Thank you so much for the part 2 of the shapeshifter AU! 🙏 The atmosphere is so singularly spooky and sultry. Keep up the great work!
on it boss!!
70 / 1.6k / part 3 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader
...
You wait until the early evening. It's the earliest you can run. Your so-called familiars won't come out while the sky is still bright. Even so, the moon’s faint sliver stands faintly visible against the sky. You pack your things and fetch your traveling cloak. Vital components. Your dagger. Scrying parchment. You've survived on less.
Something catches your eye as you open the door. The setting sun gleams off the little glass vial on your hearth. You grab it. It's the thing Soap left—what he was teasing you about; the "little treat" he brought back. You see now what it is: black henbane. Your heart beats faster. Out of anger or anticipation—you're not sure which wins out. You'll certainly make use of this. But it will be despite your demons. Not because of them.
As you set off to leave, though, you find yourself face-to-face with a different threat altogether: townsfolk with torches and pitchforks.
The mob's torches flicker, casting jagged shadows across their grim faces. Their leader, a broad-shouldered blacksmith with soot-stained hands, steps forward. The pitchfork trembles in his harsh grip. "Off to consort with devils, witch?"
Behind him, a farmer's wife spits at your feet. "My boy hasn't slept since your cursed raven perched on our roof! You sent those monsters to torment us!"
A ripple of agreement surges through the crowd. You catch the glint of silver amulets around their throats—crude charms of rowan berries and iron nails. Your designs.
"I don't want any trouble," you tell them. You already intend to leave this place forever; all you need to do is convince them to let you go in peace. "I swear it. I condemn the demons that plague the village just as you do."
The blacksmith's shout cracks like a whip. "Liar!" He thrusts his pitchfork toward your cottage and the crow feathers littering the threshold. "Found your nest o' nightmares. Bones under the floorboards. Charms written in your hand guidin' those beasts!"
A teenage boy hurls a rock. It grazes your temple with a thump that rings in your skull. "She fed my sister to the black dog! Saw its yellow eyes in her window the night she vanished!"
Then a torch arcs through the dusk. It crashes against your doorframe, tallow and embers cascading onto dry thatch. The farmer's wife screams, "Burn the hellspawn out!"
Other voices roar in agreement. The mob surges forward as one. Their amulets glow faintly as they near your wards, rowan countering rowan.
You slam the door shut, scattering glowing red hay, and bolt for the back door instead. You flee toward the forest. Warm blood slides down your face and trickles into your collar. You crash through the tree line. Brambles tear your cloak. Torchlight dances between birches behind you. They’re gaining.
"Kill her before she calls the beasts!" one voice shrieks.
Another voice, a child’s, cries, “There! By the elder tree!”
Your boot catches on its massive roots. You hit the forest floor hard. Pine needles stick to your bleeding palms as you scramble up—and freeze.
Yellow eyes blink open in the shadows ahead. A wolf.
The blacksmith’s heavy gait clatters to a halt. “Christ preserve us.”
The hound steps into the fading daylight, scars rippling across its muscular flank. Ghost. He bares teeth longer than your fingers.
You back away only for another shadow to fall from the trees above and land next to you soundlessly. The shape is feline—Gaz—but he's no longer the size of a housecat. He's as massive as a tiger. A growl thunders through him. He levels his gaze past you. At the villagers. They don't stand a chance.
You whirl back on the villagers with wild eyes. "Get out of here!" you cry at the mob.
The blacksmith shoves a trembling boy behind him. "Back! Back to the—"
Ghost lunges. Not at the villagers. At you.
His jaws snap inches from your thigh, herding you backward into Gaz's flank. Gaz pins you with one paw on your chest. He keeps his claws sheathed, but the pressure is enough to bruise. His rumbling purr vibrates through your ribs as he licks blood from your temple wound.
"Demons!" A villager hurls a torch. It bounces off Ghost's shoulder. Embers catch in his fur. He doesn't flinch.
Soap's cawing laughter rings from the treetops. He drops down as a raven, shifting mid-fall into human form. He lands in a crouch. "Och, look at these brave lads! Come to play with the big bad devils."
The blacksmith thrusts the pitchfork at him. "Back!"
