#do we tag the monsters here or what

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

hey.......... do you mind.........

[geomimetry]

suggestive monster stuff under the cut

i havent posted art in almost a year and this is what i decide to break the ice with hi

go big or go home amirite

[non-plutonian-druid]

[ID: a three color drawing (black, white, and teal) in the style of Seth’s illustrations from the Lemony Snicket series All The Wrong Questions. Five and Viktor (both about 13) are seated at the counter of a diner, talking. Luther (in his 20s), who is a patron seated next to them, looks concerned about what he is overhearing. Grace stands behind the counted holding a coffee pot and gazing into space. A missing poster for Ben is taped to the counter. In the mirror behind the counter, a reflection Diego and Patch (both 15) are visible in a booth. End ID]

i really should leave time between art posts for them to breathe and accumulate their fair share of notes, but also i need something to do while im waiting for my onions to caramelize.

In this installment: Five and Viktor meet over breakfast to discuss business, Luther is a Concerned Citizen, Diego and Patch also meet over breakfast to discuss business but in the background, and Grace is NOT a robot and this diner is NOT fully automated no sir. Also as usual Ben's face provides some ambiance, thank you Ben.

[widowshill]

— But it's almost midnight. — Oh, that's the point! At the stroke of twelve, he turns into Dracula. C'mon, Vicki – he won't bite.

pose ref.

[ratstuckinamarble]

Hey! Saw you were having a bit of a rough time lately, so I wanted to sketch ya a quick little thing to keep pushing the jock Lagoona agenda hopefully help raise your spirits a little

I- thank you... I don't even know what to say. That's so incredibly sweet I'm kinda tearing up.

I'll always be here to pass the jock Lagoona agenda along ('-'*ゞ Gosh look at these cutiiiies, the vibe on all all your drawings of them is absolutely immaculate.

[twilightarcade]

oc-tober day 27 - monster!

[acaciapines]

obviously if you’re busy leave this alone but: your tag essay has made me VERY intrigued about Dess and Azzy’s relationship in this AU. Tell me about it?

(also, did you see they did an announcement about Starship Iris season 3? It’s finally gonna happen!)

okay IM HERE TO TALK LOL i will NEVER not talk about this au <3 uhhh under a cut bc. really i should just expect these get super long.

big important note up top: all of this is in! early stages! things are not fully formed and researched yet so please keep that in mind as you read this. ideas might change and will get deeper as i do more work for this au, but since rn im focusing on owl house most of these are my ideas i've had without time to do deeper dives into them.

okay so with asriel i've always sort of written him as this guy who like...has an idea of what is 'normal' in his head, ie, what society wants from people, and what it doesnt want, and he has tried his hardest his entire life to always fit into this box. (think about i know im not well--this is why he's always seen kris as a human. being nonhuman is abnormal and gets you punished in society. to an extent this is also how he views dess being aromantic.)

i think a lot of this comes from fear--asriel IS for sure contorting himself and actively harming himself to stay inside this narrow box of 'normal' (think of this as another sort of prophecy--these are all touching on the same themes). and he applies this same mentality to other people BECAUSE of this fear, because he doesnt want his loved ones to be hurt, to be punished, ostracized, etc by society--which are i wanna be clear VERY MUCH THINGS THAT HAPPEN--but in doing this he sort of just hurts the people he loves. because instead of being someone who rejects these boxes hes like. no we gotta be good and fit into the boxes and then everything will be okay.

so when it comes to dess, dess has always very much Done Her Own Thing, consequences be damned. partly this is who she is, partly this is hashtag undiagnosed and untreated mental illness, the onset of which happens around when shes 18 and everything is going down with the bunker (which is NOT helping at ALL). and so when dess comes back from the bunker asriel does very much go 'oh. shes delusional.' and proceed to be No Help At All.

and like, the thing is dess IS very much having a psychotic break. this bit is very much still in deep research (sidenote: anybody in my audience who has experience w/ these things. feel free to hit me up/dm me lol i'd love to talk through some of my ideas as a sort of preliminary sensitivity read, but of course only do this if you are up to it, no pressure lol bc again we're in early stages) but she has schizoaffective + bipolar disorder. dark worlds dont help with this, asriel SUPER doesnt help with this (he doesnt know her actual disorder--neither of them do, this is the onset of things. but tbf even if he did he Would Not Help asriel is essentially doing everything wrong here.) and what dess needs is literally one single person in her corner but the person who is supposed to be in her corner (azzy) is basically being like 'you are making this up' and shes like im NOT, and everything is all mixed together, terrible, bad, awful, and eventually everything culminates and. we know what happens.

