#human-shaped fiends

[mylifeinfiction]

Human-Shaped Fiends by Chandler Morrison

"Justice doesn't have anything to do with anything."

Boring. Chandler Morrison's brand of 'shocking for the sake of being shocking' extreme 'horror' is—for lack of a better word—boring. The fact that he then injects the meta exercise of literary masturbation that is autofiction into the mix makes it insufferably boring.

I get that Morrison is trying to be subversive by dismantling the (splatter) western genre by taking its tropes to 'shocking' extremes, but he's very clearly not clever—or talented—enough to effectively pull it off. Instead, we're left with a paint-by-numbers western that so badly wants to be some sort of spiritual successor to Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian—just, y'know, without the thematic weight or the gargantuan literary talent of Cormac McCarthy—thus making it little more than a hodgepodge of juvenile scenes of r*pe and m*rder clumsily interwoven with delusional, over-the-top autofiction 'satire' that never manages to achieve anything besides shining a light on Morrison's clear disdain not only for this genre, but for his fans. He's very clearly bored of writing this sh*t. But not nearly as bored as I was while reading this sh*t.

2/10

-Timothy Patrick Boyer.

[ilikedetectives]

Hi Colin, what's the endgame for Kalius (and Minty)? Does Kalius take a Balduran title at all or is it just Absolute power?? 😇

Hello hello! Minthy and Kalius become the Absolute, then they *call drops* on that illithid throne after Kalius proposes (they're practically engaged 7th time prior with all the rings on Minthara's fingers). After that they begin their conquest of Menzoberranzan and get Kalius' cambion wings back from Mizora (Kalius made a deal with Mizora a long time ago: trading her cambion powers and wings so the person she loved the most no longer had to suffer from terminal illness' pain).

Then things happen and Kalius reincarnates into Lily, The Dark Urge.

[writers-potion]

Vampires, Werewolves, Zombies

They are human, but not quite. Although these entities are deeply embedded in the human psyche, they have not single definite form.

Here are some notes about these paranormal creatures of 'The Universal Unconscious', and ideas about how to tweak them.

Vampires

First stories about vampires as we know them appeared in the 18th C and developed in the early 19th C.

In 1819, a young English doctor wrote The Vampyre, featuring the character Lord Ruthven. An aristocratic fiend, immortal, seductive, and dangerous, he soon became popular.

It inspired Bram Stoker's novel Dracula. Count Dracula then became the archetype from whom most literary vampires evolved.

Sparkling vs. Traditional

Broadly, vampire would fall into 2 types:

Sparkling ones where vampires are more or less benevolent/heroic, less of a monster but a tormented human.

Traditional vampires who are creepy and dangerous.

It doesn't matter which of these you write!

Vampire Tropes

is 'undead' in a state between living and dead

drinks human blood

has an adverse or strange reaction to sunlight

sleeps in a coffin

needs to sleep on native soil, therefore carries some soil with him

remarkably handsome

seductive

pale

low body temperature

has two long retractable fangs

averse to garlic and silver

cannot bear the sight of a crucifix

suffers pain or injury when touched by holy water

cannot enter a home without being invited

can hypnotize humans

can impose his will on humans

not reflect in mirros

can fly

may be a loner or part of a hierarchical society

drains human's life force to replenish its own

immortal (almost)

superhuman strength

can be killed with a wooden stake through the heart

vampires are former humans, "turned" by a bite

when bitten by a vampire, a human weakens, dies, or becomes a vampire.

Werewolves

While wolves are the most common were-humans, humans turning into other animals are also popular.

Werewolf Tropes

normally lives as human, but turn into a wolf with certain triggers

the full moon is a common trigger

superhuman strength

possessive

loyal

dangerous

jealous

organized in hierarchical packs

may be able to change shape at will

lives an ordinary human life and keeps the turning a secret

can be killed with a silver bullet

a bite from a werewolf infects, and the bitten person becomes a werewolf.

immortal

Zombies

Through flesh-hungry undead have been a feature of ancient stories like the epic of Gilgamesh, the zombie as we know it today is rather modern, stemming from George A. Romero's 1968 film Night of the Living Dead.

The word "zombie" stems from the Haiti Vodun tradition, but was not applied widely to flesh-eating undead corpses until the second half of the 20th century.

Zombie Tropes

reanimated corposes

infected as a virus (often in a worldwide pandemic)

mindless, cannot be reasoned with

hunger for human flesh

appetite for brains

craving for salt

relentless, purpose-driven

retains some physical features and personality traits of the person they used to be

sickening smell of rotting flesh

body slowly rots, with parts dropping off

move in hordes

keeps living in this undead state despite injuries that cannot be survived.

besiege human dwellings.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[antigonick]

How would you explain what fascinates you about wuthering heights? Because I always say it's one of my favourite books but i can't even really explain why when people ask

Oh! Well, I can't talk for you, but sure, I can explain what fascinates me about Wuthering Heights. Rereading it, I can see how DEEPLY it has impacted my taste and my writing, honestly. I read it young and it's shaped a lot of things for me. But more to the point, I think Emily Brontë knows how to write ardor—force—soul. Her excess, the clear gothic and romantic influences, the telluric quality of Catherine and Heathcliff (part human, part fiend, part elementals) create the eye of the storm, and then around them there's perfect symmetry—two worlds, two generations, two families, two Catherines, two Lintons, two Heathcliffs-Hindleys-merged, life and death, even minute details like—loyalty and cruelty, selfishness and generosity, interiority and externality (in storytelling as well as character writing)... Echoes, repetition, cycle. Everything dual and opposite and forced into impossible suspension by the violence of Catherine (who is Heathcliff) and Heathcliff (who is Catherine). If they stop the storm stops and one side will swallow the other and the symmetry fall as conflation rises. It's both very contained and constantly too much, a sort of intimate howling, and of course backed up by beautiful beautiful aggressive and poetic writing that has the same power as the story it conveys. It's incredible. It's just fucking funny and insane and spooky and constantly screaming, you know? And all of that wrapped up in the Victoriana where it was born... An impossible sustained oppositeness in and of itself too.

