#tw brief horror(?)

[vxsellie]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

[an-interview-with-j1janedoe]

Have you seen Tammy?

[⚙️]—

" .. I don't recall meeting a "Tammy." Perhaps in another life, I knew her . "

[taxman-talkman]

At night, Vesser dreams.

The box that contains the trunk of his body is not very wide and not very deep. Wide enough that the ghost sensations of crushed, folded-in limbs is present but painless all around him. Deep enough that the flickering top of the box is an inch or two from the tip of his nose. Machinery sits around him, unseen but heard and the base of his skull is cradled in a metal frame. He can feel the main entryway of the datacord at the base of his skull too but his attention keeps getting ripped away from sensation and thought. Bit by bit, unraveled, with little time between for him. The Self.

Vesser clings on, imagining himself white-knuckling the sides of the box and pulling himself free from the-- 1.2365938-2.34352% shift in thermals, steady dataframe infrastructure delta 21A02, architecture membrane 75.214^5423 steady elipson--

The concept is stolen from him again. He runs through it again. Vesser. In a box. Born Pluto proxima. Hanging onto the bits and pieces of self that he can in the meantime. Himself. Himself.

"Vesser?" He'd worked on Europa. He'd seen the snow. He'd interacted with the Hyena packs and had fiddled with their internals. He was going to be something great. He was not going to be left behind. He was not going to be left behind.

"Vesser." Tivea's face peeks over the edge of the box at him, her dark eyes unfeeling and empty and pale skin sharp against the dark metallic grey of the ceiling above her. She is not the sweaty, exhausted wreck he remembers her being. In this place -- her dominion considering her affinity towards ships -- she is as calm and in control as any captain. And she looks down on him with no mercy and no love and no hate either.

The unreadable expression on a face so close to his own makes his stomach churn uneasily. Someone he should know but escapes him nonetheless. Clever and smart but not good enough to--

datapoint shifted 6.7503^52 elipson read, delta 65.2334% atmospheric internals, interval 1.24 sec per--

"Vesser." His sister's face is turned towards his own and she speaks in a hushed, low tone. He's still in the box but- or - and he is sitting at a long table with her, a contract displayed on a datapad sits already signed. The look on her face isn't hollow or resenting but relieved. Relieved as she looks over at her long-hated brother. Not alone.

And of course he smiles at her. Of course he does. Of course he does because he's gotten everything he could ever want and he'll never have to worry about it again. And all of the work and struggle and fighting will have been worth it. She's tired but she'll know what being Exhausted means. She'll know and then he'll finally have everything he's ever wanted and he'll never have to think about it again.

He'll never--

phosphic pressure in hold 12 delta 890-34-45292145643, hold position at coords 3.2431523, -1211.148934, no you stupid fuck, atmospheric shift 3.09200%, no no--

"Vesser." Whispered as his sister ducks down close to him, arm fearfully thrown over his shoulders and his own under hers. Something uneasy and sharp clenches tight in his gut - in his chest. Fear curls uneasy and tight and he holds onto her and he keeps holding onto her while the gold outside overtakes and eats and eats--

engine thrust 7.3124552% lowered, YOU STUPID FUCK, maintain cabin pressure, ITS TOO FUCKING LATE, maintain, SHE WAS THE LAST, SHE WAS YOUR SISTER--

Vesser sits bolt-upright in his bed, metal hand snatching at the nearest thing to him. Sheets cling to his clammy skin and he awkwardly, clumsily yanks them off and then off the bed entirely, hitting his head against the knee of a Grineer sitting in his room tonight. He gags on nothing, on air, dry-heaving as he struggles to grasp it again. The sense of himself. Him. Him. He had to keep clinging on. He had to keep himself--

Trill's steady hand finds its way over his shoulder and then around it, pulling him up onto shaking, unstable legs. A large warm hand presses and rubs against his bony back as his breathing ebbs away from panting into something more manageable. Something resembling a resting heartbeat follows after. Limbs like static, face numb, head aching, Vesser sits back down on the bed with Trill's guiding hand. Pressed into the rubbery-textured palm of his hands, Vesser's face screws up into a tight miserable expression.

He swallows the tight knot of his throat down and drags his face up towards the dim light. Trill's face is fraught with worried lines. A deep frown -- mistakable as a scowl in this light -- is a stark reminder to Vesser that this was real.

-- I'm sorry.

He signs to Trill but Trill shakes his head, responding with nothing for now. Instead, he takes his place back by Vesser's bed, patting the top of the bed next to himself. Vesser shakily moves himself up while Trill searches for something to watch on his datapad.

Everything else is silent and still.

[scopostims]

a "my nonhumanity" stimboard, a horrifying, many-eyed and gorey, entity-thing who lives in decrepit buildings and rotted forests and has a puppy dog hearttype (+ related things) :•]

[ID: A 3x3 stimboard of 9 GIFs.

