#so thanks kelpie!

[ineffable-doll]

AO3 First Lines Tag

Tagged by the marvelous @ineffable-kelpie!

Rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published ao3 stories (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics).

More To Me, The Mandalorian, G, 1.1k words

The droid sizzled and sparked at Din’s feet, and he stared at the asset with which he was charged.

It Wouldn’t Be Enough, Good Omens, G, 500 words

It started here: A white wing crested beneath rainclouds, and a strand of red hair caught in a feather. And then:

I’m Your Landsailor, Good Omens, G, 50k words

She had been so careful, she was always careful, this was the kind of thing selkies were always careful about. Leave your hide lying around sopped up on naivete, ignorance, or foolishness – then suffer the consequences of your own actions, in Crowley’s opinion. An entire life of having it drilled into her – never, ever leave your skin unattended, never let it out of your sight, never trust someone with it – had left her callous toward those who lost theirs, forced into lives they resented when their powers were stripped, and their hides were used as bargaining chips. She never thought that her selkie skin would be stolen one day.

It’s Too Cold to Be Alone, Good Omens, G, 2.7k words

Crowley lay sideways on the couch with his legs tucked into his chest, a thick, black blanket curled around his body. Eyes closed, he pressed his face into the sofa cushion, tugging the blanket higher over his head. Not quite hiding, but very close to it.

Music and Love Everywhere, Good Omens, T, 2k words

“Anathema, this really isn’t my scene!” Aziraphale shouted. “You can’t leave now!” Anathema replied. “They’re starting any minute!”

My Safe Place, Good Omens, G, 1.5k words

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asked, “am I queer?”  Somehow, this wasn’t the weirdest non sequitur Crowley had heard from Aziraphale over the centuries.

My Friend and I, Good Omens, G, 500 words

I probably shouldn’t be telling you – being a demon and all that.

Heavenly Dues, Good Omens, G, 2k words

Heaven was never boring. It was not possible for it to be, as a result of Heaven being a representation of all that is perfect, holy, and unsullied by frivolous human distraction. Likewise, an angel could never be bored, as they were made by the Lord’s hands to be as perfect and holy as Heaven, as well as to belong in Heaven, and as boredom would indicate a state of discontent, it was simply inconceivable for any angel residing in Heaven to experience such a thing. Because of this, it never once crossed Michael’s mind that what she may have been feeling that day was, in fact, boredom, and would have been greatly offended by such an accusation.

You Scared of Gourds?, Good Omens, G, 500 words

“Crowley, it’s not logical. We know that’s not how the afterlife functions.”

I just want you to let you let me hold you, Good Omens, G, 3.3k words

“Say, Crawly,” Aziraphale murmured some drunken evening in a Mesopotamian village. They’d run into each other there earlier in the day and, after some initial awkwardness, sought out beverages together. “I-I rather wondered something.”

Tagging @hasturswig, @ineffablefool, and @hotcrosspigeon in case any of you are interested. No pressure!

[maledictus-maleficus]

[intistone]

Sun rights himself, and realizing with a panic what he did, he jerks his talon away, rubbing his arm nervously. “S-Sorry…” ….he shouldn’t have done that. That was too close, too attached….too clingy and- …. You gingerly, carefully, take the little mer’s talon into your own hand, giving him a little squeeze. “Hey….its okay, buddy. One step at a time…literally.” Sun blinks up at you, his face stunned as he stares and curls his talon around your hand, giving you a quick squeeze back with a soft smile. “Th-Thanks…”

“No problem, buddy.”

i am working on this shit

[vampiritea]

hi hello i am asking about your dog!!!!

I’M SO GLAD

Her name is Minna and she’s a kelpie but often gets mistaken for a dingo 🥰 I love her so much, she’s the reason I get up in the morning, and she’s super cuddly despite being such an active breed!!

Also she just recently turned 3 🥰🥰

[kitchenaidmixer02]

oh no they’ve found my residence

The Kelpie Pond✨️ Jaimie Whitbread

[swampjawn]

Dungeon Meshi Episode 7 was super interesting from an adaptation standpoint - this'll be a little different from what I usually write about (though I do still talk about the animation in the full video).

Studio Trigger have never done a straight-up manga adaptation before - and led by Yoshihiro Miyajima, a big fan of the manga who pushed hard for the adaptation to get made, and who has never directed a full series before, it was unclear if they'd be able to find the right balance between a simple panel-for-panel recreation and making something that's completely different.

And in the first few episodes, you could really feel the tension between the influence of a cautious young creative with great respect for the source material, and a studio with a unique established visual style. It kinda seemed like they were ping-ponging willy-nillily between the two sides of that spectrum.

But this episode showed that Miyajima (and series writer Kimiko Ueno) can take 3 chapters, slice them up and rearrange them into a cohesive-feeling episode while taking into account the differences between screen and page, and using them to their advantage.

Starting with the way the water looks. This line from the manga describes a faint magical glow to the water in this lake and you can see that the cavern fades into darkness above, but Kui's illustration style doesn't really define lighting and shadows very much compared to the cel-drawing style of animation. So the animators took the opportunity to use the water as the light source, and make a whole episode that's lit almost entirely from below. It really gives an otherworldly feeling to this area.

Particularly when the Kelpie shows up, that under-lighting works wonders to define its anatomy within the relatively simple line art.

What do you do when you can't show the immense fuck-off scale of a monster with a beautiful full-page spread like this?

Well you use what you do have: the ability to move the camera instead. This is such a great way to communicate the scale of this thing, AND such a great way to show some of Senshi's anime-original butt-cheeks!

This is one of my favorite shots from this episode - this whole sequence is super hectic, cutting quickly from character to character, but they use tricks like this to keep you from getting confused. This is framed much like it is in the manga, but with the moving image, they're able to use the trajectory of the fish head in the background to lead your eye directly from Chilchuck, right to the point where Senshi pops up in the foreground and transition seamlessly from one character to another!

Now, it's not all good - I am a bit disappointed that they removed Marcille's own Senshi-style soap-making montage, which was the perfect visual representation of the culmination of the character development and understanding built between Senshi and Marcille.

It's a shame to see it go.

I get more into that, what else was cut, and much more in this video where I broke down the entire episode!

Check it out if you feel like it. If you don't, jump in a ditch, cover yourself in leaves and jump out at people as they walk by.

Thanks for reading!

[twistedpink]

“If you, the beastkeeper, do not spread this email to 6 people before the end of supplementary spooky season, the one you love the most dearly will be cursed until the last eve has passed. Ignore at your own risk!“ Spam email aside, you’re not bothering your friends with it even for a joke,, A couple days pass and sure enough, (because isn’t your luck legendary?) your boyfriend is turned into a hideous monster- foretold to stay that way until the winterween season has ended :0 Will he attack you? How can you support him? And most importantly, will the snack stash last long enough to avoid the holiday rush?

Zombie!Ace Trappola

Ace was actually the one to send you the message, (like he doesn’t bother you enough) he thinks people trying to make extra holidays a thing is hilarious! He’ll also use whatever excuse he can to deny that he’s been turned into the dumbest monster there is,, You’re lucky it’s only for a couple days- else he’d start gnawing on you to get his protein in :) The “joking” about eating you was wayyy too soon, so for his last couple hours he’s tied up on the couch to avoid any sneak attacks.. Nothing’ll stop his smart mouth though, and he makes sure you know how much he needs you to come back! Whenever you do show up he says it’s just to change the channel, but his involuntary babbling (both sleep deprived and zombieish) says a different story <3

“babeee,,, C’mere, I won’t eat you. If I wanted to I would’ve, even then my bite’s not too bad.. BOO! Did I spook you??”

Banshee!Cater Diamond

You’d better have experience with subway surfers and stalking magicam, Cater’ll die if you can’t entertain him!! He phases through anything around the house, anytime he talks it’s uncontrollably loud, and he can’t even touch you :( He gets mini premonitions, but it’s not as cool as you’d expect. Since you’re not in danger with modern commodities, he gets visions of who gets canceled next or what’s going bad in the fridge :/ Cater flying around is much better than dealing with a troll- but he’s not happy about the pajamas he “died in”, and will make sure to be more fashionable in bed! <3

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE sorry, that pic is cute!! Can you video me again? I know it hasn’t worked yet, just one last try and we’ll take a nap, scout’s honor!”

Ogre!Jack Howl

If you thought Jack was too big before, he gets massive with the curse :0 Poor guy can’t keep up with the height- sheer bulk weighing him down and stopping him from getting his chores done (no matter how careful he is). You eventually resolve to put him on bedrest, but he can’t reach far enough to wash his back anymore, so you’re forced to rinse him off with a warm towel <3 The new mass has definitely affected how he fills his clothes out, and it hurts being so buff :( New stretch marks mar his biceps, and growing pains don’t seem that painful until you remember how bad they were at like fourteen. Massaging the ache from his muscles while you babble about your day’s all he could ask for, and he loves that you take care of him <33

“Oh, you’re running the wash? I’ll finish it, and it’s only right to fix that cabinet you’ve been talking about.. You don’t have to thank me! I know you’d do the same.”

