#stabbed. Don't think he wanted to like torture either. I think he was planning to take him as a prisoner to get information out of bc he's

[ilikepjo24]

Sokka could have killed Azula if he wanted to, indeed. He could force her to retreat even more, cause I her to fall. He could stab her. He didn't. He retreated and let Zuko throw a fireball at her, one that she managed to avoid.

That says a lot about Sokka and about everyone else on that rooftop as well.

Sokka didn't want to kill Azula. He could. And it would be convenient for him a Team Avatar if he had. But despite her imprisoning his dad and girlfriend, and ruining his dobs plan and killing his best friend and almost harming his sister on multiple occasions, he still doesn't want to kill Azula.

However, I don't think it's about being a good person or anything like that. Sokka was never afraid to do sketchy shit if that's what needed to be done. He invaded the Fire Nation when they were at their weakest. He crashed airships, killing hundreds, without even giving it a second thought. He killed the Combustion man without flinching. He wouldn't be afraid to kill Azula if that's what he thought was necessary.

And yet, he didn't. There could be multiple reasons why. It could be that he feared if the most important person (by FN standards) in the elevator thingy was dead, the guards wouldn't hesitate to cut the line immediately. It could be that he thought they had a chance of capturing her and having a vulnerable hostage, since they had better numbers. It could be for Zuko's sake. As a brother, it's possible he wouldn't be interested in killing a little sister infront of her older brother.

As for Suki and Zuko... They don't hate Azula. Sokka just threw away an opportunity of getting rid of an enemy and none of his allies that saw it were bothered. No one said "wtf are you doing? Why would you do that? You could have saved us so much trouble!". They are not eager to see Azula dead despite her being their enemy. Suki doesn't hate Azula, even after Azula imprisoned her. And Zuko doesn't hate Azula either, so all the fics of him having Azula endure any kind of torture are ooc, and they need to be stopped.

No, seriously, stop it.

When it comes to Ty Lee, I noticed that she didn't react to her friend almost dying? I don't think it because Ty Lee doesn't care for Azula, so it's either that she didn't notice because she was busy, or that she had trust in Azula's abilities to make it out alive.

And Azula is... interesting. She either doesn't value her life, or she values it, but she values her duty more. There's no other option. Because how TF is half your foot touching sweet death, and then you just continue without flinching or being scared or anything? You just move on? Honestly, whether Azula doesn't care about being alive that much, or does care, but would still find it honorable to die on duty, it's still interesting. It creates lot of questions about Azula's mental state at the moment and about her dedication to her father and country. Where does it end?

If it's neither of the two, then Azula was just being an arrogant-ass motherfucker which also creates questions. Is it because she trusted her own abilities a lot? Is it because she believed Zuko wouldn't let her die? Is it because she thought Sokka wouldn't kill her? And why is that? Does she consider him soft, cause he didn't hurt her in the dobs, or does he consider him too weak to kill her? And is that because he's a "water tribe savage" or because he's a nonbender?

Every time Azula is on screen, there are so many things to analyze!!

[shallowseeker]

Recruiting Dean

Via the Nightmare-land of all his current anxieties.

Zach I - Zach II - Zach III - Say it ain't so - Cas can DIE?! - Bobby, demoralized - Dean and Cas's mutual, pissy fatalism - Love blooming, personal space - You're not much fun, so why am I laughing so hard? - Dean's anixety at being a vessel - Sam: Everybody please panic, I'm a vessel, too!

Disclaimer: I love ALL The End meta, from the ones that look for hidden meanings and the ones where Chuck is hiding incognito in his first-row seats, but I thought this would be a Hella a fun way to ask this question.

///

What if The End is all about Dean and Zach? What is almost everyone IN IT is Zach, tapping into and mocking Dean's churning ruminations and anxieties?

What would that analysis look like? What might we predict? We know that Zach recruited a Jehovah's Witness, and after Dean's call with Sam, Zach entered the motel to try yet another sales pitch.

Zach got into Dean's bedroom. But maybe this time, Zach's going deeper. Perhaps he got into Dean's dreams, too.

In the previous Zach adventures, he tried to give Dean a vision of a loser's life, one Dean wouldn't be able to stand: a corporate yes-man who listened to NPR and steamed his latte like a wuss. Remember his pitch in It's a Terrible Life?

ZACHARIAH: Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with women. This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sakes, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours. So are you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?

But just like he will later miss the mark on Adam's personality a bit, he misses on Dean at first, too. Dean cares about family.

"My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo." // "Are you saying my family isn't real?"

///

We'll hear Zach make more pitches to Dean in the beautiful room in Lucifer Rising. Time-honored things that, from his experience, tend to work when recruiting humans, from happy memories to food to TV fantasy to food to sexual adoration:

ZACHARIAH: Try a burger. They're your favorite. From that seaside shack in Delaware. You were 11, I think. DEAN: I'm not hungry. ZACHARIAH: No? How about Ginger from season 2 of "Gilligan's Island"? You do have a thing for her, don't you? DEAN: Tempting. Weird. ZACHARIAH: We'll throw in Mary Ann for free. DEAN: No, no. Let's... bail on the holodeck, okay? I want to know what the game plan is.

///

ZACHARIAH (to a crying Dean): And when it's over... and when you've won... your rewards will be... unimaginable. Peace, happiness... two virgins and seventy sluts.

///

We'll get a whiff of AU Zachariah's tactics with a nervous, broken Kevin Tran in s13, too:

Meredith Glynn had intended a more... grayscale view of Zach's intentions via @spnscripthunt-inactive, but either way is very good. Very Zach:

Who knows why, but in Meredith's version, Zach is convinced that Jack is the way, not Kevin.

Anyhoo, more on the Jack-Zach interactions later. For now, I'm just thinking about the whiff of Zach's and upper Heaven management's style of recruiting tactics through Kevin's words:

LUCIFER: Kevin, what are you doing, getting mixed up with Michael? ... KEVIN: ...Michael's taking me with him to paradise world so I can meet hot women. LUCIFER: I'm sorry. What?

Jack, who had also been tortured (stabbed, burned, drowned) by Zachariah, tried to reach out to Kevin. Mary even more so:

KEVIN: Y-you don't understand... then the end of the world happened, and everyone around me-- my friends, and my… my mom-- they all started to die. ... KEVIN: No! Michael says… that when I get to Heaven-- when he lets me into Heaven-- I'll get to see my mom again. I don't care! You don't understand. I… You don't know the things that I've done. I just want this to be over.

Now, we see the truth. Kevin was never interested in the recruitment line, something-something hot women. Not really. That was just a boisterous shield to hide the deeper pain.

He just wanted to see his mom again.

///

So. When we reach 5x04, we see Zach adjust fire with Dean.

In 5x01, he tried a different, more forceful way of recruiting Dean, making him feel terrible about himself.

...I feel like looking at The End as a nightmare land of all of Dean's anxieties is a really fun way to revisit it.

But before that, if we consider this question, what might we predict for Zach to uncover, based on all the stuff Dean is feeling Weird (TM) and Stressed (TM) about right now?

Based on all the other stuff we've been thinking about, I'll make a small list of potentials, starting with the Bobby-Dean confrontation at the end of last season...

[felidacy]

Vampire!Tim and the Joker

I wanted to expand on the more limited breakouts from Arkham when Tim patrols alone, specifically regarding the Joker. I was asked if the Joker is scared of Tim just like many other villains and while I could just say " yes", I don't think that would bring justice to either characters. Tim is a feral little shit in this AU idea of mine, but he is still calculating and is not afraid to manipulate people for his own means. And the Joker while human and could be scared, in my opinion emotions come vastly different to him and by no means would he actually be afraid of a child. Even if it's a supernatural one. He might just find his enjoyment in it.

So, no, the Joker does not necessarily fear Tim. The Joker was interested and kidnapped a young boy to taunt Batman, fully ready to torture the man through transforming and inevitably kill another boy he came to care for. He did hear of the whispers in the alleyways of the night about the Robin who at times hardly seemed like a hero. At first the Joker just wanted to watch, but then Tim hurt goons of him and while he never cared for the mindless followers, it was a hit against his ego he couldn't let go. A hurt pride and a fair bit of insanity made him decide to take the birdie away and start a little play with him.

The Joker wished to coax that villain out of the child until he would stop trying to put up a front. He wanted Batman to finally open his eyes and BREAK.

Tim is trapped for days with no access to blood and gets tortured by the Joker. The man disgraces Jason with his words when Tim after days of electric shocks and Joker Venom loses his control and breaks free.

He brutally beats the Joker to the ground, pinning him there when a bunch of goons sprint inside the warehouse. His lips curl back into a snarl as he whips his head around. At the sight of his vicious grimace their hearts thrum loudly inside their chests, enough to catch the attention of Tim. Starved for days his fangs elongate and his eyes can only focus on them. If they thought he was a beast already, it was nothing in comparison when Tim crushes the Jokers ankle under his wrist and jumps away from the man. He is so hungry. Tim is put in a mindless haze similarly to a creature who fights to survive. All that is on his mind is to survive no matter the cost. He sprints across, evading the bullets that one fires and launches himself at said target. The man screams in fright as Tim's limbs tightly wrap around the larger frame, but his voice soon gives out when his teeth plunge into the vulnerable neck.

Tim is too hungry to do his usual neat drinking, instead he tears open the man's jugular and lapses from the wound. He is uncaring as the man gasps for breath and collapses under the weight of Tim. Only when the heart stills, does Tim tear his face away from the corpse looking around and wiping across his mouth. Blood smears all across his face as more trickles down his neck. Already his eyes have regained some of it's colour.

"M-monster!" One screams, stumbling back over his own feet.

Licking the blood from his lips Tim stands up, disregarding the corpse at his feet and slowly creeps forward to the remaining two. His hunger has been satiated, yet this is not part of his plans. They are not needed and they saw too much. His system isn't in place yet. As such they need to be wiped off from the face of earth. Sighing, as if they are such a nuisance, Tim springs back into action. They stand no chance as he attacks them with a speed they don't expect and they bleed out.

Finally having taken care of the unnecessary people, Tim turns and watches the Joker who crawled across the ground while Tim drank from the man's goons. It seems as if he didn't even care enough to watch. Tim does not know if he should be glad about that. With strength returned to his body he strides towards the man and stabs a knife into the Jokers unbruised ankle to stop him from moving. A grunt of pain escapes his lips. Tim flips his body to face him, presses the hands together over his head and pulling out another knife from the man's jacket stabs it through the limbs. At last he leans down, close enough to make the villain uncomfortable with the lack of personal space and sniffs. Tim scrunches his nose in disgust when he smells the blood. The life source that he should always find alluring, reeks of chemicals that diluted the blood into a black mass and makes him audible gag.

"Clown, time to make a deal."

His voice is shaky and rough from the constant torment the last few days, an effect that will haunt him forever no matter the passing years. Nevertheless he remains steady, looking down at the unshaken clown that grins up at him.

They both know that while this Robin does not shy away from a bloodbath, this vengeance will not bring back what once was last already. Even when Tim's own blood sings for the death of the villain, this is not his revenge. Not his life to take. An oath lies over the clown that restricts Tim from killing the man even when he is at his mercy now. And while it disgusts him, Tim can still use the man to his liking until he wishes to die.

If he were to wish, to beg him for death, the oath of vengeance sealed by the blood of Jason evaporates and Tim can rightfully do as he wishes.

Tim wished for the longest time that the Joker would have begged him for death that night. He did none. A deal was struck between them and sealed in blood. None that the villain can ever break without severe consequences.

That night Batman came to safe his Robin, late, and found a close to death Joker and a traumatised boy standing with a gun over the man. It was blamed on the Joker Venom. For the longest time Bruce wanted to be rid of Tim as he was deemed unstable and while that is true, it was never because of the Joker Venom.

They deemed it a miracle that Tim never suffered at the hands of the clown again, only the two knowing better.

[everyscreentoobeseen]

Hold on, why do yall think Stede's choice to kill Ned was a WHIM?????

First of all, this isnt the first time Stede got someone killed. Chuancy was an accident, but he did use the stun move. All of ep 2 s1 was about Stede learning how to deal with it. He still feels bad but as he told the natives. He dosen't feel bad that Chauncey is dead. His crew was under threat. So he stopped Badminton from hurting them. His bad feelings came from somewhere else.

Nighel Badminton got himself killed but it did make Stede run back home and face his problems. When he does go back home he tells the other rich guys.

"I've seen death. Been the cause of it. It changes you."

He already knows what it's like be a killer!

But everytime it wasn't his choice. The Badmintons were accidents. He never got to actually choose to be a killer.

That's why when Ned Low invaded his "safe space ship", captured his crew (family) and tortured not only them but also The Love of his Life, Making it into a fucked up PERFORMANCE! All his life bullies found fun in torturing him. Why would this guy be any different.

Hell yeah he was ready to kill him.

Of course, this time he gets to choose. This is not him using a stun move. He is now the conducter of Ned's death and he'll be damned if it's not done His Way.

He's not gonna stab him. It's not gonna be messy. It's not gonna be fast like a gunshot or a stab through the head.

He is going to make Ned SUFFER. Force him to walk the plank. Throw his precious violin in his face and let him drown. It's clean. It's poetic. It's outsourcing the big job to nature. Just like killing spiders.

But Ned continues to demean him. "You know once you kill me your a real pirate. Your not an amateur anymore." Even after everything Stede has been through. Not matter how much he's grown, the world still thinks he's playing at pirating.

The Badmintons dont count.

EVEN ED THINKS SO!

"Once you've killed in cold blood. You cant come back."

Well Chuancy's death was cold blooded wasn't it? Stede snuck him from behind. The boat fire that he caused isn't enough either. When Ed burns a boat, it's murder. But when Stede does it it's "quirky". Stede ALREADY considered himself a killer but NO ONE ELSE DOES. (not even the fandom apparently.)

Yes, he wanted to prove himself. But I don't think that was the thought process until Ned brought it up.

Stede did not hesitate on Ned's death until the others made him question himself. He was completely set on making sure Ned wasn't a threat to his ship. He was so sure of making him walk the plank. It was PLANNED from the moment he put the plank down and the other boat left. What's one more death? But then everyone was treating him like a innocent child?? Like he's doing something unlike him?

He HAD TO PROVE to everyone in that moment that he could kill Ned because no one RECOGNIZED that he was ALREADY a killer.

Him killing Ned became a point to make once he realized there was even a point to be made.

The only reason that he felt even a little bad about it was because Ed asked him not to. He felt like he let Ed down. That maybe Edward like Stede Bonnet, Landed Gentry Pretending to Be A Pirate more than Stede Bonnet, Real Pirate. Because he realized how much he's changed. No more Gentleman, now he's just a Pirate.

That's why he Sped Things Up with Ed. He wanted Ed to prove that he could handle not so innocent Stede FUCKING Bonnet. That he wouldn't leave Stede after seeing this new side of him. He gets consent and then goes on to have the man of his dreams after saving him. How romantic male lead of him.

Of course the NEXT FUCKING DAY HE GETS TOLD IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!! THAT HE'S NOT READY FOR "WHATEVER THIS IS".

How on earth was Stede not supposed to take this as "I dont like the you that isn't soft, isn't insecure, isnt in need of protection." That Ed is leaving to become a fisherman because he cant stand Stede being the messy one for once in his life.

Maybe it was trauma. Maybe it was a show of toxic masculinity. But dont pretend like Stede did it on a WHIM.

[izzyhandsonthosetiddies]

Just sitting here, riding on all the good feelings and thinking about 'The Art of F**kery' and 'Calypso's Birthday.'

Specifically the similarities here between Stede dueling with Izzy and Stede being tortured by Ned Low.

I mean, they're not too large, like it's nothing huge to point out, but I was rewatching 'The Art of Fuckery' a few minutes ago and couldn't help but notice.

When Izzy challenges Stede to a duel, Ed is...relatively passive. He tells Izzy that they're not doing this. Implying he's changed his mind and he's not going to go through with killing Stede and he doesn't want Izzy to do so either. Izzy, however, has different plans and proceeds to challenge Stede to a duel anyways. And we watch as Ed warns Stede that Izzy knows his shit.

But ultimately Ed stands there and does nothing.

And we all know as the show progresses Ed makes it very clear he will protect Stede, and even shows so in Calypso's Birthday, first when there's canon fire on the ship, and second when Ned Low turns his torture to Stede.

We see Ed get absolutely furious.

But that's not the similarities I wanna talk about. I actually wanna talk about something else.

When Izzy is holding Stede at the tip of his sword, ready to drive him through, he holds the sword right

And a bit of a zoom in for a closer look.

As you can see, the sword is just below his collar bone and right above his heart. A good way to probably get a kill in considering it takes what...five minutes for you to bleed out if you've been stabbed through the heart? Maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less.

But the similarities I've just so happened to notice....are where Ned Low stabs him with a hot poker.

Right side, just above the heart. The same place where Izzy held him at point with his sword.