GIF 1: First person POV of walking along the patio of a decrepit house at night, lit only by a flashlight.

GIF 2: A pan-over of a brown shelf with various deer bones and antlers.

GIF 3: Glitchy footage of a moss-covered stone wall.

GIF 4: An animation of a fleshy blob covered in many moving eyes.

GIF 5 (center): A small brown dog getting a bubble bath.

GIF 6: An actor wearing a fleshy skintight suit covered in veins sitting up from hunched over, slime stretching between the surface they were leaning on and them.

GIF 7: A red arrow blinking and pointing towards a spot at the end of a path on a pulsating landscape.

GIF 8: Someone wearing clawed werewolf gloves, shakily examing their hands.

GIF 9: A view down an empty school hall at night as the lights rapidly flicker out of sync.

End ID]

[mariocki]

Blood Beach (1980)

"You got any opinions on it?"

"None that I'd care to say out loud."

"You and me both."

[jackdanielsripper]

Page 2. Apologies for the actually dogshit handwriting. this one has some moments that make it look a lot more like the OG comic style than the new one because unlike Nasty I wasn't fully caffeinated.

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 22/day 22-immortality

i keep putting marius through the horrors and i probably won't stop. i swear i love him he's just so easy to make angst of.

@mechtober-2024

Uncertainty and Immortality - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; temporary character death, character death, mentioned/implied violence, Out angst, some minor suicidal ideation, implied/mentioned gun violence, blood, gore, a bit of eldritch horror, probably more than that, please let me know what i need to add!

----

Marius didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Mechanisms were probably immortal–they died-revived-died all the time. They killed-revived-killed each other all the time. They had forgotten Brian in a star for a century, and he was mostly fine—after a while. Marius had died so many times, had died to become Marius. How could he not believe in immortality? It’d been thousands of years since he’d gotten his arm. Probably more, probably much longer.

But he didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Music explained to him in sweet symphonies and gentle decrescendos and brassy tunes, over and over again– he was here forever. Always to be its voice box, always to play along. And if he leaves? He would only join the cacophonous chorus, his violin joining all those before him that had been cursed. But the Music didn’t want him to join just yet, as much as it could want anything, and so he was here forever.

But the Music lies.

It always had, and always would.

Marius thinks that’s where he got it from, where every other sentence a falsehood came so naturally from. Marius is the Music’s most recent Voice, and the Music lies, and so Marius lies. Just like the rest of the Crew, he spoke in songs and lyrics and stories, concocted and written out to be nothing but that– a story. True or false, who’s to say at this point. The Music lies, and so Marius lies.

And Marius was pretty sure the Music lied about the Mechanisms living forever.

Whenever one of the Crew died, there was always a spark of anxiety, a spark of fear as that oh-so familiar Song played quietly in his mind, that feeling of, Oh, they’re not going to wake up this time, are they? But they always do. They always wake up, and the Song fades, and everyone goes about their business, and Marius forgets the feeling until the next time.

It’s always different when he’s the one who dies, even though the Song doesn’t change. It’s more of a feeling of, They won’t have to deal with me anymore. Maybe I can rest. And yet he always wakes up. It’s less of a fear, more of a quiet hope. Sometimes he does remember to be afraid, he remembers to worry–will his friends miss him? His friends still needed him, he still needed his friends–

And then he wakes up, and everything goes back to normal. The keening Song fades once again.

That’s just how they worked, they died-killed-died-revived all the time as if it was second nature. Perhaps it was, at this point. They shot just as quickly as they gave kind smiles. Jonny shot more than he gave any sign of kindness, really.

The killed-died-revived so frequently, that eventually the fear and Song just became background noise. He still tried to avoid it, still pushed it down and ignored it when he could, but it kind of just became a fact of his seemingly never-ending life. Every time he or one of the other Mechanisms died, there’d be a little seed of doubt in his mind about whether or not they’d wake up. They always did. It wore on them, Marius could see it so clearly, in their aimless destruction and heavy shoulders and tired eyes. But Marius was always grateful when they woke up. I’m not ready yet, he’d think, for them to disappear. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, constantly dreading the day their mechanisms finally gave out and they’d die for real. Always afraid, always hesitant to harm because what if it didn’t heal.

He was still much quicker to harm than any average mortal, he still did his fair share of killing and maiming of the Crew–especially when they stole his kneecaps. A little revenge never hurt anyone for too long. Much better than getting Lost in the Music on purpose and wandering the ship with his mournful violin, as that often only led to his kneecaps being stolen again. And getting Lost was never a pleasant feeling.

