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fluffyfranny · 3 years

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So hey! Might as well start posting!

Starting off with an oldie in my past writing archives when I was at my peak in the Markiplier fandom. Still love his content dearly, but I don’t think I’ll write for his egos anytime soon.

Posting this with a lil motivation from @yaysof11037 who has become such a great mutual earlier on this week! (If ya haven’t checked out their works you totally should btw). In return for the lovely angst they provided for me, angst is what you shall receive in turn >:3

Hope y’all enjoy this piece I conjured WAY back in April :0

TW for descriptive gore, past and present character death and overall angst in general under the cut >:3

~Gone Too Soon~

Paranoia.

That was one of the primary emotions Eric felt all the time. The poor boy had been through a lot. He had lost a majority of his family, including his mother and the rest of his brothers, in a tragic accident, and he considered himself an “omen” of bad luck, of sorts, since things seemed to die around him.

Unfortunately, that was about to come true, once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all started one brisk night, when Eric was having trouble sleeping for what seemed like the fifth time this week. He tossed and turned underneath the sheets, clutching his worn-down, yellow handkerchief with an iron grip in one of his fists. This lasted for about an hour.

The primary cause for this state of unrest, however, was not only his ever present state of anxiousness, but the fact that a nightmare unlike any he had ever dreamt was roiling through his mind.

He had dreamt that the rest of the Ipliers currently living in the manor, including his father, had mysteriously disappeared. Eric had been wandering the halls, calling out for them, his cries becoming squeaky as tears threatened to spill over...

Before he found his family and the states that they were in...

But then, he shot bolt upright in his bed. His breaths were rapid and his forehead was layered with a fine sheen of nervous sweat. He pinched his hand to make sure that it was all a dream, and fortunately, it was.

Eric tried to stabilize his breathing then and there, attempting to calm down. “It w-was all j-just a bad d-dream,” he kept repeating to himself. “None of t-that was r-real.”

With a sharp exhale of air, he dragged himself out of bed and left his room. He figured a walk around the vast, ever-expanding halls of the manor would calm his nerves, along with a glass of water.

The weight of his prosthetics made the stairs creak, but the other Ipliers knew better than to interrogate whoever was making such a ruckus. When they heard the familiar metallic clunk against the steps, they knew it was Eric, and they either left him be or awoke to provide him assistance, if needed.

As he made his way down the stairs and into one of the bigger hallways, he sensed that something was off. The air felt thicker, as if some invisible force was adding weight to the environment without anything actually being there.

In addition, he thought he caught a whiff of something along the lines of smoke. He shivered slightly at all of this, but shook his head in denial, brushing these factors off as remaining slivers of his nightmare that still plagued his mind.

Eric was just about to step foot into the living room when one of his prosthetic legs slipped in something wet, nearly sending him careening to the tile floor. Fortunately, he grabbed onto the railing on the side of the wall with a less than elusive yelp to stabilize himself.

He caught his breath and, with fear laced in his vision, glanced down slowly towards the ground. He nearly started having another panic attack when he saw a smear of red coat the tile and flow around the bend. The red coloration was so deep, it nearly appeared black as ink.

With even shakier steps, Eric clambered around the corner to locate the source of the stain…

Only to be met with the pale, lifeless stare of his father, lying in a pool of his own blood.

This time, Eric’s screech could be heard across the entirety of the mansion, had it been any louder. He immediately knelt down and began inspecting Derek’s clothes with quivering hands. His red, white and blue polo shirt was now dyed with an even darker crimson due to the blood seeping out of a massive hole in his chest.

“D-dad?” Eric whimpered, his handkerchief slightly speckled with Derek’s blood after placing it next to him. “W-what h-happened? Pl-please get up!”

He began shaking his parent’s shoulders rather forcefully, causing his head to loll to the side rather limply, then softly thumping back down onto the floor once Eric had ceased his actions.

Before he could let loose a scream of his own, several more heart-stopping yells proceeded to echo throughout the living room and the halls surrounding it, followed by the crashing of bodies. Eric’s head snapped up and glanced in all directions to locate who was screaming. However, despite the noises sounding like they were coming from right around him, there was nobody else with him. Aside from his father.

Then, that’s when he heard them.

“Why, hello there, Eric.”

His head whipped to his left to meet the gaze of a man talked about throughout the household, but none too kindly. Said man stood before him in a red tailcoat and black dress pants, both of which had gashes torn in them, and from these gashes seeped both red and black. Various other cuts also covered his bare hands and face. The red was definitely blood, Eric assumed, but why was this man bleeding black as well?

Either way, it didn’t matter as the man strode in Eric’s direction and placed the blunt end of the cane he clutched on the area where his heart would be before giving the area a gentle tap and stepping back again, smiling wickedly all the while.

“Wh-what have y-you done with m-my friends?” Eric stammered, trying to lace some confidence into his voice. “M-Mark?”

“Oh, poor, sweet Eric,” Mark tutted, shaking his head and scattering loose flecks of blood and pitch-black ichor. “I’ve been waiting a while now to exact my revenge against your...family here.”

“R-r-revenge?” Eric questioned with wide eyes and a more noticeable quiver in his voice. “B-but the others a-are so sweet t-to me. They’d n-never do-”

“Oh, but my friend,” Mark interrupted with a wave of his hand. “You’ve just missed out on all the horrendous things they have done to others. Even to me.”

“T-that’s a l-lie!” Eric tried to shout. “They’d never d-do anything b-bad to others! You’re just t-trying to c-convince me o-otherwise!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mark began to raise his voice, inky-black ichor seeping out of the corners of his mouth. “You’re just too naive to see it! The others are evil…”

“No, t-that’s y-you!” Eric finally found the courage to retort back semi-confidently. “Y-you’re the e-evil one!”

At this, Mark’s eyes widened, and he turned his head slowly towards him, a pissed look in his eyes and on his face. He snarled, his lips quirking up to bare his teeth back at the boy.

“You insufferable brat!” Mark said, ever angrier. “Just for all that you’ve said and done, I’ll show you what has been made of your “family” and be on my way.”

Before Mark disappeared in an explosion of smoky black mist, he gave Eric one final glare and remark:

“Don’t be surprised if you end up being next.”

And with that, he was gone.

However, once he vanished, the air around the room began to shimmer before the environment revealed a truly horrendous sight from behind Mark’s illusion.

Blood and gore everywhere.

Eric felt like he was going to be sick at the sight of his friends plastered around the house, laying in their own life essence. He hesitantly gazed around and, one by one, took note of what happened to each of them.

First, he spotted Wilford in the kitchen, draped over the countertop with the broken end of a wine bottle stuck in his head, the jagged ring of glass biting into his scalp and sticking there, all the while drawing blood that flowed off of Wil’s head like tiny rivers.

Then, he saw Bim hanging from a taxidermy deer skull in the living room, the antlers emerging from above his eye sockets to make it look like he had sprouted the appendages.

As Eric shook his head in both fear and denial, he practically bolted out of the conjoining rooms and down the hall he came from. There, he saw both Google and Bing’s dismembered parts scattered across the floor, with a few limbs laying on the stairwell and a head posted atop it. Whoever’s head it was was barely recognizable, for the artificial skin was peeled away to reveal the mechanical insides.

Eric, surprisingly, only started to cry harder now, tears rapidly streaming down his cheeks as he realized that this was not just a dream.

It was a nightmare come true.

He then came across Dr Iplier, whose corpse was laying halfway inside a closet and covered with crudely stitched gashes that still leaked blood, which, to Eric’s horror, was a mixture of the red and black that Mark was coated in.

As he rounded the corner, avoiding going upstairs again, he nearly tripped over Host, whose blindfold was ripped clean off to expose his empty, bloody eye sockets. In addition, he was also missing the skin on one side of his jaw, exposing the teeth and bone beneath to give him a zombified look.

This drew a gag from Eric at the sight of Host’s mangled face, and he quickly fled deeper down the hall.

At this point, he had exhausted himself, so he simply let his back hit the wall and slide down to the floor, where he held his head between his knees. He then began to let loose gut-wrenching sobs that would make anyone else cry, as well.

He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to fidget with it, nearly tearing it in half with the force he was using on it.

Just as he was about to fling the cloth away, he felt the air around him drop in temperature, which caused him to look up. There stood Dark, his hair disheveled as if he were running his fingers through it all day. His jacket and shirt were both wrinkled, and his tie was missing.

At the sight of Eric curled up in a sobbing mess, Dark got on both knees in front of him and patted one of his own. He looked up to see the pale man smiling at him sadly.

“I’m terribly sorry, Eric,” Dark spoke at a low volume. “We couldn’t save them.”

Eric choked out another sob as he gazed up at Dark with watery eyes. “Th-they’re all dead! Even m-my d-dad is g-gone. My whole f-family is g-gone!”

He put his head between his legs again so Dark wouldn’t see him cry anymore. He felt a heavy hand rest atop his head and ruffle his hair, a seemingly kind gesture amidst these depressing times.

“Look here, Eric,” Dark said as he gently pressed a fingertip underneath Eric’s chin and raising his head to look back at him. “You still have me. We can be our own little family.”

“B-but what if M-Mark comes back f-for you?” Eric whined. “Th-then I’ll b-be all a-alone!”

“Trust me as you have in the past,” Dark drawled out, moving the hand away from his chin and dropping it back to his side. “He won’t be back.”

“P-promise?” Eric questioned, voice shaking harder than it ever had.

Dark merely responded with a nod and one word:

“Promise.”

Before he could get up and take Eric away with him, he let out a grunt and got back on his knees. Eric could only stare in horror as a spot on Dark’s dress shirt became soaked in black. The spot only grew bigger, as if he were hit with a bullet, and the blood was spreading further out.

Dark gently prodded at the fresh hoel in his gut before looking back up at Eric and uttering two words that would be the last he’d ever hear.

“I’m sorry.”

After uttering those final words, Dark collapsed right into Eric’s lap, his head landing in his cupped hands. He let out a shocked gasp and lifted Dark’s head up to look into his eyes and wave his hand in front of them.

“Oh...oh n-no, D-Dark, please d-don’t!” He began to babble uncontrollably, tears falling faster than ever, with a few landing onto Dark’s cheeks to make it seem as if he were crying. They ran down his face, which seemed to be getting paler by the second, even though it seemed impossible for him to pale any further.

“P-please don’t l-leave me,” Eric sobbed, cradling Dark’s head as he felt his blood soak into his own polo shirt, staining it black. “N-not alone in th-this place.”

Dark could only let out a faint wheeze that sounded like a chuckle before he took one final deep breath and let it out. His obsidian eyes seemed to dim as this last breath fled from between his lips.

Eric gasped as he heard this and, not wanting to lose the last friend he had left, clutched onto Dark’s body and held him close, his head lolling over and landing limply onto Eric’s shoulder.

He sat there, clinging to Dark’s body amidst the massacre of his family that had taken place just mere moments ago, and cried for hours on end.

This was truly a nightmare that Eric would never wake up from.

