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mmmleckerlecker · 4 months

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The Magic of Christmas

Summary: Santa grants you the gift of a full year in the North Pole with him. What you don’t realize is that YOU will end up being the true gift of Christmas.

Contents: m/?; fatal vore; willing pred; unwilling prey; size-difference; betrayal; painless digestion; long-term; a little bit of soul vore?

Wordcount: 2,398

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It’s the night of Christmas Eve, and you’re already curled up, fast asleep in bed. Until suddenly you are awoken by someone gently shaking your shoulder. You blink your eyes open and are startled to find someone standing above you. You gasp and sit up. The stranger in your room is dressed all in red and sports a great white beard. As you come to, you realize you’re looking at the man himself.

“Santa Claus!” you blurt. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles at you. His eyes are as twinkly and his cheeks are as rosy as all the stories say. He’s also much, much bigger than you ever expected. You wonder how he even fits down all those chimneys.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you were a small child,” he explains, his voice warm and rumbling. “Not once have you been on my naughty list, and each year I’ve admired your kindness, thoughtfulness, and your ability to bring joy to other people’s lives. It’s because of this that I want to give you a very special gift this year.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you ask, “What is it?”

You’ve always known Santa to be real, even when all your friends grew up and stopped believing in him. And now, to not only get to meet him but to receive such high praise from him… it’s a dream come true.

“As a gift for your enduring generosity,” Santa begins, “I’d like to invite you to spend the next year with me in the North Pole.”

Your jaw drops. You’re so honored by the offer that it takes several stuttering attempts to say, “Yes! I mean, yes please!”

Santa lets out a quiet chuckle, each set of, “ho ho ho,” like music to your ears.

“Come,” he says, holding out a mittened hand. “Let’s go.”

You spend the rest of the night at his side, flying over the earth in his sleigh. You expect to be terrified by the height and speed, but you’re not. You’re exhilarated. There are even several times you stop at a house and Santa returns carrying carrots. He hands them to you and lets you feed the reindeer.

When you’re not feeding reindeer or waiting for Santa as he drops off gifts, the two of you are engaged in conversation. A lot of it is asking questions about the North Pole. Very often, Santa’s only response is, “You’ll see.”

As you talk, you can’t help but notice the faint scent of sugar cookies that emanates from him and the way he has a habit of dotingly rubbing his impressively round belly (like a bowl full of jelly). You don’t think too much of it, however. He’s Santa Claus and he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

At the end of the night, you land in the North Pole and are greeted by hordes of cheerful elves. They’re smiling and laughing as they show you around Santa’s Village before guiding you to your new room where you promptly crawl into your marshmallow soft bed and fall asleep.

The next year goes by like a dream. All the elves make sure to meet your every need. Taking you on sleigh rides, inviting you to snowball fights, teaching you to ice skate, and then always making sure to bring you some cookies and hot chocolate after every meal.

Living in Santa’s village is like living Christmas every day and you couldn’t be happier.

There’s only one small thing that nags at you. And it’s Santa himself.

You see him quite regularly, and every interaction with him is as magical as the last. But as the year goes by, you notice that he starts to lose some of his… glow. The twinkle in his eye grows dim, the rosiness in his cheeks fades away, he loses his distinctive sugar cookie scent, and even his round belly grows smaller and smaller until there’s almost nothing left.

You’re too polite to comment on someone’s appearance, but you also don’t understand how this could be happening. Everything about the North Pole is invigorating and full of life. The longer you live here, the more you feel its influence. You can even see it when you look in the mirror. Each day, your reflection glows a little more brightly, so how could Santa be losing his own glow?

In the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, you truly begin to worry for Santa. At this point, if it weren’t for the beard and red suit, you wouldn’t even be able to tell he’s Santa at all. It’s like all the magic has gone out of him. But whenever you ask if he’s okay, he simply chuckles, pats your head, and assures you not to worry. But you do worry. You even ask the elves about it in hushed tones, but they just laugh and dismiss your concerns.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Santa’s workshop is a whirl of activity as everyone makes last minute preparations for the Big Night, yet Santa looks as un-Santa-like as ever. Still, no one seems concerned about this, least of all Santa. And amidst all the other hustle and bustle, the elves still manage to find time to prepare the grandest feast you have ever seen. Turkey and ham and potatoes and gravy and green beans and cookies and ice cream and cakes and pie.

In the final hour before Santa’s departure, everyone sits down to eat. You’re at the head of the table while Santa sits all the way across from you at the other end. Every dish you try is the tastiest thing you’ve ever eaten. Even more so than all you’ve had in the last year (and you’ve had a lot of good food in the past year.) You can’t help yourself as you try each dish at the table, going back for seconds and then going back for thirds on all you favorites.

The only thing that puts a damper on your spirit is that Santa himself doesn’t really touch his food. But the elves don’t seem perturbed. They’re all feasting away. And when Santa catches you watching him, he smiles that same warm smile at you, a ghost of a twinkle in his eye.

After that, you’re too embarrassed to be caught looking at him again. You put your head down and pretend nothing is amiss. It’s only when you’ve eaten so much you feel like you’re going to burst does the feast end.

As soon as it’s over, the elves swarm about, cleaning up the table. Meanwhile, you hang back, trying to stay out of the way and nervously waiting as Santa makes a few last minute adjustments before his trip. You know your year in the North Pole is nearly up. You know the time to say goodbye is fast approaching. Something tells you that you’ll never see this place again, and the very thought of it fills you with a terrible, aching sadness.