Soap catches the shaft and yanks the smith forward. "Careful now. You'll poke someone's—" He drives the smith’s own weapon through his boot, impaling foot to soil. "—eyes out."
Screams erupt. The mob fractures. Some flee. Others stand frozen.
"No, don't hurt them!" you gasp out. You try to push out from under Gaz's paw, but it does you no good. "Leave them alone!"
Gaz's purr deepens into a predatory rumble as he drags his rough tongue up the side of your neck to taste your sweat. His hot breath stirs your hair when he growls, "Too late for mercy, love. Smell the fear on 'em? Ripe as summer fruit."
Soap wrenches the pitchfork free from the smith’s screaming form, flicking gore off the tines. "Aye, let's make it a proper feast! Been ages since we had fresh meat that fought back."
"Enough."
Price's voice cracks through the woods like thunder. He stands under the pines’ shadow as if waiting for the last motes of sunset to vanish before he ventures out.
"You lot should've heeded the warnings. Salt your thresholds. Avoid the woods after dark." His gazes pauses over a young child frozen in fear, no parents in sight. He tuts. "But you meddled. Stole from my witch. Harmed her."
The blacksmith finds his voice. "W-We didn't—"
Price steps forward. His boot crushes the smith’s bloodied foot into the ground. Bones pop. "See, that's the trouble with mortals." He crouches to stare into the terrified villager’s face. "You don’t admit you’re wrong."
"Price, please, just take me instead," you plead. "I'm what you came for, aren't I?"
Price's gaze snaps to you. He rises slowly. The flicker of your burning cottage on the horizon behind you reflects in his eyes and makes them glow. His expression tells you how little choice you have in that particular matter. Where you go, they go.
Then he looks past you. “Gaz."
Gaz’s hand slides up your inner thigh. "Already on it."
"No. Save the foreplay. We've got a village to raze." He grabs the bloodied collar of your cloak and hauls you to your feet. "You'll watch. Then we'll discuss your ungrateful actions." His gaze flicks away. "Ghost. Gaz. Clean up."
You can only watch Ghost and Gaz bound into the screaming mob. Your body feels lighter than the air. Then you remember the weight of the henbane in your cloak pocket. The next moment, it's in your hand. You crush the glass, ignoring the stab of pain. You send it sailing through the air, and it lands right on its mark—the roaring torch discarded in the leaf litter.
The henbane catches and wafts up into the air as smoke. It curls upward in thick, narcotic tendrils. The smell is heady, its effect potent and immediate. Soap snarls as the first plume hits his nostrils. He staggers back and clutches his head. Gaz convulses mid-pounce, collapsing into ferns as his tiger-like form shrinks to housecat size. Ghost whines low in his throat and shakes his massive skull like a dog with water in its ears.
Chaos erupts. Villagers seize the chance to bolt. The blacksmith drags his wailing son toward the tree line.
Price grips your arm hard enough to leave talon marks. His other hand clamps over his nose, veins bulging in his temple. You cough into your sleeve. Your vision swims. Henbane's poison works both ways, after all. It’s powerful for those who know how to use it for their own ends. Black henbane is what you used to summon your familiars and what bound them to you. But its hallucinatory effects are more pronounced on those who have surrendered the greater part of their souls to magic—or for those whose bodies are already flush with it. Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap don’t stand a chance. Even your soul is so considerably marked by witchcraft that you quickly fold to its effects. But you, at least, can twist it and warp it to weave a spell that might protect you.
Cloaked in smoke, you transform.
The shift hits you like a lightning strike—bones crackling, muscles twisting, vision narrowing into a something wide and preylike. The forest tilts, and suddenly Price's grip is gone. He holds your sleeve, but not you. You slip away, tumble through your limp clothes, and hit the forest floor on four paws. The world sharpens into smells of damp moss and wolf musk. Your rabbit heart hammers against ribs as thin as wishbones.
You dart left--straight into Gaz's waiting claws. The tomcat pins you with a paw, purring as his claws prick your scruff. Then he sneezes, henbane pollen glinting in his whiskers. You writhe free.
