#the fur and foam mostly

[psychoticwillgraham]

like I’ve got two main fursonas I wanna make suits for: my brown and white thicc thigh alt bunny girl, and my goth bat rocker girl. already found all the patterns I’ll need, just need to wait till i get my weekly money

[arolesbianism]

Anyways incorporating new saint hcs into my semi au Sliver lore means that now saint gets to continuously experience ascending Sliver forever 👍

[rat-meat]

shout out 2 the anime boyz from thingz i dont rly care abt anymore but still lov thm...... greed... noiz...senpai... gen... just som guyz..........

[florencemtrash]

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 ->

______________

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

[skygoldart]

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!

[purringfayestudio]

Trying to be productive at work today but all I can think about are these fox toes I'm trying to design.

Smol.

Red fox toe beans are ridiculously small compared to most canines, so small they're not usually visible on winter coat foxes. Because of that, I don't usually bother putting them on my fox plush. Sewing tiny things adds considerable time and effort, and isn't worth bumping up the price for something hardly anyone will even see.

But.

I'm making a summer coat fox next. The beans are a lot easier to see when the toe fur isn't quite so floof, and I'm as much a sucker for beans as anyone else on the internet, so. Here we go.

I designed the original pattern with this possibility in mind, so it's mostly a matter of drawing into the existing pattern and adding some strategic darts. But placement--and where and how big to make those darts is where the "trying" comes in. I'm on my second draft (the picture above) and I feel pretty good about this one.

I thought about sewing claws out of fabric for about 5 seconds and decided I didn't hate myself that much (my wolves have sewn claws and they're the worst ever to sew, turn, and stuff). I'm using foam, at least until I figure out a more durable but still plushie-gentle material. I've done clay claws twice and they're both difficult to install and also not very cuddle-proof (unless you enjoy the authenticity of being clawed by the animal you're holding), though I do have some cosclay I could try which is softer. Felt lasts about 5 minutes before looking like my hair after it rains, and folded faux leather turns to string cheese. But the foam claws on my coyote have held up well for the last 3 years so I'm giving it another go with an even thicker foam. But if anyone has any suggestions please do let me know!

[nattikay]

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.

[lamamasjamas]

Pixie Dust

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

A/n: I changed a few thangs from my original concepts because I wanted Miguel to be sexier. I’m feeling rather horny and size kink is godly. Could be considered fetishy, idk. 🗣️

Based on these two posts: 1 2

Warnings: Hunter!/Cursed Monster!Miguel, Fairy!Reader, dub-con (sex pollen) smut (Giantism? Don't know what's it's called but Reader is the size of his palm and he fucks her with his tongue), there’s a rabid squirrel tryna eat her in the beginning, some angst and tw for the use of a hunting rifle…

It was disagreeable to the 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 gaping 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 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 bodies refusal to move and run away as Gerald bit into a companion's neck in repetition, he found a new target.

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

Everyone, including yourself had wept that day.

They 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 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. Your screams and cries for help were overwhelming too.

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 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 robin, no larger than his ring finger, a couple of your heads longer than his thumb.

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.

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

He doesn't quite know himself, but he does know he's not entirely human either and 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 say thank you as you make your way to the body of Gerald, reaching out to at least pat one of his ears.

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 you before you could reach the creature who attacked you minutes before.

The pity he felt for you was wavered at your glare and scowl.

"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 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 got 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 sell at the markets. 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 services 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 took it too quickly. 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 two weeks. You remined 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, headstrong and strong-willed judging by the way you reapplied ointment and cut gauze from fabric for your still healing wing.

You weren't afraid of him as you sit near the fire, now sat up on a makeshift bed 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 allowed solely because you were with him as an escort, and you’d get to live another year.

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 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 at your stare, standing to his feet, allowing you to then see the flowers surrounding Gerald. You smiled.

...

You sat atop his head. He 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 of you couldn't flitter down softly, you'd splat on the ground floor.

So, you sat on his head, 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, 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 cover your head as pollen falls 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 precipitation.

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 flowers would be collected by many types of fairies in the region, for recreational purposes and to enhance the 'breeding' experience.

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. 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 uningested and uninhaled 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, deep down 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 tastebuds, the warm wetness of the 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 over 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 peaking 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 now.

Your squeals and moans echo in the forest, the tip of his tongue was stretching you, barely skimming inside your hole and hitting your g-spot 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 sugar cane.

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 suction for a second. Enough to pull out a groan from your lips and shudder a sigh as you close your eyes.

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, sat up with his arms crossed, ready to defend from any hostile creatures nearby.

A/n: Bim Bam! I’m taking requests again, officially! For this ‘series’ or anything else… 😈 Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated and help authors/artists create more so please 🙏

[the-nosy-neighbor]

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.

[fortunesque]

WIP Wednesday- Vector

So, here's a brief bit of the first chapter of Vector. I don't know when I'm going to finish it because the end is just... ugh. I feel like I have to microdose writing this one lol. When I do post it, I think I'll post all 3 parts at once.

I think this will give folks a general idea of what's happening and if they will want to read it when I post it. I totally understand if some folks give this one a skip.

Content warning: violence and animal death

I'll put the snippet under a cut, just in case.

Raditz finally grabbed his attacker and yanked it off of his neck. He held furry creature at arm's length and watched as it snarled and did its damnedest to shred his arms to pieces.

