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beuxwhoyouare · 2 days ago

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Bewildering

The Skreat escape pod crash landing on Earth one night caused chaos in more ways than one. Several people’s lives were altered forever by the events that immediately followed the ships blazing destruction. It was dark as sirens blared through the night heading towards the blaze.

I woke up by the shrieking sounds of alarms approaching. We crashed on some foreign planet after the sudden attack. My biggest fear was being captured on this planet, what if they were the ones that attacked us? What if they took me and tortured me for species secrets. I couldn't let them know about Skreats and began slithering as fast as I could through the area lined with bark lined towers.

2 figures approached in the night, but I couldn't focus on identifying features and chose to hide. Suctioning my way up a bark tower, I chose to use my observation skills to determine if they were friendly organisms or foes determined to take me in for experimentation.

"Raph I don't think we should get closer. We should go back to camp and evacuate. It looks like it could lead to a big wild fire," the shorter of the two pleaded with the bigger one.

"Alex, dude. There's no way it wasn't like a giant secret ship or something insane that caused it. Didn't you hear that crazy crash? We gotta see this thing first hand," the taller and much more statured of the two said with a boomy resonance.

The two were going towards the ship crash at a rate faster than I could slithering on this planets gravitational pull. I decided they were my way to observe the site and get there faster. I dropped my suction and aimed to fall on their bags. After detaching, I aimed to fall on the broader one since it seemed like my size would be negligible on him.

After falling onto his bag, he turned around as if he heard something behind him, but by that point I had slid into an opening on the enclosure. We Skreats are very pliable and I made my way into his bag.

The pair of earthlings made their way closer to the ships crash site but by the time they got there bright lights and tape marked off the region. Curiosity struck many trying to get a sight at the alien ship. I peaked out of the bag only to see the blaze. There’s no way any Skreats could have survived such a blast.

Numb. All I felt was numbness as this earthling unknowingly carried me away from the scene. Was I the last Skreat? How does one internalize the idea that you’re the last of your kind? The bag shook and then got flung onto a nearby soft surface after a loud door shut. I flew inside the bag which rocked me back to cognizance. Where am I now? I peaked out of the fabric cage I resided in and saw the taller one walking around a room.

He peered into a doorway that emanated light before pulling out a round red sphere and taking a bite.

He appeared to be preparing earthen sustenance…I should become more accustomed to this if I’m the last Skreat I’ll need to blend in with the earthlings. I left the soft seat the bag was thrown onto and slid my way closer to get a better look.

He threw things into a hot cauldron item over a flame. After a few time sectors he was done and put some of the substance into a bowl, that’s when I lost my grip on some steam and fell into the bowl when he wasn’t aware.

I hid among orange, green, and tan bits of sustenance in the hot salty broth. I stung but I couldn’t risk being caught. Eventually a colder metallic platform came into the bowl and lifted me up to his front facing orifice, despite my protests I got swallowed again without his notice.

I refused to be defeated. I mustered up the energy and detoured before meeting the earthlings digestive acids and headed to his core. I guess you call it a heart.

Once there, I began inserting my tendrils and began spreading myself through his bloodstream. It’s a large task for such a small Skreat like myself to attempt a takeover of a creature this large but I was desperate to live.

The large creature began to notice and clasped hard at his chest. But it was too late for him. Pulse pulse pulse. I could feel his heart pumping and eventually I synced up with it. We were becoming one. It’s a skill of the Skreats but it was my first time doing it. I was scared to do it wrong or worse…kill the host.

I began trying to use my new lungs. A phenomenon that like sounds like gasping for air from those who normally use lungs. Eventually I calmed down and brought the heart pulsing down to a normal seeming speed. All the internal systems seemed to normalize as I calmed the body down.

Except one part of the sizable earthling….

I used the body’s messaging device to take an image for further research later. Then I continued to calm the body down leading the appendage to become more restrained. But a message appeared from someone named Babe. I opened it up to see a slimmer earthling with longer hair. They appeared unclothed with a message saying “can i come over?” I replied with my new fingers “affirmative”.

I continued to try enjoying the sustenance the human made before. Wow these sensations from my new mouth were so vibrant and exhilarating. I wonder what else I can figure out. My new thick fingers fiddled with the bag I came out of nearby. An item flopped out with a bunch of cards, I picked up one with this bodies image.

Raphael James Conrad Lee. Was that his identification? That seems very long and superfluous. Must be why that other human called him Raph before.

A knock came to the door of the housing unit I was in. I approached the door and instead of investigating almost as if the host was on autopilot it turned the knob and a tiny earthling stood there in a see through top piece of clothing and a frilly bottom one. I believe this must be the opposite gender, a woman.

She lunged at me piloting the host and placed her mouth on to mine introducing her anatomy to mine. I reciprocated before she yanked my bottom clothing down. My previously hard appendage revived itself with a mind of its own as the woman placed her mouth on it.

All I saw was her eyes as she moved swiftly. One she placed her mouth on it, it felt like all I could see was colors. Oh my what is this phenomenon. Ohhhhh unhhhhhh. What are these sounds escaping my mouth. Before I knew it, the feeling became overwhelming. I felt something coming. My hosts feet previously firmly planted on the ground, curled its toes. My abdomen contracted and then a RELEASE. I opened my eyes as she wiped something. She placed her mouth on mine again and said “thanks”. Before immediately fleeing.

What was that? What is this experience. And why does it feel so good?

I need to understand more about what this appendage does. I wonder if that tiny male human that was with “me” earlier might want to do the same activities with his appendages. I try to recall his identification. Cmon I knew I heard him say it. Lex, Ale, Alex….Alex? Yes.

I picked up the messaging device and snapped an image. I copied the text the woman sent me. “Come over”. Maybe that’s how humans that want that activity communicate it to one another.

Almost immediately the device buzzed.

“Oh bro I didn’t know you rolled like that too?”

What do these words mean? I don’t want him to out me for acting outlandish…okay I can do this.

“Yeah bro. So are you cuming?”

A hand with a thumbs up appeared above the message appeared? What does this mean? So much to learn about this planet. I better start learning if I want to blend in.

The door was never closed after the woman left and a one pound happened on the already opened door. Before I could approach it to see who it was. Alex was there at the door. I could see the same energy the woman had in his eyes. He slammed the door behind him and unclothed himself with haste. He also had an appendage hard like mine, but smaller. Was my body considered an alpha amongst men?

He approached with eagerness but also a tenderness, unlike the woman. I put my mouth on his like she did to me. I was about to show Alex everything I’ve learned about earthlings.

#identity theft #body possession #male body possession #alien takeover #bisexual

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normalpeopleconfuseme · 1 day ago

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Warning: UNEDITED! Also sort of happen in the spur of the moment enjoy my attempt at sappiness reader is a gender neutral human.

A prime isn't meant to fall in love.

That is what optimus has spent to last few eons telling himself when he was given the martix of leader ship.

To know another was the start to care for them

And the care for them wpuld soon lead him to loving them

And to love them... He just couldn't, not in the way he wanted.

He has lived for so long far longer than any creature upon your home earth, he has met so many creatures whose world he has also fought for along side his autobots before unfortunately failing in protecting them and their ways of life before having to flee their dying world as well failing once again to stop the decepticons.

A prime like him didnt deserve to fall in love...

And yet he did, he fell in love with one of the most incredible creatures he has ever had the honor of meeting...

You who looked so at peace watching the stars, so much warmth filled your features that he was almost certain you weren't truely human in the first place.

