#Dr Gore – Night of Terrors

[ghostiesnightmare]

Tricks and Treats

Stalker!Ghostface x Reader

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Warnings: Implied non-con, stalking, harassment, nudity, brief descriptions of gore, NSFW

Word count: 2.8K

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The world is a dangerous place. More specifically, Woodsboro is a dangerous place. The almost idyllic scenery that the California town had to offer was a perfect getaway from the bustle of the dense city, but only if you knew where to find it. The small-town charm of the porch-wrapped houses and corner stores had to offer seemed to give off the pleasantries of any other normal town. Yellow school buses shuttled teens to and from school, crowds gathered at the cinema or the occasional concert in town, and life moved at an almost melodramatic pace.

That is, until Casey Becker and her boyfriend were found gutted at the Becker household, their bodies bloated and distorted in a mess of blood, tissue, and bones. The town’s normalcy shattered as gossip swarmed the streets. Tensions rose, and suspicion grew at even the slightest of actions. There was a killer on the loose, and until caught, there was no way to know who or what was coming next.

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The phone rang.

Your eyes shoot open with the sudden intrusion into your dreams. Groaning, you stretched, shoulders popping at the pressure as you glanced at the clock, wishing away the constant blare of the ringtone. The digital clock on the TV mantle almost glared at you in the dim lighting of the living room, 3:43, the witching hour. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you rose from the couch, pulling the blanket closer to your form as you hobbled into the kitchen. Cursing under your breath as you banged into the countertop, you blindly fumbled for the landline. Ripping the phone from its receiver, you brought the object to your ear as you glanced out the window, staring at the abyss of darkness surrounding the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Quirking a brow, you listened closely, trying to discern if you had imagined the ringing in the first place or if you were really awake. You try again.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

A beat. Silence glares back at you. Slightly irritated, you move the phone to your other ear, leaning into the counter further as you awaited an answer.

“Look, it’s late, so whoever you are, call back at a reasonable time next time, okay-” Before you can finish your sentence, you hear it.

A low, dark chuckle cuts through the silence on the other end of the line like a knife. The hairs on the back of your neck raise and a chill shudders down your spine. The almost inhumane noise stiffens your legs and you freeze, jolted out of your sleepy state.

“You’re cute when you’re sleeping.” The voice purrs.

Click!

You almost jump out of your skin as the dial tone screeches into your ear, causing you to drop the phone onto the ceramic tiling of the kitchen counter. The phone clatters loudly as the wiring is pulled from the phone, plastic shattering across the kitchen floor, plunging the house into eerie silence once more. You tried to reason with yourself as you shakily picked up the shards of plastic strewn around the kitchen; it had to have been a prank due to the season, horror fanatics terrorizing unsuspecting callers in the middle of the night as Halloween approached. Your eyes flicked to the television, propped up across the house next to your resting place. Recalling the recent events on the news, fear settles into your stomach. Phone calls, Halloween, murder. Shuffling back to the couch, you hid beneath the layers of your blankets, the red of the clock still piercing the darkness.

Suddenly you feel much less convinced.

————

After your terrifying night time encounter with a “prank caller”, you assumed they would lose interest and the calls would die out as the days went on. You replaced the family receiver, started sleeping in your room, and moved on with your life. Except the calls wouldn’t stop. All well within the night, all when your parents were away, all with new terrifying details that plagued your dreams as you tried to brush them off. What started off with heavy breathing turned into creepy comments about your routine, personalized attacks, and depraved fantasies of gutting you like a fish. You began taking sleeping pills and drinking coffee to try and take back the hour that the anonymous bully had carved out of your nightly schedule. School started to feel like a crime scene, with you scrutinizing every classmate that looked at you through dark eyebags. You even considered going to the police to have a sense of peace when sleeping. Yet every night, you knew that he would be waiting for you as you drifted off, with even more sickening calls to startle you awake.

You began to wonder if he, you assumed it to be a he due to his rough language and sickening fantasies borderlining a psychopath regarding your looks and sleeping habits, got off to it. The thought of terrorizing a high school student while they slept might be his way to invoke some sick pleasure onto himself. You tried not to think about what he was doing when he rasped things about what your insides felt like or how you would sound while he was killing you. In a sense, he was killing you; your sense of security and privacy in your own home was shattered and you lived your life in a state of petrified terror, not trusting anything or anyone. Things started to go missing around your room; a pair of socks went missing from your dresser. Then a bra, then panties, then your toothbrush, each coming with their own methodical taut in the later hours.

“No wonder you shiver in your sleep, you never wear any socks; poor girl.”

“Looking for something, doll?”

“Lace panties? You dirty slut. I knew you were a filthy whore.”

It was a never ending nightmare.You began distancing yourself from your friends, scared that you might inject them with the perverse state you were constantly engulfed in. Grades started to slip as you dozed off in class, relishing in the few moments you had to sleep in peace. And yet, it only continued to get darker as time went on. Students dropping like flies, investigators and reporters swarming the streets, a mandatory curfew. As the clock ticked closer to All Hallows Eve, you prayed that everything would die down and you would finally return to your normal life. The one thing you had to look for was the lack of trick or treaters expected on Halloween due to the curfew, meaning a night truly to yourself. You could only hope that your eerie stalker had better things to do than to plague your night once more.

————

“Your wife has such a beautiful neck…”

Rolling your eyes at the television screen, you continued to watch the black and white movie while eating popcorn, basking in the solace that that night has so far offered you. The phone, although perched menacingly on the kitchen countertop, remained silent as you binged old horror movies and munched on snacks. You felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, soaking up the silence which was only interrupted by the occasional scream and tense music emitting from the television. You were right, you had endured the pranks and taunts until Halloween, but tonight was about you. You were free from the incessant calls and late night scares, and were finally at peace with the quiet of your home.

Yawning, you stretched, reaching into the popcorn bucket and finding it empty. Groaning, You rose from the couch and padded over to the kitchen, placing the tupperware into the sink before reaching into the counter to grab a glass. Turning on the faucet, you filled up your glass and placed it beside you, items in the sink clattering around as you washed the tupperware before drying your hands. Turning back to the living room, you paled.

The television was off.

Not off, per say, but a blank wall of static stared back at you, the fuzzy outline almost burning into your eyes as you stood frozen in the kitchen, clammy hands grasping your glass. Eyeing the television warily, you blindly fumbled around behind you, pulling a kitchen knife from the block. Creeping forward, you set the glass down and held the knife within both of your hands, jutting it out in front of you as you entered the living room. Feet hitting the rug, you stumbled slightly, gasping as you tripped clumsily, eyes never leaving the television. Reaching the couch, you grabbed the remote and flicked the television off. Silence fell upon the room once more, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Ding!

You audibly screeched, head whirling towards the front door as you blindly whipped the knife in a sweeping notion, almost spinning out due to the force. A chorus of children’s laughter was heard as you barely made out tiny silhouettes fleeing the scene. Even during a mandatory curfew, kids will always find a way to cause trouble on Halloween. Trying to calm your rapid breathing, you let the knife drop to your side. It’s just paranoia, these past few weeks have taken a toll and you were jumping at anything that could give you a scare. There’s no one out there, it’s just the Halloween spirits scaring you.

Walking to the front door, you made sure it was locked before peering through the window. Vacant nighttime streets greeted your vision, with the faint glow of jack-o-lanterns adorning the steps of every other house. Through the door, you could hear a faint breeze wafting through the neighborhood, the only sound besides rustling leaves. You were definitely alone, no boogeyman waiting around the corner to snatch you, no faceless caller to disturb your sleep and terrorize your dreams. Sighing in relief, you went to the living room and kitchen, turning the lights off as you headed upstairs. You were in desperate need of a shower, wanting to feel your nerves melt away under the hot water and finally rest assuredly under the covers of your bed. Giving one last look at the lower level of the house, you crept up the stairs to your room, leaving your water glass on the counter without a second thought.

The glass sat on the ceramic tile of the counter next to the phone, half empty.

————

Rummaging through your dresser, you searched for comfortable yet festive sleepwear for the evening, and settled for a pair of black shorts and a baggy t-shirt, the smiling face of a ghost in a pumpkin patch winking back at you. Clutching the items to your chest, you scurried into the connected bathroom, setting your clothes on the closed toilet seat before whisking the shower curtain open. Turning the crank of the shower, you stripped out of your movie-night clothes, which were flaked with popcorn salt and the occasional butter drop. You quickly threw the clothes outside of the bathroom door, which unceremoniously landed in a clump on the floor of your bedroom. Feeling the water with your hand, you stepped into the shower and whisked the shower curtain closed, sighing as you felt enveloped by the scalding water.

You needed this, a calm, relaxing shower and a good night's rest after the hellish week that you could now proudly say was behind you. Grabbing your soap bar, you lathered away at your skin, envisioning scrubbing the stress away and watching the suds rinse down the drain. You shampooed your hair, humming the tune of the most recent horror film you watched as you let the water cascade down your hair. You thought about your evening, silently scolding the damsel in distress and replaying scenes in your head. You however, were free from any monsters that night. Smiling, you rubbed the conditioner in your head, continuously humming. A split second creak made you pause, and you listened for any noise. When not hearing anything else, you resumed your actions, finishing your routine before turning the water off. Steam pooled out of the shower and hung heavy in the air as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your form. Padding over to the mirror, you brushed your hair, squeezing any remaining water out of it before washing your face and brushing your teeth. Ready to change, you turned towards the toilet to grab your clothes, confused when you spotted nothing there. Peeking your head outside the bathroom door, you spotted your clothes folded neatly on your bedspread.

Rolling your eyes at your forgetfulness, you pushed open the bathroom door the rest of the way and reached for your clothes. Black shorts, black panties, and a t-shirt… did you grab panties? Shuffling around, you dropped your towel, holding the panties up, slipping them up your legs. You were clearly in need of a good night's sleep, and tugged on your shirt and shorts. Stretching, you turned to close your bedroom door, doing the same to the bathroom door. As you turned back to the bed, you noticed your forgotten clothes scattered on the floor. Bending to pick them up, you looked at the alarm clock on your nightstand. The clock seemed to taunt you, giving a slight warning with the digital numbers 3:25 staring back at you. Scooping up your clothes, you headed towards the closet, opening one of the doors to throw your clothes in the hamper.

A hand grabbed your wrist.

A scream ripped out of your throat, and you tried to wrench your way out of its grasp, but it held your wrist like a vice. The black glove dug into your skin, and tears immediately spilled down your cheeks as you wrestled with the figure in the closet. An arm emerged, then a torso, and finally the black eyes of a mask met yours. You paled, frozen at the spot while gaping at the soulless eyes that stared back at you. The frozen look of terror on the mask echoed your own, and you felt a sob bubble from your chest. That mask, the same they found at the crime scene of Principle Hembry. The one that had the entire town bubbling with fear and suspicion.

Ghostface.

He cocks his head at you, pulling you forward by your wrist, wrapping his other around your throat. Tears spill from your cheeks onto his glove, and he removes his hold on your wrist to pull your hair back, forcing your gaze to meet his once more.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. It’s just another nightmare.

“Cat got your tongue?” He purrs, shoving you back by the throat, causing you to stumble backwards, tripping over your bed and landing unceremoniously in a heap on the sheets. You scramble upwards, screaming in terror, sobs racking your body.

“P-please don’t hurt me, oh my god plea-” He grabbed your ankle, pulling you towards him as he scrambled on top of you, wrestling you back down on the bed.

“Shut the fuck up, unless you want me to slit that pretty throat of yours then be quiet.” He seethed, pinning your hands above your head. Reaching into his robe, your eyes are met with the very long, very sharp blade of a knife. You feel like you could pass out from the fear consuming you. Terrified, your eyes flick to his own, silently begging him not to kill you. He chuckles at the look on your face, that same laugh seared into your nightmares and causing a tremor of fear to tickle down your spine.

“Don’t worry… I won’t kill you…” He cocks his head at you again, pressing his weight onto you almost painfully. You wheeze at the pressure.

“Not yet anyways. Now, let’s see how much of a good girl you really are.” He croons, and the realization of the situation dawns on you. All those calls, all those threats and taunts, yet here he is in your room, ready to make your worst fears become a reality. Writhing beneath him, you squirm desperately to try and free yourself. Growing tired of your relentless fighting, he pushes into your caught wrists, hard. You wince, crying out at the pressure.

“Now, now, this is only fair. You got the trick this Halloween…” He muses, trailing the knife up your t-shirt, effectively cutting away at the fabric. You wince as the blade knicks you, opening little cuts along your skin as he cuts your protective layer away. Dropping the knife at your side, he rips away the rest of the fabric. You can feel his eyes roam your skin hungrily, and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying this is all another nightmare. His hand finds your chin, forcing you to stare into the void of his eyes. Leaning forward your forehead touches the cool plastic of the mask, and for the first time you hear his voice for what it really is.

“...that means I get this nice, little treat.”

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A/N: this is my first fic on tumblr, so let me know your thoughts or if you have any comments or requests! DM me and I’d me happy to chat

[thecreaturecodex]

Skelm, Soul

Image © Paizo Publishing, accessed at Archives of Nethys here

[Hey! A new monster! I am feeling a bit more rested and rejuvenated after my long hiatus. I'm still only planning on releasing one or two new monsters a week, but I feel much more motivated to write now, and think I've worked out why my block has been what it is.

The soul skelm is the last and most powerful of the skelms in PF2e's Bestiary 3, and I like that it has a similar ability to the weakest, the street skelm. I wonder if all four of them had a "X Strike" ability at some point in development. I added some more spell-like abilities to play into their "bullying the dead" flavor text.]

Skelm, Soul CR 10 LE Outsider (native) This humanoid male has translucent gray skin and a rack of antlers. His face is contorted into an expression of mock agony and terror.

Soul skelms are among the most powerful of skelm-kind, and are some sort of occult parallel to night hags. Unlike the more metaphysical connection between night hags and mortal hags, soul skelms are a further transformation, and can form from any kind of skelm. A soul skelm is one that has completely abandoned its original personality and mortality for pure hatred and ambition. Soul skelms are especially feared because their cruelty does not stop when their victims die. A soul skelm continues to bully the souls of their victims, calling them from the grave to interrogate them as to the weaknesses of their friends and loved ones, and using them to invigorate their withered flesh. Soul skelms do not have a natural lifespan; they only die through violence or misfortune, and many of their souls immediately go on to reincarnate as rakshasas, asuras or oni.

Soul skelms enjoy using the undead as tools, and often collect a region’s undead under their banner, using bribes, threats and magic if the first two fail. Soul skelms are even more isolationist and paranoid of their fellow skelms as other varieties are, and rarely associate with them except as part of a plan to get their lesser killed. Soul skelms delight in breaking apart group unity and cohesive tactics, using illusions to separate each of their victims into a solipsistic reverie before picking them off one by one. They prefer spiked chains, whips, or other ostentatious, showy weapons.

Soul Skelm CR 10 XP 9,600 LE Medium outsider (native) Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 24, touch 14, flat-footed 20 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +10 natural) hp 126 (12d10+60) Fort +9, Ref +11, Will +13; -2 vs. emotion effects DR 10/cold iron; Immune death effects, possession

Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 spiked chain +19/+14/+9 (2d4+10/19-20), gore +13 (2d6+3 plus trip) or slam +18 (1d4+6), gore +13 (2d6+6 plus trip) Special Attacks bully the departed (7/day), isolating strike Spell Like Abilities CL 10th, concentration +17 (+21 casting defensively) At will—dimension door, ghost whip, invisibility, silence (DC 19) 3/day—call spirit (DC 22), command undead (DC 19), inflict critical wounds (DC 21) 1/day—entrap spirit (DC 22), greater oeneiric horror (DC 21), mind probe (DC 21), plane shift (self only, Material and Astral Planes only)

Statistics Str 23, Dex 17, Con 20, Int 16, Wis 20, Cha 25 Base Atk +12; CMB +18 (+20 disarm, trip); CMD 32 (34 vs. disarm, trip) Feats Alertness, Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, Dodge, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (spiked chain) (B), Improved Critical (spiked chain) (B), Improved Disarm, Improved Trip Skills Bluff +17, Climb +16, Disguise +17, Intimidate +21, Knowledge (arcana, local, nobility, religion) +10, Perception +17, Sense Motive +17, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +13 SQ change shape (Medium male humanoid, alter self), conspicuous combatant, ghostly grasp, skelm traits

Ecology Environment any land or urban Organization solitary Treasure standard (+1 spiked chain, other treasure)

Special Abilities Bully the Departed (Su) As a move action, a soul skelm can call upon the souls of his victims to invigorate himself. Until the end of his next turn, he gains regeneration 15 (force, good), and deals an extra 1d6 points of damage with all his melee attacks. During this time, his melee attacks count as evil for the purposes of overcoming damage reduction and regeneration. A soul skelm can use this ability a number of times a day equal to his Charisma modifier. Conspicuous Combatant (Ex) A soul skelm gains Exotic Weapon Proficiency and Improved Critical for one exotic weapon of his choice. Ghostly Grasp (Su) A soul skelm’s natural weapons, and any manufactured weapons he wields, are treated as being ghost touch weapons for the purposes of interacting with incorporeal creatures. Isolating Strike (Su) As a standard action, a soul skelm can exert himself to make a single powerful attack. When he does, he adds an additional damage die of the same type to the attack, and the creature struck must succeed a DC 23 Will save. If they fail, they are invisible, inaudible and otherwise completely imperceptible to their allies for the next 4 rounds, and their allies are likewise invisible, inaudible and completely imperceptible to them. Regardless of whether it succeeds or fails, that creature is immune to that soul skelm’s isolating strike for the next 24 hours. The save DC is Charisma based, and this is an illusion effect. After making this attack, the street skelm is treated as being flat footed until the beginning of its next turn. Skelm Traits (Ex) All skelms gain a +4 racial bonus to Intimidate checks, but a -2 penalty to all saving throws against emotion effects.

[dingbatnix]

Rest

Deity (part 1)

So I got to thinking one day, about how everything would have effected Goggs, Sapnap, Karl and Dream after the events of Deity. I mostly wanted to focus on George, cause honestly? He's more fun to write when he's freaking out, and I wanted to mess with the dynamic that is 'Dream is XD,' i.e., Dream is a god and doesn't know how humans work, but he's trying.

Also, I might have gone too heavily into the, 'George is freaking out o gosh,' but idk. The fic grew its own legs.

It's not g/t or anything btw.

Anyway, I think that's enough rambling. Onto the fic!

Word Count: 5,513

Warnings: Fear, Flashbacks, Panick Attacks, I think low-level PTSD/trauma, descriptions of gore, injuries, ectcetera ectcetera.

There had to be at least twelve zombies stumbling after him. Now, normally, they wouldn’t have been a problem for George to handle, (he was an excellent swordsman, and an even better bowman) but as of right now, he was running on about three and a half hours of sleep. The last time he’d rested in any sort of meaningful manner was well over a week ago, and that was only because he had knocked back a weakness potion strong enough to lay a ravager out flat.

Sure, his friends were worried about the possibility of him overdosing on potions (he’d be fine, he only ever drank them on the really bad nights!) And sure, maybe it was an unhealthy way for him to combat the near-constant night terrors, but what else was he going to do!? Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Sapnap’s fear-stricken face disappearing behind a jagged black maw, all he could hear were his own screams of terror mixing with his friend’s, all he could feel was the slick, oily flesh closing around him as he plummeted down, down, down to where he could hear Sapnap’s shuddering cries of despair far below him. It had been months, and he still couldn’t get away from the vivid, mind-crushing images of his death. Not-death. Whatever.

George ducked beneath the rotting hand of a zombie as it swung clumsily at his shoulder, stumbling over his own feet and barely managing to dodge the swipe of another undead hand. He raised his sword and brought the blade down through a pair of brittle knees, sending one of the zombies crashing to the ground.

While he still felt sluggish, he hadn't lost too much of his motor control, and he was still able to defend himself. Unfortunately, he was quickly losing steam in this seemingly endless fight.

George had been exploring the land around the edges of his, Sapnap’s, and their other friend Bad’s house in a desperate attempt to evade the cold, grasping claws of sleep when he had been ambushed by an enormous congregation of mobs. He had some armor on, thank the Go…thankfully, an iron chestplate and a helmet that he had snatched up out of a random chest before he left the house, but it wasn’t enough to really defend against the amount of gnashing jaws and greedy fingers chasing after his flesh.

He had taken out a lot of them, but their numbers would have overwhelmed even Dr—Sapnap, and while George was normally up to par with his arsonistic friend, the sleep deprivation was getting to him, grasping at his limbs with clinging, sticky tendrils and tripping up his every step.

A sudden, heavy snap jarred his entire left arm and shoulder, and he stared in dismay at the jagged, broken line splitting his sword in half clear down to the crossguard. He continued to wield it anyway, unwilling to drop his only weapon, and it lasted through several heavy hits until the bisected blade shattered in a spray of shrapnel. George dodged the shower of sharp metal with a fervent cry, scrunching his eyes shut and scrambling backwards.

In the back of his mind, he heard a horribly familiar, horribly fond voice telling him that it was terribly dangerous to go exploring at night without backup, and that George should let him know if he ever planned to do so. George shivered, pushing the overbearing, seemingly sticky presence away from his mind and tried to focus on the fight.

Rotting fingers snagged on the rim of his chestplate, and he felt more than heard the snap of leather as one of the straps keeping the iron together broke under the sudden pressure of the zombie pulling at it.

Above him, he heard the shriek of a phantom, and then, horribly, the answering call of another. George blinked back the exhaustion stinging at his eyes and shoved at the rotted bodies crowding in and snatching at his limbs. Putrid flesh split under his fingers as he stumbled away, leaving a gross, oily residue on his hands that didn’t quite come off when he swiped his hands against his trousers.

Greedy claws scratched at the back of his neck as he scrambled to run, and he felt his helmet being ripped off by what could only be one of the phantoms following after him from above.

George found himself driven to the top of a cliff. It was relatively small, maybe only about thirty feet high, but there were many, many trees scattered at the base. Some of the branches reached up near to the cliff’s edge, and George warily considered jumping as an escape option. He’d probably break a couple of bones, and at the very worst, be impaled by a stray tree branch, but it'd at least get him away from the slow, shambling force of zombies dogging after him.

His gaze flashed back to the monsters trundling steadfastly behind him, a small line of tension loosening in his shoulders when he saw how far they were. It wouldn’t take them long to catch up, but he had at least a moment of breathing room.

He twisted back around, grateful for the lull in mobs, and stared down at the intimidating drop to the distant ground. If he aimed for that small patch of bushes, maybe, or tried to grab onto that thick branch just a little further to his right—!

Something slammed into his back, screeching against his armor and sending him plummeting face-first off the edge of the cliff. George screamed, flailing as he crashed into the rough upper branches of the trees. Sharp leaves and sticks scratched and tore at his face and clothes, and he had to bring his arms up to shield his face, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to protect them from the painful debris.

A branch caught on his chestplate, slowing him for barely a moment before his weight and momentum had the remaining leather straps holding it together snapping with an awfully final sound. He shrieked, pawing uselessly at the armor that was already high out of his reach as the impact spun him around midair, sending his mind whirling with nausea.

George hit the ground shoulder-first with a harsh whoomph and a gradual puff of dust that drifted away from his body. He cried out, curling inwards as his new injuries rapidly made themselves known. Scratches along his sides and arms and even his neck stung, and various bruises littered all across his body were throbbing in unison. His entire right side was on fire, and he couldn’t tell if any particular part of his side was hurt worse than anything else.

He forced himself to flop onto his back with a choked, muffled scream, the singular movement causing agonized waves to radiate down through his side. He forced down the unwanted tears burning behind his eyes and attempted to suck air into his lungs, mentally counting through the numbers Bad had recently coached him through.

Nothing felt broken, at least, but George was sure that some of his ribs had popped out of place. Every time he tried to breathe in, starbursts of light would fill his fuzzing vision, and a horrendous pain stabbed through the side of his torso, where his ribs were.

He could not move his right arm. The sudden realization froze George in his tracks, and his breath hitched up. The accompanying spikes of pain made it stutter back into a shaky, weak rhythm, but that did little to console his mind.

Either his arm or shoulder was severely dislocated or…severely broken. Either option was very unpleasant for George’s near future. George swallowed, nerves and sudden apprehension drying his throat. If he healed it, it would hurt, but if he left it as it was, it would get worse.

With the trembling fingers of his left hand, he pulled his last, already mostly used-up regeneration potion from his pocket, thankful that it hadn't shattered when he landed, and downed the last few sips remaining in the bottle. He felt something in his right arm crunch back together immediately after, the sudden flash of agony whiting out his vision, but then he could move the limb again, albeit carefully. It didn’t do much for the rest of his wounds, for there was far too little of the potion and he had far too many injuries, but it took enough of the pain’s edge off that he could sit up.

The motion had him gasping in great lungfuls of air, sweat beading along his temples as he pushed through each flare of pain rolling from his ribs. He curled forward and tried to force air into his lungs, wishing he had Bad with him. The demon always knew how to help, be it with panic, or with awful, debilitating injuries.

George bit his lip, trying to distract himself from the throbbing ache pulsing throughout his body. He had to get up, had to get moving. He needed a shelter of some sort, so he could collapse, nurse his wounds, and wait for dawn. Then, he could start making his way back home.

Holding in a whine, he worked himself up to his feet and braced against a tree. The effort it took to stand alone nearly made him black out, and if it weren’t for the support of the tree, he would have fallen back to the ground. George swayed in place, vision spinning in a sickening dance of motion as he breathed deep and slow.

Out of nowhere, he heard the worst sound in the world. The slow, shambling steps of multiple zombies, and even the telltale hiss of a creeper flooded his ears, sending panic and no small amount of despair crashing through his system. Why couldn’t the universe cut him a break? Why did he have to suffer?

Frustrated tears stung at the edges of his vision, and he swung his gaze up to glare at the newest obstacle in his road to survive. Four zombies straggled towards him barely two meters away, and beyond them, the mottled yellow of a creeper slunk, lagging several meters behind.

His fingers curled around the only weapon he could find, a loose piece of bark sticking slightly out from the trunk of the tree he was using for support. He tore it free, managing to break off a piece as long as his forearm and about as wide as his hand, and brandished it at the approaching mobs. If nothing else, he could go out fighting. There was no way he’d survive against four zombies and a creeper in his current state.

Unless…but he shook that thought off. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Just the mere thought paralyzed his throat and made his heart stutter.

As the zombies converged on him, George managed to gut one with the sliver of bark, necrotic flesh tearing open easily under the jagged wood. Intestines spilled out, and then George was being slammed back against the tree trunk, putrid jaws snapping at his limbs and rotten hands scratching at his face. George cried out when teeth fastened themselves into his left elbow, making him lose his grip on his piece of weaponized tree bark. He tried to pull free, horribly aware of the hissing creeper that was steadfastly approaching, but cold, almost completely bone fingers tore at his right bicep, pulling him off balance and nearly sending him to the ground. He yelped, the sudden movement jarring his injuries and making them flare with pain.

Desperation filled his chest, and he realized he only had one, awful option. One awful option that he dreaded, one awful option that might just save his life. He didn’t want his help, though, not at all. He didn’t want to call for him.

…He had to. It was…it was that, or die, and he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to face the void, wasn’t ready to do that to his friends. He wanted to live, even if it meant calling for his worst nightmare. Would it be better than dying to mobs? He didn’t know. He didn’t have time to debate what might happen next, not while he was seconds away from his gruesome end. Sucking in a breath, George did the only thing he could. He called for Dream.

“Dream!” He screamed, viciously fighting and shoving away the decayed fingers that were chasing after his arms and throat. “Dream, please, I need help!” He felt ridiculous, screaming for someone who probably wouldn't even hear him, for someone who might not even care about him, truly care. George didn’t know if Dream was capable of such a thing. How could he? He wasn’t mortal. He was a God. What God would truly, truly care for something so…so insignificant, when compared to what the heavens had to offer?

George tried to push those thoughts away and attempted to focus on breathing past his burgeoning panic. Dream wouldn’t…wouldn’t do that to him, right? Wouldn’t he…?

Suddenly, there was a crack of booming light, and then a dry, staticy wave of heat that had George and his assailants tumbling backwards. He hit the ground with a choked wheeze, skidding several feet over the mossy, leaf-coated ground. Dizziness swirled through his head, and his elbow and ribs and shoulder screamed in agony. Despite the pain, George propped himself up on his side, panting heavily as he tried to process.

The quick, whistling sound of an iron blade dancing through the air reached his ears, and he managed to glance up to see a blur of yellow plowing through the converging mobs. Not even a minute later, the entire group of monsters was disintegrating in the slight breeze that had kicked up, and the golden blur had solidified into a broad, tall shape that was approaching him.

