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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Corpse Infested

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of dysfunctional family, Family problems, Swearing

Genre: Humor, Comfort, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When your friend disappears for a long time, seemingly having lost interest in what fueled the most passionate fire in their life, you cannot not worry about them. Even if you wanna give them space, you will reach out, you will offer your help. You will tell them they always have you to rely on and talk to.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request, but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and if you do I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

For me, it’s never hard to find things to do. I’ve constantly got things on my mind and tasks to tend to, keeping me occupied and my mind focused at all times. I think that comes with living in a home as dysfunctional as this one. I honestly can’t recall a time when my parents got along nor can I think of a time where there was at least one second of peace while the two are both present in the house. It’s always a warzone up there. I’m saying up there because I tend to live out of the basement of their home. I know living in your parents’ basement is considered a peak loser point, or the bottom of the bottom, but you’d have to believe me when I say - I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I only recently came back to this hell-hole and boy do I regret it. I mean, it was a decision forced upon me by circumstances. Trust me, I tried every other option there was. When my dorm was to be closed down and demolished, we were given a notice to start planning our next move about a month early. You can bet I immediately started looking at places but my very tragic and miserable budget didn’t allow such a purchase. No rent was adequate for me and my near-empty wallet so my second option was moving in with my best friend who was also not in the greatest of situations but I thought I’d give that a shot too.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work out. She lived in a tiny apartment with her boyfriend and his best friend at the time, so four people in one apartment was a nightmare. Still a lesser nightmare than this one but a nightmare nonetheless. Some unwanted and downright traumatizing events chased me out of that place after barely managing to pack my stuff. Therefore, finding myself on the streets again, I had no other option other than the obvious and least liked one: moving back in with my parents.

Making money during my first year of college hasn’t been easy. Working two jobs at once and also streaming video games on the side was what my time was filled with all throughout the first semester but then this damn pandemic started and now ruined everything for me. I had things going for me, I was slowly getting my life together and now it has all fallen apart yet again. The places I worked at closed down due to quarantine and I haven’t been able to steam, not only cause I’d be the victim of my parents’ comments but also cause my terrible home life would be exposed to all my fans and viewers. It’s not like I could cancel out the commotion going on right above my head, it’s a livestream and this house’s walls are cardboard thin meaning all the arguing I hear almost 24/7 will serve as background noise for my streams.

I haven’t reached out to my friends or fans to inform them of this which I feel slightly guilty about but I’m really not looking forward to having to lie to them, just as much as I’m not looking forward to having to tell them the truth so instead I’ve picked silence which is probably either worrying them or driving them insane. Either way, I’ll make my comeback soon.

Well....not very soon by the looks of it...

I have to gather the money, then I have to find a place, then comes the packing, moving out of here, moving into the new place...oh God, there’s so much to it that I don’t even wanna think about. Just that thought that I’ll be inactive for that long makes my stomach turn. Streaming’s where I’ve been channeling all my negative emotions, turning them into something positive and entertaining with the help of my friends.

Speaking of my friends, I should probably put emphasis on how amazing they are. Basically the older siblings I’ve always wished I had. I’m the baby of the group, the eighteen year old freshman in college, powering through life the best they can cause they are constantly getting tripped up by inconvenient occurrences such as this one for example. I tend to have the gang poke fun at me quite frequently - all lighthearted and with good intentions obviously - but they are also the ones to get super defensive if anyone gets the balls to talk shit about me. They’d never allow me to be the victim of any smack talk or online rumors and ‘cancel culture’ or whatever the hell people will come up with to leave others restless and wondering if they did something shady a decade ago. Well, to be fair, I didn’t even know about the concept of social media a decade ago and I’ve never been one to post much but I still have a protection squad in case anyone decides to come after me.

Little do they know the people I need protecting from are the very people that are supposed to protect me - my parents. Luckily, they don’t venture into to basement very often if at all and I have my own exit to the outside world so I don’t have to run into them unless I absolutely have to. The only time I emerge to the surface of the house - aka the ground floor - I do so to leave my share of rent money on the dining table and I usually do it when they aren’t home or when they’re asleep - that happens often with how many bottles they each knock back on the daily.

*sigh*...at least I don’t have to talk to them, right?

Anyhow, remember how I mentioned I always have things to do? Well, right now I’ve tasked myself with rifling through the large boxes containing random stuff I found in one of the basements down here to see if there’s anything I could possibly sell online. For starters, I’d like to hope there aren’t any severed body parts in here because this was one shady-ass basement before I moved in and un-creeped it a bit so I wouldn’t have to become an insomniac due to the paranoia of there being a homeless person down here with me or some paranormal entity. Regardless, old basements tend to be, apart from haunted, also filled with junk no one would find valuable despite it actually being worth something after all. That’s basically what I’m hoping to find at the moment.

As I dig through the contents of the first box, the YouTube playlist I have put on on my phone cuts off causing me to furrow my brows in confusion for a second before my ringtone pierces the silence the lack of music created.

I quickly mute the ringing and take a look at the Caller ID to see a name I never thought would pop up on my screen as an incoming call - Corpse. I, as well as many of our friends, know that he’s not the biggest fan of talking to people on the phone so this is rather surprising. Still, I pick up the call in case it’s not a mistake and an odd chance that it’s somethin urgent cause Lord knows Corpse doesn’t call people willy-nilly.

Thank God it’s quiet up there at the moment.

“Hello?“ I try my best to cover up the confusion in my voice but I can only assume I didn’t do the best job considering Corpse replies with a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?“ He asks, getting my cheeks to redden a bit, “You can’t blame a guy for calling after up and disappearing on him and on the whole internet. Where’ve you been?“

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the sound of glass breaking a shouted curse from upstairs.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Um...you know, places?“ I’m aware the answer isn’t only nonsensical but also sounds more like a question, but I can hardly focus on that right now. I’m too buys praying to an entity I don’t fully believe in for the situation above to not escalate.

“Uh, is everything ok over there? Where even are you right now?“ The teasing tone to his voice is all but gone at this point, replaced with deep concern, having obviously heard the commotion that did the exact opposite of what I prayed for - escalated.

“Y-yeah, it’s ok. It’s just another Thursday, you know.“ I attempt a small laugh but it’s blatantly miserable, “I moved back in with my parents when they announced the quarantine so that’s where I’m at now. They’re not the quietest of folks as you can tell so...“

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE“

Oh crap, here we go.

“...So I can’t really stream a lot...or at all.“ I mutter, cringing with all my might, “But it’s only temporary! I’ll get back in the saddle as soon as I find another place to stay.“ I don’t dare mention how long that’s gonna take me, it’ll be too disappointing and depressing for the both of us. “So yeah...um...thanks for showing concern but there’s really nothing to worry about. I’m ok, everything’s ok, things are just...a bit off the rails, but I’ll fix em no problem. Like I always do!“ I attempt to sound as cheerful as possible with little success due to the overwhelming anger I feel towards those people upstairs and the gut-wrenching nostalgia for the world of streaming I can no longer be a part of because of them. Actually, I put the blame first on the pandemic and second on my parents - if it wasn’t for Covid I’d probably still be in my dorm!

“Hey...um, I think I know an affordable place where you can take up residence. Only if you want to, of course.“ He sounds hesitant but I easily overlook that as excitement bursts throughout my entire being at the sound if an escape being offered to me just like that. Had I known I’d find the solution to my problem in the very people I spent time avoiding because I was afraid of their pity, sympathy and judgement.

“Oh please, it could be a rat and roach infested shoe box and I’d go running to it. How much is rent?“ I ask through a gasp of hurried laughter that’s a result of my inability to contain said excitement. Listen, I’ve been sitting here in Hellsburg for three months now and haven’t gotten a proper shuteye during that whole period, whatever Corpse is offering has to be better than this misery.

“Rent can be discussed once you move in...“ He trails off, “And it’s not rat nor roach infested but there’s a slight issue...“

“Which is?“ I’m honestly expecting the worst: in a bad neighborhood; faulty wiring with a high chance of being electrocuted; faulty piping with a high chance of flooding; people have died there; things get randomly moved around in the middle of the night etc. However, I don’t voice any of them to avoid getting laughed at for my wild imagination.

“Well, uh, it’s corpse infested.“ He says a little awkwardly, causing me to let out an inaudible sigh.

So my ‘people have died there’ guess was on point, huh?

“People have died there, huh? Well, I can turn a blind eye to that as long as I don’t find their bodies in the closet or meet their spirits at 3AM.“ I attempt to joke, now second-guessing my eagerness to accept the offer.

Corpse bursts out laughing his ass off at my statement, getting me to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and wonder what I said was so funny - it was a poor attempt at a joke, it in no way deserves that sort of reaction, barely a chuckle in my opinion.

“You’re golden, Y/N, I swear.“ He says once he forces the laughter to subside, “I meant corpse infested as in Corpse Husband infested.“ He breaks out in another fit as my brain slowly starts connecting the dots.

Oooohh he’s asking me to go live with him

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a sec. Are you aware of what you’re offering me? I mean, we’ve never met IRL, you barely know me and....and for all you know I could be the serial killer in this situation!“ I have no idea why I’m pushing my luck, don’t ask. I just don’t want him to make a decision he’ll later regret, I guess. “Like, I could kill you in your sleep!“

“Would you?“ He asks confidently, silently stating he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, “Of course not! But...” He cuts me off.

