monsters are people too

anonymous asked:

Okay, so here I am, an innocent lurker, having just found this blog, when I see: "what if the skywalkers were cthulu-type monsters." excuse me??? please elaborate you just wrote that and nothing else im dying ex p la i n y o ur s el f

  • The Force is everything that ever was and ever will be, every storm and every silence, the hunting krayk dragon and cowering bantha calf: it is huge, all-consuming, completely inhuman. How, then, could its children be anything short of monstrous? (Wonders, yes. But monsters all the same.)
  • Anakin Skywalker is boy-shaped, but Obi Wan cannot bear to look at him. 
  • A clarification: he can look at him with his human eyes; but he must clamp down the extra eyes his Force-sensitivity gives him, because when he doesn’t – well. The first time he met the boy he hadn’t closed those eyes; he’d open them, wide and curious and seen –
    • teeth and claws and roiling shadows, a slipslide of features and starfire, the white blur of warpspeed and it hurts –
  • Anakin Skywalker is the son of the Force, half human and half something extraordinary. There’s a reason the Jedi don’t like him, why Yoda mistrusts him; they all have to close their extra eyes around him; and even when they’re white-knuckled with effort, clamping down so the Force can’t so much as whisper to them (and that hurts Jedi, of course it does, it runs counter to all their training about opening up and trusting in the Force) and even then they still feel the velvet quiver of unseen limbs over their skin. 
  • And more. And worse. When he is angry – which is often – his shadow warps into something awful, and even the least Force-sensitive being quails at the profound wrongness of the sight. His features warp and melt, teeth spiralling out from his pupils, his mouth cracks open wide, his tongue growing scales and feathers and catching fire and he smiles, oh how he smiles and –
    • nothing like him should exist and
    • and you blink, lose the moment, he’s just a young man glowering at you, and his shadow is the same, but the memory of that horror is seared into the back of your brain.
  • It is no surprise that Padme dies in childbed. 
  • The first child’s cry makes Obi Wan’s bones rattle. It – you could not call it anything but an it – is a twisting, squirming mess of light and dark. There’s a wing, a thorned branch: you cannot focus on it. You cannot pin a shape to it. Obi Wan wants to run away, run and never look back. But the Med Droid is offering it to him; and it is a child, of a sort; and Obi Wan takes it, and it coalesces into a soft pink baby girl. He places it – her – against Padme’s white breast. Padme cradles it. “She’s beautiful.”
  • The second is just the same: pushed out like any human baby, but a roling mess of lightening and thick syrupy cloud, one moment tentacled and the next furred, pure power condensed. Obi Wan takes it in his arms and it solidifies into another fat baby, small and squalling. 
  • He’s not like the other babies, Luke Skywalker. He’s a funny one. When he smiles, you have the sudden absurd impulse that he’s got too many teeth for his face. His hair is corn-gold, but when you see it out of the corner of your eye you swear that it isn’t hair at all, but fire and teeth. Looking at him too long is like staring into the sun. 
  • The other children are scared of him, Behu says to Owen, once. And Owen says: children always know. And Behu says: he isn’t a bad kid. Owen says: he’s a wonder. And that’s the problem. 
  • Jabba’s goons go to the Lars farm to collect water once. Only once. They return to Jabba’s palace gibbering nonsense, with their eyes burned out. Both mumble something about there’s something wrong with the boy and then jump into the ragnar pit. 
  • Don’t do that again, says Owen, but he hugs his nephew all the same, pulls him close, kisses his temple. He feels something hot-cold run over his spine, like something far larger than the child is trying to embrace him back. That night, Behu runs her fingers over the new white scartissue on her husband’s back, and says, he’s a good kid. Owen says, I know.
  • If I was there I could have saved them, Luke says to Ben Kenobi, years later, and in that moment he has a thousand thousand eyes and all of them are burning, and he has no limbs but a dozen wings bearing him aloft, and each feather is molten gold and each feather drips blood. Ben thinks of Anakin, screws his Force-sensitivity closed. Luke is a monster. A wonder. But first and foremost he is a boy, and he is grieving. 
    • Ben Kenobi holds him while he weeps. 
  • When Leia comes, she turns into a celestial horror with more teeth than Han cares to count. “Huh,” he says, after their first time. She’s so little in his arms, but so vast. He feels something gentle his back. He says, “Next time, I’ll wear a blindfold, princess. Don’t want to blind me, do you? Then I won’t be able to see when you’re doing stupid shit.” She titters, presses her face into the curve of his neck. 
    • Love comes to everyone, including monsters. 
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Whoniverse: Class - a Quill an episode for the BBC America broadcast (1x01)