#markiplier fandom #markiplier egos #eric ericson #darkiplier #actor mark #wilford warfstache #bim trimmer #googleplier #bingiplier #dr iplier #markiplier the host

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catwithangerissues · 4 years

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Okay so for your weekly prompt, Fukunaga and I/Me/Myself by Will Wood please! Thank you! :))

I/Me/Myself by Will Wood - Fukunaga Shōhei

✨Hey! Before anyone says it, I’m fully aware that this song is about gender identity! But, I couldn’t do it justice to use it quite that way here, so I instead used the upbeat tune to make a cute ending :) Please give the song a listen, cause holy shit he’s one of my favorite artists now✨

“I’ve been feeling lightheaded since I lost enough weight to fit back in my skin

Flower petals and feathers tether me to the ground (pound for pound)

Take my tea with formaldehyde for my feminine side since the day that I died

While I whittle my bones until I’m brittle, am I pretty now?

For some reason I find myself lost in what you think of me

And too confused to choose who I should be

And now you’ve got me thinking”

“You’ve got to tell them at some point bro!” Yamamoto had been going on and on for what felt like hours, telling Fukunaga about how he needed to finally confess to you, but it always ended up the same way.

The black haired boy was too scared to tell you how he felt, for fear that you didn’t feel the same way. He was pretty insecure about himself, he thought you could do so much better than him and that there was no chance you’d ever feel the same as he did.

He had been quietly talking to the other second years about his problem, he thought that Tora would be helpful because he’d push him out of his comfort zone in the way he needed, and he thought Kenma would be the voice of reason in comparison to the teams ace.

What he didn’t expect, but probably should’ve, was for Tora and Kenma’s inevitable fighting and commotion to draw the attention of two of the third years, minus Kai who had been talking to Lev at the time.

“Come on, Kenma! You know just a-“

“Oi, what’s this about?!” The libero and resident mom of the team was becoming noticeably annoyed with all the noise.

“Fukunaga won’t confess to y/n because he’s scared they don’t feel the same way!” Tora shouted while trying to pry Kenma off of his torso, only for Kuroo to separate the two.

Fukunaga looked down at the floor, and a layer of silence dawned on the entire gym. His pale face flushed, and he began fiddling with his hands out of embarrassment and nervousness.

You see, basically everyone knew of your little crush on Sho, except for him. The entire team had been trying for months to get him to ask you out already, because they had long since come to the conclusion that you were too much of a scaredy cat to make the first move yourself.

“I- I just find it hard to believe that they w-would ever feel the same way..” Fukunaga timidly explained.

“Are you kidding!? Y/n has been going on about you for months dude! Just do it already!” The mohawked ace was quickly silenced by a loud back of the neck smack from the captain. “If you keep telling like that, they’ll hear you.”

After a quick exchange of discipline to the yelling boy, Yaku had made his way over to Fukunaga to comfort him, fearing he’d explode or melt from embarrassment at any second, now that the entire gymnasium had been made aware once again of his situation.

For the next several minutes, Sho had effectively poured his heart out to the much shorter upperclassman. He told him of his fear of you not feeling the same way, as well as informing him of all his insecurities both physical and otherwise. But it’s what slipped out of his own mouth during his rant of confessions that really stuck with Fukunaga.

“I think I’m in love with y/n and I’m terrified.”

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to lie to?

I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Just little old me in a big, big world

Little old me in a big world

I wish I were a girl”

Later that night, he laid in bed, hands behind his head and one leg over the other, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the words that slipped from his lips earlier that day. He didn’t know if he really knew what love was, let alone if he even felt it for anyone but his family.

But the words changed something in his brain, like a switch had gone off, and he couldn’t help but feel as though he was running out of time to tell you how he felt.

You both still had another year before graduation, so it couldn’t be that, at least he thought so. Maybe it was that you were the most gorgeous and kind human he’d ever met and he feared someone snatching his best friend away from him. Or maybe it was the ever present fear of one of his team mates, most likely the tall Russian puppy dog or the shark toothed ace, would slip up and tell you how he felt without him knowing.

He spent the rest of that night talking himself up to telling you, how he’d been head over heels for you for what felt like forever, tomorrow. He had to, he couldn’t let the love of his life slip through his fingers. “Wait, did I just think that?!”

“I’ve been feeling lighthearted since I gained enough weight back to cover my bones

I get dressed up in shadows one leg at a time – we’re so alike

But if the shoe fits, then I won’t try it on

You’ll be walking out early, but the show must go on

No, I know that I’m wrong

But I love how you’re on my side when I cross that line

It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body that they stuck me in

The privilege of being born to be a man

And now you got me thinking”

He met you in the usual spot. Your bright smile at his presence instantly making his cheeks heat up. You two had small talk for a few minutes, it eased his nerves slightly, but the voice in his head was screaming for him to just rip off the bandaid. If you were going to reject him he may as well get it over with, he thought.

“I told them I couldn’t beca-“

“Y/n.” The black haired boy interrupted you. Turning your head to meet his gaze, he looked tense and deep on thought, but at the same time more focused than you’d ever seen him before.

“Yes, Sho?” Your curiosity got the better of you, long forgetting the story you were previously telling the boy.

He was noticeably nervous, hands shaking and you could tell he was straining to keep eye contact with you. You felt concern wash through your entire body at the sight, fearing he may be ill or something worse.

“I- I need to tell you something, t-that’s been on my mind for a while.” His voice trailed quieter towards the end of his sentence, his voice slightly wobbly. Your hands came up to his cheeks, effectively forcing him to look you in the eye, and yes, he blushed profusely at the closeness.

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to lie to?

I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Just little old me in a big, big world

Little old me in a big world

I wish”

His confession had been a surprise to you, but you were overjoyed at the newfound information that the shy quiet boy had actually felt the same as you all along.

You couldn’t stop smiling for hours after it happened, and from the looks of it, neither could Fukunaga. He held your hand firmly but carefully in his as the two of you walked to the gym, routinely getting ready for you to drop him off for practice. Planting a small kiss on his cheek and exchanging your goodbyes, he turned to walk into the large familiar building.

He was greeted by the loud congratulations and praise of his teammates, noticing they’d been watching through the windows of the building, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He spent the next few minutes answering endless questions, and even if he was normally used to the provocative jokes that his teammates made, he couldn’t help but turn bright red when he heard, “remember to use protection” followed by laughter, as they dispersed to being warming up for practice.

“Eating your prosthetic meat/meet your anesthetic criteria, pathetic seeing you become acetic

Say my name like a slur, but I’ve been called worse

I’ve heard it all before, no this isn’t a first

Let me be the void you fill with taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences

I am quantum physics, my witness brings me into existence”

-Flash forward a few years into the future-

The loud, upbeat music played throughout the small space the two of you shared, it seemed as though the notes resonated off of the floor under your feet as you listened. With his right hand on your waist and his left hand clasping your right, the two of you spun around enthusiastically to the music. The tile floors of your shared apartment kitchen were as smooth as a dance floor for the two of you. With loud laughter, poor dueting, and pounding heart rates, you couldn’t find it in you- no matter how deep you thought- to feel anything but love at this moment.

With your partner of a few years now, stable jobs and schooling going well, in your first apartment together, dancing in the empty space- as you hadn’t bought any furniture yet. As the late afternoon, orange sun rays bled through the small kitchen window and onto the tiles, you two twirled and dipped to the beat, feet moving without thinking. You saw his bright smile as you spun, his arms catching you with ease. You wanted to burn this memory into your brain forever and never forget it. If you weren’t already certain of your love for the black haired boy, you definitely were now.

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to love back?

No, not yet

I wish I could be a girl, and really I’d prefer it if you would use I/Me/Myself

Am I pretty enough?

Am I pretty enough to fucking die?

Little old me in a big world

Well I would give you my whole world

Little old me in a big world

I wish”

-Flash forward again-

You were brought from your thoughts by the noises of your partner getting ready for the day. The two of you had woken up well over an hour ago, but neither of you wanted to leave the others warm embrace.

You laid in bed, watching as your partner got ready. It wasn’t that watching your now fiancé getting ready for the day was very exciting, he liked to keep his routine simple. But as you watched the way he moved around quietly so as to not disturb you, as he gave a glance over to your tired form to check up on you every few minutes, only to smile when he caught you staring again. As he routinely kissed your forehead after gently lifting your hair out of the way with his thumb, and as he told you he loved you and he’d be home soon to treat you to dinner and a movie tonight in a whisper.

You could almost cry at the sense of relief, happiness, and thankfulness that washed over you. In this moment, you were more grateful than ever for his old high school team of energetic boys that talked him into asking you out all those years ago.

✨Tag list: @almalckd @toworuu ✨

🌱This was fucking cute don’t @ me. Thank you for requesting! I love this song 😭 not super happy with the way this was written but oh well :)

#weeklypromptevent #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu matchup #haikyuu fukunaga #fukunaga shouhei #fukunaga shōhei #hq fukunaga #nekoma #haikyuu smut

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og-danny-dorito · 5 years

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Spock Headcanons (There's No Reason This Time I Swear)

S F W:

- I don't even know why I like him so much I just do, but my dumb gay ass just loves this man. seriously no kidding

- spock is a child of two worlds; an outcast but a familiar part of both systems in their actuality, residing as the cross section between Vulcan and human that was frowned upon for so long. his intelligence was left unconsidered as he passed all of his classes with excellence, being known as not the intelligent Vulcan boy but as the dysfunctional human hybrid of a being

- so obviously he's probably got some insecurities

- they're not bad, but he tends to be a bit self deprecating sometimes when referring to capability of things. for instance if you ask him if he can say uhhh.... if he can draw something for example. he’ll most likely state that he has no talent or not enough skill or his previous artwork was terrible so he doesn't suggest asking him for it.

- he knows what he logically isn't and is capable of, but the human doubt still crawls in the back of his mind like a parasite. he still feels emotions, just less outwardly, he's definitely capable of feeling and if you are observant enough you'll notice that he expresses himself through very very small gestures

- when he quirks a brow at something he either finds it surprising or he's being sarcastic, two things which don't happen often (except the latter)

- he's very private, obviously, but is still open to conversation about his interests. mostly he says that he just reads and works in his spare time, but that's not exactly the truth

- when he has nothing else to do, spock finds interest in cat videos and cat videos only. seriously, he'll watch them for hours if he's not got nothing to do, just staring at the screen in silence as he watches cats do stupid cute things like they're the most interesting beings in the world

- he secretly would like a cat as a pet, but yknow it's not really easy to keep pets on Starfleet considering he doesn't want to deprive the animal of connectivity with nature

- can and will debate you about whether cats or dogs are better. sulu once said he thought cats were problematic in spock’s general area of 10 feet in diameter and there was a very heated debate that went on for a good hour or so before sulu got frustrated and decided to just let him win

- spock also likes weird and exotic plants considering that their chemical composition is interesting. he finds it fascinating that different planets use the plants around them for food or medical treatment or a number of other things, so he finds that a way to start off with a culture study is to study the biotany of the planet first

- had NEVER seen a cactus before coming to earth, and now has like 10 of them just sitting in his quarters. he'll never tell anyone but they're named after the constellations that can be seen from Vulcan. he's just a nerd I swear

- Shakespeare nerd, although that's fact not a headcanon

- romantically I think he'd have fairly bad self worth issues. a lot of the time he views himself as unworthy of his partner, and he'll have trouble with physical contact the first few times mainly because he doesn't exactly know what to do with himself

- not much for pda at all. he says it's because it's indecent, but it's really because he gets all flustered when you kiss his cheek or snake your fingers around his in public where there are people all around. he gets super embarrassed and it's cUTE