"What are you doing out here? Alone! At night!?" Large hands closed around his bruised biceps, pulling him to his feet, and George suddenly found himself face-to-face with a gleaming white smiley mask. "You know the mobs are more dangerous in the dark! Prime knows how many times I've warned you!"

He had never been more aware of how tall Dream was until this exact moment, when the man–god–was standing a full head-and-a-half over his own skull, towering over him. The grip on his arms was gentle, but firm, and half of George’s focus was on how strong the hands were, on how fast they might turn to bruising and restraining.

He saw the flash of Dream's teeth as the ma–god–spoke but he didn’t hear the words. All he could think of was what might have happened if the gaping black maw he'd been tossed into had had those sharp incisors. An image of his and Sapnap's mangled, crushed bodies, guts and bones and gore spilling from their split skin flashed through his mind, and his breath hitched.

For a moment, George swore he could feel the thick, oily texture of saliva coating his skin.

George shoved out of Dream’s grip, hands burning where they pressed against the blond's chest, and stumbled backwards, nearly falling as his heel caught on a mossy ridge on the ground. His back hit the trunk of a tree, hard, and he found his fingers digging into the ridged bark to ground himself, both against the waves of pain that jarred his body from the impact, and from the realization that Dream was here, physically present, right in front of him.

"Don't–don't touch me," he managed to gasp out, eyes watering as his breath hitched faster and faster. George tore his hands away from the tree bark, clutching at the collar of his shirt and scratching at his throat as he panted. He couldn’t–wasn’t—he couldn’t breathe!

His knees failed him, and he slid down to the ground, rough bark scraping through his shirt and shredding his skin, but he didn’t notice, couldn’t notice, not when his throat felt like it was closing up, not when it looked like the night sky was bleeding down to rip away his vision.

He was aware that Dream was still in front of him, still looming above his head, but the fact was a distant, dull idea that he couldn’t quite grasp, not when it felt like teeth were closing down around his chest, not when he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe—

George could swear he heard Sapnap screaming below him.

“I wouldn’t—I would never hurt you, George. I won't. Ever.” The form in front of him shifted, and then all he could see through the fuzzing cloud of darkness was a wash of bright, nearly fluorescent amber blocking the night air.

Two hands, larger than George's own, reached forward and, so incredibly gently, grasped his trembling fingers between wide palms and pulled them away from his raw, seemingly swollen throat.

“George, hey, hey, can you breathe with me? I think you’re having an attack, c’mon, try to breathe–” The voice was muffled, and George barely noticed it. All he could focus on was the warm, nearly hot hold that entrapped both of his hands. His fingers twitched as the buzzing in his ears increased, burying nearly every other sound present. George couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat. Why couldn't he hear his heartbeat?!

“Hhnnnnnn–” George wheezed, desperately trying to jerk his hands free from the impossibly firm grip. The long fingers curled more securely around the backs of his hands, around his wrists, and two thumbs moved to press against George’s palms.

More words were being said, but he couldn't hear them. It felt like his entire head had been forced down underneath the waters of a violent river, and he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe—no matter how hard George struggled, he just could not shake off the invisible hands forcing his head under the rapids.

His hands were suddenly pressed against something soft, something warm, rising up and down in a gentle swell, and he could feel a steady bup-bump, bup-bump, bup-bump pounding beneath his palms. He latched onto the constant pulse, breath hitching up again in concordance with the sudden, unwavering rhythm.

His fingers curled against the warm fabric, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to focus on the phantom touch of muscles crushing around his body. He forced himself to breathe, shuddery as it was, in tandem with the beat of the heart against his palms.

Bup-bump. Bup-bump. Bup-bump. His chest stuttered, but he pushed on. Four, five, six, seven. Breathe out. He wasn’t in a prison of fleshy death. There was bark pressing into his spine, digging stinging pin-pricks into his skin, leaves and grass crinkling under his legs as they quivered. Two, three, four. Breathe in, ignore the hitched sniffle, and breathe out. There were sounds all around him, the noises of the night crickets and the frogs, the hollow, lonely hoot of an owl, the hushed, hesitant murmur of reassurances and instructions from the presence in front of him, of the body his hands were resting against.

George breathed, and slowly, oh so slowly, gained back control of himself. He kept his eyes closed, unready to face the source of his panic.

He’d had episodes like this, many, many times after the incident. Sapnap had them as well, but not nearly as often, nor as intensely as the brunette did. Bad had coached them both through ways to cope, of ways to bring themselves back to reality after their minds plunged them down into the horrible depths of wet–dark–NO—

It was so, so difficult to do on his own, especially when the cause of his spiral was right in front of him, but he had to get himself under control. He forced his head above the violent waves despite the sheer, paralyzing dread, despite the disquiet that filled him down to his very bones, and gasped for air.

He had to face his problem, had to overcome it, Bad had said. If George let it fester in his mind, it would cripple him, it would eventually kill him, the demon had warned. He’d given George a lot of advice. It was probably time George started taking it. He didn’t want to be like this anymore. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He pried open his raw, puffy eyes, cheeks glistening with the wet of his own tears, and grasped at his blurry vision, forcing his gaze to focus. His fingers tightened, then relaxed, then clenched again as he worked up the will to look. He inhaled, too fast, and coughed, throat sore and body shaking. It’s like ripping off a plaster. He had to do it quick, or else he’d never manage such a daunting feat.

George breathed, and forced his eyes to actually see.

The offensively bright yellow of Dream’s cropped hoodie crossed into focus, blocking most of George’s view, his own trembling hands clutched against the center of the deity’s chest. Large hands clasped his, the thumb of each running soothing circles into the backs of his hands. The god had sunk down to the ground along with George, knees pressed into the mulchy floor of the forest, grass and twigs squashed up against the dark fabric of his trousers.

George risked a glance up at Dream’s face, terrified of what he would see. Would it be the face of his long-time best friend, or…or would it be the face of the deity who had eaten him?

He was afraid, but he forced himself to look anyway. He had to.

The god’s mask was pushed aside, and Dream’s wide, sparkling hazel eyes sought his own. George flinched, immediately avoiding his gaze and instead focusing on the mossy grass crawling along the roots around his knees.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. All he could see was the face of the creature that had nearly not-killed him.

A hand detached itself from the cradle around his own and appeared just under George's chin, one long finger resting under his mandible and tilting his head up. “Hey,” Dream breathed, voice soft, gentle, even. “It’s alright, George. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

George’s back stiffened when his gaze was pulled upwards, and his breath hitched when he finally met Dream’s eyes.

Warm hazel shone, a faint, glittering blue light swirling from behind the amber-tinted irises. They seemed to draw George in, and unconsciously, the tense line along his back released, and his shoulders slumped.

His body felt oddly numb, like he had dosed himself with an intense painkiller. He couldn’t really feel the pain that should have been there from his previously accrued wounds, and a distant, vague part of him was…shrieking in alarm. Why did he feel so calm all of the sudden? He recoiled suddenly, yanking his chin out of Dream’s grasp and tearing his eyes away from the god with a gasp. What the hell was that?

“George, are you…okay?” Dream sounded so concerned. George’s gut clenched, mind reeling, and he chewed at the inside of his lip. No. No, he was not, but the crux of his issues was the god sitting right in front of him. George wasn’t about to tell Dream that he was the reason he was freaking out so badly. What if he got mad? What if he decided to actually…

George cut himself off and decided to ask a question of his own in lieu of answering. He…he was not ready to deal with that particular issue. Whatever spark of courage to confront his problems that had struck him earlier had withered and died, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. So, he deflected.

"Why'd you come?" He croaked, words catching in his raw-feeling throat. He coughed, trying to clear the roughness of his voice. “Why…why are you here, Dr-Dream?”

The god paused at his question, thumb faltering in its rotation on the back of George’s hand as the rest of his fingers tightened slightly in their grip. "You…you called for me? You needed help, George. You were gonna…the mobs would have killed you!”

George’s chest stuttered at the reminder, and he flinched when he bit down too hard on the inside of his cheek. The taste of coppery blood flooded his mouth, and he had to swallow it down with a disgusted grimace so that he could speak.

"I didn't think you'd actually…I didn't think you’d actually come, Dream. Why? Why? I’m just…I’m just. Me.” He swallowed again, sucking in a deep breath of the cool night air through his nose. “And you. You’re a. A God. What—why the hell would you come for me? Why do you care?”

He was crying again, hot rivulets of saltine tears streaming down his face to drip down his jawline. His lips twisted into a wobbly frown, and he wiped a damp cheek off on his shoulder. Dream still had a hold on both of his hands. He didn’t know if he wanted the deity to let go.

Dream’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His face morphed into one of sad surprise, and his shoulders slumped. His fingers jittered across the backs of George’s hands as he worked his jaw, brow furrowed and eyes perturbed. Finally, words escaped his throat, a tone George couldn’t quite identify coloring them.

“I…I'll always, always come when you call, George.” The blond breathed, reaching towards George again with his free hand. He paused and drew his hand back when George flinched, but his fingers still twitched as if they wanted to grasp onto something. “I couldn't live in a world without you." He confessed, voice low and just slightly wavery.

A quiet, muddled “Oh,” was all George could muster in response. He felt…it was like a yawning hole had opened up beneath him, and he didn’t know what to do. What did he say to that? That Dream would always want to be there for him, he could…attempt to understand, but. How did he explain to Dream that the m—god’s mere presence nearly shut down George’s ability to function?

He blinked heavily, trying to clear the misted haze that seemed to settle behind his eyes. He was so tired…

Dream’s face softened, and he slowly reached up to brush a thumb over George's cheekbone, right underneath one of the deep, dark bruises hanging below the brunette's eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

“I…four…four days ago…” George trailed off, his throat closing up as the most recent nightmare leeched back up. He’d been endlessly falling, dropped by the hands of huge, indecipherable shadows. He hadn’t been able to see, and the only thing he could hear had been the laughter. He’d woken up after his body had smashed and split open onto a giant, gold gilt dinner plate.

He jerked his head sharply, breaking away from both the memory and from the gentle brush of touch on his face. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to remember any of it, but it kept coming back. He just wanted everything to be normal again. Was that too much for him to ask?

He finally turned to meet Dream’s gaze, staring the god in the face unflinchingly for the first time since he appeared. His eyes seemed a touch blue-er than they were since George last looked, but that may have been an effect of the sleep deprivation George was suffering from.

The blonde looked worried, and something about his expression pulled oddly at something inside of George’s brain.

What’s wrong, it seemed to say, prodding gently at the back of his mind. Tell me what’s bothering you, and then I can help. It was a vague murmur, a dizzying buzz that clouded his thoughts, and he found himself answering without a single opposing thought.

The words poured out of his mouth, a terrible confession that seemed to rise from his lungs. "I keep reliving—but it's worse, so much worse, because you–you don’t—you—” crush us, you chew us, you kill us–, “and I can't—" It was all too much. He couldn’t—He couldn’t—

George threw himself forward, shoving his forehead against Dream's chest and tangling his fingers deeper into the fabric of the god's hoodie. A long, keening whimper escaped his lips, and a hot stinging intensified behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He’d never had these thoughts about the Dream before. He’d have trusted him implicitly, but now…every time he thought about him, mind-numbing terror would rocket through his bones, and he'd want to vomit. Or cry, and cry, and cry until he felt nothing at all.

Dream's hands met his shoulders, a heavy, warm presence running down along his back, then up again. George couldn’t help the shiver of fear that thrilled through his gut at the contact. If Dream decided that he didn’t want to let go…

“Oh, oh, George,” arms encircled his shoulders, and fingers ran through his hair as George’s breathing stuttered again, warm tears trickling down to soak into the god's hoodie. His hands would be trembling if they weren’t so tightly clenched.

Dream shifted, slow and easy, as he moved to lean his back against the tree trunk George had been pressed against. His arms stayed around the brunette as he adjusted his position, pulling George against his side, instead of sprawled halfway over his chest. George flinched, then forced himself to relax, attempting to loosen the grip he had on Dream’s hoodie. He wasn’t very…successful.

“I’m so sorry, George. I…I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just…I wanted to keep you safe.” Dream confessed, posture slumping against the rough bark of the tree. He sighed, pulling one hand from George’s back to rub at his temples. His face twisted into a grimace, and he glanced up at the night sky through the leaves and branches above them.

"There’s not…I can’t undo what happened. I can’t even stop you from being afraid of me. You…You’re completely justified in that, and I don’t blame you.” Dream’s jaw tensed, the only part of the god’s face that George could see. He tried not to imagine the expression that was decorating the blonde’s face.

Dream continued, seemingly oblivious to George’s strange internal conflicts. “What I can do, though, is help you sleep, if you'll let me."

George startled, at that, and a part of him almost tried to beg at the offer. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, to rest, but he couldn’t. Not when his dreams were so horribly inundated with night terrors and flashbacks.

"You're not going to–to eat me again, are you…?" His voice was hesitant, and it nearly hurt to get the words out. He had to know, though. If that was Dream’s way to help him sleep, then George would bolt, injuries and exhaustion be damned.

The god looked back at him abruptly, eyes wide and brow furrowed, and shook his head viciously. “No, never again, George. I’m not gonna—I won’t do that to you again.” He breathed out a slow huff of air and gently moved a hand over the brunette’s shoulders.

“O–okay, then. Fine.” George mumbled, dropping his gaze from Dream’s. He caught the bright edge of the god’s pleased expression in his peripherals, and tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

"Just lay down, alright? I'll help you sleep. I’ll keep all of the nightmares away."

Dream guided George's head down to rest against his legs, disentangling the brunette’s fingers from his sweater and helping him sprawl on his back over the mossy grass. George had a perfect view of the god's face, framed by the shadowed silhouettes of the leaves above, and, sprinkling through the gaps, the glittering stars of the night sky.

The distant shriek of a phantom sounded high above them, far beyond the trees, and George shrank back against the ground, alarm buzzing through his veins. He pulled his hands up to his chest, fingers tangling together as his nerves jarred though his system. "What…what about the mobs?"

"They won't bother us. I'll keep them away." One of Dream's hands reached down to rest over George's fidgeting digits, while the other rose up to brush the hair away from his eyes.

"Just sleep, George. I'll keep you safe, alright?” The god’s voice washed over him, drawing him deeper into the darkness of the night, and he couldn’t help the overwhelming wave of drowsiness that poured through his body. George’s eyes slipped closed, the afterimage of Dream’s luminescent blue irises fading behind his own eyelids.

His muscles untensed, and he felt…calm. His jittering, pounding heart eased to a slightly-rapid stutter, and the anxious, gut twisting rush that had plagued him for the last several hours drained away. A warmth spread over his entire body, and he couldn’t feel the pain of his wounds anymore.

It didn't feel…natural, but George was too far gone to really care. He was so tired…

So, so tired.

Taglist!!

@brick-a-doodle-do @i-am-beckyu @da3dm @kayla-crazy-stuffs @local-squishmallow @skullsnbruises @munchkin1156 @gt-daboss

[danicadenniss]

DreamWorks Trolls

Branch: Troll Of The Wildglade

Chapter 9: Call Of The Night

In Trolls Brotherhood AU, after Branch is injured by David Kane/The Black Manta, while they were rescue by the Alpha Sapphire, Harriet healing him for his strength, Poppy remembered she got punished by her father for touching the elephants and caused a chaos, in the Wildglades. Branch remembered his mother comfort him, since he was a baby, since his father's sacrifice himself to save his family from threat. Warning: this is going to be violent, blood and gore.

That night, Branch had a little trouble sleeping inside his tent, especially when he's hearing a scream from the other trolls, he walked out of the tent. He walked slowly, he saw the trolls scream in horror, the dogs barking at them and the forest were set on fire.

The troll: No! Please! (cried out in a desperate tone as the wolf dug it's fangs deep into his throat.) AAHHHH!

Branch: No...no,no,no,no...this...this can't be happening! (looking up at Dante Reyes and his hunters captured the trolls, and cutting down the forest.)

Dante Reyes: OHHHHHHHH! Troll, it's time to destroy the trees and burn down the forest. (The forest were captured in flame, Branch gasped)

Bounty Troll Hunters #1: We found him! (The trolls screaming in terror, their hairs turned white as they running in horror, Arthur Slugworth and his partners used their butterfly nets,they're caught them, grabbed them and they put them in a giant maroon bag.) They're in the bags.

Troll #1: No! Don't hurt us! Please! Don't hurt me! Please!

Troll #2: Please! I don't want to die!

Branch: Let's them go! (Opened his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at Ignacio in horror, Ignacio Carapax with an evil smile, his eyes wide and breath heavy.)

Ignacio Carapax: (clapped his hands with an evil laugh) It's the only way...

Alder run to see him, he is captured by Dante Reyes with his knife. He stabbed his head, he then pulled his knife out of his head, he threw him at him, the dog sunk it's fangs deep into his throat, the dog growling fiercely as Branch indeeply is shocked to see his mother and his grandmother are found dead.

Branch: Mom! Grandma! No! Please, no! You are a monster! You killed my mother and my grandmother! Just my father! (The hunters laughing wickedly, he sobbing in fear, before everything faded to back.) NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Branch: AHHHH! (screamed as he jumped up in his tent, sweat pouring down his face as he panting heavily, looking around himself in complete panic...) It...it was just a bad dream. (Sobbing, his heart still racing in terror from the nightmare he had just woken up from.) He then walked out of the tent. As he climbed up the fence and watch Sky, flew going back and forth and all around wildly.

Branch: Hey, bud. You might want to see me, and calm me down now. People are trying to sleep, you know, (Sky grunted and looked at him) What's the matter, Sky?

Poppy: (opened her eyes and getting up by looked at him and his dragon friend) Don't remember me from before? (they heard Gloria recognized about the Wildglades, Dr. Ferrier warned everyone about Reyes and his hunters will burn the forest down to ashes. Branch gasped and his heart still racing and shivering in his fear of the fires. The brothers looked at him as he scared and they were worried about their father's sacrifice during the attack and the fires in the forest)

John Dory, Spruce, Clay and Floyd: Branch?

Floyd: We heard you scream from your tent, and why are you scared? (Branch sobbing) Oh no!

Spruce: You dreamed of that's man who kidnapped us in our home and I was very sad about Dad's death.

John Dory: WAAAAAAAAH!

Everybody walked and see the brothers comfort him and they see Abacus Chunch arrived in the tent, he brought an Hokkien psychic medium nun who nun clothes named Joyce Reynolds and her Egyptian British assistant Alessandro Longo, who wears black suit with navy blue belt around his waist, they see Airazor flew in the camp and see them and introduced herself.

Poppy: (her jaws dropped) Who's are you?

The brothers: (their eyes opened wide) What's are you?

Airazor: Very good question, but my name is Airazor, I am a Maximal warrior and I will protect the nature from harm. Clay, that is your brothers, John Dory, Spruce, Floyd and Branch, since your father's sacrifice himself to save all of you and your family, the Maximals and I saved you and your friend Viva, they were children, we met them in the forest during the fire cause explosion and a madman was killed in the fire.

In the flashback, Clay and Viva ran out of the bag, he see his father's sacrifice himself to save them from the hunters.

Young Clay: Papa! (Viva grabbed his arm and run, the wood twitched down, they scream and then Optimus Primal threw the wood over it and Hernan Reyes groaned in pain, Cheetor raced down and Airazor grabbed them and they escaped from the forest as they can.)

Teenage Dante Reyes: Dad!

Past Hernan Reyes: Dante, you have to go!

Airazor: (Baby Branch crying and wailing in fear, they got out of the forest, Dante and the hunters get in the jeep and then the fires cause explosion and Hernan Reyes scream and groaned in pain, by burning him to ashes. Thorn panting heavily in his injury since he sacrifice himself to save them from the hunters.) Your father defeat him, until he died from his injury since you were a babe, you three were children. Was your grandfather's land and your father spoke up for his last words in his dying wish.

Past Thorn: This is my home. This was my father's land. This is my land and my sons will rule it when time comes! And his children will for generations to come! We'll protect it and our family with our lives. Never...come...back!

End of the flashback, Branch knew that land was his grandfather's passing to his father as the new leader, before he died, since he was a baby and he lost his father and he is in his heart.

Branch: I understand how you feel. You would have love it there. Guys, we would love it there. There's miles of untouched land, fresh air, food, and water to enjoy, the sun shining all day, the stars ever so clear and brightly though the nights, and kind creatures all around. The Wildglades is our home. Ever been there?

Floyd: Since, Clay found us, since we were captured by Dante Reyes and his hunters take us to the arena, a soldier almost hurt us and Branch got injured by David Kane.

Branch remembered when he was a month old, his mother had told him the story about the creatures, she'd ever known.

-Flashback-

Ivy: Why are you still awake? (standing in the doorway of Branch's room. A month old baby Branch was in his cradle.) Well, I have a cure for that: a story, (walked down and carried him gently while sitting on her chair.) And this one is true. Long ago, in olden days, the forests surrounding our village was visited by herds of one of the most sacred creatures in the world: the dragons, dragons are majestic and great. While most creatures would easily come towards you without worry, but only special dragons will choose very special people to be their partners. (Branch cooed and opened his eyes, giggled) Because I was one of those people choose by them. I had a dragon for a friend, or should I say, we were family, his name is Phoenix and sometimes, he's so fast it's like he's flying with the wind itself. His scales was bright and orange like the sun. His horns and tail, scarlet like the scorching blaze and piercing blue eyes. I've known him since he was a baby and we've grown up together the death of his mother. (Branch cooed) One night, Phoenix's herds was attacked by invaders and his mother was killed as a result. I was there that night and managed to protect him until your grandfather Oak came to our rescue, sending the enemies away. Since then, we've been together, riding every day and feeling the wind in my hair every time we rode. It was the sheer joy of freedom that we cherish the most when we ride, but nothing is more precious than the bond of our family. (Branch cooed and giggled) Of course I do. I love him very much, just as much as I love you, your brothers, your father and your grandmother. You see, my son, as we've reached adulthood, Phoenix has received the call of the wild and freedom while I received another call: the call of love. While he longed for freedom, I've set Phoenix free because that is how he should be. We said our farewells and he went home to his herd as its leader. I miss him to this very day, but I have my life and he has his.

Young Floyd: Mommy, what are you telling about dragons?

Ivy: Of course, Floyd but actually I did. Once more. I saw him again years later after marrying your father. It was before you were born, while you were born while you, Branch and your brothers were growing inside of me and your father, since the day we met.

Young Clay: MOMMY! There's a monster in my bed and it's going to eat me. (Ivy, Floyd, and Branch gasped, Ivy with a heart warming smile, and she comfort him when she tells stories about a dragon named Phoenix. John Dory and Spruce yawned and talk to their father, Thorn smile proudly makes and take them back to beds. They continue with the story.)

Ivy: When John and Spruce were little trollings, I was pregnant with Clay, your father, your brothers and I were alone until Phoenix appeared before us, but he wasn't alone. He brought his whole family with him.

Baby Branch: (happy smile and giggled) Mama, haha!

Young Floyd: Did he had kids? (Branch cooed)

Ivy: At that time, he had two and one on the way, he has a son, the oldest and strongest. He's a ginger dragon scales with dark brown horns and tail and brown eyes. He's the one who represents Phoenix the most. I called him Blaze. And his daughter, Misty,is the smartest. Her scales bluish grey, a teal horn and tail, and green eyes. With her pelt blending in the mist and fog, she can avoid being detected from enemies. And his mate, a beautiful, elegant dragon with white scales, horns and tail were cerulean with teal streaks, and blue-green eyes. I called her Bella for her beauty. Seeing Phoenix and his family has brought me hope of the family, after you and Clay were born, I was pregnant with Branch, seeing Phoenix and his family has brought me hope of the family I will later on and I did moment of my life. Well, that and after marrying your father. After that, I've never saw him again, but I am sure that he's happy with his herd, freedom, and family. God want all of us to send us all to be freedom from threat. (she rubs her nose with his, making them giggle. She then kissed his forehead.)

Floyd: Goodnight, mommy, goodnight, Branch. (Branch yawned and closed his eyes, he's fast asleep, she put him back to his cradle.) I love you.

Ivy: Love you too, (she sang a lullaby for her son)

-End Flashback-

The brothers sighed, thinking of their home and their mother and their grandmother waiting for them, and Branch saw the water of reflection, about their father.

Branch: Father, I know you're out there somewhere. We truly miss you and everyone also back home. I know that this place is better than the arena, but it still isn't home.I wish you were here so Clay mentioned you sacrifice yourself for saving us from the hunters' attack and the fires that we can see you, we were captured by Dante Reyes and his hunters, we were rescued by Clay, Viva and their friends at least one more time. (hopefully as he felt weariness taking over him.)

Airazor: Your father, he is up in his heavenly home, was your grandfather's land call The Wildglade. He live in you and your brothers and you see him in the water of reflection. (Branch gasped and looked up to see the sky, the clouds appeared to shaped like his father's spirit.)

Voice: (echoing) Branch...

Branch: Huh? Hey, I'm not sure but I have a feeling that you won't hurt me. (raised his hand and petted his nose which he purred in result. But then, Branch took another closer look at the dragon and his colors rang a familiar bell in his mind.) Phoenix?You're my mother's dragon, aren't you? Am I suppose to get on you?

Voice: (echo) Branch... (his eyes widened at the soft voice, the warm light of the sun falling exactly over him, some sort of aura around him making him look angelic.

Branch: (gasped and smile) Father? Father! (The brothers looked at their father Thorn who is a spirit of the Spirit World.)

Floyd: (gasped) Father, is that really you?

Spruce & Clay: (gasped) Dad?

John Dory: Daddy! (With his tears of joy)

Spirit Thorn: Oh Branch, boys, my sons. I am here.

Branch: But how?

John Dory: Daddy, we missed you! (Sobbing)

Spirit Thorn: Well, after I sacrifice myself, against Henan and his hunters to destroy our home. After I died from my injury since I became a spirit of the Spirit World. The hunters led by Henan Reyes' son Dante Reyes.

Branch: What!

Floyd: Father, you're watching over us, Clay saved us from harm, we got beaten by a soldier.

John Dory, Spruce and Clay: How?

Spirit Thorn: And I've missed you as well. But, I am happy that you are here now. I've watched over you five and your family and how you've grown since then. You boys come so far from the innocent little boys you were to the proud, strong, and brave warrior, you will take my place as the new leader of Glade Clan by to defeat Talons Bounty Troll Hunters and they will be peace with the humans. Does she have a name?

Branch: Her name is Poppy, she looked very depressed and she live in her bunker, I try to make her smile, and we been to train to defeat Talons and we will be peace with the humans and the forest will be safe. (The brothers looked as he disappeared from the night sky.)

Spirit Thorn: Will you sing for me, my sons? I want to hear the angelic voice you are so gifted with.

Branch: Dad, it would be our pleasure. Just know

Floyd: Father?

Clay: (sobbing) Where is he?

Spruce: (started to cry and sobbing)

John Dory: Daddy? (Sobbing)

Spirit Thorn: But you will be strong and you boys will be brave. Your mother and your grandmother are back home, waiting for you boys. But most of all, I'm always with you boys, even when you boys can't see me. I'm here.

The brothers: We know that now.

John Dory: Daddy?

Spruce: Dad?

Clay: Dad?

Floyd: Father?

Branch: Father, we love you.

Spirit Thorn: And I love you, boys, forever and always.

The brothers gasped for air and noticed they're back inside the tent. Branch placed his hand on the face and felt wetness from the tears he had shed. Poppy looked at them, he took a deep breath to calm himself down and wiped his tears. Harriet heard a spirit came from the outside, Noah, Elena, Tej, Roman and Ramsey saw Branch sobbing, since they see their father for the first time since his sacrifice and death, they were still depressed at the thought of his leaving. A South Korean man named Han Lue who wearing a navy blue suit with a black belt around his waist, she talked to them about the Wildglades, Elena puts blanket on them. Harriet talk to them until morning.

I hope this is going to be next chapter, our family passed away from their illness, old ages and others. They are in our hearts.

[sleepydross]

Chapter One, Route_B: A Hard Left Turn

A Chapter of the 'SEER' or 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence / Reification' Storyline. This is Route_B. For Route_A, see the link included.

https://www.tumblr.com/sleepydross/736565213088858112/chapter-one-routea-clerks-too-a-chapter-of?source=share

CW: Gore, body horror, extreme death and dismemberment, surreal concepts, disgusting imagery, a lot of really quite rude words (I said fuck folks Im sorry), implications of loss, plainly stated memory alteration and manipulation, horror in general.

Excerpt, 'Dreams, And Their Implications,' Dr. Alex Sing, 2023

'…The understanding of dreams has come a long way, in recent years. We've seen sleep studies, and brain scans, and complicated medical procedures involving the implantation of probes in the brain and the use of radiological dyes. We have seen brilliant doctors, brilliant scientists, translate the language of the brain into perceptible images, things we can look at to see what people see when they sleep.

