#Blair Witch Project AU

[arielchelby]

Witch of the Wood

For the prompt Haunted for day 2 of Falling for You 2024 hosted by @iceandfirejonerysdiscord. Don't worry, in this version it works to keep going east and they get home safely and live happily ever after!

A couple travels to a small town to film a documentary about a legendary and murderous witch. Things take a frightening turn when they lose their way in the dense woods, and realize they're being hunted...

Ice & Fire Jonerys Discord

[kingdumbass]

art masterpost for @cdrcrossoverbang I was inspired to draw cas and dean in a blair witch project scenario. For the bang, I was partnered with @nickelkeep who has thoughtfully turned the concept into a case fic.

Read it here

[missathlete31]

Blair Witch Meets Top Gun Maverick AU

I apologize in advance this one is definitely a little out there 🙈

30 years ago Nicholas ‘Goose’ Bradshaw and Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell headed into the woods of Burkittsville Maryland to research the urban legend of the Blair Witch. 82 hours later Pete would be found wandering the roads on on the outskirts of the forest covered in dirt and blood, muttering about an old woman whose feet never touched the ground. Search parties were sent out but Nick was never found and Pete, beyond mentioning being forced into a corner once to the police, went mute when questioned about what happened and had to be committed.

Now, decades later Nick’s son Bradley, who has become obsessed with the legend that took his father, is setting out to see if he can find the answers he seeks in those same set of woods. He is bringing along his best friend Natasha and the man he lost to his obsession years ago, Jake. Though broken up, Jake knows that something evil lurks in Burkittsville and he’ll be damned if he lets the love of his life go in there without him. Armed with cameras and a map, they hope to find some clues as to what happened that night 30 years ago. But before they step inside Bradley is forced to bring one more person with them, the man who escaped the Blair Witch’s clutches, his godfather, and the last person who saw Bradley’s dad alive: Pete Mitchell. The older man signs himself out of the mental institute and joins them on this adventure.

With this knowledgeable guide, the group gets a little more hopeful. They start their journey and head into the thick of the forest, Maverick leading them silently but forcefully, bringing them deeper and deeper into the dark of the thick trees. As night falls, noises can be heard and the group huddle together as the sounds of something horrific seems to stalk them. The next day they go to move on but can’t seem to find the right way to go, even Pete looks confused; and it is discovered that they have been going in circles for hours. Soon more strange things begin to occur and tempers flare.

As the worst seems to be happening and history looks to repeat, Bradley can’t help but wonder if maybe Pete was allowed to escape all those years ago just for this moment here, to bring the Blair Witch new victims to claim.

[undescribed1mage]

no cute Halloween fic this year I'm sorry😔

[angietherose]

Happy Friday the 13th everyone 😈

Season of the Witch

by @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars

steddie x reader

Blair Witch Project au

Warnings: 18+ONLY, found footage horror, hurt/no comfort, fem!reader who is just a friend, no Vecna, angst, lost in the woods, mentions of witchcraft, paranormal happenings, things that go bump in the night, fear of being stalked, allusions to gore and MCD.  Dead dove do not eat. wc: 13k

If you are familiar with the film The Blair Witch Project, you know some of what to expect. This is a horror fic; it will be scary and unsettling at times, so please take caution if the genre makes you uncomfortable. 

Summary: Three friends find themselves in a small town in Maryland, the home of the Blair Witch, in order for Steve Harrington to film a documentary for his semester project.  In tow are his boyfriend, Eddie Munson, and you, a friend he invited along to be his trusty cameraperson.  Once you are too deep in the woods to find your way back, the myths surrounding the lore of the land begin to take shape, and you realize you might never make it out of there alive.

Much love to @allthingsjoeq for all of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, and also for calling it "a Marmite fic". We hope you enjoy this contribution to the October festivities! Much love.

Burkittsville Cemetery, Maryland

“Here we are,” Steve Harrington can’t contain the glimmer of wonder in his eyes, behind wire-rimmed spectacles, as he parks near the overgrown site of the cemetery.  

You look up from fiddling with the camera in the back seat as the tires crunch to a halt, already thinking of where the best spot to get a shot of Steve would be for the documentary he’s working on.  You aren’t as familiar with filming as you should be for being his main cameraperson, but you and Steve had become close friends very quickly, and he practically insisted you be a part of it. 

He was especially fascinated with the town you grew up in called Burkittsville in Maryland.  You knew about Steve’s obsession with the paranormal, and the legends that surrounded certain locations, so you told him about your hometown legend—the Blair Witch. You hadn’t been back since you were a kid, but you watched his face light up when you talked about the lore, and all of the possibilities for filming. 

Although Steve had his camera crew of one sorted, he would and could never travel without his partner in crime and in love, Eddie Munson. The metalhead stands now looking out over the cemetery with his black and white flannel over a Bark at the Moon Ozzy Osbourne concert tee, and his hair tied back in a bandana, being the supportive boyfriend. He clamps a hand on Steve’s shoulder to give it a squeeze. “You got this, big boy. Let’s rock ‘n roll.”

Tall grass yields underfoot as you all make your way around the space, bending down to try and read the crumbling grave markers.  

There is a staggering amount of tiny, decaying gravestones, each dedicated to a child who lost their life to unknown, yet presumably horrifying circumstances.

“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.  “There’s a lot of kids here.” You film his profile as he says it, shifting the focus back to get Eddie in the frame, and he shoots his tongue out, putting his forefinger and pinky up to make devil horns. 

Steve does a monologue for the camera.  He’s standing on the hill near one of the taller headstones, and the wind makes his hair unruly.  “Here we are in the town of Burkittsville, formerly Blair. As legend has it, around 1785, a Blair resident named Elly Kedward was accused of practicing witchcraft by several children. The children said that she had dragged them from their homes with the intention of drinking their blood. As you can see, there is an unusually large number of children buried on this hill.”

You film different headstones, making sure to capture the stone angel, and a few of the other statues, to splice into the film while Steve is talking for the final cut.  

Interviews with some of the long-time residents in town are next, and in the car ride down the hill, Eddie holds the camera and turns it on you in the back seat.  You cover your face at first, not wanting to be recorded, but he eases you out of it with some of his playful banter.  “Since we’re interviewing people who grew up here, we should start with you, right? What is your experience with the Blair Witch?”

You’d talked about the stories you’d heard so often with Steve, but being in the spotlight made you nervous, and it took a second to find your words.  “No personal experiences, really, but I’ve heard a lot of lore.  Ghost stories, mostly. Stuff to scare us kids so we’d go to bed early.” You shift in your seat and look out the window, but Eddie is waiting for more.  “I, um, well…”

“Leave her alone, Eddie,” Steve responds absently, flipping the blinker to turn into town. The song Season of the Witch by Donovan is on the radio and Steve’s mumbling the lyrics.

“No, it’s okay,” you flex a quick smile.  “If it helps, I mean, I was 8 years old when we left, I don’t know a lot other than what I’ve researched.”

“Your audience is waiting,” Eddie zooms the focus in way too much so that your eyes take up the whole frame.  

“Okay,” you start. “So I guess there were these two guys who were hunting once, up by the cabin Blair Witch is supposed to haunt, and they just disappeared off the face of the earth. Search parties combed the woods for weeks and couldn’t find a trace of them.”

“Maybe they realized they were in love and ran away together,” Eddie chuckles, pushing the heel of his hand into Steve’s shoulder.  

You smile down at your lap. “Could be.”

“One more thing,” Eddie looks at you over the top of the camera and then puts his eye back down to focus.  “Is there a chance we could all end up victims of the Blair Witch?”

You can’t tell if it’s a serious question, but it gives you chills.  Your eyes flick from the camera to the back of Steve’s head and his messy flop of hair.  

“I personally don’t believe in ghosts or witches,” you smile as you say it, and catch Steve’s quick glance at you in the rearview mirror.  “But don’t tell Steve.”

Eddie snorts and puts the camera in his lap but forgets to turn it off. 

“I’m really looking forward to proving you wrong,” Steve’s muffled voice says to you as Eddie rustles the camera down between his legs.  “There’s some spooky shit going on in those woods, and I’m going to get it on film.”

First night, The Motel 

The map of the forest is spread out across the thin, floral spread of the motel bed. Eddie and you stare down at it, identically flicking your eyes across the inked locations, each mirroring the same dazed look of cluelessness. 

“I think, if we start here and then make our way north we’ll get to here,” Steve then circles the center vigorously before saying, “by midday.” 

On the map it's easy to believe the forest only stretches a few miles and Steve’s plan so far seems simple enough, promising this hike to be quick. With the action plan sorted, a large pizza shared, and your survival packs spilling out with textbook necessities, it gives the three of you the rest of the evening to chill. This downtime allows you to mess about a bit and accidentally fill some of the tape space with personal footage. 

You’ve decided to sprawl out on one of the two double beds, propping yourself up on your elbow to film Steve and Eddie’s tiny little tickle fight that started over Steve being adamant that he wasn’t and would never be ticklish. Eddie knows just the right areas on his ribs to challenge with his deft fingers, making Steve squirm and beg for him to stop, while Eddie chuckles and pounces on top of him, making the cheap bed springs squeak.

“Hey, put the camera away,” Steve spots you, and then attempts to lunge off the bed and grab the camera. But you lift it out of his reach with a mischievous giggle.  

Eddie smiles along with you, his gaze falling with admiration on the way Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink at the exhilaration.  He throws a wink your way and pokes his tongue at Steve’s back, grabbing his ankle to keep him from leaving the bed. 

“Stevie, have you seen my lighter?” A few minutes later, you start filming again as Eddie is wandering the room in nothing but a pair of boxers and an unzipped hoodie.

“Are you going to smoke now?” Steve asks, checking the batteries in his flashlight.

“What’s wrong with now?”

“Well, you know,” Steve unsubtly tips his head in your direction, worried that you may not be comfortable.

“Oh, no I don’t mind”, you say, not wanting your inexperience to ruin the mood. It makes Eddie raise an eyebrow, your choice of words being music to his ears. 

“See Steve, if anything she’s probably curious,” he extends both hands to you as if you were a prize at the fair.

Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet and begins to dig through his pack's front pocket before retrieving a baggy of rolled joints. He pats around in his vest and produces a green plastic lighter with a triumphant, “a-ha!”

It’s been a while since you’d smoked weed, and you weren’t even sure you liked it, but Eddie’s contagious energy made you want to be a part of whatever he was doing.  He squints as he inhales, holds it, and then passes the joint to you between pinched fingers before releasing a generous plume of smoke. 

You took what you thought was a tiny drag, but it tickles the back of your throat and sends you into a coughing spasm, making you bat your chest with the palm of your hand after handing the joint back. 

“Can’t handle it sweetheart?” Eddie snickers, but then he wiggles his eyebrows at you and takes another drag for himself, passing you a bottle of water from the bedside table. The cap is off and some of it sloshes onto his hand.

“Oh, wait, I have something better,” Eddie says, jumping off the bed to snatch a fifth of whiskey out of his bag.  “Shots?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Steve adjusts his glasses and pulls back the comforter on his side of the bed to get cozy.  “Just one. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You shrug and nod, eyes bloodshot and watering, while Eddie puts the bottle to his lips and chugs a shot first before handing it to you.  You swallow a big gulp, and Eddie howls at the way your face screws up like you’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Here’s to the Blair Witch,” Steve holds the bottle up before he takes his drink.  “May she grace us with her presence tomorrow.”

Black Hills Forest, Day one, 9am

“Are we filming?” Eddie chimes in, practically vibrating with excitement.  

“The green light is on,” you mumble to yourself, frowning down at the screen on the camera that shows nothing but black.  

“Hey, Indiana Jones,” you call over to Steve who is checking the direction of the wind with a licked finger as he squints into the sun filtering through the dead leaves.  “What am I doing wrong?”

Steve adjusts the strap of his hiking pack and strolls over to you with a tight clench between his eyebrows.  “Give it here,” he sighs, taking it from you. “I just tested it this morning, I know it’s—”

He finally sees the problem and halts.  He makes somber eye contact with you, takes the cover off the lens and holds it up.

“Oh,” you bite the inside of your cheek, stifling a self-conscious laugh. 

“Steve Angelica Harrington,” Eddie grins, throwing his arm around Steve aggressively, almost knocking him over.  “Our hero.”

You lift the camera up to your eye and get both of them in the frame, leaning back to smile at the pair.  Steve shrugs away from Eddie’s attention as if he doesn’t like it, but then there is a moment when he turns and the two almost kiss.  Eddie gives a few exaggerated, puckered smooches and leans in. 

Steve realizes you’re filming and pushes his boyfriend off for real this time, running a hand through his hair to fix himself.  Restless as ever, Eddie comes around to take the camera from you, asks you where certain buttons are, and then points it in your direction.  You shrug him away playfully and shield your face from the nose down with the crook of your arm as if you are Dracula holding your cape.

Steve pops his knee out and tilts his head. “Would you two dorks stop messing around and take this witch hunt seriously? I want this documentary to be a success.”

“So remind me, King Steve,” Eddie turns the camera on his boyfriend, and he does not look amused.  “We’re trying to find the ghost of some child murdering witch from the 1700’s? Should I be trying to spot a gingerbread house too?”

Off camera, you snort and say, “idiot,” under your breath.  

“Eddie,” Steve keeps his profile to the camera, refusing to make eye contact. “Let’s get some footage first and then I’ll let you mess around with the camera.”  He doesn’t want a bunch of adolescent jibber jabber on film. .  

“What, I’m just trying to be helpful,” Eddie shrugs with puppy dog eyes, lowering the device.

He forgets to turn off video again, and as it angles at the ground. Audio catches a distinct sound, like a soft moan, from somewhere in the woods.

Steve holds his hand up for everyone to halt, freezing in place, and a small twig snaps under his foot.  

You open your mouth to speak, something about how it would be better to get a shot of Steve in the clearing, but you are swiftly shushed.

You motion to take the camera from Eddie, and then you point it at Steve, and he turns to you, right in the camera’s eye. His tone is dire:  “Can you hear that humming?” 

“I can’t—” Eddie blurts, but then Steve puts the palm of his hand tight over Eddie’s mouth, wrapping his fingers over his chin, knowing that it was impossible for him to stay quiet under pressure.

Your heart is racing as you concentrate, ears straining.  There is the dry shuffle of the breeze rustling the branches, but otherwise, the silence is eerie and vast. 

“Cut it out, Steve, it’s not funny,” you bristle, locking one arm protectively over your chest while the other attempts to hold the camera in place. Steve is darting his attention around the woods, trying to locate the origin of the sound.

Eddie steps back, moving his mouth away from Steve’s muzzle. “It’s just the wind, baby, it’s making you paranoid,” he offers, noticing the way Steve’s face is drained of its color. Bending down to retrieve the map that fell when Steve got manhandled, one of Eddie’s legs flew out behind him dramatically.  A part of you wonders if Eddie and the map are a good combination, however you keep your thoughts to yourself. 

You’re almost positive you heard a voice in the woods as well, but you decide to keep that close to your chest.

The lingering tension finally subsides, and Eddie reaches back for Steve’s hand to keep him moving in the same direction; to coax him out of his racing thoughts.  Not wanting to waste battery life, you turn the camera off and stumble behind them, actively fighting off the urge to glance over your shoulder at whatever might be following in your wake. 

The next few hours consist of hiking through unused paths and trampling muddy footprints, waiting for Steve to find his perfect backdrop to open his documentary. With the car far behind you and your full 360 view being nothing but trees, Steve finally breaks from his determined stroll.  

“Can we do this now?” You lightly prod. For the last half hour, Steve has been trying to find the right spot to stand, and you felt like his perfectionism will be the death of you.  

Steve has that look, the professional one, when he means business. However, for Steve to enter his little documentary presenter zone he wants to stand alone, the trees being his only sidekick. 

“You can go over there now,” Steve gives Eddie a playful nudge. 

His boyfriend has been on his heels this entire time, but now the metalhead jogs over to grab the camera off of you to keep himself busy, while Steve concentrates, pushing his glasses up on his nose, finding his performance space before he begins.