Kelpie!Floyd Leech

Floyd is already unbelievable on his normal setting, but now you trap him in the bathtub?? Blashphemy! Getting a good soak wears his transformation potion down, so now he’s trying to drag you into the tub while being too tall (long??) to fit inside it,, You can hardly tell if the curse even affects him apart from the translucent sheen of his skin and the fact that his impressions are really good now. (He’s tricked you into opening the front door way too many times because he can imitate knocking now) Joking about drowning you is just a normal Floyd activity, but by the second pass of his tail going for your wrist, you decided to wait the curse out from your bedroom.. It’s for the best, but that doesn’t mean your pet kelpie doesn’t get lonely :(

“WAIT! I learned how to do a new noise come backkk :( Fine. Stay away, I don’t want you at my party,, *distant dolphin sounds*”

Werewolf!Epel Felmier

Two words, hell freaking yeah. No matter what you say he’ll take the transformation in stride- nobody else gets to be this manly!! He’s shoving new body hair in your face like a trophy, but you never remembered movie werewolves being so,, Clingy? Epel’s always feining for a scratch behind the ears to keep him in “peak form”, and unlike the other guys he goes out of his way to be in public. The curse gets him high off putting an arm around your waist and nodding at the beastmen he knows.. After his usual 3 hours of messing up the apartment before bed, the insomnia is ruff. Good thing his honey’s there to help him out <3

“I am NOT sum’ mutt >:( Vil’s jus got it in the ol’ melon to keep ma hair tidy, so you’ve gotta help!”

Chupacabra!Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia is obsessed with the little detail that this “blessing” picked him out of all the people in your life, and gets weirdly smug with it,, Nothing about his life changes too much (avoiding the sun and whatnot) but he does get a little “method” with his role as the beast to your beauty <3 A week passes in the blink of an eye, so you’d better treasure your rented monster! He takes every opportunity to nurse the sensitive column of your neck, babbling about some “unique instincts”.. For a month after the curse has subsided, you wake up with fresh bites along any exposed skin- Lilia’s lucky you think he’s so cute, not many would believe his naive act! He capitalizes on his boyfriend privileges, for they are nothing if not special <3

“Ah! You believe I am the night terror? You would blame the one you “love most dearly” for this?? Heinous!”

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 18

(Epel and other flowering Earth/Plant Nymphs have a symbiotic relationship with the bees of Twisted Wonderland. Where the flowers don't create seeds for the Nymph, they can still be benefited by the introduction of pollen from other flowers the bees visit, as it helps their immune systems to fight off plant related pests and infections. The immune system of a Earth/Plant Nymph is not the same as the blooded creatures of Twisted Wonderland because most Nymphs of all kind have no true blood.

Fun fact: Trees are rather carnivorous and will crack open bones with their roots if close enough for the marrow. They can consume meat very quickly. This is true for the Tree Nymphs of Twisted Wonderland.)