He has never felt so much peace with another for the longest time than he has with you, oh how long it has been since his spark has not been weighed down by the weight of his past. He feels light for the first time in the longest time and it was thanks to you, the most beautiful creature he has ever known.

You grace him with a smile that he never wants to leave his memory for as long as he will live.

"I'm so happy to exist alongside with you optimus"

" My greatest honor is to have known you, my spark"

#optimus prime x reader #transformers #optimus prime #transformers x reader

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gaynpc03 · 3 days ago

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alt text for images: pic one posted by @rollersk8er reads "autism speaks Canada is shutting down" with a screenshot of an announcement from autism speaks regarding a Canadian operational update. Body text reads "Thanks to your generosity, Autism Speaks Canada has been able to deliver critical resources such as the Autism Response Team and My Autism Guide, while also investing nearly $5 million in Community Grants to strengthen access to community-based programs. Together with our partners including SickKids, DNAstack and McGill University we have also made important advances in research and science. Together, we have made strides in understanding autism, improving interventions, and successfully advocating for National Autism Strategy in parliament in 2024.

After almost 20 years of dedication to building an inclusive Canada and after much consideration, Autism Speaks Canada will conclude its operations on January 31, 2025. The intentional decision to conclude was not taken lightly and has been weighed against responsible stewardship through and through. To honour donor intent, commitments, mission and values, ASC is proud to have maintained a responsible conclusion to this part of its story. We have, and continue to, advocate for increased funding of autism services, advocacy and research to serve this important and growing population."

Followed by another image that reads "eugenicists down!" surrounded by balloons, party poppers and a smiling star.

Reblog from @cowgirlpolyamory is a GIF featuring the autism/yippee creature (a simple line drawing of a four legged creature with a large head, large eyes and a simple line mouth) with confetti popping in front of it in celebration. [End ID]

For anyone wanting a link to the original article: here

#I NOW REALISE THE DESCRIPTIONS ARE THERE - they didnt show when i first saw the post 😅😭#image description added #autism #autistic #actually autistic #autism speaks #asd #autism spectrum disorder #autism spectrum #autism spectrum condition #autistic adult #autistic things #good news!#eugenics mention #tw eugenics #autism speaks mention #autism speaks tw #tw autism speaks #image described

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ozzgin · 2 days ago

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Love how in the monster band fic,you referred to the only human in the fic as 'It' LOL-🦊

It's something I tend to do sometimes, because in my eyes, a human in the monster realm would be the equivalent of a nondescript creature here.

Sure, the monsters find it hot. But what is "it"? Depending on how much human lore there is, the reactions might differ.

Someone like Monster Author is probably much more knowledgeable when it comes to the furless beings. "Ah, judging strictly from the features, this must be a female presenting humanoid." Take someone like Toby, however, a cosmic alien who's never even heard of humans or their Universe. What is he looking at? It's a...thing. Well, the thing is alive and moving, that's certain. Otherwise he's clueless. He doesn't know about gender or age in human terms. He doesn't understand your gibberish.

This is how I often imagine the Reader reveal:

#personal #🦊 anon

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wri0thesley · 2 days ago

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the solace of banality - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (6.6k)

your time in the hospital has made you miss the simplicity of a life not held captive by a madman in the woods - and has made you just foolish enough to ask him about it.

cw: dark content, yandere, kidnapped reader. hospital setting. chubby fem reader, references to past dub-con and non-con, references to cannibalism, forced intimacy and domesticity, physical abuse.

a/n: for a primer on lucas, see here or his tag on my blog.

this was a commissioned work.

Lucas had not taken his hands off of you the entire ride from the hospital, back into the woods. He'd mumbled something about needing to make sure he moved the truck later on, as he'd stepped out and helped you down in return, strong arms wrapping around you so that you have to do the bare minimum of exertion yourself. His grip is as assured as ever, but there's a tightness there that you haven't felt for some time - as if he needs to press himself into you, just to be sure that you're still there.

And, too, to make sure that you don't run.

You suppose he doesn't like the idea of you knowing where the truck is parked, but it's not like you could drive it even if you did remember. Lucas treats it like a spooked animal, a strange little creature whose quirks and foibles he has learned over time - you're almost certain that if you were to get behind the wheel, it would not obey you the way that it obeyed him. So you keep your mouth pressed shut and concentrate on the slow journey from the truck to the front door of the cabin. Your gaze returns to it, just once, parked closer than you've ever seen it - but Lucas coughs, and his brows draw in, and you guiltily return your gaze to your feet.

It's getting colder. It's the end of November, and the ward at the hospital had been decorated early (to give some festive cheer to the people who were stuck there, you suppose). Frost crackles beneath your feet. The moment you'd been signed off as able to go home, Lucas had rushed you out of there, tension tight in his shoulders - so the sun has barely risen, and there's been no time for the cruelty of winter to be tempered any by what warmth it has to offer.

"Want you home, sweetheart," he'd grumbled, as he'd signed papers at the hospital desk with a surname you do not recognise. He'd let you keep your first name, but he'd given 'Smith' at the hospital as your surname (are you missing, you wonder? Would your real name have been too much of a giveaway?), calling you his wife, smiling tightly as he'd said you'd wanted to keep your maiden name in a very good imitation of a husband a little frustrated by this. "Sooner the better. This place makes me nervous."

His hands do not move from you as he unlocks the front door, either. As he ushers you in, as he breathes a sigh of relief at the comfort of the cabin around you.

He'd gone home, just to tend to the chickens. It was the only moments you'd had free from his stifling company - well, that and the surgery. You breathe out, tight and controlled, counting in your head as you feel the twinges of pain. Cold air. The doctor had said you might feel it in the scar for the rest of your life. You'd had maybe an hour and a half at most a day, to be alone with your thoughts and the room--

You'd thought, only once, about telling the doctors the truth. About begging them to help. Do something.

But you'd remembered the hissed warning in your ear, when he'd driven you to the hospital with a fear you'd never seen spread over his features. If you did that - if they knew - he'd said he wouldn't hesitate to bring as many people down with you both as he could, and the thought of what he might do in an enclosed space to strangers and doctors with no worries as to who got hurt--

No. Better to keep your mouth shut, and pretend everything was fine.

"Let's get you on the couch, darlin'," Lucas murmurs, still tightly holding onto your waist as if you don't know every inch of this cabin as intimately as you know the back of your hands. "They said for you to stay restin', didn't they? I ain't lettin' you get worse. Not takin' you back there if I can damn well help it."

You nod, as he lifts you up with ease and deposits you onto the crease of the sofa, the deep comforting dip that is usually Lucas's space. For a moment, you look up at him, and he looks down at you.

You take in everything about him. The worry etched into his features, the bags beneath his eyes, the coiled tension ready to snap at any moment if you don't do exactly as he says. You take in, too, that he's been wearing the same shirt for three days, that his stubble has grown out some, that he looks at you like he can't believe you're back here on the couch.

(He'd been afraid he'd lose you, you think. It's the only explanation you can possibly conjure for why he'd taken you out of the cabin, to a place teeming with life, risked everything he had here in order to make sure you didn't die. You'd been here, in this exact spot, the night he'd taken you to the hospital, curled up and sweating and nauseous and too weak to make it to the bathroom to do anything. You'd thought you were going to die right there too).

You wonder what he sees in you, in turn.

He'd brought you new pyjamas from the hospital gift shop. They were cheaply made, pink and white stripes, that kind of satin that pulled if you so much as rolled over in bed. But they were new, and they'd been bought for you, so you hadn't mentioned the pulls under the armpit to Lucas. You're wearing them now (they'd laundered them at the hospital for you), with an old dressing gown wrapped around you that you've only ever seen Lucas wear. It smells like him.