(side note but this is why she and chara work real well together actually--chara gets her when asriel doesnt!!)

asriel never actually like. tells anybody about this though. in his head after its assumed dess and kris have died he sort of just. is like well this proves it. i cant let anybody else i care about go that far EVER AGAIN, because if i was a better friend i would've noticed and i wouldve stopped it and made dess "normal." (yes asriel sucks here. the focus is on the kids but. he's getting an arc. i do promise he will get better but. that doesnt really fix what he's done in the past.)

and all of this is like. it fucking sucks for the people around asriel. in hurting himself he's hurting his loved ones--it pushes dess away, and that relationship is never going to be the same. even when asriel realizes how he fucked up i dont think dess really forgives him. because if asriel had just believed her, or at least even if he didnt actually took her seriously and tried to help, shes like. things wouldve gone differently. and asriel knows this too.

and then when it comes to NOELLE, well. asriel's always been very overprotective of her. terrified the world is going to hurt her. and so when noelle starts experiencing things, things she cant tell if theyre real or not...

she doesnt tell him. she doesnt tell anybody. she keeps it all to herself, and this means its a hell of a lot easier for the player/red soul to manipulate her. and nobody finds out until its too late.

[mantisgodsdomain]

Fun fact about us: we really, really like doing crossovers, whether between different Things or just between different AUs of the same Thing. We deeply enjoy throwing things into each other and seeing the relative "normal" interact, tinkering with different potential outcomes of the same general thing, fucking around with culture clash and alternate realities, and all of that fun stuff.

Unfortunately, we also get into flavors of media that isn't quite finished a lot, and we often really want to throw together AUs that we have to write ourself together with things, which means that we're nearly constantly running into the same handful of roadblocks: it's really hard to write about stuff when people have no idea what you're talking about, and it's also really hard to write about stuff when you don't know half of what's going on.

This means that a decent chunk of our writing that is finished tends to stay in drafts - fics based on information that needs to be revealed in stuff we haven't yet written, fics based on media where half of the things we need to know aren't yet revealed in canon, and similar situations easily make up our second most common category of "finished but unpublished" and "finished except for That One Thing" fic (our first most common category is "we need to come up with a decent opening and writing a good hook is hard")

This is, of course, a hell of our own creation. A problem of our own authorship, that we still consistently fail to escape because of our sense of pride and unwillingness to turn out anything that isn't at least half-decent. Similar to the way that we force ourself to reread any media that we write fic of for the sake of accuracy before we can publish it. It makes things take longer, but allows us to ensure quality - though it may hold us back from a certain degree of self-indulgence, mischaracterization is the thing that bothers us most, and if we release a misreading or mischaracterization, that'll haunt us more than any level of soul-baring ever count.

Anyways, all of this is to say that peak self-indulgence for us looks like an isekai Dungeon Meshi/Runaway to the Stars crossover where we stick a handful of characters into the dungeon and let them just kind of cope with that for the forseeable future and the only thing stopping us from doing this is a sense of pride and the fact that Runaway to the Stars doesn't actually have finished & published books right now.

[bluffmotel]

while only a minority share this view, i do find it somewhat tone deaf when people claim jay's ending is the best outcome for an abuse survivor -- either directly or indirectly implying everyone in the holt house was an abuser that jay, their sole little victim, had to get away from. for starters, none of his endings are happy ones. not even the fugitive path where he's holed up amongst nature, has a dog, and is bathed in solitude. maybe if you close your ears to what jay's saying during that scene you could see this as good for him, but his dialogue is stifled with an achingly loneliness, a sadness. this idea that he craved being alone in the wilderness is not one jay paints himself, it's only something that's said by tyler ; someone who clearly doesn't understand the younger on any level, much less grasps his desires. yes, jay wanted out, he likes nature, though no human can stew in their own space for years without this affecting them mentally. and that's not even taking into account that his entire life is over! he can't travel, he can't visit other countries or get lost in other areas of wood lands or plains, jay is infinitely stuck where he is. it's not a prison cell but it's a cage nonetheless, as the old saying goes : a golden cage is still a cage, after all. he tells zoe these beautiful sights have grown dull on him, laments about missing his family, vanessa, and is so chained by his want for connection he reaches out to a desert dream victim of all people. like, what about this muted cynicism, this barren home, seems happy? maybe he wanted this, some whimsical dream of this, before. now though? it's not what jay thought it'd be, and he lacks any power to change it. this is not some amazing ending for abuse survivors, it's still sad in a melancholy way, simply because jay is visibly unhappy with said circumstances.

