#Infestions graves

[valleyofsacrifice]

[shadowscommand]

getting increasingly hard thinking about the various stages of shadow company

[steampunk-raven]

playing dnd rn :) it feels like it's been forever and it's been under a week lol

[lemememeringue]

housing expensive and scary

[castrovulcant]

[Image description: a photo of the Cannonball Loop slide. It is a tall, steep, black tube with a circular loop at the bottom.

And a screenshot from wikipedia of the Cannonball Loop section, it says, "In 1983, GAR built an enclosed water slide called the Cannonball Loop. This was not unusual for that time. In fact, the park already had several such slides. On this one, however, they decided to build a complete vertical loop at the end, similar to that of a roller coaster. The resulting slide, called the "Cannonball Loop", was so intimidating that employees have reported they were offered $100 (equivalent to $252 in 2021) to test it. Fergus, who described himself as "one of the idiots" who took the offer, said, "$100 did not buy enough booze to drown out that memory."

The slide was open for only a month in 1985 before it was closed at the order of the state's Advisory Board on Carnival Amusement Ride Safety, a highly unusual move at the time. One worker told a local newspaper that "there were too many bloody noses and back injuries" from riders. Some early riders came back with lacerations to their bodies; when the ride was closed to determine what had caused them, teeth that had fallen out were found lodged in the interior walls.  A former Navy physician found that riders were experiencing as much as nine Gs of acceleration as they went through the loop."

/end image description]

i’ve seen a lot of really messed up images in my time on the internet, weird fetish shit, even a few IRL gore images but nothing. NOTHING evokes such a deep seated, gut wrenching fear in me like this image of the fucking water slide from Action Park with the loop in it

[ynwa4eva]

God id like my croatian hometown a lot more if i could take a walk but its just long straight roads with shitty sidewalks..... And if i leave the city the sidewalks just stop like gooooood!!!!!!

[dvalshock]

thanks jigokuraku for reminding me that I can do flower body horror in other characters besides Jericho

[merakiui]

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

[anetherealpoetess]

morfydd clark saying if she could steal anything from the trop sets it would be the novelty doorknobs is so funny. she's the best. it makes me sad to think there are men foaming at the mouth like infested mongrels to tear her down because they take umbrage with the fact her galadriel has a personality. do they feel masculine? do they feel smart? do they think tolkien is going to rise from his peaceful grave and crown them the king of gondor after they leave a bitchy little youtube comment on a fan video with fifty views? they've spent two years bullying a woman who is so adorable she would steal novelty doorknobs.

[patheticgirlsteve]

This is easily the most inconvenient moment possible for Eddie to have a hard-on and yet, here he is, standing in the remains of what used to be the Hawkins Public Library with his dick hard as a rock in his pants.

Eddie had heard tell of a nailbat, rumors of Steve Harrington’s weapon of choice in dealing with matters related to the Upside Down, but it had seemed mythical to him. The way the boys talked about Steve wielding it made him sound like a hero from some ancient mythology.

“You should have seen him, Eddie,” Dustin would grip Eddie’s arm with a grasp that hurt as he regaled Eddie with the tale of Steve in the Junkyard Fighting the Demodogs once more. “He was such a badass, like, so insanely cool!”

Eddie is deeply glad that he was not present at that battle, but there is a part of him that wishes he could have seen it. That he could have seen Steve wield the suburban equivalent of a mace while trying to defend his brood of strange children.

Not that Eddie would ever admit that, of course. He and Steve are tentative friends, and Eddie is not going to risk what progress he and Steve have made in maintaining a civil relationship just because he thinks the guy is hot. Of course he thinks Steve is hot, so does every other breathing human in Hawkins, Indiana.

So, yeah, Eddie is keeping that piece of information to himself. Taking it to his grave. Besides, they’re in the middle of an apocalypse and now is hardly the time for getting horny over Steve Harrington proving competence with a blunt instrument.

But apparently Eddie’s dick never got that memo. Because he’s standing here watching Steve knock those goddamn fucking demobats out of the spore infested Hawkins sky with his infamous bat, dripping with blood and snarling at the monsters. He swings with a terrifying rage in his eyes, laser focused on removing each and every single bat from the sky with a sort of feral grace that shouldn’t be possible.

Eddie watches, pants uncomfortably tight, as Steve makes one final swing at the last bat standing (flying?) with a flourish of his wrist, giving the nailbat a little twirl before using it to strike the last creature down.

