#ormond resort

[dbd-map-resource]

Ormond Compilation:

As requested by the friendly anon! This is for you. :3

Outside of the main building:

The forbidden inaccessible third floor tempts me....

Resort main hall:

Second floor and walkways:

Entrance (the part with the lockers and reception):

Misc outside stuff:

[fogposting]

Frank: I still don’t have a New Year’s resolution.

Susie: You could educate yourself some more.

Joey: You could be less lazy.

Julie: Don’t be such a bitch.

Frank: Okay DAMN, SHIT.

[soapyghostie]

Hello!! Can you write any of the dbd killers (and The Doctor) with a reader who comes back severely drugged after a trial with The Clown? How would they react?

Ayyyyy! Another request, that’s been sitting in my inbox since forever, is done! Slowly, but surely getting back into writing. This is my first time writing for Evan and Frank. Hope y'all enjoy.

The Trapper/Evan MacMillan

When Evan sees you stumbling and disoriented, Evan’s eyes widen in immediate concern. He can feel his heart pounding as he rushes to your side, a surge of worry overtaking his typically stoic demeanor. He even feels fear coursing through him as he begs you to tell him what happened as he takes your hands in his shaking ones to try and stabilize you. 

When you finally tell him about your trial with The Clown, a deep-seated rage builds within Evan. His face is contorted with a mixture of worry and rage as he imagines the sadistic torment The Clown put you through. He grabs his weapon and grips it tightly with a burning desire for revenge. You’ll have to calm him down and convince him to stay with you; if not, he’ll storm off to teach The Clown a lesson. However, you do end up convincing him to stay, although he makes a mental note to have a ‘friendly’ conversation with The Clown later. 

Evan’s large hands, usually accustomed to handling large and dangerous tools, shake as he tends to your wounds. He does his best to be gentle as he’s not used to patching up wounds, normally being the cause of them. His usually stern expression softens as his heartaches at the sight of your suffering, revealing a side that only emerges in the face of genuine concern for you. Enjoy it while you can because he rarely shows this side of himself to anyone, even to you. 

Evan then wraps his arms around you in a silent comforting hug. Y’all stay there for many minutes remaining silent and steadfast as you recover. Evan’s eyes blaze with determination, silently promising that The Clown will pay for the anguish inflicted upon you.

The Legion/Frank Morrison

When you come stumbling into Ormond after your trial, Frank freezes in shock as he witnesses your disoriented state, his usually charismatic and cocky demeanor replaced with genuine concern. He rushes to your side and throws your arm over his shoulder to support you the rest of the way to the resort. Once inside, he’ll sit you down on one of the worn out and torn couches making sure you're comfortable before sitting down next to you. 

Frank will aggressively try to get you to talk to him about what happened. I advise you not to take it personally when it comes to Frank’s aggressiveness. This is just his way of showing he cares about you and he doesn’t know how to express himself in any other way so give him some slack. Jeez y’all. (Just kidding) Anyway, when you tell him about your trial with The Clown, a spark of fury ignites in Frank as he contemplates the sadistic acts committed towards you by The Clown. His worried expression twists into a snarl, a clear sign of revenge plotting against The Clown. However, Frank (for once) actually doesn’t give in to his impulses, due to your pleas, and stays to take care of you. He’ll get his gang together and plot a revenge plan on The Clown later while you're resting. No one hurts you and gets away with it. 

Despite his constant tough exterior, you can feel Frank’s hands shake as he patches up your wounds. He’s uncharacteristically tender, his eyes betraying a depth of emotion not often seen by him. Also, he’s at your beck and call. Whatever you need Frank will get it for you. Icepack? Food? A blanket? Frank is on it. 

Frank being the overprotective boyfriend he is will remain constantly by your side while you are recovering. Hey, you never know who could come and harm you? Anyway, Frank will hold you in his embrace as long as you will allow him too, whispering reassurances while also promising safety and vengeance, ensuring that The Clown’s actions toward you will not go unpunished.

The Doctor/Herman Carter

At first Herman doesn’t recognize your state as he is too absorbed into his work, although he does greet you, hearing you stumble into his office. However, when you don’t reciprocate a greeting of your own is when Herman looks up from his work. At that moment, his clinical gaze shifts immediately to genuine concern as he takes in your disoriented state. Worry flashes across Herman’s face as he assesses the situation as he springs out of his chair to your side, guiding you to a bed to lay down on. 

When you tell Herman what happened during your trial with The Clown, his mind starts racing with analytical anger as he contemplates the sadistic experiments that you told him that The Clown inflicted on you. However, in your drugged state and inability to read your partner’s emotions, you can’t tell what kind of emotions Herman is feeling due to him keeping that professional facade he always has. Although, if you look closely enough, you will see the determination burn brightly in his eyes to avenge you. 

Surprising even himself, Herman administers caring for you with precision, his usually clinical movement now laced with genuine empathy. He patches you up no problem with little to no error. Once you are all patched up, he suggests for you to get rest as your body won't be able to heal itself properly without it. 

Herman remains as a steadfast presence, checking in on you once and awhile. If you need or want anything, he’ll get it for you. As he helps you recover, a burning desire to slow and painfully torture The Clown gives way into his mind. Maybe once you are 100% again he’ll teach that fat fuck a lesson or two.