“Great, the offer stands on my end. I’m not a noisy nor nosey roommate so I suggest you start packing. If you choose to live in that hell-hole over living with me, I’m sorry but I’ll be hella offended, just so you know.“

Corpse sounds like he’s about to hang up on me, a decision already made, so I hurry to stop him. “Wait! What about rent?”

“Fuck the rent, pack your bags.“ And just like that, despite my efforts, he hangs up on me.

Well...this is a chance of a lifetime that I know refusing would lead me to not only remain stuck here but also put me in the hugest loser bin. There’s also the fear of being Corpse’s burden which I’ll try my best not to be - I mean, I’m a super independent person and Lord knows that if this offer came any other time or from any other person, I would’ve declined asap, no discussion.

But streaming

But sleeping properly

But having a normal life again

Yeah those are most certainly the reasons I get up and go into the closet in search on my emptied suitcase. Time to fill it up again, I guess. This time with a smile on my face and excitement fueling each and every movement of mine.

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crimsonrae · 3 years

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Disintegration

Chapter Four

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Rating: Mature

A/N: So, I'm starting to delve into Marnie a bit - sorry her point of view seems erratic, but at the same time that's what I was going for... She's recovering from a concusion, untangling herself from a horrible relationship, and discovering that maybe her nightmares are over with yet. She's a little manic. More of Cami and some of her internal musing/recovering. Please don't hesitate to give feedback. I love hearing from you guys. Please read and enjoy.

Chapter Four

2009

The dean would have to excuse his quick departure. He had files to read, a woman to woo, another to find, and a curse to break after all.

If Klaus had paid more attention to his surroundings when he had been at the university then he would have been able to shorten his list by an item of one. Hell, he would have been able to shorten it before he had even set foot into the dean's office.

By the time he left his opportunity had been lost. Not that he was aware of an opportunity in the first place.

Timing had never been Marnie Taylor's thing. She had been born a week late and as her mother would say... she had been late to everything ever since. Usually, her knack for running out the clock was a fault. An irritation for those waiting on her, an inconvenience when she was trying to accomplish anything, but she firmly believed that for a few moments where she stood in the courtyard outside the doors that led to the lobby of the dean's office, it had been her saving grace.

Students moved past her, ignoring her presence as they made their way to class while she remained frozen stiff on the pathway. Her dark eyes had stared through the glass doors with a bemused intensity.

"...coffee, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Ms. Lankam's soft voice had carried startlingly far as the doors had swung briefly open to allow another administrator to exit. It had caused Marnie to glance up curiously as she shuffled down the pathway, hoping that her tardiness hadn't caused her to miss Camille.

Despite her abrupt exit from the hospital and subsequent purposeful loss of her phone, Marnie had still managed to hear whispers of what had occurred between her roommate and her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend... Ex.

She had to swallow convulsively against the spike of anxiety that skewered her heart and remind herself that Scott was miles away in a hospital bed if the rumors were accurate. It was why she needed to be here because if those rumors were true then Cami was in danger of losing everything because of her. She couldn't let her best friend and self-appointed protector lose her standing as a student, much less anything else. She needed to speak with the dean and at least try to straighten out some of this mess. After all, she had helped create it.

Sickening guilt swarmed through her stomach as she remembered the multitude of times that Cami had begged her to seek help. She should have listened. A dull thrum of pain laced up her side from her mending ribs as if in agreement.

Yet, no amount of guilt nor pain could make her move as her eyes landed on Mr. Mikaelson.

He had turned to the side in apparent boredom – his appearance in itself wasn't startling. In fact, he was rather handsome, not that Marnie had time to truly take note of his attractiveness. She was too distracted by the sudden awareness of something supernatural.

A prickling of the hair at the nape of her neck, an undercurrent of something powerful and ominous that made the air heavier... imbued with something dark, wrong - unnatural.

A vampire.

She had seen vampires rarely in her short life. She had been warned of them, told to stay away by those far older and wiser than herself. It was impossible to be raised by a witch, by a coven, and not know of the other supernatural entities that lingered in the world. She had never been able to get past the sense of wrong the few times she had been in a vampire's presence. As if someone had taken a sheet of sandpiper to scrape along her skin. The entire experience was abrasive and irritating.

But she had never felt it this strongly before... she wasn't even standing in the same room as him. Still a good fifty feet away. Even his name prodded at the recesses of her memory. He was important, but she couldn't remember precisely why.

He seemed to sense her as he started to turn toward the doors and Marnie felt her heart lurch to her throat in fear. Yet, she was saved at the last second by her roommate once again.

She blinked as Cami exit Shaln's office with her parents and was taken by surprise a second time as Cami approached the vampire with unflinching familiarity.

It made Marnie want to scream, to warn her friend away. However, as she moved toward the door, she caught Camille's strong voice as she mentioned the monster's given name, "Klaus - what?"

Klaus...

Klaus Mikaelson?

Horror grew into an avalanching pit within her gut as her memory found the relevance of his name. Niklaus Mikaelson, an Original.

She deftly staggered out of sight as her mind whirled, confusion bespelled her mind as she watched the brief exchange between Cami and Klaus. The press of his lips to her cheek, her subsequent pleased blush before her mother ushered her away.

How did Cami know an Original? Was she aware of what he was?

Despite three years of living together, Marnie suddenly felt uncertain about her friend. Had Camille known about the supernatural world all along? Had she known about Marnie being a witch?

The quieter, more rational part of her knew that she was missing several key pieces of information. That Cami – sweet, fierce Cami – knew nothing about her world... though she had the lingering impression that was all about to change. But the rational part of Marnie wasn't in control – hadn't been in control for quite a few days now.

And so, she found herself torn. Not sure if she should confront her friend and make her aware – if she wasn't already- of who and what exactly Klaus Mikaelson was and pull her to safety as Cami had tried so valiantly to do with her or if she should run. Because after everything, the last thing Marnie needed was to add an Original into her vast stew of problems.

Shaking from her unease, Marnie tugged her sweater tighter around her fragile frame and disappeared amongst the student body.

__________________________

"You know... you're not supposed to get into trouble without me? It's in the twin code."

Camille's head snapped up from her suitcase as she stepped into her family home. An exuberant smile painted her lips as she caught sight of a familiar pair of stormy eyes, "Sean! What are you doing here?"

"My sister gets arrested, and you think I'm just going to while away reading scripture?" Amusement coated her brother's mien lifting Camille's dampened spirits. He opened his arms for a hug and she all but fell into his embrace. She had missed her pain-in-the-ass brother – she really could have used his company the past few days. He tightened his arms around her in silent comfort as he whispered, "How are you doing, really?"

Cami pulled away with a grimace as she tried not to look too miserable, "Oh you know, I made a few new friends – one's named Bubba. Apparently, his sister is doing five to ten, but she'd be able to show me the ropes if I'm ever inside the pokey."

"I hear it's good to have an inside man – well, woman." Sean fought back a grin as he pointedly kept his gaze from flickering to the door where their mother was entering. It would only invite a weary retort as she was unamused by her children's words, "Hi mom."

"Hello dear." Vivian brushed a kiss to her son's cheek in greeting. As happy as she was to see Sean the morning had worn on her just as much as it had Camille, "I need an iced tea. Would you two like one?'

"Ac;tual iced tea?" Sean asked tentatively, as he caught his sister's eye.

"Long Island, dear." Vivian declared almost reproachfully. Camille smirked as she mouthed the words that her mother was about to speak, "Tea leaves should never be brewed cold."

"I'm good, mom." Sean intoned quietly as Cami iterated much the same. Vivian waved a dismissive hand before sauntering away for the sitting room.

Cami huffed a soft laugh as she watched her mother disappear. Another sign of much-needed normal, "Seriously, you didn't have to come all the way home for this. I'm sure you had better things to do."

He shrugged, "Please, I wouldn't miss counting the different shades Dad will turn for anything in the world. Has he reached that angry maroon yet?"

"Stop it." She murmured with a faint grin as she looked behind her to see if their parents had lingered. Callan was still outside it seemed, "I thought he was going to bash the Dean's skull in this morning. The whole experience has been mortifying... but you are now officially the saintly child with a delinquent for a sister. It'll make your sermons even more interesting when you finally get ordained."

"If I even get there." Sean murmured almost bitterly.

It was a tone Cami didn't hear from him all too often and it had her frowning in concern, "Has something happened?"

Sean shook his head in mild dismissal, "Nothing worth mentioning really. Don't worry about it, Cam. I think one twin having a crisis at a time is all the world can handle right now."

"Sean..." She quietly implored, but he rebuffed her again.

Cami found his reticence a little annoying, but not out of character. Sean wouldn't come to her until he was ready to, but that didn't mean she wouldn't nag at him until then. She considered it her big sister prerogative... even if she was only two minutes older.

He derailed the questions pressing on the tip of her tongue as his gaze moved back to the walkway with an inquisitive expression, "Is that Ian?"

She glanced back to see her boyfriend bringing the rest of her belongings in from the car and smiled faintly. He had been waiting for her outside her dorm-like he had promised her. She hadn't been sure that he would show. Things had been a little tense between them since she had called him on the way out of the jailhouse and she just hadn't had the time to pick apart where all this uneasiness between them was coming from; if it was her and she was projecting onto him? Or if he had a problem with the entire fiasco and just was withholding it from her... Cami wasn't sure and frankly, she really didn't have the energy or focus to figure it out with him.