"You are one crazy-ass little dude," he laughed. "Absolutely foaming at the mouth to get at me. Well, you picked on the wrong guy."

Without preamble, he put his hand on the creature's head, earning a few more bites to his hand in the process. He quickly snapped the poor bastard's neck before it had the chance to make him want to be cruel to it. Raditz then examined it more closely.

It was a cute, chubby little thing with a thick pelt of mostly gray fur. There were some black patches around its eyes, on its paws, and a few rings around its bushy tail.

Raditz frowned and looked at the animal's mouth. It was absolutely dripping with saliva. Venom, perhaps?

He gave the mouth a little sniff and shrugged. Seemed like normal spit to him. He dipped his finger in it and gave it a taste, for extra measure. Raditz had his anti-venom auto-injector in his left flank guard pocket, so it wasn't like it was a huge risk. He just needed to know if he should use it immediately.

Yep. Regular spit, at least, around the taste of his own blood. Sonofabitch really went for him.

Well, he was hungry, and lunch basically dropped out of a tree right onto his face. It bit the shit out of the back of his neck and scratched up his jaw, but Raditz was a Saiyan and made of tough stuff.

It was just a flesh wound.

He finished his goddamn piss, then pressed the comm button on his scouter and went about skinning the ornery critter.

"This crazy little animal just went at me," he chuckled. "The size of my boot, maybe. Cute little mammal; maybe a feral pet. Dropped off a tree right onto my head while I was pissing and scratched and bit me up real good, for a little guy. All over my neck, a little at the jaw. Thankfully, he missed my most beautiful face."

A snort of laughter came through the scouter.

"Sounds like lunch just dropped in on ya," Nappa chuckled.

"Damn right it did," Raditz laughed. "I'll honor his sacrifice and use him to feed this war machine."

"Let me know if it tastes good," Vegeta spat. "These bugs are disgusting."

"Absolutely, Your Highness."

With that, Raditz politely muted his comm to keep the munching noises out of their ears.

He ate the animal raw, as nature intended for a Saiyan to do. He ate all of it but the fur, pretty tail, lungs, paws, and digestive tract. The spine had a nice crunch. The brain was— eh. It was as brains tended to be.

When he was finished, he licked the blood and saliva off of his fingers, then stripped to rinse himself in a nearby creek. The scouter stayed on, though; always did.

Raditz unmuted his comm.

"Just finished," he said. "Was basically a snack. But it tasted fine. Better than a bug. Seemed like it was an omnivore of some sort— had claws and sharp teeth, but its front paws were hand-like. With how green it is around here, I'm shocked that it thought it was a good idea to go for me."

"Probably had pups nearby," Vegeta intoned.

"Good point," Raditz said. "I'll look for those and pop 'em in my mouth real quick."

It would be a mercy killing, really. In all his years destroying planets, he never saw a young mammal pup that wasn't defenseless.

He wandered around the clearing and sniffed everywhere he could think; in the brush, underneath piles of leaves and sticks, in the hollows of trees, and even up in the tree where the thing got the drop on him.

There was not a thing around.

He commed back in.

"Ain't found shit," he said. "Hah! Wouldn't it be funny if the little thing was sent to kill me? Imagine, a planet full of biting, spitty little furballs."

Nappa and Vegeta both laughed on the other end.

"Don't go native, now," Nappa cackled. "Don't need you running around, chasing tail and biting more than you already do."

[ghostlycorvid]

Andromeda is finished!!!

This big baby is MASSIVE, already outgrowing her baby nest crate, but thankfully still plenty sociable.

She's a hidden/false arm puppet with a movable jaw. There's wire in the ears for stability and posability, and her secret bonus feature is an optional smoke machine mounted inside the head!!

The smoke test worked great, though when stationary it mostly builds up inside the head. I think when she's being actively puppeted it should disperse fine!

The head is an EVA foam base with Foamo detailing for the beak, entire mouth, and the eyebrow ridges. The eyes are from @kazulcosplay on Twitter and REALLY give her life. She's got craft turkey feather accents and EVA foam scales painted with the same color shift paint as her beak and eyes peppered throughout her baby fur, including on the wing coverlets!

I'm soooo so proud of how this came out, there were definitely some hiccups with me trying too much for my first ever puppet, but the end product is something I'm extremely happy with and that's what matters.

[iruiji]

Since I'm having a bit of a problem getting motivation for the Fungi and Sagau, imma just drop some Scaramouche crumbs as a cat.

Yes.

And this is also a gift to all my followers. Oh man I got 160+ of you I don't even know how-

I have no deep knowledge of felines, but our family does own several of them, so some would be from my observations mostly.

So, to start off, I picture you meeting Scaramouche as a kitten, dripping like a wet rat from hiding in an inconspicuous alley somewhere.

You, being an animal lover, immediately took off your jacket to cover the poor thing in warmth, only to be hissed and clawed at - little guy would probably murder you the moment you stepped closer, so you baited him with some cat food you always bring to feed strays that you might encounter.

Took almost a full 3 hours, but poor bloke probably got tired of shivering and walked towards you, warning in its eyes as it chomped down on the soggy food. You almost cried at the defeated look on its face.

You offered the jacket again, and this time the kitten buried its face on the warm cotton after some sniffing. Told him you'd get up to carry him home, and it just closed its eyes. You get your handkerchief from your bag to at least dry his fur a little - poor thing is very, very cold.