You wonder if you look wan yourself; if your eyes are shadowed, if your mouth is drawn, if your hair is lank. You'd been able to shower, you'd been able to use the bathroom on your own - but you'd almost . . . missed his cloying presence. The nurse had helped you, when you were still too weak, but . . . her hands lathering shampoo through the strands of your hair had not been as gentle, as slow, as thorough as Lucas's always were--

He lets out a slow, controlled breath.

"You really gave me a fright there," he rumbles, and summons a smile from the pit inside of him for you. "I really thought . . . Well. Don't wanna dwell on nothin' too dark there, do we?"

It's a question he expects an answer to, you realise, that stern green gaze stuck on you. You shake your head - and then, trembling, put forth;

"I . . . I was scared too. I . . ." Swallow the confused feelings that come swimming up in you before you say it; you've learnt to play this game. It's better to be alive than it is to be chopped to pieces, and if you weren't so good at this part you're certain Lucas wouldn't have bothered to take you to the hospital. "I didn't want to leave you."

His face softens.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning forward, to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "I wasn't about to let you go nowhere, y'hear? Now. Let's get a blanket 'round you. Let's get you tucked in, and I'll bring you somethin' to eat. I don't trust the food they gave you in there."

When they'd done the blood tests, the nurse had said that your iron levels were the most perfect she'd ever seen, and you'd thought about Lucas's meals. The meat bleeding dark juices onto the plate. You'd swallowed your disgust and smiled at her, shrugging modestly, telling her that your husband handled the menu and you just ate what he gave you.

He'd been sat beside you, and he'd shifted when you'd called him your husband, his mouth twitching at the corners. She'd congratulated him on it, a smile on her face - taken in by the size of him, the dog tags shining around his neck, his obvious care for his poor invalid wife--

If only she'd known.

It's strange to be back in the cabin again.

Altogether, you'd been in the hospital for nine days; there'd been some complications, they'd wanted to keep an eye on you, they'd had to do a more complicated surgery type than they'd originally thought-- and those nine days had been . . .

You don't want to call them blissful. Nearly dying is not blissful, oxygen tubes and cannulas and blood tests and the smell of antiseptic are not blissful things, really. But it had been so different from the life you'd been accustomed to living! It had been so different to be somewhere else, to see other people--

You don't know quite how long you've been with Lucas, but if it's November again you think it's been over a year. You'd been taken in September, you remember - and he'd mentioned Christmas, that first year, but you'd still been too scared to really think much of it beyond giving him a trembling kiss on Christmas Eve and letting him dress you up in one of the more scandalous pieces from the wardrobe, as a gift, that night--

A year of solitude can do a lot to a person. The only other human being you've interacted with is Lucas - and one lost hiker, once, who'd come limping out of the trees whilst you were feeding the chickens with Lucas in the doorway and had called out to you. You'd been too startled to call back, but you'd waved your hand in greeting - and then Lucas's own hand had been on your shoulder, and you understood in no uncertain terms you were to go back inside, and you'd put the record player on when you'd heard the first scream.

You don't know if that really counts, all things considered.

But suddenly, you had found yourself surrounded by people! Nurses came and spoke to you, and doctors, and other patients (though Lucas had insisted that you needed a private room, you'd still come across them in the hallways and the corridors when you'd moved around, when they'd taken you out for walks to ensure that you were recovering well). You'd heard more voices than you had in forever, different accents and different inflections and you'd been bombarded with names you didn't always remember.

Some of the strangers stuck in your mind more than others. There'd been a nursing student who got all red and awkward and stuttery when Lucas spoke to her. There'd been a doctor who had also been a veteran, who had made Lucas's spine stiffen and his words go clipped and rough. There'd been a mother of a young woman who had her granddaughter with her for visiting, who'd mistakenly barged into your room thinking it was her daughter's - and though you'd expected Lucas to lose his temper at them both, he hadn't. He'd crouched down on the floor and asked the little girl about the stuffed bunny she was carrying with a perfectly serious expression, and for a minute you had forgotten about the axe and the blood and the snarl and the lies, and you'd thought what a good father your husband would make.

You'd had to give yourself a stern talking to inside your head, when the visitors had been sent to the right place and Lucas had turned back to you to fuss over your blankets and his eyes had still been soft with a longing that you did not want to think about. In a different world, maybe. In a different time. In different circumstances--

And there was everything else, too. All of the other little freedoms you'd forgotten about.

Food and television and human contact, being alone, a bed to yourself.

You'd thought, then, how much you'd taken it all for granted.

"Is your husband not here?" The nurse says, cheerfully bustling into the room with your breakfast on a tray. She looks around for him, before she winks at you and pulls from her pocket a tiny packet of chocolate spread, which she lays on the plate next to the toast and the packet of butter and the tiny jar of jam.

The first time you'd asked for toast, they'd brought you chocolate spread, and Lucas had shaken his head and taken it off your plate before you could even think about it.

"It ain't good for you," he'd said, sagely, with all of the assurance of a man who was used to being listened to. "Have the jam instead, if you've gotta. The butter on it's own's plenty rich enough though, I think."

He'd watched you like a hawk, and you'd been too scared to put more than a sliver of the strawberry jam on the toast, so you'd eaten exactly what he wanted.

"He's gone home," you say to her. Your voice still feels a little rough and croaky - you'd been told that they'd put a tube down your throat for breathing, during the surgery. You haven't had much experience of hospitals before, so all of this is a novelty in more than just the freedom from Lucas. "He has to feed the girls - h-his . . . o-our chickens, I mean."

She shakes her head, smiling.

"I'm sure he means well," she says, perching for a moment on the chair by the bed that Lucas usually occupies. "I mean! He clearly cares about you - I almost never come in here and see the room without him, he's part of the furniture! - but sometimes a girl just needs a treat, you know?" She winks again, and you laugh.

A part of you feels guilty about it - that same part of you that occasionally looks at Lucas and does think about him as a spouse, that same part of you that sometimes drives you to press a kiss onto his cheek when you're not thinking because he says something sweet. It's the part of you, you think, that wants you to give in and accept and be what Lucas wants and forget everything else, just to make it easier.

But it's a part that's easier to quell amongst the hustle and bustle of the hospital.

"Now," she says. "You're going to be in here for a few more days, so I've brought you the menu - just circle what you want and I'll take it to the kitchens. If he doesn't see it, he doesn't know if you chose the unhealthy options!" You laugh aloud again, and reach for the menu, flicking through to see all of the other options. So many foods you haven't had in over a year - so many things you'd never dare ask Lucas to make--

You feel another twinge of guilt when you circle the roast chicken and vegetables, but you tamp it down as you circle apple pie. You'll give Lucas a bite or two, and he'll forget that he'd said you were a vegetarian--

"Good choice," the nurse says approvingly, as she takes the menu from you and tucks it into the pocket of her uniform. She gives you a conspiratorial nudge. "Honestly, I shouldn't say it, but you'd be amazed how many vegetarians take the meat option in here! Good for them, I say. You need to keep your strength up! Now - where's that remote? Shall we put it on that horror channel you wanted and I'll take it with me, so you can say it's lost and he just has to put up with it?"