[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[vikkirosko]

🗻 Frank Morrison x Reader headcanons A secret hideout 🔪

Frank was well aware that there were parents who were cruel to their children. He assumed that you grew up in exactly such a family, but these were just his assumptions, which did not have any significant evidence. At least until you started dating. He saw the bruises your parents left on your skin and he didn't like it. He could feel the anger boiling in his blood, but there was something he had to do. He was supposed to protect you from them, and to do that, you had to find a place where your parents couldn't find you

After several days of thought, he decided to make a secret hideout for you, which only you, he and his friends, whom he trusted, will know about. Frank came to you at night, waking you up, and quietly suggested that you leave the house, saying that he had found a place where you could live and you wouldn't have to put up with your parents. You hurriedly ran away from your house, taking with you a few things without which you would have had a hard time. The next day, he heard about how your parents were looking for you, but they didn't seem too upset about your disappearance. Frank bought groceries and came back to you at Mount Ormond Resort. It was there that he prepared a shelter for you, where you could finally feel at ease

He had prepared one of the rooms that was the most intact, and now this room was yours. Now you needed to dress warmer, but Frank was always ready to hug you so that you wouldn't feel so cold. Often, you were accompanied not only by Frank, but also by others. Susie supported you and lifted your mood, Julie swore at your parents and tried to encourage Frank to take revenge on them for you, and Joey just took care of you, knowing that you needed it. Frank knew they wouldn't hurt you, so you were an unspoken member of their gang and the keeper of their base

He understood that if he attacked your parents, you would be angry about it. Although you didn't have strong warm feelings for them, but you didn't want him to get his hands dirty with blood because of you, so he decided to stop at a small one, and when they weren't at home, he and his friends staged a pogrom in their house and took away some of your things that you hadn't taken before. You grinned at your happy boyfriend, who brought a box of your things, and then kissed him on the cheek as a sign of gratitude, preferring to ignore the fact that they broke into your house and you strongly doubted that they went there just to pick up your things

Frank understood that you would hardly agree to break the law with him, but he was going to be there for you no matter what. You were someone he truly loved and he was willing to go to great lengths for you. You were the one who kept him from breaking bad, you were the one who took care of him and he returned the favor. You were the one he came back to even on the worst day and next to whom he felt his anger calm down

[dream-world-universe]

Daytona Beach, Florida, United States: Daytona Beach, or simply Daytona, is a coastal resort city in Volusia County, Florida, United States. Located on the East Coast of the United States, its population was 72,647 at the 2020 census. It is part of the Deltona–Daytona Beach–Ormond Beach metropolitan area, and is a principal city of the Fun Coast region of Florida. Wikipedia

[dead-by-mending]

Christmas presents at Mount Ormond resort :

Frank : Some recently released horror movie (most likely the latest Terrifier) from his friends, and an ugly sweater from Kate (she knitted it herself)

Julie : New nail polish

Susie : New plushie based off Snug

Joey : New razor for his hair

HUNK : A book on special tactics

Kate : Some cookies (made by Susie) and new strings for her guitar (Frank got the idea from Yun-jin)

[mashtyxchaosgremlin]

Mickey and I ended up being tossed into Ormond. I swear, this bitch took the time to find every chest she could, open it, and pile up the items here. In the middle of the resort. I know she likes Wesker and all, but... Damn.

Honestly, I'm lucky he didn't see me here. Shocked I managed to snap this pic Behold. Wesk.

[shes-ghostface]

New Mount Ormond Resort inspired Dead by Daylight candle available in my Etsy shop! ❄️

[halcy0ng1rl]

growing pains | F.J.S.J

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Joey: R U OK?  Susie: @ the lodge

3.5k words Susie Lavoie centric hurt/comfort

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Playlist𝅘𝅥�� 1: Growing Pains by Ethel Cain  2: Nara Dreamland by Nicole Dollanganger  3: Crack Baby by Mitski 4: Golden Age by Ethel Cain 5: Waco, Texas by Ethel Cain 6: Not a lot, just Forever by Adrianne Lenker

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

1996, Mount Ormond 

The bitingly cold wind wafted through Susie’s hair as she trudged up the steps to the abandoned Mount Ormond Ski resort. It nipped at the static tears in her eyes and snuck through the gap of her sweater’s front pocket, hands stuffed feebly inside. She dredged her soaking canvas sneakers up the crumbling wood steps toward a room she knew all too well. The cracked frosted glass window of her sanctuary door welcomed her home. 

She folded herself onto the painstakingly thin mattress and listened as the wind-beaten old frame sighed under her weight. The dark mauve dusk of evening settled over the inconsequential town of Ormond, and by extension, over Susie. 

      As she pulled the bed’s scratchy faded blue blanket over her nose, she felt the inevitable sting of tears fall from her burning eyes down her cold cheeks. Snot dripped from her nose, and she wiped it with her sleeve. She hated him. 

Congested sobs bubbling up in her throat, hair the texture of dead straw sticking to her forehead, tonight’s altercation played on repeat in her head;

Her mid-term marks in her father's curled fist. Shouting. The deaf ring of flesh hitting flesh. More shouting. 

‘How can my daughter be an idiot and a dyke?!’ Smack. ‘You ungrateful brat!’ Another. ‘Fucking useless’. Crunch. 