“The town of Blair has been cursed since the 1700’s,” he starts.

Eddie and you share an encouraging nod, adding a dash of support for Steve to continue.  

“They all warn of the Blair witch, the one known to lure children to her home and sacrifice their souls and use their blood as an offering.” Steve starts to find his rhythm, naturally taking small steps backwards, like a guide, forcing the camera to follow.

“Elly Kedward was eventually found and blamed for the towns disappearances and without trial was banished into these woods in the depth of winter to freeze and perish a worser fate than her victims.” 

There’s a climatic wind gust that passes through the trees, almost like the ghost of a victim's warning, sent to bring the hairs on your arms to rise. It makes Eddie grin, Steve’s eyes widen with interest, and you try to contain a violent shiver; the theatrics of nature perfecting the shot. 

Steve pauses to take in his surroundings for dramatic effect before continuing.

“Her twisted end didn’t sit right, the town of Blair began to notice odd occurrences, noises and symbols from the forest. Locals believe she left a curse. They say she is still roaming in these woods to this day, seaking her revenge and enticing lost souls into her portal to show the devil her true power.” 

Steve takes a breath, pausing before opening his mouth to speak again, but Eddie’s attention span has other ideas. 

“Oh wait,  Steve can you do that again, I didn’t press record,” Eddie says as cool as he can muster, biting the inside of his cheek. 

Steve shoves his hand roughly through his hair and holds it there, tempted to rip the hair from his scalp. “For fuck sake Munson.” 

Quickly breaking into a wild grin Eddie says a quick, “joking babe,” fully accepting the harsh shove Steve jabs to his shoulder, but then Eddie decides to up the antics.  He falls to the ground dramatically and starts to wiggle like a worm.

“Help, Help, it’s got me, the witch,” faking a struggle, to which Steve tuts, lodging a twig in his direction and adding a casual, “get over yourself, Munson.”  You dive down to take the camera from Eddie’s extended arms as he rolls to his side, and bite back a grin before giving Steve the signal that he’s on again.

Steve advises Eddie to roam around while he delivers the next part of the story. 

“This legend sits on the border of fiction and fact. It’s chilling, yes, but the stories and facts just don’t add up. A truth needs to be found and today, the legend of the witch will either remain its legendary hoax or a fatal truth may be… Wait, cut.”

“What, why?” You frown, enjoying Steve’s witch hunter mode, but clearly his self doubt has arrived.

“Was it a bit much? I felt like I was entering Eddie’s DND campaign.”

“Hey,” Eddie protests, opening his mouth and eyes wide at the camera and prompting you to snort a laugh at his theatrics. 

The day wages on, the forest becoming your only view for miles as Steve drags his feet, unsatisfied at his findings so far. The consistent checking of his watch is a hint alone that it’s time to set up camp soon.  

By nightfall, the strange noises from earlier were all but forgotten, and you sit with a full belly in front of the crackling fire opposite Eddie.  You film him as he tells one of his wild stories, complete with active hand gestures and cartoonish sounds.  Eddie gets a detail wrong in the tale he is retelling, and so Steve corrects him with a bit of a bored look on his face, as if he’s heard the story told wrong a million times.  You focus the zoom in on Steve’s face as he turns to rest his chin on his shoulder and regard his partner.  There was a deep fondness there in his eyes, even though it is masked for the moment with irritability.  

Eddie decides to get in close, his mouth inches from Steve’s. You watch as he murmurs something that makes Steve crack a smile, and then the two share a kiss, noses rubbing, and you feel like you were intruding on a private moment.  You then decided it was time to give the juice in the camera a rest for the night while you all slept.  Much like the camera you follow in its footsteps and shut off, exaggerating a yawn to catch the pair’s attention. 

Your little hint is not lost on Steve, and it prompts him to pass you a flashlight so you can avoid tripping over the tent's zip on your way to bed. 

Nestled undercover in your downy sleeping bag, you drift in and out of sleep, only faintly hearing the footsteps of the boys before they go into their tent. In the middle of the night, you swear you hear voices, like a distant conversation, but you assume it must be the boys. There’s an ominous but faint cackling that follows it, but by then, you’re already too deep to notice. 

And then suddenly, there’s nothing, just stillness and the dark of the woodland air. 

Day Two, No sight of the road. 

The next day brings more of the same.  Hopeful banter in the morning, which then easily leads into some playful teasing throughout the afternoon. The on and off tones of professionalism to mockery becomes apparent. At one point while filming, Steve in one of his monologues, tense and suspenseful, until the scene was hijacked by Eddie flying through the air to tackle him.  

The light mood progressively gets shadowed, though, as the day wears on and there seems to be little to no chance of getting back to the car before dark.  Steve halts to check the map several times, flustered and angry with himself, while Eddie has a smoke break and you film around, even catching sight of a doll made of sticks hanging from a tree.  

“Steve?” You hum his name over your shoulder, wanting him to see what you see.  

He ignores you at first, biting the side of his thumbnail, and spinning on his heel as he stares down at the compass. When he finally lifts his head, he frowns, confused, but then the doll made of sticks comes into focus and his eyes narrow behind the smudged lenses of his glasses.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie is already on his way over.  He decides to smoke the other joint in his pack instead of one of his Camels, and it is doing wonders for his anxiety.  

Eddie reaches up to touch the doll, but Steve stops him. “Wait!” He notices that his voice is a bit harsh, so he starts again in a calmer tone.  “Listen, we don’t know what it is or who put it there.  I think we should respect the woods and leave it be.”

“Respect the woods?” Eddie barks a laugh, continuing to touch the legs of the doll and turn it around to see how it was made and you watched through the camera lens. 

“I bet some kid made it when their family was out here camping,” Eddie mused, exhaling smoke. “It’s creepy, I like it.”

Steve decides to interfere with his high boyfriends fascination, batting his hand away and in the process accidentally knocking the wooden doll to the floor.

 “Hey, Steve you’ve killed him!” Eddie taunts; mouth agape, eyes accusatory.

Steve really didn’t want to do that and you sense the growing paranoia that he’s experiencing from the way he’s frozen, staring at the little figure now laying twisted on the floor. Eddie pouts and goes to retrieve it once again. 

“Eddie, leave it.” Steve can’t hide his increasing stress, his words strained in between his clenched teeth. He grabs onto Eddie’s pack using it to encourage Eddie to walk in the other direction.

Steve prays this is the right way. He sends you a weak smile, and you know him well enough to deduce that he is feeling embarrassed that he doesn’t have you out of the woods yet.  

 As the sunlight dwindles, a bitter sense of reality begins to creep up on you. The branches above lose their subtle shadows and the once benign tree clusters begin to morph into something otherworldly. 

When it is finally time to make camp again, it is all any of you could do not to think about the stories you’d recorded from the townspeople the other day.  In particular the one about the killer who would take kids down into his basement two at a time, and make one wait in the corner while he killed one, and then would kill the one in the corner.  He didn’t like their eyes on him, apparently, that’s why he made them stare at the wall.

The darkness is crowding in, giving tiny nudges to everyone's paranoia that you are not alone in that forest.  There was a presence that tickled in barely audible whispers as the night claimed its position and every howl of the wind was a possible threat.  

Not a lot of filming took place during the down time by the fire. It was as if the courage to speak the stories had vanished and the myths began to seep into their reality. Less words exchanged and a few uncertain glances shared with Steve, but Eddie remained stoic and chilled, maintaining his energy. 

The plan of action is the last conversation you share, Steve taking control and promising that you’ll all be back in town by tomorrow afternoon. 

The sound of the boys getting situated in their tent was comforting, and you giggled when Eddie farted and tried to blame it on a passing wildebeest.  But, things got quiet quickly—too quiet—and soon you could hear the faint hiss of Steve’s snore and you realized that having your own tent was not all it was cracked up to be.

An owl hooted, but along with its natural call there was something else out there making sounds.  Was that the humming Steve had mentioned the day before?  Straining to listen, the noise was followed by an unmistakable cackle that made you grab the flashlight and a pillow and scurry out of  your tent like it was on fire.  

“Um-guys,” you were pulling open the flap to their tent before either of them could answer. “Is there any possibility i could squeeze in your tent tonight, i was a-a bit cold on my own.” 

Eddie sits up, groggily, from where he had his head on Steve’s chest, as if he’d fallen asleep the second he closed his eyes, and scoots away to make room for you in the middle.

Feeling safer nestled between your two friends, you are finally able to let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep that offers no reprieve from the shadows in your mind.

Later that night, scattered and confused, another bizarre noise caught your attention, jarring you awake. 

A blanket of dark coats the inside of the tent, but after a few fuzzy blinks you easily make out that  Steve is sitting up with the flap of the tent open. He’s crouched over, the faint shake of his hands holding the camera a dead giveaway to his unease.

Sensing that you are awake, he tilts his head to the side to acknowledge you, and then signals for you to listen. 

“Did you hear that?” You whisper, not wanting to wake Eddie who is offering soft snores next to you.  

Steve puts a finger to his lips, and then turns back around with the camera pointed out into the night.

Somehow he manages to convince himself that the noise is from a deer or squirrel. Due to your delirious state, this information settles your tired worry and allows you to snuggle down, eager for the morning light. 

Day Three, Walking in Circles

With no idea how long Steve remained awake last night, there’s a part of you that feels he’s hiding something to protect you. The next morning his raw, uplifting nature dwindled, his inner doubts coming to the surface to pinch the skin between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry I dragged you all out here,” Steve announces with a heavy sigh, staring down at the remnants from the fire. Eddie angles the camera up at him while you zip a few things into your knapsack. “We’ll be having lunch back in town in a few hours, but let’s keep adding to the footage as we go.”

Steve shows you on the map where you were all headed, tapping his finger in the spot where you’d parked the car.  “Two hours, tops,” he promises.  

Eddie gets to his feet and adjusts the focus so that Steve goes from blurry to clear to blurry again. “Battery life on this thing is low and I can’t find the portable charger.”

Steve turned on him, jaw muscles tensing, ready to let an angry word slip.

“The charger is right here,” you corrected, lifting it out of the bag it was in to show Steve and calm his nerves. Once Steve steps away to check the compass again, Eddie makes a face at you, tongue darting out from the side of his mouth, letting you know that he knew it was there, he just wanted to give Steve a hard time.  

“I have a question for you, sir,” Eddie rushes up behind Steve and taps his shoulder, making him turn away from the lens, bringing a hand up to block his face. “How do you feel about this Blair Witch hunt so far?”

Steve smooths the sides of his hair back and squares his shoulders, determined to look unbothered.  “I feel good,” he lied. “I feel like I know exactly where we are and we just need to head east for another couple miles.  Everything's going as planned, we’re just a little behind schedule, that’s all.”

You open the canteen around your neck and gulp down a few swigs of water, musing that there wasn’t much left, and you needed to find a fresh stream somewhere soon, just in case.

But, it was only a passing worry, because Steve’s confidence that you’d be back at the car in a few hours gave you an unhealthy helping of blind hope. 

When you finally find the water line, there is a fallen tree across the creek, and it happens to be the only way across.  You have the worst balance, and being suspended over moving water makes you nervous in a way that has your hands trembling.  Eddie carries the camera for you, strapping around his neck as he makes his way across like an acrobat, and then Steve follows behind you, whispering words of encouragement.  

Hours later, it’s high noon when Steve makes you all stop for a rest to take your packs off so that he can check the map again.  You happen to be filming him as a flex of panic flashes across his face.  

“Why does this spot feel so familiar?” He asks it under his breath, but the audio catches it.  

It was the same spot you’d started from earlier in the day; same stump, same bundle of dead branches next to a large boulder. Steve turns on his heel and you can see in his face the way his heart stops when he sees the impressions from the previous night’s tent pegs.

“How is this possible?” He whispers. “We’ve been going straight all day, following the compass.”

“Give me that,” Eddie storms by, yanking the map from Steve to sit down on the big stump to look at it while he has a smoke.  “This shit is Greek to me,” he admits, hollowing out his cheeks to take in all of the nicotine his lungs would allow. “Are you telling me we’ve been going in circles?”

You squat next to Eddie, filming him while he glowers at the lines on the paper, hair tied back in a messy ponytail.  This was the crankiest you’d ever seen him, and you’d known him for at least a year at that point. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there were only 3 cigarettes left, and his pack a day habit was at risk of being tested without nicotine patches or comfort.  

He realizes you are recording and flinches away, blowing smoke out his nostrils.  “Put that thing away please.  I’m not in the mood.”

Steve split the last half of a squished peanut butter sandwich into 3 parts and passed one to each of you, but Eddie refuses his.  You stare up at Steve, waiting for his word that you should stop, but he shakes his head.  “She’s doing exactly what I told her to do, Eddie. We’re filming a documentary.”

“Oh, we’re filming a documentary about being lost now? Is that what this is? Because we are, we’re fucking lost.”

 Eddie grumbles, exhaling an agitated breath.

“We’re not.” Steve’s voice is gruff as he pushes the food into his cheek with his tongue.  “I know exactly where we are.  The car is right over that way, through the trees, I’m positive.”

“Yeah, well, you said that yesterday morning and last night and four fucking hours ago,” Eddie shot to his feet with a huff, keeping the butt of his smoke clenched between his lips to button up the front of his black and red flannel. 

“Shouldn’t you know where we are?” Eddie’s penetrating gaze falls on you, and for some reason, it makes you nervous.  “I know you said you were just a kid, but you grew up here right? So, you must have some idea?”

You glance nervously over at Steve, as if to ask for support, and then focus the camera back on Eddie as you stammer.  “I–I don’t ever remember coming out here. Once maybe, but—”

“Really Eddie?” Steve turns to his boyfriend. “You expect her to have a Magellan sense of direction in these woods because she lived nearby when she was a child? You get lost in Hawkins and you’ve lived there your whole life.”

Eddie mumbles something as he straps the last part of his pack on and starts walking, without a word, heading in the direction Steve suggested, kicking at the dirt as he goes.  

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve mutters to you as he offers his hand and helps you stand. “I should’ve had you home safe by now.”

“It’s okay, I trust you. I promise I really don’t know these woods that well,” your voice is small.  Your eyes are softly pleading when they find his, as if to beg for absolute reassurances.

But, Steve has nothing verbal to give.  His throat is dry, he hates fighting with Eddie, and his pride was taking quite a catastrophic blow—on film, no less. He squeezes your arm, and continues at a fast trot to catch up with his salty partner, pulling you along with him.  

A few hours later, the sky opened up and it started to rain, and as you ducked to follow the boys into the clearing to reluctantly set up camp, you trip over a pile of rocks and almost drop the camera.

“What the hell is this?” You mused aloud, adjusting the focus, establishing that it was, indeed, just a pile of rocks, but there was something…odd about them.  They’d been stacked up by hand in the shape of a mound. 

Steve and Eddie were up ahead, standing in close proximity, having a conversation in tense whispers while Eddie found the driest patch of ground under the canopy of trees to shake the tent out.  It was only drizzling now, and he was eager to set up some type of shelter in case the downpour started again.

Steve moves the hood of his yellow rain slicker back to check where you were, and then comes over to see what you’d found.  

“There’s a couple of them,” you point out, stepping back so he could view the others, “What was it that one woman in town said about stacks of rocks? Something to do with a signal, or warning maybe.” 

Turning, you see Steve frantically dig through his bag, only letting out a satisfied hum when he retrieves his notebook. Its spiral-bound pages hold all of the key points from interviews of people back in town. You can tell he’s proud of you for having the intuition to know that these stacks might be important.  

“Remember that woman we spoke to at the trailer park?” Steve asks, biting his lip in thought.

“The weird one? Mary?” You wonder aloud. 

Steve snaps his fingers in excitement, flicking to the right page in his notes. 

“Yes! Crazy Mary.  I wasn’t paying much attention to her because I thought she was insane, but I’m sure she mentioned something to do with rock piles?”