The moment you get home you immediately turned on the heater, and seated yourself beside it, but not before getting a thick blanket first and replacing the dripping jacket. You made a tight bundle out of it with the kitten to change your clothes and then went back to cuddling him.

A hiss suddenly woke you up from your slumber, only to see the kitten yowling in his haste to free itself from the blanket. You snort and expertly avoid the little swipes he made at you while you untie the blanket.

Dude literally flies past you and jumps on the top of the cabinet with ease, growling when you tried to reach for him. Another flurry of swipes met your hand when you attempt a second try of getting him down.

Right.

You gave it some wet food and water while it perches itself on its place, and then made a small bed from an old fleece blanket. He sniffs at it, peed, before giving you a somewhat haughty look. You swear it looks like a smirk.

Another bed was made, this time out of cotton, and it too was rejected with a mighty push from the kitten - landing sadly on the floor with a flop.

Tried silk just to fuck with him, only to be shredded into smithereens the moment you placed it on the varnished wood with a mighty yowl.

A resounding no, then.

As a last resort, since you have limited types of fabrics (you mostly have cotton), you gave him one of your memory foam pillows, and it was met with a.. peaceful.. approach?

He rolled on it once, and never got up.

You pinch the bridge of your nose in resignation.

Thus, Kunikuzushi was named. Country Destroyer. Fitting.

The rest of the first week you learned what he likes: soft surfaces (mostly memory foam beds), mackerel (he vehemently refused to eat cat food, and if you try to make him eat it, pray to whoever God you believe that you'll survive his unrelenting swipes), warm baths, being left alone (DO NOT SNEAK ON HIM YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED), and sleeping, mostly.

He dislikes touching (with a vengeance - but you're working on that because poor bloke looked like he desperately wanted to cuddle sometimes with how he rolls and rolls on the bed until you gave him a blanket) (you can also imagine just how his first rodeo with the Vet went), cat food (DUH), other cats (you're HIS), other people (again, you're HIS), and loud noises. Poor bloke nearly jumped from the window when you broke a glass once and did not eat for almost a day with how much he's shivering (he was given a small doll of a boy that day, which thankfully, survived his tastes).

So.. imagine your shock when in the middle of winter, you tried calling him for cuddles, and he looks at you - like really looked at you, before he slowly crawls on your lap and practically flops himself down.

Boy, you probably need to see a doctor with how far your eyes bulged out from their sockets. Can you still breathe? With me: one, two, three, four..

Now, imagine when you finally mustered up the courage to pet him and he purred-

Reader.exe has stopped working.

(Hold on, I am being overwhelmed myself, lemme just get a glass of water before I faint..)

After that one incident, things got a little bit more.. peaceful. Just a bit. He still hates touches and will go at you like a madman if he ever sees you attempting to give him those horrendous cat food or cuddles.

The big change happened when you two were living together for seven months - he looked bigger and healthier and you were always proud of him when you see him lounging as a loaf by the window, basking under the comfortable heat of the sun. To think he was as small as a rat before!

He's deeeefintely the type to push items from the table as he looked at you, taunting you to dare and stop him. He'd had broken ten glass as this is being written.

But Kuni is rather tamed now, and doesn't easily swipe at you, although he gives you judging looks after doing something stupid (burning food or tripping and being clumsy in general) that makes your skin crawl sometimes. He does meow a bit when you get injured sometimes though, and that's one of the rare times where you are permitted to cuddle with him.

He went outside like 6 times in that period - the last three happening at the 6th month because he just doesn't want to interact with anyone else.

So yeah. You got off work, ready to go home to your beloved terror of a cat, only to panic when you found your place trashed when you opened the door, Kuni dangling in the hands of a man trying to suffocate him.

You didn't even think and body-slammed that asshole like a champ. He hit the wall hard but was able to recover to land a solid right hook and then you're on the floor with bloodied lip. Then you heard what probably terrify other people (you're just used to it as this point), a loud yowl, before Kuni was descending like an irked God intent on enacting his punishment.

The screams, although horrifying, was somewhat music to your ears at that moment.

Police were called as your cat growl, swiped, and bite at the man. You yourself was on the verge of fainting, so you try and call him over - didn't want to really leave him if the burglar becomes a corpse by the time you wake up.

"Kuni.. ow."

He stills and immediately runs to you, pawing at your cheek, mewling as he rubs your face with his own.

You let out a choked gasp, then it's black.

After that incident, his interaction with you increased - from sitting on your lap, rubbing himself on your leg, to sleeping next to you. It's not an everyday occurrence, of course, but it's as if he's given you the privilege to touch him whenever he's beside you and just bask in it.

Hoo boy, the things it does to your heart.

A year after you discover him from the alley in the middle of a downpour, you finally gave him a small collar with his name on it.

"There! Awww, blue and violet looks good on you, Kuni! Do you want to try dressing up next?"

He swiped your newly bought ceramic cup from the table in retaliation.

That's 11.

OMFG I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS HOW I AM RAKING MY BRAIN FOR INSPIRATION AND THEN I JUST THOUGHT, "HEY, HOW WOULD SCARA BE AS A CAT" AND THEN THIS VOMIT JUST- FINISHED WITHIN 20 MINUTES, NO LESS!! T.T

Anyways, hoped ya enjoy. See you in the next century or something. ALSO, THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THAT TUMBLR POST ABOUT KAZUHA AND XIAO AS ADORABLE CATS. IF SOMEONE CAN LINK IT HERE, I WILL LOVE YOU FOR A THOUSAND YEARS, THANKS.

