This is a side blog. they/them (my gender is "no") 28 years old. pretty aesthetic stuff. maybe NSFW stuff. 18+ content. Minors do not interact. Anti generative AI
You probably should've done more research before moving to this town for work.
Sure, it's small and the people seem nice, but the church has more blood stains than an abattoir and the people here act like it's completely normal that occasionally large winged people launch themselves from whatever ledge juts from one of the church buildings. Asking someone about it gets a very vague answer, brushing past it as simply something that the 'church of the sanguine bead' has and does from time to time, as if the concept wasn't completely wild to any newcomer to the town.
Eventually one person offers to show you into the church, smiling too wide as you give into the curiosity, following them into the main building and finding it pretty normal at first. There are pews, a basin or two off to the side wings, stained glass in mostly red, orange, white, and pinks, candles everywhere, a pulpit with their holy text on it, and an altar with hanging censers gently spewing sweet smoke. All in all, it seems like a mostly normal church, a bit weird that it's blood themed but mostly normal by the looks of things, the person showing you around asks you to wait for a second before disappearing and leaving you to look over the altar area.
The display is on brand, red wines, port, grapes, pomegranate, cherries, and a few other red fruits sit on display, all fresh enough that they must be changed daily.
You hear your name called, turning towards the sound you expect the person from before and maybe a priest or nun to be with them not... Not a hulking older man with massive feathered wings. The person that offered to show you the church practically vibrates as they pull you towards the large man, sanguine protector they call him, a blood angel given to their church as a blessing from their faith and devotion. Stunned they practically pull your arm out and place it in the clawed hand of this angel, stepping back as they let this hulking figure sniff the air around you before pressing into your personal space.
There is so much going on in your mind that you're not sure where to look or what to do, looking up you find lidded gold eyes watching you as this angel makes a subtle noise like a purr at you, licking its lips and flashing thick, sharp fangs as it does. Long red strands of this things hair curtain its face as it leans down more, there are flecks of blood on its cheeks that you had thought freckles, your hand is still in its grip as it brings your wrist to its mouth, panic flares hot and sharp as your body locks up in fear.
His lips are warm, too warm as he swipes a tongue across your wrist, wings flaring wide and pushing the person who'd brought you here, their voice almost as panicked as you feel. Somewhere beyond the muffled thumping of your heart you can hear them scrambling to get to you, pleading with the angel to be gentle and let you go, calling you unbled and untested before you assume rushing off to find someone that can stop this giant creature of a man-thing.
Doors slam open but not closed as you are left alone with this thing, shivers slowly building as you feel some level of control come back to you, seeing this he laughs. Pulling its mouth away from your wrist and laughing, a loud, belly shaking laugh that confuses you, it snaps its teeth a mere breath from your skin and laughs again when you flinch, purring about the cute human brought before him.
His wings part around you as a priest comes barreling down the aisle of the church, calling this things name and pleading for him to let you go, promising an extra feeding if he truly hungers for more. The priest practically sags into the stairs leading up to where you are when the angle lets you go, clawed hand moving from your wrist to your waist as he pulls your stuff body towards himself, clicking his teeth at the priest and asking if this little treat would join them in the sangination one day, cooing softly as he looks down at you.
You're not too sure what is to make the angel let you go, only that as you're led away the priest lets out a gasp so loud you look back over your shoulder and catch sight of what is the most impressive tent in someone's pants you'd ever seen.
Part of you doesn't know if you want to come back or see if you could move out as fast as you moved into this town, but as you chuck a second look over your shoulder as the church doors close, catching the eye of the large, older angel, you're definitely leaning towards coming back.
You have learned several things about yourself this afternoon...
Going on your first ever trip alone was a scary thing. Especially when the place you were traveling to was the infamous Monster City. Humans were rarely ever allowed inside, only permitted when all its citizens were out of their breeding seasons. All in order to protect their human neighbors and keep the peace.
But that also left the whole city as one big mystery to you. So although you were excited to go somewhere new, you didn’t know what to expect.