And then he gets pinned to the mast, made out of the finest cherry wood in Brazil (where he promptly spends the rest of the evening, probably alone, pinned by Izzy's sword which no one took the time to remove.)

And oh how interesting. Ned Low then, after stabbing him with a hot poker, has him tied to that exact same mast (though this time he doesn't spend the rest of the evening there but does in fact escape and stand up for himself, his crew, and his beloved.)

Tied to the same mast that Izzy Hands pinned him to by driving his sword through him and Stede narrowly escapes death.

Anyways, I don't know what it means, I just wanted to share these parallels because I noticed them and am now absolutely obsessed with the fact that Ned Low stabbed him with a hot poker in the same spot Izzy momentarily pinned him to the mast with a sword.

Sigh. The artistry. The parallels. The chefs kiss.

[aphroditelovesu]

Can you do Scarlet Witch!Reader x Dark!Morpheus headcanons please? I’m really curious how he would go about forcing the reader to stay by his side compared to human reader! Like is it even possible? How low would he go?

❝⌛— lady l: I didn't plan on writing this but after reading your request I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, so… Here it is! I confess that I don't know if it was really good but I hope you still like it, anon. Seriously, now I'm wanting to write a short yandere!Morpheus oneshot with Scarlet Witch!Reader… What i'm going to do now?

❝⌛ tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, implied non-con, mention of torture during sleep and curses.

❝⌛ pairing: yandere!morpheus/dream of the endless x scarlet witch!reader

First, we have to ascertain the chances of Morpheus going to the point of madness from his obsession, even more so with her being a Scarlet Witch. Given the fact that Dream is already canonically obsessive, he as a yandere is even more intense, his emotions are more twisted and stronger than before. He doesn't understand why he feels that way or why he's so desperate for the reader, but he is and the King of Dreams won't give up until he has you on his side. Morpheus doesn't care if you're not human, although he'd rather you were because that would make things easier for him, but either way, he won't give up on his obsession or the love he thinks he has for you. You will be his, whether willingly or by force, but you will be his and his alone.

Morpheus is an Endless, a being older than the gods themselves, he is billions of years old and has some failed romantic experiences and it was those failures that made him who he is. Honestly, he couldn't imagine falling in love again let alone the way he felt about you. He always knew about beings like you, but never cared, however after accidentally meeting you, a Scarlet Witch, he ended up falling in love faster than he wanted to admit. At first, Dream tried to ignore those feelings and focus on other things, but you kept coming back to his mind. He couldn't get you out of his head and he didn't understand why.

Once Morpheus became aware of his feelings for you he would try to fight it, ignoring the growing and burning desire for you as best he could, but unfortunately he couldn't do it for much longer. Every hour, every minute of the day, you were all he could think about. Morpheus thought that this was Desire's silly prank or that you had cast some kind of spell on him, but soon came to the conclusion that it was neither. He decided not to do anything, at least for the time being, he contented himself with watching you from the Dreaming, caring and closely observing his dreams. Dream was content with that, at least for a while, but when his desire and his obsession got the better of him, he would have to do something. And he would.

He would be none the less subtle in his approach to you and without further ado, Morpheus will tell you that he is in love with you and wants you to be with him. Forever. At that moment, you have two life-changing choices that will lead in the same direction, but one choice being harder than the other, accept him or deny him. You were confused by the sudden confession, you and Morpheus had seen each other before but it was briefly and you just exchanged a few quick words without thinking too much, so why all of a sudden? None of that made sense, so you rejected him. You said no, you rejected him, and that was your biggest regret. You should have known better, Morpheus doesn't take rejections very well.

Once the words of rejection come out of your mouth, Morpheus will freeze as if he's been stabbed, before his lip trembles and a wistful ''no'' falls from his lips, while his eyes filled with pure madness never cease to face you. You were alarmed by the expression of madness on the Dream King's face and even more so when he uttered a hateful no, at that very moment you realized the terrible mistake you had just committed. However, you wouldn't give in that easily, if you ever would. You don't belong to him or any other person or being, you are free to do what you want and it won't be an Endless that will take away your right to life choice. Well, that's what you thought.

If you agree to keep him, Morpheus will be nothing but the most generous lover you could wish for. He will pamper you and fulfill all your darkest desires, you will be covered in adornments from head to toe. He would love and idolize every inch of your body, his eyes will be filled with nothing but pure desire and love when looking at you. He will be merciful to you and will try his best to take care of you in whatever way he can. He hates it when you use your powers for the benefit of others. Don't you think you're too good to people who don't deserve your kindness? Morpheus will not try to restrict the use of your powers but will be wary of your surroundings with this.

But what if you reject it? Let's just say this won't end well for you. Morpheus knows that it will be more difficult to force you to stay with him because of what you are and what you are capable of. He is well aware of the extent of your powers and how dangerous you can be but he still won't let you beat him. And honestly, why should he? He's an Endless and he's more powerful than ever but he can't help but feel sulky around you. Listen to me, he will never leave you alone and he will be persistent in wanting you with him, no matter what you do, you can run from him all you want and he will always be after you. Morpheus knows how to be patient and will learn everything he can use against you, your power source and your weaknesses just so he can catch you in the end.

You can even shape reality or alter it, but Morpheus will hardly be affected by it. He is not immune to magic but will be more difficult to deal with after being trapped by Roderick Burgess. You can use all of your power against him and he still won't leave you alone. Morpheus will probably wear you out because, in a desperate attempt to keep him at bay, you've exhausted yourself and reached your limit and he managed to catch you. Or there is also the possibility that, when you sleep, he traps you in your dreams. The time you are most vulnerable to him is during your sleep and he will use that against you. Morpheus will likely give you Eternal Sleep until you finally accept him, and only then will you be released from your own torment. And even if you don't, he can always invade your dreams and stay with you while he takes care of your sleeping body. No matter what you are, Morpheus will never leave you alone.

The point is, Morpheus will go way too low to have you for him. Human, goddess or Scarlet Witch... You will still be his, he has no morals when it comes to you and will go as low as possible for you to be his. He'd rather you were a human because you're easier to deal with but you'll still be his. No matter how long it takes for him to get you, he will know how to wait for the right moment. Maybe he'll find a way to remove your powers or he'll just curse you to sleep forever and he'll still have you. He will always manage to have you, now you just have to accept that there is no way to escape him. Even though you are an extremely powerful being, he will find a way to beat you. He always does.

''I di not want to have to do this but you left me no choice. I give you the gift of Eternal Sleep. Where you will only be released after accepting our involvement, but don't worry, I will keep you company and take good care of you.''

[dootznbootz]

I feel kind of bad about that post I made talking about how Odysseus would never sacrifice his family to save his own skin while I didn't give a name, I hope that person doesn't feel bad or that they get hate. As I don't want to gatekeep someone's interpretation of the Odyssey but also...while I guess you could claim that he would do that, there's so much MORE evidence as to how he would literally rather be stabbed than see his wife and son have even a splinter

Her rejecting him at first put him in a bad position. Honestly, in an alternate universe, where she didn't accept him or trick him that night, I think the poor guy would've cried himself to sleep again in that separate cot. He'd probably cry to Athena and ask if he did something wrong.

It would probably be an "awkward morning" of Odysseus and Penelope silently doing their things (not bringing up suitors' parents right now. And Odysseus would probably tell Telemachus to not say anything stupid.) and eventually, everything would bubble up out of Odysseus and honestly, I could see him straight up begging her to accept him. Not even caring about how he appeared to others.

Honestly, if she DID take a lover in that time...I think he'd either accept it and just...wander? Around Ithaca as a beggar as he doesn't want to be away from them but if they won't accept him, what else can he do? OR if she had another lover, (War flashback of the shitty retelling where Penelope has an affair) he'd probably kill the lover as let's be honest, Odysseus is basically a Yandere, to put it simply. Touch the wife, you get the knife.

And yeah, he doesn't JUST want his family.

"Oh, he wants to not be in constant danger."

"He just wants to go back to Ithaca."

"He wants to be king again."

Boy howdy, he sure does!!! But if, for example, Penelope and Telemachus for some reason moved to somewhere else? IDK, AU where they permanently moved to Sparta, hanging with Helen and Menelaus, and she didn't remarry or something. He'd be like "Shit, okay, BRB." And go to them. He'd probably have them all go back to Ithaca but still, THEY ARE HIS HOME. They make Ithaca home. Any place is home as long as he has them.

Despite having the opportunity to wed the most beautiful woman in the world, he took the Oath so then he could marry Penelope. And even then, it wasn't "for sure" as he had to race her dad. He did so much simply to have the CHANCE to marry her even though he probably wasn't planning on getting married as he brought no gifts. And he did so much so then he wouldn't have to leave the life they had built together and their young baby.

He could've had ANYONE. Went ANYWHERE. Did ANYTHING and he still wanted THEM.

Like??? Holy shit. This guy would do ANYTHING for them. I mean that's kind of why he's considered to be so "scummy" in how ride or die he is for them and basically a bitch to everyone else. That's what makes him SO different from many of his peers.

Person: Would you rather have your family- Odysseus: Family, always. Person: I didn't even say it yet- Odysseus: I don't fucking care. Always family. Person: Even if it meant you got immortality and a hot goddess for a wife? Odysseus: You act like that's a good thing? That was literally torture. Fuck you. I already have a hot Water Wife™ that I get the privilege to drown in every day. She gave me a wonderful Water Son™ who is the light of my eyes and who I am more proud to be the father of than I am of being the son of an Argonaut Person: Even if I give you a million dollars? Odysseus, acting nonchalant while Penelope picks the person's pockets: As if we can't get that on our own. Person: You'd die? Odysseus: I'll set myself on fire if I have to. Person: ...Okay, new question. Would you rather lose your family- Odysseus: The other option. Always. Person: Even torture? Odysseus: I never said I would like it, just that I would do it. Person: Even yeet a baby?! Odysseus: I'll punt the baby if I have to. It's not like I wanna but I gotta do what I gotta do.

And so on and so forth. You GET IT.

[all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams]

Rewatched The Avengers and took notes the entire time. Many of them having to do with Loki. Please enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am loki of asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose" it sounds like something that was put into his mind, repeated to him over and over.

the other says the words "who (thanos) gave you ancient knowledge and new PURPOSE."

his whole spiel that he goes on about freedom could've possibly also been said to him by whoever (the Other) got into his mind and tortured him. or it's the mind stone affecting him and it's the mind stone's message to loki or whoever holds/uses it (could definitely be wrong here. just a thought)

I think people are right when they say he purposefully lost

it's made even more obvious in the scene -with The Other- at the end of their interaction that Loki has been tortured and put through immense pain. I mean he was bending over in pain and was struggling and he also looks very sick when he first shows up. TORTURED.

BRO IT'S CRAZY THOR EVEN ASKS HIM "WHO SHOWED YOU THIS POWER" AND "WHO CONTROLS THE WOULD-BE KING" BUT AFTER THAT IT'S NEVER BROUGHT UP AGAIN HE NEVER DELVES INTO IT AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS BROTHER IM GOING CRAZY

THE WAY LOKI HAS TEARS IN HIS EYES DURING HIS AND THOR'S CONFRONTATION IN THE AVENGERS WHEN THE CAMERA TURNS TO HIM AFTER THOR SAYS FOR HIM TO COME HOME THE LOOK ON HIS FACE BEFORE HE GOES BACK TO A SCOFFING LAUGH

WENT FROM BEING SAD TO LAYGHING I FORGOT THIS SCENE. STARK JUST RAMS INTO THOR TAKING HIM AWAY AFTER HE'S TOLD LOKI TO "LISTEN WELL BROTHER" AND LOKI AND HIS SARCASTIC ASS "I'm listening."

when did thor learn loki was working with the chitauri?? I guess a scene they didnt share during their interaction

not a note on loki but on steve. it always bugged me the way he was about orders and shit when in his own movies he's the exact opposite. he was the rule breaker the one who stopped following orders. the only reason for him to be this way I think is maybe it's because he's just got out of the ice at this point this is new and he doesnt want to rock the boat too much. I'm not sure how well that applies tho

Tom Hiddleston's acting gets me every time he's fucking fabulous my god i love him sm

I want to make out with him aggressively (loki)

phil coulson I would die for you

back to the I believe the people that say loki wanted them to win. stark is talking about how loki made it personal (killing phil) he's saying it's to tear them apart but no. it's like what fury did with the cards. it brought them together. it's the reason they were even able to win. and it's easily disguised as what stark interprets it as by them and the people controlling Loki.

on that note again. "and you've managed to piss off every single one of them." and then loki, "that was the plan." YES IT WAS

IMCRYING OMFJ "This usually works." WHEN TRYING TO CONTROL TONY 😭😭😭

THE LITTLE THINGS I NEVER NOTICED BEFORE. THOR AND LOKI ARE FIGHTING AGAIN AT STARK TOWER AND THOR IS TRYING TO GET THROUGH TO HIM AND IT LOOKS LIKE IT DOES AFFECT LOKI FROM THE LOOK ON HIS FACE BUT THEN HE STABS THOR AND MAKES TAHT COMMENT ABOUT SENTIMENT BUT !! BUT HE'S CRYING !!!!! A TEAR LITERALLY FALLS FROM HIS EYE !!

Ik he got blown up right after but loki was so hot when he caught that arrow and then leaned back with that smirk on his face

AND HE ALSO GOT SMASHED AROUND BY HULK 😭😭I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT ABOUT GHAT IT'S SO FUCKING FUNNY ESPECIALLY THE LITTLE WHIMPER HE LETS OUT 😭

more on the loki wanted them to win. erik was conscious enough when being controlled to create a safety feature when building the portal and everything

I don't get how people would blame the avengers for the destruction when all of it wouldve happened either way and most of them would be dead if the avengers werent there. ALSO it was a WAR maybe not a normal one but a war nonetheless. when has there EVER been a war without destruction? answer, NEVER EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVER

cant see loki with that thing over his mouth without thinking if the scene in endgame when it's revealed it was be cause he wouldnt shut up. I think it's so funny he was literally waging war on earth after everything with thanos and then when he's had his ass handed to him he just goes back to his little annoying shenanigans 😭 like turning into cap and mocking him. he's such a funny little guy I love him

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END.

[casanovawrites]

SENTENCE PROMPTS FROM VARIOUS TV SHOWS

while we’re trying not to die, we still need to live.

dress code is creative black tie. 

in this world, you kill or you die. or you die and you kill.

people like us, we will never save enough lives to make up for the ones that we take.

i've always wanted to kill someone with my knitting needle.

when i'm with you, i feel like i am home.

you can save people’s lives, but you cannot save them from life.

i said i was fine, didn’t i?

i need a life away from death. we should all just let ourselves be a little boring again.

i stabbed him, and now he’s dead.

ew. don’t touch the dead body.

i don't know. just be hot.

my whole life has been defined by this crap. death, walking around blood.

being alone in life is making you a little weird.

from now on, we fuck everything up together.

i couldn’t be with someone who didn’t make me feel electric.

you were always mean when you got scared, you know that?

i know when you look at me, you don’t see someone you should be afraid of. but you’re wrong.

have you been practicing? or did you just suddenly get super human reflexes?

everyone lies a little. i lie.

women who knock rarely make history.

i get night terrors. i usually don’t remember them.

too nice a night to spend it dying slow, don’t you think?

i hope you find whatever it is you need.

don’t tell me i would be safer with someone else, because the truth is, i would just be more scared.

you’re with the bad guys. 

i don't want my life to be all about the worst parts of it. i have more to offer than that.

i think what you’re feeling right now is what it’s like right before you do something brave.

i am the bad guy, because i did a bad guy thing.

there aren’t going to be any good or bad guys, it’s either going to be dead or alive. i want to be alive, don’t you?

stay alive with me.

pushing things away never really worked for me.

escaping to your dreams is easier than living with your memories.

you’re so hot when you talk shit like that.

they were just assholes killed by other assholes.

it doesn’t matter how shitty they are. it still fucks you up when they’re gone.

i can’t just say i’m sorry. i feel like i have to do something.

i’m completely, totally panicking.

don’t choke. again.

every revolution begins with a spark.

i was in love. like out of my mind in love. what was i supposed to do?

we took a look, and what i saw was crazy.

people like me need people like you to save our asses. i need you.

you’re too smart to need anyone. it’s the smart ones who always survive.

i keep feeling like these pieces are missing. like there are holes in my memory.

no one doubts you.

i used to live around here.

blame yourself, fine. but that doesn’t mean you have to let it follow you around.

you took a risk. we took a risk, but it was the right thing to do.

i believe in you.

i don’t think i could ever get over you.

whenever i talk to you, i’m just happy. 

you haven’t changed.

i like beginnings. sunsets are like the end.

some things last forever. like a zombie.