Steve Harrington is absolutely unreal.

He turns around to face Eddie and Eddie is reminded that, oh yeah, they’re in the middle of a massive battle right now and he had maybe let himself get a little distracted and wow, the blood dripping through Steve’s chest hair as he tosses the nailbat onto his shoulder with practiceed ease is really doing it for Eddie, which would be fine (well, not fine, but at least somewhat manageable) if it were literally any other moment in time.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks Eddie, voice hoarse and raspy in a way that really shouldn’t be sexy because it’s probably caused by Steve breathing spores and demobat guts or something else equally horrifying, but it is hot and there is something deeply wrong with Eddie.

And maybe there is some single solitary shred of mercy left remaining in the universe, because Steve is seemingly too focused on the war waging around them to clock the bulge in Eddie’s pants.

“Yup!” Eddie nods, feeling like a bobble head in his enthusiasm. “Great! Feeling great! Never better!”

Steve gives him an odd look, considering, but seems to accept Eddie’s assertion that he’s unharmed. He probably just attributes the strange behavior to Eddie’s general weirdness, which is perfectly fine with Eddie.

“Good,” Steve’s eyes drift to the steadily growing dark cloud that obscures much of the red sky. “Let’s get moving then.”

He stomps past Eddie, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. Eddie closes his eyes and scrapes the corners of his mind for the least sexy thoughts he can summon to will his boner away.

“You coming?” Steve calls back from a few yards behind Eddie.

“Right behind you, big boy,” Eddie says. He takes a deep breath in and out before turning to follow Steve back into the fray.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Revenge Body

The day he dumped my sister...

This is a photo of Eric the day he dumped my sister. According to him, she wasn't good enough to be with a hotshot architect like him! Eric thinks highly of his career and appearance, and he loves himself more than he could love any woman.

My sister had to find that out the hard way.

What Eric doesn't know is that his ex-girlfriend comes from a family of witches. In fact, her speciality is contacting the dead, and that's exactly what she did...

My sister summoned me, her dear-old brother, from beyond the grave and spilled the tea on her ex-boyfriend. Even though I was dead, I was furious with the man, so I agreed to help with my sister's revenge scheme. It might've been petty and unethical, but I was in! Eric needed to lose what he loved most...

2 months later...

"He's fattening right up!" I sent a selfie to my sister, cradling the bloated gut that hung from my chest.

That's right. I jumped into Eric's body and possessed his ass! In only a short time, I'd completely transformed the jerk's entire existence. I was dragging his perfect body and career down the drain!

After performing Eric's dramatic emotional breakdown at his architectural firm, I got fired and kicked out of the building. I strutted his body back to his place, and quickly sold everything he owned. I got rid of his fancy clothes, his shiny sports car, and his luxury apartment. All the money went directly to my sister. I used what was left to rent out the crappiest little apartment I could find.

It was in that seedy rat-infested motel that I gleefully began to destroy Eric's carefully maintained body. I packed his tight stomach full of beer and fast food, shaved his perfect head of hair, and donned an unwashed outfit I thrifted from a GoodWill.

Now that he was unemployed, I got him a job with a construction company. I made sure to get started with the same crew that Eric used to supervise as the architect. Needless to say, there were a lot of angry tradesmen who weren't happy to see him...

6 Months Later...

Apparently, construction workers really don't like architects, so they were all constantly badmouthing Eric behind my back. I didn't really stop them, but I also didn't really keep them from doing it to my face either. With me in control, Eric was just a pathetic, submissive loser, and all his new coworkers knew they could push him around.

I didn't wash Eric once while wearing him. My nose eventually became numb to his ripe body odor, but I noticed the disgusted looks on everyone's face when they were near. His skin was constantly itchy with dry sweat and dirt too, but I didn't bother buying him anything else to wear. As far as I was concerned, Eric would get up, work, and sleep in the same repurposed clothes I bought for a few bucks.

By this point, the lean muscles he'd been so proud of were long gone. A heavy layer of blubber hung off his whole body, and he was practically unrecognizable with his shaved head and unkept beard. Giving his heavy beergut a jolly shake, I chuckled and knew it was finally time to move to the final phase...

Present Day...

It was mid-afternoon when I jumped ship. I abandoned his body after a long morning of heavy lifting, leaving Eric exhausted, sweaty, and caked in mud.