- wouldn't have a favorite part of his partner physically; he's genuinely only attracted to the mind. male or female or not even using that gender binary, if you fit whatever standard he holds for intelligence and actually love him he doesn't care what you physically are

- vulcans bond through souls so appearance basically doesn't matter. this doesn't mean he doesn't find you attractive, it just means he wouldn't care if you weren't. he loves everything about you anyway, beautiful or not to the world around you both

- you could call him pansexual and I feel like he prefers someone with a more feminine or elegant way of handling themselves. someone that generally is elegant and cunning seriously catches his attention, and on top of that someone who can and will openly challenge him genuinely makes him intrigued and enrapt with you

- he does kindof have a taste for people who can be reckless (cough Jim cough) due to impulse or bravery, seeing as he admires the fact that the person is willing to take a risk

- cannot be with someone closed off and cold, it just won't work cause he himself is basically a block of ice. he does feel but like barely, and even then he doesn't really show it

- one good way to tell the emotion is to look into his eyes. they speak more than he ever would about his feelings to anyone out loud

- writes poetry to give as presents to those he cares about; most commonly to lovers or his mom (at least he used to write for his mom, until she died). he writes actually very well, although his poetry is more structured than eloquent in a sense of interpretation and imaginativeness. he writes about things that he likes about you, which ends up describing all of you with very specific details you probably didn't realize until you read the lines

- appreciates art in all forms, although he's fairly certain he'd be bad at it. if you write stories or draw he's always open to helping you interpret characters or figure out a good way to express your own feeling through the ar if you're having trouble. encourages you to try new things with pretty much everything, but mostly art

- VERY very good at giving advice, he's basically the Strict Mom of the whole crew (I say strict mom because there are multiple different people who take the mom title, such as Leonard “Bones” McCoy; Stressed Mom). for instance if you're injured or being faced with mentally stressing conditions he'll most likely tell you to take breaks more often or suggest speaking about them to either your peers or to someone you trust. usually people go to him when they don't know what to do and he calculates the probabilities of each and suggest they put aside most emotional matters to think through it more clearly

- his ideal date would probably be like going to a museum or something, but all he’ll do is stay in a section with all the cool rocks and taxidermy animals while asking your opinion and knowledge on them curiously. he may know about pretty much everything in there but he doesn't care, he likes to watch you marvel at all the cool things in there

- 100% does buy the stuffed animals and figurines that are supposed to be models of stuff. yes, he knows that he can find that rock from that one planet practically anywhere but he still WANTS it because it GLOWS in the DARK

- probably would not think you're like seriously dating until the second month or so, mainly to calculate stability between you two

- is open to a marriage if he's been courting someone for a particularly long time, being at least three years or so. he's very very plan-oriented and organized and so he expects you to be lacking impulsiveness when making life-changing decisions

- bonding with his partner means the most to him in all honesty, though. it hold s such a high regard in his heart and soul that he genuinely feel s very very seriously and passionately about it. it's something he doesn't take with a grain of salt, mostly because he wants to be with the one he loves forever. you mean the world to him, and he wants to keep you as close as possible for as long as possible

- down to have kids, maybe a girl that he'd name Amanda, after his mother, or a boy named Grayson or some Vulcan name that you wouldn't be able to pronounce correctly without extensive practicing

- just thinks kids are nice, although he'd probably be a little hesitant and VERY protective

- OH and before I finish this is completely unrelated but I feel like he likes summer more than any other season since it reminds him of his homeland so much. that and he also likes that everything grows up nicely during this time

- his favorite flower is either the notch-leaf phacelia or the harvestbell mainly because he likes the colors and structure of them; he just thinks they look neat

- he'll get them for you whenever, most likely organize the flowers specifically himself for you, combining yours and his favorite flowers to look beautiful even though the could be completely different

- denies that he's a hopeless romantic, merely stating that he just wants you to know that he loves you by giving you poems and flowers

- but we all know The Truth

- tbh he just cares a lot, although he's bad a thing showing emotions. Spock is calm and collected, but inside a whirlpool of thoughts flood his head daily. be patient with him and he'll open up over time, letting you see into the depths of the mind you'll come to cherish so deeply

#spock #spock headcanons #spock headcanon #spock imagine #spock imagines #star trek: the original series #star trek: the motion picture #star trek headcanons #Star Trek headcanon #Star Trek imagine #star trek imagines #star trek beyond #star trek #Star Trek tos #tos

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader - Part Two (nsfw)

It was my very great pleasure to be commissioned to do a Part Two to the story of Naeryn, the Prince of the Court of Night in my Fae Realm. This time we have some strife with his sister, who's trying to take over his rule and destabilise everything by honing in on our female reader!! But it's not all drama - you know me! - there's a lot of fluff and feelings, and some nsfw too. Anyway, here's 5710 words or so, and I hope you enjoy!

(Also I totally thought I’d put this up on here already, so if it’s a repeat, I’ll just go and evaporate in embarrassment, but I couldn’t find it so... yeah. Here it is. Also formatting, why... I’m sorry if it looks weird...)

Brief background/passing mentions of dealing with a mother’s death in childbirth, and of pretending to be a fae’s plaything/pet/slave. And some violence, but not for long, and mostly directed at an attacker...

Part One

******************************************

“I’ll come again soon,” he whispered, his fingers stroking through your hair. “I promise.”

“Don’t take more risks than you have to, will you?” you murmured pleadingly.

The prince of the Court of Night smiled softly and closed his eyes as he kissed you gently. “I won’t. But I…” he dropped one last kiss on your forehead and then drew back with a sigh, standing on your little cottage’s doorstep. “These visits to the Mortal Realm… they’re frankly all that’s keeping me sane. Kinethara is ramping up her attempts to undermine my rule, and I’m honestly terrified that if I don’t do something drastic soon, she’s going to stage something to try and win the support of the nobles in my court and… I need this,” he said, taking your hands in his and squeezing your fingers hard. His eyes scanned the horizon for the faint glimmer of dawn, and he sighed. “But, unfortunately, I have to return.”

“Take care of yourself,” you murmured. “Please. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you because you were trying to get here to see me.”

You'd been thinking about his offer to live with him in the Fae Realm, and all that it would entail, from playing his pretend ‘pet’ in public to being with him more often. Despite the obvious drawbacks and dangers, it was honestly more than tempting, but he was still reluctant to entertain the idea at the moment, especially with things going the way they were with his sister.

As if to validate that worry, the next time you saw him, over a fortnight later, he carried a horrific bruise over the arch of his left eye, and a set of thick bandages around his neck. “Nae!” you gasped, rushing towards him as he stood sheepishly on the doorstep. “What the hell happened to you? Come inside…”

He was clearly moved by your shock and concern, and allowed you to usher him inside, fussing and fretting for a good few minutes before he cut you off with a kiss that stole your breath and made your heart sing. “I missed you,” he said, drawing back and carefully taking off his cloak of flowing, liquid night to leave it neatly on a chair beside the door. “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

“Never mind that, what happened?” you asked, bringing trembling fingers to the bandages across his throat

He sighed. “Let me sit down then.”

“Drink?” you asked, and he nodded. “Thank you.”

To the fae, human food and drink tasted like little more than ash and muddy water, so he’d brought a small stash of his favourite brandy with him a while back, and had advised you not to try more than a sip. Apparently its strength and magic combined had been known to make mortals lose their minds at much more than a mouthful, and you weren’t prepared to risk that. You poured him a glass and took it to him. The prince looked tired, worn out, and even paler than usual, which was saying something.

The sharp lines of his face seemed almost harsh now, and his eyes, usually such a bright and vivid blue, had dulled visibly, as though the magic that flowed in him had been leeched away. You set his glass down and looped your hands around his shoulders, hugging him from behind as he sat at your dining table. He gave a huge, gaping sigh, and then chuckled, kissing your forearm affectionately. “Oh where to begin. Well, I suppose the long and the short of it is that Kinethara found out that I’ve been making frequent trips to the Mortal Realm. She ambushed me after my last visit here, and attacked with a small contingent of her guard. I fought them off, but…” his fingers drifted up to the tight wrappings. “She nearly killed me. Not with a knife, though,” he added wryly. “She bit me.” His laugh was hollow, and he muttered, “She’s going the same way as our father…”

Terror gripped you, cold and unyielding as winter. You knew his fears on the topic of mental stability, given that grief had seen his father all but lose his mind, and now Kinethara… “Nae…” you breathed, hugging him as tightly as you dared. He still winced slightly, but he chuckled.

“She’s locked up now as well,” he said. “Barring my mother, who died birthing her, it’s just me that’s not been locked away. Perhaps my time will come,” he added darkly, sipping his brandy and swirling it around the glass.

“If she’s secure, then you don’t have to worry anymore,” you said. “You’re safe, right?”

“For now, it seems,” he said. “I’ve quashed thoughts of rebellion, I think. I had to do some ugly things to the guards who betrayed me. I… I do not regret doing it, but I regret that it was necessary.”

You tried to hide your shudder. Naeryn was the prince of a court full of darkness and chaos. Things that lurked in the shadows of his territory were beyond mortal imagination, and if he couldn’t control his own court, its nobles and its employees, then he had little chance of keeping control over the corners where the true nightmares hid. You knew that, but still, there was a side to him that you were not allowed to see.

The rest of his visit was spent in quiet talk. He wasn’t up to much, with his neck injury still raw, but you managed to draw him out of himself a little, returning a faint sparkle to his eyes again by the time he rose stiffly and rolled out his shoulders. “I have to return,” he said, turning and holding open his arms. “I love you,” he whispered as you stepped into his embrace. He spoke into your hair, as though he didn’t have the strength to spill his heart out face to face. “I know that without a doubt. I wish I could be more for you than I am. You deserve the world, and all I have to offer you is violence.”

“No,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “No, that’s not true.”

He smiled, kissed you once more, and vanished a heartbeat later. He always liked to appear outside your house so as not to startle you or catch you unawares, but he had no such need when it came to leaving. It was only in the silence left behind that you realised he’d left his cloak of night behind, still folded on a chair by the door.

The creak of wood on the veranda made you smile, and you opened the door, swinging it wide and laughing, “Forget something?”

But it was not Naeryn standing there. Instead, a tall, slender fae leered down at you, with a skull-like face, skin stretched tight over bone, and no lips. Where the lips should have been, its skin was peeled back off the fae’s teeth to reveal a row of jagged, pointed needles, from behind which, a black, viscous liquid oozed. “Princess Kinethara sends her regards, human,” the fae said in a harsh, scraping voice.

Before you had time to process what was happening, the creature lunged at you. Long, spindly fingers shot out and tried to grab you as you stumbled backwards into your hut, trying futilely to shut the door in its face. A vile sound like a bone saw’s rasp filled the room, and you realised that the creature was laughing at you.

You tripped over your own feet in your panic and went down hard, but just as the creature was about to strike, darkness exploded into the room. The scent of ozone wafted out around you, and you recognised the unique feel of Naeryn’s magic on the air. Tendrils shot out from the inky darkness, solidifying, spearing, gripping the creature and hauling it back off you, and as the void snapped back to its point of origin, you saw Naeryn standing there, face white with anger.

His expression was pure ire as he snarled, “Who sent you?”

“Your sister did, oh great prince,” the creature simpered as shards of onyx darkness lanced into its body. No blood or ichor oozed from the punctures, but the creature writhed and howled all the same, pinned to the wall like a taxidermy specimen.