[forcefemdemonprincess]

I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."

[di-42]

October's Oh, Wow! Fictions

Only WIPs and fairly short stories this month, hopefully I'll have more time next month. But a lovely selection of them, nonetheless! If you are checking out this list, don't let yourself be fooled by the number of kudos some of the fictions received: there are some real gems among these recs that for some obscure reason don't get the interaction they deserve, be the person who looks past the numbers!

As always, I'll tag the tumblr usernames I know, if you are on this list and you'd rather I didn't please let me know!

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon (Rated E, chapters 13/?)

I swear, every time I get a notification for a new chapter of this fiction, I do a little jump. I can't wait to have a little break to start drinking their words. This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Human enemies-to-lovers where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but, while we know they do from the beginning, we don't know what it is. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies.

You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula (Rated E, chapters 16/?)

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP And I Did (Rated E, chapters 12/15)

This is a story about faith. This is a story about love. This is a story about loss. This is a story about being apart and about being reunited. This is a story about fighting. This is a story about choices.

Where do we choose to place our faith? Will a god we have faith in come and save us? Will a friend? A loved one?

When do we start doubting our faith? How long before we snap, before we raise our head? How far can we go before we crumble under the weight of our own misplaced faith? Under the weight of our choices?

What does it take to make us feel betrayed, abandoned, left behind? What does it take for us to turn our back on what in which we had faith?

Who are we loyal to, and who is loyal to us? Who do we trust, and who trusts us?

What are we ready to risk in the name of faith? What are we ready to lose in the name of loyalty?

When are we going to take our lives into our own hands? What are we going to fight for?

This is a story about unbreakable faith. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

OR:

Yet another Good Omens post season 2 fiction.

Complete works:

Be Still, My Love, Be Still, by entanglednow (rated E, 26,766 words)

AU where Aziraphale is a human and Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon. Aziraphale is hit by spells of sleep paralysis and is curious about the man shaped being he sees in his room when he's in between sleep and wake, when his eyes are open, but he can't move a muscle. So, he does the thing any decent human being would do, he introduces himself. and leaves books around for Crowley to read. Oh, this fiction was so good. Potential for great angst, but with a beautiful happy ending. All my comments from chapter 1 to 5 read something on the lines of: "I'm going to cry so hard, god, I'm going to cry so hard." My comment on chapter 6 was: "I knew I would cry, but I cried happy tears." This is an E rated fiction where Crowley is a sleep paralysis demon, please read the tags and notes and mind as you go.

Until (Little) Death Do Us Part by Mimsynims (Rated E, 30,066 words)

Follow up to the equally great A Little Help From A Fiend, this story is hot, funny, and fluffy. And it has a happy ending. Aziraphale has summoned a demon. For reasons I won't spoil, this demon is accompanying him to a wedding in Paris as his plus one. Need I add more? Of course it's only for the weekend. This could never last. Crowley is a demon, after all.

Pay Per View, by IneffableToreshi (rated E, 22,050 words)

Set after season 1. Aziraphale has an event to attend in Canada and asks Crowley to accompany him. Crowley is delighted to oblige of course, until some additional reasons for Aziraphale's trip emerge. This story features fanon!Crowley at his best! The fiction goes from tender to heartbreaking to smutty in a heartbeat and it's great.

Something Good And Right And Real by @foolishlovers (Rated T, 30,884 words)

Lovely, delicate human AU where Crowley is a famous singer tired of fame and being on the road. He goes back to his hometown of Tadfield for a break, and there he finds something he thought he had lost forever. This is a story about love, about friendship, about finding a home and about happiness.

One shots:

One Conversation And Several Moments, by Angelica_Tree (Rated Teen, 3311 words).

This lovely fiction is set after season 1 and is not season 2 compliant. After the failed Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley are free to be themselves and to be together, but after spending 6000 years avoiding certain subjects, some conversation may be difficult to start. Or, in Crowley's case, difficult to take part in with ore than a monosyllable and a blink every couple of hours. Aziraphale is not deferred, of course. Sweet and funny in equal measure!

You Can Stay In My Bed, If You Like, by AppleSeeds (rated Teen, 3294 words)

Lovely human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley wake up together in Crowley's bed after Aziraphale's birthday party. Alcohol was involved. And Gabriel. Should they be alarmed? Mortified? Thrilled? Did anything happen? Let's find out while the two roommates snuggle a little closer to each other.

Will You Ever Stop Surprising Me? by @curiouspupsicle (Rated M, 1,077 words)

This fiction is a little gem. Set in a hypothetical future after our heroes averted the apocalypse again, it focuses on Crowley wondering if he might ever get bored of life on earth with Aziraphale. and then spending the rest of the story trying to catch up with all the ways the angel still surprises him. In the words of the writer, this is a story about Aziraphale being sex-positive. But it's that and so much more. It's joyful, it's clever, it's funny. The characterisation is spot on. I would have loved to have more of these two in this fiction!

A Little Help From A Fiend, by Mimsynims (Rated E, 2,615 words)

Sweet, funny, and, goodness me, so hot! What more can you ask of a fiction? AU where Aziraphale is human and in need of help, so of course he decides to summon a demon, who wouldn't? Did I mention it's hot? The just as good follow up to this fiction is also on this list in the multichapter section.