"White people are evil!"

YEAH, we fuckin are! Remove the word “white” and you’ll find an even more liberating truth!

As Jordan Peterson said: the world is full of monsters. What we often forget is that we’re monsters too.

4

i wanted to draw the bros growing up together, riddled with my redhead glasses headcanons (and sebastian only ever being taller than sam once in his life)

Unpopular opinion: I want a show that does “monster of the week” to just do “monster of the week” and let character development and world building happen organically next to it. There is no need for this “dun dun dunnn real danger now uh uh uh are they going to survive or not, this could be the end of the world!” -bullshit that every show gets into. If characters can die they can die during “monster of the week” -type basic missions (which frankly will make it more surprising) or they can get ill and die during the character/world building parts. 

Like I would sincerely enjoy a show that doesn’t have some big overarching plot, just the regular life of the characters, whether they are paranormal monster hunters or work in a fucking cupcake factory. 

Of the things I can remember ever watching I think X-Files did pretty much this. I can’t remember the overall plot very well if there was any, other than some sort of… mystery conspiracy in the government or something. But like most episodes were like “someone was killed in Kansas. Lets go to an environment that is clearly in New England somewhere to investigate. Oh wow it was Mothman. Scully missed it, of course.” 

The Beauty Of Bates Motel

Ok but listen to me, let me bend your ear for a moment about Bates Motel and why it’s so special, especially for the horror genre, because there are no real villains in Bates Motel

Norman Bates is not a bad person, he’s a messed up person

Norma Bates is not a bad person, she’s a messed up person

Norman and Norma are not inherently bad people who do bad things because they’re bad, they’re messed up people in messed up circumstances who do bad things for a list of reasons- not always good reasons, but reasons, unlike in so much of the horror genre, Bates Motel doesn’t have the reasoning of “This is a bad person and that’s the only reason you need for why they’re doing something bad”, there’s always a reason that can be easily linked to the events going on around them

Most of the people in Bates Motel are not bad people, they don’t get pleasure out of doing bad things, they don’t go about doing bad things because they consciously want to do bad things, they do bad things because they’re lost, unfortunate, tragic people who are in lost, unfortunate, and tragic circumstances

And that is just… so spectacular, and so special, and what really makes Bates Motel a beautifully done, special thing for the genre

It even does this much better than Psycho- in my opinion- because of Norma in particular, because the story isn’t “This was a bad mother, look at the monster she created”, the story was “A monster hurt her and she’s doing her best but she’s messed up, and a monster hurt her son and he’s doing his best but he’s messed up too”

The show also gives so many outs to the charectors too, it shows that these people aren’t monsters or bad people because it constantly shows moments where you can see that there COULD be an escape, there COULD be an opportunity for someone to get better (and we see that Dylan is a prime example of one of those opportunities actually being TAKEN) such as Norman being in the hospital, and there are opportunities that show “This is where they could have done a bad thing but didn’t because __” and typically “bad people” don’t have those moments- especially so many of them

My point is, Bates Motel is such a treasure because it never took the cheap way out, as a horror show, there are a billion and one moments that they could have leaned back and said “They did this bad thing because they’re a bad person and that’s that” and they never did that, and they never missed an opportunity to show the human sides- the good sides- of these charectors, they never missed a chance to show that these are just people- not bad people, not evil people, just…. people, and they’re messed up and in bad circumstances and they’re fighting against a river’s current all the time, they’re people that maybe could have had better outcomes if A changed and if B didn’t happen and it’s each and every one of those circumstances that pushed each and every action

Bates Motel is a beautifully done example of truly realistic horror, because these are people, who are not inherently bad, driven to do bad things by bad circumstances and that could be anyone

6

And the last part! Which leads straight to this one.

