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Winter in Moorwick was peculiar experience, though it compared nothing to how it felt inside the forest. Everything was colder; the air nipped into your skin a little more, burrowed itself deep in bone, marrow, and joints until it hurt to move forward. You found it wise after a while to layer yourself nearly to an unreasonable degree, barely managing a waddle across fallen trees and through dense thickets.

What seemed to help the most during your lengthy nights in the forest was a generous supply of beverage. You kept them nestled in your backpack, hidden among many thick blankets and scarves; hoping it would keep the thermos’ warmer, longer. Depending on the snowfall and arctic forecast for that evening, it would work, and other nights there was no escaping a lukewarm cup of hot chocolate.

The horseman had a fascination with your thermos supply despite being unable to drink. Whether in agitation or excitement, he would take one from you and vigorously shake it, holding it near mysterious, spiraling mist at the base of his neck as though he were listening to the liquid inside. You had lost several good thermos to this.

“Didn’t you have some sort of canteens you used?” you asked him one night, reveling in the warmth of a thermos against your palms. “It’s basically the exact same premise, just these hold heat way longer.”

To preserve what supply remained, you had only brought a single container with you tonight- the one you were holding. The one he wanted. The one you wouldn’t let him have.

When you felt his large hands rest against yours, there a moment where you were startled, felt your face flood with what, and your fingers tighten around the thermos. The warmth that radiated from your hands was doubtlessly supplied by the container, yet a part of you yearned for it to be from him.

And so, for several moments as he tried to pry the thermos from your hands, you allowed yourself the fantasy of imagining this warmth belonged to him.


a/n: horseman only wants u 4 ur thermos. that slut

pls share this if it’s something you liked!

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At times, you wondered what he must have looked like in life with an actual head sitting above his shoulders. The horseman was a large man with broad shoulders and a body made of stone, surely his features were nothing so delicate that it’d disturb that balance. You found it alluring enough that his height was substantial enough that barely the peaks of your cheekbones could rest against the center of his chest, and when you thought about his hands, well, you couldn’t ease the squirming fits.

Through the fabric of his gloves, both dense and stiff from long centuries of wear, you would sometimes try to feel if there was any shape to his hand. It was never something you were able to assess, nor had you ever tried to remove the gloves to sate your curiosity.

Your inspections never seemed to be a particular bother to the horseman, often times merely sitting there, never a rise or fall to his chest or movement to even indicate that he could. As you manipulated the bend of his fingers, flaking off bits more of old leather, he would observe and let you do as you pleased. Occasionally, you would feel him tighten a finger around your own, perhaps even stroke it every now and then.

Such soft gestures from him were still strange, something you wondered just how conscience he had to of it. And when your eyes tracked towards his neck towards the mist swirling from inside of his armor, your mind drifted once more on what face might had been able to look back at you long ago.

Would his features had been exquisite and powerful? Did he once look deceptively charming and handsome? Perhaps he had a thick jawline and heavy brow, or cheekbones that seemed impossibly tall on his face? Were his lips small and thin, or round and full and lusciously pink? If your own lips had feathered across them, would they have been chapped or soft, torn and scarred from battle?

As your thoughts floated about you, you hadn’t quite taken notice that you had started tracing the bone of your knuckle against your lips until the horseman reached towards your face. It gave you a start, forcing your back straight and rigid as he pressed two fingers against your mouth. It did not feel gentle, yet you could tell there was restraint and reluctance in his touch.

It was a fleeting thing, yet the presence of his fingers lasted on the thin, chapped skin of your lips even once you had left the forest at the break of dawn.


a/n: someone wanted “hand kiss”, i think. so i obliged. like, I’ll probably do another one of these in a different way, but good enough. do not take his as canonical.

also, if it’s something you enjoyed, pls make sure to comment and reblog it. it helps tremendously with building confidence and encouraging me to keep trying to write!

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A couple of years ago I collabed with @oddacle​ to write the first Rikity Tig story. Just in time for spooky season, I bring a new tale of the Rikity Tig.

The bonfire is burning white-hot, and I could feel it searing the fuzz off my cheeks. It was much better than the winds that came off the sea, which I know all too well can wear a person raw. After so many months at sea, I’ve almost forgotten what solid ground felt like. Having grown used to constant motion, the stillness unsettles me.

