#Zombie Creeping Flesh

[weirdlookindog]

Virus (1980) - British Quad

AKA Zombie Creeping Flesh, Hell of the Living Dead, Night of the Zombies, Dusk of the Dead, Zombi 4, Zombie of the Savanna, Zombie Inferno

[moviesandmania]

HELL OF THE LIVING DEAD Review of fun Italian zombie trash

‘They eat the living’ Hell of the Living Dead is a 1980 sci-fi horror film in which a virus that turns people into zombies spreads throughout New Guinea. A female reporter and her cameraman, and a team of four commandos sent to investigate attempt to survive the onslaught. The movie has also been released as Zombie Creeping Flesh and Night of the Zombies.  Directed by Bruno Mattei [as Vincent…

[heartfullofleeches]

Femboy Zombie Yan who's the cutest boy...when he's wearing his makeup/disguises. His lips have mostly rotted away, right eye plucked clean from its socket likely at the time of his demise. His hair is neck length, but he had been growing it out longer and it never reached the length he wanted before his death so he wears wigs to make up for what he could've had... Face masks hide the "little blemish" disrupting his beauty and he swaps between a prosthetic eye or an eye patch depending on his mood.

Eating human flesh returns him to that gorgeous doll he once was and eases his temper for a time which is why he never approaches his darling in an empty stomach.

Creep Reader has zero interests in him when he's healthy and pretty looking.... They're unnerved by his adorable face and that captivating eye staring back at them. He just wants them to look at him, but they refuse. Everyone always tells him how cute he is, why can't they?

Heartbroken and determined, he fails to take the weather in account as he pursues the love of his afterlife - a strong gust of wind snatching his protection from him right before their very eyes.

"Ah! My mask! Don't look at me... Don't look!.... Eh, y-you want me to smile?.... You think I'm cuter this way? Even with all this flesh between my teeth? Oh, love - I knew you were the one for me!"

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: the evil fungi did it

We all know of The Last of Us, but that franchise isn't the only example of fungal invasions. We've got zombies and apocalypses, we've got gothic horror, we've got fantasy, we've got romance, we've got space - no genre is safe from having their characters become the home of fungal organisms.

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

The Girl with all the Gifts (The Girl with All the Gifts series) by M.R. Carey

Want another fungal zombie apocalypse? Then I come bearing great news! The Girl with All the Gifts is a post apocalyptic novel following a group of characters fleeing across an infested wasteland, trying to stay alive and hoping to find a cure. One of the characters is Melanie, a young girl who carries the contagion inside of her and hungers for flesh, but like many children of the apocalypse has kept her humanity. Is she and children like her the answer to the cure we are looking for? Or are they the start of something entirely new? This book has also been adapted as a movie!

Cold Storage by David Koepp*

Years ago, a quickly growing fungal organism capable of wiping out humanity came dangerously close to spreading. It was contained and kept in cold storage underneath a military repository. Since then, a larger storage facility has been built on top, the dangers on the lower floor being largely forgotten. That is, until it makes a new attempt at escape. Now, two unsuspecting security guards might be all that stands in the way of complete extermination. This book is both funny and genuine in its characters, and genuinely creepy in its portrayal of body horror.

Salvaged by Madeline Roux

Rosalyn Devar is on the run from her famous family, and has run so far she ended up in space. Now she works as a "space janitor", being sent off to clean up the remains of failed research expeditions. But in trying to cope with her problems, she has fucked up on her job multiple times, and is now close to losing her position. Her last chance is the Brigantine: a research vessel gone silent, all crew presumed dead. But when she arrives to salvage it, Rosalyn discovers the crew isn't as dead as presumed. But are they still human - and will Rosalyn be able to keep her own humanity?

The Annual Migration of Clouds by Premee Mohamed

Novella. Reid is a young woman living in a small community after a climate collapse. Resources are scarce, but Reid's biggest problem is Cad, a mind-altering fungal parasite that lives inside her body. When she is offered a rare chance at attending a far-away university in a secluded dome community, Reid must decide whether to leave or stay to help support her community.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia*

Noemí Taboada is a glamorous and well-off young woman, but when she receives a frantic letter from her newly-wed cousin, Noemí must leave her glamorous life and travel to find out what is wrong. As she arrives at High Place, a mansion on the Mexican countryside, Noemí is met with mysteries and her cousin's new English family. As she tries to find out the truth behind High Place and its inhabitants, Noemí's only ally is the youngest son of the family. But will she be able to find out what so scared her cousin before it's too late for all of them?

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon

A young pregnant woman flees a cult that left her body strange and changing in terrifying ways. Hiding from both a world wanting to oppress her and the cult seeking to force her back, she does her best to raise her children while trying to find out the truth of the cult and being pursued by a hunter in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Bleak and scary, Sorrowland is a book that will creep under your skin with horrors both fantastical and very, very real.

What Moves the Dead (Sworn Soldier duology) by T. Kingfisher

Novella. Alex Easton, retired soldier, travels to visit their childhood friends, siblings Madeline and Roderick Usher, after finding out that Madeline is dying. In the siblings' rural, ancestral home, Madeline walks in her sleep and looks to be fading away, while around it wildlife seems to be possessed by a strange force. With the help of a mycologist and an American doctor, Alex attempts to save Madeline and reveal the truth of her illness.

Wanderers (Wanderers duology) by Chuck Wendig

A strange illness has struck the United States: with no warning, random people with seemingly no connection simply get up and start walking. They do not eat, do not sleep, do not communicate, and they do not stop - and if you try to force them, they literally explode from the inside. Teenaged Shana isn't one of these sleepwalkers, but her little sister is. Unwilling to leave her sister on her own, Shana accompanies the growing flock of walkers, protecting them as one of many "shepherds". And this protection proves necessary, as the sleepwalkers is only the first step toward what might very well be the extinction of the human race. An 800 page epic, Wanderers is a slowburn apocalypse story with a multitude pov characters and plot threads, from fungal pandemics and all-knowing AI to the all too real portrayal of radicalization and bigotry.

The Dawnhounds (The Endsong series) by Sascha Stronach

The Dawnhounds is a book where you just kind of have to let the story and the world wash over you. It skirts the line of scifi and fantasy, with a futuristic world of environmentally friendly mushroom houses and deadly fungi bio weapons next to literally god-given superpowers and near-immortality. It’s really cool and unlike anything else I’ve ever read, but also a bit confusing. Bonus: it’s also sapphic!

Agents of Dreamland (Tinfoil Dossier trilogy) by Caitlín R. Kiernan

Novella. A government agent known only as the Signalman; a cult preying on the young and vulnerable, promising to usher in a new age; a woman who exists outside of time, searching for a way to save humanity. Agents of Dreamland is short, but includes many spooky elements, among them an alien and possibly world-ending fungi. The narrative is non-linear and a bit strange, but also fascinating.

The Genius Plague by David Walton

Soon after landing his dream job at the NSA, things get weird for Neil Johns. His brother Paul, a mycologist, returns from a trip to the Amazon, carrying a nearly lethal fungal infection and a strangely sharpened mind. At work, Neil starts picking up mysterious messages originating out of South America, where cases similar to that of Paul starts occurring. And strangest of all: all the infected seem to be working towards the same goal. Recommended with the caveat that, while the fungal stuff is really cool, The Genius Plague is also happy to idolize American intelligent agencies and demonize environmentalism and anti-imperialism.

Little Mushroom: Judgement Day (Little Mushroom duology) by Shisi

An Zhe isn’t human. He’s a mushroom who absorbed the DNA of a dying man, allowing him to take on human guise and leave the wilderness. Entering one of the last human bases, a place struggling to keep out the mutated and dangerous creatures of the wilds, An Zhe must keep his identity secret as he searches for something which was taken from him. While not my cup of tea (frankly, I need more female characters), Little Mushroom is an undeniably unique m/m romance novel.

Bonus AKA these don't technically involve any fungi but have similar vibes of parasites and nature corrupting the human

Parasite (Parasitology trilogy) by Mira Grant*

In the near future, a great leap in medical science has improved human health by leaps and bounds: a genetically engineered tape worm. Within a few years, almost every human has their own personal parasite implanted. But now, something is happening to the parasites - they want more, whether their hosts want to share or not.

Annihilation (Southern Reach trilogy) by Jeff Vandermeer

For decades, Area X has been completely cut off from humanity. The only ones to enter are small organized expeditions, many of which never return, or return... wrong. We follow the latest expedition, its participants known only as the anthropologist, the psychologist, the surveyor, and our narrator, the biologist. As they enter into Area X to try to find out its secrets, only one thing is for sure: they will never be the same again.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power

Young adult. Over a year ago, the Raxter School for Girls was hit by the Tox, a strange disease that killed off many and left the survivors' bodies slowly changing in terrifying ways. The island the school is on has been in quarantine since then, and the girls dare not leave the school grounds lest they become victims of wild animals changed by the Tox. But as they wait for the promised cure, one of the girls goes missing, and her friends are willing to do anything to find her. Unsettling, spooky, and sapphic, this is a unique read featuring body horror and messy, dangerous girls.

(Second) Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool

City of Saints and Madmen (Ambergris trilogy) by Jeff Vandermeer

Ambergris, a city created by a mushroom-like people, is now the home of humans, but the original inhabitants are still there, residing beneath the city.