Feeling lost? Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(Coffee shop AU)

anonymous asked:

I know you were joking in your tags about the thing at the end of the corridor being the Being but honestly that makes me feel so much better about feeling like there's someone just hanging around in the dark in my house. The Being can hang out as much as he likes, I get to pee without worrying about murderous creatures roaming my house, it's a win-win!

see, there you go!! he may be spooky, but he doesn’t mean you any harm. if you feel a presence in your room or think you see a shadow, that’s just him — you may find a piece of fruit missing from the bowl on your counter or a book missing from your shelf, but he’ll make up for it. he’s considerate. 

I really like how much of kids media has thinly-veiled analogies for queer people (and even openly queer characters! Props to you, Steven Universe). But I think of things like Love Monster by Rachel Bright and Welcome to My Life by Elizabeth Ito and it kind of gives me an uncomfortable feeling? I love both of these stories. I think they’re really cute and both have good messages. I think they’re very obviously queer-coded and that’s great.

But why do they have to be monsters? What makes people go “ah yes, the best way to explain same-sex relationships to children is to make the queer people have fangs and claws.” I mean, I see the idea. Take something that looks scary and show that it’s actually not scary. The fangs don’t bite, the claws are only for protection, not for hurting. They just look bad.

But here’s the thing: queer people don’t look scary. We don’t look bad. We don’t look like monsters. And I don’t want to say that it does more harm than good to portray us this way, but I think that there a lot of other ways that people could do it, you know? More accurate ways. Less harmful ways.

Tell kids that this character is ostracized because they like a different flavor of ice cream. Tell them this character is treated differently because they sing loudly. They don’t listen to the same music. They wear different clothes. They’re from a different town. If you really have to go with non-human character, make it something kids want to be: a unicorn, a mermaid, a fairy.

Because telling someone it’s okay to be a monster is still calling them a monster, and that’s not okay.

Depiction of Love; 1

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader 
Genre:  Angst | drabble series (vampire!AU)
Summary:  The very depiction of love, a kiss, can be given in a rush before leaving the house or with indubitably different intentions in the corner of a crowded room but it is always a silent secret held between the lips of the receivers, the lovers, the couple. It is always different, as different as the feelings buoying around it are for, its peculiarity, is the lack of voidness.
Prompt: “We can never be together” kiss.
Word Count: 1.456 words
AN: basically I just fell in love with a drabble game about kisses (here) and I just couldn’t resist making a series out of it. To be honest I’m not sure if I’m going to do all the kisses but I have an idea for at least half of the list. This was started on a mere impulse so I’m not sure myself how the updates are going to go since I’m currently working on other (many) projects.

