#gargoyle writes

[allknowingaxolotl]

You know I’m skirting the HELL out of my responsibilities when I’m posting my second twst art of the day

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

alright, draconia.

I’ll give him this much 😭 His ponytail + bun combo look is very good, strictly an upgrade from his standard haircut. (I swear his lashes were not this prominent before though???)

Thank you to the Twst devs for this 🙏

[eightcure]

Some Danny phantom sketches for the void

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Restoration Worship

Nikolai x Fat F! Reader Tags: monsterfucking, gargoyles, dubcon, overstimulation, tail sex, anal play, double penetration, squirting, cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk.  I think thats about it, I think yall should know by now that every reader I write is fat, blacked out and wrote 3K words of gargoyle smut sooo… enjoy!

It had begun as a research effort, a little trip to the cemetery to hopefully procure some interesting insight into a little project she’d been working on for the museum. Eyes scanning over lichen covered graves and cracked mausoleums, words long faded in time. 

She’d seen the videos before. Kind strangers brushing away years of decay with a brush and patience. Who would we be without the knowledge from our predecessors after all? 

So with a passion for restoration and a need for busy hands she set to work, uncovering gracious prayers and one of the best cookie recipes she’d ever tasted set within the worn stone. 

It’s months before she comes across him. He’s a big boy, covered in lichen and the webs of spiders, stone stained heavily from the elements. Sharp claws curl into the pedestal he hunkers on, broad wings curled against his back, stone teeth bared in warning. 

Even like this he’s beautiful, strong features carved delicately in tarnished marble. 

She’d found her next project. 

A decade had passed since death had been at Nikolai’s doorstep, when he’d let the stone take him, closed himself off from the world to rest after an egregious injury. He’d watched over the lowly cemetery with weak eyes, until they too became covered. Until he’d lost himself to the void, consciousness falling into inky blackness as he waited amongst the trees. 

That is, until her.

His days had shifted from the chittering of squirrels and bird song to an incessant chatter. A soft english lilt that stirred something in his hazy mind. He likes the english. Past visions of old friends flash in his mind, warm dark skin, cigars, a mask made of bone. 

How could he forget? 

He strains, willing his senses back to life, listens harder for the soft voice amongst the tombstones. 

She talks to the dead, chattering away at graves that will never speak back to her. This graveyard is old, quiet, its occupants long passed over after they stopped burying the dead here, when their loved ones had long passed on themselves. 

She asks them questions, makes up stories, tells them about her day. She’s a museum conservator and she brings things back to life all the time. Making them shiny and new, loving them through hard work and careful hands so that others may get to love them too. 

And when she’s not talking she’s humming, or singing so off tune that even the birds grumble. But she’s laughing at herself,  looking up songs from the years written on the graves and playing those too, a little tune the deceased might be familiar with. 

Her voice bounces from grave to grave, and he realizes she’s cleaning them, scrubbing the dirt away and bidding them adieu when her task is finished. 

Sweet thing, he muses, wishing he could see her, wishing she would bring him to life too.

His dream comes true on a sunny afternoon, the summer rays warming his stone, waking him just a little more. 

She’s close, footsteps rustling the leaves at his feet as she circles him. 

“You keep watch don’t you?” she asks him seriously, and she’s right there. So close he can smell her, like blueberries and vanilla sugar, it’d make his mouth water if he could just move.

She speaks again, but he can barely register the words as warm gentle hands clear the infinite dark from his field of view. Brushing away vines and lichen.

“There! That’s better!” 

And there she is. A big soft girl, with sweet round cheeks flushed from the heat. He needs to hold her, crush her close and reward her for her kindness, but she’s gone just as quickly, promising to return to clean him properly, and his marble heart warms at the thought. He commits her form to memory, watching her soft braids sway against her back as she leaves.  

A longing seeping deep into his marrow as he lets the sleep take him again. 

She returns the following weekend, small spray rig and gentle cleaner in hand when she finds him again. She’s mindful, soft hands gently tugging at his limbs to test the durability before ambling her soft body onto his platform. It’s wonderful, to finally feel the heat of another against his skin, and he thinks if the sun weren’t touching him he could come to life now, tackle her into the soft grass and ravish her. He knows she’d be so sweet, whimpering and mewling under his touch. 

It would wait for another time. 

She works from the top down, soaking him with warm water before scrubbing him with soft bristle brushes. She’s delicate, leaning her soft body against his as she cleans, washing away years of dirt and moss. She scrubs behind his ears, in the bend of his horns, clearing the nests of insects from between his teeth. He revels in the feel of her, soft breasts and belly pressed to his skin, gentle hands stroking over the sensitive margins of his wings. Had he been mobile he’d be purring, with spread wings and stiff cock all over some gentle petting. 

He mourns when she leaves, water cooling against his stone as she packs up before nightfall. 

But it gives him time to practice.

It takes days, weeks, before he can move under the cover of night, limbs coming to life sluggishly, the world becoming more clear to his dulled senses. 

She returns like clockwork, spending the afternoons with him, chatting and humming, leaning against his platform as she eats her lunch. 

He can’t move far, just a few movements, but he gets greedy, finally willing his wings to open, letting them stretch pleasantly in the cool night air and freeze there when the sun freezes him again. 

She’s a bit startled when she returns, eyeing him with confusion and the broad reptilian wings spread proudly behind his back. Come closer love, they’ve always been this way.

Nevertheless she scrubs those too, warm hands petting over the webbing, ghost along the modified fingers of his wings. He has half a mind to wallow in the night, cover himself in more dirt if only to keep her trips regular. But he knows his time is coming to an end when she dusts away the last leaves from his pedestal. 

She has a final rest with him, his sweet keeper perched at his feet as she watches the sun disappear behind the trees. 

And finally, finally. As the soft light of the moon kisses his skin, he greets her. 