Finally, Santa approaches, and you know it’s time to go.

“Come with me,” he murmurs once he draws near. “There’s one last gift I need to finish and I want you to be a part of it.”

You blink in confusion as he beckons you to follow. This is not what you’d expected, but you’re not going to argue. If Santa needs your help, after all he’s done for you, the least you can do is comply. Besides, if it means staying here a little bit longer, you’ll happily go along with it.

A little uncertainly, you follow him away from all the elves and into Santa’s private workshop. You’ve never been in here before, and you marvel at the wonders within. So many beautifully and masterfully crafted toys. You wonder how in the world you can help with one of these gifts. They all seem perfect already.

You hardly notice when Santa shuts the door quietly behind you. Your attention only returns to him when he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to face him.

You swallow as he looks you up and down with his icy blue eyes.

“Wh- what’s the gift you need help with?” you ask, thrown off by the intensity of his gaze.

Instead of answering, he merely smiles again and says, “I’m so very proud of you for all you’ve done to inhabit the spirit of Christmas. If it weren’t for people like you, Christmas wouldn’t be able to happen at all.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Your heart is soaring with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever received such high praise. “Of course,” you squeak. “You’re welcome.”

“Merry Christmas, my child,” he mutters before leaning down and planting a light kiss on your forehead. You feel a little electric shock go through you from the contact.

And then your insides shift and you freeze as things take an unexpected turn. The kiss turns into something so much more, and suddenly you feel your entire head being engulfed by Santa’s mouth.

It’s only when he begins to swallow you down that you realize something is very wrong. You start to panic. You struggle and kick and beg to be released, but none of it has any effect. You just feel more and more of your body sliding down Santa’s throat and being crammed into his stomach. By the time your feet join you inside, you’re sobbing and fighting for your life. But it’s all in vain. You’re trapped.

After several long minutes of trying to escape, you tire yourself out, curl into a ball, and resign yourself to your fate.

You can’t believe this is happening. After so much wonder and magic, you end up here, betrayed by Santa, someone you’ve loved and trusted your whole life. And you thought he loved you in return.

At least it doesn’t feel too bad in here. It’s actually quite soft and warm with a sugary sweet smell. You’re reminded of that first night you’d met Santa and the sugar cookie scent that had followed him. You’d almost forgotten about that. It had disappeared so long ago…

And then you’re surprised when you feel someone rubbing at you from outside and hear Santa’s voice.

“There you go,” his voice rumbles all around you. “Just relax in there.”

“Santa!” you call and push back where you feel his hand. “Please!”

But Santa doesn’t miss a beat. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you out, but you’re giving the greatest gift anyone can give.”

You go still. “What do you mean?”

You’re not sure if he can hear you, but still he goes on to explain. “You see, I can’t actually produce my own magic. Instead, all magic in this world resides in you, in humans. You attract it to you and absorb it. Only you all cannot sense it or control it. But I can.

“So every year, to keep the magic of Christmas going, I must take the magic from a single human who best inhabits the spirit of Christmas. The past year you’ve spent here has only strengthened the magic within you. I’m sorry to do this, but it’s the only way to rekindle my magic. I hope you understand.”

You kick out and very colorfully explain that you don’t understand, but now you’re sure he can’t hear you because you only receive a distracted pat in response. It’s then you realize there’s nothing else you can do. This is how it ends for you.

You can feel every little movement as Santa leaves his workshop and climbs into his sleigh. And then, for the next few hours, you feel him squeezing through chimneys and stacking presents beneath trees. He doesn’t acknowledge your squirms and occasional kicks beyond a distracted rub and a comforting word. So you’re surprised when you suddenly hear what sounds like him conversing with someone else.

You strain your ears and are able to make out what Santa’s saying, “So as a gift for your enduring generosity, I’d like to invite you to spend the next year with me in the North Pole.”

You go still. You know those words.

Then you hear a muffled reply from whoever Santa is talking to, and before you know it, Santa is back in his sleigh with his new human. For the rest of the night, you listen to the two of them chatting amicably. You even overhear Santa telling them that they can feed the reindeer. And every once in awhile, you can feel Santa lovingly caress you within his stomach. You have flashbacks to one year ago when you were on the outside and witnessed him doing the same.

Then everything clicks together. You’re not the first to end up here. And you certainly won’t be the last.

And so the night comes to a close. You feel Santa return to the North Pole and listen to him bid his new human goodnight before heading to bed himself. As you will yourself to sleep too, you wonder how long this is going to last…

You end up remaining inside Santa for far longer than you expect. From what you can tell, you’re in there for months. You never feel any pain, but you can tell your physical body is slowly being broken down and absorbed. It gets harder and harder to find the strength to move, but every time you do, you’re once more met with a comforting rub and a few soft words.

As the months go by, not only do you lose the strength to move (you’re not even sure if there’s anything left of your physical body to move), but you find it harder and harder to stay conscious of what’s going on outside your little prison. But you’re roused just enough when you hear Santa say one last sentence to someone on the outside.

“I have one last gift to finish, and I want you to be a part of it.”

What little remains of your consciousness flutters a bit as you recognize those words and realize it must have been a full year now. It’s time for you to be replaced.