You race deeper into the forest with the wind at your back. The woods close in, but thorns no longer claw your clothes; roots no longer trip you. You are no longer an intruder. The forest itself turns toward you, opens to you. Thorns tug pleasurably against your fur as you bound past. Old magic stirs beneath your rabbit feet.
"Clever girl. Find her." Price's voice slithers through the trees far behind you, syllables slurred but venom intact. "And keep her whole enough to scream."
...
← part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 ➡
more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist
When you initially emerge from a pool of dark magic, you're an amorphous shadow wriggling out of the chaos. The first form you shift into is a spider. You spin delicate webs and drain the life out of many delicious insects until you have enough energy to change shapes again.
Even when you become advanced enough to take on the form of a human, you still remember your spider insects. Catching prey takes a light touch and deft fingers. Your silk webbing is now sweet words, an innocent smile, and spread legs. Your victims are wrapped up in you before they even have an inkling of the danger they’re in. Fangs pierce skin, and their life energy flows into you, where not a drop is spared.
But it’s not until you seduce Johnny, do you recall that your web can trap poisonous insects too.
He’s just a stranger in a bar, like most of the humans you’ve eaten, drunk and boisterous and looking for a good time. There’s something distinctly appetizing about him, though. He exudes vitality, practically dripping with it. Mouthwatering and delectable. But because you're so tempted by how vibrant and spirited Johnny is, you forget that bright colors are often a warning sign. All you see is a decadent meal that would sustain you for ages.
The first time you sleep with him, you don’t end up draining him; Johnny feasts on you instead. It’s so messy and enthusiastic that you forget your original purpose, too satisfied in one regard to remember your hunger in the other. Your prey leaves with his life and a smile on his face.
Your next few encounters go just as poorly, where the wrong person ends up getting devoured. You give it one more chance, inviting Johnny back to your nest. It almost ends the same way as usual, but as you lie on the bed recovering from the intensity of it all, he languidly brushes his thumb over your lower lip. It triggers your instincts to bite.
The morsel of energy you suckle out is exquisitely potent, just like the rest of him, but there is something wrong with it. Something sinister taints it. Death lingers in the aftertaste, clagging to the roof of your mouth.
“Not to yer taste, love?”
Coupled with a knowing smile, his gaze is one of a predator, not prey. You’re seconds away from shifting into something with more teeth and appendages when he backs off to slip his clothes on, relaxed and unbothered. He seems to know what he’s dealing with, but you don’t, so once again, Johnny walks away alive and well.
At this point, you know you need to cut him loose. He’s clearly more dangerous than you realized, and as filling as his energy was, you won’t be able to consume much of it anyway. You have to release anything too toxic to eat, freeing your web for viable meals.
You abandon that nest. It belonged to a former victim anyway, so it’s not an issue to move on to a new one. The search for your next source of food begins in the usual spots—clubs, bars, pubs—except every place you stalk, Johnny shows up.
The few insects you’ve released before never flew back into your web, so his behavior perplexes you. He flirts with you still, making the most half-witted spider jokes and trying to convince you to give him another chance. You’re not receptive to any of it, though, not when the memory of decay on your tongue is so fresh in your mind. You subsist on life, not death, and Johnny’s energy is just the saccharine coating around a foul glob of poison.
The real problem, though, is that Johnny is intent on running interference between you and any potential meals. It’s leaving you both starving and irritable.
He’s tracked you down again, encroaching on your hunting grounds and chasing off the snack you were so close to luring away from the club and back to your nest. Thanks to Johnny, it’s been ages since you’ve last eaten, so you’re too weakened by hunger to do much more than snarl and hiss as he drags you to the empty bathroom in the back and locks the door. Your anger subsides when while on his knees, Johnny reminds you of why it took so long to get your first taste of him.
When he’s later got your legs wrapped around his waist (and you’re debating forming another pair to latch onto him tighter), Johnny stuffs two fingers in your mouth and coos, “I know yer hungry. You can handle a nibble, I promise.”
As condescending as his tone is, you’re so ravenous that you bite down anyway and suck. A rush of delightful life energy floods your mouth, followed by the unpleasant flavor of death. It churns your stomach, but your guts are currently being rearranged anyway, so you endure.