“Hello solnyshka” he purrs, voice low and gravely,  amusement crinkling pupil-less eyes, as he watches her nearly jump out of her skin. Scrambling away and whirling to take a look at the massive gargoyle.  He can see now, really see, and she’s lovely. Freckles dusting round cheeks, bulky denim and cotton hiding big soft curves underneath. 

She’s frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. He stretches, not unlike a cat, trembling slightly with the effort as he spreads his wings, lifts his hands above his head to crack his own spine, shaking away the stiffness from his tired bones. He relaxes again,  smiling at her fondly, revealing sharp fangs underneath. 

“I’m grateful for your work.” he calls again, taking a slow step off of his platform, clawed feet digging into the earth below. He is truly, his new keeper being the first ray of sun to truly grace his skin in decades. Just the light he needed to wake him from his slumber.  He needs to hold her, feel her softness under his claws. 

She swallows, clasping trembling hands in front of her. 

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, sir”

Sir.

He purrs at the honorific, but why did she think she was a bother? Had she not heard him?

“Not a bother, you’ve “restored” me” he chuckles, “quite well too” he adds looking over his limbs as he eases closer. “Call me Kolya.”

She repeats it, mimicking the accent just right, and being the polite thing she is, she gives him her name in return. It melts in his mouth like sugar, His pretty prize unaware of the hold she’s given him with just her name alone. 

“Come here, let me have a look at you”

She hesitates a moment before inching towards him, and he meets her halfway with a long stride, chin to his chest as he looks her up and down. His poor thing is so nervous. Fidgeting under his gaze, pulling, pushing and twisting at the joints of her fingers, desperate to get them to pop, to alleviate some of the tension in her body. 

He takes her hand in his, sliding a claw between her fingers to shake them loose, letting her soft little hand curl around his own. He dwarfs her, already half-hard with just her palm in his. He moves her carefully, flipping her hand over to trace a dark claw over the sensitive lines of her palm drawing a small shiver from her that has his cock twitching in interest. 

He continues, gliding his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, toying briefly with the denim strap of her overalls. She’s bashful, keeping her eyes averted, a hot flush to her cheeks as he looks her over. 

“None of that” he chides, sliding his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her back. Her lips part, pupils blown as he smiles down at her, some of her nervousness melting away as he handles her so gently.  “So pretty, daragaya” and the stars in her eyes as he praises her break what little self control he has left. 

He’s quick, catching her round face in both hands and bending low, pressing a hungry kiss to her lips. She squirms briefly, hands flying up to grip his wrists in panic, he curls a tail around her calf, holding her neatly in place as he licks into her mouth, earning a soft gasp from his keeper as her lips part for him. 

Good gods, she even tastes sweet. 

He purrs happily into her mouth, savoring the taste of her flavored chapstick, the end of his tail flickering happily, brushing the soft curve of her ass. She’s panting now, a soft little whine bubbling from her throat at the contact. He dives low, licking a stripe across her jaw, reveling in the salt of her skin before nibbling and kissing his way down her throat, clawed fingers easily popping the cheap metal clasps of her outfit, pushing the denim away before yanking off the extra cotton shirt underneath. 

Nikolai thinks it should be forbidden for such soft curves to be hidden like that. She’s a vision, an angel with the most beautiful soft curves, and when he has her back in his den he’ll dress her in the finest silks and jewelry, pretty chains to hug her waist, dangle nicely between her breasts. Highlight all his favorite parts. He might even keep her bare, just for his eyes to see. 

She shivers in the cold, using her arms to cover her breasts as best as she could, eyes averted from his hungry gaze.  Why did she hide from him? There should be paintings of her, statues in her image. She was perfect. So warm and soft, he kneaded at the handles at her hips, clawed fingers tracing over the soft swell of her belly, the rolls at her sides, skin hot beneath his fingers. He huffs, snagging her wrists and holding them well above her head, using the extra digits at the ends of his wings to hold her there, pulled taught and vulnerable beneath his gaze.

With a sharp claw he rips away the scrap of fabric that covered her chest, large hands palming them eagerly, nipples pebbling under the warm drag of his thumbs. He hums, pinching and pulling at her perfect little tits, hard cock nudging incessantly at her belly, leaving glistening webs of pre-cum over her skin as she whimpers and gasps. 

“Kolya” she whines as he drags a hot tongue over her soft peaks, flicking his tongue over her pert skin before drawing a nipple into his mouth, nibbling and suckleing greedily. He breaks away, grinning up at her, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast cheekily. She squirms, eyes squeezed tight and teeth dug into her plump lip as she tries halfheartedly to escape him. Though the wiggling only gives her tits a lovely jiggle that has him diving in again, nipping at her nipple just to earn himself another squeal. 

He kisses over the skin in a gentle apology before sliding down her belly, pressing a trail of hot kisses there before he reaches the seam of her panties, cute little curls peaking out around the edges at her thighs. He marvels at the dark stain of her arousal, pressing his nose into the soaked fabric and breathing deep. She bucks against his face, squirming madly to get some kind friction. Not so demure now are you?

“I’ll take care of you greedy girl, patience.” he warns, tail patting her ass fondly as he drags his tongue along the sodden fabric. He rips those away too, thick tongue sliding against her folds with little preamble, the resounding moan like music to his ears. Using his tail to tug her legs further apart, he lavishes her in earnest, slurping at her cunt like a beast, using his thumbs to spready her puffy lips apart. She’s heaven, sweet and tangy on his tongue, and he would stay here for hours, drinking her down until her legs gave out and then taking more. 

He sinks his tongue inside, licking into her tight heat as his nose brushes against her clit, humming wickedly as she cries and bucks. He takes control, dragging his claws up to grip her hips, guiding her into a nice and easy rhythm against his face. He loves every minute of it, reveling in the drag of her soaked folds against his tongue,  the broken whines as he breaks away to suck her clit. He drags her to the edge over and over, fucking his tongue back into her wet heat and nosing at her sensitive nerves until she’s gushing against his face with a choked cry. 

