#monster energy heavy metal

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Just discovered my new favorite 2011 internet tidbit.

[cuartoretorno]

Jimmy Page, Tony Iommi, Sir Brian May celebran la inauguración del Gibson Garage Londres, UK - 2024

[monstersighing]

Frankenstein monster x Fem!reader

Uhhh, this is actually kinda sweet, but also horny.

NSFW, 18+, Minor Do Not Interact

Frankenstein's Monster/Creature x Fem Reader

Title: Home

Content: penetrative sex, masturbation.

+++

You find him in the forest. A man, but strange. He’s tall and broad. Covered with scars and stitches on the parts of him you can see under his dirty hooded cape. There are birds surrounding him that he is feeding with a piece of hardened bread, so he doesn’t notice you at first. When he does, he flinches and pulls his hood down.

He is huge and tall and hooded, but you are not afraid.

You coax him towards you with soft words. Promises of food and shelter. And he follows you home.

+++

He is gentle despite his size and hardly speaks.

When you ask his name, he doesn’t reply, so you call him Francis, after a statue of the saint you once saw with birds on his shoulders and little creatures at his feet.

Francis pulls pails of water from the well and chops firewood with an energy and strength that makes something turn over in your stomach. Sometimes, you see him looking at you from under his hood. His eyes are two different colours, and both are beautiful.

When you tell him that, Francis shakes his head, unbelieving, but you think you see a smile.

The next day, he leaves his hood down.

+++

One night, sat together in the glow of the fire, you ask Francis where he came from, where he was born.

“I was not born. My father, he made me. Out of many men.”

He looks at you then, as if waiting for your disgust and rejection.

“So, you are a miracle of science, then. How wonderful,” you reply.

The surprise on his face makes it light up. You think you would give him a thousand compliments if he would just look like that more often.

+++

It has been a long dirty day of planting in the fields, so you boil pans of water over the fire, empty them in the tub and sink into the water.

You can hear the rhythmic sound of wood being chopped. You think of Francis’s grating rusty voice, his muscular shoulders. You imagine what those shoulders would feel like under your hands. What your legs would feel like wrapped around his waist.

You are rubbing yourself dry when the door creaks. You turn automatically, and see Francis at the door, hand clenched on the handle.

You don’t cover yourself, just let him gaze at your nakedness.

You hear the crumple of metal as the door handle cracks in Francis’s hand and he bolts.

You dress quickly and run outside, wet hair running rivulets down the back of your neck.

You find Francis in the barn, on his knees. His eyes are closed, and he is biting down on one hand as he fucks his straining cock into the fist of the other. You watch: the heaviness of his cock, his clenched eyelids, the desperate twitches of his hips. He comes quickly, and cum spurts and dribbles over his hand. When he removes the other from his mouth, you see the marks of teeth there.

You must make a noise because Francis opens his eyes then and sees you.

His reaction is instantaneous, a pulling up of trousers as he leaps to his feet and pushes past you and out of the barn door.

You shout after him as he runs towards the forest, but he does not stop or turn to look at you.

+++

Francis does not come back that evening.

In the morning you go looking for him.

He’s in the clearing in the forest where you first saw him.

“Come home,” you say. “Come home with me.” You do not know how to tell him, and you do not know how to ask, so you rise on your toes, and pull him down by his cloak so you can kiss him.

Frencis’s kiss is uncertain, but when you coax your tongue into his mouth you can taste the berries that he must have eaten.

It starts to rain, and you grab his hand to run through the forest and across the fields back home.

Once inside your home, you notice that his cape has kept him dry, but your clothes are soaked. Your nipples are cold and hard.

You strip to nakedness under Francis’s gaze and place his mismatched hands - one broader, with callouses, the other with long fingers - on your breasts.  He kneads at them roughly, and you watch him spread his legs to accommodate his filling cock.

You splay your legs and show him how to finger your already leaking cunt. His eyes flick from your wetness to your face, his two different coloured eyes hungry.

“The bed,” you say.

He ignores you and pushes you down to the floor.

He’s still clothed and your legs are spread wide. He looks like he wants to devour you. He pushes his trousers down and pulls off his shirt with a rip of seams. There’s a neatly stitched incision on his chest, in the shape of a Y.

Then he lines up his cock with your cunt and pushes deep inside you with a grunt. You cry out at the feeling of fullness and he begins to thrust into you, each ferocious push feeling deeper than the last.

Your legs lock as far as you can over his back, holding him deep and your hands roam his skin, touching the rough stitches that joint his arms to his shoulders. Proof that this man was made of many men. Now just one, who wants you, desperately. Who is showing you with each jolting push of his cock inside you.

His thrusts ruck up the rug beneath you, and you brace your arms against the floor. The resistance pushes him deeper into you. He comes with a howl: satisfied, animalistic. You feel his come, warm and sticky, flood into you.

He rears back then, and with his cock still seated inside you, Francis presses a finger around the stretched rim of your cunt and then inside, crooking up, hard. The impossible stretch makes your walls flutter, your thighs clench and your back arch with your orgasm.

Francis watches as his cock softens, and then slips out of your cunt, come leaking from your entrance. You sigh at the absence until he splays over you, a heavy comforting weight, and you sleep.

[2kmps]

DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 18+ | 2.8k

story summary; your granduncle explains that the noises at the bottom of the lighthouse and the missing chunk out of his leg are from swimming rats. you let him think you're a fool.

story warnings; some graphic depictions that some may consider gory, mentions of biting, mentions of rats, creature in captivity, explicit sexual content, double penetration (not safe), prose + detail heavy, implied breeding, not proofread.

if you enjoyed it, please reblog + interact!!

Granduncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Granduncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, granduncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Granduncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much to at the bottom; a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brought a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

“Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by goose pimples as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

"Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n: not my best work, but hopefully passable. it's really helpful when y'all reblog, so please do so!!!

I don't really have any comments on this because I'm starting over from zero on the long-fic of the aquatic monster story bc I hated what I had lmao.

anyway, please keep in mind that is a concept piece. chances are that none of this will be present in the actual long-fic. this just helps me to explore ideas and familiarize myself with characters.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Confronted with the fact that Maddie was a ghost but, somehow, you hadn't been able to see her, you'd needed Wally to answer some questions. Unfortunately, the interrogation hadn't gone quite as planned...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.7

The world swam into focus, reality cementing itself as you rose to the surface by gentle degrees. Shapes bled along their edges, sight still partially in dreams, and your room was late-night dark.

Definitely not time to wake up yet, so why had you?

You sat up on a heavy exhale, groggy as you scanned your body for answers. Nothing. No pain, no desperate bladder, no dead limbs that protested leaving the comfort of your sleep-warm sheets. Rubbing your eyes, you swung your legs over the side of your bed and bowed your back to release the tension that had settled while you'd slept.

Slowly, straining your ears, you realized the house was silent. Not the typical clouding of sound that often descended after a certain hour, but absolutely silent. Void of any noise whatsoever. As if every molecule and atom had trembled to a dead stop, sound ceasing to exist with nothing to carry it.

A creeping, crawling sensation nudged your left side, not quite touching; an energy that crested into the barrier separating one dimension from the next. Yours. And Theirs.

You choked on a dry swallow, panning your head to the left, the silence bearing down like a weight on your shoulders. There. At the foot of your bed. A door in its frame, freely standing, ominous and unbelonging.

Your heart pounded; breath shuddered; tears welled in your eyes. You recognized it, the dry, greyed wood and rusted handle horrifyingly familiar. You'd seen it, had walked through it twice—in and out—had used it to shut in the monster that had abused your innocence. Gouged into it, bled it, chewed it up, and spat it out. Fed it back to you as a shrunken, mangled thing.

Please, no.

The rattle of the handle shook through the silence, sharp and metallic and terrifying. Without thinking, you leapt across the space between, threw your body against the door, and held tight to the handle. Sobbing. Screaming for your mother. Help, God, please, help me!

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. No sound, no voice, no help. The handle rattled harder, faster; the monster on the other side beat against the door like a war drum.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

The pulse of a tarred heart, the wood swelling forward then shrinking back again. Your knees buckled and you sunk to the floor, gripping the handle with every ounce of strength you had. Tears streamed down your cheeks, each gasp for breath thick and wet, please please no!

"Let me out! You're dead! You hear me!? DEAD!! LET. ME. OUT!!"

Again, you screamed, and this time it cracked through the night, the sound splitting across the silence like a spiderweb. Again. Again. Screaming against the void, against the clattering handle, the battering wood.

The silence shattered completely, a blast of air moved in to take its place, and the door...disappeared. You crumpled into a heap on your bedroom floor, folding over your knees and sobbing hard. And then your mother was there, kind hands and comforting words, cradling you against her chest. Safe. Finally safe.

But for how long?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You were spiraling, thoughts a thousand voices rising and falling in waves, most of them warning you against lifting your phone to your ear and using it as a buffer in case anyone walked by.

Well, too late, you'd already done it, because Wally had said Maddie's name. Casually, as if he'd spent time with her, hung out with her like friends do. And Wally was a ghost which meant Maddie was a ghost, except that you. saw. dead. people. Had that M Night Shyamalan flavor to you, but you couldn't see Maddie.

Jesus Christ, my mom's going to kill me. The thought pitched high above the others, over and over again, only quieting when you finally spoke.

"What did you just say?"

And Wally looked slightly disarmed by the question like he hadn't anticipated you'd ask about anything other than how he spent his afternoons when he wasn't destroying metaphysical school property. Which, yes, you were honestly curious about, but now.was.not.the.time.

"Uh..." Wally seemed to replay in his mind what he'd said in the last few minutes, "About Field Day?"

You shook your head, simultaneously checking your surroundings. There was no one around; just you and a ghost you r e a l l y shouldn't be talking to.

"About Maddie," You clarified in a hushed tone. "You said you were showing her the ropes?"

"Well, yeah. She's way too in her head about how she died, you know? I just wanted to help get her mind off it for a bit. Why?" Wally suddenly looked worried. "Is that...are you mad? Because she and I are totally just friends. Even though Rhonda thinks I have a crush on her, I don't, so, like, don't listen to her."

You flipped through your mental rolodex, trying to figure out which ghost Wally meant. "Rhonda? The one with the oral fixation?"

Wally grinned a dopey, sunbright grin, clearly happy that you could identify who was who amongst Split River High's otherworldly residents. You couldn't help it, your heart melted at the sight.

