#cryptiids

[cryptiids-au]

reblog to grabber her

[anaystezia]

I retract my statement on how I would be self conscious about posting. this place is way more accepting than I thought

anyway!!!! a bunch of dudes

along with my first successful paintbrush drawing

[oobilygoobilyweezerbeezers]

your twinks await you

(can you draw like.. idk... draw the worst drawing of mefang 4s ever conceived thanks)

i totally forgot about this actually sorry

Mefang4s...... now presented in the worst drawing i probably couldve made of him, as requested

[invega-sustenna]

My new phone case. Because I take nothing seriously.

[roadside-oddity]

Changed my username ^^

dreikit-23 -> roadside-oddity

[okartichoke]

Psst.... *slides this across table to you*

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61743991

[note from future me: HEY EVERYONE GO READ THIS FIC !!! :DDD]

I LITERALLY SQUEALLED WHEN I SAW THIS ASK YESTERDAY AND THEN HAVENT BEEN ALONE WITH FREE TIME UNTIL RIGHT NOW BUT OMG AM I EXCITED ! you're getting my live reactions now YIPPEE !!!

"In the laughing rivulets that filled his chest, it whispered maybe." I LOVE this sentence. This whole section is so vivid and MMMMMM

"He felt, and felt, and felt and there was barely even Phoenix anymore, just a haunted angry thing choking on feelings and moving on instinct." This quote isn't even half a page down from the last but there's genuinely already like a billion lines like this that are just spectacular; that with so few words move me so deeply

"She knelt beside the threadbare couch and took his hand, and begged him to get up. Said she’d be a better daughter... " OFIEJOIJWEFOEWA AND THAT'S NOT TO EVEN MENTION THE THE NEXT PARAGRAPH WITH TRUCY which actually made my eyes prick with tears

I really like the way you write Larry btw ! [edit from 30 minutes later me: i like how u write everyone actually x3,, fran and miles get special shoutouts too]

"—A voice in his dreams, it sounded like Mia" OFJEWOIAJFEOIFJDLFJOSJFELS

GUMSHOE IN A KNIT SCARF EEEEEKSKSSS SO CUTE

the little bit with everyone saying bye got me to chuckle xDD

OKAY CHAPTER 1 DONE!!!! CRYPTID.. CRYPTIID..... OMG... i knew this was going to be a good read but AHHH i loved it sm x333 you're dialogue is so fun. like the conversations feel real, and they go off on little tangents in really charming ways,, i really enjoyed the little moments like Maggey excitedly talking about being suspected a second time, or Phoenix holding the phone far from his ear during his call with Fran. (and that's just to name a couple examples) (ALSO FRAN CARING SO MUCH <333 I LOVE OMG) okokok onto chapter 2

wait oops i got sucked in and forgot to take live notes LOL,, anyways this comment is about the little reactions from Phoenix in regards to Miles' idiosyncracies,, specifically (in regards to MIles' grabbing his bicep) "That old habit. The Phoenix of a year ago would have ached at the sight. Current Phoenix just ached." and "Miles had gotten more expressive with his hands since his time away in Germany. Phoenix thought it suited him." I loved these inclusions so so so so much. it's like, despite everything, phoenix still cares so deeply. OH OH AND NOW PHOENIX LIGHTLY SCOLDING EDGEWORTH AGUHHH I LOVE !!! I LOVE !!

"'Yeah, you’re a pompous ruffly ass'" lmao

i guess i have a soft spot for phoenix and trucy's relationship bc woah here i am tearing up again at phoenix talking about her <333 you write him exactly how i imagine him <33

holy shit. the way you (or, Edgeworth, i guess) describes Wright's flavor of honesty? you've put his character into words so eloquently.. god i love him and i love you for writing him so good omg. and then the end of that short monologue hits like a truck aughghhhooooghhh

OH AND THEY'RE SO TENDER. HOW DARE THE CHAPTER END LIKE THAT BWAHAH FIOJOIAJDFJLSDKJFAOEIO AHH !!!

CRYPPTTIIDIDDDXDD AUUGHHHHHH !!!!! i need to stress again just how much i love your style of writing !!!!111! 1 the banter is so alive and the levity throughout (despite Phoenix's emotional state) makes the moments of tenderness and of the characters proving how deeply they care for each other hit so hard,, this was wonderful !!! thank you for sharing w the fandom and with me!! :DDD LOOKING FORWARD TO CHAPTER 3 FOAIWEJFLAKJD

[roetrolls]

Anyone like spooky nightmare sequences? :) Special shoutout to @/sasster for letting me put our grampa in here, as well as @/byrdstrolls, @/cryptiids, @/indig0trolls, @/sunnelion, and @/afallatmak, all of whom signed up for cameos in this without actually knowing it <3

Hallways

The Dreamer is unsurprised to find herself back in this place, unfazed by the yawning corridor that unfurls before her as she picks herself up off the floor. The hallway stretches past the horizon, far beyond where her eyes can see, and she only wishes there were time to find the end.