Originally posted by sugagifs

The first scent he detects is the one of Douglas fir – the ginger wood of which her house is made of and that smells so much like home by now – and he automatically speeds up, his whole being pushing him beyond his limits so he can hold her in his arms and chase all his demons away.
It’s their last night together, he knows that, and he really shouldn’t be this eager to see her but, the only thought of touching her, even one last time, is enough to make his feet hit the concrete floor at a speed not deemed possible for any human being.
He inhales deeply, his whole body stirring when he catches the whiff of cinnamon tea, a scent that constantly accompanies her and that he can always taste in her mouth.
He stops altogether because there she is, in all her mundane beauty, her long hair tucked safely behind her ear, eyes focused on the book in her hands and bottom lip trapped under her teeth into an almost painful vise. She is, by far, the utmost beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on and, undoubtedly, the only one that was capable of conquering his un-beating heart.
His steps are soundless as he approaches her, a small smile tugging on his lips as he curtails their distance, every detail of her face now imprinted in his memory so he can remember her just the way she is now: healthy, beautiful, alive.
“You look lovely tonight”, his voice is soft as he says so, careful not to scare her and make her heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s would, but that chariness it’s not enough because she jumps in her seat nonetheless, the little screech that escapes her mouth eliciting a grin to appear on his features.
“You scared the living shit out of me!”, she hoots in utter outrage, her small hand clasping her heart into a melodramatic gesture.
“I missed you”, he purposely ignores her words and lifts her from the chair – her weight close to one of a feather in his hands – just so he can wrap his arms around her, keep her so close to his own body he can’t discern their boundaries anymore, and breathe in the perfume in her neck and hair.

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The Desert Sun was Never Cold

There are many stories told of princesses, each described as the most elegant, the most beautiful princess who had ever lived. None of these stories are true, for the most beautiful princess who ever lived is, without a doubt, the desert Princess Sun.

From the moment Sun was born she has been graced with the gift of beauty, her skin is black and pure, her dark hair thick and coiled, eyes so brown you would believe they were born of the earth, and kissed by the sun with flecks of gold.

As Princess Sun grows, so too does her beauty and grace, sun gifted vitiligo on her skin growing and strengthening as she ages. Strangers travel the harsh desert of her homeland just to gaze upon her, and bring gifts to earn her favour. All those who come wish to be the one to receive a royal kiss from the Princess’ own perfect lips.

Sun is kind and gracious, she will offer food, drink and shelter to those who travel to greet her, but never will she offer a kiss. Some will plead and beg, others bargain and bribe, but not a single soul is able to pry the much yearned kiss from the lips of the world’s most beautiful princess.

“It is a silly tradition,” Sun will tell her servants, “A kiss will not heal them of their weariness, a kiss will not fill their bellies or dry their parched mouths. I offer them something they should value far more for their efforts and still they remain stubborn for the touch of my flesh upon theirs. I refuse to take part in such a useless exchange.”

A palace guard risks his life for hers and is refused a kiss, but offered medicine and a life of ease in the palace. A magician saves her people from a frightful Monster of the Sand, she too is refused a kiss, and instead given gold and jewels and rare herbs for her potions. Princess Sun gives only what is deserved and what is needed, she gives generously, her people love her, her people respect her, and yet-

“The Sun is cold,” her people say. “I hear she has never loved, she has never embraced another, never even touched another. She is generous in spirit but she is cold of heart.”

They pity their princess, incapable of love, cursed to be forever alone without a soulmate to complete her. They mean well, but Sun loathes the whispers. She is not cursed, she is not incomplete, but she is lonely.

She is loved by all and befriended by none, those she meet want her kisses, they want her devotion, they want her to bear their children, they do not want her unless they can have her lips or her hand or her womb, all things Sun is unwilling to give.

“I do not understand,” she says to her servants, “I give them all that they need and they ask only for parts of my body. How can my body give them the pleasure of a soft bed, or a fine wine? What pleasures can my body give them that riches and jewels cannot buy? I do not understand.”

Her servants say nothing, they understand the pleasures of the body that Sun has never craved, but these are not things to be spoken of to a Princess.

Things change with the presence of a new visitor to the palace. His pale skin is wrinkled and sallow, face gaunt, eyes sunken and back bent, he appears simultaneously bloated and withered. The servants fetch Princess Sun immediately and she hastens to greet the ill foreigner.

“I have not long in this world to live,” he rasps. “Please, all I ask of you Princess is a kiss, a kiss from your own beautiful lips to ease my pain.”

“Nonsense,” says Sun. “You are not in need of a kiss, you are in need of medicine and herbs and rest. My servants will take you to a room of your own, you will have your own personal healer and food and drink delivered to your bed.”

