#Bigfoot part 2

[smartiehw]

[neechees]

Theres another part to the conversation in the racism of calling Native American spirits "cryptids" that has to do with this idea of underestimating the intelligence of Native people & how we understood our land & ecosystems & devaluing that, because very often you hear this talking point from cryptozooologists say something like "x cryptid exists, but the Native Americans have a near exact spirit in their culture, could they have mistaken it for a spirit?": this premise doesn't acknowledge that most "cryptids" in the Americas are appropriated Native spirits, but instead proposes that these "cryptids" existed FIRST, are possibly now exitinct, and that Native Americans simply weren't "intelligent" or "advanced" enough to understand that it was a real animal & instead had "mistaken" it for a spirit of some kind & gave it that name.

This is also a complete misunderstanding of multiple Native spirits & spirituality & shows the ignorance of it because sometimes it just doesn't work this way, and #2, again underestimates & devalues Indigenous knowledge on science and biogeography. Like, we knew our animals and plants. We knew how & where to find them & what time of year they mated & what they ate & how best to utilize them while remaining in harmony with them, but you don't think we would have knowledge on these "cryptids" if they were actually "cryptids"? (Because again, the definition of a cryptid is an animal that may or may not biologically exist in the world, and may or may not be extinct, and there's little proof on their existence, but has gained notoriety because of tall tales surrounding their existence. A spirit is not that, & is religious.)

Like in many religions, there's a separation from the physical & spiritual/supernatural where the spiritual won't have a physical form, which is why theyre called spirits. If there was an animal that existed in our lands that we physically interacted with then we would have told you. White people still don't believe Native American oral history that we had horses in North America that went extinct, pre-Spanish reintroduction of them, but ironically cryptozooologists & nerds also still won't believe us when we say "bigfoot" isn't a "cryptid" but instead a spirit. So I think its just a case of White ppl refusing to acknowledge our intelligence & knowledge about our own land

[annievrse]

boyfriend!eren headcanons pt. 3 *･｡ﾟ

—ᡣ𐭩 headcanons a/n: going insane, so i wrote more bf!eren while in a waiting room. because of this, they are a little more......... unhinged part 1 part 2 part 4

bf!eren's post-game meal is 3 big macs and 2 mcchickens AND a kids nugget meal (he wants to give you the toy that comes with it because he’s cute) but don’t forget dessert!! he sips his *diet* coke as a palate cleanser and then inhales an apple pie

bf!eren will help old people cross the road/down stairs. he is just that type of guy

bf!eren gets a job coaching a kids' basketball team, and that is a canon event

bf!eren carries your belongings in his sweatpants pockets when you’re out together (e.g. your keys, lipbalm/lipgloss, water bottle etc etc you name it, it’s probably in his pockets)

bf!eren’s phone is very simple—a black iphone 14 with a plain black case, but despite it not even being visible, he keeps a photo of you in the back of his phone (so you’re always with him even when he can’t see you)

bf!eren accompanies you to all your appointments (even if he doesn’t have to) but waits in the waiting room (spoiler: he falls asleep most of the time, kinda embarrassing eren pls wake up)

bf!eren gets you a keychain for your birthday to match his own (i fully 103% believe it would be the lego ones (he would get himself batman, and get you spiderman))

bf!eren leaves his dirty ass bigfoot black vans at your front door (a tripping hazard!!), but it feels so domestic and homey that you can’t bring yourself to scold him for leaving them there

bf!eren watches family guy religiously

when bf!eren gets baby fever, he gets it BAD

but bf!eren cannot be trusted with indoor plants 😐 so (please see part 2 for more evidence (cheez-it incident))

bf!eren buys annie's mac and cheese in bulk (read: he is a manchild who loves cheesy pasta 😋)

bf!eren has an emotional support water bottle (a 1-gallon dark green yeti his mum bought him as a college essential). he does not leave that thing anywhere (carla would castrate him :))

bf!eren owns one (1) pen, so he's constantly stealing yours when he has class and tucks it behind his ear so he doesn't forget to give it back to you (warning he does gnaw on the end like a starved dog)

bf!eren showers twice a day even though i make him sound like he does only once a week :) (and the showers are LONG rip water bill)

bf!eren has a spare charger that is for you only at his apartment <3

bf!eren facetimes you from everywhere (like gross bathroom eren wtf i don't want to hear bathroom sounds, and he just :) but i missed u........)

bf!eren kisses you on the cheeks every chance he gets (big sloppy wet kisses that are so (screaming) so cute and loving and i need him)

bf!eren's hands are rough and warm and dry (not like dry, but like man hand working hands dry you know or am i just talking shit)

bf!eren has his own pillow on your bed that he brought from home

bf!eren has half of his belongings in your room, and yours in his (literally just move in together at this point :/ come on guys)

ok ok bf!eren in those prada sunglasses you know the ones. i know i said in part 2 that he has dad speed sunnies, but those prada ones are so ASDFKJHG

bf!eren makes sure you take your meds (if you have them) every morning/night and calls you if he's not with you to ensure you've taken them (he cares!!!! he's not trying to be overbearing or condescending, i promise)

bf!eren has a nintendo switch so he can play his silly little games when he's waiting for you at your apartment to come home from class (his phone and youtube videos get boring after a while (part 1), and studying is not an option so)

i was in that waiting room for a WHILE ok

[kaleldobrev]

Vampergeist (5) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing (6x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension & Vulnerable Reader

Authors Note: Only 2 more parts after this one gang! I hope y'all have been having a great time with this series so far! | It's one of my favorite universes to write for | A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | As always, thoughts are in italics and the "POV's" switch between Dean & Reader | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⬸ Go Back & Read Chapter 4

“Okay, I think I know what we’re dealing with,” Dean said, looking up from one of the case files the coroner had given you less then half an hour ago. He kept a strong grip on the files, his tone and facial expressions serious.

You gave him a slightly questionable look as you sipped your beer and squinted your eyes slightly. Before you had called Sam, you had done some digging and you were sure that it was a poltergeist case, as all signs of one were there at all of the crime scenes. The only couple of things you hadn’t quite nailed yet were who the poltergeist was, and why it seemed to be only targeting medical students. “Yeah, it’s a polter—”

“A Vampergeist,” Dean said at the exact same moment as you, essentially cutting you off.

Your mouth was half open, trying to process what he just said. After the case was over, you made a mental note to ask Sam if his brother said things like this often. You folded your hands, eyeing Dean, trying to keep a straight face. “What in the living fuck is a Vampergeist?”

“It’s a poltergeist that sucks the blood of its victims like a vampire,” Dean explained, his tone with slight humor in it. “Vampergeist,” he repeated, moving his hands in a gesture as if he was somehow imitating Vanna White. The smile on his face was a rather goofy one — similar to that of a toddler who told his mother a new word he had just discovered. But you couldn’t help but smile looking at him. With the short amount of time you’ve been with Dean, he had made you smile more than anyone had in such a long time.

“Vampergeist is definitely a new one,” you said, playing along with his new word. A word that you didn’t want to admit to him that you were actually pretty fond of. “Unfortunately, Vampergeists exist just as much as Bigfoot and Nessie do,” you teased.

“Vampergeists don’t exist,” he mumbled to himself, using a slightly mocking tone. You smirked, giving a quiet chuckle to yourself at his imitation of you.

Dean rubbed his eyes, feeling the eye strain starting to hit him from looking at the case files and the laptop. At this point, neither one of you had a clue who the poltergeist could be, and why it seemed to be specifically targeting medical students of all people. In his long hunting career, and in your numerous poltergeist cases you’ve worked, neither of you had ever seen or heard of one that drained the blood of its victims before; especially one that didn’t even leave marks for entry.

He looked at you, and you were biting your bottom lip; something that you tended to do, he noticed, whenever you were thinking or concentrating hard on something. He wished he was the one biting it. Fuck, I need to get laid, he thought.

You must of felt his stare, as all of a sudden you looked up from the case file and smiled at him. The way you smiled killed him. "Did you find anything?" You asked, placing the case file on the table.

"No," he answered automatically, rubbing his face again. "But what I can tell you is that I have a fuck ton of eye strain. Which means, it's time to take a break," he said, patting the table and getting up.

You weren't against a break, as the more breaks you took, the longer it took to work the case. And the longer it took to work the case, meant the longer amount of time you got to spend with Dean.

As he got up from the table, he went to his side of the bed and plopped onto it, grabbing the remote from the side table and turning on the television. "Watching tv isn't going to help your eye strain you know," you commented. "Might make it worse."

Dean scoffed. "Everything can be solved by watching some TV," he said. "Now come." He patted your side of the bed, and started flipping through the channels trying to find something the two of you could watch together.

As you lied down on the bed next to Dean, your heart started to pound quickly. You were inches away from him, and all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. You wanted to grab his hand and hold it in yours, rest your head on his shoulder. But the more you thought about all the things you had wanted to do with him, the sadder you got. You were never going to be able to rest your head on his shoulder, or feel his lips on yours. There was no way he would ever look at you in a romantic way.

There was absolutely nothing to watch, which slightly surprised him, because even in shitty motels, there was at least one thing to watch. But the more he channel surfed, the deeper he sighed. “There’s nothing on, not even Scooby-Doo,” he said.

“Is Scooby-Doo your favorite?” You asked, looking at him, and he nodded in response.

“Yeah. Like I said before. Scooby-Doo was one of those things that was always on no matter where me, my dad and Sammy were. It was also one of the few things that I watched where I knew the bad guy was going to lose,” he explained. “Like —”

“Horror movies,” you added. “That’s why I like horror movies so much. You know the bad guy is always going to lose,” you explained. Of course you fucking like horror movies, he thought. Was there something the two of you didn’t have in common?

“Yeah, exactly,” he agreed. “That’s what I tell Sammy all the time. He says our life is pretty much a horror movie, that’s why he doesn’t like them but, at least I know in movies the bad guy loses. In our world well…”

“It’s not a guarantee,” you said, finishing his sentence for him yet again, your tone sounding almost slightly saddened. “Speaking of which,” you began, as you sat on the edge of the bed, “we need to find out who this poltergeist is before anymore students end up dead,” you said, as you walked back over to the table.

“Yahtzee!” Dean randomly called out, throwing his hands up in the air before spinning his laptop to face you. “Read the title of this article I finally found,” he said, with the biggest, impressed smile on his lips.

“David Falko’s medical instruments donated to medical museum at The University of Tulsa,” you read aloud. “What about it?” You asked.

“Keep reading, and look at the date on the bottom of the article,” Dean pointed out.

“July first, twenty-sixteen,” you said.

“And when was the first murder?” Dean asked.

“July third, twenty-sixteen,” both you and Dean at the same time.

“Son of a Bitch,” you mumbled.