but moving on to this, ah, ‘poor little victim in a lion's den’ narrative ... what? i think a lot of people fail to grasp how complex the holt household is in terms of toxicity and abuse. something that's very common nowadays due to how much people project rather than see what's in front of them. and don't get me wrong! projection is fine, you do you, we all consume and parse through media differently -- but this narrative is, by canon evidence, rather fictional. to be completely blunt, jay is not the only victim stuck in the holt house ?? the abusers have always been bear ( physical abuse, verbal degradation ) and sharon ( passive in the face of her kids' abuse, emotional manipulation ) ... and we are literally told point blank by the story itself and another character that these two favored jay immensely compared to their other children. now i'm obviously not saying that he has not faced trauma, he has! favoritism in a house like this does not shield you from the toxicity, sometimes that favor makes things worse, but he was protected to an extent, in ways tyler and dale were not. those two very clearly faced the brunt of bear's physical abuse ; for each other, for jay, and just overall caught their dad's ire more because they stood up to him. tyler takes a beating, a sight that's not at all new by his grim acceptance of this and the fact he states he's been doing this since young :

so, this is normal for tyler. getting beaten by his dad ( which isn't even mentioning the horror story bear can tell to ash, about how he literally threatened to cut tyler's ear or finger off ) and having his mom overall turn a blind eye to it, even going as far as to dismiss this fighting as childish behavior rather than what it is. and dale? we don't see much of him and bear in general, yet the second he steps up to defend tyler, with something as measly as a shove back, bear wastes zero time in hitting him so hard he's practically out of commission for the rest of the fight. he didn't even think about it, merely swung at dale as hard as possible on instinct alone before tyler hastily stepped up to defend him. what happens when jay tries stopping the fight, though?

both parties grab for him so they can toss him out of the way so he doesn't possibly get hurt. you can speculate bear was only doing this in order to finish his punishment on tyler, he'd deal with jay later whatever, although why not punch him like dale? why, out of all the moves on his belt, does he do the more merciful option? bear, who is nothing if not made of violence and has been molded to respect it? his fist that's raised in the air isn't for jay, since the next frame is jay shoved out of the way and him hitting tyler again ... hell, in dialogue where bear and jay are sitting on their porch, the youngest can even say bear beats on tyler and dale specifically. why not say “you beat on us”? like, the game is heavily implying that while jay is traumatized, there are some methods of abuse he simply did not face. one of them being the physical abuse prominent at home. and no, i'm not counting whatever pranks dale's pulled on jay ( like shooting him six times with a bb gun lmao ) because honestly? that's just older brother behavior, and we know that despite the morbid pranks, he still looked out for jay in the ways that counted. like protecting him from pa and to an extent tyler, something which, again, jay says himself!

back on topic a bit, the notion people seem to have of jay and his family seems overly simplified to me. people just looked at dale being his usual asshole self and went ‘abuser’, people looked at tyler's rather drastic and not usually like himself reactions to a high stress situation and went ‘abuser’, and that's a bit ridiculous to me. can't say i'm shocked! since so many people nowadays just see someone mean to their favorite character and decide woobifying said fave while demonizing their opposing force is exactly what canon intended. as dusk falls couldn't be a game more clear about it's main theme of family and the fact there's no purely good or bad people in this world, two statements that correspond directly to the holt family. are they bad for each other? probably! but that's a different discussion compared to, say, every single soul in that house violently abused poor jay and they should reap the consequences of that. dale and tyler, like their beloved younger brother, are also victims of abusive parents and a toxic home life. in turn, they both show signs of this abuse in ways that aren't entirely sympathetic or easy to swallow, especially when they've been dealing with it longer than jay and have never had their parents' favor the way he did. i see people get angry at tyler for the famous cabin scene, but nobody turns a critical eye to sharon ; who for all intents and purposes is watching this unfold without a care. she never physically stops tyler and her attempts to kill the fight are weak compared to her previously steely commands. and, honestly, the fact that tyler was that stressed about sharon getting on that bike so she can be protected, when she's the most capable out of the three of them, is way more strange than tyler's outburst -- when he's in a high stress situation, his baby brother's dead, and his life as he knows it is over. a life he didn't even have to begin with, since it was stolen due to his abusive upbringing.