What most of you haven't seen is the secret, concealed studies that have been done into dreams and their… atypical side effects on local reality. In a number of cases, highly active psionics (Humans with the natural capability towards psychic phenomenon) have outright distorted reality around them during particularly intense dreams. This is, in fact, a detectable distortion due to the common presence of exotic particles and low level radiation.

In fact, the fabric of reality is what we are here to discuss. Some time ago, scientists working for the Department of Unnatural / Supernatural Knowledge, DUSK, discovered that this fabric could be willfully manipulated - and unwillfully. The very concept of luck is a manipulation of randomness in a local area, not a change in reality itself, but a wrinkling of probability…

And with this discovery came the first breakthrough in direct measure of the fabric of reality.

With THAT discovery, the scientists of DUSK discovered that the latent alterations made by dreams were growing more widespread, even in those not terribly active, those lacking psionic capability. Concurrently, a rise in psionic capability was recorded, and has been recorded every single year since.

But the reason why eluded them, has eluded them. Their experimentation began in 1971.

We have questions.

Did their experiment cause this? Or did they merely expand human consciousness into uncharted waters?

We don't know what could lie in those terrible, black depths, in the ocean outside of our collective thought based tidepool…

However, we are smart enough to fear it, unlike our predecessors.'

"I want to know what the FUCK is going on!" Haller shouted, standing in the action room. The site was deep black, so far off the grid and so unregistered that no one present even had so much as a dress shoe on - the FBI and CIA had erected it for counter terrorism reasons, erected being a strong word for appropriating an abandoned warehouse near a defunct rail line about six hours outside of New York City.

Outside of the blacked out windows, only forest and darkness waited. It was the middle of the damned night, and Haller had just arrived. The helicopter on the roof was already working up to beating gravity into submission, the soundproofing turning the thump-swah of its blades into weak vibrations one could only detect if they knew there was a helo taking off in the first place.

On the main screen, in place on the north wall, she stared at satellite photographs of an area approximately as far from NYC as the black site itself, which was little comfort considering that the area was apparently, very suddenly, taller than the empire state building and approximately a half mile in diameter.

"Ma'am, I assure you, we're trying to figure it out," Agent Muskwe said, quietly. Haller watched him sip his coffee and gesture at the screen. "Ground images."

An image replaced the satellite photos, digitally signed as being taken by field team November, one of Haller's favorite teams. Their names were classified, but she knew-

"What the hell?" she whispered. The image description said that the picture was taken five hundred and seventy yards from the 'border,' which had not been defined in any meaningful sense. All she could assume was that it meant the border of the gray, formless, bizarre zone they had looked at from above - a cacophony of squares and rectangles, impossible rooftop geometries laid in and around and over one another.

The 'border' looked like a wall of roiling, nearly oily fog. The next image was zoomed in, and appeared to show trees near to the border withering, branches blackened and dark and odd - wrong, stripped of leaves, coated in some shiny, slick, dark grease. On this image, the description said that even five hundred yards and change away, it stank like the parking lot of an abandoned fast food restaurant. Colorful descriptions were included, of disgusting rot stink and french fry smell and the hellish scattering of other disgusting odors…

Spoiled beef, rotting chicken, soggy and deeply moldy bread…

These descriptions were wholly unnecessary, but greatly appreciated. Haller needed every detail she could possibly get.

"Skip the pictures. November would've sent video," she said, already irritated when the next image was just a further zoom into the fog. Through it, she could see light, the pictures having clearly been taken in the dark. "Show me that, make sure everyone who needs them gets the images."

"Yes, ma'am," Muskwe replied, and the screen went dark. Moments later, a video frame opened, and then played. Compares to the hardware of the past, it was the highest quality video she'd ever seen, especially on a screen so large - save perhaps in a movie theater. Their video, however, had all sixty frames per second, crisp and clear.

"Check for the recording," November One said. "November one. Steadfast. Check."

"November two. Iron. Check."

"November three. Resolute. Check."

"November four. Eternal. Check."

"Alright, gang's all here," Steadfast, November One, said.

"Christ, this fucking STINK," Iron muttered. "We ought get goddamn hazard pay for this shit. It smells like a rotting corpse tossed in a dumpster near a particularly fucking shit drivethrough."

"Oil and diesel, too… gasoline, maybe propane. Smells like chemicals, under and around it all," Eternal added.

"Button up, whiners. Iron, light rig, take point. Etty, back him up with the shotgun, and don't fuck it up and shoot HIM. Reso, pull up the rear."

"Sir, yes sir!" they said in unison. Haller smiled. She liked November for a reason, a lot of reasons. November One's insistance they call her 'sir' was one of them. Out there, doing the work they did, they had some latitude to be weird. It was better than sitting in a goddamn field office all the time, poring over the most irrelevant shit on Earth.

The feed swapped then, to Iron's lightrig camera, and then… the rig flared on, bathing the fog in shockingly bright light. They marched across the field, orderly and in a line, a weapon in frame now and then as they walked. The closer they got the fog, the stranger it got, less white than before, and then swirling in a shiny, chemical-sick rainbow like a dribbling of oil floating on a puddle.

"Can't do it, sir," Reso said, finally. The line stopped. "I'm gonna pop, man, just fucking howl and puke."

"Professional," Steadfast muttered. "Mask up, though. Making me dizzy, too. Ought to call for hazzies. Reso, get out that vial of peppermint oil."

"It's like White River all over again," Rso muttered - but he complied, dabbing some of that oil on the filters of their gas masks. They sealed the high tech things with faint hisses, lenses shining. The peppermint oil was an old trick, from back in the before times, when Resolute was a nurse. Designated medic suited him better, with a gun in hand. "Feed's a mess, sir. We need to drop the rig. It's too foggy, ought to use mask optics."

"Make it so," she replied. In moments, after shuffling, annoyance, grunting and bad static, the light rig went dark, and then hit the ground. Pale, ugly green flooded the frame, and suddenly… they could see, the footage digitally enhanced and highly processed in near real time. "Better?"

"Clear as day," Reso replied. They returned to their march, approaching that ugly, roiling oil fog again. Through it now, a huge glowing sign could be seen, standing on a thick red pole, like-

"Huh… Megaburger," Haller murmured, baffled by that. She knew the colors, knew the ghostly specter of its shape. Silently, before the fog wall, Iron removed his camera and pointed it upwards without slowing their approach. It continued upwards apparently indefinitely, obscuring everything inside. Weather patterns in the area had gone to shit, it was what first alerted them - something was wrong when they were getting hit by sheets of rain in the middle of a New York winter.

"Rain's warm, what the fuck," Iron spat. "Feels slick, too. Droplets are milky white, contaminated with something… and I can just detect what seems to be a whiff of urine, through the damned mask. We gonna die, sir?"

"Composition from the rapid sample kit said it's just some kind of detergent, gasoline, a bit of oil… also piss, yeah, piss… yeah… it doesn't make sense, but it isn't toxic, mostly," Steadfast replied, evenly.

"Mostly! Wonderful," Eternal replied, sounding exhausted already - but they marched on, into the fog, as Iron reattached his camera. What followed was an engrossing twenty minutes of them walking in a white out, cable-clipped together so they didn't lose one another in the thickness of it. Three times, they stopped to dab new filters with peppermint and stagger their swapouts.

Whatever the fog was, it was clogging them, fast.

That made it all the more surprising when they emerged into the parking lot of…

A Megaburger franchise.

"Stop it," Haller said, and the video paused. "We have record of a Megaburger there? Lavar?"

"No, we don't. Look in the background, though, and around it… No roads. Nothing. The walls just extend outward, and then…" he trailed off, and gestured for the video to be played, and then he said, "pause. See? Suddenly, kitty corner, the bricks change to cement blocks, like… smoothly, and it becomes a Fast Jimmy's, complete with gas pumps."

"What the Hell?" Haller asked. No one had answers.

"Command, do you read?" Steadfast asked. After a long pause, she said, "no signal at all. Local comms working."

"Pull out? Something's fuckin' wrong. This shit wasn't here when we got here, before the fucking fog moved closer," Eternal muttered. "Did anyone transmit the recording, from when the fog moved?"

"Did, yeah," Iron spat. "What's the word, Steady?"

"Sir, to you, dipshit… and no. We don't pull back. No signs of life, no hostiles… we're going into that damn burger joint. I want material samples, though. Etty, split off with Reso. See where those bricks go all… blurry? Get samples there," she ordered. "Something is wrong, so we're going to find out what the fuck is going on. As soon as you have the samples, get inside."

A chorus of 'yes, sir!' met her, and she and Iron marched on, the footage continuing to follow them.

"Do we have footage from the Eternal or Resolute?" Haller asked, and got a displeasing 'nope, no transmit from them, their feeds cut out the moment they split off,' which made her want to put a hole in something. "Fucking why, precisely?"

"Interference, of some kind. That fog, maybe, something about it makes signal transmission inconsistent? We only got all of Iron's footage because… well…" he trailed off, and Haller blanched, falling silent and watching. Like every other Megaburger in existence, the restaurant that Iron and Steadfast were approaching was a squat sort of building with an overly decorative roof of red metal, atop which was perched an offensively oversized, bizarrely cartoonish cheeseburger, and a huge cup beside it. Both were lit up, casting an array of yellows and reds out into the parking lot. This was all largely washed out on the white lines of the parking spots out front by the bright fluourescent light coming through the windows that dominated every wall on the front and sides of the store, stopping right at the line where the kitchen began.

Despite that no one was visible inside, the doors were unlocked, and they pushed through them, weapons at the ready.

"It uh, appears to be a burger store," Iron said, quietly, turning slowly to film the majority of the restaurant in the sweep. Chairs were pushed out, food was piled up on tables, cups were stacked halfway to the ceiling and puddles of dark, bubbling brown liquid coated portions of the floor. None of this, critically, had been visible from the exterior. "Stead, sir, something… this place is a fucking mess. It was not, in fact, a fucking mess looking in from outside."

"I'd noticed, trust me," she muttered. "It stinks in here, like it was just jam packed and they all took a shit before leaving."

Rapidly, the camera approached one of the tables and was brought closer to the food - what was left of it. Huge bites, larger than any human mouth could make, were taken out of massive burgers, each one the size of a dinner plate. Thick beef patties steamed, red on the inside and ruddy brown on the out, too fatty, the 'ground' beef used to make them more akin to strange, mashed together chunks of flesh, a melange of unmistakably…

Meaty, fleshy colors. Biological, awful.

They were burgers in the loosest sense, the buns bizarre and over-dense and mealy looking but with an incongruous shiny brown exterior that looked like it was applied after the fact just to try and make it look good. In place of lettuce, there was some unidentifiable, vaguely leaf-patterned green gel mess, a few squirts of too dark, too bloody ketchup… mustard that was more white than yellow - or maybe it was mayo…

"Sir, this food is fucked up."

"This whole place is fucked up," Steady muttered, tiredly. "Weapon at the ready."

"Sir," he replied, and the shotgun came into frame. He squared up, following her to the counter. For a few long moments, they just peered into the half-shrouded kitchen through a cutout on the wall behind the register, and then Steady shouted.

"HEY! IS THERE A MANAGER IN THE HOUSE?"

The silence that met her in response was almost deafening. Slowly, Iron turned in a half circle, looking around - and then there came a sound, a terrible sort of sound. It overwhelmed the microphone on both his camera and its twin on his helmet, this awful air-raid siren parody that sounded more and more like hundreds of human screams forming this rising and falling tide of sonic ugliness.

As the video feed glitched and static flooded the image intermittently, they saw the building shifting, bricks and glass crystalizing outward in wobbly, overly organic sheets from the front of the store. Rumbling appeared to shake the building, and Iron was forced to grab a pillar to retain his footing. When he hunched, they got to watch tiles splitting and sliding and growing, a wholly unnatural ceramic mitosis.

When all was said and done, the entire parking lot had been subsumed, and the restaurant was twice as large from kitchen to doors, with new pillars erected haphazardly, still sluggishly sliding across the floor tiles towards presumably their final positions. These structural icebergs clawed trenches in tile that rapidly 'healed' in their wake.

Iron rounded as if reacting to something, staring at the staggered Steadfast clutching onto the counter as the tile rippled in bizarre, shattering ceramic waves drifting out from the counter, which itself was pushing her backwards towards the entrance as the behind-counter area expanded. She howled, screaming in agony, arms wrapped entirely around a cash register at that point. Red and pink and dark blackish pooled around her feet, those waves of ceramic shredding her up to the like they were made for shredding. Flaying flesh away from bone was horrifying enough, but something worse was unfolding itself.

Behind the counter, a widening, grotesque door peeled open, the wood flexing apart into shiny tendonous strings and awful flesh as a rose made of meat bloomed forth from within.

That screaming siren continued, grew louder even, and the video distortion worsened until all that could be seen, in the center of the frame, was a figure resembling a human being, if that human being was lit harshly and unevenly from the front, and cast a shadow consisting entirely of flesh, of meat and blood and bubbly yellow fat. The mass the 'person' was stuck to the front of slopped against the wall behind the creature, with the flesh seeping through the access window to the kitchen.

Sounds of hissing and popping made it through as the scream-siren trailed off into silence told them that this creature had carpeted over the fryers in back with gore, not giving a singular microfuck about the consequences thereof.

"What can I do for you?" the terrible, blistered avatar asked, a few moments after the screaming siren stopped. This mocking, sick parody of a human torso was still clawing and pulling its way from the meat mass, and as the stunned operators watched, clothing 'grew' over it. Disgustingly, it appeared to be made of woven hair, a chaotic hellscape of interwoven white and black that formed a button down shirt and a tie that were all one piece. Thick pads of calloused skin came next that blackened into a kind of belt-like construction, whose buckle was dark, blackened fingernail approximating shiny plastic polymer.

This same black fingernail formed an approximation of a tie clip, and then a nametag - unreadable.

There was a face, if one could insult the concept of faces so grotesquely, with a lopsided slash of a mouth where the lips were simply just bloody, blistered, skinless facsimiles, dribbling red and this sickly yellow syrup that made its chin all pink and slick.

"F-Fuck, I was just-" Steadfast said, slurring, sounding half drunk with blood loss and pain, but midword… the building went still, and her voice simply ceased. After a long moment, she half turned to Iron. Her lips parted, and thick black and red flooded out - and then the nearly naked bone of her right tibia and fibia, clothed only in tatters and leaking veins below the knee, broke. She staggered, and the top of her head fell away.

For only a moment they were treated to an awful anatomical cross section of her lower brain before blood covered that up completely.

Iron screamed bloody murder, cracking, and in the last frames they could see a thick meaty tendril draped over the counter, forcing what looked a lot like french fries into the sticky black-oozing meat that kept all of Steadfast's thoughts for her, one by one. With each salty new stick of nightmares shoved into what remained of he brain she twitched, or gurgled wetly.

The last man standing legged it, out into the parking lot, and then into…

Another parking lot, leading towards another building.

Towards a Pizza Jam.

"No, no, NO FUCK NO!" he barked, frantic. The poor man rounded, camera directed towards the burger joint, which was rapidly filling up with what looked like squirming, barely human bodies, a pale pink slurry of meat and breading, and enormous waffle cut fries so big they could've been swimming pool rafts. "FUCK! FUCK FUCK!"

While he shouted fuck several more times, he dug in his equipment pack and drew out a gray plastic box, slamming it on the ground and opening it. In a flurry of movement, he tugged something out, pressed something that beeped, and then jerked the camera off of his vest and turned it to stare in the lens.

"Look, I don't know what you FUCKING SHITFUCKS sent us into, but if you don't find a way to EVAC ME, I am going to haunt you until the end of time! EVERYONE IS FUCKED!" he barked, before setting the camera on what was identified in a small block of text in the corner as a transmission relay meant to burst transmit large quantities of audio visual data. He stood up then, and pumped his shotgun. "I'm getting the fuck out of here. If I make it out… I'll get back, I'll call in, I don't know. I gotta move."

When he stepped aside, they could see that strange plant-like structures were growing rapidly from the pavement of the parking lot. In seconds, they formed into beetle coated monstrosities nearly metallic in apperance. Seconds after that, the crawling, bug-covered blobs resolved into passable (At a distance) imitations of cars.

They then promptly rotted, leaving thick black sludge on the ground, from which more bugs, more plants and more cars began to rise.

"Fuck this," Iron panted, and he booked it out of frame.

The video ran for two more four to six minute cycles of 'cars,' and then… abruptly ended in static, with a disquietingly wet crunch.

For a long, long time things were silent in the action room (which was still just the main, large, open area of the . No one spoke. No one so much as breathed, not in any meaningful or audible way.

Finally, Agent Haller said, quietly…

"Well, what the fuck was that shit?"

"Ma'am, that was the last transmission from Iron. It was digitally signed, with little corruption beyond the visual distortion caused by that… management… thing," Muskwe replied, softly. "I did not feel it prudent to warn anyone of the nature of the footage, as… I was… concerned."

"You were fucking concerned? Muskwe, I'm FUCKING CONCERNED! What were YOU concerned about?" she demanded, a cold, hard edge to her voice.

"I was concerned, to be honest, that I had gone gloriously insane, sir," he replied, evenly. "…and I did not have time to ask one of the others to watch it, to confirm or deny my own madness."

"Well, you're not fucking mad unless we all are," she muttered, tiredly. "Everyone saw all of that, yes? Confirm with a yes or no. We saw a team enter a construction hellscape through a wall of oily fog and then get lost or massacred near a fast food restaurant that appeared, to my highly… highly trained eye, to be a fucking LITERAL NIGHTMARE."

A chorus of 'yes' came, then, like a soft rainfall made out of agreement. Really, Haller had hoped for one to thirty answsers of 'no,' because having simply gone batty would have been much easier and much less terrifying. This, this reality, that they had all borne witness to, was truly quite awful.

It bordered on deeply shitty that it hadn't been, in fact, some manner of hallucination - though that alone might have convinced her to go visit a bureau shrink.

"…so what's our theory?" she asked, softly.

"Theory is so often inadequate in the face of actual answers," a soft, faintly accented voice said. This voice was cool, steady, like a small stream flowing in the coldest days of early spring - and it was faintly processed, oddly digital. "Quite a bummer, really, that all of you are now in the fold. I really do find it tiring to orient newcomers, but, perhaps I will assign that task to someone else."

Every firearm in the room was trained on the newcomer before they finished speaking. This… person, of sorts, stood there right next to Haller - or had been next to, but was then in front of, having Haller's gun pressed to their forehead. All of this was well and good, as they had the intruder isolated and contained under threat of-

Death?

Haller stared at the gleaming lenses, lenses staring back at her. The creature, whatever it was, was covered in metal plating, their head all polished glass that might've belonged to a helmet if it weren't for the exposted struts and odd pistons of the neck that emerged from under their chin and around the base of the jaw.

"What the sam fuck are you?" Haller demanded. They chuckled, a strange sound like chimes and rings layering over one another. It was a musical sound, understandable only as a laugh because this creature's head bobbled a bit with it in unmistakable mirth.

"That is a big question with a complicated answer, Agent Haller - but I am, to keep it brief, a robot of a kind - but not a robot, really. Think of me as a mistake made right, but in the weirdest way possible," they replied, a smirk touching their smooth but undeniably digital voice. "I am Doctor Alex Sing, or… that is the name I use now, to conceptually distance myself from who I used to be - security reasons, you see. I've come to tell you all what you just saw."

"And what, the fuck, is that?" Haller asked, losing her patience rapidly - and she didn't have much of it to begin with.

"A 'Spontaneous Edifice Emergence and Reification' event. We call them SEER events, for convenience," Dr. Sing replied, quite pleasantly, waving their hand vaguely at the screen. "We know precious little about them… but we are aware that this is a new, far worse form than we have yet seen. You will ask for credentials. Here, look at this."

Haller looked, the machine person having produced from seemingly nowhere a badge holder. The badge ensconced in said holder insisted that the good doctor was part of an organization called DUSK - the Department of Unnatural / Supernatural Knowledge. In place of a typical shield and eagle so popular in governmental insignias, this bore a strange kind of… seal, or sigil.

"I've seen this before," Haller said, dizzily. The sigil was a pentagram, but its outer circle appeared to be a serpent, devouring its own tail - and in the central pentagon, there was a familiar sign. Brimstone, sulfur, the Leviathan Cross, in all its distorted, time-twisted glory. "I've… I've seen this…"

"A brimstone symbol? Yes, the satanists are rather fond of it, but we were using it first, before even the founding of this nation and our adoption of the DUSK name," Sing replied, blandly, as if this was all very boring to her mechanical ass self. Haller tried not to stare at her hand, a thing plated and padded to function like a human hand, but with open gaps showing moving metal beneath, rods and pistons and tiny little gears. For a moment, there was silence, and then Sing lowered the badge and leaned in, her camera lenses whirring as apertures tightened. "But you don't mean… brimstone. You've seen the DUSK insignia before? Fascinating, and of course, perfectly understandable."

"How the fuck is it understandable? My head hurts," Haller said, her last as she stumbled back and sat down. Muskwe rushed up, and handed her a handkerchief.

"Your nose, ma'am," he intoned, and she pressed her fingers to it, finding they came away bloody.

"Am I going to die?" she asked, a bizarre dread settling in her gut.

"No! My goodness, now, silly, no. You've clearly been geist hexed, some time in the past. You'll be getting memories taken from you back, which is so exciting, isn't it?" Sing replied, brightly. Silence so profound it weighed down on the room like a flow of molten lead followed this, and the doctor tilted her robotic head. "…or perhaps… not, to normal… people. Well, I will enjoy it, anyway, for your sake."

"Goodie for you. Someone fucking shoot her," Haller muttered. No one moved, so she stood herself, bleeding profusely into Muskwe's hankie, and drew her sidearm. Sing did not so much as flinch at the weapon being pointed at her - instead, she leaned in, peering at it.

"Custom work? Very nice, Agent. That's a real stomper of a pistol, and not remotely enough to do me harm," she said, pressing her 'forehead' to it. "I understand. I've violated protocol, entered a black site unannounced, and freaked you right on out. Go ahead. Blow a hole in me, if it'll help. The faster we get you FBI nerds acclimated, the better."

Haller, in a moment of raw rage, confusion and vague nausea, pulled the trigger. Dr. Sing's head snapped back with a loud CLANK, and then… with several heavy ratcheting noises, it returned to its previous position.

"Very nice," Sing said, one of her 'eyes' shattered, a curl of smoke drifting out of it. "High powered, effective, and you're strong enough to muscle down the recoil. Gorgeous weapon, truly."

"F-Fucking what?" Haller demanded. "You're fine?"

"Robot, nerd. Kind of," Sing replied, evenly, as if disappointed. With that, she clapped her odd mechanical hands together and turned to face the room at large. "Congratulations, everyone. You've been formally recruited into DUSK. Your lives as they were are officially over, bummer, but the pay is fantastic, our insurance is better than you'd even believe, and… you get to know all the things you haven't been told about. Vampires, psychics, magicians, nightmares and pretty little machines like me. Ghosts, demons, people who can alter their bodies, secret dimensions and dark dreams that don't die. Your families will be justly compensated after your mock funerals."

"Fucking WHAT!?" Agent Crenshaw demanded, stepping out of the crowd and stalking up to her. "Fuck you! I have a DAUGHTER! She was just BORN!"

"Then unrecruit yourself, dipstick," Sing told him, dismissively. "Divide yourselves into two groups! People who want to give up everything you have, go over there! People who want to keep your lives and forget this moment… over there!"

"F… Forget?" Crenshaw asked, his pale, watery blue eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and panic. "How?"

"Geist hexing will eradicate the memories, sever the pathways to them in an irrecoverable way, effectively removing it all from your mind. A cover story will be generated, and provided to you upon your waking," she explained, patiently, as if speaking to an infant. The doctor raised her arm, and pointed behind her, the limb at an unnatural angle so that an index finger could be directed right at Haller. "You, of course, have no connections, so you have nothing to lose, Agent Haller. I'd like you on this case."

"You can't just MARCH in here, you fucking ROBOT FREAK, and TAKE CONTROL of a literal FBI BLACK SITE. What I am GOING to do is detain your ridiculous metal ass and then call someone higher up the chain to tell me what the HELL is going on!" Haller all but shouted, thoroughly fed up with the utter helplessness she felt as that robot's head slowly tilted backwards like it had when shot, but slower, until it hung down her back and the camera lenses whirred, apertures tightening as they took her in.

"Agent, I am your superior, now," she said, simply, raising a hand. She snapped her fingers, and then… brought her head 'upright,' again, turning around. Haller ignored this, instead staring at her people, all of her people. They were frozen, creatures carved from dyed ice, flickering crystal effigies of themselves. They looked tesselated, rock candy, like models from some kind of videogame showing their triangles as each vertex undulated faintly outward and inward about its origin. "I really need you to stop freaking out, Haller. You're special, I can feel it, and I need your help with this. This is a problem, Haller, one that will kill people - a lot of people, if left unchecked."

"T-The… meat creatures? The manager, the… fast food place? That'll kill people" she asked, softly.

"There's worse about this than all that. Figments that fully instantiate are difficult to kill, for starters, and it will continue to spread… BUT, you have the ability to convince these people that what they do in my service will save the world. I can't convince them of that," Sing told her, quietly. "Get it together. You saw what you saw. That SEER event ATE your people. Working together, we can potentially reverse it, before it eats others."

"Doctor Sing, if you can just make us forget, why do you need to do this? Recruit us? Recruit me?" she asked, after a long pause in which she approached the frozen-mid-stride Agent Crenshaw. When she touched him, she touched what felt like softly undulating planes of glass, a few millimeters from his skin - but this glass was warm like flesh.

"Because you are necessary. When I have feelings, strong ones, I've learned to listen to them. If we are going to stop this, I… need YOU, Anna," the doctor said. Haller looked to the robot, and didn't bother to ask how Sing knew her first name - no one knew it, that was part of her position. She was an enigma, as fake as fake could be, because it kept her insulated from the threats they faced.

"What did you do to my men?" she asked. Sing approached, and drew from the pocket of her suit jacket a handkerchief. When she dabbed at Haller's cheeks, it came back damp, and the Agent didn't even know why she was crying.

"Nothing. There are six men in stupid robes outside, all of whom are affecting what DUSK calls a 'working,' using what we call a 'castgram.' Your men are unaffected, but in this place, time is having a bit of a problem moving forward, except for us. It's not something done… to them, but to the space they occupy, in a sense," she replied, quite forthrightly. Haller was deeply unsure how to deal with this information, but she was forced to accept it. Muskwe was in the middle of spilling a coffee, and it looked like a cascade of crystal that had made it only halfway to the floor. Touching the undulating crystalline surface just above that coffee, she hissed between her teeth and drew her hand back.

It had been scalding hot.

"Thermal energy makes it out," she said, softly. "They're going to freeze to death."

"Perhaps that's why I need you - you've only just seen what civilians call 'magic' for the first time, and you're already working out the flaws. It's true. In about six hours, they would reach a cold point so deep that unfreezing them would, ironically, flash freeze them - their arrested bodily functions no longer warming their insides and all," Sing told her. "So… return to your previous position. I will signal to the men outside to drop the working. Get your shit together, and ride the lightning into an exciting new career in saving the world."

"You're fucking insane," Haller said, shakily. "You know that, right?"

"I'm afraid sanity and insanity are far more complicated than you have been led to believe, Agent. Want to find out how?"

Haller stared at this machine, this woman, this doctor, this interloper and mystery and strangeness of a person. Her eyes, green and stippled with odd flecks of brown, were wide with a kind of feverish anxiety mixed with uncommon mania.

"Yes, I do. I do, god and fucking Jesus Himself Christ damn me."

"Your Christ has been dead a long time, and his so called father with him," Sing murmured, stepping close to touch the cross that Haller wore around her neck. "But, perhaps he was never your god. This was never your cross to bear."

"How could you possibly know that?" Haller rasped.

"I know what I have to know - and it's tarnished, and worn, and has not been well cared for," the doctor told her, in a soft, slightly processed whisper. "It is not something you love… it's someone you remember."

"I hate this," Haller said, in reply.

"You get used to it," Sing insisted, earnestly.

"Do you?"

"Not really. Are you with me?"

Haller stepped back, finding her feet had left softly glowing blue prints on the floor, showing her where to stand. The mechanical doctor sing reached up, and unscrewed what appeared to be the housing of the camera that Haller had shot out. As soon as it was removed, it started sparking and fizzling, molten metal running off of it. Sing threw it carelessly over her shoulder, and a metal plate slid into place beneath the hole, sealing it.

"I am, if that wasn't clear," the Agent murmured.

"Oh, yes, I had figured."

And the robot snapped her fingers, and time lurched back into motion with a sickening blurring of all lights and figures, and a heavy smattering of air shuddering around them like patches of broken, floating glass.