“But wait, there’s more,” Dean began, holding up his pointer finger before turning his laptop back to him. “I did a little bit more digging on our pal Falko here, and fifty years ago, he murdered three of his medical students using the exact same instruments that were donated.”

“How do you explain the blood draining with no marks?” You asked.

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “I am so glad you asked.” He grabbed one of the case files that the corner had given you, and opened it, revealing the photographs from the autopsy. “Our coroner friend did miss something. See this right here?” Dean pointed to one of the autopsy photos, which was a close up picture of one of the medical students hairlines by their neck.

“That mark right there?” You asked, pointing to a small circular mark that looked extremely similar to a mole.

“Yep. That’s not a mole like the coroner thought. It’s actually a puncture wound. What Falko did fifty years ago, was he punctured the base of the students skulls close enough to their hair line so it looked like a mole and essentially, went unnoticed,” Dean explained. “Until now anyway,” he winked.

“And because he was their supervisor, that’s why there was no forced entry,” you stated, and Dean nodded. “What about the lack of struggle?”

“All three students offered to make Falko coffee, and when the students weren’t looking, Falko would drug them. So, when the students drank the drugged coffee, they would fall asleep, and that’s when he could do his handiwork,” he explained, and his explanation made your blood run cold. Not only did Falko kill three people, he did it in a cowardly way.

“It would make sense for Falko to be our guy. Do you think, and it’s a stretch here I know that, the reason that there are no drugs in any of the students systems is because he can just knock them out from being a ghost?” You knew how crazy your theory was, but in this line of work, sometimes the craziest of theories were the most logical of ones.

Dean shrugged. “Could be possible. But at the same time, even in death, serial killers don’t really change their M.O. And I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

You chuckled at his comment. “I’m sure it’s not the craziest thing you’ve ever said,” you slightly smirked.

Dean smirked back. “Actually —” but before he could indulge in your comment, you cut him off.

“Please tell me the medical instruments are still at the college, because I’m assuming we can’t just salt and burn this guy,” you said. Both Dean and you have been on plenty of ghost cases, and rarely was it that easy to just salt and burn the remains — there was almost always something else involved.

“You would be correct because our buddy here was cremated,” Dean replied.

“Of course he is,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes. “Alright. Well. Since we have a few hours to kill before dark, I say we take a little nap and fuel up before we steal some historical medical equipment from a prominent university.”

Dean smiled, chuckling to himself. “Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon with Dean couldn’t have gone any quicker. It felt like the time flew by, and it was time that you desperately wanted to re-live again; which is funny because it was relatively uneventful. The two of you did what you had suggested: take a nap, refuel, and watched some tv. But during those hours with him, you felt safe and comfortable. You felt truly safe with Dean despite barely knowing him a couple of days. He was still relatively a stranger to you and yet, you’d trust him with your life if it ever came down to it.

When it came to your nap, you were the first one to wake, which you were strangely grateful for as you were able to admire the way Dean slept. He looked so peaceful, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, to feel his stubble underneath your fingertips. But you had to resist the urge even though it was getting stronger with each passing second.

When nighttime had finally come, it was time to head to the medical museum at the university, and hopefully put a stop to this once and for all. But based on the information that the two of you had gathered though, you figured that Falko was done with his little murder spree, but you needed to make sure that he would never be able to harm anyone ever again. Three now, and six in total was far too many innocent lives lost.

As you and Dean drove to the university, there remained that comfortable silence that seemed to often appear between the two of you; the only sound to be heard in the truck was The Clash, but the volume was scarily low for you, as you tended to blast your music — not caring who heard. But in this moment, you felt it wasn’t necessary.

Despite the silence that you were enjoying between the two of you, you were the one that broke it. “Before, you asked me how I got into hunting so young,” you began, still keeping your eyes on the road.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Dean reassured you. “It’s not a big deal if I don’t know.”

“I want to. I trust you,” and you meant it when you said that, as trust was something you rarely gave to people since you became a hunter. You removed your hand from the wheel briefly, and touched the dog tags that were hanging in your review mirror. “See these?” You asked, and removed your hand, putting it back on the wheel again. Dean nodded. “He’s the reason I got into hunting.”

Dean looked at you, inches away from touching the precious dog tags you had refused to burn after all this time. “May I?” He asked, and you nodded. He removed the dog tags gently from the rear view and you felt your heart pounding quickly. You never let anyone touch them, and yet, you were letting Dean. “Joseph A. Baxter,” Dean read.

“Joey,” you corrected, partially smiling as you said his name. “He was my best friend and my neighbor. We were…inseparable, attached to the hip. Our parents always wondered when the two of us would start dating but, we…” you sighed deeply. “Never got the chance to.” You hadn’t talked about Joey in such a long time, and it felt almost therapeutic in a way to talk about him, but at the same time, he was someone you rarely talked about because sometimes it was too painful for you to bring up the memories of him, despite the amount of fondness and love you had for him.

You felt tears coming on, and you quickly did your best to bat them away with your eyelashes, but some still managed to escape to your cheeks. “He enlisted, and he left. Said he’d be back in no time,” you took a deep breath again. This was harder than you expected it to be. You wanted to continue, to tell Dean about him, as you felt safe enough to tell him, something you rarely felt with people since Joey died. As you were almost about to give up, you felt Dean place his hand on your thigh. Not in a romantic way, but in a comforting way. But the gesture didn’t last long, as he quickly pulled it away. But that small gesture gave you enough strength to continue.

“When he came back he was…he was dead. We got the news when an army vehicle pulled up in front of his parents house with one of those folded flags with his dog tags on top,” you paused again, but Dean remained silent. “His funeral was a week later. I was just so…angry at him. He promised…he promised he’d come back.” You didn’t fight back any of the tears now, as they were running down your cheeks. You knew you were in no condition to drive now, so you pulled over to the side of the road.

As soon as you did, you couldn’t control yourself anymore. Your body was on autopilot. You turned to Dean and wrapped your arms around him, and without hesitation it seemed, he wrapped his arms around you. He gently rubbed your back the best he could at the angle you were at, and he started humming, as if he was trying to help you calm down. “It’s okay,” he whispered on repeat to you.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 6

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[directdogman]

Hello Hound!! Since it's Dialtown's 2nd anniversary, I've been planning up a few "general" related questions about your series that I've been meaning to ask, but I decided to save them up for the big day because why not? Anyways, here's what I've got, these were meant to be fun to answer so don't sweat it :]

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

That's all I have for now, and I'm really excited to see your answers!!

I normally don't answer this many questions, but... alright, sure, tis the season!

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

Yeah, of course! I'm a lil proud, admittedly, but I'm aware of how comically little I really have to do with it all, even if I did make the game. Luck does play a LOT into it, of course. Granted, I made my share of predictions that wound up being useful, but it always comes down to lady luck at the end of the day. I've seen good projects fail and bad ones go viral. It's really all just a hodgepodge of probability and whimsy. That being said, I am very pleased with DT's success, and the community that's formed around the game! It caught me by surprise!

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

Gingi's always fun to write. And Mingus. Most painful is tough to say. Maybe Crown. I got a little weird when I wrote his full backstory, kinda caught up in the emotion Norm talks about. Never been a fan of stories getting cut short. You gotta wonder what would've happened if he'd made different choices, y'know?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

Honestly? Karen, probably. She's super underrated for sure. The fandom still loves her, but she doesn't get the same kind of attention as Oliver, Gingi, Randy, Norm. She's worth it.

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

Oh, I already have. I have this monstruous 30-40 page document detailing Crown's life and entire career. It's quite a read. and quite a mind-fuck if you don't know Dialtown's universe too well.

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

Oh yeah, a few characters had scenes that were cut. Stabby, Shooty, Mingus, Bunny, even Bigfoot! There's also the game's cut 6th datable, who was an interesting character with ties to other characters in the cast who I wanted to do more with. Ah, maybe one day.

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

Bigfoot. I made the ape noises in the suit. Had to. It felt right.

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

I quite like Norm's set, Mingus' too. Karen's poses too are quite good.

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

That answer probably changes every day. I like pretty much any scene where Mingus loses her temper.

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

I'd love to make sequels one day! I've got a lot of ideas for where the characters/story would end up. By the time DT1 wrapped up, I'd conceptualized way too much stuff to put in one game (without it taking another few years to finish), so if I ever wanted to make sequels, I'd 100% know where to start! But, that's a later down the road conversation.

For now, I'm gonna keep working on the Roger DLC and if there's demand for more, I can go from there :)

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

I guess I COULD do that with, like, anything. Nothing immediately springs to mind, since, y'know, I'm in control of the canon anyway. I will say, I've seen headcanons and theories that ARE scarily accurate to canon, to the point where I've feared people would just think I'm lifting stuff from the fanbase! It's a good thing I talk about these things with collaborators, huh? I've got a PAPER-TRAIL!!!

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

Finishing a new scene and realizing how stupidly long it was (without me realizing it) was always a treat. But yeah, writing the characters had to be it. Specifically any scene where a character the audience knows meets someone the audience doesn't know well (or at all), with the dynamic changing. Those are fun to write.

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

Hard question to answer. I do really wanna give a high number, but truthfully, a lot of game dev actually isn't super 'fun'. Some tasks are, granted, but many parts are a slog. Sitting and formatting dialogue, and then adding text pauses and pose changes isn't exactly a super thrilling activity. The engine itself also has some issues which I have to work around that adds to the workplace. Play-testing a scene for the 4th time isn't super fun either, or trying to figure out why the game crashes on some PCs and ONLY very rarely... Those tasks are Sisyphean to some degree.

...But, while most of those parts aren't fun, it's all still rewarding. There's a sense of accomplishment when you finish a scene. You get to look back at your hard work, remember the hours you spent typing dialogue into a text box and formatting mass amounts of pngs, painstakingly + manually getting the game's awful pre-loader to deal with the sprites right, etc... and suddenly, at the end, you've got this lil experience that people can play and enjoy. Somehow, the sum of all of those not so fun activities has created something that's going to make people laugh, feel happy. That's special. and even if some parts of development weren't super fun on their own, that's always what I remember. That in the end, all of those not so fun days mattered.

The route I agonized the most over was Oliver's. I went through a few weeks of writer's block, and now, it's one of the most popular routes in the game! Crazy how that happens. I was SURE for about a week that people would rank the route at the bottom! That's what I mean, all of the stress I went through trying to figure it out amounted to something people connected with! To think I almost CUT the route entirely!!!

And y'know, God knows Dialtown gave me something to throw myself at during a time where I REALLY needed the outlet. I'm very grateful to the project for that. So, I'll give DT an honorary 8 out of 10, even if it wasn't a consistently 8/10 experience making it heh heh! Sure glad I did, though and I'm very glad if any of you reading this had a really good time playing it! :)

Thanks for the questions!

