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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”

“The ones he plans to torture for information.”

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.

“Azriel?”

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.

You needed this almost as much as he did.

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”

Yours.

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.

You stared at him in horror.

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.

“Hey there, little feather.”

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.

“She left me.”

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.”

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

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honeybunnyale · 4 months ago

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Pixie Dust l M.O.

w.c. : 3.5k

t.w.: Includes Description of rabid animals, Smut (Dub-Con due to Sex Pollen), AFAB reader, Fantasy AU, Miguel is turning into a spider monster

a/n: Please read warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only!

Summary: Early morning greetings and first meetings. Miguel finds his very own little guide after encountering problems with a warlock. Their first challenge being enchanted flowers.

It was disagreeable to your eyes. The sounds it made were akin to those of a brawling cat. He was clearly not friendly, at least not anymore.

The sickness had spread, coming from the nearby kingdoms, mostly because of the dogs and various other rodents that plagued the cities and towns around it.

Poor Gerald, his eyes were usually soft, his chitters inviting and playful. But now he chases you, mouth agape and teeth gnashing with yellowish tinted foam, trying to get a bite of your flesh.

It was a pleasant morning, you were lazing by the stream, waiting for the new clothing you had made with the scraps found in the outer villages of the kingdom nearby to dry.

Then you heard them, at first you had mistaken it for playing but then you heard a sharp cry emanating from the bushel behind you. A deep and hurting cry.

You saw the squirrel, Gerald, before he saw you. You stood frozen in a mix of fear, anxiety, and sadness. How did the disease get this far into the woods? There must have been others…

Because of the initial shock, your body's refusal to move and run away as Gerald bit into a companion's neck in manic repetition, he found a new target.

Just weeks before, you had gotten stuck in the branches of a pine, its bristles so rough and thick that your left wing had bent and twisted.

Everyone, including yourself, had wept that day. It was a death sentence, especially for the season’s changes so near.

Your wings were wrapped in layered leaves, covered in ointment which was pasted onto the damaged delicate chitin in order to help it heal.

You could barely flutter and once you had been cornered by the base of a tree, hardly fitting into a small cornered crevice so that Gerald couldn’t claw or snap at you, you shook in fear.

The bark around you was starting to chip, the only barrier between you both starting to dwindle along with your hope that he would leave you alone.

…

Miguel heard you before he saw you. His senses had been heightened, to an alarming and annoying degree.

It had made him lock himself inside his small isolated cottage for a week because of it. It was overwhelming. The steps of townsfolk outside of the castle walls, their laughter and weekly celebrations. He had to leave further away from the capital, and further into the countryside.

He had to relieve himself of his duty of protection. He has become and further will be a liability.

Your screams and cries for help were overwhelming.

It was hard to spot you, hidden in a small nook against the tree trunk, pressing yourself as far in as possible to avoid the screeching squirrel in front of you.

It had almost made him chuckle, he thought you might have just been a rider, unable to tame your pet. But then he saw it. The pure black eyes, dilated to expand over the whiteness.

It was feral, its fur matted with its own blood and the mud from the soil of the nearby stream. He aimed his arrow right behind its shoulder, directly at its chest.

The shot startled you, it created a harsh wind to breeze by you, your ears ringing from its chaotic energy.

You were cowered into the trunk, hands over your pointed twitching ears and eyes tightly shut.

You were about the height of a malnourished robin, no larger than his ring finger, you could lean your elbows against his thumb standing on his palm if you wanted to.

You weren’t supposed to be here, he realized, your wing had dried herbs and leaves, stiff enough to keep your wing upright, but making it utterly useless because of the added weight.

He lowered to his knees, you peaked from behind the bark and your eyes sharpened harshly. He watches as realization washes over you, eyes widening and brows furrowing in confusion.

He wasn’t fully human.

"What are you...?" you whisper softly, eyes trailing over his piercing red eyes and the fangs faintly peaking over his bottom lip.

He doesn't quite know himself, but he does know he's becoming something else. Judging by the way your nose twitches and your nostrils flare, you could tell as well.

Still, you keep your displeasure at seeing a type of human well known. You don't even utter a thank you as you make your way to the body of Gerald, reaching out to at least pat one of his ears.

From the corner of your eye you watch as his shoulders drop softly, a soft huff at your disdain exhaled past his nostrils.

He takes a moment to look closely at your wing, the patterns similar to a Monarch Butterfly. You were supposed to migrate south for the fall, along with the rest of your group, your family.

It was well known that your kind traveled yearly, your instincts similar to those of your ancestral cousins, the milkweeds. You might freeze to death from the cold this winter. His palm blocked your step before you could reach the creature who attacked you minutes before.

The pity he felt for you wavered at your glare and scowl. He rolled his eyes.

"It's sick. If you want to start foaming at the mouth, go ahead, fairy."

Your scowl turned to a pout, then a reluctant sigh escaped between your lips. You sit, staring at the ground beside Gerald, only able to see some of the tufts of his hair from your peripheral.

You imagine his chest rising and falling, as if he were just sleeping.

Miguel didn't know if it was the pity of the loss of a creature you clearly had some connection to, or your injury. It might have been because he knew you were alone and that you might not survive the winter.

He stayed with you, even as hours seemed to pass slowly.