Eric regained control of his senses for the first time after 6 months of being possessed by me. He stood there for a moment, all 280 lbs of him, simply staring at his surroundings in disbelief and confusion.

He didn't start yelling until he looked down and saw the state of his precious body. I doubt he had ever felt so slimy and gross before. As I said, I made sure to leave his body as disgusting as possible for him.

Don't feel bad for him though. My sister and I just made Eric as disgusting on the outside as he was on the inside...

[ryemackerel]

“What started out as a group of good-for-nothing high school friends doing all kinds of whatnots in my mum’s garage. Now, years later after high school, we’re still up to no good, and we STILL practice in our garage! At least we hope you enjoy the music!!!!!”

- Matt Graves Harper

“Credit to Matt on guitar/vocals, Tom on bass/vocals, and Tord on drums. Edd is an unofficial member of the band; he isn’t as serious about the band as we are, but he helps out with vocals and guitar whenever we need another guy. Underground band trying to make a living. Cheers.”

- Tom Skalbeck Richmond

“After all these years, we *still* debate on our band name. We thought of “Summer in Mum’s Basement”, but Matt thought it was too long (I like it tho). Then we thought of “Creature Infestation” because both Tom and Matt are freaks. Quite literally. Or how about “Mum! There’s Creatures in the Basement!” / “Creatures in Mum’s Basement”. At least we’re coming close to an official name lol.”

- Tord Lindstrøm

“Being in a band hasn’t been my biggest aspiration for years (and mind you this might change), but I love seeing these freaks go crazy about their music. I have some singing and guitar experience, so whenever I’m not busy and they need another member, you sure as hell know I’m helping out. Go support the “creatures”, or whatever they’re called. :-)”

- Edd Gale

[luvyurself]

sick and tired

my close call with bronchitis yesterday inspired me to write this LMAO

c/w: she/her pronouns, brief mention of getting eaten, sick fic, we’re thugging it out tho, dogday cuddling us AUGHHHH, pure fluff, he wants us to be healthy :D

(I mentioned Bobby bearhug in here because she’s a cutie pootie 🫶🏼)



_______

from the time she had spent in this god forsaken factory, she’s endured scrapes, cuts, bruises, bloody noses, and possibly a broken rib or two.

she’d been grateful for the saving graces of the abandoned first aid stations, thankful that some of them still had bandages and disinfected to make sure she didn’t get an infection in any open wound areas.

but, unfortunately, she would forget about the immune system infections that were easy to catch in an abandoned facility such as this.

it started with a sneeze after she awoken from the few twenty minute naps she awarded herself with, which escalated into multiple sneezes throughout her journey.

she docked it to just allergies, this place was infested with dust over the years, it wasn’t that much to worry about.

the gas mask she found to protect herself from the red smoke catnap had made did little to stop her from sneezing. even with the amount of times she dusted it off.

when she decided to save the last remaining smiling critter from his ultimate death from getting eaten from the inside, she was basically running on the little breath she had and adrenaline.

her chest tightened with pain at every breath she took, consisted sneezing turned into dry coughing as she practically stumbled with every step.

after making it out of the elevator escaping the flesh eating toys, she began to walk off the elevator, clammy hands gripping the grabpack as she mumbled to herself about which direction the first aid was.

“angel?” she hummed and turned to the voice, headache starting to form as she shut her eyes to try and soothe it.

dogday wasn’t unaware in the signs of a rising sickness in humans, he would see them all the time when the kids in the playcare acted like nothing was wrong when they were obviously close to collapsing.

and she was no different. he could see her chest quickly rising and falling as she tried to collect her breath, how her legs and hands shook and how chapped her lips were.

she let out a gravely cough, body shaking as she groggily pushed out, “first aids somewhere here…..gotta get you fixed up.” she mumbled, pushing through as she grudgingly walked forward.

he stared at her for a moment, the permanent happy expression on his face seemed to change to a worry smile.

when she first grabbed him off the restraints that held him, he saw that tired and determined look in her eyes that made the empty feeling in his chest spark with something he had not felt for a long time.

the first stumble and second stumble she made almost wanted the dog to just release his grip and let the animals take him to eat, but the dry cough that escaped her lips made his grip tighten around her waist.

even though he thinks he wasted her precious time to save him, he was going to make sure she was going to be make it through this hellhole.

he wasn’t going to lose the person who made him have hope to see another day.

a moment of silence past by before the dirty orange dog let out a dry laugh, “well, angel, if you want to go to the first aid station,” he used his big hand to point to the opposite direction, “then you might want to go that way.”

she blinks owlishly, slowly looking where his hand was pointing and letting it process in her mind.