The only thing you could think to do was look online. All you the online forums said the same thing. Every monster citizen recommended you Rent A Monster Bf for the day. Given they had packages that allowed them to act as a kind of tour guide while also giving you protection. The idea made your cheeks burn up in a blazing hot blush.
You couldn’t actually do this, could you? Rent a monster to act as your bf for the day. There were all sorts of different packages. Offering short dates to long dates, having them pretend to pay for everything on your outings, to taking real-looking couples photoshoots. That was definitely doing too much, there’s no way you could do that while keeping your head on straight.
By the end of the day there was no way you wouldn’t catch some kinda feelings. It would be better if you just handled the trip in your own and hoped for the best walking around blindly.
“Hi! Are you from the Rent A Monster Bf Service?” You ask the painfully sexy ass monster holding a sign with your name on it after stepping off the plane.
The whole process was a lot more simply than you originally thought it was gonna be. You told yourself, after giving in and just doing it, that if you hit a snag then you’d just forget the whole thing. But the agency made every step of the way so damn easy for you.
You sent them all the details for your hopes and dreams when going on this trip in a very long email. In response they sent you five listings, each of a different monster. The listings included their occupations, hobbies, accomplishments, and anything else that was notable to add.
Out of all the monsters you picked the one that was your type to a T, both in looks and personality. After choosing your boyfriend you received confirmation with a full itinerary that listed everything he had planned. From the start of the date to the very end of it. Starting by picking you up from the airport.
Now here you are, eyefucking him like a feral beast as he picks your heavy suitcase up with ease. Imagining him picking you up like that and throwing you around. Arousal gushes out of you, soaking your panties within minutes and— fuck!— you really hope his kind of monster can’t smell a humans emotions.
You watch him tilt his head in the air and sniff. Breath catches in your throat as your pussy clamps shut, as if that’ll trap the scent already surely wafting around you. Luckily it seems he doesn’t notice it as he moves to the passenger side and opens it for you like a true gentleman.
The whole day he acts like an absolutely perfect bf while showing you around the city. When you went to restaurants he’d pull out your chair for you, yanking it close to his side once you sat down and taking in deep lungfuls of your scent.
He’d feed you, laugh at how flustered you got, and talked with you like you’ve known each other forever. His eyes flickering across your face in search of something deeper.
During museum tours and tourist attractions he’d hug you from behind or hold your hand. Always touching, always keeping you close like he was trying to make a claim in front of the other monsters.
Worse was how he’d always offer to take photos of you, or you two together. Whispering warmly in your ear, “I don’t want you to forget a second to this.”
It was seriously ducking with your head. And your poor neglected pussy that wasn’t seen any action in months was reaping the consequences. Everything he did set you on edge. Your panties were ruined by now, soaked through and dripping to the point it was uncomfortable. You don’t know why your body is responding like this, it’s not like you.
But he was just so damn sexy, his body sculpted by the gods to fit your ideal type and his face… he was the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. It nearly blinded you how hot this man was.
This act he was putting on wasn’t helping at all because as much as you tried to remind yourself you bought this service, you were failing, falling hard for his charms. Leaving you mad horny and two seconds from shooting your shot.
Somehow by some miracle you managed to restrain yourself till the end of the date. Good thing too because your mind was beginning to play tricks on you. Imagining his hand was holding yours a little tighter, his breathing coming in short pants and growing shorter throughout the day, pupils dilated with lust, and his body trembling with restraint.
For some reason he kept checking his watch and you wondered why. Just as you were about to ask it goes off and he instantly sighs in relief. Now officially off the clock he doesn’t waste another minute, whirling around to face you, his claws hands cup your cheeks as he crashes his lips against yours. You make a noise of surprise that he eagerly swallows as you two stumble into your hotel room.
“I-I’m—hah!— sorry, my rut isn’t due for another two weeks, it’s never this early. But I just spent the last twelve hours drowning in the scent of your arousal when I’d rather be drowning between your thighs. Must’ve triggered it,” he growls, all but pushing you on the bed. You barely process his words before he’s on top of you and ripping your clothes off.