He sat nearby on a log by the stream, making a fire to start cooking some rabbit. He skins it and briefly thinks of keeping the fur so that Lyla, a sprite who usually helps him in his hunts, could make a coat.

His slight chuckle to himself makes you turn your head, you eye the fur he places in the cold water of the stream to clean off, along with the meat.

A few minutes later it smells like cooked meat, the sun was starting to set, and your clothes were dry. You could have left; he could have left too but you both stayed.

You shiver, body going rigged with cold. You get closer to the fire, he watches as you flutter your wings, keeping them from spreading with tingles of the deadened nerves.

It's like they dance with the fire, making shapes with the shadows on the ground next to you.

He might have also stayed close because you smell so sweet. Like the candy they would offer in the King’s halls. Pure sugar, warm and sweet enough to numb his tongue.

You were intrigued on what he was. He smelled too much like human to be considered much else, but you knew humans didn't have the aroma of the wild in their scent.

He smelled dangerous, strong, protective. You felt as if you owed him something, which wasn't something you wanted to feel, not to anyone, much less a human. It was instinctive, it was a form of courting to your people.

A strong partner that is able to protect and provide was encouraged and the acts of such were held sacred. You scowl when he nudged a piece of meat towards you, holding it towards you with the tip of his knife.

Your face heated seconds after, realizing he wasn’t going to leave you alone until you took the offering.

You bit into the meat quickly, he noticed. The rest of the village took most of the stored food in order to consume it for their travels south. You were left with nothing.

You remember the face of your mother, attempting to leave as much as possible, stating she didn't need as much for the journey this year. You knew she was lying, you returned most of what she left back into her pouch the night before their leaving; without her knowledge.

You shiver, chewing slowly despite wanting to stuff your face and lick your fingers clean from the heartiest meal you've had in weeks. You remind him of Lyla in size. He glances at the fur, he imagines asking her to make you a coat, similar to ones she wears. There was enough for at least two.

He can't help but want to take care of you. You were a beautiful little thing, scrappy and strong-willed judging by the way you reapplied ointment and cut gauze from fabric with your teeth for your still healing wing.

You weren't afraid of him as you sat near the fire, now supported on a makeshift nest made of petals and grass.

It reminded you of a mutualistic relationship. Like a crocodile and its little bird pecking at its teeth. An apex predator and a meek prey, living communally.

Therefore, you wonder what he wanted from you.

"Where's the sinkhole?"

His voice did startle you, from its roughness and boom amidst the chirping of crickets and the churning of the water in the stream, despite your glowing confidence

But you could laugh. There it was, the self centeredness, the reason he didn’t let you get mauled by an animal.

The sinkhole is where the wishes from the upper layer have sunken down into. The myth was that wishes had become so heavy, so much so that they created a giant gaping hole into the ground.

This resulted in the creation of the cave lakes, its pools and its magical properties. Along with the upper layer destruction came the destruction of one’s otherworldly abilities to fulfill one’s dreams, aspirations and ambitions.

The only way to have a wish granted is to get deep into the sinkhole. No human has been able to get past the forest. The thick of it at least.

You look up at him and glance at his body. A human attempting to traverse the forest where creatures larger and more dangerous than himself habituated?

You giggle. His head tilts and his eyes narrow, his eyes were consumed in red. You stare back, hiding your teasing and spiteful grin behind your hand, your eyes squinted from the smile in your cheeks.

You spit your words slowly, mockingly.

"What will you wish for, human?"

...

He promised you protection, shelter and a free trip south, where the weather was warmer; where your wings wouldn't freeze and snap off. Coincidentally, the sinkhole was further south, which seemed like a perfect opportunity for both of you.

He’d be given passage and guidance through lands no human was brave or stupid enough to venture into, and you’d get to live another year.

The deal was made with a shake of your hand and his finger. You slept peacefully that night, dreaming of seeing your family soon.

He was awake before you, you stretched as you sat up. His body, hunched over some feet away, next to Gerald, now covered in flowers and leaves, turns at the sound of your yawn.

His eyes were the color of drying blood, almost brown but in the light burning a deep maroon. His fangs were longer than the night before, or maybe you didn't notice how sharp and long they were in the dark.

He looked like a demon. He turned his head away at your stare, standing to his feet, allowing you to then see the flowers surrounding Gerald. You smiled.

...

You sat atop his head. Days before, feared he would accidentally crush you in his hands or cut you with his claws. He felt as if his pocket could suffocate you. You'd slip off his shoulders and since you couldn't flitter down softly, you'd splat on the ground floor.

So, you sat on his head while he trekked the forest, playing with the long tufts of his soft hair and slapping his forehead lightly when wanting his attention.

He'd grit his teeth with every question, answering despite knowing you just wanted to annoy him.

"So... you wronged a warlock you used to work for, and you're slowly turning into a spider monster?"

"..."

His cheeks turn a deep shade of red and he glances up at you as your head peaks down at him in genuine curiosity.

"I... I did this. He poisoned me and I attempted to find a cure. By myself..."

You burst out laughing.

"So you cursed yourself?"

He stays silent and rolls his eyes as you continue to giggle, even falling to your side and ruffling his hair in the process. Once you calm you sigh and sit up. You pat his forehead in a sweet and pitiful gesture, making him scowl slightly.