[lathalea]

A Pint Too Far

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G Summary: Erebor is reclaimed and thriving, everyone is happy except... Gunnhildr, daughter of Lynd, the scribe of His Majesty Thorin II Oakenshield. Oh, and there's that feast coming.

Some of you may remember the cheeky Gunnhildr from the latest stunt she pulled at my expense. A/N: This is my gift for the one and only @frosticenow 💙 and it's a part of @officialtolkiensecretsanta. I hope you'll like this happy winter story straight from the Lonely Mountain!

You can find this fic on AO3.

Gunnhildr, daughter of Lynd, woke up. And she deeply regretted that moment. A dreadful realization crept into her mind. She had a problem. A very serious problem.

She was sober.

“Ugh!” she grunted, trying to disentangle herself from her bedsheets and furs. That was completely unacceptable. It was her day off and she simply did not do “sober” on her days off. The pounding in her head was almost non-existent and she felt only slightly dizzy. Probably because she moved too suddenly. How could her own body betray her so? Only her tongue seemed to act as it should — it felt like a wooden plank left in the sun for much too long, but that was to be expected after what had happened yesterday. She may have been drinking a tiny bit to celebrate the upcoming day off – today. There was that new tavern in the Jewellers’ District, a few kegs of ale, Dwalin with his arm wrestling contest, Geira and her singing contest, Nori and his… Well, she did not quite remember what contest it was, to be honest, but she strongly felt it had been fun. And now… Gunnhildr shuddered. She. Was. Sober.

She rolled off the bed and somehow managed not to hit her head against the nightstand. Only then did she dare to open her eyes. The room danced in front of her eyes as she got up and shambled in the general direction of her kitchen. There was that old Dwarvish saying: “Fight fire with fire!” and it was exactly what she planned to do. Only, in her case, the role of fire was to be played by ale, of course.

That was when she encountered another problem.

There was not even a single drop of ale in her home. Nor whiskey. A wine bottle lay accusingly on the table. It was empty, of course.

“Ugh!” Gunnhildr eloquently repeated, mostly because her brain’s speech centre refused to wake up. It has been a long night filled with countless pints of delicious golden ale. Her mouth felt even more dry than usual and the daughter of Lynd resigned herself to a glass of water. She would give everything for a pint of foaming ale. So what if it was too early for it? After being treacherously deserted by her old friend, the hangover, she needed a pint. Or two. No, Gunnhildr was not a drunk! She was a respectable scribe in the employ of none other than the legendary King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. Drunks did not get positions like hers! Besides, she was sober as an Elf on a tree every single day of the workweek! And she was extremely diligent, too! A party night at a tavern from time to time was not a crime, was it? The king had nothing against it, on the contrary, he encouraged the Dwarves in his employ to enjoy themselves whenever they could. Sometimes he even joined in their revels. Gunnhildr knew that caring for his subjects was the mark of a great king. One who knew how stressful it was to serve the Dwarf kingdom of ‘Urdêk, or, as the pointy-eared salad munchers called it, Erebor. And by “pointy-eared salad munchers” she did not mean bunnies. Bunnies were adorable, had cute little noses and nice soft furs. They certainly did not send preposterous missives to her King in Sindarin, they did not hoard Dorwinion wine, refusing to sell it, and they did not act as if someone shoved a stick up their… Ahem. And their noses? Narrow, pointy and boring.

It was much better to spend time thinking about more pleasant things. Or people.

Like the King. Her king. 

Thorin Oakenshield.

Gunnhildr smiled to herself. And it was not a dreamy smile, not at all. It was a respectful smile of an employee. Nothing else. King Thorin, the second of his name, was a much greater ruler than that stuck-up sprite from the Woodland Realm. She heard many tales of her king’s great deeds as a warrior, mostly straight from Dwalin’s drunk mouth, but it counted nevertheless. Dwalin could not lie for the life of him even when inebriated. And she had the privilege to see the King during his sparring sessions. By Mahal, he was magnificent. The way he spinned across the training grounds with Orcrist, his motions elegant and precise, made her knees weak and her mind hazy. Once, mesmerised by his mastery of blade, she even forgot the purpose of her presence there to the point of dropping a handful of parchments that needed his signature on the floor.

Another privilege of hers was assisting King Thorin during his audiences in the throne room. That was when Gunnhildr learned that her willpower was anything but strong. She was unable to stop herself from continuously stealing glances at His Majesty’s regal profile, his heavily defined eyebrows, his lush beard, or his stern features. The strong line of his nose (not cute, not boring, but very noble and masculine, take that, you Mirkwood Sprite!) along with the depths of his penetrating blue eyes were a clear proof of his great ancestry. Thorin Oakenshield was a living and breathing descendant of Durin himself. And a handsome one, too.

A sigh escaped her lips. Gunnhildr was very well aware that she was only a simple scribe and the only thing she could do was dream about… things that would never happen. She knew her place, but that did not mean that her heart was forbidden from beating faster every time she heard King Thorin say “Good morning, Mistress Gunnhildr. How fare you today?” in that hauntingly deep voice of his. Mahal, be merciful!

Gunnhildr took another sip of water and her sleepy gaze fell on a partially unrolled piece of fine parchment that lay in front of her. It was covered with elegant writing and sealed with the royal seal. She blinked. The last few pieces of her befuddled mind clicked into place. She recalled throwing this scroll on the table in a hurry around a week ago and then completely forgetting about it.

