#LDFJHGKLFDJG

[tracksdowna]

@glyder​:    ❝  aren’t we in a good mood today?  ❞

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐍, 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.    it started about a week ago, the whispers that seemed to hit him from nowhere and everywhere all at once, sounds of people walking, a leak in the air conditioning system.    now nervous breaths and racing hearts beating like war drums from those in the building threaten to make head explode.    the other night he’d nearly screamed himself raw trying to drown it all out.    𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯, 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯, 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯.    trapped creature paces in his little box back and forth and back and forth and back again, focusing on his gait, matching it with the loudest sound he can hear — the thumping in his own chest.    the elevator at the end of the hall dings, and form stills as the entire floor falls silent.

𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

mouth opens slightly and nose wrinkles as familiar and pungent cologne hits his senses, even from this distance.    some small creature scratching at the back of his skull begs for him to run, run, run and hide from the monster that approaches, yet something hot and angry and large sits heavy in his chest, long claws prying wider the gap between already distorted ribs as glowing eyes peek through, waiting for their creator to arrive.    door opens distantly, and reflection disappears to reveal smaller man.    lips pull back in a sneer, sharp little teeth gleaming under blinding lights.    𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

❝  aren’t we in a good mood today?  ❞

hands are clasped together behind him, green eyes alight with something devious as norman smiles back.

❝  osborn,  ❞    a low hiss in greeting, face contorts as the word leaves a bad aftertaste in dallas’ mouth.    𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔, the viscera-covered hands that find their home under neatly sliced open flesh, becoming intimately aware of every little change in your body, writing notes with blood-red ink.    palms press against the thick, cool glass, looming over unflinching figure, head tilting with an almost mechanical slowness.    ❝  why don’t you let outta here fer’ a bit, y’know, lemme stretch my legs — that would really put me in a good mood.  ❞