“Why? Why send one of your kind all the way out here for some human?” he asked, and his words stung, even though you could read the lie in them.

His fingers trembled as he clenched them, trying to contain his temper just long enough to extract the information he needed.

The creature’s dead-looking eyes flitted to you and Naeryn hissed, “Look at me, you piece of bilge filth. Answer my question.”

“Yes, great prince,” it simpered. “When she leaned that you were still returning to the Mortal Realm, to the same location, she realised your… attachment, to the human, you see, and she… she wished to exploit that.” The fae coughed and struggled against its bonds. “If she dies, what effect would that have on your mind, great prince?”

The last vestiges of colour in Naeryn’s already pale face vanished.

Dark veins spread down his face as his eyes turned black, and he brought his hand up in front of him, watching the assassin closely. The full force of his dark powers reared up in him and he unleashed them on the creature.

“No!” it screamed when it realised what was happening. But it was too late.

Naeryn twisted his wrist and the creature folded inwards on itself, the darkness wrapping around it and coiling inside its mouth until it vanished into a single pinprick and disappeared for good. The moment it was gone, Naeryn’s face returned to its usual, regal beauty and he staggered sideways a little before rushing to your side and dropping to his knees beside you. “Are you hurt? Did it touch you?”

“I’m… I’m fine… Naeryn… I…” Shock overtook you and you began to tremble.

“You can’t stay here,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This has gone too far. I must send my sister somewhere she will not be able to influence others, and you must come with me to the palace. I don’t know what other plans she has in place for you that have not yet been enacted.”

“Wait,” you rasped, throat thick and mouth dry. “I… I have to leave with you? Now?”

He nodded. “It’s my only option. I swear on my true name that you will be free, though you will have to pretend, at least at first, that you are my human plaything. It sickens me, but… it is all I can offer to keep you safe right now. Do you accept?”

“What if I say no?”

His lip trembled and he stood suddenly, turning away and crossing the room to gather up his cloak of night. “That is your prerogative,” he said. “I will not take you away from here against your will. But I cannot protect you here. I cannot keep you safe from…” his voice cracked and he choked off. “From those who would seek to hurt you in order to get to me. This is all my fault. I never should have begun any of this. I should have just returned you to the Mortal Realm the moment she dragged you in front of me.”

Tears of anger and guilt poured down his beautiful face, and you rose shakily and went to him, and took his trembling hands in yours. “Shh. None of that. Let’s go. I’m ready.”

He raised his noble head and looked deeply into your eyes, as though searching for doubt or fear. When he found none, the corner of his lips twitched, and he sighed. “You are so brave. Come.” And he draped his cloak of night around your shoulders and took your hands. “This journey will be as unpleasant for you as the last time I bore you like this,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

The journey through the veil between worlds was indeed every bit as unpleasant as the time he’d brought you back home from the Fae Realm, but he steadied you at the other end just as he had before, and he took you over to the bed in the corner of his room and made you sit and drink a little draft of something so strong it made your eyes water. “There,” he laughed. “All better.”

You handed the little, sparkling glass tumbler back to him and smiled, looking around the room. “Still no colour in your bedroom then,” you said with a grin, and he chuckled, taking the glass back.

“As ever, you are the colour in my life.”

“Gods, does that line work with the girls here in the Fae Realm?” you snorted, and Naeryn favoured you with a true, open laugh, head tossed back, dark hair shimmering as it shook.

“You know,” he said a moment later when he’d recovered. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Well, do me a favour and don’t use it again!”

“Duly noted,” he said. He let out a sigh and came back to sit on the bed, draping an arm around you and pulling you tight. “I know I shouldn’t be selfish, but having you here is already a balm I never imagined I would feel.”

“Yeah…” you said slowly. “Well, I’ll let you know how much fun it turns out for me…”

“For now, it’s best if you stay in here. I have some… unpleasant business to attend to.”

“What are you going to do?”

He released his grip on you and tangled his fingers in his lap for a moment. In a very quiet voice, he said, “I am going to sentence her to life in the Everdark.”

“I… I don’t know what that is,” you said after a while.

“Oh. It’s… It’s partly a prison, and partly just an awful place. The Shadowborne guard it.”

“They're the big ones with the wings and the bird feet, right?” you asked, and he snorted as you had essentially described Ghosrin, the head of his palace guard and the monstrously strong fae who had first escorted you out of the throne room on being dragged in there by Kinethara all those months before.

The prince nodded. “Yes. They have abilities which make them more resilient to the effects of the darkness in there, and they are tough and hard to kill or corrupt. I will have to sentence her publicly, but the charge will… will be as distasteful to you as it is to me.”

“Oh?”

Naeryn kept his head bowed, looking suddenly more like a young boy than the centuries-old prince he was. “I will have to say she attempted to destroy my property in a final attempt to destabilise me. To own a human as a slave is a mark of rank, and to touch another’s slave is a crime in itself. We fae often use humans as vessels for strength, using the untapped magic of human blood to fuel our power. To corrupt a vessel by touch or worse is vile, akin to poisoning a well in someone’s home… To attempt to destroy that vessel can mean death for the offending fae.”

“I had no idea we were so highly prized,” you said flippantly. “I mean, when I first got here, you were going to have me work as some kitchen slave or something for the rest of my life.”

“You were unclaimed,” he countered. “And… And I did not know you. You have since reminded me that I am not my sister or my father.” He ground his jaw and added through clenched teeth, “I deeply regret all of this.”

“I don’t,” you said. “Not all of it, anyway. You’ve made me the happiest woman who’s ever lived, and that’s not something I ever thought I’d be saying to someone else. Before you, I was content, but you’ve shown me more, Naeryn.” You stood unsteadily and came to stand in front of where he still sat on the bed, nudging his knees apart with yours so that you could stand closer to him. “I will trust whatever you decide is best, so long as you always give me a choice while I’m here.”

“Always,” he said, snatching your hands up in his.

“Then, I agree to become your pretend pet while I’m here…” you said slowly. “Just… don’t humiliate me or make me wear stupid clothing or something, will you?”

Naeryn’s eyes glowed a vibrant blue, almost with a light of their own shining in their depths, and he took your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly. “I swear on my True Name to protect you, and to allow you the freedom of choice in all matters.”

You felt the force of his oath settle around your chest like a physical weight, and you gasped.

“There,” he said. “My oath is binding.”

Naeryn vanished not long after that to take care of the nasty business of sentencing his sister. When he returned, hours later, all that briefly-kindled joy had left him and he sloughed off his clothes and climbed wordlessly into a bath that you’d not even realised had been waiting for him in the adjacent bathroom. Was that part of his magic? Could he just summon a bath full of hot water at will? That could certainly prove useful.

You left him to his private thoughts for a long time, but eventually joined him in there when he showed no signs of emerging. At your arrival, he smiled weakly, looking up at you from the water as you took off your clothes and stepped into the enormous bath, immediately straddling his hips. His cock twitched beneath you, and he was hard in no time as you rocked your hips back and forth over him. He groaned, his torso heaving as he sucked in a breath at the rake of your nails over his chest. You knew him well enough by now to know that this might just be a welcome distraction for a while.

“Forget all that,” you said, scraping your nails over his scalp and making him moan. “Right now, you’re mine.”

He liked the sound of that, apparently, and he took your hips in his hands and guided himself into you. Neither of you lasted long, and he washed your body lovingly afterwards before taking you to his bed and collapsing down into the black silk of the bedclothes, drawing you down into sleep even as his head hit the pillow.

As dawn greeted you the next morning, your stomach grumbled loudly, and Naeryn summoned a sumptuous array of food to a table in the courtyard that backed onto his room. He told you succinctly how the sentencing had gone, and how one or two of his nobles had attempted to disappear when he announced Kinethara’s punishment. He scowled fiercely as he obviously replayed the punishments in his mind, and you let him stew for a while before asking him what would happen next.

He sighed. “I need to speak with the commander of my Shadowborne forces. She will be largely responsible for transporting ’Thara to her prison.”

“I’ve never heard you call your sister that before…” you said, taking his hand across the table.

He let the pad of his thumb play across your fingers for a moment. “We were close as children,” he said. “Before father went insane… She always had a cruel streak though. I remember her killing all my pet jackdaws. I’d been training them and working with them for months while she had ignored hers and they’d turned feral, and out of spite when she saw what my birds could do, she killed my whole flock. Just like that.” He clicked his teeth and added, “I should have known then that something was going on more deeply that anyone realised.”

“You can’t blame yourself for her cruelty, Nae,” you said, squeezing his hand tightly. “You had the same upbringing, and you turned out alright. It’s on her to overcome whatever demons she carried, and she didn’t. She let herself be cruel and hateful.”

“Father blamed her for mother’s death,” he said quietly.

With a scowl, you said, “She can’t believe it though, surely?”

He shrugged. He didn't respond for a while, staring into the depths of his teacup as though trying to scry a deeper answer from it, but he eventually smiled and looked up at you. “Thank you,” was all he said.

“Can I come with you today?” you asked, and immediately regretted it as you watched his shoulders slump again. “Take that as a no?”

“You could…” he began slowly. “You could come with me. But you’d have to bear my mark. You would have to be my… my chattel.” His lips curled in disgust at the word, as though the taste of it on his tongue were as abhorrent as the concept.

“I’m free though, aren’t I?” you said. “It’s just a game…”

“It’s not a game!” he snapped, eyes blazing. “Your life is not a game!” he spat in a harsh whisper.

“That’s not what I meant. But if you'd rather I stay here like one of your pet jackdaws instead…” you said haughtily.

Naeryn’s gaze was flat and fixed. You had angered him, but you didn’t care. You were not some trinket to be shelved when not needed, and he needed to know that right from the outset.

In the end, the prince backed down, and you found yourself with a mark around your neck a bit like a tattoo, except that it hadn’t hurt, and he had promised he could remove it at no danger or cost to you.

He summoned a huge, coal-black, winged horse from his stables, and helped you up onto its bare back before vaulting up behind you. Courtiers and servants stared openly at you, dressed as you were in simple, soft leggings and a long, plain tunic. “I’m clearly not the kind of pet they’re used to,” you muttered dryly as Nae settled into place behind you on the shifting, snorting stallion.

“Hold on,” was all he said, tone somewhat grim.

“Hold on to what!” you yelped, lurching forwards and grabbing twin fistfuls of the winged horse’ mane as his powerful, swan-like wings beat and he surged forwards at a speedy canter, gathering lift and promptly soaring up into the sky. You glimpsed four winged escorts, Shadowborne guards, flanking you below, but didn’t comment.

The ride was exhilarating, and with Naeryn holding you firmly in place, guiding the horse with a gentle nudge of his calves against the horse’s side, it was a smooth and wonderful journey that ended all too soon when he brought his mount down towards a severe looking stone building in the heart of what was clearly a military compound. In the meadows behind it, a huge wyvern was stalking through the grass, apparently chasing butterflies or something, and a number of winged Shadowborne soldiers in leather flying armour were milling about the stables at the back.

The moment that the prince arrived, the whole place exploded into a flurry of action. Someone approached to take the horse away, and a moment later, another soldier approached the pair of you. He was smaller and slimmer than most of the other Shadowborne warriors, with dark hair tied back off his face, and a quiet confidence to his steps. When he saw you, however, his yellow eyes went wide and he stared openly at you, gaping.