His heart flutters as you lean down to his ear.

"You humans are so silly."

To fight through his embarrassment he swats at you, but to his dismay, effectively. You yelp as you fall, sliding down the side of head, fingers barely skimming the strap of his bag on his shoulder as you descend on bunches of wildflowers.

He's momentarily stunned, before he kneels down and searches for you amidst the bush, unknowingly opening up flower buds and shaking their stalks.

"Wait- stop!"

It was too late, you covered your head as pollen fell over you, sprinkling you in golden dust. You cough and gag at the sweetness of it, the taste burning your tongue and making your skin tingle. You collapse on the grass, attempting to clean your hands on the blades covered in the morning's dew.

He watches in concern, picking you up gently and making you groan in frustration.

"Put me down!"

He doesn't, instead he attempts to wipe the dust off of your body, but as a result he just spreads it deeper into your clothes and skin. You whine at his ignorance, your fists pounding against his pointer finger as if it were a person standing in front of you.

Miguel watches as you resign yourself, spewing curses at him in a language he did not understand. He continues to 'flick' off the pollen from your body, until you let out a moan and your hands clutched his finger still.

Now you had no way of cleaning yourself and you felt your body heating up quickly, too quickly than what is considered normal. The flower’s pollen would be collected by many types of fairies in the region, for recreational purposes and to enhance the 'breeding' experience.

Of course a human would be ignorant of its properties.

Every touch, every sound and every vibration felt around you was amplified, all sensations directing themselves to your pussy. You pushed yourself up against his fingertip, breasts plush against the pad.

Your nipples pebbled and you closed your eyes at the intense feeling of them being rubbed against the ridges of his fingerprint.

Usually, the village would collect around three flowers a year, enough to harvest pollen for those who needed it. The dosage of the pollen was much more diluted, often mixed in drinks to give a slight buzz and arousal.

You think Miguel had indirectly shaken three flowers on top of you, a whole year's supply of the aphrodisiac.

He shakes you off his finger delicately, confused at your sudden affectionate behavior and making you fall onto his palm, unable to sit back up.

The amount of pollen that had fallen over you was overtaking your body; your eyes start to roll back as your hips twitched. He holds you gently, lifting your trembling body to his face to inspect you.

He blows on you, holding his breath as some of the remaining dust flies away from you.

Your mouth opens to let out a throaty moan as your body convulses at the feeling. He feels wetness pool on his palm, and he inhales sharply, in turn taking in the hint of the heavy arousal in the air.

“What’s happening to you?”

You writhe at his voice as it sends pleasant vibrations over your body. Your attempts to stand were unsuccessful as your thighs squeezed together to tighten your core.

You suddenly press your face into his skin, kissing as if you were with a lover. The tiny pecks leave him speechless, his heart racing as you lathe your tongue over the lines of his palm.

“Miguel…” you moan, voice higher than usual, breathy and seductive.

“I need to release. Or else I’ll die…”

Miguel can clearly tell your mind was clouded, you lifted your skirt up, pressing your face down and lifting your ass up as if he could penetrate you.

You wanted cock, you wanted Miguel’s cock. But it was physically impossible. For some reason, in your hazed brain, you imagined him thrusting into you, breeding you till you screamed.

The words startled him, but he could feel his dick rise with every wiggle of your hips and the way your hand spread your ass cheeks and presented your slick hole.

“You’ll die?”

“Yes. I will,” you whine.

You wouldn’t. It just felt like you would. He moves his face closer as if he were going to inspect you. His nose twitches and his mouth salivates. His lips seemed to part on their own.

His tongue slithers up your thigh and spreads them as it explores. You feel his taste buds, the warm wetness of his muscle twitch against your skin. Your wings flutter like lashes in time with your heartbeat, you turn your head to the side and desperate tears glide down your cheeks.

"Please..."

The tip of his tongue meets your cunt, encompassing your clit and slit, spreading your lips apart and splaying them flat. He tastes you, sweet and tangy, and he hums.

For a moment he pulls back, watching as you cover your heated face with one hand and grip his thumb with the other. You were shaking, your pussy pulsing and your clit peeking between your folds, aching to be licked and grinded on.

He glances to the stalk of the flower, briefly imagining breaking it in half and pushing it into your hole, fucking you while allowing you to move your hips against his tongue.

He wants to hear the squelch of your tiny tight pussy, stuff you full until you couldn't breathe. But he needed to help you release, and quickly.

Your squeals and moans echo in the forest, the tip of his tongue was stretching you, barely skimming inside your hole and dragging against the rim consistently.

Miguel flexes his tongue, attempting to angle it downward. His bottom lip presses against your clit and mound, the lower half of his face spreading your legs.

Your arousal and his saliva was dripping onto his palm, as if he were sucking on a candy with little to no restraint. You were so impossibly sweet, especially with each orgasm he brings you.

Miguel had heard rumors before, of changling faes who would transform into human women for a night for fun. How they could seduce easily and their cunts would taste like sugarcane.

He believes it now, especially when you gasp out a heady moan and squirt on his tongue; the eight orgasm so far.