“What’s your notes say?” You lean in to see what the camera can catch on the paper.

“Not a lot. I’ve just written ‘Bible Story about rocks’”.

You try your hardest to remember, whispering to yourself and attempting to remember what the eccentric woman had said. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you begin. “But, didn't she say something like, they symbolize a promise, like if you promise not to cross the rocks nothing can harm you and vice versa from the one who put them there. Ancient truce type agreement?”

“I mean it sounds right, but why are there three?”

“I'm not sure?”

Steve waves Eddie over, but he isn’t interested.  He’d gone into full-on “if I don’t keep busy I’m going to lose my shit” mode, dropping to his knees in the mud to hammer in the tent pegs.

Steve sighs, feeling like Eddie probably needs a bit of attention and comfort before his mood swing completely erupts. In his process of turning away from the rocks his booted foot catches a pebble, sending the pile toppling over, but he doesn’t think to give it any attention.

Panicking in his wake, you shield the camera from the rain and re-pile the pebbles back in a formation that you hope they resembled. 

You eat the last of the canned vienna sausages by the fire and no one is in the mood for jokes, but Steve does reassure everyone, especially with an arm around his boyfriend’s stiff shoulders, that you all would be out of the forest by the next afternoon.  You film it, catching the way Eddie pulls away at first but then leans in to rest his head on top of Steve’s and they both stare into the fire with glossy eyes.  

You didn’t even bother setting your tent up that evening, and you snuggle on the outside of the boys this time, curling up next to Steve while he spoons Eddie.  

For the first hour or two, everything is peaceful, and the three of you sink into shallow sleep, only to be jared awake by Steve stumbling out of his sleeping bag, stepping on both of his companions in the process.  

“Holy fuck, did you hear that?” He hisses, moving to unzip the tent.  “I need to get out there, hand me the camera.”

“Steve!” You bark a harsh whisper.

“Goddamn it,” Eddie starts putting his boots on, half asleep, not wanting Steve to go out alone. “It’s just a bunch of fucking deer or something, baby, will you just—”

But then, you all hear it.

As loud and as clear as if there were people standing right outside your tent: a cackle of laughter, heavy steps crunching in the leaves, snapping twigs, echoing from the forest floor.  And then there is the distinct cry of a little kid—maybe two, three different little kids. It all echoed back into the woods as if it’s in your ears and far away all at once. 

With the tent flap half open and one foot out, Steve shoots a look back at the two of you, nostrils flaring as he stills for more noise.  “Did you hear those kids?” He huffs, snatching the camera and ducking down to bolt out of the tent. 

“Baby, there are no kids in these woods!” Eddie lunges after him, catching Steve’s calf to pull him back in.  He stumbles back under cover into a crouch, only to “shush” everyone again, certain that he heard something else.

It’s then that the tent begins to shake and jostle, and the cackling continues, but it’s right on top of you now, circling the enclosure.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Eddie wails, pushing Steve out of the tent this time, and reaching back for your hand as he exits.

“Go go go!” You demand, encouraging them both to run as far and fast as they could from the campsite. 

Everyone is stumbling and cursing, running in the dark, with the light of the camera Steve’s holding being the only illumination.  He trips over something with a curse, and Eddie helps him up while you take the camera, not caring where the lens points as you run along with the boys, as fast as your feet can carry you.  

Not a sound follows you, not a single footstep or snicker.  Eventually, you all collapse breathless in a huddle, hunkering down near a tree.

Eddie looks into the camera you hold. “Turn that light off,” he’s panting, pupils pinned. “Shut it all off, stay the fuck down.”

“Keep the audio on,” Steve whispers, to which he gets a shove in the shoulder from Eddie.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to film your movie, dude,” Eddie hushes curtly.

“Shutup!” You scold them both, turning the camera off.

You all sit frozen in place, holding onto each other in a football huddle for—god knows how long? Two hours maybe.  Daylight finally begins to break, prompting Steve to motion you to get the camera rolling again. 

Day Four, No Way Home

The three of you stay close, too frightened to be even a meter apart as you make your way back in the direction of camp. You’re cold, wet and done; so over this witch hunt and ready to put it behind you. 

After a while of weary steps and nervous glances around, Eddie’s tongue clicks, breaking the silence. “There are some hillbillies in these woods trying to fuck with us, and I don’t want to fuck with that.”

Steve looks up at him.  “But what if it’s something…not human?”

“Well, I don’t want to fuck with that either,” Eddie runs both hands through his hair, intertwining his fingers on top of his head as he walks.

You decide to chime in. “Something definitely does not want us here.”

“No kidding, Sherlock.” Eddie blows a raspberry and turns his back on the two of you.

“Something?” Steve cocks his head at you. “But I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts or witches?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, averting your eyes.  “But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“Okay, we’re going,” Steve answers, meeting Eddie’s hard stare over your shoulder with defiance.  “We got what we came for, let’s get our shit and keep heading north.”

“Are you sure north is the direction we need to go in?” You ask, cringing through the beginning stages of a headache.  “Because we were headed north all day yesterday and it didn’t get us anywhere.”

When the campsite finally comes into view again, everyone stops short, each jaw going slack in disbelief.

“uhhh, what the fuck is this?” Eddie mumbles, stomping over to look at the way the tent has been squashed, and how everyone’s things have been thrown around.  Whoever or whatever had been taunting you all a few hours ago had made a mess of all of your things; there was clothing and gear tossed in every direction.

You ran across the campsite, eyes searching. “Where is my pack?” The question caught in your throat, as if you might cry.  

“Your pack is right there,” Eddie points.  “More importantly, Where is my pack?”

Everyone starts collecting what they can find of their personal items while Eddie lifts up his open canteen from the ground.  “They dumped all the fucking water out.”

He realizes that the canteen is also coated in something and he drops it with a curse. “Is that fucking slime? It is, there is some kind of slime all over it,” he raises his hand up to look at the viscous liquid and then rubs it off on his pant leg as best as he could.

“Im not fucking about anymore Steve, okay I believe it all, you happy? This shit, whatever it is, whoever it is, doesn’t want us here.”

Eddie’s right, this is a clear warning, an intentional attack, and for once Steve’s not looking excited at the product of evidence before you all. Steve turns towards you, your kneeling figure scooping up your pack—it had been thrown to the other side of the campsite, but nothing seemed to be missing.

Before he could question it, the whining sound of Eddie pricks his ears. Swiftly turning to face whatever tantrum the curly haired boy is throwing now, Steve is faced with Eddie frantically picking up scattered pieces of clothing. 

“Woah, babe, is that all your clothes?” Steve asks in a rush, moving closer.

“Yep”. Eddie doesn’t even want to converse. 

“Just yours though Eddie? No one else's?”

“This is bullshit!” Eddie throws the canteen down and it bounces further away.

Steve moves to reach out and touch Eddie’s arm, but his hand gets slapped away.  “Leave me alone, dude. I need a second.”

You turn the camera off while everyone collects their things and tries to catch their breath.  You were all officially out of food now, with the exception of some peanuts, and a detour needed to be made to get water from the creek.  Eddie refused to use his after it was slimed, but thankfully Steve had an extra one.

When the camera comes back on, it is a couple hours later, and Steve is holding it this time to film Eddie enjoying his last smoke, while you sit with your head against a tree and your eyes closed.  No one is in the mood for talking, and it is wise to conserve energy with very few resources at your disposal.

“A hamburger and fries sounds nice,” you said to break the silence with your eyes still closed.

“Mmmhmm,” Eddie concurred. “A big can of Spaghetti-O’s would hit the spot right now.”

Steve points the camera at his hiking boots as he steps closer, indulging in the fantasy. “I’ve been craving one of those clam chowder bread bowls like we had on the wharf in San Francisco.” 

“That was some good shit,” Eddie mumbles, sucking his smoke all the way down to the filter. 

The camera turns off again, and when it comes back on, you have it.  Eddie is charging ahead, waving his arms, shouting something about how you all need to follow the creek and you’ll end up somewhere eventually.

“Hey,” Steve is walking in front of you, but he turns around.  “Can you pass me the map? I want to check something.”

“Yeah, hold on,” you say, but then you reach back and realize you can’t feel the well-worn edges, and sudden, prickling dread takes over. Panicked, you reach around to check the other pocket, coming to realize the map is gone. 

“Are you sure you gave it to me Steve?” you lighty question, knowing that right now is no time for jokes. 

Steve gives you an exasperated look, as if you are goofing with him like Eddie might.  “Yes, you have the map, you always have the map.  I gave it to you after a map-check before we made camp yesterday.”

You kneel on the ground and put the camera down to do a proper search, your heart racing.  “Eddie,” you shout, making him stop abruptly in his tracks.  “Do you have the map?”

“Me?” Eddie turns around but stays yelling from a distance.  “Why the hell would I have it? It was fucking useless anyway.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve pats the air with his hands, trying to calm the meltdown he can feel building. His attention returns to you as you stand without a map in your hand and a worried look on your face.  “I know I gave it to you,” Steve reiterates. “It has to be somewhere in your stuff.”

You don't want to say what you are thinking, as you stand, pointing the camera at Steve again, but it comes out anyway.  “What if whoever attacked the tent took it?”

Steve grimaces.  “What would they want with…our map?”

“To make sure we have no chance of finding our way out of here,” you say it under your breath, and through the lens, you watch Steve’s jaw go slack as he takes on that possibility.  

When realization dawns that you were about to lose light and need to make camp again, a thick blanket of anxiety and agitation falls over all of you.  You are dragging your feet, camera angle pointed at the ground while the boys get the tent out.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Eddie mumbles curtly, brow furrowing, and back teeth grinding as the nicotine withdrawal nips at him.  

You mention that you’ll go and gather some branches to make a fire, but Steve puts his hand out to stop you.  “Let’s not make a fire tonight.  We don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Good idea,” Eddie grunts. “I’d rather freeze to death in a few hours than spend one more day fumbling around this hellscape.” He is digging through his things in Steve’s pack to see if there happens to be a stray cigarette or joint anywhere.  The frustrated anger rising in him is palpable.

“It’ll be a while before I ever go camping again, that’s for sure,” you muse to the group, and both the boys respond with enthusiastic nods of agreement. 

“I’m gonna burn this tent when we get home,” Eddie bites out.

When you turn to Steve, he is rubbing his forehead and staring down at the ground, pensively, and you ask if you should stop filming for a bit.  

Steve glosses over your question and asks another: “You promise you don’t have the map? Because if you have it, and you were just saying you lost it to be funny, I won’t be mad.”

You lower the camera so that it’s focused on his chest and the army green utility jacket he’s wearing.  “I’ve checked my pack three times,” you offer, earnestly. “I promise, I don’t have it.  I wish I did, Steve.”

In the background, Eddie curses at the top of his lungs and one of the tent pegs he’d been fumbling with goes flying through the air. “I’m so fucking done with this! Holy shit, what the hell are we still doing out here? This is fucking insane.” 

Steve motions for you to keep filming.  He’d tease Eddie about all of this later, he knew he would.  He’d also use it as fodder for the argument of why he should quit smoking altogether.

Steve turns toward his boyfriend with his hands on his hips. “I know you blame me for all of this, and I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? We’re all tired and hungry and miserable.”

Eddie snaps around, eyes dark and his body rigid.  “You bet your fucking ass I blame you! You’re the reason we’re about to get flayed by a bunch of inbred mountain people or die of starvation out here in this shitty-ass excuse for a forest.”

“You begged me to let you come on this trip, Eddie,” Steve is doing his best to keep his voice low, because matching Eddie’s tone when he gets upset never helps the situation. “Like you said, if we follow the creek, we’re bound to end up somewhere. It’s impossible to get lost for too long in America these days.”

Eddie’s nostrils flare.  “I begged you? I practically agreed under false pretenses one night when you had my dick in your mouth, I didn’t beg for shit.  I wanted to spend time with my boyfriend and watch him work, but that was back when I thought you were talented.  Now I realize you’re just a hack who can’t even read a fucking map.”

He regrets it the second it leaves his lips, and you can see it in the way the corners of his mouth turn down. “I didn’t mean that,” Eddie whispers.

You step back from the two, not sure what type of conflict is about to ensue.

You can tell it hurts Steve by the way his eyes water, and he pushes his glasses up to rub his face.  “No, you’re right,” Steve sighs, “It is my fault.  But maybe if you weren’t such a big, needy baby all the fucking time, I might have been able to think clearly on this trip.”

“I’m the needy baby? Seriously?  So what, little miss perfect over there gets let off the hook because she’s your perfect little puppet?”

“Hey, no need to bring her into this.”

“Guys!” You shout, waiting until they both look at you.  “This isn’t helping, okay? I for one am scared shitless about what else might be out here in these woods, and if we don’t stick together, we don’t have a chance.”

There is a minute long silence while everyone tries  to shake the anxiety out of their shoulders. Steve comes over to let you know you can turn the camera off, but then the sound of Eddie’s laughter makes you both turn.  

He’s bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he is sucking in dry air.

You and Steve share an amused look, 

“What’s so funny, baby?” Steve asks, cracking a bit of a smile.

Eddie stands, face red from exertion. “You and that fucking map. I got rid of it yesterday! What do you think about that?” Eddie then convulses into giggles again, walking off into the other direction.

“You did what?” Both you and Steve say in unison.

Surely, you’d both misheard him.

“Yeah,” Eddie continues. “I kicked that fucker into the creek, it was useless!”

“You son of a bitch,” Steve spat, lunging at him. “How could you do that to me? To us?”

You catch Steve’s arm, trying to hold the camera and him all at once. The last thing you need is for these two to get into a physical fight.

Eddie starts to walk further away, but then he stops to turn on his heel and face the two of you, deciding to fight his case a little more. “We just kept going in circles, it wasn’t helping us!”

“You knew I was going crazy looking for it! Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve yells after him. 

In the distance, you see Eddie shrug, before matter of factly stating, “I need to go for a walk.”

“But it will be dark in a half hour,” panic bubbling in your chest. “Eddie…wait!” 

Eddie waves his arm in the air and keeps going.  

“Let him go,” Steve touches your shoulder, “he gets like this sometimes. Let him walk it off, we’ll finish setting up.”

Steve has an overwhelming desire to run after his partner, to say, “hey, stop, I love you,” but none of that ever happened.  He knew when it was best to let Eddie cool off.

He knows Eddie won’t go far, he’ll be back in a few minutes.

When you turn the camera back on, an hour later, Eddie is still not back.

There is a soft, orange glow from the sunset through the trees, but other than that, it’s pitch black out. Locking arms with Steve, he dances the beam of his flashlight around the forest while you film with the camera light on, trying to remain within visual distance from camp.

Steve had already screamed Eddie’s name so many times, his voice was becoming hoarse.

 “If you’re fucking with us, Eddie, I swear to Christ I will never ever forgive you!” He starts to imagine Eddie is crouched down by a tree somewhere, covering his mouth to hold back the hilarity of watching his boyfriend almost shit his pants looking for him.

Steve tries to break free from your linked arms, attempting to charge deeper into the woods.

“Steve, no!” You squeak, desperation present in your tone. You shift the camera to the crook of your arm, so it angles up at his horrified face. You really don't want anything bad to happen to Eddie, but you also can’t let anything bad happen to Steve. 

Steve suddenly turns to face you, eyes wild.  “But what if he’s hurt somewhere, what if he’s…damn it Eddie!...what if…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, you already know what he is thinking. What if the myths of the forest were true? What if there was an entity in the woods that fed on fear and needed a sacrifice every so often? What if there were hillbillies in pig masks carrying chainsaws and they often resorted to cannibalism? You’d watched too many horror movies in your life and so had Steve, and it wasn’t helping either one of you at that moment.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t all just in your head.  There is definitely something or someone else out there with all of you, and maybe it was just biding its time until all of you are broken.   

Eddie’s missing.  An hour later, it’s official.  

He wasn’t hiding or playing a game; he had somehow vanished into thin air. The guilt begins to creep and crawl, festering inside Steve’s chest, the buzzing of night insects heightening his sense of dread. 

