Jar Of Honey @jar0fhoney - Tumblr Blog

Jar0fHoney’s Masterlist

Multi-part:

Orc Man (Khargaad) x fem!reader (NSFW)

The Creature (Frankenstein 2025) x fem!reader

One-offs:

Forest Spirit Satyr Creature x fem!reader (NSFW)

Hello everyone.

It is a beautiful night in Texas.

It is 81 degrees and the breeze is blowing through my open car windows.

Happy to be alive.

I know it was only mentioned by him in passing, but who are we envisioning in a hypothetical GDT adaptation of Phantom of the Opera? I need everyone’s fan casts NEOWWWWW.

#guillermo del toro #del toro #phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #erik poto #poto #gdt #gdt phantom of the opera #christine daae

flea-palace

we are getting closer no?

#phantom of the opera

jar0fhoney

“We could be monsters together.”

Part 1 - Part2

The Creature x Reader. For some context: This story is set shortly after the events of the 2025 film. Reader is described as female and will be using she/her pronouns. Thank you for reading! More to come

Prologue

As fast as the English tongue became second nature to me, the words revealed themselves as the intricate puzzles they were.

It was the cottage of a man from the city. I watched the sturdy timber door for days, waiting for someone to come out. It stood silent and dark. It was the howling winds of winter, a tempest from the sky, which finally drove me to seek shelter. The door was barred from the outside with a primitive lock, but bore no further security. I let myself in sheepishly.

Books. So many book before me. Loose parchment brown and curling. Leather bound volumes and journals stacked in corners of the cabin. I came to find this was the summer cabin of an etymologist, an individual who specialized in the study of words and language. And I poured over everything he had left for me. Learning. Absorbing. Changing.

Monster. It derived, I learned, from an old language called Latin. Monstrum meant a divine omen, a portent, a sign from God.

I was looking for a sign. A sign from God? I shook my head at the thought. After all, I thought I already met God. I thought I had held him and called him by his name. But the man I thought was God, I had crushed his bones. My hands slick with his blood.

“What recourse do you have, but to live?”

If I do not know what it means to live, then what is my recourse?

Part 1 - The Lighthouse Keeper

Your body had long understood the rhythm of your work. Right at the precipice of dusk something in your subconscious would rouse you from sleep and put you on your feet. Time to refill the oil and polish the lens, let the chickens out of their roost, inspect the exterior of the structure.

But two weeks ago Father went out on the water and didn’t come back. It didn’t look good from the start. The sky was dark and brooding with an intent to come down on the both of you. But Father wasn’t keen on your advice. He never had been.

Unraveling. Yes, that’s the right word. You were unraveling. The first week was difficult, but the second week was pulling you apart at the seems. No sleep, no one to take the next shift so you could get some proper rest. Your father told you about this… about lighthouse keepers going mad, loosing their minds. It would be two more months before a supply ship came and you could ask for help.

Yes, you remember your father’s stories of lighthouse keepers going mad from solitude. Seeing things that weren’t there. Hearing things that weren’t there. Stories of men diving into the frigid brine because they swore they saw their dead wives reaching out just below the surface. Thats what you were there for, Father always told you. To stop him from going mad. But you always knew, and he always knew, that there wasn’t a place for you out in society anyways. Not a kind one. That was something you learned quickly in the gaze of ship captains who would deliver supplies to the lighthouse. As a child it was pity cast upon you, but growing into a woman yielded a new type of feeling in those ship captains. Aversion. Avoidance. Discomfort.

But it had been so long since you gave any thought as to how you were seen by the outside world. There was work to do. And on top of it all, you must be starting to go mad, like in Father’s stories. There was something out there. You could catch the shadows moving in the trees surrounding the lighthouse at night. Sometimes, a flicker of moonlight would catch the reflection of an eye in the darkness.

Something was watching you, carefully and patiently.

Part 1 - Part 2

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read part 1. Appreciate it lots.

Part 2 - The Fall

The moment the blizzard broke I left the etymologist's cabin. I was always moving, since being set free. Always searching. In my journey so far I had met many trees and animals, which inspected me with bewilderment.