“…..ohhhh.”

_____________

she slowly placed dogday on the first aid bed, breathing a sigh of relief and nearly collapsed too before she straightened herself up.

“okay….okay….” she swallowed thickly, running a shaky hand through her hair. “there should be a stitching kit here somewhere-“ she coughs in her arm, turning around to rummage through the cabinets hastily.

the orange dog looked down at his lower half, opening to the inside of his body was always something that scared him.

he was grateful she was planning to stitch him up, but with the way she could barely could walk made him worry about hurt herself.

looking back at her, dogday cleared his throat before calling out, “forgive me for staring, angel, but you look a little under the weather.” he spoke with concern lacing his voice.

she let out a ‘huh?’ while she rummages through the dusty cabinets, before sniffling and taking a short breath, “ah it’s probably just-“ she stopped to sneeze, muffling it in her arm.

“just-“ she sniffles, shortly laughing, “a day cold.” she celebrates internally when she saw the sewing kit, turning around to face the giant dog on the bed.

she grabbed a chair and sat down next to the bed, letting out a satisfied sigh as her legs finally rested and began opening up the kit.

she rummaged through the box, “now I don’t call myself a professional stitcher-“ a cough “-I assume it’s going to be easier then stitching up skin, but just let me know if it starts to hurt.”

dogday stares as she fumbles with the needle and thread, whispering a few curses as her fingers seemed to miss the needles hole.

he watches as she paused for a moment, closing her eyes as her breath became shaky and sharp, one of her hands going to her chest to press against it.

her sickness was getting worse, and she seemed to be getting stressed. so he decided to do what the old dogday would had done.

give someone a smile.

it takes a moment for her to compose herself, before clearing her throat and opening her eyes, “okay, okay, I’m alright, I’m going-“ she felt a large hand on her forehead, gently pressing it and a deep hum rumbling out.

she didn’t notice him moving to rest on his side, his face a few inches from hers. she couldn’t tell if it was the embarrassment or the sudden change of body temperature making her face heat up.

a few seconds of analyzing her, before he mumbled something to himself and nodding. he pulled his large hand away from her.

he stared at her when he spoke, “I can’t feel your body temperature, fur making it hard to tell.” he rose both of his hands up wiggling his fingers.

she squints her eyes in confusion, tilting her head as he taps the side of his head, “however, my sharp instincts tell me, and they are never wrong,“ he raises a finger and taps her nose gently, “that you have caught a small bug, angel.” his voice held a calm tone mixed with playfulness.

her nose twitches when he tapped it, making a small shaky smile form on her lips. it didn’t matter how small it was, he took that as a victory in his book. she sighs softly, tapping his hand that rests closed to her on the bed.

“okay, maybe I caught a bug,” she cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair. “but I can’t really afford being sick right now, I’m literally-“ she coughs, giving a short ‘excuse me’ before starting again, “being chased down every corner I turn.”

dogday rests his head on his hand, “you’re more at risk of getting caught now that your sick, you need rest,” he studied her body language carefully, watching as she shook her head.

“no, I need to patch you up,” she holds her chest as she coughs in her arm. “I can stitch up your top half so it won’t be expose, maybe we can find your leg’s somewhere around here.”

he watches as she talks to herself, picking at her lips. he sighs softly, raising to place a hand on her shoulder and seeing her flinch at the touch.

“angel, please, I can wait to be stitched up,” he spoke softly, rubbing her shoulder tentatively. he didn’t want to see her push through her sickness just to fix him up.

“what I don’t want is to see you collapse and hurt yourself,” he pointed at her body language, how her body was basically shaking like a leaf.

his ears twitch as he heard the deep intake of her breathing, before she released it in a soft exhale. she places the stitching kit on the floor, placing her hands on her lap.

“okay, you win.” she could practically see his imaginary tail wagging in satisfaction, making her smile. “I’ll go and lay down-“

she felt two hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the surprisingly soft embrace of the mascots chest. she breathed through her nose, and softly sighed at the faint smell of vanilla.

he never lost that scent.

dogday hummed a random song, gently rubbing her tense shoulders. “I’d like to say hugs are the best type of medicine, next to laughter of course.” he felt his chest warm up at the soft laugh from her lips.