You’d manage to coax Steve back to the tent. “We’ll go back and build a fire, so that he can see the light of it if he’s lost.”

“I’m not going to stop looking for him,” Steve mutters, screaming Eddie’s name again as he walks, his voice echoing off the emptiness as the cold air burns his lungs. He was too pumped full of fear and adrenaline to cry, but the tears were building behind his eyes. “It’s freezing out here and he’s only got that flannel on.”

“Listen to me,” you yank Steve around to look at you, being rougher than you ever have with him, but your eyes are kept soft.  “It would be very easy for us to get lost in these woods ourselves.  What if Eddie makes it back to camp and we’re gone?”

You let that sink in, hoping you can reason with him.  You notice that his shoulders relax.

“I bet he went a little too far and he can’t find his way back in the dark,” you continue.

  “He probably found some shelter to wait it out for the night.  He’ll be cold, but it’s not going to freeze, he’ll survive. We can go out and look for him at first light.”

Steve starts nodding to himself as he pans the flashlight beam over the forest again.  “A fire is a good idea, so he knows where we are.”

The active denial grips the both of becoming a makeshift coping mechanism, a way to hold onto hope when there seems to be none left.  You have a bad feeling that you may never see Eddie alive again, but you plan on keeping up pretenses for Steve for as long as you could.

 “We’ll find him, Steve,” you don’t want to lie to him, but you felt like it was something he needed to hear.

Steve struggles to meet your eyes, but you can make out a stray tear that’s making tracks across his stubbled cheek and it breaks your heart for him. 

“I didn’t go after him, didn’t even try to convince him to stay. How fucking stupid could I be?”

“No, Steve, you can’t blame yourself, okay, it was an in the moment thing, it’s going to be okay.”

“What part of this whole thing has EVER been okay?”

He turns his back on you and it sends a stinging pang through your chest.  A part of you can’t help but wonder if he’s wishing it were you that went missing. Maybe he’s wishing he never brought you along at all.

With a heavy heart and a signature rake through his hair, Steve shuts his eyes, takes a shaken breath and turns around, inviting you to step into his arms and you hook an arm around his waist. This embrace is welcomed, as you soak up the heavy warmth wrapped around you, making it hard to let go. Seemingly feeling the same, Steve leans in further, soaking up what he presumes is the last moments of peace, a crumb of tranquility. Feeding on the sliver of hope you’ve provided him.

A stuttered sigh slips from Steve’s dry lips.  His next words are nothing but a whisper, but it’s meaningful, and becomes tattooed amongst the trees.

“I can’t lose him,” his voice cracks.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a cry—a whimper of agony erupts from deep in the nothingness.

Steve snaps a look at you and a fist tightens over your heart.  You hold very still, making sure you heard what you thought you did, both wondering if you’d imagined it.

But then another scream follows, this one more drawn out than the first, and it sounds just like Eddie.

Steve braces himself, senses sharp, trying to find the direction the scream is coming from.  “Holy shit, that was him!”

There’s a scuffle as Steve bumps into you in his haste to move.  You almost drop the camera as he bounces off of you, losing his mind over the sound of Eddie's voice, you then scramble to catch the device before it falls to the ground. There’s only muffled noises for a bit as your arm is blocking the microphone and the lens catches the back of Steve’s legs, bolting into the pitch black forest.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop filming!” He shouts over his shoulder.

And then your heart is pounding, jackhammering in your chest as you take after him. Steve’s running, pumping his arms, and then there’s another scream and he catches himself for a full stop, freezing in place.  

The video takes in the side of his face, tears wetting his cheek under his glasses, his head turning in the direction of the scream.  “It’s this way…Eddie!...it’s coming from over there!” He points in that direction, and then his feet follow to a place where the trees get denser.

You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the campsite, wondering if the two of you will be able to find your way back, but then keeping up with Steve becomes a priority.  Breathlessly, you struggle to keep up the pace, you trip and try to avoid falling over tree stumps that are dotted along the path.

“Steve”, you manage to stutter in between sharp breaths, “How do we know, what if- what if it’s a trick. What if it’s not Eddie?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it's…”

Another scream. 

Steve’s words die on his tongue, as all he can manage is a wide eyed frantic glare into the trees, before attempting once again to scream his boyfriend’s name in vain, begging to catch a glimpse of his frizzed up hair between the branches. 

You both speed up, using all the remaining energy left inside your weak bodies, ignoring the burning in your lungs and metallic taste coating your tongues. 

The woodland flooring begins to create almost a disheveled looking path, a trail appearing out of nowhere. Horrifying possibilities begin to bleed into Steve’s imagination, the memories of the past few days twisting in his mind as he tries to predict what state his boyfriend could be in. 

Steve stops to get his bearings, gulping in breaths.  His stomach clenches like he might puke, but he swallows down bile, hoping for another scream to pierce the night and guide his way.

You catch a glint of something silver nestled in the leaves of the forest floor, and you shine the light down there to get a look.  You swear it’s Eddie’s wallet chain, the one he had on the last time you saw him, but then Steve starts moving again, on the trail of a sound only he could hear.

Running full boar, dodging through the trees, something smacks Steve in the face, and he swats it away, thinking it’s a branch.  But then he takes a step back and looks up. You almost smash straight into the back of him, not realizing he’d stopped so abruptly.  Your camera light brings attention to what Steve is seeing.

Unsettling deja vu is shared between you both as you realize that a cluster of handcrafted stick dolls, like the one you found the other day, are dangling before you. 

Steve’s hand trembles, reaching out to touch the frayed twine from which they hang. 

"Steve, stop," you hiss, your voice is a harsh whisper, eyes darting over the dolls as they sway in the breeze. You can't shake the feeling that you are being watched; that something sinister is lurking just beyond your peripheral vision.

Ignoring you, Steve begins to count the dolls, pointing with his finger, his movements manic, his words a rapid, breathless murmur.

"One, two, three... they're leading somewhere!”

"Steve!" you call out to him desperately, your voice echoing through the forest, falling on blind ears. He starts to follow the primitive stick dolls, and you know you have no choice but to go with him into the unknown, the dread of what lies ahead producing blooms of sweat on your scalp. 

Finally, you emerge into a small clearing. There stands an old, weathered cabin.

 It appears abandoned and worn, its wooden walls covered in moss and ivy, and its windows cracked and shattered. The cabin looms like a forgotten relic of the past, isolated in the dense forest.

“Steve, I-I don’t think this is a good idea”. The air is heavy, and your teeth are chattering.

“Whatever happens,” Steve clicks his tongue and swallows hard, wetting his dry mouth. “Promise me you won’t stop filming.”

“Steve, are you insane?”

He turns to you with wide, earnest eyes, his voice dead calm under the circumstances, “Promise me?” 

You feel like you’ve officially lost him, whatever you attempt to say to change his mind would be useless. “I-I promise.”

Another blood-curdling yelp of agony pierces through the air.

“Eddie, I’m coming!” Steve huffs, motioning for you with a swing of his arm.

You both scramble cautiously onto the cabin’s creaking porch. You decide to zoom the lens in on Steve’s hand, reaching for the rusted doorknob, trying your hardest to focus. 

Dread seizes you, and you attempt to get through to him. “Steve, please, I think I do remember a way out of these woods, actually. What if we go back to the tent, wait till morning and try again?”

You manage to worm your way in between Steve and the door, blocking him now. Steve remains unyielding, shrugging you out of his way, twisting the door knob, and then pushing in the unlocked door. 

“Steve—” Your voice cracks. You want to find Eddie too but there’s something…wrong with this cabin, and you can’t find the words to tell Steve in a way that would make him give up the search.

But then he’s already through the open door, and you stay on his heels. The light from your camera dances over his flashlight beam into the broken floorboards and chipped paint of the interior of the cabin.  

The screaming has stopped, but now the dead silence invades your senses.  There’s no furniture, and the walls are bare. There is a smell lingering that hints to wood rot and black mold and rodent feces. You scan the camera around to show there’s a wide, empty room, and a hallway to the right.

“I-I can’t lose him,” Steve whispers, and your eyes are wet, heart hurting for what this trip has become. You can't let him go in there alone, no matter how much your instincts are telling you to grab him and run in the other direction. 

With each step you take, the cabin seems to expand into a labyrinth of winding corridors, narrow staircases, and hidden rooms. The walls are lined with faded, peeling wallpaper, and the air grows colder and more oppressive with each passing moment. 

But then Steve darts down the dark hallway and up a stairway and you try to follow, tripping on the first step in your hurry.

“He’s in here, I know it,” Steve gasps, and you can only catch his boots before he is already on the next floor.

Eddie’s cry sounds again, and this time there is no mistake— it’s coming from inside the house. 

Two floors up, there are empty rooms, but still no sign of Eddie.  Steve makes a point to direct your attention to the same type of child handprints you’d seen earlier.  “Did you catch these?” He asks pointing to make sure you got the shot.  

It looks like a dozen tiny children had dipped their hands in black paint and made palm impressions all over the wall over the ripped and stained wallpaper.

And then another scream, muffled this time, breaks the silence of your twin haggard breaths, but it is coming from somewhere deep in the cabin now—somewhere below.  You can almost feel the screams vibrate inside the soles of your feet.

The shout is followed by a heavy bang that shakes the walls. It makes you both jump, locking eyes with mirrored expressions of fear.

Without a word, Steve disappears back down the stairs and into the shadows of the second floor. There are no sounds picked up by audio other than Steve calling for Eddie, and you follow, taking two reluctant steps at a time. The weight of uncertainty makes your feet feel like lead, while the lightheadedness of your hunger makes your skull feel like a balloon, and you have to catch yourself on the wall to find your balance, stars crossing in your vision.  

The only sounds now are the heavy thuds of footfalls on the old stairs, and the drumbeat of your heart in your ears. There appear to be looming shapes all around you as you run after Steve, and the camera catches glimpses of things that are unidentifiable sliding along the walls.  

You hear Steve shout, “down here!” and then he is throwing another door open and it sounds like he’s bolting further down in the house, down into what must be a basement.

You think you catch a glimpse of a figure standing in the corner, but when you stumble back and point the camera light there, you realize it’s nothing.

“Steve?” You can’t get a visual on where he is now, but then you finally catch the open door and the glow from his flashlight beam. 

“I don’t feel good about this, Steve! Don’t go down there!”

But it’s too late.

You reach the top of the stairs.  “Steve, wait!”

“He’s down here somewhere, I know it!” Steve persists.

You take another look at him through the lens; he’s dropping down to the dirt floor and darting to the left, disappearing into the inky blackness.  The sound of Eddie’s voice has not been heard for a while, but Steve continues to call out for him, the tremor in his voice now catching with a sob. 

 Abruptly, you see Steve halt. 

He shouts up over his shoulder to you, “Did you hear that?”

The air is suddenly ice cold; freezing even.  You shrink against the doorframe and pan the camera to capture the front door behind you, noting that it is closed, and then quickly back to Steve.

Something in the basement startles him, and Steve drops his flashlight to the ground, smashing the light's glass in the process, making him curse before rushing back up to you, banking on the illumination from the camera light to help him find his way. 

Sprinting up the rickety steps, Steve is relieved to find that you are still intact, dutifully holding his camera and waiting for him. 

Your presence serves as his motivation to attempt to sprint up the stairs a little faster. However, something stops him in his tracks a few steps up.

Your heart is in your throat as you wait, but Steve pauses to look over his shoulder.  “I feel like there is something else down here.”

Your teeth are chattering, your words come out stuttered. “Hurry, Steve.  Let’s go!”

“Not without Eddie,” he says with a vigorous shake of his head, taking one more searching look into the seemingly empty basement.

The chill you feel is much more than skin deep as you pan the camera around the main room again to find it empty, all but for the shadows that appear to be crowding in. 

You can hear Steve make his way up two more steps, but before you can shine the light back down on him, there’s a loud THUD from somewhere below. The noise manages to sliver into the walls, sending an unnatural quake throughout the entire house.

 “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?” Steve jumps.

 His feet are moving before his brain can fully register what is happening. 

Steve never looks back again. 

He takes the next few steps and trips over himself in his haste, his glasses falling in the process.  He doesn’t even bother to bend over to retrieve them, he hears the glass crunch under his boot but can’t bring himself to care as the high volume of fear unravels him.

Adrenaline ignites his flight mode, and he’s practically crawling up the stairs with his hands now, scampering to get away from whatever or whoever did not want him down in the basement.

You stayed where you were, watching—filming. 

The sound of footsteps pricked your ears from the empty room behind you, prompting you to turn around to pan the camera again, shakily, but you were met with nothing but the decaying cabin walls. 

Your mind chooses not to register that the front door to the cabin is wide open now, the forest having its own personal view into the cabin, the branches silently watching.   

Steve has climbed closer now, stilling halfway up, with his face drained of color, bracing his hand on the wall for balance.  He meets your eyes for some much-needed reassurance. The documentarian in him wants to look back, to see what might be glaring up at him from the bottom of the stairs, but his fear won’t let him.

Four steps, one hand holds the camera, your other one on the doorknob. 

Three steps, you begin to shift to the side, ready. He’s so close, he’s ready to leave, make it out, you can see the relief in his eyes to be free of that hole. 

You’re both quaking like brittle autumn leaves now, it feels like the blood in your veins might turn solid and crack, and the air from your lungs is coming out like smoke.  

You feel the need to pan the camera once more just in case, but Steve is so, so close, you decide to wait. 

Two steps and he is about to reach out for your hand. 

One step. 

You slam and seal the door shut, holding your weight against it, twisting it a certain way so that it locks. 

Steve’s breathless, you can hear it, he’s panting. 

However, he’s not standing beside you. 

The camera catches the ornate, brass doorknob as it twists and turns, capturing the sound of his heavy fist banging against the wood, and it’s vibrating into your palm as you press it there, feeding on your guilt. 

“Hey, open the door,” he tries the knob again, with more force this time. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m fucking locked in here!” He pounds his fist, desperation mounting.

“I’m begging you, open the door.” He tries to ram his shoulder through the frame, and it's a pointless move, but it does make the regret bloom fresh within your chest. 

"Let me out! Get me the fuck out of here! Don’t leave without me, please!” He sobs, his voice turning shrill.

You press your forehead against the door, angling the camera down so that it's filming the floor. The camera angle exposes a flicker of something, just a tiny glimpse of some type of black markings.

Steve stops his banging, he goes silent.

Summoning the last of your courage, you say once more, "Sorry, I'm—I..."

Another forceful kick lands on the wood, he’s had enough, the forceful boot punctuating Steve’s plea. "Open the goddamn door!"

You start to back up then, camera almost forgotten as it records the floor.  Through labored breaths, you are issuing your apologies so softly, but loud enough for the audio to capture.  

There’s another loud thud, and the camera vibrates from the impact.

It’s followed shortly by the sound of a sickening crack from beyond the basement door.  Steve’s cry is cut short by another blunt thud, and you wince away, squeezing your eyes shut.  

You flipped the light from the camera off, thinking you’d shut down the entire device. Out of the darkness, the audio picks up what sounds like a hundred hissing whispers, speaking of unintelligible things, muddled amongst feet shuffling all around you.  

In the background, the next set of ears to listen to the tape will be able to make out the hollow thuds of a body being dragged down the stairs.  

To you, in the present, the sound prompts you to turn away from the closed door, your cheeks wet with tears. Your heart is heavy, lips dry and cracked, but you know that there must be sacrifices.

It’s all in order to maintain the balance. 

You really did the best you could for Steve: you got it all on film, you kept your promise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one last time, and you mean it.

 There’s a rustling, another thud, and then the camera spins around as if it were thrown.

And then, nothing but static.  

Epilogue 

The bodies of Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, and their companion were never recovered from the forest near Burkittsville.  Most of the things from their campsite were recovered, along with a video camera and film that was handed over to authorities.  Contrary to what was found on the tape, there was no physical evidence of foul play anywhere on the property.  