Creatures of Want and Ruin (Diabolist's Library series) by Molly Tanzer

It’s the prohibition era, and while Ellie does fishing during the day, at night she bootlegs moonshine in Long Island. But unbeknownst to Ellie, some of the booze she smuggles has a strange source: distilled from mushrooms by a cult, it causes those who drink it to see terrible things, such as the the destruction of Long Island.

Bloom by Wil McCarthy

The inner solar system has been overtaken by fast-reproducing, fast-mutating technogenic life. Humanity has fled to the outer solar system, hiding beneath the ice of Jupiter's moon, but even here they aren't safe from possible incursion of mycospores, which lead to deadly blooms. Now a group of astronauts venture back to an infected Earth.

[ceilidho]

prompt: post-apocalypse ghost/reader fic where ghost and the rest of his team come across the feral, blood-soaked reader who stabs first and asks questions later. (on ao3 here)

-

The world ends on a Monday.

Abysmal timing; they’re on leave by chance, the whole lot of them. Soap and Gaz are playing cards in the barracks when they get the call. Price is still in his office when a phone in the corner of the room that never rings suddenly does (he stares at it for a time before picking it up). Ghost is someplace, no one knows for sure; what they do know is that when he does finally answer their calls, he’s out of breath and there’s a thread of panic in his voice that makes the blood in Soap’s veins run cold. 

He’s never heard him sound like that. He never will again.

The virus rages across the country, hopping borders like they melt away into the ether. Country after country toppelling to this unnamed virus that demolishes society so completely that there was never a chance for the military to contain it. That chance evaporates before even the faintest spark of hope is lit. 

Soap is used to killing, but what he never gets used to is the sight of those things that take human shape. Calling them zombies is easy at first, but even that name comes with a sense of distance; it evokes things seen in films and tv shows, not the real flesh-and-blood of it all, not sitting in a caravan speeding down the motorway with bodies torn apart and scattered across the road. He learns to bite his teeth and hold his bile down at the sight of one of those creatures hunched over the masticated remains of a person. 

Then suddenly it’s seven months later. The core unit of them make their way across the continent, taking back roads where they’re less likely to encounter the hoards of infected. They’ve had too many close calls for them to take chances anymore—even armed to the gills and strapped in body armor (the remnants of the military efforts that collapsed within days), Gaz’s shoulder pad has crumpled beneath too sharp teeth and Roach has had his legs swept out from under him, his throat nearly exposed, nearly torn open.

Ghost’s hands are still wet with gore from taking that infected apart. If any of them make it, it will likely be him.

A part of Soap worries about Ghost. Even he feels the tender edges of his own humanity bristle at the day-in and day-out struggle that is now a luxury rather than a hardship. Just being able to survive is a miracle. Ghost just goes dark. From the little Soap knows of Ghost (which is still more than most; he’s confident enough to say that of their group, he’s the one that Ghost shows himself to the most), he knows that Ghost has already endured enough suffering for an army. Never mind a single man. 

There’s a flatness behind his eyes these days and it scares Soap, just a bit. He no longer looks like a person behind a mask but rather the sun-baked skull itself. 

His worry only fades when they come across the girl.

She’s a feral little thing, half-starved and out of her mind. They see her slip in and out of abandoned houses when they make their way through a small village in the French countryside (or what Soap thinks is France), hair matted with sweat and blood. 

It’s Ghost that pauses, Ghost that makes them stop and detours long enough to creep up on her, holding a big hand to her mouth when she howls and tries to tear his whole arm off. It takes over an hour to calm her down long enough to reassure her that they mean her no harm. She tries to take off no less than six times.

Soap has never seen Ghost look smitten, but there’s no other word for it. 

When Price tentatively suggests leaving the girl behind—not a terrible suggestion after she tries to stab Ghost—the look Ghost levels him with brooks no further arguments. They’re keeping the girl. 

She’s his problem, as far as Soap and the rest of them are concerned. No name, unless it’s Soap yelling “Girl” or “Hey, you!” when she does something stupid like actively seeking out infected to kill. Ghost chuckles all deep baritone when he sees her hack away at an infected man’s neck. It’s enough to make a man hurl. Love in a time of zombies. 

He hears them murmuring to each other sometimes, late at night when the team is holed up in a house or a barn they’ve commandeered. Doors always reinforced, someone standing guard on the roof. The low rasp of Ghost’s voice, almost susurrous, almost intimate. Her voice like a chittering wolf. 

Hovering between sleep and wakefulness, Soap doesn’t look away from the wall in front of him. He knows if he does, if he turns over from where he’s supposed to be sleeping, he’ll see Ghost hovering over the girl roughly half his size, her face blocked only by the way his arms frame either side of her head. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stomach the sight of his friend’s hips bucking into the girl.

He hears him mutter something like, “You needed to be found. I needed to find you.” and then it’s enough. He lets his brain shut off. 

If it keeps Ghost sane and with them, so be it. 

[expominds]

‼️ mdni 18+

simon riley was not an easy man to talk to, much less being able to dissect his emotions because his damn mask was always in the way.

sure you were trained to read even the slightest change in tone, emotion, body language, behavior, but simon ‘ghost’ riley got his name for a reason. he was devoid of emotions, any feelings he should have felt or displayed were just simply… not there. he was simply a ghost in a flesh suit with skeletons. a robot. an android. a zombie going after one thing and one thing only.

this made him a tough shell to crack, and it made your mission even harder, considering you had a eight weeks timeline to learn his true nature and report back to your Colonel, König.

exactly 1 week and 41 minutes had passed and you finally got to him.

it took you 1 week and 41 minutes to have him completely under your control, your warm body on top of his, clothes scattered around the tiny barracks room, your hot, slick cunt encasing and clenching around his long, girthy length as you stared down at him, your hips gyrating in slow, torturous circles.

you hadn’t found out his true nature yet, but you were slowly creeping into his system and before long, you would have complete control of his faculties.

you kept your hips moving while you stayed silent, your hands splayed on his chest as you rode him, his whimpers and grunts mixing with your small mewls and wet, hot slick sounds coming from the space where the two of you were joined.

all missions and thoughts went out the window when you finally got him where you wanted, and you didn’t know how to act. all training, all tasks, all self preservation was gone and was quickly replaced with a line that was teetering on love and loathe.

you got lost in the sensations, your velvety walls dragging up and down his cock, the mushroom tip kissing your cervix every time you seated yourself back down on him. your previous orgasms creating a creamy ring on the base of his cock.

you didn’t know right from wrong, and didn’t know which way was up or down. your mind was an empty void as you continued your relentless assaults as he gripped your hips, his hips meeting yours halfway in a feverous pace, an unrelenting task that needed to be finished.

fear whispered its icy tendrils through your veins, caution warning you against the vulnerability that accompanies going against your mission, you were falling and lord knows no one could help you, not even yourself.

[sinkovia]

Promises

Simon Riley x GN!Reader

Zombie apocalypse au, Angst.

You and Simon had been fleeing from a relentless group of zombies. Your hearts pounded in your chests, and you were both gasping for breath, knowing that you were out of bullets and your only option now was to rely on your knives.

As you sprinted past an abandoned car, a zombie's hand shot out from beneath it, snatching your ankle and sending you sprawling to the ground. Reacting swiftly, you delivered a powerful kick to its decaying face. Simon reached down, yanking you back up to your feet, but more zombies were closing in.

One of the undead lunged at you with a frenzied swing, but he pushed it away just in time. With lightning-fast reflexes, you unsheathed your knife and plunged it into the head of the other approaching zombie.

Suddenly, Simon yelled out in pain, and you turned to see a zombie latched onto his leg, biting down. Panic welled up inside you, and without hesitation, you plunged your knife into the zombie's head, putting it down for good.

Breathing heavily, you grabbed Simon's hand, and together you ran until you found a door. You threw it open and rushed inside, with him right behind you. He quickly locked the door, muffling the growls, and banging from the other side. You both stood there and as you turned to face Simon, he took a step back, a tense silence between you.

"I'm fine, y/n," he assured you, but you knew he was hiding the truth. You had witnessed him being bitten, and it was just a matter of time before the infection took hold. You disregarded his plea and took another step toward him, your worry and love for him driving you forward. You were determined to see the extent of the injury.

"Y/n, please," he pleaded once more, putting his hand out, but you couldn't be swayed. You needed to know. His desperation grew as you closed the distance between you.

"For fuck's sake love, please, for once, just listen to me!" His voice trembled, tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally stood right in front of him.

"Please, just let me see." His despair-filled eyes met yours, and he let out a shaky breath as he lifted the bottom of his pants. You kneeled down, and your tears fell freely as you choked out a sob. The bite mark on his leg was a painful confirmation, and your heart ached seeing the torn flesh and the bright purple veins surrounding the wound.

He was turning.

And there was nothing either of you could do to stop it. You stood up and wrapped your arms around him tightly, sobbing into his chest. The inevitable was approaching, and the thought of witnessing your sweet boy become one of those creatures was a horrifying reality you couldn't escape.

"Simon, you're going to be okay," you cried out into his chest, your words muffled by your sobs. His arms wrapped around you tightly, even as he felt himself beginning to turn. The creeping transformation radiated up his body, and he felt his fingers twitching involuntarily.

"I love you so much, y/n," he whispered, his voice strained. His hands went to your face, gently pulling your tear-streaked face away so he could look into your eyes. "You know I love you, right? Never forget that, okay."