Warnings; multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, mostly fluff focused chapter with a strong dash of angst and toped off with a bit of dodgy humor from Floyd, food focused chapter (fried food, fruit, meat, sweets), Floyd has no chill, Hellcat, Dragon, Vampire Bat, Shinigami, Nemean Lion, Gnoll, Harpies, Selkie, Shadow-man, Minotaur, Sphinx, Raiju, Cervitaur, Unicorn, Kelpie, Water Nymph, Cecaelia, Mermen, mention of Drider

~~~~~~~~

Despite the stress earlier on in your already delicate balancing act of life, the rest of the week passed quietly. Even getting your stitches removed went without a hitch and you were somewhat able to return to your daily life. Though you had been cleared to walk on your leg for more than a day, Malleus had been insistent on keeping you off of it until he was certain.

In the early morning you awoke before the rest of your ever present nestmates. Malleus had reluctantly agreed to let you walk around a bit the night before and you were eager to get back to moving around on your own. Despite how kind Silver was to be carrying you around, your classes were not his own and he had an education to attend to. Not to mention the fact you refused to allow Malleus to join you for classes.

You slowly slid out of the nest, taking care to not wake the Dragon that had curled himself around you as you all slept. During your gentle extraction from the nest, you managed to scoop up the still sleeping Grim without waking him. His little paws stretched out somewhat as you cuddled him close. You grabbed comfortable clothes and easily snuck away from the Hoard and the Dragon that guarded it.

It was nice to have some time to yourself, even in those small moments. It had become a little more than suffocating to live the way these monsters did.

The faint sound of a videogame could be heard as you quietly padded down the steps and past the main lobby where Ortho and Idia played a co-op platformer. They were so immersed they didn't even glance in your direction as you walked by.

It was early enough that you could still justify sneaking around a bit, wanting to get to making the things you knew you missed. Grim was still in a deep sleep as you quietly grabbed a blanket from one of the couches and wrapped him up in it before setting him on the table in the kitchen gently. He curled up much like a regular cat with his wings tucked in at his sides, snoring softly.

It began with acquainting yourself with the new deep-fryer that Idia had constructed for you, noticing it was mostly a hands-off kind of tool unlike the ones from your world. Once you got it heating to get the thick oil to the right temperature, you set to gathering up the ingredients you would need. Your cupboards had been restocked with a wider variety of spices and food-items thanks to Sam and paid for by the elder Shinigami Papa Hades.

You were going to start the day with breakfast and then move on to the other meals. Thankfully, you didn't have classes that day and intended to ask several of the various monsters you had met to come to your dorm. The reason you were inviting them was simple as you intended to put them to work helping and tasting the foods. Due to your own experience in the kitchen and what you were lacking from home, you already had plenty of foods in mind that you needed to make for your own comfort. Beyond just the fryer, there was the standing mixer that you planned to use to make a donut dough and glaze for the donuts.

The first task you set to was shredding the potatoes and forming them into patties to be fried. While you worked on shredding, another pair of hands joined your work. Clearly the three Shinigami of the Dorm did not need much sleep, nor did they sleep often as Papa Hades silently began to aid you in your cooking endeavors.

It was nice to work with someone who knew what they were doing, his only moments of unguarded curiosity being when you began frying up the shredded potato patties. You figured he was curious as he had not touched the new fryer despite the fact that Idia had been the one to make it. The other possibility was that he didn't wish to use it before you did and without knowing the primary purpose of it. He also seemed curious as you chose a particular cut of pork-belly, cutting the meat so that it had clear stripes of marbling before tossing it into a pan to begin cooking.

Various savory scents began to permeate the air as you flipped the patties to fry on the other side, an ever familiar sound of yapping and scratching drew your attention. Ruggie's familiar sandy-brown hide made you smile as you opened the door to greet the hungry Gnoll. He wasn't the only one waiting. Standing with Ruggie was a mostly asleep Leona who looked like he was regretting getting up.

"Morning you two. I expected Ruggie, but good to see you too, Leona."

"I'm only here because Ruggie never shuts up about the food here and you still owe me that meal your promised."

"Well, then be prepared to be here all day, seeing as Crowley said everyone should have no classes today. I'm making a full feast for every meal today and something tells me there's going to be more than a few visitors. Come in, but please try to be quiet because Grim is still sleeping."

Ruggie muffled his own excited yapping even as his tail wagged at max speed at the idea of a day of feasting. Even Leona seemed pleased by your words, taking deep breaths of the food you already had cooking as they entered the kitchen. Papa Hades only spared the two a single glance as he returned to his task, already having made more than enough for double the amount of visitors you technically had to feed.

You were bold enough to snap a quick picture of the Nemean Lion cuddling the Hellcat to send to Falena, having gotten the number of the Sunset Savana King. Surely it was rare to see Leona deign to be protective of any young especially after his fumble with Cheka, and you figured the Lion King would appreciate the domestically comfortable photo of the less than domestic Leona. Even Ruggie seemed amused by your quick photo as he chuckled softly and the Lion's ears twitched in response to the sound.

Leona surprised you by walking over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs closest to Grim and settled down for a nap. He seemed to pause with his head resting on his arms before he reached out and pulled Grim over to him, careful not to wake the kit. Once he got his arms situated around the sleeping Hellcat, he was quick to join the slumber.

You were taking the potato hot-cakes out to cool when your phone buzzed impatiently in your pocket. It was Crowley saying he and the other staff members were on their way over to discuss the idea of you starting a Magicam account of your own. Apparently he already told Vil and the Harpy would be arriving around midday with Rook to discuss how to proceed. Though you hadn't expected the decision to be so quick, you had figured Vil and Rook would be involved as they were the ones who seemed more knowledgeable on the various platforms. Luckily, there was going to be plentiful food for these interlopers as you had made extra as well, given your excitement to use the new cooking tools you had been gifted.

A sudden thumping noise paired with the sound of quick steps told you the rest of the Hoard woke up and had taken your absence in the nest as a sign of danger. Malleus was first to enter the kitchen, his emerald green eyes glowing in the early light of the morning. That glow seemed to dim somewhat as his sight landed on you and he began to relax as he took in your uninjured and relaxed appearance. The Dragon was followed by his two retainers and teacher who all seemed to calm upon seeing you cooking away.

"Good morning, Malleus. Be sure to keep your voice down, Grim and Leona are asleep."

He glanced at where the Lion and Hellcat slept, then back to you with a nod.

"I am glad to see you are uninjured, (Y/n). It was... concerning... to wake without you and your cub tucked away safely in the nest. I trust you aren't straining your leg?"

"My leg is fine, Malleus. I've been itching to move around and try out some of these new gadgets in the kitchen. I will say now, however, I intend to be making meals and treats all day, so you may want to pace yourself if you choose to partake. I do hope you'll like what I'm going to be making."

Lilia was quick to join the conversation, bouncing over to you with a pleased smile as he wrapped his wings around you. The Bat nuzzled your neck and hummed with a kind of content joy that made you wonder why he was being so cuddly that morning. Curious if he was seeking more blood or not.

"Though I do detest early mornings, it is always a pleasure to see you, (Y/n)."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Vanrouge."

"It isn't flattery if it's the truth. Good to see you walking again, though. You seemed so ready to burst with boredom!"

"You try sitting around for a week and see how bored you get."

Lilia just chuckled and let you return to your tasks, sitting at the table as you finished up cooking with Papa Hades. While you transferred the plentiful food to their proper serving dishes, Idia and Ortho entered the room with the five staff members you recognized in tow. Ortho was quick to set the table with Idia's aid, Sam jumping in to help out as well as he got a good look at the delicious smelling feast. From fresh fruits to the pancakes stacked high, even Crewel, Trein, and Vargas seemed rather enthused at the prospect of a good meal.

You grabbed one piece of bacon and walked over to Leona and Grim, holding the warm cooked meat close to the nose of Hellcat who woke with a loud snort. Leona was also quick to rise at the smell of food and eyed the meat in your hands with a more than interested look. He didn't argue as you picked up the blanket and kit from his arms, missing the almost smug look the Lion gave to the seething Dragon behind you.

Grim was quick to eat the nicely crisped piece of bacon and purred excitedly from the quickly melting fat of the meat. Seeing Grim get to have the first bite of that feast sent Ruggie into a loud cackling protest, wanting to take as much as he possibly could. Clearly the others were of a similar mind as everyone took their seats, Malleus once again making a clear show of sitting next to your place at the table and keeping others from taking the chair-high-chair hybrid.

You were eager to see what the others thought of the hash-brown patties and thankfully got first pick for most of the food at the table before the others got to it. Papa Hades took his seat at the head of the table, Crowley sitting across from you and excitedly serving himself a decent share of the food. Grim was eagerly using his tiny paws to stuff food into his face, his little tail waving as he bit into the warm hash-brown and immediately purred loudly. The others had a similar reaction to the fried food, all seeming to savor the crisp golden outside and warm inside.

"So crispy, so fluffy..! Is this what you wanted to make so badly with that oil fryer you had me create?"

"One of the things. I'll be making several foods today with that fryer and even some sweets. Trust me when I say, you haven't lived until you've had some of these foods. Of course, everything in moderation, I won't lie and say they are fantastic for your health if you have too many or too much all at once. You will be wanting the recipes and your own fryer for Ignihyde though. Plus, I plan to use that electric churn you made to make ice-cream at some point, something tells me that one will be popular too."

It was while you were talking with Idia that Leona began to understand just how much good food he had been missing out on. Ruggie had tried many times to get the lazy Lion to come with him in his morning and evening trips to Ramshackle and Leona had sent him away with a bored response. Now he could see just why the loud Hyena man religiously made daily excursions to your dorm and he couldn't believe how foolish he had been to not accompany the Gnoll earlier.

Sam seemed to savor every bite of the food and you were happy to return the favor of a meal to the Shadow-man. He had fed you during your cycle and had been your rock during such an emotionally charged week. Now you could share in the labors of good food and that meant so many foods were suddenly back on your menu.

~•§•~