whether this excuses what he did or not is entirely up to the player! i personally don't think it does, though i also understand where this is coming from and the game makes it clear this is not usual tyler behavior. throughout other people's views it's hammered into us that tyler has a cool head relatively, is the most sensible and smart out of his brothers. so, no, i do not think he was choking jay out all the time for his misplaced resentment -- i think his obvious disliking came from his stilted interactions with jay, and his lack of bond with him at all. we see in book one two times he reaches out to jay, demanding that he eats ( a minor, small thing to fret and worry about ) as well as panicking when he sees jay away from the rest of them during a shoot out. dale constantly looks out for jay as well, going as far as to take the heat from romero if they get caught and something as small as taking blame for jay's mistake in the barn scene. are his brothers more prone to violence and apathy? sure! yet they clearly love jay regardless. abusive households are not easy and see through. in fact in many cases the different levels of abuse the kids suffer does breed life altering resentment later on, envy that can damage these bonds permanently. honestly the holt family intrigues me deeply because of how well written they were as a unit, the effects of abuse and toxicity subtle and not overt in a ‘psa message’ kinda way. and these horrible relationships and ideals shared do not negate from the even more horrible fact that there is love in this messed up family, even bear clearly loves his sons, but that doesn't make it better. it almost makes it worse, seeing all the good intentions and care. knowing it doesn't excuse what they've done to each other nor does it make them better. they're a picture perfect family of an ugly wound! which is fascinating! i only wish more people saw that wonderfully shown depth rather than this bland and lukewarm take on the holts overall.

jay is a victim, he is traumatized, he deserved to one day spread his wings and put some distance between himself and his family ... but he was not the only one who deserved that ending, and he was not the only victim there. he was merely the only one with easy to parse trauma responses.

[orcelito]

OK so I have an inkling of an idea for a trigun ficlet. A one-shot, really. Not really any plot, but I just have the urge to write my own interpretation of Weird Plant Shit. Like for how much ppl tag this stuff as xeno, most of it's honestly pretty tame. Which kinda makes sense, considering a lot of this is being based off of the plants in stampede, which While uncanny are not NEARLY the amount of inherent horror of the plants in the manga. There's some FREAKY shit going on there. So like. You know. What if I took more inspiration from That for Vash's freaky shit?

[hershelwidget]

I drew something for TBoCI for the first time in what feels like forever even though it’s only been a month

Something something AU where instead of sending each kid to the Magical Islands FT keeps all them with him and Perry as well so they ALL end up on Cold Island pre-collapse… Alternatively here’s four canon characters and two fanmade characters, guess whos who (all of that was sarcasm)

In other words I decided I will starting this over from the ground-up. It’s been over a year and my motivation is finally, FINALLY back. I will be keeping all of the current stuff on @theballadofcoldisland but that ask blog is officially shut down and is now just an archive.

Instead of being one long and strange story that only focuses on characters that honestly have nothing to do with the title, I will split TBoCI into several smaller stories that give a MUCH better insight on the motivations, groups, and the like. I will inevitably share the original files, drafts, and ideas.

This is the part where I get somewhat emotional and sincere apologies in advance to plushii, who I might mention in there. All good things, my friend. All good things.

I think this is the best course of action. There are a lot of characters in this story that despite being incredibly important, are not addressed properly or not at all until the last chapter that only exists in my notes. I mean… A massive amount of this story has only been discussed in a discord chat with a person I cannot contact anymore. It’s a massive mess of an idea that sounds stupider everytime I think of it.

And then a long while ago now, I was on Pony Town and talking to a friend I has just made. I distinctly remember they were in a Celestial skin. I think at some point they’d asked what “TBoCI” meant in my name, and I explained my story to them. They said they were writing a fanstory for MSM as well. I encouraged them to post it.

Now I daily see wonderful, wonderful content for that story, both from the creator and the fans. I finally understood what I did wrong. TBoCI was incoherent and messy where Fallen Stars was clean and consistent. I had so much in my mind that I had spilled it all out to One Person, and now there exists only two people in the world who know who the hell Kane is (possibly only one person now)!

What I’m trying to say is, in short, thanks @plushii-gutz . There’s a few factors to me being able to write TBoCI again, but you’re definitely the biggest part of that. Our encounter was a blessing.

And to everyone, please look forward to a much smoother ride. This is a fun one.

[essektheylyss]

Okay, I am going to try SO SO HARD to actually keep up with One (1) podcast even without a commute so I'm listening to all of the newly-released Worlds Beyond Number things including the short preview, and I am quietly cackling over, underneath all the crosstalk of, "Games are fun and we're really fun!, Aabria just, "I'm not fun."