“So good, solnyshka” he praises, sitting back on his haunches to admire his work. He leans in, licking a hot stripe up her thigh, catching the errant rivulets of slick as they drip from her. 

“So wet, I bet we can make a bigger mess can’t we?” he purrs, dragging his knuckles against the soaked seam of her sex, drawing a tired whimper from her. She sags against his hold, chest flushed, and thighs soaked. He could devour her whole like this. 

He releases her, lifting her spent body into his arms, easing her down onto the clean pedestal that was once his. Pushing her legs apart he slides between them, sliding his neglected cock over her folds, using his tip to rub at her sensitive clit before sliding it along her body. He’s thick, head tapered to a near point, thick ridges rippling along underside of his shaft for a textured drag. Heavy balls kiss the seam of her sex as he rests there, tip drooling against her stomach. He needs her to see what she’s getting herself into, how much she’ll need to take for him. His soft girl looks up at him, big glassy eyes full of nervous anticipation. 

“I know” he coos, grinding himself against her skin, “you can take it, my perfect girl, we just need a little more room.”

He needs her pliant, well stretched to take him fully. With his claws as they were, using his fingers wasn’t an option,  but he does have another solution. Dragging a heavy palm through her slick he grabs hold of his tail, coating the tapered end thoroughly before guiding it toward her entrance, using a thumb to circle her clit as he slips inside. 

The tip is easy, no thicker than a couple of her fingers as it pushes its way inside, the glide nice and easy from her previous orgasm. He fucks nice and slow, thrusting the tip in shallowly until she’s whining for more. He leans over her, rutting his cock against the crease of her thigh as he sinks his tail in further, fucks into her with more speed, using his hands wisely to play with her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers and nibbling at her lips to distract her from the stretch. She’s holding on for dear life, hands gripping his horns for purchase. 

Even as spent as she is, she clenches around him desperately, sweet pussy desperate to take as much of him as she can. He can’t wait to feel her pulsing against his cock. Wet and hot, and so so tight. 

He growls, rutting into her with more fervor. She’s close, chubby thighs clenching as he curls the tip of his tail a bit, just to bully more of his length inside of her. She’s lost in it, frantically kissing at his face as her peak draws closer and closer.  Sneaking a thumb against her clit she cums again, legs slamming shut against his tail as he fucks her through it, laughing as she sobs, shoving at him weakly as she gushes messily around him again, slick coating his abdomen and dribbling down the stone underneath. 

“Good girl, one more for me zoloste, I know you can do it.” He yanks her thighs apart pulling his tail from her greedy cunt and dragging her further down the pedestal, her plush ass hanging off the edge. He rests her thighs against his chest, kissing her ankle soothingly as he drags himself through her slick folds, thoroughly coating himself before lining up with her entrance. 

Even with the prep it’s a tight squeeze. He takes it slow, bullying his way inside her soaked heat, gummy walls squeezing him tight as he sinks in, whimpering as the ridges of his cock drag against her sore entrance.  He fucks slowly, pumping in shallow thrusts before he pulls out again, teasing her tired clit and pushing in again, head thrown back with victorious groan as he finally pushes himself to the hilt. 

Its a gorgeous sight, her pussy split open on the girth of him, legs spread wide and clit twitching as he fucks her with tight shallow circles. She’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears and trembling against the stone, whimpers and little hiccups falling from her lips. He hushes her, sliding his palms against her thighs, catching her hands to curl his fingers in hers, anchoring her there as he picks up the pace. 

She’s already close, cunt clenching around him with every thrust. He fucks into her with earnest, her pretty fat pussy swallowing him down to the balls as the sticky slap of it echoes through the cemetery. 

“Fuck, taking me like you were made for it.”  he snarls bending over her to lick into her mouth, swallowing every little cry and plea as he fucks her mercilessly, soft body jiggling with the harshness of it. 

“You’ll give me anything won’t you? Let me fill up this pretty pussy.” he pants, yanking her closer, and with a sick knowing grin, his tail slides underneath her, slick tip toying with her asshole. “Let me fill this pretty ass too, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything you want, Kolya, please, please,”  she begs, his perfect girl cock drunk and hazy, tears spilling down her cheeks as she rocks into him for more. 

“Don’t even know what's good for you, silly girl, you’d let me tear you in two.” he chuckles, “ but I’ll give you a little taste.” His tip slides between her cheeks, already slick from her own juices.  He teases her there, flickering playfully at her hole before sinking in slowly, pushing just past her tight ring of muscle to fill her up, groaning at the feel of his own cock sliding against her walls. 

Her next orgasm takes her like a freight train, soft body arching and trembling as it ravages through her. He fucks her through it, pussy clenching him like a vice as he pulls his tail from her ass, sharp claws digging into the meat of her hips hard enough to draw blood as he chases his own end. 

Snarling like a beast he pounds into her, sinking himself deep as he comes with a low growl, painting her insides with long spurts. Filling her completely until his spend seeps out around his cock, spilling down her thighs and into the soft earth below. 

He holds them there like that, cock buried deep as he marks her from the inside out, his bulky head resting against her breasts as they both come down. 

His, his, his. 

His perfect soft girl, flushed and damp from sweat and slick, trembling hands carding though his dark hair.  Kind and gentle despite the way he ravaged her. 

And when she leans up, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips with a nervous giggle, he knows he’ll guard her for the rest of his days. 