Some experts speculate that you had something to do with their disappearances, others believe you met the same fate as your two companions.  When authorities went to question your friends and family, they found out that your life was a blank slate before you met Steve on the college campus, and your only living relative was a grandmother who lived in a nursing home not far from Burkittsville.

The police went to question her, but unfortunately, she was in the grips of late-stage Alzheimer's. There were two photos of you in your grandmother’s room: one was from when you were a toddler.  In the other, you were maybe 7 or 8 years old, surrounded by trees in a forest, holding up some sort of stick doll made of twigs. If one were to have a closer look, they would spot an odd, isolated cabin amongst the woodland background.   

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thank you for reading!

reblogs are deeply cherished, and so are your thoughtful words, but please, please try not to share any spoilers in the comments or the Blair Witch will get cha🧡

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[garbage--account]

Random dream I had because it is horny spooky season 👻 #5 :

>sets in the Hakuren version of Honosuto (if this doesn't exist yet, please make one)

>Hakuren organises a race for their sport festival

>!!!concept warning!!! : participants are paired by 2 and have to find a specific item hidden in a spooky forest, that they have to find by searching clues without getting lost and then exit the forest as soon as possible. Since the forest is known to be cursed, participants must exchange one of their belonging to another participant (preferably with someone dear if they are racing too) before entering. The item you gave to the other person protects you from the curse and the item they gave you protects them : don't lose or break it (before you exit, never preferably). Whether the item is expensive/precious doesn't matter tho.

>Shirou is paired with Someoka for the race and gives Atsuya his mental institute bracelet. Atsuya is paired with Nae and gives Shirou his Nokia 3310.

>Atsuya : "You better be careful with my cellphone, if you break it, you pay. Even if there is no chance you could break this phone. It is not you who break the Nokia 3310, it's the Nokia 3310 who breaks your hips. Unlike the piece of paper trash you just gave me 🤮 Why are you so cheap Aniki 😡"

>The race starts

>splittingthegang.mp3

>0.0001673 seconds later, Atsuya and Nae got lost in some random cave below a spooky abandonned house, where they had to fight a crusty-ass hobo screaming "the queen has returned!!!"

>Nae complains because they are lost and far to find the object they must find to win, while climbing behind Atsuya

>Meanwhile Atsuya : "WHY THE FUCK THEY PUT THIS IN THAT BUTTHOLE?!" (yes, the fucking object was here so they successfully failed at losing)

>Also Atsuya : "oh no, a rock" *proceeds to fall dramatically and rip Shirou's bracelet*

>Meanwhile, Shirou be like "Someoka, look those funny looking sticks ! Those must be clues left by the school...."

The sticks :

>But Shirou was alone all along *omnious music playing*

>Later, Atsuya and Nae are on the finishing line, slurping on milk as if it was some alcoholized cocktail with MDMA and with sunglasses on 😎🍹

>they saw Someoka coming back from the forest without Shirou because he lost him and didn't even found the item they were looking to win the race 😭

>"this is so sad", Nae gave him milk to drown the sadness

TW this is getting inappropriate 🙈🙉🙊 if you're under 18 or don't wanna read dirty stuff, don't read blow i don't wanna get blocked or reported for this

>meanwhile, Shirou got attacked by an invisible force

Shirou : BITCH WHY ARE YOU HERE ?! *proceeds to throw fits to the air, runs away dramatically and trips over nothing while the spirit possesses him*

>it turns out to be the ghost of Cupcakke's great great grandmother (her house was the abandonned one with the hobo). The ghost possesses all the flops in the forest to get revenge on every Da Boyz she can find. Those who are possessed can only express themselves through Cupcakke songs and remixes lyrics.

>Then, Shirou and the flops (=half of the participants 'cause Atsuya is not the only dumbass to have lost/broken the object they were supposed to take care) start to smack and snatch the wigs of those who are still in the forest and doing naked rituals to revive random floptok icons

>some survivors of those attacks made it out the finishing line and told the unspeakable horrors they have witnessed

>them and the others who were outta the forest googled "how to exorcize a person in 0.01 second" and found all the infos about the flop curse

>Meanwhile, Atsuya : *hands a piece of paper to Nae*

Nae : "why are u givin me this?"

Atsuya : "it's my Phone number"

Nae : "ew, stop flirting with me 🤮"

Atsuya : "BITCH *slaps her* it's to localize Aniki, he has my Phone !"

Nae : *dials number*

*ringtone ringing in the background*

Atsuya : "ok he's over there"

Nae : "how do you even know ?"

Atsuya : "u dumb bitch, are you even serious 🤬"

Someoka : *remembers he is in the story* "okay, imma gonna find him" *re-enters the forest*

>Back in the forest, Someoka caught Shirou half-naked while doing Da Boyz sacrifice to Jiafei, but Shirou got away of his claws by saying "Papi"

>Someoka got scared and tried to run away but can still hear the "smack my ass like a drum" and "POOSAY" close behind him

>the 2 kept going even out of the forest.

>Quickly, people seized Shirou and started the exorcism, but he started to vomit c*m on ppl, turning in head behing his back, walking at 4 legs upside down, and screams other unappropriate stuff in the Cupcakke discography (ex : change thongs 2 times a day, i save d*cks by giving them cpr, i'm horny, etc.)

>the exorcisms aren't exorcising

>at some point, he shouted "only d*ck can hurt my ass" and his poosay dropped the Nokia 3310

>suddenly, Atsuya became intelligent and got an idea 💡🤓 #smartera

Atsuya : guys, he just gave away the solution, we know how to exorcise him !

Ppl : *unzips pants* alright we have to make the ghost cum ?

Atsuya : NO U BUNCH OF HORNY FUCKBOIS, BEAT THE GHOST UP WITH THE DAMN PHONE *beats all the homophobes here and then his bro with the Nokia*

>Later, at the hospital, Atsuya tells his bro he was possessed by some horny spirit along with a bunch of girls and how his phone saved the universe from greater evil, while Shirou (who just regained conciousness) is wondering why his poosay itches so much 😳

The end 💅 Hope you enjoyed 💋

[vilsoo]

‎ 𝑽𝑰𝑳𝑺𝑶𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺…

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‎ 𖤐 ORDER YOUR TICKETS HERE 𖤐 ‎ ֺ [ taglist ]

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘; 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘… Inspired by Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights, indulge in sex and horror galore at our premiere Kinktober event, HORRORLAND! Would you dare venture our haunted houses, experience our exhilarating attractions, and uncover the scandalous, deadly mysteries of Horrorland?

fandoms: jujutsu kaisen, spiderman atsv, fnaf, re4, codmw2.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

ㅤ ↓ 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 (𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓) ↓

FRIDAYS🩸 we welcome our fellow monster fuckers into this territory! deadly creatures preying on their victims, serving their lustful fantasies with wild, animalistic urges! your arousal and fear may provoke them further, so beware of the woods…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟒𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ❞ starring GHOST!LEON KENNEDY (re4)

who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead… and ghosts?

⚠︎ CW: mentions of stalking, slight ooc leon, angst, hurt/comfort, haunted vacation home, voyeurism, paranormal activity, sex with a ghost, gentle → rough smut, mirror sex, switchy!leon, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring WEREWOLF!MIGUEL O’HARA (atsv)

during the bloodmoon on halloween, your werewolf boyfriend feels a rapacious urge to knock you up.

⚠︎ CW: established relationship, miguel in heat, rough sex, soft sex, marking, biting, possession, breeding, knotting, impregnating, degrading/praising, power struggle, multiple orgasms, 1980s setting.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 ❞ starring RYOMEN SUKUNA (jjk)

a camping trip you planned with your friends turns out to be a total nightmare, all caught on camera…

⚠︎ TW: suspense, horror/thriller themes, gruesome murder, gore, ritual sex, demon sex, satanism, sadism, betrayal, teratophilia, size kink, double penetration, plot twist, ib the blair witch project (1999), 1980s setting.

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SATURDAYS 🍷 the depths of hell fall on this dark and gloomy city bound to corruption and sin, known as the devil’s playground! lurking within the streets beholds the prurient reigns of terror that which may also arouse parkland guests…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟓𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ❞ starring NANAMI KENTO (jjk)

with you and your boyfriend being a regular at this fancy restaurant, the owner became very fond of you…

⚠︎ TW: cannibalism, chef/restaurant owner nanami, poisoning, murder, infidelity/cheating, eventual smut, kitchen sex, unprotected sex, jealousy, dark obsession, slight stalking, gore, mutilation.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟐𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 ❞ starring WILLIAM AFTON (fnaf)

as the new intern and your boss developing a dark obsession over you, he feels the need to corrupt you…

⚠︎ TW: dubcon, mind control (glitchtrap virus), sadism, murder, psychological abuse, manipulation, predator/prey dynamic, implied age gap, degradation, eventual rough smut, mentions of vanny mask.

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟐𝟔𝐓𝐇: ❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐄 ❞ starring CHOSO (jjk)

accidentally bringing a girl back from the dead may have been horrifying, but falling in love with her..?

⚠︎ CW: horror/romcom themes, implied necrophilia (NO intercourse), college au, accidental ritual, romance, mentions of murder, suggestive smut, inspired by lisa frankenstein (2024) and corpse bride (2005).

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FOR OUR HALLOWEEN SPECIAL . . . not only are you immersed into the stories of our attractions, you get the real experience of being a parkland guest having a fun time at Horrorland with friends! but as thrilling as it all sounds, there are many scandals and articles of what really goes down…

𖤐 𝐎𝐂𝐓 𝟑𝟏: ❝ 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋? ❞ HEADLINE: PARKLAND VISITOR CAUGHT HAVING INTERCOURSE WITH A SCARE ACTOR!

flirting has become a common fear response when encountering hot masked scare actors chasing you at halloween events. this scandal covers a parkland visitor fawning over the hot scare actor in the Deathgasm haunted house, König, resulting in them flirting and sneaking off together…

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⚠︎ 𝐁𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ⚠︎

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. please do not steal my kinktober prompts/works/themes! reposting any of my works outside tumblr that minors can access is strictly prohibited. will be cross posted on my ao3 soon.

[shippingmyworld]

Youtuber!Danny AU

Don't think I have the creative energy to expand this brainworm into an actual fic so ya'll just have to read a wall of text instead.

After a few close encounters where Danny's halfa identity almost gets revealed, Sam suggests the trio start a Youtube channel where they go about investigating all the so called "Ghostly Encounters" around Amity Park. Their goal would be to debunk as many ghost sightings as possible and establish themselves as well-known ghost deniers. After a bit of debate they eventually settle on naming the channel Chasing Phantoms.

Tucker really gets into it and eventually becomes the face of the channel. With Sam's coaching he learns how to play devil's advocate extremely well and figures out exactly how to craft his questions to manipulate people's responses. This way they can make these supposed "witnesses" discredit themselves within just a few minutes; Tucker will make them get worked up, angry, and confused about what they saw and trick the witnesses into making contradicting statements. This way they can throw out the witness statements as shoddy evidence because they're nothing more than a stress-induced hallucinations brought about by a gas leak. (They accidentally lean into the gas leak story a little too much in their early days - Danny uses his ghost powers to safely break piping in the places they're investigate to create evidence to back up their claims - thus triggering a mild panic in the citizens of Amity Park because one town should really not be suffering from this many gas line breaks.)

Sam is the director and editor, and has them film everything like it's in the style of found footage (she got the idea after watching The Blair Witch Project). They’re constantly making the "Looks directly into the camera like they're on The Office" joke whenever they interview someone who claims to have been attacked by a ghost.

Danny is the cameraman for the channel, but never shows his face because every time they tried to filmed him, his eyes would flash green in the lens flare and cause them to have to scrap the footage. He's still pretty chatty and viewers latch onto his sassy and sarcastic nature. They love his one-liners and the top comments of each video are usually just a repost of something witty he said (Sam leans into it and start naming the videos after lines that Danny drops while filming). Fans of the channel are constantly asking him for a face-reveal in the comments section. In fact, there's a whole subset of viewers that are dedicated to figuring out what he looks like. They have a poor quality jpeg file that's passed around and updated whenever a glimpse of Danny's appearance is reflected in a puddle of water or broken glass (which means Sam has to comb over the videos about ten times before they post them to make sure she didn't miss anything while editing).

Any time Danny ends up fighting a ghost and there's a witness, the trio will break into the site of the fight the next day (using Danny's ghost powers off-camera of course) so they can do an overnight stakeout. It always just amounts to the three of them goofing off and finding no evidence whatsoever. They do all the standard ghost hunting stuff but have to fib the data because Danny’s presence alone triggers the EMF reader and if they try and take the room temp anywhere near Danny it’s always like 10 degrees colder.

As time goes on, the channel starts to really kick off as people latch onto their goofy energy and start to get invested. However, they've also made themselves a lot of enemies within the student body at school, as most of their classmates have become discredited witnesses on their channel (with a few unfortunately souls even becoming trending memes for a few days). This also means Jazz learns about it and keeps volunteering to tag along or help out. She even gets Mr. Lancer to recognize the four of them as an official school club (she took initiative and made herself a part of the club AND club president without asking them), which he gladly approves since he doesn't believe in any of this ghost nonsense either.

Jazz is just really happy that there’s finally someone else in the family that is willing to stand up to their crazy parents' belief about ghosts, so she wants to be the supportive older sibling. However, she literally will not give the trio any space to deal with the ACTUAL ghost stuff. There are several pieces of unedited footage that lives on Sam's computer of Jazz showing up unannounced to an overnight stakeout asking Tucker and Sam “Where’s Danny?” and the camera would catch a glimpse of local menace Inviso-Bill getting his butt kicked by Skulker in the distance.

To get her off their back, Danny ends up publishing an hour long video essay about how ghosts ARE real, but that everything happening in Amity Park is just people making up bullshit for attention. He has to really commit to the act at home, but Jazz will eventually drop it and leave the trio to their own devices. This backfires however, as Danny's parents now believe he’s interested in ghost hunting and try to join him as well. Thankfully Danny is able to deter them by suggesting that they should all do their own research and compare notes later. You know, the more data the better, right? However, this means that in addition to his chores, homework, ghost fighting as Danny Phantom, and ghost hunting as Chasing Phantoms, he also now has to peer review his parents work so he's constantly exhausted. Tucker and Sam will usually let him copy their homework when the time crunch becomes really bad, and they will let Danny conk out for a much needed nap whenever the group gets together to brainstorm channel content or edit footage.

Following one of his encounters with Plasmius, Danny decided they should follow up the "Ghosts ARE real" video with a clickbait video titled “Top 10 places in Wisconsin that are ACTUALLY haunted!!!” They make Vlad’s Castle is #1 on the list and offer a reward to anyone that can bring them proof of a ghost haunting. They include a photo of Plasmius (that's been edited to look like bigfoot photos) so that people know what to look for. This means Vlad now has to hire extra security because the video triggers a mass influx of people that are constantly trying to break into his house and find evidence of this ghost for the reward.

Eventually Valerie and her dad end up on Chasing Phantoms as well, but as some of the discredited witnesses. It pisses her off so much that she starts up her own ghost hunting channel, Ghost Hunter Grey. She's constantly discrediting Chasing Phantoms in her videos and is very vocal on social media about how they give actual ghost hunters a bad name. Every time Chasing Phantoms uploads a new video, she stakes out the same place they did and uploads a video of her own a week later that includes all the evidence they clearly missed and a genuine, uncut interview with witnesses. She doesn't reveal her face (because of the reputation Chasing Phantoms has within the school) and uses a voice modifier when she edits her content.

Grey's videos aren’t nearly as popular as Chasing Phantoms content because Valarie tries to keep her videos more grounded in facts and backs everything up with proven science (unlike the trio’s videos which are just a constant barrage of ghost-themed brain-rotting jokes and funny reactions). It only frustrates her more and so she leans into the Popular Kids clique in order to low-key bully them as an act of revenge. 