He still hovered, though, especially when it was their mechanisms that had taken damage. None of the others liked him poking at their mechanisms, despite the fact that he was probably more qualified to work on them than he was on the fleshy bits. To be fair, they didn’t exactly like Raphaella messing with their mechanisms either– Jonny was the most common culprit, but many times the others liked to avoid maintenance as much as possible. Marius never pushed though, it’s not like he didn’t understand. He only let Raph work on his arm every once in a while, preferring to do maintenance himself. (The Music lies like it is the most natural thing to do, every note misread and every string misplaced, but Marius did not want to risk its warnings of what could happen should Raph or one of the others be faced with Marius’s mechanism maintenance. The Music did not like to be Seen, after all. Only heard.)

But whenever their mechanisms were damaged, he hovered off to the side until it was fixed–manually or by their healing factors. Just so that he could be sure that they were alright, that they’d get up again soon. He tried his best not to be clingy, usually, tried his best to avoid taking up too much space around them or invading their personal space when it wasn’t welcome, but his anxiety was never quelled until he saw that they were okay, and that they were going to be alright.

Marius, admittedly, was not a person who enjoyed uncertainty. He was almost sure the doubt of ‘true’ immortality was what made him scared more than anything, the possibility of losing one of the others suddenly and without reason.

And of course, that is what happened, when Nastya went Out.

He and Nastya weren’t especially close, Nastya spending more of her time hiding away in the depths of the Aurora and doing whatever-it-was she did as an engineer and as Aurora’s girlfriend. She only ever showed up for meal times or for Crew Night and concerts, or during the occasional crew-wide tea party hosted by The Toy Soldier. She tended to disappear whenever they were planetside, her own wanted posters popping up without fanfare or loud explosions like Tim or Jonny or Ashes. And besides, half the time planetside, Nastya rarely left the Aurora.

But that changed one day, out in deep space.

And she left, disappearing.

Possibly forever.

Something changed among the Mechanisms, there was a loss that felt… Well, it felt final and it was strange.

Marius found himself hovering more, clinging even though he tried not to. Worrying, heart racing, every time someone died. That fear that had become background noise was almost always present and in the forefront.

One day, while staying in the cockpit with Brian, the brass pilot said quietly, “She’s probably cold out there. It was so cold…”

His voice was tinny and distant, and Aurora creaked sadly in response.

“I hope she’s not cold… I hope we find her soon…”

Marius didn’t say anything, remaining silent. Just climbed into Brian’s lap and purred till the both of them fell asleep.

Marius did not like being uncertain.

Perhaps that was why he latched onto Lyf so strongly.

They were temporary, and it was a guarantee that they were temporary. The system was doomed, crushing Songs and endless Noise and it was fragile and temporary, so very temporary. Obviously, going into something and knowing it won’t last for-probably-forever made it easy to not get attached…

One would think.

But Marius fell fast, and when he fell he fell hard. Always had, probably always would. What started as teasing and making fun of the inspector in charge of the three of them eventually turned into something a bit softer, something a bit–perhaps not kinder, but gentler. Something a bit more akin to care, as close to care as one could get with the Mechanisms.

And then the train arrived, and he and Ivy and Raph left, and Lyf was gone.

And it hurt.

It was awful and Marius could barely think past the pain in his heart and the Songs screaming from the remains of Yggdrasil, but it was expected. He could bury his grief and fear with more, different grief.

And then they returned, Lyfrassir managed to escape somehow and they were back. And they somehow managed to return to Marius’s life, even though they hated him. He didn’t mind, hating him was fine. He couldn’t force Lyf to feel anything. He was content to just appreciate that they were there.

Of course, though, they were still temporary. They were still definitely going to die one day, and maybe it was odd that he found a sense of comfort in that. Maybe it was wrong. But it was true, and that was comforting to Marius. Because it was expected that he’d lose them, that they’d disappear. He didn’t have to deal with that aching fear as much, that feeling of They won’t get up, this is it our luck’s run out, because when they died there’d be no reason for them to get up and start walking.

That didn’t stop the pain when they did die, though. That aching, familiar fear creeping in.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, after all. This wasn’t how they were supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to die by a bullet to the head, a bullet probably meant for Jonny as he was only a few meters behind them and had done significantly more to anger the people on this planet– they were supposed to die old and withered when Marius was ready. When he could actually look death and eternity head on and say ‘I’m not afraid’. They weren’t supposed to die only a few short years after joining them, after starting to travel with them.

And then… Well, perhaps, the most unexpected thing happened.

Lyf’s dark blue blood that was starting to stain Aurora’s silver floor started glimmering and glowing, turning into a prismatic array of rainbow hues.

Lyfrassir’s glassy eyes widened, and their voice was pulled from their throat without them having to speak.

Y’ai ‘ng’ngah Yog Sothoth hee-l’gleb f’ai throdog

Uaah ogthrod ai’f geb’lee-ee’h Yog Sothoth ‘ngah’ng ai’y zhro

The rainbow blood rose off the floor, the staticky colors making it hard to look at without gaining a headache but Marius couldn’t force himself to turn away as the blood stitched, slowly, painfully, stitched the wound in Lyf’s head closed, the reality warping as the wound disappeared, as if it never existed.