“UGH!!!” She exclaimed, reading the message the gilded letters conveyed. It was the official invitation to the Lonely Mountain’s Yule Feast, signed by the King Under the Mountain.

And it was supposed to happen tonight.

She was most definitely much too sober for that.

***

Gunnhildr was not quite certain how she managed to make her sluggish (and disgustingly sober!) mind work and go about the day, and that included preparing her fir green gown — and herself — for the feast. She had just applied the finishing touches to the festive braid in her beard when Bofur barged in.

“Ready to go to the feast, lass?” He gave her a mischievous grin.

“Have you not heard of knocking?” She grunted.

“Can’t say I have. Nokkin’? Friend of yours?” Bofur winked, but she did not even smile. Instead, she threw her hairbrush onto the bed and stood up, muttering a nasty curse under her breath when the room danced around her.

“Oy, lass, is all in order? You look a bit… Well… Your face makes me think of ashes,” her friend offered lightheartedly. “The ones that Smaug left behind, you know.”

“Why thank you so much, Bofur, for lavishing your compliments on yours truly.”

“Ouch! She bites!” He furrowed his brow. “What is the matter, Gunny?”

She sighed, wrapping her arms around her belly and not thinking about how much her gown would be wrinkled now.

“I have a tiny problem. Remember last night? Good. At least one of us does. When I woke up today I thought that I was sober. No hangover to speak of. But now…” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes to stop the floor from wobbling. 

“Let me guess, you urgently need to hit the bottle!”

Gunnhildr nodded. Fight fire with fire.

“I’m not surprised, lass. We kept on drinking almost until dawn. I half carried you back here, you could barely keep your eyes open, remember?”

“Not really, to be honest.”

“And do you remember mumbling something about… how was it? Luscious waves of hair, dark as the night, soft like silk, perfect for braiding…”

“Shut up, Bofur!”

“What? I haven’t quoted even half of your poetic confessions yet! If our dearest liege only knew how much you admired his…”

“I swear, if you don’t shut your mouth this instant…” she groaned, wondering whether her ashen paleness turned to sickly green yet. At least it would blend in with her gown well.

“By my hat, you have not cracked a smile at me even once, lass! This is a serious matter,” Bofur exclaimed.

“What? My pathetic admiration of the king?” “No! Your misguided admiration of his hair instead of mine!” a theatrical expression of pain appeared on his face. “I can feel my heart breaking!”

“Nice try! We both know it belongs to that hobbit of yours! Has he accepted your invitation for the winter festivities?”

“Bilbo could not leave his kin. Some family matters. But he wants me to visit the Shire in the spring.” Bofur sighed miserably. “In four long months…” 

Gunnhildr patted his hand and swallowed hard.

“It looks like we both need a drink.”

***

“Bofur… I’m going to puke,” Gunnhildr muttered. Her cheek was pressed into something cold and hard and she did not like it at all. And her head was pounding. Ugh.

“You won’t, lass,” her friend’s voice seemed to be coming from far away. “You’ve already threatened the King with it and nothin’ happened.”

“I… did… what?!” her eyes opened wide and she straightened up, realizing that her face had been plastered to the feast table, somewhere between the mutton stew and the potato salad. How quaint.

“You don’t remember do you, Gunny? Come on, let’s get you home. You truly need to sleep it off. Not that you haven’t done quite a lot of sleeping already. It will dawn soon, y’know.” “I’m not going anywhere! Not until you tell me,” she grabbed the nearest pint-sized ale mug and downed its contents in one gulp. Fight fire with fire and all that. “How on earth have I threatened the King?”

“Remember when we were drinking that sixth round of ale?” Bofur’s face came into view, his hat skewed on his head.

“Vaguely,” Gunnhildr lied. She did not remember even one bit. Besides, the inside of her skull felt like a forge with fifty blacksmiths banging at their anvils. The racket of the celebration around her made it worse and, on top of it all — she felt disgustingly sober. 

“Well then, let me enlighten you,” Bofur offered. “After we drank another round, Balin announced that the dancing would commence, but you stayed by the table and made sure you wouldn’t miss any toasts to the health of Bombur’s newborn babe.”

“Let me guess, Dorwinion wine?” she groaned. Mixing different types of liquor was never a clever idea and yet she somehow kept on doing this.

“I’m afraid so. And that is why, when Thorin came and asked you for a dance, you…”

“WHAT?!” Gunnhildr heard her own sonorous voice. Some heads turned towards her, some of them raising their tankards in a toast.

“He asked you to dance and you swayed and fisted his tunic with both hands, like this, and then announced straight into his ear: ‘I’m going to puke!’.” Bofur’s words made something stir inside her mind. An echo of a memory. An unpleasant one.

“Mahal have mercy on me! Did I puke on His Majesty?! Oh, no… Tell me, Bofur! I need to know!”

“Naaah, of course you didn’t! I swear, that was the first time I saw him truly flabbergasted. He bowed politely and returned to his seat without a word, that is all,” he shrugged.

“Is this a joke? Or are you really saying that the King himself… wanted… to dance with me?! ” She muttered. That had to be some kind of a strange dream or a hallucination, everyone knew that King Thorin was not fond of dancing.