“god that’s so corny.” she sniffles, coughing a bit into her fist.

he laughs, tapping his fingers against her, “well, a old friend taught me that, and it always helped me,” he gives his own cough, clearing his throat as he adds on, “I’ll look for some medication for you, but for now-“

he playfully squeezed her, making her laugh more. her laughs were congested, but he didn’t care, he just cared about getting her better, “let the hugs work it’s magic.”

she giggled, wrapping her arms around his plush body and sniffling a bit, mumbling softly, “thank you, dogday.” she blinks wearily, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep, her body losing its tension as she inhaled his vanilla scent.

dogday watched as she falls into slumber, his giant hand cradling her back as he nuzzled his face into her hair. “no, thank you, my angel.”

it felt good to give a smile, even in this hellhole, to his angel.

AUGHHHHHHILOVEHIM

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hi, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to but I've been absolutely fascinated by your monster au and I'm just wondering where reptilian monsters are on the monster hierarchy as there is such a mix of reptiles as they will range from being the most deadly thing on planet earth to being a sweet little lizard and I'm just insanely curious, again i absolutely love your writing and it infests my brain like little rats!

(omg first graves ask is this fame) Hehehe. I feel like reptilian monsters are, just like any other monsters, depend on their type and the original creature they stem from. For example, in warm-blooded monsters, werewolves are stronger than normal wolf/dog monsters, despite them looking fairly similar. Reptilian monsters generally require a lot of external heat and special conditions for them to thrive - and a lot of them are actually on the bottom of the food chain, mostly being used as breeding material for stronger monsters. If you don't have venom or enormoud body strength like python hybrids, and you're a mythical creature like a water dragon or lamia, then you're in for a life of misery. But if we're talking about hybrids with more mythological origins...take Graves, for example. He isn't just a random venomous snake hybrid - I mostly imagine this man as naga, switching freely from his human form to half-snake with his lower half being of a giant rattlesnake - and two cocks, obviously, because just being a toy for the whole Shadow Company isn't enough. Graves is a strong monster in this regard - having both venom and enormous strength and being less dependent on heat, he rise through monster ranks fairly easily, even before he finally got an outlet for his anger and mating instincts. He got lucky, too, because his darling is a warm pretty thing that gets so sleepy on his venom, she obediently spreads her legs for the rest of his boys - and oh, Shadow Company fucking adores her. It might be one of the rare cases where the monsters aren't treating you just like breeding stock - they might do it only because they respect Phillip too much to treat his wife harshly, but you're still living like a queen, surrounded by various werebeasts and vermin hybrids who all are launching onto you like you're the last woman around. You actually might be in this case...

[circuitsfantasies]

Filth. (A Sebastian Solace fict.)

Managing to actually push Sebastian was an achievement itself but not a good one. He had a lot of DNA in him that probably could put someone on a shirt for being the stupidest person in existence here you go getting that shirt.

Managing to trigger a Sebastian as the first clue was a low growl that rumbled your very soul to the bone. The next step was the fact you had to hurriedly rush out of the eel's shop and hope to whatever god that the card reader would be fast. The final knock in the teeth that you actually fucked up was the fact.

He was coming out of his shop after you.

You had to sprint for dear life considering he came out of the vent at full speed at you once he gave you a slight headstart. At that moment you could feel the very soul leave your flesh as the sweat ran down your forehead.

It was a quick awakening how you realized how the eel had caused this lockdown when he ripped doors off their frames as well as smashing in lockers with his bare hands to find you. He made encounters with eye infestation even harder as well, he made it hard for you to try to not look at the shark and having to dodge or at least hope to god he missed you.

What's worse is if he makes his way into the ridge, you think that place is already hell because you have to listen to every little noise ever? Oh well, this is your new grave. Sebastian raises the stakes to a new high with the fact he steals the crystal from you and escaping into the ridge where you have to multi-task trying to not die to the 5th pandemonium encounter while trying to find and steal back the crystal from the eel.

You honestly wish he had just punched you into the hole outside of his shop.

(CIRCUITS NOTE WOOOO!! Sebastian fict number two!! I was given the idea by a friend o mine to write how I thought our lovely eel would react to being pissed off by an expendable)