[nino-rox]

ANOMALY PART 1

STILES STILINSKI x MALE READER | O

Warnings : None, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

Author’s Note : the car in the picture below is Y/N’s new car

“Y/N, I’m leaving for work. Make sure you don’t get late for school, and drive safe, honey!” You heard your mom say as you packed your back for your first day of school, “Okay, Mom! Have a great day at work,” You responded.

You had just moved to Beacon Hills with your mom a day ago because of her new job at a hospital here. The school was about 20 minutes from your house, and you’d only visited once before for admission.

You made your way to the main door, manoeuvring between the still unpacked cartons. Your new house wasn’t particularly big, it was a small 2 Bedroom, 3 Bathroom apartment on the 1st floor. It wasn’t fancy, but you liked how the windows opened into an amazing view of the town.

You sat into your new car; it was by far the thing you were the most excited about, after all… that’s how your mom managed to bribe you when you said you didn’t want to move to some small town and leave Los Angeles. Your new car was a Black 5-seat Volvo XC40 Hybrid. It was as beautiful as they come - the best breaks, sexy design, brand new release, Electric + Gas - And it felt amazing to drive.

With those thoughts in mind, you drove off to school.

Your mom had given you strict instructions that if you got caught skipping school, she would ground you until the next semester and take the keys to the car. As you reached the school, reality began to set in. You were in some faraway town, away from home, away from your only close friend, and didn’t know anyone. But at this point, it was nothing new to you. Your mom was a famous double board-certified general surgeon, and thanks to that title, her job always made her move around the country.

Perhaps this was why you looked down at your new school - Beacon Hills High School - it wasn’t as big, pretty, or well-known as your previous one. Still, on the upside, you had heard interesting stories about the place and how “weird” things kept happening, so you at least hoped you’d run into Bigfoot or something on one of your regular late-night walks. ( A/N: LMAO HE ABOUT TO REGRET THAT- Sorry)

As you parked your car, a chill went up your spine. You really had no idea what to expect. You took in your surroundings as you got down; the grass was long and wild, the buildings were old, and everyone was … well… they didn’t have the same flair as people in LA.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was a message from your best friend that said, “Hey, listen, Y/N, I’m super late for class right now. I wish you all the best for the first day at Beacon Hills. Oh, and don’t be a judgmental bitch, please. It is a town, not LA, but I’m sure you’ll survive. Don’t worry, stay safe and DO NOT GO LOOKING FOR DANGER…also, let me know if there are any hot guys. Maybe I can come over then.”

It was crazy how she basically knew what you were thinking, so you sent her a message saying, “No hot guys in sight … not one,” to which she replied, “STFU and get to class bitch.”

And as you walked towards the school entrance, you decided it was time to start working on becoming a bit more social and meet some friends here… or not, because who cares…right…?

As you locked your car and began walking to the entrance, you saw a blue Jeep parked next to it; it looked pretty banged up as if a lion had scratched it. You just hoped they didn’t accidentally scrape your car.

Two boys were getting out of the jeep. One was tall and athletic, the other an inch shorter and much skinnier. They looked around your age and looked like they were talking about something serious.

You continued walking in. Your first class of the day was AP (advanced placement) Biology. As you walked in, you prayed the teacher wouldn’t make you introduce yourself; you weren’t in the mood… but oh well.

The teacher spoke as you walked in, greeting and asking you to introduce yourself to the class.

“Hey everyone, my name’s Y/N Shepherd. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you!” You said as you saw a beautiful redhead who later introduced herself as Lydia Martin smile and wave at you, signalling for you to sit with her.

You welcomed the friendly gesture, smiling back and walking over to her before taking a seat.

“So, pretty boy, where are you coming from ?” Lydia asked. “LA, and thanks, you’re quite beautiful yourself,” you said, winking at her, which made her blush slightly.

You were always good at this part, faking a smile, being all friendly, sweet and social when really you never cared.”

Before Lydia could continue interrogating you, the class started.

Over the next hour and a half, the lecture went by.

After the lecture ended, Lydia told you that she would go find out where your locker was. She also gave you some tips on the teachers she thought would be easy and hard and things like that and warned you to not step out too late in the night in Beacon Hills. She mentioned that sometimes people hung out together outside of school and invited you along.

“Thanks! This will definitely help me fit in better,” you smiled.

Lydia smiled and walked off after showing you to your locker. As you began to open your locker, two boys suddenly ran up to you and held the locker door shut. You turned around, ready to rid anyone of the false notion that they could even try to bully you, but your gaze softened a bit when you saw the two boys from the jeep next to your car,

“Heyyy, man, sorry I kinda put some stuff … uh … in there and forgot to take it out last semester. Could you just give us a bit so we can take it out?” The shorter, skinnier one said, almost suspiciously, as if there was a dead body in there. “So? Take it out now. I need to put my stuff in,” you said, opening the locker as you noticed the taller boy sigh in defeat. Suddenly, your eyes went wide; the moment you opened the lock, a huge, maybe 10-foot iron chain began to fall out; the loud sound even made teachers step out to see what was happening. The skinny boy spoke up, “Yeah …. About that … uh.. we can explain … um, it was,” “Don’t bother, I don’t really care, just get it out before you make me late for class”, you interrupted, visibly mad that the whole school probably thinks “you” were the psycho who had iron chains in his locker - when that really wasn’t the case. “We’re really sorry about this,” the taller boy said, grabbing the chains and leaving you in peace. You were judging…you were really judging them. You didn’t care about the chains, but the fact that everyone’s gonna think it was you.

You made your way to your economics class, and to your most unpleasant surprise, both those boys were in your class. As if it wasn’t bad enough already, only one seat was left, and it was right beside them. You chuckled at the irony of the situation - You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or strangle them, so you decided to ignore them and keep it cool.

The class was easy; you already knew everything, so you couldn’t help but get bored. As you began observing the classroom, the skinny boy passed you a chit - you took it hesitantly - it read, “SO SORRY - Stiles.” And had a smiley face drawn next to “stiles,” which made you think. What the hell is a stiles?

You glance back at the boy only to see him grinning at you; at that moment, you feel something - confusion - before you can do anything, you hear the teacher call you to solve a question on the board.

While solving the problem, you kept glancing at the two boys - you could feel their stares burning through your skin. The teacher seemed impressed when you finished solving the question and said, “You see that, Greenberg? That’s how it’s done.” Damn, this man really hates this Greenberg dude, what’d he do? You thought to yourself as you returned to your seat.

You could still feel the two boys staring holes into you; you were beginning to get irritated. You needed to finish some work, and these boys clearly weren’t helping you concentrate.

As you tried to return to your book, the taller boy mumbled something and pointed his finger at you. You were really starting to lose it, but the two boys suddenly got up, telling the teacher they had to go and ran out of the class - what the fuck is wrong with those two, you thought to yourself.

A while later, you were finally done with classes for the day. So far, it had gone well. The teachers liked you, and your classmates did too. The only issue was the whole corridor thing with those two boys, but as long as you stayed away from them, you’d be fine, you thought.

You received a message from Lydia asking you to come to the benches outside the cafeteria. That’s where she was hanging out with her friends after school. You texted back, letting her know you’d arrive in 5 minutes. You were in the mood for a walk and wanted to get some fresh air after that awkward morning.

As you reached the benches, you were absolutely fucking appalled; how is it that wherever you went, you’d run into those two boys - they were sitting next to Lydia - you sighed, taking a deep breath as you walked over, putting on your best smile.

[show-us-kaidenshenandoah]

i was watching the movie again and went "...wait a second" at the designs of The Gammas (or Gamma Mu Mu). i looked up trivia and couldn't find anything to confirm (or deny, i guess) my thoughts, so i guess?? this is a theory? (someone with a DVD/Bluray version, please check the Special Features for me to see if anyone mentions this. i have no idea) i'm surprised i haven't seen this parallel thrown around more but yeah, i think im onto something if this is a new thought in the Goofy Movies fanbase lol

sorry for the low quality of the image, ill type the transcript up in the post to make up for how blurry my text is. there just isn't a lot of pictures of these guys, period, much less that i could find of this specific scene so i could make my point

but yeah, my theory is The Gammas are all based off the classic villains in the Mickey-Donald-Goofy multiverse (plus Bigfoot, but i know many people noticed the redhead member of the Gammas is just "a shaved down version of Bigfoot" from the first "A Goofy Movie" lol)

(also, im a novice at learning about this extended Mickey-Donald-Goofy multiverse, im still new to the Carl Banks comics and havent seen all the media. so forgive me if im wrong at any point and please kindly correct me ♡)

so there's:

named: Bradley Uppercrust III — no idea if he is based off of anyone

named: Tank — based off of: Pete / Peg Leg Pete (but make him unrelated to PJ, basically) (hence, why he looks the least like his source, if im correct. he has a shirtless scene where he's revealed to have a farmer's tan, that i think you could argue is a very subtle nod that would have been slightly closer to a Pete-like coloration. but yeah, if im right, they had to make Tank's pallette lighter ao he wouldn't be mistaken as a relative of PJ's)

unnamed bearded member — based off of: the main Beagle Boys trio (Babyface) (Bigtime) (if you don't know the lore: there's a lot of Beagle Boys as the gag is they're a BIG family, but the main trio in the original "Ducktales" show is the first set of parentheses. the second set of parentheses is their names in the classic Ducktales comics. both the original "Ducktales" show and the reboot "Ducktales" show features both sets of the trio/s though. though the Carl Barks version of the comics preferred the route of "they go by their prison-numbers rather than their names". also, inbetween the two "Ducktales" TV shows, a lot of Disney media just merged the two trios into one kind-of-amorphous trio, as far as i can tell, like with "Mickey, Donald, and Goofy: the Three Muskateers". but still, they're part of a HUGE family who tend to be clones of said main trio. but i digress. they're a confusing family lmao rip)

unnamed member wearing sunglasses — based off of: the main Beagle Boys trio (Bankjob) (Bouncer) (i like to think his sunglasses (and i guess also the unnamed bearded member's glasses, but mainly these sunglasses) as a homage to the Beagle Boys' black masks lol)

named: Slouch — based off of: the main Beagle Boys trio (Bugle) (Burger) (also: im entirely banking off differentiating Bugle/Burger to Slouch and Bankjob/Bouncer to sunglasses-guy on how Bugle is commonly reffered to as "a hipster" and i personally associate fedoras with a similar type of crowd. i could have those mixed up tho, idk, neither of these guys even have any lines lol but i do like the idea that maybe the fedora is flipped like that as a reference to the Beagle Boys' billed caps? idk, that might be a stretch) (i would also like to mention i hc these guys are The Beagle Brats now in college-age, who are an unnamed trio that goes by "1, 2, and 3" in the comics but, from what i can tell, that the Beagle Brats in general (not 1, 2, and 3 specifically) were first seen(?) in the "Ducktales" original show (who also have a v small cameo in the reboot) that were meant to parallel the triplets Huey and Dewey and Louie; these specific ones im talking about the nephews of the general-amorphous-main-trio of Beagle Boys, but it is possible to call any Beagle Boy who is young a Beagle Brat. but, yeah, i have no basis for why i think Slouch and the other two are specifically the Beagle Brats 1, 2, and 3; that's entirely headcanon)

