| chipper | it/its, fae/faer | adult |
| icon image: icon image: an upside-down borzoi, over a similarly upside-down lesbian and aroace flag. |
| banner image: a centipede, holding its many eggs with its legs. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Strigeria_Centipede_guarding_eggs.jpg |
banner from fallen london / loveliest of birds loveliest of bugs
chipper crow /
it/its, fae/faer (not they/them), adult, centipede, GMT timezone. previous pinned post was a reblog of a bat post that i think you should look at
anomalouscorvid on artfight, chippercrow on toyhou.se and sheezy.art (+ also bluesky (inactive))
list of OC tags
this is almost entirely a fallen london blog at this point 🦇🐝
FL accounts: Carrie Crow (in-character as Carrie), Elphinstone (in-character as 'Elphinstone'), O. Morris (in-character as Morris)
tag info below cut
while original posts are tagged, this blog includes untagged reblogs of bugs, fictional gore, body horror, and nudity
some animals get categorised for my own convenience (but aren't guaranteed to be tagged): #chiropteran tag, #hymenopteran tag, #myriapod tag, #pigeon tag, #rodent tag, #seabird tag, #sighthound tag, #worm tag
also as a more general category there's #perfect critters
clothes, sculptures, and similar art might get put in the #fashion tag. it's basically my aesthetic tag
find screenshots of life sims in the #ts4 tag and #mii tag; contains mostly recreations of fictional characters (and OCs)
art in #art (+ #art for me), text in #text, asks in #ask
i think it's fucked up that cathedrals can be so big and tall inside? theres too much empty space. im out in the open a wild angel is going to swoop down and devour me
Made a Tine! Her name is "Seeker" or "Ramdimirukam"
Carver and I have been obsessed over this book/species for a while now.
Tines are a pack species from "A Fire Upon the Deep" - What you see here is one character, spread between four fragments. They use those patches on their heads and hips to transmit thoughts through the air, and to receive thoughts of nearby members.
I very highly recommend the book. It is so much better than I can do it justice
A home-made Airs Randomizer for my beloved tracklayer city, in the trend of this one, and the original.
Hide your face. Swallow your name. All shall be made well.
0: Sickly keening. Silence.
1-3: Cyclopean spiders hang over you, eyes closed in prayer. "Thief-and-the-runner, nothing-goddess, fallen from heaven…"
4-6: You push through a crowd of ember-eyed city-shades. Their texture is like gruel. Your skin blisters.
7: A skinless woman with a crown of maggots drags a thrashing screaming visitor back into the charnel yard.
8-10: A collector of the blood-tithe getting hacked apart with a bonesaw. Best cross the street.
11-14: Grey-masked children race down a coiled alley, playing sea-monsters.
15-18: A miles-deep pit opens in the street like a yawn, its milkteeth crawling with silver centipedes.
19-22: The raindrop clatter of a thousand little bells: a procession of horse-sized scout-spiders and ink-stained scribes, returning home.
23-26: Slick mucosal wind from the Suffocation Ward, teeming and contagious. Fragments of distant drownie-song infest your thoughts.
27-30: A malpractice of pale-masked nurses hurry through the street. A tangle of rotten blooming flesh drags itself behind, calling their names.
31-34: Blade-fingered scarecrows of black iron and dripping fat dance through the street.
35-38: On the veranda, a clay woman meticulously severs each of her fingers with a knife of black bone. They writhe like earthworms.
39-42: Black-mask physicians of the New Asûtu announce the discovery of a new fever. It dances insouciant in the air, a jagged sneer of iridescent geometry the size of a cat, preparing to take questions from the assembled crowd.
43-45: A clay diver strangles a nocturnal muralist. His head swells bigger and bigger, like a pimple or a balloon. He laughs.
46-49: The slurpy gurgle of syrupy medicine disgorged from a copper tap. The city shudders in sympathy with a sick child.
50: The air here is noxious with disinfectant. Your tongue oozes through your teeth like melted toffee.
51-53: Wind from nowhere. Pine and bile. A handful of web-balloonists launch from Haven's End, soaring east.
54-57: An assembly of stone-masked tracklayers clouds the mirror-pool mosaic with blood and mandrake-wine, negotiating slaughter with a flock of shrikes. You pick out the names of landlords, industrialists, politicians, obnoxious relations and inconvenient ex-lovers.
58-61: One of hell's lonely exiles coils in a nest of velvety fur, embedded in the wall like a carbuncle. Red-masked doctrinaires fuss over her nutrition, feeding her jewel-colored jellies and watching her translucent intestines with close interest.