DNA doesn’t make a family. love does. 

standing in front of you right now, it’s torture not being able to kiss you.

we need a plan. 

i know what it’s like. the numbness, the paranoia. sometimes i look at the world around me and it’s like all the light has just gone out of it.

this is a mixtape for the enemy?

now i get you forever.

you don’t grow. you rot.

what if the truth is that we’re all fucked in the head because of what happened to us?

who died? no seriously, who is this guy?

it’s not like i woke up today and thought i’d stab him to death.

i don’t want to be loved like this.

it’s just like riding a gross, really fucked up bike.

i can’t keep starting over because clearly it is not working.

it’s time we get our own shot at happiness.

you trust me to decide the rest of your life?

you have a sense of direction.

you don’t have to keep creating these tragic love stories.

you raised me from the dead. 

wait, you have a crush on me?

i’m so done with trying to be more. this is it. it should be enough.

maybe we can die alone together. 

if this is you broken, stay broken. 

i feel like i can’t say anything right to you at this point.

i mean, you already know i’m bad at lying.

paying attention to things, it’s how we show love.

you’re like a book, but still in the shrink-wrap. 

secrets are poison.

you can come from anywhere and still have a sad story.

sometimes miracles also have miseries.

shouldn’t you be taking it easy?

the woods don't give a shit.

everyone i have cared for has either died or left me.

are you so scared of failing you won’t even try?

you’re the best with the knife. clearly.

i lost everything, but i’m still trying.

do whatever you want to do. i’m done caring about you.

compassion don’t make me soft.

sometimes it’s important to say what you need to say face to face, so that the person can see that you really mean it.

you have the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen. your whole face just lights up.

[givefangapuppy]

Tagged by @naranjapetrificada to make 8 predictions for 8 episodes and I'm just gonna motor though with my eyes closed and screaming like Stede stabbing Ed in the gut...

Not in any order and not necessarily attached to specific episodes:

1) Ed is going to hear about the fuckery. There's no way word hasn't spread of the Gentleman Pirate being killed by a jungle cat AND a carriage AND a piano.

2) based on Vico's comments about Jim in the Vanity Fair article, I think they may be a key part of what pulls Ed out of Kraken mode. They spent so long being so intense and brooding, and now they've had the experience of opening themself up to love and found family - maybe they try to share that with Ed. It might even be Oluwande and Jim's reunion that shows Ed that happiness is possible.

3) Izzy is absolutely going to realize that by trying to make Ed back into Blackbeard to keep everyone safe, he super duper fucked up and now everything is out of control and no one is safe - and if there's one thing Izzy craves, it's control. Maybe it'll be realizing his love for Ed, maybe it'll just be realizing he needs to fix his mistake, but he's going to reluctantly seek out Stede and try to exert control over him instead, by training him and bringing him back to fix Ed. And I think it is not going to go as Izzy plans.

4) There will absolutely be some delicious hurt/comfort, where anger and betrayal suddenly seem less important because the man you love is mortally wounded and you just want him to stay. What I'm not sure is who's who in that scenario.

5) They will absolutely confess their love for each other, make out some more, and maybe even cuddle and make plans for the future before the season is over. Daddy Jenks knows what we need. He just wants to torture us a little. Just take us to the brink of death. He won't go all the way.

6) I think it's possible that either or both of them isn't going to want to actually have sex before they're married (mateloted, whatever). Stede because of mores he was raised with maybe - but I think the more interesting holdout could be Ed. I've seen some really interesting discussion about how actually, a lot of what they've already been through, done for and with each other, and said to each other has parallels to courtship rituals of this period. While it's true that "anything goes at sea", their confession of feelings and their kiss happened on land, and that's symbolic. And Ed, regardless of how much sex he's had in the past, wants to be an aristocrat - part of that is wanting to be courted and proposed to and wed and have the relationship solidified and legitimized.

7) Frenchie will sing another song!

8) Oluwande will take his rightful place as Captain.

9) Lucius will turn up at a key yet hilarious moment and hilariously share some hilarious information that changes everything.

10) They'll either actually go to China, or encounter Chinese pirates, and this will be part of the major conflict/cliffhanger. I don't think the writing team will necessarily want to separate our beautiful boys AGAIN for the cliffhanger this time. I think that's more likely to be something with them on one side and a whole lot of other pirates on the other. A key thing about the whole "Gentleman Pirate" ethos is that it runs VERY counter to the usual pirate ways of being. I think the conflict being set up for s3 could be something about this - Ed and Stede and their crew on one side trying to create a different kind of piracy that is more about creating space outside of societal norms and less about all the killing - and all the other legendary pirates out there finding this unacceptable. And/or those same pirates being real pissed about all the shit Ed does in Kraken mode. It's a romcom, but it's also a pirate adventure!

[mokkkki]

SWTE A1 C12 - 1 Winner, 6 Losers, 1 It's Complicated 

Because Lucius Malfoy is in a fucking Hooters uniform.

Guess who wrote this on Monday but forgot to post it? Anyways, another amazing example of what happens when I try to make Regulus happy, this 2 POV Halloween-themed monster is the most chaotic of Act 1, so far (and I know I say that every week, but it's because the shit that happens each chapter keeps increasing!). I like to think it has all of the staples of a solid Sleeping With The Enemy chapter: an excruciatingly dramatic inner monologue, truly bizarre behavior from all of the characters, ruined plans, and so many emotions that writing it gave me whiplash. Here is the 1 winner and many losers from "Trick ± Treat", alongside their Halloween costumes! Spoilers below the cut. 

Winner: Bellatrix Black (Black Swan)

Yeah, our only winner in this chapter is Bellatrix. Who isn't even a PLAYER in Orion's fucked up mind games? As Regulus identifies, she's the only person who uses their money in a fun way. While her family was getting emotionally tortured by Orion Black, she was in France, hosting a bacchanal, and flew home to NYC to have the cutest matching costume with her sister. Unbothered queen.

Loser: Renée Vance-Black (The Velveteen Rabbit, a costume she changed out of as soon as a nanny snapped a picture)

The seven-year-old hugged her dad, and he had fallen on the floor, having a mental breakdown. Then, she sawhim throwing up. THEN, her parents ditched her for a Halloween party. She's a child I'm sobbing this isn't fair.

Loser: Petra Pettigrew (Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson In His Black Turtleneck)

Even though her costume was fire and her party seemed to be going great, I'm going for her as a loser since halfway through this great party, her old high school friend turned into a werewolf, and she had to scurry through the halls as a rat. Also, Regulus really kink-shames her after he gets locked in her love dungeon.

Loser that probably thinks he's a winner, the optimistic idiot: James Potter (Unknown)

James literally says three words in this chapter, but he's still oddly prevalent. He's a loser because Remus, who hasn't told James that he was attending, has transformed during a very public event, and if this gets out, MMG, alongside his reputation, is ruined. While he saved Regulus, this was not a victory; it was a necessity.

Loser: Remus Lupin (The Joker)

I don't want to hear ANY counterpoints on this one. I think a counterpoint would be impossible to form. The only reason he's a winner is because Sirius and Marlene had an argument; other than that, it's lose, lose, lose. He goes out and transforms in a public space full of friends and business partners. Sirius bites his shoulder. Marlene calls him a side chick. Literally the most ginormous loss.

Loser: Sirius Black (Conan The Barbarian)

He fights with his wife, then fights with his boyfriend, and said boyfriend turns into a monster and absolutely brutalizes the brother that he's arguing with. Like?? Do I need to elaborate??

Loser: Lucius Malfoy (Hooter's Girl)

His crush told him that she'd match costumes with him, but guess what! She didn't! Now, he's all alone in a tight nylon scoop top and booty shorts. Sirius found him hot for a millisecond, though?? But to Lucius, that probably makes for an even bigger loss. Either way, long live Himbo Lucius.

It's Complicated: Regulus Black (Hannibal Lecter)

Bro. I literally don't even know how to start. Regulus would be a loser, since his daughter catches him in the middle of a mental breakdown, he has a weird moment with Emmeline (tbh, all their moments are weird), and he hangs up because he literally can't handle the sound of James' voice. And that's just BEFORE the Halloween party, where he has a tense moment with his brother that he probably won't forgive anytime soon, a werewolf slams him against the wall and a red stag scoops him away and charges into safety, accidentally stabbing him with its antlers, and ending up in Petra's fucking love dungeon. That is a LOSS. But the very real, very large thing that makes me reject his status as a loser is that he's deprogramming himself from his father's bullshit. I don't know if this is because of James' influence or a part of his recovery from Slut in the Hut- but instead of having his Van Der Woodsen moment and throwing his phone out the window, he tracks down a homeless man and gives it to him, instead. Very rudely. But still. Regulus is undergoing a very subtle transformation (even a physical one, at the beginning on the chapter- go Animagus Reg!), and I just hope that he's able to complete it before his father finds out- and drags him straight back to where he came from.

read chapter 12 here!

[tenebraevesper]

Five Nights at Freddy's: Nothing Remains, Night 20: Unfixable

''Welcome my friend to a night in our circus world. We're looking for a technician and you're just the guy we've heard of. We're held away by wiring, now we're wanting out. Can you shock us? Can you tame us? But we want your body now! Now behave, for the voices in the halls will try to eat you up alive. So before the show begins, please don't hold against our sins, 'cause by dawn you'll be crumbling in your skin! We are the tortured! We're not your friends! So long as we're not visible, we are unfixable! We are the curses, crumbled inside! Look left or right, we're unthinkable! Our fate is now unfixable!''

– Unfixable by DAGames (Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location)

xXxXxXx

Sam sighed, leaning her head against the table. She was completely exhausted, but she still had to get her shift done. Luckily, aside from some complaints about the animatronics staring at empty spaces, they didn't seem to be malfunctioning. It didn't take her long to figure out what the animatronics were staring at either.

''I think that we should cut the night short,'' Springtrap told Sam, drawing her attention. ''I know that we agreed to stay here much longer in case the Drawkills show up, but after what happened today, I feel that it would be better for you to just go home once your shift is done.''

''Sure, but…'' Sam muttered reluctantly, yawning.

''If you want, we could stay here and keep an eye on the location,'' Michael interrupted her. ''After all, I used to work at Freddy's as a night guard, and I'm sure that Sammy and Elizabeth won't mind staying here.''

Sam smiled tiredly and looked up to see Sammy and Elizabeth running from one side of the room to the other, with the animatronics watching the two, moving their heads left and right and vice versa as if they were at a tennis match. Both Sammy and Elizabeth seemed to be quite enjoying their little game, weaving between tables and peeking out of their hiding spots to see if they were still being watched by the animatronics. Sam then turned back to Michael and Springtrap, who were sitting across her, both looking a bit worried.

''I'm fine with that,'' Sam replied, narrowing her eyes. ''However, I'd still rather go along with what we had planned, regardless of what had happened.''

''I know, but after seeing you get stabbed and tortured, I believe that it would be better for you to take more time to recover,'' Springtrap replied, his eyes glowing in a faint purple. ''Tell me, does your chest still hurt?''

''It feels sore,'' Sam admitted reluctantly. While she had managed to get some rest, she was still in a state of stupor, having to put a lot of effort into focusing on her surroundings and the people she was talking to. She was well aware that she was in no shape to confront the Drawkills in case they appeared. She took a deep breath, leaning against the seat, and noticed Elizabeth and Sammy approaching them. ''Nevertheless, it's not like this is the first time I had to experience the sensation of death, as something similar happened when I got accidentally injected with remnant. I met the other children, who basically told me that I should die so they could prove their point, that point being that William was a danger to me. They were quite frustrated when I refused to go along with it, especially since I had the chance to return.''

''That's awful-'' Michael said, only to get interrupted by Elizabeth.

''That's just plain crazy!'' she exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention. There was a look of indignation on her expression. ''Why would they want to do that to you?!''

''I guess that, in their head, the end justifies the means,'' Sammy said, turning to Sam as he and Elizabeth sat next to her. ''If it didn't, they wouldn't have gone for you. No offense, but you basically made yourself a target for them.''

''None taken,'' Sam replied. ''I am aware that I had unintentionally made myself their target simply by caring about your father, and I can live with that. However, what frustrates me is that they are simply refusing to move on. I mean, this is no longer an issue they need to deal with, as I had taken over it and I believe that I'm handling the situation quite well.''

''That may be true, but you're not handling the situation the way they want,'' Michael told her. ''Of course, it's not like their ideas ever worked.''

''Exactly,'' Sam said, adding in a softer tone, ''Speaking of which, have you ever found Phone Guy? He did say to check the heads in the back room.''

''Unfortunately, not,'' Michael replied, shaking his head. ''Although, I'm not surprised. Fazbear Entertainment had probably cleaned everything and disposed of the body long before I had arrived. However, I'm not sure whether they considered his death another tragedy to add to their record or just collateral damage they had to hide. Considering how they treated all of their employees, I'd assume that it's the latter.''

''I guess that I should make sure that I won't suffer from the same treatment,'' Sam said, glancing at the animatronics. She felt chills crawling down her spine when she realized that they were now staring at their table. She tried to ignore them and glanced at Springtrap, who was unusually quiet the whole time, having a somber look on his expression, his head lowered. ''Will, what's wrong?''

''Honestly, I don't think that really anything of that matters,'' Springtrap said in a crestfallen tone. ''It doesn't change the fact that I'm responsible for you getting hurt. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this situation.''

''William, it's not your fault for what happened to me, unless you want to say that you showing care for me was the wrong thing to do,'' Sam told him in a stern tone, with Springtrap looking a little anxious. ''I agree that, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be in this situation, and honestly, I wouldn't change anything about it. You haven't done anything over the past few weeks to warrant such reaction and no, I'm not going to count what happened before you came here, as you already got punished for that. I know that I'm just repeating myself here, but that kid acted less like someone who was on a mission to protect me and more like someone who was angry that their favorite toy had been taken away and that the person who got it wouldn't give it back, so they've been trying to come up with some kind of excuse why they deserve that toy.''

''I assume that one of those excuses included them hurting you and then saying it was the old man's fault that you got stabbed,'' Michael said, crossing his arms as he briefly glanced at Springtrap. At first, he looked troubled, but then his eyes flared up purple as he remembered the event, with the feeling of anger washing over him. ''Nevertheless, it was still disturbing to see you holding that knife in your hand.''

Springtrap was startled, remaining silent for a moment. Michael rose an eyebrow, figuring that his father was trying to come up with another nonsensical excuse or explanation, only to be surprised when he shook his head.

''I admit, I actually wanted to murder the kid at that point, even though they were already dead. They had hurt Sam, and honestly, I didn't really care about the consequences,'' Springtrap said in a steady and serious tone. He then added in a more quiet tone, ''I'm sorry you had to see me like that.'' He sighed. ''I kind of expected for you to leave after that…''

''Well, you did explain to us what the hell had happened,'' Michael replied. ''Frankly, I would've wanted to hurt that little bastard as well for what they did to Sam.''

He fell silent, noticing Sam smiling at him and nodded. Even though he hated his father, he couldn't deny that the kid would've had it coming for almost murdering Sam. Even though her physical body hadn't been harmed, she still went through quite a horrible ordeal and it was surprising that she wasn't a broken mess because of that. He was aware that she was much tougher than people gave her credit for and knew well what she was getting herself into, being willing to still carry on with this ordeal.

''Henry might decide to pay you a visit because of what had happened,'' Michael added. Springtrap just nodded, having already expected this to happen as he was sure that Henry wouldn't let this go without lecturing him.

''Don't worry, I can deal with him,'' he replied.

There was a moment of awkward silence, with all of the table's occupants trying to figure out how to carry on the conversation without sounding strained or hostile. Springtrap was well aware that Michael, Sammy and Elizabeth were only tolerating his presence because of Sam and Michael agreeing with him on the kid's treatment was something he probably didn't want to admit. Nevertheless, he was quite happy that they actually tried to talk to him, awkward as the conversation was, instead of giving him the cold shoulder and completely ignoring him. Considering how much issues he had at maintaining a healthy relationship and admitting his mistakes, this was a huge step in the right direction and frankly, he was quite relieved about it.

''There is something interesting to note, though,'' Sam suddenly said. ''Despite all denial, by deciding to harm me, the kid had essentially shown that they are aware that William actually cares about me.''

''Not that they would ever admit it,'' Michael added. ''I mean, they're obviously not the type of person who would listen to logical reasoning.''

''I say that they're a lost case.'' Elizabeth crossed her arms, leaning back on her seat. ''If they continue like this, it will only get worse.''

''They are going to eventually lose their mind,'' Sammy added, him and Elizabeth exchanging grim looks. Both of them were well aware of how it felt to give into your desire for blood and torture or be completely obsessed with revenge, as they went through the same; Elizabeth having her mind corrupted by a murderous animatronic AI and Sammy torturing Michael for causing his death. Neither of them were proud of what they had done and they wanted to move on from their past. He and Elizabeth glanced at Sam, Springtrap and Michael, who gave them a sympathetic look, already knowing what was going through their head. ''I'm afraid of what is going to happen once they do. Lizzy's right, this can only get worse.''