She had managed to tune out most of it– his usual drunken stammering– but she couldn’t tune out the pain in her ribs or the throbbing ache under her left cheekbone or the coagulating, purple-green bruises on her shins. Some things she couldn’t escape. But here in this abandoned, snow-soaked castle, she could flee to her own kingdom of solace if only for a few hours. 

Susie had first found the ski lodge with Julie last year when they were juniors at Fairview, first semester. They were out cruising in Susie’s “new” 1990 accord during the Christmas break, snow falling like puffy stars beyond the windshield. Old holiday jingles played over the beat-up speakers, and as they drove down a backroad on the way to one of their only rich friend’s parties, Julie spotted the large chain-link fence hidden in the thickets of frost-covered evergreens. 

Susie parked the car, apprehensive as Julie ran her purple-manicured fingernails over the rusted NO TRESPASSING sign bolted to the fence. The words, emblazoned in crimson red, put a knot in Susie’s stomach. 

She didn’t even want to go to this party, let alone break into a place where they could get in trouble, murdered, lost, or all of the above. But as Julie’s cold hand took hers, all of her worries melted away. So long as they were together, Susie could do anything. 

Pulling her hood over her snow-dotted blonde hair, Julie whisked over the fence with ease. Susie followed suit, albeit less gracefully, and they stared at the forgotten wood monolith in awe once their feet hit the icy pathway. Julie broke out in a rush of excitement. 

“Let’s go, Suse!” 

Susie tried her best to keep up with Julie’s sudden burst of energy, her breath visible in the night air as she clamoured up the hill. Inside was a world of their wildest dreams. 

They spent the night pouring over the dusty wood bannisters and abandoned vending machines, enchanted by the cavernous hallways and cracking upholstery, all left permanently as they were when the resort closed. Stuck in time. Moonlight and snowflakes filtered through a large concave in the roof and illuminated the large centrepiece fireplace. Cracked wooden beams stretched across the high ceilings for what seemed like miles.

 It was the most beautiful place they’d ever seen.

Holding a hazy green bottle of champagne, Julie leaned against the water-ring-covered bar in the chalet. She dusted the cobwebs from the glass with her gloved palm. 

       The moon from the window behind her illuminated the contours of her like a halo as she smiled skeptically at Susie, raising the bottle. Susie felt a painful and sudden yearning to reach over the countertop and close the distance between them in response, but instead, she simply nodded. Stared into the beautiful, gleaming blue eyes before her.

 Julie popped the cork. 

“To the other resort that shut this place out of business,” she toasted, and lifted the bottle to her cracked lips.

 They took turns sipping the bubbly drink, laughing like they hadn’t in years as they posed like 1950s pin-up girls on the countertop and talked like detectives they’d heard in movies. The sound of tipsy giggles filled the once-empty chamber of the resort and echoed back at them, sweet and melodic. 

The world introducing Susie to this place was the kindest thing it had ever done for her right next to introducing her to Julie in the eighth grade. 

When they finally made it to the party, it couldn’t compare to the fun they’d had at the lodge. 

Even now thinking about that day made Susie’s tears quiet, and the thrumming of her heart steady. She held herself together, knees up to her chin, and closed her eyes. Thinking of Julie and snow. The gentle scent of her car's heat enveloping them in the dark cab when they drove back home, only faintly lit by the dashboard. 

‘Too bad she’s preoccupied with he who shall not be named,’ she retorted to herself bitterly. 

The warm visual of Julie in the snow morphed into Frank in the firelight, the underside of his jaw highlighted by orange as he pressed his thin lips to Julie’s, the scent of whiskey on her breath for the rest of the night. Susie could smell it when she hugged her goodbye. 

Even so, she couldn’t be mad at him for long. They were cut from the same cloth and he had saved them from dying of boredom before senior year. But part of her was ambivalent toward the lodge no longer being hidden as the forest's best-kept secret. Upset that Julie wanted him over her, and that he returned the sentiment. The conflicting feelings she had for Julie made her want to buy a gun, shoot 30 people, and then herself. It didn’t seem fair. 

She thought of them, toiling around on the dust-covered comforters in the next room over. A shared cigarette burning between parted lips, smoke funnelling into the air (Susie knew Julie wouldn’t object if he offered). They were probably glad she couldn’t come that day— it may have even been their plan. Julie knew she had a test that morning.

‘You’re my best friend. You know I’d never leave you out, right?’ And yet she did. 

But then she thought of all the fun the four of them had together these past few months and flashes of Julie’s black-lipped smile brought forth that feeling of belonging she sought for. Her friends filled the gaping hole life had carved in her chest. 

With a pang of guilt, Susie remembered her obligation. Tonight was a legion night, her legion night and she was spending it wallowing her pain away dreaming wistfully about a girl who would never love her back. Angry for reasons she had made up in her head. She hugged herself tighter. ‘Pathetic’. 

Before this evening she had planned to rent a copy of whatever interested her at the video store and formulate her ideas whilst they curled up on the couch munching on popcorn, staring at Frank’s tiny box TV. Yet here she was. Ditching them. 

They were probably all waiting for her. 

Her phone buzzed, confirming her suspicion. 

Joey: R U OK?  Susie: @ the lodge

Immediately after she sent the text with shaky fingers, Julie’s number flashed across the tiny viridian screen. The phone vibrated, and she hesitated for a moment– then put it to her ear. 