The old man clutches his chest in pain, “But my lady! I have come all this way at the end of my life just to gaze upon you, and you will not even ferry me to the afterlife with the touch of your soft lips upon my cheek?”

Sun feels pity for the man, in his state she knows he may not last the night, but she cannot accept his request, he is ill and perhaps diseased, were she to kiss him she may become sick herself and she would not risk her own health for the sake of a simple useless gesture.

“I am sorry I cannot grant your request, but I can give you comfort, my most beautiful guest room and the finest foods you can eat. If my healers fail you and you pass into the afterlife this night, you will pass on in luxury.”

In the great arched entrance of the royal palace the hideous old beggar transforms. In his place there is a stunningly beautiful young man encased within a whirlwind of pure light, his hair is like spun gold and the blue of the sky dances in his eyes.

He points a slim, delicate finger encrusted in shimmering jewels at the stunned Princess.

“You believe your wealth to be of more worth to an old dying man than a simple gesture of love and warmth. The Sun of this kingdom truly is cold. You do not deserve the beauty you flaunt in the faces of all those who adore you, those you bring the hope of love and then snatch away in exchange for mere trinkets! You are a heartless beast!”

As the servants cower before this shining Sorcerer in his otherworldly beauty, Sun stands firm. A scowl on her lips and the flare of her namesake in her eyes, she is no helpless waif and she will not be intimidated.

“I offered you comfort and medicine!” Sun’s voice echoes through the halls of the palace. “I offered an old beggar the luxury of passing on in peace with the chance to live another day, a chance to keep his flame alight! Most paupers could only dream of such a way to pass! How dare you liken this gift to a mere ‘trinket’! Were I a princess of any other kingdom I would have granted you your precious kiss and left you on the street to DIE! And yet you call ME heartless?!”

The Sorcerer’s soft, pink lips pull up in a sneer. “I see you will not easily learn your lesson Cold Sun. It will take more than my words to prove to you the meaning of a tender loving touch to one in need.”

“Don’t preach false lessons to me Sorcerer,” Sun spits. “You come into my home a liar, here to steal my intimacy through trickery and now that you’ve failed you claim a higher morality to save your ego. I see right through you Sorcerer, you are no more than a selfish, deceitful, entitled BRAT.”

The Sorcerer’s face hardens in fury, his magic lashing out and twisting around Sun, grabbing at her with golden hands of light, fingers clawing and grasping until not even a strand of the Princess’ dark hair is visible under the blinding light of the strange magic.

“YOU HAVE MADE A GRAVE MISTAKE THIS DAY COLD SUN, FROM THIS MOMENT FORWARD YOU WILL REGRET EVERY KISS YOU NEVER GAVE, FOR NO HUMAN ON THIS EARTH WILL EVER LOOK UPON YOU WITH LOVE AGAIN. NEVER WILL YOUR KISSES BE COVETED, NEVER WILL YOUR HAND BE SOUGHT AFTER. YOUR BODY WILL REFLECT WHO YOU TRULY ARE INSIDE, A COLD, HEARTLESS BEAST.”

As the Sorcerer’s magic peels away, the palace guards and servants look on in horror as a creature unlike anything they have ever seen is revealed in the place of their beloved princess.

Knotted locks of dull, tangled hair covers her large, hulking body, standing on all fours her sharp claws dig into the marble floor as she shakes off the tattered remains of her fine clothing. A ragged tail cuts sharply through the air as Sun rears her head, flicking a matted black mane off of her beastly snout and ghastly twisted horns.

All that remains of the beautiful Princess are the sun kissed markings upon her deformed face, and the bright flecks of gold within the black beads of her monstrous eyes.

The twisted beastly lioness turns to face her servants as they run in terror, pointed ears twitching at the sound of the Sorcerer’s manic laughter. Before she can leap upon him he disappears, leaving in his wake an enormous pulsing heart of molten flame. It hovers in the centre of the palace hall, shifting shape and shooting off tendrils of fire with every beat.