Lunch was starting to roll around and Trey had already arrived at your behest. He brought Riddle, Ace, Deuce, and even Cater along to help out. Cater was quick to start on dishes and avoided directly talking to anyone other than Trey and Riddle. You knew that eventually you would have to confront Cater and get all of this resolved, seeing as the Nymph was quite different from when you first met him as a result of his own actions and realization of the harm those actions have caused.

Trey was not only excited to try out the sweets you were intending to make, but was also excited to make food with you again. The standing mixer did most of the hard work for you and Trey was eager to ask Idia about it. Naturally, the timid Shinigami tried giving short answers at first but quickly became excited to explain the intricacies of the machines he made using your ideas and recollection of their functions.

Even as Ace and Deuce worked on cutting out the ringed pastries, you were interested in making more than just sweets. You had time in-between making icings for the donuts and actually frying the dough to just take a moment for yourself. After breakfast, Divus talked in depth with you about what he and the other staff had agreed upon in terms of making and managing these photo accounts for you.

He told you of the one photo that had circulated most of Twisted Wonderland and the negative impact it had as a whole due to the fact you looked so uncomfortable and unhappy in the photo. Apparently several activist groups had gotten ahold of the photo and decided to use it to fuel the fires of removing you from Night Raven College. Your idea to have your own photos was unorthodox, but it couldn't do more damage than the first had especially considering the fact you already had a target on your back.

To some extent, you wondered about deciding that Cater should be in charge of the account, seeing as Cater had previously been very interested in Magicam and other such social media platforms. According to Trey, Cater hadn't touched the app after you were attacked and had since withdrawn from others, most of whom likely blamed him for your injuries. Looking at the crimes committed against you, Riddle was technically more dangerous to you than Cater had been, but Cater caused a cascading event that left you in constant danger.

"Hey, Trey?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"Why won't Cater talk to me?"

The Kelpie flinched at this and looked away with a sigh before turning to fully face you, seeming somewhat stressed by your question. It was a fair question, but Trey didn't know how to best approach the topic with you. Cater was Trey's close friend and the two had been near inseparable for the years they spent in school together.

"He... Cater blames himself for your injury. Others blame Cater for your injury. Sage Island has become a hot-spot for poachers, species enthusiasts, and- ahem- 'Humanfuckers' due to that photo Cater took."

"... Humanfuckers?"

"Various species that have idolized and sexualized Humans as a whole. It wasn't so prevalent or considered all that harmful when Humans were extinct, but now there is a confirmed Human living here..."

"The Humanfuckers came out in droves."

"Yes. Many have made what they call 'pilgrimage' out here to try and find you. Many have contacted Cater for more... revealing... photos of you. Some even try to threaten Cater to make him do what they want. He's deleted the Magicam app from his phone, but some are desperate enough to dox him for more photos of you."

You felt more than a little repulsed by the idea of these monsters trying to take sexually charged photos of you and hearing the mistreatment Cater recieved made you feel a twinge of guilt. Sure, Cater played a dumb game and won a dumb prize, but that didn't mean he deserved to have every aspect of his life uprooted. It certainly didn't mean you deserved the same, but your life had already been uprooted the moment you fell into this world. Cater wasn't a monster, but he was being treated like one.

"Okay."

Turning on your heel, you abruptly ended the conversation with Trey as you made your way to the Water Nymph that seemed more than a little forlorn. He visibly flinched when you reached out your hand and touched him, seeming to want to be left to his own dark thoughts. You persisted.

"Cater?"

"..."

"Cater, turn to face me."

The Nymph turned to face you, his green eyes refusing to meet your own. His face was very different from what you remembered when you first met him. Where he once seemed to never stop smiling, all that remained of that previously cheerful look was a sullen expression and sunken eyes. Now he faced you, you could see the apparent change that had overcome the Water Nymph.

What could be considered bruises littered his translucent skin and made it more than obvious to you that someone had been beating on him. His once vibrant hair seemed dull in color as he avoided looking you in the eyes and slightly shook as if afraid of what you would say to him. He had thinned compared to how he had been prior, now seeming to be almost a shell of his former self. His eyes were dark and almost looked bruised, a distant look on his face as he refused to meet your gaze.

"Cater, please look at me."

His eyes flicked up once to your face before darting to the side again, unable to hold eye contact with you.

"I'm sorry," Cater's voice was a soft whimper instead of the loud and boystrous tone it once held, his eyes welling up with tears, "I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I didn't know... I didn't think... It's becuase of me that...! I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry-!"

There was a kind of genuine pain in you upon seeing the once outgoing and social Nymph reduced to a poor-excuse caricature of a social outcast. Your hands moved before you really had time to reflect on what Cater was actually saying, pulling the distressed man closer to you. He flinched and almost writhed as if burned by your touch, but you held fast to the struggling man.

It took several moments for him to stop trying to pull away and several more seconds for him to return the gesture. As your arms wrapped around the shaking body of the Nymph, you felt the tears rolling from his eyes against your shoulder. Shuddering sobs were pulled from the raw throat of a wounded man. His skin was an unusual texture compared to your own, almost like a jello or some kind of gel bead beneath your touch.

"I'm sorry..."

"I know. Cater, you need to stop blaming yourself now. What has happened cannot be undone, and what happens in the future is out of your control."

He pulled away at this, shaking his head and trying to wipe away his tears as if he were angry with himself for crying on your shoulder. You could see the rough way he almost scratched at his own skin in an attempt to keep his emotions down and contained.

"But it's all my fault! I thought a few stupid likes from people I don't even know were worth bothering you. Now, because of me, you've been attacked, you're not safe to spend any time alone, all of your injuries are my fault-"

"Cater."

He flinched again, but stopped his rapid-fire speaking, still refusing to lift his gaze. You gently grabbed his hand with your own, lifting it up until his palm rest against your non-dominant arm. The skin was still discolored and marked from the deep wound that had cleaved through it and he visibly shuddered at the feeling of your scar.

"You didn't cause this injury. Riddle did this. Mr. Rule-Enforcer-I-Know-What's-Best-For-You himself. You didn't do this. You didn't hire the Wolves that attacked me, we already sussed that idiot out and I'm told he is now facing trial for his actions and possible execution in the Queendom of Roses. Cater, you made a bad decision and it hurt someone other than you, but driving yourself into the ground and taking on all of the blame is genuinely unfair."

"But the others are right, I'm a wretched-"

"I don't give a singular fuck what the others say. They aren't me. They do not speak for me. I speak for me. And I am saying- no, I am begging you to stop hating yourself for what you didn't realize. If we hate ourselves and punish ourselves forevermore, we do not grow past it. We can never become a better person when bogged down by the mistakes of our past. Mistakes that cannot be changed or undone. You need to decide to get better, to move on knowing you are not the same person who made those mistakes."

"But, I-"

"They were and are a part of you and your past, but you aren't that same Nymph. You aren't who you were yesterday. We grow and learn and come to realize what we did in the past was the mistake of someone who didn't know any better. Now you know better. Healing takes time and effort to be better, I envy those who can move past their mistakes in mere hours, but most can't. I don't hate you. I'm not happy I can no longer be left alone, but I don't hate you. Cater, if you didn't do it, others would have. I assume others already have. I don't doubt that other, less introspective students, have taken photos of me for a bit of extra cash and clout even after the one you took."

"Please..."

"I don't hate you, Cater Diamond. I don't want you to hate yourself so deeply. Forgive yourself for what you didn't know and what you didn't realize before the hate you feel for yourself consumes you. You're not a bad person. A little misguided, and a little lost, but not bad. You have a good heart, sometimes you forget to listen to it."

The second hug was less of a fight than the first, Cater melting into the affectionate gesture quickly. He finally started to take deep breaths and with that deep breath came a relaxation of his tensed limbs. Stress and the heavy burden of his actions rolled from him slowly, but so long as they continued to fall away any progress forward was enough for you.

"Sorry doesn't fix everything. Your actions going forward show if you have changed or not. Now, if you really want to help me, then help me by forgiving yourself. I want you here. Trey wants you here. Even Riddle wants you here. You deserve forgiveness as much as anyone else. So come with me, help me make this meal, and try to forgive yourself the mistakes you made before you knew better."

"Okay... Okay. I can... I can try."

~•§•~

You finished up the fried chicken with Cater as you waited for the dough to finish proofing, letting it rise in the warm peudo-oven also made by Idia. Once the dough proofed enough, you would start frying the donuts but had to wait until then. A polite knock came at that side door and you were happy to see the familiar polite simper of the tall Eel-man Jade. Behind him stood his compatriots Azul and Floyd who happily joined Jade as you invited them in.

"Come in, come in! I hope you three brought empty stomachs, because I have a few new foods for you all to try!"

"Oya, your kindness knows no bounds, (Y/n). Thank you for inviting us over despite my recent failure."

"You didn't fail me, Jade. We didn't know what was waiting for us. Besides, I figured I may as well extend the invite since so many others are already here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean the dorm leaders of Ignihyde, Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Diasomnia, and Savanaclaw are already here. I asked Silver to invite the Housewarden of Scarabia, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet about them."

"My, that is quite the arrangement. We were happy to accept the invitation."

"Good to hear."

You easily moved among the several students that were all mingling around the large table, Idia hiding by Ortho and Papa Hades. Many cast nervous glances at the large Shinigami but even the ancient man didn't seem too put off by the hesitant behavior of the others. You set out the large plate of fried chicken, grabbing a leg for Grim and feeding the little cat.

Azul could feel the way his mouth watered at the absolutely delectable scent from the chicken in front of him. Truthfully, had had chicken in the past and was somewhat fond of it, but it never smelled this good before. He was curious as to the taste of the food but nearly wept upon his first bite.

Warm breading paired with the crisp skin of the meat as it danced on his tongue an played a symphony with his senses almost made him audibly moan out. Food could actually taste like this? The things he could do with something that tasted this good, even beyond the Octolounge and just for his own stomach, had Azul's mind racing with the best contract he could ever write.

"You're looking kinda love struck or even turned-on, Azul. Like Jade whenever he talks about little Shrimpy! Got something in mind?"