The iridescent blood seemed to stain Lyf’s pretty silver hair, colors seeping into their locks from their roots, most prominent and most vibrant where their hair was already stained with blood. But the blood was disappearing into nothingness but heat auras and steam around Lyf’s forehead quickly, a light returning to Lyfrassir’s eyes.

The wound seemed to stop existing as it was restitched by Lyf’s blood.

What was Marius so concerned about again? Why was Lyf on the floor?

Lyfrassir blinked, sitting up. Their white pupils had taken on a slightly iridescent hue, their hair seemed to move on its own, like there was wind on Aurora that there shouldn’t be. Splotches of their braids and their roots were stained with that same slightly iridescent hue. They looked around at the Mechanisms, who were staring at them with various looks of horror or concern.

“Wh… What happened?” Their voice was hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken for a while.

“I-” Brian was the one who spoke up, voice cracking as he did so, “I think you died.”

“I…” Lyfrassir’s eyes widened almost comically. “I died?”

“And then you came back,” Raphaella agreed. There was likely more said, Marius could see Lyfrassir’s mouth move as they talked, could see Jonny waving his arms as his tail swished and flicked angrily while he paced, could see Tim fiddle with xyr gun and Ivy snapping and Raph’s wings fluttering and Lyf grabbing their hair and Brian wringing his hands– there was likely more said.

All Marius could hear was the symphony screaming and shouting over itself, a Song oh-so familiar to Odin’s Void and the Bifrost’s whippoorwill call.

Lyfrassir disappeared into their room for a few months, and no one did anything to try and coerce them out.

Marius could barely be around them, the screaming Void and Whippoorwills and yelling symphony overwhelming him, only serving to get him Lost.

Marius didn’t know if he believed in immortality, the Music lies and Marius was sure one day their mechanisms would give out and wouldn’t heal anymore.

Whenever Lyf exited their room, they were disgruntled and their braids looked rougher than it ever had in all the time Marius knew them. Their hair was still stained with rainbows and their eyes still shined with opalescent colors, but the keening Void and keening Whippoorwills had calmed down, simply matching their usual background noise.

Marius approached them, after that.

“I think I’m glad you’re not Temporary,” he admitted. “But it scares me more than I’m glad.”

Lyfrassir replied with a confused ‘thank you’. They didn’t look at him. “I didn’t want this, when I escaped. I just wanted to live, but not like this.”

“You didn’t deserve to be Taken by something like our Music. But it probably only let you escape on purpose, for this.”

There was a moment of silence. “I think eternity is a long time. I don’t want to live forever.”

“I’m not certain we will. But at least we’re here, for however long ‘forever’ really is.”

After that, things returned to mostly-normal. It was strange, and everything was different, but it was like nothing had changed, in a way.

Marius just had one more person to hover over, whenever they were injured and whenever they got killed. To make sure that they lived, that they came back.

Marius just had one more person to fear losing.

Marius really hated the uncertainty of immortality. Marius really hated how scared it made him.

But it was something he was going to have to live with probably-forever.

Hopefully Nastya was somewhere warm.

[etphonemom]

I'm Never Going to Summer Camp Again

TW in tags

Last school year we had a new kid, let's call her Tiffany or Tiff for short. She definitely reeked of R & R (Rich 'Rents) which made sense because I go to a private school on scholarship. Any who, we became friends pretty fast. She hated the other kids in our grade, especially because they tried to suck up to her the second she walked into class. Apparently, she was draped in the best designer, some before they were released to the public. Everyone wanted to be her friend and there were rumors her parents were celebrities or something.

Tiff transferred in near the end of the school year which was odd and she never explained to me why. I didn't care too much if I'm being honest. She invited me over for dinner one night and I was excited because she told me all about her dogs and cats! It was a fun night of cuddles, pets and the most delicious pizza I have ever had the honor of eating. They make it in their yard on a grill/smoker whatever. It held all of the finest ingredients and danced in my mouth all the way down to my stuffed belly.

Her parents asked her if she was excited for summer camp and she shrugged, leaning her head on her hand, "I thought it'd be cool if I could stay here with Bella for the summer..."

They looked at each other and sighed. Simultaneously they perked up and faced us, you could almost see the image of a lightbulb hovering above their heads. "Why doesn't Bella go with you? Wouldn't that be fun?"

She sits up straight and asks me, "Would you want to? Would your mom let you?"

I look down at my lap and fiddle with my fingers, "I don't think we could afford it. I'm sorry."

I never was a clingy person, nor did I care about having friends or not, but I suddenly felt a wave of separation anxiety at the thought of not seeing Tiff during the summer. I hope she wouldn't find a new best friend and forget all about me next year, or worse; transfer schools again.