A mocking voice echoes through the palace doors, “If you fail to find someone who will look upon your monstrous form and willingly place a kiss to your beastly snout before the heart grows cold, then, and only then, will my spell be broken. It is your turn to yearn for a tender touch that will never come.”

Sun roars. She roars in anger, she roars in despair, she roars in outrage at this unfair curse undeservingly placed upon her. She has no lesson to learn, she has done nothing but show kindness and generosity to all who graced her halls, and still it is not enough, it has NEVER been enough.

She refuses to be punished for the greed of the Sorcerer, she refuses to bow to his whim and search for one who will kiss her, she has never wanted such things and this new beastly form will not change that for her now.

If she is to be this way forever, so be it.

Her servants quickly abandon the palace, guards blockade the front gates to keep the monster inside. Sun knows that she could easily jump the outer walls but she thinks better of it, her people are terrified of her, her presence would insight only violence and panic among them. She stays inside the palace, wondering what to do next, she no longer has a village to run, no diplomats to meet, no treasury to organise, no future to plan for.

Sun cannot remember a time where she had so little to do, so she sleeps.

Her claws tear up the fine silken sheets and her heavy mass collapses the bed frame, but she hardly notices once she lays her great maned head down to slumber. Sun does not dream, the fate of her village and her people does not come to her mind, all of her stress and worries simply melt away, but she cannot sleep forever.

When she wakes and finds herself unable to grasp the calming nothingness of her deep slumber once again, she concedes to the waking world. Lifting herself upon her large legs she walks the palace grounds. She has not eaten yet she feels no hunger or thirst, and so cannot use such needs to distract her, boredom settles upon her quickly and Sun begins her search for entertainment. She avoids the palace entrance, and the large pulsing heart of fire within.

Word spreads through the village fast, “The Princess has become a beast!” they say, “Cursed by a Sorcerer, only a kiss will free her!”

The palace guards stay by the gates for days, they stay as the people flee to neighbouring villages, wishing to keep their children safe from the monster behind the palace walls. The beast makes no move to escape, but every so often the guards will hear the heavy footfalls of the creature shuffling through the gardens and they remain in place. Their princess would have wanted it.

As days pass the village degrades, most left the day the curse was laid, others followed slowly as resources dwindled and looted homes become empty of valuables. The guards are the last to leave, ensuring that no one has been left behind.

Sun wakes one morning to silence from outside the walls. In her boredom she had circled the grounds, listening to the guards chatting outside. She recognised most of them by voice, she had considered many of them friends after all, but her friendship had always been one-sided. She could speak freely to them, but they could never speak freely to her, it had always been that way. Sun will miss listening to them talk casually amongst themselves.

Years pass and the princess swiftly runs out of ways to keep herself occupied and the palace begins to fall apart with neglect, her library is useless to her when her claws tear apart any book she sets her paws on, the gardens become more and more overrun with weeds every day, the once beautiful golden sheen of the palace walls become dulled without regular cleaning. Floors begin to crack under Sun’s immense weight, many narrow doorways are destroyed when she tries to fit through them. Parts of the palace roof and walls degrade quickly from her daily climbs up to watch the sun rise and set over the dunes.

Though she does not require food Sun still eats from the overgrown trees and vines from her once impeccable garden and leaps over the walls to reach the large oasis that her servants would fetch water from to deliver to the castle so long ago. She had never visited the large lake herself before she was cursed, but she now does so regularly, as splashing through the water feels wonderful on her thick, dark fur.

With every year that passes, Sun forgets more and more of her human life as she falls into the nature of a beast, hunting rodents and small critters through the empty streets of the village, sharpening her claws on the remains of sandstone walls. Chasing and pouncing upon the surviving abandoned livestock for sport, eating only out of boredom than any real need for food, more interested in chewing on the bones left behind.

There is hardly a shred of Princess left in the beast that roams the neglected desert kingdom, and the Cold Sun lords over the grounds with eyes of pure gold and a heart that no longer feels.