Yet, this morning it was like nothing was wrong between them. He had greeted her with a soft kiss that warmed her veins and soothed her nerves. Had frowned when she had told him about the expulsion, but much to his credit had merely wrapped her in a tight hug before asking what exactly she needed him to do. It made her think that she had simply been projecting her insecurities unfairly onto him because something about their relationship hadn't been right for the past few days and Cami couldn't put her finger on what.

A small voice whispered that she did know, at least one small part of the issue, as an image of darkly amused cerulean eyes glimmered in her mind, and she had to shake off a twinge of guilt.

She was being ridiculous. Nothing had happened. She had done nothing wrong.

But maybe that was the problem. Something inside her wanted to do something wrong because beating the crap out of Scott hadn't felt wrong. And she hated that, and she hated that Klaus had seen that in her.

...but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more.

She had enjoyed it and maybe... maybe doing something she knew was wrong – would feel wrong – maybe then she could feel justifiably punished for how much she had reveled in bruising her knuckles on that bastard's face.

Now that... that was not what she wanted to think about. Silently, she placed the thought of the beguiling Klaus Mikaelson back into his box and locked the lid. It was tempting to blame him for all her current relationship woes, but the truth was she was in a vulnerable state. She didn't want to acknowledge that she hadn't felt like herself in days and she refused to let a brief interlude with a stranger affect her... well, just affect her.

"Yes." She said abruptly realizing that Sean was looking at her strangely, she had been quiet for too long. She shook off her daze with a chagrined smile, "Yeah, apparently Christmas with the O'Connell's wasn't enough to make him run for the hills."

Sean snorted as he thought of the trial by fire their parents liked to put Cami's boyfriends through. Ian had held up remarkably well at Christmas he remembered and by the vague twitch of his lips, Ian was thinking of it too. Sean's grin grew, "I'll have to ask him which experience was worse. Dealing with our parents at the holidays or during a crisis."

"Christmas. I'm not under the microscope this time" Ian said soundly as he placed a box of her things against a wall.

"So, you think." Sean stated wryly as he reached a hand out in greeting, "Hey man, it's good to see you again."

Ian grasped the proffered limb with a quick nod, "You too. You going to be out here long or is this just a quick check-in?"

Sean shrugged, "Not sure. I'll be here for at least a week. Exams are coming up and I suppose I'll have to return for those."

There it was again. A shift of something disgruntled in her brother's expression. Usually, only their father could bring that look to Sean's face and Cami found herself frowning again, "You suppose?"

He shrugged, "I will. I think I'm just a bit burnt out. It's a good thing the end of the semester is so close."

"Tell me about it." Ian agreed with a commiserating groan, "If I have to look at one more graph on emerging markets, my brain is going to explode."

Camille rolled her eyes as she listened to their whines, "At least you guys will get to finish your year. I don't even know how this semester will reflect on my records."

Ian frowned at the reminder of her expulsion. He quickly laced his fingers through her as he tried to gently cajole, "Come on, you know Shaln was blustering. I bet you're back in class next Monday."

Sean nodded his agreement, "There's no way that mom is going to let any of this go and with the way dad is pacing with his phone right now, I wouldn't be surprised if he's calling every lawyer he knows to make this go away."

A sickening stone settled into the bottom of Camille's gut as she peered around her brother through the still-open door. And sure enough, there was Callan, burrowing a path into the front lawn. He was already the angry maroon color that Sean had been anticipating. A dull thrum began to spike up her neck at the sight... There would be no end to this day.

"Great." She murmured under her breath, "Mom's already spoken with Aunt Patrice and Uncle Fred. Apparently, she got them to agree to withdraw funding to the school. Shaln about had an aneurysm when she mentioned it."

"Damn... mom works fast."

While Patrice and Fred weren't actually blood relatives, they had been close family friends for so long that they may as well have been part of the larger O'Connell brood. Camille wasn't sure why it had surprised her so much that they were already aware of the latest family scandal. Maybe it was because Vivian usually played things close to the vest.

She missed the shared looked between her boyfriend and brother as she stared distractedly at her father. Both were concerned over the lines of tension and stress creasing her expression.

Sean took the lead as he nudged her, "Have I mentioned how badass it is that you took an abuser in hand? Cuz I'm pretty sure that it makes you a superhero."

"Definitely, Wonder Womanesque." Ian chimed with a faint smile. In truth, he had been at a loss on how to comfort Camille. She was usually very upfront about what she was thinking and feeling – she would tell him what she needed... but she had shut herself off from everyone. A wall had been erected, and he wasn't sure how to approach this withdrawn version of his girlfriend. Waiting for her to come to him had become his default option... and it seemed to be failing. It was a relief to let Sean take over.

"No way. Cami's too blonde for Wonder Woman. I think more Warbird." Sean disagreed as he smirked at his sister.

Ian's eyes lit up, "Carol Danvers? Hell yeah – I can get behind that."

Camille could only shake her head in disbelief, "Wow, this turned into a nerdfest really quick."

Yet, there was no hiding the glint of amusement behind her befuddlement, and that was all the boys had been aiming for as they tried to coax her into a better mood.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating a strong female character. They're hot." Ian argued with a sly grin as he briefly tightened his hand over hers, "There's no denying you're a strong female which can only mean-"

"Uggh, I'm not listening anymore." Sean gagged exaggeratedly as he started to wander away from the blatant flirting display that he was currently witnessing, "I agree by the way. Not that you're hot – but yeah... strong woman."

Camille couldn't stop her snicker at the boys antics, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, Wally's? You guys coming?" He called as he twirled his car keys around his finger.

Camille shared a glance with Ian as Sean waited down by his car. She didn't really want to go out. She had wanted to curl up in bed and shut the world away since she woke up that morning, but life had other ideas. At the same time, curling up in her bedroom at home and not at her dorm held less of an appeal. Sooner or later, she would have to have another painful round of discussions with her parents and figure out what her next steps would be. Being home assured that conversation happening sooner, especially as Vivian had espoused a few ideas in the car already.

Staying home seemed more tedious than necessary and Cami supposed that it wasn't exactly healthy to hide herself away, "I want to go out... but no bars. I've had my fill of them lately."

Ian smiled and nodded his head, "How about bowling? Think we could convince your brother?"

It was an odd suggestion and Cami had to raise her brow, "Bowling?"

"Well, its one sport you can still drink and perform with little effort. Plus, the added bonus of being able to throw a big rock ball at something without people saying you have anger issues." He explained lightly.

It was slightly inane how much allure that last bit held for Camille.

And ultimately, it's what won her over. She didn't regret her choice as she tugged on the used shoes offered by the alley twenty minutes later.

She procured a midnight-blue ball with shimmering specs; it was understated next to the flaming pinks and luminescent greens, but it felt comfortable in her hand. Ian had found a garish orange one that reminded her of Mars as it swirled into different shades while Sean had found one that reminded her of the candy jawbreakers, they would get from the corner market as kids. She was struck by a sense of surrealness. Hours ago she was ready to shut the world away, now she was leaning in to play a game.

Cami shook her head and took her place up at the end of the lane. She gazed for a long moment at the strangely ethereally glowing pins – it was as if the brightness was mocking her. It was stupid, but she took that moment to alter those ten pins in her mind. No longer were these pieces merely glossy-shaped plastic-covered wood, but every negative emotion she had been feeling.

Pin One – worry. Worry for Marnie, for her future, for herself.

Pin Two – rage. Rage at Scott and any person who was like him. Rage at the unfairness of everything. Rage for what she could not control.

Pin Three – confusion. Confusion over how quickly she had snapped. Confusion for Klaus and the odd calm he brought her...even as he annoyed her. Confusion for why that had her questioning her relationship with Ian.

She drew a long breath.

Pin Four – uncertainty. Uncertain of why she was so hesitant to let anyone in... let Ian in.

Pin Five – resignation. Resignation with Shaln, resignation with the fact that she could not go back and change...anything.

Cami pulled her arm back and lined her thumb to the middle arrow painted on the planks below her.

Pin Six –stress. Stress with...everything.

Pin Seven – frustration. Frustrated with being unable to understand herself. Unreasonably frustrated with every person she came into contact with... she was so sick of all the bullshit.

The ball slid from her palm and collided with a deliciously dull thunk to the ground before the rolling glide of smooth stone against polished wood echoed like a helical wave in her ear.

Pin Eight – fear. Fear of what the next days would bring, of how much she wanted to finish what she had started in that bar.

Pin Nine – sadness. Sadness of losing a part of herself that she had not even realized was there to lose.

The clatter of the final impact was like an abrupt roar of applause as those gleaming pins toppled with erratic swivels. All her pessimism gone in one fell swoop.

Yet one pin held strong – tilted and swiveled, teasing its fall before soundly settling on its bottom once more.

Cami blinked in curious astonishment at the ten pin. Of all the pins to remain standing, it had to be one pin she had assigned no negative emotion.

Pin Ten – hope. Hope that everything would be okay.

A beatific smile swept across her lips as she stared. For the first time in days a lightness swept over her, and she was actually able to let the small gleam of hope that had shrouded her every step, blossom a little fuller.