All of your needs are sated by the end of it. You were able to draw out much more energy than your first attempt at draining him, and Johnny made up for all the lost time between now and when he last made a meal out of you. You feel as though you might melt down into the shapeless puddle of darkness that you were born as.
“See? Not so bad once you get used to it,” Johnny smugly remarks, grinning like he’s not missing the energy you consumed. “Just gotta keep buildin’ up a tolerance.”
You really should have bitten his fingers clean off, no matter how talented they are. Being caught in someone else’s web stings your pride, but Johnny kisses your fingertips right under your claws, and you unconsciously let out a pleased chitter. A permanent food source would be less work when you think about it, allowing you to conserve your energy for other endeavors.
You make your new nest in Johnny’s home, where the two of you satisfy each other’s voracious appetites, night after night, until you’re eventually immune to all his toxins.
An AU where everyone has a "shift" an animal form that they can shapeshift into. I don't have a lot of plot for this one yet, just some world building.
If anyone has any suggestions for characters not on this list please let me know, I'd love to talk about it!
Also look out for version 1 which should be posted shortly before this, since there's a few characters i've been really indecisive about lol.
Characters & Shift info under the cut.
Steve Harrington - Domesticated Dog ( Anatolian Shepherd )
Billy Hargrove - Mountain Lion
Eddie Munson - Maned Wolf
Chrissy Cunningham - Snow Leopard
Dustin Henderson - Domesticated Dog (breed undecided)
au where leon (and helena) were too close to the blast zone from tall oaks. they managed to get through the night fine, but over the next few days, radiation sickness started to set in.
they're both actively dying. withering away, decaying from within (and out).
sherry's reunion -> she promises to save them. even if it means sacrificing her own life. leon, stubborn as all hell, denies her help. but he can't do shit lmfao.
sherry chooses to be a lab rat again to save them.
leon, having experience with las plagas, still had/has some leftover imprinting from his infection forever in his dna. through experimentation, on the brink of death, sherry's donation (she's fine, probably donated some plasma or some shit), right before leon's time runs out... his body starts healing. it's a success.
... until he starts getting a little too healthy...
or to summarize -> leon's survival and previous infection fuckery leads his body to overdo the regeneration. for awhile, he's cycling between ugly, monsterfucker sexy, and his normal self. it takes awhile, but he learns to control it himself. bam, shapeshifter.
as for helena, she makes it through, too. perhaps she becomes a lil buggie herself, but absolutely gains regen abilities. (consider she's more c-virus influenced)
i also wanted to give leon a bit of a jiggly tummy, but it didn't come across very well. the goal -> a pouch. a lil wiggly thing like a cat. (think somewhat like regenerador's, but maybe closer to the spitter's from l4d2)
So I had an idea and it won’t leave me alone so I’m going to post about it if anyone wants to continue this prompt please do
so starting this off with the fact of ghost hunger exist, they feed off of emotions and ectoplasm. This is for regular ghosts though for halfas though they require emotions, ectoplasm, and living meat/ fresh blood because of this all halfas have the air of an apex predator and all halfas are the children of life and death and they all become morally gray because of it also halfas are capable of Shapeshifting
Finally having enough of the GIW Danny and a de aged Dan(10) and elly(5) decide to lay low in Gotham for a while, while plotting how to take down the GIW and run across someone that they instinctually know is their older brother they’re very sickly older brother who calls himself killer croc they decided to stay with him and teach him how to live as a halfa and he teaches them how to live in Gotham they all try to avoid the bats while wreaking havoc
Gotham City and the bats are in alarm as killer croc has found his shapeshifter siblings and they are all causing havoc as they help out rogues and disappearing talons ( taking them to the ghost zone ) and making sure to cause extra destruction in government buildings ( because petty) and even stealing things from museums and private collections ( ghost artifacts ) and the bats are in confusion as they try to catch them ( all the Shapeshifting forms that the bats have seen are dinos, gator person, and Merfolk, I think that Danny Dan and elly would stick to more scaly forms ) 
Very rushed Valentines doodle. Idk if this is the shapeshifting u meant but uhhh cat Jack lmao. And also cat Toothless XD thanks for the req @solverstarlight
