#Body language and stuff like that

[anonyhun]

Ro would know Batman was Terry in five seconds flat if he ever encountered them outside of "Work"

[blyszczopies]

commission for @sparklefurever thank you sm!!

[annabelle--cane]

the problem with theater auditions is that they don't let you say "yeah I know I'm not great at cold readings but I pinky promise that I make up for any lack in natural talent with my sheer passion for homework"

[kiwikiwiandkiwi]

— Written all over their faces

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[azurecoffin]

saw that requests for x men drawings are open and i would LOVE to see your take on rictor!!!

Sorry this took forever! You got me into Ricstar so I got distracted in reading Ricstar comics & fanfics! It was for research but now I can't stop screaming & crying & throwing up about them!

Casual Rictor

Also it was nice playing around with Green for a change instead of Red!

Prev: Boom-Boom Trinary M Armor Pixie Surge

Requests are open for Casual X-Men (Tho I'll focus on anyone who's a B-Lister or below) I'm gonna try to catch up to my goal of one a day but I have accepted the fact that it will likely bleed into August!

[oxygen-stealer]

I finally have a Scarecrow design that I think is somewhat decent down!!!!!

This was for art fight btw my acct is here :33

[aonokumura]

would it be an unpopular decision if I made my icons huge

[puppetmaster13u]

Oh boi even more of One au in like 3 hours lol

I like to think that like how in @phoenixcatch7's Doll au there's gas versions of like cures and such in the batfam's gas masks since they don't need to breath when possessing the puppets right? I like to think there's an organic version of that with the meat puppet bodies, at least with Bruce, where the plates on his neck opens up into vents of sorts, pictured here with a few spikes removed for visibility reasons.

This gas could be some cures for like Joker venom & Fear gas and such, or it could also be sedatives, paralytics, could even vary between each member. (For example in the Cryptidverse Steph has Anesthetics on her claws, Jason has reflective powder that mimics embers/sparks, Cass has paralytics, etc). Honestly I am just brainstorming so this could definitely change lmao

I do like to think they start developing their own venom though, gotta' have those fangs & tusks for some reason lol

[marchsage]

aftermath

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

I am sad that Back to the Rock decided to just give Mokey rod-hands full time

In the original puppet show, Mokey had two sets of hand that would be used depending on what was needed for a scene.

A set of rod-hands like the rest of the main Fraggle characters, and a set of live-hands (which are like a pair of gloves that a puppeteer wears to act as the character's hands).

Something easily facilitated by her large billowing robe. Though there's various Muppets who do a similar thing even with tight clothing such as Ernie.

Anyways the live-hands is how it was so easy to do scenes of Mokey doing stuff like painting, writing, throwing things, and other stuff in the original series.

If there's an object that either can't be easily attached to a rod-hand, or that needs to be immediately thrown, there's a pretty good chance Mokey is going to be the one to pick it up.

Such as the "hideous round thing" that she picks up and throws to distract Sprocket in episode 1 of the original series. It's too large and smooth to easily (and realistically) have a rod-handed puppet hold, but a live-handed puppet could pick it up and throw it quiet easily.

It could just be because rod-hands have advanced since the original series, and the hands now have greater pose ability than the kind in the 80s, so live-handed puppets have become redundant when not necessary.

Like Mokey doesn't play the piano or anything super intricate that requires extreme finger dexterity that couldn't just be added in post or something.

Though I do think Mokey's live-hands gave her an expressiveness and groundedness in her movements that the rod-handed puppets didn't have in the original series.

Live-hands are more fluid, dynamic and nimble compared to rod-hands just by default.

When she did something, like paint, or touch something, or even touch her friends, with her live-hands it was always more grounded and believable than when any of the characters with rod-hands did something similar.

Like when Mokey pulls out a poem and is holding it, she's literally holding it with real hands, but if Gobo pulls out a postcard from Uncle Matt that same episode it can look kind of funny, because it just doesn't look as realistic. Sometimes they didn't manage to get the fingers on his rod-hand to close all the way, so the letter is just awkwardly stuck to his hand.

Same with the other rod-hand Fraggles whenever they hold a piece of paper.

Human hand in a glove will always be more 'realistic' (believable) feeling in movement and action compared to a fake hand being controlled by a stick.

And I think that is something missing from the new version of Mokey.

Original Mokey was always an artistic dreamer who could sometimes feel like she had her head in the clouds, but also had these moments of being very grounded and insightful, and was very down to earth in general.

Mokey was the most physically affectionate of her friends in the original, and I feel like that was due to, at least in part, her being a live-hand puppet a lot of the time.

Like there are just scenes where she'll just be holding one of her friends hands while she guides them along, or she'll cradle their heads when she hugs them, and there's just an extra layer of depth that comes with it being done by live-hand puppetry.

There were actions that Mokey as a live-handed puppet could do that the rest of the main cast couldn't do due to her status as a live-handed puppet, and the old show took advantage of that, and I feel like that's where at least a bit of her characterization came from.

Because for a lot of those scenes weren't of Mokey doing something complicated that made live-hands neccessary, no, in a lot of them she's just talking with her friends and gesturing with her hands, or being physically affectionate, and what she's doing with her hands aren't even the focus of what's going on in the scene.

In the episode where Wembley is looking for his job, when Mokey is walking him up to the Gorg's garden to get radishes. She's holding hands with him as she leads him up there, but that's barely in frame at all.

To the point that their hands are bobbing in and out of frame as they walk, and it only lasts a few seconds.

The hand holding was completely unnecessary, it barely makes it into the scene at all, but it was still something the puppeteers decided to do, because Mokey holding her friends hand while leading them somewhere was a Mokey kind of thing to do.

And it's the tiny moments like that, that I think is missing from Mokey in Back to the Rock.

[banyanas]

man if i had an actual plot structure to use as scaffolding (because i can’t really do slice of life or things like it) i could write so many N and Uzi words that are just the actual practicalities and obstacles (varying in size and some seen, some unforeseen) of an interspecies relationship

[brittlebutch]

I genuinely love the way Billie holds herself with my whole heart; more characters need to start doing it like her <3

[capn-twitchery]

sometimes oc refining is bad notes, s curves, and drawing them very small, and very silly

[onedivinemisfit]

Camboy AU profiles - Mitsuhide and Kiki

[booasaur]

Station 19 - 6x08