“Captain Shaer?” Naeryn murmured. “Is there a problem?”

The captain shook himself visibly and dropped to one knee, head bowed. “No, Highness. Please, forgive me.”

“This is not the first human you’ve ever seen, is it?” he asked quietly.

Shaer did not reply immediately.

“Captain?” he pressed with surprising gentleness, given how you’d seen him behave with other leaders in his court.

“No, Highness. She is not.”

“You’ll have to tell me later. For now, take me to the Garrison Commander.”

You trailed along too, and although your presence was met with surprise, it was the captain, Shaer, whose eyes kept drifting back to you most often. There was nothing predatory in his gaze, only curiosity, and once the arrangements had been made, you, Naeryn, and Shaer all left the barracks to walk through the meadows at the rear of the compound. Shaer remained a step behind the prince out of deference until he was finally ushered forwards to they could have a proper conversation. Humans, it surprised you, were at the centre of it.

“You’ve been keeping a human of your own at the hunting lodge?” the prince asked after Shaer had finally been coaxed to tell the entire story. “The same one you told me had died which therefore meant that it was not necessary for me to create a portal to send her home? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, Highness,” Shaer said very quietly, obvious terror in his voice. Not for himself, but for this human.

You wanted to lay a hand on Naeryn’s arm, to warn him, but you didn’t want to break the illusion of being his pet so soon in the charade. It wasn’t necessary, however, because Naeryn laughed. “Is she still there?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Is she happy and well cared for?”

Shaer looked surprised. “Yes, Highness. She helps Anca in the kitchens and tends to the gardens… I visit her when I am able.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said. After a pause, he went on. “I am also pleased to learn that not all in my territory are so against the rights of humans. She will be cared for and under my protection there. If anything happens to endanger her, you write directly to me and I will act. I swear it.”

“Thank you, Highness,” he said, dipping into a deep and grateful bow.

“Now, go. I have to return to the palace and begin to organise the transfer of my traitorous sister.”

Shaer took off with one final bow and a nod at you, his wings sending dust flying up into the air. When you’d opened your eyes again, you were alone with Naeryn, and he embraced you and kissed you. “I’m so sorry,” he said, tracing the lines around your neck. “I hate to see this on you.”

“Take it as a sign of my trust,” you said, and Naeryn ground his jaw and looked away.

The prince did not let you come with him when he transported his sister to the Everdark, and nor did you ask to go along this time. You remained behind in his bedroom, where no one - not even a servant - had ever been permitted to enter, waiting for his return.

When he did finally come back, he was ashen, his clothes and hair ruffled from the wind of a long flight, and he bore shadows under his eyes. Darkness roiled around him in a living cloak, but he took one look at you, sitting cross-legged on his bed with a book in your lap, and he gave you the most beautiful smile he’d ever given you. “It is done,” he croaked.

You bathed him and drew him into bed that night, and he lay awake a long time with his head resting on your shoulder, the flat of his hand across your stomach. Eventually he fell asleep, and you followed not long after.

When you woke the next morning, you found him curled around you, and you smiled as you felt the hard line of his cock digging into your back. He inhaled deeply and pressed a kiss into your neck. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Seems I’ve got a little catching up to do,” you grinned, and he chuckled softly into your ear, grinding his hips into you and moaning deliciously.

“Indeed you do,” he said, taking your earlobe gently between his teeth. He kissed you all down your body, rolling you over onto your back and drawing your nightclothes off you so that he could get to every single bit of you. His palms skated down your thighs and he kissed trails up and down, paying particular attention to the junction between your hips and your thighs. You’d mentioned before how you weren’t ever going to be some light-boned and delicate fae, but he had only smiled and said he could have probably ordered anyone he liked to share his bed, but you had allowed him and he would have none other.

His fingertips danced circles around your clit, stroking and teasing, sending sparks down your spine as he worked you up. The prince then lowered his lips to your sex and his tongue circled your swollen clit. He moaned against you, grabbing your thighs and pulling you down so that he could slide his tongue inside you, tasting you, worshipping you.

He took you right to the edge of your orgasm, and then, infuriatingly, backed off with a smile. “Will you…?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes. You knew what he wanted, and you nodded, grinning.

He rolled onto his back, his cock hard against his lower abs, leaking pre-come, and he moved his arms away from his sides so that you could straddle him. You lined him up beneath you, cheekily stroking him a couple of times first until he half whimpered, “Please,” jutting his chin upwards as his chest heaved.

You ran your hands over his chest, his nipples hardening, his pecs tightening as his whole body coiled up with the desperate need to be inside you, and for release. His hair was ruffled from sleep, and his eyes glowed blue as he gazed up at you. His hands wandered to your breasts and he cupped them, playing with your nipples and begging you silently just to take him all the way inside you.

With a smile, you sank onto him and watched as his eyes rolled and he let out a long, deep, delicious moan. You went still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of him inside you, of being so full, but when you moved again, he gripped your hips and guided you. At first you moved too slowly for him, but when it became apparent that you would not speed up, he relinquished his hold on your body and fell back, defeated, into the pillows. “You’re a tease,” he hissed through a dazed smile.

“You asked for me on top,” you said, reaching behind you and carefully raking your nails up his white thighs to leave raised, pink tracks. He sucked in a breath and his body jerked. He began to move against you not long after that, pushing deeper, his breath becoming irregular and ragged, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips parted. He bit his lower lip some time later and grunted, “I’m close…”

He moved his touch to your clit and began to circle and tease just the way you liked it, and as that undeniable heat surged in you, you came, clenching tight around him, head thrown back.

You traced your fingertips up over the curve of his balls and he cried out, torso clenching, releasing inside you as waves of pleasure ripped through him a few seconds later, even as you still came.

Breathing hard, he lay back and stared up at you with that glassy-eyed expression of his that you had come to love in the months that you two had been together. In that moment he was not the feared Prince of the Court of Night, the one in charge of keeping the shadows tamed. That morning he was simply Naeryn, and he was unquestionably in love with you.

With him still inside you, you pressed your palm down on his chest, right over his thundering heartbeat, and said, “I’d like to stay…”

“Here?” he asked, a new clarity washing in to replace the haze of lust. “In the Fae Realm with me?”

You nodded. “I thought about it last night. I belong with you, and I’m prepared for what that will mean for me. As long as you promise me that I’ll never truly be bound or enslaved, then I will stay.”

“I swear it,” he said in an instant. “I swear it, but think about it, will you?”

“I have,” you insisted.

He nodded. “Alright, but I won’t hold you to your decision for at least another week. That’s my condition…”

You smiled at him and rolled your hips, making him grunt.

After a quick clean up, you returned to the bed and slid in beside him. “I’m going to need some of the herbs I’ve been taking,” you murmured quietly. “Let’s not be thinking about royal half-breeds just yet, eh?”

He grinned. “I will have the procured today for you, and anything else you need or want.”

You laughed. “Some clothes would be good,” you said, eyeing your rather drab and shabby clothes from the Mortal Realm.

“I will procure the finest gossamer and silk and lace for you, if you ask it of me.”

“Shut up, you pretentious old man,” you laughed, smacking him in the chest.

Naeryn’s baritone laugh joined yours. “I’ve said it before, but I love the way you speak to me. I love that you can joke with me like that. I have never had that with anyone before.” He rolled onto his side and kissed your neck, making you squeak and giggle, wriggling to get away from him as he reduced you to a writhing tangle of limbs and black silk sheets.

Being his pretend thrall was not going to be without a lot of complications, but if Shaer and his human were out there in the Fae Realm already, and the gods knew how many others too, then perhaps there would be more fae in time who would come to see that humans could be worthy of love and respect.

Looking up into Naeryn's handsome, laughing face as he finally ceased tickling you, you felt ‘home’ once again.

___________________________

I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, don’t forget to leave a like on it, and reblogs are always welcome.

(Links to asks about Naeryn here and here.)

___________________________

#fae #fae prince #court of night #prince of the Court of Night #fae realm #ghosti's fae realm #male monster #female reader #exophilia #fantasy #writing commission #if this is a repeat then i'm sorry but i genuinely can't find it on my blog and I was so sure I'd posted it here already...

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dustyvixen · 6 years

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woah hello new followers, time to force this shitty meme on y’all to introduce myself. ily <3

I didnt read any of these questions before hand, i just stole the first one i saw, so we’re all in for a wild ride. General Information: - Full Name: Olivia. please never call me this - Public Nicknames: Dusty or Olive - Friends-Only Nicknames: Olive oil - Age: 18/19 in November - Gender : Female - Acceptable Pronouns: she/her - Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Pansexual - Relationship Status: Single - Spouse/Partner: ^^^ - Date of Birth: November 22 - Zodiac: Scorpio-Sagittarius cusp - Birthplace: Queensland - Current Residence: The dull void known as Brisbane - Occupation(s): Freelancer -- Appearance: - Blood Type: idk lmao - Nationality: Australian - Ethnicity/Ancestry: Half kiwi, half european (Scotland n shit aye) - Height: 5'5" - Weight: idk but I am very l o r g e - Bodily Build: Big, heavy, somewhat male weight distribution (thanks hormone disorder) - Eye Colour: brown - Hair Colour: dark brown, with dark amber ends (old hair dye) - Skin Tone: Olive-ish - Scars/Markings: a few from when i was a kid, 90% stretch marks, lots of freckles on my arms -- Personality: - General Attitude: Chill, but easily aggravated. also super depressed and anxious woop - Life’s Aspirations: To exist tbh, art, taxidermy and botany are cool too i guess - Favorite Foods: M E A T. also mangos - Religion: none. I do work with The Morrigan though. - Likes: Plants, tea, bones, crows, natural history books, floral scents, foggy winter morning smells, Honey. - Dislikes: loud noise, prosciutto, maggots, city smells (aka fuel/diesel smell), possums in my roof, heat, - Fears: Vomiting, Closed in spaces (like one way tubes or caves), Strong winds (not fear, but they make me anxious) -- Relationships: - Father: Big pushover, I like to debate with him a lot, can sometimes be a bit narrow minded. Complains about dumb things like a kid. - Mother: avoid when shes in a mood ™ , she dealt with a LOT of bad shit in her life, kiwi af, good for some banter. - Sister(s): none - Brother(s): I got 3 older bros, we all give each other shit like good siblings - Best Friend: YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE MANG - Pets: 3 Budgies (Levi, Kea, and Apollo), 1 carpet python (Aphrodite), 1 dog (Wolf), 2 rats (Hemlock and Ash), 1 cat (Zelda), and 8 Chickens --- Anyone you admire a lot? - Confident, yet kind people If you could go two years back in time, what would you tell yourself? - id just punch myself in the head for focusing so much on trying to get into relationships instead of SELF LOVE BITCH

When did you realize your current sexuality? - uuH i think in like grade 7 or 8?? idk it kinda just happened lmao Do you have any lesser-known talents? - Good at judging a situation/emotions, tying knots ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

What was the last verse of the song you're listening to- where the trees grow taller and the suns are smaller somehow. Ever gotten in a flame war? - nope What's the last thing you did before this meme? - scrolled through pinterest lookin up plants What is your favorite fruit? - Mangos, pomegranates, cherries and lychees What time do you usually end up going to sleep? - 12am-1am What's your catchphrase/A word you use a lot?- my dude, lmao, woop, uhh

What is your alignment (Lawful, neutral or chaotic matched with good, neutral or evil)? - Chaotic neutral What was your first fandom? - the warriorcats, but i never made OC’s n stuff, i just read the books How are you feeling right now? - questionable Are you good at Mario Kart? - ill woop yo ass at mario kart What do you do on an average Saturday night? - divination, sometimes drink, HOW MANY CAPRI SUNS HAVE U DRINK IN THE LAST 48 HOUR???? - we dont drink that devil liquid here Who's your favorite OC that you own? - please dont make me choose, I have 80 of them. Are you a proactive or reactive person? - reactive How many days until your next birthday? - im too lazy to check How many blankets do you sleep with? - 2-3 in winter (a duvet, and 2 mink blankets), none in summer What are three OTPs of yours? - none What's a song you hate? - Blurred lines Art or music? - ???what???