I flinch when her parents laugh together. Her Mom cradling a glass of wine with her other hand over her chest, "Oh nonsense! If your Mom is okay with it then we wouldn't mind taking care of that for you!"

I perk up, but sink back down after thinking about it for a moment, "My Mom would never accept that... She hates when people try to help us with money."

Her Mom does that thing people do when they are reacting to something they think is sweet and pitiful, making her look like one of those fish with upside down looking mouths. Tiff's Dad speaks up, "Well, we do get a discount now that Layla works there! We can talk to her ourselves if you'd like!"

I turn my head to the side and Tiff understood my confusion, "Layla's my big sister. She's a camp counselor there, but she's totally lame now."

We giggle and her Mom rolls her eyes then playfully back hands her Dad on his shoulder when he begins to chuckle too. "Well that settles it! We can talk to your Mom when we drop you off later!"

I was surprised when my Mom said yes, but I didn't dare question it either. Camp was supposed to start a week after the school year but I was packed way before then. When her parents come to pick me up, my Mom ran through the long list of things I already triple checked that I packed. We gave each other a tight, long hug. This is the first time I have ever been away from home for longer than a night, let alone three hours away from each other. I'm not one who normally gets nervous, but this is new for me. I'm so used to being able to run to my Mom whenever I was in trouble or worried about something. What if I hated camp? I couldn't immediately go back home even if I wanted to! I mean, I know if it was an emergency she would drop everything and find a way to come and get me. The good thing is Tiff's parents said they have great cell phone reception so if I'm feeling homesick I can call her whenever I want.

When we arrived at camp, all of my anxieties fell away. It was beautiful! There were 100 kids of different ages gathered in an organized crowd and a straight line of 12 adults, one being Layla who was pointed out by Tiff.

There were 10 cabins, a mess hall, a lake, and a huge boathouse all that surround the gorgeous center of the campgrounds. It reminds me of the quads I would see on my college visits, but less artificial.

The grass was mowed recently, but was left with a couple of inches which complimented the bushes, trees and flowers in bloom. There were a few boulders that one could easily climb and sit on with a friend, and there was one in particular that stood out amongst the rest. I don't even know if it qualifies as a boulder, or if you would call it a mini cliff. It was in the shape of an upside down scalene triangle. It doesn't look naturally shaped that way, but it feels as if it has existed here longer than anything else.

When I would inch closer to it, an eerie feeling crawled along my arms and spine giving me goosebumps. I didn't think too much of it at first, but I always fastened my pace whenever I walked by it.

Towards the end of our time at camp, we were getting ready to have a final celebration. There was going to be a performance given by each cabin; some dance numbers, singing and one cabin even wrote their own little play to perform. I didn't want to leave! Everyone was so nice and fun, we did all sorts of cool things but I knew I'd be back one day. Hell, this made me want to become being a camp counselor. That was until, the day of the performances. The last day at camp.

I found out that we would be performing under the creepy boulder, as an odd stage of sorts. I thought maybe since the boulder slanted up at an angle it helped block the sun or something. When I asked why, nobody knew. Tiff said it's just what they always have done.

The counselors laid out a bunch of picnic blankets for us to sit on, separating us by cabins and organizing it in order of performance. There were two rows, and each group would get up starting from the first set of blankets on the left to the right.

The energy was off somehow, I couldn't figure out why. I couldn't enjoy myself through the performances, I faked my applause and smile. My heart rate spiked a bit more after every performance. Ours was the last to go on; our cabin had been practicing a dance but I was awfully embarrassed to dance in front of a crowd, so I exaggerated how bad my period cramps were so they wouldn't force me to participate.

When our cabin was done, a woman took the 'stage' and her booming but melodic voice slid into my ears, temporarily drowning out the uneasiness that has grown in the pit of my stomach. At first, I assumed she was a camp counselor but the longer I looked at her I couldn't place her at all in my memories.

"Wow those were some amazing and creative performances! Let's give it up for each other and ourselves! Now, the moment we all have been waiting for! A tradition we have been maintaining for almost 170 years! The Treasure Hunt!"

Everyone around me cheered and I gave Tiff a confused look, but she just kept staring straight ahead. I gently nudged her with my elbow and she didn't budge. I thought it was weird but brushed it off as her trying not to be rude while the lady was talking... which in hindsight, was a first.

"Now you all know the rules and you all know the stakes! All around the campgrounds are 111 hidden bars of gold! You will have to look high and low, sometimes even deep! Whoever takes one will get to bring it home with them and whoever doesn't..... welll let's hope that isn't you!"

She laughs and everyone joins her, but all of their laughs are the same... and every single one of them is laughing, at the same exact intervals. The monotone choir filling me with apprehension towards this treasure hunt. I nudge Tiff again and she doesn't budge, just continues to laugh. I wave my hand in front of her face and nothing! I wish I ran as far as I could, but I didn't know then what I know now.

