You know how people sometimes get a cat by just having a random stray cat with no collar and no chip walk in and sit on the couch like "yo fucknuts I live here now", and the people just go "well fuck, guess I gotta go get a litterbox then."

Now consider: Humans doing that to the fae. Not being captured by the fae folk, not taken against their will but stubbornly walking in to their realm and refusing to leave before one of them agrees to take this damn creature. Faeries telling each other "naww come on, you can't make it leave, it already ate your food. Everyone knows you gotta keep them if you've fed them."

And another faery yells back "I did not fucking feed that thing, it climbed into my pantry and was eating flour straight out of the bag!"

Monsters & Maw Patreon returns 21st October, with a Dullahan story in time for Halloween!

Extract:

A mist on Samhain night coiled its curious fingers through the hawthorn hedgerows and carded the bone-pale grasses along the verge with gentle, sighing caresses. At the fulcrum of the year, when the last warmth of summer had truly faded, and the biting maw of winter had yet to show its teeth, you came truly alive for a precious few weeks.

You sighed around a smile, softly sweeping the birch bristles of the broom back and forth across the flagstone that marked the entrance to your cottage, and hoped to sweep away the bad luck that seemed to have gathered like choking dust in all the corners of your life that year. You were ready for the restorative stillness that winter would bring, but you weren’t quite ready to let go of the bounty of a rich autumn either.

That afternoon, you’d set your carved Jack o’ Lantern grinning on the step, and you’d given your private remembrances to the recently departed. You’d walked sunwise round your house with a bough of smouldering fir to cleanse the space with smoke, and you’d offered firewood from your stores to the village boys who’d trekked all the way out to your lonely cottage to make sure that your hearth was included in the communal bonfire. In the morning, you would go down to the smouldering embers on the village green and light your own torch to bind your hearth to the rest of the community, but for the moment, you were alone on the edge of things.

Now, as the tiny crescent of moon sailed out from behind the bare, silhouetted branches of the old copse of ash and oak behind the drystone wall, you leaned a moment on the wooden gate at the end of the garden path, and tilted your face to its frail, faltering light.

Your breath made ghosts dance in the air, and as you rested there and smelled the last of the mint in the garden beside you, the sound of hoofbeats on the road disturbed the dark and the quiet of the night.

It was far too late for any of the villagers to be venturing up the road now. Travellers were rare on Samhain night, and yet a horse was approaching at a steady, measured walk, and eventually, the hazy outline of a rider on a huge, ragged mount melted from the mist.

Your heart leapt to your throat and you stepped back, trying not to trip or stumble or bolt to your house for fear of insulting the rider. This was no human being sitting astride that monstrous horse with its rolling red eyes.

For one, the rider had no head.

“Dullahan,” you breathed before you could stop yourself, and you felt their attention sharpen onto you. You bit back a hissing curse at your stupidity just in time and stood your ground. There was an iron horseshoe above your door, and you wondered if that would be enough to protect you from this Unseelie Fae.

The horse’s hooves slowed and it tossed its head, snorting and blowing steam in the cold night, and the rider turned to regard you with a head that wasn’t there.

---

You will be able to read the whole story on the 'Little Ghosties' tier of Patreon from 21st October 2023!

I hope to see you there for more like this, and if you want to know a little more about it, here's the post I made to let folks know about my Patreon coming back!

You can read it right here!

Content: male dullahan, feisty horse with Opinions™, gender neutral reader, some threat to life, capture, non-detailed mention of rough interrogation (none from love interest), and some non-penetrative sex to finish :) Wordcount: 9767

(Patreon is now live after a small technical hitch)

Monsters & Maw Patreon returns 21st October, with a Dullahan story in time for Halloween!

Extract:

A mist on Samhain night coiled its curious fingers through the hawthorn hedgerows and carded the bone-pale grasses along the verge with gentle, sighing caresses. At the fulcrum of the year, when the last warmth of summer had truly faded, and the biting maw of winter had yet to show its teeth, you came truly alive for a precious few weeks.