All around me, large bodies move back and forth, shuffling until they begin to look like a vast forest stretched out before me. I stare blankly into the fire, and within it I can hear screams of panic, cities falling, lives coming to a halt. I don’t know how the others can go about and not hear that within the flames.

“You are looking at that fire as if you know her.” A voice reaches me, seemingly coming from the flames. I turn slightly to see a man sitting near me. His head is bowed as he looks over his string instrument. Long, elegant fingers bring chords into the air, covering the screams within the flames.

“It is keeping me from becoming too agitated.” I shift in place, wrapping my coat tighter around me. I do not know where this man came from. He appeared as if out of nowhere, but considering how lost I had become in the fire, it is no surprise someone did.

The man strums slowly, keeping my mind focused on his presence. The forest of men appears to still, and the fire casts its glow upon the man.

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But… 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝒸𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 ~(I’ll probs work on this veeeerrry slowly, so bear with me, lol)

  1. Magpie fae boyfriend x gn reader Part 2  ✅
  2. Infected Boyfriend (Ryan Chen) Part 2  ✅
  3. Naga/Lamia Boyfriend (request)  ✅
  4. Golden Prince Naga (Shesmetet) Part 3  ✅

My inbox is open at the moment, and you can put in requests or commissions, so I’ll be working back and forth with my projects, questions and requests. I will be ticking these off as I go to show what is completed and up on here.

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In terms of Beauty and the Beast au with a monster/reader, I kind of did one with a harpy/birdman monster called Edmund (set in the Victorian era too), but I hope that’s okay for you. Thank you, I appreciate your kind words and glad you look forward to my uploads. Have a good day! 💫 😊

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You lean back as Roheme’s eyes open and she gives you a toothy grin before jumping off the stool and scrambling up the other one to look in the mirror. Her eyes go wide and she squeals. “I love it! I love it! I look so pretty!”

Washing off your hands, you can’t help, but to smile at her simple antics. “It’s just a mud mask, dear.” Your partner, Sorudar, was out running some errands and needed someone to watch his little girl. Of course, you were happy to oblige because even though her father is a wonderful man and a great dad, she needed some one on one girl time. So, you decided to do a spa day until he gets back.

“Now what happens?” Roheme couldn’t stop admiring the bubblegum pink mask which actually suited her vibrant ivy green skin and obsidian black hair which was decorated with various braids and beads pulled back into the ponytail.

“We wait for it to dry and then we’ll wash it off.” You tucked a few loose strands behind her ear. “So, let’s see what we’ve done so far……” You looked at the checklist at your phone. “Bubble bath?”

“Check!” Honestly, if you weren’t mistaken this was her favorite part.

“Dancing and singing competition?”


“How about manicures?”

“Nope!” She jumps off the stool and stands in front of you expectantly before you grab her hand and lead her out to the kitchen.

After an hour or so, you were wiping the mud mask off of her face so she wouldn’t ruin her nails which were still drying. It was rather hard to do, not because she wasn’t sitting still, but more because of the faces she was making in an attempt to try to help you get the mask off. Which in turn was causing you to laugh.

However, the door being opened and a hearty voice stating their presence drew both of your attention away from the task at hand. “Daddy!” Roheme darts out of the bathroom and runs up to her father before spinning in a few circles and explaining all the things she learned today. Sorudar blinks in surprise and looks up at you when you step out of the bathroom, your mud mask still on your face. Giving a small smile, you lean against the wall and watch the interaction before explaining how great and helpful Roheme has been. However, you’re interrupted when Roheme grabs her father’s hand and yanks him over to the bathroom and then grabs yours as she passes you pulling everyone into the bathroom. “Come on! Let’s do a mud mask on you too! Come on!”

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Fragrances of lavender, sandalwood, and vanilla fill the bathroom. Brown hair is slowly unraveling as the brush passes through it. Right now, you’re sitting on a rather tall stool as your girlfriend sits in the bathtub. Normally, you’d join her in the bath as well, however, with her massive werewolf form…well there wasn’t really any room. So you both had agreed to take turns. She goes first and you go second. The usual routine you had set up for these kind of days.