“Hello? Susie?” Julie’s voice cracked through the poor signal. Susie sat on the edge of the bed, picking at her leggings. 

“Hey Julie,” her voice worked hard against the lump in her throat. Julie picked up on her tone immediately. 

“Is everything okay? Joey said you’re at the lodge.” 

“Yeah, I– uh,” Susie exhaled a shaky breath, watched it dissipate into the air. Julie would understand, surely, but putting words to everything she felt would be like having her teeth pulled. She ran her tongue along her braces and bit the inside of her scarred-up cheeks silently. The fear of being seen as a burden outweighed her need for reassurance. 

The sickly-sweet voice on the other end broke her from her reverie.

“Are you there, Suse?” 

She wiped her runny nose and teary eyes with her sleeve, murmuring a small “yeah,” in response. 

“We’ll be there soon, okay? Don’t go anywhere.” She could hear Joey’s concerned whispering in the background; ‘What’s she saying?’ ‘Was it her dad?’ He was probably fluttering nervously over Julie, playing with his hands. Susie began to sob. ‘So much for playing it cool,’ she thought. 

“Okay,” she choked.

“Love you, we’ll be there soon, I promise.” 

“Love you too,” when Susie flipped her phone shut, she heard a snippet of Frank’s manic raving behind Julie’s soft reassurances; ‘We should get back at him, strike while the iron is still hot-’ and flopped back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling. 

She had thought of it before. Taking a kitchen knife to his throat in the middle of the night, beating him senseless and leaving him to starve to death in the closet under the stairs. Even petty things, like smashing the glass cabinet that held all of his ski trophies and snapping the gold-coated pieces of metal into unrecognisable specks of dust. She wanted so badly for him to hurt, to feel all of the pain he caused her. To let go of all of the rage she felt. 

She would love to ply off his fingernails one by one.

However, every time the knife block in the kitchen whispered to her, a wave of nausea would settle deep in her stomach. She would be letting him win if she gave in to their pleas. 

Every inch of skin sliding overtop of her bones shook with resentment and made her sick with a desperation to rip it all off. 

The salty taste of anger fell into her mouth as she screamed into the pillow, tearing at her hair. She tore the choker off her neck and threw her shoes in the corner of the room, then collapsed once more and screamed until her throat felt the same texture as wood bark. 

“Why are you like this Susie?” She mocked, lifting her face up. “Why are you like this Susie?” She straddled the pillow, picturing her father’s limp body in its place as she curled her hands into fists and threw blow after blow at it. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, SUSIE?! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS, SUSIE?!” 

For the one time he caught her smoking, 

For the one time she got a 40 on a science test, 

For the one time he saw her ex-girlfriend kiss her in the driveway,

For every single time she simply existed and he took it out on her as if she had just committed a crime worthy of capital punishment, she threw her fist at the pillow. 

…

When Julie walked into the room, she stumbled upon Susie sitting red-faced on the floor surrounded by feathers with her head in her hands. Smudged mascara had cascaded down her cheeks. 

Immediately, Julie dove into the fluffy down and enveloped Susie in a warm hug. Startled– yet grateful to see her– Susie returned the favour and found solace in the warmth of her neck. 

She smelled like the expensive perfume her parents had gotten her for Christmas last year: vanilla & sandalwood. 

Her hands dug into Julie’s shoulders,

“I just want to fucking burn it all down.” 

“I know,” she held her tighter “I know.” 

Susie’s eyes locked onto Frank, leaning against the doorframe with a flashlight. An uncharacteristic look of sympathy contorted his pimpled face. His eyes told a level of understanding beyond words, but he was still tapping his foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, some sinister plan brewing behind his gentle gaze.

She knew what he was thinking of doing. Silently, she shook her head. 

 Joey stood right beside Julie, a soft hand on Susie’s heaving shoulders. 

They had come to console her in one of her darkest times and were willing to give up their night to do so. Weren’t afraid of the hysteric wailing, or the uncomfortable silence that followed. The very thought of their sacrifice made Susie’s heart swell with affection. 

When she finally calmed down and pulled away, Julie chuckled. 

“Guess I know better than to ask what happened here,” she smiled and gestured to the decimated pillow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Susie felt her lips curl into a sheepish grin. The room sighed. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she stood up and dusted herself off, kicking the feathers to the corner to join the dust bunnies. Julie threw her knapsack on the bed as Susie hastily embraced Joey and waved at Frank as he settled the flashlight on the nightstand, a silent token of apology. They all moved closer to the centre of the room as Julie unzipped the bag. 

“We stopped by shoppers on the way here, sorry it took so long,” blurs of colour folded out of the bag and onto the bed “but we picked some stuff up for you.” Julie leaned against the bedframe to give Susie time to examine her wares. 

On the dusty mattress lay a box of electric blue hair dye, a pack of menthol Newports, a crunchy chocolate bar, fluffy white teddy bear, and a cassette tape with ‘for Suzzie :)’ emblazoned on it in permanent marker. Susie was overwhelmed.

“Guys–” 

Julie wrapped an arm around her from behind and pointed at her presents with a peeling manicured finger, “The dye, crunch, and bear are from me, the mixtape is from Joey, and the Newports are from Frank,” she jokingly scoffed and glared at him from the corner of her eye “because he obviously wants to kill you before we graduate.” 