You sighed around a smile, softly sweeping the birch bristles of the broom back and forth across the flagstone that marked the entrance to your cottage, and hoped to sweep away the bad luck that seemed to have gathered like choking dust in all the corners of your life that year. You were ready for the restorative stillness that winter would bring, but you weren’t quite ready to let go of the bounty of a rich autumn either.

That afternoon, you’d set your carved Jack o’ Lantern grinning on the step, and you’d given your private remembrances to the recently departed. You’d walked sunwise round your house with a bough of smouldering fir to cleanse the space with smoke, and you’d offered firewood from your stores to the village boys who’d trekked all the way out to your lonely cottage to make sure that your hearth was included in the communal bonfire. In the morning, you would go down to the smouldering embers on the village green and light your own torch to bind your hearth to the rest of the community, but for the moment, you were alone on the edge of things.

Now, as the tiny crescent of moon sailed out from behind the bare, silhouetted branches of the old copse of ash and oak behind the drystone wall, you leaned a moment on the wooden gate at the end of the garden path, and tilted your face to its frail, faltering light.

Your breath made ghosts dance in the air, and as you rested there and smelled the last of the mint in the garden beside you, the sound of hoofbeats on the road disturbed the dark and the quiet of the night.

It was far too late for any of the villagers to be venturing up the road now. Travellers were rare on Samhain night, and yet a horse was approaching at a steady, measured walk, and eventually, the hazy outline of a rider on a huge, ragged mount melted from the mist.

Your heart leapt to your throat and you stepped back, trying not to trip or stumble or bolt to your house for fear of insulting the rider. This was no human being sitting astride that monstrous horse with its rolling red eyes.

For one, the rider had no head.

“Dullahan,” you breathed before you could stop yourself, and you felt their attention sharpen onto you. You bit back a hissing curse at your stupidity just in time and stood your ground. There was an iron horseshoe above your door, and you wondered if that would be enough to protect you from this Unseelie Fae.

The horse’s hooves slowed and it tossed its head, snorting and blowing steam in the cold night, and the rider turned to regard you with a head that wasn’t there.

---

You will be able to read the whole story on the 'Little Ghosties' tier of Patreon from 21st October 2023!

I hope to see you there for more like this, and if you want to know a little more about it, here's the post I made to let folks know about my Patreon coming back!

You can read it right here!

Content: male dullahan, feisty horse with Opinions™, gender neutral reader, some threat to life, capture, non-detailed mention of rough interrogation (none from love interest), and some non-penetrative sex to finish :) Wordcount: 9767

(Patreon is now live after a small technical hitch)

Monsters & Maw Patreon returns 21st October, with a Dullahan story in time for Halloween!

Extract:

A mist on Samhain night coiled its curious fingers through the hawthorn hedgerows and carded the bone-pale grasses along the verge with gentle, sighing caresses. At the fulcrum of the year, when the last warmth of summer had truly faded, and the biting maw of winter had yet to show its teeth, you came truly alive for a precious few weeks.

You sighed around a smile, softly sweeping the birch bristles of the broom back and forth across the flagstone that marked the entrance to your cottage, and hoped to sweep away the bad luck that seemed to have gathered like choking dust in all the corners of your life that year. You were ready for the restorative stillness that winter would bring, but you weren’t quite ready to let go of the bounty of a rich autumn either.

That afternoon, you’d set your carved Jack o’ Lantern grinning on the step, and you’d given your private remembrances to the recently departed. You’d walked sunwise round your house with a bough of smouldering fir to cleanse the space with smoke, and you’d offered firewood from your stores to the village boys who’d trekked all the way out to your lonely cottage to make sure that your hearth was included in the communal bonfire. In the morning, you would go down to the smouldering embers on the village green and light your own torch to bind your hearth to the rest of the community, but for the moment, you were alone on the edge of things.