[facelessoldgargoyle]

It depends on whether ur roommates are looking for more western/scifi flavor or just a general guide to dipping their toes in but! If it’s the latter, I actually really recommend older horror movies. Think pre-70’s. They’re a lot of fun and a nice way to ease in! All creature features will be a lot of fun, think Godzilla, Creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman.

- The House on Haunted Hill (1959) Seven strangers are locked in the most haunted house in America for one night. Who will survive? No gore, occasional jump scares, engrossing mystery

- Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965) is an anthology; four (or five?) different stories are told about the way different passengers on a train will die. Features a star cast including Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and Donald Sutherland! Spooooky ooky! Not super scary.

- Rosemary’s Baby (1968) Oh the horrors of being a pregnant woman totally at the mercy of your shitty husband. Plus, is that a cult or just a really uptight HOA? This one is upsetting, full of tension, and at times scary.

- Night of the Living Dead (1968) is THE archetypal zombie movie. It’s full of slime, so if goop and mud is your roommate’s line in the sand, stay away from this one. It’s funny, it’s political, and man it’s hard to be a punk in a one-light town. Let’s go hang out at the graveyard about it. This one is riotous and splattery, but not very scary.

- Blacula (1972) Dracula… but black! This was an icon in its day and spawned a wave of Black Horror. It’s snappy, it’s fun to watch, it’s spooky, it doesn’t make a lot of sense at times. Don’t worry about it, just enjoy the ride.

Hiii beautiful Cipher!

Recently we were able to watch Nope and absolutely loved it!! Her at home we have a couple of roommates who are not really into horror but Nope worked for them as it is a horror that feels like a western/sci-fi.

So we come to you asking for recommendations on horror movies that work that way.

Nope is kind of a tough act to follow, because it's one of those movies that hits on all levels - story, subtext, character, plot, cinematography. You name it, and Nope knocked it out of the park. So, tempered expectations, there's nothing else which will hit quite the same, I think.

Two movies I think are quite good and complimentary are Prey and Tremors. Tremors in particular comes pretty close to the same scifi western monster movie vibe of Nope, including a pretty similar pace and similar plot beats. While it doesn't quite aim as high as Nope, it's a classic of the horror genre for a good reason, and a whole lot of fun. It leans more into humor, although it's firmly a horror movie. If you or your friends somehow never heard of it, and you don't have "hard out" triggers, my advice is go in fully blind because much like Nope it has a lot of enjoyable twists. Some triggers I'd add would be animal death (sheep), fear of heights, child in danger, and obviously fear of earthquakes or similar.

Prey was all over Tumblr so I don't think I need to add a whole lot. It's one of the movies in the Predator series, and easily one of the best. The original Predator could also work to compliment Nope, but I think Prey fits it better. Watch it in the Comanche dub obviously. It's more of a departure from being directly a Western movie but syncs up enough to fit the vibe and it's likely to find a similar positive reception with anyone who enjoyed Nope thanks to the way it balances character, story, and action while using a deft but light touch with the horror element. This is one that's not really much for twists and turns so ahead and go nuts at doesthedogdie.com if you wanna.

A few others that mash-up horror, science fiction, and western movie tropes or themes, but which don't compliment Nope as well, are Pitch Black, Turbo Kid, and Prisoners Of The Ghostland. Pitch Black is from back in Vin Diesel's early days, and feels like something right in between Aliens and Firefly. It's a low stakes, mid-budget monster movie that doesn't reinvent anything but makes for a fun ride. Turbo Kid is a retro 80s movie more than western per se, which imho leans too hard on the style and not enough on the characters, but it's full of weird mechanical devices and showdowns and standoffs. Prisoners of the Ghostland is something fully different than Nope, but it mashes up the western and samurai genres along with post apocalypse themes and an overall dreamy surrealism that puts it more in line with Mad God. But it sure is scifi western horror, kind of. Content warning: Nicholas Cage.

If we get a little further outside the western area, there's definitely some other films that are a good follow up for Nope. Immediately to mind is the spectacular scifi horror movie Attack the Block. It's another great movie to in blind on if you can, not so much for specific plot twists, as purely the story unfolding is so good and so fun that getting to enjoy it unspoiled is deeply satisfying. It's a fantastic bit of humans versus aliens that illustrates how to masterfully take a very conventional story and tell it in a way so unique that it feels new each time you watch it.

Related and tangential to the western movie is the apocalypse road trip movie, aka the Mad Max genre. One of my favorites is the little seen 80s movie but released in the 90s Highway To Hell. It's a curious bit of film with some bits that aged poorly, but for the most part it's surprisingly smart and chock full of iconic moments, including racing the devil for a soul. More recently I would suggest the Wyrmwood movies (Road of the Dead and Apocalypse), as absolutely balls out zombie movies like nothing you've seen, unless you like Z Nation, but even then they're still unique. In particular Wyrmwood Apocalypse has some of the western movie vibes, but it's uniquely bizarre in execution.

Lastly I wanna give a shout-out to Red Hill, which is not science fiction or horror, but is a banger of a modern day western movie, particularly with how it tricks the viewer into the idea that it's heading one way and then, well... something quite a bit else.

[tohokuu]

frankenstein ! mingi

if you’re gonna read it, reblog it too.

warnings : death, slight gore, body parts, heavy angst, i’m not writing monster sex. 

a/n : ending is so rushed that it’s gross pls I hate this but I don’t wanna keep dragging it

wc : 4k 

playing : amnesia by kai, jekyll by exo, paranoia by kang daniel 

dr. kim stared at the mess he had created. mangled, scarred body parts put together to create well...artificial life. he wanted his big break, a reason to continue his work in science, but now he felt bile rising in his throat. he gagged at the thought of this monster coming to life. he was hideous and if anyone saw him, they were sure to run. 

“fuck” he muttered under his breath as he pulled his own hair. he needed a drink. he needed to get away. there was no way that this monster would come to life and there was no way anyone would accept him if he did in fact, come to life. 

the doctor grabbed his coat, pulling it over his shoulders before stepping out into the january air. the chill made the hairs on his neck stand up. the night was unforgiving towards a man who created such a conundrum in his laboratory. 

he called up his friend, seonghwa. hoping that a chat with his friend would convince him to save the mangled creation on the slab of cement in the basement of his estate. 

-

“i can’t fuckin do it, hwa.” dr. kim groaned. his eyes filled with tears at the sheer realization of his failure. “he’s fucking ugly. what was i thinking ?” he cried. his friend sat on a stool next to him, handsome as ever. “come on, joong. you’ve told me that everything comes with trial and error. this is just one error, we can fix it up.” dr. kim laid his head against seonghwa’s chest, trying to find comfort in his friend. “i should’ve taken that job in england. this isn’t worth it. do you know the things i had to do to get those body parts ?..” seonghwa honestly didn’t want to know. 

the taller male put his hand on dr. kim’s cheek, wiping away his tears. “come on, we can fix this. don’t cry, joong.” dr. kim grabbed his drink, sulking and trying his best to get himself together. if the mood wasn’t so solemn, seonghwa would have laughed. dr. kim was a beautiful young male in his early thirties. he was bright and had a knack for all things that were science. he could’ve replaced seonghwa’s modeling job just as easily as he dissected animals, but dr. hongjoong kim preferred to  stay in his laboratory with his eye in a microscope lens. 

“show him to me.” seonghwa said. dr. kim jumped from seonghwa’s chest, staring at his friend in dead shock. “are you sure ?” he said. seonghwa nodded. “how bad can it really be ?” he said with a chuckle. 

-

“this is fucking bad.” dr. kim was pacing back and forth in his laboratory. the slab of cement in his lab held no monster. “how the fuck did he even wake up ? did someone take him ? jesus fucking christ.” he groaned. seonghwa stood in the doorway, a face mask on and sheer terror spread in his eyes at the sight of blood, surgical suture and random eyeballs in a jar kept in the corner. he stumbled forward towards his friend, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. 

“what the hell is wrong with you ? where the fuck are your morals ? this is so much worse than i thought...” both men were pacing now, hands pulling at their hair, wondering how to fix this bloody situation. “lets leave.” seonghwa blurted. “lets go. we don’t ever have to come back. throw away everything and come to london with me. yunho would be glad to let you in.” hongjoong looked up with tears in his eyes. “but what if he comes back ? what if he isn’t terrible like i think he is ? what if i’m abandoning him ?” 

“you aren’t abandoning shit ! he’s just a mistake that happened. we forget about mistakes, right ? so forget about him.” tears slipped down the shorter mans face, nodding and showing his understanding towards his friend. dr. kim did what he had to do, sucking up his emotions and siding with the words of his friend. “put the gloves on. get everything in those barrels over there. we get rid of it all tonight.” 

-

the snow was harsh that night, weighing against the tall seemingly human male. he trudged through the snow, lacking the proper clothes to remain warm. all he was wore a brown v neck long sleeve with khaki pants. his toes felt numb and the hairs on his body stood in shock. he groaned, unable to say much but the broken speech he had overheard during his duration in the lab. his skin was scarred and put together by stitches. one eye brown while the other was a icy blue, had his creator no consideration for his looks ? 

his hair was a dark shade of grey, clearly not natural. he was odd looking, but you could tell that whoever these body parts were stolen from, they must have been beautiful. his teeth were perfectly bleached to shine each time his pink lips would have spread over them. he wasn’t completely ugly, terrifying due to the various stitches across his face and mismatched eyes for sure, though. he was tall and his creator found the prettiest of anatomical body parts to put together. stitches surrounded his torso but he was strong and built. 

it was an average attempt at making him beautiful but his ghastly appearance couldn’t be helped. the bags under his eyes, the slit across his eyebrow and the half missing ear highlighted just how he wasn’t of this world. as he continued to trudge through the snow, a small dark cabin came into his view. smoke erupted from a chimney and he hoped that perhaps somebody may have been home. 

as he got closer and closer to the building, he crept up towards the window. inside the home, the creature saw a family of 5 sitting inside and enjoying a meal. a father and a mother with their three children, laughing together in communion. he was too scared to go inside. what if they left him the same way his creator had left him ? 

so the creature had an idea. he picked up sticks from each corner of the forest that he could find, bringing them up to the doorstep of the family. 

he did this each morning, occasionally stealing clothes from the clothing line strung across the lawn. he felt guilty taking their things but when he saw the smiles of joy on the families face each time they received one of his gifts, it went away. it became a routine thing, to provide the family with their needs and in return, they would leave out a bowl of soup and a blanket. 

he sat behind their house, listening to their conversation and picking up the patterns of speech. he tried to move his lips the same way they did, trying to force a sound out of his mouth similarly. so far, his favorite word had been “eat.” he would giggle to himself quietly while repeating the word out loud. it was just fun to say, he thought. 

over the course of the next few weeks, his body had grown stronger and he was thankful to the favors the family did for him. he had acquired a small collection of clothes and blankets that he switched out every other day. as his courage grew, he was more inclined to show himself to the family that had been feeding him and clothing him unknowingly for so long. he decided that tomorrow would be the day. 

-

the looks of sheer terror was not what he was expecting the next day. he hadn’t thought about what the family would have thought of him. he knew he didn’t look like them but it wasn’t until he saw his own reflection in an icy pond nearby that he realized his state of being. tears welled up in his eyes as the father and mother of the family spat harsh words at the tall creature. he ran back into the forest, trying to avoid any kind of further conflict. 

he became angry. upset with his creator that had left him and angry at the ungrateful people that had refused to accept him. his memory recalled the way he had scoured the forest to find the best firewood and hanging their clothes up to dry when they weren’t home. he couldn’t remember a single thing he had done wrong other than...exist. 

he didn’t ask to be brought to this world. he was a forced creation of a man who had no hope in him and had left, but the creature was never going to give up. he was going to find someone that would accept him, and if not that, he’d create somebody the same way he was created. he looked back at the small cabin he had taken a liking to these past couple days, staring at it with disgust as he realized how inhumane humans were. 

his eyes filled with tears of anger this time and he wiped them angrily with his sleeve, he turned away, promising to find some place where he would fit. 

-

the firewood at your doorstep should have been the first signal that morning. each day, there would be firewood and a basket full of dirty clothes. the housekeeper downstairs assumed it was someone looking for a favor, so you allowed her to return it. you had enough of your wealth and kindness to share, so why not in exchange for some firewood ? 

the bell next to you ringed and as if on cue, the nurse burst through the door. she did this each day and she was never late, not a single time. someday you hoped that she’d forget to give you the red and blue pills you had to take each day. you hoped she’d forget again and again. there wasn’t much left to your life, no parents, a distant sister and a life surrounded by nothing but the change of seasons. 

you noticed how selfish the earth was, turning each day to flaunt its change to you. it taunted your mundane life. you turned away from the window in disgust. “mary love, you shouldn’t have come in today. it’s snowing and theres a blistering cold outside.” you said matter of factly.  the nurse in question laughed, knowing your antics better than anyone else. “your mother told me to take care of you before she passed. i’ll be doing this until i pass myself, and even then my ghost will come and remind you to take your meds.” 

you chuckled at the older woman, appreciating her thoughtfulness. “have you found out who keeps leaving firewood at the door every morning ? i haven’t seen anyone no matter how much i check the window.” you asked. mary shook her head no. “no, ma’am. i haven’t seen anyone, but i suppose we should be thankful for the favor they are doing for us. i’m sure glenn doesn’t have a problem washing the dirty clothes they’re leaving for us.” 

you nodded quietly, taking interest in the dark green silk that was on your body. “this is a pretty color..” you spoke softly. mary nodded, “it was your fathers favorite before he passed as well, you know.” you nodded in agreement, remembering the way your father bought both you and your sister matching silk pajamas when you were younger. you missed it. you missed her, but you were happy for her. she was married in london to a man with a kind modeling career, and she herself was beginning to appear in the sunday papers. 

“come on and take your pills, ma’am.” you opened your mouth as mary placed two pills on your tongue. you swallowed them, sighing and laying back in your chair to stare at the snowy landscape outside. “can we go out ?” you asked mary. the nurse was surprised. you had never willingly asked to go outside in years.. usually you threw a fuss and started yelling each time you were to be taken out for a routinely walk. 

“did i hear that correctly ?” mary asked. you nodded, “let’s go find the man that’s been leaving gifts at our door. i’m sure he isn’t far considering all his clothes are wet with snow each day.” 

-

in exchange from your silk robes, you put on a turtleneck with deep dark wool pants with shoes made of fine bearskin. a coat of wool and a hat that mary had crocheted herself was placed on the top of your head. your sickness had taken over your body, leaving you weaker than before and it was much easier to get cold. you loved the winter more than anything, though. it’s the only season that didn’t feel like it was completely taunting you. while it was still a change, the winter represented lack of life and finally, you felt like you were on par with the earth. 

the summer reminded you of color and livelihood. how could you feel any of those things when the rosiness of your cheeks was replaced with a dull pale color and the energy to do anything was stolen from you ? 

trudging through the garden, you stared at the pine trees that had managed to fight against the dead of winter. they were one of the only things that remained your friend. they remained in a state of consistency and what felt like the permanence of death. you smiled at the tall trees, reaching to touch the spiky pine needles lined along each branch. 

just as your admiration began, a crack behind you sounded. you turned in a swift manner, coming face to face with an odd looking man. he was extremely tall, greyish hair and a well built body. however, his face was covered in black cloth. the only thing you could see was his striking mismatched eyes. you tilted your head in acknowledgment. “are you the man leaving firewood at my door each morning ?” you turned to look at the home in question. a tall, stone manor made with love and care from your parents. 

he nodded, looking away the second you stepped a bit closer. “why is your face wrapped up ?” you questioned. you should have realized the sensitivity of the question and when you did, you stepped back quickly. stumbling over your words and apologizing. “i-i’m sorry. that was a very rude question. would you like to come in ? it’s very cold outside.” you offered. he shook his head. “no.” his voice was gruff and deep and if you were anyone different, you would’ve begged to see his face.  

“understandable...would you like me to bring you a meal ? i’m sure you couldn’t say no to that.” the man looked away for a second, finding deep interest in the crisp, biting snow. he was in deep thought for a moment, finally his stomach made the decision. a deep growl erupted from his stomach and he looked away, embarrassed. “that would be nice.” his answer was quiet and short. you smiled with your teeth, happy to have made a companion other than the servants of your home. 

“not inside. bring it outside.” he said. his voice was almost angry and if weren’t for your fear of losing someone you had just met, you would have called him out on his ill tone. you nodded. “of course.” you rushed inside the home as fast as your weak legs allowed it. 

when you made it past the threshold of your home, you giggled in joy. “glenn ! make a fresh pot of soup. we have someone waiting outside.” you didn’t let the older man question too much, pushing him off into the kitchen immediately. 

“who is that out there ?” he questioned. as the only father figure in your life, it was obvious he’d be worried about who you were seeing now considering you never saw anyone but the house servants. 

“it’s the man who’s been supplying us with firewood.” you said with a smile. “well, aren’t you going to invite the gentleman inside ?” he asked. “he said he didn’t want to come in so i’ll just let him eat in the garden.” glenn nodded and continued to cut vegetables. you took that as a sign to leave him alone and go back to your guest.  

as you approached him again, he was mindlessly kneeling over some of the dying chrysanthemums. “do you like chrysanthemums?” you asked. “what are kristenmoms?” he replied. you laughed at his terrible pronunciation, laughter wringing out into the wind as you clapped your hands together. “it’s chrysanthemum.” you told him. 

you said it a little more slowly so he could understand it better. he tested the word on his tongue a few times. “chrysanthemum... that’s pretty.” he nodded. just as you were to reply to him, glenn yelled at you from the window. you scurried to go grab the tray of food from the kitchen door and bring it back to the man next to you. “thank you.” he mumbled. 

you nodded. “of course. tell me if you like it.” he nodded, taking a hefty bite of the soup glenn had prepared. “it’s delicious.” he muttered. your happiness toward him shouldn’t have been so apparent but you couldn’t help it. “i’m so glad you like it.” 

-

after the warm meal he had received, the monster trudged back to the small cave he had been residing it. it was surrounded by snow and there was a fire inside that burned day and night as long as he kept it fueled. he smiled subconsciously at the thought of you. he was just happy for the meal and kindness he had received, but his smile disappeared just as quick as it came. he knew the was the doors of the grand estate would be closed for him forever the second he revealed his face. 

a few weeks back he had even tried to search for his father but to no avail. he couldn’t find the one that had sewn him together, brought his body together like a intricate tapestry. he was long gone and surely unconcerned with the artificial life he had abandoned in his laboratory. the monster had no idea what to do with himself. 

-

for the next few weeks, the monster continued to visit your house. he didn’t know what else to do with all the time he had. he brought sticks and a fleeting conversation. you had learned that he was much more cheerful than he what he was like initially. his laughter was beautiful but a bit groggy. his face was always covered and you wanted to ask why but you were too scared to make him uncomfortable. 

“you know.. you never told me your name.” you asked one day. 

“name ?” he questioned. 

“yeah, a name. everyone’s got one, don’t they ?” 

he shook his head. “i don’t. no one found me important enough to name me.” you heart sank a little at the revelation but you didn’t let it affect your outwards appearance. you would never dampen his mood like that. 

“i can give you a name.” you blurted. 

“why ?” he questioned 

“because you’re important to me.” your cheeks burned at your own words. surprised that something as bold as this had made its way past your lips. he softly giggled. 

“you’re important to me too.” you could sense the smile in his voice and you sighed in relief. “thank you, mingi.” 

-

days past by, then weeks, then months.. you had still not seen the face of the man you were growing to love. to you, beauty was not found within the physics of man. instead, it was found within the kind words mingi had whispered to you each night before he left. he never stayed and you were too shy to offer. he was slowly beginning to notice your sickness as well. he realized with the way you coughed after laughing a bit too hard, or how each day your day in the cold was beginning to get limited. 

you used to leave when the moon came up and now you were lucky enough to leave before sundown. 

“why don’t you spend as much time with me anymore ?” he asked. you smiled sadly at him, holding onto his hand. “i’m sick.” you responded. he tilted his head, staring at you with a questioning look. “sick ? with what ?” 

you took a deep breath. blurting the name of the disease that was slowly taking your life. the disease that had snatched your radiance away. “ligma.” you responded. “it’s taken away some of my energy, i’ve had it since i was young. it’s slowly killed my happiness. it made my friends move on with their lives, and my sister got married and left and i became more bitter with each passing day to the point where I didn’t like going out anymore.” 

“how come you’re outside right now ?” he asked. 

“because you’re someone worth being outside for.”

-

after countless months of spending time with you, mingi unwrapped the scarf that covered his face. you gasped at first, but his flaws were beautiful to you. his face was covered in skin that was dying to match. there was a scar running across his forehead and one across his cheek. despite all the closed wound son his skin, you ran your hand over his lips and across the stitches on his cheeks. “i think you’re beautiful, mingi.” you declared. much to your surprise, tears filled in his mismatched eyes. he leaned into your palm, kissing the side of your hand. 

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” he repeated again and again. “thank you so much for accepting me.” your heart sank at his vulnerability. you brought him forward into a hug, running your hand through the greyish strands. “i’ll always accept you, my love.” you confessed.

-

mingi was comfortable enough to enter your home after that. he was scared of what glenn and mary would say but you reassured him repeatedly. “if i can learn to love you, there is no reason they cannot.” despite the tight smile he showed you, you knew he was still scared of showing himself. he had told you about the family had had spent months helping but they turned their backs on him the second they saw his face. you promised that you’d never do the same. you’d never leave him. 

-

how ironic that was when you lay in your bed the next couple days, finding it difficult to get up. mingi had been there for you every step of the way. he picked up after you, he changed your clothes and you could swear that mary would be jobless if mingi continued his antics. 

“listen young man, i don’t think it’s appropriate for you to see her this way.” mary scolded. mingi whined, stomping his foot gently. “but i’ve seen her like this so many times already.” mary’s eyes widened, “i-i- okay..” she said as she stepped out of your room. you giggled weakly, trying to find the strength to laugh the way you used to. 

you had never cared much about dying before. it seemed insignificant to you. there wasn’t much you’d be leaving behind anyway, but now there was someone here for you. he stayed with you day and night to make sure you were breathing. you almost wished you had never met him. you wished you didn’t have to leave him, but death was an inevitable fate whether by destiny or disease. 

-

mingi had done his best to wake you that day. when you didn’t open your once bright eyes, his own filled with tears. his body filled with sadness and dread as he shook with his own sobs. “y/n.. come on. you promised. you said you wouldn’t go..” he cried. perhaps your death shouldn’t have been such a big surprise to him. he knew your time was coming, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

he pressed his forehead to your ice cold hand, wishing those same lithe fingers would brush through his grey locks once again, but they didn’t. they didn’t move when the doctor came home to determine your time of death. they didn’t move when your body was hauled into a coffin. they didn’t move when said coffin was lowered six feet below the ground two days later.

-

was God so cruel to have taken away the only person that had finally accepted him ? but perhaps that was their only fault. they found perfect in a world of imperfections. society had made her bitter. she could no longer find happiness in the mundane life she was living. likewise, his perception of the human world was tainted the moment he had stepped out of his fathers lab. in each others faults, they found acceptance and in each others faults, they found love. 

tagging : @12–98 @strangertides @getoswhore @deliciouslydisturbed365 @shiningstar-byulxx @perfectlysane24 @chittaphonstar @daisyxxmist @leicy0756 @rdiamondbts2727 @earth-to-leiki @in-san-ity @aesmstar @woosk1tten @itsbritnybitch @eggyeok @malewife-supremacy @luvaffaire @drunkensobriety @sxlver-sweet @ateezbabysitters @swimmingkpopblog + send an ask to be added or removed from taglist

© tohokuu. do not plagiarize, steal or publish to any other platforms.

[afwilliam75]

Silent Hill 1: Or how I learned to stop being scared and love terror. “The fear for blood tends to create fear of flesh” Silent Hill is one of the references in terms of horror in video games, it is unquestionable, but I cannot remember another game that has made me think as much as this one did, that is, in theory it is a fairly simple game, even being such an old game you'd think it wouldn't be so scary I mean I can see the pixels that can't scare me but I think silent hill finds strength in its weaknesses the fact that the ps1 couldn't render a city forced them to think outside the box from the box and reach the iconic fog that generates a lot of uncertainty, since the only thing you can guide yourself with is the sound of your radio to be safe. And despite being such an old and simple game, technically speaking it doesn't show its weak points, it really shows that the team behind this game really had a special affection for it, because it almost never plays it safe creatively, the music is iconic already by the fabulous Akira Yamaoka as well as Masajiro Ito's creature design. It really is a feat that in a genre where you usually rely too much on gore and jump scares here the horror is based on making you feel alienated in a hostile world, this is probably the coldest and most cryptic game I've ever played, but that's part of its design It's part of the psychological terror it wants to make you feel, plus I'd also give it extra points for the quality of the puzzles in the game, they really do require a pretty decent puzzle-solving ability. As for the story, I think it supports a lot of the cryptic and lonely aspect of the atmosphere, so you don't have too much character development; however, when the game wants to make you feel other emotions such as empathy, sadness or nostalgia, it will succeed. Personally, I think that in terms of its central theme, Silent Hill was way ahead of its time, this is already more of a head canon, but I think the theme is a social commentary on how society and especially religions and cults have abused women throughout history, using them as means to an end, as can be seen in the case of Alessa, who kept her alive for the only thing they kept her alive was to conceive despite only being a girl or there is also the case of Lisa Garland who was drugged, abused and physically and psychologically injured by Dr. Aickmann and the cult for god knows how long, to the point of literally losing her humanity and ending in one of the saddest death scenes possible, even To support my theory, we would only have to see the final boss of the game "Incubus" which is defined as: "Incubus is the one that responds to the male gender and likes to possess women during dreams to be able to generate them and thus have offspring." Supporting the aforementioned how Alessa was only kept alive to procreate. In addition, the use of symbolism and occult objects is fascinating and somewhat fresh theme in the genre up to that moment, as well as being able to discover the psyche of a disturbed girl in a physical way as a place that could be every day, but seen from the perspective of a girl who has been abused in many ways is very interesting and creates empathy for this type of case, as if all the sins were mixed and effervescent with the facade of a city. However, it is not exempt from criticism, especially in the gameplay it is archaic and often difficult to control. Above all, it is a game that despite its flaws is mandatory and a masterpiece in the genre. Good night and Happy Halloween.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,823 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N heads outside of the walls for a distraction after the distressing day before. She returns in the evening to learn some concerning news.

Your name: submit What is this?

You woke early from fitful sleep plagued with the same old nightmares. It was still dark out and you knew no more sleep would come, so you decided to be productive again. Meat was always scarce, and after the news of Denise the day before, you needed a distraction. Not to mention having to relive old traumas… After quickly dressing, you stepped out on the porch into the cool morning air. Normally you would have asked Daryl if he wanted to join you, but the house across the street was still dark and you hoped that, for once, he was getting some sleep. Though with the events of the previous day, you really doubted it.

You grabbed your bow and headed for the gates. Sasha was on duty and she pulled it open for you with a kind but sad smile as you went out.

You spent all day outside the walls, engrossed in hunting, and it was after dark when you returned, hauling the rabbits with you over your shoulder. Tobin, a longtime Alexandria resident was on gate duty and you thanked him with a nod as you came in. He seemed particularly stoic but you attributed it to the prior day’s events. Denise was beloved by most of the people in town, especially since she had taken over after Pete’s demise… You made your way toward Aaron’s house and saw that the garage light was on and the door was open. You went in, expecting to find Daryl there tinkering on his bike, but the garage was empty and Daryl’s bike was distinctly missing. He must have parked it outside his place. You knocked on the door into the house and Eric answered it with Judith in his arms. You greeted them both with a smile but Eric’s face was grave and he was white as a sheet.

You throat tightened and your stomach dropped when you registered his expression. “What’s the matter?”

He gulped and stepped back to let you inside. “Have you been out all day?” he asked you.

“Yeah. Since before the sun was up,” you said, gesturing to the rabbits over your shoulder. Your heart started racing. “Eric—what’s going on?”

He shook his head and opened him mouth to speak but no sound came out. Turning on his heel he walked further inside and set Judith down on a blanket on the floor before he faced you again. “It’s—It’s bad,” he said seriously. “Carol left.”

Your brow contracted. “Left? What do you mean she left? Why? For how long?” Your thoughts immediately turned to Daryl. He and Carol were very close. You were sure he was worried, angry. He’d probably try to go after her.

“She left a note. I—I don’t think she’s coming back,” Eric said softly.

You paused for a moment. “Did Daryl go after her?”

“Rick and Morgan did. Daryl was already gone when they headed out.”

You stomach lurched and your head spun. “Gone—Gone where?”

Eric just stared at you.

Your breathing was speeding up. “Gone where?”

He averted his eyes and shrugged. “Best guess is back to where… it happened. To try and track them.”

You felt like you had been punched. “No. No, no, no,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Eric. “I—no. He can’t.” You tried to heave in a breath but your lungs felt tight. “I need to sit down,” you gasped, practically collapsing into a nearby chair as your knees felt like they were giving out.

“Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita went after him this morning,” he said quickly. Your eyes shot up to his face.

“Okay…” You waited expectantly for more details.

“But—they left early and none of them are back yet.” He looked mortified that he had to be the one to unload all this information on you.

You hung your head into your hands. “Oh my God. No… Fuck! Shit!” You stood up abruptly, the brace of rabbits forgotten and paced the length of the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. So, I’ll get some of the others and—and we’ll go look for them. Right? I’ll go find them and we’ll bring them back,” you said, more to yourself than Eric.

He winced, his expression regretful, anxious. “There’s… there’s something else.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Isn’t that enough?!”

He grimaced. “Rick came back after he and Morgan went out. They think Carol had a run in with some of the Saviors not too far from here. Morgan stayed out to follow her trail. They think she might be hurt but they don’t know. But when Rick came back—Maggie is sick. Very sick.”

“Sick how?”

“She—she thinks something with the baby. She was in a lot of pain… Rick loaded everyone up to get her to Dr. Carson at The Hilltop.”

You mind was whirring. “Okay. Okay…” You sat there, trying to process all this, wringing your hands. “Goddammit!” you said, taking your head in your hands again. “What the hell?!” You looked up at Eric desperately. “Who all went to Hilltop?”

“Pretty much everyone. Aaron went. And they took Eugene to get treated too since he was awake. I volunteered to stay here and watch Judith.”

You stood up and paced the length of the room. “Goddammit, what the hell is Daryl thinking!? I told him! I told him not to—” You broke off, gritting your teeth. Your hands clenched into fists. You turned over your conversation with Daryl the night before. You realized he had never said he wouldn’t go after The Saviors who had killed Denise. You now realized he’d been very specific about which words he spoke.

Eric shrugged vaguely. “I know. But—he’s…”

You sighed and shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose hard in an attempt to ground yourself with something. “I know.” You looked back at Eric desperately again. “What do we do?”

He shrugged, at a loss for words now. “I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

Your jaw clenched. “Wait.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

And you waited. And you waited. And you waited. You weren’t good at waiting, even in the best of times. You refused to sleep. You refused to eat. You stood watch at the top of the gate and stared into the darkness which became dawn which became mid-morning. Still there was no sign of anyone. Everything was too quiet. You felt more and more nauseous by the minute, your stomach turning with anxiety.

Finally, a vehicle came into view in the distance. You raised the scope of your rifle to your eye. The RV. It was the RV. You continued to watch as it approached and you could see that it was Rick driving. You finally lowered the scope and the nauseous feeling in your stomach changed to a hard pit.

He stopped at the gate and raised a hand to signal that it was alright to open the gate. You climbed down and yanked it open, letting him drive through. The back of the RV had barely cleared the gate when he shut off the engine. You rushed to await whatever was to come, but you had a feeling like pins and needles prickling up your spine and a heavy weight on your chest. It was hard to draw air.

The door opened and people began to step out. But their faces… they weren’t themselves anymore. They were changed.

You knew that look; that wide-eyed, hundred-yard stare, the terror in their eyes. You had seen it on yourself, on your brother, on many others after they tangled with Negan. You knew what it meant. And there seemed to be a lot of people missing. Your people missing. You forced in a breath and just watched as they stepped out. Who was there and who was missing? Rick came around from the other side, and if possible, he looked worse than all of them.

“Rick…” you said, rushing over. He hardly seemed to hear you. “Rick!” You grasped his shoulders and his blue eyes, frantic and wide landed on your face.

“Judith?” he rasped, in a fog.

“She’s fine. She’s with Eric. Rick,” your voice broke off. You glanced at everyone who was pouring out of the RV, trying to take attendance.

“You were right,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “You were right. You were…” he trailed off.

Your eyes landed on Michonne and Rosita as they stepped out of the RV. “Daryl?” you demanded. You squeezed Rick’s shoulders to bring him back to you. “Daryl?!?” you urged.

He looked away down at his boots. His answer came in a whisper you almost couldn’t hear. He couldn’t look at you while he said it. “They have him.”

The breath was ripped from your lungs and your hands slipped from Rick’s shoulders. You staggered backwards, reeling. Suddenly Carl was there and he grasped your arm firmly. When you took in his expression, you were amazed that he looked better than anyone else. Of course he did. He’d grown up in this screwed up world during his formative years—he’d been at the prison when it fell, he’d had to put down his own mother… You, on the other hand, were spinning.

“He’ll be okay,” Carl said. “Daryl’s strong. He’ll fight.”

You shook your head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Suddenly Aaron was beside you. You’d never seen him look worse. He was as white as a sheet and shaking. His eyes were wide, red, and puffy.

“Oh my God,” you launched yourself at him, grabbing him into a tight hug and unable to stop the tears from pouring down your face. “Oh my God.” He hugged you back weakly. You pulled back and looked at him, clasping his face in your hands. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” you said, doing your best to reassure him.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey! Stop it. Stop. Everything—everything is going to be f—fine,” you said, pulling yourself back together while he was going to pieces. “You’re okay. Eric is okay.” You released your hold on your dear friend and nodded. “Go see Eric. Go home.” Aaron gave you another fearful and concerned look but you simply wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks and nodded. “I’m fine. Go home.”

You spun around again to look at the rest of the ragged group and started mentally going through the list of people who had gone out. “Maggie?!” you demanded suddenly.

“She’s at Hilltop,” Carl said. “Sasha stayed there, too.”

Your brow drew down low over your eyes. Something about that statement struck you as odd. “And Glenn?”

Now Carl looked away, and you could see light glistening in his eyes.

“No. No… Oh my God. No.” You put a hand out and had to lean on the RV, at risk of collapsing from the lightheadedness that flooded your brain.

Carl looked at you with a mixture of devastated and angry tears in his eyes. Your hand flew to cover your mouth and tears broke loose and streamed down your face again. You again glanced at the people wandering away toward Rick’s house. Michonne. Eugene. Rosita. Your eyes shot back to Carl, a sense of apprehension almost overwhelming you. “A—Abraham?”

Again, Carl shook his head.

He turned away from you, leaving you spinning, and grasped his dad’s arm. “Dad. Come on. Let’s go see Judith.”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’ll go.”

Rick stared at you. “I—I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking,” you countered.

“I’ll go myself. I—”

“You’ve got kids. You’ve got a baby. Hell, you’ve got a whole town to look after now, Sheriff Grimes. And you need to get ready because they are coming. They’ll expect you to be here. You’re the leader. Just—I’ll go.” Rick watched the muscle in your jaw twitch. “You know I have to go.”

Rick heaved a sigh. He knew you’d go regardless of whether or not he wanted you to. He knew you did have to go. This was you and this was Daryl. “How?” he asked you. “How are you gonna get him back?”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s my job. I know more about Negan and that place than anyone. I will get him out. I promise you. I will get Daryl out.”

Rick let out a long slow exhale, with an edge to it like a growl. “I don’t suppose I have any real choice in the matter anyway,” he said.

“You don’t.”

Rick sighed again, rubbing a hand over the heavy stubble on his face.

“Rick, listen to me. They are going to come and the first thing they are going to do is take all your weapons and all your ammo. That inventory Olivia keeps of the armory? Burn it. And take some of the guns and ammo, just enough so they won’t suspect anything, and hide them outside the walls. Outside. If you hide them in here, they will find them. And when they do, someone else will die.”

Rick gulped and nodded. He felt like an icy hand had seized his heart in his chest. “Alright.”

“And there’s one more thing… Negan and his assholes—they cannot know that we are connected. Do you understand? You need to make sure that no one ever mentions me, okay? Like I don’t exist.”

Rick gave you a questioning look but nodded.

You gulped at the constriction in your throat. “I’ll tell you everything at some point but right now I need to go. I don’t want Daryl there a minute longer than he has to be. You understand everything?”

Rick nodded gravely. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” He hesitated. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You turned on your heel and went home to prepare.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were concealed in the woods outside the nearest Savior outpost. It had taken you far longer to get there than you had hoped and you’d had to go pretty dark to find it… You killed more Saviors, but not all of them. Some you had kept alive for a little while, until they had given up their information on the location of the satellite outposts and lookouts. You glanced down at your jeans and t-shirt. They were filthy but still a bit too well kept. You wiped the walker blood on the blade of your knife on your shirt and then took the edge of it to your clothes, placing a rip here and poking a hole there. You looked at your arms. They were scratched and bruised from fighting your way through the woods, through walkers, through soldiers of The Saviors to get here. Good. You wanted it to look like you were having a shit time. You heaved in one last breath; your heart pounded. You were terrified, but the thought of Daryl being held by them sent an urgent shot of fearlessness through you. It had already been too long. You didn’t allow yourself to run through the what ifs… You gritted your teeth and stepped out of the woods, approaching the front of the outpost with your hands up.

The two guards in front saw you immediately. “Freeze! Don’t move!” Automatic weapons pointed at you.

You obeyed. They approached.

“Holy shit,” one of the men said as they got closer. He exchanged a look with the other.

“Son of a bitch,” the second man said matter-of-factly. “You gave us quite the run around, little lady. Negan had whole crews out looking for you.”

Your chest was heaving with nervous breaths. “I—I know. I made a mistake,” you muttered. You didn’t have to try to sound scared. You were. There was a quiver in your voice, but you knew it would work to your advantage. You wanted them to see you as helpless, scared.

“A big one,” the first man agreed. “Search her,” he said, nodding to his associate. He trained his gun on the center of your chest.

The second man frisked you, lingering a little too long with his hands on your body. He removed your knife from the sheath at your hip and clicked his tongue. “Damn. Too bad we can’t have some fun with her first,” he said, hungry eyes wandering over your body and back up to your face.

Revulsion twisted your stomach.

“Too bad,” the other agreed. “But you know what Negan said. She goes straight to him. What do you want? Why are you here?” he pressed.

“I—I want to come back,” you said quietly. “I can’t stay out here…”

This drew chuckles from them. “Negan was right,” one said to the other. “He called it.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun into your back. “Walk slow. Toward the building.”

“I’ll call it in. Damn, is he gonna be surprised. Might even throw us a bonus for bringing her in.” He raised his radio to his lips. “This is Rich at satellite outpost Beta-2. Repeat, this is Rich at outpost Beta-2. Anyone copy?” There was a brief burst of static before another voice responded through the speaker.

“I copy Rich. This is D at Sanctuary. What do you need? Over.”

“We’ve recovered a wanted individual who fled Sanctuary. How would you like us to proceed? Please advise. Over.”

There was another pause. The other man grabbed your wrists roughly and zip-tied them together behind your back, cruelly tight.

“Who do you have?” came the voice again.

“We’ve got Y/N.” He said it with relish and his eyes flew to your face again, a small smirk on his face.

The pause this time was even longer and your stomach turned. What if this wasn’t going to play out as you thought it would? What if he just decided to kill you? Then Daryl may never get out… Finally, the voice responded again. “Negan wants her brought here to Sanctuary immediately. Secure her and get her here now.”

It was done. You were going back.

You were thrown roughly into the back seat of a truck and once you were in, they zip-tied your ankles together too. The whole ride, the man in the passenger seat stared at you while he spun your knife with the point stuck down into the center console. Your heart never slowed from its sprinting in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the familiar building coming into view and the truck stopped at the double doors. The man in the passenger seat cut the zip-tie around your ankles and soon you were roughly pulled out of the back of the truck by the elbow. You were pushed toward the double doors and forced inside. The sounds, the smell of the place brought memories flooding back to you and you began to feel lightheaded as you were herded up the stairs. You were met at the top by two of Negan’s apparent lieutenants, Simon and Dwight.

Simon was glaring at you and his nostrils flared. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in, Dwight.” He let out a low whistle. “What can I do for you, Y/N? Oh, and may I just say that you look like shit.”

You gulped at the lump in your throat. “I want to talk to Negan,” you said quietly. You glanced at Dwight beside Simon and that’s when you noticed that most of the left side of his face and ear were horrifically scarred—burned. When you had been at Sanctuary, Dwight and his wife and her sister were workers with you and your brother. You had gathered from what Daryl said that Dwight had escaped and ended up going back. Now he had moved up to being one of Negan’s right-hand men.

You let out a gasp as Simon backhanded you across the face hard. You tasted blood from a split in your bottom lip. “Of course, you want to see the big man,” he growled, stepping right up into your face. “You’ll see him when we say you can see him.” Simon grabbed you roughly by the elbow and dismissed the two men who had brought you in from the outpost. “Let me escort you to your accommodations, Y/N. I reckon you’ll find them familiar.” Soon you were in front of a metal door with a ‘#1’ painted on it; the cell you’d been held in when you’d first been brought to The Sanctuary with your group. Simon’s grip on your arm was like a vice. He smirked as he yanked the door open and shoved you inside, into the blackness. “Enjoy,” he snarked. “I’ll be sure to have fresh towels and the room service menu sent right up.”

“Simon—” you started, but you were cut off when he slammed the heavy door in your face, leaving you now in complete darkness.

Fuck. Was this what Negan had said to do with you? You had a hunch it wasn’t… Simon was a prick. He was volatile. You were willing to bet that he had taken it on himself to teach you a little lesson before taking you to see Negan. The zip ties on your wrists were cutting into you and it was nearly impossible to get comfortable with your arms pinned behind your back the way they were. You shifted your position on the floor and tried to alleviate some of the pressure.

You had no idea how long you sat there in the darkness, but it was at least several hours before you heard voices and boot steps on the other side of the door. You pressed your back into the wall and managed to stagger up to your feet. When the door cracked open, the light coming in even from just the dim overhead lights in the hall seemed blinding and you winced. At first all you could see were silhouettes in front of you.

But as they came into focus and your eyes adjusted you saw that it was Simon and Dwight, this time followed by the man himself, Negan… complete with leather jacket and his signature baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

[iphoenixrising]

How do you think the boys will react to Dr Tim in fear gas (like full dose of it)??

Hi babe.

I’ve said it before, but ah. Be careful what you wish for, heh. 

But no, really hasn’t poor Dr. Tim been through enough? Guy has already narrowly escaped collapsing bridges, been up close and personal with the Joker, fought off Scarecrow’s goons, AND was smack dab in the middle of an honest-to-God Arkham Riot.Now we’re going to just get him all up in some fear toxin? Good Lord, can the man get a break? He hasn’t had some smut in a while tbh. (winks over to chippon)

BUT.

WARNINGS FOR: 

Mentions of child abuse 

Mentions of gore, blood, grossness 

You will be crying by the end. Guaranteed. 

Extreme mental and emotional HURT 

Tim’s fears are Jesus-Fucking-Christ level bad 

You’ve been warned :D

**

He’s not even back to work yet after that ambulance wreck, still feels the road rash, pulled muscles, and residual owfuck from a little rough and tumble time at Arkham Asylum. 

But, he’s in a convenience store for fuck’s sake because Jay wouldn’t let him have coffee this morning (nah, Sweets. Ya ain’t godda get up yet. Jus’ go back ta sleep wid’ me, yeah? We’re gonna stay here all warm n’ snug. Sshh. I gotcha, Timmy), and he’d managed to wrangle himself out of Jay’s arms when he woke up again, found out there’s only enough grounds for a shitty, weak pot, and Tim can’t even stand the thought of it.

Unfortunately, he gets a whole lot of random bad guys stopping in for those terrible hot dogs and road drinks on their way out of Gotham.

(Crane looks just as horrifying as he remembers from the hospital that one time, and Tim fervently hopes, hopes none of these henchmen recognize him in a beat-up hoodie and saggy sweatpants.)

What makes matters worse?

Crane isn’t even trying to be, you know, an evil villain.

There’s a put-upon sign behind the mask, and the fear gas comes out of nowhere, getting everyone in the store because the guy just doesn’t want to deal with civilians right this moment. He missed the break-out and decided to have a party all on his own, but he hasn’t even gotten the time to get the plan for his next evil scheme ready yet.

So he raises a hand and sprays a little gas to keep people from being lucid enough to call the cops and rat him out. He needs some time for a good getaway.

Tim, however, sees the inevitable coming and is frozen to the spot, can’t get his weak knees to unlock so he can at least try to duck. Instead, he gets it full in the face.

In a sweep, Crane sprays the small store as his henchmen drop a $20 in front of the coughing clerk and take off back out the door. Hotdogs and all.

Tim scrabbles for his phone, the noxious cloud makes his eyes water, his lungs fucking burn on the first choked, shocked breath. Even when he tries to hold his breath, he’s too terrified, knees going out just as he thumbs the screen behind his back.  

“Timmy?” is tinny and far away while he tries to at least breath shallow, eyes dart to the door, his brain tuned into the whole get out and away before the inevitable happens.

He’s got to get to Jay, he’s got to get out of here and get to someone. If he starts talking while hepped up on fear gas, he could give away everyone’s secrets. He could tell random strangers who everyone really is, he could tell anyone their weaknesses, he could put everyone in danger.

Building blocks. If he can get to a lab, to Steph’s, back to his penthouse, anywhere not here, he can probably crack the building blocks of the toxin before it takes him over completely.

He doesn’t even hear, “Baby? Ya there? Didja butt dial again? Thought I tol’ ya ta stay in bed with me, yeah?”

Not with the door right there.

All he has to do is make his weak knees fucking work, ignore the burn in his lungs, his brain, his eyes teary with the cloud still thick around him, with the abrupt slam of his heart in his chest, with the sudden shadows in the niches that hadn’t been there before.

He just has to get to that fucking door. Has to be able to run.

Tim manages to mostly get there before the screaming starts.

**

Dick is working the day shift in the uniform when word Crane struck come over the wire.

Whenever it’s one of the big bads, he gets close enough to get the details before handily disappearing to slip into something a little more comfortable.

(He knows his ass is spectacular in the Nightwing suit.)

A boop from his pocket is his Batcomm notification, and he pops it in just as he dips into the men’s room with a plan to get out one of the usual windows.

“We’ve got Crane on the move, O. Might want to drop B a line.”

“Already aware, Boy Wonder. It’s more severe than you realize.” His phone goes off as Dick is shimmying out the window and up the building where he keeps a spare suit in a nice waterproof bag hidden in the overhang.

When he checks whatever oh shit is added to a potentially deadly scene, he’s got a text from Jay and a picture from O.

Surveillance footage from inside a convenience store where Crane evidently attacked some civilians. His breath catches when one of the faces turned away to try avoiding the gas is–

Timmy.

“Fuck,” is a little breathless with a very different kind of fear, and Dick immediately turns it up a notch, throwing his suit on and slapping a domino over his eyes. “What can you tell me, O?”

Quick check on what he’s got to work with.

“B and Rob are already in pursuit. Signal is approaching to assist. As far as we can tell, this is the only place Crane managed to hit. Everyone’s mostly been accounted for by GCPD.”

“I sense a but coming–” and he checks his phone two seconds before time to fly, and the text from Jay is something about Tim and screaming, and now he won’t pick up the phone...

“O?” Because dread strikes him in the chest.

“He’s the only civilian missing. He must have already taken off before the patrol car got there.”

“He was hit with fear gas, and he took off?”

The jumpline is already in his hand before he even hits the edge of the roof at a run. It’s go time.

So, it’s a race to find Tim, all doped up on fear toxin and probably tripping out of his mind in one of the most dangerous cities in America where people like the Joker and Two-Face might hold a grudge.

Jason was already suited up before he sent that text to Dickie, was outta there when the sounds came over the line, the familiar screams. It’s a particular flavor of terror spelled out that Timmy, was probably in trouble.

He hits up O with the deets while Nightwing hits the almost-night, making the first swing fucking count.

**

The world alters and shift around him, almost throwing him off his feet more than once.

He’s already completely lost his sense of direction, trying to keep his eyes closed in a last ditch effort to keep the hallucinations at bay.

(It’s just chemicals fucking with your brain. You can beat this. It’s not real. None of it is real. You know that. You know it’s just–

Brick under his fingertips, abrading the sensitive skin. Stumbles over a curb, and the loud whonkkkkk almost rips a surprised yip out of him. Tim cracks his eyes open, heart picking up when the yellow lights look like the porch light from the Johnson’s house–

– before they brought him back.

“He’s…a special child. He needs more than we can give him–”

“He can’t get along with the other children, so I’m afraid–”

“Well, you see. Mary is pregnant! It’s-it’s a miracle, and we like Tim, really we do–“

Tim grits his teeth, hears so much wahwahwah than anyone really talking, telling him to get the hell out of the street, what is he thinking?

But instead of a shadow of a motorist that had pretty much almost run him over, all he can see is Detective Gordon, way back when he’d been the one to come to the Drake’s manor and give him the news.

His mom and dad weren’t coming back, not ever.

“N-No,” he whimper screams, slamming his eyes closed, and takes off again. It’s a full tilt run, every person he meets with someone else’s face.

Michael McCannon, the guy that beat the shit out of his foster kids.

Lilly Wright, wanted the income from having a foster in her house, didn’t care if he went to school, if he slept, if he ate, if he was dead in a gutter because he fell off a roof running after–

He smacks his palms into brick, scraping his face, turns and there’s Tony Stark back when he’d first met. Intimidating and imposing, eyes narrowed in distaste.

He runs faster, only half recognizes the buildings as he goes. He knocks into someone, eats face in an alley, panting and sweating, eyes full of tears, brain on fucking fire.

“Drake!” Hissed from the shadows, the darkness parting for red, gold, and green.

But it’s too much red, too much red.

“N-no, nonono,” and now he’s outright sobbing, scrabbling to his feet because Dami, Dami, is in a ragged, torn tunic, skin broken and blood fucking pouring out of him.

He’s got both hands on the vigilante, brain failing him, spitting out the mortality rate of being run the fuck through.

“No, no, no Dami, Dami,” he’s pressing on the worst wound, tears streaming down his face, babbling incoherently, apologizing, begging this kid, the little brother he should have had, not to fucking die and leave him too.

Robin, laying where the doctor had apparently thrown him, is staring up in shock, hands on Drake’s forearms where he’s pressing at some imaginary wound.

“Don’t die, Dami. Stay with me! Please stay with me!” Is fairly screamed in the cold night.

And Robin catches his breath at this, this, as one of Drake’s worst fears.

“D-Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I-I can’t lose you, too.” Tim weeps, pulling both hands back, staring down at what must see as blood and viscera.

“I am sorry, Timothy,” Robin breathes out hoarsely, frees a hand to pull back, teeth clenched against what he’s about to do, and punches their doctor with real intent.

As he hopes, Tim goes down like a stone, unconscious on the dirty ground, tears still on his face from terror and grief.

In a breath, Robin is on his feet, kneeling over Drake, tapping the comm in his ear. “Hood, N, Father. I have located him. He has been…affected. I am uncertain if the anti-toxin in my belt would do further harm, so I have not administered it as of yet.”

“Rob,” Hood’s response is immediate, “Big Wing’s with Daddy Bat takin’ care a’ the last of ‘em.  I’m headin’ atcha now.”

“Meet me at the Black Bird. Hurry,” Robin cuts off, and gently, oh so gently for his normal, lifts Tim’s upper body against his chest, points a gauntlet at the roof to fire the jump line, reel them both in.

At sixteen, the youngest vigilante has nearly outgrown the doctor, and has no trouble lifting Tim up to carry him across the roof, occasionally looking down to make sure Tim is still out.

His own vehicle, the Black Bird, is hidden close to a safe house for the Bats. Balancing Tim in his arms, he taps his utility belt, the container hiding the car folding away.

Hood is on the ground, immediately takes Timmy from Rob, looking at the scrapes on his face.

“In, in!” Robin snaps, shooing Hood in the back with their Doctor. “We must get him to the Cave immediately.”

He dives in the driver’s seat, revving the engine fast, tapping his mask for the whiteouts to slide up. He takes in the immediate area with a glance, and peels out into the night.

Jay deactivates the helmet, tosses it in the front seat, wraps both arms around Timmy in his lap, tapping the comm to listen up at Dickie and B on clean-up whiles he winds up to get all the deets outta the Demon.

“Tell it ta me straight, Lil’ D. How bad wassit?”

He’s looking in the rearview because the kid’s eyes always give him away.

He ain’t prepared to see the Demon blinking rapidly, jaw clenched tight. “He is fully effected. Hallucinations, inability to discern outside voices. I called to him. He was not able to hear me. See me, yes, but he believed I was…dying. He attempted to treat me, asked me not to…”

Robin makes a hard right turn, shoves his foot against the pedal to drift it. He shoves in the clutch, shifts the gears, biting down on his lower lip (“Don’t leave me, I can’t lose you.”).

He evens out, hitting the Robert Kane Bridge to take them out of Gotham proper and closer to the Manor.

“Dames?” Jay makes it soft because the kid is obviously shook.

Robin pushes the car to 105 mph to sail over the bridge.

“His fear was he would be unable to save me. The wound…he believed the wound made by Hush would kill me yet again, I believe.”

Jason Todd breathes in sharply, freeing up a hand to fit at the back of Rob’s neck, make circles with his thumb.

“Sorry that mighta brought ya back.” His tone is low with sympathy, empathy.

And for a moment, Damian Wayne, not Robin, leans back into that hand, lets it ground him while the night flies by the window, while he watches the darkness for everything while he downshifts, when the road starts getting less defined further out of the city they go.

“It is not that,” Damian admits, “one day, one of us, perhaps all of us, will not return. Nothing he can do will prevent that.”

“I know, Baby Bat. Let’s hope it ain’t any day soon, you feel me?” And Jay, tries to keep it gentle, tries to keep the circles going, tries to be easy about it so Baby Bat won’t try ta pull away, put it all back inna box to fester.

“Agreed. However, do not be surprised if he comes to fighting. We must monitor his vitals closely if this toxin is similar to the last batch.”

“I gotcha. S’all right, we’re gonna take care of him, ain’t we?”

Damian makes an affirmative noise and leans forward out of Jay’s grip, pressing the gas, then gearing back up.

**

Tim comes to as the restraints are tightened, Alfred Pennyworth securing several sticky discs to his chest, and a pulse oximeter to his finger.

“We’ll see you soon, Son. Be a good boy while we’re gone.”

Makes his eye fly open wide, his heart slam painfully against his rib cage, his arms jerk where his wrists are restrained.

“Boys,” a cultured voice calls the second his eyes open, but Tim can’t see anything, not with his heart in his throat, not with his Dad’s voice ghosting out after over a decade and a half.

When he glances over, horrified at the tall figure coming closer, hands raised up in surrender, and his eyes were empty, gorey sockets, black sludge from the empty cavity. Purple lips and half-rotting flesh, the last clothes he’d seen his father wearing, his best suit, the one he’d wear to Drake Industries on the stints they were home and Dad worked in the office.

Tatters and grave dirt, bone peeking out from shriveled flesh…

“Dad,” is a broken, hoarse croak, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried. I tried to be good,” and the closer his dead, decaying Father gets, the more he fights whatever is keeping him still, won’t let him run for his own fucking sanity, “I tried! I tried and you still didn’t come home! It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t–!”

He chokes, gags because Dad is right by the bedside, and now Tim can see the inside of his black mouth, the tongue putrid and pale without blood, and the smell–

He’s probably screaming, even if he can’t hear himself.

Something is strapped over his face, and he fights it, knows it’s a plastic mask, pumping something into his lungs, just like the fear toxin.

A turn of the head, and it’s the reversal of his first meeting with-with

The Joker.

Harley isn’t on the table bleeding out this time. It’s the two of them standing over him, a huge needle full of green sludge right by the Joker’s shoulder, right next to his horrifically sick smile.

He’s wearing a mock head lamp and white coat, Tim’s own badge dangling from his pocket. He turns to the smaller figure of Harley, the nurse sidekick with a frightening set of tools. The orbitoclast is brown with old blood and brain matter, the leucotome wire is rusty, the plunger to send that wire into his brain almost black with old gore.

And he fucking chokes.

“Hold on to those, Nurse. If my wonderful formula doesn’t do the trick, then we’ll have options! Huh, huh, huh,” and the bastard leans into him, that sickening smile, those wide, lucid eyes.

“He’s going to be our good boy, one way or the other, isn’t he?” And the dark growl of it, the promise is what makes him start screaming again.

Hands on his straining arms, a big body right by the bed when he turns, flinches away as far as the hold could let him.

“Oh no. No no no,” is a whimper, a plea, “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Mr. Johnson, I swear. I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

The grip on his arms becomes bruising, painful, terrifying all over again.

Tim clamps down, remembers the beatings hadn’t been as bad if he could keep quiet.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a little shit.”

It’s Mr. Johnson’s words, but Jason’s voice.

“You need a good ass beaten’, kid. That’ll straighten you right out. That’s what all you fuckers need. Lucky for you I don’t mind making sure you keep on the straight and narrow.”