The Chains That Freed Us, by angelsnuffbox (MrsCaulfield) (Rated E, 6,747 words)

Set during the event of season 1. Crowley accidentally finds a way to go back in time and when and where would he accidentally go if not to 1793 in Paris? smut and sweetness ensue.

The Exponent Of Breath, by possibilityleft (Rated Teen, 8,566 words) Edit to add tag @possibility-left

This is another absolute gem that I loved so much this month! It shows us moments in time when Aziraphale and Crowley have attended weddings. It's a mix of past, future, better times, warm feelings and happiness. Deep and beautiful. Some fictions you can clearly put it into words why you liked them, and some just speak to you at a deeper level, they just touch something inside you, and this is one of those.

My own one shot, An Angel And A Demon Go To A Halloween Party, (Rated E, 4,575 words)

Just a silly little thing to try my hand at smut (and end up in fluff. And a little humour, hopefully.)

Art:

Good Omens Art Therapy To Get Me Over Season 2 by Beet_Feet (Rated G)

Amazing Good Omens drawings and paintings, check them out!

[tehrevving]

Vincent Valentine Week Day 4 - Monster

“Wake up. Fuck. Please wake up.” You shake Vincent’s shoulder roughly, but there’s no response. He’s slumped sideways against a tree, soaking wet from the rain in the middle of this stupid fucking forest. You can’t lift him, you can’t move him. You managed to drag him under this tree, to futilely attempt to shelter from the downpour, but that’s all that you’ve got in you. He’s too heavy, his limbs too long and awkward for you to lift.

You’d gotten separated from the rest of the group in the rain, the terrain growing slippery while you were stalked by fiends. You’d slipped in the mud and fallen, set upon by an obscene amount of disgusting bug-like things. You shudder, still able to hear the disgusting wet clicking of jaws in your ear. Vincent had ended up transforming, Galian beast clawing the bugs off you with a roar, large body slipping in the dirt and cracking the earth, eventually sending the both of you tumbling down a steep incline that you can’t climb back up.

His massive body had protected you from the fall, but he had crashed to the ground hard, landing on jagged rocks and crying out in pain. He had limped upright, carrying you in the crook of his elbow in an attempt to return to the others, or get out of the rain. It must have taken too much energy to heal the injuries from the fall, or maybe Vincent was weak to begin with, but he had barely moved from the crater he’d made when landing, when he began to transform back.

Vincent had set you down quickly, stepping away as bones cracked and skin slithered. He was filthy, cape brown from dirt and hair plastered limply to his face from the rain. He had looked up at you, exhausted, horrified, upset, and worried, so fucking worried as he’d slumped to the floor moments later, passed out and completely dead to the world.

You’re cold, starting to shiver in your soaked clothes. The rain is showing no signs of letting up and you know it’s going to start getting dark soon. It’s going to be too cold to stay out here in the rain once that happens, and you don’t know how you’re going to survive in the dark. You need to find shelter, somewhere you can light a fire, but you can’t move him.

He’d probably be fine if you left him, but he’d panic if he woke and you weren’t there. He’d fret over your absence and likely end up transforming again. You have no faith in your ability to find shelter either, you’d probably just end up getting more lost. You need to stay with him, you need him to wake up.

“Please,” you beg again, trying to keep your voice down but you’re almost hysterical. “Vincent. I need you. Wake up. Please.” You shake him, kiss his forehead, smack his chest. You try everything you can think of but it’s no use. You know that when he passes out after transforming, he’s out for hours.

“Fuck!” you scream into the rain, giving up and slumping on the ground next to him. You lean against his side, burying your face into your hands and try not to cry.

Something twists beside you, a shifting creak of leather and metal. You turn. Vincent’s eyes are open, wide open, too open. He’s staring right at you but the glow in them is yellow instead of red. You scramble back as he blinks, head tilting sharply towards you, cocking to the side like an animal. There’s something wrong in his gaze, it’s not human. You wonder if one of his other monsters has woken up.

“What is the matter, precious thing?” Vincent says, wrongly. His lips move but you don’t hear his voice. You hear something else, a dark, guttural thing, sliding and hissing over stilted syllables. A mimicry of speech, shaping sounds instead of words.

You scamper back further.

“Do not be afraid,” the voice lilts, darkness curling in the space between you. “Vincent is not here but I can help you.”

“Wa-wake him up,” you stammer, voice weak with uncertainty, with fear.

“No!” it snarls, forcing an aching, full body shiver down your spine. “It is me or nothing.”

You’ve made it angry, you’ve made it angry and you’re completely fucked. Energy surges, a crackling heat that steals the breath from your lungs. Swirling horns of an intangible, sludgy darkness crest over its forehead while shadowy skeletal wings crack against the tree, bark scattering to the ground. You gasp, suddenly recognising the creature.

When Vincent is emotional, when he’s overwhelmed and angry but not ready to transform. When his jaw is clenched and body tight with impending release, sometimes there’s a moment of stillness, a shadow of horns and wings. “I know you,” you say to the creature, to Vincent.

It cracks a foul grin, lips spread too thin, too many teeth exposed. It’s an abomination of a smirk, full of dark, suggestive implications. Its wings beat silently with glee. “Come here, out of the rain,” it purrs, voice sounding more natural, like it’s becoming accustomed to speaking. It lifts a shadowy wing, tilting it up, blocking the rain from a small patch of ground beside it.