You do war within yourself before you dare ask him. You know Lucas's temper - it's hard not to know it, living out here with him for so long. Ordinarily, you do anything possible to make sure that it doesn't flare too openly; you act soft and sweet and agree with him and avoid any topic of conversation that you think might set him off. It's terrifying to see how the way he stands change, the curl of his lip and the grit of his teeth and the slightest tilt of his brows - it reminds you of all of those other people, out there, who have not been so lucky as you. All of those people who have seen him get angry and then learnt his anger in the swing of his axe instead of in the blade of his words. You could so easily have been one of them, you are usually able to sternly remind yourself when the whisperings at the back of your mind get almost too loud to handle. If you hadn't been soft and sweet and scared and what Lucas had found pretty, if you'd screamed instead of begged or fought instead of cried, you would have met your end in the woods too and your flesh would have been parcelled up into the old chest freezer and none of this would have happened--

But that was before the hospital, wasn't it?

That was before he'd shown you that he cared about you enough to take you into town if things were dire enough - before you'd shown him in turn that you could be trusted to keep his secret. You'd had so many chances to blurt out the truth, but every time you'd held your tongue and you'd smiled and laughed and called him your husband as if it were real.

The fourth day, Lucas had come in and had slipped a plain gold band onto your finger as a doctor had watched, taking your blood pressure.

"Found it," he'd said, gruffly, and you'd seen that there was a matching one on his own. "I know y'don't like to be without it."

You'd kept it, even when you could take it off and you were back in the truck and were free of the ruse. Now, as you slowly bring yourself to the kitchen doorway with a blanket wrapped around you, you play with the ring on your finger and hope he notices that, and that the little movement wins you points.

"Lucas?" You ask, to get his attention - but you don't need to. He has already heard, his head up and cocked, and he shakes his head and sucks his teeth when he sees you standing there, bare feet on the cabin floorboards. Of course he'd heard the couch creak, of course he'd heard the pad of your footsteps - this is a man who'd heard you so much as sit up in bed from the couch, back when you'd first gotten here and he'd slept on the sofa instead of intertwined with you. He'd always come, always asked you if you were alright, if you needed him to help . . .

"Darlin'," he says, shaking his head. "You shoulda just called. You ain't s'posed to be on your feet too much. I'll bring you anything you want."

You swallow, still absent-mindedly twirling the ring on your finger. It's perhaps a size or two too big; if it were really your wedding ring, you're sure you'd have lost it doing the washing up or getting it caught in your clothes or something by now.

(It's not yours though, is it? You wonder if Lucas bought them in a pawn shop - but no, that would have caused whispers around a small town that might have gotten back to the hospital eventually. You know the far more likely scenario is that he's had them this whole time, pried from the fingers of some poor unsuspecting camping couple who pitched their tent a bit too close. You don't like to think of the little metal band that warms your own wedding finger on the cold hand of a corpse. You haven't taken it off since he gave you it.

You're too afraid there'll be an engraving inside, a name that isn't yours, a promise that only means something to two people who are no longer on the earth.

At least, you suppose, they died together.)

"I . . . I've just been thinking," you say, gathering all of your courage up to try and screw it to the sticking place. Lucas is still being a little too indulgent with you; letting you get away with things that he wouldn't normally. A later bedtime, a bit of pouting, a VHS he'd gotten for you of a fantasy film that he didn't much like played at night instead of one of his own. He's still too raw and open at the thought that he could have lost you, and you don't think you'll ever get a better chance than this one.

And he's noticed the ring, still on your finger, and there's the faintest dusky flush up his cheekbones. You let your gaze flick down to his own hands, to see that the matching band is still in place on his finger.

(Lucky, then, that they both almost fitted. You're certain that Lucas would have taken that as a sign; another piece of proof that the two of you were always meant to be. That thought makes your stomach roil uncomfortably, but you try to ignore it. The more he thinks the two of you were destined, the more attached he is to you, the more he loves you - the more likely he's going to be to agree to the thing you're about to ask him).

"C'mon then," he says, shaking his head in fond exasperation, moving from the kitchen counter to come and take you by the waist and propel you back towards your comfortable nest on the sofa. "You can tell me just as well in there as out here, an' I won't worry half so much. I bought some ice cream one of the days we were in town, y'know. Been waiting for you to feel a bit better. How's about I go grab it from the freezer and make us a bowl and you can tell me what it is that's on your mind, huh?"

"That would be nice," you say, fluttering your lashes, looking up at him from under them in a way you've learnt makes him swallow, his throat bobbing. "Thank you."

"Aww," he says. "Anythin' for you, darlin'."

You wrap yourself back up in the other blankets left on the couch and let Lucas leave the room to go out to the freezer and fetch the ice cream. You force yourself not to think of it nestled in the chest freezer, surrounded by cuts of meat - an incongruous tub amongst flesh and bone, a ropy thigh pressed against the lid, a fleshy cheek pressed against the bottom.

There's no sign of that when he returns with a chipped willow-pattern bowl full of vanilla ice cream and he passes you a spoon, cuddling up close to you on the sofa. You let yourself be manipulated half into his lap, his chin on the top of your head, the warmth he kicks off enough to make the ice cream melt to a pleasing consistency. He insists on feeding you the first bite, and you do not protest it - all the better, to make him soft and adoring. You even force yourself to giggle like an idiot, in a way that makes him growl in approval.

"Well then," he says, between spoonfuls, and you're grateful that at least you won't have to look him in the eyes when you ask the question. "C'mon, let's get it outta you. What did you wanna ask?"

Last chance saloon, if you want to backtrack. If you want to think of some other silly question that might not set him off - for another pair of new pyjamas, a colouring book and some fancy pencils, anything that he'll see as an indulgence but not as a declaration of war.

But, oh . . .

The freedom of those days. The sound of people around you had made you miss the sound of the city, the smell of antiseptic had made you miss any smell that wasn't Lucas's aftershave and the chickens and the frosty air. Controlling a television, choosing your own menu, seeing other people going about their days and knowing that despite the isolated existence you're now living, people are still out there living their lives in a way you know Lucas will never let you.

It doesn't matter, you force yourself to think, if you will never get that freedom back. Lucas would never let you go, and you're not foolish enough to so much as think about it, let alone ask. You're never going to fulfil so many of your dreams (you'll never see Tokyo, or Paris, you'll never see the Northern Lights or try that fancy hotel in your hometown and you'll probably never know how your favourite manga ends) - but just a taste of it, every so often, with Lucas's hand in yours and him beside you to watch over you--

That's not too much to ask, is it?

You swallow again, feeling heat rising to your own cheeks.

"I've just been thinking," you say to him, careful and calm. "About . . . the town? The one that the hospital was in?"

He stiffens all over, and you feel it where you're pressed against him. Like a coiled up spring, tension in every curve and line of his body.

"Yeah?" He says, his tone warning - if you were smarter, you'd stop there, but you've opened the floodgates now. Your mouth seems to be operating without the express consent of your brain, and the words come flowing out awkwardly smashing into one another in a rush of noise.

"It's just - couldn't we do something there? Together? See a movie? Run errands or go shopping or surely they have a bowling alley or something we could go to on a date?"

"Sweetheart."

It's rough and dark and angry, but now you've started you cannot stop.

"I mean, they've seen me! They know I live with you, they're going to ask questions about me, and I don't mind I'll tell them exactly what you want me to tell them but it would be so so nice to do something with you, even if it's just once every few months, I'd just like to be outside--"

The bowl of ice cream clatters to the floor, the remainder of the sticky yellow-white treat oozing across the floorboards like spilt blood, and your brain finally catches up with you and you go stock-still like a deer in headlights as Lucas eases his arms from around your waist and shifts so that he can be next to you, so that he can look you in the eye before he tells you he's going to kill you.