"We need to ensure Octavinelle is next to guard her. Whatever it takes."

"So you are horny-"

[intistone]

IT IS INDEED

x

[gloomwitchwrites]

Devil in a Dark Wood

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader Historical AU

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Witch AU, Historical AU, early colonial America, Puritanism, biblical themes & scripture, suggestive themes, brief descriptions of injury, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, brief descriptions of sex, horror/suspense

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Requested by @ferns-fics for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Witch AU) A/N (2): Enjoy my religious trauma!

Arriving to new shores a married woman, you find happiness with the man you're betrothed to without ever first meeting him. But beyond the place you call home is a dark wood. And in that dark wood, something waits for the perfect opportunity.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Pendle, Massachusetts, Late April, 1662

The earth speaks to you.

Back home, the ground is alive with the song of faeries, elves dwell within the trees, and kelpies call from the waters. Nature is alive there. A buzzing that wraps around all living things.

But it is different here in the New World.

Here—there is an echo. There are no nymphs. No sweet songs to lull the wayward wanderer into dancing.

There are teeth here. Teeth in the dirt. Teeth in the bark of the trees.

And a thrumming.

A thrumming that sounds like a thunderous heartbeat.

You hear your name. It is called like a command by a stern, male voice. Eyes opening, you disconnect from the unyielding noise of the ground, and focus on the man in front of you.

A man of the cloth. Reverend Shepherd—if the letter in your haversack is correct.

There is no smile on his face but a sternness etched into every crease and wrinkle. His mouth is a thin line turned downwards, with a balding head, and a slight swell to his belly that reminds you of the one your father grew when he began favoring drink.

Your father.

The reason you’re here.

The reason you stand on the very edge of the New World a newly married woman.

"Reverend Shepherd?" you ask, inclining your head in submission.

The motion is painful. You are not like him. You are not like the people who have settled here. You were raised to be wild and barefoot. Raised by a woman who taught you to listen. To put your ear to the ground. To sense the world sitting just on the other side.

“Child,” he says, gaze narrowing. “Your hair.”

Frowning, you reach up. Some of your hair pokes out from beneath your white cap. “Pray pardon me,” you murmur, discreetly tucking it back.

“I am Reverend Shepherd,” he confirms with a brief nod. “I bid you welcome to Pendle.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“And the journey?”

“Pleasant,” you reply, keeping your gaze downcast. “Calm seas.”

“A blessed crossing then. God’s favor came with you. Pray that it stays.”

Your stomach twists at the jab. It is clear what Reverend Shepherd means. You are an outsider. An unknown factor. A disciple that he believes may not fall in line. God’s chosen are already here, and you do not belong.

“Are you to be my escort?”

“Indeed,” he sighs as if the notion bothers him. “And we have much yet to walk. God favors a quick step. We best be off.”

Clutching the haversack to your chest, you nod. “Of course, Reverend.”

This is just an exchange, a way for your father to rid himself of you and to pay off his drinking debts. Your father is no man of God. Wives are needed in the New World. The crown paid handsomely to bring you and other women to these shores.

Grief is a sour thing.

It is a weight upon the living.

Your mother, a woman so wonderful that the world couldn’t contain her, sent herself up to the stars, leaving you with only your father for company.

He is just a man.

Simple. Kind.

And then a poison.

Grief wove its way between bone and blood until he no longer wanted to see your face. The remembrance pained him. And that pain led to long nights away, only for him to return with liquor on the breath and empty pockets.

It is why you were sent away, why you were sent far across the sea. Sold off to a husband you’ve never met. All because of a man who cannot control his grief.

How will your memory be written?

Are you simply your father’s daughter in the King’s ledger? Not even a name. Just…daughter.

Perhaps. That is how it is after all. A history of a woman is rarely written.

Reverend Shepherd turns away and starts walking. You almost slip in the mud as you follow. He passes the docks, moving further away from the center of Pendle.

“Are we not to stay in town?”

“In town?” Reverend Shepherd’s frown deepens. “No, child. Your husband lives beyond the township.”

“How far, pray tell? Are we not to take horses?” you ask, a little breathless.

Reverend Shepherd scoffs. "Why should you require such a convenience? Walking allows for reflection and penance. Do you know your prayers?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“Child?” prompts Reverend Shepherd.

“I do,” you nearly bite out.

“Let me hear them. A good wife can recite the Lord’s prayers when prompted. Scripture will help us pass the time.”

As the two of you walk, your voice becomes monotone, reciting but not listening. Every word is like an empty scallop shell. Mud sucks at your boots, threatening to relieve you of your shoes. Reverend Shepherd remains ahead. Never slowing down. Always keeping a few paces forward.

“Good,” says Reverend Shepherd. “Now, I shall begin and you shall continue. I have no master but You. Now law but Your—”

“You’ve yet to speak of my husband,” you interrupt, frustration growing by the lack of information.

It’s not in you to be obedient, especially around bothersome men.

Reverend Shepherd turns abruptly, the middle of his brow creased in severe displeasure. “Prayer, child. I have no master—”

“His name, Reverend. At least allow me that.”

“Disobedience of woman is an act against God. Your father assured me of your obedience. Of your purity and piety. Is he mistaken?”

Yes. I do not belong here.

“He is not,” you mutter.

Reverend Shepherd holds your gaze until you turn yours downward. When he sets out again, you scowl at the back of his head, reciting perfectly all that you were taught before departing for different shores.

Outside Pendle, the road twists between clumps of trees. Farms stand between, but Reverend Shepherd stops at none of them. He rattles off scripture, keeping his back to you as he does so. It only dampens your mood.

"The Lord is my—"

At the bend in the road, you pause your recitations. A peaceful buzzing surfaces up from the ground, slithering into the soles of your feet, traveling upward into the crown of your head. A sturdy wooden fence lines the road, sectioning off the homestead from travelers. The main gate sits open, a dirt path leading inward toward the cottage. Corn lines the path, and you hear the gentle bleat of a goat in the distance.

Reverend Shepherd turns, his mouth pursed in annoyance.

"Pray pardon, Reverend," you say before the chastisement can leave his lips. "Is this..."

The irritation retreats slightly, his gaze turning passive. "Is it home? Indeed." Reverend Shepherd glances across the farmstead. "The Riley family owns this land. The eldest son, Simon, tends to it."

Simon.

Your husband's name.

Only a name. Nothing else.

The entire journey across the sea was rife with your swirling imagination. What kind of man did your father sell you off to? What might he look like?

Reverend Shepherd presses on. "The younger son lives in town."

You don't reply. It's best not to. Women are expected to be seen and not heard, and you have already overstepped your limits.

Following at the proper distance, you keep silent. Reverend Shepherd walks quickly, eager to be rid of you.

The thwack of an axe piercing wood echoes in the air, drowning out the bleating goats. You clutch the haversack against your chest, the weight of it finally catching up, arms heavy with the load. Reverend Shepherd moves with purpose, following the sound of the thwack and the subsequent clatter of splitting wood.

Beyond the cottage, divided by another wooden fence, is the forest. The trees are tall, towering over everything, pointing toward the grey sky like arrow points. From them, you hear whispers, faint and unclear. A soft chill cools your skin, and you shiver, the whispers disappearing as you and Reverend Shepherd walk around the side of the cottage.

The two of you come to a stop next to a large pile of wood.

Before you is a man with no shirt or doublet to be seen. His back is to the both of you, and your breath catches at seeing so much bare skin. Old scars mark his flesh, yet you're unsure if they're from some accident or from grislier means. The man's shoulders are broad, giving way to muscled arms and a tall frame. Of what you can observe, his figure is thick, honed from hard labor.

Lifting the axe above his head, he brings it down on the log in front of him. The wood splits cleanly.

"Simon." Reverend Shepherd's voice is smooth with authority.

At the sound of his voice, Simon straightens as if struck. Just his head turns, glancing over his shoulder, gaze sweeping over Reverend Shepherd and then landing on you. His eyes widen slightly, and then he fully pivots in your direction, giving you a clear view of his face.

Simon has scars here but they only add to his features. He is handsome with a strong jaw and prominent nose, and his eyes are a golden brown that remind you of sun rays through amber. The hair on his head is slightly askew from the gentle wind.

"Reverend," greets Simon.

While your husband addresses Shepherd, his gaze is entirely fixed on you. There is no smile, but there isn't a frown. You're unsure of Simon's first impression or what he might be thinking.

"Your wife arrived."

Reverend Shepherd makes you out to be little more than an object. A thing delivered.

"Thank you for escorting her here," replies Simon. "Had I known, I would have fetched her myself."

Reverend Shepherd holds up a hand. "Think nothing of it. The Lord values hard work, and her delivery is but His reward for all you do."

The corner of Simon's mouth twitches. He's still holding on to the axe. "Allow me to see you off, Reverend."

"I can see myself. A blessed day to you, Simon. And to an... easy marriage."

Easy. Obedient. Subservient.

You are to bow your head and grovel at your husband's feet for the rest of your days.

"God go with you, Reverend," replies Simon, taking a step forward in your direction.

The two of you silently watch Reverend Shepherd disappear beyond the cottage and down the path. Neither of you speaks, the air heavy with an unresolved tension. The wind kicks up, and you smell pine. A goat bleats, and you shift on your feet.

"Good morrow, Simon," you murmur, arms tightening around the haversack.

Simon blinks, shoulders relaxing, a warm smiling spreading across his face. It's genuine—full of kindness. Even the edges of his cheeks darken with color.

"Good morrow," he replies. "I—" He glances down at himself. "Forgive me. My appearance is unbecoming. Not how a husband greets his wife upon their first meeting."

You take in all the exposed skin and an itch forms in the tips of your fingers. A carnal desire floods upward, seizing your heart and mind. The urge you feel begs you to touch, to step forward and run your hands over that slick flesh. This man is your husband now. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

The Reverend would beat these thoughts out of you if he could read your mind.

But he cannot. The Good Reverend isn't here.

And your husband is half-undressed and blushing before you.

"Unexpected," you say slowly. "But nice."

His blush deepens.

Perhaps God has sent you someone you can be yourself with. Not completely,as any mention of the voices from the trees or the teeth in the ground would send you straight to a pyre, but someone who might listen. Truly, kindness and patience are all you want. If Simon is that, then you'll be happy.

Flustered further, Simon glances around like he can't quite look at you. Running his fingers through his hair with his free hand, he finally settles, resting the axe against the stump.

"I should bathe," he says, but not in response to you, more like he's simply speaking to the air.