She may not have smiled if she had known about the dark-haired man observing her from the snack bar. No, Cami wouldn't have been smiling at all to know she had gained a stalker that day... but Maddox was nothing if not obedient to his master.

Previous Chapter

#Disintegration #klaus mikaelson #The Originals #fanfiction #the originals fanfiction #Camille O'Connell #klaus x camille #klamille

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creepy-spooghetti · 3 years

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A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 10 - Tag, You’re It

_____

Jack doesn't return for several minutes, though she can hear the sound of muffled talking from the confines of another room nearby. The words are incoherent and muffled, but considering that there's nobody else in this house that she knows of, she guesses that he's on the phone, mostly based on the fact that the only voice she can hear is Jack's. She ponders what he said to her and tucks her knees into her chest, trying to tame the steadily rising fear that's making itself more and more apparent in her chest.

She knew from the beginning of all this chaos that there had to be a deeper meaning buried beneath the surface, even though she didn't want to acknowledge it and instead opted to come up with valid explanations for everything that happened, reasons that wouldn't make her seem crazy. But now? Now, it doesn't look like she has another option but to accept it. She has to admit, Jack made some pretty reasonable points, even if the points in question take a great suspension of disbelief. How else is she supposed to explain the things that have taken place over the past several days? She didn't have a clue about what was happening and why it was happening, and now she does. But is it the honest-to-God truth?

Being stalked by some supernatural being is definitely hard to believe, but so is mentally predicting the death of one's aunt and uncle, being kidnapped by someone without eyes, and subconsciously drawing some kind of freaky symbol. She hasn't another explanation for all of the eerie occurrences lately, what else is she supposed to think? At least she's been provided with an answer—whether that answer is correct or not has yet to be solved—but it's still an answer. It's more information than she could ever get out of her grandparents or anyone else. A therapist probably wouldn't even know what's going on with her. This way, she has a theory to go off of, something to build around until she finds something more... realistic. More believable.

Her eyes flick up to Jack as he re-enters the room, being ultimately pulled from her deep thoughts and watching him stuff, what she identifies as a phone, into his pocket. He turns her direction, his uncanny oozing gaze sending goosebumps up the length of her arms. "There will be someone over here in a bit to pick you up and take you to Brian's house. She's bringing a pair of shoes with her, too."

Oh, it's a girl. Maybe I can find some common ground and convince her to let me go. Unless she's trapped here too... She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and sits more naturally in the chair, her feet meeting the hardwood floor and her posture straightening to come across as more intimidating. Granted, she knows she isn't going to intimidate this monster of a man, but it makes her feel a little safer anyway.

"Who is she?" Her words are sharp and straight-to-the-point as she stares up at his tall frame in an attempt to seem, for the most part, fearless.

"Wisteria. Don't get your hopes up, she's almost as bad as Jeff." Releasing a huff, she rolls her eyes though chooses not to respond. "Do you want a glass—no, sorry—do you want a cup of water?" He puts great emphasis on the word 'cup', indirectly reminding her of the way she launched the glass at his head in an attempt to escape previously. It did work out in the end, she supposes, and she would have actually gotten out of this place had Jeff's hellhound for a dog not taken it upon himself to chomp down on her ankle and keep her firmly planted where she laid in the dirt until someone came to retrieve her. That 'someone' being Jeff.

"What, so you can poison me?" She mutters, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I think I'll pass."

"Did you not hear anything I just told you a few minutes ago?" He sighs, running gloved fingers through his copper-brown hair. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it by now." Ignoring the dryness in her throat, no doubt from lack of water, she only stares up at him with an obstinate expression, refusing to take anything that he has to offer. After a couple of moments, he too crosses his arms. "Ya know, it won't do you much good if you dehydrate and end up dying anyway."

"I'd rather dehydrate than trust you with anything." They continue to stare at each other for what feels like minutes when in reality it's only around ten seconds before Jack shakes his head in defeat.

"Fine. Suit yourself." He takes a seat on the couch, being mindful to keep a fair amount of distance between himself and Y\n, and leans back to get more comfortable. "I know this is a lot to process, but you're gonna have to get used to the fact that you can't go back home. You can't see your family again, it would be too dangerous for both yourself and them."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a warning. You go back home, try to live a normal life, and you eventually snap. You'd be compelled to go to the very thing you've been trying to avoid and kill whoever got in your way. Even if that includes your family." She leers at him through skeptical e\c eyes, comprehending what he's telling her and trying to brush away the feeling of trepidation that rises within her stomach. "It's happened before. I've seen it, too many times to be proud of. It isn't a nice process."

"You're crazy if you actually think I'd kill someone, much less my own family." It's true that she has less-than-desirable parents, but there's no way that she'd ever lose herself enough to physically harm them or take their lives. She isn't a bad enough kid to do something like that, not even under the direst of circumstances. Especially if it involves her grandparents. They've shown her nothing but kindness and support, why on earth would she ever murder them? The very thought sends shivers down her spine.

"Denial is something most people express at first. But it would happen, whether you wanted it to or not." She shakes her head, furrowing her eyebrows together in objection.

"I would never."

"You say that, but you don't know what he's capable of. You don't know how much power he possesses." She averts her gaze to the ground, hugging her torso insecurely and listening to the slightly muffled words that leave Jack's mouth. "He drives you mad. It may start off subtle, maybe you'll have some bad dreams, or minor coughing fits, nothing too concerning. But it will get worse, and worse, and soon you'll be seeing things that aren't there, becoming paranoid because at every turn you feel like something's watching you, but you don't know where or by what. You'll isolate yourself, refuse to talk to anyone, become distant from your friends, your family, society as a whole. And it will continue getting worse, and worse, and worse until you're at your breaking point. You'll just want it all to stop, you'll just want it to be over. You'll be desperate. So you'll listen to him, obey his commands. He'll take you to your breaking point, all without lifting a finger."

The words leave his mouth slowly, making the situation all the more unnerving. There's a sinister kind of truth to what he says that makes an eerie fog blanket her mind in a sense of dread and impending doom. He's right. She knows he's right. There isn't definite proof, but the very tone of his voice and his serious posture tells her right then. He isn't lying. This is real. This is all real, no matter how much she may try to deny it.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she rubs her face with her hands and attempts to slow the rapid beating of her heart. One question floats to the top of all of her thoughts, and she picks it up and analyzes it for a few moments before speaking. "...Why me?" She sees him tilt his head to the side a bit, silently questioning her inquiry and asking for clarification. She happily delivers. "Why, out of seven billion people, does it want me?" She scrapes a hand through her hair in an effort to compose herself, her voice trembling. "What did I do to attract it? I'm just...I'm just a normal person. Why would it want me to do...whatever?"

He takes a few seconds to respond, stringing the words together in his head and coming up with the best possible answer. "I...I don't know." He shrugs lightly, craning his neck toward the couch beneath him. "You told me you had some family issues. He preys on the weak and vulnerable. If you've been going through stressful things, that's likely to be a big contributor to the reason he chose you."

"So you're telling me that I'm being hunted by a paranormal entity because I have garbage for parents?" She chokes down the bile threatening to rise in her throat. "How is that my fault?"

"It doesn't have to be," he simply says, shifting in his seat to better face her. "He's attracted to whoever is at a bad time in life and isn't handling it very well. If you've been stressed, he'll try to get you. It isn't always the victim's fault." Thoughts swarm her mind, though they zip by so quickly she barely has time to process each one before the next one takes its place. But one question manages to stand out above the rest, and she stares at the floor intently.

"But... but I've been going through stuff for years and I haven't had any problems like what's been happening recently until I got here." Her eyes shift up to his featureless, navy-blue mask curiously. "If it wanted me, why didn't it start before?"

"It's difficult to stalk someone and drive them insane when they're in the middle of a city," he says after a moment. "He probably knew about you before, at least to a point, but he couldn't really get to you until you were closer to where he resides." She gulps, eyes glistening with unfallen tears of dismay. "He wanted you more isolated. He can affect you easier that way."

"He's only after me, right?" Worry blooms in her chest and she leans forward absentmindedly. "My... my grandparents aren't a target, too? It's just me?"

"I doubt he'd have anything to do with two people like that, unless..." He pauses, and she presses her lips together in an anxious line.

"Unless?" Her voice holds a sense of distress. "Unless what?"

"Unless..." She can tell he's hesitant to finish his thought, though if it concerns the well-being of Nana and Pops, she won't stand for any unanswered questions. "...well, unless he wanted to use them. To manipulate you."

"How would he do that?" Now fully invested in the conversation, she tries to stabilize her breathing as she stares impatiently at Jack, desperate to get a response.

"He has different tactics. It'd be hard to say which one he'd use on you." Releasing a tremulous breath and trying to ease the nervous pit in her stomach, she clenches her fists.

"Would he hurt them?" For now, she's going to assume both of them are still alive and well, though utterly frantic over her sudden disappearance. Jack hasn't given any proof that he didn't harm them in any way, but she'd rather think about the possibility of life over the possibility of death.

"I don't know. He might."

"Well, then I have to get back to them!" She shoots up from her sitting position, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over her and nearly make her stumble to the floor, but she manages to keep her balance before that can happen. "So let me go."

"Y\n, being irrational isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I'm not being irrational!" She shoots a glare at where he still sits on the couch, starting to limp her way to the front door. "I'm being a good granddaughter. I'm not letting them get hurt." He sighs, a sound that's really beginning to get on her nerves, and slowly stands. She backs away warily in response.