His gaze catches yours, stern and forbidding and cold as the frost had been when you'd stepped out of the truck. Your hands start to shake as you desperately try and reassure yourself that, if you're lucky, the first blow will kill you and you won't feel any of the rest--

But to his credit, Lucas doesn't jump straight to blazing anger.

You can feel it simmering in him, like it's rising off of him like steam - but instead, he says, his voice cold and deep and barely restrained;

"No."

"Lucas--"

"I said no."

He doesn't soften the phrase with a pet name, and this is a bad sign. His gaze remains affixed onto yours, pinning you in place, as much a captor as the man himself. You feel like you will bow and break under it, but you have gotten this far - your foolish heart cannot resist just one more attempt, as if you will somehow find the chink in his armour that will allow you this one tiny freedom.

"Not often. Just--"

He stands up suddenly, like a tree being shaken to its foundations, and your heart jumps into your throat. He's going to pull down one of the weapons mounted on the wall in the hallway, you know it - he's going to drag you outside and you're going to bleed out on the frosted grass and he'll prise the ring off your finger and wait for someone else it will fit, he'll bury you in an unmarked grave, he'll spin some story next time he's in town about why you're not there--

"I need some air," he says instead, shortly. "I'll be back home in a bit." He reaches to pick up the bowl, not looking at you now. You can see that his grip is white-knuckled, that the veins in his wrists are more prominent than usual. His mouth is set in a grim line.

"L-Lucas--"

"When I get back," he says, as if he hasn't heard you at all. "I don't wanna hear another word about this nonsense, understand? I keep you safe. I keep you fed and warm and safe an' loved, and I'm not gonna take you out back into a world that doesn't deserve you just so it can fuckin' chew you up and spit you out."

He turns away and walks, the thud of his boots heavy on the floorboards.

"We're gonna have an early night," he says, pausing at the door. "I think all that time in the hospital's scrambled your brain good and proper. But don't worry, sweetheart," he looks over his shoulder, gaze like frosted green glass, words a bladed threat. "I'll make sure t'remind you."

You know you have gotten off lightly.

It is hard not to think that if you had been someone else, if you hadn't played your game so well, Lucas would not have suffered the question as coolly as he managed to. Or even if you had asked such a thing a few months ago - he would have taken it as a personal attack, as you saying he was not enough for you.

The fact that he comes back, that he manages to give you a tight smile when he sees that you haven't moved from the sofa where he'd left you except to pick up a battered old fantasy book from the shelf full of mismatched paperbacks - that seems to calm him. You suppose that he's thinking at least you listened to him, hopefully you've taken everything he's said to heart . . .

But that's not the truth. Not really.

Despite what you know is sensible, you have been thinking about freedom for every moment whilst you've been alone.

Or, 'freedom' in a sense. You have been thinking about the laugh of the nurse and the buzz of the television and the food in front of you on a clean white plate that has never before played host to a hunk of meat that was once a person. You've been thinking about the sounds of the city and the feel of warm worn leather beneath you in Lucas's truck. You've been thinking and plotting and rewriting in your head exactly what to say to try and convince Lucas that maybe, just maybe, it might be alright.

Once or twice a year, even! Christmas shopping, perhaps. A Valentine's Day movie - a sappy romance, or a musical, or something he couldn't object to. Something all romantic and soft and chosen specifically to be done with him, so he doesn't feel as though you're trying to escape.

Lucas lifts you from the couch and guides you into the bathroom - kisses the top of your head and presses against you wanting and needy in the shower, as the hot water cascades over you both, as his fingers brush oh-so-gently the scar left on the soft roundness of your flesh in wonder. His eyes soften as he looks at it, as you suppose he remembers how close he came to losing you - and it's that look, the soft devotion in his gaze, knowing that despite it all Lucas cares about you enough that he broke his own rules to take you somewhere safe, that makes you think that perhaps it might be safe to bring it up again.

He brushes your hair before bed; helps you put on one of the pretty cotton nightgowns patterned with sprigs of flowers that he always chooses, when he gets the choice (your pink and white striped pyjamas are in the laundry basket, waiting to be washed, Lucas wrinkling his nose and mumbling about the smell of that place).

You sit up in bed as he pulls out his own sleepwear, and you clear your throat before you speak.

"A-about earlier . . ."

"If it ain't an apology," Lucas says, voice tight, his back to you - your eyes are drawn to the scars that decorate his body like badges of honour as he pulls the old shirt he sleeps in down, "I don't wanna hear it."

"C-can't we just . . . talk about it? Like a . . . like a married couple would?"

Lucas turns around now. He does not lower himself onto the bed, as he stares at you with something inscrutable in his gaze that makes you trip over your words.

"I don't want to run, Lucas! I love you!" That's a lie, but you hope he won't notice, won't care, because you said it yourself and not because he demanded you did so. "I just . . . I want to show you off, I want to do normal things with you! Even if it's just the groceries, even if it's just picking up flour or sugar--"

"I've already said no," he bites out. "I've already said no, and I've already told you to stop askin'."

"Lucas, please--"

"Stop."

You'd been wrong. You feel it slipping out of your grasp - the thought of that tiny freedom, grabbed with both hands, slipping through your fingers like fine sand. His words are horribly final, obviously designed to get you to stop asking, to keep your pretty mouth shut and be the quiet and well-behaved little spouse he wants you to be, but . . .

The thought of something that is so close just being stolen from you like this is too much for you, and you can't let yourself be cowed.

"Can't we just talk about it--!"

"I think you've done enough fuckin' talkin'."

He looks at you with murder in his gaze and you cringe back into the pillows. Here it is. He's going to beat you to death. He's going to kill you. You've really fucking done it now, haven't you?

But he doesn't.

He looks at you for one more beat, before suddenly a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Okay," he says, and the change in his demeanour is scarier than anything else you've seen in months. "Okay, yeah. Get outta bed, sweetheart. C'mon. Let's talk this through in the kitchen like grown-ups."

He doesn't help you to the kitchen, this time. He leaves it to you, and you're slow about it - your body protests being taken from the warm embrace of the bed and back out. The nightgown tangles uncomfortably around your ankles, and you stumble more than once.

Lucas, though, had left immediately. Consequently, you're not surprised to see him up and at the stove when you get into the kitchen. The kettle is on the hob.

"We'll talk it through with a hot drink," he says, pleasantly enough. "The way real married couples do, yeah? Sit down, darlin'. Just let me get this to boilin'."

You can't believe how reasonable he's being. You wonder what it is that you said that brought him to this point - the married couple thing, perhaps? The profession of love, that maybe hadn't pierced him properly until a few minutes later? Whatever it is, you're grateful for it, as you sit down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and let out a soft sigh.

"Y'know," Lucas says, from over by the stove. "I thought about just fuckin' cuttin' your tongue out so you couldn't ask me anymore."

A cold shiver down your spine, but Lucas's tone is conversational, and you do not see one of his big knives out in the kitchen anywhere. Maybe he is going to apologise, you think.

"I . . . I'm glad you didn't," you say, voice soft and thready. "Thank you."

Lucas snorts.

"Yeah. Thought 'bout what you said . . . People in that town sure do know you exist now. And though I ain't planning on takin' you back, just in case . . . Thought that a missin' tongue might be kinda hard to explain, y'know?"

The kettle whistles, high pitched enough to make you flinch. You notice, suddenly, that he has not put any mugs or cups on the table, and your entire body seems to feel as though it's made of ice.