He groans into you, your hand tightens over his thumb and index finger tightly as you ride out your orgasm. Your arms give out from under you and his tongue pops out of your cunt with a squelch as you buckle forward.

He licks you clean the second you collapse, your wings folding protectively as you weakly turn on your back in short breathed pants.

He presses a kiss, aiming for your swollen cunt. His lips rub over your lower half and suck for a second. Enough to pull out a groan from your lips and shudder a sigh as you close your eyes.

A deep sleep overcomes you.

He sets up camp for the night, fixing you a bed from a spare shirt he had and petals, not from the wildflowers of course.

He was gentle to clean you up with a rag with the tip of his finger, ensuring that the pollen was off of your skin for good. He delicately pried the ointment for your wings out of your small pouch, later wrapping said wing gently like you did every couple of hours.

You were out cold, but breathing and healthy by the way your skin was still warm and your chest still lifted and fell with your breaths.

He checks the backs of your thighs and calves, he sighs in relief at not seeing any pricks from his now growing in fangs.

He sleeps nearby, sitting up with his arms crossed, ready to defend from any hostile creatures nearby.

--------------------

-Alejandra 💋🐇

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and Reblogs are much appreciated! Mwuah <3

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #atsv #fantasy au #Ale's Fics <3

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cyberluvzu · 8 months ago

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Creepypasta height/build headcanons

✧∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°༶⁠ ｡⁠☆

IM NOT DEAD!!! This is js a little something to hold y'all over for a bit, so enjoy, cutie pies!!! :3

I've also decided to hold off on doing requests because I've realized that I've been focusing WAY TOO MUCH on the requests instead of writing my own ideas :P

Included creeps: Eyeless jack, Ticci Toby, Ben drowned, Clockwork

TW: Mention of self harm scars, open wounds(?), and scars in general

Eyeless Jack

6'2-6'5, very broad shoulders and just broad in general. Also heavily muscled, my man has some GUNS on him. He has some man boobs (foaming at the mouth and drooling writing that). He'd have bigger hands, they could literally wrap around yours like nothing because of how giant this man(?) is. He also has stretch marks all around his body because of how quickly his body changed from the whole demon transformation thing. I like to think that he has a tail, kinda like a lion's tail. It's grey like the rest of him but has a little tuft of black fur on the end of it. It has little peach fuzz running along the grey parts of it. He also has pointed ears. They're mostly like elf ears, pinned to his head and pointed at the ends. Definitely has retractable claws too!

Ticci Toby

5'10-5'11. Seems pretty lanky at first but has a major sleeper build. Has a decent amount of muscle on him. Pretty skinny, long arms, legs and fingers for sure, always warm too because his body heat doesn't regulate itself, so that can be a major benefit (or disadvantage LMAO). He's pretty proud of his body and general build because he used to just be just skinny, he feels like he can "show up" his past bullies with how he looks now and is actually able to defend himself properly. Toby would also have scars from getting hurt because of his job as a proxy and from hurting himself. He would have some self harm scars because he just wants to make himself feel pain for once, but ultimately fails everytime. He'd have scars all over his fingers from biting the skin off, a couple on his torso and back from work, and self harm scars. I think that the gash in his mouth would start to heal but then he'd end up chewing it off again, so that one isn't a scar just more of an open wound if anything. He would definitely have some piercings. An eyebrow one, lip ring, and his nose. He would definitely chew on his lip ring without realizing it and totally prevent it from healing correctly or even at all.

BEN drowned

Like Toby he's also skinny. His duties as a proxy don't need him to have as much muscle as anyone else in the manor, so he's just lanky. He's pretty average height 5'6-5'8, nothing too major. I like to think that he has super long hair, down to about his lower back. Most of the time he just puts it into a pony tail and calls it a day. Whenever he wants to spice it up he does little braids in his hair and leaves it down. He's basically the epitome of the whole "lanky gamer boy" stereotype. Most of the time he's freezing cold (it's a ghost thing). He also has elf ears, it's a given considering it's Ben. He would have a couple of piercings, snakebites and an eyebrow!

Clockwork

5'10. Very muscular and pretty broad. Definitely packing when it comes to arm muscles, the rest of her body is also really toned and muscular but she tends to focus more on her arms and back. Her hair goes to a little bit below her shoulders, some simple light brown highlights in her hair. The highlights are mostly worn out but she makes it look HOT. She has a couple of scars from incidents that she's had during missions or training. A decent sized one on her shoulder, a pretty big one below her ribcage, and some other ones here and there.

✧∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°༶⁠ ｡⁠☆

#eyeless jack #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby #clockwork creepypasta #clockwork #crp #ben drowned

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sonic-takeover · 2 months ago

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Eeeeeee cuties!! Espio you should try to find out what other nice things from this time Silver hasn't gotten to try yet! Isn't it great to see him light up like that? Also it might be good for his health it seems... I shudder to imagine him chowing down on styrofoam...

*They sit in cozy silence for a while, eating their snacks and watching the movie. They're both sitting on the bottom bunk of Silver's bunk bed in the workshop, sitting so close that Espio's shoulder is tucked comfortably against Silver's chest. Silver giggles at something funny, but Espio hadn't noticed what was on the screen. He's hyperaware of the fact that Silver is practically holding him. He isn't, not technically, but it feels like he is. He's so warm.. Espio leans a bit closer* ... Silver.