When the trio catches wind about Ghost Hunter Grey's channel, they will film a fake video and wait the next day to see if someone shows up. Sure enough, Valerie makes an appearance shocking all of them. Sam holds the braincell and say that since they know, they can just be careful and the group shouldn't try and provoke her anymore. Tucker agrees, but Danny has other ideas and starts greifing her as Phantom. At first he will purposefully reveal himself to her when he knows she doesn't have a camera on her, but once he starts getting a little more bold he will start to photo bomb her with the dumbest expressions and just being an overall annoyance. It basically boils down to him doing shit like saying "Nobody will ever believe you." or "It's been five years, you have to let me go." before slowly turning invisible and flying away.

[waiting-makes-me-antsy]

BYLERWEEN DAY 1: HORROR AU (also drawing byler until its confirmed day 256272937656)

i tried to do the blair witch project but idk

@bylerween :DD

[longtallglasses]

coopermyagent’s byler fanfic post

chaptered fics

The Blair Witch Project - (95,803 words) E rating - blair witch project (1999) au, horror, gore, ghosts, haunting etc.

Will hasn’t been handed that many good things in his life. Piece of shit dad, growing up gay in a small town, falling in love with his straight best friend, and oh yeah, spending a traumatic week when he was twelve lost out in the woods that he still can’t recall to this day. But the one thing he always had was his friends. The Party.

However, entering their second year of college the party have drifted apart; maybe a weekend spent making Mike’s student documentary on the Blair Witch can bring them closer again? And maybe Will can still hold onto something good.

OR as a bookmarker once said “will has an unknown past! mike is a gay mess! they go in the woods and everything comes crashing down! on the edge of your seat madness twists and turns all while being erotic? and gorey? and sweet?”

it happens each day - WIP E rating - lighthouse keeper au, horror, cannibalism, gore etc.

Fall, 1977. Dear Mr. Wheeler, We are pleased to offer you the temporary position at Egg Rock Lighthouse. Your experience and passion for the light keeper post is greatly appreciated and we look forward to meeting you and your partner at the start of October. Attached you will find detailed directions on how to find your way depending on your transportation. As you know the lighthouse is quite secluded so we advise to pack accordingly for the coming months. We've also attached a few brochures about the history of the area, you'll find some informative while others quite humorous. You'll come to grow very accustomed to seeing Amaren's phrases around the property. We hope this is the start of a smooth and mutually beneficial working relationship for you at Egg Rock Lighthouse. Most cordially, The Board at Egg Rock

If it takes all night... - WIP E rating - vampire!mike au

Mike needs to get over his feelings for Will before it kills him. Literally. After a night out with a mysterious stranger turns into a surprise vampire attack that he should've seen coming, Will comes in to save his skin with a makeshift stake to the heart. However, the real nightmare begins when Mike starts showing signs of turning into a vampire himself. But Will is willing to do anything to help him survive... anything.

fluffy one shots

We’re So Lucky - (4,192 words) T rating -

Will gets very drunk at a party.

Mike takes care of him and they talk about their first sexual experiences and their desire for each other all while trying to not hook up.

heaven (let my love open the door) - (14,161 words) G rating -

it's valentine's day 1981, the boys give each other candy, but Mike has something extra for Will.

it's valentine's day 1989, and Mike and Will want to finally get a valentine's day to themselves. they both have special things in store.

but flurry you’re my best friend - (5,558 words) G rating -

Will had been sitting close behind him, leaning back on the head board, and now Mike’s upper half was laid out on his lap and chest.

“Oh sorry, I-” Mike is pulling himself up, but Will’s hand is on his shoulder, and it’s burning again.

“No, it’s okay,” and Will pulls him back down, his legs maneuvering around him, until Mike’s back is flush with Will’s chest and Mike no longer has a single thought going through his mind.

In the midst of trying to get five stars on his animal crossing island, Mike accidentally falls into his feelings for Will, literally.

featuring Will being very supportive of Mike's island and Mike wants better gifts from his villagers

one more… please? (tell it like it is) - (4,457 words) G rating -

Mike was in for the shock of his life when Will gave him a kiss on the forehead.

What's even more shocking is how he's now scheming to get more?

It’s Cute - (996 words) G rating -

Will didn’t mean for it to happen. Honestly he had kind of forgotten. He didn’t even really think about it anymore.

But there they were in his bedroom, and Mike had plucked it out from under his comforter, “Is this my sweater?”

i can be your canvas? - (2,058 words) G rating -

Will's all out of blank canvases... but Mike's in the room so...

that hot, huh? - (1,157 words) T rating -

That hot, huh?” Mike teases, his face still smeared with blood. “Shut up,” Will groans, his head tilted back at a sharp angle. He experimentally lowers his head, only for a fresh wave of blood to pour out, sending Mike into another fit of laughter. “I hate you,” Will moans, “stop laughing,” “I- can’t-” Mike wheezes.

bittersweet goodbyes - (1,612 words) G rating - miwi

mike and will have a dramatic goodbye ritual and lucas is so over it.

you're so cute i could eat you - (3,832 words) G rating- miwi

Mike gets a case of serious cuteness aggression when it comes to Will... but Will doesn't really seem to mind.

Two Halloweens - October, 1979 & 1983...

angst and or horror one shots

these fatal fantasies - (10,008 words) T rating - guilty as sin? song fic, mike pov

He wanted to stop doing this, he needed to stop doing this. He just worked himself up and he couldn’t escape it. It was driving him insane, he’d wake up in the night and not be able to stop his hand. His mind supplying him with Will and all these inane scenarios where they somehow ended up in his room, or in the basement, or the school bathroom, and everything started happening so fast.

He felt like shit afterward.

Am I allowed to cry?

OR

Mike's mind has been in shambles the entire week leading up to his trip to California. He hasn't spoken to Will properly in months, his friends feel a million miles away, El seems to be doing great without him, people are dying in San Francisco, and Mike has been imagining things he wishes he wasn't. He wishes he could just throw it all away.

i just may be a daredevil (can you feel my heart?) - (10,342 words) T rating -

Will doesn’t have anything to lose anymore, and Mike can’t lose him. The two go hurtling towards an inevitable precipice where the only option might be to go tumbling down together, limbs grappling for each other, flesh melding, and heartbeats syncing in time.

OR

Will’s composure cracks and beats up their middle school bully, finishing the job Mike started. :)

you make me feel like i am free again - (6,351 words) E rating - horror, gore tw

The summer of 1982 is nearing an end. Will and the party are trying to enjoy the last moments of heat before the new school year begins, Will especially. Lonnie just split a few months prior and Will is trying to understand the storm that never seems to stop brewing inside him. That is until one day the storm is unleashed. Waves of blood and rushes of relief are spilled. He should be frightened, he should be horrified, but all he feels is an intoxicating sense of control. Mike seems to enjoy it too.

OR

will's got crazy telekinetic powers? he unleashes wrath upon everyone? and mike cheers him on? miwi being bloody deranged boys.

lesbyler!

a plesio-what now? - (1,538 words) G rating -

michelle and willow make out in a library. that's it.

your kind of pretty - (1,699 words) G rating -

Willow wants Michelle to make her pretty like her...

flashback, warm nights - (1,104 words) G rating -

Snowball songs make Michelle and Willow want to finally do what they've always dreamt of doing.

[cupcakeslushie]

This isn't really an AU question or rottmnt question butttt

What's your favorite horror movie (cause it's halloween)

Classics would probably be Blair Witch Project, The Descent, Reanimator, or The Thing

Franchise either Evil Dead, Scream, or Chucky (also getting a new appreciation for Halloween)

Scary horror that’s also funny would be Cabin in the Woods, Shaun of the Dead, or Happy Death Day

New horror, Hereditary, Smile, It Follows, Train to Busan, Get Out, Ready or Not

That’s honestly as close as I can get to narrowing it down 😂😅

[ohbo-ohno]

i had an idea watching blair witch project, but imagine an au where soap, gaz and reader here some old legend about a forest and decide to go camping to explore around.

and when its night and they get creeped out and are shouting and talking, they don’t know there’s a cabin they hadn’t noticed and ghost, who has been retired and decides to just mess with them a bunch, but when he sees them he just wants to take them, especially since he feels so lonely since being retired.

so he decides if he takes them one by one each night, he knows he can not only successfully tale them but also scare the shit out of them.

idk if this is good i just had an idea lol

i gotta be real, ghostgaz doesn't do much for me so (but poly141 does) so the exclusion of price here throws me off, but i love the vibes

i love the "one character is tormenting/getting ready to torment the other and they don't even know" trope in horror. one of my favorite scenes to write ever was all of soap's inner monologue in dlmliyh chap 1. getting to describe how he'd been plotting to betray her from the beginning, how he didn't even really feel guilty... i loved it

you could do smth fun with that & blair with au based on the theory that the guys in the movie were actually just fucking with the main girl and lured her out there to murder her! like soap and gaz playing at comforting her, meanwhile when she's huddled so close to kyle at night johnny is out spreading fake bones around their tent to scare her the next morning

maybe Actual Evil Entity Ghost realizes what they're doing and is like "oh it would be so fucking funny to turn the tables on them". manages to get gaz and soap to turn on each other, both of them becoming convinced that all the pranks they definitely didn't agree on are being pulled by the other

idk... maybe the idea is like, ghost is a manic spirit who drives people insane in the woods. johnny and gaz kill each other, you die from exposure to the elements, and he gets to keep the three of you safe in his forest forever (and let johnny and gaz fuck with new campers)

[helila]

ao3 meme

tagged by @sparatus tysm <3

tagging @dispatchwithlove @varuna-writes @miceenscene @natsora

[my ao3] ✨

How many works do you have on AO3?

6 lol

What's your total word count?

122,161

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Friendly Fire with 153, First Contact War AU with Garrus and my Femshep. Enemies to friends with language barrier, because the situation intrigued me.

Starlight Lament with 70. The new and improved ME3 longfic in progress, where I wanted to fix plot holes and character arcs. Currently at 17 chapters and 92K words. Spooky, sad, slow. I'm sweating blood trying to write this to the best of my abilites.

Reprieve with 56, a 3 chapter story retelling of Garrus's loyalty mission with some angst and yearning.

Rules of Engagement with 42. A sweet little first date fic for shakarian that didn't get the reception I had hoped for. Oof.

Some lonely evening on Omega got 41 after I typed it out into a tumblr draft, then posted it to ao3 as my first ME work. Garrus angst.

yeah I got that shakarian brainrot, it's incurable.

Do you respond to comments? Why/Why not?

I get like max 4 comments a year, of course I respond. I cry tears of joy when that Ao3 email hits my inbox, I tell my mom, I tell the neighbors.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Neither of them just yet. Starlight Lament will be brutal when I finally finish it.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Rules of Engagement ends with a first kiss, so that's the uncontested winner.

Do you write crossovers?

I would like to, eventually. I like AUs, I like crossovers, I had a whole Mass Effect/Battlestar Galactica art project happening a few years ago that I could possibly pick up again if my free time allowed so.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I'm not famous enough to hate.

Do you write smut?

I wrote some light smut in Honey and Sea Salt recently. I'm more into angst and existential horror.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nay.

What's your all time favorite ship?

Well... guess.

What's a WIP that you want to finish don't think you ever will?

I wanted to write at least one more chapter for Rules of Engagement, but the lukewarm reception put me off so badly, every time I think about it I cringe myself into avoidance. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What are your writing strengths?

Character voices and pacing. These come to me pretty naturally, and I can easily get carried away with dialogue tbh.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences make me sweat. Writing descriptions make me feel like I'm a toddler going "the sky was blue, and the grass was green, and the birds sang nicely."

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Well, english is not my first language so. There's that.

What's the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age, and it never saw the light of god, thankfully.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet, but want to?

I have a Blair Witch Project fic cooking, and another one for Damsel (look... it's a fix-it).

What's your favorite fic you've ever written?

I genuinely don't know. Each of them have parts I really love for one reason or another. They each reflect something about my own life, stuff I was going through at the moment of writing. But I think I can say that Starlight Lament makes me the proudest, because it's such a huge ass effort to write, and sometimes it makes me want to chew rocks.

[boosoonhao]

flesh and bone | 2

jeonghan x reader 7k words zombie au major character death, swearing, gore

part one . part two . part three

When you were a child, you loved going on camping trips. Your father used to take you and your tightly knit group of friends into the woods and you would sit around a roaring fire, roasting marshmallows and scaring the shit out of each other with dramatic whispers of ghost stories. 

Back then, you always brought your favorite teddy bear, which managed to at least somewhat alleviate the fear that reluctantly pulled at your nerves at Soonyoung’s enthusiastic retelling of the Blair Witch Project. The crackling of fire and light snores from your father was like a song lulling you to sleep despite the echoing thoughts of witches and ghosts. 

There are no ghost stories this time around, no hot fires or cocoa scalding your tongue. There’s darkness, a constant fear of lurking bodies that might hide under the cover of the night, and the low sobs of a man who just watched his best friend die. 

You’re lying in your tent, and you find it hard to close your eyes. Whenever you do, the images of Soonyoung getting ripped apart right in front of you replay in your head, his screams echoing; bouncing between the walls of your brain and making you choke on air. Not much was said when the three of you had at last found a spot that seemed at least somewhat safe, nor when you had put up your tents. Chan had told you to sleep first, that he and Jeonghan would take the first watch. You had expected Jeonghan to object to that, distant memories of a man who loves to sleep caressing the forefront of your mind. 

Jeonghan had not said a thing. For some reason, that’s what chilled you the most.

---

Tensions are high the following days. There’s a constant fear of death luring at the top of your brains, all of you seemingly too scared and too fragile to even say much of anything to each other. Chan tries, bless him, to be a comforting figure; tries to hold your hand when it trembles and murmur reassurances into your hair. You want nothing more than to repay the favor, or to push him away, or to disappear completely. 

Instead, you only nod. Jeonghan stays silent. 

---

When Jeonghan finally does speak, it’s been three days. Three days of awkward silences and the sound of Chan quietly weeping over the death of a boy he’s seen as a brother figure his entire life. Three days of minimal food and even less of an appetite, of a grief that threatens to overcome you every time you allow yourself to soak in the feeling. 

So, Jeonghan finally opens his mouth, while you’re struggling with making a fire, fingers trembling with the cold and your breaths coming out as visible puffs of air into the morning. He opens his mouth, and you wish he’d rather keep it shut. 

“Can you fucking get on with it?” He snaps, and his voice is laced with a distaste that makes you shiver in a completely different way than with the cold that bites at your skin. You turn to look at him, taking in the annoyed downwards turn of his lips and the furrow of his eyes. You reel in the anger that bubbles in the pit of your stomach, try to focus on Chan sleeping in the tent instead. 

“I haven’t done this in years,” you mutter instead, without as much as a trace of apology on your tongue. You don’t tell him that if you’re doing such a bad job, he’s free to get up from his seated position and do the damn thing himself. You don’t tell him that the way he looks at you makes his skin crawl. 

“I can tell,” he says, almost mockingly. You turn back to the pile of wood with a roll of your eyes, jaw clenched so tightly it hurts. “Soonyoung would’ve-

He stops. Silence seeps in with the morning fog, your fingers unmoving and not even the sound of breathing reaching your ears. He knows whatever he was about to say was the wrong thing to say. Without even turning, you know that the look on his face would tell you he wants to take it back, not only the beginning of the sentence, but the thought itself. The branch in your hand snaps. 

“He would’ve what?” You hiss, swirling around to look back at him. His body is stiff, eyes wide as he takes in your appearance. Your heart is beating too loud, too hard against your ribcage, rage simmering in your veins. “He would’ve been faster? Stronger? Smarter?” You throw the remainders of wood to the ground, get up from your seat by the impromptu fireplace. Jeonghan looks as if he wants to melt into the ground. “I know!” You tell him, and you can’t quite help the uneven tones of your voice, the pitch high and nasal to your own ears. 