[deunmiu-dessie]

sacraficial lamb!reader who lies strapped to an altar just outside of the village's small abandoned cathedral. sacraficial lamb!reader who struggles against the binds that dig into their flesh painfully, securing them to the concrete. sacraficial lamb!reader who sobs heavily, eyes finding their father's within the minor crowd that has formed around them. "f-father please don't leave me here! please, help me!". sacraficial lamb!reader who watches in horror and disbelief as their father turns away, hugging your brother close. sacraficial lamb!reader who mewls in fear as the village head burns some type of sage over them, drawing symbols on their forehead. sacraficial lamb!reader who begs and pleads as the crowd disperses to their homes, locking their doors and covering their windows. sacraficial lamb!reader who looks toward the stone gargoyle crouching menacingly atop the cathedral. sacraficial lamb!reader who starts to pray.

gargoyle!monster who comes alive in the night, stone crumbling from its body to crash onto the ground below. gargoyle!monster whose wings stretch and span wide, catching the moon's glow and painting them sinisterly. gargoyle!monster whose eyes narrow in on the small, shaking human sacrifice upon the altar hungrily. gargoyle!monster who ominously slithers down from its perch on the cathedral, blending into the night. gargoyle!monster who sneakily finds perch on the end of your altar, head tilted at how tightly you keep your eyes shut, murmurs of scripture falling from your lips. gargoyle!monster whose chuckle is dark and grating, inhumane. gargoyle!monster who takes pleasure in how your body coils tight and your lips wobble as his clawed fingers skitter down your bare legs. gargoyle!monster whose long tongue disappears beneath your gown, caressing your inner thighs; leaving them slick with viscous saliva. "i shall enjoy your body, little human, before devouring you."

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[puttersmile]

Hopvember Day 7: Catnap

Pictures with a story attached! AU/Headcanon stuff:

Sharing is Caring:

There was no question in his mind that the rabbit was dead.

CatNap found her lying on the forest floor, her form oddly still and cold as stone. He bent down, placing a hand against her side, only to feel the unnatural chill that clung to her. When he tried to lift her, her head lolled back with a terrible looseness, and in his shock, he almost let go, nearly dropping her back to the dirt. But something rooted him in place, an odd sense of weight that stirred deep within him.

He stared at her face, at the peacefulness there, and he felt an overwhelming sense that he couldn’t just turn away. He didn’t understand it, and a part of him was screaming to let go, to run from the wrongness of death. But the sight of her kept him there, unwilling to let go. He clutched her lifeless form close, and before he knew it, he felt a strange pull, an urge that overtook him entirely.

"You're just...asleep."

A soft glow began to pulse from within him, gentle and bright, warming his chest and flowing out through his paws. Nine flitting orbs surrounded them and Catnap eyed each closely, as if he could tell each of them apart. One bobbed close and plinked against his nose.

"I think you'll do fine." Catnap whispered confidently.

The spritely light danced like it understood and went to Hoppy, a golden warmth, wrapped around her like a soft blanket. In that moment, CatNap felt something shift inside him—a quiet, subtle part of himself he hadn’t even known existed, drifting out and away from him.

Then, just as the lights faded back into the twilight, he felt her stir.

Hoppy shifted in his embrace, her head moving as life returned to her limbs. A faint, breathy sound escaped her, and her chest rose as air filled her lungs once more. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and dazed, as if waking from a long, deep sleep. CatNap watched her in silence, hardly daring to breathe.

She blinked, a sleepy confusion crossing her face as she took in her surroundings.

“Wh-where…?” she murmured, her voice fragile.

A quiet, lingering sense of loss reminded him of what he’d just done. He’d given her something precious. A part of himself he could never take back.

But as she looked up at him, alive and stirring, he felt calm satisfaction, a peace he hadn’t known before. He’d stayed; he hadn’t run. He was glad.

CatNap cleared his throat, speaking softly. “I found you… lying out here. You were cold.” His words were brief.

Hoppy looked up at him, brow furrowing as she tried to piece together his words. She seemed to half understand, though some haze lingered in her eyes. For a moment, she stilled completely, like she was bracing herself.

And then, a look of realization—and fury—crossed her face. Her eyes snapped to to the skies, and she clenched her fists, letting out a furious shout. “That idiot gargoyle!” she growled, her voice sharp

Hoppy tried to jump up, ready to dash off after someone. But as soon as she put weight on her legs, a sharp pain seized her, and she staggered and nearly crumpled to the ground.

CatNap moved forward, steadying her before she could fall completely. “Don’t think you’re in any shape to go storming off,” he murmured, his tone calm but firm. “If you’re smart, you’ll follow me back to town.”

Hoppy gritted her teeth, rage billowing in her eyes, but she could see he wasn’t going to budge, and she was really hurt. She hesitated, then nodded.

"Sure, whatever. I swear I'm gonna kill that guy."

He gave a quiet nod, then helped the strange falling rabbit back to town.

[demigoddessqueens]

of a wintry fairy land

Masterlist 12

A/n - just some holiday fluff for all the monster girls and guys

a gargoyle who…takes you up to the highest balconies to admire the snow fall on the cities below

The harpy who…helps decorate the tree and rooms with only the shiniest decorations

A witch who…brews warm concoctions for you both on the cold winter nights.

Skating along the frozen pond as the mermaid follows the track marks you make with your skates.

Krampus who is less of a grump during the holidays when he visits you

an alien who…is endlessly fascinated with all the human holiday traditions and wants to create/re-create new and old with you

Reading the famed story of the Christmas ghosts with a specter of your own by the fire

an elaborately crafted gift bequeathed to you from the elf/fae as a solemn “thank you”

The creeping vines from the plant monster that has a mistletoe dangle between you two before you give in

[regency-monster-love]

Monstertober day 19: wings

Male gargoyle x female human | Regency era | SFW, wedding, kissing

The first time she thought her husband might actually be rather handsome was when she walked into the church to marry him.