62-65: A small child stands weeping over her father's smiling face. It's the size of dining table, spread over the ground like a blanket. A venom-drunk deviless points and laughs.
66-69: Terpsichoreans rehearsing in the Contagion Ward. A clay poet coos over their bone-needle legs and stretched skin-masks, making notes for her own alterations.
70-73: Red-masked doctrinaires chanting like the tide. A guffawing teratoma of shining teeth and shaggy hair rises from the mirror-pool. It regards their desperate questions, and blows a raspberry at them.
74-76: A lamp-eyed midwife from the Suffocation Ward leads a newborn sea-spider on a trembling walk through the city's labyrinth-coils. Hive-tenders offer it their dregs. The great mandrakes go lullaby-quiet as it passes. A carpet of aspirant-parasites follow close behind.
77: Two nurses delicately lift each other's pearl-white masks to share a kiss, passing a honey-sweet back and forth between their lips.
78-80: Iridescent jellyfish drift down the avenue with their hypnotized prey-paramours, trailing their feathered tentacles like ghostly shrouds.
81-83: Paper-masked students paying their blood-tithes to a shuddering pillar of red-black needles. They hardly even scream.
84-86: A young hatchery attendant darts through the alleys, her mask hanging in tatters from her face. Eyes bulge in walls and shadows to stalk her.
87-90: Spiral Adherents walking the labyrinth-road, wurbling low plainsong. A lace-winged devil dives low to impale herself on their fluke-spines, and shudders with ecstatic relief.
91: Red feasting in the black step-garden. A tittering gaggle of mantis-demons compliment the flavors of an aged explorer's mangled head.
92: Milk today. Lullabies you can't get out of your head. Snow-soft kisses in your sleep, and you wake smeared in sweet vitamin-rich saliva. Best let the city-cult know. Don't want your sharps confiscated, or your grown-up thoughts.
93: The blood of the city pours forth from its marrow: slabs of fecund amber blooming with great billowing carpets of bacterial sludge, floods of velvety blood-moss, a thousand thousand newborn species of invisible animal, smaller than specks of dust.
94: Tarnished iron laughter, almost screaming. A splutch of argent ichor that burns pinprick holes in your skin. Above you, a spider the size of a hansom cab is tearing a devil's limbs off.
95: Bloody sculptures of meat and stone, dancing, dancing. Advertisements for the Clay Scholar's new surgery. The Theseusian is handing out gall-sweets.
96: Ululating battle-cries and the overwhelming reek of boiling amber. Spiral Adherents and their Helix rivals have spilled sectarian war into the streets. Devils watch avidly from the rooftops with opera glasses and little balls of city-cheese, cheering on their favorites.
97: Horseflies the size of terriers cry news from the courts of the Weeping Ward. Prospector crew fed to the offal pits. Argument on religious persecution of the Cousinhood extended without resolution, again. London baronet castrated with swan scissors.
98: The streets are quiet and lovely today. Even your auntie's disembodied hands groping for your mouth are easily torn away, popping like gory Christmas crackers. You're first in line for malteds at the automat. Wait! The great scorpion in the temple of the new astronomy is giving oracles today! You're missing it!
99: The city-shades mass around a phlegmatic mycologist like a garden of eels. They can taste the hungry plague on her. They want to swallow it, to incubate it in the womb-warm dark of them and spread its filthy pulse deep enough for the city to ache in sympathy, to understand what they've lost.
100: One of the Zār lounges against a web-shrouded husk, smoking charnel effluvia from a glass witch-pipe, belching noxious contagion into the still night air, picking her teeth with a child's bones. She winks at you. The wicked city abides.
i think snuffers should have 'snuffer pearls'. like owl pellets or hairballs but for the remains of candle wicks and other material. that would be good
scuttling into your asks to request my free fursona ... disregard any hints of furryness ignore my blog this will totally be my first and only animal assignment ever
hmm well this seems like a honest and trustworthy account from a trustworthy and honest (and totally human) person, so i shall assign you your very first fursona EVER
a grey crowned crane!! thought the first two words were connected, but they are.... really really not
my most self sabotaging trait when it comes to making ocs is that i loveeeee designing families even when theres no narrative reason for it. like yeah this characters grandparents arent in the country theres zero reason for me to have info on them but its too late. my ocs have cousins. my ocs cousins have divorced parents. i have thought about how my ocs divorced-out ex-uncle is doing. i can never be stopped.