unnamed member that's a redhead — based off of: Bigfoot in "A Goofy Movie" (again, i know a lot of people caught this one lmao)

unnamed member that has black hair — based off of: Mortimer Mouse (who was once also known aa Montmorency Rodent/Rodawn, but they've been retconned into being the same character by now, but that'a a tangent.) (if you don't know the lore: Mortimer is a bit complicated to describe? but the tldr is that he's basically Mickey's love-rival for Minnie. to go more in depth though, uh, he's more wealthy, usually, and claims to be "in love" with Minnie Mouse but is also a jerk and she generally does not have any interest in him (well, unless the plot the writer wants includes a love-triangle). Pete is usually considered a more recognizable villain, so Mortimer rarely shows up, esp since Pete can be easily be written as also harboring feelings for Minnie. so sometimes shows re-write Mortimer from this personality so he is more distinct, sometimes as a toxic friend of Mickey's or overall bad influence but well-intentioned; so the character has some flexibility. but i know him best, as do many others, via his "House of Mouse" recurring role where he'd show up just to try to break Mickey and Minnie up or otherwise flirt with any female guests. i think he works well in competition wirh Pete, who has more of a Goliath-and-David relationship with Mickey when Mickey and Pete are antagonistic, as Mortimer is an antagonist that is just as clever and capable as Mickey (if not more so, since he is clever, competent, and generally wealthy enough to have more resources than Mickey) but does not have Mickey's sincerity or good intentions. though i dont mind how kid shows re-write him either, i think toxic friends and bad influences are good lessons for children to learn. i like Mortimer being a frenemy who has good intent but bad follow-through lol but anyway, thank you for allowing me this debatably-overexplanation of Mortimer since he's my favorite and also, uh, the only one here where #1 he isnt in the Goofy Movie series and ergo may not be known to others, #2 has a consistent personality beyond "bad guy in story" i can talk about unlike the Beagle Boys trio/s and their huge extended family of might-as-well-be-clones, and #3, again, he's my favorite if you couldnt tell lol) (also, i do think you could argue this unnamed character's quiff is a nod to Mortimer's mouse-ears tho, since there's a curve and all. and then the idea he has some stubble as a possible ref to Mortimer's whiskers is hilarious to me if my theory has water and he was intentionally designed after Mortimer lmao)

anyway, i apologize again if this idea has been discussed before. i really did try to google if anyone was spreading the same idea that The Gammas are just a fun College AU-Variant of these guys already

+ bonus, since i mentioned them, The Beagle Brats:

please let me know if you think the idea has merit, and especially let me know if Bradley is a reference to anyone (tho i can also fully buy Bradley being original to this movie!) thanks so much for reading ♡

ps. i am dyslexic so do forgive me for any misspellings. i am editing this unseriously from my phone ✌️

[ofmdrecaps]

10/01/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Vico Ortiz; Samba Schutte; Daily Clowning Reminders; Great Causes; OFMD Buys Boats: Charit Raffle!; Fan Spotlight: OFMD Colouring Pages; Citizen Dame; Love Notes;

== David Jenkins ==

I absolutely LOVE how much David is continuing to engage with us! Shout out to the darling @ajmckay over on twitter for the Apple prompts!

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

There's a new short The Cryptid Factor episode, this time Rhys is looking for Bigfoot!

Source: The Cryptid Factor Patreon

== Vico Ortiz ==

Vico out with friends at the LatinX New Play Festival!

== Samba Schutte ==

A while back, Samba took part in a short film by Valerie Chaney, and Valerie was kind enough to share some BTS about it! There were LOTS of videos so I move them over to the repo so you could see them.

Want to see more BTS? Check out more Best Life BTS on the repo.

Source: ValerieandChaney Instagram

Also, Samba shared an old video game sketch he did!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

== Ruibo Qian ==

I wasn't able to save the original Instagram story in time-- but our fabulous crewmate @lisahafey reached out to Ruibo about her clown killing story! And guess what? Our pirate Queen ANSWERED! Congrats Lisa!! So happy for you dear! Thanks for letting me share this with the crew!

Source: Lisa Hafey's Twitter

== Daily Clowning Reminders! ==

If you haven't already done so - please remember to do these low spoons required things to help with the potential Netflix OFMD renewal! https://help.netflix.com/en/titlerequest !

Source: aproperpirate's Twitter

Also too, if you have a few extra moments, want to help get one of our captains shows on Netflix? Please request Wrecked as well!

Source: Elphia's Twitter

== More Great Causes ==

Another crewmate ghostalfanserv on twitter is offering up some incentives to help out the Lebanese Red Cross! Wanna help out? Here's the deets! (The sheer talent and kindness of this crew is astonishing, yall rock!)

Works / Bookmarks / Donation Page

Source: GhostalFanServ's Twitter

== OFMD Buys Boats - The Raffle! ==

Are you following the Tiny Boat Crew Charity Raffle? If not, please do! You could win one of Auntie's Tiny boats! They've been confirmed as authentic by our dear Lindsey Cantrell! The group doing this is so sweet and trying to raise money for great causes! Here's their info!

Linktr.ee

Instagram

Twitter

Reddit

Tumblr

Facebook

You can sign up for email updates here!

Or Email them at ofmd.buys.boats@gmail.com!

Here's some more info on the Tiny Boats journey!

Source: OFMD Buys Boats Facebook

== Fan Spotlight ==

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

Our friend @patchworkpiratebear is back with more colouring pages! I love how complex they have gotten! (The Honking one is so getting colored by my kid this weekend).

Source: Patchwork Pirate Bear's Tumblr

= Citizen Dame Podcast =

Citizen Dame's Patreon Exclusive OFMD Episodes are back with Season 2 Episode 1! If you're a patron (or want to join), check it out below!

Source: Citizen Dame Podcast Patreon

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies! So much honking going on! We even have Ruibo Honking! And Honking coloring pages! That's all so great! I realize this is another short one today, but I wanted to take a moment to remind you of something so easily forgotten now a days.

You are human.

You are fallible.

You are messy. You make mistakes.

But you know what else you are? You are worthy. You are beautiful. You are complex. You are constantly learning.

But most of all-- You are loved. You aren't loved despite your flaws-- despite your fallibility and messiness-- you are loved because of every single one of the things above. You are wonderful because you are human. Your neighbor, your kid, your family, your moots, they are all wonderful because they make mistakes because they are fallible, because they are complex, because they are learning, and growing, because they are human. All of us are humans, lovelies, and that is such a fantastic thing. We learn, and we grow together, and we do our best when things go wrong to make them better for next time. Don't forget that your humanity, and your flaws are also what make you unique, and brilliant.

Don't give up okay? Don't let those things haunt you, but make you rise up and keep going. Love you crew <3

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Anita | Subscription Box | Happiness Coach ✨ (@sugarandsloth)

[thesoftboiledegg]

"Mort: Ragnarick" was pure fun, but a different kind of fun than "Rickfending Your Mort" and "Rise of the Numbericons: The Movie."

"Rickfending Your Mort" was a laid-back clip show that gave the viewer a break after the insanity of "Unmortricken"--a smart decision but not one with a lot of substance. "Rise of the Numbericons: The Movie" has been controversial. I thought it was entertaining, but it would've worked better as a YouTube short.

If "Unmortricken" represented lore episodes at their best, "Mort: Ragnarick" was the best of classic Rick and Morty adventures: a wildly imaginative plot, goofy satire, fantasy science and Rick and Morty working together as a duo, reminding us how much they need each other.

Rick's the driving force behind these adventures, but without Morty, he's just a miserable old man trying to distract himself. Morty's the heart and voice of reason. He also gives Rick something to live for. Without him, Beth, Jerry or Summer, why do anything?

Rick pretends to live for science, but "science" just caused decades of grief and isolation. His family isn't a concept; it's an entity that loves him back.

Bigfoot, an evil pope, Pokeballs, Valhalla, clone bodies, infinite energy sources, zombie Summer, Rick screaming "PO-O-O-O-OPE!": only Rick and Morty could combine all those concepts into one cohesive episode. I never thought "Wow, that took me out of the story." The Pokeball came close, but the end credits scene tied it all together.

Jerry's scene was a standout, too. Chris Parnell's reading of "Nana!" was genuinely sweet. It seems like Jerry's becoming a (mostly) willing participant in Rick's schemes instead of a helpless guinea pig. Is Rick learning that releasing his iron grip on his family makes them more attached to him, not less?

I also loved it when the Vikings called Rick a witch. He loves crystals, plays with magic, has two crows as familiars: damn right, he is!

You have to suspend your disbelief a couple of times, mainly when Bigfoot attacks Rick in the kitchen (he crushed Rick earlier like it was nothing, but now Rick walks away with a few scratches?) Still, the little character moments overshadow these flaws.

Judging by old posts that I've seen floating around, I think Rick and Morty's relationship is finally becoming what fans wanted it to be in seasons 1-3. Rick's still mean, but he's less dominant and more of Morty's mischievous co-conspirator. An alien mobster freaking out in "The Jerrick Trap" because of Rick's "touch my grandson and die" policy is straight out of fanon.

Rick's more physically gentle, and Morty responds in kind. He grabs and supports him when Bigfoot attacks him at home and touches his arm during their weird, overdramatic Bigfoot send-off. His pained cry of "Rick!" when Bigfoot nearly crushes him is heart-wrenching. Operation Phoenix is back online, but Morty's tired of watching him die!

Season five is when Rick started showing emotions on his face besides that cold, pissed-off glare--we all know the one--and in season seven, it's accelerated to Rick crying in front of others. He matches Morty's feelings instead of pretending that he's above human emotions.

Needless to say, dudebros have been flooding Adult Swim's Instagram comments and Twitter replies with "Rick and Morty is shit now!" "Rick's too nice!" "Rick and Morty has gone woke!" Justin Roiland's firing gave them more fuel, but they started even while he was still on the payroll.

Their favorite line is "Rick isn't Rick anymore!" And they're right. Rick's not the asshole from seasons 1-2 who had a couple of redeeming qualities. He's not the monster that he was in season three and parts of season four. He's not the defeated man in season five who started to realize that he's hurting people but still wanted Morty to look after him like a child.

Season six is when he started to grow up--not a lot, but enough that he began taking on adult responsibilities instead of thinking he's a teenage boy who sees another teenager as his peer. I wish we saw more therapy appointments, but while they're mostly off-screen, we're definitely seeing the effects.