“Aye, sadly, His Majesty found your threats of becoming intensely ill on his tunic not quite alluring for some reason,” Bofur smiled angelically. “And then he told me to escort you home and make sure you sleep it off. That’s all, I swear!”

An unwanted sob escaped Gunnhildr’s throat as she pushed away the cursed ale mug. The legendary King Under the Mountain has come all the way here only to ask her for a dance? And she was not there to enjoy it! At least not in spirit. She had had the possibility of a lifetime to glide through the Great Hall in his strong arms and look at him openly, as opposed to the regular stealing a glance while hiding behind piles of parchment as she normally did. And she lost that chance for good. And made a complete ass of herself! Ughhhhh! 

“I’m sorry, Bofur, I need…” she attempted to swallow the growing lump in her throat. The last thing she wanted was her friend’s pity. “I have to go and… powder my nose.” Biting on her lip to stop her tears from falling, Gunnhildr fled from the feast, not even daring to look towards the head of the table where King Thorin was seated.

***

There was an alcove with a bench in one of the side corridors leading to the Great Hall and it became Gunnhildr’s hideout. With every single Dwarf in the Mountain enjoying the Yule festivities, she could be sure that no one would find her there. The distant sounds of lively music and merry shouts reached her ears. Even though the day’s feast was coming to an end, some revellers were still dancing. She could have been one of them — dancing with the King, holding his hands, twirling to the sound of music, and maybe, just maybe, being lucky enough to see him smile. Her tears flowed freely, countless as the days she spent pining after the King. How many times did she tell herself that she should forget about her pointless feelings once and for all and focus solely on her work? Ugh.

“Are you unwell, my lady?” a deep voice interrupted her sobbing.

Gunnhildr blinked and looked up, her vision blurry. Someone tall stood in front of her. First, she saw shiny black boots that matched the festive trousers. Then there was a thigh-length black tunic embroidered with gold that — together with a richly ornamented belt — emphasised the Dwarf’s narrow hips and wide shoulders. And under this tunic was a swan-necked shirt that gave her an opportunity to catch a glimpse of a strong neck and chest just below the clavicles, the latter generously covered with chest hair. She swallowed. Hair. The Dwarf’s hair was cascading down his shoulders in waves, dark and silky as raven’s feathers, thick as bear’s fur in winter, and very familiar. She blinked again, trying to get rid of the tears in her eyes. No, they were not deceiving her. There were only a few adornments in his hair clasped with glistening beads. And two thick temple braids. And… a very familiar shape rested on the aforementioned temples. Gold and obsidian. Shaped like two raven heads. Sweet Mahal…

She jumped up to her feet and wiped her eyes.

“Your Majesty! I… I am fine! The music… it was rather loud and I got a headache,” Gunnhildr blurted out, making a clumsy bow. “So I came here… to rest!”

One of the King’s eyebrows travelled up his forehead. 

“I see,” he said, offering her a handkerchief. It was crispy white, folded in a square, and beautifully embroidered. “I am sorry about your headache. The festivities can be a bit overwhelming. I myself was searching for a moment of respite. Would you allow me to keep you company?”

“Of… of course, Your Majesty!” she nodded, rumpling the handkerchief in her hands.

“Thorin.”

“Pardon?”

“We have known each other sufficiently long, would you not say, Gunnhildr?” the King sat on the bench and glanced at her expectantly. 

“If you say so, Your– Thorin,” she mumbled, resting beside him stiffly. The King nodded and a slight smile appeared on his face, softening his stern features. Gunnhildr somehow managed to stop herself from sighing. She could not recall if she was ever in such close proximity to him before — and in such unusual circumstances. The only time the etiquette allowed her to sit in the King’s presence was when she was fulfilling her duties as the royal scribe. Now, however, she found herself much closer to him than in his study or in the royal council chambers. She felt his azure gaze resting on her face; she was aware of his large, ringed hand resting on the bench between them, so close that she could intertwine her fingers with his if she only…

Gunnhildr bit on her lip and looked away. She had already made a fool of herself once today.

“I am sorry.” “What do you mean, my lady?” the King tilted his head.

“My behaviour was unacceptable. I do not remember much, but you did me the honour of asking me to dance and I… I…” Her lips trembled.

“And you taught me a valuable lesson,” the King chuckled. “Never ask a charming maiden to dance after the fifth pint of ale!”

Charming. Charming? Did he truly say “charming”? About her? Gunnhildr, daughter of Lynd? No, it was not possible. She must have misheard him.

“Forgive me, Y– Thorin,” she quickly corrected herself, seeing a frown on his face. “But it was six pints, not five.”

“Perhaps, but I was talking about myself. I failed to notice that the lady in question was slightly indisposed and for that I apologise.”

“Slightly indisposed? I was drunk out of my skull! And I behaved very unladylike,” she cast her eyes down. “I should be the one apologising, not you.”

“Nevertheless, I was inebriated and it was me who put you in an uncomfortable position instead of waiting for a more suitable occasion. I am ashamed to say it, but in order to approach you I needed a bit of, shall we say, liquid courage.” “Y– you? Liquid…” Now Gunnhildr was certain. She was hearing things.

“Courage, yes,” he nodded.

“But… but why? I don’t bite and you are the bravest Dwarf I know!”

That chuckle again. And the smile. Why did her cheeks suddenly feel so warm?

“You flatter me, my lady,” King Thorin bowed his head. “But surely you must know more courageous Dwarves than me. Dwalin, for example.”