She is no stranger to this realm, and though she will not remember the feeling when she wakes, at this moment she is certain of her place in it.

The endless procession of doorways would be enough to drive any mortal mad, she thinks, but such things have never been a concern for her. Though each door appears identical to those around it, the Dreamer knows exactly what lies behind each one.

----

As always, she begins with the weary man.

To the Dreamer, he is as inherent to this realm as the very walls that make it, for she has never walked a version of this hall without him in it. She has known him longer than anyone, and remembers still when he was merely a tired boy– before the exhaustion had permeated his bones and the eyebags became a permanent fixture on his face.

Settling onto the bed beside him, The Dreamer brushes a thumb across one of those deep, dark bags and cups the young man’s cheek with care. She looks him over fondly, eyes glittering with the sympathy one might expect of an old, dear friend. 

He has looked less troubled in recent months, at least. With a pang, she wonders if he may one day stop appearing here. She wishes she could wish that for him.

When she is ready to begin, she closes her eyes and takes a breath. The floor shifts, and she finds herself in a cathedral not unlike that she was raised in, though every inch of the place burns with a venomous rancor that has seeped into the brick and stone itself.

The man is a child here, small and powerless in the pall of pink light that threatens to suffocate him. Though he tries to make sense of his surroundings, the church refuses to be understood, a tangled web of fractals built of scenery that is far too big. The child cowers beneath it all, hands pressed over his ears in a fruitless bid to stifle the screaming that rattles through his own head.

The Dreamer pays no mind to the room’s impossible structure or twisting walls, stepping forward with her tail fanned out behind her to offer the boy her hand. She has seen this dream before, and she knows what must be done. 

Shakily, he places his palm in hers and allows the Dreamer to pull him to his feet. It is a simple solution, this dream. Hand in hand, she leads the boy from the church. It is not meant to have an exit, but she has learned to bring one with her.

----

This visitor is older than most she sees, handsome face weathered with the strains of time and stress. The gray strands that pepper his hair are sparse, but the faint wrinkles around his eyes form the mask of a man who has seen far too much.

His expression, much unlike those that typically frequent her domain, is strangely relaxed, as though he has forgotten how to wear weakness on his face. The Dreamer lowers herself onto the bed beside him, reaching over gently to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. The man grimaces as her fingers brush his fins, but, as usual, he does not wake. She must do more than that to free him.

She closes her eyes and takes a small breath. As the air exits her lungs once more, the room falls away beneath her.

When her eyes flutter open, the man is standing, a squirming bundle pressed into his chest. Around him is a battlefield, streaked with blood of every hue and heavy with the scent of death. Bones crunch beneath his feet as he whirls about, desperately struggling to shield his precious cargo from an ever-shifting sun.

The air is as thick and sticky as the viscera around him, but it is the least of his concerns. The bundle shrieks and flails in pain, and the Dreamer realizes suddenly that it is an infant in his arms. 

The child is burning in his grasp, little face pink with heat and tears, but try as he might to shelter it, the man casts no shadow. Hands blistering in the brow-beating light, he fumbles to tuck the wiggler into his uniform, mouthing silent prayers to gods he neither fears nor believes in.

It is the prayer that returns the Dreamer to her senses, reminds her of the power she wields. With an urgency she is not used to feeling, she opens her tail fully and places herself between the visitor and his celestial assailant, shielding both father and son from the rays that threaten them. He looks her over, bewildered and grateful, before the dream comes to an end.

----

Again, the Dreamer finds a new face inside her hall. This one, too, wears the markings of age, though the placement of his wrinkles suggests more smiles than strife. She traces a finger over his skin, lathered in a galaxy of freckles unlike any she has seen before. 

For once, she almost hesitates to join him. Despite the joy etched into his features, there is a sadness to the man, and she cannot shake the feeling that he has visited a world unlike either of those she traverses. She has felt this once before, she recalls, when the striped boy began appearing, but the weight this man carries is different somehow.

Still, he is here with her now, and the Dreamer does not discriminate. She has stalled this long enough, and it is time to see inside.

The scent of blood hits her before she has even entered fully. Immediately, she expects that this dream may be built of more memory than abstraction, a thread of vanilla splicing through the heavy current of decay that surrounds the scene.

She can feel blood pooling at her ankles, thick and viscous, and a single glance reveals the source; the freckled man sits hunched in the center of the room, a muddy red waterfall pouring from his mouth.

The Dreamer wades closer as he begins to claw fruitlessly at his throat, gurgling helplessly around the cascade of blood that forces its way out of him. He sounds almost as if he is trying to scream, though a painful whine is all he can muster in this state.