“Feeling better, Sage?” You peek through her ears over at her reflection in the little water visible. Her golden eyes are closed as she shuffles further in the tub causing some water to splash out. Her fur, usually curly, is straight and pressed down. She hums, finally deciding to answer your question you almost had forgotten you had asked. Smiling, now it was time for your favorite part.

Grabbing lavender shampoo and conditioner you squirt a little directly onto her fur and begin to scrub. The shampoo was a 2 in 1 and was actually meant for dogs, Sage loved it so you had no problem using it. Besides, some of the human products didn’t really help keep her curls untangled.

After rinsing her off with the shower, you stood next to the tub with a towel. Though, the look in her eyes made you pause. “Sage. Don’t you dar –“ With a screech a wave of water came over your head as you quickly sat up sputtering water out of your lungs and with your feet dangling over the edge of the tub as she leans over looking at you with a toothy grin.

“Your turn!”

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“Hiroki? Are you still in there?” After three small knocks, silence was your only greeting. Looking up on the top of the door frame, you notice the signal light still on as the words ON AIR mock you. Now, normally you wouldn’t enter when your partner is recording for his podcast series, but you haven’t seen him all day and his dinner went cold a few hours ago. So, you enter. Softly sliding open the door, you peek in. “Hiroki?”

The microphone was slightly askew, yet the computer system was still recording. It was then that you noticed the hunched figure draped over the desk, pale arms dangling over the side and his sharp claw-like nails twitching every once. Sighing, you step in and continue the routine of turning off the microphone, saving the file, and shutting down the computer. However, his notes for the podcast as you catch in scribble: To my love, my life, I couldn’t do this without you. I love you.

Smiling, you gently ruffle his short black hair as his black fox ears twitch. “Hiroki…wake up, my love.” Watery golden eyes slowly open before flinching against the lights in the room. He gives a sleepy smile before you gently coax him out of his chair with his elbow. His two tails wrap around your waist as he subconsciously huddle against you for whatever warmth he can get. With a peck on his forehead, you lead him out of the room before turning off all the lights and closing the door. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Hey…” Hiroki trails off. “I love you.”

Smiling, you peck his forehead once more. “I know, my love. I know. I love you too.”

- - - - - - x - - - - - - 

Don’t forget to take care of yourselves and your monsters guys!

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Do you know of any terato blogs that write from the perspective of the monster? Or role players? I recently remembered seeing one a while ago, but I can't remember the name and can't seem to find it :( I hope you have a nice day/night and sorry if this bothered you :x

Not a bother at all, anon! :)

Check the exophilia masterlist which @thetravelerwrites ​painstakingly put together (linked on her blog), because some of those blogs might have what you’re looking for.

My only four (I think???) stories from the monster’s point of view are:

Good luck in your quest, and I hope you have a good day/night wherever you are too!

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People talk of cities as “full” and “cramped,” they say they don’t want to live in them because they’re too noisy and smelly and crowded, crowded, crowded. But Diana never saw it like that. There are plenty of places in cities that are empty, blank, flush with negative space. However, it’s not the pretty “face” of cities that are bare, not Times Square or Harajuku neighborhood or Piccadilly Square.

It’s the belly and the heart and the insides, the “bad” neighborhoods with office buildings with basements where barely even rats make nests. Car junk yards with only dead bodies of metal and stiff broken tires and wheels. Alleyways that are too dark and narrow for even bums to spend a night in.

There are empty places in cities, but there’s usually a reason for it. Reasons you don’t usually want to find out. Diana was coming home from her second job with cigarette smoke still powdering her clothes and the street lights just now flickering on.

It was the type of street where they rarely replaced the bulbs and cars sat on cinder blocks and the rest of Chicago sent blankets and food bank stuff to in the winters. It was fine though, it fit her lifestyle well enough. After Diana cut all her hair off and learned to growl instead of smile she had been fine on her own as she walked home in the evenings.

She had her earbuds in and was listening to a podcast on the true crime murder of Spider Savage when a figure caught her eye. Diana was taught to never stop for anyone in most parts of the city, but this was a woman she recognized.

Diana took an earbud out as an older woman in a lank floral dress stood and stared down a narrow side street. Her face was blank and mouth slightly parted. Her hands were stiff beside her like she forgot how to move them and her body was tense with pinched shoulder blades. Her purse was dropped on the ground beside her.