You hesitate. You don’t know much about Vincent’s transformations. You’ve only ever met Galian before, and he is kind, thoughtful if not animalistic and instinctual. Vincent has never warned you against trusting his monsters, but he’s also the type to never mention it. You don’t have a choice, you’re still stuck, still stranded and lost. You inhale deeply and slowly make your way towards Vincent’s body, towards the shelter underneath a shadowy, bat wing.

You sit down, feeling energy and heat radiate from Vincent’s body. The wing curls above you, protecting you from the rain and wind. The creature looks down, yellow eyes fixated, pupils slit like a cat’s. You’re terrified, lost and afraid, and you don’t know what to do.

“How can I help you?” Vincent rumbles, voice sounding impossibly close to your ear. You jolt and the creature chuckles lowly.

“I’m lost,” you reply. You don’t know if you should tell this creature anything, but it’s offering help and it’s your only choice at the moment. “We’re lost and it’s raining. I don’t know where to go, I don’t know what to do. We need to find shelter but I can’t carry him.” You take in a deep, shuddering breath. You try to compose yourself, but you can’t stop the tears from falling.

“Do not cry,” The creature hisses, reaching out to you with Vincent’s gauntleted arm. He never reaches for you with that arm, always tries not to touch you with it. You’re not sure what to do, the action is so jarring. The hand presses to your cheek gently, the touch so soft and at odds with everything else that’s happening. Golden fingers carefully brush the tears from your eyes.

The hand recedes and the creature holds it up to its face. It licks your tears from the metal, tongue too long and wide as it laves over sharp fingers. It purrs with contentment, a deep sound tumbling through its chest. “I will find you shelter,” it hisses, “where you can wait for him to awaken.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, feeling mistrustful, but not really having a choice.

“There is a price,” the creature cackles.

Your mouth gapes open, speechless. You have no idea what this creature might want.

Vincent’s face laughs, mouth open too wide, head thrown all the way back. It’s an expression he would never make. A slitted gaze snaps to you, lips peeled back with too wide of a smile. “A kiss,” it coos, voice curling like smoke.

You’re confused.

He snarls. “You kiss him all the time. I want to try.”

You don’t have any other options and a kiss is fine. It’s still Vincent, it’s still his face, his lips. It shouldn’t be any different to kissing him normally. That’s what you try to convince yourself of anyway.

“Alright,” you say, mind made up. You steel your resolve. You’re committed to this now, you’re not going to back down.

The creature laughs and leans towards you. Vincent’s gauntlet hooks underneath your chin, tilting up your head. Yellow, slitted eyes stare down at you, blinking unnaturally, one at a time. A too long tongue darts out to lick full, reddened lips, twisting its length as if to show off. “Call me Chaos, Sweetling,” it purrs, voice laced with innumerable promises as the foreign, broken face of your lover slips closer.

[bestiarium]

The Weskwekkehs and the Ganiagwaihegowa [Native American mythology; Penobscot and Seneca mythology]

In the traditional belief system of the Native American Penobscot people, it was believed that if a black bear ate human flesh, the animal would undergo a supernatural transformation. It would completely lose its fur, gain supernatural power with which it could magically charm humans, and most importantly, the bear would develop a taste for human flesh. The resulting monster was called a Weskwekkehs, meaning ‘great hairless bear’.

According to one story, a Penobscot hunter ventured too far into the wilds and knew that he would not be able to return home that day. He built a makeshift shelter to spend the night and returned to his hunting camp the following day. But when he arrived, it became clear that something had happened in his absence, for the camp was a mess and his family was nowhere to be seen. He searched every nook and cranny and eventually found his children and wife dead, seemingly trampled by some terrible beast.

The grieving father buried his family and set out to find the killer, and he soon came upon a track of strange footprints. At first glance, they appeared to have been made by a bear, but the shape was somehow different and weird. As he followed the tracks, the hunter came upon a truly colossal tree, which must have been incredibly old. The branches all appeared to be rotting. On top of a large branch close to the very top of the tree, a horrifying monster was resting. It resembled a large, monstrous bear without fur, and the hunter knew at once that this creature must have destroyed his camp and killed his family.

Knowing that he was no match for the monster, he returned to the village and told his story. The men of the village gathered their weapons and hunting equipment and, after a night of rest and preparation, set out to fight the beast.

When they came upon the gigantic tree, the monster descended and howled with a noise that was so terrible, the very ground beneath its feet trembled from its growls. But the men were determined and fierce, and completely riddled their opponent with arrows. In fact, it was said that the bear resembled a porcupine because of all the arrow shafts sticking out of its body. Any natural creature would have died on the spot, but somehow the monster barely seemed to have noticed.

Luckily, the men were accompanied by the village shaman, a wise man who was very knowledgeable about supernatural creatures. He was told by a chickadee that the monster could only be killed by targeting its heel, for that was its only weak spot. He instructed the other men to back away, took aim, and shot an arrow straight into the Weskwekkehs’ heel. Indeed, the monster was now dying. It addressed the shaman and, speaking as if it were human, admitted his defeat. The beast said that the people managed to overpower him, and so he would never bother humans again. The dying Weskwekkehs stumbled into the water and was never seen again.

That is the short version of the Penobscot tale. There are multiple variations of this story, but they all have the same underlying structure. One of these regional variants comes from the Native American Seneca people, and as the folktale goes, the region that is now New York was once haunted by a horrible monster they called Ganiagwaihegowa. People who ventured alone into the woods were devoured by this beast, which resembled a huge, monstrous bear with no fur, and it was known to chase and eat people who had seen its footprints in the ground. The creature could not be defeated by ordinary hunters, for no wound could bring it down. Two local folk heroes, Hadentheni and Hanigongendatha, set out to slay this fiend and consulted a great and benevolent spirit for advice. The spirit told them that the creature had only one weakness: a spot on the soles of its paws.