This doesn't make Rick a great person or atone for what he's done. Some of his crimes are beyond atonement, and not just the obvious ones like blowing up planets. This is a universe where everyone has a body count and events that should've destroyed Earth have no effect on civilization. Death and destruction don't mean that much.

His worst crimes are the personal ones: destroying Morty's psyche in "The Vat of Acid Episode," treating his family like garbage for most of season three. You can't atone for that. You can't apologize for that.

However, I don't only judge characters by their past. I judge them by their capacity to change.

Walter White is a brilliant character, but he's not a personal favorite because his arc is a slow descent into hell. Rick's slowly climbing out of his crater, and while it doesn't erase the past, it's still happening. For me, that's more satisfying than watching a monster become a bigger monster.

Of course, he's still not above cosplaying as Odin while wearing a golden crown that literally says "GOD." But the former "no girls allowed" alpha male has become a dedicated therapy patient who's also a thirst object that would make bros cry about double standards. Sure, Rick, you're a god, now put on that weird half-shirt and prance around a little.

[beatinginavoid]

The Mountain

Part 3 of 6. Part 1, Part 2

— — —

Don’t climb the mountain.

The townsfolk that lived at the foot of the mountain often made new signs and repainted old ones. All of the signs warned about the mountain, told people to beware, or blatantly said to turn around and go back.

There were rumours that the townsfolk were trying to protect Bigfoot or some other sasquatch-like being that lived up there somewhere.

This made the town an odd little hotspot for certain types of tourists, and even some film crews.

The latest traveller to the town, dressed in earthy tones, had also been drawn there to try and catch a glimpse of something legendary. The verbal warnings were brushed off. The signs were seen but ignored. Equipment was packed and ready.

“Nothing will stop me from taking this chance!” they resolutely declared.

So what happened when they climbed the mountain?

— — —

The trail up the mountain was very faint but still visible. It was obvious that at some point in the past it had been a well travelled track, worn into the mountain by innumerable feet. Then the mountain had been declared off limits, for safety reasons you had been told.

Safety reasons. Pfft. You don’t believe it, no matter how many times it was parroted to you.

It was just some local thing. It wasn’t actually illegal or anything, so here you were, trudging your way up on the track that nature had been doing its best to reclaim. Good thing your pants were sturdy, some of these plants had an attitude. You pick off a bit that got overly attached and flick it away.

There was something about hiking along a tough path or up a mountain that gave you this great sense of freedom and accomplishment. The air also seems sweeter in these places. It’s a freedom and sense of life that the big cities could never convey to you.

Leg muscles begin to burn at the steeper ascents, but you keep on. Your breathing is faster, heavier, and your heart picks up its pace, slowly getting more aggressive at banging on its cage bars. You push forward – there’s plenty of mountain left to climb and you haven’t even broken out any equipment yet.

About two-thirds of the way up was a cave. The entrance was something of an arch and didn’t face the sun whatsoever, so the whole thing was dark and covered in shadows. It offers a cool place to rest and you decide to take advantage, sitting down and breaking out a drink and snack.

Once you finish, you carefully wrap up and pack away the rubbish. No sense in spoiling the scenery, even if no one would trek up here and see it. Something echoes from deeper in the cave. Tiny little clicks and clacks of stone and the odd skittering noise of critters.

There are probably bats roosting in this cave that might have been disturbed by your pit stop. Once you leave they will settle back down. You stand up and dust off your clothes.

A low rumble echoes down from the dark depths. A cave-in? More clicks and clacks could be heard in slow intervals. They were getting progressively louder. Did you stumble onto the den of a bear?

You take a step back carefully, not wanting to trigger whatever animal is slowly stalking toward you. The darkness hiding the unknown creeps you out, and the scare factor activates your adrenal glands. The adrenaline floods your system. Your breathing gets faster and more shallow as your heart begins to race. Another careful step.

A loud growl reverberates off the cave walls. One more step back. Two brightly glowing yellow spots appear for a second before they rush at you. Something grasps your ankle and pulls hard, sending you crashing on your back to the ground. Your shirt rides up to your armpits and your back is scraped up as you’re dragged further into the cave.

Gurgles and growls echoed all around, and there is nothing you can do but go along, captive of this unknown beast. You close your eyes, not that it makes a lick of difference, and open them only when you come to a stop.

A faint light shines through your closed eyelids. All you can hear is your shaky breathing, the odd drip of water, your pounding heart thumping in your chest and head. Foetid air washes over your face and you open your eyes to see a creature you’ve only seen as stone statues perched atop churches and other grand buildings.

A gargoyle. A gargoyle?!

You can’t decide if this is better or worse than a sasquatch. You wonder if trying to reach for your camera is even remotely worth it. The grip disappears from your ankle and you instinctively scramble backwards, eager to put space between you and a creature that shouldn’t exist.

A stalagmite halts your escape. The gargoyle creeps forward slowly, and this time you can see it in all of its creepy glory. Two large fangs jutting skyward from its lower lip reach to slanted, predatory eyes. Small, ineffective wings twitch and flutter as a short tail with a whipcord tip lashes behind it.

A clawed hand reaches out, one sharp tip touching the sole of your shoe. Your foot starts to feel stiff and heavy and, to your horror, your whole foot and ankle appears to be stone. It scrapes across the cave floor horribly.

It pokes your other foot and it becomes dead weight as well, slowing you down as you try to get around the stalagmite. The gargoyle grins wickedly and easily catches up to you. It pounces and you flinch violently, throwing your arms up to cover your face. You feel a poke on a finger of each hand. You watch as your hands slowly petrify from your fingernails to your wrists.

Your hands and feet are now worse than shackles, the weight almost pinning you in place. The gargoyle appears in front of you again and slashes at your chest, rending your clothes into shreds and exposing the whole front of your torso. You gasp harshly.

The gargoyle pushes you flat on your back and your breath hitches. You look down, but you still see unmarked flesh, not a fleck of stone emanating from the clawed hand holding you down. The beast grins and gives a disturbing growly laugh.

Its hand moves up and down as your heart beats powerfully in fear. It moves the hand, tracing around the pumping muscle keeping you alive. The skin within the traced area turns hard and grey. You take in a sharp breath and there’s an odd feeling as that part of your chest doesn’t move with the rest.

Another tap of a claw and the stone portion of skin disintegrates, exposing muscles and bones. Your brain is screaming at you to move away however you can, but your body isn’t obeying, frozen in place. The claw traces the edges of the missing skin and the newly exposed part petrifies. Another poke and a good chunk of your sternum, part of your left ribs, and all of the muscles in between are suddenly gone. None of it hurt.

There, in plain view, is the sac that protects your heart, along with the edge of your left lung. Your heart is quickly pulsing and you can’t help but stare in fear and wonder. The tip of a claw pokes through the top of the sac and glides down. Both of its hands then ever so delicately peel away the sac, leaving your racing pump fully visible.

Each beat looks, and feels, very forceful. It squeezes, expands, and contracts as if it is trying to punch out an opponent, swiftly and aggressively dancing within your chest cavity. It’s amazing to think this one muscle is so vital to your life, and now you can see it working hard, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of your captor.

A slate grey hand reaches out, clawed digits delicately curling around your heart. The organ is lifted up, the apex now pointing to the ceiling. Your breathing is fast, shallow, and still shaky, your life literally in the monster’s hands.

Your heart pounds harder, faster, doing its best to work around the grip impairing it. It feels unlike any sensation you’ve ever felt before. You start feeling lightheaded as your pump fights against gravity and the blood wanting to follow it, the ventricles unable to fully fill.

A claw tip gives the apex the lightest touch. The pulsing tip of your heart takes on the now familiar grey and heaviness that means petrification. The apex is as still as stone while the rest of the muscle continues to move rhythmically.

The gargoyle gently places your heart back where it belongs and pokes the stony apex. The petrification spreads. So far it doesn’t seem to be impeding any function, but you know that won’t last. A forked tongue slithers from its maw and licks over the ventricles, atrium, and aorta.

It’s one of the strangest ticklish sensations you’ve ever felt.

The tongue wraps around your aorta and gently squeezes, just enough for you to feel it as the blood rushes by. Another tap, more growing stone, and this time you can feel the result. Your stone hands try and fail to reach up to your chest as it suddenly feels tight, a sharp ache zinging from the pump.

Another tap, more stone. Your ventricles bulge with every cardiac cycle as part of them are completely incapable of moving. The muscle is working harder to push out the blood, but you somehow know that it’s failing at the task.

A gleeful grin precedes another tap, another spike of pain. Almost half of the vulnerable organ is rock solid. Each beat causes the top half to violently flail with every distended thump, though the heavy part keeps it firmly in place.

The pace picks up even more, leaving you gasping for every breath as your heart strains under the load. Another tap makes you whimper, the pain increasing. The atrium and flesh halves of the ventricles balloon out with every fast contraction, straining to the maximum to get the job done.

It feels as if an elephant is sitting on your chest, crushing everything under an enormous weight.

Another tap, then another. You are beyond dizzy, your vision fading in and out of blurriness. Your chest is nothing but a sea of pain, poured into a bottle far too small to hold the volume of liquid. You gasp and wheeze, only one third of your heart functioning.

The part that is still flesh continues to pound erratically for several seconds until it stops, fluttering in place.

Your vision turns black and it feels like your throat has closed, no air getting through. Consciousness fades as your heart quivers in v-fib.

The gargoyle chuckles and petrifies the rest of the shuddering pump, releasing your aorta. It grips the statue that your heart has become, every blood vessel seemingly carved with the utmost care by a true professional, and rips it from your chest.

It carries its prize to a section of the cave where dozens of heart statues are displayed on a carved out shelf. It places the newest statue in line and grins proudly, forked tongue licking its lips.

Don’t climb the mountain. 

— — —

3 parts down, 3 to go. I'm having fun finding various supernatural ways for things to end. I hope any readers out there are having just as much fun reading about it!

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

part 2 to this little piece of brainrot 🤍

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,017 | rated: T

Being this far out from civilization isn’t all that bad, actually, now that he’s used to it.

It was one of the meager handful of places Chrissy suggested he go once he was out. It was here, to his winter home on St. John, or back to Wayne’s.

He didn’t want to go anywhere people already knew him, least of all back to his uncle. Nothing against Wayne, of course, but Eddie didn’t think it fair to show up on the now much older man’s doorstep as even more of a disappointment than when he’d shown back up the first time he didn’t graduate high school. The second time. The time he came back a newly-pardoned murderer (it's a long story).

Wayne didn’t need that from him again. 

He called, of course, damn near twice a day actually, Wayne insisting he make the trip up north and Eddie always shooting him down; “I’m fine now, it’s peaceful here.”, “I’m not going to get into any trouble Wayne, I’m just going to focus on writing, get better, y’know?.”, “Wayne, your truck won’t make it…No, I’m not gonna send a car down for you.. There isn’t even a bus station close by!”