Hour after hour passes in the blink of an eye. His hips are a blur of movement as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of your needy fat cunt. Never seeming to stop his relentless rhythm like he’s possessed or something. And hell maybe you are too with the way you’re bucking into his thrusts, riding his cock for all it’s worth.
The two of you are like animals as he takes you from the front, the side, against every piece of furniture in the room, to the sloppiest of backshots on the bed. Your throat is raw from all the screaming, the force of his hips wetly smacking against yours sends pleasure to explode throughout your body in the most mind blowing of ways.
Everything is sloppy and filthy, allowing him to slide in impossibly deeper. His cockhead making out with your cervix each time he bottoms out. Yet still you crave more.
You want his knot.
Using every trick in the book you start rolling your hips and clamping down, milking his cock like you’re tryna draw it out of him. He groans in bliss, fucked out and drunk off your pussy as he falls to nuzzle into your neck. That’s when you feel it, his knot nudging at your entrance.
While he tries to take it slow, ease it into you, you’re far too impatient. Having waited all day for this. So with a jerk of your hips you stuff his knot deep inside your cunt with one sharp stroke.
Immediately it throws him over the edge, his knot swelling up big within you. The stretch of his knot and the sensation of his hot seed flooding your tight channel has you reaching your peak right with him.
Sobs of ecstasy wrack through your chest as you fuck each other through the waves of pleasure tingling within you. He holds you tightly against him, talking you through it and whispering praises in your ear till you two collapse on the bed from exhaustion.
Your bodies are still locked up tight from his knot. And from the way he keeps grinding in deeper you have a feeling it won’t be going down anytime soon.
Well, it seems like you’ll be extending your stay a night… or three. Only to help him through his rut. It seemed fair that you provide him with your services after he had provided you so thoroughly with his. And who knows what may happen after that.
He's a top ten streamer who plays video games for a living. He's buff and handsome, but he's humble and nice, making him a hit with men and women alike. He's a decent gamer too, his streams funny and entertaining. He could have anyone he wants, there are plenty of people who want to be with him.
But he's already got a crush, and it's on you, chubby fem streamer who is new to Twitch.
He found your profile randomly one day, clicking on your stream right when it started.
"Okie dokie," you say with a smile. "I've got my favorite chips—" You hold up a bag of chips and shake them. "—and a little drink—" You hold up a large cup. "—and I'm ready to play some Meccha Chameleon for the first time!"
You're cute, and sweet, and ridiculously funny with your commentary. You play the game for about an hour before calling it a night.
"Thank you for joining me! I hope you had fun watching. Have a good day!"
He subscribes to your channel on his nonpublic account and turns on notifications.
He watches every stream he can, which is fairly easy since you two have different streaming schedules. He soon becomes infatuated with you, the way you talk and your jokes and your cute face and mannerisms. He thinks you'd be the perfect girlfriend, starts imagining the two of you being a streaming couple, having your respective streams and then coming together at the end of the day, enjoying each others' company.
His thoughts don't stay pure. He imagines what you'd feel like, he's seen you in your casual clothes, has seen the curves you have. He wants to touch you, hold you against him and feel how your body molds to his. He wants to feel the weight of your breasts in his big hands and squeeze them until you beg for his touch elsewhere, and he'll give it to you, everything you want and more, his sweet special woman...
Then one day, while he's streaming, he gets a notification that you've started a stream, and he gives a vague excuse to end his stream just to go over to yours. He rushes to exit his stream and goes to yours, giddy and excited to see you outside your normal streaming time. His notifications keep blowing up, so he silences them, focusing on you instead.
When he checks his notifications later, he sees that they're all from twitter. His name is trending, people complaining and speculating why he would've ended his stream so early. Oh, if only they knew...