He flipped off Julie with a smirk and walked closer, “your favourite, right?” 

Susie stuffed the pack into her front pocket, the familiar weight soothing her “Yeah, thanks– you remembered.” 

Frank tousled her knotted hair, “Kinda hard to forget when you reek of mint every time you get to the caf.” 

Susie punched him lightheartedly– eliciting a mock cry of pain from the boy– and bent over to caress the glossy cassette tape with her fingertips, brushing over the inscription of her name. There were little stars and lightning bolts doodled next to it in gel pen. On the back, it said ‘from Joey >:)’. 

“That was supposed to be your Christmas gift, but I figured you should have it now.” 

“It’s mid-November,” 

“I like to plan ahead.” 

She grinned at his obvious lie. “So what’s on it?” 

Joey pulled a piece of creased notebook paper from his pocket, tracklist written in hasty scrawl “I had Julie help me out, you can yell at her if it's wrong.” 

Susie took her time examining the note, most of it spent deciphering his handwriting– tracks from Aphex Twin, Nine inch Nails, and even some of the obscure techno artists she annoyed everyone else with were there. Her lips curled over her braces as she beamed. 

“This is sick, Joey.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

His shoulders sagged like he had been tense for the whole minute this interaction played out. “I’ll bring my player up here at some point,” Frank shot him a wink, and Susie pretended not to notice, but it made her feel a little sick. 

She loved Joey, but not that way. She didn’t know how to tell him that, though, and she also didn’t want to lead him on. Her heart only pined for Julie, who was waiting idly for Susie to pay attention to her. How the tables had turned. 

Susie’s black nails gripped the polar-white teddy bear and stared into its beady brown eyes, bewildered by the care her friends had shown her. She wasn’t used to this. “How much of this did you actually pay for?” 

Julie eyed Frank and put a finger to her lips “That’s classified.” 

Susie wanted to kiss her right then and there. So many nights she lay awake and fantasized about it; how she would taste, where her hands would travel, if her braces would make it awkward. Would she whisper to her and throw her blonde hair over one shoulder so it wouldn’t get in the way? Would Julie taste the menthols on her tongue? 

Would the nicotine on it drive her crazy?

Every night would end the same, with Susie going to bed alone in her cold bedroom, forever unfulfilled. Left solitary to wander the confines of her unsatisfactory thoughts, stuck at an impasse. Susie knew better than anyone that you don’t always get what you want, but why couldn’t she have this one good thing? 

She’d have to settle with simply being her friend and the thought terrified her. Julie seemed like her only ticket to happiness, the cure-all for her woes. ‘Take me,’ she wanted to scream. ‘Just fucking take me already!’ 

The stuffed animal in her arms’ stitched-on mouth smiled as if to reassure her–which sadly didn’t work much. She tried to distract herself by imagining different ways to give it a makeover, she could glue on some googly eyes, patch on some fabric, spray Julie’s perfume on it– 

Okay, maybe that angle wasn’t working either. 

Julie’s voice poked through her dizzy trance.

“You wanted to dye your hair blue, right?” 

“Hm?” 

Julie shook the box of hair dye, “You wanted to dye your hair blue, right? You said something about it the other day.” Concern painted her perfect face. 

“Oh, sorry, it’s—yes. I wanted to dye it blue—thank you, Julie–” Fumbling, Susie looked down at her faded pink tendrils: brown was steadily leaching into the strands. She dreaded the thought of being brunette again. 

“Are you okay? You spaced out on me there. We can leave if–”

“No!” She blurted, “I’m okay, more than, I just wasn’t expecting all this. That’s all.” 

Again, her heart filled with appreciation and her face grew hot with the embarrassment of being perceived. She took a split-second moment to lavish in the fact that for once, people cared enough to remember the little things, like her favourite brand of cigarettes, the music she listened to– even something as trivial as the colour she offhandedly said she wanted to dye her hair.  It was such an unnatural feeling, to be revered. Her eyes darted around the room to look at the faces of her friends, all of a sudden so grateful for them—fuzzy warmth cascaded through her body. 

Julie waited for her to continue, one hand on Susie’s arm. “I thought you’d come here to drag me out, get me back on my feet to continue the night’s activities– not this,” Susie’s eyes met the floor, full of guilt. How could she ever think so lowly of them? Julie’s brows furrowed, then softened, her eyes gentle. 

“I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to, okay? Even if that means postponing legion–” she rolled her eyes at the term Frank had coined, “--activities. You come first,” Susie found herself in Julie’s embrace once more, inhaling that sweet scent on her skin. “We can’t stop that prick from hurting you, but the least we can do is be there for when he does.” 

Frank tilted his head after a few moments of silence and put words to what everybody was thinking yet didn’t want to admit: “We could kill the fucker.” 

Nobody laughed. Joey’s face turned to stone, and Julie only clutched the girl in her arms tighter. Thunder cracked outside and icy sheets of rain slammed against the window, as inside, the four of them raged with the same deadly force. 

All they could do was wait for the storm to pass. 

…

The next day, in Julie’s small bathroom, Susie sat on the tile floor with her neck craned over the bathtub, freshly bleached scalp covered in cerulean sludge. 

“You’re gonna look like Marge,” Frank’s scratchy chuckle echoed. 

“Oh, shut up!” Julie pushed him, then bent over Susie and smiled haphazardly. “You’re gonna look great.” 