Eventually, he stopped bugging about it, and their calls mostly focused on how to take care of the little place.

It was left to Chrissy by her own Uncle, a rugged geezer named Fritz, and she and Gareth would vacation to the tiny bungalow in the woods of Michigan’s upper peninsula regularly.

It’s got more amenities than any other random spot out here in the middle of the woods, but it’s still heated by wood stove mainly, and it’s only just recently got running water (he still doesn’t know how Chrissy or Gareth ever survived on outhouse alone) so there’s some household fixes he’s had to do while here that Wayne has helped with.

The water heater is tiny and the shower is even smaller, he’s had to chop wood every day to keep up with the nights that turn sharply cold from a mild fall day, he’s used channel locks more than he’d ever even seen a pair of the things in the first two weeks he’d been here but..it’s really grown on him.

He likes the space to breathe, to think, to exist without anything else happening around him. 

Just him, the pine trees, and maybe a bigfoot or two.

That’s also the downside.

There’s internet here, one of the first things Chrissy shelled out for when she got the place, but it’s not great, so majority of the time Eddie spends in his head. And that can be calming and downright terrifying.

He’s thought about so much in so little time that it eventually would need a place to go, and that place was into a notebook…then onto bars… then into his laptop… eventually, he had a whole-ass song. And nothing to do with it.

He’s Eddie Fucking Munson. What in the hell is he supposed to do with a folks-y singer/songwriter song? He can’t release it under the band, he’s not trying to cause a stir with rumors of a solo career when he just solo-y derailed them from the top of the world…

So he sits on it. 

For months.

He didn’t think that’s where this extended vacation was going, but now, post-song, he already feels lighter.

Don’t get him wrong, he still thinks about the subject of the song nearly 24/7, but it’s without the rocks in his stomach…mostly.

That is until the man himself shows up two weeks to the day after he sent Chrissy the song.

He still doesn’t know why he did; after he sent it, he panicked, thinking the lyrics would make her worry and send someone up here to babysit him.

But she didn’t; she asked him if he was okay, called him actually, wanting to hear his voice for herself she said, and whatever she heard must’ve satisfied her.

Eddie himself knew how distraught he still was, even after getting it all out on recording, but it was significantly lessened.

Now, instead of avoiding the thought of his first (and only, let’s be fully fucking honest here) love, he thinks about what he’s up to, if he’s okay, hurts himself with the imagined scenarios he cooked up for what Steve had done after Eddie left with a shitfuck excuse of a note. It’s like he poured his regrets out through song and his brain is now focused on what he would possibly say to him if he ever saw Steve again.

“I’m sorry.” definitely won’t cut it, “I miss you so fucking much.” just isn’t fair, and “I don’t know what I was thinking.” isn’t the truth. 

He knows what he was doing, he was trying to avoid confrontation. Avoid a goodbye. Avoid the inevitable heart wrenching blow he still caused himself..and probably to Steve too.

But now, staring across the small cleared yard of Fritz’s cabin with an armful of freshly-chopped wood tucked under an arm at what must obviously be a figment of his imagination, his mind completely blanks of any and all possible words.

The high, solid, yet somehow still hollow-sounding noise of the logs hitting each other on their way to the ground doesn’t break his shock (though he thinks belatedly that he should’ve made sure his foot was out of their way).

“Steve.” he hears someone say.

“Eddie,” Steve stares back, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing either. “I heard your song.”

He has that look on his face, the one that usually preludes a steadying pinch to the bridge of his nose to stave off tears. His hand doesn’t raise though, and Eddie can see the shine of the couple that do escape.

So Chrissy had aired the song after all. He wasn’t sure what she or the guys would want to do with it when he sent it, but if this wasn’t a dream, he’d have to thank her.

“You found me.”

“Yeah sweetheart,” Steve breathes out a laugh, “I found you.”

star divider is from @saradika

i also put this on AO3 in my tumblr things collection!

@releasethexbarakat @t-boyeddie @weirdandabsurd42 @weescottishcrowley @stedumpsterfire @hammity-hammer @extra-transitional @autumncrocusandladybug @steddie-island @finntheehumaneater @sageclipse @zerokrox-blog @goodolefashionedloverboi @stevesbipanic

[arcadekitten]

Do you have any interesting facts about Sorella and Walker? Are they both Noisrevian? Since Walker doesnt exactly look the part. Are they dating? Or siblings? Or just friends? What are they like?

Normally I don't, but this time I do!! Sorrela and Walker are actually OCs I've had for a while, so they got a bunch of stuff to go with them!

As stated they were both based on roblox bee swarm simulator! Sorrela being inspired by the player character and Walker being inspired by the dancing walking stick NPC. Both of them are Noisrevians.

Sorrela is a bee. She's a girl and goes by she/her pronouns. She identifies with both the bi label and pan label at the same time. She has generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder. She's also a princess, and lives in a castle with her mother and 2 younger half-sisters. Her personality is nice and sweet enough, but she's a bit pendantic and gets annoyed/bothered easily too. Often has to do things her way. Her design is inspired by magical girls, too!

Walker is kinda like the Noisrev-equivalent of seeing a mutant monster/alien/creature etc. Like if you as an earth-human met bigfoot or mothman or a werewolf or vampire or something. No one quite knows why/how he looks the way he does--but he can walk and talk and is indeed more person than he is creature. His namesake comes from Walking Stick of course but his bug form looks more like a Gargantuan Stick Insect! His gender is probably best described as "nonbinary boy". Everyone calls him by he/him pronouns and he's got a masculine frame and voice, but he's never really thought much about gender so much as one was imposed on to him. Yet, he doesn't seem to mind it. He is a bit mysterious and does things in unfamiliar ways, he has an air of suspicion to everything he does. But he is generally friendly...enough. And much like his direct inspo, he loves dancing!

They are love interests to one another. I did have a story for them once but its back in the workshop for now. I want to do something different! I want their story to feel like a classic animated Barbie movie, if that makes sense!

Also the art of their height difference. Please note Sorrela is probably around the 5'6" ish mark.

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 2}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 4,460

Summary: Snooping and being caught twice, Sparring with the boys when an unruly hit makes them see more than they expected, and a heated moment in the training grounds.

A/N: Chapter 2! We are slowly laying our good graces down brick by brick, and seeing a bit more from Price as you integrate into the team.

Being on the task force led you to believe Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, were an odd bunch, but they made it work. You kept quiet those first two weeks, having only followed Price around like a duckling until directed otherwise. Being respectful and keeping answers short. Staying in line with your designated work.

By the end of the first month, after you had earned your new name, you started getting comfortable. Seeming like a brass stick was shoved up your ass previously, the sergeants tread lightly around you, much to their dismay, to find out what you’re like but couldn’t disobey Price’s warning glare. 

Gaz was a sweet man, charming, and you could see that a good percent of the time he easily got his way. Soap was loud, and funny when he pleased, but he was a smart man who could easily be dangerous. Ghost was the type of person to respect your space if you respected his. Being more to himself in tasks or duties, he was actually more boisterous than when you initially met. 

As you integrated into the base, there had been quite a bit of preparation for your arrival. Being the fat paycheck that you are, the base had allocated a small wing of a barracks level to TF141. Whispers that the men got stipends just to be on a team with you had floated around. 

Good for them. 

There was a preemptive rule placed on you, designated by Price, of course. You were allowed to join the mess hall for meals during morning and lunch, but when supper time came you were stationed in the common room. 

The rule to stay in the common room wasn’t necessarily bad, and it made sense; Placed to keep you away from the rowdy soldiers looking for a way to warm their beds for the night. Keep your allure hidden and gate kept by the team, adding a brighter glare of the enigma they were. 

What didn’t make sense was how stupidly high the cabinets were in this place. 

“Living with Bigfoot couldn’t even be this hard.” Grunting, your fingertips only skim the edge of the glass as it leans before settling again. Huffing, finding no one around, you jump up to place your knees on the counter to stand on them while being able to finally peer into the top shelf. 

The cup was immediately in your hand but a tall box in the back keeps you from getting down. A stash box?

Curiosity peaks your eyebrows, placing the cup down before trying to reach for the mystery; Towards the back with paper plates and random birthday napkins kept for celebrations block its way. You can’t reach it just yet, so you take it upon yourself to stand on the counter, now having enough height to dig your arm into the cabinet. 

“Are these drugs?” It’s mat black with a worn-down print of fern trees over a forest floor. It's heavy and shaking giving no noise. 

“The fuck are you doing up there?” 

You don’t even have a moment to startle before the tight grasp of hands on your hips makes themselves known. Now almost pissing yourself, a squeak leaves you before clasping the box to your chest. 

It’s almost as if you’re a toddler, being pulled down from your place on the counter while your knees buckle before planting your feet on the ground. When looking up, you’re met with a skull mask. 

“Uhm… getting a glass.” Answering Ghost with nonchalance, offering up the box in your hand. “Then I found this.”

Incredulous brown eyes shift down for a moment, then move his hands from your hips to snatch the damn thing away. 

“Anyone ever tell you not to snoop through people’s things?” As if Bigfoot himself, he reaches up to place it back in the original spot, no effort needed. 

“Hey- What was in that?” You’re sandwiched between the counter and his body, reaching to grab his wrist in an effort of bringing it back down.

“None ya’.” Such an eloquent answer from a British brute. 

“This is open territory, I have a right to know.” Beautiful comeback on your part. 

At your insistent pawing, his free hand wraps around your wrist before securing it with the other. “You’re too small to even take it from me, Saint.” Ghost’s hips press to your lower back as he attempts to close the cabinet. “So knock it off.”

“Too small to take what, Lieutenant?”

Both you and Ghost freeze to look up into the blue eyes of Price standing in the entrance. Leaning against the wall with arms crossed, it doesn’t take a genius to see his chest is puffed out in addition to the glare on his face.

The body pressed to your back suddenly shoves you away and into the counter before stepping away. 

“She was tryna’ get into the box. Top shelf.” Turning to watch the interaction, Ghost gives a nod toward the cabinets and it's enough to soothe Price’s glare. Yet his chest is still puffed out.

Huh. Jealousy is a good look on him.

“And maybe something else.” Testing and taunting him after recovering from the shove, you take a seat on the counter. “But seriously, what's in the box?”

Price’s jaw sets at your little comment, taking slow steps towards you while giving Ghost enough side eye to send him to the couch a few feet away.

“A bottle, not to be touched. Simple as that.” Price’s presence comes to stand in front of you, eyes narrowed while glancing over you. “That satisfy your curiosity?”

“Somewhat. Just makes me wonder why I can’t see it.”

The smooth uptick of his mustache shows as he licks his teeth, settling on giving a nod before approaching. As if deja vu, Price moves to trap you on the counter making room for himself between your legs.