The marriage had been arranged by her parents, and despite not loving or even being attracted to the gargoyle she was to marry, she was not distressed by the match. He seemed like a kind, thoughtful male who would take good care of her, which was more than most women could say about their husbands, and she was eager to be out of her parents’ house and have children and a house of her own to oversee. Her fiancé's physical appearance was not appealing to her, but neither was it repulsive, and she was quite plain herself, so what did that signify?

So when she saw the gargoyle waiting for her at the front of the church, her breath caught in her throat at how impressive he looked—all thanks to his wings.

Before this, she'd only ever seen his wings tightly tucked against his back, forming uninteresting lumps of gray flesh. But now, he stood with them extended out from him, not to their full span, but enough to highlight their elegant power as they arched up behind his head and to his sides. Sunlight shone through their skin from the stained glass windows behind him, making them appear to glow with light in shades of scarlet and ochre and violet.

Most remarkable of all, his wings were adorned in gold. From each joint on his wings there extended a small curved horn or claw, and each of these had a gold band fitted around it. From these bands were strung dozens of gold chains, criss-crossing the glowing membranes of his wings and sparkling in the sunlight as well. 

The complete effect—the wings’ shape and size, their glowing colors, and the glittering gold—was stunning.

As she neared him, she tore her eyes from his impressive wings to look at his face. He was smiling faintly at her, and his eyes regarded her with a tenderness she had never before seen in them. Such an expression softened the sharp lines of his stony gray features, and if he didn't look handsome, he at least looked like something very near to it. She smiled softly back at him.

The wedding ceremony was unremarkable, just like every other wedding she’d attended—except that the groom kept yawning beside her. It began to grow amusing when the officiating clergyman noticed and directed a sour glance of disapproval at the gargoyle. The bride pursed her lips and made a small sound as she tried not to laugh, which made the groom shoot her an embarrassed but smiling glance.

As soon as the ceremony was over and they were free to speak to one another, he explained. “My apologies for yawning. I’m not used to being up at this hour.”

“It’s quite all right. It’s unfair that the law doesn’t make exceptions to the wedding hours for races that are nocturnal, like yours.”

They came out of the church just then, walking directly into the morning sunshine, and her new husband squinted and threw up a great clawed hand to shield his silver eyes. “If it was cloudy today, being awake in the daytime would be easier to bear.”

“But your wings look very attractive in the sunlight.” He turned to her with his eyebrows raised, surprised at the compliment, and his wings, which he still held somewhat out from his body, twitched out slightly wider. “I’ve never seen them…adorned, before.”

“It’s unusual for males of your race, I know, to wear such finery. Even your females. But it’s customary for gargoyles of both sexes to adorn their wings with gold when they’re mated—married. These”—he flexed his wings, sending the gold chains upon them shaking with a tinkling sound—“were worn by my father at his mating ceremony.”

“They’re beautiful.”

He inclined his head toward her in thanks. “It’s thought we gargoyles are related to dragons, you know; perhaps that’s why we both like gold.” The wedding guests around them were throwing rice and shouting out words of congratulations, but he ignored them to keep his eyes fixed on her. “There’s something else that is customary for gargoyles on this occasion: sharing our first flight together as a mated—married—pair.”

Her heart began to pound. “But I’m no gargoyle; I can’t fly.”

“I’ll hold you, if you permit it.” He held open his massive arms for her. “You’ll be safe with me.”

She looked at his monstrous but earnest face and knew that was true. He would take care of her in this and in everything. She stepped into his arms. “I trust you, husband.”

His arms tightened around her, pulling her chest flush against his belly, and without warning they shot straight up into the air. All the human wedding guests left behind on the ground shrieked, but the bride kept her mouth clamped shut, even though her stomach was lurching at the sudden movement and dizzying height they had already ascended to.

But this was only a physical reaction—she was not afraid. Even looking over her shoulder at the ground far below, she felt no fear, and her stomach quickly grew accustomed to the sensation of flying and calmed. She was safe in her husband's arms, just as he had promised, and even wrapped up tightly, she felt free and light as she soared through the sky with him. The wind and gusts from the pumping of her gargoyle’s powerful wings whipped her red curls free of her bonnet to fly about her smiling face. 

He lifted her higher in his arms, bringing their heads to the same level where she could see more of him than just his chest, and she gasped at the sight of his wings again. They were glowing with the sunlight behind them again, the gold chains glittering and chiming as they swayed against his skin with each flap.

She extended a hand over his shoulder to touch the edge of one wing, close to where it sprouted from his back. He started and sucked in air through his teeth, and she jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry!”

He shook his head. “It’s all right. It feels good, it’s just…sensitive.”

“I should have asked,” she said apologetically.

His voice lowered. “You may always touch me anywhere you like, wife.”

Her stomach fluttered and twisted, and she stretched her arms up from his chest to hook around his thick neck.

“May I kiss you?” he asked her in that same low, rumbling voice.

“Is that part of the newlywed gargoyles flying custom?”

“Not really. But you're my wife, and you're beautiful, and I want to.”

“Oh.” No one had ever called her beautiful before, not even her mother. She swallowed, her heart racing even faster than when he asked her to fly. “Then, yes, you may.”

She expected his lips to be cold and hard, probably because they were gray like the rest of his skin, but when they came to rest against hers, she found they were warm and soft and quite pleasing to feel. The fluttery feeling in her stomach spread up into her chest, a happiness as light and bright as butterfly wings, and she smiled against her husband's mouth before pressing hers more firmly to his.

She didn't know how long they went on kissing as they drifted through the air together, but the next thing she knew, the wind was dropping away and her feet were easing against solid ground. She opened her eyes to see her gargoyle giving one last flap of his beautiful wings before folding them in as she and he settled against the ground together.

He smiled down at her. “I brought us to our wedding breakfast. Everyone is inside waiting for us.”

