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ORIGINAL ARTWORK BY 
SkiaSkai
On The Nature Of Alien Bonding
Excerpts Authored By Professor Altre Yporia, Xenosymbiotics
...as can be found in many a public video. Despite years of study and deep research, Viscoxite bonding can be a tenuous effort... the very alien nature of it can startle and frighten, causing a host to fight, rebel, concerned as to their continued ability to maintain their autonomy. As such, you aren't yourself likely to see such a pairing, nor would it be considered proper etiquette to reveal such in polite company...
...unique nature of each individual of the species lends itself to a full spectrum of encounters, from hostility to nihilism, and oft-manifested physical responses of both positive and negative identifications are truisms in the space, necessitating a gamut of both biological, mental, and temporal techniques to achieve the overarching goal. Even still, small pools of 'conscious agents' actively endeavor to disrupt and deny these engagements, claiming protectionist motives and...
...deeply, deeply personal reasons. Some rare few find hosts most agreeable, for a true symbiosis is a partnership, not a peril. Sometimes, the whole is in fact greater than the sum of its parts. It is the opinion of this researcher that a more spiritual potential is within reach, if the more profane utilizations are bypassed, for both host and entity are in lure of shortsighted pursuits, leaving the longer term stratagems further afield and out of reach.
The dissertation would only be read by a handful of other academics. Such was the nature of speculating on something with no proven identity. Sure, there were the anecdotals; topics written on forums so old they barely creaked by in the forgotten Web 1.0. Hell, the most accurate repository of information came from a defunct Geocities page. But, when you were already on the ropes, you either let yourself be knocked out or held fast against the enemy.
The enemy, in this case, was nothing so esoteric as a purported alien symbiote slowly encircling the local intelligent fauna. No, it was a more mundane and deep-seated threat; that of budget cuts, and the subsequent manufacturing of 'adequate cause vis a vis academic incompetence' to strip him of his tenure. He'd fought and pushed, thrown every ounce of the anxiety he carried with him against the Dean, but by now the writing wasn't so much on the wall as it was on his desk, in the form of a boldly titled letter labelled "Involuntary Sabbatical". Severance, closer to God, and yet they wouldn't dare use such words in a form he could utilize legally.
Sure, it was painted in flowery language, deep in 'preeminence in esoteria' and 'concerns for your health, both of body and mind', but he could read through all that. They were going to push him out, and then academia would be forevermore locked away from his reach. He'd spend his remaining years living at home on a small stipend, watching the same shows, microwaving the same meals, letting what little he could contribute in life ebb forevermore into the past as he became a relic, a fossil, an ancient useless nothing that absorbed energy like a black hole that...
Nope. He was spiraling again, letting that inner monologue dictate a future devoid of meaning, purpose, or pleasure. He took five deep breaths, and finding himself still on edge, he reached for the pills at the edge of his desk. Technically for emergency only, but given that he was maybe never going to see the desk again, or his occasional hobby-class of fellow misfit students (who mostly humored him, to be honest, and really, did he actually think he could contribute anything of worth to an esteemed body when-
And there it was. The tremors, charging up and down his form, barely able to hold a pencil, let alone get the cap off a pill bottle. The anxiety always started mentally, but once it grabbed him it spiraled outward, pulling nerves out of his arms, legs, and core, until he was simultaneously shuddering and curled up tightly in a ball, afraid of each photon that deigned enter his worthless eyeball.
One moment he was shivering uncontrollably, about to collapse out of his chair into a multi-hour fit of anxiety... the next a truly alien sensation was playing across him. Yes, some would claim that a new coating of ooze surrounding one's form would constitute 'alien sensation', but if he were capable of speech at that moment, he would've instead highlighted the alienness spreading across his mind... one of solace, of peace, of a conscious life of warm abundant bliss, welcoming him out of the cold tempest of anxiety that he marinated in morning, noon, and night... but he was not so eloquently equipped, and so all that came out was a watery, muffled "Bweh?", before a curtain descended across his consciousness.
He woke, as he often did, peering out through the dust motes that drifted through his empty office. He didn't usually have dreams during a panic attack, let alone that... feeling... he shuddered again, letting out an uncontrollable keening sound just at the memory. For the briefest of moments, he felt... no, he couldn't. It wasn't deserved. For, if he deserved that solace, why had it taken so long to find him? He sighed, and picked himself up slowly from the floor between his chair and desk. Looking over the mess of papers spilling everywhere from his earlier collapse, his eyes caught sight of the excerpted work of his.