“Keep your head still.” The deep rumble makes you want to squeeze his hips with your thighs, but refrain as his hand holds the back of your head to tilt it down. With the cabinet opening behind you, he reaches up and leans forward to grasp the box.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take this moment to rest your head on his chest, letting his scent and warmth feel much more than what the moment was.

“A gift from some friends. It’s empty, but kept as a reminder of them.” Taking a look at the bottle, it's a large and interesting decanter. Made of white ceramic, small details of blue brush strokes that mimic the plant its derived from; Agave. It’s a tequila bottle.

“So you keep it in a box, in the back of the cabinets, to remember them?” It’s ridiculous that they memorialize something yet refuse to display it proudly. “Why can’t you guys put it in the open- or even put it in your office.” Remembering where you are as soon as you look up, Price’s eyes that rival the blue paint are already staring at you.

“Someone would either take it or break it,” Emphasizing his words with a pointed look, “And we usually like to look at it and tell old stories when we think about our time with them. Oh, that's actually sweet of them.

“Are they… dead?”

A scoff leaves Price but Ghost, always eavesdropping, answers. “The only thing that can kill Alejandro, is Alejandro. The same goes for Rudy.” A short laugh follows before looking back down at his phone.

What an interesting thing to say.

“They seem like a lovely pair.” You answer back to both of the men in the room, but Price doesn’t allow any more time to look over the bottle. Closing the box, his hand comes back to cradle your head before putting it back. 

Pulling away after shutting the cabinet, he stays close. “Craziest cowboys I’ve ever met.” He looks far away for a moment, absent-mindedly smoothing down your hair from where he ruffled it. It only takes a moment for him to come back and realize your faces are inches apart, noticing the soft smile that bleeds into a coy smirk at how well his hand feels in your hair.

“Right, let's have some dinner.”

—

You didn’t often let your human appearance go, but some would say they’ve seen the illusion flicker. Most nights after a shower or finally alone to yourself you’d indulge. Like taking off a a helmet that was too tight, or clothes that squeezed you the wrong way after wearing them for hours, the relaxation to just be yourself was a luxury and comfort these days.

While training in hand-to-hand, it was quickly discovered that you were a sufficient predator. Having enough experience to teach Ghost and Price a few new things, you were often paired with Gaz and Soap as Price directed the scenario in what to do. Even if your body was stuck at your current age, it didn’t mean you were small; Having the human capabilities to grow your natural muscle added as a visual aid to show how hard you’ve worked for well over half of your time roaming this earth.

Sparring with the four others, Price stands on the side of the mat with arms crossed and the occasional guidance barked out at the underdog. You’re often paired with the lieutenant, serving as each other's warm-up. Gaz sits on the ground, eyes narrowed while tracking each movement. Soap, having gotten his legs tugged on too harshly by Ghost, sits opposite while stretching his hips as light grunts leave him. Ghost circles you as you do to him.

“Test his footwork Saint, man’s top-heavy these days.” Price grumbles, the amused tilt in his voice not lost on anyone especially Ghost as he grunts in response.

A few more steps around each other before taunting with a shift of your ankle that draws him to make the first move. Coming at you almost adjacently like the fucking bulldozer he is, Ghost reaches to hook his arm under your thigh and another hand around your back to push you face first into the mat.

Using the momentum of falling back and before he has a hold of you, you bring yourself down in a slide to avert him, but immediately transition to tangle yourself around his leg as you pull him by the belt, wanting to at least bring him on the ground. The man is tall as a skyscraper, and you haven't met anyone like him in the company before joining this team. The move works to an extent; Bringing him down to topple onto the mat, he rolls to grasp at your locked arms and slides his arms around your chest. “Little brat-” 

“Lock ‘im down, sweetheart.” Come’s Price’s voice as you both grapple in a heap on the ground. The pet name makes your head flutter with knowing he’s watching and rooting for you. He wants you to win. Always has since he first trained with you himself.

With the sudden hold around your chest, while Ghost is trying to pry you off, you manage to break it with a stiff elbow. The muted thud is covered by your clothes rustling before managing to turn yourself and put the man in a leglock. A few moments pass as he tries to shake you off, but leeching on his leg muscles signals his two taps on the mat.

“Cheap shot-” He groans as soon as you let go, gaze narrowed while stretching his abused leg out.

“You almost crushed me when you got on the ground, I earned those taps.” Reaching to grab your water bottle and finding Gaz already handing it to you, a shit-eating grin creeps up the corners of his mouth.

“All’s fair, love.” Ghost quips, earning a scoff from Soap.

“Aye, Dinnae think that's howtur saying goes, L.T.”  He calls out as you roll onto your back with a heave. The excitement from rolling around now calming with your breath, taking a moment to drink water as the boy's bicker. “You level’d Ghost?” 

“Peachy keen. Lovely, really.” The snark is evident, but Ghost moves to sit himself onto the sideline with a grunt. Your eyes scan over the others, their gazes shifting away as you catch theirs. Price’s eyes stay on you but wander over your body before speaking.

“Good enough warm-up for you?”

Releasing the water bottle from your lips, “Could have lasted longer in my opinion.”

“Right.” Price drones, and in your side-eye, you can make out a singular look of a chortle from Soap. Price continues, moving to the opposite end of the mat. “Well let's see if I can give a good enough ride then, eh?.”

Standing and stretching for a moment, your feet find their way back to the spot previously starting at. “Ready?”

Price matches your stance, but not as deep of a crouch. One thing you’ve been trying to get the men to work on is lower and shorter targets, so they’re still adjusting. “Steady.” Comes his reply and signal to begin.

He makes quick work of throwing a punch to get you to duck down and step back. The right hook, aiming for your jaw, comes a second too late as you duck under, countering with a jab to his ribs.

Before you can pivot and get into position on his side, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist and pull you into him. The second hand finds a place across your back and is strewn across your hip in a tight hold, leg pushing behind your right knee to get you to the ground.

Latching onto him, your body retaliates by throwing your arm across his chest with your hand at the base of his neck. Combined with a forceful twist to break his balance and pull him onto his back instead.

Price takes the immediate queue, still keeping his tight grip on you. Pulling you by the belt loop of your pants now unceremoniously being yanked down on top of him, his back against the mat while your back is against his chest. The ache in your ribs and lungs comes back at full force once the crook of his elbow finds a place at your neck and begins to squeeze in a steady pressure.

In a moment of sheer instinct, your legs fan to twist your body to be stomach to stomach, but miscalculate his legs trying to cage yours. His knee coming up at just the right wrong time; Your clit lands directly on it.

A shocked yelp is stolen from your lungs, eyes widening in surprise and shock from the unexpected sensation. The sound rings out in the room, the uptick in the pitch being involuntary and a sheer second of vulnerability as your body freezes in response.

Realizing his mistake, Price immediately lets go, sliding your body off of him. "Fuck, you alright?" He asks while crowding over you, the others looking on with their jaws dropped.

When you don't speak instead, just shake your head. It's enough to make Price scramble to a sitting position. “…Saint?”

Eyes wide and breath ragged like a fish for a few seconds as the brutal waves of electricity travel up your spine.

What they see is an entirely different scene.

Black horns look so delicately and meticulously placed upon your head as if you were a doll; the ridged black and dangerously sharp figures curl in a small turn before pointing up. Your hands- one on your groin and the other on the mat, have the tips of your fingers that are painted in an eerie black. Sharp talons decorate your nail beds in an ethereal shade. The usually subdued fangs now gleam in the yellowing lights of the gym. But the real kicker is your eyes.

Red irises that carry a depth of hell's fire look up at the ceiling as you blink slowly. Still lost in the moment as your lungs stutter, your legs pushed together as the initial thumbing calms down. The men’s blinking only confirms to each of them what they see. 

“Holy-”

“Jesus fu-”

“Fuckin-”

“Hell’s bells.”

Price sits on his haunches and leans over to get a better look. “This what you looked like the whole time?” Eyes roaming over in slow strokes, each end of his curious gaze begins again at the top of your head.

A small cough slips as you sit up, planting your palms down while shifting with a groan. Face drawn in a grimace before looking up. “Wha-”

“Ahm pure done in; she’s git a tail.”

At the sound of Soap's now ruggedly thick accent, your eyes meet theirs to be met with shock, disbelief, and morbid curiosity. On your back comes a set of black wings that mimic those of a bat while the tips are shaded with a red hue. Underneath those, is a long, thin tail that sways back and forth gently in small arcs. The tip of it shows to be a heart.

“Oh.” Looking down to see what they’re looking at and finding your glamour spell completely dropped to show you. The entirety of you. “Didn’t think that would be what did it.” Their silence still lingers. 

“Is this going to be an issue? I can cover-“

A clearing of a throat- Prices, you can tell by how many times you’ve heard it after he smokes, now making the others refocus. “No- No. Not an issue at all, Saint.” He drawls with enough time to make heady eye contact with each of the other operators. “Not a problem. At all.”

That’s as much of their first warning that you’ll be hearing. A beat of mumbled agreement leaves the men while the Captain’s hand comes out to offer you a means up. “There a reason this happened?”

“My illusion can drop when distracted or hurt suddenly. Like something plugged in the background then the power shuts off.” Giving them a small show of yourself, turning in a circle as your tail and wings move for more effect.

A low whistle before, “Wouldn't mind feedin’ ya m’self, she-devil.” Soap’s simpering makes way to you, and you’d laugh if your body wasn’t seriously thinking about the ways you could take him on the sparring mat right now.

“Johnny shut the fuck up.” Ghost having enough common sense to reel him back before he does wind up in your clutches. Always a smart man for the sergeant's sake.

A grin splits your lips, tail slightly swaying behind you with an excited flick of the tip. The red in your eyes gleams at the thought of a fulfilling experience, and your tongue can’t help but lick at the tips of your fangs. “We can go right-” 

“Like hell you will.” 

The sudden hand on the back of your neck catches you off guard, clapping your skin in a moment of control. Price, now hoisting you up once his thumb wraps the side of your neck, pulls you up. Wings fluttering to lift you in his hurried and somewhat dragging hold, a scoff passes your lips once he stands on the side of the sparring mat with you.

“Ghost and Gaz. Start up.” He quips cooly, his eyes never stray from you. Eyebrows furrowed in a disappointed stare, and it’s one you haven’t encountered from him yet. He’s not pissed but something has been stirred up inside of him.

“You get your meals when we’re on assignment. Do not tempt my men, because I know how that will end.” You’d give it to Price for holding his authority when faced with a creature so new to him, but the twitch of his gaze to your mouth knocks him down a peg in your books.

“Yes, Captain.” Your muted answer rings out clear for him but the shame of being publicly reprimanded burns your cheeks. His hand squeezes the back of your neck before dropping. Settling your gaze on the men wrestling with faint grunts, you hear Price return to your side a moment later as you both watch on. 

You don’t hide yourself for the rest of training. No one asks you to.