And just as you have this thought, you feel everything slip away, and you’re met with a void of endless darkness. There’s quiet and freedom. At last, you find peace.

#back at it again with the random Christmas vore #I am sorry not sorry to be public about unconventional pred crush on Santa Claus #also nobody look at me but I might have also accidentally come up with a fuck ton of lore around what creature Santa actually is in this #I could not help myself. anydays.#soft vore #v.ore #size difference vore #fatal vore #painless digestion #soul vore #male pred #willing pred #unwilling prey #long term vore #endosoma

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your-subby-creature · 9 months

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Made a horrible mistake. Switched to images when I was doing research on penile fracture for my internship. Please don't break your dicks, besties <3

#Creature rambles #i cannot express to you what an accident it was #DO NOT BEND YOUR ERECT PENIS BE CAREFUL AND SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IF IT SNAP CRACKLE POPS PLEASE #this has been unconventional sex ed w creature

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throwing-roses-into-the-abyss · 8 months

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so we all agree siegfried has autism and tris adhd right

#all creatures great and small #siegfried: can't cope with change. prefers animals over humans. knew he wanted to be a vet since he was a child and stuck to it.#awkward around people until they share a love of animals then instantly bonds with them.#tris: impulsive. bounces all over the place. will ignore his job in favour of crossword puzzles. leaves every room a filthy mess #right up until he decides it really does need tidying and then does it to an extreme level #also he's very unconventional while siegfried wants things to be done the Right Way and only that way #(obviously this is armchair psychology and just a headcanon etc etc etc I just. noticed this.)#(everyone else is neurotypical and constantly baffled by the both of them.)

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jack-crow-lantern · 4 months

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My love language is giving me dead things that even though you find disgusting, you still picked up and gave to me a thing that disgusted you because you thought I’d like it.

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wingsyliveblogs · 2 years

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should

shouldn’t you know whether it is or not???

I guess the inspection really isn’t a routine thing, if he doesn’t know what to expect from it.

If Principal Bump doesn’t know what’s going on, then Amity definitely doesn’t. But despite this, she doesn’t waste any time responding to the threat. Good going, Amity!

Well, there it is! Maybe this explains why she wasn’t dressed like a regular coven member, too.

Amity’s completely outclassed by this creature as long as she’s using abomination magic alone. We know she’s been practicing other types of magic that might be more effective in this situation... but she’s not allowed to use anything but abomination magic at school.

In this sense, being restricted to one subject is demonstrably limiting a student’s ability to respond to a legitimate threat... in which case, it’s likely that those who don’t limit themselves will be the most effective in this situation.

...at least, that’s how I’m thinking this may play out. Maybe the solution will be something else entirely!

#wingsy liveblogs #wingsy watches owl house #owls ep 13 #since it was established earlier that the attack on Glandus drained students of their magic #I was thinking that Luz's lack of internal magic might make her the best candidate for dealing with the attacker #since her magic is essentially unlimited #but now I'm starting to suspect that unconventional magic might be the best counter to this creature since she won't be expecting it #but perhaps I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here - let's see how this goes!

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manasurge · 6 months

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Had a weird thought about Centaurs (because their anatomy always bothered me). Instead of having a 90 degree angle thing going on with their spine (the thing that bothers me, in addition to the copy-paste of human torso to horse body; a pet peeve of mine), would it make more sense for them to be built more like a giraffe?? but instead of it being all neck, it's more spine with some way to manage the extra top-heavy weight with the arms (or if it is more neck, they instead they get weird mutant arms growing out from their head/face like some sort of monster bug freak). Imagining them bending down is also hilarious bc no matter how you try to imagine it, it will always looks goofy.

#thoughts #idk a griaffe just popped into my head from the ether and made me think about this #also the extra limbs would kinda make them bug like anyways #might save this as an idea for myself to draw later as I tend to always have unconventional interpretations with mythical creatures

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mha-quotes-and-such · 2 years

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Hey!

So.... why did the Sick-ler choose a sickle as his short-range weapon?

I mean, it sure suits his scarecrow looks, but I wanted to know if he had a specific reason or just thought "oh, sickle, cool, I'll take it".

A lot of his reasoning was definitely that it just fit the scarecrow theme, however it was also based on his own skills too. Hes on the shorter side so longer weapons like swords, scythes, staffs, etc can be a bit difficult for him to use. Since sickles are shorter he found that it was easier for him

#from a 'behind the scenes' standpoint #i just really like unconventional weapons #also riper already uses a scythe which was pretty much my only other option for a scarecrow #also fun fact i learned while writing this #theres a japanese urban legend of a creature that resembles a scarecrow #maybe sick-ler will take some inspiration from it who knows #not a quote #ask #scarecrows oc tag #villain: sick-ler

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whump-captain · 2 years

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No 1. - A little out of the ordinary

Adverse effects | Unconventional restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

OC: Ghost Ambulance

here we gooooooooo! ive had this one in my head for a bit actually and it fit the prompt so nicely (◡‿◡)

CN: supernatural whump, cuts on wrists, bleeding out

One of the thirty six elevators in the building is haunted.

There is always one, in Cutter's experience. Elevators, with their strange atmospheres and lights flickering at just the right frequencies, tend to be hotspots for all sorts of hallucinations. Though it is unusual for a place this modern - the sleek LEDs that light it are far too well-kept to flicker at all and plenty of natural light reaches each floor through the windows that make up the majority of the facade. The building’s geometry is the elongated maze typical of new riverside developments, sliced through with pathways and tunnels that lead to green-speckled courtyards. Signs in the windows of ground-floor businesses add colour to the light greyscale of glass and concrete.