Joey, leaning against the countertop, put up a hand in defence, “Better than looking like a walking piece of bubblegum.” 

“Hey, you all said it looked good pink–” 

“Don’t listen to these morons, Suse,” 

Julie tilted her best friend’s head back, smiled, and turned on the handheld tap with blue-stained fingertips.

 I’m home, Susie thought, I’m home here. 

[frenziedtodiscordance]

writing practice (maybe opening for rp?) ------- Frank sat on the cold steps of Ormond Resort, fiddling around with his knife deep in thought. As much as he loved slashing and dashing, it does seem to get stale after awhile. Especially doing it for some being. He sighed while standing up, brushing off any debris stuck to him. Even with his crew and the other killers keeping him company he wonders if maybe he'd enjoy spending time with any of the survivors as well. That brings the question, who? He paced around the building, tapping the knife rhythmically against his thigh as he walked. "Meg? No- She pisses me off too much... Dwight- God no- How does a wimp like him try to act like a leader?" He mumbled, chuckling at the thought of that shivering dweeb. Thinking about it he finds majority of them insufferable. Only positive thought in his head about any of them is that Sable chick is kinda hot. But maybe he only feels that way due to the trials. I mean it's all he knows about those people, hasn't had a chance to ever actually talk to any of them. Frank pulled his mask off his head and looked down at it. Maybe The Legion is all he really needs in this place.

[deadbyoffering]

25 more things that the killers (mainly The Legion) Are not allowed to do

See the first 25 things that the killers are not allowed to do

First

26. Mr. Carter is not allowed to hold a petition on banning animatronics. Just because you didn’t like your fortune from Zoltar doesn’t mean you have the power to get rid of them.

27. Mr. Spencer’s chain hooks are not to be use as hook hangers or to hang laundry.

28. Mr. Ojomo bell’s is not to be used as a dinner bell, but it can be used as a fire alarm or to be summoned for a meeting.

29. Mr. Kovács or his associates are not allowed anywhere near a Renaissance Festival without supervision  ever.

30. If you open any chest during a trial, close it.

31. Killers are not allowed to suggest which survivors perk should be banned. Nerfing is enough as it is.

32. No one is allowed to pull the kill switch. Not even on your anyone birthday.

33. Movies that released before 1960s are no longer allowed to be shown during movie night. 

34. Use the restroom before a trial and not during it.

35. The Legion are not allowed to bring spray paint to tag walls anyone anything.

36. Cameras or any flash photography devices are prohibited in the trials with the exception for Mr. Johnson.

37. Maurice was found and has been returned to Mr. Hawk. The perpetrator, the Dredge, is not allowed to be within 50 meters of Maurice or Mr. Hawk property.

38. To clear up some confusion above, the Maurice seen in trials is not the real Maurice but a replica of him.

39. To clear more of the Dredge and the Maurice situation above, those who have reported that the Dredge still has Maurice in its body is just an illusion. 

40. Mr. Kovács or his associates are not allowed to be hired by the following: camping, raiding or intimidating individuals.

41. The Legion don’t have permission to let survivors to leave trials if they defeated them in break dancing, arm wrestling or can make Frank laugh with a comedy skit.

42. Miss Imai is not cosplayer who made a poor attempt as cosplaying the Predator.

43. No one is allowed to trained the crows to attack survivors if the killer is stunned during trials.

44.The Legion Anyone not is allowed to serve alcohol to survivors in the Dead Dawg Saloon or Mount Ormond Resort.

45. The Legion are no longer allowed to yell “hippy hoppy, get off my property” while wearing the Robbie The Rabbit costume. It was funny the first time, but after 48 times it became obnoxious.

46. Although we have the equipment for it, there will never be a snow boarding tournament.

47. Miss Imai’s drones are not to be tampered with. Neither it to be used as a target practice or trying to catch them with a butterfly net.

48. The water tower is not to be used as a pool or hot tub. 

49. Even though he’s the same age as his sister, Mr. Deshayes prohibited to drink alcohol.

50. No longer anybody is allowed to yell “Here’s comes the bees!,” when they see Mr. Cage.

[c4llofbrine]

[continued from here]

@maskedfrenzy

She'd hoped this building would be empty. She doesn't have a home of her own here in the fog, cursed to wander the realm between hunts. She isn't quite used to it here yet. But, this is worst case scenario.

Maybe someone else would find a fellow teenage girl like Susie nonthreatening, preferable compared to the horrible monsters like the Dredge that could've found her here. But, girls her age had never much liked her. The way she'd been treated in school plagued her nightmares more than the ghosts and monsters she’d seen ever did.

The walls are starting to shake, lights flickering. Sadako closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to center herself. She intuitively knows that something bad will happen to her if she kills outside of a trial, even if it isn't on purpose. She has to keep control over herself.

“Why are you here?” It's unclear whether she means in this particular rental room of the Mount Ormond Resort, or in the Entity’s realm altogether. She'll take an answer for either one.

[creatureshrieks]

she sits down against him, head upon frank's shoulder on a couch before the roaring fireplace. the quiet within the resort when the wind was not howling might seem peaceful, to her at least. but peace was anything other than what she had searched him out for. besides enjoying her boyfriend's company and that alone, something stirs within her mind. breathing a sigh though her nose, julie peers over to the eldest of the legion. 'have you seen joey, lately? in the trials i mean. he's hesitating.'