[theluckiestrose]

The autistic urge to identify and comment every song that isnt properly credited in a tiktok just in case someone wats to listen to the whole thing instead of like 15 seconds of it

[semercury]

Okay i slept on it and I'm not sorry but I'm also very sorry but I hate the game. I know that's not exactly a controversial opinion bc it's widely regarded as the series' fuckup but I also know a lot of people do like it and I feel like I'm missing something? The writing is so so bad. I'm willing to look past shitty gameplay (and I'm not sorry, but I'm firmly on the anti qte side. And I'm mostly on the anti set piece side as well. And guess what the entirety of this game was?) if the story is good and the writing is good bc that's what I live for I unironically play games for the plot, but so much of it didn't make any sense. So many of the characters would learn something, then learn in later and act shocked. Or they would directly say something that contradicted what they said earlier (I will NEVER get over "I never knew my dad. I hated him. That guy killed my dad? I'm going to kill him!") And so many of the character motivations didn't make sense? And I only LATER learned that they sometimes kind of do if you read the files which you have to read FOR THE FIRST TIME by going BACK TO THE MAIN FUCKING MENU. Uuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhh

[ashbtten]

@ofgentleresolve | at Alfred again, because teh EDITor!!!!!!!!!!!!

He should meet this scenario with more urgency, he muses somewhere at the back of his head. Add the usual tension to it and his bones that he always meets the world with, be more cautious than cautious, knee-jerking into lies over lies, painting a picture foreign to him just because donning made-up clothes feels safer, less like he’ll crack at the first correct assumption.

But… What kind of trouble could he possibly get himself into, here, under the careful, tight scrutiny of a barista with a sharp eye and apparently enough skeletons in his closet or baggage on his back to find reason to use said sharp eye on him?

Patrick enjoys sharp people almost to the same degree he’d rather have nothing to do with them.

It makes sense, tensing up under the way the barista pieces his conclusions together, makes conjectures and speeds through the conversation with the finality of someone who doesn’t have time to waste on trouble he knows he can avoid, knows isn’t worth his time, when he’s got more important things to worry about.

But Patrick is violently flawed individual. He always enjoys, bitterly, cynical, to be reminded of his fears and concerns, to worry, to gnaw at his insides, to force these kinds of habits back onto his frame.

And also stupidly enamoured with humanity.

He smiles, dragged out of him with a sadist’s hook, asking him to show the blood on his teeth and the drowsiness of his concussion. He isn’t concussed, though, hasn’t bitten into anything in quite a while, not even his own tongue. He smiles at the offer of a napkin with a denying shake of his head, and finds himself still enough in his own hands to resist one of the many reflexes he’s picked up from humans, looking at the object of the conversation.

Stuff of amateurs. Just because he’s talking about his shirt doesn’t mean he instantly has to look at it.

It’s that little tick that becomes useful when you yawn, turn your head, check your watch and someone in the crowd follows you only milliseconds after, revealing where their attention had been focused on, whom it had glued to.

He’s a little gruffer than he’d expected him to be, the man who pours the drinks. He goes through his words with the efficiency of a well-coded algorithm or a well-broken soldier.

“Good advice,” Patrick lifts his head with a conceding sigh, folding his arms in front of himself, liberating only his left hand to pull his cup closer. He lifts it in front of himself, presenting it to the man who’d made it, allowing an eyebrow to follow the motion into the same direction. “Are you trying to imply I shouldn’t drink this? That’s a shame, it smells really good.”

He makes a show out of bringing the cup back to his nose and inhaling deeply, closing his eyes with the gentleness of someone expecting an angel’s kiss to their forehead. The kind, soft angels introduced to children, not the actual biblical ones any sensible man would cower before, hopefully sinners and saints both. He exhales with a pleased little 'ah~’ and opens his eyes.

If his smile is meant to insinuate that he’s poking fun at the man who pours the drinks and the distance, the tension he’s trying to add to the situation, well, that’s nobody’s business but… the barista’s, actually. How bad could the consequences he enacts possibly be to a being like Patrick, who pretends he doesn’t care about pain and collects slaps with the ancient sighs of resigned teachers.

Nah, this looks like it’s more a hassle to him than it’ll be to the wolf.

Potentially.

The wolf does tend to let things bother him more than he should.

He sets the cup back down, further implying he might never actually drink it. “Information?” he asks, not quite perking up, trailing his gaze off by turning the cup in circles and frowning curiously at the various items littering the showcase of the barista’s craft behind him. Information. Now, why would an information broker have any use for that? Unheard of, truly. He snorts to himself and tries to soften the reaction into something friendly, polite, non-threatening and perhaps a little soft when he makes to make eye contact with the man again.