“Oh yes! We’d better get inside.” She tried to smooth out her dress and tuck her curls back into their proper places, but had little success. Oh well. The pleasure of flying with her gargoyle husband had been well worth the mess she’d made of herself.

As the newlyweds walked through the door together, the gargoyle’s mouth opened in his most immense yawn of the morning yet. He covered it with his clawed hand, looking embarrassed, but she laughed. “And then we better get you home to bed.”

~ 😈🎩 ~

I wanted to make gargoyles part of Regency England, but in a way without any magic, so these gargoyles don't transform into stone during the day, they simply stay inside and sleep during the day and wake up at night, like any other nocturnal creature.

I’ll be posting more Regency monster ficlets and snippets like this with the tag “my writing.”

[monstrouslyobsessed]

welcome home

—you inherited a strange mansion you vaguely remembered visiting in childhood. you were excited to start a new life, but, now, from the way the lone statue perched on the roof seemed to be watching you, you weren’t so sure anymore.

—a/n: happy (belated) halloween! this had been requested forever ago, though not as a concept but as a smutty headcanon. but it had been stuck in my brain since seeing it—so...introducing the...gargoyle!

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied confinement / isolation, implied mind control(?), implied possible grooming (from the monster), implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, long post, uncut post, sfw.

—featured character(s): gargoyle, the unnamed uncle

“What happened to those two?” you wondered aloud, balancing the stack of boxes in your arms as you gestured with your chin towards the two headless statues perched atop the pillars of the front gate.

Your uncle cleared his throat, hesitating slightly at the sight of them through the tall, ornate window, “That’s a...good question,” he laughed, his voice trailing off.

You glanced up only to see the back of his grey head, your boxes successfully placed on the floor, eyebrows arched high. “Uncle?”

“...were...a week ago...” you caught the tail end of his murmur.

“Hey!” you erupted, jabbing the old man into his ribs with a playful poke. He responded with an amused chuckle, regaining his composure. With a quick complaint about the way he had ruffled your hair, you slapped his hand away with a suggestion, “probably got weathered from old age,”

You weren’t about to add more to his worries with the anxious face he’d had seconds before. He was already so old it just didn’t feel right to push for answers he probably didn’t have. Helping you to move into his old home had been so overly generous that you hadn’t felt comfortable pressing for more.

Still, as you resumed your unpacking, your eyes couldn’t help but wander to the statues.

They...looked wrong, somehow.

Their necks were too...clean.

As if they had been sliced through with a sharp blade.

Had there ever been heads to begin with?

You shook your head as a faint memory resurfaced. The statues had definitely had heads once, from your visits as a child. So, where had they gone?

As you pondered, your hands became slick with water-thickened dust and soap as you wiped down the wooden furniture in the large living room while your uncle busied himself somewhere in the background. The bright glare of the afternoon sun forced your lashes to flutter together in a wince and you groaned, relocating yourself to a shaded corner as your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

You blinked.

Something strange was perched outside the window, its wings casting long, dark shadows across the room from the setting sun behind it. You paused, a brief gasp, ever so slight that it might as well have been a breath, escaped your lips. Before you could think of anything to do, a deafening explosion of something shattering rang out from another room, and you spun toward where your uncle was, shouting the old man’s name.

You pivoted again, to see what you thought you saw.

The window was empty, glowing brilliantly with the blinding midday sunlight.

As if you’d only imagined whatever that creature was.

You stumbled out, confused and unsettled, to find your uncle with a troubled look on his face, assuring you that he hadn’t meant to scare you. As you attended to the accident, the strange sight remained in the back of your mind. Discomfort grew in your heart, and you wondered if it was normal to feel so familiar with what you thought you saw.

“You always had such fanciful imagination as a kid,” your uncle chuckled, rocking in his chair in the library you remembered frequenting as a kid. This was supposed to be his final night here with you, before he took the trip back to his assisted living home.

You cocked your head as you looked for a place to slot your favorite books in one of the many shelves. “Did I?”

Truth be told, your childhood memories were muddy at best.

“Oh, ho, yes, you always chatter on about an angel trapped in stone and the stories they’d share with you. Very...terrifying tales, may I add! Frighten my ol’ love, yer did. He never did like listening to these things, said you were listening to the devil.” Your uncle sighed, plucking a framed photo from a small table to reminisce about his deceased husband—

You...vaguely recalled how upset your other uncle was, though the reason still came blank.

“...Wasn’t he the reason I had to stop visiting?” You absently added, stilling your hands in your large tote of books to look at your uncle.

He tilted his head to think, “...Said it’s for your own good, or the devil would spirit you away.”

A question lingered heavily on your tongue and you blurted it out before your uncle could step into his vintage car.

“Why leave me this mansion if Uncle,” it felt strange to say your other uncle’s name after so long when you hardly remembered ever liking him as a kid. He was a mean man, but now, after what you’d learned, you started to wonder. Shaking your head to halt your straying thoughts, you pressed on, “was so against me staying here as a kid?”

You hadn’t meant the words to sound so demanding.

He stopped mid-hobble, looking up at you with his wrinkled hand still holding the suitcase, just before tossing it into his car. For a moment, your uncle opened his mouth, hesitated, then his eyes glazed over. Finally, with a small, uncertain smile, he admitted, “I’m...not sure. I just felt compelled to give this place to you, is all.”

Compelled?

Before you could dwell on that one strange choice of word, your uncle waved you over, “C’mere and give this silly old man a hug before he goes!”

He felt especially small and frail in your arms, as you held him. You remembered him so tall, but now he was just a tiny, old man with a heart too big for his tired body. As he slipped from your ebrace with a warm grin, you were disturbed by how cold his paper-like skin was under your palms.

Words and tears were exchanged, and that was it.