He doesn’t realize he’s chanting, “don’thitme, don’tdon’tdon’t, please please,  don’t,” while Mr. Johnson backs off, the old recriminations and reprimands rolling right out in Jay’s smooth baritone.

He’s outright sobbing, arms trembling above his head where he’s trapped, trapped. He can’t move, he can’t run, he can’t hide, he can’t–

And a blink takes him to the same fire escape outside his penthouse where he’d found Nightwing bleeding out, pulse already weakening, breathing shallow–

“What–“

The whiteouts on that domino are up so he can see Nightwing’s blue eyes flutter open weakly, can see the hand move gingerly to the bleeding wound on his abdomen.

“I can help you,” he yells out, hoping to make those eyes look at him, to get the vigilante to come to him, “I can save you, but you’ve got to get here.” This time his hands, his arms, his whole body is straining to get free, to reach the vigilante that needs him, that’s dying on him while he fucking watches.

The vigilante half-smiles at him, finger stripes more dark than blue, and his head goes back, visibly slumping.

“Nightwing, Nightwing, look at me! Open your eyes!” He knows he’s begging, fighting, but there’s bands around his chest, around his wrists, his ankles and thighs.

“I need, I need sutures, gloves, blood bag, and-and, I need, I need–“ but Nightwing’s head flops and his chest stutters, “LOOK AT ME! You can’t die like this, you can’t. I’m right here, I can save you!”

He sobs out loud, whole body jerking to get free.

“Ssshhh, baby doll, ssshhh,” makes him open his eyes even though he can barely see through the tears streaming down his face, his sobbing, his heart pounding copper in the back of his throat.

And there’s Jay, lying on his chest, all soft and sweet, with a post-sex grin. He’s too beautiful to be real.

“Jay?” He croaks.

“Yeah,” all soft and sweet.

Until he tilts his head, and the horrific smile below his chin leaks rich red down his throat.

“J-Jay?!” His eyes go wide and horrified because there’s his vigilante boyfriend bleeding out all over his chest, far gone enough to be silly and loopy with blood loss.

“S’okay, yeah? When s’time, s’time. Don’t gotta be sad about it, Timmy.”

“N-No, no, put-Jay, listen to me, put pressure on it, okay? Put both hands and press down. You-you’re loosing too much blood. I need you to–“

“That ain’t what’s happening here, Timmers.” Slurry and low, Jay’s face getting pale, eyes fluttering. “Like I tol’ ya b’fore. One day…one day I ain’t gonna come back. S’ just gonna be my time.”

And Tim’s shirt is wet with it, Jay’s blood staining him, soaking through his clothes, the weight of his big body heavier as his strength goes, as his eyes get dimmer, the jade flecks all but gone.

“You can’t. Jay, babe, you can’t. You have to fight. Please fight,” his hands are straining, but he’s so tired, weak, isn’t strong enough to get to them, to save them from their fates. "I don't... I can't be the last one left standing again. I can't. Please, fight. Please!"

'"Nah, Baby. Small right now. Love ya. Love ya s'much."

"I love you too," he sobs, can't breathe, can't think.

(He’s never been strong enough, has he? He’s not strong enough to be what they need.)

He finally can’t fight anymore, just stays pinned under Jay’s weakening body to cry and shake apart.

**

“Do something,” Dick yells, tears running down his face where he’s pinning Tim’s legs down so he stops hurting himself fighting the restraints.

Alfred, eyes narrow and wet-looking, huffs and turns on his heel abruptly. He fishes out supplies from the cabinet, uses a clean hypodermic to puncture the sedative.

Master Jason is staring up at Master Tim’s face, trying to be that boy in the Robin cape from all those years ago. Trying to be strong in the face of such horrors.

“Master Bruce, account for general anesthesia,” Alfred calls briskly and injects carefully into the IV.

“Understood,” the quickly working vigilante calls back from the lab, running the number a second time, darting looks at his children doing one of the hardest jobs he’s ever asked them to do.

He can tell by how Damian’s shoulders are shaking, Dick is opening crying against Tim’s hip, Jay’s lower lip trembling, eyes wet where he’s keeping Tim’s forearms pinned around the IV in his arm.

He add the variables, taking deep breaths, makes mental notes all over the place to look into Tim’s past foster parents.

Johnson. Right.

And the hardened bat can’t say his heart isn’t thundering in his throat watching Tim’s struggle, scream, cry out in grief, trying to use his reasoning and logic, having the fucking Joker of all people as part of his perpetual nightmares…

Bruce takes a calming breath, forces himself to be the Bat while he aches for the kids.

**

Twelve hours later, he comes to somewhere not his Penthouse or Dick’s apartment.

It’s chilly wherever he is, but for some reason his whole body just aches, hurts like he’d been in another damn car wreck or something. It’s too much effort to lift his head and look around, not when he’s pretty sure he’s in Dick’s lap, recognizes the smell of Dick’s jugular.

He hums a little, glad someone at least gave him a blanket because he’s at least mostly warm. His nose is pretty cold, but he just snuggles into Dick’s neck and sighs.

He tries to raise his knees to fold in, get warmer, but his heels bump into legs, and cracking his eyes open, he realizes Jay is sitting by Dick on the floor of the Cave, Tim laying over their laps.

He’s got a cotton ball taped to the inside of his forearm, and no idea why. He blinks a few times, lifts up enough to see Dami on Jay’s other side, head nudged against Jay’s shoulder. A hand is still on Tim’s ankle.

The sudden need to go to the bathroom drives him from their huddle on the cold floor, but at least he spreads the blanket out over them after he manages to pull out of their arms without waking them.

From their faces and expressions, whatever he isn’t immediately remembering couldn’t have been good.

But first, bathroom. Then, maybe coffee? Because that? Would be absolutely stellar at this juncture. Maybe some ibuprofen.

Luckily, there’s swanky digs in the Bat Cave, a set of lockers, showers, nice hot tub for long soaks after a night of kicking bad guy ass.

All the vigilante amenities.

He’s bleary and sore, staggering to the bathroom, noting B is asleep on the big computer, and Alfred sitting back in another chair, tea cup and saucer on the hard drive next to him.

He smiles a little, wonders if he can find a few more blankets somewhere.

A glance in the mirror as he was washing his hands shows him a bunch of road rash city. Man, he must have been caught up in the middle of something again.  

Seriously.

He splashes cold water on his face, works out the low throbbing ache of his bandaged wrists.

He’s shuffling back, thinking about just waking everyone the hell up to send people to bed, like themselves because his ass is numb, and there’s warm beds upstairs. When there’s pounding footsteps, skitters, and slides, whoosh of air, and Dick is right there up in his face, panting like he’d just sprinted all the way across the Cave in a quick hurry.

“Timmy?!”

He blinks up, still bleary about everything, his throat and voice wrecked as fuck, “hey honey. How was your night fighting shitty bad guys?”

He has no idea why Dick’s expression crumples, his eyes getting teary out of nowhere. He’s not prepared for Dick to start crying, to see his beautiful boyfriend hold a hand over his eyes and break down.

“Dick? Dick?”

He goes from holding himself, shuddering with the cold and ache in his bones, to up in Dick’s face, hand on his shoulder, looking for some injury, something to tell him how to help–

But Dick takes a few shuddering breaths under his hand, and Tim just wriggles his arms around Dick’s chest to hold on for a few long seconds before he gets full-on octopus hold right around his everything.

(Okay, that’s a relief.)

“…was it bad?” He asks softly, making circles with his palms as wide as Dick’s hold will let him.

“Y-Yes. It was bad. You don’t remember?” Dick sniffles against the side of his head, rocking them both gently.

“Not yet.” He shrugs an unconcerned shoulder. As someone who’s had a concussion (okay, okay, concussions), and has worked in the medical field in one of the most dangerous cities on the fucking planet, he knows there are plenty of bad guys with chemical weapons that don’t always leave short term memories in tact.

Dick shakes a little and holds him tighter.

“Fuckfuckfuck. Didja find 'im??!” As Jay rounds the corner and almost slams right into them.

He skids to a stop as Dick swiftly shifts them around out of the way. Jay doesn’t do anything to dislodge Dick’s grip, but palms the sides of Tim’s face, his eyes a hard, icy blue.

“Hey, Sweets, hey,” low in a dark way, not the usual, fun dark way. Tim has a strike of fear, takes stock of himself, of Dick, of Jay, wonders who else in the Cave might be hurt! That’s why they’re here. Someone got hurt coming after his ass, didn’t they?

“Dami? B?” He interrupts, eyes going from Jay to Dick and back.

“Fine, everyone’s fine,” is curt, short with him in a way that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have enough evidence.

“O-kay. You both are fine. B and Dami are fine. Alfred?”

Over his head, his boyfriends exchange a look that is really starting to worry him.

But the next twelve hours are virtually impossible to escape. The sordid details come out once Tim remembers being in that convenience store. He gets snatches of half-lucid memories, probably never will remember the entire things. The brain is the most fascinating part of the body for a reason, not only as the control center, but also as the decision-maker on what things to blot out to protect itself. 

By the time Dami starts out, they’ve migrated up to Wayne Manor, parted ways to shower and wash off the night. Dick and Jay bracketing him in, being absurdly gentle, consistent soft touches, fingers wrapping around his, hands on his back, kisses pressed into his hair.

There’s some scrapes on his forearms along with the ones on his face, washed gingerly in the shower where he finally feels warm again. Alfred leaves a special bled of his healing goop and has set out pajamas for all of them before he left, requesting them to please come have breakfast.

Tim’s stomach rumbles while they’re getting dressed, and he’s pretty much picked up, and carried down the massive staircase.

(Ugh, this is after the bridge fiasco all over again.)

But the end result: food and coffee in Wayne Manor, so bonus?

Dami is looking at him like a kicked puppy. A perpetual pissed off kicked puppy, but he tilts his head to the side inquiringly, raising his eyebrows in invitation.

“I found you almost at Sheldon Park,” Dami starts softly, but at least everyone’s eaten first.

He flinches a little when Bruce tells him what he’d said about his Dad. When Alfred tells him about the Joker and Harley Quinn either going to inject him with some crazy sauce or lobotomize him.

(Yup. Pretty horrifying either way.)

Dami tells him about seeing everyone die around him while Dick has a firm hand on his knee under the table, their chairs closer together than necessary. Jason gives no shits keeping his fingers wrapped up tight, squeezing occasionally. Alfred keeps the mug in his free hand full, stands just by Dick’s other shoulder.

“I mean,” he finally starts after everything is out in the open, “it’s literally a toxin that fucks with your brain chemistry. Not shocking I’d see pretty awful things. I see awful things...a lot, so,” he shrugs a little helplessly in the face of the whole family looking utter raw and split open. “I...I’m...sorry, really sorry I worried everyone. I’ll try to stop getting into trouble so much, you know? But, um. It is Gotham.”

The family crowds around him, bringing in rank around the table. 

And if he doesn’t have to stay at the Manor for the next week, geeze, and get coddled as fuck by the Batfamily, and get picked up from Mercy General every. single. night. for a while, and get wrapped up against two incredible vigilantes that whisper soft things against his throat, his ear, his mouth, his, well, his everything. 

If he doesn’t get Bruce herding him into the study where the fire is burning, and it seems like the Batman is the most patient person ever to let him–let him talk about some of those old pains when he was in the system. 

If Alfred literally can not make him eat enough food to be satisfied. Ever. And gives him a side-eye when he starts to push away a plate that has even a bite left.

(Alfred pizza is god-level, and you’ll never convince him otherwise. But if he eats anymore, he’s going to die. Please stop killing him with your tasty love.)

If Dami doesn’t make him watch NatGeo Wild with popcorn and boxes of candy, then grudgingly plays Mario Kart with him until Rainbow Road is like theirs. No questions asked.

If he finally doesn’t go back to his penthouse, breathes in the familiar smells, gets absolutely destroyed in the Best. Possible. Ways for the next five straight hours. If he isn’t a boneless pile of I can’t possibly come again, for the next week at least. 

If Baby Bird, Timmers, Sweets, Timmy, and Baby aren’t wrapped around him with arms and sweet kisses pressed to his forehead and hair every time he leaves for work or they leave for patrol.

If he was before this, in the slightest bit uncertain he belongs with them, as part of their family–

–he sure as hell knows better now.

At least that’s one less thing to be afraid of.

**

Note:

In Tim’s fear fueled delusion, the Joker is Alfred, Harley is Dami holding equipment to treat him. His dad was really B taking the blood samples from Alfred to analyze. He’s horrified once he realizes what Tim is seeing.

Mr. Johnson, the abusive foster parent is Jay, which Tim kind of associates because of the accent.

Dying Nightwing is Dick bent over to hold his legs down, and the next switch is really Jay laying over him upper body to keep him from hurting himself more.

(Congrats for making it to the end. *Hands tissue*)

[olivetreehugger]

SnK Scouts/Veterans as Health Care Workers

Note: features Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin and Hange. A part two to my “SnK Warriors as HCWs” post found here. warning: mentions of blood, trauma, gore (it’s healthcare). Also, I know Hange is nb, I headcanon them as female, so I will be using she/her pronouns. 

Eren: this boy is definitely too involved in everything and has too many people depending on him at once to not be a nurse. The kid barely passed the NCLEX but that didn’t stop him from applying to every trauma center within a 25 mile radius of him. He got hired as a night shift trauma ICU nurse  and he frequently picks up shifts in the ER. He wears the cheapest scrubs he can find, often stained with ink in the pockets area. He isn’t a shitty nurse per se but there are tasks that still need to be done at the end of his shift and he gives a crappy report that’s missing too many details. Nurses hate picking up his patients, it’s always a mess. His charting is really spotty and he gets called into the manager’s office all the time to fix it. 

Still, he tries really hard to improve his time management and skills. He wants to be like his friends Mikasa and Reiner, who are the best nurses he knows. He wants to be involved in the traumatic cases and emergencies because he wants to learn as much as he possibly can. He’s really good at wound care, for some reason (hint hint). He’s kinda cocky sometimes too, which can be troublesome when Dr. Galliard is working. People know to steer clear of those two when they’re both  in the ER. Also, Eren always has a black cloud around him; whenever he works it’s gonna be a hella busy day in the hospital. Lots of emergency surgeries, intubations, codes and deaths. He’ll always jump in to help you if your patient is crashing, though, no matter how busy he is. 

Mikasa: she’s a prodigy. She was a straight ‘A’ student in nursing school, got a perfect 75 on the NCLEX and was immediately hired to the trauma ICU after doing a short internship there. She worked night shift for a year but her sleep schedule was so so fucked she started having night terrors, so she switched to day shift. Eren still calls her a traitor for it :/. She keeps trying to get him to switch over but he just hisses at her and threatens to chug a case of Monster energy drinks. She hasn’t given upon him yet, though.

This girl’s work ethic is beyond measure. She comes in exactly at 6:30 am, looks up her patients, takes report, gives a great update to the doctors when they round, and provides impeccable care to her patients. She knows exactly which treatments the doctors will order before they even speak. She’s incredible at inserting IVs--everyone in the hospital knows Mikasa Ackerman can put an 18g in a 90  yr old lady’s arm AND get blood return (just trust me, it’s flipping impossible). She has great skill when it comes to emergency situations and is a big believer in team work. If she notices your patient’s crashing and you don’t know what to do, she’ll calmly coach you and save your patient, too. All before lunch time. 

It doesn’t take Mikasa long to be promoted to charge nurse. When she’s in charge all the reports, paperwork and audits are completed before shift change. She divides the patient assignments really well and is very fair to the new grads. All around she’s an incredible nurse and leader on her unit, but don’t be fooled. If it’s been a rough day, Mikasa will get in her car and sob so loud her throat goes raw. A lot of people depend on her and working in a trauma ICU is really, really demanding. A lot of patients are demanding, rude and busy. She has a lot of trouble with stress management and is thinking of cutting her hours down so she can catch a break. Someone please hug her <3

Armin: for some reason my brain is just SCREAMING respiratory therapist. Like, I imagine this beautiful blond boy in gray scrubs (the color for RT’s in my hospital) going around helping intubate patients, giving nebulizer treatments and doing blood gases. I can just see him huffing and puffing when the attending doctor is overzealous about weaning vent support. -“Why are we changing the patient to pressure support? do you see how tachypneic he is on volume control?”

-“are you gonna put in the order? if not, your patient’s gonna be on PRVC all day, I’m not changing it without an order”

-“Doc, the patient looks like crap and their blood gas looks like death...oh, you still wanna extubate? ok, well I’m gonna leave the ventilator in here just in case. better yet, let me call a pastor in here, too.”

This kid is sassy af and he knows it. He’s smart af too, knows everything there is to know about the lungs and respiratory care. Knows every ventilator mode better than most doctors. Will certainly tell a resident off for ordering the wrong type of inhaler for a patient. He’s so damn intelligent that he even made the ice queen Annie melt like a popsicle. 

 He has no chill when it comes to his patients and even less chill (like -4078875874670) when a doctor gets in his way. For this reason, Armin has recently been toying with the idea of going to PA school so he can have a little more autonomy. He works al over the hospital, usually frequenting the trauma, CV, and medical ICU. The nurses there love him. 

Jean: Jeannie boy. Baby. Sweetie. He’s also a nurse. He is strictly dayshift and trauma. When he first started, he thought he’d do a year in the ICU and then go to CRNA school. He didn’t want to be around sickly patients with hopes and dreams and fears--it was too icky for him. But, over time, he learned that he LOVED trauma. Jean loves the controlled chaos that comes with the ugly, bloody messes that roll in through the ICU’s doors. He always gears up for trauma season (summer time) by bringing Dunkin Donuts iced coffee for everyone on the unit (day and night shift because he’s a supportive king). He gets really good at dealing with arrogant trauma residents and ortho docs who think they’re hot shit. When Jean sees a resident yelling at a nurse, he jumps in and threatens to have their license revoked. He will dig under their skin and page them incessantly throughout the day, too, just to get back at them. Jean is not a fan of lateral violence in the workplace, no sir. 

He always, always makes sure every room is stocked and new bags are hanging for the next shift. He has a thing where if things aren’t properly organized on the unit his brain just spazzes. He’s on the unit council and education committee because he also loves to teach the new grads. He also doubles as charge nurse, when management can’t be there (there can be one or more charge nurses amongst the staff, they usually work different days, though) He and Mikasa work so well together, teaming up to get tasks done, coding patients, running them down to get scanned, etc. People joke they’re the mom and dad of the unit. It makes them both blush <3 (Eren doesn’t like it, lol)

Jean loves to see patients healing from horrendous injuries, he’s constantly cracking jokes with the awake patients to try to make them feel better, and he’s really good at calming anxious family members down. Our boy just makes such good connections with people. He’s the guy you call when your confused patient is one second away from ripping his breathing tube out. He can convince the most restless, agitated patient to chill out. He’s got the voice for it. Also people love his mullet. It looks great. 

Connie: I really didn’t know at first but I feel like Connie would make a great physical therapist. He’s got great energy, he’s funny and I could see him dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire in front of his patients to hype them up for therapy. He’d be very sweet with them 

Sasha: I’m sick and tired of the food jokes, quite honestly. She’s more than that. In my mind, she’s an occupational therapist, helping disabled patients learn to feed, dress and clean themselves again. She works directly with Connie as they round on all their patients in the hospital, they make a great team!  She’s extremely patient and would make a very good nurse, but is unsure of where life is taking her. That is until she meets Niccolo the dietician in the cafeteria, and she falls hard. He encourages her to follow her heart and she does!  

Levi: Hm. This one stumped me. Levi is a bit...cold. It’s not like he has incredible social skills. He’s meticulous and focused and kinda mean? He reminds me of an anesthesiologist, tbh. Like he’ll sedate the shit outta you for surgery, makes sure you don’t die on the table, and then drops you off to the unit as fast as he can. He never takes off his mask while in the hospital and he scrubs maybe four times before surgery. He is very good at medication calculations and knows everything about nerve blocks, intubation, pain medication and sedation. He can look at a person and just KNOW what kind of sedative to give and how much. Your blood pressure will never bottom out while he’s there, he’ll warn the surgeon and immediately get that norepinephrine started.

 If Zeke is the one operating, Levi is on his ass to finish up the surgery ASAP and to not linger, because Zeke takes his time and ignores the tele monitor alarming in the background. After surgery, this 5′2 demon will scream at the 6′ resident about the importance of blood pressure management and sedation in neurosurgical patients. Levi plays no games and he also just really hates Zeke lol

He seems like a jerk but genuinely cares about getting his peeps through surgery. His favorite surgeon to work with is Hange Zoe, because she’s brilliant and fast, but also cognizant of her patient’s hemodynamics. Levi likes taking trauma cases as long as it’s with her. When he drops a patient off to the trauma ICU or goes there to intubate, he makes sure Jean or Mikasa are there because he knows everything is gonna go smoothly. He trusts them a lot. He likes Armin, too and even let him intubate a few times. On his breaks, he’s drinking tea and reading a Williams & Sonoma catalog or scrolling through cleaning Tik Tok lol.

Erwin: This man. This beautiful and hunky beefcake. Omg. I HC him as someone who went to nursing school, became a charge nurse on the trauma unit back in the early 2000′s and fell in love with it. Erwin would eventually fall in love with leadership and educating, too. He went back to school and earned his Doctorate of Nursing Practice (a practice doctorate). He managed the trauma unit for ten years before his brilliant leadership skills and wicked smart brain got him elected as the Director of Trauma Surgery recently. He is the first person with a nursing degree and DNP to ever accomplish this, so it’s very controversial. A lot of toxic doctors threaten to leave the hospital for this (because they’re assholes), but Erwin threatens to fire them in response and it usually shuts them up. 

He often holds lectures in the hospital auditorium. With a mind and voice like his, people are so drawn in by him. He advocates for nursing staff, for reimbursement when continuing their education, better staffing, parking, etc. He makes nice with doctors and gets them to sign petitions for the nurses to get these things. He’s a bit manipulative He’s also a fantastic manager and director, he’s really good at negotiating things. The nurses and residents all love him because he rounds on every ICU frequently, brings food, and asks them how he can help. He can be a bit daunting because of his height and deep voice but once he starts talking to you, you just get sucked in. All around an absolute king. 

Hange: This character reminds me of a trauma surgeon and intensivist (ICU doctor) we have, Dr. Omi. A great surgeon, really really smart, but takes absolutely NO bullshit. She will yell at you if you freeze during intubating. She wants you to recite every step before you take it, otherwise she’ll take the tube from you and do it herself. In surgery, she’s the same way. She wants you to learn, but by her standards. If she asks a question, you better know the answer or fess up right away, she doesn’t like the “uhms” of uncertainty as you try to search for a shitty response. Either you know it or you don’t. And if you don’t, she’ll teach you. Yeah she can be rough around the edges, but she’s got a big heart. She loves her trauma team. She buys them breakfast and gives them funny personalized gifts. One time, she bought an apply tree for Mikasa and brought it to her car at the end of a shift. Mikasa forgot to plant it and it died in her backseat. Hange will sometimes ask, “Mikasa, how’s your apple tree growing?” and Mikasa will lie through her teeth. “It’s growing!” Fess up, Mikasa. Those google search apple trees are starting to look familiar.

All around Hange loves to work and teach. She is a wonderful trauma surgeon and has saved tons of lives.  

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH38

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 38: Star Death Reality Show (XXI) {cw: gore}

"The explosion just now was because Mark shot a rocket launcher underground, but as you can see, I’m unscathed. The origin of the rocket launcher is somewhat complicated. In fact, there's a huge research institute hidden in the underground beneath this village. Before, I met He Yi there..." Qi Leren explained the previous events, and the framing of his “miracle” made his words' credibility soar, full of brainwashing persuasiveness. Once he had recounted his story, three minutes had elapsed, and the illusory wings behind him gradually dissipated in the air, his feet set foot on the ground again, and the silvery spots of light around him disappeared.

But even though he had returned to his normal state, Lara couldn’tn't look at him the same way as before.

"You seem to have a lot of questions." Qi Leren stopped his story, stared at Lara, and spoke in a tone that was definitely not his usual voice.

"Yes... I... You... Who are you?" Lara asked.

Qi Leren smiled: "I have already answered this question."

Lara certainly remembered that he said he was an apostle of God. After this impact on her worldview, she obviously couldn't take this answer as a joke.

"You’re really..." Lara murmured. She was afraid of this answer from the bottom of her heart.

Qi Leren looked at her gently and nodded his head.

Lara took a step back and took a deep breath of cold air. The chill through her heart and lungs calmed her down, but there was a flame burning in her heart, burning her questioning heart.

Seeing was believing, however, and she had nothing to say.

"Now... What are we going to do?" Lara asked. She seemed to have lost her cognitive functions after the shock of this scene, and listened to the apostle's commands like a docile little sheep.

"A lot of things. There is only one mature octopus left, but we can't find him for the time being. There may be a few larvae that have just completed parasitism, and they won’t be too aggressive... Let's gather those who are still alive. We can enter the underground research institute, where there’s a machine that can detect whether someone has become a host," Qi Leren said.

They acted quickly. Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue were woken up in the middle of the night and were taken away in a daze. As they walked, Qi Leren kindly asked what they had done today, and found no abnormalities. He wasn’t sure whether these people were infected now, but they had no ability to spread in this the first day after being parasitized, so he wasn’t too worried. As long as he could take them to the instruments in the underground research institute.

Xue Jiahui, Mark, and Annie were dead, and there were only ten contestants who may be alive at present. Among them, one had a mature octopus in their body, and eight or nine times out of ten, this person was Francis. But looking at the present situation: Dr. Lu and Du Yue were missing, He Yi was also missing, and Francis was also missing.

Qi Leren and his party found Janet and Alex, who weren’t as obedient as the Jing sisters, but even those who didn’t want to cooperate were convinced after Qi Leren took out his handgun. Although Janet wanted to keep her mouth shut, when Qi Leren shot the vase beside her, she spoke honestly.

Qi Leren smiled kindly, looked at this group of people who had gone silent, and sincerely understood the joy of getting things through violence.

The five people were led back to Annie's house and were amazed when they entered the attic, as they hadn't thought that such a secret room was hidden in the house. When they entered the basement, the messy sight before their eyes and the lingering smoke that hadn’t yet dissipated silenced everyone.

Janet looked at Qi Leren with indecision. Although she had completely regarded the story Qi Leren told as a joke before, she was not those two young girls, Jing Siyu and Jing Sixue, who had gone pale with terror. She didn't believe anything about Leviathan or the amphioctopuses, but her woman's intuition made her keep her mouth shut and look at the situation coldly.

They entered the underground research institute through the blasted tunnel. Right now the power supply wasn’t connected, but Qi Leren knew where to turn on the backup power. He knew where to instruct the five people to go, and he stayed at the back in case of a sudden attack.

Lara, who walked at the front, was very careful all the way, and took a fire axe to defend herself when she passed a fire control station.

In this shadowy underground research institute, the dark and long tunnel was like being in the body of an ancient beast. Within the range illuminated by flashlights, there were dusty relics everywhere. When walking here, their empty footsteps echoed constantly, inspiring the most horrible images in everyone's brain.

Qi Leren suddenly felt that he heard footsteps. He stopped, listened to the sound for a moment, and there was the rush of running in the distance.

"Someone’s coming! Turn off the flashlights and stand against the wall," Qi Leren whispered.

The five people were taken aback, became nervous, and obeyed without thought.

The footsteps were getting closer and closer. Qi Leren stuck to the wall and took the safety off the gun in his hand.

"Huff, huff, huff..." The short breaths were getting closer and closer, and Qi Leren suddenly felt that the sound was a bit familiar. It seemed to be...

"Du Yue?" Just as the man ran around the corner of the corridor, Qi Leren called out his name.

Du Yue slammed on the brakes and almost lost his balance. He looked at Qi Leren with surprise: "Qianbei! Qianbei, are you all right?! You absolutely won’t believe what happened at that time, I—fuck, he's crazy!"

"Steady, speak slowly, where is Dr. Lu?" Qi Leren handed him a bottle of water, and Du Yue unscrewed the bottle cap and drank a few mouthfuls.

"What's going on?" Janet also asked in disbelief. She noticed that Du Yue had blood on his body.

"I ran away with Dr. Lu... He should be fine, that guy chased me." And after a pause, Du Yue told everyone what had happened.

Du Yue and Dr. Lu had found a second ID card  in the basement of an uninhabited house that could open the door to the corridor. They had also met Lara and asked her about Qi Leren. They had honestly said they didn't know, but they were looking for him. When they went to the basement in Jing Siyu’s house, they opened the door again and met Qi Leren inside. Qi Leren had turned back to cut off the institute’s power supply. As a result, shortly after the power supply was cut off, Francis actually entered the basement, holding a dagger in his hand.

"I... um... used some special means and ran away." Du Yue scratched his head, and Qi Leren knew as soon as he heard it that he had used the [Protagonist Halo] skill card.