Strangely, certain words seemed to... glow? He started at the page, the words 'agreeable' and 'symbiosis' with a sheen... rubbing his eyes, he blinked several times and looked again... and the paper was as normal as they came. As normal as the "Involuntary Sabbatical" staring back at him angrily, from one of the potted fern fronds it had landed on. Strangely, this time around, as he read it, the pit in his stomach refused to form. He assumed this was the start of a week of unfeeling, which was a possibility after particularly bad attacks. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling for the briefest moment something sticky, but when he pulled his hand back it was clean. He sighed... it had been a long day, and writhing on the ground had once again done a number on him. A bath at home, a microwaved meal, and some rest... it wouldn't bring him back, but it would at least start the process he had done countless times before, of fatiguedly building himself back up piece by piece.
As he settled into the bath, an hour later, he let the warm water sink against his feathers. He slid his paws along his body in the manner his therapist had suggested, imagining himself pushing his stress down through his torso, into his knees, and out through his talons. He counted up from 1 as he did so, reaching back up to repeat the exercise. 12, and there was another pass. 23, and the tension was less. 35, and... what? His paws refused to move up his body. Actually, most of his body refused to do much of anything. He opened his eyes... except, he didn't. In fact, all he seemed to be able to do was think at himself. Was he dissociating? Oh god, he was in the bath. If he couldn't regain control, he might sink under the water and drown. Wouldn't that be the icing on the shit cake of his life, drowning in a bathtub as the college did its best to divorce itself of his worthless---
That same soothing, warm sensation flowed through his head, sending his toxic waste train of thought careening off the tracks, into hot nothingness. If he was in control, he'd have gasped, but instead he was left in his mind, confused and scared to acknowledge the vibe suffusing him for fear that observing the bubble would cause it to pop. At which point a soft voice echoed through his internal state:
He shuddered, trying to put the pieces together, before he realized that he could move his body again. But it felt weird... like moving your hand through molasses, writ large. He opened his eyes, gummy with black resin oozing past... and then realized that his whole form was coated. Nay, the entire bath was now this sticky black resin, slowly oozing around him. Trying not to pant, as the sensations were evocative to a part of him he had long since suppressed, he struggled to make sense of what was happening, let alone the 'message' he had just received. Some phrases didn't make sense, or made sense in a part of him that didn't make sense... but hinted at what he was expected to offer. He continued to try to work it out, as the buzzy feelings suffusing his mind were extremely difficult to ignore, against their siren song of relaxing, of sinking back into them.
"No need for introductions... you're a Viscoxite, and I'm now your host. I've done enough research to... know that we're already bonded, and that there's no point in fighting it. Truth be told, I'm so tired of fighting... but you'll give me..." he paused, shivering, afraid to ask, but also afraid that, should it be left unasked, it might go away. He took a shuddering breath, somehow not inhaling any of the ooze dripping along his beak. "You'll give me more of this feeling, and I need to... dance? Or... did you mean something else?"
"I don't really understand... what do I need to do?"
"So all I need to do is exist, and I'm fulfilling my side of... whatever this is?" It didn't seem fair, a one-and-done exorcism of his inner demons in return for... just going about his day? Never mind all of the ideas the long-quiet part of him was suddenly throwing at him amidst the double whammy of his tingling brainstem and this thick, syrupy ooze pouring down his feathers and into the tub, where it made delightful--
Nope. Have to stop that thought. Gotta...
The warm bliss doubled in his head, sending his eyes cross just as the delicious sensations he had been trying to put to the side focused on one very specific spot... and if there had been a paper contract in front of him, there never would've been a signature so fast as the one he offered in response.
FIN
So you know that thing that happens when you get a commission and suddenly are inspired to write almost 2000 words in an hour as a short story? No? I didn't either, but damned if this one didn't grab me and shake my muse out of bed.
Needless to say, I adore this piece. I love the idea of my bird finding just how relaxing a symbiote that can manipulate neurochemicals would be, and I guarantee he'd be agreeable to it even before realizing just how goopy his life would become~.
If you haven't looked into the Viscoxites, I recommend doing so. You'll come away much better than you started! https://viscoxite.carrd.co/
SkiaSkaiOn The Nature Of Alien Bonding
Excerpts Authored By Professor Altre Yporia, Xenosymbiotics
...as can be found in many a public video. Despite years of study and deep research, Viscoxite bonding can be a tenuous effort... the very alien nature of it can startle and frighten, causing a host to fight, rebel, concerned as to their continued ability to maintain their autonomy. As such, you aren't yourself likely to see such a pairing, nor would it be considered proper etiquette to reveal such in polite company...