Something in the air shifted. Thickened. Wally's image suddenly sharpened against a bokeh blur, the world around you easing out of focus. Across from you, Wally appeared to notice the change in atmosphere, his eyes hazing over the way Xavier's did when he indulged his vape.

The urgency you'd felt moments before seeped from your pores and into the breeze, replaced with a muggy kind of desire. The feeling reached from your chest to Wally, instinct leading you to conclude that he could assuage it if only he were nearer.

Your heartbeat skipped and your breathing shallowed as you observed Wally closing the short distance between you until only a few inches remained.

Staring down at you, eyes at half-mast, he reassured, "Yeah, that's her. But, I swear, she doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Right." You whispered—what were you talking about?—watching his gaze slide left to right then down to your lips where it lingered for weighted seconds. Time lapsed, a drowsy slog from one minute to the next, and all the busy thoughts you'd been having drained from your head. "What?"

Mouth dipping closer to yours, Wally responded, low, simmered, "I didn't say anything, pretty girl." One large hand found purchase on your waist, the other on the slope of your neck, his thumb stroking a blissed path across your lower lip.

He angled his head, tracking closer, breath mingling with yours.

"I'm going to kiss you." He stated and your eyes fell closed. God, his voice; sandpaper hoarse as if he'd already spent careful hours taking you apart and piecing you back together. "Gotta tell me you want it, baby."

Vaguely, you nodded, consumed by the dense, silky warmth that had slumped over you both. "Yeah~."

Wally's lips brushed yours, parted and soft, and followed by the wet flick of his tongue. A tease, there and gone, but still so good. A tingle washed over your scalp, down your nape, up your arms; body responding to Wally's touch with an intensity you'd never experienced before. Your mouth parted slightly, drawing in each of his humid breaths like ambrosia as he hovered.

His grip firmed on your waist, fingertips pressed their mark into your flesh, and the tip of his nose grazed your cheek—more, more, more. He shuddered, wanton, the sound filthy and debauched, coaxing a whimper out of you and finally, finally, you felt him press in—

))) bzzzzzzzzzt (((

Your phone vibrated against your ear, shocking you out of the trance. Wally came-to as well, matching your movements and taking two full strides backward.

"Shit!" You rasped. "It's Tilly."

Where the hell are you? The text read in fewer characters, Mathilda's question accentuated by a string of random emojis: A fried shrimp. A potato. Two roller-skates and an angry cat.

"Okay." Wally said. He was scratching the back of his head, looking around himself as if there was some sign of what had guided you both into the situation that had just unfolded between you. And then he processed what you'd said, "Wait, who?"

"My best friend." You stated as you typed your response. When you finished, you looked at him, phone once more pressed to your ear, "We'll have to finish this later." His expression sobered, a dark, sultry cast to it. "Not that!" You amended, "Maddie!"

Wally's face fell, though he recovered quickly, "Yeah, right, sure." He made to take a step toward you which you reacted to by holding up a halting hand.

"Just...stay there. Don't. Don't move." Because if he moseyed into your space again, you knew you'd climb him like a tree and let him have his wicked way with you, carte blanche. "Until we figure this—" You gestured between the both of you, "—out, we need to stay at least three feet apart." If it was good enough for the CDC, it was good enough for you to deter whatever insane bouts of ghost-lust kept affecting you.

After all, you had Maddie to think about. Maddie who, despite what Wally had inferred, wasn't dead because you couldn't see her, even if she was somehow haunting the high school alongside Wally and the others.

Those were the facts you had to believe were true otherwise you'd unravel.

Really, you needed more information. "I have to go before Tilly decides to come looking." Wally nodded sagely, "But...okay, how about after school?" You suggested as you started toward the side door. "Meet me in the theater."

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

You flushed crimson, stammered, "I-good. Great." Awkwardly, you twisted around and set a hastened pace to the door, leaving Wally behind to do with the rest of his day what he would. About to pocket your phone, you remembered, "Wait!" You reversed along your path, returning your phone to your ear when you neared Wally.

He hadn't moved, hands in the pockets of his sweater, a silly grin slanted across his mouth. You almost crossed the imaginary line, overstepping the three-foot mark by inches before hurriedly rectifying the error.

Wally smiled, "Yeah?"

"You can't..." You stopped, started again, imploring, "Wally, you can't tell anyone. Please," pleading with your eyes that he accept the gravity of what you were risking by speaking to him. "If anyone finds out." A worried pause. "No one can know...please."

Disregarding your three-foot rule completely, Wally strolled right into your space, placed one of his big hands on your cheek and smoothed a dry, gentle kiss to the spot between your brows, staying there for a moment before pulling away.

He held your gaze, bold and sure, and said, "I promise, baby. I won't tell a soul." Wally released you with a wink, backing up a number of steps then turning in the direction of the field.

You were marshmallow soft and way too pleased with how he'd bid you goodbye, evidenced by the ridiculous grin you could feel plastered on your face.

God dammit.

You were in so much trouble.

It wasn't until much later, during the interim between 4th and 5th period, catching your reflection in the girls' bathroom as you washed your hands, did you realize: "Oh my god, I dressed like a weepy bat for nothing."

"Huh?" Mathilda stilled, face scrunching, mascara wand paused halfway through combing her lashes, and looked at you through the mirror. "What? Are you seriously questioning your off-brand life choices now?"

"Oh Tilly," You said, doing just that, "You have nooo idea."

💀___________________________

PART SIX - PART EIGHT

note: guys. GUUUYYS. THANK YOU!! your response to this story has been incredible and i am deeply grateful for your engagement 😭 like, i cannot even BEGIN to express how much it means to me that y'all are interested in what i've got to share 😭 i intend to have the next part up soon, but i've just started back at school so🤞

the tag list is undergoing a bucketload of troubleshooting, but if you'd like me to add you in the hopes it works, i'm happy to do so✌️

[baby-jaguar]

Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.” 

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically. 

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

 “You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.” 

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.” 

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him. 

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality. 

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of- 

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra. 

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.” 

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together. 

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours. 

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him. 

There. 

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

[soylent-crocodile]

Myr (Monsters)

(Silver Myr by Kev Walker)

(I FUCKING LOVE MYR! They're cute, they're iconic, they're interesting bits of worldbuilding... I HAD to make 'em! Mercifully, I've separated Mirrodin from New Phyrexia, and created the Plane of Steel, a fun little plot hook roughly referencing Mirrodin's creation. If you want to make these native to the Plane of Metal- new to PF2- or simply old machines of a dead culture, feel free.

Also, this will contain rules for Mana Myr, which I spiraled off the five colors of Magic, but expect more myr in the future!)

Myr are mysterious creatures native to the Plane of Steel, an artificial plane ripped from the Plane of Earth and turned into a vast network of self-sustaining machines. Myr themselves are the most common denizens of the plane, servitors to an unknown master and performing upkeep on their more complicated cohabitants.

Myr have been imported from the Plane of Steel in rare quantities, and serve as a rare treasure on the Material Plane, loyal servants infused with magical energy. Some, however, fear inviting such mysterious creatures into their homes, especially paranoid wizards and watchful politicians, as it's a known fact that myr are vulnerable to scrying- and it's a distinct possibility that their master is still watching.

Myr are unique among constructs in being easily repairable once slain. Upon reaching 0 health, a construct with the Myr subtype is not destroyed; rather, it turns inactive, and will reactivate upon being returned to positive hit points. However, a myr that reaches -20hp is destroyed as usual. Additionally, the knowledge of how to create myr has been lost or well-hidden, and they lack rules for construction. Fortunately for myr, they are capable of reproducing themselves, although attempts to study how they do so have not succeeded in creating animate constructs.

There are thousands of different kinds of myr, most being only slight modifications on a basic design; what is presented are some common archetypes and a few notable variations.

Mana Myr

(Myr Moonvessel by Danny Orizio)

Among the most common servitor myr, mana myr work on the machinery that makes up the bulk of the Plane of Metal, and these servitors are attuned to one of the eight schools of magic. Of the myr of the plane, it is the mana myr who are most desired, and those who find themselves in possession of multiple, or let them reproduce, sell them for exorbitant prices.

Each school of magic produces a myr of a different color. Even though they are all made of the same substance, the magic forged into their bodies makes them appear as one of a variety of colors; the mana myr of each school of magic is named after a metal or mineral it resembles.

This small humanoid construct has a strange head shaped like a heavy beak. It resonates with magical energy.

Misc- CR1 LN Small Construct (Myr) HD2 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+3 Stats- Str:8(-1) Dex:15(+2) Con:- Int:4(-3) Wis:14(+2) Cha:14(+2) BAB:+2 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:21(2d10+10) AC:13(+1 Size, +2 Dexterity) Fort:- Ref:+4 Will:+2 CMD:13 Special Defenses: Construct traits Offense- Slam +2(1d3-1) CMB:+0 Speed:25ft Special Attacks:  Feats- Lightning Reflexes Skills- Perception +3, Spellcraft +0 Spell-like Abilities-  Share Memory /at-will Make Whole 1/day Special Qualities- Mana Servant, Scrying Focus Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Common (Can’t speak) Organization- Solitary Treasure- None Special Abilities- Mana Servant- A mana myr is designed as a vessel for magic. When created, it is infused with magic from one of the eight schools of magic. When used as a focus to cast a spell of that school, the spell is cast at a +1 caster level and with a +1 DC. A mana myr registers as strong magic of its school when viewed through Detect Magic or similar spells. Scrying Focus- Myr are perfect vessels for scrying on. They get a -5 penalty to saves against spells with the Scrying descriptor, and magical sensors made to scry on a myr and its surroundings get a +5 bonus against rolls to perceive it. Additionally, myr- and any object or creature they are in contact with- are not protected by spells such as Nondetection and Screen.

[hauntinglyhaunted]

Creepypasta Headcanons!

(Jeffery Woods, Eyeless Jack, Toby Rogers.)

Starting off with our crispy himself!

Jeffery Woods:

I actually believe he'd be moderately okay with self care (with the exception of showering, because he's gross 🧍)

Like, he def keeps different kinds of lotions to help hydrate his burn scars (I'm projecting ikik) and has a variety of different scents.

I actually think he doesn't have a strict preference for what kind of music he listens to, but tends to listen to heavy metal or older emo music.

Def listens to ICP. You can't change my mind.