In the end, when tired and feeling no need to bring your illusion back up, Price comes back to your side while trailing the others out of the gym. Slick with sweat, your wings give a light beat of air that helps cool you. 

“Wear this when you leave. Don’t need others gawking at you.” Softness in the sudden murmur makes your head snap to your side. The fabric falls over your shoulders, and the scent of him wafts strongly from it. His jacket. 

The weight of his hands now rests on your shoulders, holding there while his eyes dance precariously upon your horns for a moment. “Leave the horns and eyes, eh? Should be a fun one walking you around like this.”

And while you could just simply make them disappear, wearing his scent on you is far too appealing right now. Tugging the jacket closer to you as you walk out the doors, you give a soft sniff on the neckline.

“Let the angel lead the pack if we’re showin’ ‘er off.” Holding the door open for you, Gaz’s brown eyes give a sharp glint of cockiness while a smile marks his lips. You match his look with ease, moving towards the front.

Safe to say, you felt like the team’s hidden gem; As if a scary guard dog, you made enough room in the hallway to make it seem scripted. Behind you and the group in total, Price watched on with a wry smile as his bucket hat hid the dangerous look in his eyes at the soldiers who stopped to stare.

A week later would reveal how much your natural form has been playing in his mind.

—

“Saint. Got a question for you.” He’d murmured while watching you work on infiltration drills. His cigarette occupies his mouth while eyes track your movements; He stands on a riser behind fake walls, a built scenario of a breach and clear house with fake targets marked on the walls and stands in dummies.

Deciding to finish rounding the next corner and taking aim at a wall target, it takes a few moments before approaching the spot beneath him. “Sir?”

And as if doubling the wait time you gave him, a childish game, he inhales a final pull of his cigarette while his eyes wander over you. Exhaling, “What’s comfortable for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

A chuckle leaves him, putting out the smoke against the fake wall. “Your form. Human, demon. What do you prefer?”

It’s an odd question but only in the sense that you’ve never been asked before. Your preference never mattered nor was taken into account. 

“I’d say the mix of the two. Just hybrid presenting but not fully between either.” A moment before, “Takes less energy.” Eyes squinting from the sun until he stands in your line of sight to offer you his shade from above. The glow of the sun highlights his presence.

His eyebrows quirk up for a moment while licking his lips. “How come you haven’t been doing so in the downtime? When with the team?”

“Didn’t feel that welcomed in our group, Captain.”

His grunt resonates inside the fake hallway where you stand, and he breaks his gaze from you. “S’pose that could be blamed on me.” The sunlight beams into your eyes suddenly as his steps ring out from the wooden stairs. Arriving where you stand a few moments later, his hand pulling out a tac knife. “Let’s see it then. Shouldn’t be wasting away while training, hm?”

Clicking your gun on safety, eyebrows cocked while taking a small step back. “And the knife is for?” Truly, this man seems angelic for one moment before the vibrating strings of his insanity bleed through.

“You’ve got a tail, if I recall correctly.” Stepping forward and giving you that forced grin you’ve learned to associate with danger. You’re tugged by the belt loop against him before he turns you by the hips. There isn’t a chance to protest before a quick rip on the back of your pants is heard.

As the shock passes, you purr at the scene and wish he would drag the knife down to cut an opening and expose your underwear. Better yet, just cut through the underwear while he’s at it. An uncharacteristic surprise is when he shoves two gloved fingers through the small hole of your pants, widening it enough to show a small portion of skin on your lower back. 

“Go on. Let me see it, love.”

Fuck him for being such a tease, he knows what he’s doing. This has to be a test, no attempt to even step away. By the time you unclip your helmet and turn your head to look up to him, your horns and eyes are strikingly apparent. A subtle movement from your lower back catches Price’s attention. Hands now full, you awkwardly set down your weapon and gear before attempting to fish your tail out.

His hands beat you to it. 

A pinching grip on the base of your tail alerts you to his intention, but the slow pull of it makes a chill run up your spine. Hands splaying out against the flimsy wall steady yourself when both of Price’s gloved hands slide over the smooth texture. The whoreish whimper that leaves you makes both of you freeze.

“Thought I’d hurt you but that doesn’t seem to be the case.” The husky melody of his words plays in your ear, adding a swirl of haze when the hand closest to the base of your tail gives a soft tug.

Your body follows the hold he has on you, back arching deliciously. Shooting a hand back to grab onto him, your lips part, shining in the light of the overhead sun. Your eyes, red irises, make his breath leave the pit of his lungs once joining gazes again. “Price, please-” 

The breathless whine isn’t lost on him; You can feel his essence of arousal already heating up where his hands hold your tail. You dare to arch your back by a fraction more and press into him.

Clearing his throat once your ass is flush with the buckle of his pants, he releases only one hand to hold your hips. “Back to your drills. Now.” Before taking his leave around the corner of the makeshift walls.

The burning desire is never satiable for a succubus, and it’s the reason you were gifted your powers. To get what you wanted. Patience is a virtue, but wrath and lust have always been more fun.

[directdogman]

a discord stranger gifted me dialtown because i was dsaf posting on main. i just got oliver's good ending and i am very happy about this. very good game, i love the idea of a monsterfucker dating sim where you are the monster.

ayyyy! i'd also recommend checking out AT LEAST Randy's route (found by viewing the phone pole on the downtown screen) and if you enjoy it, trying out Karen (at the bank in uptown) and Bigfoot (found on the outskirts of town.) Get all 4 good endings, and you unlock a narrative heavy final route with cutscenes that ties all of the other endings together! If you enjoyed the more narrative parts of DSaF 2/3, I feel you'd enjoy the final route. it's my best writing for sure

Also, glad to hear you enjoyed yourself! Feel free to spread the phone virus to others!! In fact, I encourage it!

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Put on pause due to sickness.

Ok so I have the December Christmas Monster stories schedule made and the first five days written already. You can ask for your request to be on certain days, if not they will fall into the first available request slot. If I some how get more requests than the available request slots don't worry I'll still write them but they will have no scheduled time.

Remember check my pinned post to see what things I will not write before sending in a request, ones that break my rules will be ignored completely or be blocked if it breaks three or more things on the list.

*Small edit to update the schedule the list*

December 1.) Yautja Christmas head cannons

December 2.) Female Naga

December 3.) Shadow Creature

December 4.) Orc Breeding

December 5.) Crazy Mothman

December 6.) Centaur + Drider raising human child Platonic

December 7.) Yautja

December 8.) Horny Krampus

December 9.) Saturday Snake

December 10.) Werewolf Neighbor

December 11.) Satyr

December 12.) Bigfoot

December 13.) Half Giant

December 14.) Siren

December 15.) Harpy

December 16.) Saturday Snake

December 17.) Dragon with knight reader

December 18.) Orc bestie

December 19.) Minotaur

December 20.) Octomerman

December 21.) Robot's first Christmas Platonic

December 22.) Requested Eldrige Horror

December 23.) Saturday Snake

December 24.) Requested Centaur dads with teen kid

December 25.) Bat Creature

December 26.) Grumpy centaur dad with toddler

December 27.) Fire demon

December 28.) Requested Walter part 2

December 29.) Orc Tavern

December 30.) Saturday Snake

December 31.) New Years Kiss

Happy holidays everyone and happy reading.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Australian Pokemon

Another set of Fakemon from my Goorda region based on a mix of Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand. Previous posts in this series: misc 3, single stages, non-natives, regional standards, creepy lines, regional variants, birds, early-game standards, misc 2, misc 1, starter variants, starters.

Drolladrong, the Lungfish Pokemon, Ground or Water-type. Drolladrong live simple lives burrowing through dried-up billabongs and seasonal streams. They are considered by most to be a dull and forgettable Pokemon. However, when the rainy season comes, Drolladrong metamorphoses into a majestic form and swims freely through the water to attract mates and lay eggs before the dry season returns.

Drolladrong is normally in Dry Form, a slow, defensive ground-type. If rain starts, it will shift into Wet Form, a speedy glass cannon. It has a unique ability called Seasonal Rains that causes this. Drolladrong is based on lungfish, which are famous for their ability to survive on land during dry seasons due to having lungs. The name comes from "drought" and "billabong" (seasonal wetlands).

Yowookee, the Hooligan Pokemon, normal-type. Yowookie are too small to participate in the rough games played by their evolutions, so they stand on the sidelines and cheer and holler to encourage their team. They paint their faces and leaves with berry juice to further show their support. Yowookee from opposing teams sometimes get into fights and they will throw wild parties if their team wins and riots if their team loses.

Yowookee evolves to Champowie, the Athlete Pokemon, normal-type. Champowie live in groups that act like sports teams. Different team play games against each other with the goal of getting a ball (made of giant seedpods) through the other team's side. These games are very rough, involving tackling and wrestling. To protect themselves, fur on the arms, legs, and chest has developed into thick padding. The best player of a team is the leader. As the ball is used, it sheds seeds, helping spread the parent plant population.

Yowookie and Champowie are based on sports fans and athletes. Yowookee is based on overenthusiastic fans like the football hooligans from the UK, with the decorated leaves being like flags and banners. In a game, members of this line from different routes would have different paint colors to represent the different teams. Champowie are the athletes and I based the game they play on rugby, which is popular in Australia. The padded fur is based on protective pads worn in sports like rugby and American football. They are also based on the yowie, a creature of Australian folklore said to look like an ape man. Basically, Australia's Bigfoot. The names come from "yowie", "rookie", and "champion".

Sepiliar, the Familiar Pokemon, psychic/poison-type. These rare Pokemon live deep in the forest and move through levitation. Each one carries a stick that it uses as a focus for its psychic powers. They are sent out to collect ingredients from throughout the forest and bring them back to their master. People in the past belived them to be spirits of the forest.

Sepiliar evolves to Sorsuttle, the Forest Witch Pokemon, psychic/poison-type. Sorsuttle lives in the deepest part of the forest and heads a coven of Sepiliar that are sent out to gather ingredients. It hollows out a boulder and uses it as a cauldron to brew potions. These potions are stored in hollow, dried fruits. Legends say that people who protect the forests may be gifted with potions from a Sorsuttle, while those who harm the forest will be attacked with poisons.

Sepiliar and Sorsuttle are based on witches, familiars, and the flamboyant cuttlefish, the only venomous cuttlefish. Naturally, they live in Australia. The reason they live in forests instead of the ocean is I had a dream involving flying cuttlefish in a forest. Yeah. Sorsuttle brews up potions like witches do and its reclusive nature as role as a protector of the forest drawn from various stories of witches and pagans. The blue rings on both stages are a reference to the blue-ringed octopus, another venomous cephalopod that lives in Australia (Because where else would it be?). Their names come from "Sepiida" (the taxonomic clade of cuttlefish), "familiar" (an animal-like servant of a witch), "sorcery", and "cuttlefish".