Hm? *Silver looks down at him. They're closer than it seemed. He pulls his head back a bit*

Uh.. as far as you not having popcorn before, and eating foam.. which you really shouldn't be doing.. what else have you not tried? I wish to bring you those experiences.

*Silver stares at him, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting* ... Heh! Espio, you're so nice.. Let me think... In the future, we kinda just eat what we can get our hands on. We use the resources we have. Like our cakes! They're made mostly from chemicals! And I've eaten critters before, too.

What..?

Yeah, and drywall :)

Silver..

But the food here is so nice.. it's flavorful and feels good in my body when I eat it. I'm growing a garden right now, I can show you tomorrow! But for food I wanna try.... I'd like to try more fruits and veggies. Oh, and baked stuff! I've had a lot of bread, but I think there's a lot of pastries out there I haven't tried.

I'll get them for you.

Oh, and ice cream!

Do you just not eat the things your family eats? I know for a fact they eat that regularly.

They do..? I guess I'm not paying attention, haha!

... You poor thing. You're never eating drywall again. Not on my watch. *He scoots a little closer, his head just barely resting against Silver's shoulder. Silver's fur fluffs up a bit more*

..e..eheh... Th.. Thanks, Espio...

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skygoldart · 1 year ago

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ETHO S10 COSPLAY

It’s mostly done so here’s the progress

The design:

I created this design using the fandom headcannon that Etho is a fox hybrid and combined that with the Japanese themes this season to make a kitsune hybrid, putting the red accents into the white fur.

The vest

I patterned the vest using plastic wrap and duct tape and then made a mock-up with an old curtain I had laying around.

I got some pink and green fabric (pink to tie in with @basic-amoeba ‘s s10 Joel cosplay) and found some green scraps with a cool ornamental pattern on them to put across the shoulder blades.

Not bad for a first time making an article of clothing by myself.

The mask

I wanted the eye scar to show from a distance so I hand embroidered red thread extending down from where the makeup scar is drawn

The pants were bought for the cosplay but I did sew on some pink ribbons to tie in the pink more into the costume.

The tail and ears!

I have a lot of fun sewing fur projects and tails with patterns are especially fun.

To make a patterned tail, I first draw out the design to scale on a large piece of paper. I then cut out all the pieces that are different colors, labeling which directions the fur goes and what color they are.

I use those pieces as patterns to trace and cut out twice of the fur fabric.

Next, I blanket stitch around all the edges on each side where the fur pattern belongs. Since it’s being hand sewn, not much seam allowance is necessary.

I sew the two pieces together and brush down the fur to check that the pattern is symmetrical.

Since the tail does have a pattern, it requires shaving and trimming around the markings to make them stand out and look sharper.

The difference it makes:

Last few steps involve sewing on a double elastic loop for a belt, then stuffing it.

If I wanted a more stable tail, I would have added a flat base to go against my back and without it, it moves a lot more

The ears are made by tracing out the shape of the ear(unfolded) into fur, lining the inside with a wire and thin eva foam. They are carefully trimmed and then drawn on with a pastel. I forgot to seal with with hairspray so the wig now has some pink patches where the ears go.

To add the markings and tufts, I simply glued red fur patches on and trimmed the fur to match the fur around it. I later added hairspray to shape the tufts and inner ear fur.

Some last details

The headband:

I made the headband using a tube of pink fabric that has been ironed flat with some shaped and painted Eva foam as the headband. I used a dremel to carve the hearts as well as adding scratches and dents for weathering.

Contacts:

I only wear one contact with this cosplay and it is a red mini sclera

This cosplay still has some things to add, but it’s at a good point to show how far it’s come!

#hermitcraft #etho #ethoslab #ethocosplay #hermitcraft cosplay #hermitcraft season 10 #skygoldcosplaywip #skygoldcosplaybuild #fox ethoslab

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forgingtheblade · 7 months ago

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OH GOD, I HAVE TO TAG THIS ONE FOR EYE HORROR, aka TECHNOBLADE HEAD PART 2

once all those good good fur bits from the last post are cut apart (which I do using a fresh or freshly sharpened xacto blade to create as little mess as possible), it’s time to start sewing them together. using those hash marks which i copy from the pattern to the fur i’ll start to line everything up.

you’ll notice he’s a wee bit saggy here—this is intentional! i wouldn’t usually want this, but pigs are very fleshy guys and I don’t want him to be cartoonishly smooth. those wrinkles will both hide some flaws and make him nice and pig like.

some of the looseness is just because things aren’t attached, though, like the bottom jaw is meant to be sewn into the lining both inside and outside of the mouth which will hold the fabric tightly to that piece.

many makers will glue fur down at this phase, and I do this to some extent but probably a lot less than most, except for where I’m putting those wrinkles I’m mostly gluing at the edges.

here i’m testing out placement for some tusks I made using thermoplastic pellets! you pour a bunch of them in boiling water and while they’re still hot they’re malleable and I basically rolled them into the shape i wanted. I added a couple drops of yellow and purple acrylic inks to color them. I think these are the ones I didn’t end up using, they were a bit too yellow for my taste.