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head, your cries becoming more desperate. He knew time was running out, and he wanted to ensure you knew how much he cherished you.

"I love you, Simon. Please, please don't leave me. I'm not ready." you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear and grief. He looked down at his hands, making sure his gloves were secured tightly.

He didn't want to accidentally scratch you once he turned. Pulling his gun from his holster, he checked the barrel. He had told you he'd run out of bullets, but he had kept one, just in case something like this happened.

With a heavy heart, he handed the pistol to you. "There's one bullet. Please don't miss. Please don't leave me like them. That's all I ask baby," his voice filled with despair. You shook your head, tears flowing uncontrollably.

"I can't, Simon. I can't shoot you. I can't... kill you," you whispered, your words choked with grief, your trembling hands refusing to accept the inevitable.

Simon knew he didn't have much time left, his body betraying him with increasing urgency. His vision blurred, and his arm began to twitch involuntarily. You watched helplessly as the color in his eyes started to change, turning a milky white, their clarity clouded by the infection that was taking over. He groaned and fell to his knees, the twitching growing more pronounced. He made a last effort to focus on you, his gaze cloudy but determined. Your heart ached, seeing the man you loved in such a helpless and terrifying state.

"I know you won't be able to," he strained to speak through the agony, "but until then." He was fighting against the relentless virus that was now coursing through his veins, tearing him apart from the inside out.

"I... love... you," he uttered, his voice shaky and almost unrecognizable. He used his final shred of willpower to break his own jaw in a gruesome act, snapping the bone with a sickening sound. You cried out and fell to your knees, devastated as you watched the last remnants of your beloved Simon fade away, leaving behind only a monster.

He had now fully turned. His head snapped around, locking onto you. He lunged at you, driven by a primal instinct to tear into you. His jaw wouldn't close properly, making each biting attempt a futile effort. You struggled to keep him off you, pushing against him, but your strength was waning.

With all the strength you could muster, you desperately pushed him away. Struggling to your feet, you drew the pistol, and the gun trembled in your hand as you pointed it at his head. The inner battle of killing someone you loved, even in this altered form, was unbearable. Your heart ached as you cried out when he lunged at you again, knocking you down to the ground.

"I'm so sorry, I love you so much, Simon," you sobbed as he tried to gnaw at your shoulder, his efforts proving futile. The pistol shook in your grip, the weight of the moment unbearable. In his last moments of humanity, he had made an agonizing request, and you couldn't refuse.

With a trembling hand and tear-filled eyes, you raised the pistol and pressed it against his head. His last words echoed in your mind, and the memory of his love spurred you to act. You squeezed the trigger, and the gunshot reverberated through the room. Simon's body slumped, falling against you.

As you gently pushed him off, his lifeless body rolled to the side with a heavy thud. You leaned over his lifeless form, cradling him, your sobs echoing in the room. You could only hold him as you sobbed against his chest. Simon's last desperate attempt to protect you had been successful, as he had always promised you that no harm would ever come to you. Even in death, he had kept his promise.

[dadsbongos]

the ogre problem

moots that aren’t oxy… LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY pleas please please

1.3 k words / warnings - anal (least scary), non-con, monster fucking, body horror?, mind break, choking x-treme, size difference, uncomfortable amounts of drool, zombie fucking?, muscle kink? muscle emphasis?, bros in yo guts!!

summary - You’re just a little guy in the dungeons of Fear & Hunger, hopefully you don’t run into any big scary prison guards…

~~~

The cobblestone has been laid with little care; jagged, raised lips with wide grouts begging to be tripped in. Buzzing thin, restless flies’ wings ring around each corner with gossamer webs shining iridescent once caught in torch light just right. Layers of dust cling along each stone wall and crate and barrel. And aside from those tiny wings, and the distant, thudding footsteps of nightmarish creatures far larger than you -- it is silent. So silent, you can hear the blood thrumming through your ears, and the tingling bubbles of your saliva being swallowed down, and the soft breeze of your breathing.

So silent, the cork popping from your bottle of ale echoes down the dungeon’s sprawling, vacant passage.

Raising the bottle to your dry, cracked lips, you note how the ale itself is bitter and borderline undrinkable; and the bottle’s chilled glass gnaws at your palms. As you drink, you think -- despite drinking to avoid the unnerving process of planning and scheming for survival. The longer you loom within the dungeon’s shadows, the more impossible it is to stop thinking. Currently, you wonder if the bottle, once emptied, will make a sufficient diversion.

Or, if you’re truly desperate, a weapon of its own.

Fire rages down the narrow canal of your throat, a more soothing warmth spreading through your chest and swirling into your gut. Mixing there with thin, spindly mushrooms and dried meat strips to settle the shakiness of your hands (if only for the following hour or so).

Prickles of goose flesh serrate your skin as your body nestles against the frostbitten, lumpy, carelessly laid stone that compiles this miserable dungeon. One large, thumping mass of mangled flesh and dried, blackened blood with a single mind. Death clings, the scent of rot perpetually clogging the back of your throat.

Terrible.

Rags do little to protect you from the wafting freeze. Or from the destructive, overpowering blows of grayish creatures with bulging, tumor-esque, crowded lumps for muscle.

You clutch the bottle, cursing each God -- old and new -- as the once faraway footsteps creep towards your secluded hall. Scrambling off the floor, the soft dizzying sway of alcohol is scrubbed sober as you search for any protruding column or statue to crawl behind. With not even a large crate to duck inside, you are left to cram yourself flat against the deadend hall.

The song of droning wings and swallowed spit is replaced with your heartbeat jumping up into your jaw, throbbing behind your eyes, and the harsh suck of air between clenched teeth. You swirl the bottle to judge how much ale remains and pat yourself down for a match. A single match.

Echoing, heavy footfalls pause, and your knees wobble. Lavish jelly replacing bone and tendons. The measly mix of minimum nutrients and ale now punching back up from your stomach -- scorching you alive from the inside.

An hour cut down into mere seconds. The bottle of ale rattles in your trembling hold.

Your sweat-slicked fingers curl around a single match, deep, deep in your ragged pocket amongst loose herbs and bread crumbs.

The ogre stands at the opening of the hall. Piercing, white eyes shrouded by a thickened brow bone pin you to the wall. A sickly golden shine peeks over the edges of its shoulders from surrounding torches, but your hall is dark.

Your hall is cramped.

Your hall is terrible.

The ogre’s rusty, chipped meat cleaver glints against firelight. Browned blood staining the cloth wrapped around its ankles in splotches. Flecks decorate the ruffled, short material of its loincloth. You don’t dare look beneath the flint-hued cloth, between those daunting legs.

Faint, varying shades of reds and pinks persist in the joints and curves of the ogre’s large body -- blood, most definitely. Whose, you aren’t sure (you only pray to the Gods you previously swore off that yours doesn’t join the mix). Blue wires vastly unfurled, barely visible, beneath the ogre’s stiff skin. There must be crimson there. There must be life.

But shadowed, searing pale eyes tell you otherwise.

It resembles every cadaver you’ve passed in these corridors. Devoid of color, devoid of spark and light and blood that drums in ears.

Your grip on the ale slips from moist fingers, but you fasten your grip before it free falls and shatters across the floor. The ogre steps forward, then again, and again, and again, until it's walking in a full, swift cycle. Its speed shocks you further back into the bumpy wall -- shocks you into momentarily forgetting your shoddy, desperate plan for escape.

Fear jumpstarts your heart -- you fling out the remaining half of ale over the guard and hurriedly swipe your single match to strike against the wall.

The match spits a lone spark.

Your wrist is enchained by the guard’s thick hand.

You cannot hear yourself breathe. You cannot hear the flies. You cannot hear your spit. As blazing sunfire eyes absorb your frame in a single, unblinking stare -- you cannot even hear your heart.

You forget you have one. You look between its legs.

The stinger twitches against the widely gapped cobblestone floor.

Ale rolls down the beast’s face. It drops the meat cleaver with a tingy clang and lifts you, already turning down the long, dank hall towards the cells.

Terrible.

…

Overbearing heft skewers you to the nipping cold floor, heavy hands pressing your spine into a low bow. The flesh of your rear plush around the obnoxious imprint of the ogre’s stinger. Swollen sagging firm meat squishes between your thighs, nudging impossibly into your legs through the thin material of your trousers before they’re ripped off completely. Threads snapping and shredding apart sings through the stuffy cell, you spot the torn pieces of dark fabric in the corner of your vision.

Maybe your brain is melting itself down into mush to preserve what scraps of sanity remain, but your initial thought is how the cloth could make for a good tourniquet. Or perhaps ample wrapping for a torch.

Cold hands stretch open the cheeks of your ass. One hand leaves.

Your eyes take in the stone wall directly in front of you.

A surly bulb pushes against your tight rim. The hand returns, fingers curl around the curve of your hip and the rippling rotund masses of the ogre’s chest muscles sink into your distended back.

You are punctured by the ogre’s stinger.

“Ggh- !” sputum webs out over your lips, streaking the floor, as you choke on air. You fling an arm back, beating at the sturdy arms holding you down.

The ogre only displays vague irritation, easily shoving an arm under your chin and around your pulsing neck, yanking you against its dense body. Oxygen flows thinly, you rasp for it in a panic when the ogre’s arm tightens. Your pulse vibrates through your entire body, even down to your groin.

Terrible.

Worst of all, however, is the fullness. Fullness that makes you squeal between strangled gasps, thighs twitching and hot. Your instinct is to hide the gushy evidence between your legs, but you realize quickly when the ogre pays this defiant arousal no mind.

Those glassy eyes and icy skin. You realize now, the ogre cares not for anything past the warm hole it fucks.

As the ogre’s stinger repeatedly spears your smaller body slobber gums down your lip and chin, muscles lax and pliant under the barbarie. Your thighs clench, knees scraping against the cellar floor, the pressure’s relief is fleeting. A garbled, boorish whine stutters through your cinched throat and fastened jaw -- you’re embarrassed. Mortified, even.

The ogre smashes its ballooning, obtrusive hips to yours. A strange warmth unfamiliar from the swathe of ale glows from the back of your thighs - mingling with the ogre’s. Warmth blazes across each charged jam of flesh over flesh.

Drool strings down over the ogre’s arm, rivaling the weepy valley of your thighs. All of which the beast ignores to tighten bruisingly around your throat, securing you between the floor and its back.

The ogre cares for nothing, except the warm hole it devastates.

Terrible.