What's a song that reminds you of your lover/crush? - obedear, by purity ring Do you have a celebrity crush? - no?? i never understood them How do you want to die? - i dunno? in my sleep i guess What's your opinion of the last person you talked to? - the best nublet of them all What are your favorite fandoms? - Avas demon, uhh im not in a lot of fandoms What do you usually draw? - Monsters and questionable things How'd you come up with your username? - The first roadkill i picked up was an old mummified vixen. What's the weirdest thing you've done in public? - talked about murdering possums with a potato Coke or Pepsi? - n o n e How many friends do you have? - a few Using three words, how would your friends describe you - weird, uh, angery How would you describe your morality? - Im trying to improve it, but its average i suppose How emotional are you? - very Who's your favorite fictional character? - CALCIFER

What's your favorite music album? - Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues

How's your social standing? - i rarely leave home so its non existent What's the worst media you have ever consumed? - consumed??what??? Any movements you make unintentionally (drumming fingers, twirling hair)? - bouncing my leg Have you ever been romantically attracted to a fictional character? - nay What social media site do you use the most? - Twitter or DeviantArt idk What's your favorite video game? - Oblivion, Spyro, MediEvil. honestly there’s a lot so i cant pick one What are some personality traits you despise? - extreme narcissism, elitism, entitlement. Ever been to a convention? - one, an alternative expo years ago, im too poor to afford conventions Cats or dogs? - dogs, but i still like cats What does your favorite shirt look like? - its my pajama shirt with a boston terrier on it Do you think Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer? - fuck this meme thing was longer than thought. all that to end on this question? shit man. of course he is the zodiac killer jeez.

#about me #im sorry #but these memes are my guilty pleasure #shrug

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mfmagazine · 6 years

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Taxidermy Couture

Article by Lauren Weigle

Photo by Rebecca Schmidt

Taxidermy Couture was definitely a must-have for me once I came across it. Its art mixed with Goth mixed with glamour mixed with vintage mixed with...well, everything! The point is that the collections are hot and almost entirely made up of one-of-a-kind pieces. So, if you see something you like you better snatch it up fast as it may be gone tomorrow. On the other hand, no one else will have the same gorgeous and unique accessory as you will, which makes each piece even more special.

Let’s talk about the Latin phrase “memento mori” and what it means in terms of Taxidermy Couture.

Memento mori means "Remember you must one day die". It names a genre of artistic creations that vary widely from one another, but which all share the same purpose, to remind people of their own mortality and the punishment they will receive if they transgress the rules of their religion. A phrase that has had a tradition in art that dates back to antiquity. I always say my work is "Memento mori inspired" because I personally am not trying to remind people or their punishment when they die. In fact, I'm not one for religion at all. I was raised Catholic and was forced to go to church every Sunday until I left home at 17, but the silver lining was being able to spend an hour every week staring at beautiful art, art that still inspires me to this day… obviously. As far as the connection between memento mori and Taxidermy Couture... well, my use of animal skulls, teeth, and bones would make anyone think about death.

Pretty intense, just like the name of your label. How did you come up with the brand’s name?

Originally I called my line "Morbid beauty", but it just didn't feel right; it felt very "Goth" to me. Yes, a large amount of my work has a Gothic feel, and I love that. However, I don't want to pigeon-hole myself into a set aesthetic. Some days I'm super vamp, some days I'm a modern hippie, and other days I'm something I don't have a term for. I am, however, extremely into high fashion and art so I felt "Taxidermy Couture" simply described the work much more, and will continue to do so no matter what direction I go in the future.

Tell me about the woman behind the company, Marya.

That's a hard one! As of [December] I am now Marya, the wife. I am happier than I have ever been before in my entire life! We went to Vegas with 10 friends and had the best time! Other than that it changes all the time. I try to dip my toe in anything and everything that interests me.

Speaking of interests, I want to hear all about your musical alter ego! Spill it!

Valium Valentine, my pop culture alter ego! She was born a year ago and sadly we only got 3 songs done. You can find them on Myspace. We (my husband and I) LOVE all kinds of music and wanted to just play. However, once it got started I kind of took over and so we decided it was my baby. I want to make a few more songs before she dies... But, we have another secret band we have been working on, so it can be hard to put your mind in two completely different creative places at the same time. My husband and I will always make music, no matter who hears it. Its funny talking about "my music" when I have some close friends in legit bands, they actually make a living making music and touring. If I ever had the chance to go on tour as a performer I'd jump on it.

Do you think your love of music ever inspires some of your pieces for Taxidermy Couture?

How could it not!? I name pieces after songs or bands all the time. I do a series of multi-chain necklaces with my signature mink tooth lockets and other "vampire inspired" charms, no two are the same, but they all share the name "Vampire Weekend". Aside from that, I think the music world has a huge part to play in fashion. I can't help but be influenced by music; it sets a mood. Bands I loved growing up are probably why I started getting tattoos and wore chucks, so yes, music inspires many a Taxidermy Couture piece.

You also style and cut hair. Is there anything you don’t do?!

Well, when I was really young I want to be a fashion designer. I'd draw pictures of clothes all day. My mom was a super punk rock chic, purple and green hair, made all her clothes, made jewelry out of scrap metal she'd find on the street, etc. Since the age of 11 she'd ask me to cut her hair. I won't lie. I had a natural knack for it. By age 14 I could do a perfect bob. So, when I turned 18 and had been living on my own for almost a year, I decided I needed to figure out what career path to go in. Hair just made the most sense, and I loved it. Not to mention, Cosmetology school was a hell of a lot less money than college, and I grew up really poor so the thought of debt was scary. I've worked in so many salons over the past ten years. My favorite was Ultra Salon in Manhattan, NY. I worked there for four years before calling it quits and crossing over to freelance. I did the hair for two Rapture music videos a few years back. As of now I turned our dining room into a mini-salon. I really love working for myself from home, I'm not a conventional person.

Conventional is way overrated. So, Marya, why is it exactly that you are drawn to things like teeth and animal skulls?

I am very drawn to teeth. They are just so cool and creepy. I have a tooth wearing a crown tattooed on my left arm. I use a lot of bone vertebrae from various animals; they have the most amazing shapes! It seems wrong not making jewelry out of them. But my original inspiration really comes from a necklace I own. Long story short, my long lost father who I met when I was 23; we were both living in NYC and this amazing thing happened and suddenly I had the coolest father ever! Well, for my birthday he gave me this to-die-for Pade Vavra Diamond and shark tooth necklace. He knew I loved shark teeth and diamonds so, boom! Two years ago I made my first rabbit foot/shark tooth necklace for my husband. We had just started dating and he flipped out over it. That's really why I started making jewelry to sell to the public. He's an independent buyer for a clothing store in our neighborhood, so he convinced me I was talented enough to sell my work. A few months later, my Etsy store was up and running. But, I suppose I have a soft spot for things not the norm because of my mother and her friends, a bunch of young artists from Boston. I even got to be in a small independent film called "black hearts bleed red" directed by Jeri Cane Rossi. The bazaar and “oh so talented” artist Joe Coleman was also in this movie. If you aren't familiar with his work you really should Google him. I wish I had the talent this man has! All the little "weird" things about my childhood just stuck I suppose.

How are you able to take these things that, to some, can be considered dark or dismal, but create such beautiful jewelry from them?

It's all your frame of mind, to some it’s creepy and they will never be into it, no matter how pretty it is. But, to me there is nothing dark or dismal about letting these animals live on through art. I don't think any part of the animal should be wasted. Animals give us the gift of food and warmth. To me the bones and teeth are just as precious and should be respected and admired. No animals are killed for the sake of my art. All parts are from animals that have died from natural causes, or have been killed for the meat. I do eat meat, so I can't be a hypocrite. I only use vintage fur (usually from damaged fur coats from the 1980's or older) because once I found out how they actually skin the animals alive, I couldn't morally buy new fur. I have very high standards for the materials I use, which is a HUGE part of the work that goes into these pieces. How do I make them beautiful? I don't really know... I just play with it until it becomes what it should be.

Tell me more about some of your one-of-a-kind pieces.

The majority of what I make is one-of-a-kind. And, even the pieces I can replicate aren't identical. To me, teeth and bones are like snowflakes. Because of my high standards of how the animal has died I can't place an order for X amount of jawbones at a time, so I work with what I have, when I have it. I do however do a series of animal skull necklaces that are all OOAK. No two are identical because if you are going to spend over $100 on a necklace, you don't want your best friend to buy the exact same one, right? These are special pieces to keep forever and cherish. Chains like Forever 21 make me sad, mass-produced crap that everyone has and falls apart. Not to mention, the poor children working over 8 hours a day for next to no money just so we Americans can be cheap and selfish, but that's another topic for another interview at another time.

Well then let’s stick to things like some of your vintage-inspired pieces. Can you tell me a little about those as well?

Well, I use a lot of vintage pieces and up-cycle them. That's another reason why most of my work is one-of-a-kind. I use a mix of new and old charms and chains. Because of my background growing up with my mother I have always thrift-shopped and had fun finding little hidden treasures at flea markets and vintage shops. It may even be in my blood. After meeting my father, I found out he originally started his long career of owning retail stores with a vintage store. I must admit that lately I've been VERY focused on my Taxidermy Couture, but now that my wedding is over I have more free time and I am planning on coming out with new vintage-inspired, non-taxidermy work soon. It all depends on my inspiration. I can't force my work or it will show, and not in a good way. Any art I make is an organic experience.

Ooh, I can’t wait for more vintage pieces! My absolute favorites are the Vintage up-cycled Chanel earrings and the Mortality charm necklace, but it’s out of stock. Any come-backs on the horizon for those items on your site that have already sold out?

I've had a soft spot for Chanel since I was about 20. I have enjoyed collecting Chanel earrings since then. I hate clip-on earrings so any vintage pair I can up-cycle into posts, I will. It’s funny you mention the Mortality charm necklace because one of my best friends Katy aka Kickball bought it a few months back, so I got to see her wearing it again at our wedding. She fell in love (her words) with it when we did a La Sera for Taxidermy Couture photo shoot. Luckily for me she used them as her press release photos. La Sera is her solo project. She's more known for her band "Vivian Girls". And again, that is a one-of-a-kind. Ninety percent of the materials used for that necklace were vintage parts.

I’m so jealous! Any new ideas in the works for more killer necklaces or earrings?