Whatever’ll get him to not kick him out.

He’d hate to have to get up again. He could use getting to sit here and pretending he doesn’t want to slump into the wood and forget his own name. Not the right kind of counter for that.

“What would I need information for?” cocks his head to the side, blinks open and unperturbed like an exhausted puppy with a leash of thorns around his throat, that usual tightness he can’t get out of the corners of his eyes, the uncharacteristic glow of interest to eyes meant to be cold.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Nature vs Nurture (monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

The new world order - monsters on top, creating the perfect dystopia for humans. You are nothing but a pet to them, a breeding mare for their perverse desires…and now you've finally been claimed by their colonel. Good luck.

Tags and TW: Dub-con, monster fucking, size kink, power imbalance, dumbification, pet play, dystopia, obsessive Konig, tentacle monster Konig, oviposition, breeding. AO3

It was supposed to be a supply run. Fast, quick, stealthy. In and out, the ruins of the abandoned store not so far from your hiding spot. Whatever you could find, some canned food – maybe, but not realistically. Some rubble and garbage that could be exchanged for food for triple the price it was – possible. Realistic. 

It was supposed to be a quick supply run. Like a rabbit out of her hole – but not really a rabbit, not even having the courtesy of strong legs and long ears that could spot anyone from a mile away. No, of course not – the universe wasn’t feeling particularly merciful when you were born a human in the age before monsters decided they didn’t want to be servants anymore. You think you remember going to the store like a normal person. Picking up a cart, hauling anything you could afford – not bothering about a lot of things. 

There are still stores, you think. Remesances of capitalism, working only for monsters – whatever crude economy they were building, it stayed in the cities. In the military bases, were filled with monsters even before the uprising. Not here, in the wasteland – it belongs to humans, as little as there were left. 

It was supposed to be a quick supply run for you and your friends – but you were dumb, but you were careless, but you grew accustomed to being the only one here, you didn’t even spot a patrol. Nasty fuckers, getting humans off the abandoned streets – you tried to fight and it didn’t work. Tried to run, and they were faster. Always faster. You should have been quicker, you shouldn’t have been a human – but you are, your soft self still not hardened by the life on the run, so you weren’t put out of your misery as you saw some other humans who got caught. Monsters took pity on you – or, perhaps, your submissiveness finally paid off. You were shown off the corner of a store – a human store, as you read, the words burning in your mind. You heard the stories about humans – attractive, soft people, mostly weak and obedient – who were snatched off the streets to do god knows what. Monsters can’t breed on their own, you remembered. 

You can hear the voices coming somewhere in the hallway, a good few meters away from your cage. You force yourself to stay as far from the bars as possible, not wanting to attract attention. Not even want to bother yourself with trying to see what your captors look like – monsters can take on human appearance and you’d rather live without seeing a human pet trader looking like someone who could have been your neighbor before the uprising. You curl in a ball, hugging your knees. Sobbing softly, quietly – knowing that there is no way out of here now. Not even other humans would help you now. “Just got new batch, colonel. Doesn’t look like a resistance member” “Ja, I heard that the last time. Schlampe killed all the hatchlings the second they were born.” “W…we didn’t know, sir! I promise, it was a…” “You can’t even breed them properly. There wasn’t any new humans in months, wolf” “Humans are…delicate, sir. They don’t want to breed in captivity.” “Make them then.” You hear something heavy shuffling around. You hear heavy footsteps that are making the flimsy flor of your cage shake. Even monsters have their disputes – but you can’t bother with caring when you hear footsteps approaching. Large shadow casting down on you. Making you feel even more small and miserable than you did before. Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. Your everything hurts. 

Someone is staring at you. You see…someone. Humanoid silhouette – too big to belong to a human, at least 7 feet tall and broader than the entirety of your cage. You whimper when the creature tilts its head to the side, a surprisingly boyish tone of his voice grasping on your panicking mind. It isn’t the one that captured you but, for some reason, you can sense that he is even more dangerous. There is something on his uniform – some decorations, you think. Soldiers from the age before the uprising are all have quite high ranks in the new society – if they are monsters, that is. Large, droopy red tentacle falls from the guy’s hood. Definitely a monster. 

— Come closer, human. You whimper, trying to get up – only to get as far away from him as possible. You’re terrified, but he only hums in acknowledgment. A group of tentacles rising from under his hood, pushing you towards him through the bars. You were never more thankful for being locked away. 