next up is the eyes! which were! an actual fucking nightmare! after trying a few things using the actual eye holes i decided the look i wanted would be best served by glass eyes, in pursuit of semi-realism. pigs have the cutest little tiny beaded eyes and between awkward placement and the flatness of the mesh, it just wasn’t cutting it. so i bought glass cabochons and painted the backs! originally, the plan was to create eyelids using foam clay, which as pictured above, was kind of horrifying. because i was using fur and not something more skin-like, the flat eyelids really did not work well.

here i also glued in the painted mesh for my vision. note the size and the angle. my visibility fucking sucks in this head and that’s just a sacrifice i knew i was gonna have to make.

i ended up cutting out a section of the forehead fur to insert panels i glued the eyes into. i just used the actual fur for the eyelids, and it was marginally better than before!

that did not stop me from freaking out about how creepy and weird he looked at this phase though, which resulted in a frantic text to my dad asking for advice on how to fix his face. I was already probably at least 40 hours deep in this phase, and the uncertainty was not fun.

my dad told me that i had absolutely nailed the pig look (yes!) but the uncanny valley effect was hitting hard. he suggested making the eyes face forward a little more and try to add some humanity back into the face. i realized i had been so focused on making a realistic pig head that i forgot i was making TECHNOBLADE.

moving the eyes front facing helped a lot, as did stitching the fur into the mesh for the eye holes, and gluing in the wrinkles on the snout, but i think the real saving grace here was the EYEBROWS!!

i cut them out of foam, glued magnets into them and into the head, with a couple different positions for a bit of expression variety, and covered them in the same fabric as the ears and snout. and let me tell you, they make his little piggy face so so cute and expressive !! he really went from being just some pig to TECHNOBLADE!! and that’s what i wanted!!

but the heads not quite done yet here—one more post about the head coming up soon !!

#info #technoblade #cosplay #dsmp #ctechno #ctechnoblade #fursuit #fursuit making #eye horror #scopophobia #idk if those are necessary but he does freak me out a little bit when his eyes are out #so just to be safe

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wickmitz · 8 months ago

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it is unknown what awakes her initially, besides the fluttering of purple smeared lids and how thick lashes ( ever so clumped and unbecoming, more than a lady would like ) tickle cool cheeks. somehow that dainty brushing rouses her more than roaring engines or footfalls, or how thinning body aches hastily upon consciousness and dream. feels where every sore has wiggled into, between sinew and toes, a throb worked against skin that webs, an array of ghostly scars and ankle-tied anchors. there’s some breed of damnation upon waking up ; intimately aware of where every strand of honey hair tangles, once shimmering texture sanded into brambles, split-ended and prickly.

one could be driven mad, she’s been told, by how long beauty takes to perfect, despite the ease to which it rots away. on mornings, on bad nights, and in death. which isn’t even touching upon the way drowsy eyes hang from lined gallows or the odd ways in which lavish gown has bundled up against her in fraught tossing, the sweat, the building filth -- but still she wakes without complaint and begins the ritual of stretching, mindful of the metal and glass confines she’s been dealt. keeps quiet, shushing even the creak and pop of marrow, all courtesy and grace until she sees it’s an unwelcomed effort.

paused in an arch, she breaks through darkened hours to murmur, “honey, you have to get some shuteye. we talked about this.” finds herself too exhausted and wrongly stretched to purposefully veil the disappointment brewing inside her. hooch soils into coffin varnish and all that when handled poorly, after all. the natural way of things. and, somewhere, that makes sense.

“do you hear that?”

ears flatten slowly, the same way drooping whiskers twitch. “no,” she sighs, eyes closing beneath the pressure built between brows, before gathering what remains of smart society manners and inquiring, “hear what?”

through hazes of dark blue, smattered with leather callouses and shining reflections, green gaze can trail along the shape of rocky behind the wheel. stubbornly blames the wrinkles creasing oddly alongside her eyelids for the red and pink flashes beaming through the tacky brim of hat, as though blood had been rubbed carefully into fuzzy forehead. funny, that. mitzi shuffles her legs around until her back hits her seat, and she does as anyone would do ; head lolling against bare shoulder as she catches moon-eyes in car window, so impossibly wide she thinks about how endless they are, how long and forever rocky is, and presses the rubies of her mouth together.

“the tapping.” he says, mumbles, as if he isn’t moving an inch. and maybe he isn’t, drawn up into his spine, staring outward into their dour, cruel world without blinking, all rising grey fur and ears. have they always looked so … sharp, when they’re turned like that? the boy is all edges and bones, mostly, a clumsy, hapless mess of stabbing elbows and teeth. she supposes she must still be dazed if such thoughts are haunting her now. as if it hardly matters, as if mitzi would wish for something fatter and equally tender. they’re well past the point of that.

one thick, knotted bush of bangs fall over one eye when she leans forward, gently knocking against the back of his seat. “i doubt it’s anyone of importance, sweetie. everyone’s long gone.”