Still, they knew that they did not stand a chance against the great beast in open combat, so the two heroes devised a plan to trick it. They collected bits of wood and built an effigy shaped like a human, which they erected outside of the monster’s lair. Ganiagwaihegowa, always hungry for human flesh, fell for the bait and walked right into the ambush. In the ensuing battle, the heroes managed to hit the creature’s sole with an arrow. After the great beast died, the two men burned its corpse to make sure it would never return.

There are several other local variations of the story, such as the Katcheetohuskw from the Naskapi people. Given that all of these variations were described as monstrous, hairless bears, I wonder if these stories originated from sightings of bears with mange.

Sources: Siebert, F. T. (1937), Mammoth or “Stiff-legged bear”, American Anthropologist, New Series, 39(4), pp. 721-725. Bane, T. (2016), Encyclopedia of Beasts and Monsters in Myth, Legend and Folklore, McFarland, 423 pp., p.133. (image source 1: Karen Sim) (image source: RPerboni on Deviantart)

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney Princesses: Sleeping Beauty

Click for better quality

(Edited, changed the picture as I didn’t think it was as high quality as the others were, old picture under the cut)

Sleeping Beauty I decided to take a twist on the whole Maleficent movie relationship thing.

So for this AU, Briar Rose, instead of running up to her room in despair after hearing she's a princess and has to leave her whole life behind, instead runs out into the woods. And before the fairies can find her--they're still keeping their magic small to keep their location secret, not knowing its already been compromised--she runs into Maleficent.

Of course, she has no idea who the wicked fairy is. No one has ever told her about her. All she knows is that a beautiful and powerful being of the forest is before her, but Rose has never known real wickedness, and perhaps she's feeling somewhat rebellious towards her aunts, so she begins talking to the strange woman when Maleficent --who likes to play with her food-- feigna concern asks Rose to tell her what's made her so upset.

So Rose tells her about how she just found out her whole life is a lie, and how she'll never see the first boy she ever met again, and how she doesn't want to go and be princess with a king and queen she doesnt know, parents who gave her up for some reason intead of bothering to raise her themselves.

If she had had time to process her grief, and the promise of not being separated from her new found love, Rose might have been able to get over these resentments, spoken in the heat of the moment, more quickly.

But Maleficent decides that fanning the flames of he Princess's broken heart and trust, playing on her anger towards Stefan and the three fairies, could be so much more entertaining than just killing the girl outright.

So she takes Rose by the arm, and back with her to her palace, where she promises her the truth about all her questions, and the answers to how to solve all her problems...

Time passes, and the princess never arrives on her 16th birthday.

The king and queen are distraught. Relations breakdown between the human kingdom and the fairy court, as the fairies failed in their duties to guard the human girl, and they are called back into the Veil of the Fairies, leaving the mortals to fend for themselves.

Then relations break down between the human kingdoms when Prince Phillip goes missing as well, vanished into the forest, never to be seen again.

And then others begin to vanish. A farmer here, a wandering knight there. A whole group of children one moonless night. As more disappear, many more begin to flee entirely. Fields are left untilled, houses abandoned, borders undefended.

Tales soon cross the land as the refugees take flight from Stefan and Hubert's kingdoms. Tales of a dark presence that haunts the shadows of the woods, stealing away those who are foolish enough to wander beneath the trees. A fiend who takes the shape of a beautiful forest sprite, with a voice like a nightnagle. She causes all who hear it to fall under her spell, wandering into the shadows like they're walking in a dream, one from which they will never wake...

[sorcerous-caress]

Warlock human who pays their patron back with being free use whenever their patron wants.

An archfey that summons you to the fae realm whenever they want, finding the human smell too intoxicating to resist. The sound of soft bells and windchimes echo with each plunge they push into your core.

A fiend that marks your flesh, a collar to match as they keep reminding you of your place human, between their legs whenever they wish. Sometimes, you're kept tied to their bed on display for all visitors who may look but never touch.

A celestial that gets overbearing and condescending, constantly looking over your shoulder and making inappropriate remarks. Pulling you by holy strings up towards a featherly bed whenever they want to teach you manners.

A great old one that's indifferent to the way you squirm when overstimulated, whose emotions and expressions are too incomprehensible for your human mind. Who curiously pushes you past your limits each time.

A genie that comes from nobility and wealth that showers you in the most expensive equipment and clothes as long as you sit on their lap and thank them for each and every item as their fingers creep between your legs.

The fathomless that plunges you into pits of darkness, making you gasp for air as water shapes itself to plunge into your hole and wrap around your body. Each ocean, river, and lake send shivers up your skin and a feeling of uncontrollable lust.

The hexblade, where darkness means invisible hands, caressing your body, groping and proding against your sensitive areas. Even the simple shade of a tree means the feeling of lips against your neck. Each night brings promise of endless pleasure as the shadows manifest and spreads your legs

An undying who gets you to call them master. Strict and tough with their love as they bend you over their knees, a riding crop in the other hand. Who always makes sure you're on your best behaviour. Perfection is the bare minimum.

An undead who feasts on you each night, revealing in your life essence and the blood that pulses through you. Dead skin and souless eyes drinking up every reaction and moan they can get out of you, making you feed them what your human soul can offer.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Alenoah Week 2024: Day 3 - "TDWT Ending Rewrite"

The trek to the top of the volcano was, in layman's terms, agonizing.

Searing heat, somehow simultaneously swelteringly humid and suffocatingly dry, blistered at every inch of Noah's exposed skin and burned through his lungs like hot coals with every laboured breath. The sweat that would've been dripping from his exhausted body like a faulty faucet didn't even have the opportunity to form into pearl-shaped droplets before it evaporated against the overwhelming force of just how fucking hot it was.