You take a step forward, moving toward him, taking in more of his muscles. It is clear he has not been without. His largeness isn't from hard labor alone. Simon is eating well and often.

"Allow me." In seconds, Simon is before you, hands grasping the haversack.

"Thank you," you murmur softly as he tucks your belongings under his arm like it weighs nothing at all.

"Would you like to stay here? I won't be long."

"Where are you off to?"

Simon heads for the cottage and you follow. "Just on the other side of the fence is a stream."

You glance beyond the fence line. "May I join you?"

Somehow, Simon's face grows brighter. "I—join me?"

"The ship—"

"Of course," he says quickly. "I imagine there are few opportunities to bathe aboard a vessel. Fewer even for privacy."

You follow Simon to the door of the cottage. He enters but you linger a moment, hesitation halting your momentum.

Like a thunderous stampede, reality comes crashing down around you. There is no ship take you back. No mornings spent in the mist. This place is your home now, this man responsible for you until your death or his.

Simon emerges, shirt on but doublet unbuttoned. In his arms is a small basket. "This way," he says with a grin.

At the back of the property, Simon opens up a small gate and leads you to the stream. The forest is just beyond. Now that you're closer to the towering trees, that thrumming from earlier returns, and a sense of gnashing as if a wolf nips at your heels comes with it. Your gaze narrows as a dark shape moves between the trees. It is tall, and at first, you mistake it for another tree. Whispers rise up again, and is that—horns?

"I do not know your name."

You inhale sharply, hand pressed to your chest as Simon holds the small basket in front of him. You tell him, and then glance back at the forest.

"Something amiss?" he asks, matching your stare.

"No—I." You lick your lips. "The forest feels strange."

Simon nods. "It is. Most avoid it."

"Do you?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. Rosie always wanders off. Wish she'd just go down the road to John's but she favors the forest."

"Rosie?"

Simon laughs. "Apologies. Rosie is one of the goats."

"I see," you giggle.

"She’s a sweet thing. Sanderson favors her."

"Is that another goat?" you ask with a smile, reaching back to untie your apron.

"It is. John gave him to me as a kid. Raised him myself. He's a strong buck now. Hates everyone but me." He shrugs, and then leans forward as if to tell you a juicy secret. "Once bit Reverend Shepherd in the arse."

You burst out laughing, and then quickly cover your mouth. "I should not. God will punish me."

Simon's grin is wide and sweet. "In death, maybe. But as your husband, it's my responsibility to punish you."

"And pray tell, what would befit such a punishment?" you tease, undoing the buttons of your waistcoat.

Simon's smile falters, his gaze lingering on your chest. Your waistcoat hangs open, and the ties at the top of your shift are loose, revealing bare skin. Simon swallows, clearly enraptured by this small reveal of flesh.

A nervousness slips in, but it's not fear. A desire swirls low in your belly, a feeling you haven't felt since you were a young woman and a village boy you favored gifted you flowers.

This is your husband. He will know all of you eventually. You will share the same bed and give him as many children as your body is capable of. There is no need to be nervous.

"Simon?" you prompt, removing your waistcoat.

He coughs, clears his throat. "You're correct. The forest is strange. You are not to go in unless I'm with you." His change in demeanor briefly startles you.

"Is it dangerous?"

Simon shakes his head. "No. But folks in town are…fearful of what they don't understand. I don't want—I don't want anyone believing things about you that aren't true."

Witch.

"Why would they?" you whisper.

Witch.

"There's a tree,” continues Simon. “Large. Dark bark. Not like any other tree in the forest. At least none that we've seen. Reverend Shepherd and his wife wanted it cut down. Said it was a sign of the Devil. But Pendle's blacksmith took axe to tree. The blade broke upon impact. Not a scratch on the bark." Simon sighs and offers you soap from the basket. "Rosie tends to wander near it."

"Woods always hold strange things. Might be a nearby plant she likes chewing on."

"Perhaps. But I'll go after her if she does. It's not a place for you."

The water in the stream is incredibly clear, flowing steadily. Simon produces two washing cloths, offering you one before taking his, dipping it into the stream. It is not truly bathing, but it is refreshing, the cool water a calming entity against the slight burning beneath your skin.

There is silence afterward, and once clean, the two of you return to the cottage. Simon shows you your new home, already built to accommodate a family. There is a small barn for the animals, and coop for the chickens. You meet Rosie, an all-white beauty that constantly chews on your apron. Sanderson is big, black beast of a buck with grey horns curled backward and away from his head with eyes so pale they’re almost white.

Sanderson does not bite you, but he follows Simon around the homestead, lightly tapping Simon’s outer thigh with his horn like he wants attention.

The first night—that very night—Simon does not touch you. At least, not at first. He allows you your space, keeping his distance. But he observers silently, his gaze lingering on those flashes of bare skin. There is nothing harmful in his gaze, only a deep appreciation, and a longing you can’t quite place.

From what you were told to prepare you for this moment, you expect Simon to flop on top of you. For you to remain silent and still. To thank him afterward whether or not you enjoyed yourself.

Simon is patient. He is gentle. And above all, kind.

“May I touch you?”

You slip into bed in nothing but your shift. Simon is without, only wearing loose breeches that have seen better years.

You curl up next to Simon, facing him. Reaching out, Simon’s fingers lightly brush the curve of your bottom lip and then your jaw. Descending, his fingers find your throat. Then collarbone. He traces the neckline of your shift, and then his fingers tangle in the ties at the front, pulling them loose until your shift opens further.

“Do I tread too far?” he asks, softly.

His touch is awakening something. You sense a tingling, coiling outward.

“No,” you reply. “Continue.”

Simon’s hand slips between shift and your body. His palm is warm, and then he’s guiding it over one shoulder, exposing it to the cool air. Leaning in, Simon’s lips press to the curve of the joint. It is a small thing, but this one bit of contact causes you to shiver, for the tingling to further travel outward.

As he draws back, you tilt your head. Then it is Simon kissing you, and you accepting him. He is not forceful here. There is no claiming. It is exploration, and you find yourself reaching out, hands gliding over his chest.

He is all hardness, and yet nothing about him terrifies. Strength resides within him, but he is ever so gentle. Taking his time. Savoring.

The shift lowers as Simon pulls it downward. He palms one breast, and you gasp, breaking the kiss.

With a soft groan, Simon’s head dips, trailing kisses along your neck, moving over collarbone, descending down until his mouth explores the valley between your breasts, and then further still.

The tingling explodes outward into the tips of your fingers and toes. You are buzzing—the restlessness of the world coming with you.

The shift is over your hips. Down your thighs.

Gone.

Utterly gone.

Your legs part as Simon continues to trail kisses downward. His hands squeeze your thighs, and then he’s kissing you between your legs, lingering there as the buzzing ascends into a crackling that sucks all air from your lungs.

“Simon,” you gasp, fisting his hair.

He abruptly lifts his head, lips shiny in the light of the hearth. “Have I harmed you?”

Harmed you? No. Hardly.

“No,” you gasp. “I—this is unexpected.”

Simon places a kiss to the inside of your thigh before leaning on an elbow. “My understanding came from observing the farm animals.” A small smile spreads across his face. “But after service one Sunday, Reverend Shepherd rounded up all the unwed men. Told us the King was sending us wives.”

“Were you happy when he told you?”

“No,” chuckles Simon, absently stroking your thigh. “I was scared.”

“And now?”

“Still scared.”

“Do I terrify you?”

Simon gives a small shake of his head. “No. I am scared of how my heart feels.” You gently place your hand against his cheek. Simon turns into the touch. “Reverend Shepherd explained. Made this sound like a duty. A chore.” He sighs. “But I do not see how.”

Shifting, Simon drapes himself over you, gaze intense. “My heart is full but my mind is confused. God demands duty but I see no duty here.” He closes the distance, lips brushing over yours. “A wife is not a chore.”

Your fingers find the band of his breeches. They surrender easily under your touch. Legs widening, Simon settles between. There is a small tangle—a clumsy back and forth as the two of you adjust. It stings at first, but quickly fades, leaving you boneless as your bodies meet repeatedly.

You whisper his name, and Simon groans yours.

He shudders, burying his face against your next. Warmth and wetness blooms in your womb. You tangle yourself around him, holding Simon close.

Inside your chest, something cracks. Splits. Fractures.

Part of you believes it is just this moment between husband and wife, but a whisper runs beneath, and a slithering like that of a serpent. The forest is creeping in—pushing in. Making room where there is none.

But it is quick, and it is fleeting.

It is after the first night that the two of you truly begin to explore. Simon starts with simple touches, and you accept them all, wanting to understand to be close to someone. He is happy you’re here with him, and you’re happy to be his.

Unlike the rest of the men in town, Simon listens, and values your opinion. His jokes are terrible, and his willingness to subvert and ignore Reverend Shepherd’s doctrine makes him the pariah. The only time the two of you make it into town is for Sunday service, and while townsfolk are friendly, they don’t interact with him unless they have to.

Between it all, you help out on the farm, tending to the animals, and whispering sweet encouragement to the crops when Simon isn’t looking. They all flourish under your care, the land bountiful and beautiful. When others suffer, you and Simon’s land remains strong and steadfast. He is quick to share in the wealth—to take care of others.

A home is built.

Love flourishes.

And for three years, life is peaceful.

The forest hardly whispers. The teeth do not gnash. There is quiet in the wood, and you see no glance of horns.

Simon's hand rests upon your stomach. He turns on his side, pressing a kiss to a spot just above your navel. As he descends, you playfully shove his head away.

"I cannot," you laugh. "I am sore everywhere."

Simon grins and then pushes up, stealing a kiss before rolling over you and heading to the mantel above the hearth. Retrieving his bible, Simon returns, settling back in beside you. The leather cover is worn in places.

His gaze takes in your nakedness. “Stay like that for me.”

You are uncovered and bare before him. Simon’s seed rests heavy between your thighs.

Opening the bible does not result in reading scripture. Simon picks up a charcoal stick. Turning the bible vertically, Simon starts to sketch.

Neither of you read from it. There is nothing to be read. The pages are covered with Simon’s sketches. Most of them are of you—of pieces of you—even the place that is well-loved even now. There are less lewd images etches across the parchment. All of the animals are there. So is the cottage.

If someone—anyone—were to discover these drawings, they’d blame you.

A hex. A curse. A spell.

You have turned him from God.

But Simon doesn’t think so, and you care not. God has given you nothing but this man. Everything the two of you are is only because of the effort and love the two of you have brought. God did nothing but drop you at Simon’s feet.

You thank Him for it, but nothing else. And if that will send you into hellfire, then that is where you will reside.

In silence, you observe your husband. Simon’s gaze darts from the page to you and back again. His bottom lip is between his teeth, and the middle of his brow is creased with concentration. You remain as you are until he turns the bible around to show you.