“i always hear it,” rocky confesses, in that meandering way he does, “they’re out there, lurking with their yellow and claws and … and it’s okay, miss m. i’m invincible. i am.”

phantom paws slink past floorboards and through ever present oil to fist spindly fingers into cloth, her made anew pearls, to drag her into the crashing wave of sleep. an uncomfortable itch blooms around the area underneath the jut of collarbone, foaming and hot, a heat that brightens what false blush still resides on her cheeks. there’s a wetness somewhere, can feel the very drip-drop of a leak, but all she can think about ( in a haze ; so thick inside her mind she feels ash stick inside sniffling nostrils, the round shape of pink nose wiggling like a newborn ) is her moonshiner. imagines where harmless fangs scrape against the thin shine of black lip when he speaks, where moonlight bounces off his crumpled, dirty whiskers. can still smell where abandoned, amber bottles have touched him, as he reeks of nothing but giggle water and rust. and, perhaps with utmost priority, she had heard, or think she heard, how the words slurred together in some heady, breathless rush when he spoke. she’d think him canned if she didn’t know him a smidge better, truthfully.

but all in all, her own confession is this : the absence of pronunciation soothes something deeply distraught inside her soul, blows softened and meaning erased, an answer retired into easy sound. the feathery fur of tail slithers before making home draped over her wide lap, rested atop her empty paws, now holding onto nothing except her own knees. there isn’t a sound save for whatever insects crawl around outside, burrowed in marsh and river, buzzing and chriping in the air or bark. no tap. no anything. willingly blind, mitzi could almost fall into girlish naivety and believe there was only barren land lying in wait outside her car. something blank and, by definition, malleable -- useless clay she can shape into … into …

( something useful, desirable, an image which mirrors all her hopes and dreams, a creature who is everything and nothing at once, but will always be what she makes of it )

“i am.” rocky repeats, still whispering about tapping and outfits under his breath, an almost hissing noise. mitzi doesn’t bother wasting her breath further, and falls into slumber just like that ; head bowed and nestled into his back, seperated only by thick barrier.

#my writing.#hi! so i’ve been ungodly busy and my mental health has been poor. so.#i’m not around as much … but i decided to swing by and post this drabble i did #been trying to write everyday! so y’know <3

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nattikay · 1 year ago

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now that 3.0 is done and ready to go, here's all the iterations of my head over the past seven years holding their respective con badges!

since the outside is not all that matters for a fursuit head, I also tried them all back on to give wearability scores under the cut, and also threw in a boopability score because why not lol

1.0

Wearability: 2/10 Absolutely atrocious. I can't see squat and my nose is completely crushed up against the foam. I have NO clue how I managed to navigate a convention in this thing. That said, the large open mouth does allow plenty of airflow, so breathing though my mouth is easy (which is good because I sure ain't gonna be breathing through my smushed up nose).

Boopability: 8/10 Legitimately her most redeeming quality tbh. Large nose with a foam core, very boopable indeed.

2.0

Wearability: 4/10 Vision is pretty poor, but better than 1.0's. The muzzle is completely hollow, but the mouth opening is pretty small which limits airflow so it could get pretty stuffy in there. It's also the only one built on a 3D print base rather than a foam base, as well as the only one that isn't lined since there's no absorbent foam to protect, and I remember when I would sweat the plastic inside could get very slick and start to move around on my head; if I turned too fast, instead of the fursuit head turning with me, my nose would just slip and end up smack in the middle of the eye mesh.

Boopability: 2/10 Minky topstitched over faux fur and 3D printing plastic, not particularly boopable. But at least the minky is soft.

2.5

Wearability: 9/10 This one's actually quite comfortable! Not so tight as to feel constrictive, but not so loose as to wobble around on my head. Fantastic vision. This head may not be perfect, but it's very nice to wear!

Boopability: 4/10 Made of stretchy fabric with a tiny bit of polyfil inside. Not bad, but definitely feels like it could use a bit more polyfil for better booping potential.

3.0

Wearability: 8/10 Very similar in overall comfortability, breathability, and excellent vision quality to 2.5, perhaps just a tad more snug but not uncomfortably so. The only reason she's getting an extra point docked is that the backs of the eyes sit much closer to my real face to the point that my eyelashes sometimes brush up against them when I blink, which is a bit annoying and not a problem 2.5 had.

Boopability: 6/10 Bringing back the foam core of 1.0 and the minky covering of 2.0, this suit is decently boopable....but still not quite as boopable as 1.0, mostly because the nose is just so much smaller.

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the-nosy-neighbor · 1 year ago

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Tic-Tac-Toe (Part 4)

I have been working on this for a couple weeks, so we are at part 4 of 3.

Alternate Theory

Idea: I wonder if there are two Eddies? I am only saying this because of the E vs E in the score. Also, there is such a discrepancy in the number of wins for each. In Bug-A-Bye, we have two gravestones. Muppets often have multiple puppets.

Not only are there scenes like this, where we see multiples of the same muppet, my understanding is that there are back ups, or muppets styled somewhat differently than their usual configuration. For example, the Welcome Home Halloween puppets might be created differently, as the outfits were too complex to put on the puppet.

From reddit user @josephphilip22:

I toured the workshop in 1998 or so when they were filming the first season of Muppets Tonight! There were multiple puppets of specific puppets, including Kermit and Fozzie and Piggy. However, some puppets are made of foam and fur, such as Gonzo. And have to be changed often considering how much use that character gets. The foam breaks apart faster over time with movement.