~~~

:3

[theinfiknight]

What if the characters of Discworld were Avatars of the 15 fears from the Magnus Archives?

Now, just a disclaimer, this is just my personal opinion of which character would best fit the bill. Regardless if you agree or disagree, feel absolutely free to do so either way. Also, obvious spoilers for the books excepting Shepherd's Crown and Raising Steam.

The Web:

This one is obvious and can be no one other than Lord Vetinari himself. An absolute master of subtle manipulation and long term planning, Vetinari is the perfect Avatar of the Web. He creates a reputation of pervasive fear and makes people believe that he could do away with them at a whim, despite him never once killing a single person who wasn't an irredeemable criminal of some sort, and even then usually giving them chances to redeem themselves first. This being the case, I'd say Lady Margolotta is also an Avatar, and the one who exposed Havelock to the Web in the first place.

The Hunt:

The most stereotypical aspect of the Hunt is manifested most by Wolfgang von Uberwald, the textbook Hunter who chases and kills for the thrill of it. Both Sam Vimes and Angua hear the call of the Blood, but both refuse to heed it, and so aren't Avatars. I'd argue that there's another Avatar of the Hunt fulfilling the other role, created by the Hunt to be the perpetually hunted, the never caught but ever pursued white stag/ golden doe, the one, though not only, Rincewind.

The Eye:

One Avatar is Jeannie and every Kelda before and after her. The Kelda sees everything and knows what has happened and what will. The alternate answer is Blind Io, given his literal eyeballs that float around and also that he's cognizant of everything that goes on in the Disc, and that everyone knows he's watching.

The Spiral:

The Elf Queen. The undisputed master of illusion and deception, creating false worlds that operate on her rules, trapping people in unreal dreams they cannot escape, making them see and believe what she wants them to see and believe. Bel Shamharoth is also a possible answer given how he distorts the senses and feeds on those he traps.

The Buried:

Albrecht Albrechtsson. Knockermen are undoubtedly Avatars of the Buried, with the complex stew of fear and reverence they feel for the underground, and Albrecht is the lowest among them. Agi Hammerthief is probably the only fully realised Avatar of the Buried, who dwells beneath the Disc where no one will ever reach him.

The Flesh:

The Igors and Nutt. The Igors for obvious reasons, their affinity for tinkering with bodies, and their indisputable understanding of the fact that meat is meat, and as such can be used for a lot more than its original intention. Nutt because he is a creation of said tinkering, flesh made warped, with a living engine of meat inside him.

The End:

Mort and Bill Door, and possibly every zombie. This really needs no explanation. Mort stepping into his Master's role is the textbook descent of a human into Avatarhood, developing strange powers and slowly becoming Other. I'm not counting Death because he is the personification of the thing and isn't human enough to qualify as an Avatar, and I'm not counting Susan because she never carried out the Duty.

The Slaughter:

Carcer, the Gonne, and Cohen the Barbarian. Carcer killed for the fun of it with no care for reasoning, consequence or morality. He WAS a one man slaughter by himself. Cohen's existence was also very similar to Carcer's, albeit he killed far more people and lived by a Code that ensured that though he mass murdered on the regular, he always did it with the same honesty as a man hunting for his next meal. As such perhaps Cohen was more an impersonal personification of the Slaughter like the Piper rather than an Avatar of it. The Gonne was more an a artifact that channeled the Slaughter into whoever held it, be it D'Eath, Cruces or even Vimes.

The Corruption:

Vorbis and the Cunning Man. Vorbis absolutely embodies the toxicity and insidious creeping infestation of the Corruption. He pollutes organisations and people, changing them and turning them into versions of himself, utilising extremely unhealthy relationship dynamics in order to do so, creating an atmosphere ripe with fear, desperation and despair. The Cunning Man is similar except his method of corruption is more direct than Vorbis's ie literally taking over the body of his victim while subtly influencing the minds of those around him when he's less corporeal. His presence is filth of the mind and stench of the soul, and incites disgust and fear among those aware of his true nature.

The Stranger:

I had some trouble with this but finally decided on Susan and Lu Tze. Although one would intuitively put Susan under The End, in practice the characteristics she actually exhibits line up more with the Stranger. She walks unseen among others, unknown in the places she passes through, never usually staying very long in one place unless that happens to be her dwelling at that time. Her presence unsettles people. She doesn't fit in among others and has always been set apart. She's too undead to be truly alive and too alive to be truly undead. The only people who really know her are Death and Time. To everyone else, she's a stranger they see sometimes.

And Lu Tze, of course, is just the Sweeper. No one knows the first thing about him apart from the fact that he happens to be there. He's a part of the background of whenever he is. If anyone ever truly Looked at him, and actually noticed what they saw, that he's in fact a stranger in their midst, the first words out of their mouths would be "I do not know you"

The Desolation:

Stratford, Spider the Rat King, and Ipslore the Red. Stratford was a motherfucker who would bleed every last drop before abandoning the corpse he created. This was a bastard who, wishing to cause Vimes as much pain as he could, chose to target his son rather than seek him out directly. A man after the Desolation's own heart. Spider was out for everything the humans had. It wanted their utter ruin and destruction and was well on its way to achieving it. And Ipslore attempted to destroy the whole world with his resentment, using and abusing his own son as his instrument to do so, and would have succeeded too, if it weren't for some idiot with a half brick in a sock.

The Extinction:

The Things from the Dungeon Dimensions. The Extinction is the end of the rule of Man and their replacement with the horrifying Other. And there's nothing that fits that description better than the Things from the Dungeon Dimensions, constantly seeking to bring about exactly what the Fear is.

The Lonely:

This was difficult to decide as well, but I believe the First Tooth Fairy might qualify. Living literally locked up in a bubble separate from the rest of reality, it lives apart from everyone and everything else, keeping alone for all eternity. Additionally, I believe that every living witch(with the exception of Nanny Ogg) carries a piece of the Lonely inside them. Its influence never goes away, and those who succumb to it are the ones who become cacklers.

The Vast:

Tiffany Aching and, funnily enough, a Simon once again. Tiffany's primary source of power is that she is, at her core, something far bigger than herself. She may be just Tiffany but she is also Land under Wave, the power and will of millions of years of life before her. At her most powerful she is aware of EVERYTHING, from the bones of the flint beneath the chalk to time itself to the stars being born in the distant sky. She is small but she is also Vast. And Simon sees the whole universe and truly understands what he's looking at. He sees and understands more than he can express and his knowledge of the Vast almost approaches comprehension.

The Dark:

The one, though once again not only, Samuel Vimes. There couldn't be any other answer here. The dark walks with him. He was born in it, moulded by it... By the time he saw the light it was nothing more than BLINDING. But yeah, he is most at peace in the true dark in the pissing rain on the cobbles, even before he was literally possessed by the living darkness itself. The dark aids him and talks to him. The dwarfs and the goblins may live in the dark, but Sam Vimes looked into the Abyss, and he wasn't the one who blinked.

[fartquen12]

?The Walking Dead x The Last Of Us?

Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

'ellie and you decide to head to a camp called "alexandria". ellie thinks its a terrible idea but you believe it might be your best idea yet.'

///A/N: I have had this idea for WEEEEKS guys. I haven't seen anyone do it?? anyway I hope you like it and its not another one of my ideas that needs to stay in my headdd... theres not really a defined who you are dating but you can kind of make that up yourself hehe.////

TW: mentions of death, violence, gore, weapons, zombie apocolypse things guys. </3

you've known ellie williams since you can remember life itself.

you and ellie have been seperated countless times in the apocolypse, yet she always finds you. you weren't one to question things but it sorta creeped you out.. I mean how did this girl always know. currently you were with ellie taking out a group of walkers..

"Y/N!!" ellie exclaimed pushing the walking, flesh-eating, corpse out of your way before whipping out her pocket knife and stabbing it straight through the eye. ellie was your best friend, but the countless times she saved your ass made you feel kinda guilty.

"jesus, you really need to pay more attention." she says in a pissed off tone while scanning you up and down for any scratches or bites and once she realises your fine she grabs your wrist firmly and practically drags you back to the car you got here in. she pretty much throws you in the car and slams the door shut before going to the drivers side and getting in herself.