He bid you a farewell, adding a gentle ‘I love you’, and he was gone, his vehicle kicking up dust as it disappeared down the winding driveway. The sound of its sputtering engine gradually faded into the distance, leaving you in the utter silence of the mountain you now occupied. When it was no more than a speck in the dense, green horizon, you made a half turn—

And then you caught sight of something unfamiliar perched on a pillar of the hipped roof of your new—albeit ancient—home.

Blinking, you tilted your head high and squinted to make out the sudden appearance of a gargoyle.

Was...it always there?

It loomed above, a bulky, weighty thing, its great wings curled protectively over its hunched back, with its claws clutching at the gutter. A crown of horns fanned out over its elongated head, shielding itself from the rising sun in the shadows of its bony appendages. The creature’s hulking form sat in a perfect stillness, its long tail wrapped tightly around its hind legs in a stony coil.

As if it had been there all along.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t recall seeing the gargoyle above the main doorway before.

Even when you’d first arrived to meet your uncle about your surprise inheritance, nothing so stellar yet so grotesque had sat above the door before in your memory.

Yet it seemed so oddly familiar. The childish urge to grin and laugh as if upon seeing an old friend again, rose.

Deep in your heart, you knew this was wrong. A shiver ran down your spine, and confusion twisted your expression into one of fear.

You couldn’t see its face clearly beneath its wings, but you felt its eyes pierce your soul.

With another blink, you shuffled your feet, grinding your heels in the crunch of the fine gravel below. You inhaled the cold, crisp air—and you swore you saw it

breathe.

Unable to take it any longer, you fled inside, into the safety and isolation of your new home. The door slammed shut behind you, and you collapsed against the hardwood flood, gasping. The old wood needed a good waxing, but that was the farthest thing on your mind right then, as you panted and your heart was pounding against your ribcage.

“I’m being so stupid—this is silly...!” you muttered with a weak laugh, even as your erratic heart tried to jump out of your throat.

Before you could brush it off with the excuse of the jitters of being a new homeowner, a low creak groaned from above, echoing off  the roof outside.

You stiffened, your sweaty skin prickled with the chilling realization.You were all alone—

With this stranger outside your house.

A loud thud rumbled through the floor, vibrating the door you were leaning against—as though something heavy was dragging its claws across it.

Quietly, its voice, so deep and croaky, a disembodied whisper slipped through the thick wood, sighing with unsettling fondness: “...welcome home,”

The way it said your name had you trembling, but its next words gripped you with a terrible, numbing fear.

“...it’s only two of us now.”

—end

[blue-uppercase]

When I say I'm 'cooking' in terms of writing I don't mean it in a "doing this with immense care and skill like a michelin star restaurant employee" sense but in a "doing it like a witch that's throwing random items into her cauldron while cackling diabolically and hoping it works out in some unsettling and eerie way" sense

[welcometogrouchland]

I feel like for the first few years of guardianship Darius and Hunter really struggle to figure out how to refer to each other.

Like it's easier for Hunter, he pretty quickly settles on "guardian" for explaining their relationship to other people and just referring to Darius by name when talking to the man himself. Overtime the phrasing gradually warms, becoming "foster parent" and eventually, once Hunter's already an adult old enough to move out, "Dad".

(Sidenote: he doesn't move out til he's in his mid to late twenties, bc he's under no obligation too, Darius low-key doesn't want him too, and the two of them want to make up for lost time in a sense, since Hunter only had 2 years of legal dependency on Darius before aging out of the system. Darius adopts Hunter retroactively as an adult)

Darius on the other hand has a real conundrum on his hands for those first few years. He has a lot of options! But "ward" is too formal and makes it sound like Darius picked him up off the street like after his parents were murdered, "apprentice/student" isn't really accurate considering the focus of Darius and Hunter's relationship has less to do with Hunter learning magic and more to do with Hunter being housed and fed. "Kid" and "foster son" are there...but...

Look, Darius isn't going to refer to Hunter more familiarly than Hunter refers to him! He's not gonna make it WEIRD. He's not a dad, because Hunter doesn't want/need him to be (and also parenthood is scary <3). Darius doesn't know the first thing about being a dad, despite how his friend group teases him.

Eda and Eberwolf are the two who are worst about it. They torture him with how 'fatherly' he's allegedly being (allegations Darius will DENY til his GRAVE!!!) And Eda specifically compares his journey to hers, saying it always starts off with you referring to them as your apprentice (again, Darius doesn't plan on doing that), as your roommate (...kinda weird in Darius' opinion? But okay Eda), or even your pet (????HELLO???). But eventually, they always become your dumb kid when you least expect it.

She's had a couple cups of appleblood by this point, but Darius knows on some level she's right and he's steadfastly ignoring that fact, even as Eber continues to refer to Hunter as his "cub" (kinda cute but Darius doesn't know how Hunter would feel being compared to an animal). The only people who are even remotely reasonable about all this (besides Lilith who's a bit disinterested in kid talk) is Raine and Alador, who both sort of neutrally, a bit awkwardly refer to Hunter as Darius' Boy.

Darius referring to Hunter as "my boy" is funnily enough what sticks the longest before it evolves to son boy. Hunter's crushing it at a derby match? Darius is whooping and cheering, yelling "THAT'S MY BOY!!!" At the other parents in the stands. Hunter is doing something dangerous or inadvisable where others can see him? "Darius, your boy-" "AHH! MY BOY". Hunter, a year into his stay with Darius finally comes clean about everything to do with him being a grimwalker, and is afraid that he's going to go back to seeing him as just an inferior replacement for Darius' beloved mentor? Darius (who has just had to process some of the most bonkers, emotionally heavy information in his life) gently, hesitantly puts a hand on his shoulder (the 'good' one Hunter doesn't mind people touching), and says that Hunter's much more than that. He's Darius' Boy and he's not going to kick him out or get angry or love him any less for things out of his control. It's good. They're good.