He has one of those old-fashioned kettles; enamel, white and blue, a long spout and a metal handle that needs to be warmed through on a hob. He picks it up by the handle now, and walks towards you.

"So I thought," he says to you, his tone still pleasant, but his voice rough and low. "How am I gonna stop her runnin' her mouth? How am I gonna teach her that when I tell her to stop bringin' somethin' up, she oughta heed my words?"

"Please don't--" You babble out, as he lifts the kettle up. You can hear it bubbling inside, boiling away against the enamel and tin. You've burnt your tongue on a hot chocolate before, sure, tried to drink a coffee before it was cool . . . But the thought of what Lucas is about to do seems far, far worse than that.

With the hand that is not wrapped around the kettle's handle, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it back fiercely until his hand meets the back of the chair, forcing your face up and pinning you in place.

"It's just a lesson," Lucas says, infuriatingly calm. He lifts the kettle up, and you feel the heat radiating off of it as it comes too close to your skin. "I didn't wanna do this, darlin'. But you ain't left me much of a choice."

"I won't bring it up again!" Lucas lets out a snort, and the barest drop of water snakes from the spout. It splashes onto your bare neck above the nightgown's collar, and you swear you hear the flesh sizzle as you squeak out in pain.

"It's a bit too late for that now," he tells you. "C'mon. We don't want this to get cold now, do we?"

"Lucas, please--!"

"Open your fuckin' mouth," he says, his eyes glittering. "And swallow like a good girl, and I'll only make you drink this one kettleful. I can boil another as easy as pie. I can keep fuckin' going until you can never talk again, y'hear me?"

You're shaking, but he has slowly, slowly started to tip the kettle now. The spout is coming far too close to your lips for comfort.

"You'll wanna wrap your mouth around it," he says, and you do not miss that it's not the first time he's said that kind of thing to you. Hot tears of fear and frustration well in the corner of your eyes. "If you make me pour it into you like you're a teacup, you're gonna panic and just get burns all over your pretty face too."

The spout nudges your lips.

"Open your mouth," Lucas coos to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Open your mouth, and we'll just do one kettleful, and I'll get you s'more ice cream once you've learnt your lesson. One kettleful and it'll prob'ly only be a week or so 'fore you can talk again."

You try and will yourself to think of something to get out of it, but Lucas is getting impatient. He tugs roughly on the hair in his fist and lowers his own mouth close enough to hiss into your ear;

"Don't open it and . . . well. You don't really wanna find out, do ya'?"

Outplayed.

You open your mouth.

#writing #lucas #yandere x reader #not sfw text #dark content #cannibalism cw #physical abuse cw #fem reader

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monstersdownthepath · 2 days ago

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Monster Spotlight: Rust Devil

CR 12

Lawful Evil Medium Outsider

Adventure Path: Hell's Rebels: The Kintargo Contract, pg. 82-83

Also known as Ferrugon in the language of Hell, Rust Devils are typically found in the infernal cities of Dis, where they view themselves as gardeners of the great iron constructs erected by the endless toil of breaking souls. They flit from building to building like tetanus-filled gargoyles, using their at-will Make Whole to fix any breaks they may see and their 3/day Fabricate and Major Creation to whip up new features and decorations in accordance with their own aesthetic sensibilities. You may be scratching your chin by now as you read this, wondering where all the rust is supposed to be coming in, and there's a bit of... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... iron-y here, because Ferrugons are actually responsible for creative acts and playing the role of muses and inspiration for mortals in need of an artistic spark.

Ferrugon prefer acts of creation rather than destruction, but acts OF creation which LEAD TO destruction are their absolute favorites. This is primarily done with their Vainglorious Whisper, an incredibly dangerous ability as-written because of a few missing lines of text. Once per round as a swift action, the Rust Devil can whisper into an adjacent creature's mind, infecting them with delusional pride; the victim gets +4 to saves against fear, but takes a -4 penalty to attack rolls, damage rolls, caster level checks, and skill checks, and they cannot perform any defensive action (such as withdrawing, casting defensively, or using any healing on themselves). This pride is so powerful that a victim of it will be forced to make saving throws against any incoming healing effects, viewing them as unneeded, potentially dooming someone suffering from its bleed, but we'll get to that in a moment!

Why did I bold "incredibly" up there? Because as-written, there's no per-day limit to the number of times the devil can use Vainglorious Whispers, no 24-hour immunity clause, no duration, and no stated way to remove it. The Rust Devil can try round after round to give someone destructive pride until it finally sticks, and then the victim is stuck with that effect forever unless the DM rules that Dispel Magic, Break Enchantment, or similar removes it. It took until they reappeared in Second Edition for their whispers to gain any form of limit! If you're a DM hoping to use them, I'd install those limits into the 1e version; the whispers can only target a creature once on a given day, it's a curse effect, and it falls off an arbitrary amount of time later (such as an hour, a day, or until the victim is reduced to 0 HP).

Even without their whispers, Ferrugon are formidable enemies once discovered and forced into combat. As their name may suggest, anyone in melee with them should be as scared as they would be while fighting a Rust Monster at lower levels, as their stated preference when fighting is to utilize their Greater Sunder feat to shatter weapons and armor alike, potentially robbing players of the gear they've worked all adventure to maintain. They have Heat Metal at-will to punish anyone in armor and can use Rusting Grasp 3/day for destroying anything they do not wish to waste time sundering, though Rusting Grasp isn't especially scary for players at this level in anything but low-wealth campaigns, as it has no effect on magical metal. Neither does their at-will Shatter, though the chaos both Shatter and Rusting Grasp can cause to NPCs or across industrial zones is enormous, and a DM wishing to add some environmental hazards can have them introduced or exacerbated by the Rust Devil shattering an important support beam or rusting a weight-bearing chain.

Among their spells that are actually dangerous to a party around level 8~10 is a 3/day Suggestion and Wall of Iron, the former probably convincing someone to sit out of the fight while the latter makes a more forceful argument that some people should just stay out of this particular battle. Able to fly with a 60ft speed, Ferrugon aren't inconvenienced by their conjured walls, and trying to shoot them down without a weapon that can't pierce their DR 10/Good is basically wasting everyone's time. They've also got both high saves (+15/+13/+10) and 23 Spell Resistance, making most forms of magic less than reliable against them... but ironically (and weirdly), their Metallic body is actually vulnerable to being rusted, meaning Rusting Grasp damages them as though they were a ferrous construct, and any ability or effect which specifically affects metal also affects them.

This is dangerous for them, because they quite enjoy being in melee to affect victims with their whispers and pulverize them with Full-Attacks, but in order to rust them away, one must survive this Full-Attack first. Their two slam attacks deal a modest 1d8+6 damage each, but the real danger is their Slashing Wings, the razor-sharp feathers hitting twice in a Full-Attack and slicing 2d6+6 damage from their targets. Not only is their damage formidable, but they threaten critical strikes on 17 and higher, inflict 1d4 bleed damage, and infect anyone they strike with Scarlet Tetanus, a diabolic breed of tetanus that afflicts victims immediately upon failing a DC 23 Fortitude save, dinging their Dexterity for 1d4, draining 1 point of Con, and having a 50% chance of locking the victim's jaw up and preventing them from speaking or eating without immense difficulty. The disease ticks every 24 hours, meaning escape from the Ferrugon isn't the end of the pain it causes, though by this level the party hopefully has a means to cure the devilish disease. Every other commoner struck, however, is less than lucky.