...unique nature of each individual of the species lends itself to a full spectrum of encounters, from hostility to nihilism, and oft-manifested physical responses of both positive and negative identifications are truisms in the space, necessitating a gamut of both biological, mental, and temporal techniques to achieve the overarching goal. Even still, small pools of 'conscious agents' actively endeavor to disrupt and deny these engagements, claiming protectionist motives and...
...deeply, deeply personal reasons. Some rare few find hosts most agreeable, for a true symbiosis is a partnership, not a peril. Sometimes, the whole is in fact greater than the sum of its parts. It is the opinion of this researcher that a more spiritual potential is within reach, if the more profane utilizations are bypassed, for both host and entity are in lure of shortsighted pursuits, leaving the longer term stratagems further afield and out of reach.
The dissertation would only be read by a handful of other academics. Such was the nature of speculating on something with no proven identity. Sure, there were the anecdotals; topics written on forums so old they barely creaked by in the forgotten Web 1.0. Hell, the most accurate repository of information came from a defunct Geocities page. But, when you were already on the ropes, you either let yourself be knocked out or held fast against the enemy.
The enemy, in this case, was nothing so esoteric as a purported alien symbiote slowly encircling the local intelligent fauna. No, it was a more mundane and deep-seated threat; that of budget cuts, and the subsequent manufacturing of 'adequate cause vis a vis academic incompetence' to strip him of his tenure. He'd fought and pushed, thrown every ounce of the anxiety he carried with him against the Dean, but by now the writing wasn't so much on the wall as it was on his desk, in the form of a boldly titled letter labelled "Involuntary Sabbatical". Severance, closer to God, and yet they wouldn't dare use such words in a form he could utilize legally.
Sure, it was painted in flowery language, deep in 'preeminence in esoteria' and 'concerns for your health, both of body and mind', but he could read through all that. They were going to push him out, and then academia would be forevermore locked away from his reach. He'd spend his remaining years living at home on a small stipend, watching the same shows, microwaving the same meals, letting what little he could contribute in life ebb forevermore into the past as he became a relic, a fossil, an ancient useless nothing that absorbed energy like a black hole that...
Nope. He was spiraling again, letting that inner monologue dictate a future devoid of meaning, purpose, or pleasure. He took five deep breaths, and finding himself still on edge, he reached for the pills at the edge of his desk. Technically for emergency only, but given that he was maybe never going to see the desk again, or his occasional hobby-class of fellow misfit students (who mostly humored him, to be honest, and really, did he actually think he could contribute anything of worth to an esteemed body when-
And there it was. The tremors, charging up and down his form, barely able to hold a pencil, let alone get the cap off a pill bottle. The anxiety always started mentally, but once it grabbed him it spiraled outward, pulling nerves out of his arms, legs, and core, until he was simultaneously shuddering and curled up tightly in a ball, afraid of each photon that deigned enter his worthless eyeball.
This is the timeform that was chosen. Less of why, more of when, at a strategically optimal temporality to enable a host to be pacified, either by carrot, or by suspiciously-carrot-shaped stick.One moment he was shivering uncontrollably, about to collapse out of his chair into a multi-hour fit of anxiety... the next a truly alien sensation was playing across him. Yes, some would claim that a new coating of ooze surrounding one's form would constitute 'alien sensation', but if he were capable of speech at that moment, he would've instead highlighted the alienness spreading across his mind... one of solace, of peace, of a conscious life of warm abundant bliss, welcoming him out of the cold tempest of anxiety that he marinated in morning, noon, and night... but he was not so eloquently equipped, and so all that came out was a watery, muffled "Bweh?", before a curtain descended across his consciousness.
Hostform coagulation acceptable. Brood manifested in eighteen temporal frames of significance. Engaging host again in frame[integration]+5629. Quiet softlight safe soothe calmly comforted.He woke, as he often did, peering out through the dust motes that drifted through his empty office. He didn't usually have dreams during a panic attack, let alone that... feeling... he shuddered again, letting out an uncontrollable keening sound just at the memory. For the briefest of moments, he felt... no, he couldn't. It wasn't deserved. For, if he deserved that solace, why had it taken so long to find him? He sighed, and picked himself up slowly from the floor between his chair and desk. Looking over the mess of papers spilling everywhere from his earlier collapse, his eyes caught sight of the excerpted work of his.