“He is brave, yes, but not like you! He is not as valiant as you, not as heroic nor dashing, and… Well, he is simply not you!” Gunnhildr blurted out and then their eyes met. All she could do was to bask in his deep blue gaze and try to breathe at the same time. Oh Mahal, why was he looking at her this way?

The silence was ringing in her ears.

“Gunnhildr, daughter of Lynd, may I ask you a question?” The King’s voice made her think of a mug of dark hot chocolate on a chilly day. Not wanting to embarrass herself even more, she simply nodded.

“Since we are both decidedly more sober than before, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

Gunnhildr’s mind decided to freeze at this very moment. Unable to articulate anything, she decided that a nod would have to do. She did not know how it happened that the tips of her fingers touched his hand; she only registered that he covered her hand with his and the warmth of her touch made her skin tingle pleasantly.

Dancing with Thorin to the distant sounds of the music was like gliding through the air and Gunnhildr never wanted it to stop. If someone told her in the morning that she would dance with none other but the King himself while the first rays of the sun set the green marble walls of Erebor aflame, she would have laughed in their face. And now — it was different. She wanted to laugh too, but now it would be the laughter of joy. Being in the arms of the King, feeling as light as a feather, with his body against hers as they twirled in harmony around the forgotten corridor, was even better than she dared to imagine. 

When the music stopped, Gunnhildr found herself still with her King’s arm around her, his hand splayed on her back, while the other held her hand. Her chest was heaving, she was smiling widely at her King — and he did the same, but none of them moved away.

“Thank you for the dance,” she heard herself say and added bravely, “Thorin.”

“And I thank you, Gunnhildr. I wished to dance with you since I saw you training with your spear. You moved like,” he seemed to hesitate, “like water. So nimble.”

“You went to see me training?” She gaped at Thorin.

“By accident, but I did.” His Durin’s apple bobbed up and down. “Now I know how it feels to hold a mountain spring in my arms.”

His embrace tightened slightly while Gunnhildr wondered how all those butterflies found their way to her stomach.

“Is it a good feeling?” She asked hesitantly.

“Aye,” his murmur reached her ears. Thorin was still smiling at her when he let go of her hand and then brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “A very good one.”

“I like it too,” Gunnhildr admitted and then placed both of her hands on his shoulders, a part of her admiring the hardness of his muscles under her touch. “But I think I like this even better.”

“You do?” the King purred, bringing her even closer against him, the warmth of his breath fanning her cheek. His eyes were set on her face. Searching. Attentive.

“Yes,” she whispered, trying to figure out how it happened that their noses were almost touching — and failing. She felt dizzy and her throat was parched but at this time it had nothing to do with drinking and everything with the Dwarf who held her so very, very close. “Very much.”

“May I share a secret with you, Gunnhildr?” One of his fingers traced the edge of her jaw. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine.

“Of course,” her voice became slightly hoarser. Was it because of the way he spoke her name? So softly and with such emotion?

And then Thorin, the King of the Longbeards, the one whom they call Oakenshield, said: “I have been wanting to kiss you since last spring.”

Her eyes widened.

Her breath hitched.

Her heart made a flip.

Her hands met behind his neck.

And then Gunnhildr, daughter of Lynd, mustered all of her courage and kissed the King Under The Mountain right on his lips.

The sounds of music returned to the Great Hall and echoed against the stone walls, but neither Gunnhildr nor Thorin seemed to hear it any longer. A different kind of music echoed between them.

💚❤️💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙❤️💚

📜 Searching for more stories to read? Check out my masterlist!📜

Do you like my writing? Would you like to read more? Feel free to show your support by having a Ko-fi with me! Thank you 💙

General taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1 @nelleedraws @mcchiberry  @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512  @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @wormsmith @mailinsblogofstuff  @medusas-hairband @xxbyimm @knittastically @saucyminxbrainspill @quiall321

Thorin/ME taglist: @i-am-the-raven-queen @ruthoakenshield @asgardianhobbit98 @thespiritoflife @justfollowtheroad

[naamahdarling]

what are some of the best textures?

Fur. Cats or rabbits specifically are really really good. Dogs consistently disappoint, which is too bad since so many are so fluffy.

Peach fuzz from a nicer peach variety that isn't nearly bald.

Boyfriend's hair.

Cool-Whip in the mouth -- tub kind, not spray kind, and not generic whipped cream, but specifically Cool-Whip and its unique texture. I don't know why people say it's heavier than whipped cream. It's like delicious plastic foam.

SHOVE YOUR HANDS IN A BIN FULL OF BIRDSEED. GOD it's good. No, I'm serious, it is so, so good. And it smells great, like cat fur and dry grass. And the pressure. Hnnnnnghhh.

I touch touch touch things, and am grateful that I don't have aversions to very many textures, so this tends to be an urge that pays off more often than not. On the other hand, people like me are the reason there's cordons and do not touch signs and glass barriers. I need you to understand, it's not that I consider my wants more important than preservation or safety or whatever, it's that I literally am not aware of doing it until I am. I am old so I've gotten really good at controlling this, but I used to do it a lot, and trust me, it was not deliberate on my part.

Now I mostly just sniff.

[angel-lost-in-space-blog]

My magnum opus is complete!