"Your grandparents are fine. He likely won't even do anything that involves them because they're so far away from you now." Just how far away from them is she really?

"Where did you bring me then??"

"I can't tell you. Not yet." He eases closer to her, and she eyes the door. She isn't getting anywhere with her ankle being the way it is, and she knows it. But it's worth another try, right? She darts across the rest of the living room, but before she can even get close to grabbing the knob, a pair of strong arms wrap around her torso and pull her back. Despite her attempts at freedom, his hold doesn't even loosen.

"Let me go, Jack!"

"You already know that isn't going to happen." She lets out an exasperated groan, trying not to put pressure on her injury as she struggles fruitlessly against the tall male currently holding her back and succeeding, much to her displeasure. "You need to calm down."

"How am I supposed to 'calm down'? The only two people who actually give a crap about me are in danger!" She growls, attempting to kick him in the leg or elbow him in the gut, though he skillfully dodges each time and locks onto her tighter, remaining unphased by her actions.

"And you'll be putting them in even more danger if you go back. You heard what I said. Do you really want to hurt your own family?"

"Just shut up! I'd never do something like that. Not if my life depended on it."

"Well, it would. Y\n, you don't understand." He effortlessly spins her around to face him, her neck having to bend upward due to the large height difference between the two of them. She watches the tar-like substance as it leisurely drips from his empty sockets and down his mask before having to glance away. "Once you get to that point, he controls you. He owns you. He can make you do whatever he deems necessary to please him, and you can't stop it." She huffs, biting her bottom lip and holding back distressed tears. "Do you really want that to happen to you?"

She brings both her hands up and pushes harshly against his chest to create some kind of space between them before crossing her arms and sending him a glare, gathering the nerve to look directly into the vacant pits in his head. "I don't want any of this to happen to me," she mumbles, taking deep breaths just to stop herself from crying. "I just want to go home and be with people I love." The words leave her lips as a harsh whisper, voice cracking in the process.

"That can't happen." His tone changes from mildly irritated to sympathetic in an instant, and he takes a small step back in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. "I'm sorry."

She uses the back of her arm to wipe away a stray tear that had begun rolling down her cheek as her gaze lingers toward the hallway. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Jack, or anybody besides her grandparents. She wants out of this mess. At least she knows it isn't her fault, not completely anyway. Not that the thought soothes her very much, but it's something. "...Where's the bathroom?" It comes out as a half-hearted demand, and he answers immediately.

"First door to the right." She nods in silent gratitude and starts walking that way, ignoring the bit of pain that erupts through the bottom half of her leg as she does so. Once inside the desired room, she shuts the door behind her, flicks on the light, and tries to calm her fast, unsteady breathing and erratic heart rate. What is she supposed to do? Take Jack's word for it and stay here? Escape and try to find the way to a police station? Neither option sounds too appealing at the moment. She doesn't forget the words Jeff used before he ever so kindly walked her back to her kidnapper's house.

"Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

It sounded like a threat, and given the brief, though memorable, interaction with Jeff she had, it's very probable that's exactly what it was. A threat. Like he was telling her if she managed to break free and get the police involved, he'd hunt her down and wipe out everyone within his path. And it wouldn't bother him a bit. Of course it wouldn't, if he's crazy enough to supposedly carve a smile into his face, then he's crazy enough not to care in the least as he straight-up murders people.

How could somebody be so... twisted? Is it the doing of that thing, the one Jack informed her about? Or is it something totally different? Well, if she's going to be here a while, as she assumes she will be whether she likes it or not, then she'll be sure to gather as many details about the ones that live around here as she can. Maybe she can ask that girl that's supposed to be coming by with shoes, according to Jack. What's her name? Wendy? Whitney? Wanda?

No, dummy, it was a flower. She's named after a flower... Petunia? Lily? She shakes her head in disregard. That isn't even close. The bathroom is small, with a sink counter to her right, a toilet to the side of that, a tub to her left, and a slender cabinet ahead of her, right beside a window. The thought only crosses her mind briefly to use the window to escape; not only is it too high for her to properly reach without some kind of boost, but it's too small for her to even begin trying to squeeze through.

Nausea bubbles in her stomach as she thinks more and more about her hopeless situation. How does she handle this? Her whole existence just got flipped upside-down in the matter of a few hours. She doesn't know where she is, the people around her seem completely off their rocker, and her grandparents are at risk of being hurt, or possibly even killed by some other-worldly creature that she's seen a grand total of once, and that sighting was vague. What about that one time she saw that figure in the woods? The one with the white mask? Was that a hallucination, or was it real too?

She has no way of knowing for sure, and that thought alone makes her want to collapse and cry until she can't anymore about her misfortune. But she won't, not right now. Instead, she throws herself at the sink, desperate to rid herself of the foul taste filling her mouth and swallowing the vomit creeping up her throat. She turns on the faucet and welcomes the cool water that spills out, pressing her lips against it and gulping it down. She savors the pristine liquid as it slips down her throat, bringing an end to the dryness she felt in it prior and relieving her of the discomfort.

Letting out a strangled cough, she turns the faucet off and looks up, only now noticing the large piece of cloth—presumably an old sheet or blanket—covering the area where a mirror usually is placed. She lifts the corner of it up, only to find that there is, indeed, a mirror underneath, but finding herself a bit perplexed. Why would there be a sheet blocking the mirror? Did Jack do it? Does he not like to look at himself?

How would he see himself if he doesn't have eyes? She knits her eyebrows together, sniffling and licking some residual water away from her lips to stop it from dribbling down her chin. But he seems to move around just fine as if he can see where he's going. She's already established that he isn't normal, but just how not-normal is he? How does one see without eyes? Does he have some kind of sixth sense that allows him to somehow know his surroundings? If the whole 'no eyes' thing is only part of his mask, it's definitely fooled her. It looks so... so real. Just like every other aspect of him.

If he's like that, and Jeff is like that, then what do the other ones look like? She knows that there have to be others, Jack made that blatantly obvious by mentioning someone named Brian and the other named...Daisy? No, that's not it either. How much freakier is it going to get for her? Just how many more psychos has she yet to come across? She isn't too eager to find out. Jack's bad enough, and though he hasn't given her any more reason to hate him, the fact still stands that he took her from her house. Not only that, but he drugged her to do so, and before that, tricked her. Lied, right to her face, all to make her think he was trustworthy. Which he clearly is not.

She isn't sure whether to feel mad, betrayed, or a mixture of both. No, the two weren't friends, but they had talked for quite a while and she had told him things about herself that she certainly wouldn't tell some grey-skinned, eyeless thing. Is he even human? He doesn't look like one. She thought that there was a sort of bond that had sparked between the two of them during their encounter, though now she knows it was just a big, dirty trick.

She sighs through her nose, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the counter. Should she have just stayed home? Sure, she didn't really have a choice but to go to her grandparents' house while her mom and dad went wherever their work lead them, but she knows for a fact that her father in particular would have much preferred to keep her away from them. For some reason though, he had still hauled her off to a place she hasn't visited since she was eleven years old. It may have had something to do with Y\n refusing, under any circumstances, to stay at the penthouse with their absolute snob of a nanny, all alone, for God-knows how many weeks on end.

And seeing as how her mother's parents weren't an option, it was either her father's or summer camp. The last time she was at summer camp, she didn't have a very good experience, and pair that with all of the people in a hurry to make fun of her just because they're jealous of her parents' money, yeah, her grandparents were the better option by a long shot. But... if she would have just stayed home, would this have happened? Would Nana and Pops still be safe? Would she still be leading a generally boring, miserable life? Jack said himself that the creature chasing after her wouldn't be able to reach her in a populated area, like a city, and that's why he only now started attacking her. Because she was easy bait.

Is this actually her fault? Could she have avoided all of this had she just stopped being stubborn and stayed put in her home? What if Nana and Pops get killed if they aren't already? All because of her want to reach out to and see family that actually still care about her? Throwing around blame isn't going to help anything. Though that's what she tells herself, she can't help but think about it and feel guilty.

If I'm dreaming, now would be a good time to wake up. It all feels a bit too realistic to be a dream at this point, but she still clings to that little sliver of hope that this whole charade has been something her mind created while she's unconscious, and that soon she'll awake, perfectly healthy in her bed, with no giant noodle man to worry about, or crazy weirdos with masks, or strange dreams, unexplained dizzy spells and coughing fits. No whacky symbols. That would be incredible, even though she knows that really, she's never that lucky. It's all actually happening, and there's no way to escape it.

She doesn't even try to stop the tears that softly slip down her cheeks and make tiny little drip noises when they land in the porcelain bowl beneath her, only huffing in agitation and dipping her head to collect her bearings. And I thought I had a screwed-up life before...

After a few minutes, she's able to compose herself and gather enough courage to step back outside into the hallway, glancing toward the living room and catching sight of Jack on the couch, book in hand, and head craned down as if reading the words on the pages. Now how does that work? She steps forward, and at the sound of another presence nearing, he tilts his head up and meets her eyes with his soulless black pits.

She pauses under his gaze, nerves jumping with unease at his attention before she continues walking, stopping to idly lean against the wall farthest from him. "You okay?" His voice makes her flinch slightly, having not expected him to speak and break the tense silence that had built between them, though she's able to blow it off and act as if nothing happened.