Elaine and Cutter have split up. With so much ground to cover - horizontal and vertical - they have agreed to start their investigation on opposite ends of the long building and work their way to the middle. Though the call came in to Elaine directly, she was pretty certain that it's bullshit and so she invited Cutter as an extra pair of hands. On his advice, she installed an app that can analyze video footage and estimate the frequency of any flickering found in it - an easy way to pinpoint the potential source of the "haunting". In return, she has offered to lend Cutter a dagger. He refused.

The day passes on long, uneventful rides in elevator after elevator, each documented with a short video of the lights. Mirrors line the cabins floor to ceiling and Cutter’s reflection looks around in time with him, multiplied into infinity among a corridor of interlocking, crystalline lines. The glass glitter of them puts him on edge.

But nothing supernatural makes an appearance. Just as they have agreed, Cutter texts Elaine with an update after he finishes the block and she has the exact same news. She sounds impatient in her texts; Cutter guesses that she considers all of this a waste of her time.

Himself, he loves boring investigations. Earn money for a few hours of wandering around a fancy building and chatting up receptionists? Dream job.

The next block lies across from the one he’s finished, through a courtyard from which several archways lead to different sections of the complex. In one of them, hidden in a wide recess between two storefronts, is a nondescript, two-wing door. A card scanner guards it on the side and at the sight of its blinking red light, Cutter has a thought.

He texts Elaine: "How many service elevators are there?"

"I'm not sure," she texts back, "they only informed me about the resident ones."

"I'll snoop around."

“If you bring news of even more elevators, I might let the river end my suffering.”

Cutter smiles to himself and decides not to tell her that he knows for a fact that there will, indeed, be more elevators.

The next twenty minutes he spends on a chain of questions and referrals that lead him from one manager to another as he calmly explains at least three times to at least four people who and why has hired him. Eventually he obtains an access card from a worker from a nearby cafe, a long-haired guy in a branded t-shirt who appears skeptical even as a security officer gives him a wave of permission. Despite that permission, the officer herself hangs around the door as Cutter taps the card on the reader and the two wings swing soundlessly open before him.

Behind them is a dimly lit, but perfectly ordinary service area. Bare concrete walls form a corridor that broadens recurrently into empty chambers, each with a door leading to a different business. Bulky square vents run along the high ceiling, flanked by thinner copper pipes and garlands of tightly bunched cables. The wall immediately to the right is, as expected, occupied by two elevators. There is only one button below their own card reader, indicating the elevator's direction to be down. Cutter can almost hear Elaine’s complaining already.

A muted clunk sounds out in the ambient echo of the corridor when he presses the button and a deep, scraping hum follows. There's a breeze coming in from the distance, carrying traces of some machinery's monotone rhythm.

The door slides open. The elevator’s cabin is bigger than the others, longer to accommodate trolleys and floor scrubbers. Instead of mirrors, sheets of thick, dirty white padding cover the walls, bunching and overlapping in the corners. A scent of stale dust makes Cutter's throat itch as the door slides shut and then the elevator rumbles downwards, shuddering like a dying engine. It's much slower than the others, too, even though it only has a single floor's journey to make.

Cutter drifts idly from wall to wall, examining the stained, greyish padding. There's a label right in the middle of one of the sheets bearing the name of its manufacturer and some basic instructions that reveal its purpose - protecting broken surfaces. He wonders if there is a mirror under there after all, smashed either by careless use or some vandal. Though the padding could be for the walls themselves, cushioning them from any impacts from whatever goods and machinery are transported through here. He runs a hand over it absently, tracing the vertical lines of the seams.

Something moves underneath it.

He jerks his arm back and whips around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The padding is motionless. The light on the button is still on. The rumble of machinery persists.

The ride is taking much longer than it should.

Cutter turns around, slowly. He scans the cabin from floor to ceiling, but there is only the dirty padding. But his chest tightens and that's all the confirmation he needs.

He found the haunted one.

With every distant clang that he has assumed to be mechanical, the elevator's hum changes. As if warped by dials on an equalized, it deepens and then gains a scraping, shrill echo. Right before Cutter's eyes, the padding on the walls swells as if in wind and then drops, bisected all around as if with a blade.

Behind it the walls are gleaming.

In a moment, the cabin transforms into a cave. Rough and sharp-edged, the walls are made of ink black obsidian, shining so clean that it looks polished. The pure white glints of reflected light blink with the flicker of the lightbulb and shift on the surface like flowing gasoline.

Cutter takes a breath and that motion is enough. A huge, triangular pane spikes out of the wall, sharp like a blade and fast like a bullet. Cutter jerks back with a cry; the stone cuts through the cabin and stabs into the opposite wall. Cracks split the obsidian open and immediately it begins to shift and grow to remake itself. Inches from Cutter's foot, another spike shoots out at an angle, towards the ceiling's corner. He twists away, but he has no space. The two giant shards of polished stone bisect the cabin at strange axes, their edges so thin they're almost translucent. But they're lethally solid still. A third blade shoots out from the cabin's shortest wall, colliding with one of the other panes. It goes clean through with a sound like sharpening steel and glittering black debris explodes out in its path. Cutter barely has space to flinch, boxed in, razor edges on every side. One more slices the air right in front of his face and he stumbles back with a gasp. His back hits the wall, cold and hard like ice. Arms outstretched, he presses himself into it. He can almost taste the stone that's inches away from his eyes.