@lncarnon || Frank & Julie || unprompted.

Those outside the Legion might wonder what exactly it is the bunch of murderous teens got up to. Did they find other things to slaughter? Did they revel in destruction? Did they hunt out victims and fellow killers alike to torment them, make themselves a menace to all that saw their masked visage? Sometimes, sure, but most of the time they found respite in their little piece of Ormond, a shithole carved out in a bigger fucking shithole. Frank stares at the fire, the calmest one might ever find him, though calmness often gave way swiftly to boredom. Eventually he'd get restless, eventually he'd want to head out and search for something to do if the Entity didn't give him something. Julie's voice, however, immediately calls his attention.

It's a pause before he answers. He sucks on his teeth. He doesn't turn his head away from the flames.

" That so. "

Problems. Always fucking problems. He knew the other two in their group didn't exactly sign up for this shit, knew they still wanted to play at the fucking kiddie table, but this was the big leagues now. If they weren't pulling their weight, whole damn operation would fall the fuck apart. And god knew what would happen then.

" What's he hesitating about. Chasing? Following orders? Or is he getting too scared to stab 'em where it counts? "

[dbd-map-resource]

I genuinely love these posts so much!! It would be cool to see the Ormond Resort! :)

Heya! Thanks a bunch, I'm glad people are getting some use out of these posts! :3 Definitely bumping Ormond up on my list of priorities for you! o7 Don't hesitate to share this blog with any fanartists or fanfic writers you know that could use the extra reference! Certainly helps myself to have these stored here as well. xD

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Ah fuck it, I’ll post the technically other part to Blighted

This is after the reader has met with Danny who has been blighted, they are filled with a rage for the man responsible for Danny’s condition...

Warnings: It’s DBD...Idk what to tell ya, but if there’s soemthing specific y’alls want feel free to tell me ^^ 

(Also, this is basically what could turn into a potential Ghostface x Reader x Blight thing [tho he would be more of the antagonist here]. But it all really depends on whether people are interested or not)

Revolution was an act quite frowned upon.

Perhaps, frowned upon was the incorrect term. Revolution was feared.

The being that fed on that very emotion…it now knew what it felt like.

It had been the third match of the day, at least your third match. You thanked the Entity for giving you even just a few moments with Danny, his suffering having returned. That you sure as hell weren’t thankful for, learning that his blighted treatment was temporary, but he was always brought back to receive more and more doses.

You had spawned in a new lobby, quite upset over the fact that your snuggling with Danny had been interrupted. You could only imagine how he looked, all alone on the firepit cushions of Mount Ormond’s resort, wondering where it was you had gone.

Not wanting to think of Danny’s puppy-eyed look, you examined your surroundings before you were soon accompanied by the nervous wreck, Dwight. The two of you were then joined by Jake and Nancy, not sharing any words between each other as they readied themselves for the upcoming trial.

You, however…a sensation came over you…a feeling of determination. 

Looking into the distance, you furrowed your eyebrows as if you were glaring into the face of your next executioner. Your instinct filled you with a sense of dread, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of your stomach as you squeezed your fists. 

It was almost as if…the void of a darkness far from you stared back with a predatory leer.

Your heart pounded in your chest, hands now gripping onto the inside of your jacket’s pockets once you had stuffed the inside. And before you knew it, your hands no longer felt tight but instead empty. Every part of you felt light as the Entity was sending you to your grave.

After being engulfed by the Entity’s darkness, drops of rain fell onto the softness of your cheeks and nose. Fluttering your eyes open as the sound of rain hitting the soil rang through your ears, you scanned the realm you had been summoned to.

Before you were trees of great heights, and beyond those was a tall, stone structure you could only recognize as the Temple that was formerly home to the Plague.

Thankfully, you had spawned nowhere near the killer and instead found yourself making your way towards Nancy who had ever so briefly greeted you. 

“There’s a generator from where I came from, over by the stone structure.” she mentioned while pointing behind her. “You coming?”

“I think I’m gonna go check the one inside the temple first.” you turned your attention to the mentioned building. “Something tells me the killer’s going to keep an eye on it in the meantime. Better to finish it now than later.”

“Good point.” Nancy nodded, soon enough parting ways and reuniting with Jake who had surprised the two of you.

So now, you made your way through the trees before finding yourself in front of the temple’s entrance. You walked through the columns while turning to every side, making sure that the killer was not at a distance where they could see you. There was no feeling of a shiver down your spine, so you could mark off every stealth killer that could have been stalking you from afar.

Continuing on your way, you opted to not walk down the steps and into the lighted center, but you instead made your way around to where the golden tablet was displayed. To your surprise, a chest was seated right at the foot of the Sumerian glyphs.

Taking one more look around, you kneeled down and took hold of the rusted padlock before forcibly wiggling it. In the process, you were hit with concern, as if someone had just been struck.  Trying to ignore the feeling, you continued attempting to open the chest and before you knew it, your heart beat started to go a bit fast.

Your opening became faster, more desperate as your heart’s pace quickened even more. You could now feel it in your ears and throat, having to gulp to drown some of the feeling away.

But then…you heard a disgusting screech that was followed by Dwight’s cry of pain.

It was him.