"No," she says, tone harsh as she crosses her arms and drops her gaze down to the floor. "Why would I be 'okay'? This isn't exactly an everyday occurrence."

"I know, I know." He folds his book over and rests it in his lap, slanting forward slightly. "I'm not expecting you to be alright with this. Not for a while, at least." She narrows her eyes at him and presses her lips together. "I just need you to understand that this is your best option. It ensures both your safety and your family's safety."

"You just told me that my family could be used to manipulate me." Her tone is taut and her eyebrows furrow together, peering at him through resentful e\c orbs. "That doesn't sound very 'safe' to me."

"Yes, and then I said he probably won't feel the need to use them at all because you're so far away from where they live." He straightens his posture and tilts his head. "Trust me, going back would be more dangerous."

"And what if he does decide to 'use' them, huh? What then?" It takes a few infuriating moments for him to respond, and she shuffles around on her feet a bit to give him a well-aimed glare. He either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.

"We'll have to cross that bridge if we come to it." She opens her mouth to complain, to say something along the lines of, 'no freaking way am I standing aside and letting my grandparents become targets for some freak of nature,' but before she can there are three firm raps on the door, coming from the outside. It startles her, and she cautiously averts her gaze to the source of the sudden noise.

Jack moves the curtain to the side and glances out through the window placed directly behind the couch, seemingly checking for who could possibly be at the door. "Relax, it's alright." He stands to his feet and heads toward the wooden portal. She sends him a questioning look, and he motions outside. "Wisteria's here."

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #female reader #Y\n L\n #Eyeless Jack #Jack Nichols #Eyeless Jack x reader #creepypasta x female reader

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 3 years

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Creatures of the Night

Chapter 1 - for it is important that awake people be awake

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AO3 (go to AO3 for complete list of tags for this fic)

Masterlist

(TW: violence/graphic imagery, guns, snakes, fear)

(The title for this chapter comes from “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William E. Stafford.)

Roman's gut twisted painfully and his eyes snapped open. He sat up. His room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever moonlight would have fallen across his bed, but he didn’t need it. He’d lain his clothes and equipment out before going to sleep a few hours earlier. The routine was so ingrained into his mind at this point, light became arbitrary.

Roman’s movements were almost mechanical as he folded back the covers and slipped into his shirt, pants, and armor with long-earned efficiency. The armor was a gift from Logan, who stood as the only person Roman had ever told about his nightly endeavors. It was made of a tough but flexible leather that wasn’t as protective as metal, but far quieter—which Roman found worked to his advantage most nights. Logan, being the obsessive problem-solver he so often was, hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the curse. It had been sealed in Roman’s own blood—against his will, of course, but it made no difference. According to the dragon witch, whose brilliant plan it was to have Roman fight a demon for the rest of his life, had told him that he was the only one capable of keeping it at bay.

Yeah, right, he thought sourly as he wrapped a ruby amulet around his bicep. Another “gift” from that blasted dragon witch. Roman had given up pestering her for a remedy for the curse several months ago, finding the long haul up into the mountains far too much work just to be rejected. He couldn’t even kill the stupid thing. It was immortal. He could weaken it, sure, and make things easier for himself for a few weeks, but it always came back.

Sometimes stronger.

What did the dragon witch expect to happen? Eventually, he would die. Whether it was the demon’s doing was yet to be seen, but he definitely wouldn’t outlive it. What then? Would she simply pass the curse on to another? Continue the viscous cycle of torment? Stop complaining, he scolded himself, pressing his lips into a thin line and cinching the leather guard tight about his forearm. It’s been a year. You should be over this by now.

Picking up the pace, Roman holstered his two pistols on either side of his belt, slipped a dagger into a sheath secured around his stomach beneath his shirt, and picked up his sword. He was best with the blade, though he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without back up weaponry. He despised the guns most of all. They were loud and clunky and gave him a headache to use, but more often than not they got him out of perilous situations, so he kept them. The sword was heavy, though Roman was so used to it now, it felt comfortably weighted.

Doing a quick double-check to make sure he had everything he needed, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Roman had grown accustomed to traversing their house in silence, dreading the possibility of Patton or Virgil discovering him sneaking out loaded with weapons. He turned a corner, about to head down the stairs, when he noticed a warm amber glow trailing up the wall. Someone was still up—or they’d left the light on, at least. Was Virgil having trouble sleeping again? Or was Patton indulging in some late-night baking? Both options were likely. Could Roman manage to sneak by without being noticed? Thoughts raced through his head a mile a minute. Something inside him pulled, like someone plucking a bow string drawn dangerously taut. The curse compelled him forward, and he nearly stumbled down the steps as he pulled back. He had no choice; he had to leave. Could he sneak out his room window? It was a long way to the ground and the only tree was by Patton’s bedroom window. He’d risk injuring himself by jumping, which could put his life in jeopardy later. He’d have to try and sneak past whoever was out there. It wasn’t worth having to face the demon with a twisted ankle. Perhaps he could knock them out and convince them it was all a dream? He shook his head. He couldn’t attack any of them. It would eat him up inside.

Slowly, he peeked out over the banister. A short reading lamp sat on an end table beside the couch, barely light enough to keep the shadows in the corners of the room at bay. Bathed in gold light, the figure in the chair turned out to be Logan, hands clasped in his lap and eyes staring vaguely at the wall, deep in thought. Relaxing somewhat, Roman straightened and continued down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third one down was always squeaky. Logan hadn’t noticed him yet, and even as Roman approached, he stared at the wall, chewing on his bottom lip and mouthing silent thoughts to himself. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Logan,” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped, startled. “Wha—oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you’d leave.”

“What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, considering. “The sun sets at nine p.m. and rises at seven-fifteen a.m.. By all accounts, we are less than halfway into the night,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise dark and empty house. He cleared his throat. “I, er, wanted to see you off before you... left.”

“I’ll be back before the sun rises, Lo,” Roman said, waving a dismissive hand and trying to hide the strain in his voice. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t stay up like this every night.”

“I think you’ll find there are many things I can do,” Logan said, his normal sternness hardening into something akin to anger. “One being making sure you arrive back home in one piece. Are you positive I cannot accompany you? I’m sure there are options we haven’t explored yet.”

“Logan, you—“ Roman tripped forward into Logan as the curse tugged at him once again, endlessly insistent. Logan caught him, but Roman quickly righted himself again, struggling to keep the pain from showing on his face. He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that. You being there would only distract me and put me in more danger. I’d be too worried about you getting hurt.”

Logan studied his face for a moment before sighing and letting him go. “Very well, but you better come back.”

Roman put on a smile, chuckling. “Of course I will. Have a little faith, Lo.”

“I shall try,” he muttered as Roman opened the front door. He glanced back one last time only to see Logan lower himself back into the arm chair and lose himself in pained thought.

* * * * * * * * * *

The forest was only two blocks away from their house, so Roman didn’t have to walk very far. He’d devised a route through the neighborhood that led him behind houses and between backyard fences to lessen the probability of someone spotting him waltzing around dressed like a walking armory. Most nights, however, were largely uneventful save the occasional barking dog. The sudden noise used to scare Roman.

Now, he had bigger things to be scared of.

The forest dampened every noise as soon as Roman stepped through the tree line. Though he could still see civilization through the trees, he felt a thousand miles from any sort of help were something to happen. The curse wouldn't allow him to leave until the first signs of dawn—he would know, he'd tested it. Many times. The beginning was always the most dangerous part. The demon knew exactly where he was, and at what time he'd be there. The trick would be escaping into the darkness of the woods and losing him along the way. He shook off the nerves breeding in the pit of his stomach, and trudged deeper into the darkness, sword at the ready.

Ah, the darkness. He’d brought a flashlight only once before, and had barely escaped the night with his life. Turns out, a bright beam of light does more to give oneself away than to help locate a possible predator. He never made the mistake again. Since then, he’d become quite familiar with the dark. However, it was less of an old friend and more an impartial entity desiring entertainment regardless of who ended up on the wrong end of it. He took no solace in it, but rather treated it with deference and wary reverence.

Something shifted in the trees above him. Roman froze. Dense fog clung to the ground, curling around his legs like ghosts desperate for living touch. The moon was nothing more than a sliver, denying Roman what little light he usually counted on. The heavy slithering bounced around him, as if it couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Roman pressed his back up against a tree and held his sword in front of him.

“So brave,” a chilling voice hissed. Roman’s stomach dropped. “Have you not bored of this constant battle, yet, little prince?” Roman kept his eyes on the canopies and his mouth shut. He’d never figured out why both the dragon witch and the demon called him a prince, but he’d rather that than his own name. Roman refused to give it that power.

“I tire of this endless game. You drag out the inevitable,” the demon sighed. It sounded vaguely human, though if that human had swallowed shards of glass and gargled with shrapnel. The sound of the beast dragging its enormous body through the branches still eluded Roman, jumping around his head like he wore headphones that kept shorting out.