But this was the first time he had heard of a “protagonist” using his full power to escape. Shouldn’t he have used it to kill him? This boy hadn’t followed the routine!

Qi Leren was a little worried about Dr. Lu, but on second thought, he felt that with his luck, he shouldn’t have any troubles—look, the monster had come after Du Yue at the critical moment. At most, he had probably fallen on the ground and screamed, and by now he might have found a safe place to hide. Qi Leren had great confidence in Dr. Lu’s ability to win by lying down.

"Don't panic, since Francis is using a dagger, we’ll have no problem at all, even if... Quiet, I hear something!" Qi Leren heard footsteps again, and he held his breath, listening to the footsteps getting closer and closer. Then they suddenly disappeared, as if the owner of the footsteps had already known of their existence.

The distance between them was very close, just around the corner.

The darkness before his eyes, the coldness of the air, and the heartbeats of him and those around him made him feel as if he was deep underwater.

Qi Leren could bear it, but the two little girls couldn't. Jing Sixue held her sister's hand tightly and pulled her back. The cloth rubbed in the dark, making a shuffling noise. This slight movement was just like a flame in the silence of night, which made the stagnant air burst out in an instant!

Dadadada! Suddenly there was the sound of a machine gun firing on the opposite side, and Qi Leren shouted: "Get down!"

The bullets ricocheted off the fall, brushing Qi Leren's cheek.

Fuck me, how has the enemy’s weapon already upgraded from a dagger to a machine gun!

No, you can't fight here, or the six people next to you will be in danger!

Qi Leren paid attention to the last time he had used his S/L skill. The cooling time of one hour had passed, so he could use it. This time, he again forgot the Prophet's warning. After saving, he got up and rushed around the corner. In the dark, the only light was that of the machine gun’s shots, and it lit up the world frame by frame. His body slid along the ground like a fish and he swept his leg out to knock Francis down.

Francis roared. The machine gun was too long to hit the Qi Leren who had gotten close to him. He discarded the machine gun and gripped Qi Leren's arms. His strength made him think that his bones would be broken.

After being parasitized by the octopus, Francis's body had mutated to be more like a strong man. Qi Leren, who had not fought closely with the octopuses before, suffered a dark loss at this point, and he easily fell to the ground. The revolver in his hand also flew out and hit the wall, clattering away to somewhere he couldn’t see.

Qi Leren couldn’t come up for air and almost fainted. Amidst his confusion, there was a loud thundering in his ears and something slammed against Francis's head. With the women’s screams, the strength holding Qi Leren became lessened, and Qi Leren broke free, rolled over, and coughed heavily on the ground.

Qi Leren endured the dizziness and nausea and looked up. An axe was stuck on the back of Francis's head. Du Yue pried Lara’s hands off the fire axe. Lara covered her mouth and collapsed against the wall, sniffling and repeating Francis's name.

"Qianbei, are you ok? I'll help you up." Du Yue kicked the flashlight he had just left behind and helped Qi Leren.

"He’s not dead, cough... the octopus in his body will come out soon..." Qi Leren knew the octopuses’ habits and warned hoarsely. He picked up his handgun from the ground and pointed it at Francis's brain. Every shot was accompanied by the sound of Lara’s exhausted crying.

Qi Leren was panting heavily. His throat had almost been crushed and there was still some damage, so that he couldn't speak loudly, but he still amplified his voice as much as possible: "Stand back! Run! The monster inside him is coming out!"

As if it had been called, as soon as Qi Leren finished speaking, Francis’s brain had been blown off, and Francis, whose body had fallen to the ground and was bleeding, suddenly moved.

Janet also collapsed. When she saw the first tentacle sticking out of Francis's broken head, the woman screamed in a soprano voice: "He's alive, he's still alive! Monster, monster!"

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[nightfaze-archive]

Introduction to Nightfaze

This is going to be quite the long post, so all details will be under the cut. (as well as this, new points and rules may be added depending on how things go and what new developments may occur)

The beginning:

I love the dreamcore and weirdcore aesthetics, however the photos, videos, and sounds I was always drawn to were the darker ones, which seem a bit harder to find by chance. These are the ones I want to focus more on and center Nightfaze around. My first introduction to the dreamcore/weirdcore aesthetic was the YouTuber Baphometkun, more specifically the video “Dr. Fluer.” The darker videos, some of which are now privated or deleted, are my main inspiration for this.

The Idea:

Essentially, this new aesthetic will have some aspects of weirdcore and/or dreamcore, but have a different premise. There will most likely be an overlap on occasion depending on how intense the images are. I want there to not be much limitations for this aesthetic to allow as much creative freedom as possible. There will be some things that aren’t allowed (more details later), however most of it should be common sense.

The Details:

The main points of this aesthetic are -

Low-quality/degraded/grainy images. Location and inclusion of people are up to you. Indoors, outdoors, liminal spaces, common places, new, decayed, all are accepted. Areas can be devoid of or completely packed with people. As well as this, pictures don’t need to be photographs. Illustrations and rendered subjects can be used as well, as long as the overall look is poor in quality and fits the atmosphere.

When including people, obscure identifying details (faces, mainly). This can be through blurring, scribbling-out, covering, or any other form that feels appropriate to the image.

The feeling of emptiness/unease/overwhelment/desperation/dread are the main target, however peace and tranquility with a sense of dark mystery are allowed as well. Think of it as walking alone at night in a damp neighborhood after it rained, some outside lights on every few houses or so. Slight sleepiness and paranoia in your mind. You may feel all alone, existential, or like someone is watching you. On the opposite end, you could create an atmosphere as though you are in a crowded area full of stranger, unsure of where you are, what’s around you, or how you got there. Disoriented.

Dark undertones/atmosphere. As well as the feeling it puts off, images themselves should be literally dark as well. High contrast and odd colors are also encouraged.

As for music, lower-toned music (such as slowed or naturally low music) is the main focus. Lyrics that can be interpreted in a dark light (if that makes sense) are also more encouraged. However something cheery can always be manipulated to sound more sinister with audio edited. Music quality does not matter.

Videos and gifs should contain some type of movement, whether it be grain, shaking components, frame-by-frame differences, fades, or something else. Static (non-moving) components can be used as well.

The “Do’s” of this aesthetic are -

Creating dark atmospheres.

Venting emotions.

Being creative in general.

The “Do-not’s” of this aesthetic are -

Using inappropriate material (NSFW/NSFL).

Using actual pictures/recordings containing sensitive material (self-harm, abuse, gore/injury, etc.)

Glorification of harmful ideas/actions.

Anything malicious towards a real life person.

Nightmarefaze:

This is a sub-category that focuses more on aspects of horror. While Nightfaze itself is more about subtle unease, Nightmarefaze is more up-front about it. Unsettling apparitions and figures, places more perilous and much more decayed, something ominous staring you in the face. This category is much more reminiscent of dreamcore, but instead of odd, dream-like qualities, it’s more like a nightmare: disturbed. Eyes, mouths, jerky movements, danger, terror, and all the like fit in here. More stress and anxiety, some fight-or-flight. Things such as blood and violence are allowed in moderation. Limit the amount that is used and do not show any real gore or anything explicit. Rules still apply in terms of sensitive material and subject matter (above) if you choose to go this route. Expressing certain fears are also encouraged in Nightmarefaze.

[cmtcahrule]

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QwEieJWAbls

Armie expresses himself through music. There are many things he can’t speak about publicly but his song choices say everything. He blessed us with 84 unique songs in 2020. I’ve built 4 playlists off the below. Whenever I hear specific songs, it takes me to a specific moment on the Charmie journey. There are songs full of anger, frustration, love, lust, joy and hope. My favorite pics from 2020 are:

1. Orion - Time For Crime

2. Boy Harsher - Pain

3. Massive Attack - Angel

4. Antony and Johnsons - Knockin On Heaven's Door

5. Run The Jewels - holy calamafuck

6. Forest Swords - Panic

7. Big Wild - When I Get There

8. Lorde - Glory and Gore

9. Trentemoller - Moan (dub remix)

10. Tei Shi — Keep Running

Enjoy Charmies and Happy New Years Eve! 🍾🍾🍾

Lorn - Drawn Out Like An Ache

The Gaslamp Killer - Nissim

Noah Gundersen - David

Benga - Night

Toots and the Maytals - Country Road

Phresher - All The Smoke

Morgenshtern - Hermit

Mulatto - Bitch from Da Souf

Orion - Time For Crime

ASAP Ferg - Value

Ian Noe - Methhead

Terror Reid, Getter - Who Dat?

Nosaj Thing - Get Like

Slowthai, Denzel Curry - Psycho

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Set Yourself on Fire

Danny Brown - Smokin and Drinkin

Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth

Boy Harsher - Pain

Hunt the Dinosaur - Destructo

Michael Hurley - I Paint a Design

Spirit - The Other Song

Donovan - Clara Clairvoyant

Francoise Hardy - Le Temps de l'Amour

James Brown - Get Up Offa That Thing

Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth

Denzel Curry - DIET - BLM

Massive Attack - Angel

Steppenwolf - Don't Step on the Grass

The Tempations - Papa Was A Rollin Stone

Zebra Katz - Lousy

Antony and Johnsons - Knockin On Heaven's Door

LaDonnis - Black Boy

Zebra Katz - NO 1 ELSE

Webster X - Doomsday

G Yamazawa - Buri Buri

Brother Ali - Forest Whitiker

Aesop Rock - Play Dead

Easy Mac - Chasing Rabbits

Run The Jewels - holy calamafuck

Prof - Motel

Shuggie Otis - Sweet Thang

Denzel Curry - Diet - A Colors Show

Steppenwolf - The Pusher

The Black Angels - Manipulation

The Game - Hit Em Hard

Can - Vitamin C

Dr. John - I Walk on Guilded Splinters

Denzel Curry - Psycho

A$AP Ferg - Floor Seats

Forest Swords - Panic

James Blake - Retrograde

Massive Attack - Voodoo in my Blood

The Crystal Method - High Roller

Big Wild - Venice Venture

Moondog - Bird's Lament

Gabor Szabo - Three King Fishers

Mulatu Astatke - Tezeta

Big Wild - When I Get There

Mudboy - Mindfucker

Romare - Hey Now - When I Give You All My Lovin'

Mozart - Don Giovanni - tribute to RBG

Lorde - Glory and Gore

Tech N9ne - Dyin' Flyin'

First Aid Kit - Wolf

Dr. John - Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya

KOKOROKO - Abusey Junction

Felix Laband - Falling Off A Horse

G Yamazawa - Buri Buri

Shake Well, Fat Nick - Pemex

Bill Withers - Grandma's Hands

The Budos Band - T.I.B.W.F

Missy Elliott - Slide

Charles Bradley, Menahan Street Band - Stay Away

Trentemoller - Moan (dub remix)

LaDonnis - Smackdown

Junior Kimbrough - I Got To Try You Girl

Death Grips - Guillotine

JID - 151 RUM

Ernest Ranglin - Surfin

Ho99o9 — Neighborhood Watch

Tei Shi — Keep Running

Nancy Sinatra, Lee Hazlewood — Some Velvet Morning

TV On The Radio — Wolf Like Me

[lils-writes-stuff]

The Lesson

Spencer Reid x reader

Best Years Season 2 part four | part three | part two | part one | season one

summary: the week that changed everything

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, sadness, gore, fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode 10; you’re all going to hate me, im sorry, i promise it gets better the is the storm before the rainbow

 The cool Georgia air hit Y/N’s face as she stepped out of her rental car. The scene in front of her seemed so foreign after years of being away. Her childhood home stared her down as she stood in its driveway. She almost didn’t want to go in. Every time she saw her mom, she came to visit her. So the last time she was truly home, was almost six years ago. 

 She walked up to the front door, duffel bag in one hand and the other raised to knock. However, that wasn’t needed, because her mom swung the door open the minute she saw her. 

 “Y/N!” She exclaimed, wrapping her in a tight, motherly hug.

 “Hi Mom,” she whispered, her cheeks squished against her mother’s shoulder. 

 “Come in, come in,” she ushered her daughter into the house. Y/N looked around the home she once called her own. The walls were a lighter color then she remembered and there was new furniture and decorations scattered throughout. 

 “So I have it all planned out, I know you’re only here for a couple of days, but tonight, you’re aunt and uncle are coming over for dinner, along with some of our friends. Them for the other two days we can do whatever you want.” Her mom was standing on the opposite side of the island from Y/N, a smile absorbing her face as she looked at her daughter. 

 Y/N just looked at her mom, a watery smile on her face. She wasn’t upset at all though, she was just so happy to see her mom again. 

 “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Her Mom walked to the other side of the counter. 

 “Nothing, Mom, I just am so glad to see you,” she whimpered. 

 Her mom gave her the same watery smile and wrapped her in another hug. 

 The two sat in the kitchen, coffee cups in hand, laughing about her mom’s stories at her restaurant she worked at. Y/N told stories of the team and how much they loved her mom from her visits up there. 

 “So have you done it yet?” Y/N’s mom asked, pointing to her left hand. 

 “No, not yet.” 

 “Why not?” 

 “I don’t know, I just haven’t found the right time I guess,” Y/N shrugged.

 “Well, I think that when you get back you should just do it.” Her mom laughed taking another sip of her coffee. “You talk about how perfect he is and me and London are waiting in anticipation for that call, so just do it. The next time you see him.” 

 “We’ll see mom, we’ll see.” 

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

 It had been two days since Y/N had left to go home for a visit. After the night where Spencer gave her the idea, she waited about three weeks before actually executing it. Spencer kept pushing her to go, telling her the team could survive without her. So she finally went. 

 “You know, now I know how you felt when I was gone on your leave,” Spencer laughed during his confession. His phone was pressed against his ear as he passed back and forth in their living room. 

 “Oh yeah, but I learned to survive, how are you holding up?” Y/N asked through the phone. She stood in the kitchen of her childhood home, leaning on the island with her coffee sitting in front of her. “And besides it’s only been like what? Three days?” 

 “Two days twelve hours and thirty-six seconds,” Spencer corrected. 

 “Ah, forgive me. And here I thought you didn’t miss me at all, clearly, you do.” 

 Spencer chuckled at her remark, “So much.”

 “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I miss you too,” Y/N admitted. “And my mom misses you too, she says that we both need to come down here and visit together sometime.” 

 “I think that’d be fun,” Spencer said.  

 “Hey, Spence, so listen I was thinking when I get back we could go out to dinner, you know like a fancy restaurant maybe?” Her voice was hesitant at her request. Her heart pounded in anticipation as she waited for Spencer’s answer. 

 “Sure, that sounds great. Rossi was telling me about this great Italian place yesterday that we could go too,” Spencer responded. His mind raced at the thought of them going, knowing it would be the perfect opportunity to ask her the question he’s been waiting for. 

 “Perfect,” she responded. He could see her do her little jump of excitement through her voice. 

 Spencer was quiet for a second and looked up at the larger than average sized clock in the living room. He was late. Then his phone pinged, pulling it away from his ear, he saw the message from Penelope about a case.

 “Damn it,” he muttered. “Y/N, I’m late and we’ve got a case, I love you, I’ll talk to you later?” He rushed around the apartment, grabbing all his items and go-bag so he could head out the door. 

 “Yeah, sounds good bub love you too,” she responded. 

 “Bye.” 

 Spencer pocketed his phone quickly and rushed for the door of the apartment. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the black box he left out. Quickly, he picked it up and put it in his satchel. He opened the door and rushed to make it to Quantico in time. 

 “Sorry I’m late, guys, I had an appointment,” Spencer rushed, taking his bag off and sitting in his chair. 

 “Uh-huh, did this appointment have to do with a Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, who you so dearly miss,” Derek teased, making kissy faces at Spencer.

 Spencer muttered a small ‘shut up’ and pulled the file on the table closer to him. 

 “Alright let’s get started,” Hotch said as he quickly entered the room. 

 Maybe I wasn’t as late as I thought, Spencer thought to himself. 

 “Yeah, okay,” Penelope said, standing up from her chair. “Three days ago, Bruce Phillips was found dead with his blond hair dyed black. He had been put in a box and left on a busy street.”

 “A custom-made box,” Rossi noted as the picture of the box came up on the screen. 

 “Maybe our unsub was a carpenter,” Blake posed, twiddling with a pen in her hand. 

 “He stuffed him in there practically folding him in half,” Derek added. 

 Spencer looked at the pictures of the man in the box. His legs bent and broken at the knee and his head leaned back against the box. 

 “He had also been hung and restrained and that’s where the plot thickens like a bad soup,” Penelope explained as she pulled up the next two victims. “Yesterday, Justin Marks and Connie Foster, who were dating, they went missing two miles away from the first abduction site.” 

 “A couple? He’s escalating,” JJ remarked at the new information. 

 “Yes, this morning Justin’s body was found. He had been hung, he had been stuffed in a box in an alley. Officers say his brown hair had been dyed black. Connie is still missing,” Penelope continued. 

 “So he probably still has her,” JJ said. 

 “Why would he reject Justin overnight but keep the first male victim for two days?” Derek asked, not understanding the escalation. 

 “Something about him didn’t work,” Rossi responded, looking up from his file to the TV with the victims. “Look at his neck. He was hung multiple times.” 

 “The question is, what does he do with Connie?” Blake asked.

 “He could make her watch him abuse the men or have asphyxiated sex with them,” Spencer posed a theory. 

 “Well, a brunette male and a woman are crucial to this guy's fantasy,” Derek said. 

 “Well he’s kept Connie, maybe she’s the object of his desire,” JJ said. 

 “Well, our first order of business is finding her and then making sure he doesn’t do this again.” Hotch closed his file and stood up. “Wheels up in thirty.”

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

 Spencer sat on the coach of the jet, his head resting on the backside of his hand as his eyes followed the clouds that rolled beneath them. He thought about all the ways the dinner with Y/N could go, his fear of rejection showing itself as he thought about her saying no. But then he thought of her saying yes, a smile shining bright on her face and it allowed some of his anxiety to wash away. 

 Still, he was nervous. Penelope and JJ had tried to reassure him many times that she would say yes, even Blake thought so, but he was still scared. But isn’t everyone when they’re about to propose? 

 “Alright let’s go over victimology,” Hotch said, gaining everyone’s attention.

 Spencer peeled his eyes away from the window and back towards the group. 

 “Both male victims had their hair dyed black, and the woman is a brunette,” Hotch began the topic. 

 “The guys are similar, same ages, same builds,” Blake added. 

 “Hey were also abducted outside their homes, which were all in the same area,” Rossi continued. 

 “So they were probably being stalked,” Derek noted.

 “Was Connie with her boyfriend when she was abducted?” Spencer asked quickly. 

 “It looks that way,” JJ answered, then began to read from the file. “Her purse was found on the ground outside of his house.”

 “So this involves some kind of ruse,” Derek said.

 “It’s difficult to lure most people from the security of their own homes,” Spencer added, not sure about the ruse thing. 

 “Well, some people let their guard down,” Blake countered. 

 For some reason, Spencer started to become very defensive about this. “Yeah, but stalking victims vary their routes home. They enter and exit through different doors, they wear disguises. They don’t talk to anyone in their driveway. They hardly talk to anyone at all, They’re-they’re terrorized.”

 Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have gotten so worked up about that. But he couldn’t help but spew the stuff he had learned about victims of stalking onto everyone. He couldn’t help that instinctive feeling inside of him. 

 The team looked at him, confused and shocked gazes on their faces. They did not expect that outburst from him.

 “Okay, so maybe they were followed, Reid,” Derek said in hopes to have him back down his front he was putting up. “I mean, the bottom line is the unsub escalated. The first male was abducted alone, the second was with his girlfriend.” 

 “We, what do we know about her?” JJ asked, hoping to find some new information to help them. 

 “Connie was in her thirties, baked cakes for a living, she never had a run-in with the law,” Blake answered. 

 “Assuming he kept her, what’s the reason?” Rossi posted the new question. 

 “She’s the necessity, somehow she fits into his fantasy,” Blake replied. 

 “And so far, that need may be what’s keeping her alive,” Hotch added.

 “So what we know is that we have an unsub with a fantasy or a deep desire that requires the man to look a specific way,” Derek said, going over what they so far had. 

 “Since he rejected Justin so quickly, he’s probably looking for a replacement as we speak,” Spencer added.

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

 The doors of the elevator opened with a ding as Y/N reached the sixth floor of the FBI academy building. When she stepped out, a hand grasped tight on the strap of her bag, she was met with the familiar smell of coffee and paper. She had made it back earlier that day,the apartment her and Spencer shared empty when she arrived. So, not being able to deal with the quiet again, she decided to head to the office. 

  She was supposed to be in Georgia for another day, but when she heard there was a case, she really couldn’t help but come back. Her mom understood, she would have been leaving in the morning anyway. So before she went to the airport, Y/N visited her brother's grave like she had intended to do. 

 She stood about ten feet away from the headstone, fear of stepping on his body in the ground made her stomach turn. She told him all about her job and how proud she thought he’d be of her. How Derek had become an older brother to her when she moved up there. And she told him about Spencer. All about how she was planning on proposing to him and how excited she was to do it. 

 “Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” Penelope’s question brought Y/N out of her memory. 

 “Oh yeah, but I heard there was a case and I was leaving in the early morning tomorrow so I just decided to catch an earlier flight,” Y/N answered, pulling her lips into a line. 

 “Oh, so you get to hang out with me on this one!” Penelope excitedly took Y/N’s hand and pulled her to her office. 

 “So catch me up to speed,” Y/N said as she sat in the extra swivel chair in Penelope’s office. 

 Penelope explained everything she did to the team before they left and added in the details of what they told her so far on their victimology. With only some of the broader picture told to her, she was able to fill in the rest of the victimology herself.

 “How was Georgia?” Penelope asked after she finished typing on her computer. 

 “It was good, got to hang out with my family, go visit some old friends, wasn’t too exciting,” YN said, her eyes still trained on the tablet in her lap as she looked at the photos of the case. 

 “Cool,” Penelops’s eyes wandered the office. “ So, did you figure out how you’re going to propose to Spencer?” 

 “Ah, so that’s why you’re making small talk,” Y/N laughed, closing the tablet now. “Yes, I have. When they get back from the case, we’re going to go to dinner and I’m going to ask him.” 

 “Oh my gosh, can I be there? No, that’d be weird he’d be suspicious. But I want to see his reaction and you’re reaction and-” 

 “Garcia-” Y/N put her hand up to have her stop rambling- “You will see tons of pictures, and I am sure you are going to convince Rossi to throw some sort of party.” 

 “Good point, Penelope whispered. “I probably will have that done.” 

-----------

 “I’ve been getting lame GSWs, a few bus crash victims, but a hanging? This is fun,” The M.E., Dr. Cross, said to Rossi and Spencer after she brought them over to the body. “You think it was sexual?”

 “Not in the traditional sense,” Rossi responded, slightly weirded out from the woman's excitement. 

 “Well, look-” she pointed to the victim’s body- “there are numerous ligature marks on the neck, indicating he was hung multiple times. The ones without abrasions were probably made by something soft, like fabric.” 

 “Any idea how long it went on for?” Spencer asked, looking up from the victim's body to Cross.

 “Based on the different varying coloration of the bruising, I’d say about twelve hours,” Cross answered, then pointed to another mark on the body. “This ligature mark with the abrasion is the final one.” 

 She moved the light in her hand down the neck of the victim to point out what she found next. “There’s an inverted ‘V’ in the back. He was hung with a leather strap or belt, which is what killed him. Oh, we also found ketamine in his system.”   

 When Cross mentioned the final hanging, Spencer stood up from his hunched position and walked over to the x-rays on the light board. 

 “Well, ketamine acts quickly, so he must have used a ruse to get close to our victim,” Rossi said. 

 “Look at this,” Spencer held up the x-rays, “The bones were perfectly disjointed.”

 “Could have dislocated from the fall after hanging or when he shoved him in the box,” Rossi said, trying to give some ideas as to why they were dislocated. 

 “Well, actually, the bones were dislocated antemortem.,” Cross corrected. Her attention quickly advertised the two men wheeling in the next victim. “Oh,” she gasped excitedly. “Goody, overtime.” 

 “Can you check to see if the bones were dislocated in the same way?” Spencer asked her as she walked over to the next victim.

 She pulled the sheet back on the victim. Her hands reached for his arm to check the dislocation. “Yep, the same way.” She removed her hands from the body then crossed them. “This guy’s sicker than my last girlfriend.” 

 Rossi turned to look at Spencer. “The question is, why is he doing this?”

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

 Y/N sat with Penelope in her office still, she wasn’t really planning on leaving though, since the rest of the team was away. She held one of Penelope’s many figurines in her hand, this one was a small unicorn that squished. While it was very childish, Y/N couldn’t help but be entranced by the object. 

 “Oh yay, we have a call,” Penelope said as she answered the phone. “Garcia and Wonder woman at your service.” 

 “Can you find anyone in the area that might sell or rent medieval torture equipment?” Hotch asked, getting straight to the point as usual. 

 “Besides a friend of mine in a knitting group?” Penelope asked jokingly.

 “Try S&M suppliers, we’re looking for a stretching rack,” Rossi elaborated. 

 “Spanking the keys as we speak,” Penelope began typing. 

 “Ew,” Y/N said in disgust with Penelope’s phrase.

 “Don’t worry they like it,” Penelope reassured her. “Okay, I have cross-checked stretching equipment with S&M equipment and I found something that stretches something…”

 “I don’t think this is something that we’re looking for,” Y/N said as she looked at the photo. Her head turned at the item in confusion. “How does that even work?” 

 “Maybe he made his own,” Spencer’s voice was heard as he came up with the new idea. 

 “That would be pretty elaborate,” Rossi remarked.

 “Okay, me and Y/N will keep looking, we’ll get back to you soon,” Penelope said, her pen hovering over the hang-up button. 

 “Hang on Garcia,” Hotch stopped her from hanging up. “Y/N when did you get back?” 

 “Couple hours ago sir, I caught an earlier flight home,” Y/N responded. She hoped Hotch wouldn’t say anything about her being back earlier, she knew Spencer would call her later about it though. 

 “Alright, hit us back when you get something.”

 “Will do,” Y/N said and then Penelope hung up. 

-

 “I thought you said she wasn’t coming back until tomorrow?” Hotch looked at Spencer. 

 “I thought so too,” Spencer replied, having no clue that she was home early. 

 “I just went to the latest abductee’s home,” Derek said as he walked up to the three standing in the conference room. “Not only did our unsub use fake blood in some kind of ruse, but the front porch security cameras were also disconnected right before the abduction.”

 “So he cased the site,” Rossi observed from the information Derek had given. 

 “Well, it’s residential streets-- a lot of people coming and going, that’s high-risk behavior,” Derek mentioned.

 “Yeah, the unsub didn’t care. He needed him and it was worth the risk,” Hotch added. 

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

 Spencer peeled the tissue paper inside the box they found back. It’s light airy pink color contrasted with the dark horror inside. 

 “The box is wrapped this time,” Spencer said as he looked at balled up tissue paper. 

 “What is this, a gift?” Detective Marks asked. 

 Spencer pulled back some of the tissue paper from the top. He pulled back about four pieces before the face of the latest victim was revealed. The man that had been taken the day before. 

 “His natural hair color is black and still he kills him,” Hotch remarked as Spencer pulled more pieces of paper away. “And, look, no neck wounds.” 

 “Then how did he die?” Marks asked. 

 “Maybe he bled out,” Hotch suggested.

 “Or he fell from something,” Spencer argued as he examined the body more. “Look at his hands. He bored holes through the hands that ripped, and then he moved them to the wrist.” 

 “Reid, check the feet,” Hotch ordered, getting a hunch on what it could be. 

 Spencer pulled the victim’s shoe back, seeing the same type of hole. 

 “Stigmata?” Spencer asked as he had a theory forming. 

 “Hanging and then crucifixion,” Hotch explained the meaning of the word for the detective. 

 “So this has to do with religious beliefs,” Marks said. 

 “Maybe he just found a new way to torture them?” Spencer suggested. 

 “And still he’s keeping Connie. Something about her is working,” Hotch said.  

 Spencer’s eyes kept on the body. He went over every detail in his head, comparing it with the other bodies. Then he came up with a hit. 

 “Hotch look-” Spencer pointed to the jeans on the victim- “These are the exact same jeans that victim number two was wearing. Look at the trim.” 

 Spencer reached his hand into the box, pulling on the color of the shirt the victim had on. When he pulled it around enough, he could clearly read the tag. “Bonner Brothers. Is that a local store?” 

 “About five miles, half thrift store, half yuppie mart,” Marks answered.

 “I’ll have JJ and Morgan check it out after we give the profile,” Hotch said. 

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

 “Okay, so we’re looking for a white male, at least thirty due to the sophistication of the crimes,” Y/N began to deliver the profile to Penelope. She sat in the swivel chair behind her, her head leaning on its back. She held a pink pen in her hand as she twiddled with it to keep her somewhat entertained. 