"ellie-"

"shutup."

she cuts you off as she angrily speeds off. you and her were trying to get to a town called "alexandria" where you were promised a safe place to stay. ellie was pissed at you for several reasons. you had seen signs for this place that you and ellie had seen. she thought it was a total joke and pushed the idea out of her mind. but you. you kept insisting, kept pushing her to go. she really didn't want to but its all you talked about. so in her words "if we die its all your fault" but you were more than willing to take that chance if it meant getting away from this fucking apocolypse.

you sat silently looking out the window. not daring to say a word, only movement being your chest rising and falling in rhythm to your lungs. the air was thick. awkward for you, angry for her. you slowly turned your head to glance at her, and when she glanced back at you your head immediately fell to take interest in your shoes. ellie let out a deep sigh before opening her lips. "you know what y/n.. you might be right. maybe this will be amazing for us. i- i just- i can't have anything happening to you. you understand?" she says. but you are not paying any attention... your staring at your blood drenched fingers.

when ellie eventually notices what your fixating on she becomes furious, how could you be so upset about something so little so she speeds even more (if thats even possible) your hands were drenched in the blood of the men she had just brutally murdered right infront of you, then guilting you into helping her move the bodies. you didn't trust anyone either. but you wouldn't go to such extremes like she always does. ellie stares at you pissed for a minute before swerving the car right almost missing a turn. your heart rate goes way up and it feels like your heart is gonna fly out of your chest.

ellie knows you hate when anyone drives fast and shes doing this to scare you. to try and get you to submit. but you won't. you just won't. being with ellie was fun, in the beginning. but she changed. a lot. honestly. you used to really crush on her, but when you look at her you see nothing. you don't like it. but shes your only hope and she protects you.. so you pull through.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

when you two arrived, you were given everything you needed for now by a woman named deanna or something... she said she wanted you guys for interviews... a man named rick was gonna interview you two.. which kinda threw you off, and threw ellie way off but you tried to protest to her that it made sense.. kinda. ellie was giving you a cold shoulder the whole day. not looking at you. not speaking to you. not even acknowledging you. your brain started to turn on you and you had totally forgotten what ellie did you just wanted her to like you again. when they tried to seperate you for interviews much to their dismay you put up a huge fight, making ellie grin at your defiance. finally they just put up with your shit and interviewed you together.

they sat you two down in a room. a library sort of room with three chairs for the each of you. florals ingraved in the cushions and dark two toned wooden bookshelves, the windows had white lacy curtains and you could see the dark streets with golden lights reflecting off the streetlamps. they also had set up a camera... uncomfortably staring at you and ellie totally ruining any chance you would feel comfortable with the truths you were gonna tell. I mean this place was legit. you could see it. it was standing and the people seemed kind and genuine. you just needed ellie to settle in and except this as her home... which would be hard. but you fully planned to admit to anything they asked.

"to start off please state your names." the man said staring at you two. you did just that- "I am y/n and this is ellie." you said smiling at him, ellie squinting her eyes at the man. "alright," he said looking down at his list of questions. "today we are gonna be interviewing you two to see if we think you fit into-"

"more like interrogating." ellie said rolling her eyes.

"fine. we will get straight to the chase then." the man said giving ellie an angry glare. starting with you. he said looking at ellie. "how many walkers have you killed." ellie scoffs "are you serious. that is the dumbest fuckin-"

"I said how many."

"too many to count." she says staring into his soul.

"right." he scribbles something down in his notebook before speaking again. "now. ellie" he says in a mocking tone. "how many people have you killed."

he says staring up at her. "none. i'm a clean woman rick." she says staring at him through fuming eyes. and in this exact moment your whole body shifts towards ellie and you give her the biggest, greatest, huggest, fatest, bombastic side eye, criminal offensive side eye in history. knowing about every single person she had "put out of their misery" aka popped their bootycheeks blue.

rick laughs before writing something down turning his full attention to you. "how many- "FART .what.the.fuck. you thought. ellie had just let it rip so loud and so stinky the whole room became intoxicated with her stinky fart. "taco bell..?" rick says looking ellie up and down extremely disturbed before looking at you for a response. "deviled eggs." you say staring at him almost crying. and he lets out a silent "oh" with his mouth before throwing his head back in disgust. "EGG FARTED YOU!" ellie yells out giggling, very very pleased with herself. "oh my god. ellie that reeks!" you cry out.

I guess you didnt specify earlier that ellie kills people by FARTING ON THEM LIKE CRAZY

I MEAN THIS GIRL KNOWS HOW TO LET IT RIP

SHE FUELS UP ON ANYTHING, TACO, CHEESE, MILK, ANYTHING AND SHE CAN SHOOT FIRE OUT HER BOOTYCHEEKS.

ellie jumps up excitedly and accidentally knocks over a table in the process, dropping a glass lamp on the floor.

"oh shit.." ellie says reaching for the poop that just fell out her pants. you scramble to pick up the lamp as rick jumps up pissed and rolling up his sleeves to "square up ellie" as you try and pick it up, tiny shards of glass stick to your delicate fingers like poop on toilet paper. and you yelp in pain. "BRO OH MY GODDAAA DONT TOUCH ITA AAAAAAAAAAAAA!" ELLIE YELLS AT YOU GRABBING YOUR HAND AND BITING IT "WTF ELLIE WHY WOULD YOU BITE ME!" YOU SCREAM OUT YANKING YOUR HAND AWAY. "I HAVE RABIES!" SHE YELLS BEFORE GETTING ABSOLUTLEY JUMPED BY RICK AND GETTING HER BOOTYCHEEKS THROWN TO THE FLOOR. "UHH WTF!" YOU YELL JUMPING ON RICKS BACK "GET OFF MY GIRLFRIEND OR I BEAT UR GYATT!" YOU YELL WHEN ALL OF THE SUDDEN SOME SUPER HOT GUY NAMED DARYL BUSTS IN AND YOU ALMOST BUST A NUT LOOKING AT HIM AND YOU SPRING OFF RICK AND ONTO HIS DICK "DARYl DADDY OH MY LORDY LORD IM BOUTA COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!" YOU YELL OUT JUMPING ON THIS DUDE AND START HUMPING HIM LIKE AN ABSOLUTE HOBO!! I MEAN YOU ARE HUMPING AND A- GUNSHOT "oh my god." you say looking over to see some random little boy with a brown hat on with a gun pointed to ellie. and he just shot her in the boobs.... "bro how could you... you just shot my gay bestie in the boobs... you are the worst little-"

"NOOOOOHOOOAOOOAOOAOOAO COOOOOOOOOOOOORAAAAAAAAALLLLL! I TOLD YOU TOO STOP KILLING EVERYONE!!!! NOAHHHAHHAHAHHAAOOAOOAHAGAHAOAOAHYGASVCIQDGBCOUSBDC!" RICK SCREAMS OUT

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOO!" YOU YELL OUT JUMPING AROUND THE ROOM LIKE AN ABSOLUTE BUM JUST GOING CRAZY AT IT. YOU JUMP AT THE LITTLE BOY AND BEGAN BEATING HIS ASSHOLE!!! "BRO GET THIS SIX HUNDRED PUND LIFER OFF ME DADDY!"" HE YELLS OUT TO THE RICK DUDE." BRO THIS LITTLE SHIT YO KID!!?!??!?" YOU YELL OUT INFURIATED AT RICK- GUNSHOT GUNSHOT GUNSHOT "NO ELLIE WTF!!!!" YOU LOOK OVER AND SEE ELLIE JUST SHOT RICK CORAL...!?!??! AND DARYL DADDY!! AND YOU ARE BAWLING "YOR MY WOMAN-"

AND THEN EVERYONE IN ALEXANDRIA COMES IN AND STARTS JUMPING YOU AND ELLIE. PEOPLE ARE FIGHTING EACHOTHER AND SOME DUDES ARE HUMPIG I THINK I MEAN I THINK SOME GUY LITERALLY HAS NO PANTS IN HIS NAME IS LIKE... GLENN OR SOMETHING I DONT KNOW.. HE HAS NO PANTS ON AND EVERYONE KEEPS RUNNING INTO HIS WENER AND WHEN THEY DO HIS WHOLE BODY GOES FLYING ADN HE SCREAMS OUT LIKE A WOMAN... ANYWAY THIS IS CRAZY PEOPLE ARE DYING

SOME LADY IS BEATING YOUR ASSHOLE BUT SHE KINDA LIKE GAY LOOKING

"ARE YOU GAY...:?" YOU YELL OUT STARING AT HER. "YES.." SHE SIGHS

"COOL... ME TOO..." YOU YELL OUT

"IM Y/N WHATS YOUR NAME..?" YOU SAY

"TARA YUMMY."

"AINT NO WAY!!" YOU YELL OUT BEFORE HUMPING THE CRAP OUT OF HER-

GUNSHOT GUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOTGUNSHOT EVERYONE IN ALEXANDRIA IS DEAD ON THE FLOOR AND WHEN YOU LOOK OVER YOU SEE SOME RANDOM LITTLE BOY WITH A BOOMBOX PLAYING THAT TIPTOE THROUGH THE WIND HOE SONG STANDING THERE WITH A REALLY SHITTY LOOK ON HIS FACE. "UM WHAT DA HELL." YOU YELL OUT AND HE RUNS AWAY. YOU CLIMB OVER THE BODIES AND FOLLOW HIM TO WHEREVER THE FUCK HE WAS GOING

"LITTLE BOY WAIT!!!" YOU YELL

YOU FOLLOW HIM TO A ROOM WHERE HE LOCKS THE DOOR BEHIND YOU AND TIES U UP...