I actually heavily headcanon him as someone that'll pick at his skin, specifically the skin on his fingers/hands. It's a bad habit that he has tried (and failed) to shake off.

Drinks monster/energy drinks like its WATER.

He's the type of guy to point at someone's concert shirt and ask them to name 3-5 songs

Eyeless Jack:

Out of any of the pastas, I believe he'd be the best when it comes to self care-- Considering the idea of him originally wanting to be a surgeon.

Carries hand sanitizer with him EVERYWHERE.

I believe he has a habit of over washing his hands and is constantly using hand sanitizer.

He has sensitive hearing from his heightened senses, so I believe he'd keep earplugs on him 24/7

Tried to prepare organs like someone would a sandwich, he regretted that.

The type of guy that doesn't pick up on humor. You quote something online around this guy and he'll just take it as you being dead serious.

Tried to eat human food so he could feel "normal" again, but it made him sick. Still tries it every now and then, but it can result in him just curled up on the floor. Think of how some people that are lactose intolerant will still eat dairy (you know who you are 🙄)

In some med schools, it's actually preferred to know a second language (that could also just be where I live, so 🚶) and I actually believe he knows bits of Spanish.

Parts of his life before the sacrifice is actually a major blur for him, it's like looking through a fog for him.

Hates the smell of mint.

I feel like he mainly uses echolocation. Or if he could "see" anything, it would probably be like seeing the temperature of something

Example:

Bro constantly cold. It could be the middle of July and he'd probably be LAYERED up. Long sleeves, hoodies, etc.

Toby Rodgers:

Chews. His fingers, the scar on his cheek, dead skin on his lips, he just chews.

Unironically wears socks and sandals

Due to high levels of stress, I like to think he'd have white steaks/patches in his hair. :]

Tried to give himself a piercing once, it didn't work out. It scarred.

Either Midwest emo or grunge, you can't change my mind!

Has listened to the front bottoms (father...) and the mountain goats.

Listens to Nirvana sometimes. 👏

Due to his trauma, he prefers to not drive or ride in the passenger seat. He either forces himself to sleep or zones out SOOOO hard.

Since he can't go get his hair cut professionally for obvious reasons, some of his hair is uneven since he doesn't know how to cut it properly.

Toby doesn't like sweetened coffee, he either drinks it black or eats instant coffee because "it works faster"

He regretted this.

Got my first ACTUAL post down! Hope you guys like it! Tried to keep it lighthearted since it's a starter. I take requests btw. :]

[nerdpoe]

In the Shadow of Speculation Part 2

Part 1, Ao3

Heavy chapter, please heed the following; Blood tw vivisection tw descriptions of a flashback descriptions of a night terror descriptions of recovery abled verbiage tw self hatred tw (mild) forced parenthood equivalent (but in a ghost culture way)

Danny took a deep breath and used the Ring of Rage.

A glowing portal formed in the air before him, perfectly stable. Cold, bitter wind blew through it, along with the smell of antiseptic.

Wrinkling his nose, Danny stepped through the portal and closed it behind him.

“Oh, greetings Mr. High King! Are you ready for your check-up?” a nurse Yeti said, looking up from her clipboard enthusiastically.

Danny attempted a smile.

“I’m prepared for it, yeah.”

“Wonderful! Your friends are already in the room for moral support!”

Danny paused.

“Who-?”

“The Lady of the Green and the Lord of Innovation, of course!”

Oh thank the Ancients.

Danny nodded his thanks at the nurse and started for his assigned rooms.

Every inch of the hallways, unfamiliar before the Accident, were ingrained in his memories now.

He’d finally walked from his door to that window without help four months after waking up, and he’d been so fucking proud about it too. He’d hid behind that potted plant during his first flashback. He’d climbed out of that window and crawled on the roof just so he could feel the snow on his skin two months into Physical Therapy.

That was the yeti that had taken the brunt of his anger and hurt on his worst days, nodding at him as Danny passed. That was the room he’d pleaded with Dan to take him away from the hospital, that he couldn’t do it anymore, that he just wanted to go home-that was also the room Dan had set his foot down and said that he’d play the bad guy for Danny one last time.

And oh, how Danny had despised him for it.

But it had worked. Danny, with someone who was there for the sole purpose of taking the verbal assaults meant for his Physical Therapists and himself, who was only there to snipe back and deliberately egg Danny on, helped Danny find the energy to push forward.

And Danny still felt awful about that.

Danny passed the table he had eaten his first solid meal at, one month after waking up, and took a left.

There it was.

The door to the rooms that had been his sanctuary and his prison, right up until they hadn’t been needed anymore. The first place he’d seen when he’d woken up, and then been amazed that he’d woken up at all.

With a deep breath, Danny pushed it open.

“Hey man!”

“Danny!”

Danny’s smile was weak, and he was holding back tears in the face of so many memories he hated and adored in equal measure.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming.”

~~~~~~

Dan knew he was asleep. Dan knew he was awake. Dan knew he was somewhere in that awful inbetween.

He was in his parents basement. No, wait. They weren’t his parents. They’d never deserved the title.

He was in the Fenton’s basement.

The world kept glitching out, the colors kept melding together, and the only thing that stood out was the overwhelming feeling of disbelief and terror.

Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was-

Stop.

Assess.

What was going on?

Little him was strapped to a table; he was locked in place. He was in his Core form. It was…damaged. It was damaged.

Why?

Who would…?

There was a sliver missing. They’d torn a piece of him off. They’d tried to peel him open. They’d-Little him would be crippled.

If he survived.

But he had survived, hadn’t he?

Little him’s core was strapped to a table, damaged, and there was no resonance coming from it. There were vials upon vials of ecto-blood on the tables.

That was a kidney.

That was a stomach.

There was blood on the floor.

There…there was blood on his shoes.

Dan floated off of it, listening to the dripping sounds it made as it rolled off his soles.

The door opened.

Two monsters walked through, all giant bug eyes and sharp metal knives.

Dan had two options.

He could kill the things that had done this.

Or.

He darted forward to break the straps and shoved Little him’s core next to his own, where it would be safe, where it could recover as it leeched his excess energy off of him.

The world glitched again.

Dan was standing in Jazz’s living room, hand digging into his own chest. Searching.

With a shaking breath, he pulled it out.

He’d only carried Danny’s core next to his own for two years, but he still found himself searching for it in moments of weakness.

He hadn’t been the best Spirit to host Danny’s core, but he’d fought tooth and nail to do it. Vengeance Spirits could not normally house Protective Spirits.

It was why he’d done the whole hero thing after; it would help Little him heal if he did. And when he scared the people he was saving away?

He’d opted to train the little fledgling heroes. He’d make sure they grew up safe, protected from actual villains and, if needed, their own personal ones.

Anything to make sure he didn’t have to see another kid so close to completely shattering into Nothing, he never wanted to see that shit again-

Dan forced himself to move away from the couch and towards the kitchen.

It was pointless to dwell on the past. He did everything he could; if the Twerp wanted to be next to those monsters, that was on him.

So what if he’d fucked up their relationship? At least the kid was alive.

Dan’s hands still shook as he made himself a cup of coffee.

…

Maybe he’d just check in. Just for a bit.

~~~~~~

Dan may have failed steps one through ten.

It had probably started when he’d played surrogate for the Runt, if he was completely honest. There was no way Dan hadn’t absorbed a little bit of his Protective nature.

Point was; Dan genuinely could not remember going to Arkham.

He just sort of…came back to himself while floating ominously above it.

He could see the alarm lights flashing below him. The humans running for their battle-stations.

The inmates being herded deeper into the complex.

Dan felt his eyes grow hotter, felt his claws dig into the flesh of his palms.

They were right there. Right fucking there. All he had to do was phase through the compound and just reach into their chests.

It would be so. Fucking. Easy.

In fact, he even caught a glimpse of Maddie through one of the windows.

Dan snarled, lifting a hand, the ectoplasm pooling in it hotter than anything he’d made before-

-and he was in the kitchen. Mom was trying to make hot dogs, but they kept fighting back. She was laughing at a dumb meme he’d shown her. His homework was covered in mustard from the fight with their food.

“I guess you can tell Mr. Lancer that you ‘mustard’ up every resource you had!” Dad called out as he walked by, and Dan felt so loved-

-Dan dropped the hand.

Maddie was hauled past the window and to safety.

Fuck.

Fuck this place.

Fuck this city.

Fuck everything about this situation.

~~~~~~

Batman grappled his way to the tallest watchtower in Arkham, keeping an eye on Phantom the entire time.

The guard that was already in the tower-a new hire, if he recalled-nervously stepped up to fall in line beside him.

Batman waved him off.

He knew Phantom. He knew that the man wasn’t actually a villain.

A Training Villain wasn’t something Batman had seen younger heroes needing, but when the Ghost in front of him had started play-fighting with the younger heroes to teach them through safe combat, the Bat had been mentally kicking himself.

It was a perfect job to train younger heroes, and Batman couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed the previous iterations by not realizing that.

Robin was still angry that he’d fallen for it, of course he was, but Batman could not deny that Phantom’s strange method of training had been instrumental in helping his youngest work through his rage.

Just like he could not deny that he and Phantom had something in common with Arkham.

It wasn’t hard to assume that the walls held a person responsible for the death of someone in the man’s life.

Phantom had only shown up to Arkham a total of three times.

The first time, he’d just hovered outside of it, holding his hand to his chest. He’d done nothing, and left in an hour.

The second time, two years later, he’d broken two walls and shattered a watchtower, screaming for someone to come out and face him. Robin had been on scene before Batman had time to distract him, convinced it was the same Phantom he was used to dealing with.

Surprisingly, the sight of Robin had been enough to still the beast Phantom had become. He’d toned down, forced Robin into a surprise hug, and then disappeared. Robin had been livid, but Batman had learned something about the Training Villain he didn’t think he wanted to know.

The man knew loss, and Batman was pretty sure he knew it on the same scale Bruce did.

From there, it wasn’t hard to figure out the most likely objects of his wrath.

Phantom was a Ghost. Ghosts had a very, very bad history with the American Government. The Anti-ecto acts had just been revealed to the public by Lois Lane, and the country was tearing itself apart.

The people who had been the most avid supporters had been, currently were, the Dr.s Fenton.

Who were housed in Arkham.

Batman had said nothing. He had gone back to the cave and quietly updated Phantom’s file, and left it at that.

The third time was the present.

Phantom had almost lost his temper. Almost.

But he’d reigned it in.

“Phantom,” Batman started, staring at the figure above him, “I know you can hear me. What’s happened?”

The Ghost stayed where he was for one hundred and twenty seconds, before slowly gliding down to the Bat.

Phantom did not say anything.

He did not have to.

His eyes were anywhere, everywhere, but where he actually was. When he actually was.

Batman quietly hissed through his teeth.

Alright then.

“I’m here if you want to talk, otherwise we can be silent. Just know that at this moment, you are not alone.”

Phantom chose silence for a good seventeen minutes.

Then Phantom opened his mouth.

“I should hate them,” the voice was halting, tired, “I should, I really should. They loved me so much, but they…they tore him apar-“ Phantom’s voice failed him.

Batman said nothing, and gave the Ghost time to collect himself.

While he waited, he compartmentalized what he’d learned. The Fentons had torn apart someone very, very important to Phantom.

And Bruce had an awful feeling that he meant that literally.

“I can’t be here,” Phantom said instead of finishing his previous thought.

Batman nodded.

“You didn’t hurt anyone this time, so go; I see no reason to stop you.”

Phantom didn’t grace Batman with a goodbye, but the Bat swore he felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder after the Ghost vanished from sight.