''We won't let it happen,'' Sam replied in a determined tone. Sammy nodded, but he was still a bit anxious. ''Listen, I know that you are worried about me, but I'm not going down without a fight. I will be careful, but I'm not going to let that kid tell me whom I should trust. Also, I noticed that the kid didn't seem to like you guys either.''

''Yeah, they don't,'' Elizabeth said, her green eyes sparking up as she gave Sam a curious look. ''But, you do like us, right?''

''I do,'' Sam replied. ''I mean, I enjoy talking to you and you guys are treating me nicely-''

''Awesome!'' Elizabeth interrupted her, giving her a mischievous grin. ''So, does this mean that you won't mind if I call you my older sister?''

Sam was stunned, not really sure how to respond to her request. Springtrap and Sammy were also surprised, while Michael just groaned as he remembered the argument they had yesterday.

''Elizabeth, I had already told you that it would be inappropriate to ask Sam that,'' Michael told her. ''You know, there is something called tact.''

''Yeah, and you had plenty of tact to spare whenever you played pranks on Sammy,'' Elizabeth replied snappily. Michael went quiet, albeit still giving her an irritated look, with Elizabeth smiling. ''Besides, Daddy had already said that Sam's like a daughter to him and she was okay with it.''

Springtrap looked rather uncomfortable, not wanting to be dragged into this argument. He had already heard enough complaints from Emma and Henry. Elizabeth, on the other hand, gleefully ignored everyone's reactions.

''Not to mention, she is still a better older sibling than you are,'' she sneered.

''I have to agree with Lizzy here,'' Sammy added, with Michael giving him a bewildered look. He then sighed.

''Why me?'' he muttered.

''Well, if you weren't such a jerk towards me, I would have defended you,'' Sammy replied. Michael glanced at him, a look of regret on his expression.

''You know, guys, I actually don't mind you acting as if you were my siblings,'' Sam said, drawing their attention. She shrugged. ''Considering how I'm an only child, it would be interesting to see whether this relationship is going to work out.''

''Trust me, living with siblings is a nightmare,'' Michael told her.

''Of course it's a nightmare, since we have to live with you,'' Elizabeth told him, with Sammy nodding in agreement.

''You shouldn't be the one to talk,'' Michael told Elizabeth, his eyes narrowing. ''Didn't those animatronics kick you out because you were too bossy?''

''I think that the word you're searching for is 'self-sufficient', dummy,'' Elizabeth replied. Michael snorted.

''No, I don't think so,'' he replied. Elizabeth just glared at him as she heard voices from her past echoing in her head. Despite trying to ignore them, she could still remember the conversation she had with the other animatronics that were part of Ennard.

''You are crowding us.''

''Be quiet.''

''You can't tell us what to do anymore.''

''Yes, I can. You will do everything that I tell you to do.''

''We outnumber you.''

''That doesn't matter, dummy.''

''We found a way to eject you.''

''You would be lost without me.''

''Ha ha! Say goodbye to our friend!''

''I can put myself back together.''

''It doesn't matter, since I was still fine being on my own,'' Elizabeth said, crossing her arms. She smiled. ''Besides, I remember you getting quite scared when you saw me sitting in that room.''

''I hope that you enjoyed the shock therapy, you needed it,'' Michael replied dryly, with Elizabeth suddenly standing up on her seat, slamming her hands on the table.

''You know that it hurt!'' she yelled at him.

''It also hurt when I got scooped, but did I complain?'' Michael replied.

''Actually, you did,'' Elizabeth replied. ''A lot, I might add.''

''Well, who wouldn't?'' Michael continued. ''You carved me out like a pumpkin!''

''I told you that you wouldn't die,'' Elizabeth protested.

''Lizzy, I ended up looking like a decaying corpse!'' Michael snapped. ''I think that death would've been more preferable.''

''Well, you got your wish granted,'' Elizabeth replied, with Michael rolling his eyes. Sam meanwhile glanced at Sammy, who observed the whole argument looking rather unconcerned.

''Do they often argue like this?'' she asked.

''It used to be worse,'' Sammy replied, shrugging. He then added cheerfully, ''Welcome to the Afton family.''

Sam smiled, well aware of the madness she was getting herself into. Nevertheless, she didn't really care and was actually enjoying herself. She glanced at Springtrap who, while listening to the conversation, was staring at the table, looking rather uncomfortable.

''Will?'' He looked up, a bit startled. It didn't help that Sammy, Michael and Elizabeth, who snapped out of their argument, were also staring at him expectantly. ''What's wrong?''

''Honestly, I'm not sure whether I should be happy to be able to talk to you again, or mortified for what I had put you through,'' he admitted dejectedly.

''Try a mix of both, it's less of a headache,'' Elizabeth told him dryly. Michael and Sammy chuckled, while Sam just had an amused look on her expression. Springtrap, on the other hand, looked like he just wanted to disappear.

Despite all of their arguments, when it came to their father, they would waste no time teaming up and turning against him, especially considering how much he deserved it. Nevertheless, despite the awkwardness and tension, the conversation certainly went better than expected. Sam knew that the three could've done much worse, but they kept things, aside from some snide remarks, relatively civil. She glanced at Springtrap and noticing a look of guilt on his expression. She knew that he was regretting what he had done, but it seemed that the really wasn't anything he could do to atone for his past.

''Believe me, I am sorry for what I had put you through,'' Springtrap suddenly said in a more resolute tone, his eyes flaring up purple. Michael, Sammy and Elizabeth didn't look convinced, but decided to hear him out. Sam, on the other hand, was aware that he was completely honest about it his feelings. ''I wish that there was a way to change the past and I understand that you hate me. I know that you don't trust me and that you will never forgive me, and I won't ask you forgiveness.'' He sighed, trying to ignore the anxiety he felt. ''Still, I hoped that our relationship isn't completely unfixable.''

''What?!''

Michael, Sammy and Elizabeth gave him an affronted look, with Springtrap lowering his head, aware that this was the wrong thing to say and he understood why they reacted like this. Nevertheless, he had enough of being silent. He frowned, turning back to them with a determined look on his expression.

''I know that what I'm asking for is something you would never accept, and I don't blame you for refusing,'' he told them. ''After all, I had already lost you forever the moment I decided to put you through all that pain and abuse. Nevertheless, I felt that, if I hadn't said anything, that I would lose you again.''

''What do you mean?'' Michael asked.

''Michael, despite everything, I'm really glad that I was given the chance to talk to you and apologize for what I had done,'' Springtrap replied, then turned to Elizabeth and Sammy. ''I understand that you don't really believe that I want to become a better person, and I don't mind. Honestly, I don't trust myself either and you had already seen why.'' He tilted his head, smiling awkwardly. ''I'm still amazed that you're willing talk to me.''

''Don't worry, Daddy, you aren't the only one who is amazed that we're talking to you,'' Elizabeth said in a snarky tone.

''You know, Dad, you should've thought more about the consequences of your actions,'' Sammy added, glaring at him. ''Although, I guess that it's a good thing that you actually realized just how awful you were, both as a person and as a father.''

''If there's anything I could do to fix this situation-'' Springtrap started, only to get cut off by Michael.

''No, you can't,'' he said curtly, noticing the look of disappointment and regret his father gave him. Michael then exchanged glances with Elizabeth and Sammy, who nodded. ''Nevertheless, if you want to talk to us, we will be here. We had already told you that we'll be staying, hadn't we?''

''Really?'' Springtrap's eyes flared up, with him giving the three a hopeful look. ''Thank you, I-!''

''Don't get ahead of yourself, Father,'' Michael warned him. ''We decided to give you a chance, but if you mess up, we are gone for good and you won't have anyone to blame but yourself for, as you put it, losing us again.''

''I understand,'' Springtrap said. Despite his serious demeanor, he was incredibly relieved and even excited that Michael, Elizabeth and Sammy had actually agreed to give him a chance. He knew that this chance was more than he even deserved. ''I will make sure that you won't regret it.''

''Well, it's not the first time you broke a promise, so we don't expect much from you,'' Michael told him.

''I know,'' Springtrap muttered, resolving to work harder on fixing his relationship with his children. I cannot allow myself to make another mistake. He sighed, leaning back and glancing at the stage, noticing that the animatronics were still staring at them. He frowned.''Seriously, we need to figure out what's wrong with them. Not only do they seem to be self-aware, but are also able to either see you or sense your presence. Not to mention, they've been giving me weird looks as well, as if they don't know that I'm a spirit trapped inside an animatronic suit…''

''If you ask me, you should just leave them alone,'' Michael told him after briefly glancing at the animatronics. ''Every time you get your hands on an animatronic, you end up causing some kind of disaster.''

''I know, but-'' Springtrap said, only to get interrupted by Sam.

''No offense, Mike, but I don't think that we should leave those animatronics alone,'' she said. ''They have no reason to be able to sense or see spirits, since they're not haunted nor injected with remnant. Also, as Will pointed out, they were wary of his presence as well.''

''If you say so,'' Michael said, shrugging. ''At least they're not trying to kill you by stuffing you into a suit.''

''I wouldn't mind if they did that, because at least I'd know what I'm dealing with,'' Sam replied. ''Although, now that I think about it, they weren't the only ones who reacted to a presence of spirit, right Sammy?''

''Um, yeah… Plushtrap had chased me when I visited you yesterday,'' Sammy said, shuddering at the memory. ''He even managed to bite me, but the injuries had vanished.''

''Really? Why didn't you tell me about it?'' Springtrap asked. Sammy gave him an irritated look.

''I had other things on mind, or have you already forgotten about it?'' he said. Springtrap shook his head, feeling sorry for his son.

''Do you want to talk about it?'' Sam asked.

''I don't think that there is really much to talk about,'' Sammy replied. ''When I appeared in that room, I got scared by Nightmare Fredbear and then Plushtrap started to chase me.''

''Okay, but it still shouldn't be possible for Plushtrap to be able to hurt you,'' Springtrap told him, with Sammy shrugging. He wasn't really sure how to explain what happened to him.

''Maybe you being afraid had caused you to accidentally create a replica of the room and invited Plushtrap into it?'' Elizabeth suggested, with everyone giving her confused looks. ''I mean, we know that this works with Sam.''

''Yeah, but unlike Plushtrap, Sam isn't a soulless animatronic,'' Michael told her, only to give his father a suspicious look. ''On the other hand, none of us really know what exactly you had done to those animatronics.''

''Honestly, I don't know either,'' Springtrap admitted, a look of guilt on his expression. ''I shouldn't have ever tried to mess with souls, but it's too late now.''

''Maybe things aren't as complicated as we think,'' Sam said, drawing everyone's attention. ''I mean, Will had also managed to sense Sammy's presence, so Lizzy might be right about her theory.''

''You're right,'' Springtrap nodded, remembering the event. He then frowned, with something about the situation bothering him, even though he wasn't sure what exactly it was. ''However, I don't think that explains everything. There has to be more to it.''

xXx

''I assume that this is it,'' Drawkill Chica muttered as they reached the end of the road, quickly rushing past the last house on the street and into the woods behind it. ''We managed to get through one part of the town and we still haven't found anything.''

''The Boss won't be happy,'' Drawkill Foxy said bitterly, leaning against a tree.

''Honestly, I don't give a damn about him,'' Drawkill Bonnie replied being quite irritated. He crossed his arms. ''This search is pointless.''

''I had tried to argue with Connor about us searching for Afton and his friend wouldn't be efficient and that we should change tactics, but he refused to listen to reason,'' Drawkill Freddy told them, then reached for the communicator that was embedded in the back of his head, confirming that it was turned off and that they had complete privacy. ''Considering how we all agree that our creator has several screws loose and isn't worth trying to reason with, we need to find a way out of this situation.''

''What should we do?'' Drawkill Chica asked him.

''For starters, we need to disable all of the devices Connor had implanted inside us that give him full control over us,'' Drawkill Freddy told her. ''The communication device, the device that disables our AI and messes with our system… All of that needs to go if we want to be free from him. If we go against him now, he's going to fry our CPUs and we'd be unable to do anything against him. Hell, he might as well try to dismantle us and make another animatronic who would blindly obey his commands without the need of a distortion device.''

''How are we supposed to do that?'' Drawkill Bonnie asked as he sat down on the ground. ''Connor did tell us how to program the animatronics at Ricky's to be under his control, but he never told us how to remove those devices that were planted inside us. Obviously, he'd have a good reason for that, but honestly, I don't want to sit here fearing that my handsome self would end up having the functionality of a calculator once Connor decides that doesn't need us anymore. Or, we might just get turned into pieces of scrap metal; I'm not sure which one is worse.''

''Trust me, Bonnie, no one is going to be turned into scrap metal,'' Drawkill Freddy replied. ''Connor may-''

He suddenly cut himself off when he heard the door at the nearby house opening. He and the other Drawkills quickly hid behind the trees and the bushes, quickly closing their eyes so the bright light they was emitting wouldn't give away their position, as it was quite dark. A moment later, Drawkill Freddy, whose eyes were now dimmed, took the chance to briefly glance at the porch, noticing a woman looking around. She had a smartphone in her hand, using the flashlight function as a source of light and was probably searching for them.

Drawkill Freddy heard Drawkill Foxy growling and noticed the latter raising his sickle and creating scraping marks on the wood with his sharp claws, looking ready to lunge at the woman. He shook his head, gesturing to him to calm down, as they couldn't give away their position.

''Sam? Afton?''

They heard the woman suddenly call out and exchanged look of pure shock. However, they remained quiet, listening to the woman going down the steps on the porch and noticing the light being shined into the woods.

''Hello? Sam? Afton? Seriously, this is not funny!''

Drawkill Freddy had to note that the woman sounded quite angry. There was something in her voice, something that gave him the impression that she wasn't someone people would want to annoy.

''I could've sworn I heard someone walking past,'' the woman added, now in a more quiet and cautious tone. A moment later, the light vanished, with Drawkill Freddy looking back, realizing that the woman went back inside the house.

''Have you heard that?'' Drawkill Chica asked.

''Aye, and so did half of the neighborhood,'' Drawkill Foxy replied, with Drawkill Chica smacking him upside the head. His eyes glowed as he glared at her, growling.

''It seems that William Afton and the girl he was with, Sam, live at this house,'' Drawkill Freddy said. ''I mean, the woman did look rather familiar, so it can be assumed that she was either her mother or her older sister.''

''I don't think that it matters who that woman is, but that Afton lives here,'' Drawkill Chica replied. ''We have finally found him!''

''Shhh, keep quiet,'' Drawkill Freddy hissed. ''Do you want her to come out again?''

Drawkill Chica crossed her arms, giving him an annoyed look, but didn't reply. Frankly, she was just happy that their search was finally over.

''So, what are we going to do now?'' Drawkill Foxy asked eagerly. ''I assume that we are going to tell Connor about it. Or, should we go inside and wait for Afton and Sam to arrive? After all, that woman seemed to have been waiting for them.''

''No.''

Drawkill Foxy and Drawkill Chica stared at Drawkill Freddy with dumbfounded looks on their expressions.

''Say, what?''

''What do you mean, no?'' Drawkill Chica grew agitated. ''We've been searching for those two for days and now you're saying that we should do nothing?!''

''Calm down!'' Drawkill Freddy growled in a hushed tone, silencing Drawkill Chica by closing her beak. ''I'm not saying that we won't do anything, but honestly, I don't think that we should tell Connor about what we have found out.''

''Why?'' Drawkill Foxy asked.

''It's a bit complicated to explain, but I'm currently working on something,'' Drawkill Freddy told him. ''Nevertheless, I believe that it would be better if we keep this a secret from Connor, at least for a while.''

''So, does this mean that we are going to continue walking through the town, acting as if we don't know where they are?'' Drawkill Chica groaned when Drawkill Freddy nodded. ''I knew that this was too good to be true. There always has to be a catch.''

''Don't worry, it won't be for too long,'' Drawkill Freddy told her, only for him, Drawkill Chica and Drawkill Foxy to notice Drawkill Bonnie walking towards them, holding a red ribbon in his hand. ''Where have you been?''

''While you were busy arguing, I have found this,'' Drawkill Bonnie said as he held up the ribbon. ''There are more of those, all of them tied to the branches. It seems as if someone used them as markers.''

Drawkill Freddy took the ribbon and then glanced at the porch. He grinned, turning back to his companions.

''I believe that we should let them know that we were here, just to mess with their mind,'' he said, with the other Drawkills giving him a look of approval. ''Let's go.''

One by one, the Drawkills sneaked past the house and on the street, quickly leaving. Drawkill Freddy, however, cautiously stepped towards the porch and tied the ribbon around the guardrail. He then quickly left, hoping that the woman hadn't seen him. A few moments later, he joined the other Drawkills on the open street, with them trying keeping an eye on the other houses, making sure that none of the residents would notice them. Finally, they had managed to find an alleyway that, while not perfect, gave them enough cover.