“Why?” it breathed so close to Roman’s ear, he could feel it. He tensed, swinging his sword around. It sunk into something solid. It took Roman a split second to realize that it wasn't a giant serpentine head, but the tree trunk. He tugged. It didn't budge. Terror swept through him in the same second as a grating laugh echoed around the trees. He abandoned the sword and hadn't so much as taken a step away when a wall of cold, hard scales slammed him back into the tree. He could feel the creature's muscles undulating and constricting beneath the smooth plating, slowly crushing him into the wood. It was dark, yes, but Roman had seen it before on nights with a full moon: a gold scaled beast with a body several times thicker than the trees and a head the size of a small car. Eyes like pools of molten lead the size of Roman's whole face and fangs longer than his arm. He'd only been caught by it a few times in the last year. Each time he'd nearly died. Though, he was ashamed to admit, they didn't usually happen quite this fast.

He'd definitely set a new personal record.

Luckily, he'd managed to pin his arms in front of his chest, so he could somewhat resist the creature's constricting. He took short shallow breaths and pushed outward with all of his strength, but it was a futile effort. The constricting halted, and the monster lowered it's head to meet Roman's eyes.

"Tell me why."

"You think I want to be here?" he spat. "A dragon witch cursed me."

"Dragon witch?"

"Yes, the dragon witch named Ursula. You know, after a whole year of barely five words to me, you're suddenly really chatty," Roman said derisively, hoping to distract the beast from the fact that he was slowly reaching for one of his pistols. Not exactly easy when your arms are being crushed by a gigantic reptile, but progress was being made nonetheless.

"All this time and she still holds onto that ridiculous nickname. You'd think she'd have learned to imprison me with more than a sniveling child," it hissed, baring its enormous fangs. Roman paled, wriggling his arm toward the holster a little faster now. It reared up its head and tightened its hold. Roman cried out, the air slowly forced out of his lungs. He saw stars.

"I am no troublesome pixie that can be held over by a simple curse. She will pay for this insul—"

BANG!

Roman drew and fired the pistol faster than he'd ever before. It hit just below the demon's eye, ricocheting off its scales and off into the night. The snake hissed angrily and released him, retreating in a spiral up the tree and into the canopies once more. It knew better than to stay in close range while the guns were out, regardless of it's tough armor. Roman may not like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. So far, the mouth and the eyes were the only weak spots he'd located.

He dropped to the ground, heaving and retching. Roman scrambled to his feet. There was no time for recovery. He tore his sword from the tree and sprinted deeper into the forest. He needed to find shelter or somewhere to hide. While he couldn't see the serpent as well when it was in the trees, it couldn't move nearly as fast. If he managed to lose it, he may just have a chance.

Calm down, Roman. You've been doing this for three hundred and sixty-five nights, and you haven't lost a single one. Don't make tonight any different.

The battle was nowhere near over, and the night had only just begun.

* * * * * * * * * *

Roman fumbled for the key beneath the place mat. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and though the sun hadn't technically risen yet, his curse had seen fit to release him as soon as the first hints of light played at the horizon. It was still relatively dark, the skyline glowing a pale blue-green against the starry indigo above it. His ribs ached, his knees and elbows were scraped, his clothes and face were streaked with mud, and he was covered in blood up to his elbows. Not his own. Last he checked, his blood was red, not black. It was the demon's, from when he'd driven his sword through the underside of its mouth. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, but he could imagine the horror show that was his appearance. The stuff never really dried, either. It remained sticky like tar and was an absolute nightmare to try and get out of the leather armor Logan made him—not to mention his own hair.

Eventually, his sloppy fingers found the spare key and managed to stick it into the lock. He turned it, replaced it beneath the mat, and pushed the door open. The house smelled of cinnamon and happiness, due in great part to Patton's baking yesterday. The lamp still sat on in the living room, illuminating Logan's sleeping features. His glasses hung askew across his nose and some fancy-pants scientific book lay open on his lap. Roman closed the front door behind him as softly as he could manage, then froze with his foot inches above the floor. Virgil had just mopped last night. If Roman took one step off the front rug, he'd track mud, dirt, and demon blood through the entire house. Cursing under his breath, he leaned forward, reaching for the coat closet. He nearly fell on his face and woke the entire house, but in the end he'd acquired what he'd been looking for: his old jacket. It was worn, fraying, and impossibly comfortable, and would do exactly what Roman needed it to. He could always wash it later, right? Laying it open on the floor, Roman stepped onto it and proceeded to shuffle his way down the hall toward the stairs. True, he could have simply taken off his boots, but they were laced up tight and sticky with blood he didn't have the patience to deal with in the middle of the house. He'd see to it once he got to the bathroom and didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. He passed by Logan, who had fallen asleep in the arm chair, snoring softly.

It was a long, tenuous journey, but he eventually made it to the base of the stairs. There, he was met with a new problem. How was he supposed to make it upstairs on his jacket?

"Roman?" Logan muttered groggily, squinting at him.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Roman whispered, waving a hand at him.

"What's all over your—is that blood?"

"Yes, but be quiet!" Roman hissed. "You're going to wake up everyone else!"

Logan stood. "What do you mean yes? Are you hurt?" He reached a curious hand out toward the black goo covering his arms.

"Don't touch it," Roman snapped. His temper was worn thin after the night he'd had, and the last thing he needed right now was a scientific analysis of demon blood. He sighed, "Sorry, Lo. I just... need to get to the bathroom. Could you get some towels or something to lay on the stairs so I can—" he started, but Logan apparently had other ideas. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm under Roman's knees and scooped him up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Roman demanded, "You're going to get it all over you."

"Irrelevant," Logan said, though his nose crinkled slightly at the stench of death covering his friend. "I shall simply carry you upstairs. It will be faster and more efficient. Don't worry about the jacket, I'll take care of it. Now," he shifted his grip, "are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah," Roman said, though it came out as a strangled gasp. The way Logan was holding him put pressure on a bruise he'd gotten while the overgrown worm had tried smothering him in a swath of mud. Logan cocked an eyebrow and didn't move. Sighing dejectedly, Roman instructed him where he could place his hands to cause him the least amount of pain. After a few moments of readjusting, Logan set off up the stairs. Roman was impressed at how steady Logan was despite carrying his entire weight up the stairs.

"Watch the wall," he grunted, and Roman tucked his feet in to keep from leaving streaks of mud down the hallway. They passed Patton's room, then Virgil's, then arrived at the bathroom. Logan set him down on the tile flooring, promising to fetch him a clean pair of clothes and a bag to place all of the blood spattered articles in. After one last concerned look, he closed the door and left Roman alone in the bathroom.

He grimaced as he glanced at his reflection. Roman looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck. Blood, dark and glossy as pitch, speckled his face and neck and clumped in his hair. It covered both forearms up to his elbows, as if he'd dipped his arms in black paint. Contrastingly, his own crimson blood had dried across his upper lip and chin from the bloody nose he'd received when flung into a tree. Sickly gray mud clung to the rest of him like plaster. Carefully, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them into a pile near the door. He'd had hopes of the washing machine saving them, but looking at them in a pathetic heap on the floor, he doubted anything could be done. He'd have to burn them later.

Returning his attention to the mirror, his throat constricted. His torso was mottled with a myriad of purple and green bruises, or maybe that was just more mud. They certainly felt like bruises. His eyes trailed down his shoulders, then came to rest on the grimy amulet still tied to his upper arm. He turned it over in his hand, wiping the dirt from its surface.

Think of it as insurance, the dragon witch had written in a nice, instructional letter on how to handle his curse. Insurance that you don't go dying on me too soon. Any injuries you sustain while wearing the amulet will heal as soon as you take it off. You won't even need to sleep, my prince. Easy as that.

Scowling, he undid the clasp and pulled the necklace from his arm. Immediately, burning cold energy coursed through his body. He bowed forward and rested his elbows on the counter, biting his fist to keep from making a sound. It took a considerable amount of self control not to collapse to the floor and itch his gradually healing skin bloody. It felt like a million spiders with needles for legs crawling around inside him.

Some healing magic, Roman thought venomously, breathing hard through his nose. Feels worse than healing normally.

But it was faster. And Roman couldn't risk Patton or Virgil finding out simply because they touched a tender spot. There was a knock at the door.

"Roman? I've got some new clothes and a trash bag, can I come in?"

"Hold on," he choked through gritted teeth. The sound was more like a whimper than Roman would have wished, but there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than a measly voice crack. An entire year of this, and he still wasn't used to the feeling. How pathetic. He stumbled into the shower and pulled the curtain.

"All right," he said, leaning heavily against the tiled wall. He wasn't going to pass out. He been in worse shape on previous nights. This was nothing. Roman heard Logan open the door slowly, then silence. He heard the faint scrape of him picking up the amulet. Roman had explained its purpose to him the night he'd found out. Mainly because Logan had demanded to know how he wasn't a pile of mush every single night. No one could take a beating like that every twelve hours and still be walking, let alone acting like nothing was going on.

"Are you going to be okay, Roman? Do you require any assistance?" He came closer to the curtain.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Logan." Please don't look, you'll only worry. Don't look.

A pause. "Very well. I will await you downstairs when you are done cleaning up." Another long silence as Roman clenched and unclenched his fist as the healing magic completed its circuit around his body. The feeling eventually faded into a dull prickling. Logan sighed, set the amulet back down on the counter, and left.

Roman let out a breath and cranked the faucet as far to the hot side as it would go. The water was scalding, but he didn't care. The demon blood slowly dissolved from his skin and hair, swirling down the drain in a disgusting black soup of mud and dirt. He wished he could wash it all away, scrub the demon from his pores and the pain from behind his ears.