I know hes giving in one day and acts all coy with the full intention of raiding your stream after he ends his to boost your visibility, and just to hear you gasp in shock that HE raided your stream, laughing in delight and thanking HIM
Bro is playing the clip of you gasping his name on repeat FOREVER
A small part of him hates that your platform is growing larger because you get more attention and you no longer feel like his precious little hidden gem that belongs just to him, but a bigger part of him loves to see your big smiling face in higher definition as you start being able to afford better equipment and being able to tip you when you get partnered (anonymously, with little messages like "get yourself a sweet treat" or "for the new game coming out next week" so he can pretend in his head like he's your boyfriend paying for your stuff). It also means you get to quit your day job to stream full-time, meaning he gets to see your pretty face and fall asleep to your voice more often. He's down so bad it would make him look silly if anyone found out
Juneteenth is about Black people who were officially technically supposed to be freed from enslavement. Nobody else. Nothing else. It's not a POC day. It's not a "freedom for all" day. It's Black folk, Black culture, Black emancipation, SPECIFICALLY. Any other observation for Juneteenth is gentrification.
Your Juneteenth reminder that just because they made it a "national holiday," it's still not. It's for the celebration of Black Americans being freed from slavery, finally.
It's from Texas. We been welcoming other descendants of the enslaved. But we close the gate and draw the line with "everybody."
Bringing this back on Juneteenth because making Black observations a national holiday didn't and doesn't end racism and the nonblacks are more insufferable than they have been in my lifetime about Black American people and our things.
Happy Juneteenth to those whose lives would not be actively free without the day happening. See the rest of you tomorrow.
A sick wizard castle with a nondescript van painted on the side. A gothy pin-up girl with the portrait of a random trucker tattooed on her thigh. A bathroom-themed beach vacation. A beautiful brightly coloured cupcake that tastes like soap.
Jesus with a portrait of my grandma on his wall. A scimitar-wielding fantasy protagonist reading about the adventures of sixth-grader Kelsey. A National Park with a framed print of somebody’s living room.
oh to be a mage who tries to summon a familiar to help me in my studies but ends up summoning a demon who pins me down and breeds me right in the circle i summoned them in
warnings; detail + prose heavy, animal death + some descriptions of the death (animal vs animal), mentions of starvation, bashing on the (historical) scientific community a lil' bit, mentions of poaching, sort of implied cannibalism (not mc; no descriptions), open-ended ending
wc; 2,050
divider; @/sisterlucifer
you tell me what happened at the end! maybe I'll make a part two 👀
please interact + reblog this!! I'd love to hear your thoughts!!
In your line of work as a wildlife researcher, you knew that Malgonian tigers only tucked their tails and fled from their kills for two reasons: hunters or harpies.
Arguably, both were the same, as humans were truly no less cruel or vicious than harpies, but a sort of uncomprehending, innate malice that the harpies possessed made them particularly dangerous to deal with. Scientists at your university believed that despite harpies closely resembling humans, they operated primarily through instinct and generational rituals.
Then, the world erupted with a piercing cry, a desperate call to others the same. The Malgonian tiger sank low to the ground and dragged itself away from fresh prey—a deer. It was so newly mauled that it hadn't started to stink up the stifled, hot summer air just yet. There was still a glisten in its big black eyes, and its blood ran bright arterial red.
At the same time the tiger disappeared, you and your partner ducked into the overgrowth to avoid being seen from above. That noise had come from a very distressed harpy, either in the throes of death or badly injured. Neither of those options would produce favorable outcomes, as it was only a matter of time before the sky swarmed with black wings and powerful bodies. From below, the harpies often resembled a kettle of vultures gliding effortlessly, gracefully, even, on their enormous wings. Once they got closer, their arms, legs, and faces would be revealed to you; it would already be too late.
"Shit, you've got to be kidding me," sighed your partner, a middle-aged man of some renown in your shared field. Even though you could stand proudly on your own degree and accomplishments, you were not on equal footing. He ran this operation; you did your work and shut up. "Last I heard, the harpies were supposed to have migrated north a few weeks ago. Why are they still here?"
"Hell if I know!" you retorted, cracking your neck as you craned it to see up into the sky. There was no trace of others, but this one continued to wail for help. "I want to see why it's so loud. Maybe we can make a specimen out of it?"
Your colleague beamed, "Right, then! On we go. Let's have a look at the ugly thing. Just remember to stay low and be quiet."
You came from a hunting village in the western plains, and you knew all about hunting and how to stay hidden for a significant amount of time. Your knees couldn't do what they did, and you could barely contort your body beyond lying stick straight on a mattress, but when your life depended on silence and camouflaging into the tall weeds, you learned how to do it well.