— Disobedient. Or just dumb? 

— I d…don’t…

You cry, not wanting to give an answer – too disoriented, your nostrils are filled with the smell of sea and blood. You feel light-headed, dizzy, you’re hungry and dehydrated and you don’t know how could you even proceed to resist when one of his tentacles goes through the bars of your cage. Caresses your face, surprisingly gentle. Smearing cold slime around your skin, but even this is a welcoming feeling – you’d take everything that isn’t damp air of the human compound and the old sweat tattering your skin. You’d give anything for a bath right now. At least a few wet wipes, to wash the grime off your face – to stop feeling like an animal even though you know you’re already been reduced to one. — Just dumb, then. Gut. Monster caresses your face for a while, admiring your features. Salty tears feel like heaven on his tentacles – you can’t possibly see him, but he is grinning under that weird hood of his, adoring how obedient you are. It might be just exhaustion, but he missed humans like this – broken and abandoned. Soft and adorable, crying at the brim of a hat. König is going to have a lot of fun breaking you in – you couldn’t possibly be worse than the last wife he took. He wants to see you round and filled with his eggs. He wants you to see you cry for his cock, begging him to fill you up like the dumb, pathetic human you are. He wants to lay in the nest with you, pressing his body against yours – stealing the coolness of your body, covering you with his tentacles like a perfect chewing toy. He wants to… — Ah, sir. This is the new one. Just took her yesterday. 

A merchant smiles, slimy face spreading in a wide grin. Tentacles retreat from your face and shoulders immediately, only leaving a small trace of liquid over your features. If you were dumb enough, you could have sworn the monster was affectionate – but you don’t want to be dumb. Can’t survive in this world only on silliness, unfortunately. — I will take this one. — B…but it isn’t properly domesticated yet! You know how wild strays can be, colonel… — I thought you said all pets were properly obedient? 

— W…well, of course, sir, but… — I don’t need a trained slut to carry my eggs. This one would do nicely. Consider this your sacrifice to the order, ja? Before you know it, the merchant showed you in the hands of a giant man. Colonel, as you heard – not knowing proper military ranks, you wonder how high it can be. Or low. Monsters only value power and personal strength – and the merchant was fucking terrified of the tentacle creature who was holding you right now. Perhaps, you should have tried your chances of running away and being killed. Perhaps, you should have slowly died of hunger instead of coming out for supplies. `You’re held high in the air – too high for your liking. The monster presses you against his chest like he expects you to run away any second now – and you want to, really, nothing you’d love more but to simply jump off and run for the hills. But you’re too exhausted, the hunger sitting deep in your empty stomach makes you think that, maybe, for whatever reason this monster bought you for, he’d at least feed you. Maybe turn you into a pet – this is why there are stores for captured humans, right? Humans were treating their pets nicely, maybe the monster wouldn’t be too far off. Tentacles are swirling around your legs, around your hands – now you can’t even move your neck properly, cheek squished against a warm chest. This monster is a weird one – it’s like he can’t stop his tentacles from touching you, the cold tips of his tendrils spreading slime on the dryness of your skin. His body is warmer than any human would be, and his tentacles are cold – the contrast against your naked skin, barely covered by your torn clothes, is making you crazy. Making you think about weird things – like the monster reproduction again. Like your empty tummy, like the friends you left at the compound when you were supposed to go for supplies. Not getting captured by one of the monster higher-ups.

— You’re soft for a human. You weren’t even sure he was talking to you at first. You’ve been walking for a couple of minutes before you could finally hear some traces of civilization. Roaring vehicles. Gunfire. Laugh and groans – moans, too, to your surprise, not all of them very pain-induced. Your face is still pressed in his chest, you can’t see anything meaningful – but he stops in some corner, you think, covering you in his arms like a package he needed to deliver. You aren’t sure if you remember what the word “package” means. Something naughty, you think. — Quiet, too. 

You still don’t answer, and he hums. Pushes you on the ground, suddenly – you fall on your ass, yelping in pain and surprise as you lay on something softer than a concrete floor. It’s a pile of mattresses, you realize. You’re in a room, you realize – still too dizzy after everything that’s happened, you didn’t even notice when he entered the building and pushed you away from the sounds of life you wanted to hear so much of. You’re sitting on your ass on the pile of soft, rotten mattresses – a faint smell of decay builds up in your nose, but you can’t even concentrate. The tentacles are spreading your legs suddenly – you cry and whimper, your walls breaking down to reveal a soft center because the monster tears away your pants with ease. Your clothes weren’t much, to begin with, dirty and torn after the capture – still, you don’t want to be naked in front of him. You don’t want to be naked in front of anyone. 