~~~~~~

Danny laid on the examination bed, one hand being held by Sam while Tucker lounged on the bed at Danny’s feet. They were talking about their new companies, how the world was changing, and distracted Danny while Frostbite examined his vivisection scarring.

Danny looked everywhere but Frostbite as the yeti pushed and prodded. He didn’t want to look at his chest if he didn’t have to, but he also didn’t want the embarrassment that was accidentally meeting his doctor’s eyes in the middle of a physical.

“Fantastic news, Young Savior,” Frostbite said, interrupting their idle chatter, “Your core, while still healing, is recovering at a phenomenal rate. Truly, Lady Gotham is good on her word! At this pace, your core should be fully healed in a mere century!”

Danny hated that. He hated that it needed to heal, and he hated that he was going to outlive his friends.

Sam and Tucker leaned a little closer, offering comfort for something that they knew the Ancient before them wouldn’t understand.

“Better news, the physical damage appears to be almost completely healed. The regrown kidney and stomach are showing no signs of failing, and the scarring should be the only nuisance. I recommend the afore-mentioned stretches and lotion to help the scar tissue conform with your movements.”

Danny nodded, sitting up as Frostbite stepped back and removed his hand from inside Danny’s torso.

“I also see no issue with your residual limb, although it does appear you’ve been forgetting to remove the prosthetic often enough to cause some light bruising. Can’t say I don’t understand, but perhaps write a reminder and pin it on your bedroom wall.”

Danny avoided Sam’s flat look.

Tucker just flashed his phone screen at Danny, the words ‘I can make you something really cool with rockets it you let me’ sprawled across the screen.

Danny absorbed Sam’s flat look and mirrored it towards Tucker.

Tucker threw up his hands.

“Ancients forbid I do anything, I guess,” the techie sighed dramatically.

Once Danny pulled himself together and got ready to leave, Tucker threaded an arm around his own.

“So, wanna go ding-dong-ditch Walker?”