AND FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN THIS APOCOLYPSE

INSTEAD OF BEING IN A TOWN WITH YOUR CRAZY ENIMIES TO LOVERS DADDY GF YOUR STUCK WITH THIS CRAZY LITTLE BOY NAMED SAM

AND HE IS BLASTING TIP TOE THROUGH THE WIND HOE ... ATLEATS THATS WHAT YOU THOUGHT YOU HEARD THE LYRICS SAY.. WHICH WAS PRETTY INAPROPRIATE FOR A 5 YEAR OLD TO BE LISTENING TOO(edited)

ITS WILDIN!!!!

THE END!!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED GUYS STAN ELLIE WILLIAMS AND THE LITTLE BITCH SAM

why are you looking here. the fanfic is over. its over. bro. get the fuck out.

[thezombieprostitute]

A Change is Coming

💐Send a whole bouquet!💐Write a surprise drabble or create a moodboard for them. 

This is an idea I had floating around and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to use it on a full fic so I will dress it up in daisies for you, dearest Zombie. Hoping it isn't too dark or bloody.

Warnings: Injury and Blood.

You never thought you’d be a runner. How often did you see those people in their short shorts and loose tanks, toned legs and sweaty foreheads, bouncing with their earbuds in, arms pumping, knees lifting. You could never be one of them... 

Well, now you are. It’s a change. A big change. One long-needed. One made out of fear and panic. 

You have to get healthier. You have to try. You’re starting to feel your age, really, you feel beyond it.  

You tried other things. Yoga was too slow and breathy. Weight-training a bit too heavy and too much. And the gym in general sent you running with sore muscles and no less self-esteem issues. 

Running. Rather, jogging. You’re starting off easy. A slow pace through the trail. You don’t need to worry about the gym bros and their judgment or the girls in their tight leggings filming for Tiktok. It’s just you and nature and oof, your knees! 

Two weeks now. That’s an achievement. Sort of. Two weeks but you gotta keep it up. No time to start patting yourself on the back until you see results. 

Your breath is harried and burning. Your fitbit buzzes at you, slow down. You ease up as you come up and incline. Your thighs are on fire. You wait until you reach another dip before you speed up again. Your heart pumps hotly and you feel that odd calm that comes at your peak. You feel almost good. You feel-- 

Something catches your ankle. Something you couldn’t see as you kept your eyes six feet ahead. At first, the pain doesn’t occur to you, not as you’re sent stumbling forward, crashing, arms flailing as you land on the leaf-strewn trail.  

You lay on your stomach, panting. You groan and roll over, sitting up as you spot the obstruction that tripped you up. A wire tied across the path. It can’t be a coincidence. It’s a trap. 

You look down at your ankle, the one that met the wire. You nearly scream as you see the gash and how your foot hangs to one side. Then you feel it. Your adrenaline courses but cannot numb the agony that creeps up from your injured leg. You hardly feel the scrapes all over your arms and knees as you stare at the torn flesh. 

You babble dumbly. What do you do? How do you get out of here? You’re too afraid to move. Oh god. What’s happened to you? Why you? 

Your hands shake as you hold them before you in shock. You hear a rustle of leaves and the wire slackens. You blink and stair as a man walks across the path, winding it up around his hand. He turns to face you as he unhooks it from the other side. 

He tuts as he comes closer, looming over you. He wears a hoodie and a beanie, a dark stubbly beard across his jaw and cheeks, his blue eyes the only bright thing about him. He tilts his head and squat before you as he examines your ankle with a suck of his teeth. 

“Yikes, that really did a number on you,” he comments, “won’t be walking this one off.” 

You whimper, terrified. He’s unfazed by the sight of your blood. In fact, he’s not bothered at all by the scene before him. By the way he holds the wire, you know he set it up. 

He looks you in the face and tilts his head, “you’re not the one I wanted...” he pulls the knapsack off his shoulder and tucks away the wire inside, “but you’ll do.” 

He swings the bag over his back and moves over you. You cower as he bends to hook his arms under yours. He braces you, the smell of the forest clinging to him. 

“Now, you wanna keep your weight off the right foot, so work with me,” he girds, “you’ll be better off if you do everything I say.” 

You shudder and suck in air as he makes you stand. Your toe hits the ground and jars your ankle. You yelp and cling to him out of instinct. 

“Keep that foot up, sweetheart,” he warns as he turns to stretch his arm across your back, “we got a long way to go.” 

Thanks so much for this, Roo! I really appreciate it!

Is it bad that my first thought is "he's selling me to Kemp!" 😅

Kemp has to back out of the chase for a while, too familiar to too many people. So he hires a few people to do his hunting for him. He doesn't care how they get the girls so long as the girls are alive and pretty.

So Curtis relies on his trapper skills. He finds his prey, gets her usual routine figured out, and sets his trap. But he catches you instead. Pretty enough, Curtis thinks. Can still get my payday.

The trek back to his truck is, of course, slow and painful. You vomit at least once from the pain. Sitting in the truck doesn't help much, either. At least he's got some medical supplies there and starts treating the ankle though you throw up again from the pain.

By the time you get to your destination much of the shock has worn off and the tears are flowing. He helps you limp inside. You know you should scream, try to fight, something, anything but with how casually he treats your pain you get the impression he could make it so much worse without care.

When you're sitting down again, your captor calls out for someone named Kemp. Kemp walks in, sees you and says, "I said 'pretty' girls, Curtis. I'm not buying this one."

"She's pretty enough for your clients. You can always sell her parts with someone else's photo."

"I have a reputation to keep amongst my clients. One hint that they're not getting what they ordered I could be ruined."

"Fine, just pay me half but you're keeping her."

Kemp considers you. "She does seem rather docile. Maybe I could find another use for her besides meat."

Should the story continue? 😆

[raffe156]

Sorry in advance, but Zombie Tank…

Oh god Anon…

Tbh this is perfect for Halloween

This is sad 💀

You were different, you felt it in your bones, in your flesh, every atom of your being was different…it felt wrong. You stumbled trying to standup, unsteady on your feet, what was the matter with you?

You looked to Price for help, he would know what to do, he always did. Where was he? You turned your head looking for him, but the sound of your blood rushing inside your head was so loud, it made you squint your eyes. You wanted it to stop, you called for your Captain. No answer. The blood thrashed louder. You pressed your hands to your ears tightly, your nails digging into your head. A loud thudding noise rumbled the wall behind you. You cried out again for your Captain. Fat tears threatening to fall as a lump in your throat began to form, cutting your cries for help short. A prickly heat began to creep up your spine and before you could even register, it had spread through your body, every vein felt like fire was running through them. The thudding noise shook the wall again. What was happening to you? Where was Price? Why did you suddenly feel anger? Where had this urge of malice come from? Price?….Where?….what?….Help…

You felt something shift in front of you. The familiar smell of cigarettes and wet earth. Ghost. He looked and felt different, but he was still Ghost, he was still Simon. You reached up to touch his mask, even with your hand jittering and jerking he didn’t move or flinch, he just let you place your hand to the side of his mask, almost leaning into it.

“You good?”

“Yeh LT”

“That’s my girl” the words never made a sound, but you heard him say them inside your head clear as day.

You suddenly realised that even though the feeling of pure rage hadn’t left your system, you no longer felt any pain and at least now you weren’t alone.

Price watched from behind the thick glass as you thrashed and cried out in pain for him. You needed him and there was nothing he could do to you help you. One minute you were right behind him then the next thing he knew doors were sealed and you were surrounded by purple gas. He pounded on the glass, he needed you to know he was there. He needed you to turn around if you could just see his face, he would make everything right.

Your cries became curdled as they morphed into screeching, He banged the glass again, calling your name more desperately now. He just needed you to turn around…

Just as your screams died down Price watched in horror as a large figure made its way over to you slowly. His brain couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing…Ghost, but he wasn’t the man he knew, not anymore.

His eyes were a milky white, his jaw swung low hanging on by a thread, blood spattered his gear. He’d been missing for days…he was the reason you were here in the first place….Price watched as you placed your hand on Ghost’s mask. His body language was non threatening, though there wouldn’t be anything he could do even if it was, but if Ghost had wanted to hurt you he would have done it already.

A Groan came from Ghost, as he looked over you. Price felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as you let out a screech. Another gurgled groan from Ghost.