— Spread your legs, human. You don’t want to, but you obey – you don’t wish to give him an opportunity to pry your legs open, to use force and make your life even more miserable. You know that being so obedient is kind of pathetic but, honestly, you couldn’t care less at this point. If being pathetic would save you from a broken leg, you will spread yourself open. Place each ankle on the side of the rotten mattress, not even caring that the thing fabric of your clothes – whatever little is left there – is slowly whiskered away by the tentacles. His hands are worse, somehow. He pushes your legs a bit wider, making you hiss from the stretch – and then he tears off your underwear. Not even letting you a chance to save your dignity – before you could cover yourself with your hands, at least, he is already launched at your cunt, smaller tendrils swirling around your core. You’re dry, obviously – and the monster tilts his head to the side. Acknowledging. Looking. He isn’t soft in his movements and the prying attention makes you embarrassed – if your legs weren’t in hid hold already, you’d try to close them. To save yourself. His motives are obvious, his intentions are clear – still, you sob and whine i his hold when his hand slowly presses on the button of your clit. The colonel – you try to remember this, it’s probably important –  is somewhat slow – he pushes your inner lips, spreads your hole as much as you can with a meager amount of fluid from the slime of his tendrils and, somehow, you find yourself getting aroused. Maybe, it’s his attention – he isn’t laying his eyes off you, and it almost makes you blush too much. He is adorable in this way if a monster of his regard can even be called this – and you’re freaking terrified when he goes closer, looks at you even more. 

His hand is making squelching sounds as your cunt becomes wetter by the second – it’s the first time in forever you had this kind of attention, and surviving the monster revolution didn’t exactly help with getting the edge off. You’re desperate for anyone to touch you – and the monster has beautiful hands. Big and burly, with tendrils sometimes running around to add even more lube – you know you’d never get anything like this with a normal human. — Need to check you first, Maus. The merchant keeps sending me infertile ones. You don’t know what he is talking about – but his hand lays flat on your tummy, putting you in place, and the larger tentacle – big, slimy one, with uneven structure with little bumps that made you wonder how it’s even going to fit inside – slowly creps to your sloppy, wet opening. It doesn’t hurt, you’re wet and open – something in the lube he extracted made you dizzy, dumb, you don’t even know when you spread your legs a bit more and welcomed the intrusion. It feels right, it feels wrong, it feels like the thing to die for – it feels like something that could kill you. He laughs and it sends slow rumbles right to the tendril penetrating your pussy. The pressure on your clit is too much – and your brain is to foggy to think that it reminds you more of a medical exam than actual sex. The tentacle inside is vibrating, twisting and turning, pressing on your cervix – it should feel painful, it can’t be this good but, somehow, you welcome the feeling of being this fucking full. You don’t buck your hips, but you cry and moan – and it’s enough of an indication of your pleasure. Monster laughs, his other hand goes to lay on your face – a surprisingly gentle gesture. Short-lived, but you could still feel the warmness lingering on your tattered skin. It’s hot and cold with him – you aren’t sure what comes next, but the tendrils are sliding in and out, probing at the entrance of your womb and, despite everything, you feel the knot in your stomach untying. The orgasm is a quiet one – build up is slow and small, and it doesn’t make you black out – but you whimper nonetheless, the tight embrace of his hands on your body feeling more like a cage than a normal hug. He is too powerful, probably not sure about his strength – you feel him squishing you like a fruit. The slime is leaking from your empty pussy, clenching around nothing. — Obedient. You’d be a good vessel for my eggs, human. You whine, turning away from him. He chuckles, pressing you in his arms again. Like a child with his favorite new toy – you feel squeezed and touched in various places, his tentacles having a mind on their own. Not an inch of flesh getting ungroped. — Ar…are you going to kill me? — Ach. You can talk after all. — Are you going to… — No. Have a much better way to use you. He chuckles in your hair, pressing his face in it. Inhales the scent – if he has nose, of course. This stupid hood conceals everything, not letting you know anything besides his rank. Which makes you think about…

— What is your name? 

A stupid question, really. You shouldn’t care about the name of a monster who bought you – still, you don’t want to refer to him as just “a monster”. This dumb part of your brain wants closure. — König. Remember it, little human. Oh. So his name is König. Somehow, it doesn’t make you feel any better.