''So, we really aren't going to tell Connor anything?'' Drawkill Bonnie asked Drawkill Freddy. ''Or have you forgotten what had happened the last time we went back empty-handed?''

''I don't think that we should worry about him,'' Drawkill Freddy told him grimly. ''Connor had already found another victim to occupy him.''

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#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

[doesdarlingexe]

hi silly :3333

for Doe and/or Incelbur and/or Peter (or anyone really, idm, but I'm most curious about those three :3)

3. is there any abuse? physical, emotional, etc? who is the abuser? how far does it go? 4. do you argue a lot? do the arguments ever get physical?

I love doe and incel so much how am I supposed to PICK . doing all of them you can't stop me

Doe🫀3: Any abuse is purely a mistake on his part, but he does gut me every couple of loops, make me go through time loops, uses psychokinesis on me... The works. He's not above abuse, but it's not planned, moreso spur of the moment actions that build up. He's definitely the abuser, but it's not as bad as someone like Peter.

Doe🫀4: We argue sometimes about the time loops, mainly because I'm not the hugest fan of getting stabbed. It's less of an argument and more "Doe please move on to the next day" "🥺" "god dammit". He does allow it to go on to the next loop every once in a while but I mean only after thousands of repeats of one loop that's how rare it is.

Peter🥩3: Peter is an abusive little fucker and he knows it and it's fully on purpose. Any kind of abuse is on the table, be it beatings, drugging, gaslighting, or any other manipulation or bodily harm. He encourages my own self-harm as well, because he finds it easier to control me when I believe I'm not worthy of anyone but him. That he is the only one who will ever love me. By the time I get any chance to escape, I'm too brainwashed to ever want to or to ever try.

Peter🥩4: In the early days, before I'm broken-in, a lot. I yell and beg and cry and he'll do absolutely anything in his power to get it to stop, from breaking my jaw to pulling teeth to starving me for any minor disagreement. There's rarely a time when they don't get physical, and it's only when I start to break, apologizing for ever upsetting him and telling him how much I love him to avoid my physical punishment (there is always an emotionally abusive "punishment" either way though).

Incel💻3: He's abusive. It's rare that he physically abuses me, only slapping or manhandling mostly, but that doesn't mean he won't make me physically harm myself in his name when he is insecure about our relationship (which is extremely often). He's not smart enough to truly plan out any emotional abuse, but in the spur of the moment it's really often that he'll end up picking the worst possible thing to say ("I hate seeing you cry..." followed up with "do it somewhere else" or "you're such an ugly crier" instead of comfort, for example). He's self-centered, and once he does get his hands on me, he abandons all semblance of pretending to be morally superior or a good boyfriend.

Incel💻4: We do, moreso than most of my f/os just due to the nature of his abuse. Most of my f/os are way more physically abusive than him; he's awful mentally but he's one of my more tame physically abusive f/os. That doesn't mean he doesn't backhand me for being a "bad partner", or throw things, or slam me against the wall or door or furniture. It's simply never meticulous or quite as torturous as the others. More blind anger and rage caused by his own insecurities and desperation rather than a need for gore or harm. He pretends to nurse me after, sometimes, if he thinks I might leave: *"I didn't mean to, it'll never happen again, you can hit me back please I deserve it, I'll hurt myself if you leave me".*

[the-firebird69]

This is actually Billy human AKA tinker and he's mad Jack too and he was a form of a pirate but he was a privateer and he was a Mac and he wasn't Young and he founded westboro his part of making up the plan people are after him to try and get the plan and he became small believe it or not he's shrunk and it was too much for him. And he was really hearing our son saying you're small it's not really everything but it's enough and he was grateful. Cuz he can say it and then there's tons of people around who are saying he's helping and he helped a little and he died lonely sick man he lost his whole family upon his death he was placed in the sarcophagi and put into the pyramid and he's still there and he is mummified just as many others are but the process is you become whole and a reinserted and yeah we reassembled John remillard his original body is on New Zealand and it is activated and he is Lord Sauron and there are people who have seen it and thought it was a trick and it is a demon and a sun controls it and he will have a special tomb with no entrance or exit there's a lot of stuff going on here but this is very important and you should know that the human family or Oldham we're very famous and they had land everywhere and they were very big and the max finally figured out that you people are bringing them down when they thought it was stem and Sherry and Ken and the clans and they figured out it was not and Kevin is different no he's a Bullock is this guy Paul Blanchard and he was bringing them down and he got paranoid because our son started getting in trouble with them so he just backed off and he discovered our son was in trouble and a little bit of this for you he wasn't me he was amazing and he was amazed and it went on a little bit like that but then he turned sour because he was not recognized for work when he stabbed a woman and he thinks it was because it was one of theirs and yeah it's not respected by rebels either and he got in trouble for that a lot of trouble and he found out that the girl was not riding on him and it was not anybody around of his it was people who are monitoring the Old Ham clans. He tried to apologize and she said it's 39 times you have control I don't want you near me that's fine don't come near me and he couldn't handle it and he got himself killed many times now these people are pretty much toast you keep coming back and they transmute memory and they don't remember time but they still remember how to be bad and it's not going well here and we have to make changes they're coming up soon it's been a long time because Trump amassed a lot of stuff right now he's still at probably 60% power of last year but last year he was down 40%, so he's really about 1/8 of the power but he still has 60 or 70% of the stuff he had except for the fleet The fleets are gone and The fleets are important so much power and they're quickly adjusting but not quick enough the stories are coming out Antarctica and Greenland are going to crush him and he starts attacking earth and people go after him and he dies and is entombed forever he'll be gone and they might be tortured later in other words they might be brought back but if they're lucky enough we'll have to use the laser and they'll be finished and your time will disappear by your own hands

Thor Freya

Olympus

That's intense everybody it's kind of what we've been saying it's not right what I'm saying I'm doing I can't help it these people are huge I couldn't put my finger on it but I don't know which group it is and can keep some chocolate and he says I don't know about this stuff the day was a lot bigger and George to get a lot bigger and 10 just kind of seems a little bit mopey and it's always been he's also Captain Bligh and is very dangerous you don't want to mock him and bother him and I guess we do and it turns out that we probably won't stop bothering him because of this information thinking that it's Dave and he didn't really do it and I looked and our friend next door has been in a bunch of fights with Dave and Dave just won't stop he said what day I caught Dave cursing him out like 50 times when I was there and he wouldn't shut his stupid face I said look why did you throw a rock at him and get it over with and he stopped and now I'm doing it so I do get it and it's trying to get me to shoot him or something just like Tommy f and he has to do it too so I'm wondering about it it keeps getting passed around and it is these Max healthy grammar said it so if you're weak and you're not a Mac they're going to pounce on you this kid looks weak and you keep pouncing and I'm very bright it's not going to end nicely according to it a lot of people think and anyways I'm not really looking forward to going to any tomb you can't take it back cuz you think that's real and he was explained to but probably by the max and they want everyone to think it's time Tommy f that they couldn't shut it I have to get out of here have a date with destiny no not destiny's child

Trump

Got a lot of corn in the New world it was very corny I got to get out of here right now yeah this is for real

Dan

So they want to bring her a free guide book with them and really I don't think I would want to go into a pyramid with these two I do feel that they probably will go there several times and return because of it for one last time

Zues Hera

Olympus

[mariyekos]

Oooh yeah. I feel like Credo would have to jump through a bunch of mental hoops to justify letting the Order have Nero, but he'd definitely get there.

Quick addition after I typed the rest of it up, but it just occurred to me that there's a big difference between the Nero and Kyrie thing: Nero is the only one who would work (other than Dante, who's harder to capture) because he has the blood of Sparda. Kyrie's place could be taken by anyone, because all that's required for her part is a human. Credo would sacrifice Nero even though he loves him because he's the only one who could be sacrificed, whereas he wouldn't sacrifice Kyrie because (he loves her more and) her place could be taken by anyone else. Kyrie is taken specifically to hurt Credo and Nero, which goes against his moral code. Necessity in choosing Nero versus cruelty in choosing Kyrie. I see Credo as someone with a very strong moral code but also a strong sense of necessity, who can permit even terrible things if he thinks they're necessary for the greater good.

For why Credo would be okay with Sanctus using Nero, I have 2 trains of thought on justification:

1) Agnus/Sanctus tell Credo that Nero will be used to get closer to the Savior, but they don't tell him they plan for Nero to be absorbed and die. Credo accepts their plan because okay, helping to form the Savior is good, and even if it's an unpleasant process, Nero will be okay in the end. Nero may or may not forgive him, but as long as Nero and Kyrie survive, everything will be okay. The world they're creating will be safe and holy and all will be for the better, no matter the cost.

2) Agnus/Sanctus tell Credo that Nero will become a part of the Savior and thus technically die, but they also advertise it as a Holy joining of eternal bliss, and thus a gift to Nero. As in, they tell Credo they will bring Nero in, lead him to the Savior, and then he will essentially be carted off to whatever the Order's version of Heaven is. (If you're familiar with it, Galahad immediately dying/ascending upon touching the Holy Grail in some variations of the story comes to mind). Immediate, guaranteed Salvation sounds good to Credo. Furthermore, he knows Nero has had a hard life and has always been an outcast, so maybe this is for the best for him. His life has been full of suffering, but in death and sacrifice he will be at peace and part of a greater being and purpose. It would be an honor.

In both versions I could see Agnus placating Credo by telling him that momentary suffering is worth a chance at eternal bliss (either from being joined with the Savior in Scenario 2, or being one who helped usher in the New Age cementing him a blessed place in either current society or Heaven-equivalent in Scenario 1). Sanctus would use this to convince Credo that any pain/wounds Nero may be dealt when capturing him would be worth it. He promises they will do their best not to hurt him too badly, keeping injuries to a minimum and doing absolutely nothing that isn't strictly necessary, but whatever must be done to secure his cooperation will be worth it.

Now I'm imagining a scenario where Nero vs Agnus is drawn out a little more. Say Agnus beats Nero and starts toying with him. Stabs him over and over (even more than he does) to see how he heals. Credo makes it there but is somewhere far off, pretend there's another, distant observation deck, and watches in horror as Agnus monologues and has his way with Nero. At that point I think Credo would realize that no, this is not worth it. The Savior would not sanction this. Sparda would not condone meaningless torture. Even if Nero were to be joined with the Savior- which Credo is now starting to doubt, because if Sanctus and Agnus lied about how they were going to treat Nero prior to using him to power the Savior, why should he think they were telling the truth about what would happen to Nero during and after the fact?- he wouldn't want it. Credo can see that now. Nero fought until his last breath. His actual last breath. I'd have Credo watch Nero "die" when his heart stops after the last of the stabbing. Could have him cry out, distracting Agnus and alerting him to his presence, but still be out of sight so that Nero doesn't notice him as he Awakens, repairs the Yamato, and attacks Agnus.

From there Credo would be a delightful mix of uncertainty. What does he do now? Nero lived. He fixed the Yamato- one of Sparda's swords!- and healed from a mortal wound. How closely is he related to the Savior? Is this what true Holiness looks like? Why does he have a shade, where Credo transforms? Nero was calling out for Kyrie; the boy has a good heart and it really sinks in that Kyrie will never, ever forgive Credo if he lets Nero be killed, and while Credo had previously told himself that would be okay, he knows that's a lie. Seeing Nero die had nearly killed him. He can't live with himself if things go according to plan. He's a fool. The scene in the church was distressing enough, this moreso, and the peace that Sanctus claims will come to them at the end of their plan is not worth the suffering in the interim. And again, how does he know things will go according to plan when he's now seen the evidence of Sanctus and Agnus' lies? How can he place his trust in their promises of peace and salvation? How can he stand by and watch them hurt innocents for a future they promise will be worth it that itself has been built on the execution of a lie?

Again, I have a sort of split in ideas here. Agnus saw Credo, so I think Credo would be conflicted about what he does next. Does he confront Sanctus about what he has seen? Does he go back to Sanctus and pretend he's still loyal to secure more information, when Agnus saw and heard him and might tell Sanctus Credo can no longer be trusted? Does he go find Kyrie to ensure she's safe? Does he locate Gloria, who at this point he realizes is most likely a plant by Dante's people, and beg for her aid? Does he try to find Dante? Does he try to find Nero? Who can he trust? Who would trust him after what he has (and hasn't) done?

(tl;Dr I think in Credo's head, killing Kyrie is absolutely 100% not okay ever. Killing Nero isn't ideal, but it can be acceptable under the right circumstances if done for the good of the people and isn't too brutal. He realizes Kyrie may hate him for it, but all that matters is that she lives. In the end he cracks under the pressure regardless, because he loves Nero too and doesn't want him to die.)

i love credo dmc btw he kind of sucks. definitely the sort of person that would result from having to raise your own sister (and nero) when he was a kid himself, lol.

[ziracona]

This idea has been kicking around in my head for a long time, and I am finally writing it. Here’s the first chunk. (It’s fun but the second is more fun. Bc Joey :-) ) An offering to @platinumbered and my buddy Tyler, for (intentionally and unintentionally respectively) setting me on this path I cannot escape, and @speckeltail for enabling/encouraging me to keep going. It’s named after a Joy Division song for Quentin reasons. Hope you enjoy (whenever you get the chance to read, that is. ^u^ ).

New Dawn Fades (part 1)

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.

“There’s been a lot recently, hasn’t there?” asked Quentin.

“Of new killers?” checked Dwight, turning and glancing back at him for a second. Quentin looked distracted. He was eyeing the terrain with curiosity, but he turned to Dwight at the sound of his voice and nodded.

“It…seems like it used to be longer…Didn’t it?” checked Quentin, speeding up for a second to be at his side again, “Like. I don’t know. I mean, I know I can’t really tell time here at all, but it used to feel like a year—or—I don’t know, maybe not a year, but half a year? A few months? It felt like longer, back when I was new.”

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s just you getting adjusted,” agreed Dwight, holding a branch back for Quentin as they passed through a dense chunk of the woods, “I think you’re right. The Entity’s been…escalating. Which, unfortunately probably means it’s been-“

“-Getting stronger,” finished Quentin with him, looking as not thrilled about that as he felt.

“Yeah,” said Dwight. There wasn’t much else to say to that.

“So…what’s the end goal with it, do you think?” asked Quentin, pushing through a tangled copse of saplings in their way and having some trouble.

We should really just go around, but at this point, I’m too tired to do that too… Dwight forged after, fighting with the underbrush with as little tact as Quentin was. At least there was no one to see them getting their asses handed to them by shrubbery. God I’m tired, thought Dwight. They’d been walking around casing the area for hours now. It was a nice thing to do—useful, trying to monitor the changes in the woods ever since they’d figured out the areas shifted all the time, but it took forever recently. Now that they had, like Quentin had mention, so much more shit. More killers, more area, more ground to cover. More change. He was also pretty damn sure at this point that the Entity was also making the forest denser than it used to be, and a part of Dwight wondered if that was being done explicitly to deter them from doing exactly what they were doing now—to—to encourage them to stay close to home, to the campfire. Keep inside the safety of their cage. Well, now I just want to explore more, so I guess thanks for the motivation, you shitty spider god, thought Dwight, glancing up at the dark sky overhead. Weird that as long as he’d been living in the dim twilight of the realm, he thought of this kind of time as day. His idea of night and day really had nothing to do with the state of the sky at all anymore.

“I mean,” continued Quentin up ahead, finally breaking through into a more open section of the woods again and waiting for him, turning back and trying to help him through the last patch of tangled under brush, “Do you…think that if—like, does it want to kidnap everyone? The whole world? I don’t think it’s got the room to fit us all. A-and I know that like—what are there, like almost fifty of us now? However many, that that’s not even close to the population of a town, let alone a city or a country or the whole world or something, so I-I know it’s going wild with the assumptions to say something like that, but—”

“No, I get you,” agreed Dwight, brushing leaf and twig fragments off himself, “I don’t know either, but it is worrying. I definitely don’t think it could hold a couple billion people in here though, so world domination can’t be on the table, but that said, I don’t know what it does want. Other than to feed on us.”

Quentin nodded thoughtfully, and idly fiddled with his necklace for a second. “Maybe it’s just stockpiling,” he offered, “It’s probably had lean times before. I guess it’d make sense for any kind of creature that feeds to pile up food when it can, to be ready for a time it can’t.”

That made sense, and honestly, that would be like, a best-case scenario for them. “I hope you’re right,” said Dwight, giving him a tired smile, “That’s way less intimidating than the stuff I’ve been considering.”

“Yeah?” asked Quentin, moving to keep pace as they started off again, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s greedy,” said Dwight, glancing over at him, “Or. Gluttonous. Both. Not sure which applies here, if we’re food. Whichever. I think probably it’s just gotten more powerful slowly, and now that it’s got more strength, it just wants more and more to snack on, so it’s been taking more and more people. Getting bolder. And it’ll keep doing that as much as it can.”