"Alright Campers! On my count! 10!"

I jump as the choir shouts in unison,

"9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! TAKE IT ALL!"

Within milliseconds everyone, including the counselors, collectively shoots up and runs in every single direction. I'm glued to the ground and am frozen in shock at the events that follow.

Maybe a dozen kids stay close by and dig into the ground with their arms, eyes expressionless but the rest of their face is scrunched as they ferociously heave dirt out with occasional grunts. My eyebrows arch in confusion and concern, some of them are digging so fast they constantly fling dirt in their own face and yet they remain unfazed. Focused.

I look back at the 'stage' and the lady is still there, standing in the same exact spot, unbothered. She halfheartedly observes with a neutral expression on her face.

I finally gain the strength to stand, and I turn around and see a few kids had climbed on top of the cabins. One of them is jumping up and down, holding what I assumed is one of the 'gold bars'. In what felt like slow motion, I reached my hand forward and yelled "WATCH OUT" as I am forced to observe only the first act of viciousness of the afternoon. Behind him a girl shoves her shoulder hard into his back and he stumbles close to the ledge. The gold bar falls from his hands and something compels me towards it.

Without realizing, I am sprinting in the direction of the cabin and I pick up the bar. Once it's in my hands, time stops for a moment. It's not warm or cool. The texture is like flour, but when I remove one hand, there is no dust, powder or excess of any kind on my fingers. It's a single solid piece of gold.

My worry snaps me out of the time trap when I feel a hard thump echo in the ground below me. I slowly turn and see the boy laying on the ground, groaning in pain. It wasn't a deadly fall, but he definitely broke his ankle. He's laying on his stomach and his foot has twisted in a 180 motion as the toe of his shoe points at the sky.

All of a sudden, I feel it. I feel the collective hunger within me; it's not greed... no it's, it's like an urgency. I don't want to hold this bar... I need to. The girl jumps off of the roof, rolls on the ground into an upright position and stares through me. I hold the bar like a football in my left arm, and I hold up my right arm in front of me, bending 90 degrees at the elbow horizontally as I slam the side of my forearm into her neck. She gasps and steps to the side holding where I took her breath. I run without giving her a second thought.

I run towards the boulder. There are maybe 20 kids sitting down, scattered amongst the blankets. Once I reach my cabin's blanket, I recognize the familiarity of the current seating arrangement. Everyone is sitting back to where they originally were seated, some of them with dirt stuck to their arms and faces. Some with random cuts and developing knots. Out of instinct I didn't have before, I lift up my legs in a half jump and land hard on my ass. It hurts, but the anxiousness has completely disappeared.

I look around back to the grass and there are only a few kids still digging and two kids wrestling over a bar. Wait, no. One of them is a counselor. They both end up back on their feet and in one swift motion she kicks the kid square in his chest. When he falls backwards, she scoops the bar and sprints back to her cabin's blanket.

I glance back to the kid and watch him start to dig another hole, until a bar soars through the air landing in front of him. Unflinchingly, he immediately grabs it and zips over to his cabin's blanket. I look in the direction of which the bar came from and there are a few kids who have now separated, continuing the search for a gold bar.

A sense of calm has taken over my mind and body, I don't even register Tiff sitting back down next to me. She doesn't acknowledge me and faces forwards towards the 'stage'.

Kids and counselors zoom in sporadically until almost everyone is back in their seat. Out of the corner of my eye I see a woman limping towards us. It's Layla. I thought she might've broken her foot, but there is a kid clinging to her leg. She's clutching the bar tight and every few steps tries to shake him off but he won't budge. Once she gets close enough that I think she's going to make it, he opens his mouth wide and chomps deeply into the side of her calf. Her blood cloaks his braces, lips, chin and runs down to her foot. He lets go once she drops the bar out of pain. He snatches it up and races to his spot, not even bothering to wipe the blood off his mouth.

The lady on the stage bellows an apology,

"I'm sorry, but that was the last gold bar. Congratulations to everyone that has successfully taken one! You should be very proud of yourselves! As for you, Layla is it? I'm afraid we can't help you... you will be missed."

My fear roars back into my stomach. What the fuck is she talking about. Layla collapses onto her knees, sobbing. The lady gives us a final statement,

"Alrighty, well I'm afraid that's the end of today's festivities! Thank you for sharing some of your lovely summer with us, we hope to see you again next year! Grab your bags from your cabins and make your way towards the parking lot, your families are waiting for you there. Take care now!"

Tiff snaps back to life and looks at me, smiling,

"Did you like it here? I know it's kind of lame and childish, but I had a lot more fun since you came along!"

My jaw drops and I am too stunned to speak, all I can muster is the smallest of nods. She gives me a confused look with a small smile. She giggles and pulls me into a side hug,

"Thank you for making me feel like I am not alone. You're my best friend."