Until the day comes when a stranger enters her palace.

She is small and weak, young and fragile. Damp from a dip in the oasis but the smell of unwashed clothes and many days of travel still cling to her skin. Sun stalks the malnourished waif through the ruined village, watching as she raids old stalls and homes in search of something. Food? Treasures? The girl’s search leads her to the palace, she climbs over loose stones through a break in the dilapidated wall and enters the great doors.

Sun, focused on the hunt, follows the girl, she forgets that she has not been inside the entrance hall in many many years, she forgets why she has been avoiding this place for so long, she forgets until she looks upon the great heart slowly pulsing in the centre of the room. Every beat sends a weak tongue of flame flickering through the cracks of the icy skin that has grown around it. Heat shimmers below the cold armour, splashing the walls with eerily beautiful patterns of light.

Sun remembers.

The Sorcerer, the curse, her Palace, her people. Sun is a princess, Sun is a leader, Sun is a woman who cares deeply and gives generously. Sun is not a beast, Sun is not cold like the heart before her. Sun is not cold. Sun is NOT cold.

“Sun is not cold.” her great, gravelly voice echoes through the chamber.

The ragged girl, entranced by the heart before her, quickly turns to find she is not alone. Sun can see the fear on her face, she can smell it in the air, it sickens her.

“Do not be afraid child.” Sun sits on her haunches, tail sweeping lazy across the grand marble floor. “I mean you no harm.”

“You are the Great Beast,” the girl says. “I believed you to be a story, a legend to frighten away thieves.”

“Are you a thief?” asks Sun.

“No! I am not here to steal treasures! I simply seek shelter from the harsh desert winds.”

The girl’s skin is rough, her eyes and lips are red, chapped and raw, but there is also hunger in her narrow emaciated face. Sun knows it was not merely the promise of shelter that brought her here.

“Did not the temptation of my lush gardens draw you in? Did you not hope to find food behind the palace walls?”

“I had no intention of theft Great Beast! I did hope to perhaps find food in your garden, but now I know this garden has not been abandoned, and so I will not take from it. Unless you would allow me? I have little to trade but I will give you everything I have for a night’s rest and a full belly.”

Sun thinks. She thinks of the curse and the girl and a trade. A kiss on her beastly snout for a night of rest and respite. The heart is close to frozen, she has little time left, it is a fair trade is it not?

Sun shakes her wild mane in disgust. Never in her life has she asked a price for food and comfort, she has given freely to all those in need who have graced her halls, she refuses to change now. Curse be damned. The Sorcerer’s magic heart can grow as cold as the lands of the far north for all she cares, for her own heart will always be warm as the desert sands, warm as the great celestial being she was named for.

Sun does not need a kiss to prove so.

“The palace and gardens are yours to roam at your leisure, the garden’s spoils and the water of the oasis are yours to gorge yourself on as you please. I need only look upon you to see that you have lived a life of poverty and pain, so know that for as long as you remain here, you will be cared for. I will give you all that you need, child.”

The girl’s face is clear with suspicion. “Do you intend to fatten me up to eat me?” she asks.

Sun laughs, a mighty roar of a laugh that sends the short, black hairs on the young girl’s neck standing straight. Her blazing eyes soften to a comforting dark brown, only subtle flecks of their previous gold shining through.

“Child, of food I have plenty. Of company, I have only you.”

The girl, though still weary of the beast, does not turn up her nose at the generous offer. She feasts upon the sweet fruits of the garden, returns to fill her water-skin at the oasis when it runs dry, and the Great Beast simply sits and watches, leaving her side only once to return with the leg of a large, hoofed animal for her dinner. The young girl sleeps in the most comfortable, luxurious bed she has ever laid eyes on that night, pleasantly surprised to find that she has not been eaten in the morning.

The girl does not leave the next day as planned, never has she been so comfortable and well fed, never has she had such a pick of fine, though dusty, clothes to wear, never has she had someone look over her with such generosity and care.