Danny paused, then grinned; and for the first time in two weeks, it wasn’t a lie.

~~~~~~

Danny waved back at Sam and Tucker as they went through their own portals. They would definitely have to get together and hit the town on Earth.

Danny walked through his own portal and ran face-first into a mass of muscle.

Dan steadied him as he bounced back.

Danny was immediately hit with conflicting, very confusing emotions.

He was looking at Dan, his enemy. He was looking at his father? No, it was Dan. Wasn’t that the same-?

Danny shook his head. He’d never gotten a straight answer about why his Ghost self’s view on Dan had changed so dramatically; everyone always shied away from the question.

“Can I ask what you’re doing in my apartment?” He asked instead, stepping back and closing the portal.

“Just making sure you’re settling in, Tiny.”

“We’re the same height?”

“Nah, we’re not.”

Danny shoved the absurdity of their interaction in the back of his head and made for his couch.

“Well, whatever you’re doing here, here’s to hoping it involved making dinner,” he groaned, sinking into the cushion and pulling up his left leg to start the tediously cumbersome process of pulling it off, “because per the doctor, I’m supposed to keep the prosthetic off for the rest of today.”

“I was gonna order out. Move, we’re watching Sailor Moon.”

Danny whined pitifully when Dan physically picked him up and moved him to the side.

He fought his instincts, and his instincts won.

He leaned back and allowed Dan to take the prosthetic off, clawed fingers delicate for all that the man snarled under his breath.

He also allowed the man to commandeer the TV; not something he would even allow Jazz to do.

“Why do I let you do these things?” Danny muttered, eyeballing the quasi-villain on his couch as said villain massaged the stump just below his knee.

Dan snorted.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Ugh, no one tells me anything.”

“We’re pacing you,” Dan corrected, blunt for all that the words were careful, “when you’re back on your feet, you’ll get the non-vital details we skimmed.”

Danny didn’t bother arguing; he’d already tried for the better part of the previous year. For some reason, the yetis took Dan’s side, too.

Instead, they fell into a companionable silence, appreciating Sailor Moon. Which was fine by Danny, since he never knew how to behave around Dan. It was only interrupted by the delivery of the Greek food Dan had ordered out.

Danny was on his second Gyro when Dan finally broke the silence.

“So I heard there was a rogue attack outside your apartment,” he said idly, and Danny could feel his eyes on him.

“Yeah.”

“So you got to see the Bats in action?”

“…Yeah.”

Dan leaned in, eyes going critical.

“What needs improvement? Don’t lie; that ‘yeah’ was one that means you weren’t impressed.”

Danny shrugged.

“I dunno, just…they didn’t have someone who’s only job it was was to evacuate the people, or help the injured. It was just offense, no defense.”

Dan snorted and leaned away.

“Kept telling that to Robin, but no; ‘Father this’ and ‘Father that’.” Dan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on his rack of lamb. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”

Danny blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve seen what they need, and I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll stay out of the game forever. What are you gonna do about it?”

Danny looked down at his Gyro, frowning.

What was he gonna do about it?

He couldn’t fight, not like he used to, not really. But if the Bats were tanking, then…he probably wouldn’t really have to.

“I’ve been in medical facilities for almost a year,” Danny said slowly, ignoring how Dan stiffened next to him, “I think I’ve picked up a few things. Frostbite would probably be thrilled if I asked him to teach me, honestly.”

Dan relaxed, humming thoughtfully around the bone he was chewing on.

“I think…I’ll be a medic.”

@simplestoryteller @gildedphoenix I do not suffer PTSD, and I've never had a life-altering injury. That said, I know people who have, for both of those. I apologize if my descriptions are off. Here's some notes to piece together what this chapter outlines, for those that want the sparknotes as to what Dan is alluding to. From my notes; "Ghosts can carry another ghosts core if that core is injured, to protect and promote healing. Typically, the father or mother figure does it. In this particular instance, Dan did it. We will see in a bit, but for Dan their relationship went from enemies-warden-person I gotta apologize to-person I’ve got to save-the core housed next to mine-son. For Danny, it randomly went from enemies to ‘why do I think dan is my dad more than I think my dad is my dad’." This is where the "forced parenthood" tw comes into play, because Dan felt like he had to do it, and due to instinct Danny subconsciously got dragged along for the ride. Also, if it wasn't clear from the age list on the first chapter and the timeline presented, I'm playing around with Lian and Roy's timeline; Dan's first year he babysat her, and then she died. She came back only four weeks prior to Danny re-entering the human world.

[overtaken-stream]

You could write more about King Wildfire, there's so little of him and I'm obsessed with him too.anything about him

Do Not F4lter

King The Wildfire x Strawhat!Reader

The actions take place when Luffy is still on the whole cake island. Reader is Genderneutral so if I slipped somewhere please notify me. I didn't want this to turn out like how it did but Idk it kinda grew on me. Also, THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC and I don't think it is platonic either, King and Reader respect each other as pirates. But Reader has disdain for everyone bc obviously... Fun fact, I wanted this to be a part 1 of another fic I'm making of Lunarian!Reader but it's completely different from the other (the other is rotting inside my drafts at the moment so, I'll see what I can do to save it. + I'll probably only release that on AO3 since I just dump ideas too small for AO3 on here)

Warning: Gender neutral Reader, past torture, current torture is discribed(suffocation and burn at the end), blood, jail, murder is mentioned. King talks a bit too much for my liking, but I don't think it is out of character.

The desolate chambers, parched and dull of any care lay quietly in Wano, the days went by with little to no warmth ever touching you, the smell of iron and the taste of blood bring what little comfort it could, the heavy shackles retained your hands together as you settled against the freezing, rocky wall in the darkness, panting to try and get your energy back, to no luck, your legs had no energy to hold your body weight up, let alone break through the seastone bars of this place.

As much as you tried to get yourself together to try and attain what little information the prisoners had collected over the months of being kept in this place, it was hard hearing anything past the waves of headaches that deafened your ears, even if you could, only the whimpers and groans of battered prisoners would meet you.

The tight shackles held onto you as you sat in the darkness of the cell, head tossed back against the cool wall as small talk chimed around the jail, the unknown voices of pirates who dared to cross Kaidou's territory were taken into interrogation for who knows how many times, some decided to switch sides while others did not spoke a word about their schemes, hence they've met their end.

You keep to yourself. You don't need anyone here. Not these scumbags anyway.

The murmurs of captured were silenced as the heavy door creaked, soon the footsteps sounded around the frosty enclosure, followed by a creaking sound of leather rubbing against latex. Sharp, hard, nonresonant sounds, produced by two pieces of metal striking, echo within their every step.

They walk with slow and confident strides, and from the sound of it, they have a mass greater than an average human. You expect them to take somebody away for questioning, testing, or torturing, depending on their mood and assignment.

But never would you have imagined the heat that claws its way underneath your skin. The unexpected warmth steals a gasp from your mistreated lips causing you to grimace at the pain the action bought. The torches and lanterns never emitted this much heat whenever your captors came into. They were a source of light and you cannot seem to figure out how they keep their body temperature in this type of environment while wearing an outfit rivaling Emporio Ivankov. Seriously how do they do it?!

With the warmth that this person brings came a vibrant light and for the first time in seven days you've been here, you have a clear view past the bars you've been taken in, though it is not much different from yours. The temperature keeps growing to the point its warmness swallows your whole body in comfort. The yellow hue just around the corner is followed by separated fire sparks and the cracking noises they disgorge, joined by metal clanks and leather creaks.

It is not until the silhouette stands on the other side of the bars that you realize The Monster–or should you say– The Beast that stood a couple of meters away from you, their long limbs and broad shoulders made to accommodate the sheer size of their dark and heavy wings make him that much more overawing. they're covered from head to toe with blue leather, the thought of wearing that much skin makes you uneasy, and the spikes cover the main intimidation factor. The mask.

With a brief look one would give to an insect, irrelevant critter, he stares. One would say they were belittling you if you had not known who exactly he was.

The All-Star. The fire itself. The Conflagration.

You cannot help but smile through your beaten expression, a cunning smile overtakes your features as if you've won a game you didn't know you were playing. It feeds your ego. Kaidou's right-hand man himself came to interrogate you because the mediocre ogres couldn't get a word out of you.

His burning eyes stare at you in a way that tells you of your lukewarm retort to his presence. You couldn't agree more that it was a dumb reaction, but as a cackle escapes into the air, devoid of any noises excluding the flames on his back, you cannot help yourself.

(It sounds so much like the pained and shrilled laughter of a man in a blue and white mask, a silent Kid Pirate if you remember correctly.

He should have known better than to make an offer with a corrupted man like the Shogun. Deals and offers are double adged swords in the world of piracy. He of all people, should have known.)

Your cackle turns into coughing and desperate gasps of air, awaiting your heart to settles down, you spoke.

``I... I feel honored, having an All-Star involved in-``

King interrupts you with a key, opening the door and dragging your exhausted and squalid body harshly into the interrogation cabinet. Can't have others listening into your screams of agony.

his voice, so monotonous keeps a gruff edge as he speaks.

``I won't repeat it again Straw hat (Y/N), what are you trying to pull off here in Wano.`` He leans his back against the wall next to the door while you sluggishly fall to the floor, even in your haze you still vividly hear his question, not so much as a question but an order for you to state your business in this closed-off country.

Your half-lidded eyes do not move away from the ceiling, but your smile falls into a thin line. You wish you could bask in his warmth in peace.

``Where is your captain? Your crew?``

``...Not with me.`` technically you aren't lying.

``I'll ask again, where is your captain.``

``I told you and that fool of an officer the answer alre-ady!`` you raise your voice, and furrow your brows at the voice crack that formed due to dehydration. ``I'm not with them.``

That sentence could be taken in multiple ways. You wonder which he chooses to take.

Silence fills the chamber as he drills holes into your face with his eyes alone. He steps toward you, slow and calm in a way he isn't, until the bottom of his boot meets your throat.

``...Members of the Worst Generation Pirates think they have any significance in the New World. They conceive thoughts that they're stronger then they actually are and feed the lies only to satisfy their hunger to make an impact of some kind.``

You can feel the blood trying to travel in your body as he puts more and more pressure on your airways, cutting you off from the precious oxygen. You felt as if your head could explode from the pain.

Barely through your teeth you ask of why he hasn't ended you yet, like they've done with numerous pirates.

``A carrot on the stick.`` he answers with eyes of the soulless, watching the shocking realization seep into your eyes. they're planning on using you as a leverage, to get to Luffy, they would not kill you, oh no.

``It's amazing, the fact that you came to us at the most perfect time. He has been the reason of Kaidou's headaches for a while now.`` Your need for air was long forgotten, even when you saw black spots form in your vision, you couldn't get the fright out of your system. Couldn't get the thought of which meaning he chose from your previous answer to your brain.

He takes the boot off of your throat. the oxygen pushes it's way through your irritated throat and lungs as you gasp and squirm in the dim room.

``I'm here to give you an offer. To join The Beast Pirates, while acting as our pawn, or you'll meet your maker in this place. Either way, you'll end up being a tool one way or another.``

Ten seconds pass, twenty seconds pass in silence. A laugh erupts.

``Hah! It's quite a defeated way to go, I'll either gain what little freedom I can in your ranks, or I'll continue to take what I've already taken tons of times...`` A sweat rolls down your cheek, distorted to accommodate the smile overtaking your face. You worry for yourself, but you do not falter.

Dirt and grime sticks to your clothes, blood and gore covers your limbs, which pang and cramp on their own, pain lingers in your every word and movement. You're drained of any energy, your thirsty and hungered. You do not falter.

His eyes stare at your numb face, confused because why are you laughing, irritated because he knows which option you'll choose. Respect doesn't have to come naturally to him– it is something he has learned through Kaidou, it is something he rarely ever feels towards someone, even among Kaidou's own men. But now as he stares into your determined face, he shows regard for your dedication and ability.