I won't know until I make them, sorry. However, I am lucky that a collector in the mid-west (they are retired and go for nature excursions constantly) has decided they want to "clean out there closet" so to speak, so I have a large number of vertebrae, skulls, and wolf teeth coming in any day now!

I noticed you don’t have any bracelets or watches yet. Ever think about including some pieces along those lines in future collections?

I've actually done a few pocket watch necklaces, all OOAK and all sold before I could even get them up on my site. I do gallery and trade shows and other events where I sell my work. I also sell my jewelry at Shotwell in Union Square, San Francisco (my current home) and at Modern Eden gallery in North Beach, SF. So, not everything makes it in my own online store. As far as bracelets, it’s funny. I've made a few, but I never really think to make more because I'm not much of a bracelet person myself. I have this thin gold wire I wear every day. Come to think of it, I might be on my third year of wearing it without ever taking it off. How funny! I never really thought about it.

So, if you weren’t doing what you’re doing, what do you think you would be? A taxidermist?

Definitely not. I am actually squeamish. I don't think I could do any of the dirty work. If there is something I want to do, I'll try it out. However, I do love decorating. I could see myself in interior design. My husband and I love doing theme rooms in our house! We can't wait to own our own home one day and go crazy! Right now I'm starting some business classes. We want to move back to NYC and open our own small Brooklyn boutique. I'll continue to make jewelry of course, but we will fill the store up with any awesome artists’ work we can get our hands on. We're hoping this will happen within the next two years. More than half my online sales are from NYC, so that's a good sign.

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wombatportrait · 8 years

Photo

I am mad they blocked this story and only let subscribers see it. But I busted through that wall. (It is a metaphor!) I copied it for you.

Liebe Grüße,

Donna

Painstaking: Alison Douglas at work. Pictures: Justine Walpole

It is an often overlooked but proven scientific fact that wombats have feelings too. Evolution did not, however, provide the humble wombat with the anatomical means to verbally express its feelings, or a natural place in which to do so. No coastal Buddhist wombat retreat, for example, where these quadrupedal marsupials might form trust circles to emotionally release themselves from the burden of playing second fiddle to the self-satisfied koala, or ponder the viciousness of the sociopathic dingo, or truly convey the overwhelming anxiety that sometimes makes a wombat just want to dig a hole in the ground and crawl deep inside. Stop the world, I want to waddle off.

Late November, 2016: Queensland Museum taxidermist and senior preparator Alison Douglas slips on a pair of surgical gloves as she pads through a basement room past a stack of arcing whale rib bones the size of two-person tent frames. She passes a large steel macerating tank where a long-deceased marine turtle is being boiled and stripped of gunk and grit before it’s transferred to a taxidermist’s table. She passes a freezer room filled with tagged specimens: “Echidnas”, “Prep birds”, “Possum”. Each animal’s tag contains details of where and when it was found. “You can have the most beautiful specimen in the world but if it doesn’t have its location and date then it’s useless to science,” Douglas says. Science needs the animal’s story.

She comes to a back room with a word fixed to its entry: “Skinning”. A stuffed ringtail possum sits on a perch in the corner of the room. A corkboard on the wall features detailed colour portraits of animals, and Post-it note messages between colleagues: “Cat skull for Caroline.” The room is lined with drawers with various tags speaking of their contents: “Red eyes”, “Yellow eyes”, “Paired brown eyes”. Drawers full of taxidermy patching fur. Another marked “Skins, Bones and Bits”.

There’s a dead animal beneath a sheet on Douglas’s stainless steel workbench. She removes the sheet slowly. It’s a common wombat. Brown fur, lumpy body, curled in a ball like it’s sleeping. “Here he is,” she says. “Tonka.”

She stands back and looks at that face. The bare nose. The serene eyes. The odd tenderness that emanates from the little guy, somehow soulful even in death. “He’s got such a beautiful face,” she says. “He looks like someone, doesn’t he?”

He does. Someone old and wise; someone you might have cared about. Someone with feelings.

“He just looks so peaceful,” she says. She takes a deep breath, feels the weight of the task before her. “Tonka’s not so important scientifically,” she says. “But he’s very important to people.”

Tonka the wombat had any number of reasons to feel sad throughout his short life. After his mum was killed by a car eight years ago, Tonka was rescued from her pouch and hand-reared by humans at Billabong Sanctuary, a native animal wildlife park near Townsville, north Queensland. Lacking the necessary smarts for the wild, Tonka was destined for a lifetime in captivity. But if he longed for life beyond the park enclosure he rarely let it show, rejoicing in the constant companionship of a loving team of rangers with whom he cuddled, played, walked, ate, napped. Some nights staff members would take him home to meet their families, prop him up on the living room couch with mum, dad and the kids, and settle in for another episode of The Block. Before long, Tonka the wombat became the park’s star attraction, dazzling groups at the morning and afternoon wombat shows with his charm and insatiable zest for life. Where some marsupials recoiled from the hugs of tourists, Tonka seemed to grow in spirit and confidence with every warm embrace. Male wombats wanted to be him, female wombats wanted to be with him.

Then, in early February 2011, Category 5 Cyclone Yasi tore through Billabong Sanctuary, smashing enclosures, destroying displays, uprooting trees. Miraculously no animals perished, but the park was closed for 10 weeks as an army of rangers and volunteers worked on the clear-up.

Tonka the wombat went off his food. No matter what the rangers placed in front of him, even his beloved carrots and sweet potato, he wouldn’t eat it. He dropped 20 per cent of his body weight in a matter of weeks. Just as alarmingly, he had suddenly retreated into himself. The wildly charismatic Austin Powers of the marsupial world inexplicably lost his mojo. It was as if Cyclone Yasi had blown away into oblivion and taken Tonka’s spark with it.

Park management consulted the best veterinary minds money could buy. They did blood tests, looked for internal damage, tested for disease and infection, checked his body for broken bones or bruising. Physically, there was nothing. So how to explain the reduced interest in once pleasurable activities, the loss of energy and slowed behaviour, the increased desire to sleep and the loss of appetite? The vets had nothing to offer, except to say bare-nosed wombats have feelings too. Tonka the wombat, it seemed, was living with clinical depression.

“He’s a bit chunky,” Douglas says, studying her subject on the metal workbench. “He’ll take a bit to thaw. He needs to be thawed out before we remove the skin. There’s no getting around that with taxidermy. You do have to skin the animal. It’s quite confronting – there’s blood and there’s guts and it’s kind of like a butcher’s shop in a way, especially with an animal of Tonka’s size.”

Douglas has worked as a taxidermist at Queensland Museum for 16 years, moving into it from a background in visual arts and props and puppet-making for theatre. “My interest is not in taxidermy as such; it’s very much museum taxidermy, for the purpose of conservation. It’s about teaching people about the animals. It is sometimes the only way of seeing these animals that you would otherwise never get up close to.”

A rustic leather case of medical tools is open on her workbench: scalpels, rat’s tooth tweezers for removing flesh from hard-to-reach places, pliers and scissors and wire cutters and fine metal scoops designed specifically for scooping the brains out of birds’ skulls. She has a selection of drill bits for working on the bones of larger animals and fixing specimens to wooden perches.

She studies Tonka on the bench. She will draw some sketches before she skins, capture the curve of his muscles, the sag of his body fat. “You’re trying to recreate the body shape that comes out of the animal,” she says. “You’re taking the skin off like a glove. The whole body comes out in one piece.” She moves closer to Tonka’s face. “There is something important about seeing him at this point,” she says. “I’m trying to preserve that face as much as possible.”

It was this face that was plastered under headlines around the world. “Wombat Diagnosed with Depression” wrote the Daily Mail. “Depressed Orphan Wombat” declared The Huffington Post. “Wombat Diagnosed with Clinical Depression” reported the Daily Mirror.

It seemed so absurd, a clinically depressed wombat. While scientists considered whether it was even possible, animal lovers across the social media world sent deep, life-affirming messages to the inexplicably gloomy bare-nosed wombat in Townsville, Queensland.“Focus on the little things, Tonka.”“Just keep waddling, Tonka, one paw at a time.”“Stars can’t shine without darkness, Tonka.”

“One hundred per cent, he had depression,” says Samm Sherman, a 27-year-old PhD candidate at James Cook University’s College of Science and Engineering, and the former Billabong Sanctuary wildlife carer who was closer to Tonka than anyone. Sherman documented her close friendship with Tonka through a series of Instagram images tagged “#bestfriendisawombat”.

“That wasn’t a joke,” she says. “It truly wasn’t a joke. He was my best friend. You can ask the people I worked with. They saw it. I loved him immediately when I saw him. He was just so special. I would take him for walks. I’d give him cuddles, a little chin scratch. I mean, I know we didn’t hang out all the time and it’s not like we’d go to the movies or anything, I’m not delusional, but if I was ever frustrated or stressed or anything I could go to him and give him a cuddle and I’d feel better. And… ummm… yeah.”

She pauses for a moment. “I miss him,” she says. She pauses for another moment. “Thanks for making me cry at work.”

Tina Janssen has spent the past decade running Safe Haven, a wombat research and rehabilitation centre in Mt Larcom, near Rockhampton. She was one of many experts Billabong Sanctuary consulted during Tonka’s downturn. “Yes, I think they can feel sadness,” she says. “Wombats are a very funny animal. They sulk. They don’t like change. That’s one of the big things with wombats. If you feed them, for example, at a certain time every day and then, all of a sudden, you change that, they will quite likely not eat.

“They’re really intelligent. People say, ‘Stubborn as a mule’ and I always say, ‘Well, you’ve never met a wombat’. They just dig in. And they get attachments. I have a captive-born wombat that I’ve cared for for 12 years and just recently I went away and for three nights she didn’t eat. If they have a square water bowl then you better bloody give them water in the square water bowl.”

Cyclone Yasi brought great change to Billabong Sanctuary. With the park’s rangers focused on the clean-up effort, Tonka’s daily routine was torn asunder. With no visitors for 10 weeks, he was denied his morning and afternoon wombat shows, something akin to Olivier being asked to wait forever in the wings at the Old Vic.

“He loved those shows,” Sherman says. “I would see him before the shows some days. He would be waiting at his gate, like, ‘Come on, let’s go people’.” The born entertainer. Tonka came alive before a gig. “He loved the cuddles from people. He needed the cuddles. I think it stemmed from not having a mum. But when the park was closed for a couple of months while they fixed everything up, there was no time for him to be cuddled.”

By the time the park was ready for its grand reopening, Tonka was considered too physically and emotionally fragile to resume the shows, and another wombat took his place. “When he saw the people, he walked up to the fence like [he was asking] ‘Why aren’t you picking me up for the show?’” Sherman says. “So one of the rangers took him out to meet people again. And, then, after his first cuddles he went back into his enclosure and started eating again. It genuinely was because he wasn’t getting his cuddles from people that he wasn’t eating.” Billabong Sanctuary’s star attraction was back, and so was Tonka’s self-esteem.

Valentine’s Day. Alison Douglas walks into her museum basement work room, past two cast and painted pythons and a taxidermy deer that’s been donated to the museum by a member of the public. She enters the skinning room, where Tonka waits on her workbench. He looks playful. She’s captured him at a typically spirited moment, tugging on the shoelace of a Billabong Sanctuary ranger. “He came together all right in the end,” Douglas says. “I wanted to show that he wasn’t just any wombat, he meant something more to people. I was trying to get that sense of fun and connection he had to anyone who came along.”