“If the Great Beast truly wishes to fatten me up and eat me,” she thinks to herself, “perhaps I won’t mind if it means living my last days like this.”

The girl does not merely spend days living alongside the Great Beast, she stays a much longer time. Every day she wakes fearing her generous host less and less, she passes time telling stories of her travels, the places she’s seen and the many languages she speaks. For a girl so young she has been through so much, and she is grateful to have a place to rest and feel safe.

“My name is Acacia.” the girl says one night as she lays against her friend’s great black hide, decorating her mane with tidy, twists and braids.

“You may call me Sun.” the beast says in return.

During daily visits to the lake they both romp and play in the water, splashing and roughhousing before drying off in the desert heat. Acacia helps Sun brush the clinging sand from her fur, and in return Sun will lick the sand from Acacia’s own short locks of hair.

Acacia spend the years teaching Sun the many songs and rhymes she has learned in all her languages, Sun teaches Acacia how to hunt and track and kill large prey. The two run together through the dunes, chasing the wind and challenging the sandstorms, for they know that no force on this earth can take them down when they ride together.

One day Acacia ask, “How is it that you became a beast? Stories tell of a curse, that you were changed for being cold of heart, but I can hardly believe such a lie about one so warm and loving.”

“Those who hold magic are not always deserving of their power,” says Sun. “The curse is what froze my heart dear Acacia. It is you who reminded me of it’s warmth again.”

“Is it true you can be saved with a kiss?” Acacia asks. “You have done so much for me, if a kiss is what is required to end your curse I will gladly give it.”

“Thank you my child,” says Sun as she bows her great head. “But I have no reason to return to my mortal form. My spirit has grown too large for the skin I once wore, and to accept a curse as a gift is a greater insult to a Sorcerer than playing his game and breaking it.”

Sun laughs to herself and nuzzles the young girl’s hair with her great snout, Acacia responds with a scratch behind her friend’s large ear, she does not ask about the curse again. The flames within the magical heart flutter with one last beat before finally succumbing to the icy cold of the Sorcerer’s spell.

Sun, enveloped by the warmth of Acacia’s love and friendship, does not even notice.

In time Sun knows her friend will grow old and pass away, but they have many many years to spend together before such a tragedy befalls her, and in that time Sun hopes that others will come to the old palace, others who may be seeking food and shelter. They will find all that they need here in this forgotten desert village, as they always have and always will, because despite what all the stories say;

The desert Sun was never Cold.

oh my god this is so long I’m so sorry but the tumblr app dOESN’T LET YOU USE READ MORES AND I WROTE IT ON MY IPAD AAAA

*cough* so here’s my spin on aromantic, asexual Beauty and the Beast, take care to notice my own aro ace ass projected literally everywhere and also my love for giant monsters mothering tiny humans, also changed the working title from The Cold Sun because The Desert Sun was Never Cold resonated stronger with me 😎👌✨

SOME VISUAL NOTES:
Sun’s looks are loosely based on Canadian model Winnie Harlow, (vitiligo yo it’s gorgeous) the setting is loosely based in North Africa, you can basically assume everyone but nobody’s-favourite-blue-eyed-blond-haired-asshole-Sorcerer are POC

Sun’s beast form is like a huge mix between a lion and a Tibetan Mastiff and I want to cuddle her SO MUCH and Acacia you will be braiding that mane all fucking day if you aren’t careful there is a lot of hair to work with and Sun will just sit there and let you do it

man but yeah, I wanted this story to highlight the importance of not assuming asexual people are unfeeling robots, and how we need love and attention just as much as any other person, we just don’t need the sexual and/or romantic kind of love and attention, and that doesn’t make us cold or selfish and ngl we are all secretly giant lions on the inside don’t tell anyone

The unfortunate fact is that there are too many people who think that monster hunting is tantamount to cryptozoology, and bypass critical thinking for emotional responses to natural mysteries.
—  Chad Arment