And yet he'd made it.

He'd gotten there first, too.

Noah had somehow managed to out-slither the slippery fiend whilst the two were stumbling across the skipping stones of a lava lake, despite the weight of his pineapple dummy causing him to falter after almost every step.

The maw of the volcano bubbled and spat embers at his feet, just a few measly inches from the cynic himself. It was time to end it; the competition, the show, his… rivalry with Alejandro.

As if the mere thought of the Spaniard had somehow summoned him, Noah heard the tell-tale clicking of heeled boots against rock behind him quickly followed by harsh, laboured panting (not nearly as desperate as his own wheezing, but a far cry from the womanizer's usual composure). Alejandro's ponytailed hair rose from the plateaued peak of the volcano, followed by a pair of thick eyebrows furrowed against sweat-sheened skin, then a pair of furious sage green eyes- and sage was the most appropriate description Noah could think of, since they burned with a competitive fire comparable to the all-encompassing heat around them.

"It's over, Alejandro. I have the high ground."

Noah's voice was a hoarse, painful rasp, though whether it was from its unbearable dryness or the tenseness of the situation, he wasn't sure. He stood firmly at the edge of the volcano, searing light illuminating the edges of his form like a foreboding halo as he held Pinealejandro almost covetingly in a bridal carry, hovering the dummy over the scorching cavern of its imminent demise.

Alejandro- the human one, not the pineapple one- continued his unwavering ascent to the volcano's peak until he was but a few insignificant feet away from Noah. His shoulders visibly rose and fell with each huff of magma-scorched breath, and the barbaric snarl he bared towards the bookworm twisted his handsome features into something wild, alight with a passion that burned at white-hot as the lava below.

Then he roared.

"You underestimate my power!"

And lunged towards Noah, carelessly discarding his own pineapple dummy (comparatively twiggier and more feeble looking than Noah's own) as he cleared the space between them in the blink of a cinder-dusted eye.

"I will not lose to someone as infuriating as you!"

Before he could process what was even happening, Noah found himself scooped away from the edge of the volcano and lifted a few extra meters off of the ground, held victoriously above the latino in an overhead lift like he was some sort or glorified barbell. The shock of which inadvertently caused him to drop his own dummy, sending the construct tumbling into the bubbling, gaping chasm below until it plunged into the awaiting magma with a barely audible 'plop'.

For a brief tension-paused moment the two remained eerily still, almost frozen in place with disbelief (an impressive feat, considering it was far too fucking hot for anything to freeze atop the volcano).

Well.

That was that, then.

…It was sort of anticlimactic, really. Noah was almost disappointed.

"Um," The bookworm began, quickly schooling his surprise at being lifted and brandished like a javelin into his usual apathetic countenance, "Are you going to put me down, or…?"

Noah's enquiry was met a bark of high pitched laughter, a sound so entrenched in sardonic humour it was practically swimming in animosity.

"Ah, but Noah," Alejandro preened indulgently, as if he were speaking to a small child, and his snarl curled into a manic grimace. The archvillain's eyes were widened to their extreme, dying wisps of ember light flickering across his gaze which trailed from the waifish nerd held above his head to the boiling magma below.

"I still have a dummy to discard of."

In other words,

THROW THAT TWIG

INTO THE VOLCANO!!!

[y-rhywbeth2]

Hello I love bane totally normal amounts, so do you have any favorite fun (or fucked up) trivia facts about my emotional support god of tyranny?

I might've mentioned some of this before, but here's some trivia (and sometimes my musings upon it):

He has absolutely no indoor voice when he's excited. -

If you're invited to pray with the Banites and refuse, expect Bane to curse you with constant debilitating pain that prevents you from being able to cast spells (too much pain to concentrate) or fight, or walk very fast. This doesn't go away until you get a cleric to cast remove curse on you. If you do join them in honouring the Black Lord then your alignment will magically switch to lawful evil and you basically convert to Banite on the spot (if you're a priest then your god fires you immediately and won't take you back); this is either 1e nonsense or a sign of Bane brainwashing you, and either is just as likely. -

He - in his own words - has an "ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder". He also has 10 levels of wizard, which might tie into that. -

He seems to have a monster making hobby. There are so many monsters and monster variants that have been copyrighted by Bane it's ridiculous: banedead, baneguard, baneliches, banelar nagas... I'm pretty sure that Bane is actually credited with creating the beholders ("eye tyrants") of Toril, though I don't have the time to go looking for a source on that.

Either way; he has a lot of beholders in his service. -

I'm pretty sure I remember something about his inventing his own traps during his stay at Zhentil Keep, so there might be an engineering hobby in there somewhere. -

He's a nerd about human biology and geeks out about blood cells and neuroscience - not that he'd admit it because the idea of being thrilled by mortality terrifies him (also I think he just hates positive emotions in general). Before the Time of Troubles he used to enjoy possessing mortals as hosts instead of manifesting avatars, which would presumably allow him to experience what they did and geek out about it while pretending he wasn't (although he didn't look after them very well and inevitably ran them into the ground - basic human needs are beneath him). -

He seems to like using black and red lightning of some sort as a kind of signature. -

(...I think this guy would be very happy as a supervillain living in his secret lab somewhere, performing mad scientist experiments as he plots to take over the world.) -

His domain can be annoying to pin down, because technically it started off in the plane of Acheron, but he's also supposed to be rooming with Loviatar and Bhaal in the Barrens of Doom and Despair in Gehenna, so who knows! -

He has a pet raven called Koravis, who he has a mild telepathic connection with. This raven is actually a fiend in the shape of a raven, but that pretty much just means he has an evil pet raven.