She worked on him over summer. His skin was put in a tanning solution for three weeks and washed. She cast his ears and the shape of his back. She cast his skull and rebuilt it with expanding foam, and gave him glass black eyes. The insides of his body and legs were painstakingly crafted from natural plant fibres and bound tightly with string. “He was quite a challenge because during his treatment [after death] he had patches of fur removed, which limited the choices of positions he could be in,” she says. “The patching wasn’t as straightforward as it usually would be because there wasn’t much to work with, but I’m happy with him.” Her time with Tonka has ended. Time to take him upstairs where others can enjoy his company. Time to say goodbye.

Samm Sherman remembers when she said goodbye to Tonka. It was June last year, and Tonka had been diagnosed with kidney failure. “I’m gonna tear up again,” she says, taking a breath. “I wasn’t working there anymore by then but I still visited quite often... And the last couple of days, when it seemed like he was really having a hard time of it, we’d go and he wasn’t really eating much but he ate a pear. He didn’t stand up for a bit but he ate this pear lying down. He didn’t usually eat pears but it was because it was soft and full of fluid. And then they told us they were going to take him to the vet to euthanise him.”

She pauses again. “That was the right call because there was nothing they could do,” she says. “He had irreversible kidney damage and his quality of life was really poor. He seemed really unhappy. A bunch of us went in and gave him some cuddles. And we said our goodbyes.”

She showered Tonka with nose kisses. She scratched him on the spot on his back where he loved being scratched and he curled up in her arms. She didn’t know what he was thinking but she had an idea of what he was feeling because she felt it too. “And I told him I loved him,” she says.

Sherman went home and waited for the world to hear the news of Tonka the wombat’s passing. She watched the hundreds of condolence messages land in Billabong Sanctuary’s Facebook page, messages from across the world.

Jill Halliday: “I didn’t even know what a wombat was before I cuddled the lovely Tonka. I know how sad we feel from meeting him once so it must be awful for everyone at Billabong Sanctuary.”

Linda Chillon: “I hope that you’ll find peace and happiness wherever you are.”

Crystal Allen: “Oh no, poor Tonka. My two youngest boys come to visit each school holidays and knew his story off by heart.”

Kerrianne Chappell: “Noooo! I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it!”

In the museum basement taxidermy room, Alison Douglas throws a half-smile at this perfect and still version of Tonka. Soon the great performer will be back where he belongs, in front of crowds of fawning strangers. Douglas is relieved. She wanted to do him justice. She hopes people see the same thing she sees when she looks at him now, something she was trying to capture, something beyond science, something more closely related to feelings.

“He was loved,” she says. “And they loved him because they knew him.”

Tonka and Alison Douglas will be part of the Let’s Talk Taxidermy event on March 24-25 at the World Science Festival in Brisbane. worldsciencefestival.com.au

#wombat #tonka #taxidermy

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tlbodine · 8 years

Text

The Hound

“How much for the stuffed dog?”

It was a strange thing to find at an estate sale, standing amidst the dusty antiques and old-fashioned serving ware. Its strangeness was, perhaps, the first thing that caught Elizabeth’s eye. But it wasn’t what held her attention. No - what drew her toward it was a certain sense of empathy, almost a maternal feeling, toward the creature.

“Do you really want it?” The auctioneer looked tired. It was a hot day, and the small house was cramped and stuffy. It smelled faintly of mothballs and old, rancid perfume. “It’s kind of a curious thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Liz reached out a hand to touch the dog, her fingertips barely brushing its snout, before withdrawing. She took a step back. “But it’s for sale, right?”

“Tell you what. If you honestly want the thing, just take it. The sooner I can empty this place, the sooner I can go. And I’m not going to be turning a profit on somebody’s old pooch.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Liz’s eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. She had been in the resale business long enough to know that such generosity was not the norm.

“Please. Just take the thing off my hands. Now, excuse me. I’m about to start the bidding for the chaise lounge.”

Liz watched as the auctioneer passed her, noting a certain tension in his shoulders. His hair had a threadbare, rumpled look, as though it had been tugged on too much. Stress, she decided, and shrugged it off. Generosity was a rare thing in the resale world, but she wouldn’t look a gift horse - or, in this case, dog - in the mouth.

Her attention turned back to the stuffed dog that she had now acquired.

He was medium-sized, the top of his head reaching nearly to her hip, and he had the long-legged, slender body of a hound. Paintings in old-world manors and museums conveyed similar subjects: a nobleman’s hunting dog, the kind you would expect to be coursing a fox or retrieving a pheasant.

The fur, patches of liver on white, was long and silken - well cared-for. The tail hung behind the body, but curled ever-so-slightly at the edge. The head inclined, subtly, the glass eyes turned upward and forward, the mouth hanging ever-so-slightly open, the ears angled just slightly back -- all of this adding to the illusion that this dog was yearning for a pat on the head.

It was the most perfect piece of taxidermy Liz had ever seen.

She had come across other taxidermied beasts over the years, of course, and even sold a few in her antique store. But none of those had captured the sense of life she saw in the hound - that hint of suspended animation, that subtle balance of tension in its pose, the details in its eyes and barely-visible tongue.

This had not been a cheap taxidermy job. This was the product of skill, and, she imagined, of love - either whoever had stuffed this thing had loved it dearly as a pet, or had been paid a handsome sum by someone who had loved it.

Either way, she could not justify leaving it here. The old boy, she thought, deserved better than all that.

* * *

“It’s a bit creepy, isn’t it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Just...look at him. That was somebody’s pet, once. We don’t know whose, or what his name was, or when he died.”

“His owners were probably those old people who owned the house. Like everything else in the estate sale.”

“Then in a weird way...he’s outlived his owners, hasn’t he? Isn’t that just...odd?”

* * *

After much household debate, the dog was placed in the sitting room - a dustier, more formal alternative to the more lived-in den. Liz’s wife, Natasha, insisted on that much. “If the dog is staying,” she’d said, “I don’t want to have to look at him all the time. He creeps me out.”

Their son, at least, shared Liz’s enthusiasm for the taxidermied beast. Liam was five years old and captivated by the idea of a once-living, now preserved, animal -- something akin to his own plush toys, but somehow more, as if straddling the fine line between real and imaginary, animate and fake. He often snuck into the sitting room to admire the dog, to stroke its fur, even to read to it from his stack of early readers.

No one noticed the way the dog’s tail hung just a little higher than it had before.

No one noticed the slight widening of its jaws.

* * *

“That’s weird.”

“What?”

“He looks different. The dog. Look at him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just look. His head. His eyes. Something’s different.”

Liz looked, as instructed, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the hound, his silken fur, the hints of tension running through his exquisitely taxidermied body.

“He has those follow-me eyes,” she said, reaching for Nat’s hand. “An artist’s trick. That’s all. Same as any other painting that seems to look at you wherever you go. Now stop being silly.”

Nat relented, but reluctantly, her own eyes straying back to lock on the glassy marbles set in the dog’s handsome, slender-mawed face.

She didn’t think he had been showing so many teeth before.

She was certain she had never seen the tip of its tongue lolling from its maw.

* * *

“Very funny, Liz.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop joking around.”

It spiraled into an argument, the frayed edges of nerves bumping into each other, igniting a fire that engulfed all the oxygen between them. There had been so much friction over these past few days, so much uneasiness, that an explosion was inevitable.

The fight subsided, eventually, and ended in the bedroom, the two falling exhausted and spent into each other’s arms. The original spark of the argument was lost, forgotten.

It was as if Nat had never noticed the way the dog was closer to the door.

As if she had not seen the change in the angle of its head, the way its snout now tilted, the way its ears now swept forward.

* * *

Liam’s laughter echoed through the house, drawing Nat’s attention. Liz was at work, overseeing the antique shop, and the house felt cold and empty in her absence. It often did. They had decided, together, that one of them should stay home after Liam was adopted - and Nat had seemed the obvious choice. Her career had been going nowhere, and Liz had the store, and her side projects, and all those other things that kept her busy.

Nat swallowed her bitterness, but she could not hold it down.

“Liam? What is it?”

The sounds of more laughter.

She entered the sitting room to find Liam on the floor next to the hound. His face was buried in the dog’s fur, nuzzling against it.

“What’s so funny, Liam?”

The boy looked up, eyes wide and sparkling. “The doggy won’t stop licking me.”

Nat’s blood ran cold. The dog was stiff, lifeless as ever. But she could have sworn she saw the glass marble of its eye rotate in her direction; would have testified later that she saw the hint of a wagging tail.

* * *

She tried to get rid of the dog. She dragged it outside, setting it at the curb with the trash dumpsters.

But the next morning, it was back, standing in its usual position in the sitting room. Liz was furious. They had another fight, and this one ended not in each other’s arms but with Nat sleeping in the den, an afghan pulled up around her chin.

She lay awake, listening to the sounds in the dark, and amidst the creaking of old pipes and the settling of foundation, she could swear she heard a low growl. The sound of blunt nails clicking against the floor boards. The snuffling of a damp nose blowing air against the floor board.

She did not look up, but if she had, she might have seen it in the door frame: the silhouette of a hunting dog, its fine bone structure and silken fur, the lofty banner of its tail.

The deep green glow of its eyes.

* * *

“How much for that stuffed dog?”

The auctioneer felt an odd chill, a feeling of deja vu. He tried to place the memory, tried to recall why this particular stuffed hound seemed so hauntingly familiar.

He had worked many estate sales, and the details tended to blur. But something about the hound made him uneasy, even if he couldn’t put a finger on why.

“He’s for sale, right?” The man asked again, more insistent.

“Yes...” the auctioneer hesitated, wanting almost to say ‘no,’ but he couldn’t bring his mouth to form the words. It was ridiculous. There was no reason to fear a taxidermied dog. “Make an offer, I guess. I can’t imagine he’ll be too popular at auction.”

The man brushed his fingers against the dog’s downturned snout. It was a handsome dog, a hunting dog: liver patches on glossy white fur, fine bone structure. The kind of dog you would see in a painting in an old nobleman’s house. It sat, reclining on its haunches, a certain easy confidence in its pose. It had been expertly preserved; it barely showed signs of age, no worn-away patches of fur, not a fake tooth out of place in its open-mouthed smile.

Just one strange irregularity, a faint brownish staining on the teeth and edges of the maw - but a flaw easily overlooked.

“It’s a weird thing to find in a house like this. Who owned this place, anyway?”

“A younger couple,” the auctioneer said, brow furrowing. Again, that memory tugged at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away now. “I think they had a kid.”

“What happened here?”

“No idea. They just call me when there’s an estate to sell. I don’t bother with details. It’s a depressing line of work, if you let it - selling off the belongings of the dead.”

“I imagine that’s true,” the man agreed, and reached for his wallet. “Well, I’ll take this old boy off your hands, at least. My son’s going to love him.”

Money exchanged hands, and the auctioneer watched as the man carefully lifted the hound, cradling it as though it were still alive. As they departed, crossing the sitting room and striding toward the door, he could have sworn that the dog’s eyes shifted, just slightly, in its fine-boned skull, following him with its gaze.

#creepypasta #horror stories #short stories #my writing #fiction #dogs #taxidermy #scary stories #creepy #scary #spooky #horror #wattpad #am writing #writers on tumblr #horror writers

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