The feathers are only slightly less dangerous from a range, as the devil can flick upwards to four of them out as a standard action every single round. Each feather deals only 1d6+6 damage, but they also have a crit range of 19-20 and afflict the struck victim with Scarlet Tetanus. Unlike the devil's whispers, there is an immediate and obvious sign that Scarlet Tetanus has affected a victim, allowing a Ferrugon focusing on spreading its sickness to focus its feather attacks against a single target, forcing them to make the DC 23 save four times a round, every round, until they're infected (or dead from the damage) before targeting someone else. That's only if it really wants to spread its disease for whatever reason; the most likely case is that the devil will simply affect every spellcaster it can see to force them to toss a coin at the risk of losing 70% of their spellbook for the day.

The feathers are just the backup, as the Ferrugon love being in melee far more, where their 27 AC and hefty DR prevent most enemies from harming them. They also have 5 points of Regeneration suppressed only by damage from a source of Good, but this healing is also suppressed if they're exposed to a rusting effect, so somehow turning their Rusting Grasp back around on them will not only deal some fair damage, but render them vulnerable to death for a round!

Ferrugon, like many higher level devils, are excellent background threats and final bosses. They prey on mortals seeking to master their craft, gifting those they favor with powerful infernal contracts which inspire astonishing creativity in the signee, not only improving their ability to perform their craft but making it cheaper for them to do so as they find new ways to work more efficiently! Most mortals, though, they curse with Vainglorious Whispers and sabotage with their spells, causing endless despair in their victims as the poor souls believe their projects are failing because of their own faults... and hey, if they really need help, if their vision is truly too important to let languish in the halls of their mind, the Ferrugon is there with a contract in one hand and a pen in the other.

True mastery of your craft is one signature away.

You can read more about them here.

#monster spotlight #cr 11 to 15 #pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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mariolanzas · 3 days ago

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youtube

NEW VIDEO!

A dissection of the animated short ´ANTEDILUVIAN' in t3 parts: Historical references, Creatures Featured in it and the Animation process.

___

Youtube channel

Instagram

Prints and more paleoart merch

#paleoart #natural history #dinosaurs #paleontology #animation #victorian #victorian dinosaurs #retrosaurs #making of #creative process #2 d animation #Youtube

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luciluck2046 · 18 hours ago

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"I'm so excited for the new movie!" i exclaimed with excitement. little did i know it would be a feature. a creature feature. featuring.. the creature...

Purple thing

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pretzel-box · 2 days ago

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—[Main Information Post] MAIN BLOG: @misanthropy-official

🌟 A Second Chance Awaits You 🌟

Are you or a loved one battling a terminal illness? The Biosphere Foundation proudly presents the Rehabilitation Project—a groundbreaking initiative offering hope, healing, and a brighter future.

With cutting-edge treatments derived from our Antarctic research, we’re on the brink of curing diseases once thought untreatable. Join countless others who have already experienced remarkable recoveries and rediscovered the joys of life.

💙 State-of-the-Art Care

💙 Compassionate Experts

💙 A Path to a Healthier Tomorrow

Take the first step toward recovery today. Contact us at 1-800-REHAB-NOW or visit our website!

🌍 Biosphere Foundation – Innovating for Humanity’s Future 🌍

Welcome to MISANTHROPY

MISANTHROPHY is a project made by a group of people, including me. It features a deep world building around the biosphere's sister location and its twisted secrets.

This project includes lores on the different places, entities, npcs and even a potential future gameplay since we aim to release it as a game someday!

We will soon feature our own wiki page and an official discord!

If you are interested, feel free to give me a follow and write a comment. I'll update regularly about this project.

What exactly does our project feature?

Entities.

Entities in this project are creatures split in three classes.

The lowest order [Freshly infected.]

The middle order [Developing.]

The highest order [Next evolution tier.]

All entities have unique features and designs that are heavily leaned on angels and humanoid monsters together with a sprinkle of good body horror.

The picture features end state lowest class entities.

Lore.

We have deep lore, especially on the sister location. The place splits in 4 main parts.

The main area

The human worker class

The main task force

The research department

Each place has it's own troubles and secrets. Maybe it is time to explore them all.

Goetia.

A handy-dandy acquaintance that pops up from time to time to trade valuable items for less valuable trash. Goetia is an unique person that will be your closest partner, even with his rather silent and distant personality.

Those are some of the first sketches we have of him. He already has his own fanfiction too.

This is a project made by several people stated above. Please support the rest of the group as well.

@pompohills

@ghost-skull-trash

@splatting-stampede

The art above is made by our dear pom, we also feature more art by the others as well on our discord server that will be public soon!

SHORT LORE DOWN BELOW.

A group of young but determined researchers traveled to Antarctica with high hopes. Their mission was to study how global warming was affecting the icy regions of the Earth. Their goal was ambitious: to find ways to stop the ice from melting and save the planet from a worsening climate crisis.

For 27 days, the team worked hard. They drilled into the ice, studied the atmosphere, and collected data. But on the 28th day, something incredible happened. While digging into an ancient layer of ice, they found a large, frozen object that looked like a distorted, otherworldly wing. It shimmered faintly, almost as if it were alive. The strange discovery filled the researchers with both amazement and unease.

Word of their find spread quickly. It wasn’t long before the secretive Biosphere Foundation heard about it. Known for its advanced biological research and bold ideas about making humans adapt to extreme environments, the foundation immediately took action. A team from Biosphere arrived, took over the site, and forced the original researchers to leave. The group’s equipment and data were confiscated, leaving them powerless to stop what came next.

Biosphere wasted no time building a new research facility near the dig site. This sister branch was designed to study the frozen entity, which they named “Project Zero.” Months of study revealed shocking results. Project Zero wasn’t just a frozen creature—it was something that resembled the descriptions of biblical angels. It had layers of wings, glowing parts, and strange features like eyes embedded in its form. Despite being frozen, it seemed almost alive.

To Biosphere, this discovery was a miracle. They believed it could help humanity evolve, not just adapt to nature but rise to the level of this seemingly divine being. This became their ultimate goal: to recreate the power of Project Zero within humans.

However, this ambition came with terrifying consequences. Workers who had direct contact with Project Zero began to change. At first, they developed heightened senses and faintly glowing veins. But the changes soon turned horrifying. Some grew translucent wings, skinning , or extra eyes that stared blankly from their bodies. The mutations were uncontrollable and grotesque.

The problem spread quickly. What began as a few isolated cases soon affected entire sections of the facility. Workers were quarantined, but the contamination kept spreading. Communication with the outside world was cut off, and fear began to take over. Some whispered that this was punishment for meddling with something divine.

The leaders of Biosphere, however, saw the chaos as an opportunity. They believed the mutations were proof that humans could become more than they were. They saw their workers as stepping stones to their ultimate goal. Ethics no longer mattered. Rules were ignored. Workers were treated as experiments, pushed through cruel tests to force their transformations.

But they needed more test subjects to continue. When their own staff became too few, the leaders came up with a plan: The Rehabilitation Project.