It's been stated that in his mortal life his character class was Blackguard - or an evil paladin, in 5e terms, dedicated to the service of evil powers. I suspect his patron was his master, the primordial Maram, who he served as a battle slave. As the evil pet raven is a Blackguard class feature (fiendish servant) I suspect he had Koravis when he was mortal. The bird/fiend was likely given to him by Maram (much like a warlock's pact familiar comes from their patron) and I guess the bird stuck with the winner. -

He managed to piss off the earth goddess Chauntea at one point, trying to destroy her sacred pools/portals in the Moonshaes. I can't find the sourcebook for the details at the moment though (it was successful enough that his followers still have the moonveil spells though). Bhaal was also trying to kill her over there at some point, so I wonder if that's connected?

[reginrokkr]

Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

[merakiui]

hello!! omg your newest Rollo fic... I've been thinking about it nonstop I swear!!! I'm obsessed with all your Rollo works, you just write him so creepy and obsessive - so fitting for a man who takes everything to fanatic extremes. I particularly loved the cultish religious themes in this, so in character for him.

such a chilling premise to start. mangled wings made of bone and sinew and fake feathers?? so horrifying and gorey, more like the image of a fallen angel than anything else. and the fact that an appropriate lamb had to be searched for. perhaps the righteous one had to stalk for months to find just the perfect opportunity to lure his angel :)

the fact that the handkerchief is actually darling's... omg that stuck with me. creepy down bad despicable priest can't resist darling's scent even if it means stealing her things 👀

and the stockholm syndrome? literally tearing his angel apart and stripping her bare, just to rebirth (indoctrinate) her into the religion just like everyone else, hanging on his every word. so thoroughly broken that fingering her before a congregation is definitely Normal and a sacred holy event and not a sinful perversion (not that Rollo sees a difference between the two).

the period blood too AAA!! the first time you wrote about his fixation on it I swear you awakened something in me I didn't know existed .///. that man is an absolute fiend.

I could yap forever but!!! anyway I really really like the fic <3 Rollo simps being fed generously today

-🐌 anon (if not taken!)

🐌 anon, hello hello!!!! Omg thank you so much!! I'm so happy you enjoyed the fic!! Rollo works extremely well in contexts with religious themes. I love adding all of the symbolism,,,, I've been meaning to write a cultish fic with Mr. Rollo for quite some time now. I was having the worst cramps of my life the other day and in being doubled over in pain a thought occurred to me: what if Rollo led a group of people who worship this sort of thing??? Thus, this fic was born hehe. :D

I loved writing about the gore and brutality in shaping darling into a proper angel. Or the human equivalent of one. Immediately thrust into a position of (limited) power overseen by Rollo, put on a holy pedestal and made to be this divine creature...... AAAAAA I was actually going to compare Rollo and the cult to wolves, but I felt that was straying into The Test of Faith territory. ^^;;; in any case I love the idea of Rollo searching for the perfect lamb to sacrifice and turn into an angel. <3 poor darling who had no idea of the horrors she would soon endure at the hands of such a crazy man,,,

>:D he's a freak!!! Rollo who took all of darling's possessions (that were on her person when he stole her away) so that he can essentially rewrite her entire existence,,, of course this includes minor things like her handkerchief. I think if anything's spared from flame it's that. The rest of your identity is burned away and from the ashes comes a new title, one you never wanted or needed to begin with. All while he gets to enjoy the sweet scent of darling on his (her) handkerchief.

Rollo being obsessed with periods and period blood is so delicious to me. He's such a creep,,, proving to the congregation that you're still pure because you have your period. Maybe it even keeps him in check when he's overcome with the desire to take you for himself. I think the concept of menstruation in stories is so interesting!! When they did that in Midsommar, I was so :O Rollo being obsessed with your menstrual cycle and fertility is so real to me. Sooner or later, he's gathering some for himself to put in his morning tea....... aaaa such a freak.

Thank you again for enjoying the fic!!! ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ I will always feed the Rollo simps because I myself am so unhealthily obsessed with him!!!

[evilasiangenius]

“Maybe it’s like a boat,” Crowley muttered to himself as he stood in the doorway of the bathhouse staring at the piles of wood. “Only on land, like the reverse of a boat? Do I know how to build a boat?”

The demon tapped his head; he enjoyed being on boats, he especially liked sailboats much more than galley boats, but in all this time of traveling on boats and even watching humans building them, the demon had never actually built one himself. For those times in ancient times when he had to cross water, he usually swam it as a snake or if it were a daunting distance, he would fly. But he hadn’t even built so much as a raft, much less a boat.

“Goodness, are you still at it?” Aziraphale came in to check up on what all the clattering of wooden boards and logs was about.

“Erm, maybe? Though I’m a bit stuck. I’ve never built a boat before.”

“…why. Why? Would you. Need to build a boat?”

“Isn’t that what a bathtub is? Like a boat, but in reverse. Where the water’s on the inside instead of the outside – oh is that what that whole stone boat thing was about? Was that supposed to be a big bathtub made from a mountaintop? Though it ended up on the bottom of the Nile. Not a very useful place to take a bath if it’s already underwater…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Demon.”

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged. “Never mind, not important. Ancient business. Quite literally.”

“First of all,” Aziraphale began, “to work with wood you’d need tools. A saw, a mallet. Charcoal or chalk to measure and mark the wood. Chisels, perhaps, if it were to be jointed. Hemp rope, probably, to use for measuring. But also thick hemp rope long enough to bind the entire tub all the way around. You’d need to dig a big shallow hole outside, get water, start a fire…” Aziraphale glanced at the materials at hand, moving boards and loose pieces of wood about, sorting them.