“Miss Hernandez?” Diana asked tentatively.

The older woman had her hair in a loose bun and there were deep wrinkles under her mouth and eyes that hadn’t been there before. She glanced over toward Diana after a pause like she was traveling across several state lines just to reach her.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered and her lips barely moved as she said it.

Diana frowned slightly and she went to stand next to the woman. “Are you, uh, feeling alright?” She whispered because there was something breakable about Miss Hernandez’s expression. “I mean, how… have you been?”

It was a non-question. Diana knew how the other woman was doing since last October, it had been year now, and she knew how she was doing after the amber alert had been sent out. Very, very badly.

Her eyes turned back to the side street. “Listen…” She said softly and Diana looked down the alley.

It looked like a normal street that wasn’t really a street, one of those caverns of the city that was carved out for no discernible reason. The shops on either side didn’t have any fire escapes leading down onto it’s damp concrete. Some trash bags were piled up haphazardly by the walls, but no hulking green bins were situated in the small space.

The walls around it were brick and stone and the space would only be big enough for them to walk into side by side if their shoulders were touching. It was narrow and smelled of something wet and slightly turned. Like bad milk maybe.

The hairs on Diana’s arm started to stand on end as she really looked down the street more carefully. There were no lights casting any glow down its dank insides. Her neck started to prickle as she realized there were no windows facing into the street. It was just walls and ground, and distant polluted skies above.

It was a long several minutes of silence with Miss Hernandez standing beside her. She was the type of woman who wanted to join a community garden if she ever got time off. She wanted to do more needlework that said things like “Not Taking Stupid Questions at This Time” if she ever got time off. She was the type of woman who kept the door of the apartment open when she was cooking and hated church music but went every Sunday nonetheless.

Well, that was her before October. Now she was mostly long faces and urgent phone conversations that ended with red eyes.

It was several long minutes with Diana standing there in silence before she turned to Miss Hernandez. “Want me to take you home?”

She shook her head and it came. Soft, and distant, and wispy.

“I dunno…” A small voice called with girlish tickle to the words. “It’s a little late.”

The words sounded like nonsense, but the voice itself was unmistakable. “Miss Hernandez,” Diana said quickly and whipped around, “That can’t be Dominique.

Miss Hernandez gave her one short look and then straightened up. “So you do hear it too.” She started walking.

Diana didn’t want to manhandle a middle-aged woman, but there were no windows facing the inside of this alley. “Wait.” She grabbed for Miss Hernandez, but she was already out of reach and plodding down the street with her practical clogs clacking.

Diana started jogging after her.

“Huh, I’m not sure.” The child’s voice said from somewhere far ahead.

“Dominique!” Miss Hernandez called and her pace quickened. “Sunshine.”

Diana reached for her, “you can’t.”

Miss Hernandez turned with a surprising amount of force and pushed Diana away. “I have to. If there’s any chance, I have to.” She spat, “don’t try and stop me.”

Diana stood there for a moment, dumbstruck. This wasn’t the type of woman to raise her voice, but there was a fire to her eyes that could have burned down Chicago a second time.

“If you say so…” Dominique said softly from somewhere ahead.

Miss Hernandez kept walking.

Diana glanced at the place where the narrow street turned and thought about turning around. She could go home and come back later with more people. She even considered calling the police, but she doubted that would do anything good. Miss Hernandez took a left turn and disappeared.

And she was the woman who knocked on Diana’s door on Christmas when she was alone and asked if she wanted something hot to eat. She bought her candles to light when her cat died. She had lived in her hall ever since Diana was kicked out of her own home.

Diana took a deep breath and reached into her purse to get her keys out. She put each one between her fists like wolverine claws and then followed after.

The next turn brought them to someplace that didn’t look like it should exist from the outside. The walls opened up and these strange wooden boxes piled high one either side, they looked like old-fashioned crates and thick canvas fabric draped over them.

Diana covered her nose as the smell of rotten milk sharpened. “Miss Hernandez,” Diana reached deep inside herself for something more. Something soft to offer or comfort to provide. “She’s been gone for a year. Please…”

Bits of wood were strewn across the ground as they kept walking. Boxes and canvas and shards of wood piled high on either side of them with something looming at the end of it all.