With a sound like nails on glass, two pairs of blades break out around Cutter's wrists and crash together into a point. He shouts as the thin edges slice deep into his skin. He tries to struggle but he can't. The two triangular shards are like shackles. Every millimeter he gains away from one, pushes the other deeper into his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he pulls towards himself - but again futile. The shackles only tighten with a shrill hiss and Cutter gasps at the pain. Blood paints a thin ring around his wrist but doesn't get the chance to drip down. The obsidian shards gain a wet gleam and where the crimson touches them, it's locked inside.

Cutter's breath catches and his head swims. Breathe. Slow down. Contain that shivering, slowly in and slowly out, no matter how much it hurts. It's just some cuts, he's going to be fine. The scar on his chest burns, adrenaline screaming at him to run. But if he moves, he'll just slice himself open. Stay still.

He lets out a long, shaky exhale. He feels the gentle pulse of escaping blood on his wrist and the warmth of it makes him nauseous. Tentatively, he shifts his foot on the floor. The soft scrape sounds like a gunshot. But nothing happens. The stone doesn't try to slice through his clothes - it either can't or doesn't want to. Heartbeat pounding in his skull, Cutter scans the cabin, looking for a trace of deadly movement among the scattered, distorted reflections.

They're moving. Slowly, at a crawling pace of moving glaciers, the blades continue to grow, fueled by the blood they drink. The elevator door cracks around the shard embedded in it, deep ridges spidering out. At that sight, Cutter's heart stumbles into double-time. If the door breaks, he can call for help. It's barely holding, creaking with metallic strain, peeling away along the cracks.

Cutter pushes his back against the wall. He cries out from pain and effort and kicks the shard, as hard as he can. His boot chips off a spray of glitter dust, the stone shivers. The impact barely jostles it.

Another short blade spikes out below Cutter's forearm. It slices through an inch of skin, tearing a cry out of him again. Immediately, a twin one joins it from above, into another razor sharp shackle. Two more lines of pain ignite on his arm, stabbing fire right down to his bones. Then two more still, on his other arm. He grits his teeth this time and only lets out a quiet, raspy groan. The cuts are deeper now and blood flows from them quickly, too fast for the obsidian to absorb it all. It gathers around its edges, overflowing, then dripping down to the checker plate floor.

A violent shudder runs through Cutter's body and that motion is enough. A new pair of shackles erupts, thicker and darker in colour now. The burning lines have blurred together into one and it's like holding his arms in a flame. He's panting, his knees wobble but he locks himself in place with pure desperation, pressing harder against the wall behind him. He can't fall. If he does, the stone will cut off his hands. He can't get a full breath in; he wants to call out for help but his voice keeps escaping on small, fragmented groans as the blades dig into the wounds and cut in deeper with every shiver he fails to suppress.

Among the pain, his blood flows hotter and everything beyond that seems to get colder. He can only gasp soundlessly as the next shackle opens up more ridges in his skin. There's movement now too. As the stone grows, it gains a slow, sickening pulse that offsets his own sluggish heartbeat. With each contraction of the blades, new pain shoots through Cutter's body and each of his short, shallow breaths carries with it a barely audible keen. The crimson drops on the floor connect into puddles and then divide again in his eyes as his vision blurs. But he's still upright, braced against the sharp points of the obsidian wall. In the LED light, his pallid face is white against the gleaming dark.

The rhythm of blood drops hitting the floor slows, like a watch on the last of its battery. Cutter can't feel if it's his own legs holding him up, or the grip of the obsidian blades. A memory of urgency bleeds out somewhere in the points of the triangular shackles, too distant now for him to grasp at. It's so dark that he can't tell if his eyes are open. The claustrophobic, scored cabin of the elevator stretches out into a vast open space filled with nothing at all. The pain is gone now. He's just very cold.

The cabin continues to shake as it slices out of its timeless reverie and shudders to a stop on the ground floor of the service area - finally succumbing to the physical world again and allowing itself to settle. The huge panes of stone crawl back into their walls and then smooth out into a sheen, only slightly darker than a normal mirror. The countless shackles, full and gleaming with crimson, retract as well and release Cutter's body to crumple down to the bloodied floor.

The cracked door lurches open on mechanical instinct. The security officer waiting on the other side looks up from her phone and screams.

#whumptober2022 #no. 1 #unconventional restraints #oc #whump writing #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #cutter as paranormal creature juice box part 1 #i had so much fun w/ this one i hope the visual came through bc i vibe with it so much (◡‿◡)#also i can have little a self-insert cameo. as a treat. lmao

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deliciouspolls · 2 months

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*Basically anything that isn't a typical farm animal: cow, pig or sheep. Not including birds or fish- might include that in a different poll.

(Obligatory Note: I'm American and this is based on what's overall unconventional to eat in the USA.)

Edit: To clarify just in case, I meant to have "None of these" mean "I've never tried any four legged creature that wasn't cow, pig, or sheep".

Edit 2: I live in an agricultural area. It appears this may have skewed my view on how frequently anything else is eaten. We have the Store and the Farm and that's it.