Gently, she takes him by the wrists and pulls his hands away, moving then to cup the man’s face and wipe away the tears collecting beneath his eyes. With her touch, the flow of blood begins to lessen, until it is only a trickle that runs from his lips. 

With no exit in sight, she does the only other thing she can think to, and cradles the crying man against her chest. Her tail moves to cover them both, blocking out the lingering odor of death and sheltering him long enough for his breathing to become steady.

They sit like that for some time, until finally he is whisked away to a more peaceful sleep.

--

The Dreamer continues down the hall at a steady pace, stepping into countless rooms and countless dreams as the morning wears on. Countless, that is, for anyone else. 

But who would the Dreamer be if she did not keep track?

These visitors are her people, and she is keen to remember each and every one. There is no faceless crowd to lose them in. She carries them all.

She carries the young girl who twists and flails in an all-consuming tide of brackish water, almost alive in the way it reaches for her limbs and drags her to its depths; the masked man who stands, shrinking under the oppressive gaze of his elders, until laughter and music is interrupted by the whistling impact of war; the purple-haired troll who is dragged, kicking and screaming, back to a life she cannot bear, her fingers digging into the sodden earth until the pull becomes too much and they splinter apart like bones. 

The Dreamer holds them, guides them, frees them from their chains, and still she carries them with her.

She remembers the troll with ink on his wrists, who begs for mercy while he is made to flay a man who wears his face, guilt sagging in his gut until he is certain it will be the death of him; the soldier that runs on blood not his own, grasping for innocent faces that slip through his fingers like grains of sand, a chorus of blame racketing through his brain; the sharp-eyed man who walks amongst gravestones, free of dread until he stumbles upon an open casket and a name he knows, the woman he failed reaching for him even as the flesh sloughs off her skull.

With each visitor she frees, the Dreamer can only look to the next, can only hope that it is not yet time to wake; there is so much more to do.

She slips into the room of another visitor she knows, the crying boy, and enters his dream as she has the rest to find him weeping, locked in a labyrinth of rippling beasts that want nothing more than to rip him into pieces.

The Dreamer offers the boy a reassuring smile as she takes him by the hand, but she is nowhere near prepared when he opens his mouth to speak.

It is the first voice she has heard all morning, and there is a question in his tone that he seems to answer on his own before the word is even finished.

“Nymira,” he says, her name almost a whisper on his lips.

The Dreamer’s eyes widen, and she shoots up, awake.

[muttjuice]

Revenge on @local-cryptiid of their character Torque!!

[oarf1sh]

Username change

local-cryptiid -> oarf1sh

Wanted to change it for a while because I learned after I came up with local-cryptiid that every other cryptid lover under the sun had thought about it, just a slightly different variation of it.

And I'm sure the same is true about a literal species of fish, but at least this feels a little more original.

After the 24 hour period is up, I'll be giving my side blog my old user (it's the same, just with an s after local), because I'm still attached to it.

ermm. I think that's it.

[cryptiids-au]

hi i am so sorry we've been so inactive lately!!! kinda forgot to keep updating this tbh,,, BUT!!! SOME NEWS!!

i have redesigned octissues!!

his tissue is now like. a fin?? (credits to @anaystezia for that idea:3) i didd a little more research and apparently blue-ringed octopi don't always show their rings. so now he doesnt always have the rings.

overally he's a lot more mobile and grabby (like an octopus) (pleaaaaseeeeeeeee feel free to ask me questions:3 i love this little guy)

[anaystezia]

Mothpy!!!

[oobilygoobilyweezerbeezers]

pickle y box (boc has teeth and gums. beware?)

[dragofelid]

An anxious lad about to be beaten by a starving victorian child

attack on @local-cryptiid

[rhythmhound]

FOLLOW MY MAIN! I DON'T POST HERE!

IT'S @local-cryptiid for art and @locals-cryptiid for reblogs (and rambles, soon).

I NO LONGER POST HERE! I can't keep more than one blog active at a time (clearly), and I don't feel the need to have an entirely separate blog for just one thing anymore.

I'll be refollowing my mutuals on my main and then deleting this account within a few days. Maybe I'll post more kin stuff on my proper sideblog, instead of a separate account.

[celestiialserpent]

Replyiing put me at a wh0ppiing 10 l0l...

Yeah II'd venture t0 say that qualiifiies as cryptiid behavii0r pattern. Thank y0u f0r entertaiiniing my desiire f0r iinteractii0n 🙏

Yeahhhhh II am n0t pr0ud 0f age 0f presence versus c0mplete lack 0f iinteractiing wiith 0thers 0utsiide 0f mere 'liikes'.. 00ps

[popspice]

💕 your reigning popstar prince 💕