``Give it all you've got because there is no way I'm ever joining you assholes...!`` even if you know they will still use you, there is a higher survival chance you acknowledge, pride, selflessness, selfishness, will, whatever it is that will remain untouched due to this decision, you can only hope to make it out of here before they stop fueling the fire within you. Make it out before they break you completely.

King can only accept you on equal basis and give you the same consideration you would expect for yourself. Though he rarely feels interest there is an attraction of sorts that he admits, and respects as a pirate. There's a shared dedication that he has in common with you. And he wonders.

``It would have been nice to get to know you better, but I'm afraid I don't care.``

And your blank (E/C) tells him of an identical thought.

Temperature grows and vibrant flames are fueled, your torment continues with a mutual agreement in mind.

[thefanboyhub]

More random HeadCannons for the SBG gang because yes:

Aiden has two different music tastes. The goofy kind (party rocks for example) and then the "oh shit, he's depressed" kind. Think Pierce The Veil, Melanie Martinez, Get Scared, any kind of "I'm fucked up" kind of music.

Ashlyn listens to a lot of classical and instrumental music or like indie alternative kind of stuff. Think James Marriott, Fish in a Birdcage, ECT.

Tyler listens to guitar heavy stuff (like I said last time I did this shit) but he really likes rock/metal kind of stuff. Think Get Scared, Limp Bizkit, Three days Grace, Pierce The Veil, that kind of stuff.

Taylor listens to more upbeat things. She also likes classic pop (Gwen Stacy, Shakira, ECT.) Think Britney Spears.

Ben listens to everything and anything. It depends on his mood how much energy he has the vibes he feels ECT.

Logan shockingly listens to rock. He'll say he's a Fish In a Birdcage girly (which he is but he likes Get Scared and Nickelback more) but he is lying. He wants that head bangers that drown out everything while he zooms into shit.

Tyler would be the worst with road rage when driving.

Logan would be the most normal about driving.

Taylor would be scared at first and relax afterwards while Ben is not relaxed and generally hates driving.

Aiden is shockingly the best driver???

Ashlyn is actually decent at driving when a giant monster isn't trying to kill her and her friends.

Tayler tried to become friends with Ashlyn when they were little but it uh... Failed.

Creator has confirmed Ashlyn is autistic and has kind of said Logan has OCD and Aiden has ADHD I believe. I would like to add to this by saying: Ashlyns autism is more on the social aspect, less on the texture and touch, and HEAVY on sound aspect. Logan's OCD gets worse the more stressed he is, his obsession is intrusive thoughts and the need to be perfect at anything academic, his compulsion is auto cannibalism(chewing not his nails but the skin around them, his lips, inside his mouth, and time took a tiny chunk out his hand) and finding work to do. Aiden's ADHD is very low in the aggression and anger, he does still have it but his ADHD is more on the social and focus stuff. Aiden also has an adrenaline addiction and depression. He also has an addictive personality.

Taylor and Tyler are intersex. It's only on the hormonal level but it's still there. (Do you see the vision???)

Ben hates that he's mute. He does and doesn't have a choice in it. He wants to speak often but something just stops him, it's like a part of him has his hands around his throat just like the day he lost his voice.

Logan is actually really competitive but it has to be something he's good at to really get him going. Tyler found that out during trivia game in the back of one of these classes (they decided to not pay attention and okay a random Kahoot. Logan won.)

It is also confirmed Tyler would be in cosmetology if it want for the scholarship baseball gives him. SO. He dyes Aiden hair, he and Taylor has dyed purple hair at one point. He knows how to do piercings, he did his and his sisters. He has more than her (nose and all ear pericings possible).

None of the group is hetero. None. Ashlyn is the closest to it and that's just cuz she's be Demiromantic and heterosexual. Ben comes in second place for that and that because he's bi but female leaning cuz men scare him. (He be the opposite of most people lmao) Aiden is Pan but doesn't really understand it. Tayler is unlabeled cuz she just likes whoever the fuck. Tyler is a literal raging Bi but doesnt think about it cuz he be busy. And Logan is most likely gay or that one thing that's attracted to like masculinity.

Remember that one scene of Ashlyn popping her bones? Tyler has that when he wakes up in the mornings. He does sports. He gonna snap crackle pop.

Aiden has only had four hospital visits before, he actually more careful then people give him credit for. That and Ben stops him a lot.

Ben sticks closer to Aiden even more now because he heard and saw him die.

Aiden and Ben's sister bully each other.

Tyler once had someone ask him out randomly and he was so confused so he was like "Uhm... No? I think?" Because he was up late trying to help his mom pay bills the night before and didn't understand what she said. The baseball team would not stop bullying him for that the rest of their freshman year.

Taylor had an emo phase in middle school which made Tyler follow suit. They were emos in middle school, I know they were. The hair says it all.

The group has two sets of matching outfits that they wear randomly and somehow always wear on the same days without even communicating it. S

Ashlyn becomes a big baby on her period and me willingly let's Adien and or Tyler carry her around. Taylor just gets really mean and aggressive (becomes Tyler 2.0 frfr) or just cries randomly and it stresses our boys out.

Ashlyn knows baby sign language so she can understand some stuff Ben says to Aiden when they us ASL thinking the group isn't paying attention.

Logan writes fanfiction. I'm not elaborating.

Tyler and Taylor both were princesses one holloween and literally everyone thought they was a third one, making them triplets. People from their middle school that go to their current school still ask if their other sister is doing okay and Tyler dies inside a little every time.

Tyler hates mayonnaise. I feel like he'd hate it.

Ashlyn hates Tartar sauce. Like she will punch anyone who tries to give it to her.

Aiden forgets to eat a lot and has to eat timers to remember.

They all share clothes but Aiden and Ashlyn share more than everyone else. Specifically with each other. They trade a lot.

Logan is constantly missing his sweaters because of Ashlyn stealing them.

They all signed each other shoes on the inner left ones with their initials.

Ben tried not to stick out as much as possible because of trauma.

Logan is edging into his emo phase soon. He'd be the fancy emo, more like and e boy but less cringe.

Aiden worships Lady Gaga. No further explanation.

Everyone gives Aiden the side eye when he plays party rockers (party walkers). He just vibes. (He's actually trying to keep the memory of Ashlyn face in his brain so he doesn't fail her again.)

Taylor has a middle school relationship with a girl one time. It ended cuz she moved away and Taylor was like a sad puppy for two weeks.

That's all bye now

[pixeljade]

Dungeon Meshi characters and the music I think they'd listen to:

Laios - No real genre cohesion, but loves anything that he can imagine monsters to. He has extensive mental music videos of monsters doing cool things that he will set to songs which he plays on repeat. Probably has more movie and video game soundtracks than actual mainstream music.

Marcille - Florence and the Machine and Hozier are amongst her favorite artists, and she has a soft spot for ALL dramatic and romantic songs, especially with female vocalists. She guards her tastes very carefully, afraid of what others might think, but will gush to Falin about her interpretations of lyrics, and make her playlists all day long

Chilchuck - dad rock and certain folk punk tracks. He's been found in a puddle of tears listening to mountain goats songs about breakups, but he never mentions that when he lists his favorite artists because he wants you to THINK he's not fucked up over it. Will also listen to classic blues.

Senshi - A jazz lover if I ever saw one. He doesnt really listen to it except in the background while cooking or working, but he likes it because it reminds him of the improvisational side of cooking, and how it keeps him moving while he works.

Falin - I think Falin likes a lot of pop but has a particular soft spot for vocaloid, j-pop, k-pop and chiptune. She's just deeply autistic about the artists she likes, doesnt particularly "stan" anyone because she doesnt approach it like that, but she does try to get Marcille into it all (with mixed success)

Izutsumi - the meow mix jingle (breakcore remix) [10 hours]

Kabru - The widest range listener, because he'll gladly listen to and learn about any of the artists people around him listen to. He specifically keeps up with top 40 entirely so he can have an idea whats in the zeitgeist. If you ask him to put on something and he doesnt know your tastes he'll default to a "safe option" like chillhop beats to study/relax to

Thistle - This one I'm not super sure but Linkin Park for sure is a regular listen for him. Will cry-sing along with it. Probably also delves into other teenage angst music ranging from pop punk to emo. Would write his favorite lyrics in sharpie on his ragged converse

Shuro - All classical. He was raised to have extremely refined tastes and can play several instruments himself, but he doesnt have much interest in music really.

Namari - I dont know why but I feel like she'd have an eclectic mix of classic hip-hop artists like Missy Elliot, riot girl music, and old school heavy metal. Also probably has a soft spot for certain pop songs but refuses to admit it.

Mithrun - I want to say he'd be into Shoegaze but like, obviously does not seek out music, so he literally only listens to whatever those around him put on.

Fleki - Psych rock, psy-trance, trip-hop. Do i even have to explain

Lycion - All Hardcore. Loves the energy and will actively mosh.

Pattadol - An absolute Swiftie.

Cithis - The sort to listen to indie pop and then EVISCERATE you for your opinions on music online. Hates Swifties.

Otta - Loves mainstream hip-hop/pop music. I feel like she'd really love Doja Cat.

I think thats every main character. If you disagree with my thoughts dont be mean! We're all just trying to have fun here

[cuartoretorno]

[undertheopensky]

Portals Do Not Like Four (the feeling is mutual)

Whumptober Day 1: Swooning

Characters: Four, Warriors, everyone's kind of there but may not have a large part

Trigger warnings: Fainting, seizures

Read on Ao3!

-----

In the aftermath of a frantic skirmish, the others discuss the black lizalfos and its newfound portal-creating abilities in worried tones. Four just wishes he’d been close enough to see it happen. Spun glass and shadows shot through with blood and poison, the void between its arms dragging in all light; how was it made? Where did the energy come from? How does it keep from growing and swallowing up the world? How does it keep from collapsing in on itself and vanishing? It’s too complex to simply be what it appears, a tear between worlds, a void in time and space.

It’s not at all like the moon gates. For one thing, despite being a direct link to the dark world, they didn’t reek so heavily of malice that he can taste it, nasty and metallic in the back of his throat. For another, the way it hangs in the air, flexing and pulsing with barely-restrained magic. The moon gates had been a little like that, he supposes, the way they had been right at the edge of a tipping point before he cracked them open. But this one is already open. He doesn’t know what precipice it’s riding, and doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

If Four had the time, he’d make a few sketches, maybe check the base for evidence of runes or anchoring magic, but the rest of the group has decided to go through, and honestly, that’s the best option. No telling how long the thing will stay open, and they can’t risk losing their best — and only — lead.

Four hesitates at the border, watching the others walk through one by one. They seem to ripple as they wade deeper into the abyss, or maybe the abyss folds around them. “I can’t believe the postman’s travelling through these,” Four mutters to himself, making Warriors snort. Then the captain’s through too, leaving Four alone in the dark forest.

The portal waits.

The air is chill and silent, in spite of the massive amount of energy swirling over stone just a few feet away. It looks just like the one Four had found while hunting black-blooded monsters in the Castor Wilds, that had led him to the others. If he’d had more time — ah, but he hadn’t, and still doesn’t. The others will be waiting.

Four steps through, and s h a t t e r s.

Heart rushing — cold and slow — wind curling soft around his face — iron pressure at his throat — claws and tails and heavy weight, falling backwards stumbling forwards gravity is all wrong and nothing’s moving right —

Pain like fire, like lightning, streaking out from the spine, turning inwards and thundering through the brain —

Pressure leaning on them a mountain whispering at their shoulders —

Blazing chill searing their sightless eyes —

Falling through stars —

Their feet hit solid ground, and the world swirls from colour to grey to nothing.

-----

Warriors shakes himself, wishing the damp chill of portals was as easy to shake off as real water. In front of him, he can see the rest of the Links, already poking about the new and different forest they’ve wound up in. Except Wind, who’s taking off his shirt and trying to wring it out. Warriors doesn’t have the heart to tell him it won’t help. He’ll figure it out, anyway.

Boots crunch on the grass behind him, and Warriors turns away from Wild climbing a tree to greet the last Link through the portal. “Hey, Four. Any chance you know where we are? No one’s seen anything familiar, yet.”

Four stares at him, uncomprehending, and Warriors realises he’s listing sideways almost too late to catch him. “Wha — Four!” he yelps, lowering a too-limp body to the floor. Training takes over; quick fingers confirm a pulse and breathing, and his hands start running over Four’s head, his neck and back, checking for signs of damage. He doesn’t find anything, which, great! Except what the fuck. Four had been right behind him. What could have happened?