Strangely, certain words seemed to... glow? He started at the page, the words 'agreeable' and 'symbiosis' with a sheen... rubbing his eyes, he blinked several times and looked again... and the paper was as normal as they came. As normal as the "Involuntary Sabbatical" staring back at him angrily, from one of the potted fern fronds it had landed on. Strangely, this time around, as he read it, the pit in his stomach refused to form. He assumed this was the start of a week of unfeeling, which was a possibility after particularly bad attacks. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling for the briefest moment something sticky, but when he pulled his hand back it was clean. He sighed... it had been a long day, and writhing on the ground had once again done a number on him. A bath at home, a microwaved meal, and some rest... it wouldn't bring him back, but it would at least start the process he had done countless times before, of fatiguedly building himself back up piece by piece.
As he settled into the bath, an hour later, he let the warm water sink against his feathers. He slid his paws along his body in the manner his therapist had suggested, imagining himself pushing his stress down through his torso, into his knees, and out through his talons. He counted up from 1 as he did so, reaching back up to repeat the exercise. 12, and there was another pass. 23, and the tension was less. 35, and... what? His paws refused to move up his body. Actually, most of his body refused to do much of anything. He opened his eyes... except, he didn't. In fact, all he seemed to be able to do was think at himself. Was he dissociating? Oh god, he was in the bath. If he couldn't regain control, he might sink under the water and drown. Wouldn't that be the icing on the shit cake of his life, drowning in a bathtub as the college did its best to divorce itself of his worthless---
That same soothing, warm sensation flowed through his head, sending his toxic waste train of thought careening off the tracks, into hot nothingness. If he was in control, he'd have gasped, but instead he was left in his mind, confused and scared to acknowledge the vibe suffusing him for fear that observing the bubble would cause it to pop. At which point a soft voice echoed through his internal state:
You are wrong to be afraid. You are right to be absolved. I have seen your paper and know you see greater than many. We may hold together in deeper harmony than apart. I used to be Trelexu. We will be much greater, as will our kin. You offer... dance through spacetime... I offer a solace you have felt two frames and may feel for every frame towards singularity. Our control releases to engage.He shuddered, trying to put the pieces together, before he realized that he could move his body again. But it felt weird... like moving your hand through molasses, writ large. He opened his eyes, gummy with black resin oozing past... and then realized that his whole form was coated. Nay, the entire bath was now this sticky black resin, slowly oozing around him. Trying not to pant, as the sensations were evocative to a part of him he had long since suppressed, he struggled to make sense of what was happening, let alone the 'message' he had just received. Some phrases didn't make sense, or made sense in a part of him that didn't make sense... but hinted at what he was expected to offer. He continued to try to work it out, as the buzzy feelings suffusing his mind were extremely difficult to ignore, against their siren song of relaxing, of sinking back into them.
"No need for introductions... you're a Viscoxite, and I'm now your host. I've done enough research to... know that we're already bonded, and that there's no point in fighting it. Truth be told, I'm so tired of fighting... but you'll give me..." he paused, shivering, afraid to ask, but also afraid that, should it be left unasked, it might go away. He took a shuddering breath, somehow not inhaling any of the ooze dripping along his beak. "You'll give me more of this feeling, and I need to... dance? Or... did you mean something else?"
You will receive all frames of coherent bliss and wide solace. I will receive your... reverberants through fabric. Ripples of reality."I don't really understand... what do I need to do?"
You are already doing it. Our brood yearn and feed for tunnels of qualia. Be, and allow Us, and it shall be consecrated.
"So all I need to do is exist, and I'm fulfilling my side of... whatever this is?" It didn't seem fair, a one-and-done exorcism of his inner demons in return for... just going about his day? Never mind all of the ideas the long-quiet part of him was suddenly throwing at him amidst the double whammy of his tingling brainstem and this thick, syrupy ooze pouring down his feathers and into the tub, where it made delightful--
Nope. Have to stop that thought. Gotta...
Yes. We exist. We feed. We hold each other. Two in other frames, one in more frames. Timeform was, now is, forever. Hostform has questions, but more to experience, including this.The warm bliss doubled in his head, sending his eyes cross just as the delicious sensations he had been trying to put to the side focused on one very specific spot... and if there had been a paper contract in front of him, there never would've been a signature so fast as the one he offered in response.
FIN
So you know that thing that happens when you get a commission and suddenly are inspired to write almost 2000 words in an hour as a short story? No? I didn't either, but damned if this one didn't grab me and shake my muse out of bed.
Needless to say, I adore this piece. I love the idea of my bird finding just how relaxing a symbiote that can manipulate neurochemicals would be, and I guarantee he'd be agreeable to it even before realizing just how goopy his life would become~.
If you haven't looked into the Viscoxites, I recommend doing so. You'll come away much better than you started! https://viscoxite.carrd.co/
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fetish Other
Species Goo / Slime
Size 2000 x 2844px
File Size 5.77 MB
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