Detail Pics and explanations under the cut.

|Diavolo pulsh RAD Uniform|Diavolo plush with Lucifer|Diavolo Plush with MC Sheep|

It's taken over a year of working on him on and off, but I have finally finished my Diavolo demon plush!!! (I've also made his RAD uniform)

I made his wings, horns, and tattoos detachable/removable so the body base can wear multiple outfits. The tattoos have been painted/glued on to shear fabric that can be taken off the body.

The horns attach with red Velcro that is hidden under Dia's hair when the horns are detached. The bottom wings are butted onto the body and the top pair snap onto the bottom wings so you (mostly) can't see the buttons. They are attached in a way so that all the wings are rotatable. The wings also have posable wires in them so they can be bent into the pose you like. Like almost all of my plushies, his arms are attached with buttons, so his arms can be rotated as well.

I had originally made his wings out of minky fabric like the rest of him, but they were WAY to heavy, so I mad him this pair out of foam. In order to save my sanity, I ended up simplifying the wings on his boots and fur mantel.

Also shout out to @silentstreetserenity for their post of Dia's texture sheets. They were super helpful when drawing out the wings and gold gilding on the horns and wings!

[cordcorvid]

hi! i hope this doesnt come off as a bother or anything . but do you have any mask making tips or tutorials you could reccomend ?? (like for materials, jaw movement, and how to see out of there) im planning to do a raven named Goose :D

ive been finding some resources here and there, but i thought it wouldnt hurt to ask !!!

Absolutely not! I'd love to answer all your questions. :D I have not looked at that many tutorials, I mostly looked at pinterest pictures of raven costumes to see what I can come up with. One that really inspired me to get things going is actually another Tumblr user I found on there who has posted some helpful tips that I followed along with! They too have a raven costume and they got their resin base from the same manufacturer (Crystumes, they have a website where you can shop for their blanks) Since this post is awfully long, I'll do a read more from here on:

The tutorials I followed the most is this one by Rah-Bop:

Rah-Bop has some tips about adding feathers, making foam-feathers, adding claws to your gloves, making gloves or feet. In terms of material: I used the hinged resin base by Crystumes which by itself cost me +/- 200USD, they sent me a pair of customizeable glass eyes and a tongue.

Crystumes has some additional tutorials specifically regarding their masks on their website! Crystumes also lists some of the materials on their website that I used and where to get them (Like the apoxie clay to do the eyelids, the glass eyes etc.) I did mess the eyes up though the first time I did it so I had to order them from delviesplastics.com (As suggested by Crystumes) Since I ordered the base with hinges I'm not sure how to do them myself but I will have to figure it out for the second fursuit I'm cooking! In terms of other material I bought some long rooster feathers and hair jewelry off of Etsy. I bought a pair of long faux leather gloves from Ricardo (which is a swiss second hand online shop) but you can buy the gloves anywhere else or even sew them yourself by tracing your arm and hand on a piece of paper, then trace the pattern twice on any somewhat stretchy material like faux leather or spandex and sew those two together for one glove each. I bought black fur in another Swiss textile / sewing shop named Alja (not sure if it's actually Swiss) since it's cheaper (around 60$ for 4 yards) than to ship fur from America to Switzerland (Which amounts to 100-200 for the same amount). But if you can afford it: Take a look at Howl's Fabrics or Big Z Fabric. Both websites offer samples! I personally don't buy from them as the shipping costs for me are devastating. I suggest looking at general "furring" tutorials or "how to fur a fursuit head" tutorials on youtube. Most of them will tell you to make a duct tape pattern on your base, draw on the patterns then cut those patterns out on fur, sew the fur together then glue to the base. Crystumes once made a twitter post about it as well I think but I'm not sure I'll find it. When cutting fur in general just make sure you keep the scissors as close to the backing as possible to avoid cutting any fur fibers in the process, it will be visible otherwise. I made a fur top / shirt by tracing one of my long sleeve t-shirts onto the fur I bought and went with that. For the back of the head I used an 80s Mullet/Rockstar wig I bought from another Swiss online store. Other fursuit makers mostly sew fur even to the back of the head but my personal Raven fursuit is literally just a mask with a wig to cover the back. Which in turn makes the whole mask less hot. To keep the mask ON my face and to keep it from slipping down I used the adjusteable part of a biking helmet or climbing helmet. and attached it to the mask by using a lot of hot glue, I eventually had to use some stronger glue as it kept falling off. Since the mask was fairly big when I bought it and rather uncomfortable I used thick felt sheets and glued them inside the head as padding material! Foam works as well, whatever floats your boat. I went with felt since I could easily cut some feather patterns into them as a nice easter egg. Not sure anymore what exactly I used to cover the holes by the beak that I see out of, but it was some kind of very fine dark and flexible grid that I bought from the swiss equivalent of home depot. In terms of being able to see: The crystume base has holes between the beak and the eyes that you can look out of or you can even look through the mouth, both works pretty well and the mask allows for a lot of visibility from within- Out of all my fellow furry friends I'm the only one that doesn't necessarily need a spotter since I can see pretty well. In terms of clothing I pretty much sewed nothing by myself and only assembled a bunch of my own outfits that would fit the raven costume. Sometimes I did buy some costume specific stuff from online clothing stores or went into the thrift shop to buy some costume specific clothing pieces. In general, for your first raven costume just go with the flow and try to keep it budget friendly, as your first will unlikely be perfect. And that's about it! Not sure if I missed something but I tried to cover everything as much in detail as I could. Hope it helps!