Four is completely unresponsive, eyes half-open and eerily blank; empty of everything that made him a person. At his back the other Links are coming up, first with confusion then with urgency as they register Four’s crumpled form. Hyrule drops to the other side and starts running his own inexpert checks, tight with fear. Warriors marks that — he’s not the only one with medic experience on the team, good to know — but is more focused on Four’s eyes. They keep — ticking to the side, something he’s only seen in severe head injuries, and he can feel uncharacteristic panic rising.

“What happened?” Twilight is asking, “did something get him from behind as he went through?”

“Don’t know,” Warriors says. “Healing items, anyone —?” Legend drops down next to them, clearly out of his depth but wordlessly offering a potion, a bottled fairy, and a handful of rings that no one else knows the purpose of. A potion’s no good without Four conscious to drink it, but — Warriors uncorks the bottle with the fairy, tipping her out onto Four’s tunic.

The fairy dusts herself off, clearly miffed by the lack of ceremony, then her wings lift her into the air and she gets to work. Pink sparkles drift aimlessly as she flutters back and forth, over his chest, over his head, seemingly unable to decide where to alight.

Then, she darts right up into Warriors’ face and lets loose a torrent of angry chiming, before zooming back into the bottle and settling at the bottom, pouting. Warriors understands not a word of it but feels very scolded all the same.

“There’s nothing for her to heal,” Hyrule mumbles under his breath. Warriors presses his fingers to Four’s throat again to doublecheck — too fast, but still strong. Four’s alive. He’s just — not conscious. And there’s nothing wrong with him that a fairy can fix.

Four trembles, and his eyes flutter, and for a second Warriors is terrified he’s about to seize — then he goes limp again.

“Anyone seen this before?” he asks helplessly. “I’ve seen a lot of portal travel and there’s never been a reaction like this.”

“Lookit his eyes,” Wind blurts out over a round of negatives, and Warriors quickly checks to make sure —

Oh wow.

They’re still ticking lightly, but the dark grey has been suffused by a light, bright blue. As he watches, purple swirls in, circling wider and wider until the whole iris is deep violet, and green starts to creep up from one side. Everyone stiffens as red blooms around Four’s pupil, but in the next moment it’s washed away by pale blue. Specks of green appear and bleed outwards, purple pushes its way to the surface and fades back, blue limns the struggling borders of green and eats away at them. It’s a constant swirling wash of colour.

Their horrified fascination is broken when Four blinks, and blinks again.

Wars feels a leap of hope. “I think he’s coming round.”

Four blinks hard, and the warring colours drain away, back to the stormcloud grey he’d started with. He swallows, and blinks again, and his arms draw in close to himself, hands flexing almost absently.

“Everyone back up, give him some space,” Warriors orders. “Four, can you hear me? Can you give my hand a squeeze?” He tugs one of Four’s arms back out. Four tries to pull it away. “Come on, Link, squeeze my hand.”

Four squeezes, then pulls again, and Warriors lets him go so he can curl up again. Instead he uses it to push himself off the ground.

“Hey, woah, steady!”

Slowly, Four rocks himself into an upright sit — then immediately overbalances the other way. Warriors grabs him to keep him upright. “Easy, there. You back with us? Think you can tell us what happened?”

His throat works, but no sound comes out. Four seems frustrated instead of frightened, at least.

He may not have gone into convulsions, but Warriors has seen the confusion and loss of control after a seizure too often to miss it. It’s almost a relief, knowing, even if seizures are never a good sign. He knows what to look for, he knows how to help if it happens again; he even knows what potions to ask for, if they come across an apothecary with the right stock. “Take it slow,” he tells Four. Four pushes weakly against the hand on his shoulder in a doomed attempt to stand. Warriors rolls his eyes.

Wild jumps from his tree to land close by. Warriors despairs for that man’s knees already. “There’s what looks like a village maybe a half hour northish, if someone needs to go get help.”

“He’s come round,” says Twilight. “We can all start heading that way, though, if someone can carry Four. I don’ wanna put him on a horse like this.”

Four’s lips draw back from his teeth. Slowly, he signs Can walk, with hands that shake so hard it’s a miracle he’s intelligible.

“You definitely can’t,” Warriors tells him and gets a scowl, “give yourself a few minutes, huh?”

This time Four definitely bares his teeth at him.

“Wait wait, you sign?” Wind is nearly vibrating with excitement. “Four, I didn’t know you — and you too Warriors! You can sign?? I never knew anyone outside of my family who could!”

“Sure, it’s pretty standard in the army,” Warriors tells him.

Wind flaps his hands like a bird, beaming with joy, and starts signing rapidly. This is so cool I didn’t realise anyone else knew it I learned because words were so HARD and then I could talk to Aryll before she could talk wait does anyone else know it —

“I do,” says Twilight, a little shyly. “Had a lotta trouble with words when I was younger.”

“Ooh, same hat,” says Legend. “I quit talking completely from age twelve to about seventeen. Old man, what’s with the contemplative look?”

“Just wondering what the chances are. I was much the same, on and off, until I was…” Time stops and thinks about it. “Actually, I suppose I still have trouble on occasion, but it’s been much better since around the time I got married.”

“I didn’t talk for over a hundred years,” Wild says.

“That doesn’t count!” Legend splutters.

Wind giggles at this exchange and turns to Sky, who’s been watching the whole thing with wide eyes and faintly pink cheeks. Do you sign, Sky? Is it a knight thing?

I sign, he signs slowly, because me and Zelda invented it.

There’s a brief pause before Wind starts making a high-pitched shrieking noise and flapping again. THAT’S SO COOL! he signs emphatically, once his hands are still enough.

Sky’s blush intensifies.

The conversation is at least a good distraction while Four rests. He’s stopped trying to stand up and just watches the byplay with hazy eyes. His blinks gets slower, and more prolonged, until Warriors feels a flicker of concern when they don’t open again.

“Hey, Four, no.” Warriors gives him a firm shake. “I know you’re tired, but you really can’t fall asleep right now.”

Four opens his eyes to glare at him, then slowly and distinctly signs Fuck you.

“That’s the spirit,” says Warriors, unmoved. “How’s the dizziness?”

Better. The tingling’s starting to fade, and I don’t feel so much like the air is trying to crush me. Like going from a dark room to blazing sunlight, but made physical. Very strange.

Hyrule makes a startled noise, eyes wide. “That sounds like magic shock!”

That gets Warriors’ attention. “Magic shock? What’s that?”

“It’s, um.” He scrunches his face, thinking hard. “It’s when you go from an area of very low ambient magic to a high one very fast, or vice versa. I felt it when we — when I landed, but I was just a bit dizzy. There’s a lot of ambient magic in the portal, though, and Four you said it felt like the other way round —”

Because the portals are dark magic, not elemental, Four signs, eyes suddenly bright. There was no elemental magic as we were passing through, and that’s what I’m sensitive to, so the sudden loss and reappearance — that makes sense.

Warriors is more concerned by the returning bloom of purple in Four’s eyes. “Uh, Four, I don’t want to worry you, but while you were out, your eyes kept changing. They’re doing it again now — they just went purple.”

Four makes a small, startled noise. Warriors raises a brow. “You didn’t know they did that?”

Unlike you, I don’t spend a lot of time in front of mirrors, Four snarks.

Warriors puts a melodramatic hand over his heart. “Ah! You wound me!” He’s still watching Four carefully for unsteadiness, drifting, a return of the earlier confusion. “But you’re not scared by it. You know what it is?”

Four gestures to his tunic, an absent one-two-three-four at each colour. In the process of forging the Four Sword, it was infused with elemental magic. His smile is small and crooked. I caught a bit of the backwash. Only makes sense there were some side effects.

“Side effects like changing your eye colour?”

“Eyes are the windows to the soul, you know,” Four says, in a creaky voice that’s clearly imitating someone else.

At the sound of it Sky lights up and glances over. “Hey Four! You back with us?”

“Yeah,” says Four, and this time when he presses upwards it’s strong enough to pull free of Warriors’ hands. He sways only slightly as he dusts himself off and catches his balance. “Sorry for the delay. Wild, you said there was a village nearby?”

“Well, I saw smoke and a cleared area, and that’s usually either a village or a monster camp.”

Twilight groans. “Wild…”

“What? One way or another we’re gonna wind up there anyway.”

The rest of the group relaxes fast, with Four upright and interacting and steady as ever. Whatever it was, it’s over now.

(Warriors still knows what he saw. He makes a quiet mental note to talk to Hyrule later, about the signs and symptoms of magic shock. Whether seizures were included, and just how severe it could be. Four is incredibly lucky he wasn’t alone today - and that there hadn’t been a platoon of monsters waiting on the other side of the portal.

The smithy hadn’t known that his eyes change colour. What else doesn’t he know about those ‘side effects’?)

-----

Read Part 2 here!

[luvieshifts]

the maze runner maze diversity ideas directly inspired by this @petrichor-idyllic post!!

ive literally been thinking about it nonstop since omg okay BASICALLY its confirmed in the scorch trials movie that there are a bunch of other mazes aside from the glade and group b. since these other mazes are never touched on there are one million and one ways people could go with them in fanfiction in terms of layout, weather conditions, etc. so i wanted to share some!

petri had tons of great ideas (go follow them right NEOW) and im just here to expand on them. 4 the sake of simplicity im gonna call the “gladers” subjects/mazers since we dont really know what theyd call themselves, and im gonna call the “glade” the centre. i am gonna keep calling new kids greenies bc i think its a funny little name + DISCLAIMER i have not read the books and i also do not have the time or energy to rewatch the movies so if any information is off my bad fr

NOT PROOFREAD

MONSTER IDEAS

a maze with birdbox style monsters so they have to navigate the maze blindfolded

a maze where the monsters are deathly afraid of some sort of metal that wicked wont send them enough of to make clothes or armor (at least not enough to keep every mazer safe) so all the people are heavily pierced. greenies come up piercingless and have to sit in the piercing hut (where they keep the metal) for however long it takes them to let the maze piercers do their job because absolutely no shot are they letting any dumbass teenager go anywhere with their rare life saving metal without it being fused to their bodies. the maze record for time a greenie has spent in the piercing hut is 3 full days and the less time you spend in there when you first arrive the more street cred you get

^ the piercer would probably be the maze leader, im picturing someone who at the beginning was the only person that could talk greenies into getting the piercing over n done with and as more came up the maze just filled with people that would only listen to the one person they trusted enough to pierce them straight out of the box.

a maze with underground monsters. you drop something heavy enough and something shoots out of the ground, jaws wide open. they have treestyle type houses, floating bridges connecting buildings. they dont have runner equivalents bc theyre working on building bridges through the maze and its like a no brainer that they cant go anywhere without a bridge. instead of “someone should try surviving the maze at night” its “we should climb the walls” and everyone thinks hes just as nuts

^theyd have a box but wouldnt it be fucking funny if their greenies just fell out of the sky?? they have a little platform right underneath where the greenies and supplies land (they call it ground zero) picturing wicked somehow forgetting to cushion the platform at first and patient zero falls out of the sky and dies on impact

a maze where the monsters arent giant teen eating beasts but deadly insects. one bite of that one and youll vomit up your internal organs, breathe in gas from that one and your entire body will be paralyzed. accidentally step on that one and your foot will swell to the size of a bowling ball and fucking explode. experiment with how your mazers cope with this - maybe everyone wears layers and layers of bee keeping style clothes outside and all the buildings are netted. do they have disinfecting rooms? do they have some sort of poison that takes the insects out? how to they distribute this poison since they cant just pierce it on like the metal maze?

a maze with the hunger games mutt type monster-mutations made out of fallen mazers

a maze where the monsters arent monsters or a threat at all but contain clues or keys thatll help the mazers get out and are notoriously impossible to catch

MAZE IDEAS

on the wiki page for group b it says their maze went vertical at one point - a maze that is completely vertical, their centre (creatively named The Hole) being like a tube just walled in by heaven high maze structures. you look up and at some point the walls give way to an abyss. most of the mazers have given up hope of getting out because it looks endless - or does it? nobody really entertains the idea that the top of The Wall is closer than they think, that the creators have put in a fake ceiling to fuck with them, but the people theyve sent up dont come back down and when the hole is quiet enough they can hear something alive up there and nobody can say for sure that their little village is any worse than what theyll find if they try to leave

hunger games quarter quell type maze where different sections of it have different monsters or obstacles. the sections with the easiest to bypass obstacles have the most complicated puzzle, the sections that are the easiest to navigate have obstacles 10x as deadly

PEOPLE IDEAS

