limbs, body, and tail.

Sometimes it it reinforced with a cartilaginous rod springing from the elbow or wrist.

Flapping Adaptations:

Bats are the only mammals with true and sustained flight effected by the flapping of wings. To adapt, radical changes have taken place internally in their skeleton and musculature. Their skill has been adjusted in an exaggerated manor too.

1. Wings: Wings or patagia are paper thin, elastic membranes which are extensions of leathery skin from the lateral sides of body, legs, and tail. The forearm is greatly elongated, carrying a hand with 5 very long fingers.

The first finger, the pollex, is short, free, and sharply clawed. The other 4 fingers are clawless (sometimes the 2nd is clawed), enormously lengthened and embedded in the wing web to support it. The fingers act like the ribs of an umbrella which opens and closes the wing and keeps it taut when expanded.

In most bats, an inter-femoral membrane also encloses the tail, it extends between the hindlimbs. A spur of bone, the calcar, projects from the tarsus of each foot. And a similar ante-brachial membrane connects the neck with the humerus bone of upper art. With these, there is a continuous and uninterrupted parachute of skin around the bat's body.

2. Legs: The hindlegs are small, weak, and have sharp tow claws used for suspending the bat upside down from a branch or perch while resting. Knee joints are pointed backwards instead of forwards, it helps in maximum spread of wing membrane.

3. Tail: Tail is variable in size. When well developed, the tail supports the inter-femoral membrane and acts as a break when flying. It also is used as a pouch for holding food or prey. May even be used as an aerial cradle for a new born bat.

4. Teeth: Milk dentition, Young are often born with small hook-like or needle-like teeth, they are supposed to serve the young for gripping firmly to the maternal teats while she is flying.

5. Senses: bats are extremely modified for nocturnal flight. They can fly in the dark and avoid obstacles with echolocation, their ears are supersensitive.

[fossilageminerals]

Common Types of Mammal Fossil for Sale and Their Significance

Mammal fossils offer a glimpse into evolutionary history, preserving anatomical details across vast spans of time. Many major groups like saber-toothed cats, mammoths, and ancient horses have no living descendants, making fossils the only evidence of their existence. For scientists, mammal fossils provide data points to study and compare anatomy, reconstruct phylogeny, and piece together aberrant ecologies of the past. But fossils also captivate public and collector imagination, spurring interest in acquiring mammal fossil for sale from legitimate commercial sources.

But what specific mammal fossils are typically available for collectors seeking a special addition to their personal paleontology holdings? Here is an overview of common mammal fossil offerings, from iconic carnivores to obscure herbivores, and how their skeletal remains contribute to modern evolutionary understanding:

Saber-Toothed Cats

Several saber-toothed cat species (Machairodontinae) appear frequently in fossil sales. Smilodon, the giant saber-tooth, headlines this group with its eight-inch canines. Less familiar relatives like scimitar cats (Homotherium) and dirk-toothed cats (Megantereon) show parallel evolution of elongated teeth for shearing flesh. Studying their skeletal adaptation illuminates the rise and fall of mammalian apex predators across different continents.

Primitive Whales

50 million years ago, whale ancestors resembled large deer, with hooves and long snouts. Primitive whales like Pakicetus and Ambulocetus seem wildly disparate from today’s leviathan cetaceans, but their fossils document an intriguing terrestrial-to-aquatic transition. Key evolutionary milestones like Pakicetus retaining wolf-like teeth while adapting inner ears for underwater hearing have come to light through fossil study. These fossils remain rare, but museums occasionally deaccession duplicate specimens into commercial trade.

Oreodonts

Unusual mammal fossils called oreodonts epitomize the eclectic selection collecting offers. These sheep-sized, hoofed herbivores filled ecological niches between camel and horse varieties for over 25 million years but disappeared in the Miocene. Well-preserved oreodont fossils like jaws laden with cusped molars turn up for sale, allowing scientists to refine obscure branches in the mammal evolutionary tree. Oreodont fossils for sale provide a unique glimpse at a successful group of plant-eaters now extinct.

The fossil mammal offerings above only scratch the surface of available specimens that illuminate everything from marine carnivore gigantism (megalodon shark teeth) to the rise of mammals after dinosaurs (Eocene mammals). Amassing fossil data aids scientists in painting intricate ecological portraits of the past. Mammal fossils in a mineral store offer more than aesthetic appeal or financial value for serious collectors - they are windows into eras, epochs, and specialist herbivores before the age of man.

Summary

Whether shopping dentitions of saber-tooths, splay-tusked mastodons, or the molars of peculiar oreodonts, consumers bear responsibility for sourcing reputably when acquiring mammal fossil for sale. Supporting commercial paleontological dealers invested in ethics preserves fossils’ scientific worth along with their collectability. Destructive excavation practices or illicit trading hampers studying specimens in crucial geologic context. But the legal fossil market provides celebrated artifacts and bizarre oddities to enjoy while also advancing public understanding about the progression of mammalian life across deep time.