 “He’s torturing his victims. From what I’ve discussed with the team, he’s trying to perfect a delusion, which he’s failed. Three times.”

 Penelope sat, her hands laying on her thighs as she listened intently to the profile. She only usually got a small paper description to help her search parameters, so it was really cool for her to see a profiler at work.

 “With most delusions like this, the reality never lives up to the unsubs expectation.” 

 “That is the truth with anything though,” Penelope commented on Y/N’s last statement. 

 “Yeah, anyway, his fantasy involves the torture and stretching-”

 “Okay, you can skip that part, my perfect, pure, and gore free office space doesn’t need that,” Penelope said, holding up her hands to stop Y/N and her face contorting in disgust. 

 “Okay,” Y/N laughed before she continued. “Before he kills them, the unsub fixes their hair and paints their nails. The last victim he escalated to crucifying him, I’ll spare you the details of that. Crucifixion was used for serious crimes, so the unsub probably believes that his victims have wronged him.”  

 Y/N sat back in her chair, making it spin in circles as she kept thinking. “Something isn’t working though in his fantasy, because he keeps discarding the men…”

 Y/N stopped the chair and grabbed the tablet off the table beside her. She pulled up the picture of the latest victim in the box. “He kills them, then ritualistically places them in a box with tissue paper, which is weird.” 

 “Why is it weird?” Penelope asked, on the edge of her seat like Y/N was reading her some sort of novel and was reaching the climax. 

 “Well his initial behavior dehumanizes them, so it means his victims he values more when they’re dead,” Y/N answered. She looked back down at the photos again. “But if he's keeping Connie, does that mean she’s dead and he is doing ungodly things that I shouldn’t even think of, or is she still alive?” 

 Penelope looked at Y/N with a puzzled look on her face, not knowing the answer to her questions.

 “I was asking myself, Pen,” Y/N eased Penelope’s thoughts.

 “Oh good.” 

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

 After the team delivered the profile, Spencer had moved back to a quiet room to work in. Well, he wasn’t really focused on his work, he was worrying about proposing to Y/N. 

 All-day, the team had noticed his behavior. Of course, they would, they’re profilers. Spencer’s odd behavior on the plane, his constant whispering under his breath, and his nervous breaths.

  Blake took extra notice of this though, she had formed some sort of motherly bond with Spencer. And Spencer was glad to have it, she was someone he could relate to intellectually also so it was nice to have her to talk to. 

 Spencer sat in a small office, writing on some paper to help with his geo-profile. He was trying to narrow it down to an area where the unsub might be keeping his victims. He was hard at work, but his mind kept going back to Y/N. 

 She was all he could think about. His nerves from proposing, going over every possible way the evening could go. He couldn’t help himself but feel nervous. 

 “There you are,” Blake said as she saw Spencer in the room. “How's the geographical profiling going? And why are you doing it here?”

 “It’s going good. I’m just having trouble concentrating out there, is all, so I came in here.” Spencer gestured vaguely with his pencil around the room. He quickly looked back down to the map and continued to work. 

 “Hmm,” Blake hummed. “So what’s with you today?”

 “Hm,” Spencer said, not understanding what she meant. 

 “Is this about the black box in your bag?” 

 Spencer opened and closed her mouth, he really hadn’t told anyone about his plan to propose. Only JJ and Penelope. JJ because she’s his best friend and Penelope because she could help him find out what Y/N would like and she was also really close to him. “She asked me the other morning, for when she gets back, to go to dinner. And I-I decided that’s when I decided I’m going to do it.”

 “Awe, Reid,” Blake gushed. “She’s going to say yes, you know.”

 “I know, it’s just, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world to me, and I don’t want to mess it up,” Spencer confessed. “But what if she says no? What if she doesn’t want to marry me?” 

 “Spencer,” Blake scorned and then took a seat in the chair across from Spencer. “Why wouldn’t she say yes?”

 “Because I’m weird,” Spencer said. “I slouch, my hairs to long, she always has to fix my perpetually crooked tie-” 

 “Your hair’s fine.”

 “Really? Thanks, my mom thinks it’s too long and so does my Aunt Ethel,” Spencer admitted. 

 “Well, you’re not about to propose to them,” Blake laughed. 

 “I just don't want to ruin something so special, over something so trivial as looks.” Spencer was showing how insecure he was and it truly broke Blake’s heart. “She’s beautiful, Alex, she’s all I could ever ask for, inside and out. Her smile is contagious, her heart is so big, and her eyes sparkle.” 

 “Spencer, I think you’re excited but afraid,” Blake told him.

 Spencer nodded, agreeing with her.  

“But I have only known you two together for four months now, and the way she looks at you, with such love and adoration. Tells me she’s going to say yes,” Blakes gave him a serious face.  

 Spencer gave a half-smile, her words comforted him.

 “So don’t second guess yourself, just do it, because she is not going to say no,” Blake gave him one last word of encouragement.  

 “We’ll see.”

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

 “You know what’s crazy,” Y/N blurted into the quiet space of her and Penelope. 

 “What’s crazy?” 

 “The way that these victims were tortured. The dislocation seems so...moving? Like he wants to control them.” Y/N looked at the M.E. report. The dislocation just seemed odd and yet so familiar. 

 “Movement, control, crucifixion…” Y/N was muttering these words under her breath as she continued to think why she knew this case. It seemed like something she read before. A book? No. A Reddit scary story? Possibly. An old case? 

 “Penelope there was a case, uh around 2010 I think, I can’t remember the unsubs name but it had something to do with a woman drugging her victims and...oh and she dressed them up,” Y/N listed off what she could remember from the case file she read before she joined the BAU.

 “I think I remember that one, but let me look it up just to be sure.” Penelope began to type on her computer quickly and look up the case. “Here it is, Savannah Malcolm, thirty-two at the time of her arrest. She kidnapped and drugged women to look like a line of dolls due to a frontal lobe problem from electro-shock therapy prescribed by her father, who was a serial molester.”

 “Okay, the doll thing that’s what I’m looking for.” Y/N pulled her phone out and quickly scrolled to Spencer’s number. 

-

 “The M.E. just called, not only were ligature marks on victim three’s arms, but his jaw was dislocated as well,” Rossi said to Hotch after he hung up the phone. 

 “His jaw?” Spencer asked as he and Blake approached the two men. 

 “Why would you hang someone, dislocate their joints and their jaw, and then crucify them?” Hotch’s confusion was received all around by the group. 

 Spencer was thinking, long and hard. His eyes became focused on a Newton’s Cradle that sat on a deputy's desk. The wheels in his brain turned and he was so close to connecting them but he couldn’t find the last little bit. 

 “I can see your wheels turning, don't hold back,” Rossi said, bringing Spencer out of his head.

 “Maybe he’s dislocating their body parts so that he can manipulate them himself,” Spencer said, explaining to them what he was thinking. 

 As soon as Blake was about to ask a question, Spencer’s phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his back pocket and saw Y/N’s name light up the screen. 

 “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” Spencer said when he answered his phone. 

 “Spence put me on speaker.” 

 “Okay, one sec.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and did as she told him. “You’re on speaker.” 

 “Savannah Malcolm,” Y/N said, confusing everyone in the room. 

 “What about her?” Hotch said as he recognized the name. 

 “She was a collector, she kidnapped women so that she could be a part of her doll collection she was missing. What if this guy has something like that, a male and female set of dolls, stuffed animals, even I don’t-”

 “Marionettes.” Spencer cut her off thinking the same thing she was. 

 “Yes! I know it’s crazy but-” 

 “No, no I see it,” Spencer agreed with her but when he looked around he could see the confusion on the other’s faces. “Think about it for a second. If you add the dislocation, the holes in the hands, the strange clothing, and the odd makeup, it sounds crazy, but our unsub could be turning our victims into human marionettes.” 

 “That makes sense, and it’s the best lead,” Rossi agreed, looking to Hotch who had a posing look on his face. 

 “The Greeks translated ‘puppets’ as ‘neurospasta’, which literally means string-pulling,” Spencer said as he gave more insight on the marionette theory. 

 “Oh and throughout time they’ve been used as a method to tell kings a story so the subjects didn’t have to speak to him directly,” Y/N piped in since she had some knowledge of the matter.

 Penelope looked over at her from her chair, a confused look on her face. 

 “What? I like history,” Y/N defended herself. 

 “She’s right,” Spencer said, a small sense of pride forming in his chest. 

 “It was a way to hear the truth,” Rossi said as he was taking in the information. 

 “It seems like this unsub is doing something similar. Using his puppets to tell his story,” Hotch added. 

 “He can’t be controlling them by hand,” Blake said as she thought about how the unsub would control two humans. 

 “No, he probably built some sort of contraption,” Hotch agreed. 

 “And he’s trying to lift his victims,” Spencer added.

 “That could explain why he discarded the men,” Rossi said as he looked at the victims’ charts. “They were too heavy.” 

 “Wait, Rossi what do you see?” Y/N asked, pushing her chair back so she could grab the copies of the victims’ charts she had. 

 “Well, I’m checking the licenses of our victims, and each weighed less than the previous one,” Rossi noted as he picked up each one to compare the weights. 

 “You know, if he’s making human marionettes, that also explains why he’s stuffing his victims into boxes,” Spencer said, his eyes bouncing between the three around him. “It’s like a sick toy chest.” 

 “So he is dehumanizing them,” Y/N noted.

 “But he’s not killing them, he’s turning them into his playthings,” Hotch said. 

 The four at the station turned as they heard steps approaching. 

 “A father and son were just abducted from a parking lot at gunpoint,” Detective Marks said when he reached them. “A witness saw a man force them into a car.” 

 “Dave, you and Blake go check it out,” Hotch ordered. “Garcia, you there.” 

 “Yes, sir,” Penelope piped up to be heard over Y/N’s phone. 

 “I need you to start looking for theater owners and puppeteers in the area,” Hotch said. 

 “Will do sir,” Penelope responded. 

 “We’ll hit you back with some results,” Y/N added and went to hang up the phone. 

 “Hey, Y/N wait,” Spencer said, pulling her off of speaker and putting his phone to his ear. 

 “Yeah, Spence,” she responded, doing the same as him. 

 “We're still on for dinner when I get back?” 

 “Of course, I already made the reservation.” 

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

 “Okay there are five puppeteers/marionetters in the area,” Penelope said quickly, seeing as there were two new victims.

 “Any recently released from prison?” Hotch asked. 

 Penelope quickly typed into the search engine and got no results. 

 “No,” Y/N answered when she read the screen. 

 “Yeah, they’re all working kids’ parties and at hospitals,” Penelope added. 

 “What about someone who had a traumatic incident with a brunette girl?” Spencer gave a new set of parameters. 

 “That’s kind of specific,” Penelope muttered as she began to type. While she was typing, she got a call from JJ and Derek. “Hold on let me patch in JJ and Morgan.” 

 “Hey, we’re at the clothing store,” Derek’s voice said over the phone. “And we got the names of five people who left numerous messages for Tucker this week.”

 “Give them to me and Wonder Woman,” Penelope said, hands at the ready to work her magic. 

 “Alright, we got Sam Holby, Terrence Crammer, Vincent Lang, Matt Parker, and Jill Olger,” Derek said, reading off the names he found.

 Penelope typed swiftly on her keys, doing cross-checks with all the things she’s been given so far. “And no, and I’m cross-checking those with Hotch’s list of puppeteers. And no.” 

 “So I’ve got eight more names, some written on pads in the back, others are frequent customers,” JJ’s voice was heard next. 

 “All right,” Derek said to JJ. “Penelope we need you and Y/N to trace the phone lines here, too, see if this guy Tucker called the unsub today.”

-----------

 “How’s your vegetarian pad thai?” Y/N asked as she gathered more of her own food in her chopsticks. 

 “Amazing,” Penelope took another bite of her food. The phone began to ring. Penelope used the ends of her chopsticks to answer. 

 “Garcia,” Hotch’s voice was heard through the phone. 

 “Yes, sir,” Penelope answered, swallowing her food.

 “Were there any incidents involving a father and son in the puppeteers’ histories that you found?”  

  Penelope set down her box of noodles and began to type on her computer. “Father and son. Okay, no, it’s coming up empty.”

 “What about twenty or thirty years ago?” Rossi’s voice asked. 

 At the new parameters, Penelope got a hit. “Well, there was a pretty famous puppeteer in the late fifties, named Alex Rain.”

 “He died in a robbery,” Y/N read from the article on the screen. 

 “Yeah, his son witnessed it.” 

 “What was the son’s name?” Blake asked. 

 “Adam Rain, mom died ten years ago,” Penelope answered.

 “Cross-check Adam’s name with the names of the patrons in the clothing store,” Spencer ordered. 

 Penelope began to type again and a huge list of callers appeared on the screen. “Oh, I got a big ‘ole hit. Okay, so Mr. Rain called Tucker, the owner, forty times in the last month.”

 “Damn, I don’t think I even call my mom that much,” Y/N commented, taking another bite of her food. 

 “Yeah, check this-- his father was most well-known for a pair of puppets named Mitch and Steph, the male one had dark black hair, the female was a redhead.” The picture of the two puppets was on the screen as Penelope began to describe their features. 

 “And they’re creepy,” Y/N sang as her eyes widened at the picture. 

 “Do you have an address?” Rossi asked. 

 “Last known was a building on Pine Street, that used to be his father’s theater,” Penelope said as the information on Adam Rain came up on the screen. 

 “And guess what he drives,” Y/N said. 

 “A blue van, call us back in the car,” Hotch’s voice said as he began to walk out of the room. 

 When Penelope hung up the phone, the sound of her door opening startled them. Y/N instinctively reached for her gun on her belt and Penelope jumped. Walking into the room was Erin Strauss, her normal pristine self. 

 “Agent Y/L/N, may I speak with you in my office please,” Strauss said. 

 It wasn’t a question, it was an order. Y/N nodded and stood up from her chair. “I’ll be back,” she said to Penelope who just nodded absently, not sure what was going on. 

 When Strauss entered her office, Y/N followed a few paces behind her. She was very confused about what was happening at the moment. Strauss knew they were on a case and she wouldn’t pull her away unless it was important. 

 “Have a seat.” Strauss gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. 

 Y/N slowly walked over to the seat on the left, nervous about what was happening. “Okay, I’m going to be blunt, ma’am, what’s going on?”

 “Well, I really didn’t want to do this,” Strauss began with a sigh. 

 Y/N’s mind jumped to the worse. “I’m not fired am I?” 

 “Oh no,” Strauss reassured her. She was a bitch, but Y/N was too good of an agent to fire due to budget cuts. “When I asked you to move to fugitive task force, I was hoping you would say yes so we could use that as your cover.” 

 “My cover? For what?” 

 “A couple of months ago, there was a letter left here, it told about how someone in the FBI was being watched,” Strauss began to explain. “The Director and I wrote it off as a simple ‘trying to scare’ type thing. It wasn’t until later that we realized that wasn’t the case. We received another note, with very specific detail about how someone wanted to hurt not just this one person in the FBI, but their whole team.” 

 “Do you think this has to do with Caroline?” Y/N asked, curious if that was a road Strauss had traveled down and looked into. 

 “We looked into it, it’s not.” 

 Y/N let out a sigh of relief, glad she didn’t have to deal with her again. 

 “This unsub has been stalking a member of your team, the last letter we received was about someone in the BAU.” Strauss handed the letter to Y/N in its evidence bag.

 Y/N took the letter from her hand, looking over the neat handwriting. “Well, by the handwriting I can tell this is probably a female.” 

 “Yes, I also thought that. There’s one other thing, if you notice in the letter, she mentions everyone on the team except you.” 

 Y/N looked closely at the letter, reading over everyone’s name except hers. “Do you think I am the one she’s after.” 

 Great, not again, Y/N thought to herself. 

 “Well, that was my initial thought, but then we got a break,” Strauss said. “We found out that these letters were coming from a student who attends George Town, due to a series of mysterious suicides that we believe are connected to this. George Town is a school we frequently have guest speakers at, especially from the BAU.”  

 Now Y/N was beginning to catch on. “Except me, I have never guest spoken.” 

 “Yes. We are assuming this unsub has only done research on those who have spoken at the school. This is where you come in. I would like you to go undercover as a girl’s advisor to get some insight and hopefully find out who this unsub is.” 

 Y/N looked at Strauss with wide, surprised eyes. “Oh-uh-okay, is this a ‘you can if you want to?’ or a ‘this is what you’re doing now’ thing.”

 “A little of both, but I believe you are the best hope of finding out who this is with little to no injury involved.” 

 “How long would I be undercover for?” 

 “Depends on what you find and how close you’re getting.” Strauss leaned on her desk, seeing that Y/N’s last question prompted that she was interested.

 “Okay, and will I have contact with my team?” 

 The sigh Strauss let out was not giving to Y/N’s hope. “This is the part where I believe you were going to say no. You would start tonight if you say yes, you would get some things from your home, leave your cell phone with me, I give you a new one and you will have no contact with your team unless absolutely necessary for an extended period of time.” 

 “What determines this extended period of time?” 

 “Your findings within the first month.” 

 “So at least a month.” Y/N knew she had to do this, after everything the team did to help her with Caroline, she couldn’t let this unsub get to them. But what about Spencer, or JJ, or Penelope? This was a hard decision she had to make, but she knew she’d be back. 

 “Okay, I’ll do it. But on one condition.” 

--------------  

 Adam Rain had been caught. He had been in a coma for a long time due to a car accident. He had a Peter Pan syndrome where he woke up as a young boy again. 

 Spencer was bouncing on his toes. After his talk with Blake, he had found a new sense of confidence for the evening and he couldn’t wait to pop the question. He had the ring out the whole flight home, the box in his hands and absent mindedly played with it. He opened the box, admiring the ring he looked for for so long. It was simple, a thin gold band that had three small diamonds in a line on the top of the ring. It was perfect and he was so excited to give it to her. 

 The team arrived at Quantico that evening. Tired from the long case and excited to get home.  

 “Hey guys,” Penelope greeted everyone when they walked in the door. 

 “Hey Baby girl,” Derek greeted her, giving her a hug. When he pulled away he looked behind her and then back at her. “Where’s Wonder Woman?” 

 “I have no clue, I was hoping Boy Wonder knew because Strauss called her into her office earlier and I haven’t seen her since,” Penelope explained. 

 Spencer walked up to the two when he heard his nickname. “She hasn’t talked to me since we last called you.” 

 The three were now worried and confused, no knowledge of where Y/N was.

 “I can answer that for you,” Strauss’ voice was heard as she walked into the room. Her announcement gained everyone on the team’s attention. “Agent Y/L/N has been assigned to an undercover assignment by me, starting right after the meeting we had earlier today.” 

 The team stood shocked, some with wide eyes and others with slack jaws.

 “I’m sorry, what?” JJ asked strongly.

 “The case is strictly need to know, but she wanted me to tell you that is where she was so you wouldn’t have to worry about her running off or having you think she left you.” The last part of her announcement was directed to Spencer, who Y/N knew would need to hear that until he got home. 

 “Erin,” Rossi said, anger and annoyance rising in him. 

 “Dave, the decision has been made, she was the best person for this job. You will have no contact with her unless extremely necessary for at least one month-” Strauss held up her pointer finger- “She told me to tell you that this was an extremely hard decision for her to make but she needed to do it to protect lives.” 

 With that, Strauss gave a curt nod to Hotch and started to walk to his office. Hotch followed, his walk angry as she had pulled someone from his team without telling him first. 

 “Reid,” Penelope said when she looked over to the man in shock. 

 He stood still, mouth closed and eyes pricking with tears he wouldn’t let fall. The ring in his pocket felt heavy now, like it carried all the weight of the world that just left him. 

 “Spence,” JJ reached her hand to touch his shoulder. 

 Spencer jerked at the touch and began to walk away. “I need to get home.” 

 His whole trip home, his hope was that what had just happened was just some fever dream. It was all fake from his nerves over the past couple of days and he’d get home and she’s been on the couch waiting for him.   

 But when he walked in the door, he was met with a quiet empty apartment. He let out a breath. It sounded like a scoff almost, and then he wanted to start laughing. Because this was fucking hilarious and crazy.  

 This was crazy, Y/N was gone. 

 When he closed the door and flipped the light switch, the corner of his eye caught a glimmer. His head jerked in the direction of the sparkle. 

 Sitting on the table was a white sheet of paper, folded in half and ‘Spencer’ scrawled on the front of it. Beside it sat the gold band Y/N had gotten him. 

 Slowly, Spencer dropped his bags by the door and walked over the letter. He picked up the letter, not daring to touch the gold band that sat beside it. 

 “Dear Spencer: My love, my sweet angel, my bub, I know you’re very confused right now, I am too. As Strauss told you, I was pulled away on an undercover mission. Sadly I cannot tell you what this is about due to the fact I am liable not to and technically I wasn’t even supposed to write this letter to you but you know me, I couldn’t leave without leaving something for you.” 

 Spencer laughed, a small tear he let escape running down his face. Of course, Y/N wouldn’t leave without giving him a goodbye somehow.

 “I know it isn’t fair that I am leaving you a letter, and trust me I didn’t want to leave you one. You’ve been left too many from people leaving you-- Gideon, your dad. But here’s the one thing that’s different, I am coming back. After this is all over I will be back.” 

 Spencer’s lip quivered, not letting any tears be held back anymore. 

 “Tell the team that I love them and I’m sorry that I had to leave like this. I know they were all probably shocked and some were probably angry. Hell, I would understand if you were angry. I would be.” 

 Spencer was angry. He was angry that she was chosen for this, that she had to leave. 

 “So you’re probably wondering, ‘why is there a ring here?’. Well, tonight I was going to propose to you, and it was going to be so great. Penelope and I have been discussing it all day on my speech, the delivery, the whole nine yards. But I guess that won’t happen now, but if you want to hear about it then ask her, she’ll tell you.” 

 Spencer looked down at the ring. The simple gold band sat there and was screaming at him to pick it up. Like if he wore it, Y/N would be right beside him. 

 “I don’t know if you’ll wear it, but I left it as a promise to you. So you’ll know I’ll be back to marry you soon. That this is just a bump in our story, and the rest of if we will spend together.” 

 Spencer danced the ring between his thumb and index finger. He looked at it all around, noticing their initials on the inside. He smiled at them, making his heart soar at how thoughtful she was. 

 “So, technically I am not supposed to do this, but I can’t stand the thought of not being able to talk to you for a month. I’ve thought about the safest way to do this. It’s the same way I’d talk to London in college when Caroline was...anyway. At the end of this letter is the number of the cell Strauss gave me, it’s in code but I know you’ll figure it out quickly. I want you to go to a payphone, call the number, let it ring twice, hang up, and then wait for me to call back. It’s safe and we can only do it maybe three times a week just to be cautious.” 

 Spencer made extra sure to remember each step, already excited to use it so he could talk to her. 

 “I have to go now, Spence. I love you more than anything you’ll ever know. I found a quote that is fitting for when I was going to propose, so I’ll just leave it here: Thomas Merton once wrote, ‘Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone, we find it with another.’  See you soon, Y/N.” 

 At the end of the letter was the code for the number. It was easy for Spencer to decipher, he didn’t even need to write anything down. He took a mental note of the number and was ready to use it first thing in the morning. 

 He then looked back at the ring. He had set it back down at some point and picked it back up again. It sat in the palm of his hand. 

 He was almost scared to put it on now. Then he thought about her words, it’s a promise I’ll be back. With slow, cautious movements, Spencer slipped the band on his ring finger. The ring felt at home there and he had no plans of taking it off.  

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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[wyattnadir]

Well, no one here is getting out alive This time I've really lost my mind and I don't care So close your eyes And kiss yourself goodbye

tl;dr: wyatt, along with andy & wes, raid a warehouse belonging to The Rogues. Wyatt shoots four rogues and takes one hostage.

tw: violence, gun violence, blood, graphic descriptions of murder (tw bad writing read at your own risk)

It is rare to see the Jeep with all of its parts attached. Doors and a soft top pulled over the roll bars hold in the silence of three men on a mission. Wyatt killed the radio on the first ten minutes of the drive and now he wishes he had the wind blowing against his skin. Every part of him is ready for what is about to come. Has been ready since he saw Reina’s burning house, since they’d left Blake on the side of the road to die, since he’d let them get away after running Izzy off the road. Wyatt’s bones have for this moment; have felt the magnetic pull towards their destination. The thoughts have been all consuming for months and every passing moment Wyatt let go by without getting his hands on them, they’ve become more endlessly violent. 

Tonight they’re going hunting.

Wyatt kills his headlights before pulling off the road. Whatever he feels towards the rogues, he neatly packs away. Iris and Izzy and Reina get their own boxes inside him. He knows Andy and Wes have motives fueled by people they care about. He knows they’re carrying that rage inside with them. Wyatt puts his on a shelf to save for later, when he will really need it to push him forward. But for now, this can’t be more than a job. A job that Wyatt is very good at--quick and efficient. A job that requires focus. So that’s what he does. He focuses on the click of his clip locking into place. He focuses on the last draw of a cigarette before he crushes it under his boot. He focuses on the sound of nothing as the world disappears on the other side of orange ear plugs.

In and out. Clear the building. Send a message: Game Over.

He moves swift and silent past empty rooms, flashlight braced across his wrist moving over every corner. He is on a clock tick tick ticking down as he races the brutal sounds already echoing through the rest of the warehouse. When he finds the first locked door, Wyatt steps back, braces himself against the opposite wall and bolts forward, his foot landing flat against the cheap plywood surface. In the narrow field of his flashlight, Wyatt can make out five bodies. The morning guard shift, all startled awake by the cracking wood. He wonders if they know they’re already dead.

Perfect.

Wyatt takes aim. Two shots straight into the temple of the first man who tries to charge him. In the tight space, the shots echo and reverberate off the walls. Wyatt smirks under the splatter of blood that sprays across his face when he sees the next closest man clutch his ear. He goes down next and Wyatt invisions his number going up.

Two down. 

“Who wants to live?” Wyatt asks the remaining three. “I need one witness.” The three men don’t move. They’re half dressed in a dark room with the only light a concentrated beam moving between them. Deer in the headlights. Literally. When no one speaks, Wyatt pulls the trigger again. In the darkness, the blood that coats the wall behind the dead man looks like his shadow fled his body before he fell.

“You gonna let me pick?” he asks knowing he won’t get an answer.

Wyatt doesn’t know who almost killed his family or who put Iris in the hospital. He doesn’t know who ran Izzy off the road and shot him. And at the end of the day, he doesn’t really care. Any warm body will do the trick. His head nods from side to side as he recites, “Eeny meeny miny moe,” and aims a shot at the ground. This one hit the ground harder and faster than any of the dead ones, shouting and clutching his bloodied mess of an ankle. The last man charges him before he can lift the gun back up to eye level. Wyatt’s shoulder hits the door frame and drops his flashlight at the same time as his finger pulls the trigger.

BAM.

Blood pours from the Rogue’s mouth as he falls against Wyatt’s chest, fingers grasping at his shirt too weak to hold on. Even in the dark he can see the man’s eyes widen with terror. He’s seen that look before. 

Dead man walking. Dead man fighting. Dead man clinging. Dead man dying. 

Wyatt’s fingers grip his hair, pulling the body off of him and tossing it to the ground. He taps him in the head once more to make sure he doesn’t somehow get back up. His old boots track through the pool of blood coating the floor as he approaches the souvenir he’s planned to take home with him. He crouches down, shining the flashlight in his eyes. His face is painted with blood. Streaks cut down his cheeks, tears washing away a narrow ravine through the gore. He moves the flashlight down the length of his leg to the mangled mess of bone and flesh that used to be his ankle. “They’re gonna chop that off, man,” he says, pulling the plugs out of his ears and shoving them in his pocket. “Meant to shoot your foot. Sorry. Hard to aim in the dark. High pressure situation, you know?” 

Wyatt stands up, surveying the rest of the room, making sure no one was hiding in an upper bunk. “I know. I know. But really, prosthetics these days? You’ll never know the difference probably.” He settles after a full rotation around the room, looking down at him. “I mean, assuming we don’t have to cut anything else off.” 

Wyatt’s boot heel comes down hard against the man’s head and the room goes silent. 

He hoists the final body over his shoulders, listening to the shallow sound of unconscious breath. He’ll wake up before they make it back to Olympus. And if he’s smart he’ll keep his fucking mouth shut. Wyatt can taste blood on his lips and he can feel it in his hair. Outside, the humid night air makes it feel more sticky soaked against his chest. 

The body falls to the ground with a thud, carelessly dropped in the dirt by the jeep. 

The fabric of his shirt peels off his skin as he yanks it over his head. “Change quick. Toss your clothes inside and torch the place. We gotta shove this guy in the back and clear out quick. Anyone gets a speck of blood on my seats and you’re paying for new leather.”