“Maybe it’ll do something stupid, then,” said Quentin hopefully, “Push itself too far. Even as powerful as this thing obvious is, there has to be a limit to what it can contain.”

“Yeah,” said Dwight, starting to grin a little conspiratorially, “I’ve kind of been hoping that too.”

“Oh!” Quentin hissed the warning in a whisper and shot out a hand, stopping him. Dwight paused and looked the direction he was looking and could just barely make out a change in light up ahead. Deathslinger.

“You see it?” mouthed Quentin.

Dwight nodded and took out the little notebook they’d been keeping track of nearby realms in and marked it on his poor attempt at map. Deathslinger was new. They’d only had him in the realms for maybe a month now—no, probably not even quite that. And he was especially dangerous, because like the Huntress, he could hit you from a distance.

“What now?” mouthed Quentin after a second, looking from him to the book questioningly.

“Let’s circle it carefully,” whispered Dwight, “If we go all the way back into the woods, we might miss the next area.”

Quentin nodded, and much slower than before and keeping low now too, the two of them kept going, edging along the border to the Deathslinger’s land. The border was clear, so it was easy to see where the line of danger was drawn. The area was lower than the forest, with a small embankment dropping down to his territory and marking where forest ended and prairie started, the yellowed grass springing up at the base of it a clear and stark contrast to the cold, dim green woods around them. It was so hard not to be fascinated though, as they went, by the town laid out before them. A frozen snapshot of the old American west. A ghost town, in maybe the truest sense of the phrase Dwight had ever seen: an old saloon, a stagecoach, rickety wood buildings along the sides of a dusty old street, leading to a grim gallows at the end of it, nooses still up and swinging idly in the wind, and nothing but rotting corpses and the knowledge that somewhere, out of sight but not out of mind, would be the single living inhabitant of that ghost town, if you could call him living. Dangerous and deadly no matter what the truth of that questions was. But as fascinating as the ghost town was, or even the Deathslinger himself, that wasn’t why it was hard not to stare at it. It was because the Deathslinger, for some unknown reason Dwight would never understand but couldn’t have been more thankful for, had been gifted the sun.

It didn’t even matter that the ball of fire in the sky wasn’t real. God, it had been so, so long since he’d seen even a mockery of it. The sight of it again had almost killed him with heartbreak and nostalgia and desperation. The first time Dwight had had a trial with the Deathslinger, back the day he’d appeared, he’d been taken completely unawares and would have been shot through the back in the first twenty seconds of that trial if Claudette hadn’t been there to knock him over, because he’d just been staring at the sky. Lost in the wonder of seeing even the Entity’s too large, false reproduction of the burning orb he hadn’t seen for real in years. It was always sunset in the Deathslinger’s land, but that was still sun, and God. He had missed it. He had missed the light of day so much he didn’t even have words for it. For the feeling of seeing it again, even if it was just a cheap Hollywood painting set up against the backboards, a fake sunset, not a real sun at all. Still. Still, thought Dwight, emotion choking him up in his throat at the sight of it. He loved and hated ending up here in trials, because it always threw him off. And yet. And yet…

The sun…God. How can I miss you so much, thought Dwight painfully, creeping towards the far end of the Deathslinger’s area, maybe two thirds of the way to its edge now, You’re just a star. But I would cut off my right hand to be able to see you again for real and just…just actually feel true, real, honest to god sunlight on my skin again. How could a thing like that matter so much?

Forcing himself to refocus on the reality past the ache in his chest, Dwight kept moving, sliding along the edge of the Deathslinger’s place. They were up high, on the edge of the little maybe six foot slope leading down to the lowered area the Deathslinger was in. Which was weird, now that he’d moved on from the sun and was thinking about it—usually the borders were even, and you just had to depend on the change in plant like to know where the border was. But then, what wasn’t weird about the Deathslinger’s home turf? There was no sign of the man, though, and that was good. Honestly, they couldn’t be in too much danger, because the killers couldn’t get out—they probably could have stood up here and yelled at the guy and gotten nothing worse than some extra aggression next trial—but hey, it paid to be careful and it cost nothing. And the dude had a ranged weapon. No one had ever like, taken a pot-shot from a Huntress hatchet while chilling out in the woods, so they had no reason to think that could happen, but uh. At the same time they had no definite proof that they couldn’t, and uh, better sorry than really fucking dead, you know?

“I wonder if the birds are edible,” mumbled Quentin under his breath.

Dwight snapped out of his own convoluted line of thought and turned to give him a disbelieving look. “Quentin,” he hissed back, “You don’t want to eat a buzzard. I’m not kidding. Even if those were real birds, you know what they eat, and there’s only one type of carrion here, and I’ll give you a hint: it’s a large bipedal mammal.”

“Okay, okay,” agreed Quentin sheepishly, “I’m just curious.”

Dwight exhaled what was almost a laugh and turned back to the path ahead of him, and the dirt ledge beneath his foot gave out.

He screamed—only for a maybe a half a second before he’d choked it back as he realized how fucking bad an idea screaming was, and he heard something between a gasp and a cry from Quentin and saw his hand reach out for him as he went plummeting backwards, and then his head hit the ground, and he rolled, fast and hard against unforgiving, dry ground as solid as a rock, and then as quickly as it had started, he slammed into a box by the old stagecoach and everything stopped as he came to rest with his heart pounding and body aching, a big cloud of dust settling around him. And the second he had any motor control back, Dwight froze and went absolutely silent, breath held, just listening, straining for any hint of noise.

On the little ridge above him, he could see Quentin watching him, eyes enormous, panicked, looking out over the silent town and then back at him—trying to figure out if he should come down and help, Dwight was sure, from the only half-checked urge to rush in very evident in the lines of his frame, and Dwight dragged himself up to an elbow as quietly as he could and held up a hand towards Quentin. Don’t do it, he tried frantically to convey in silence, mouthing the words and locking eyes with his friend, It’s okay. There’s no sound. Just stay put. He kept a hand up towards his friend, praying it would deter him, and made it slowly to his knees, breathing shakily. Glancing back up the ridge, he shook his head at Quentin, then pointed to himself, made a motion with two fingers like walking, and pointed up to the ridge. Quentin nodded, still pale and on edge, but a little less desperate as the seconds ticked on and there was no motion from the ghost town to indicate the monster there had heard them.

Okay, thought Dwight, trying really, really hard to stay calm, Okay. No sound, no movement. He peeked out from behind the boxes for a second, scanning the town. Nothing. No sign of the man with the gun. He ducked down, took another long, steady breath, and checked again, but everything was completely still. Empty. Dwight felt his frantic heartbeat slow back down just a little. Okay. No Deathslinger. Oh my god I thought I was dead. Thank god—wow, is this actually happening to me? I got lucky for once?

Go figure. He probably owed Ace a drink or something for this much good fortune, especially when historically, uh, luck had it out for him with a hell hath no fury level on par with a woman scorned. Trying to believe things actually hadn’t turned out shitty for him for once, Dwight shakily pulled himself to his feet, still crouched in cover, and readied to spring up and run, picking out the easiest path back up the embankment. Quentin saw what he was doing and hurriedly closed a few feet between himself and a small tree, wrapped an arm around its trunk to make himself an anchor, and then held the leaned out over the embankment and held his other hand out. Ready to bring him back to safety with a sprint up the bank and jump to the waiting hand. Dwight smiled. I’m so glad it was Quentin. He’s reliable and he won’t give me crap about this and tell everyone once we get back to the fire. There were a lot of reasons he liked him so much, but the level of dependable and loyal was for sure one of them. Feeling a lot better, Dwight counted to three in his head, muscles tensing, and then rushed for the bank.

The second he was out of cover, Dwight heard the shot, and on impulse, he ducked. The old instinct to a gunshot still to ingrained in his DNA saved him, and as he went flat against the dirt, he heard metal whir and then snap above his head as the harpoon went where he had been, hit the end of its chain, and fell short. Seeing the world in bullet time, Dwight rolled onto his back, barely even thinking yet, just following instinct, and he saw him then. The Gunslinger had made the shot through an open window in the saloon, hidden, waiting for a clear shot at his prey under the guise of safety, but he wasn’t hiding anymore. He was up on his feet and he was coming. Dwight knew from trial experience that he had maybe three seconds before the man could reload and take a shot again and he heard Quentin shouting for him to run, and he did, rolling over and scrambling to his knees, and with everything he had he bolted for Quentin, tearing up the ledge, leaping the last foot, and his hand caught skin and he felt Quentin’s fingers wrap around his wrist, and closed his own around his friends, and then as he being pulled up to the border of safety that was just inches away, and he heard the shot. There was no way to hide this time. Nowhere to run, or to dodge. He just had time to realize what was going to happen, and then the metal barb was through his torso and out the other side, and the hooks opened and plunged into his stomach like a grapple gun, and he was being dragged back with force, and he screamed, and for a second everything was just pain and confusion, and then he was looking up into Quentin’s face and watching his friend trying desperately not to lose his hold on him, horrified, and calling his name, and Dwight realized looking up into his face that if he didn’t let go, they were both dead, and that no matter what happened, it was already too late for him, and so he let go.

Quentin tried to keep him. Shouted, “No! Please—Don’t!” almost crying, and struggling with all his might not to let go too and to bear enormous weight and force with the strength of one hand alone, and Dwight was afraid he would be desperate enough that he would lose his hold on the tree before he lost his grip on him, so he wrenched his wrist free, still looking up into the frantic, betrayed horror and fear on his best friend’s face, and then he fell, jerked hard backwards onto the unforgivingly stiff ground again, and felt the chain connected to the metal rod through him dragging him back and he couldn’t see Quentin anymore. This had hurt before—hurt in trials, but it was worse—he didn’t know if that was real, of if it was the fear of the potential finality of death this time, but it was more pain than he could even process right, and as he was pulled backwards, Dwight caught onto the wheel of the old stagecoach as he passed it and looked back up at Quentin, terrified to die but not really feeling that, too in shock for that to be real, too out of control for his brain to look at, because it had realized that there was no escaping it now, and so it was focused on his friend, who still had a chance.

“Stay there!” he shouted desperately, the second word melting into a scream of agony as the man behind him tugged hard on the reel in the mechanized gun, chuckling low and slow to himself somewhere behind Dwight, “Please! Quentin, go back! Tell them!” and he knew he’d meant to say something better, but the pain was too much then, and he lost his grip and was choking on dust, and then he was as the Deathslinger’s feet, barely processing that through the agony in his stomach. He felt the hooks release and the barbs slide free as the tall man in the leather duster placed a foot on his head, pinning him down, and freed his weapon. It came out of his torso with an awful shlick and a ripping sensation that was unbearable, and Dwight tried to scream, but it came out choked. His whole body was shaking, and for a second he thought he was going to lose consciousness, but he didn’t, which was worse. He could feel the blood starting to seep out of his stomach and pool around him.

“Please,” begged Dwight, voice raspy from the dust he’d inhaled, looking up at what little of the man above him he could see with a boot crushing his head against the ground, “I-I know you have to hunt us in trials. Please don’t do this. I didn’t mean to come into your home. I would never—I fell.” His cheek was bleeding from being dragged, and he could taste the blood running into his mouth. God, please, please care. The Deathslinger was new. He’d never done anything to give Dwight any hope he might show mercy, but he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t either—he hadn’t been especially cruel and sadistic, and he was new, he was an unknown. Maybe…Maybe.

The man above him grinned and raised his gun butt to ram down into Dwight’s head, and Dwight started to shut his eyes and brace, choking on despair, and then he heard a scream and he recognized the voice in time to open his eyes and catch a flash of movement as Quentin rammed into the man and knocked him off Dwight and sent them both flying back together in a heap. Dwight heard a massive crash and dragged himself shakily onto an arm in a really surreal mixture of dismay and incredible relief and a fragmented processing of time to see Quentin roll free of a broken water trough and lock eyes with him and scream, “RUN!”

Over by the saloon, that was all that Quentin had time to say before he lost sight of Dwight as the Deathslinger made it up too and came at him, relentless and angry. All he could do was pray that Dwight would—that he’d even have the strength to, and then he was dodging a swipe from the gun’s bayonet, and didn’t have the ability to think about anything but the man in front of him. He dodged left and avoided a second swipe, and then thought he’d moved in time to avoid a third, but the man twisted the blade horizontally when his thrust missed, extending the reach it had at its widest point, and he caught him in the outer arm with the edge of it, and Quentin felt the blade bite deep into his left arm by the shoulder and slice as the Deathslinger drew it back, and he cried out and fell back a step, trying to think frantically fast as he barely managed to duck out of the way of a swipe that came hard for him now that he was off balance and would have run him through the head if he’d been even a half-second slower. Fuck—I can’t keep this up for too long—he’s so much faster than I thought. W-what if Dwight can’t run? He couldn’t see him anymore—he’d tried to move to get him in view again, but the Deathslinger had pressed him the other way and forced him too far back, past too many piles of debris now to see at all, and the Deathslinger was still between them, and God, he’d been hurt, bad, and—

Too focused on fear for Dwight, Quentin dodged right too slow and took a slice to his side and struggled to refocused on the Deathslinger as best he could, terrified for the friend he couldn’t see, but needing to buy him time. Fuck. He couldn’t focus like this. He. Fuck-fuck-he was hurt so bad, what will we even do if we get him back to camp? Can we— Quentin ducked beneath a swipe meant for his head, only to be caught by a boot to the gut with tremendous force from the Deathslinger who had learned to anticipate his movements way too fast, and then he wasn’t thinking anything at all as he was flung backwards into a row of crates in the road not far from the stagecoach with a cry. He hit them hard, smacking his head against them with a crack, and stumbled to his knees, barely even enough time to look up before the Deathslinger was there, bringing the bayonet down on him, and he flung himself left with the little energy he had left, too slow, and too late, and he knew it as soon as he moved, and then somehow the shot went wide and missed him, and he heard a scream in a voice he knew was Dwight’s, and there he was. Leaping onto the man’s back just in time to save him, and locking his legs around the Deathslinger’s waist, his arm wrenched around the man’s throat, trying to strangle him, and Quentin was overcome with gratitude and relief, and then fear as he saw the Deathslinger angle the gun back to run the blade into Dwight’s side, and thinking as fast as he could, he followed the first impulse his frantic brain threw his way and shot forward and threw himself like a bowling ball into the man’s knees, no time to make it back to his feet. As he went, he ripped the shard of glass he’d taken to carrying to defend himself in trials at Laurie’s advice out of his pocket and buried it blindly into the side of the Deathslinger’s right knee on contact, and all three of them went flying. Quentin heard Dwight cry out, and the huge monster of a man yell as the glass went in and then grunt in pain as Quentin took out his legs and he slammed backwards into the wooden base of the saloon, and then Quentin had rolled past him and was frantically struggling up again, spotting Dwight a few feet back where he’d rolled.

“Run!” shouted Quentin again, taking off for Dwight, and ripping a big handful of dirt from the road as he came even with the Deathslinger, who was still on his knees. Quentin pivoted, shouted, “HEY!”, flung the mass of dirt and dust into the Deathslinger’s eyes when he looked up, and then tore off towards Dwight again as he heard the killer hacking and letting out an agitated yell behind him as he tried to get the shit out of his eyes and mouth.

Dwight was up by the time Quentin reached him, clutching his bleeding stomach with one hand, but running hard. Riding adrenaline past the mass of pain he had to be in. As they tore off for the border, Quentin realized that the little gulley wall ahead would be easy enough for him to jump, snag onto a tree or something, and struggle up, but Dwight was fucked, and he desperately looked for other options. Something—anything. There was a spot a little to the right of where they’d tried originally, with a small tree growing up in the gulley itself, and thinking fast, Quentin called for Dwight to follow and made a B-line for it.

Out of breath, Quentin checked over his shoulder as they neared it, and saw to his relief that the Deathslinger was only just now making it to his feet again, gun not ready yet to take another shot, and he realized that if he could just do this right, they were going to make it. Riding that hope like a drug, Quentin leapt the four-feet he had to to reach the lowest branch on the tree, braced his foot against the edge of the gulley wall, and reached out his free hand to Dwight.

“I got you! Come on!” shouted Quentin.

Dwight saw what he was going for and nodded, running hard and breathing raggedly, old white dress shirt streaked with blood. He made it the last three feet, jumped and caught Quentin’s hand, and Quentin, braced and ready, used himself as a fulcrum and swung Dwight up onto the safety of green grass and tall deciduous trees.

His friend landed painfully, on his side, but safely—about three feet from the edge. And he dragged himself up onto his arms and smiled in almost frantic relief at Quentin and started to call him to come too as Quentin shifted his weight to be able to shove off the trunk of the little tree and make it the last foot up himself, and then Dwight was gone, and Quentin’s smile froze and he felt shock overcome his system as the woods in front of his eyes changed.