I had been following the coast for some time, many days and nights. One day, when the sun was sinking below that line between the sea and the sky, the top of a structure became visible to me above the tree tops. A tower. Certainly not as tall as where I was born, but a tower nonetheless. There was something beautiful about it. So clean and white. Like the snow.

And so I decided to watch the tower for a time, and the girl I quickly found to be living within it. She was always moving in a trance-like state. Always busying herself. Like the ermine I observed hunting amongst the deep pillows of snow in the coldest days of winter. Except one one night, when the moon was very bright and the sea was very calm, I caught her at the top of her tower staring. Staring out into the water. Looking for something, maybe.

And then her head swiveled into the trees, in my direction. I froze. She had been doing this for several days now, and I was fairly certain she hadn't seen me, but somehow she knew I was there.

And in that crumb of acknowledgment she gave me, I felt a familiar warm ache crawling up inside of me. A desire to be known again.

-

That’s it. That’s IT! Whether it was psychosis or not, you were damn tired of the feeling of being watched. You stomped down the spiral staircase that led to the top of the lighthouse, and grabbed your father’s long rifle that gathered dust in the corner. You had only loaded it a handful of times, never in the dark, and a litany of curses spilled from your mouth as you fumbled with the bolt and loaded the cartridge. The door swung open and you held the rifle up, aiming into the tree line.

“Show yourself! You god-damned coward!”

Not a second past before a rustling came from the bushes in front of you, and from the leaves arose a tall and intimidating figure cloaked in furs. It was almost amorphous. You closed your eyes, jaw clenching from the adrenaline coursing through you. Your body felt as though it was seizing up, and that included the finger wrapped around the trigger. You were expecting the knock back of the rifle against your shoulder, but not the the searing heat which scalded the right side of your face. You stumbled back into the house, falling to your knees. The gun fell to your side, sliding across the floor.

You fumbled for the rifle as the horrible sound of heavy footsteps began to approach you from the trees. The tips of your fingers barely grazed the cold steel of the barrel before it was lifted out of your reach.

"Stop."

You barely heard it over the sound of warping metal. The voice of a man. Your lip quivered, completely breathless. You tried blinking the white spots out of your vision, only being able to catch his dead eye that caught the moonlight in the darkness. As well as the gun which had been bent in half like flimsy tin.

"Your skin."

A perceptive man, you thought to yourself sarcastically. You instinctually brought a hand to the left side of your face, covering the gnarled skin there. The marred flesh you had lived with since the age of five. An accident. His eyes were burning into you, the feeling of being looked at so intently was almost unbearable.

"What- What do you want..." Maybe you could have sounded more intimidating if you weren't cowering on your knees.

He stood for a second, "Nothing."

He sounded unsure of himself. You started to regain composure and hobbled back a few feet, forming a more comfortable distance between the two of you. The silence in the room was almost supernatural, except for the sound of something wet dribbling into your floorboards. The man brought his hand up to his shoulder, his fingers gleamed with the slickness of blood as he drew his hand out.

"I don't wan't to hurt you." He had a softness to his voice that was slightly unnerving given the circumstances.

"Why-ah-" The moment you started speaking a horrible stinging sensation simmered on the right side of your face. You gritted your teeth, "Why- what- why- oh god damn it!" You were unable to string together the words you were looking for. The adrenaline was wearing off and the aching in your face was growing red hot. Your heart was pumping out of your chest. The world spun.

-

Her head hit the floor with a heavy thunk. Before I realized what I was doing, I was crouched beside her gently prodding at her face with my outstretched index finger. I hadn't ever seen a person that looked like her. She had deep scars that enveloped the left side of her head and down her neck. There were bald spots on her where the skin had been so damaged that nothing grew back. The other side of her face was blistering and red. When she fired the weapon, something had malfunctioned and fired a tremendous blast of heat into the right side of her face.

I frowned at the sight before me. I was culpable for this. There was a sick feeling curdling in my stomach.

A cold gust of wind blew in through the open door behind me, and the fire in her hearth was reduced to barely smoldering ashes. I did the only thing I could think to do, and shut the door closing us in. The living space was very small, it took but three long strides to reach the hearth. One of the many things my first friend had taught me was how to light a fire, I felt a sense of pride as the embers ignited into a steady flame.