You knew that Dwight had been downed just outside of the temple, right at the very entrance where your body was in place sight beneath the lighting provided by the temple.

Hands became sweaty as you stared down at the unlocked chest, trembling as you grabbed the lid and loudly opened it. Looking inside, you found a toolbox, this somehow giving you a rise of adrenaline.

You felt a chill go down your spine, causing your entire body now to quiver. You knew the killer was aware of your presence, just as you knew that he was now intent on pulling you away from that chest.

Feigning obliviousness, you reached into the chest to grab the toolbox’s handle while hearing demonic shrieks echoing behind you. The sounds were louder from your right where you caught a flash of orange in the corner of your eye.

Orange goo splattered all over the stone wall, right before the maker of this residue directed his attention to you.

Gripping on as tightly as possible to the toolbox’s handle, you removed yourself from the chest and stood up, all the while staring into the crate’s emptiness.

A hiss now sounded much, much closer, and as if on instinct, you swung the tool box to the right. Immediately, the metal collided with the creature that had rushed towards you, the impact creating another echo in the building before a thump was heard.

Looking to that side, you managed to crack the knuckles of your right hand from squeezing the box’s handle extremely hard. On the ground, you found the one and only alchemist you came to hate.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” you spoke, glaring down at the Blight who almost had a look of shock on what were left of his features.  “I’ve really been meaning to talk to you Grimes.”

Of course, no words came from the creature who got onto his feet as soon as possible. He could only stare ahead at you from the distance you had created, gripping onto his cane quite angrily. The Blight wasn’t one who thought of himself highly, but the disbelief he felt over the audacity of a mere survivor fighting back was incredible.

He decided not to think much of it, instead focusing on just getting the sacrifice over it. So, he gave another one of his terrifying shrieks before rushing over to your direction. However, it brought an even greater shock to the creature when you not only made a U-turn and avoided his attack, but you kicked him in the back.

The Blight found himself on the cold floor of the temple, holding himself on his hands and knees while still clutching onto his cane. He turned his attention to the entrance of the temple, looking straight into the astonished expressions belonging to your teammates.

His orange eyes now darted to your form that loomed over him at the top of the temple, almost unafraid.

Unafraid to challenge he who even the most sadistic killer in the Entity’s realm feared.

He heard your shoes thump against the floor after you had jumped from that height, toolbox still in hand. He read your features, noticing the bloodlust written all over them.

No matter. The Blight stood up once again, directing a hiss your way before he stumbled on over with the stick in the air.

You had not expected him to strike the cane as low as possible, actually intending on pulling your ankle with the handle rather than hitting you like the other times. Now it was your turn to slam onto your back, wincing at the pain before lifting your tool box in a swift motion, having blocked the Blight’s actual attack.

Every move you did further agitated him, especially when you kicked upwards and at his crotch.

You had the Blight staggering backwards, having to take a moment to regain himself. That was not enough time to ready himself for your next attack, having been struck by your tool box to his face once again.

And again.

And again.

Your mind had been clouded with rage, thinking about all that Danny had to endure ever since he had his dose of Grimes’ serum.

You hadn’t even realized that your fellow survivors had been shouting your name, none of them sure of what was to be done in such a situation. If anything, they had never seen something like it happen.

To your dismay, the Blight had enough of curling up and taking each and every one of your blows. When you were winding up for another hit, he lifted his cane to block your attack.

To his dismay, you had used the toolbox to hit away his cane that flew to the side. Despite his shock, the Blight manually shoved you away and now attempted to use his claws against you.

Somehow, he had not been able to land a single attack on you, instead being thrown onto the ground once again. 

Once he had come to his senses, he searched for your figure that had disappeared for a moment. But, fortunate for him, he was able to react quickly when he came face to face with his own weapon, now being wielded in your hands. As powerful as he was, he could not manage to tear the cane away from your death grip nor could he push you away again.

Even in such a vulnerable moment, he had to admire that determination of yours.

You grabbed onto the cane with both of your hands, intending on pushing it towards him to press it against what could be considered his throat. But then, you were finally pulled away.

Yes, pulled away.

Not shoved by the Blight nor pulled by any of the survivors, but pulled by an invisible force that pinned you to the ground.

Before anyone was able to act, you gave pained cough.

You were in the air, hands shaking as you looked down at your chest that you now realized had been impaled.

The other survivors turned away from the sight, not wanting to see your body be mangled by the Entity’s claws that for some reason had come out this early into a trial. They only looked again when they could tell a light shone down and disposed of your disintegrated corpse, never expecting to have the same treatment to occur to them right after that.

In the end, there was only the Blight who finally got the chance to stand up and dust himself. He found his cane, examining the area before a whisper came to his ears.

The Entity was displeased. 

Displeased that a mere survivor revolted against the Blight. Displeased that three others witnessed it. Displeased that such an idea of hope was now planted into their minds.

The Blight was given a warning, but not one he cared much for.

No.

He had other things that he was now…fascinated with.

His free hand reached down to grab one of the many syringes he carried around with him, admiring the orange liquid that glistened beneath the temple’s light.

Oh how he wondered…curious to see the beautiful sight that was your heart pumping the serum through those veins of yours. How that anger from a survivor could become a new project. A mere survivor no more…he was almost obsessed now with how you stood up against him and beat him to the ground.

Talbot Grimes had a new obsession.