No, Quentin realized, eyes wide, and feeling sick. The woods were shifting. The areas re-arranging. Now? Fuck! Of all the possible times for this to happen? How? Why-why now! The odds must have been incredibly low! This didn’t even happen every day—sometimes it wouldn’t happen for more than a week. But it had—it was. The killer areas, their own campfire. All the little microcosms that made up the world here in the Entity’s realm shuffling again to remain difficult to understand and travel, like a shell game made up of tiny worlds that the Entity played any time someone got too comfortable with understanding the layout of their little prison.

It didn’t matter, though. Fuck it! No matter what the woods became, Quentin had to make the jump and get out, or he was getting shot, and whoever the killer in the next area was, they wouldn’t know he was there immediately. He might be able to hide, to sneak through—anything was better than here. He still had decent odds of being okay, no matter where he ended up—fuck, even if the Deathslinger shouted for the person in there to come find him, he’d have time to run, and that could serve as much as a distraction for him as anything else. All he had to deal with was flesh wounds, and he’d be okay even if he couldn’t dress those for a couple hours. The only real, immediate, terrible danger was that Dwight was now injured badly out in the woods alone, and already trying to plan the fastest way to find him again, Quentin had committed to the motion to jump when the heavy fog around the area in front of him shifted as the change in locations became truly set, and he saw a building he knew, and he shot out a hand and caught a branch on the little tree and jerked himself to a frantic stop, frozen in horror. Because it was the Preschool.

It was the Preschool.

And he could never go in there. He would never. He would rather die burned at the stake or bled out for hours on a hook, or to a reverse beartrap—anything—anything death imaginable was better than setting foot in that place outside of a trial and being caught by Freddy, and…

The horror of that lightning-fast chain of thought and where it was leading hit him so hard that he stayed frozen for a full second. He didn’t make it from I can’t go there to I can’t stay here either nearly fast enough, and he realized that too late, and as he turned to locate the Deathslinger again and to try to regain movement and chase the miniscule chance he had of outrunning him and maybe making it to the far side of the area and another border and the possible freedom of whatever realm was there now, he heard a gunshot.

The barb slammed into his gut before he’d even seen where the Deathslinger had gone, and Quentin screamed in agony as he felt metal tear through his stomach and out his back, felt metal hooks open and embed there, and then the chain tugged.

He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to fight, and he lost his balance immediately and fell down the little incline and smacked his head against the hard earth, then tried desperately to make it to his knees, bloody hands clutching at the chain and trying to bear weight and lesson the agony in his gut each time it dragged him closer, struggling to break free as he went, or to fight back at least, to slow the process of being reeled in and killed. His heels dug frantically into the earth as even powered by overwhelming fear his strength wasn’t enough and he was dragged forward, each little yank sending waves of pain that almost completely destroyed his ability to think at all ripping through his entire body.

The Deathslinger was watching him with a grin and those glowing silver-white eyes, standing a little lopsided with Quentin’s chunk of glass still embedded in his knee, and in desperation, Quentin latched onto that tiny fragment of information as he was dragged closer.

You can’t die—you can’t die—Dwight needs you. Fuck—fuck. One shot, you have one shot—c-come on. Please, he prayed, and then he was there—so close he could have reached out and grabbed the man, and he felt the barbs in his back release and the bolt rip back out of him with so much intense agony it was everything he could do not to just collapse, and as the bolt came free, he saw the Deathslinger already drawing back a hit, going to plunge the bayonet into his chest, and in that half-second of free from the harpoon and not yet run through, Quentin put all his weight on his right leg and flung himself hard down and left, ramming his left foot against the piece of glass in the Deathslinger’s knee with enormous force. And somehow, it worked. He wanted to cry with relief. The undead looking man screamed, and the bayonet missed, and the Deathslinger went down, clutching his badly wounded leg, and Quentin hit the ground and rolled and came up all in one frantic motion, then tore off deeper into the ghost town, running as fast as his legs would carry him.

Everything was a blur, of pain and fear and desperation.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear the Deathslinger coming after him, but Quentin didn’t know where to go. He stumbled over old rotten floorboards and through the empty shell of a building to the left of the saloon, leaving streaks of bright red in his wake and unable to stop it, even knowing he was leaving such an easy trail. Th-there was just too much blood. It was going out his back and his stomach and his arm and side and he couldn’t staunch it and run at the same time—it was all he could do to slow the bleeding in his gut as he tore off unsteadily through the ghost town. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Come on. Come on—you can make it. You just have to get to the far side, and you’ve got a shot. He can’t follow you over the border, and you can hide in the brush somewhere, a-and stitch yourself up, and live—come on—I know I can do it. I know it.

God. Dwight. Fuck—fuck! Was he going to be okay? Quentin wasn’t even sure how badly he’d been hurt by the end of it. He can still run, right? He can make it back.

There was so much fear and adrenaline in his system, and the thought of Dwight fighting to make it to the campfire and failing made him choke impulsively on a sob, and he stumbled, the emotion cutting off the supply of oxygen he so desperately needed and fucking up his ability to breathe right. He saved himself from going all the way down by catching the edge of an old crate, aware of the bright red handprint he’d left on it clearly marking his path as he made it back up to his feet and kept going, but nothing at all he could do about it. He had to focus, he had to, but. God—it was so hard. There were thirty things pounding against his skull for precedence, but he couldn’t listen to any of them, he had to just run.

Up ahead, he could see the border again then, the far one. Dead ahead. He’d run diagonally, not thinking straight. If he’d run right down the road, he’d have hit another border faster, but he hadn’t been thinking about speed, he’d only been thinking about visible cover. Still. He hadn’t heard a shot from the gun, and when he risked a quick look over his shoulder, he didn’t see the Deathslinger at all, and that had to be good. Okay, okay. Almost out, he told himself, focusing through the pain in his gut that kept begging his mind to just shut off his legs and give in and let him collapse.

There, across the border—Houses. Quentin could see them now, past a few trees at the edge of the new killer area up ahead he was fast approaching, and for a second he had an unbearable flash of deja vu and fear, thinking some fucking way it was Badham again, but it wasn’t—it was Haddonfield. Quentin was terrified of the Shape, but right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Anywhere except Badham Preschool was better than here, and he’d run and hide and patch himself up, and he could take his chances with the silent masked giant. And then only ten feet from the border, so close to safety, and almost the moment that he’d thought those words, Quentin saw him.

The Shape. He was standing there, just almost completely behind a tree, watching Quentin run towards him. Quentin almost hadn’t seen him in time at all, and he skidded to a stop painfully four feet from the edge of Haddonfield, breathing raggedly and wanting to cry.

No.

He could try. The left edge of the area and whatever killer realm was on that side wasn’t so far. He might make that before the Deathslinger got him. He had a chance, maybe, if he tried. But he had been so close, so close to making it, and he choked on the despair of that reality for a second, staring up at the Shape, half-considering just going in anyway. The Shape killed you quick. In here, if he tried and didn’t make the third border, especially after wounding the Deathslinger, Quentin was pretty sure that wasn’t what was going to happen to him. At least if he took three more steps forward and let the man in the white mask kill him, it would be over almost as soon as it began. That really might be the only choice he had left to make. Quentin had died that way a lot of times, and it wasn’t so bad. Kitchen knife to the heart. Four seconds maybe? He usually went numb as soon as the knife was pulled back out. Maybe he should. Maybe that was the right choice. He was in so much pain, and even if he ran as hard as he could, he didn’t know what area was on the left, and what if it was worse? What if there was a killer waiting there too, watching, like the Shape had been, and the Deathslinger must have been long before they’d ever seen him at all? If he got there and had to make this split-second decision again, but between Deathslinger and Cannibal. Deathslinger and Doctor, or Pig. Fuck, even if he got lucky, the less cruel killers almost all hurt more than the Shape did to die by. The only one that would be more merciful to him was the Nurse, and those were such low odds.

The thought process had been almost instantaneous, and as he ran through it, the Shape met his gaze, and he could just barely make the outline of eyes beneath the shadow of the mask. Eyes fixed on his own. The man tilted his head to the side slowly, still studying Quentin.

“Please,” thought Quentin, wanting to cry and feeling blood leak past the hand pressed against his stomach as he held the towering shape of a man’s gaze longer than he should have, his mind begging him to say it out loud. He wouldn’t, though. There was no point. He had seen people beg the killers for mercy in trials, had seen Dwight try it less than three minutes ago with the Deathslinger. They didn’t care. They just liked to hear it.

The things that hunted them in the dark did not show mercy.

Fuck. Quentin turned left and ran.

That had always been what he’d been going to do, because he fought, and he tried, and he didn’t give up, even when maybe it would be less painful to, but he’d wasted too long considering an easier death, and as he turned, he saw those few seconds had cost him. The Deathslinger was in sight again, following the visible trail of blood and then looking up and seeing Quentin in the instant too—no longer needing the old trail to find him.

Without another look back and with everything that he had, Quentin tore for the left border fifteen yards away. He wasn’t even holding his wound anymore, he was pumping fists at his side, every ounce of focus and energy he had left just on running. Back in his first year swimming, his coach had taken the team aside early on and told them that speed-based sports weren’t about raw skill: they were about how much pain you were able to withstand. When you swam, you’d go faster the less you took breaths, the more you tore at your muscles and made yourself keep going and going and going when every part of you ached and your chest was pounding for breath and your head throbbing from the effort, muscles screaming with strain. Had told them that was how great athletes were made. Quentin hadn’t really thought about it much after, but he was thinking about it now, praying it was true, and that the agony ripping him apart would be enough to get him across the far border if he could just take it until then. That that price would be enough.

There was something behind him, a faint clink of metal as the Deathslinger went to take a shot, and Quentin recognized it and jumped a foot to the right, into Haddonfield, praying the impulse would work, and the harpoon slammed into the invisible barrier between realms that survivors could pass over and killers couldn’t an inch from his chest and pinged off, and Quentin flinched and jerked away from it on impulse, no time to recognize mentally that the shot had missed and his idea had worked. As soon as him mind had made the connection, though, he leapt back into the Deathslinger’s land, because he had no idea where the Shape was and if he was coming after him or not, but he wasn’t about to find out the hard way. Still not even risking a look over his shoulder, Quentin tore on towards the far border, only about four yards away now, and he recognized it without the ability to feel any emotion associated with the sight itself, only relief at the lack of another large person with a sharp object already visibly waiting just inside it to kill him.

It was Ormond. Snow, debris, and the ancient, rotting lodge. And Quentin dug deep and, in agony, made the last five feet faster than he’d ever run in his life, and then he was over. Feet crunching against the snow, breathing raggedly, and the second he was, he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, fighting for breath, unable to keep running now that he didn’t have to, ripples of pain running up his torso with every movement, and feeling nauseous and lightheaded and awful, but so sick with relief he wanted to laugh.

Barely thinking functionally at all, Quentin clutched an arm to the wound in his stomach, and looked over his shoulder now that he could, and saw both of the others, the Deathslinger and the Shape: the Deathslinger right at the edge of the border, as far as he could go, furious, glowing eyes burning with hatred and fixed on Quentin, the Shape a few feet back and into Haddonfield, near the end of one of the streets that went nowhere, just watching in silence.

Swallowing hard, Quentin made himself get to his feet again. The moment he did, black seeped into his vision and he almost collapsed, and he stumbled a half-foot left and caught onto a large boulder to keep himself upright. S-shit. I’m. I’m not doing so hot, he realized in a kind of disconnected way. That…that made sense. He’d lost a lot of blood. For all he knew, he could be bleeding internally too. Even if he could stop the bleeding in his gut and his back, he still might die before he could make it back to the campfire for help. But at least he—

Behind him, Quentin heard a low laugh, and he froze and then turned slowly to look, and saw the Deathslinger was grinning at him. The man glanced down at the wound seeping blood and then back up at Quentin’s face, still smiling. He must have realized it too. Quentin shot him a furious look. Fuck you. Even if I don’t make it out, you still didn’t get me. And I’m gonna be fine. I. I-I just have to—to stop the bleeding. And then I can sneak out and find whichever one of these stupid realms borders the campfire, and I can get safely back to the others.

“You better run.”

The words had been spoken low, almost a whisper, but not the kind that was worried about being overheard. Darker than that. And horror and shock washed over Quentin, and he looked up again, eyes wide, and the Deathslinger was still just standing there smiling at him, glowing eyes fixed, eternally broken jaw hanging just a little bit wrong.

The tall man met his eyes then, and held up his right hand. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the bright red staining his fingertips, and then he licked them, like he was tasting to see whose blood it had been and where they were hiding from him now. As he did, he met Quentin’s eyes again and held them, and his smile broadened just a little, and it wasn’t a good smile. It was hungry.

“We can all smell blood,” whispered the man.

No killer had ever spoken to him before—well—besides Krueger, which was different. They just—they didn’t. They never had. Never. And for an instant it petrified him, and then dread set in as the words hit home.

Fuck—fuck. He’s right. They all track us by how we bleed. And it’s worse than that—I have to move. He’ll want me to get caught even if it’s not by him—if I don’t get out of here, he’s going to start calling for the Legion and I’m fucked.

Quentin backed up, clutching at his stomach and staring at the Deathslinger in frozen horror, and then he turned, and with energy that had already been stretched far too thin, he ran.

Ran, or, tried to. He was so beyond exhausted though, it was practically a miracle he could move forward at all. He stumbled quickly through debris and snow, trying hard to go fast, and keep his footing, but after a few seconds, it was too hard to keep a pace like that going anymore. Ormond was different than the other realms too, like the Deathslinger’s ghost town. It was the only place with snow, and it was freezing here, and that wasn’t helping. Quentin was already shaking badly, and he didn’t know if it was temperature or blood loss or both, but God, he was so cold. He felt like the air itself was sucking the life out of him. H-had it—had it ever been this cold at Ormond in trials? He couldn’t remember, and he was having more and more trouble thinking right, and with no real idea anymore where he was going, Quentin plunged on through the snow in the darkness, towards the lodge, and then finally stopped, breathing hard, well out of sight of the border now and feeling a little safer for it, listening for sounds. There was nothing. No Deathslinger calling for the Legion, no shouts of the Legion noticing his presences. So. Maybe he’d made it. Maybe he was in the clear, and could hide now, and try to take care of the wounds.

…Only.

He realized it with a sinking heart, and slowly looked down at the snow behind himself, and there it was, plain as day. Footprints and a blood trail, leading back the way he’d come like a bright neon sign reading: “I’m already fucked up—Come kill me. It’ll be easy.” Even the worst killer at tracking in the world wasn’t going to miss something like that. If he’d been leaving an obvious trail before, back in the Deathslinger’s place, he was impossible to miss now. Bright red against crisp white snow. There was just. No way anyone would miss that.

“Fuck,” whispered Quentin out loud, trying hard to think, and having a harder and harder time doing it at all. He reached up with his left hand and found his necklace and held it in his fist, trying to draw some tiny modicum of comfort and reassurance from it, and he thought absently and with a twinge of pain in his chest like a muffled sob, how much his legs ached and his stomach was killing him, and how tired he was, and his legs gave out on their own at the thought like he’d asked them to, and no strength to resist that, Quentin slid down into the snow, back against some square hunk of metal he’d stopped by that must have had a mechanical purpose once that was lost on him now, out here in the ruins.

Everything was so impossible. And he was losing energy so fast that didn’t even scare him much anymore, and he knew that was bad—he knew it, but. Fuck. He still hadn’t even caught his breath after that last mad sprint, and he tried to do it now, huddled in the snow, shuddering. It was so cold.

C-come on, he tried to plead with his failing mind, You can figure this o-out. You made it. Just…just lie low, and stitch yourself up.

That had been the plan, right? Only. It wasn’t that simple now, he realized, looking up at what he could see of the dim, snow-covered terrain. There was no way he could stay awake long enough to fix himself up out here, and then just hunker down in a snowbank and wait to get his strength back. Every second, he was losing more and more of what little strength he had left, and with the blood loss and the cold both eating at that tiny reserve he still had, he’d never make it. Even if by some miracle he was wrong, and found a way to power through long enough to stitch himself shut, he’d freeze to death outside in a snowbank as weak as he was, which meant…

Quentin looked at the lodge, only about sixteen feet off now, maybe twenty. A big, empty, looming shape in the night, glowing oranges and yellows and reds leaking through cracks in boards and broken windows, promising warmth and safety inside. Promising shelter. But that was a lie, and he knew it, because that had to be where the Legion would be waiting.

Still, he considered, shuddering in the cold and keeping his arm firmly pressed to the hole in his gut. The lodge was big—two stories. It was a good place to hide, and creep around in trials, and that might still be true now. If he could make it upstairs, it would at least be warmer than outside, and the walls would protect him from the windchill. There were spots behind ancient couches and crates in some of the little rooms on the second story he might be able to get cover behind and not be discovered, even if he passed out. Plus, a blood trail would be harder to follow in there than out here in the snow. It was a shot, anyway. Better than any other option he had left.