There you are, sketched over a page of Leviticus.

“Your talents are lost on farming.”

Simon chuckles and then he closes the bible, placing it upon the small bedside table before returning to you. His hands explore, reaching. Then you're opening again, allowing him in.

Sleep is peaceful, and Simon does not wake you in the morning when he leaves to check on the animals.

It is his firm hand shaking you awake.

“Simon?” You rub at your eyes, yawning.

“Rosie is gone.”

“Again,” you groan, digging around in the bedding to find your discarded shift. “That’s the third time this week, Simon.” Finding it, you slip it over your head, retrieving your stockings.

“Keep finding her near the tree.”

A whisper of a voice brushes against your ear and you swat at it like a pesky fly.

You frown. “All three times?”

Simon sighs, and nods. “I’ll go for a look.” Kissing the top of your head, Simon retrieves his musket. “Be back before supper.”

Simon does not come back before supper.

The food grows cold.

And when it’s entirely dark, and the whispers from the wood become overwhelming, you take a lantern, and rush up to road to John Price’s homestead.

John takes a horse to town. Returns with a small party of men.

“It’s best you not go with us. Won’t know what we’ll find.”

“He’s my husband, John. I’m going.”

With lanterns lit, and hunting dogs are your heels, you enter the woods.

The moon is swallowed up as if eaten by a beast, plunging everything around you into utter darkness. The only light you have is that of your lantern and of the other lanterns carried by the menfolk.

And yet, it does not seem like enough.

The darkness here is eternal, and all around you is a dreadful silence.

“Simon!”

“Can you hear us, Simon!”

The only response is the echoing of your collective voices. No insect buzzing. No owls hoot. Nothing scurries underfoot. Even the leaves and twigs you step on are absent of sound.

The forest is consuming, eating away all noise until the only thing you hear are the thoughts in your head.

At the back of the pack, you do not see the tree. Don’t hear the cries for help.

It isn’t until John is approaching you, urging you away that you know something is wrong. Dreadfully and utterly wrong.

There are teeth in the New World. Teeth in the ground.

Jaws. A maw.

It has eaten your heart.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

Licked the tips of its fingers.

The forest has devoured. Consumed your husband for a meal.

Reverend Sheperd prays for three days over Simon's body. When he leaves, the women gather around you. Each day, one or two depart, and by the end of the second week, there is no one but you holding vigil.

Simon does not stir though his breathing remains steady. The town likely whispers of the Devil's work, that Simon's long sleep is a curse.

Do they blame you?

Perhaps.

Maybe.

You cannot form enough resolve to care what the townspeople think. If they do blame you, they'd have to drag you from your home by the hair. You’ll draw blood and break bone if anyone attempts to remove you from Simon’s side.

Tucking the blanket in, you curl up next to your husband, cheek resting against his shoulder. He smells of the forest—damp leaves, crushed berries, and sharp pine. Breathing deep, you commit your husband's scent to memory.

Life is a fragile, fickle thing. The thought of growing old here, of giving Simon children, of watching them grow and have families of their own filled you with such purpose again after your father’s betrayal. It is not the future you expected for yourself, but it is the one you’ve found happiness with.

"Come back to me," you murmur, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. They fall, dampening Simon's skin. "Come back, my love. Come back."

Simon remains silent and still.

Night arrives and then departs, bringing the morning with it. No one comes to visit. No one comes to check on either of you. Responsibility is on your shoulders now. Without your guiding hand, the farm will fall into decay, the fencing will rot, weeds will overtake the crops, and animals will starve. A part of you wants to hand it over to God, to allow him to lead.

But God did not protect your husband. He looked away, leaving Simon to his fate.

A deep sigh escapes you, gracing the air with your accepted reluctance. Slowly, you lift your head from Simon's shoulder. He has not changed in these two weeks. Without food or water, Simon should show signs of wasting. But there is no hint there is anything amiss.

"I will fix this," you say, addressing Simon as if he'll answer.

You rest your palm against the side of his face. Warmth radiates from him, but your touch does not rouse him from his sleep.

A sharp howl pierces the air.

It is not a wolf or dog. This sounds like agony. Like despair. Like a dark creature pulling itself from the earth.

Turning abruptly toward the door, every limb solidifies, turning your blood to stone.

Something is out there. Something that does not belong.

Slipping on your shoes, you creep toward Simon's hunting musket. Grasping it, you reach for the blackpower and musket balls, preparing it like Simon showed you. The howl ceases, but your blood remains chilled like morning frost. The hunting musket is heavy, and the sweat in your palms makes holding it difficult. You can hardly keep it upright.

Grasping it, you hold it in the way he showed you, heading for the door. Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. Not a sound.

Reaching out, you unlatch the door, guiding it open just enough to point the barrel outward and to glimpse the morning.

Nothing stirs. Nothing moves but the tall grass and the corn stalks.

Opening the door wider, you cautiously step outside. Your gaze scans the dirt. No footprints of animal or man.

The air vibrates, and beneath your feet, you sense a creeping static. Tilting your head, you listen—not with your ears but with all your senses, tapping into the ground like your mother taught you.

A tug comes. A gentle pull that lulls your attention leftward.

You take a step in the direction of the feeling, the creeping static intensifying until it suddenly disappears, as if pulled from existence.

"Child." The voice—no, voices—speak with two tongues. "How fares thy husband?"

Turning slowly, you glimpse not man or animal but a combination of the two. The creature stands at nearly twice your height on two cloven hooves. Its head is that of a black goat with red eyes and horns so dark they resemble the night sky. Draped in black robes, and hands clasped in front, you notice they aren't hands at all.

Not human hands, but claws. Talons. Long and spindly like thin twigs.

"Devil," you whisper, because what else could this creature be but a servant of Satan.

The creature only blinks. "To the Good Reverend Shepherd and his flock, I am devil and demon," it says, imitating the voice of the stern religious leader. Switching back to its natural voice, the creature continues. "To others, a guardian. A friend. A god."

You aim the firing end toward the creature. "How do you know of my husband?”

"He came to my tree looking for his goat." The creature’s head cocks to the side as if listening for something. “Rosie. That is the name he called before all went silent.”

The tree.

The one made of dark bark.

The one that breaks the axe on first strike.

"Was it you that harmed him?" you accuse, voice shaking. Sweat pools in your palms, the metal of the musket slippery in your hand.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" it purrs.

“Answer me! Was it you that put hands upon my husband?”

"It is not Godly to accuse thy neighbor of treachery when proof is lacking.”

"But you don't deny it?" you snap.

The creature is silent for a long moment as if frozen in ice. “No,” it finally says. "I did not cull your husband.”

"Who?" When he doesn't answer, you ask again. "Who?"

“A man of flesh.”

“Which man?”

"Wouldst thou like revenge?" the creature repeats, the dual voices reverberating in your chest.

“Answer me, demon. Or be gone.”

“Does my appearance offend?” it asks slowly. “You…puritans seem bent on burning.” It unclasps its spindle-fingers. “Would you prefer a change?”

"Whether devil or guardian or beast, my ears do not wish to hear more. Be gone."

"No."

No.

Startled, you hesitate. And then your resolve bleeds back into bone. Raising the weapon higher, you plant your feet into the ground, squaring your shoulders. "I said—"

The creature raises its hand, palm upward, forming a fist. The barrel of the weapon bends skyward. Fires. Smoke and ash fill the air.

Blinded, you cry out, falling upon the ground, arm over your eyes protectively. The musket falls from your arms.

"Again, child," comes its voice—a whisper in your ear. "Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You swing your arm outward and only meet air. With a touch of hysteria, you swipe your arms out and around you, expecting to meet solid flesh.

There is nothing. Nothing.

"Be calm, child. Calm."

Chest heaving, you blink through the pain, searching for the house.

Simon. You need to go to him. To protect him.

The world is in color but it is fuzzy. Unclear. The dirt beneath your palms is rough as you crawl, digging into your skin, stinging until you know blood blooms in the wounds.

"Go away," you whisper. The creature does not answer. "Leave. Leave my husband and I in peace."

As your vision clears, a dark shape steps in front of you. The creature towers, hands outstretched placatingly. "Listen, child. Listen."

"Simon," you whisper, every limb shaking as you try to push yourself up to a seated position.

"God abandoned Simon. Abandoned you."

Your arms give out, and you collapse. With every remaining morsel of resolve, you start to drag yourself through the dirt.

"Simon."

"A shadow darkens your door. Not that of any devil—but of human suspicion. Townsfolk consume gossip like plague consumes a newborn babe."

Dirt collects under your nails.

“Suspicion. Godly suspicion. Devil-spun no doubt but by human tongue.”

You drag yourself a little further.

“Witch.”

“Leave us,” you murmur, voice weak and cracked.

Your vision clears a bit more—the sting receding. It is enough to push up to your knees.

“I hear all,” the creature says. “No wooden board or stone or packed dirt can hide a whispered word.”

Witch.

Witch.

“There is nothing the Godly despise more than a woman alone in the world.”

Its words cut deep. They tear into you, ripping out the dreaded truth. The townsfolk will lay blame. And what a perfect perpetrator you are. Why would Simon Riley, one of their own flock, befall such a fate unless someone had done it to him.

Witch.

On shaky legs, you face the creature before you. Its red eyes have softened. Pity rests there, and you do not know what to make of it.

The goat head shifts, gaze moving to somewhere within the house. You glance behind you and only see the open door. When you glance back, the creature is gone.

"Wouldst thou like revenge?"

You spin and find the goat standing inside the doorway. He's too large to fit. He's bent in half, peering out at you.

"Get out of my home, demon."

It only blinks, and steps out of view. You rush toward the door, charging inside, finding no one. The room spins as you head for Simon. All you want is to be beside him. If this is a punishment, then so be it, but you will weather it at his side.

Kneeling beside your bed, you grasp Simon’s hand. You bring it to your lips, placing a kiss against his knuckles.

"I'm seeing things, Simon," you whisper.

Spindle-fingers slide over your shoulder, the creature’s palm coming to rest against the joint. It is no hallucination. There is no iciness, but warmth. Not hot—not an inferno as Reverend Shepherd always preaches—but a comforting one. Like a burning hearth in the middle of winter.

Closing your eyes, you listen.

There is no static. What assails your senses is this creature’s age. There are stars and dust in his aura—of sleeping beneath mountains—of a time before trees when there were only teeth.

“I can heal him,” comes its two-toned voice. “Make him whole.”

In this, you hear the truth. There are no lies. The words weave around you, spinning and encasing you like angel wings.

“Pray tell me, stranger. What price for such an offer?”

“Stranger,” muses the creature. “Thou hast named me.”

“What price?” you prompt.

A beat.

“You.”

“Me?”

Stranger bends until it’s crouched next to you. “I shall heal your husband. Ward him from harm and illness. He will live to an old age. Pass peacefully in his sleep.”