#poll #polls #tumblr poll #tumblr polls #food #food poll #delicious polls posts #poll blog #meat

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eonars · 8 hours

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NOT beating the absolute creepazoid allegations unfortunately had to bare hand a small spider out into some bushes at work today bc the kids were freaking out and refusing to sit down with him in the shelves and i happened to push through the door right as this other tutor was pulling it open to get in and he saw me stood there in a giant black dress with a carved ox bone hairstick in my hair and enormous serial killer glasses with my hands obviously cupped so he was like "whoa whatcha got there?" and i was just like "●_● a spider"

#9th grader was like hmm....an unconventional approach to an often maligned creature #unsure if thats my approach to the spider or the coworkers approach to me #either way you can earn godlike respect among children if you just grab spiders #ive gotten a lot better about handling them after the last 2 or 3 instances of one coming out of my hair

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autisticbritishcowboy · 8 months

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30/9/23

It's hard to think I've been in the hotel for almost a month now. It's strange that this place full of demons Eldridge Horrors and mysterious magics has become homely it's infinite twisting labyrinths feel comforting and reinsuring. I went to the Gardens today showed up to the Archery Club I had previously seen a flyer for. In total there were about 4 other people there including the instructor. The various different anomalies and anomalous people that occupada hotel aren't something I particularly noticed anymore I have grown used to them. Which is just as well because the vast majority are actually good people you wouldn't think about it but one of my closest friends is a suit wearing demon and he's a total legend. My other friend is a half giant from 1910 and he's also a pretty chill dude who just spends most of his time playing video games. I even met the Eldridge creature in the top hat who plays piano. I didn't talk to him very long but he seemed like a nice guy. I'm talking to more people here than I probably did back in the normal world. Most of the people here seem more friendly as well. Plus they aren't constantly making up stupid neurotypical rules. Most of the people there were just normal looking humans most of the people in the hotel were and their anomalous abilities were not obvious many of them being wizards. The outstand however was the instructor he was a centaur. I had not seen one of those before and greeted him. Chiron welcome to me openly and went through the safety stuff quickly after I told him that I had done archery before what might turn out to be my Canon event. I shot a couple of arrows with him and got to know the people there who I quickly made friends with. They remind me of some of my old archery and non-archery friends back in the normal world. I spent most of the afternoon with them in the grounds of the hotel near near a patch of Woods but overshadowed by the outside of the hotel itself. Soon after that I came back to Charlie's room and played Mario games after that I went to my own room and are now preparing to go to sleep.

#anomalous Hotel #diary entry #unconventional storytelling #neurodiversity #liminal spaces #my writing #mythical creatures

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mantisgodsdomain · 1 year

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Filled with impulse to talk at length about our Mothiva species headcanons but we would have to include something like 40k words of Northern Bug Worldbuilding and we aren't sure if we'd be able to do that without including major spoilers for something.

#we speak #the north is real cold and bugs are not actually designed to live there with the lengthened lifespans Awakened bugs get #so the bugs that manage to evolve to live there get. unconventional.#this applies to northern beetles like kabbu and it also applies to northern moths like mothiva and yin #northern bugs are known for being Fucking Huge and Chronically Omnivorous #and northern moths specifically are one of the very small handful of creatures that remain active throughout northern winters #they eat deadlanders and are uniquely suited to metabolize all manners of poison #compared to other northern moths mothiva is Tiny And Sickly and she has no damn clue she has any northern moth ancestry whatsoever

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amerasdreams · 2 years

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I do think lots of people are brainwashed by the dominant culture and they think it's them actually thinking for themselves when it's the culture they were steeped in since childhood.

It's important to be able to put your critical thinking hat on and look at everything you take for granted. Those preconceptions are the things you need to examine the most. They can lead to prejudice and blindspots.

Critical thinking along with empathy are the most important skills for you to have.

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terrifyingly-bi · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary (Steve Harrington)

Unconventional Restraints

Summary: Feeling unwell, Steve excuses himself to get some rest. It’s not like him to leave them to their own devices during game night, but he’s not quite feeling like himself either…

Warnings: Restraints, non-consensual restraints, parasites, paralyzed, creatures, descriptions of unpleasant sensations

Word Count: 807

A/N: A horrible, horrible idea that came to me as I read this prompt and a banger way to kick off Whumptober (as well as the spooky month).

『••✎••』

“I win again,” Dustin said, reaching and grabbing at the small pile of candy bars stacked at the center of the table. “It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”

Lucas protested. “There was no way you could have won that one! I had this one in the bag.” He slapped his cards down on the table with a huff. “I call cheating.”

“I’m just lucky,” Dustin argued, slapping away the hands of his friends that threatened to steal his winnings. “Right, Steve? You’re seeing this, right?”

With a groan, Steve shook his head. He hadn’t paid much attention for a couple of rounds, he was feeling groggy and worn after a long day of difficult customers. He’d only agreed to sit for the night because he needed the money. “I should have never taught you this stupid game,” he lamented and leaned his head back against the wall.

“You feeling okay?” Mike asked. “You look like hell.”

“Feeling like I look, kid,” Steve mumbled. “You guys shouting isn’t exactly helping either.”

“You can rest in my room if you need,” Dustin offered.

Steve considered the offer for a moment. “So you can sneak out while I’m not watching, you mean?” He looked at the boys around the table. “Your mom asked me to watch you, not sleep.”