Like I said, it evolves over time and 'boy' becomes somewhat obsolete as the two get caught up in the joy of finally feeling able to explicitly refer to each other as family. But unlike "guardian" or "ward" the word never gets fully retired. Even when Hunter is 30 and is arguing that he's more of a man than a boy now, he is still getting referred to by Darius as "his boy", the way some parents never really stop calling their adult kids baby or kiddo (Camila and Eda respectively btw).

Hunter makes one of those corny matching shirt sets at some point for a father's Day gift when he's 17/18, where the two shirts say "if lost, return Boy to me" (Darius) and "I'm Boy" (Hunter). Hunter mostly did it so he could own a funny shirt that says "I'm boy". Darius openly weeps upon seeing them. Like Oh my Titan he's boy. He's my boy. Oh wow

[merakiui]

Rollo covering his mouth with his handkerchief in disgust will never not be funny to me 😂

He’s so cute. 🥺 it’s so silly and yet so perfect for his character. My favorite thing about this is incorporating the handkerchief in fics and having Rollo using it as a barrier of sorts when he kisses you for the first time. <3 bare lips touching is too much for him!!!! He would combust on the spot.

[nemurian]

@bigboobyhalo Your sacrifices have been accepted by the great Dapper. I'm so sorry but I don't think you'll be getting them back anytime soon. Or ever.

[golden-headband]

Nap Time

Eternal Servants AU belongs to @emelinstriker

Scenario: Reader wants to sleep. Needs to have their favorite fur covered boys to sleep well.

You were lying down, trying to go to sleep. And yet it elludes you like water from a ducks back. You knew you were tired, yet your mind refused to turn off in order for you to get your REM sleep.

You finally breathed in and give a sigh of defeat. Lifting your head from the pillow and looked up. "Guys? Could you-?"

"Yes Master!?" Macaque knelt before you, at eye level where you were lying in the couch. You stared at him. Bemused at his speed. "Can i ask you, Wukong, and MK to come here for a sec?" That order request did not take long to be fulfilled.

"Is there something we can do Master?" MK asked, looking up at you. "It's not a big deal, just a lil thing." You assured the three monkey champions kneeling in front of you. " Um... Can I ask you guys to just... Lie next to me? Like. One on each side? I'm more used to my cats lying next to me while I go to sleep and uh..." By the look on their faces, they could feel your sorrow from missing your pet. You took in a deeper breath, held in your chest as you tried to speak. "I just need some company while I go to sleep."

" of course" you were so tired you couldn't tell if it was Wukong or MK saying this. You knew it wasnt Macaque since he wad always so loud and eager to please you. Eventually you felt Wukong on your left and Macaque on your right. Both nuzzling into your shoulder and side respectfully. MK was clinging to you while burrying his head into your chest. Right over your heart. All of whom had their arms wrapped around you ans their tails wurled either around your legs or your waist. It was... Soothing. In no time your eyes closed, and you drifted off to sleep. Feeling comfort in those around you.

And when you felt Wukong place a kiss on your head, it was over. You heard his voice before going straight into dreamland. "Have a good night Master."

[bambiraptorx]

Not Quite Hidden AU: part 3. Word Count: 489. Readers chose: be compassionate.

“I accept your apology.  I understand that children are difficult to control on occasion," Draxum says.

The yokai tilts his head, his snout wrinkling slightly as if he doesn’t know how to take Draxum’s words.  But it doesn’t seem to be the worst reaction the ferret could have had, at least.

“Mister?”  Raphael tugs again at Draxum’s train, raising his free hand to point at something on one of the shelves.  “Can you grab those crackers for me?”

Draxum blinks.  “Which ones, the red box?”

“No, the green and yellow one.  The Critter Crackers.  No, the big one.”

Draxum settles his hand in front of a large box on the top shelf with yellow and green stripes and stylized animals of various kinds, mostly non-sentient beasts of burden and the like.  “So this one.”  

“Yay!  I betted you were tall enough to get them!”  Raphael squeals.  Is that why he approached Draxum in the first place?  So Draxum could do something for him?

The ferret grumbles something under his breath, then sighs.  “We need to go, Raphael.  I do not particularly want to stay here any longer.”  

Draxum slowly grabs the box and hands it to the child, who giggles happily and runs back to his father’s side.

“And what, exactly, do you mean to imply by that?”  He stares down at the ferret, trying to understand what this stranger could possibly have against him.  If anything, Draxum is the one who deserves to hold a grudge, given that the turtles were stolen from him.

The yokai’s fur begins to stand on edge again.  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.  Boys—stop trying to open the box, I need to pay for those first!”

“I want the simurghs, I want the simurghs!” The box turtle finally lets go of Draxum’s leg and leaps away, latching onto the box as the others swarm around it.

“Nuh uh, I get the simurghs this time!  You promised that last time!” The slider hollers.  How did he get over there so quickly, wasn’t he just by Draxum’s leg?

A sudden fluttering sound from down the aisle alerts Draxum to the approach of his gargoyles, each of them carrying a basket larger than they are.

“Hey, boss!  We finished with the lists you gave us—what’s with the kids?” Huginn asks, hovering as close to Draxum’s shoulder as possible without ramming the basket into a helmet horn.

“My children are none of your business,” the ferret grumbles tiredly.

“Oh, cool, so you’re their parent then?” Muninn chirps.

“He’s our dad!” the slider crows, latching onto the ferret yokai’s arm and grinning.  “We only got one dad though.  Some people have more parents.  Do you have parents?”

Huginn nods.  “Yep, Muninn and I have five or so.  We’re not really brothers, though, we’re hatchmates.  Common misconception.”

The ferret yokai opens his mouth, then shuts it again.  His tail twitches erratically. “I… I need to leave.”

(Reblogs are very appreciated!)

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[theriu]

I had a really nice marble gargoyle once, but he left me because I took him for granite.