a maze where 2 people come up in the box at a time (inspired by this thomas fic). theyd have names like box-mate or smth for whoever you come up in the box with (i.e thats jeff, he’s clints box-mate) and everyone is really close with their box-mate, platonically or otherwise. i feel like theres alot of cute potential for this idea, like an alby-equivalent talking to aggressive mazers like why dont you go find your box-mate and chill out. go cuddle or something. greenies often feeling weird about their connection w their box-mate (bc who wouldnt??) and long time mazers teasing them about it “oooooh somebodys making eyes at their booox-maaate muah muah muah”

unisex maze (although all these ideas can be unisex) where the number of boys and girls is slightly or very uneven at any given time. people have bets going around that time of the month every month about whether theyre getting a boy or a girl w things like chores and food being traded like currency. the bonfires on greenie day are just celebrations for the winning party

got this idea from petri but someone alone in a maze!!! just completely isolated for however long, not being expected to survive but making it out somehow. have you guys ever read an article or paper on the long term psychological effects of solitary confinement in prisons? of course itd be different but isolation is literally used as a torture method in some places. humans are not supposed to be so alone!! a lone mazer that sleeps by the thinnest part of the walls at night so they can hear the monsters, have some sort of connection to another living thing. a lone mazer that only survives their maze because they know their monsters like the back of their hand after spending endless nights well hidden in the maze just OBSERVING the creatures because it becomes a comfort to them, seeing something outside of themself move by its own free will. a lone mazer that never stops talking once theyre out of the maze because long silence makes them feel like theyre all alone again, a lone mazer that doesnt talk at all once theyre out of the maze because they cant stand the sound of their own voice anymore.

^ petri had the idea of an animal companion and i think that is a wonderful idea!! they have this fic where the reader had a dog and theyre really cute together. go full on disney princess & give your character a bird or a chameleon or a tiger if youre a jasmine guy. a dog or any predatory animal can conceivably help your character escape the maze - give your character a sloth or a koala or just a really lazy cat. give me a lone mazer whos animal companion is dead weight but they dont have the heart to leave them, who keeps their fat cat strapped to their chest like a baby as they fight for their life. 

person alone in a maze with a baby. ik this sounds so random but wicked wanting to see the effects of growing up in the maze so they send in a carer, someone that looks after the mazers before theyre sent in. the carer raises the kid angry at whoever has trapped their now adopted child in this torture chamber come to find out they used to be one of them

maze where the subjects are supposed to get injured in some way to force them to rely on one another. a subject being deafened by a banshee type monster, a subject getting a limb amputated by medjack equivalents after getting suddenly and suspisciously sick. they dont spend so much time mapping the maze as figuring out how to get all of them through to the very end because they quite literally cannot make it without every single mazer

a maze where the subjects keep their memories but theyve all been altered. some remember wicked as saviours providing shelter for them as orphaned children, others remember being restrained, poked and prodded, a vague feeling of grief and betrayal that they cant explain. others dont remember wicked at all and insist that the maze is a paradise compared to desert wastelands filled with zombie people and viral disease.

your mazers can react to this in any way shape or form. maybe factions/cliques of people with similar memories form. nobody wants a leader from a different group in charge of the entire maze so they dont have one, there not being any rules that apply to every group in the maze because nobody will listen to eachother. everyone thinks the ones that dont remember wicked are crazy and the anti-wicked group have the most reason to become violent, have been the most violent in the past so everyone thinks theyre psychos. it takes them longer than other groups to get out despite having memory because they all take over different parts of the maze and refuse to share information.

mazers that have access to technology. they can make things like recordings and audios but no way of connecting to the outside world and no information aside from what they put in themselves. they learn to program things and make robots/drones to navigate the maze for them, make intro videos for greenies so they dont have to deal with them. instead of track hoes and medjacks they have groups of people that work on different kinds of technology because theyve learnt to automate most of the stuff the gladers do by hand. some work on exploring the maze, some make weapons, some study the monster corpses theyve managed to get, etc etc.

CULTURE/TRADITION IDEAS

the different ways people commemorate dead mazers!! in the glade they cross out their names on the maze walls and in group Bs maze they like sculpt their faces into the ice. give me a maze that tattoos the names of their fallen, whos oldest mazers have the most ink so it kind of goes without saying that the more tattoos you have the more authority you have. greenies being able to tell clearly whos been around longer based on which names they have tattooed. give me a maze that mounts the weapons of the dead on a wall, a maze with a regular graveyard that the mazers visit on slow days

greenie events!!! give me greenie celebrations like the bonfire we see in the glade, parties or games, feasts to welcome newcomers. give me a maze where the arrival of a greenie is grim, one more mouth to feed, one more lost soul trapped. a maze where everything dims down around that time of the month because another person means another month theyve failed to get out. give me mazes that test their greenies to see if theyre of any use to the group because those that arent are dead weight. a maze that holds Greenie Trials, where you have to complete an obstacle course or survive a night in the maze or complete some obscure challenge and if you cant youre tossed to the monsters.

^bonus points for a gally-equivalent getting to say ominous shit like The Last One Didn’t Make It

TATTOO SUBGENRE

because i dont know what else to do with these

maze where wicked programmed the monsters to respond to some basic specific kind of symbol and the people have it tattooed in very visible places, painted on every hut and wall

maze where the monsters are deathly allergic to some sort of liquid so the subjects tattoo themselves with it

maze where you have to be incredibly light on your feet when navigating the maze so people tattoo maps on themselves.

GROUP B

i know im supposed to be talking about maze ideas not mentioned in canon but group b has so much potential their wiki says that group b doesnt have runners, they literally all just go out into the maze in a giant group, AND that their monsters are out day and night PLUS their maze is a frozen wasteland. i imagine any girls that arent strong enough to withstand everything are like pretty quickly weeded out and only the hardasses that adapted quickly enough were left omg the cultural norms that would form?? theyre all absolutely jacked and if a greenie dies nobody bats an eye cause tough shit. no introduction no transition period you come into the maze with us and dodge airborne monsters or you stay here and freeze to death. the creators do send them medical supplies but over time they start to notice the way the group interacts w eachother so they start sending less to see if they can push it even farther, make the girls have to ration their medical supplies. it works tenfold oh you broke your arm and you want a sling, aris?? rachel got her arm CHEWED OFF by a FLYING MUTANT PTERADACTDOL and didnt ask me for so much as a BANDAID

this is like evidenced on the wiki too multiple girls suggesting they just leave aris to freeze to death or get eaten by monsters in the maze because theyre SUSPISCIOUS of him?? like absolutely unprovoked too thomas had a stung glader accusing him of being at fault for the maze an unconscious girl who came at the wrong time who is apparently going to be the last greenie they ever recieve feverishly gasping his name just so much ammo for the gladers to toss him out and it takes the death of like half the glade and an insane gally to get him where aris was upon arrival. they literally punch aris square in the face immediately after they decide not to kill him bc “its the fastest way to remember your name” like how did you guys realise that??? "fastest way” so you admit there are other ways??? why are you giving all your greenies concussions

GEN

because i dont know where to put these

explore the concept of failed mazes. a desert maze where the subjects couldnt survive on the monthly supplies because they couldnt farm any food on their own because, well, desert. a maze where wicked did something like the memory altering maze, purposefully dividing them but they went too far and the mazers killed eachother off hunger games style

test mazes! have you ever wondered why the mazes operate the way they do? why do they send people up once a month? why are the mazers of all different ages? why not make the centre already stocked with food and buildings so the subjects can spend more time cracking the maze instead of learning how to grow crops?

a maze where they sent all the people up at once and without guidance from more experienced subjects they pretty quickly killed themselves off. a maze where the subjects were too young and werent organising themselves or mapping the maze fast enough, a maze where the subjects were too old and lost hope faster and easier. a maze where the mazers had everything they needed upon arrival and nobody wanted to leave.

AND MANY MORE!!!

IN conclusion make ur own mazes people!!!!! get creative w it there are so many different directions you can take it in!! pls feel free to use any ideas thats what theyre here for i dont need credit but PLEASE tag me id love to see anything that comes from this nonsense!!! nd lmk if anybody wants a pt2 because i had a million half baked ideas that didnt make the cut i am filled to the brim with Thoughts

[strawbrygashez]

ZERO DAY/CALDRE HCS

•Andre fell for Cal pretty quickly. It was a mix of Cals ‘pretty blonde boy’ looks, Andre being a loner with no real friends beforehand, and Cal just getting him in a way no one ever really has before.

•Andre introduced Cal to more heavy music. Andre likes industrial metal while Cal had only really liked grunge before. Cal also shows Andre some grunge songs. They’ll make playlists for each other every now and then.

•Cals really good at making bracelets (real ones or just those kid friendship type bracelets). He’s made countless ones for Andre. (Andre mostly wears the first one Cal ever gave him)

Andre has tried making them too but once he even gets slightly frustrated, he gives up and just tosses it into Cals lap to finish for him.

•Kinda related to prev point, Cal likes doing DIY clothes/jewelry stuff in general. It gives him something to focus on other than wanting to die all the time 💀 One of his favorite things he’s made is a bracelet made out of the tabs off of Monster Energy cans. (Andre is honestly jealous he doesn’t have one.)

•Andre had a skateboarding phase. He kinda gave up on it halfway thru the ZD plans but he did try to teach Cal how to skateboard. (No it wasn’t a excuse to touch him while trying help him steady himself on the board.. okay fr it wasn’t. Cal just wanted to try it out since he saw Andre owned a few skateboards)

Cal is a bit of a giggler so he couldn’t take Andre too seriously when he was trying to give him actually helpful advice on how to skateboard.

•If Andre was in a particularly good mood while driving, he’d sing along loudly to whatever was playing on the radio. Cal would just shake his head with a smile.

•Cal tossed around the idea of working at hot topic for a while but for some reason or another, never applied. Andres secretly disappointed bc he would have liked if Cal had a employees discount.

•When Cals really bored & just feeling ‘off’, he’ll cut different shapes and stuff on himself. He’s done stuff like hearts & a butterfly. He’ll also do words or letters like ZD, A (for Andre :P), and because he’s a Manson fan.. I think he did Marilyn Mansons MM logo at least once. What a emo /j

•Both of them like thriller & horror movies but when it comes to TV shows they are a bit different. Andre likes stuff like Ghost Hunters & shows where they try to find Bigfoot (bc hes a very imaginative guy 💀) while Cal likes game shows where he can yell out answers & go on about how the contestants are stupid with Andre. He’s also kinda interested in cooking shows which Andre hates since they’re ‘too boring’.

•Neither of them are huge readers really but if they find a book or magazine that’s interesting, they’ll let the other borrow it.

•Andre steals knives & blades out of Cals room when he’s not looking but Cal never says anything. They both know Cal will just find a way to cut somehow but Andre still does it anyways (and since Andre will ultimately do whatever Cal wants at the end of the day, If cal asks for one of his knives back enough, Andre will give it back)

•Andre is sooooo the type to punch walls. He won’t do it at home really since he doesn’t want his parents worrying about him so it leads him to like.. punching brick walls outside which is much worse for his knuckles lol. But of course Cals there to bandage it up later.

•Cal is diagnosed with a few different things but won’t really bring it up unless it really needs to be. Andre knows all of his diagnoses tho and Cal will joke that Andre has the same things (depression, autism, adhd, etc) Andre will joke that he’s perfectly fine.

•Andre kept a good amount of his toy action figures from his childhood. They are in a box in his closet.

•Cals a bit of creep because sometimes at sleepovers, he just stares at Andre sleeping. He does it without even anything going on in his mind. He’s just enamored by him. Andre has caught him doing it a few times and just groans and rolls over or tosses a pillow at Cals face