The boys looked skeptical. “We promise to stay and be good… If you drive us to the arcade tomorrow night,” Lucas said.

“And let us get pizza on the way there,” Dustin was quick to add.

Again, Steve considered. “Fine.” He slapped his hands onto his knees as he got up, a wave of nausea washing over him as he did. “Half an hour. That’s what you get to do whatever you want. When I come back, there’d better be no trouble.”

He left them there, heading into Dustin’s room to get a few moments of rest before the inevitable trouble began. The room was surprisingly clean, and the bed was only a few inches too short for him to stretch out on.

Still, Steve groaned when he laid down, nausea making his head feel heavy. Must have been something I ate, he thought as he smothered a hand over his face. He’d hoped that laying down would make him feel better, but it only made everything worse.

With a sigh, he made to get back up only to find himself a little too heavy to do so.

Then something lurched in his stomach. It felt as if something pulled at his insides - or moved within them. His limbs felt impossibly heavy and any movement he managed was sluggish at best. Even breathing was cumbersome.

Steve tried to open his mouth to utter a noise of pain but his lips remained sealed. A tingling sensation played on the inside of his lips like something was pinching them closed from the inside.

Panic rose in his throat like thick bile, and he struggled to move until it became clear that he no longer had any control over his body.

But something else did.

In the other room, Dustin let out a loud laugh and was promptly hushed by his friends. “Sorry, I forgot he was sleeping.”

Resting, Steve wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Let him sleep. He looked like he needed it,” Mike mumbled. “But keep it down.”

They’re fine, Steve thought. They haven’t noticed anything. His gaze snapped to the window above the bed when he heard a noise. Someone - or something - was pawing at the window. Softly and carefully, unnaturally long digits ran across the pane of glass, tapping it playfully. The latch, Steve realized. The window wasn’t locked.

Quietly, the window slid open.

Steve’s body remained still, even as he struggled against it. He trembled with the effort and sweat beaded on his forehead as he pushed to make his limbs move. But it was impossible. A weight seemed to settle within him, shaped perfectly to his body - or perhaps shaping after it.

Not even his breathing was controllable. His breaths remained calm and steady even though his heart drummed violently against his ribcage.

The creature slowly entered through the window. Long spindly limbs carried it inside as it crawled over the bed and its paralyzed inhibitor.

It’s not after me. Steve panicked as the creature paid him little mind, inching across him to creep closer to the bedroom door and the children beyond.

Dustin laughed again, this time joined by Lucas as Mike began arguing over game rules - all while being unaware of the danger lurking mere feet away.

I have to warn them. I have to help them. I have to do something.

There was nothing Steve could do. He couldn’t even turn his head properly, and soon the creature was nothing but a shadow in the corner of his vision.

Then the door creaked open.

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #a little out of the ordinary #unconventional restraints #parasite #stranger things #steve harrington #fic #restrained #non-consensual restraints #paralyzed #creatures #descriptions of unpleasant sensations #omgomgomgherewegoooooo

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vibingandsimping · 7 months

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Random sfw + nsfw thoughts/headcanons for randomly assorted characters from BG3! Excuse any grammatical errors or poor phrasing… it is nearly midnight and I got off work.

Send requests or thoughts in my ask box. It will always be open!

Forewarnings/tags: Trying to keep this gender neutral… mentions of sweat/scent, blood-drinking, possession/control, some tooth-rotting fluff, fingering (receiving + giving), oral (receiving), hate-fucking, some ass-play mentions?, nipple-play, dirty talk, degrading, praise, validation.

Characters involved… Astarion, Wyll + Gortash

Astarion,

If you have warm-blood… such as a living creature. He adores that- his fingers trail along the expanse of your skin and if you could see his eyes you’d swear his name made sense. It has been so long since he had his own warm skin. Since Cazador stripped him of his innocence and life. He lives vicariously through your body. He may be dead but you breathe life into him and he swears his cold-heart no longer beat still.

He admires your features. The more unconventional ones. Like the wrinkles in your skin, the uglier scars that line your flesh. Moles, freckles, stretch marks… they all remind him of how uniquely alive and different you are. He’d kiss each one if you’d let him as his tongue singed praises.

He’d craft you a perfume or cologne to your scent. His senses are heightened as a vampire. He’s pressed his nose against the crook of your flesh more times than he could count. He’s smelt your skin and sweat… all of your essence. He has tasted and inhaled the scent of your blood. With that information, he presents you a mixture of herbs and other properties. Once applied to your skin, it illuminates your personality. Truly, as he said, he missed his calling.

As we all know… this man loves to bite. It is a form of dominance as well intimacy. Your vulnerability and his stake of claim as well as acceptance. You do not truly understand the importance behind the act. He never fed on humanoids until you. You were the sweetest he’d ever tasted… and will ever truly taste. The fact you’d give yourself so willingly gives him a feeling of superiority. As well as a lighter, chest tightening feeling of belonging. As much as you belonged to him, he was also yours.

He truly loves to delve into your pleasure. As much as he is fond of using his tongue… to break you apart with simply his mouth. Watch you crumble and cry from betwixt your thighs, there is also an unremarkable excitement in his fingers. Filling you and stretching you with them. Working to angle and prod the most sensitive parts whilst his tongue slides against yours or along your neck. Licking at the wounds from his feedings. To hear you cry so deliciously from just the thickness and persistence of his fingers strokes his ego. He knows he will fuck you dumb unto his cock.