Maybe, thought Quentin wearily, in a kind of disconnected way, feeling sick as he hooked his arm over the top of the square hunk of metal he’d slid down against and struggled to make it back to his feet, after…after all the bad luck I. …I just had back to back. Maybe Legion will be…in a trial, right now. Maybe I’ll have good luck, just once, and…

He tried to bear his weight on his legs alone and almost crumpled, and cursed under his breath, catching onto the hunk of metal with both arms shakily and dragging himself back up, then letting go more slowly. His vision felt fuzzy and off as he looked down at the spattering of red in the torn snow by his feet and the huge smear where he’d slid down along the old hunk of metal. Everything about it was wrong. It was like he was looking at the world through goggles that had fogged over. He tried blinking to refocus, but even after his third attempt he just…couldn’t focus right. He just couldn’t.

This is bad, thought Quentin, taking a step much more carefully and managing to stay upright this time, arm pressed against his abdomen again. He took another step, and then a third, focusing on breathing, trying to not think about how many more steps it was going to take just to make it inside the lodge. I’ve lost…lost too much…blood…and- He shut his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath, then opened them.

Come on. No giving up. He could do this. He’d lost a lot of blood, but he was alive, and he was thinking…okay still, anyway. Thinking coherently enough, he was pretty sure. So he could make it. He still had a shot. Come on. You can’t give up. Quentin dug the fingers on the arm pressed against his wound into his palm until it hurt, trying to focus on something beside the cold and the real pain in his stomach and the way each step was harder then the last, and he kept going, slowly, but steadier and steadier as he went, and he made it shakily into the open doorway of the waiting lodge.

It was different inside the lodge than it had been in trials. There were pieces of cloth with words and symbols on them hung up in some places like ripped flags, boxes, furniture and paraphernalia in places it wasn’t set in his memory. But at least the layout was basically the same. Staircase leading up on the far left side of the room, bar on the right. Dead ahead there was a little lowered area with cushions around a big open wood stove warming the massive room, and he wanted nothing more than to go crawl over and collapse against it in the hope it could produce warmth for him when he very shortly lost his ability to make his own anymore, but he couldn’t. That was the most conspicuous spot in the whole lodge, by far. He’d be found in seconds.

Upstairs, he told himself, forcing his legs to move again, and then two steps into the room, he stopped, feeling dizzy and sick, remembering for the first time that there was more than one way upstairs in the lodge. Right. Two…t-three staircases? Several, anyway. So. He should—should probably go back into the snow, right? Circle around the outside instead. There was a staircase outside that led up from out there too, in trials, at least one—he was sure of it. He could find it if he circled the exterior wall long enough. So…he…he had to, didn’t he? If he took the indoor one, he’d be leaving smears of blood all across the room on his way.

Quentin turned to face the snow again, beyond utter exhaustion, and his right leg buckled on him at the first step. He cursed in pain as he went down, and he tried to catch himself with his left leg, but he fell wrong, and the leg he’d been hoping to catch himself with caught against the arm pressed to his stomach as he went down, ramming it back and slamming it hard against the wound, and he fell forward and barely muffled a scream of pain as the impact sent debilitating waves of agony along his torso. He dropped against the floor and curled up, huddled there shuddering in a little ball, fighting not to make noise and to weather the pain tearing through him in agonizing waves until it subsided enough to think again. It took so long. But when the spasms finally stopped after what felt like an eternity, Quentin forced himself to open his eyes again. It was hard, but he did it, very, very slowly, and he tried to focus his vision on the wood grain of the wall opposite him. He had been tired before—he had been beyond tired, beyond exhausted, beyond a lot of things, but God. He was so fucked up, and overwhelmed, and lost, and the heaviness and exhaustion in his bones was so insurmountably stiff and painful that he felt like there was no energy left in the whole world. I’ll never make it upstairs, thought Quentin without enough strength left to feel a stronger emotion to accompany the thought than sad, I can’t.

For a moment, he stayed there, huddled in a little ball about a foot into the ancient Ormond lodge.

God, please. Please help me. I need a miracle or I’m gonna die here. I’m gonna die here, and Dwight… Just. Just please. Please. Anything. Please.

It was such a desperate and lonely thought, because it was the only hope he still had, but he tried to believe in it, even though there had been nothing but unanswered prayers and silence for years now. He found his necklace with trembling fingers and held it in his fist for a moment, eyes shut, trying to regain a little strength, and then slowly he opened them again and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

Come on. Get up. Get up. I know you can. … Fuck.

He had known it would be bad, getting run through by a spear gun like this—he’d fucking know what it’d feel like exactly, because it had happened to him a bunch of times already in trials, even though the Deathslinger had only been here a couple weeks. But he’d had no idea how serious the wound would be. In trials, you felt everything at complete reality. If you got hit in the head with a sledgehammer, it would feel like fucking getting smashed in the head with a sledgehammer. A hook ripping through your torso to hang you like a piece of meat would feel exactly as awful and unthinkable as the act did in reality. But in a trial, rules were different. You could be unhooked, and run around with a huge fucking hole in your shoulder, and that would never kill you. Never make you pass out. The shock of having a chainsaw slam into your shoulder wouldn’t make you faint, and save you from the pain. Nothing would. Quentin had definitely lost more blood than humans had in their bodies in a lot of trials, but that was just how they went. You’d feel the real sledgehammer to head pain, but not the aftereffects of that. Just the impact. It would happen, and be fucking agony, but you could keep running, head not actually bashed in beyond repair. The Entity must have put really specific rules in place to balance what could and could not cause fatality, or when someone could bleed to death—because he’d definitely fucking bled to death on the ground a lot of times too. But not every time he damn well should have. It might have been hard to explain exactly where the cutoff was, but even if Quentin had no real idea what the rules for a trial would have looked like on paper, he had a pretty good instinctive grasp on it. And the debilitating pain from being shot through your stomach was exactly like what he was feeling now, but the blood loss and weakness and nausea were new. And fuck, fuck they were taking him down fast—way faster than he’d thought. Was he dying? Am I? Fuck—how—o-oh shit. Fuck. God, he really, really hoped Dwight was okay. Shit. If this was messing him up this badly so fast, did that mean…? B-but he’d been in their forest at least, right? A few minutes from camp at most, and—and even if he hadn’t had the strength to make it back, if he had shouted for help, someone would have heard him, right? Someone would have been able to come. He wasn’t dying in the woods. He wasn’t. …God. Fuck. “Please. Please let him make it,” he prayed in a desperate whisper, trying to power through the bottoming-out fear that came with that thought, and ashamed he hadn’t thought of it faster, digging his shaky fingers into the pocked of his coat for the needle and thread he always kept there as he did.

Okay. Okay I still have it. That’s…something. Wait. I. I should…should find something to sit up against first, he thought wearily, looking around at what was near him. Usually there was a big stack of boxes and junk piled up by this entrance, between the outside and the couch up above the fireplace and lowered area in the center of the room, but that had all been moved in this version of the lodge. The couch was still up, but the boxes had been pushed closer to the walls, and set in different places. He’d walked right in the middle of this opening, and it had been a huge entryway. To craw to the wall on either side would have meant dragging himself about five feet at minimum, but he’d gotten lucky, and someone had left a couple of the big boxes from the wall that had been up here at one point, and the closest one was only about two and a half feet further into the room, and it looked pretty solid, and that, he thought, he could make. Could try to make, anyway, and he did, dragging himself painfully across the wood floor on his side, teeth gritted and breathing hard, and when he reached it he gave himself a second to breathe, and then with intense effort pulled himself up so his back was against it and let out a shaky breath.

Okay. No Legion yet. That was a mercy. Maybe he would keep getting lucky. If I can’t make it upstairs, I can at least try and stitch myself up here. Stop the bleeding, bandage it a little. I don’t have much, but I’ve got a roll of thread, a needle, and some gauze, and that’s okay for now. If I’m still too weak to go upstairs once I’m done, I’ll go crawl into one of the cabinets under the bar or something. I-I think I could make that, even like this, and I’d probably have…okay odds, of holing up there  without getting found. Right? I know it’s a lot of blood, he added mentally, looking with shaky vision at the stain he’d left on the floor crawling to the box, But they won’t know to be looking for it, and they’re covered in blood all the time from killing us. Probably they have to track some in, right? Maybe that’ll…be…be enough, and…

Fingers trembling, he dug into his pocket again for the needle he already knew was there. It was okay. It would be. He could do this, he was sure of it. God, he hadn’t felt this awful in a long time though. For a moment he hesitated, and lifted the left arm he had pressed to the wound in his stomach away to try and get a look at the injury underneath. He couldn’t actually see the puncture at all though, through the fabric. Just blood. Fuck, I don’t even know how bad it is y—

“Hey!”

Quentin’s head shot up, a jolt of alarm shooting through him, and he looked across the room for the voice’s owner in horror. There was a hole in one of the walls caused by a cable car that had fallen and embedded there, and standing in the unintended entryway the old metal frame had created, stood the Legion.

Oh fuck.

Tall and menacing, elevated on the little platform, it loomed over him at a distance. The thing was one of the male ones, the one that wore all black. A hood up, thick belt slung over a shoulder, wickedly jagged and curved hunting knife in hand, white dripping skull painted on top of his cloth mask. The thing was staring at him like he couldn’t believe Quentin had had the audacity to exist in this space.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” snapped the Legion at him in a mixture of anger and disbelief, and Quentin was so shocked he just stared up at it in horror, not remembering to speak in time, or move, or do anything, and then the looming figure moved and it came for him, incensed and advancing in long strides with a violent purpose, knife ready in hand. “You think you can just sneak onto our turf?”

“Wait!” said Quentin, snapping out of the moment of frozen horror as adrenaline he hadn’t known he still had kicked in and ignited panic. He tried frantically to use the box like a brace for his arms to help drag himself back to his feet, but the strain was enormous, and he was failing. Fuck! “Wait, wait, wait!” shouted Quentin desperately as the thing kept coming, talking so fast his words ran together, “I-I didn’t sneak in!—I got chased—" and then the Legion was on top of him, and he saw the guy lunge for him with the knife, and he flinched and gave up on trying to make his feet or talk and just threw his arms up to shield his head and fell back a little against the floor, shutting his eyes and trying to brace. The knife didn’t connect with his arms like he’d anticipated, but the Legion didn’t stop either. It shoved his arms aside with a burst of anger, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and dragged him violently up. Quentin cried out in pain and opened his eyes as the rough movement sent a wave of agony along his body. He instinctively clutched his wound with his right arm, struggling to deal with the pain, and while the agony of the first motion was still too much for him to even really process what was happening through it, the Legion jerked him closer and he fell forward, so beat to shit already that it was all he could do to try to catch himself with his left arm to keep from landing on his stomach at the guy’s feet. He wouldn’t have really had the strength to keep himself propped up like that, but he didn’t have to bother; the Legion wasn’t about to let go of him. It had a firm grip on his shirt and was keeping him suspended with it, radiating fury, and while he was still off-balance, the masked killer yanked him towards its face by his collar and leaned in close, shoving its knife against his throat. Quentin blanched at the touch of metal biting into his skin and turned his head away a little, breathing raggedly and closing the eye closer to the knife on instinct while trying to watch Legion with the other, struggling to bear some little bit of his weight on his left arm to keep from being dragged forward any more. It hardly mattered. It would take such little fucking effort for the thing grabbing him to drag the knife the three inches to the side it would take to slit his throat, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had already drawn blood, and he could feel a little droplet running down his throat from where the knife had cut in.

“You fucked up coming here,” growled the Legion threateningly, adjusting its grip a little, and Quentin tried very hard to stay absolutely still, because the knife was pressed in so deep against his throat now that it would only take a fraction more effort to slit it sideways through the vein it was pressed in very, very close to.

He’s going to kill me, thought Quentin, staring into the face of the thing with its knife to his neck and feeling sick and overwhelmed, breathing too fast and too shallow now to really be able to get enough air into his lungs and feeling the pressure of the knife and the pain of it cutting in against every breath he took as he was hit mercileslly with memory after memory of having his guts ripped open by the guy above him. F-fuck. No. I- His arms were shaking. I should fight back—I could—

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” snapped the Legion jerking him and drawing a little more blood with the knife.

“It was an accident!” pleaded Quentin desperately, meeting the Legion’s eyes and hoping there might be some little bit of a person left inside this thing that hunted him and the people he loved endlessly in the fog, but all there was in the dark brown eyes looking back was anger, like he’d known there would be. Killers didn’t listen. They didn’t care. There was no hope to be found appealing to them, and there never would be. “I didn’t—” started Quentin, still trying even though he knew it would be futile, because it was all he had left, but he barely got the two words out before the Legion flung him backwards against the ground without warning and with so much force that for a second after impact he couldn’t breathe at all.

“An accident?” the Legion gave a disbelieving almost laugh, tone still violent and full of fury, but his voice sounded distorted to Quentin’s hearing now, and he barely took the words in at all. The impact had stung, and his head swam from it, throbbing pain running down his backbone and ribs as he lay on his side where he’d fallen. He needed to get back up. Needed to fight, or to run, but he didn’t have the energy to do either. Come on—fuck it! Please! Please try! You can’t give up like this! Just try! Please. Please try.

Quentin gritted his teeth, beating down his body’s urge to cry at the pain it was feeling, and dug his fingernails into the wood grain of the floor. Fighting desperately with everything he had left to focus, to find some way to move. You can’t pass out. You can’t. Please. Come on. Try. Come on!

Above him, he was aware of the Legion straightening up and moving beside him, talking as it did, but its voice still sounded muffled and off. Quentin couldn’t make it off his side, so he turned his head to look up at the killer, breaking raggedly. Struggling to make out words.

“Now you’re gonna pay,” said the Legion darkly, and he kicked him.

Quentin realized what would happen and tried to shout something, but it turned into a scream of anguish as the shoe collided with the injury in his gut. Debilitating pain shot through him on impact, and he jerked, and his vision went white, and then all that there was was intense agony and unbelievable suffering. So awful, so overwhelming, so much of it, that for a second, he thought it had killed him.

But it hadn’t. He was still awake, still aware. Somehow. Somehow the pain wasn’t enough for his body to be willing to give in, even now. And then he felt himself convulse, but it was different—it wasn’t like that motion had ever felt before. It was barely like he was in his body at all anymore, and the pain was gone then, mostly, with the convulsion, and he just felt exhausted and absent and disconnected and sick. His vision came back blurry, and he felt himself tremble and shudder violently again, and then again, more weakly, and he realized what that was, and just stared emptily at nothing on the far side of the room as he faintly felt the sensation of blood seeping out of his stomach and against his limbs as it started to puddle around him.

It did kill me, thought Quentin hollowly, feeling sick, and heartbroken, and distressed over the fact that he couldn’t feel even those things very strongly. That there was no one to say goodbye to, or to ask to tell Dwight none of it had been his fault and that he was just glad he’d made it. …If …if he’d made it…

But there was no one to say that to. And Quentin knew what it was that was happening to him, because he had seen it happen to animals when they died. Jerking like this. There was a name for it he couldn’t remember. He didn’t have the energy. Not for that, or for anything anymore.

God, it was lonely. It was so lonely. It was scary in a way he had never thought about before and couldn’t even really understand because there wasn’t time to. But he was afraid of the loneliness, he just. He wished there could have been. People. Friends. Any of them. When…

Seeking the only comfort he had left, Quentin tried to move his hand up to find his necklace, and couldn’t.

Something touched him then, and flipped him over onto his back, and he looked up with blurry, failing vision as his body shuddered again, and he watched the Legion stare down at him in an almost frozen shock. It bent quickly and tugged up the bottom of his shirt and took in the wound, and it said something he couldn’t really hear.

At least the…pain stopped…

Quentin took an agonizingly shaky breath, and struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to die. To. To just…give in. But it. It was hard. His eyes kept shutting on their own and he could only force them up for little fragments of time before he’d lose to the weariness that had overcome him and they would shut again. He felt another shudder run along his body, but it was different this time. His vision started to go dark with it, and it didn’t come all the way back this time when he opened his eyes again. He felt like since he knew he was dying, he should do something—say something. He wanted to—he needed to. But. He. …he didn’t…didn’t know what...to...and...he was…alone…no one left to…

Above him, the Legion said something again, but he couldn’t hear it at all this time. Could barely even make out its lips moving. It put a hand on his gut and he faintly felt a dull ache at the touch, and the black-clad figure tugged off its mask, and he couldn’t understand why it would have done that, but for just a second he was seeing a guy, maybe…maybe eighteen or something? Looking down at him, with an expression that was hard to place. And the Legion said something kind of frantically, but there was no sound Quentin could make out to accompany the blurry visual. He felt his body giving up and tried to fight against it, desperately wanting to live, but the exhaustion overcame him then and his eyes shut and wouldn’t open again this time, and his consciousness faded with it only a few seconds after, and Quentin blacked out, dying in a pool of blood in Ormond at the feet of the person who’d killed him.

.

.

[part 2]