“It’s unfair,” you continue, your voice sounding so much like a whiny child that it might have embarrassed you had you not been so angry. You take a heavy step towards the long haired man, vision darkened by anger and head clouded. “He shouldn’t have died, I should’ve-” 

Your voice breaks, and you stop. Suddenly, the only distinct emotion you can feel is a heavy, crushing sort of pain. Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably, his voice low and apologetic as he murmurs your name, moves to get up. The logical part of your brain tells you to let it drop, to slink back to the wood and get back to working on the fire. That Jeonghan is as burdened by grief as you are, that his words were empty. You shut that part off, let your feet carry you past the boy and towards the dark woods instead. 

“Fuck you, Jeonghan,” you yell after him.

---

To your credit, you realize quite quickly that running off in a display of childish petulance isn’t really– dignified. Barely even an okay thing to do at all once you hit your late teens, an absolutely shit decision once zombies start traversing the earth. Even as you’re stomping over wet mud and grass, you think that you should turn back, return the way you came from before it’s too late.

You don’t. You can’t; can’t stand Chan’s weeping or Jeonghan’s harsh words, can’t stand the building ball of grief that lies at the pit of your stomach, and when you finally realize that your speed has quickened, that your feet are running, nothing looks familiar anymore. 

You stop, then, hands gripping onto your own kneecaps as you bend over and exhale; the sound loud and the breaths raspy as they exit your mouth. It’s not quite hyperventilation, not entirely panic, but it’s close; playing with the edges of the emotion that’s been lingering in the forefront of your brain for days. You want to cry, to scream or throw a tantrum, but somehow it’s all stuck in your throat.

You don’t pick up on the footsteps, don’t hear the low rumbling of deteriorating vocal chords, until it’s far too late. 

They must be getting smarter, you think as the crowd of dead bodies stumble out from behind bushes and trees. There’s a sort of chaotic order in their movements, a bizarre sense of cooperation in the way they surround you. You can’t bring yourself to look at their faces, too afraid that you’ll catch the features of someone you used to know.

It’s strangely cathartic, really. Something tugs at your nerves; not quite fear, rather an unnameable, undefinable emotion that calms your errant breaths and makes your limbs stop aching. You watch with a detached sort of interest as the horde of zombies close in on you, only distantly aware of the fact that you’re about to die. Maybe it’s just as well, you think; Jeonghan’s restrained insult is still echoing in your head. Chan would’ve told you not to waste Soonyoung’s sacrifice, would’ve yelled and furrowed his brow and thrown careless words in your face.

But Chan’s not here, is arguably not even present inside his own shell of a body, and the only comfort you can find is the possibility of rest; of peace.

It doesn’t come. You wait for the sting of a bite, of the pain of your limbs being ripped from your body in the frenzy of the once-living, brainless people crowding you, but before you’re even made aware of your own eyes closing, they shoot back open with the eardrum-shattering sound of weapons being fired. It feels as if your heart has stopped, as if you’ve just been brought back to life; the organ hammering violently against your ribcage and making electricity coursing through your body.

A zombie lies at your feet, guts and dirty-red blood at your feet. For a moment you almost think its head has exploded by its own volition, your brain lagging and your senses dulled with the pang of nausea that pushes at your throat. Time seems to have slowed down, and it takes a few steadying breaths to make you twist your head in the direction of the loud sound that the zombies have started pacing. 

Two boys stand at the top of the hill you must have tumbled down in your fit of rage; when you squint in their direction you notice, with a fair amount of dread creeping down your spine, that the boy aiming a slightly pathetic-looking pistol in the direction of the horde of zombies creeping in their direction is missing an arm. The other one, larger in frame and with dark curls the only visible feature you can spot, is brandishing a distinctly larger weapon that you recognize as a rifle, body jerking slightly every time he fires his gun. 

”Do you have a fucking death wish?” the pistol wielding boy yells, voice almost undetectable under the groans of zombies and the echoes of gunshots. “Get over here!”

Time speeds back up; a violent ache in your head coming with the sudden jolt of time happening all around you. You inhale, as if you’ve been holding your breath, as if you’ve been submerged forcefully under water, and before you can even consider the fact that these strangers are both dubious-looking and wielding weapons, you run. 

Death, it seems, will just have to wait.

---

The sun is all but gone when you finally return to camp; the boy with the missing arm and the pretty shooter in tow. The first boy, you’ve learned, is named Minghao. He speaks with an accent that suggests having moved fairly recently; stumbles over sentences and confuses tenses in a tone too melodious to consider the stumbling a frustration. You don’t ask about his arm. He doesn’t provide an answer. 

The second boy – Jun – is quieter, his voice lower but somehow softer. He’s strange to look at, somehow; too clean and pristine to fit in with the mud on his face and the tangles in his caramel hair. His accent isn’t quite as strong, but the camaraderie between the two, coupled with the hushed conversations in a tongue you do not understand, speaks of a bond that can only come with two outsiders finding their way together. 

You remember when you were ten. You think about a notebook tucked secretly beneath your pillow, filled with nonsense letters and garbled words; a language you had created with Soonyoung in order to keep your secrets away from prying eyes. Something seems to crack in your ribcage. 

Chan’s head snaps up from staring intently into the bonfire crackling in the middle of the campsite. He’s on his feet so quickly it makes your head spin just to look at, sprints towards you in long, stomping steps. A string of curses fall out of his mouth; so wholly uncharacteristic of the boy who likes to play up his innocence that it would’ve been funny in any other situation, and his hands are rough as his fingernails dig into the flesh of your arms. You don’t miss the slight tremors of his palms. 

“Where the fuck did you go?” His voice borders on hysteria, the lines of his face deep with worry, and your heart clenches with guilt at the complete lack of regard you’d shown in leaving the camp in the first place. You don’t look at Jeonghan, completely ignoring the way he rises to his feet to watch the scene carefully. Chan inhales through his nose, brows furrowing so tightly it looks like it must hurt his temple. You make a snap decision never to let him know about your dark, self-destructive thoughts, instead clearing your throat in an attempt to keep your voice even as you open your mouth. 

“Needed to clear my head,” you tell him; a weak excuse. The way the edges of Chan’s lips dip makes it clear he thinks so as well, but you gesture towards the boys at your side before he can open his mouth to inquire further. The younger boy jumps slightly, as if he just noticed the two newcomers. “This is Minghao and Jun. They, uh–” you falter for a moment, struggle to find a neutral way to word yourself. “Found me, I guess.”

There’s defensiveness in Chan’s stance, and protectiveness in Jeonghan’s as he comes up behind the shorter male. They both size up the two strangers, both stopping to stare unabashedly at Minghao’s missing limb. The tension is thick over the quiet campsite, ten different – but equally heavy – things left unsaid at once. The fire crackles and pops, creates an almost eerie echo through the thickness of the woods. 

It’s Jun who breaks the silence, at last, pushes past Minghao’s broad stance to come up right next to you, a disarming smile painting his pretty features. 

“We come bearing alcohol,” he proclaims, and that, it seems, is a language all four boys can understand. 

---

Heat blooms and blossoms at your cheekbones, your blood hot and sizzling against reddened skin as you sip as conservatively as you manage from the bottle of rum being handed to you. You wonder, distractedly, when you last felt the woozy, tingly itch of alcohol in your system, how much time has passed since that last moment of peace at Soonyoung’s ‘end of the world’ party. 

Chan laughs, an unrestrained and beautiful sound; no matter how put together they boy has always been, his laughs were always the realest sound to exit his mouth. He laughs as if the sound forces itself out of his mouth, muted only by a hand against his lips, seemingly impossibly enthused by whatever it is Minghao had just said. 

You can’t help the way your stomach knots, can’t stop yourself from letting your arms wind around your knees as you push your thighs tightly against your chest in an attempt to comfort yourself. A beautiful sound, Chan’s laugh might be, but you find that the sound has never been more tragic and painful bouncing against the walls of your skull. 

You learn a lot of things with the rush of alcohol coursing through veins and bodies; questions growing bolder and answers uninhibited. The new pair of boys were foreign exchange students, they tell you; Jun fresh out of school and Minghao in the middle of his studies to become a photographer. You wonder if Minghao is one of those artistic types, if he sees photo opportunities even in the face of death and cruelty. 

You learn that it’s possible to stop the virus – whatever it is making people into thoughtless killing machines – from spreading; the evidence of it clear and blatant in your new, gangly companion. You don’t know if it’s the dread at the mental image of a desperate and panicked Jun sawing off his best friend’s arm that’s worse, or if it’s the guilt of the what-if’s and the echo of Soonyoung’s scream that really breaks you. 

It’s only when Jeonghan’s gaze drifts over to yours, contemplation visible in the shadowy lines of his face as he gets up on unsteady feet and walks over to wordlessly sit down next to you that you notice you’re crying. You haven’t spoken a word to each other yet, haven’t acknowledged any of the stiffness or the awkwardness that hangs between you, but the long haired man pulls at your shoulder, sneaks his arm around your back, and the quiet comfort, the significance of it makes you crumble. 

There’s a big chance one of, if not all of you, will be dead in the not so distant future. What point is there, really, in clinging to old feelings or grudges? You let yourself be embraced, let your head fall against Jeonghan’s shoulder, and you cry. With a hand pressed tightly against your lips, careful not to alert Chan – the younger boy finally smiling as if the world was not ending, laughing as if he doesn’t have a worry in the world – and you cry. You’re not sure what you’re crying over, what you’re not crying over; it all blurs together until the only distinct feeling is Jeonghan’s hand pressed against your shoulder, the only sound you can make out are his even, steady breaths. 

He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, no calming sounds or reassurances. For that, you’re thankful. He remains wordless and solid against your side, fingers occasionally pressing into your skin as if to ease out knots and soothe stress. His free hand lies fisted in his lap and his sight is intently staring ahead, observing the three other boys partake in a bizarre, made up drinking game.

You exhale; the sound sharp and the huff of air making the strands of Jeonghan’s hair tickle against your face. Suddenly you feel absolutely empty; you wonder if it’s possible to literally cry out emotion.

“You should cut your hair,” you murmur into the air, your mouth feeling like it’s full of something sticky and gooey that makes it difficult to produce coherent sentences. You feel Jeonghan’s head move in your direction, feel his chin against your forehead. It’s a strange sort of deja-vu that might have felt electrifying had you not been so emotionally tired. “It’s too easy to grab.” 

As if to accentuate your point, you tug at the ends of his hair. Jeonghan’s fingers dig into the rounded edge of your shoulder, and your whole upper body moves with his deep inhale. You feel his heartbeat vibrate through your body. 

“Okay,” he replies in a rush of an exhale. Somehow you feel like you haven’t heard his voice in years. His voice sounds like something new, something foreign. “Okay,” he repeats, rubs absentmindedly at your arm. “You cut it then.”

There’s still a lot of unsaid things between you, things you want to talk about and things you’d rather forget entirely. You haven’t talked about why you left in the first place, long before any of this horror even started, or the hurtful words he’d flung at you just earlier that day. Everything feels fragile; like you’re holding a dangerously thin thread between you, trying not to make it snap. It’s enough, for now, the attempt. You close your eyes, body heavy and head spinning. 

“Okay.”

---

You think that will be it, that your semi-conversation will just be yet another one in the long line of not-quite-sober conversations that the two of you silently agree to forget. Keeping things cordial and pleasant with Jeonghan has always been a sort of dance; with practice and not a few almost-failures you’ve become quite good at following his steps and avoiding stepping on his toes. 

Jun tells you he’ll take first watch, looks at you in a way that makes you want to swipe at your cheeks; his edges softened maybe by sympathy or maybe by the amount of alcohol he’s been drinking. Even with only three arms between the two of them and the grime and guts dried into the fabric of their clothing, it’s blatantly apparent that Jun and Minghao have not yet experienced death in such an up-close and personal way as you. Minghao lies on his side right by his companion, his face barely illuminated by the dying fire. Chan fell into his tent two hours ago. You can hear his soft snores as you pass.

For a moment you consider staying up, consider sitting in silence with Jun by the fire and listen to the others sleep. Somehow the thought of lying in the darkness of a tent that used to belong to your father makes your stomach churn, makes you want to throw up. 

But Jun looks like the kind of guy who cares too much, and that’s the thing that urges you to bid the two remaining awake boys goodnight and retreat into your tent. 

You’ve almost fallen asleep when the entrance to the tent unzips again and someone enters. You jolt up, skin itching and sizzling with the ever-present fear that tugs at your nerves. Jeonghan stares back at you, caught, the fabric of the tent clutched tightly in his balled fist. 

“Chan snores,” he offers stiffly as an explanation, but does not move to fully enter the tent. For a sleep-addled moment, you just stare, squinting against the darkness to make out his features. Jeonghan has always been a beautiful boy; full lips and defined features making him the envy of boys and girls alike. Somehow it looks like he’s become duller, his face bleaker and less refined, hair a tangled mess in a tight bun at the back of his head. 

Jeonghan waits, standing awkwardly at the entrance of the tent. You see his gaze divert to the side, in the direction of the still crackling campfire. Your mind sets back into gear and you scoot over, press yourself as far into the side of the tent as you can, wordlessly signaling for Jeonghan to come inside. 

He puts as much space as he can between you, tension thick and heavy over the two of you as you try to ignore the stinging feeling of familiarity. You try to remember the last time you slept in the same space, the last time it was just the two of you together. You find that everything before the outbreak seems blurred, far away. 

“Good night,” Jeonghan murmurs, and when you finally allow your body to relax enough for your mind to drift out of consciousness, sleep remains a black, dark and silent thing. No nightmares.

---

Even with the tangles and knots that have taken residence in Jeonghan’s long, bleach blonde hair, the strands are soft and silky between your fingers. It feels like an oddly intimate thing, pulling at his hair and staring intently at the back of his neck. Jeonghan tries not to complain when you yank too hard at a particularly difficult knot, but you can see the tense arch of his broad shoulders, hear the grunts that seem to echo into the silence of the morning. 

Minghao watches with bemused interest from his seat by the now-dead fire, an almost cat-like, barely there grin toying with his lips. The knife feels heavy in your hand, and the thought of what you’re about to do makes you queasy. It’s strange, how it can feel like such a big and monumental thing, in the midst of all the fucked up shit that’s going on. How cutting someone’s hair can feel like the most important thing, even with Minghao struggling to pack his back with his one arm, clearly in view right in front of you. 

“It’ll probably look a bit,” you cock your head to the side, let your fingers tangle into his light locks and look for a word that doesn’t sound as alarming as the ones that run through your mind. Awful, weird, strange. “Uneven,” you settle on, ignoring the way Minghao scoffs. 

“Please,” Jeonghan mutters, with a tone of voice that almost makes you tingle with how Jeonghan it sounds. “I remember how Soonyoung–” he stops, as if he catches himself almost revealing his deepest secret. Your first reaction is to close your fingers tightly around his hair, heart thudding at the mention of your friend. You think about a boy with blue tips and hair so dry it looked about ready to fall off due to excessive bleaching. The memory of his mother’s absolutely horrified expression upon seeing your sloppily done haircut on her son had been, for many years, something retold in between laughs and large gulps of alcohol stolen from liquor cabinets. “I’m sure the zombies won’t mind an uneven haircut,” Jeonghan finishes tightly. Minghao seems to be suddenly intensely interested in the laces of his shoes. 

You exhale, bite down on your bottom lip. The shittiest thing of it all is that you can’t grieve, can’t keep clamming up with the mere mention of Soonyoung or of Vernon or any of the other friends you’ve more than likely lost to this horrible outbreak. The feeling threatens to overcome you, but you know that you have to push it back. Chan already grieves enough for all of you combined, and someone needs to remain collected. It’s a tempting thought to leave that responsibility to Jeonghan. Distantly, you hope it’s a burden you can learn to carry together. 

“Right,” you murmur, bring the knife to his hair. Better to just be done with it.

---

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan murmurs three days later, drags absentminded fingers through his choppy, short hair as he watches Jun fiddle with the tent plugs. He looks, at best, suspicious. You can’t really blame him, your nails digging into the flesh of your crossed arms. It sounds too good to be true; this tale the two boys have told you about a fort, a safe haven to the east. A place with tall walls and canned food, whispers and murmurs of safety being what had spurred Minghao and Jun in that direction when they chanced upon you a mere few days ago. Evidently, Jeonghan agrees. “It sounds a bit risky.” 

