His fingers are a little too long. His teeth a little too sharp. His skin moss-pale even in the height of Summer. On Kupala, during the evening festival his skin looks grey even in the light of the bonfire.
His bloodline carries a curse — his grandmother was a Leshy bride. Polish forrest magic in human skin.
The other Slytherins call him “rootrot.”
But James Potter sees him in the library one day, covered in dirt from some forbidden herbology ritual, and he doesn’t flinch.
“You smell like tree bark,” James says. “It’s kind of hot.”
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Thanks for the tags @willtheweaver and @justabigoldnerd sorry i’m late x
From my new unnamed creature fic:
Illya goes home that evening, showers, eats dinner, sleeps. He wakes up the next morning, vaguely nauseous, to find his window’s blown open, the old latch broken- and the sickly sweet smell is being carried in by the wind. It’s grey outside, dawn yet to break.
There’s no point going into the office. No point in sitting around a table in the briefing room, thinking about what could happen if they can’t find a way to fix this. Illya gets dressed, silently wondering if this is perhaps the reckoning the sewer cults love to preach about. Would a melding of the pocket world and this one bring about the end?
He shakes himself, gathers his keys and goes for a run.
It’s colder today, the pavement dotted with small crystals of morning frost. As if Winter’s grown amused and is leaving calling cards to announce its return. Illya’s shoes pound out a steady thck-thck-thck as he jogs the path around the park. The lamps are still on in the haze of dawn, a clutter of both electrical and alchemical, and there are moths battering around outside the glass, looking for a way in.
Eventually Illya stops, bends over to brace his palms on his knees. He’s shaking, panting in the chill air, sending clouds of fog into the cold like a smoker. He checks his phone, finds nothing. He wonders how Gaby and Waverly are doing, back in their flat in the heart of Londinium. He wonders if Benoit knows the full extent of what they could be facing. Surely Waverly would have told him first.
Tagging @falling-into-peril @huggiebird @area-fiftyone @theyre-in-love @happybean17 @ikeepwatchinghelicopters @cha-melodius @heytheredeann x
Chapters: 18/?
Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John Price, MOC/MOC, John "Soap" MacTavish & Simon "Ghost" Riley, Valeria Garza/Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas
Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Valeria Garza, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Los Vaqueros Operators (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s), Kate Laswell
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Author Has Played Call of Duty, Human John "Soap" MacTavish, Werewolf Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Werewolf Phillip Graves, Blood and Gore, Slow Burn, Trans Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Aftermath of Violence, Animal Death, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, Simon "Ghost" Riley is Supernatural, Implied Simon "Ghost" Riley is Autistic, Simon "Ghost" Riley Has PTSD, John Price is Supernatural, John Price is Welsh, Phillip Graves Friendly, Redeemed Phillip Graves, Rodolfo Parra is Supernatural, Mexican Folklore - Freeform, Valeria Garza is Supernatural, Alejandro Vargas is Supernatural, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Singular POV, POV Simon "Ghost" Riley
Summary:
“Don’t...” wheezes through bruised lungs and something clicks in his throat as he swallows hard, the knife-tip a sharp point against the column of his throat as the tender skin moves beneath it with each despairing breath.
It’s almost beautiful, the gram staining of his eyes. Heavy irritation turning the sclera dark and heavy, as heavy as the bruises beneath each eye - pressed so delicately into that thin skin - and the bruise that sits heavy across the bridge of his nose.
Such blue eyes, the unrealest kind blue. The kind that people dream of capturing in art, photography, poetry. Blue like the Ocean: blue that is grey and roiling with white caps - blue that is green and sea salt soaked skyline - blue that is bright and clear and unwavering as a pool - it will always return to the stillness.
Ghoap Creature Feature Except Soap is the ‘human’ tag-a-long for this band of brothers and their merry misadventures. Featuring: big man emotions, folklore, a rewrite that may have forgotten some in game scenarios and needs to be retconned.
Also known as: my longest fic ever that I desperately want to get back to
Here’s the first chapter! It’s kind of brutal! MCD right out the freaking gate.
“Johnny…Johnny don’t–”
Voice wavering, cracking into a pained grumble as his head is cranked backwards and made to face the ceiling. Eyes straining to look down a broken nose and refusing to be forced away from the man across the room.
“Don’t...” wheezes through bruised lungs and something clicks in his throat as he swallows hard, the knife-tip a sharp point against the column of his throat as the tender skin moves beneath it with each despairing breath.
It’s almost beautiful, the gram staining of his eyes. Heavy irritation turning the sclera dark and heavy, as heavy as the bruises beneath each eye - pressed so delicately into that thin skin - and the bruise that sits heavy across the bridge of his nose.
Such blue eyes, the unrealest kind blue. The kind that people dream of capturing in art, photography, poetry. Blue like the Ocean: blue that is grey and roiling with white caps - blue that is green and sea salt-soaked skyline - blue that is bright and clear and unwavering as a pool - it will always return to the stillness.
Blue eyes that bore straight into him. Tears pooling up in heaps before they tumble down gaunt cheeks and sear across torn skin.