“…why would I need a hole?”

“The hole is to steam the wood, of course, to bend it into the right shape. Look, you have large enough boards for a base here. We could make it circular, about three cubits wide? Would that be long enough to sit down in? Build a circular or oval frame, shape the boards for the sides as if making a barrel. Lash it together with hemp rope. Give it a good sanding so that the interior is smooth and there are no splinters.

“Then we transfer it outside. If we leave it out in the rain to soak, once it’s wet the wood will swell and make it watertight or at least watertight enough for our purposes. It doesn’t have to be perfectly sealed. I suppose the shipbuilding idea isn’t too bad of an idea, that is pretty much the principle of these things. If we wait long enough, the rain should fill the tub, and then we transfer the rainwater into the heating system, and pipe it back into the tub.”

“You obviously pay much better attention to human craftsmanship than I do.”

“I have been watching them for years.”

“I like watching them too, but the details escape me.” Crowley smiled. “What tools did you say you needed?”

“A saw, a mallet, perhaps some chisels…goodness, do not steal them, foul fiend. I don’t want you stealing. If you need money for these things–”

“Eh, don’t worry about me,” Crowley said. “I bet I could borrow some from friends.”

more

[livingfast04]

Monster Au? (kind of)

**spoilers for Frankenstein??? I guess??** Part Two --- They read Frankenstein in the 9th grade, Freshman English, with their teacher who had read the book far too many times. She’d waxed poetically about injustice, and how Victor was a Victim. She spoke every sentence as if each and everyone of them had never read a book in their life.

Steve read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in 7th grade for a book report. His teacher had all but begged him to choose a different option- they read it Freshman year. See it with new eyes then Steve. 

His mind was made up. Already 50 pages in. 

There was no poor Victor. Steve hated him, hated the idea of his character, hated the very words spilled on the page. The creature did not ask to be created, it did not ask to live. Steve hated that he identified with the creature, someone seeking kindness in a world that hated the idea of him. 

Devil, demon, fiend, monster. 

Skin Eater, Skin Thief, Skin Stealer, Shapeless.

If Steve was capable of that kind of violence, he’d kill everything his parents loved too. If his parents were even capable of love. 

So Steve sat bored out of his mind, and angry. In Freshman English, over a book he’d already read, over a woman, a human woman. Who spun sentences about the Human in the story, and cursed out the creature. As if the creature asked for anything. 

Kick the dog, hurt the dog, starve the dog. The kind dog will bite. 

Sink teeth into skin, tear flesh, feel the way their jaws lock around the white of bone.

He kept his mouth shut. In ways that the other monsters in the class didn’t, they huffed, and argued. The wolf at the front of the class snapped out about the logistics, the message Mary Shelley was trying to tell- how Victor Frankenstein was not the victim, but the Villain. It was about all the humans who had children with Supernatural, who abandoned them, who cast them aside, who turned the villages against them. 

When the Witch at the back of the class snapped out about Shelley was a Witch herself. 

Steve kept his mouth shut, when the Vampire boy from the front of the class shouted about how the creature just wished to be loved. 

Not a single word for how much he hated Victor passed his lips. Because Steve was supposed to be just as human as the teacher, was supposed to agree with the teacher. A woman he couldn’t even be bothered to remember her name in the Spring Semester.

Steve was to keep his head down on all things monsters, keep his abnormalness to himself- and act like a human. 

Freak, Freak, Freak

The Harrington’s were the only Shape-shifters in Hawkins, and that was a well kept secret. Only the Harrington’s were to know this fact. The world had come around to Supernatural in the late 1800s, just maybe. 

Werewolves, Vampires, Witches, Gremlins, Fairies, Dragons, Ghosts, Animal Shifters, Sirens, Banshee, you know- 

The human shaped kind.

They did not take kindly to Shapeshifters. 

So they hid, they curbed their instincts and became human-like. Raised their young in private, they did not fight the oppression, they stayed quiet, and said little to how shape-shifters worked to themselves. 

They don’t marry outside of the branch of Shifters, they don’t even think about it. 

Steve’s parents married out of necessity. Keep the line of Harrington’s alive. They had Steve out of necessity too. They shouldn’t have, but it’s what it was. His father too scared to break the cycle made sure that Steve was aware he was an abomination.

A devil, demon, a creature. 

Be human, don’t be anything else. Steve grew up knowing what his body should need, but never getting it. His “natural” body is already supposed to be thin, small, built for movement, and change.

Steve grew up, not really honestly. He tried to grow up. It took years of monsters, and years of exhaustion, and a skin that was wrong to even begin to grow up. There was no real transition, there was too human, and then too monster-ish. 

Too much, too much- 

And then there were real monsters. Not the human shaped kind. 

Not the Humans. The regulars, the ones with the slurs, and shouting, the human shaped monsters who didn’t like wrong. The ones who were the same as him, who didn’t like themselves either- 

Kick the dog, hurt the dog, starve the dog. 

The dog bites. --- I, got the writing bug, for something other than my two WIP. So, weird way too much world building Monster Au that I had to get out of my head an on to paper before I lost it completely. Both my sanity, and the idea. (The Au is Steddie, there’s just a, well Lack of Steddie in this. For some reason- probably because I word vomited for 25 minutes- and this was all I could come up with, without writing 10k-)  This was born because I’m reading Frankenstein  praise be Mary Shelley. And I’ve got far too many thoughts to be allowed to consume media.  So Stevie gets to suffer now- It’s okay tho, His Vampire Bf will make it better later down the line- :)