But during the production of The Muppet Show, Carolie Wilcox worked specifically on costumes. She would changed puppets out of their costumes depending on the scene. It does save money, but it mostly saves time to just change characters from one outfit to another.

It could make sense that there are multiples of the puppets from Welcome Home. Maybe they decommission puppets that become too self-aware? That image of Frank amongst all his body parts seems to lend credence to the idea of having multiple of the same puppet. What if we are looking at a world of multiples of characters. One thing I found interesting about this image is that there are parts of Frank all over, but most of them appear to be small parts or mutated in some way. For instance:

There is at least that one, with the bad hair. Actually, on closer inspection, that looks to be a trunk with a black collar from the back, with a random floating eyeball on the top. Interestingly, this seems like it could either be Frank lying down in a box or standing as those things fall/float down around him. One thing it did take me a minute to realize is that those hands holding the envelope are not Frank’s. The hands all around him are his, but this red envelope is being held by human hands.

It would be interesting if we learn about Sunny and the concept is, the “You’re Free” image is a kind of decommission of the puppet. I would think as a puppet, a decommissioning would feel like a death or a move to a different realm of existence. According to posters on Muppet Central, puppets are either stored, given to museums/exhibits, stripped for parts and/or scrapped. In an earlier post, I shared an image of marionettes being stored, and those were hung by their strings.

Is this Frank in storage? What gives with the letter? Is it from Eddie? Is it for us? In that vein, if I were going to make a story from the image, knowing what we know, I would guess that Frank is sneaking out with a box full of his parts in order to get this letter out. Still stumped on the human hands.

I do wonder, though, in terms of framework, if we don’t already have strong indicators that the elements from that world that make it to this world appear like real life to us. Case in point, the black stuff, which looks sticky and stringy in the art of the neighborhood, is black and stringy in the staff room (with sticky looking black found on the walls).

We are already dealing with multiple levels of reality, since we have the puppets as drawn, animation, and glimpses of Wally’s puppet (in the Playfellow exhibition and in photos—just the hand.) I just had a really bad thought, what if Wally was alive at Playfellow in the style of The Christmas Toy or Toy Story? Given that The Christmas Toy is a Henson film, it’s not too far a reach.

So, presuming there are multiple puppets for Welcome Home, from what we know of the Muppets and the spare parts image of Frank, it isn’t too wild to think that maybe there are multiple Eddies. If there are multiple Eddies active, it would make for a really good person (persons) to carry the information to our world. Also, he’s the most human looking of the group, and has access to places as a postal worker.

These are probably more a character reference sheet, but there are a lot of Eddies there.

Also: “Reliable, kind, and ever determined, Eddie Dear is the best mailman Welcome Home has ever had, albeit the only one.” What if he is the only one, because they just put another one together?

In looking into possible clone TV Tropes, I ran across “Clone Degeneration.” https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CloneDegeneration. Essentially, the more copies you make of a clone, the less correct and like the original they are. I think that one goes hand in hand with the copies of the self trying to destroy the original. In the article “Clone Angst” (https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CloneAngst) TV Tropes describes clones differentiating themselves from prior version or feeling less than real, since they aren’t the original. “Other unlucky clones will just have birth defects, Resurrection Sickness, or be increasingly inexact duplicates.” OMG, his eye:

That could definitely be an example of an imperfect copy.

Extrapolating from that, what if Eddie’s freakout is a version of birth defects or resurrection sickness? He’s sitting in the post office isolated because he is being weird or unrecognizable in some way. The anger and frustration he feels could be related to the breakdown of genetic material or a version of Resurrection Sickness, where he becomes paranoid as a defect, and Frank is trying to minimize the damage? It is possible that Frank is not the creator of the multiple Eddies, but given the Bug-A-Bye theory, the Frank/Dr. Frankenstein connection is difficult to ignore. It would be crazy if Wally or Home are tormented or killing Eddie clones and Frank just keeps making more. The murderers would be very confused. In this article, there is a note that these characters are highly expendable, since we don’t get attached to multiple copies of a thing.

Looking back on the Bug-A-Bye discussion, this could be the explanation for the 2 gravestones seen in the teardrop, and the reference to possibly more than one goodbye. What if Frank is in the unenviable position of seeing multiple Eddies die, a la Supernatural’s "Mystery Spot?"

Also, we’ve already seen Eddie as Frankenstein and discussed the potential meanings behind that. In the Halloween video from Wally’s perspective, we see the weird lights flashing/apple biting moment, and the video focuses specifically on Eddie’s apple. Is that a you’re next? Is it a reference to what happened to Eddie?

And on that subject, what if Eddie’s Frankenstein costume is making a reference to another puppet? He has some of his regular face, and the same face shape, but a portion of his skin is blue. Barnaby is blue, (and we have already seen a Barnaby colored patch in the images) but this fabric isn’t furry. Sunny is blue…but Eddie’s face doesn’t have feathers. It would be wild if Frank repurposed Sunny’s fabric to make part of his new boyfriend’s Halloween costume/Halloween body. He also has some purple in his face, which isn’t represented in the neighborhood, other than Eddie’s color.

Just some way overexplained ideas to account for potential meanings of the tic tac toe boards, something that I think about far too often.

#welcome home #welcome home theories #welcome home arg #eddie dear #frank frankly

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