As you crawled closer to the noises, the louder and sharper they came. Harpies had the sort of cry that pierced straight into your skull like a serrated arrowhead. That pain likes to sit inside your brain and throb and throb and throb. Some people had even reported that their ears would bleed, and it wasn't uncommon to pass out from just how incapacitating it could be.
Luckily, this one was just focused on getting attention, and not stopping you in your tracks, literally.
Your colleague reached the edge of the undergrowth and ventured a glance over the top of it to see what was beyond before immediately throwing himself down onto his stomach.
"It almost saw me!" he whispered. "It's a harpy, alright. But we've just walked into a total goldmine, my friend. It's a male harpy. Do you know how rare those are? Why, I think it was something, like, once every fifty or sixty years. What a treat! Oh, my, this is so much more exciting than bloody tigers!"
"I want to see!" You used his back for balance and slowly pushed your head above the tall weeds, just until you could see the creature.
It wasn't far away, about fifty feet or so, if you had to guess. He hunched over on his knees, thrashing about with his arms and wings bound by rope or netting; you couldn't really tell at a glance. Whatever his bindings, they held fast, and they were strong enough that the harpy couldn't free his wings from them to fly away.
"This must've been an old harpy breeding ground, and he wandered into an old trap some hunters laid out for them. It looks all but abandoned now, though," said your partner, lightly stroking his chin with one hand, holding himself and you up with the other. "Poor bastard."
"Why would they put traps down for harpies?" you asked.
"Ah, for the same reason we're interested. Research!" he said, brightly. "Only, I believe ours to be a more noble pursuit. While we wish to understand, the hunters want trophies or money. Poaching any living creature should be illegal, but harpies just aren't seen that way. Not human. Not an animal. But an evil beast. Hunters are more intelligent than we give them credit for; they know this."
Then, was waiting for this beast to die for the sake of research, the right thing to do, either? Just how much different would you be from a hunter? You're still banking on his death for acknowledgment and status, so how was that different from a hunter poaching for trophies or money? How much of science was actually scientists bullshitting people into believing their actions weren't just another form of evil?
"Should we free him somehow?" you asked.
Gobsmacked, your partner let his jaw hang open for a moment before scoffing and looking away, "Absolutely not! Are you fucking mad? One, he will benefit both our careers if we let him pass on, and two, I don't know about you, but I'm not interested in being eviscerated once he's able to use his hands again."
You didn't like his answer. You thought about punching him. "So, we're just going to sit here until he starves and dies?"
"Correction!" your partner gestured to you with his nose. "You're going to stay here and sit here until he dies. I'm going to ride back to the university to let them know we have something big coming their way in a few days. You aren't to return to camp until you can no longer see, understood? I want eyes on him for as long as possible!"
Two days. You lasted two days before the guilt got to you, two days of listening to the harpy's cries, weakening, and his hope of freedom waning. Harpies were not good beings—they were savage and unforgiving, known for swiping people off their feet and dropping them from deadly heights so their bones would shatter, making the meat tender for the fire later.
There were even rumors that female harpies stole men from surrounding villages to use for producing offspring. Perhaps that was one reason your colleague was so enthusiastic about the entire thing: He wanted to know just how much genetic material was shared between humans and harpies. To a lesser degree, it was a curiosity of yours as well.
But even that wasn't enough to stop you from revealing yourself to the harpy one evening after the sun had set. You came with a large canteen and seasoned jerky from your own rations. It wouldn't be enough to sate the appetite of a starving creature; you hoped it would thwart it as a threat.
The harpy's calls had dwindled into dry moans, a particularly masculine sound compared to when he would cry, which was as shrill as the rest of them. He heard you approach but barely reacted, expression warping in surprise and nothing else.
"Hey, there," you said to him, stepping with your heels first so your toes landed softly. You revealed the leather canteen to him, spun the cap off, then poured a little water out so he could tell what it was. "Just stay calm. Just stay calm. Please just stay calm. God, please stay calm."