Minghao awkwardly adjusts the strap of his bag, cocks his head to the side. You hear the muscles in his neck crack. “So what? You’re just gonna stay here forever? Without guns or food to last for more than a few weeks?” He’s right, of course. The nights are getting longer, colder, and for all intents and purposes it’s a miracle that the zombies haven’t already found you, haven’t heard Chan’s loud laughs or smelled the fire that roars all through the night. 

“They’re right,” Chan says, echoing the tiny voice inside your head. Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the boy has gotten so attached to the two foreigners already, but it still stings how quick he is to take their side. He kicks at the ground. “We can’t stay here. We need to find other people. There might already be a cure for all we know.” You frown. It’s obvious that the three boys have already been talking about this. You glance over at Jeonghan, try to read his expression. 

The boy in question exhales, a sound of resignation. He tries to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, seemingly not quite used to his new, shorter hairdo. The blond curl bounces back against his cheekbone and Jeonghan bites at his bottom lip. He makes eye contact, and something inside you seems to dislodge; there’s something familiar in his gaze, something soft and uncertain that reminds you of something simpler, something that had seemed so complicated at the time. You chew at the inside of your cheek, shrug helplessly. 

The three boys are right, because of course they are. You have become stagnant in your little camp, isolated from the rest of the world and resigned to some sort of fake sense of peace and quiet that is bound to shatter sooner rather than later. Jeonghan frowns. 

“Fine,” he mutters, bends over to tug expertly at the tent plug Jun was struggling with. “Let’s get going, I guess.”

---

Days bleed into each other; daylight spent walking and walking until your feet drag and your muscles ache, nights spent hurriedly putting up tents and sleeping in shifts. There’s a fear that tugs and pulls at the back of your mind; the lack of knowledge about what you’re seeking, where you’re going, how long you’ll have to keep going. You haven’t dared to ask, but you can’t even be sure that you’re going in the right direction, don’t know which way is which. 

Chan massages the back of your neck as you sit in front of a small, unassuming fire made of thin sticks of wood and dry moss. Jun sleeps with his head leaning against Minghao’s shoulder, Jeonghan stares up at the stars twinkling in the pitch black sky. No one really has the energy to speak. 

Jeonghan becomes a sort of permanent companion during your few hours of rest. You’re not sure when it started; if it has been that way ever since your first shared night back at your first camp or if it happened after you started traveling again, but you do know that slowly the distance is closing. 

He keeps his back to yours the first night, tucked into the soft wall of the tent as if he couldn’t stomach the chance of being touched. The second night, he’s a bit closer, his body a bit less tense and his breath evens out into light snores quicker. The fourth or the fifth time, you feel his back against yours; only barely, only slightly and seemingly not on purpose. The simple contact makes your head spin, makes it feel like all air has been sucked out of the small tent. 

You’ve lost count of the days when at last he doesn’t turn away from your body when he lies down, instead choosing to lie facing your back. The back of your neck tingles, shivers running down your spine every time one of his unhurried, careful breaths his your skin. Suddenly, the tent seems like nothing but a tiny box, too tight and too close around you. There’s something at the tips of your fingers that tells you to turn around to look at him; behind your closed lids you imagine what his face must look like, but you feel paralyzed. You wonder if he’s looking, if he’s waiting for you to react. 

You don’t. You stay locked in your position with your back turned towards him, and you can’t find the rest to fall asleep before you hear the telltale sound of his soft, even breaths. 

You wake up with an arm slung around your body, with a nose pressed to the back of your neck and you toy with the idea of letting your fingers tangle with his own where they lie splayed over the fabric of your blanket, gently pressed against your stomach. Your heart is hammering violently against your ribcage. You let yourself lie there for a while, listen to the low murmurs of the boys outside the tent talking in quiet tones and low murmurs. For a single, wonderful moment, nothing really matters. Not the zombies, not the ever present possibility of death, not the distant hope of a safe destination. All that matters is the warmth that nestles against your bones, the comfortable lull of Jeonghan’s nose caressing the skin at the back of your neck.

You feel as if something’s changing. The next night you find yourself tucked next to Jeonghan inside the tent – you wonder, idly, if the boys have discussed this agreement at all, and the possibility of it makes the nerves beneath your skin buzz – he barely even hesitates with bringing his arm over your middle, tugs slightly at your body to bring you closer. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any sort of mention towards this new boldness, his fingers merely tightening against your skin when you slip your fingers between the spaces of his own.

Jeonghan has never struck you as a particularly timid boy. The first time you tumbled into bed with him – years, ages, lifetimes ago – it had been without any sort of hesitation or shyness on his part. This; the careful touches and the uneven breaths, the almost reluctant way he leans his head against your shoulder and inhales as if he’s been holding his breath, feels almost like an entirely different person. But then, you suppose, no one really is the person they used to be anymore. 

It’s an all too familiar sort of fear that tugs at your stomach and keeps your eyes open far longer than you intend to; closing only when they sting against the prolonged exposure to the cold air in the tent. Because you know, you recognize the warmth in your chest that seems to flare and flicker with the barest of touches from the beautiful man pressed against your back. You know all too well what it means. 

What you don’t know, of course, is what it means to him.

---

You’re not surprised when you wake up one morning to an empty campsite. The fire must have died out hours ago, not even a hint of heat left in the pile of ashes and burnt wood. From inside the tent next to yours, you hear Chan snoring, and at least that alleviates the panic that pricks at your skin. 

Truth be told, you’d been waiting for the pair of foreigners to take their leave. You’ve heard them murmur among themselves in low tones and unfamiliar words, have seen the glances and unspoken conversations the two of them seem to fall into at times. Honestly, you had expected them to flee days ago.

You stare at the small pile of weapons and rations they seem to have left behind; the rifle Jun had used to shoot the zombies that almost killed you the first time you met, a knife you’ve seen Minghao carry on his belt. A decent amount of ammo and some cans of food. It’s not– it’s not them, it’s not what you wanted, but it is a reminder that getting attached to people in the middle of what might be the end of the world isn’t a good practice. 

Chan tries not to look disappointed when you tell him Minghao and Jun has left. He doesn’t quite manage. 

---

You stumble – almost literally – over Lee Seokmin another four days into your tireless travels towards a place that might not even exist. It feels a bit more hopeless now, without Minghao and Jun to hype the place up. Chan mopes, sighs and frowns, but he seems to have found something – somewhere – to believe in, and he refuses to let himself get dragged into the cynicism you share with Jeonghan. 

In that sense, Seokmin might be exactly what your little trio needs. 

He’s a wonder, really; a tall, inhumanly beautiful boy with a smile that could truly rival the sun. And he smiles– boy, does he smile. He smiles in such a way that you almost forget your surroundings when you look at him, and he sighs in relief when he sees the three of you. He speaks in casual, high tones and rubs the back of his neck as he sits up from his position flat on his back on the ground. 

He doesn’t have a single thing on him, nothing but the clothes his wearing and his bright smile, and maybe you didn’t learn a single thing from Minghao and Jun’s disappearance at all, because the offer to travel together falls out of your mouth before you can even stop to consider. 

Seokmin’s smile widens, and that’s that, you suppose.

---

“I don’t know how he does it,” Jeonghan mutters into the silence of the tent, puffs of breaths making the hair on the back of your neck stand. You twist your body around to face him, squint in an attempt to make out the lines and contours of his face. He looks, from what you can decipher, strangely unraveled; brows tightly knit together and mouth pulled in a deep frown. “Seokmin, I mean,” he clarifies. 

You hum, unable to really open your mind. You know what he means; Seokmin’s good humor about the situation and relentless optimism is so staunch it borders on exhausting. Somehow you get the feeling that Jeonghan isn’t really looking for you to agree. He exhales, a tired and heartbreaking sound, and when he hooks his fingers around your ear, it feels as if he’s trying, desperately, to cling to you without making it an obvious thing. 

”I’m sorry,” he whispers, seemingly out of nowhere. You wonder if he’s talking about your fight right after Soonyoung died, or if he’s talking about how shitty he treated you before you left, years ago. You wonder if he means all of it, or if he’s talking about something else entirely, but you find that it doesn’t matter. That he could be talking about something as inconsequential as that one time, years ago, when he singled you out during never have I ever and you still would have felt the same sort of relief at his apology. 

When you reach out to touch his face, you can’t quite miss how wet his cheeks are. Have you ever seen Jeonghan cry before, you wonder, swipe your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. 

”Jeonghan,” you murmur, surprised to find your voice thick, uneven. He inhales, chokes on air, and the sound makes you want to cry yourself. “Please don’t cry,” you beg him, nonsense words spilling out of your mouth just for the sake of saying anything at all. You lean your forehead against his, clutch at his skin. “If you cry, I’m gonna cry, too.” 

He kisses you, then; hungrily and suddenly and with a fervency that surprises you. Not because you haven’t kissed Jeonghan before, not because you weren’t aware that he hides something fiery and explosive underneath his cold and collected exterior, but because it feels, somehow, like an admission. He presses the palms of his hands against your cheeks, presses against you and pulls you close as if he can’t really help it.

Between open-mouthed kisses, he spills confessions against your lips; whispers about how scared he is, nonsense apologies about things so far into your past you can’t even remember them anymore. 

”I missed you,” he tells you, so honestly it makes you ache. “When you left. I hated you for it.” 

And that, more than anything else, is an admission. You almost tell him you left because of him, because you thought he wouldn’t care. But then his hand comes to rest flat against your stomach, bunches up your shirt to caress your skin, and you forget how to form coherent sentences. He clutches at you as if he’s trying to consume you, and you find that you would let him.

The last time you found yourself in this position, you had found yourself fantasizing about three words. Not too big or significant on their own, but so important, so huge put together. It’s scary how easily they drift to the forefront of your mind as Jeonghan bites at your lip, swipes his tongue against your mouth.

Jeonghan starts holding your hand after that, starts hovering close and kissing your cheeks unapologetically in front of both Chan and Seokmin. Neither look surprised. You try not to think too hard about what that means. 

---

You’ll be the first to admit that you might have become a bit complacent. Too used to quiet nights and too caught up in this new – but not really – budding thing between you and Jeonghan. Maybe that’s why you expect it, when you’re awakened by the sound of a scream that makes you shoot up into a sitting position so fast it makes your head spin. 

Chan, your mind screams, heart thudding so harshly, so loudly against your ribs that it threatens to make you throw up. But no– Chan’s screams are not quite that high in octaves, and you’ll probably never truly forgive yourself for the relief that knowledge brings you. Jeonghan’s grip borders on painful as his nails dig into the flesh of your arm, a low, rumbling curse falling out of his mouth. 

(it’s a mess of cries and flesh and pounding heartbeats against ribs. chan tries to run towards seokmin where he lies on the ground surrounded by brain-dead monsters, and in an ironic change of roles, you’re the one who has to shake him back to reality. chan screams, seokmin screams even louder. jeonghan tugs at your arm, and you run: leaving everything but jun’s rifle behind.)

You must have been half-walking, half-running for at least an hour when Chan finally slows down, murmurs your name in a slow, tired tone of voice. With Jeonghan’s hand clasped tightly, clammy against yours, you come to a halt, look at the younger boy behind you. 

Your heart seems to stop. 

“Oh my god,” you exhale, voice cracking in a way that seems to vibrate through your entire body. Because right there; red and blatantly visible against Chan’s pale and pallid skin on his long and thick neck, is a bite. He breathes, short and hurried as if he knows that he doesn’t have a lot of time left. Jeonghan stiffens beside you, takes a step as if to guard you against the younger boy. Chan drops Minghao’s knife, raises his hands above his head. 

“Jeonghan,” he says, voice low, dragging and serious. He sounds as if he’s not unprepared for the conversation, as if this is a scenario they’ve prepared for. Jeonghan stiffens, his grip on Jun’s rifle tightening. “You have to kill me,” Chan says. You choke, legs not able to keep your weight up anymore.

“We can fix this,” you try, your voice shivering and shaking at every syllable. It’s nothing but empty words, of course, and the way Chan looks at you makes it blatantly obvious that he know it, too. You try to think about Minghao, about his missing arm and pleasant disposition, but even as you do it, you know it’s something entirely different than the bite burning at the base of Chan’s neck. 

Jeonghan takes aim, and your breath seems to shorten, quicken.

“Look away,” Chan orders, voice barely even detectable over the sound of your own, hurried breaths. You shake your head, pretend that you’re not about to lose your fucking mind. You owe him that, at least. 

“I love you,” you tell him, so sincerely and wholeheartedly that it makes your own heart shatter. He tells you, again, to look away. But you can’t. “I love you,” you repeat, cling to Jeonghan as if he’s the only thing left anchoring you to the world. You can’t keep your body from jerking in tune with the sound of the gunshot. Jeonghan drops the rifle, inhales so harshly that it makes you tremble.

And then there’s only the two of you left.

[kosmicsandshoes]

KOSMIC WDYM 3P?? you just dropped a whole ass new au and act like nothing happened?! loredump PLEASE the people need to know

Alright alright alright lmao

It kinda started as me really just wanting an excuse to come up with more alternate character designs, but I did brainstorm it all day and really think about it.

3p, like 2p, is of course another alternate universe. Instead of being a dystopia, 3p is more of a paranormal world in the sense that the things seen in movies like The Blair Witch Project and Texas Chainsaw Massacre happen all too frequently and are normalized to an extent.

Basically, life is a horror movie in the 3p universe, and everyone just kinda has to deal with it.

Since I haven't had the chance to draw the others yet, I won't get into them, but I will explain the 3p big 3.

3p Nogla is the most manipulative of everyone in the group, for better or worse. He puts on the front of being the sweetest, most wholesome man to ever walk the earth and uses his silvery tongue to get people to do his bidding, whether that be to commit vehicular manslaughter or simply allowing him to cut in line. His borderline mystical powers also cause him to become obsessive to a creepy extent. If any one person peaks his interest even mildly, he obsessively stalks them and takes in their every move, and because of his cutesy, charming personality (and his own manipulative abilities), no one ever raises any suspicions. This usually comes to a head in 3p Nogla growing bored of the object of his obsessions, and discarding them one way or another.

3p Terroriser is a strange case. Much like his 1p counterpart, by some manner of the world, he gained sentience. Unlike his t-800 counterpart however, he's a t-900, the 3p universe's midway point between the t-800 and t-1000. He's more equipped to handle the burden of sentience than t-800 Terroriser is, but as a side effect, he's also more susceptible to negative human emotions. Such as flagrant narcissism. He's extremely prideful, and never does anything that he's told to, believing he knows what's right and wrong and everyone else is stupid. This also gives him absolute immunity to 3p Nogla's manipulation abilities.

3p Vanoss is definitely the most odd out of this bunch, and maybe even the whole 3p group. Completely different to both his 1p and 2p counterparts. Due to what can only be described as a series of unfortunate events involving illicit scientific experimentation, 3p Vanoss is not all there mentally. He's much like a feral cat cornered in an alleyway. He's manic and distrusting due to his past. He has a tendency to lash out and scratch and bite if he's too freaked out. His beak is typically tied shut as a result, and his bite seems to be lethal, as the only one who's survived being bitten by 3p Vanoss is 3p Terroriser (this is the canonical explanation as to why his endoskeleton arm is exposed, the bite corroded both his jacket and synthetic skin away). He's quick to anger as well, think like the tasmanian devil; any little thing could set him off, hence why 3p Nogla sticks around. While he's not as easily swayed like the rest of the world, he can still be talked down rather easily.

I hope this is a good explanation for now, I will definitely be doing more with this and making more designs since I just really like it.

[kendelias]

OC HALLOWEEN 2024 → here's a treat!

feat. some of my favorite aus i've seen this month keeping up with the pogues by @nikosasaki rosabella anderson in the blair witch project by @anotherunreadblog tamora snow travels to the future by @manyfandomocs petra müller makes a choice by @ginger-grimm