“Don’t…” the knife’s tip peeks through his skin as he flexes his throat, the blood drips slow and warm, “Don’t watch…”
When this started, he understood most of what their captors were rambling about. He knew the language in passing. Conversational.
But now, his brain is so bruised and disconnected, he struggles to understand they’re speaking at all. Someone behind him barks out an order, for only orders have that level of cadence.
A body moves from behind him, to behind Johnny…
Two gloved hands land on either side of his temple, they force his head forward. Fingers tipped in dirt and blood clawing at his face.
“Please…” he begs. He pleads to not deaf but uncaring ears. The mighty beast bows and crows in pathetic groans as the knife digs deeper into the jut of his jaw, where the hinge that maneuvers so much of a human’s quality of life sits innocently.
The pain is unreal. It simply cannot physically exist. The varied wounds across his body are real - he watched each one get inflicted. He’s felt the pain of them for the duration of their stay here in hell. But the knife digging into the cartilage of the joint, it shoots through his skull like the sharp discordant plucking of a string.
He knows.
He knows that Johnny knows.
Their time here - is up.
“Close your eyes..” he whispers, the subtlest movement of his mouth lances pain like no other.
But stubborn, unyielding, good Johnny won’t.
And they both know it.
He watches, eyes pouring out whatever is left of his body’s dwindling resources. When he shakes his head, the man behind him yanks him back and forth. Like a dog shaking a rabbit - the rabbit making a wounded sound high in its throat.
He doesn’t want Johnny to watch this. Doesn’t want to impart the horror into that too-good-too-kind mind.
“Close… your eyes… love – please…”
“John–”
They cut his voice out.
It tapers off between consonants, soft sound turning into a gargled gasp as the knife’s edge jerks its way across the most vulnerable part of a man’s body. That ever so protected space that all animals covet.
Rent from one hinge to the next, the blood that sprays out is spectacular. The sound is nonexistent outside of his own head - the ripping of each individual cell that reverberates into his skull.
There’s screaming, the sharp ringing of his death bell growing louder, he hears the sound of a chair scrapping violently against concrete.
“NO…NO NONONO—”
Shouted orders, frustrated grunts, the ever present sound of anguish and heart break. Johnny is screaming for him, over and over through jagged sobs and rushed incomprehensible despair.
“Simon?! SIMON!”
He’s never heard his name said like that. Such anguish is a most treasured gift.
His head tips forward, his own hazel eyes losing focus fast. Johnny escaped the chair, on his knees at Simon’s feet - eyes wide and the raging of the storm is rising up fast as Simon sinks lower until all that remains is the blissful sound of silence.
Dreville, creature inheritance, and all sorts of background queer pairings. Featuring skating, singing, and just a general Hygge vibe. Enjoy!
A Song for Midwinter by anxiousgoat
Rating: G
Length: 16:27
Summary:
Unbeknownst to them, Neville and Draco have the same problem: when they sing, people die. It's not much fun, to be honest. But when they both accept an invitation to spend Christmas in a cabin with a group of their friends things suddenly change.
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Leave it be for me to do what I did with the prompt combination 😇🤭 LOL but I'm a succubus myself for creature fics 👀🙏😈
Title: Seduction of Frank Castle
Rated: E
Ship: Matt Murdock/Frank Castle
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Summary: Matt isn’t surprised he has taken an interest in Frank. It’s in his nature after all. Now he is a little more surprised how receptive the man is to him by the end, when all he’d originally wanted was a genuine drink at first. Maybe that means he really is the perfect human male for an incubus. Easily bewitched, because there is little to be done to someone who's already considered cursed.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Length: at time of submission, almost 1.5m words (the whole series is over 2.1m!)
Status: ongoing, infrequently updated
Pairings: Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy x Blaise Zabini x OMC x OMC
Main tropes/warnings: creature fic, baby fic, polyamory, past child abuse
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384548
Honestly this could absolutely be multiple books, there's several self-contained arcs but the author (who is a lovely woman!) just keeps going! (Also this is absolutely not any kind of support for JKR, I just love the worldbuilding and characters in this series!)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/384548
For the record, harry potter fan creations are fully welcome here, as basically none of it supports JKR's ideals, and it does not generate any revenue that she can use to fuel her rhetoric.
Buying HP merch, etc: lining the pockets of the terfs, bad.
Reading HP fanfic, fanart, etc: supporting your brothers, good.
@microficmay day 1 prompt & bonus challenge (2nd person pov), 76 words, rating: M, Drarry
Prompt: Create
_ _ _
His hair looks like spilled ink against your bleached linen sheets, red eyes glossed over in pleasure. Blood trails down the corner of his mouth, and he chases it with his tongue, licks it back into his mouth and moans.
The puncture wounds at your throat ache, the indents matching perfectly with his canines.
He grabs your waist so hard that you'd be liable to bruise if not for your undead heart. He moves up into you, hard, fast and heady.
You created this, with your own fangs, you fashioned yourself the most perfect, beautiful creature. Yours for all eternity.
_ _ _
First time writing a micro fic and writing with a prompt. Really enjoyed it. Thank you the challenge @microficmay