Price turned his back to the glass…he didn’t need to see your face, he knew you had gone somewhere he couldn’t follow…

[sadiecoocoo]

The trooper shook his head harshly, like a wild cat digging her teeth further into her prey. Echo let out a rough yelp as he felt rather than heard the metal of his scomp crunch. His head was swimming with pain and sickness, he felt helpless and pathetic. He knew he was getting weaker, he could feel it with almost every breath. Each time he had had a coughing fit, luckily only twice now, it felt like something was creeping into his head. It made him feel enraged, with the thought that something else was there that shouldn’t be. He was used to invasive code, to the occasional virus that he would pick up when trying to hack into separatist systems, but this felt organic. This wasn’t something messing with his cybernetics, with the pieces of him that didn’t feel like him. This was attacking the few human bits he had left. It was attacking, and it was winning. It made him angry, it made him think things about these sick troopers that he only ever thought about the Techno Union. Shoot them repeatedly, jam your scomp into their throats, stomp on their skulls until it was mush staining the floor. He didn’t want to think that. Sick or not, these were vode. He tried to imagine one of the Batch being applied to these disgusting thoughts, but to his own horror the idea never left. Sometimes he thought it even got louder, more demanding. The trooper pinning him started pulling against his scomp, trying to bite off a chunk of metal. Echo let out another scream as the phantom pains told him he was losing flesh and not replaceable durasteel. He yanked on his scomp, trying to force the trooper back down. Even if he would be pinned, the trooper wouldn’t be able to do anything to hurt him other than claw and grab, unless he let go of Echo’s scomp. Echo brought his hand up to push against the trooper’s face. His wide, bloodshot eyes flashed towards the limb, and he grabbed it before Echo could even reach his face. He dug his fingernails into the skin and made little crescent indents. It wasn’t long before a small trickle of blood leaked down his wrist. He grit his teeth. It was nothing, it wouldn’t last. He didn’t need to worry about himself. He needed to get free, then help Tech. he could see his vod’ika in his peripheral vision, pinned similarly to Echo. he was weakly holding his shaking arms up to keep the trooper’s snapping jaw away from him. Echo looked away as the pressure on his scomp started to lift. His wrist was pulled up as the trooper moved his mouth, open wide to bite, towards his hand. Echo saw his opportunity and took it. Jam your scomp into his throat. The voice screamed. He couldn't help but agree with it, despite himself. He maneuvered his scomp back, then pushed it forward with as much force as his muddled mind could muster. It sank into the trooper’s flesh with a squelch. Blood trickled down his scomp and pooled in the crook of his elbow until it dripped off onto Echo’s chest. The two made eye contact. Both held a sickening fear in their wide eyes. Echo’s lip trembled slightly as he spun his scomp, tearing the trooper’s flesh to shreds. The blood started to splatter violently against Echo’s face. He tore out his scomp through the side, almost completely decapitating the trooper. The trooper lilted to the side as he fell off of Echo.

more of the zombie tbb fic I'm working on! I have a lot written (15k words somehow) and have divided some of it up into different chapters. I want to tease more but I really don't want to spoil a lot of things lol

NPTs: @squad-724 @arctrooper69 @weyrwolfen @clownery-and-fuckery @charlieisannoying @greyangelpain

[dw-tma]

Descriptions of the Fears from the Magnus Archives Wiki:

The Buried-

“The fear of small spaces, suffocating, drowning, being buried alive. Fear of everything crashing down around/on oneself. Fear of being trapped without enough space. Manifests as caves, dirt, financial issues, heavy rain, underground transport, tight spaces such as coffins.”

The Corruption-

“The fear of corruption, disease, filth. Fear of the feelings of disgust, revulsion and the things or beings that might evoke such feelings. Manifests as mould, bugs, rot, decay, infection, the feeling of one's skin crawling. Can also manifest as unhealthy love and companionship.”

The Dark-

“The primal fear of the dark, of the unseen, and the creatures hiding from our view... Manifests as creatures hidden in the dark, shadow figures and monsters, blindness, coldness, dark water.”

The Desolation-

“The fear of pain, loss, burning, and destruction, especially with a senseless cause. Followers are enriched by destroying the lives of people who had things to live for, and destroying things before their potential is realised. Manifests as fire, wax, heat, burns, destruction of potential.”

The End-

“The fear of death itself—⁠uncaring and unstoppable, the fear that everything ends eventually. Manifests as bones, various forms of the dead (skeletons, mummies, zombies, etc.). Also has close ties to dreams and can manifest through them.”

The Eye-

“The fear of being watched, exposed, followed, having secrets exposed. Can also pertain to the drive to know and understand, even if your discoveries might destroy you. Manifests as eyes, security cameras, a creature or figure that keeps constant watch. Often manifests in libraries and books.”

The Flesh-

“Born from the fear held by animals bred for meat, and in the human realisation that we are just animated meat and bones. Manifests as meat, corpses, blood, bones, butchers, meat-related industry. Often manifests as strange bodies—bodies being unnaturally twisted, reshaped, and butchered.”

The Hunt-

“The animalistic fear of being chased or hunted; the primal fear of being prey. Manifests as predators, predatory monsters, animal instincts, animalistic traits. Takes hold of apparently "normal" people after they are exposed to the need for The Hunt. Self-proclaimed monster hunters might become 'Hunters' and proceed to develop a need to hunt and kill monsters.”

The Lonely-

“The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. Manifests as fog, large rooms, silence, suburbs, empty rooms, crowds of faceless people.”

The Slaughter-

“The fear of pure, unpredictable, unmotivated violence. The fear of pain coming at sudden, random moments. Manifests as people driven "mad with Slaughter," soldiers, music that either induces Slaughter or warns that Slaughter is coming. Often manifests in imagery of war or murder, and can appear wild like a frenzied killer or calm and regimented like soldiers firing on the battlefield.”

The Spiral-

“The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses. The Spiral appears with imagery of spirals, patterns and fractals, and often manifests as hallucinations or illusions.”

The Stranger-

“The fear of the unknown, the uncanny, the unfamiliar. The creeping sense that something is not right. Manifests as beings and aspects of beings that provoke an "uncanny valley" response: human and other being-adjacent forms, such as mannequins, wax figures, masks, and taxidermy. Often manifests in theatres and performances.”

The Vast-

“The fear of heights, falling, and large open spaces including sky, space, and deep water. More broadly: the human fear of insignificance and meaninglessness, of losing oneself in too much space. Manifests as void, wide-open spaces, vertigo, falling, the transformation of something that should have a limit into something infinite.”

The Web-

“The fear of being controlled or trapped, especially being unaware of one's own entrapment. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated. Also the fear of spiders. Manifests as spiders, spider webs, web-like patterns, puppets.”

[vivianquill]

Etho couldn't have been more relieved and frustrated when the end of session was called.

At first, he'd thought that his task would be easy. Well. Not easy, but certainly doable, especially by him. If there was ever a good time to be an enderman hybrid, it was now. Etho would be able to feel the eyes on him, even if he wasn't able to see them.

The problem started when Tango and Skizz came by to ask to use his crafting table. At first he just thought it was the weight of their eyes on him-- the way his body felt heavier-- but as the session progressed, so did his affliction.

"Hi Etho." Gem's voice made him spin about, though it wasn't quite as fast as he normally would have, "Can I buy your door?"

Etho first noticed the tingling in his feet when he was helping Joel and Bdubs with their double zombie spawner. After it was all dug out, Etho found himself pinned between the gazes of the two men, unable to move, unable to leave the spawner box, the water gently lapping at his boots.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." Etho tried, attempting to difuse the situation so Joel would look away.

"I'm trying to Effo, but you're in the way--" Joel nudged him aside, placing the last few blocks.

Etho had to block Joel's line of sight, then Bdub's to make it so he could move again-- His feet had pins and needles after that whole ordeal, once he'd finally managed to dig into the wall and up and out. It was like-- the longer someone looked at him, instead of getting that anxious paranoid ender itch like he normally did, it felt like his feet had been too heavy to move. Like he'd been glued to the spot.

Maybe he should tell Grian about it. This was supposed to be a death game, but the lore wasn't supposed to go so awry. The secret keeper was just a silly little statue-- some set dressing for the drama, it was even hollow inside! Not-- surely it was just his imagination. The dumb statue didn't hold any power. He didn't need to worry Grian with this--

Etho resolved to just ignore it.

Surely it would go away the moment he handed in his task. It wasn't a problem that the longer someone was looking at him, the heavier his body seemed to get, and the more the numbness started to creep in.

It'd started with his feet, slowly turning them to stone in his boots, then it crept it's way up his legs. It was taking longer for the feeling to return, each time he was out of sight.

Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a little bit of casual petrification.

Every person on the server was his own personal Medusa, only able to turn Etho to stone.

It went faster the more people were looking at him, too.

After the incident with the heart foundation and rigging the vote, Etho found himself stuck on the bridge-- Grian and Tango and Skizz and Bdubs were all looking at him-- the stone had managed to get up to his waist, that time. It'd started on his fingertips too, clutched around the reigns of his skeleton horse.

It was terrifying, to look down at your own tingling fingers and realize the off-gray color slowly seeping away had been his own flesh.

He was glad the horse was already (un)dead, because with Etho's predicament, he surely would have crushed a flesh and blood one.

Pearl nabbing him with her book was the worst thing that could have happened. Thankfully he'd had that invisibility potion, but unfortunately, he'd only had one. Etho hated the taste of it-- sour and metallic, the bitter aftertaste tempting him to chase it down with some milk. But the freedom from the stone was worth the nastiness. Even if it had only been for a short while.

It had been like his own personal hell--- Everyone staring at him, the book burning a hole in his pocket, the dread about what might happen if the stone reached his heart--

The clumsy way he'd had to stumble up the ladder to Joel's tower, hands and legs shaking and weak. Thankfully he was able to get up and out of line of sight, and Grian had his task figured out, so he took a short breather up on the tower, shaking the feeling back into his limbs before downing a slow falling potion in one shot, the musty bubblegum flavor coating his mouth.

Whatever happened, it would only take two minutes. The session would be over and he could press the button and this would all be over.

He'd failed.

At least, he failed giving Pearl back her book. He'd succeeded his own task.

But-- those last few minutes before he pushed the button.