The harpy's eyes shifted between your face and the canteen, and they were an odd thing. A light green iris surrounded by a darker green sclera. Something so simultaneously human but not. He made no motion to move as you edged closer to crouch where he sat on the ground, now with his back against a shade tree.
"Here, open," you opened your mouth, he mimicked you right away. He lapped at the cool liquid as it went down his throat, emptying most of the container before replacing the cap. He let out a dissatisfied grunt but did not scream; you were grateful for that.
Again, you told him to spread his jaws. This time, you gave him a bite of the jerky, to which you readily predicted he would consume ravenously, and he did. He swirled the meat on his tongue, tilted his chin up slightly, and swallowed it whole. Just when you worried it might catch in his throat, he was begging for more, shifting restlessly as he tried to get closer.
"Nope! Nope!" You kept the distance between your bodies, but provided him with an entire strip of jerky this time. Like before, he licked the seasoning clean from the coarse meat and then ate it without masticating. "Incredible. You must have a more flexible or wider esophagus than humans. We'd choke if we did that, yknow?"
You fed him jerky until he had stopped taking it from you with as much fervor. All the while, you silently observed him, concluding that humans and harpies, indeed, shared some ancestral link, because he looked so much like other human men that the only discerning trait was his eyes being a little further apart than normal, and a particularly pronounced aquiline nose. He had a low brow that gave his eyes such intensity that it made you shiver.
His skin was deeply tanned from a lifetime flying so close to the sun, his wings large and dark and beautiful as he was. It was his hands and fear that inspired the most fear in you. His arms were long with fingers that thickened into claws, legs covered with the same feathers as on his back, feet dangerous and deadly with talons.
Across his body, there were adornments made from stone and natural crystals. Fragments of bone were carved into strange shapes that were braided into his shoulder-length hair. Old black tattoos were smeared across his skin, nonsensical to you, greatly fascinating to look at anyway.
He looked so much more human than beast. You couldn't just watch him die.
From the depths of your back pocket, you pulled out a switchblade that you immediately deployed. The blade glinted in the ebbing sunlight, stirring a response from the harpy: Unease. He started to squirm as you closed in on him with the knife, cooing to him gently, reassuring him that you would do him no harm. You were not like the rest of them.
You refused to be a scientist like them, the ones who took and took and took.
So, you cut the harpy's binding as quickly as you were able to, despite his thrashing about, hoping that you didn't nick him in the process, giving him a reason to attack you at the end. You spent more time sawing through the ropes than you had anticipated, finding that by the time you were finished, you were utterly spent, your clothes were soaked through, stuck to you with sweat, skin slick and glowing. It was no wonder he couldn't break through the ropes.
Once freed from his constraints, he found renewed vigor within himself and sprang to his clawed feet, and the full spread of his wings eclipsed the lingering light of day.
You were fast to put distance between yourself and him, brandishing your knife in the air as a warning that you wouldn't be afraid to hurt him, as much as you wished it wouldn't come to that. He looked down his nose at you from his full height and leaned his head sideways one way, then swayed to the other, contemplating something, perhaps.
Before you could have fully reacted, he had come forward to grab you around the waist and take flight.
something cool about queering your idea of sex is that you can walk out of a heavy make out session feeling like you had the rawest sex of your life. you can be sitting close at a bar kissing them and maybe you’ve found a way to sit so your knee is discreetly between their thighs and feeling the pleasure it gives them and then feeling them give that pleasure to you. you can be looking each other in the eye and you can feel them inside you from that alone. like you want to tear their clothes off and are hungry for the feeling of their skin and their closeness but even just this feels like heaven, feels connected to them in the deep place where pleasure comes from.
“When I was a dominatrix, I once rubbed balloons all over a man for seventy-five dollars. He would’ve called it sex. I would’ve called it work. It was mutually consensual, and I think we were both correct in our assessment.
If your sex is balloons, if it is blowing raspberries on your lover’s belly, if it happens fully clothed ir in furry costumes, if it happens in a group or alone — give it the same gravity, the same reverence or irreverence as all the tiresome scenes of heterosexual penetration we all grew up reading. … There is no marginal erotic unless you sideline it.”