“A nice thought,” you murmur, gazing on Simon’s face.

“But in return, you shall come with me.”

You turn to face Stranger. It gazes at you intently, waiting for a response. As you peer into its red depths, something dark—tentacle-like—slithers in the red and promptly disappears.

“I have nothing to offer.”

Removing its twig-like claws from your shoulder, it presses the point of one to your forehead. At contact, the air comes alive, coursing through vein and bone until your skin glows with a deep radiance of brilliant white light.

“A blessing doth dwell,” its two voices sing. The power surges and then recedes as Stranger removes its claw. “Join me. Be my bride. Walk the forests.”

“Agreements are not freely given. I come from a world where the Fae walk. Bargains favor wing and wit. Not mortal flesh.”

“I am Elder,” purrs Stranger. “Trickery is foul tasting.”

“But after you heal him? After I agree to go with you? What then?”

“You shall see him not. Never know his touch. All memory of you will be erased. He nor the townsfolk will remember you. A hint, maybe. A feeling. But it shall always slip away.”

A life without Simon. A life without his gentle touches and drawings by candlelight. You will bear him no children. Never again enjoy the carnal rite that is your most sacred vow.

Yet, he will live.

Simon will thrive.

You detect no deception. The air is still and calm. No tension.

“What must I do?”

Stranger turns and you follow its gaze.

Upon the table is a large book. Ornate. Shiny. Gold-plated. Open.

You swallow. “I’m…poor with my letters.”

“It needs not names but blood. Just a drop.” Stranger elongates. Still too small for the space, it bends its upper half to accommodate, its back scraping against the ceiling. “Sign the book,” he prompts.

“Forgive me, Simon.”

Pressing your lips to the back of Simon’s hand, you send forth a silent prayer. Pushing up, and leaning over him, you place a second kiss to his forehead. You breathe him in, infusing the memory until it resembles vines, tangling the essence of Simon into your brain.

Retreating, you offer up your palm, splaying your fingers in extension.

Stranger gently takes it, bringing it over the golden book.

Pointed claw meets human flesh.

A sharp sting.

A pause.

A bead of blood wells.

Hovering. Hovering.

Then—

The dark bead lingers on the blank page.

Silence.

And then a sucking sound as the parchment absorbs the blood.

taglist:

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[west-brooke]

This time of year is really busy for me as a uni student with finals and big projects, so things might be slowing down for a few weeks while I focus on school. But slowing down doesn’t mean stopping! I’ll still post when I have the bandwidth to make things hehe.

In the meantime, I figured I’d do a FAQ on Meet the Parents! These are questions or comments that I’ve received a few times around the AU and I figured I’d respond to them en masse.

Q: Is Donnie’s dad going to be mutated?

A: This is one of the most frequently asked questions I get lmao. The answer is eventually. And not in the way you probably think.

Q: Are Kelpie and Lord Knaw going to get together/date?

A: no.

Q: Who are the parent’s voice claims? (Or other voice/accent related comments and asks)

A: I’ll be making a voice claim video proper at some point in the future, but off of the top of my head, Kelpie is definitely Wendie Malick (i.e. Eda the Owl Lady), Lord Knaw is Keith David (i.e. Goliath from Gargoyles). I don’t have anyone specific in mind for Daisy yet, and Mr. Mustache doesn’t really talk lol.

Q: How strong is Donnie’s dad?

A: However strong is the funniest

And thank you to everyone who has sent kind words or expressed that they like my au in asks. I read all of them but I don’t generally reply to asks unless I feel I have something to add to them or it’s something like fanart, but I absolutely appreciate them! I’m glad y’all enjoy my art and story, and I have a lot of fun making it! And also thank you to everybody for 2000 followers! I’m going to make something special for the occasion when I have the time.

[velarisnightsky444]

Why I’m Anti Nessian

cw: mentions of sa, self harm, and suicidal thoughts

Lately, I’ve been leaning more towards Neris than Nessian.

I have one issue with Cassian. Nesta clearly uses sex as a form of self destruction, and Cassian knows this. Drinking and sex are unhealthy coping mechanisms that she uses. She’s clearly suffering in the House of Wind, and since she can’t drink, she turns to sex with Cassian. And instead of saying, “You’re clearly in distress and using this as a form of self harm, so I will not have sex with you,” he takes advantage of it.

The worst ones for me are after shes SA’d by the kelpie, and Cassian still has sex with her after, even though its so obvious she only wants to have sex to distract herself from what happened to her.

And when they’re in the mountains, and he finds out how deep her self loathing and suicidal thoughts go. AND HE HAS SEX WITH HER AFTER HE FINDS OUT SHE WANTS TO OFF HERSELF. It’s actually wild to me.

In conclusion, instead of being respectful and helping her to stop using sex as self harm, he HELPS her harm herself.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Helloooo your recs give me life. You’ve probably done this before, but any recommendations for fics that include a brutally pining Derek and oblivious Stiles? Ideally canon-verse but aus are also loved. Thanks in advance!!

I'm sure I have, but I love pining in all fics. So I'm happy to make a million lists of it.

Fun by Halevetica

(1/1 I 3,889 I Teen)

Stiles convinces Derek to go to the annual Beacon Hills bonfire with him, with the promise of fun. What he gets instead are a lot of assumptions that he and Stiles are dating, and Stiles' too-eager dismissals, which are decidedly NOT fun for Derek.

Game On by stilinskisparkles

(1/1 I 6,391 I Teen)

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

Written in the Stars by Quixoticity

(6/6 I 26,586 I Mature)

Derek Hale is a lucky guy. He's got a great family, good friends, and a fulfilling job as a tattoo artist.

He's also one of the twenty-five per cent of the population born with a soul mark.

He likes his life, but he's waiting for his soul-match. The odds of meeting them aren't great but hey, Derek's a lucky guy. He has faith.

He can't believe how good his luck really is when one day his soul-match wanders right into his studio, all long limbs and copper eyes. There's just one problem: Stiles is there to get his soul mark covered up. Permanently.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell

(5/5 I 35,458 I Mature)

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

too busy being yours to fall for somebody new by whiry

(12/12 I 64,278 I Teen)

Stiles, worried that Scott may actually leave him behind because of his newfound popularity, is desperate to cling to something away from the drama of Lydia Martin's amazing parties and the woes of high school lacrosse. What he finds is Derek Hale, a guy who seemingly hates Stiles at first, but slowly, and insistently, becomes friends with him. As their friendship grows, Stiles starts to wonder if they could ever become something more or if pushing what they have will lead him to being alone for good.

All the Weird Kids (Know How to Take it Slow) by Ionaonie

(26/26 I 112,477 I General)

Stiles never thought being part of a werewolf Pack would end up being so normal. Even being around Derek had a degree of normality about it. Even if he was still an overbearing jerk most of the time.

When it all comes crumbling down by Littleredridinghunter

(18/18 I 216,191 I Not Rated)

Stiles is recovering from the Nogitsune. Erica is the only one that is really there for him, Scott's too busy rekindling his relationship with Allison and Stiles feels like he's falling apart.

When a near-miss with a kelpie results in an encounter that he could never have predicted, Stiles begins to think his life might be getting back on track.

He's wrong.

Stiles' life is so messed up he can't even begin to explain it, maybe it's time for him to finally do something for himself and get out of Beacon Hills. But where will that path lead?

With Stiles involved, no doubt danger and death won't be far behind.

AND

@the-diggler and @adventures-in-mangaland suggested this one!

Safety in Silence by Survivah

(5/5 I 66,901 I Mature)

It's perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn't want to be Derek's soulmate.

[intistone]

another year....

A little late, but it was the anniversary of my Kelpie AU and DCA fic Scars and Scales! Can't believe its been another year and so i summoned some art for it from a future chapter :D Thank you all so much for following along in the moments of both angst and fluff, i shake and hug you all as i keep working to finish this story.

Happy Birthday to Scars and Scales!

[intistone]

OH MY GOD LOOK AT THEM THIS IS JUST FREAKING ADORABLE REEEEEE AAAAAAAA THE POSING AND THE EXPRESSSIONS OH MY GOD YOUR ARTSTYLE IS SO NICE KLFJADSFLKDASJFLKDASJFS OH MY GOD THE BEANS JUST STARING AT Y/N ALSDFJDASLKFJDS ITS SO ACCURATE BUT SO HEARTWARMING YES YOU ARE A PARENTAL UNIT NOW DEAL WITH IT AFKJADFLKADJSFLKSDAJF AAAAAA(ded)

So I started reading Scars and Scales on archive, which led to me finding the fanart, which led to this xD I specifically redownloaded tumbler so I could post it since everyone else who fell in love with the Kelpie AU seemed to be posting here. I love the story and Sun and Moon deserve the world. ❤️ AU was created by Intistone!

[whencyclopedia]

Twelve Menacing & Protective Mythological Figures

The term mythology comes from the Greek words mythos (“story of the people”) and logos (“word”) and so is defined as the spoken (later written) story of a culture. Modern scholars have divided myths into different types which serve many different cultural purposes.

Myths serve to explain the origin of the world, how various aspects of that world operate and why, the meaning of suffering and death and, always, serve to reinforce cultural values. Central to these stories are the supernatural characters – gods, heroes, demons, spirits – whose purpose is to convey the message.

These figures, whatever other purposes they served, were expressions of the fears and hopes of the people. The gods, in every ancient civilization, were considered benevolent in general, but there were always some deities who chose to make life difficult for humanity.

In the same way that one will tend to be more careful to humor and placate an intimidating teacher, professor, or supervisor more than one who is gracious and easy-going, the ancients were careful to make provision for menacing forces before thanking those who only meant them well. Amulets and charms, votive figures, incantations and prayers, gestures and daily devotions were used to protect one's self from supernatural threats and, in some cases, these practices found expression in a specific supernatural being.

Twelve Mythological Figures

The following list comes from cultures around the world, and the figures are chosen as representative of types. There are thousands of such figures from world mythology, and all have their own individual characteristics and particular functions in the culture that gave birth to them.

The twelve entities under consideration are:

Pazuzu – Mesopotamia

Bes – Egypt

Lamia – Greece

The Lemures – Rome

Nian – China

Huma Bird – Persia

Bhramari – India

Ixtab – Mesoamerica

The Morrigan – Ireland

The Manananggal – Philippines

The Kelpie - Scotland

Akabeko – Japan

Some of these are deities but the majority are supernatural entities endowed with powers lesser than the gods but far greater than human abilities. The underlying form of all the creatures signifies change, transformation, which is as inevitable as the human resistance to it. Humans derive comfort from the known and familiar and tend to shrink from, or actively resist, perceived threats to their established norm.

At the same time, there are obvious challenges in life which common sense dictates one should try to avoid such as death, disease, and loss, and these figures represented those threats and the hope of avoiding them. Among the greatest fears of the ancients, judging from the number of artifacts and incantations concerning it, was infant mortality because it threatened not only population growth but social stability.

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