Diana took another deep breath but rotten milk layered over her tongue and something even more putrid under that. She forced herself not to gag.

She finally reached out and grabbed Miss Hernandez’s shoulder to stop her.

Miss Hernandez wasn’t looking at her though. She was looking at the end of the street, “Dominique?”

“Alright, sure, I’m coming.” The girl’s voice was crisp and clear through the night air and there was no doubt it was hers.

“Please! Come back,” Diana could feel her shaking. “We can talk about it. I won’t be mad. Never.”

“I’m coming.” The wall itself seemed to shifted and Diana realized there was something beside them. Tucked in between the boxes and so still she hadn’t noticed before.

She turned and it was not Dominique.

There are many empty parts of cities. Caverns and hollows and places where your footsteps echo and echo and echo. And they are empty for a reason.

Keep reading

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It’s raining. It hasn’t stopped raining.

The streets are empty, even the ones where the houses have holes in the roof and the basements are full of brackish brown water now. We haven’t heard from those houses in awhile. The drains are bubbling over outside with rivers that carry away leaves and branches and entire bicycles. The houses in every direction are unlit. Sometimes I see gaunt faces in the windows across the street and sometimes they wave in a way that says “I’m here, I see you, we’re still here.” Those are the nicer days.

When the TV turns on they call it “biblical” and “historic” and “stay inside until it’s over.” Some of us know it’s not going to be over. We dreamt about it I think, me and Deirdre and Mickey and Alex before she started screaming and stopped singing.

We’re all artists, but we also all own dogs and can’t keep houseplants alive and fall in love too easily so there’s no telling why it was us. I just remember asking them one by one out on coffee dates and meeting at the park and in the line at the grocery store: how have you been? They mention it with their eyes flicking back and forth, barely breathing as their faces tilt toward the sky: I haven’t been sleeping well recently.

I’ve been seeing things.

Things keep turning on without me touching them. Lights. Radios. The TV.

We’re all artists. We all own dogs. We fall in love too easily. But I don’t know why only some of us dreamed of the rain before it started. Maybe I shouldn’t say “rain,” it never called itself rain.

I look up at the sky and it’s dark and churning and marbled like warped earth. A lumpy quilt that goes on without end. The streets are empty, but despite the fact cars have left the roads and construction sites have halted and the many shouts of people and dogs and music players have stopped it is not quiet.

The pelting of the raindrops is constant and it drums relentlessly against the roof with a wordless sshhhhhh. It drowns out any other voices. I glance out the window and see the ripples of the sky above.

I hold Alex close to me on the floor and kiss her temple. She rocks back and forth in my arms and shouts now and then. Her voice is hoarse and broken, hair unwashed and lips pale and cracked. I kiss her temple again.

“Open,” she yells, “it opens!”

We keep our curtains drawn. We were both dreamers after all. We saw this coming in the way of animals before a tsunami, but there was no higher ground to get to. The sky churns and ripples and ungulates.

The tapping of the rain beats against the windowpane and I see the slightest shiver of movement above. A cloud tears and small fissure slowly pushes itself into being as our last protection is breached. Alex roars.

“Don’t let it!” She shrieks and holds her own head as she rocks back and forth. “Don’t let it come!”

But the clouds are parting. The voices from my dreams are crooning just above the roar of the rain and I know what will soon follow.

The television turns on, and then the lights in the house, and then every radio and cell phone and device in the house. It’s static and glowing, it’s all glowing pale frantic white, and the clouds are parting.

The shapes are immense and long like spools of unwound thread and the light burns my cheek from the television and the world is wet and hard and empty and I stopped being able to cry days ago. It’s raining. It hasn’t stopped raining. 

But the clouds are parting now and the angels have returned.

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Readers / betas needed for original work

Hey so I’ll probably reblog this in the morning when people are awake, but:

I wrote (most of) a book. Original fiction. It’s a small-town monster story; main characters are a bunch of mostly-lgbt teens.

Before I start the revision process I was hoping to get a few more eyes on it, for broad-strokes revision stuff (things like, are there plot holes? Is the logic clear or is there a big WHY that I missed? Do I need to cut out a character? Etc.)