I didn't know she had awoken until I heard the sound of something flying through the air and felt the crack of a wooden board against my head. I turned about and grasped her by the wrist that was already reeling back to strike me again. She gasped, eyes bulging.

"I'm sorry..." I uttered an apology but it was a plea if anything. I let go of her wrist and she backed up to the edge of the room. Her eyes stayed trained on me, but followed the trail of blood I was still spilling onto her floor. "I'm sorry." I was desecrating her home.

"I... shot you." The tone of her voice was hard to place. Maybe it was confusion that I was still standing before her. Maybe it was anger that I was still standing there at all. I sighed, "I'm sorry-"

She pointed a finger annoyedly in my direction. "What do you keep apologizing for. Why are you apologizing. If you are going to kill me do it now or-" She trailed off, noticing a portion of the scar visible behind my face covering above my left eye. Her expression twisted into a wince as she was reminded of the pain in her own face.

“Who are you.”

devonrubinart

sketchy painting-ish of the best monster. my baby girl

thatuglymeme

I'm alive

#art #frankenstein

“We could be monsters together.”

Part 1 - Part2

The Creature x Reader. For some context: This story is set shortly after the events of the 2025 film. Reader is described as female and will be using she/her pronouns. Thank you for reading! More to come

Prologue

As fast as the English tongue became second nature to me, the words revealed themselves as the intricate puzzles they were.

It was the cottage of a man from the city. I watched the sturdy timber door for days, waiting for someone to come out. It stood silent and dark. It was the howling winds of winter, a tempest from the sky, which finally drove me to seek shelter. The door was barred from the outside with a primitive lock, but bore no further security. I let myself in sheepishly.

Books. So many book before me. Loose parchment brown and curling. Leather bound volumes and journals stacked in corners of the cabin. I came to find this was the summer cabin of an etymologist, an individual who specialized in the study of words and language. And I poured over everything he had left for me. Learning. Absorbing. Changing.

Monster. It derived, I learned, from an old language called Latin. Monstrum meant a divine omen, a portent, a sign from God.

I was looking for a sign. A sign from God? I shook my head at the thought. After all, I thought I already met God. I thought I had held him and called him by his name. But the man I thought was God, I had crushed his bones. My hands slick with his blood.

“What recourse do you have, but to live?”

If I do not know what it means to live, then what is my recourse?

Part 1 - The Lighthouse Keeper

Your body had long understood the rhythm of your work. Right at the precipice of dusk something in your subconscious would rouse you from sleep and put you on your feet. Time to refill the oil and polish the lens, let the chickens out of their roost, inspect the exterior of the structure.

But two weeks ago Father went out on the water and didn’t come back. It didn’t look good from the start. The sky was dark and brooding with an intent to come down on the both of you. But Father wasn’t keen on your advice. He never had been.

Unraveling. Yes, that’s the right word. You were unraveling. The first week was difficult, but the second week was pulling you apart at the seems. No sleep, no one to take the next shift so you could get some proper rest. Your father told you about this… about lighthouse keepers going mad, loosing their minds. It would be two more months before a supply ship came and you could ask for help.

Yes, you remember your father’s stories of lighthouse keepers going mad from solitude. Seeing things that weren’t there. Hearing things that weren’t there. Stories of men diving into the frigid brine because they swore they saw their dead wives reaching out just below the surface. Thats what you were there for, Father always told you. To stop him from going mad. But you always knew, and he always knew, that there wasn’t a place for you out in society anyways. Not a kind one. That was something you learned quickly in the gaze of ship captains who would deliver supplies to the lighthouse. As a child it was pity cast upon you, but growing into a woman yielded a new type of feeling in those ship captains. Aversion. Avoidance. Discomfort.

But it had been so long since you gave any thought as to how you were seen by the outside world. There was work to do. And on top of it all, you must be starting to go mad, like in Father’s stories. There was something out there. You could catch the shadows moving in the trees surrounding the lighthouse at night. Sometimes, a flicker of moonlight would catch the reflection of an eye in the darkness.

Something was watching you, carefully and patiently.