Etho didn't want to admit it, but he would probably have nightmares about those minutes. The stone had been so quick to take him, with all of the eyes on him--

As his arms locked up and the cold numb started to spread up his shoulders to his neck, no one noticed the growing discoloration until it was too late.

"Grian--" Etho managed to choke out, tipping his head back in an effort to keep his head above water-- but it wasn't water.

The last thing Etho saw before the stone overtook him was Tango's panicked face, and Grian turning around to see what the trouble was.

It was like dying.

He was suffocating, like he'd been buried alive in sand, but he couldn't move. It was freezing in powdered snow. It was choking on nothing in the void.

But the damage ticks never came. He couldn't feel the pain of it, even though he wanted nothing more than to gag on the stone filling him up solid like a statue. Like the weeping angel the task had turned him into.

Etho couldn't tell what was going on around him, other than the feeling of eyes on his stone skin, and the gentle brush of someone checking his code. That had to be Grian, surely.

Grian would be able to fix him.

Etho had no idea how long he was stuck as a statue, but the only thing he could see was the symbol of the secret keeper, burnt into his vision like looking at the sun too long.

The only sound was the whispers. Etho couldn't understand the words, but he knew the voices were laughing at him.

He couldn't breathe, and the only taste in his mouth was of the cold stone filling it completely.

But he could feel, and that was even more terrifying. Every touch, every warm hand on his stone skin felt like it was lava. He wanted to pull away, but he couldn't. Etho couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he was helpless. Logically he knew the others would keep him safe, would keep the mobs away if it turned to night-- but some part of him, or the voices hissing secrets and lies into his ears made him doubt.

What if he could never turn back?

What if-- even after everyone stopped looking-- the stone never receded? What if this was permanent? What if the glitch-- surely it had to be a glitch-- carried over to Hermitcraft? Or the vault hunters world?

What if they didn't figure out his task and have everyone look away? Grian knew, and Lizzie suspected, at least, but what if they didn't say anything?

What if he would be smothered by their sight, kept frozen forever by ignorance?

What if--

Etho retched, falling over as the stone finally let him go all at once. He found himself slumped against someone-- Bdubs? No, a glance told him it was Scott.

Another glance had Grian standing in front of him, eyes on his admin screens instead of Etho. Martyn was right next to Grian, eyes on the code scrolling by. It was his own code, Etho recognized it. The rest of the secret life crew was gathered in a little huddle by the secret keeper, none of them looking at him.

"Nobody look at Etho yet." Grian called over his shoulder, "Not until I'm sure I've got the glitch."

Etho just continued to retch, spitting out broken bits of stone. His whole body shuddered, his legs giving out for good as his stomach rebelled. It would have dropped him to the ground if Scott wasn't holding onto him. Etho was on his knees, throwing up bloody gravel and whatever was left of his last meal. He was trembling so hard it almost felt like someone was staring him right in the eyes, fine dust drifting down onto the grass, almost like snow. The dust was from him-- he was absolutely coated in the stuff, and so was Scott now.

Scott's touch still felt like lava, everything felt like it was burning, even the gentle breeze caressing his bare skin. It was too much. Even the pressure of the ground was too much, but at least it didn't burn--He shoved away from Scott, not bothering to try and stay upright.

"Off--" Etho rasped, his voice sounding like stones grinding against each other, "Don't-- no touch--"

Scott put his hands up, gaze still carefully averted as he stepped over to Grian and Martyn. Scott and Grian were experienced admins, but Martyn? Etho almost didn't care that they were combing through his code, he was too busy coughing up more dust and gravel, curled on his side. Everything hurt-- even the normally soft grass he was laying on felt like razors pressing against his cheek.

He could still see the secret keeper's symbol, every time he blinked.

"Etho, you know that anyone who finds a glitch needs to call pause so it can be dealt with." Grian huffed, relief and frustration coating his words. It was more relief, though, "Why didn't you say anything when you first noticed this?"

"It wasn't a big deal at first." Etho rasped, lying, "Just pins and needles in my feet. I thought it was from standing so long in one place. By the time I figured out what was going on-- It was too quick to try and call a pause--"

"Next time, at least mention something. I'd rather you fail your task than get glitched."

Etho let out a breath, still shaking from adrenaline and the cold of being locked in stone.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Lore headcanons for a few of the nonhuman creeps

BEN, Sally, and Pup when in physical form, and Liu (who is half-zombie in my canon) all have to regularly do full-body stretches. This is because they're all technically dead, and so their bodies will go into rigor mortis if they're still for too long. For the ghosts, they have to do it every single time they switch to physical form, and they and Liu have to do it whenever they've just been lying down or sitting and not moving for more than about an hour. Waking up in the mornings hits them hardest, and sometimes they might even need someone to help get them out of bed because their bodies are so firmly locked into place. Liu and the ghostly creeps in physical form have a hard time healing from injuries, and heal at an extremely slow rate compared to humans, and if any of them suffer an extreme injury they might be unable to recover from it. None of them technically need to eat or sleep, but they often do so anyway because it can pass the time and remind them of their time as humans. While Liu does need to breathe, though, the ghostly creeps do not need to, even in physical form. 

Jason and LJ in my canon were both originally made as giant toys in the Overworld. LJ (standing 7'5" at full height) and Jason (standing 6'5" at full height) were both from different toy lines of giant toy helpers, being phrased as giant because they are full-sized like people, and not as small as normal toys. They both have a power-indicative symbol on the backs of their necks, the symbol being a circle with a dot in the center. When they are sleeping, the symbol will slowly flash for a few seconds before shutting off. If they decide to power down fully, or if someone else powers them down, the symbol will quickly flash for a few seconds before shutting off. When they "bleed", rather than blood it's essentially something akin to oil that pumps through their bodies to make them look more lifelike. Their eyes can scan and visually identify individuals and check for injury of any kind, something originally to be used for children they were to look after. If either of them takes too much damage, a repair symbol will flash on their bodies indicative of the areas that need to be fixed. Both of them can open up their bodies to reach their mechanical insides.

LJ's line of toys was, of course, laughing toys in a box. Each toy variant had a different name, with Jack being a Laughing Jack, the only of his kind as he was a test run that was discontinued after he fell from the Overworld and became a demon in my canon following his incident. As seen in my most recent artwork for him (which you can find for reference by clicking here) as of writing this, he looks the most like a toy out of him and Jason. Where all of his main joints are (like shoulders, hips, elbows, abdomen, knees, fingers, neck, ankles) he has rotational balls or slots that allow him to move as a human would be able to. He is also able to extend his arms, being able to extend up to 10 feet in length outwards. He can also make himself compact, being able to shrink his body down to the size of a normal toy. His insides are purely mechanical, and his outside "skin" is made up of a special material that feels and acts like felt, but can heal back like flesh if he stitches it. He has synthetic hair that mimics the feeling of human hair and can grow. He has a mechanical "heart" that beats and functions like a normal person's would. LJ can reproduce a sound like a purr when he's happy, and he can also use it to calm people down, as was originally intended.

Jason is a different model of toy, one that was originally made in the most popular and efficient toy-making industry in the Overworld. He was meant to entertain children and be able to craft his own toys. His insides are also mechanical like Jack's, but they're made with a much higher quality material, giving him the ability to seem more like a person than a toy, much softer and nicer to squeeze and touch. His skin is more similar to porcelain than felt, and when it cracks Jason can repair himself. While Jason also has a mechanical "heart", it takes the background to his actual heart, which is a music box, hidden away in a compartment in his chest. He can choose to show or hide the box as he pleases. It can play music that can be heard inside of his body or out, originally used to entertain children or calm them down whenever they would cry in his original workshop. Jason was manufactured to not have a set personality and to instead adapt to every single child he met. This is why Jason excels at being manipulative as a demon but suffers insecurity and trauma over not knowing who he is truly meant to be, and what he's truly meant to act like. Jason's hair is unable to grow (although it still feels like natural hair) and has retained the same length for all of his existence. He may cut it if he chooses, but if he wishes to have it long again he must manually remove and replace his hair, which he would rather not do, so he's left it long and cares for it. 

EJ is, as I've said many times before, a feline demon in my canon. He is modeled after a jaguar mainly and has spots all along his skin. (You can click here for the main art that I use in reference to his appearance.) He has cat ears on his head and a tail on his back about where a human tailbone is. His tail is about three feet long, and incredibly soft, with a spotted pattern with fur that is brown like his hair. His feet are pawed and a bit angular, a combination of what would be human and cat-like feet. His hands are mostly human, but they like his feet have paw pads on them, and both his feet and hands have claws for nails. He has the same amount of teeth that humans do, but his canines are very long and sharp like that of a jaguar. I think his teeth can fit into his mouth, but the longer he goes without eating human meat, the longer they grow, and eventually, his top canines will extend out of his mouth and rest against his skin. He can growl and purr, with his growl terrifying even Slender if he's caught off guard, and while his purr isn't nearly as scary, it does sound very demonic and could be confused for a growl if you aren't familiar with it. He cannot taste human food with his taste buds unless it's extremely spicy. He lives off of human meat and blood and can eat human meat raw if he so chooses, which he often does. His eyes are not pure black, but instead filled with constellations (relating to the demon that he was fused with in a ritual in my canon). He is not completely blind, but he is only able to see based on heat signature, something that aids him in hunting down humans to kill and eat.