breathless nightmares * feminine monsters

[deadly beauty]

Beyond the edge of the woods, in the darkest reaches of the night, there
lies more than just the cautionary tales of elders wishing to keep their young
close at hand. Men and women of every kind of faith and experience have
ventured further than they were expected, and there seems no rhyme nor reason to
which of them returned.

Venture into the dark at your own peril. You may be mourned, but in the end,
your only contribution will be one more story to make the children
shiver in their beds at night.​

Mood Board
(Just some things that inspire me)
The VVitch . Guillermo del Toro . Game of Thrones
American Gods . Emily Carroll . The Magicians​

Hello. Do you like fairy tales, and monsters, and stories of brave adventurers or scared villagers or the real crossing into the unreal? Because I certainly do. Do you also like that oh-so-common trope of the young and bright eyed folk traipsing into places they weren't meant to go and paying the price for it in flesh (and the vigorous, sweaty slapping thereof)? Well I hope so; there's a reason that Little Red Riding Hood is as much about discovering the threats of sexuality as it is the threats of ravenous wolves. And I guess most importantly, are you tired of every dominant predator lurking in the wet nightmares of hapless travelers having really big dicks?

I mean, probably not. Who could be? But it's good to have options, don't you think?

Cutting to the chase, I am offering a surfeit of feminine monsters, creatures of black heart, animal instinct, and careless cruelty. They inhabit the sinuous and slender physique of the seductresses of humanity in the same way that an angler fish inhabits the bio-luminescence of seemingly harmless prey before their toothy maws. This is the constant, with so much else being variable. It's difficult to say that I have characters set in stone, but I do have a series of similarities that my 'ladies' will usually exhibit.

They are dominant. This does not mean that they may not find themselves collared, cowed, and broken by exotic collectors or find their dark hearts run through by a truly holy blade, but they will always be seeking the upper hand or claw.

They are inhuman. Fae, lamia, succubus, drider, dryad, siren, these are a smattering of the sort that I play, but none of them will be wholly plush and human in their guise. Cloven hooves and sharp teeth balance the softness of their apparent femininity and keep danger ever a possibility.

They are ravenous. There is more to hunger than mere sustenance, though of course, there is that as well. While some lurk in wait for their prey and others proactively seek out what they desire, my characters will always want something of your own. Rarely will that be only copulation. Not to discount those particularly healthy appetites, of course.

For a few simple possibilities for creating a story based around these concepts, we can always look to the classics: the aforementioned Little Red who is traipsing into the wood where something wicked lurks. The gallant St. George who takes up his blade to at last slay the beast of legend. The young student of the magical arts who may not have secured their summoning circle quite so neatly as they imagined. The steadfast sailor nearly brought to rock by a beguiling song. I don't shy away from cliches or tropes, because it's sometimes most fun to color within the lines.

For the nitty gritty: I'll play with both men and women. I don't particularly care for the in-between of futas and shemales and the like. My tastes are ridiculously broad beyond the guidelines above, so don't be afraid to improvise or come at me with something off-kilter. The worst I'll say is no! I'm not much of a visual collector, so I don't have pictures or played bys or anything like that for any of my potential characters at the moment. And while I'll probably update this at some point with some likes and dislikes, I'm not really interested in checking off a list of kinks for either one of us. At the risk of being even more pretentious, I'm going for more of a dark erotica vibe than a fuckfest fiesta, even if pretty much all of my monsters do prefer satisfied prey before they move in for whatever their version of the kill may be.

So, um, yeah. ~*E L O Q U E N C E ! !*~

And now for my first edit: a few character vignettes as I think of them.

The Patchwork Queen
"Everything is gone. The amount of blood spilled, nothing will grow again there for generations."

The map had begun to look as though ink had been spilled across it intentionally, the blight consuming the smallest village alongside the Saberridge moving like a liquid from one settlement to the next. In the grand sum of the world known, the blight was the barest fraction. But as a gelatin moved it's liquid mass toward meat with sinister purpose, so too did the razing of the world encroach ever closer to greater targets.

"How hard can it be to kill that which is already slain?"

"Because so long as their queen leads, they continue on to their last limb."

So it was. Brave mercenaries and opportunistic guardians had braved the marching dead, only to end up joining their ranks. With each fallen, her army grew in strength. Were that defilement her only sin, no doubt it would have been enough for what soul in her remained to smolder forever more once she was at last struck down. Yet her vanquished, it was said, did not only march at her side.

"Fresh sinew, fresh skin. She stitches their strength into her own. She harvests the best of their parts for her own flesh and bone, like a bleeding murderous quilt, or so they say. That is why no one has yet bested her."

What purpose would such a revenant have for the living? Most didn't have the time or thought to question motive when her methods brought the blight upon them. But studying the map, it was clear that there was a destination yet to reach.

"But she ain't just after takin' strength, they say. Wives and daughters, the pretty ones - old Rickard swore when he came back home and saw her standing in the fields, she was wearing his daughter's face. And everyone knows there ain't a prettier bouquet than the royals."

His finger pressed down on the map where the fortress stood, and with the focus clear, it was unmistakable to where the horde marched. To take a throne, yes, but not only the throne itself. Her patchwork would only be complete when nobility was truly and indelibly bound to her very skin.



Needful Thing

You swear that at this point you're being pranked. You've gone down the alley at least three times, and while there's definitely no shortage of rusty doors to knock on, the story your friend fed you about the door that knocks back seems like a heaping load of horse shit. Seriously though, why were you ever gullible enough to think that there was actually an unmarked little shop in Chinatown, as if Gremlins was a documentary and not a nostalgia trip for your parents?

But it's only when you're about to give up and retrace your steps back to the subway that fate intervenes. One of the rusty doors knocks back. Given that you haven't touched that door since your first stroll down the alley, the timing could use a little goddamn work.

A look at the door offers no more interesting rust than any of the other back entrances to the decrepit buildings framing the alley, but under scrutiny, it almost folds. You can convince yourself that the knock was real, nearly. Maybe if the door would just open ..

And then it does, with a waft of some indescribable incense.

So at least if your friend was shitting you about the turn of fortune they'd gotten from buying an old knick knack from this place, some new smell sticks to burn could make for a nice consolation prize. You hedge your bets with a greeting while stepping inside. The interior of the shop is inviting.

The way the door slams fast on a newly empty alley is not.