#oreodontfossilsforsale #mineralstore #mammalfossilforsale

[lowlyroach]

806) molars

Bone spur on the roof of my mouth

My hearts growing teeth

Just so it can eat the parts of me

That belong to you

My god, it keeps chewing

I can still hear it chewing

It's clenching it's jaw

It's grinding the molars to dust

#1031 #poem #poetry

[midbayfamilydental]

Brightening Your Smile and Boosting Your Confidence: A Guide to Choosing a Top-notch Dentist in Niceville

Your smile is one of your most valuable assets, and it can have a significant impact on how you perceive yourself and how others view you. A bright, confident grin can make all the difference in both professional and personal situations. However, maintaining optimal oral health requires regular visits to a skilled dentist who can provide top-notch care. If you're looking for a trusted dental provider in Niceville who can help brighten your smile and boost your confidence, look no further! In this guide, we'll walk you through everything you need to know about choosing the right dentist for your needs so that you can feel confident with every smile.

What is Dentistry?

Dentistry is the practice of providing dental care for people. Dentists are specially trained to diagnose and treat dental problems. They use a variety of techniques, including oral surgery and dentistry. Dentists also provide preventive care, such as tooth brushing and flossing, to keep your teeth healthy.

When choosing a dentist niceville, it is important to consider the following factors:

Location. The dentist you choose should be close to where you live or work.

Education and Experience. Make sure that the dentist has experience in the area you need treatment, and be sure to ask about their education and training.

Staff Quality and Training. Look for a dentist who employs qualified staff members with adequate training in dental procedures.

Services Offered. Ask what services the dentist offers, and whether they offer any discounts or special deals for patients who subscribe to their mailing list or online patient portal.

Cost of Services Provided. Be sure to get a price estimate before visiting the dentist so that you know how much money you will have to spend on dental services.

The Different Types of Dentists

If you're thinking about getting a new dentist, there are a few things to keep in mind. Here are the different types of dentists in Niceville:

Dentist: A general dentist who specializes in oral hygiene and dental care. They can perform routine exams, fill cavities, and remove tooth decay.

Endodontist: A dentist who specializes in treating problems with teeth and gums at the root (the part of the tooth that's inside the gum). They can treat diseases such as periodontitis and periapical abscesses (pockets of pus that form near the root), as well as fix misaligned teeth.

Dental hygienist: A health professional who provides oral health care for people aged 4 years or older. They clean teeth using water, hydrogen peroxide, and other detergents; check for plaque; teach patients about oral hygiene; and give treatments such as deep-cleaning and polishing.

Orthodontist: A specialist who treats problems with bite alignment (bite formation) and Spurs (extensions or shortening of the jawbone). Orthodontists can correct issues such as crooked teeth, crowded teeth, overbites/over jetting, cross bites/crossed maxillary sutures (fused arch bridges), lipomas (fatty masses on jaws), TMJ disorders ( temporomandibular joint disorder ), delayed eruption of primary molars,

How to Choose a Dentist

To find the best dentist for your needs, start by doing your research. Ask family and friends who they use, read online reviews, or check out dental directories like The Dental Association of America’s (DAA) Directory of Dentists. Once you have a list of dentists to consider, it’s important to meet with each one in person. Bring along copies of your medical records, insurance information, and any other relevant documents. Ask the dentists about their experience treating patients with specific dental problems and whether they offer discounts for military veterans or members of certain community groups. Additionally, ask them about their qualifications and training. In order to maintain good oral health and achieve optimal dental care, visit a dentist at least twice a year for a comprehensive teeth cleaning and evaluation.

The Top 5 Questions to Ask a Dentist

If you’re looking for a dentist who can provide you with beautiful, healthy teeth, it helps to have some questions in mind. Here are five key questions to ask a Niceville dentist:

What are your qualifications? Make sure you choose a dentist who has experience and expertise in dentistry. The best dentists will be able to provide you with comprehensive dental care and help you maintain optimal oral health.

What services do you offer? Be sure to ask about the dental services that the dentist offers and whether they meet your needs. You should also ask about any special deals or discounts that may be available.

How do I schedule an appointment? Schedule your appointment early so that you can get the best treatment possible. Also, be sure to inquire about walk-in hours and availability so that you don’t have to wait long in line.

Will I need any surgery or extra treatments? Ask your dentist if there are any specific procedures or treatments that he or she recommends for your particular case. Be aware that some treatments may require additional visits later on down the road, so it’s important to know all of the details up front.

Is there anything else I should know before my appointment?

Conclusion

Finding a good dentist in Niceville can be difficult, but it is important that you find the right one for your needs. If you are looking for a dental professional who will provide top-notch services and help you maintain your oral health, look no further than our list of dentists in Niceville. We have compiled a list of dentists who are highly recommended by their patients, so make sure to give them a try!

Company Name:- Mid Bay Dental - Niceville Dentist

Address:- 4579 E Hwy 20 Ste 210, Niceville, FL 32578, United States

#dentist near me #niceville dentist #dentist niceville fl #dentist niceville #dentist in niceville fl #dentist in niceville