Now, as the tiny crescent of moon sailed out from behind the bare, silhouetted branches of the old copse of ash and oak behind the drystone wall, you leaned a moment on the wooden gate at the end of the garden path, and tilted your face to its frail, faltering light.

Your breath made ghosts dance in the air, and as you rested there and smelled the last of the mint in the garden beside you, the sound of hoofbeats on the road disturbed the dark and the quiet of the night.

It was far too late for any of the villagers to be venturing up the road now. Travellers were rare on Samhain night, and yet a horse was approaching at a steady, measured walk, and eventually, the hazy outline of a rider on a huge, ragged mount melted from the mist.

Your heart leapt to your throat and you stepped back, trying not to trip or stumble or bolt to your house for fear of insulting the rider. This was no human being sitting astride that monstrous horse with its rolling red eyes.

For one, the rider had no head.

“Dullahan,” you breathed before you could stop yourself, and you felt their attention sharpen onto you. You bit back a hissing curse at your stupidity just in time and stood your ground. There was an iron horseshoe above your door, and you wondered if that would be enough to protect you from this Unseelie Fae.

The horse’s hooves slowed and it tossed its head, snorting and blowing steam in the cold night, and the rider turned to regard you with a head that wasn’t there.

---

You will be able to read the whole story on the 'Little Ghosties' tier of Patreon from 21st October 2023!

I hope to see you there for more like this, and if you want to know a little more about it, here's the post I made to let folks know about my Patreon coming back!

Male cave/underground fae x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So this was the last of my requests from the first batch. I was asked to do a kobold, but one not like the D&D creatures. No candles here. This story kicked my butt first time round, but after re-writing the entire thing, with a new setting, a new reader, and a new monster, I’m really proud of this one. I think he’s probably one of my favourite monsters. His aesthetic is also my fav so far.

Featuring a reader who’s a geologist, and whose gender I don’t mention, and a baby-pink safety helmet… I present Graith. It’s also set up nicely for an anon who commissioned me to write a male selkie x female reader for them based on this post.

___

You’d prepped for this trip with your sister for a long time, but now that you were actually on the road, the windows down, the country air flooding the cabin of her rusty old pickup, you felt exhilarated in a way you’d not quite anticipated.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Ugh,” you groaned, tilting your head back into the seat. “You have no idea. Stuck in a stuffy lecture hall with undergrads fresh out of school, thinking they’re the dog’s bollocks… Ugh.”

Your sister laughed, her hair, the same shade as yours, blowing in the breeze. “I thought geologists were supposed to live out in the field, you know: wild, beer drinking, valley-mapping, song-singing hippies… I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long in that job.”

You punched her hard on the arm and she laughed again, keeping the pickup on the narrow road with no difficulty. “How long til we get there, loser?” you asked.

“No more than an hour now,” she said. “It’s not that far, but the roads round here are apparently shit…”

Just under an hour later you arrived at the cottage and began to shift your gear and bags inside. The baby pink hard hat your sister had bought you as a joke for your birthday last year took pride of place next to your rucksack and boots. There was a cave at the end of the small gorge on the property, which supposedly had fantastic examples of petrified leaves, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to study it.

You had no food in the cottage yet, so the pair of you headed to the local pub about a mile down the road, and managed to eat your own bodyweight in delicious local seafood, and get a number of local folk tunes stuck in your head as well. The live band was really good.

Your sister, ever the history buff, had planned to take the truck the next day to the ferry port about six miles to the north of the white-washed, stone cottage, and from there spend the day on the island that had been sacred to people from pre-Christian times. You, however, were interested in things considerably older than that; namely, a bunch of rocks.

You headed out into dreary sheets of misting mizzle the next morning as the truck rounded the corner, headed in the opposite direction. You had your backpack and all your fairly minimal gear on your back, and you crossed the sheep field behind the house before descending into the gorge along a narrow, slippery path.

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