If anyone would be interested in reading, hmu - it’s about 60K words right now and 90% done.

(And if 60K seems intimidating I’d also be totally cool if anybody had time for just the first few chapters or something. Whatever works :) )

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    Deep into the night it picks its prey, tethered dogs never stood a chance. Before the camps inhibitors can even raise alarm it’s sunk its teeth into the third dog. Bones are picked bare as only blood stains remain. Once its had its fill it disappears into the dark night, previous meal forgotten as it picks up the scent of its next victim.

    The Wahleena is a creature believed to dwell in Canada’s North West Territories. Specifically making its home on the South Nahanni River. The creature is said to resemble a four-foot tall white wolf with a heavy build and sharp teeth. Reports say it eats whatever it can get its paws on, but does not hunt humans.

    It’s rumored to be a bear-dog, a creature which roamed during the Middle Eocene to the Early Pleistocene, but is now extinct. Whatever this creature may be, it’s wise to stay away from its hunting grounds. While no disappearances have been linked to the creature many simply vanish in Canada’s wilderness never to be seen again.

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Story Summary: “The horseman who rides atop his alabaster steed, cloaked in crimson without a head.”

In the sleepy town of Moorwick, you are drawn into the legend of horseman when you learn it is associated with your father’s disappearance twenty years ago. When the local ghost story turns to be anything but that, and a bargain goes awry, you delve into Moorwick’s dark history with hopes of saving more than just yourself.


Chapter Five: You could no longer refute that your relationship with the horseman was more complex than you initially thought it to be. What did it mean? Just as you’re coming to terms with this, Colson offers a gift that could change everything. And Moorwick’s more prestigious residents let you know that there are eyes always watching.


The early December air was an unabashed presence to you that night. It slithered beneath the many layers you could muster while still being able to move, setting the hair on the back of your neck tall like spines, numbed the tips of your ears, and cemented your fingers wound the horse’s stiff reins. The seat beneath you felt harder than usual, nothing short of being jostled around on a big stone as you attempted to ride through the horse’s rough gait.

Perhaps more than anything, it felt rather amiss to be astride in the saddle without the horseman there to keep you upright. You were used to the steadiness of his chest to catch you, and his arms anchoring you down into the seat. Without him, the wind prowled excitedly, pushing against your back with a bite that you felt cut through your skin and bone, and launch you atop of the horse’s neck more than once.

“It is way too cold to do this tonight, let me off,” you complained over the whistle and wail of the breeze, and the muffs tightly cradling your ears.

The horse continued to trot in the same wide circle obediently, showing little regard to your commands despite your grip on the reins.

From the middle of the circle, you clenched an eye against a glare of white that only just illuminated the horseman’s chest in a halo of light. It had been at his insistence that you were even doing this, or more accurately: he had dismounted, gave his steed a swift smack on the ass and sent it surging forward into the circle before you could have hopped off.

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Here’s the second story in my series Modern Monsters: In The City. It features a lizardfolk who’s design is based on a leopard gecko, and a gender neutral reader.

A huge thank you goes to the amazingly talented @thetravelerwrites for proofreading & editing this piece. 



You came from a small backwater town, populated only by humans, with not a single monster in sight. A fact, which residents there were incredibly proud. Monsters didn’t come to your town; if by chance one ended up there, they never stayed long. Folks made any and all outsiders feel entirely unwelcome, so that it was incredibly difficult for them to live there. Of course, officially it was illegal to discriminate against non-humans, but it certainly didn’t stop the folks in your town.

You felt a bit like an outsider yourself there and the majority of the residents treated you like one too. You’d moved to the town to live with your grandparents when you were eight years old and you’d been far too opinionated, as far as they were concerned. You didn’t agree with their way of thinking, finding them to be incredibly ignorant and small-minded. So when you inherited a flat in the city and a small amount of money from an aunt you never even knew you had, you didn’t even think twice about leaving that town behind to start a new life in the city.

Standing in your new home and taking a good look around, you sigh. Your aunt had left a lot of stuff behind, which would take you weeks to sort. Deciding you didn’t mind too much but weren’t in the mood to start now, you decide to go out and explore the city.

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