A shorter smut headcanon but I do believe he’d love cumming on your skin. Your face, chest (particularly loves giving you a pearl necklace, he thinks you look dashing), stomach, thighs… any skin that is available, honestly. There is a strange sense of pride for him in it. To see you covered in him. He also loves to cum inside. Either works, honestly, as long as it is you.

Wyll (this guy has no fics about him. Step up y’alls game)

A true gentleman. He grew up as a son of royalty… what do you expect? If you guys ever had a proper date, he’d dress no less to impress the finest. Honestly, it makes you feel so utterly underdressed. He adorns a wonderful cologne. It is reminiscent of leather, warm spices and a sweeter scent like honey. His vest has gold detailing along a beautiful maroon. Still, in his eyes you are the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. No matter how fancy you dressed. He cannot keep his eyes off you, truly.

We all know he loves to dance. It is something he praises in his dialogue. Still, he wishes no more than to dance with you. If you can or cannot dance, it doesn’t matter. He will teach you the rhythm and steps if you have two left feet. Each time you trip or fall, he simply quirks a smile and offers a hand. He does not judge, only finds some amusement in how adorable he finds you. If you know how to dance? How delightful. He will play some faint music to follow along too. His hand rested along the small of your back and his fingers intertwined with yours. Dipping you and guiding you as the music fades away and you’re left with the trance of his loving gaze.

As much as he is a gentleman, I think he’d love harmless pranks. Gentle teasing of your character to see your frustrations and shock. He’d ‘misplace’ an item of yours to see you scour in confusion. Then, when you look at him, he is holding it out with a devious little smirk. He lets out a chuckle when you stomp over and nearly cuss him out. He loves every side of you and you know that it’s lighthearted fun… and god damn is it hard to hold a grudge when he has a smile like that. Curse him, truly.

He is a simple man, honestly. He takes pleasure in what you take pleasure in. Will indulge your desires and kinks as long as they aren’t particularly destructive. Though, he does have a little… interest. He proposes it one day with some nerve, or, you happen to stumble on it yourself. Nonetheless, he enjoys his ass being prodded during oral. You noticed when a fondling hand upon his balls drifted and brushed against his hole. He stiffened and let out a strained noise. You brushed it again before discovering it was one of pleasure. With that information, do as you will. Just know that it makes him release much easier than he intends. He finds it a dirty (although frustratingly pleasurable) trick when you go down on him.

He enjoys toying with your nipples while either betwixt your thighs or wrapped around you. There is a certain look you hold when his thumbs squeeze and roll them. You arch your back a little more and your thighs quiver as the pleasure shoots between them and enhance what he was giving you. It was truly a sight and he didn’t even have to say anything for you to unravel just the way he’d like. Don’t think it’s just hands, either. He’ll glide his tongue along them, sucking and nibbling til he is assured you’re enjoying it.

Gortash (I’m a dirty Gortash lover… sue me. Durge will get some content later, I swear)

Starting off with the normal Tav… If you manage to ‘fix’ him in a sense, he admires your persistence and patience with him. He had a troubled past that he overlooked and developed some… issues from. Yet, it was your kindness and guidance that led him to stopping the Absolute and creating a better city. He is not perfect, by far. Enver is still a controlling man. He needs some sort of power and dominance to soothe his mind. Though, he does not use fear to control his citizens anymore. He’s truly impressed by the way you swayed him. You can see it in the way he gazes at you sometimes. There is certain softness as his hand grasps yours and he looks to you for reassurance in a moment of vulnerability. He needs you to keep him in reigns.

He loves holding you from behind and to bury his face into your neck. The crook between your head and shoulder holds such warmth and a smell that is yours. It reminds him of the path he has chosen… and the person he gets to cherish for it. He places his hands onto your stomach and allows his sharp, metal nails to tease the skin. To remind you of the still powerful man whose giving up such command and control to you. Someone who grounds him. He might even hum into your skin in content if you do not push him away. Honestly, you will eventually. He could cling onto you like a koala of you did not stop him. He murmurs into your skin about how you two rule this kingdom… and one day you’ll be officially betrothed to him. The thought of him proposing and taking your hand in marriage makes your heart flutter.

Although he is so soft with you, he fucks you like he hates you. His cock battering your walls and filling you up so painfully full. He is thick- and makes your mind melt as he stretches you unlike you’ve known. He may not be particularly the longest but he does not lack length. Sadly, foreplay isn’t the best thing he’s at. You can blame it for his inflated ego and quick beds over the years. If you ruined his initial plans and had him submit the Absolute, he seethes in your ear about it. As much as he is a changing man, there is a part deep down that will resent that fact for awhile. He could’ve had everything he’d ever wanted as a boy. “Look at you, such a dirty thing. Soiling my plans, stomping into my heart… and now you’re sprawled on my sheets pathetically.”

When you finally convince or wrangle him into going down on you, it’s a sight. A mess of black hair and hands wrapping around your thighs. His tongue works rapidly, lavishing you in slightly inexperienced licks. Sucking at your sensitive parts before returning to ravishing you with his tongue. It is not that he hasn’t gone down before in all his years… it’s that his ego was so inflamed that he never truly thought or cared for it before you. He’s willing to try and work on better things just for you. As such, this is a way of showing his commitment to you. Not only to indulge in his pleasures but to show he cares about yours.

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