My bottom lip becomes dry because I lost all function in my face, I gain enough strength to squeak out,

"Uh huh."

She let's go of me and runs to the cabin. I reluctantly follow after her and we walk to the parking lot in silence. When we get there we see her parents are already there and they're talking to Layla. At once, they hug her tightly and ignore the bleeding on her leg. Her mom opens her eyes, pulls back and grins at us when we walk up,

"Hey girls! How was camp?"

Before she can reply, Layla walks away like a zombie back to camp. Tiff rolls her eyes and hides a smile,

"I guess it was good, thank you for letting me bring Bella!"

"Of course! We love Bella! I'm glad you two had a good time! Hey Bella, did she tell you this is where her father and I met?!"

"Ughh Mom, I don't want to hear this again!"

"What? I just wanted to tell Bella the story, she hadn't heard it yet! C'mon now it's a funny story!"

Tiff grunts, rolls her eyes and grabs my bag. Her Dad then steps forward and grabs our stuff and throws it into the already open trunk. He slams it shut, places his hands on his hips and smiles. He arches his back, reaches one arm over his head towards the opposite side and then after a few seconds he repeats with the opposite arm.

"Alright my fair ladies, let's get this long road trip moving! Bella, I know your Mom misses you a ton, let's get you back A S A P!"

Layla walks back by us with a bag towards what I assume is her car. She opens the door and carelessly tosses her bag in.

Tiff covers her eyes with her hands,

"God Dad, you're so embarrassing! Let's go."

She moves to the car, but I can't take my eyes off of Layla. I can't shake off everything that has just happened. Why the fuck are they all acting so casual? Layla opens the driver's door and slides in. She turns on the car, resting her hands on the wheel and stares through the window.

"Bella, you coming?"

After a few seconds, I walk to the opposite side of the car and hop in without saying a word. Her Dad turns on the radio and starts singing along to a song he clearly doesn't know the words to, making her Mom laugh and clap. He reverses slowly then gears into drive. He starts to turn but before he can move forward, Layla's car screeches and cuts in front of us. She swerves to the right and maybe 100 feet later she crashes into a tree.

I can't blink, I can't breathe, I have loss control of my regular bodily functions. The only relief I get is the thought of her parents finally addressing whatever the fuck this is! But, to my dismay, they continue to sing along to the radio and drive carefully unperturbed.

As we drive by, I stare at Layla's destroyed vehicle. Her head crashed through the front window, colliding with the tree. The glass shards sticking out of her sides, bleeding profusely. She twitches a few times, and I can't take my eyes off of her. I turn and look through the back window and watch her go limp. Her Dad turns up the radio even louder.

(below is the ending I added to fit r/nosleep's guidelines)

When I got home I collapsed into my mom's arms crying and I tried to tell her what happened. She called Tiff's parents and they said that Tiff was an only child, there is no Layla and insisted I was sleep deprived because I was homesick. We looked it up online and there were no results for the suicide, a car crash at a camp or a Treasure Hunt tradition at the camp.

I know what I saw was real, I know Layla was real. My mom believes me but didn't believe the story. She was confused when I pointed out the discount her parents said they had because Layla worked there and she looked at me concerned,

"What discount? They told me parents donate money so there are a few beds dedicated for kids who normally wouldn't be able to attend."

Still, doubt creeps into my mind sometimes but I know what happened. I will never ever go to a summer camp again. Tiff tried to call me a few times but I didn't pick up. When the school year started she wasn't there. I still don't know if that's a good or bad thing and it keeps me up at night even now.

Thank you for reading ! Hope you enjoyed ! If you want to support my writing you can buy me a human beverage ! Find me on my reddit for more short stories or my response to writing prompts on this page !

Stay unidentified & friendly 👽🖖 ~ E.T.

[sunnibits]

yknow, I feel like we often tend to visualize progress as a staircase - very straightforward, you keep taking these easy little steps up until you finally reach the promised land of some finished goal. but tbh you know what progress really feels like to me? like the most twisted, shitty Sisyphean game of chutes and ladders. just an endless fuckin loop of climbing and falling over and over again. and goddamnit, I fucking KNOW that chutes and ladders is probably a more realistic and healthy expectation of how progress works, but I just wish I didn’t keep sliding my ass down all those goddamn chutes, you feel me??

[the-aqua-fangirl]

I can imagine XL and Nos crash a Fancy restaurant, and doing a cheers, XL with a glass of fancy oil and Nos, the robot chef's head. Ngl if XL ate robots, I could imagine them doing the lady and the tramp spaghetti thing but which a robots wiring.

Mother of Venus what a perfectly morbid image this is for the robot monster duo.

I think the oils are more XL’s thing but I can see XL having the potential to eat other robots if he went and stayed on a darker path with NOS-4-A2.

