This little marten softmount is done too! I made him 1.5 years ago but never finished sewing up his butt and tail 😳 He was just being cute on my shelf all that time, looking at me with those big wet eyes every time I worked on another project. Two weeks ago I suddenly had both motivation and time, a modern day miracle, so I took that chance to fix him. Now he's back to being cute on the shelf again :')
Everyone loves dark academia and cottagecore and themes of death and decay and being weird and mysterious until I have stray bones in my house and teeth on my shelf. Then I’m too weird for the weirdos. Too spooky for the so-called goths. You bitches can’t handle my bonus teeth
I found this comic screenshot online from a Scooby Doo and The Powerpuff Girls crossover, and I’m just… how did this grown ass man fit into that small Mojo suit?
I keep saying I'm gonna upload this and then forget to so here's the video of Janus after he was dried and painted! I took some pointers from my mortician cousin and used makeup instead of an airbrush. It bonds to the hide, fills in creases, and blends much better than paint so it looks more natural c:
thank u so much to my beloveds @crowleys-bentley-and-plants and @seven-stars-in-his-palm for tagging me, kissing u both for this omg <3 i'm doing two of each because i can
For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations.
transitional heart taxidermy [5986 words, wip]
They fit so perfectly together, the both of them, always. Not side by side like pieces of a puzzle, no, but like molten lava over sand; one over the other, one mellowing the other, changing its chemistry into something different, stronger, useful. The kiss tastes of Aziraphale, of copper and saliva and something holy. It's a taste he'll come to get used to, bloodied and bruised, a taste he chases after as the angel pulls back.
and one from an unpublished chapter:
It's been a day, two, maybe three. His hands are stained with blood and phantom glass, reeking of alcohol and rot palpable enough to taste. Aziraphale doesn't come for him, and he feels relief but also a pain so deep it's paralysing. It's a revelation in itself.
blood in my eyes [1953 words]
This is the first time in years he has stepped foot back into this place. It's a spontaneous decision, driven by a mellow melancholy and a soft wistful night. Muriel isn't in, so the bookshop is dark, and the streetlights cast an eerie, lonely glow on the ancient hardbacks. The rearing statue that once held his glasses every other day is coated in a thin layer of dust; he leaves them on.
Crowley wipes away a tear from Aziraphale's cheek with his thumb. It leaves a bright red streak. After, hours pass by before Aziraphale washes the blood from his face, imprinted in the vague shape of Crowley's hand. In those hours, when he sits in the quiet of a bookshop once again burned to ash, the blood stays there as a reminder, maybe, or as punishment.
sub-consequence [11567 words, wip] — six of crows
He wants to say everything he could possibly say to persuade Kaz to change his mind, because if he says everything in the world, strings together every word in every possible combination, there has to be at least one thing that would convince him to stay.
Sometimes Inej thinks Kaz cares about himself less than he cares about getting what he wants. It feels sometimes as if he's completely detached from himself, his own person becoming just another means to an end. People would scream at her that this isn't selflessness. It's ruthlessness, or psychopathy, or numbness. That's how the name Dirtyhands came about, after all. The willingness to do anything no matter the cost. To get his hands dirty with blood, be it others' or his own. But what is selflessness, really? A lack of selfishness, or a loss of self?
to sleep, perchance to dream [662 words] — the sandman
God, Calliope. His heart, face of cloud fields and white lily springs, a hope so blinding in contrast to his shadowed being that he had known from the start the hands of The Fates would pull them apart to opposite poles.
His lifetime of constraint allowed him to face the knowledge that any selfish will to see her in the wake of remembering all he had forsaken, all that had been ripped from him, would seal the vestibules to acceptance and he would beg with no dignity to stay by her side. And his heart burned, scorched unpleasantly at her parting words, just as the skin she touched and had once touched long after she was twice gone.
tagging those whose words i'd love to see (no pressure!!): @actual-changeling @sentientsky @irispurpurea @springofviolets @demonsandpieohmy
Unfortunately the o.wl turned out not to be salvageable as a study skin :( One half of the face just ended up losing a bunch of feathers, leaving an ugly bald spot. I was requested to instead salvage them as separate parts.