#misanthropy #the biosphere foundation #roblox pressure #sebastian solace #pressure #pressure x reader #pretzelthoughts #goetia #Misanthropy goetia #original character #original art #original work

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slightly-knot-insane · 6 hours ago

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My Eye on You

Monstertober 2024 - day 20 + 31 [ Fear of the Dark + Creature Feature ] by @/ozzgin

[ m!psoglavs* x fem!reader ]

*The quite literal translation for 'psoglav' is 'doghead'. They are nasty creatures, scavengers that eat corpses. They are described having human bodies with a dog head, one eye, iron teeth (and possibly hooves)

content: dub-con, gangbang, knife play, p in v, bukakke, biting, oral (both) tw: dub-con, (mention of) discrimination, racial fetishization

You look behind yourself. The street is very poorly lit and the gangs of psoglavs have been an issue in this area for a while. You click your tongue in annoyance. Calling groups of protesting psoglav "gangs" is very disrespectful. They've been discriminated for many years. Only working the worst jobs and suffering constant repression. The recent case of a psoglav child being refused treatment by a racist doctor sparked protests in the city. And they also ignited the darker side of psoglavs, especially at night.

But you know how much people have been unfair toward them. You've been working as a social worker for ten years and the amount of times you had to fight, yell and scream at authorities and your co-workers to stay professional and fair is alarming. And disappointing.

This is not your usual route of going home. The train stopped outside the station since it broke down and you had to walk through this unfamiliar district or go around following a quite longer path. It's an industrial zone and it's completely abandoned this late at night. You, admittedly, didn't think about that or about the lack of street lights. Which is very foolish.

You use your phone's flash to illuminate your path, but it feels like you're in a horror video game. You push your chin deeper into your jacket and walk faster. You don't get far before hearing a familiar sound of iron hooves ringing against the pavement. A group of psoglavs are following you. Shit.

You stop and turn around and your flash illuminates their impressive teeth and whites of their glaring eyes.

"I'm sorry for walking through here," you say. "I had no idea this was your area."

"Oh don't worry, we don't mind," one of them replies. You count four almost glowing eyes surrounding you. "We can help you get through here."

You take a step back, noticing the dangerous note in his voice. "I'm f-fine."

One of them pulls out a knife. "Oh but we insist."

"Wait..." The one whose eye is shining in a deep green shade steps forward. "I know her. She's one of the social workers who helped my nephew stay with my sister. She's... really nice."

The amount of humans and psoglavs that go through your office is too high for you to remember everyone... but you actually do remember this young man. A few weeks ago, he was sitting in the hallway comforting his little nephew while his sister was nervously pacing in front of the office. An immediate thought flashed through your mind - how caring and sweet he was. Not to mention you have a bit of a... thing for psoglavs and their lanky bodies and elongated arms.

"Is she?" The one with the knife relaxes. "That's okay... But she's still a human. I just... don't like them. Not anymore."

Being surrounded with these tall psoglavs fully electrified with conflicting emotions, aggression and frustration - got you sweating. And wet.

"Well, in any case, too bad such an opportunity go to waste." The next second the knife is at your throat, tip pressing against your pulse. You are too scared to swallow. "Unzip, darling."

One of them takes your phone and illuminates you as if you're on the stage. You remove your jacket and it falls to the ground. The knife slides between your breasts as it cuts your blouse. The tip burns your skin as it lightly enters your skin.

"Not even a little yelp?" The one with the knife mocks. "You are so brave." He proceeds to rip and cut your clothes, and his sharp knife makes a few cuts here an there. Soon you're left in your undies, exposed and trembling, covered in small lacerations. Psoglavs lick their lips and growl.

The knife dances across your stomach and ends up pressed just above your clit. You gasp from anticipation. "You're wet, darling. Your panties are soaked. Such a filthy slut you are." He lifts his knife and pulls it to his mouth. The slow dragging of the blade across his moist, steaming tongue sends a throb right into your core. You're no longer sure that the cold is making you tremble.

"Cherry boy!" You're surprised by his bark. The psoglav you know unglues his eyes from you and looks at his most likely leader. "Would you like to taste a human cunt?"

The cute psoglav seems flabbergasted at first, like he didn't understand the question, but then his bright green eye flashes. In one quick jump he's behind you, pulling you backwards with his long arms. He is squeezing your tits and pushing his hand between your legs, rubbing your damp underwear against your moist lips. He is too rough with you and you jolt.

"Ah... sorry!" His voice is less deep than the leader's, less rough, almost velvety. "You are just so... gorgeous. I really want to... fuck you... I've watched so much psoglav and human porn..."

His friends giggle. The young psoglav growls and fondles you harder. His eager, impatient, raspy pants tickle your exposed neck. He is drooling down your bare back. You can only imagine the state this youngsters is in - and that excites you. Especially the hardness pressing against the small of your back. His bony long fingers pinch your nipples. "So pretty... so soft..."

"Bend her down," the leader instructs him. "She is too short for you so I will help you. It's a shame not to use that delicate mouth of hers too."

He pulls out his semi-hard cock out of his jeans just as the young psoglav pushes your back, bending you forward. "I love human asses," he growls and slaps you. "They are so fat, so soft, I just.... nggghh..."

You feel his hot breath on your ass. The first bite is unpleasant and you yelp. "Hey, easy!"

"S-sorry... I just can't control..." His sharp teeth will definitely leave bruises but you're sure he could do a lot worse if he wanted to.

"Let's keep that mouth of yours busy." The leader takes you by your shoulders and lifts you right in front of his red and swollen cock. He doesn't need to tell you anything and you slurp that thing right in your mouth. You always wondered how does psoglav cock taste like. The leader hisses through his teeth, surprised by your action. "Fuck..."

The young psoglav behind you moves your underwear to the side and the next thing you feel is the long and slimy tongue hitting your g-spot like a torpedo. You whimper and wriggle around, but strong arms hold you in place. "Keep sucking my cock you slut, and let my friends have fun with you."

"You taste so good..." Youngster is slurping and humming against your pussy, eating you out like a juicy watermelon. You knees tremble and you have to grab the leaders jeans just to stay on your feet.

"Come on, cherry boy. Get your cock out. We don't have all night."

With an annoyed grunt, the tongue retracts from your core, just as your orgasm was starting to build up. You whimper and buck your hips wanting him to continue. And fast. The two other psoglavs get their leaking cocks out and stroke them on each of your side.

"Fuck..." The nervousness almost breaks young psoglav's voice. He lifts your thigh high up to position himself, lifting you up with his other arm cupping your stomach. He misses once, twice... but the third time your soaked pussy almost sucks him in. "Oh fuck, I'm inside...." His excitement is so adorable. "I... oh fuck... oh fuck... this is so good..."

His thrusts are insecure for mere seconds before they turn impatient and vigorous, catching a delightful rhythm. Your g-spot gets rubbed by his thick cock, the pressure sending pulses of irresistible pleasure. You get slightly dizzy, two strong psoglavs holding you horizontally almost completely lifted in the air, and you just buck your hips chasing your release before it washes over you. Your scream is muffled by a cock shoved down your throat and they barely notice it from all their panting and growls.

"Great job!" the leader praises the ex-virgin. "You made her cum. You will be an excellent lover."

The young psoglav doesn't say anything, but his thrusts become erratic and irregular and, with a low growl ,he grabs your thigh and pushes himself inside your pussy as far as he can go and releases his load into a body for the first time. Probably turned even more on by his and your panting, the rest of psoglavs shoot their loads on your face and back, covering you with their thick and sticky seed.

"Well..." The leader is breathless. He suddenly releases you and you would've fell onto the ground face first if the young psoglav behind you didn't grab you by the hips and helped you up. "This was fun. Thank you for being on our side, human. We'll keep an eye on you."

The three of them push their cocks inside their jeans and walk away. The young psoglav stays a bit longer to make sure you can stand on your own. After fixing himself up, he removes his jacket and places it on your naked shoulders and runs after his friends. But you see his green eye flashing back toward you, at least one more time.

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