[furorsopher]

vent under the cut (TWs in the tags):

im not sick until im completely unable to walk or stay quiet im not sick until i can’t keep myself from screaming im not sick until im a danger to others im not sick until i throw up and somebody can confirm i did im not sick until my stomach and intestines feel like theyre going to explode out my skin and the doctor confirms im in pain im not sick until im unable to stand up im not sick until im unable to walk up the stairs im not sick until im unable to eat im not sick until im unable to attend school every day im not sick until my friends all leave me behind im not sick until i fail every single class im not sick until my mum says i am im not sick until the doctors listen to me im not sick until they stop listening to my parents im not sick until im dying im not sick until im dead

im not sick. just dramatic.

[namjinreads]

READ ON AO3

[brokenhardies]

luna: i wonder if because im undead i could reinact the rock dj music video

the doctor, who has seen the video and doesnt want to encourage lunas intrusive thoughts: NO--

[itokunii-a]

👫for Alfie and Bertram

Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship.

The longer Alfred knows Bertram and the more comfortable he grows to be, the more Hungarian he will let slip into his speech. It is mostly petnames and compliments, and he will only do this if he knows they are alone and have no one else listen to them. " Gyönyörű vagy. " - You are beautiful or " Szerelmem. " - My love is something Alfred utters often, standing on his tiptoes to breathe it into his ear. But even through such depiction of trust, he still won't tell him who he was prior to being Alfred; that person does not matter anymore. If Bertram were to ask, he would simply set up a boundary and expect him to respect it.

Alfred tends to sketch out his ideas for statues ( war verse ) if he has the time. And yet the more time he spends with Bertram, the more of these drawings turn out to be of him: quick portraits/ trying to get his shape right/ focusing entirely on a detail and trying to get it right. I have a feeling that Bertram would be in awe if he ever flipped through all the pages he has done of him but Alfred would simply smile and say " You've grown to be quite a stubborn muse. It has become difficult to care about anything else. "

( Modern ) Museum dates! Alfred would ask him to accompany him to art galleries, while I could see Bertram taking him to museums that depict certain periods of times he has lived through himself, adding anecdotes or correcting information that has been misinterpreted over time. They are also the best dressed couple in there!

Bertram has always been wary of Alfred's hands: even though he has never been on the receiving end, he knows what they are capable of, having seen the end-product of a streched out spine or a ribcage being turned into an actual cage. So when Alfred first began touching him, his senses told him that he needed to get these hands away from himself. But the more they roamed across his jaw, his shoulders, over his back, the better they felt. Maybe now they are even one of his favorite features about him, they way the work so elegantly.

[shyfrog-says]

Hey, idk who needs to hear this, but life is uncomfortable and triggering. Do what you can to make it less so, but do not deem a stranger evil or despicable for not catering specifically to your desires, which are unknown to them.

Learn the difference between discomfort and offense. It is your job to manage whatever comfort you can find for yourself. Do not assume it is everyone else's responsibility to do it for you.

There are cases where it is common decency to accommodate others, such as warning someone before they show certain themes and visuals that people can theoretically go their entire lives without seeing first-hand (gore, body horror, sexual assault, slavery), or visuals and effects that are known to cause harm to a fairly large group of people (flashing lights, loud noises).

But if you have a trigger that is not just uncommon but also very commonly not a trigger for most other people, that is something that you need to accommodate for yourself.

The former is offense, and the latter is discomfort.

If food is a trigger for you, if water is a trigger for you, if sickness is a trigger for you, if social interaction is a trigger for you, if animals are a trigger for you - make the changes you need to make for yourself, which could include going to see a therapist.

((There are even cases where I've seen people try to use "having a trigger" as an excuse to be offensive themselves, or even just flat out cruel, like requesting that certain gender identities or sexual orientations or religions (not "discussion of religious trauma or negative experiences," just the religion) or cultures have trigger warnings before them.))

Think of it like an allergy.

If someone offers you food free of charge, and it has something you're allergic to in it, what do you do? Do you berate them and accuse them of trying to poison you? Or do you politely decline and go on with your day? Hopefully the latter, right?

Or what if it's cedar season and you have a cedar allergy? I mean, yeah, it's annoying, but you can live with it, and if it's extreme enough, you might take some medicine, or stay inside, or go somewhere else.

And just like with the more extreme triggers, there are extreme allergies that are and should be commonly accommodated for, like when schools have nut-free tables in their cafeterias and planes stopped serving peanuts and switched to other snacks.

But if everyone accommodated everyone all the time, life would be unliveable.

So know when it's better to just let yourself be uncomfortable. And if you don't know, then learn.

[mariocki]

The Headless Eyes (1971)

"You've tried to alienate yourself but, Mal, I'm here, you -"

"Why? For two years I have been trying to live alone and to be able to accept this. Why are you here?"

"Because you haven't convinced me."

"Of what?"

"That you're incurable."