Clean water streamed down Roman's face in the place of the tears he did not shed.

Thanks for reading!! You can find the rest of this fic on AO3, here.

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jasiper · 4 years

Text

golden

fine line series 1/12

you’re so golden

i’m out of my head

i know that you’re scared

because hearts get broken

A golden state of mind. That’s the California dream, isn’t it? The place where dreams come true, where fleeting thoughts can transform into a tangible reality. The place where the sun never seems to set. The place where nobody is sad—and if someone is sad, there are the means to not feel sad anymore.

Piper’s life seemed to begin—and end—in the golden state. Her dad was living the golden life, making money and walking the red carpets and flashing his pearly whites on the big screen. When she went to the store, his face was plastered on every other magazine cover. He was what the famous people called a California dream. He made something out of nothing. His daughter? Well, she was trying.

But even trying is a generous word for her. California is the place where her dad found his career but lost Piper in the frenzy of the media. This was the place she felt the most alone. This is the place she found herself in the backseat of a police cruiser. This is the place she appeared in court. This is the place where her dad told her she shouldn’t be. She found herself forced across state lines and as she stared over the desert, she saw that Nevada had golden sunsets. Just like California. Only there was no water to reflect the light—only miles and miles of dry land and broken dreams and white walls where bad kids like her resided. But Piper wasn’t a bad kid. She just couldn’t find a place in the golden state.

Dreams came true in California. Only her dream didn’t.

Most people found heartbreak later on in life. Piper felt her first heartbreak as a kid. She should have been tucked into bed by her dad after a bedtime story with a kiss on the forehead. She fell asleep alone, clutching a teddy bear to her chest because her dad was off shooting another movie. Dance recitals meant that she looked out at the audience without a familiar face in sight. She never attended a daddy/daughter dance. Her first heartbreak was due to her own father’s negligence. She promised herself that no one would ever hurt her the way her dad did.

As Piper expected, she didn’t experience a golden state of mind in California. She felt that anticipated bliss in the middle of the winter in New York.

After a whirlwind December, everything Piper thought she knew turned out to be false. Her entire world flipped upside down. It took her the whole month of January to learn the ropes of being half-god. Turns out, there are a lot of things to be taught when your mother is the Greek goddess of love, including how to fight with a dagger, how to detect monsters, and how to come to terms with the fact that an evil earth entity is waking up. Maybe Piper would never achieve the California dream her dad was living; how could she? Everything she ever knew was a lie. Even if she had believed in God or whatever before all of this, she isn’t sure she’d be able to handle the real truth well.

If not for Leo, Piper probably wouldn’t survive this. Not with her life in jeopardy. Not with the knowledge of being a charmspeaker. And certainly not with the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t really her boyfriend at all.

It seems shallow, even to Piper. Her dad almost died and she almost died and the world almost ended but the Mist incident was—and still is—the lowest blow in this entire mess. The closest thing to a golden state of mind was just a hallucination, an illusion, a dream. So ironic since her mom is Aphrodite; shouldn’t her one success be in the romance department?

It took two months for them to kiss (for real this time). It happened so fast, it felt like a dream. Piper was being her usual nervous self, fiddling with her own fingers and she was babbling away and suddenly Jason leaned in to kiss her. The warm feeling in her stomach didn’t go away for a whole week after the kiss. She was smiling like an idiot even while training. Leo gave her shit for her grin and Annabeth rolled her eyes, but she didn’t care. The boy she liked kissed her after everything she endured—Jason didn’t have to like her after the Mist gave her fake memories.

But Piper stopped smiling when reality sank in. Sure, she and Jason were now exclusive, but when did things ever go right for demigods? She heard of the tragedy of her late older sister, Silena, and her boyfriend Beckendorf. Things ended horribly for them. She looked to her new friend, Annabeth, and her tired grey eyes, defeated from dead ends in the search to find her missing boyfriend. There were picture frames lining the walls of the Big House. Half of the faces were strangers to her even though the picture was recent, and although Chiron would never say it, she knew they were dead. How many people really achieved a happy ending here? Camp Half-Blood was the self-proclaimed safe place for Greek demigods, but she felt like she was walking on a gravesite.

And even if Piper somehow were to beat the odds and live through this war, love was never kind. Anyone could see that, not just a daughter of Aphrodite. She grew up in Hollywood’s backyard—she saw the headlines reporting that celebrity couples were divorcing. Love, as powerful as it is, is cruel. It’s ruthless and even has gods at its mercy. Her mother is feared for a reason.

If her own father had the ability to break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same thing?

The walls go up. Piper feels like a child again, staring at her darkened bedroom wall, wishing more than anything that she could live her life without fear.

Unlike her past, someone recognizes that her walls are up.

It must have been hours upon hours of sparring. A sidestep, a parry, a kick to the dummy’s chest. When the dummy fell, Piper would wipe her sweaty forehead, take a breath, pick up the dummy, and start again. A mindless, tedious routine. Anything to get the image of her bedroom wall out of her mind. Anything to chase away the irrational fear dormant in her chest.

By the time she kicks down the dummy again, she looks up mid-forehead wipe and sees Jason. He stands about five feet away, frustratingly dashing in his black tank top with the sleeves cut off. His sword hangs from the sheath on his hip and by the look of his own sweaty brow, Piper can only guess he had been training as well. When he runs his fingers through his hair—which is glistening in the sun, may she add—she can see his tattoo, forever a reminder of the Mist.

“You’ve been out here for a while,” Jason finally says after several moments of silence.

Piper sheaths her knife. When she finally allows her body to relax, she notices how her arms feel like jello. She’s more exhausted than she thought. “Not too long. I’m still a little shaky on my technique,” she answers, voice hoarse.

Jason bends down and grabs her water bottle. He extends an arm and she gratefully takes it, taking a swig. As she’s drinking, he says gently, “Pipes, you’ve been out here for hours. Annabeth was ready to drag you away from the dummy herself, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that when you’re so, uh, on edge.”

On edge? Am I on edge? Piper wants to ask, but she can see Jason’s concern even though he tries to hide it. There’s that crease between his eyebrows that develops when he’s worried. She saw it when she broke her ankle and got hypothermia. She doesn’t like how he’s worried. He shouldn’t be worried, right?

“I’m fine,” Piper replies, though she doesn’t sound so sure.

The crease only deepens between his eyes. “Really? Fine?”

Piper’s knuckles are white around her water bottle. Jason’s looking at her with a concerned, almost bewildered expression. This should comfort her; someone with the intention of breaking her heart shouldn’t be this worried about her, right?

But Jason is a good person. Break him down to his soul and that’s what he is: a good person. He’s the kind of guy who offers up half of his sandwich if someone forgot to pack lunch. He’s the kind of guy who holds the door open for a crowd of people even if they’re ten feet away. He’s also the kind of guy who jumps into the Grand Canyon for a complete stranger.

What’s stopping a good person from realizing he made a mistake and leaving and unintentionally breaking Piper’s heart anyway?

“Pipes?” Jason’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” is her instant reply. Her voice wobbles and she winces because she does not sound fine. Jason’s look of concern grows more apparent and she clears her throat to try speaking again. “Really. Just… Wow, I am so tired. You’re right, I’ve been out here for a while and I’m tired and probably dehydrated—”

“Piper—”

Piper sidesteps away as Jason moves forward. She turns so she’s walking backward, careful not to turn her back on him to assure him she’s alright. “I really need to shower and probably lay down. I’m fine, really, I am, I just—”

Her ankle snags on something on the ground as she backpedals. She tries to balance her weight a moment too late, her body too exhausted to keep herself upright. She braces herself for impact as she trips ungracefully—pun not intended— over the mysterious object on the ground.

Before she can hit the ground, a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her forward. The momentum of the pull sends her flying and she crashes into a warm, firm body. It takes her a few seconds to realize she’s in Jason’s arms, his hands gripping her biceps. She turns her head to see that she dripped over the dummy she had been sparring with a few minutes ago.

“Piper,” Jason begins slowly, worry laced in his words, “what is going on?”

The worry in his voice isn’t enough to free Piper from her fear. She looks into his eyes and irrationally sees the end to a very recent relationship and it’s all too much to handle. It’s dumb, it’s irrational, it’s flat-out stupid to think about nonexistent relationship problems with her perfectly kind boyfriend when she’s probably destined to die from Mother Nature herself but here she is, in Jason’s arms, and it’s all too much.

Piper pushes her perfectly good boyfriend away and tries to ignore the hurt flashing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to—I can’t—”

A crowd has formed. The volleyball game between some Apollo and Athena kids has come to a complete standstill. Annabeth is in her usual spot for this time of the afternoon, perched in front of her cabin, a book in her hands, and even from several yards away Piper can see those disappointed grey eyes. The only thing making this situation less embarrassing is the fact that Leo isn’t there; he’s busy with his siblings working on the Argo II. If Leo had to see Piper like this…

“Pipes?” Jason makes one last attempt. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Please.”

“I can’t, Jason,” Piper manages, voice shaky, and the edges of her vision blur together as tears prick her eyes. “I can’t.”

It takes all of her willpower not to sprint back to her cabin. She lowers her head and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest—the same sinking feeling she felt when she boarded a plane to Nevada—as she walks away.

***

“You’re going to have to talk to him, you know.”

“I know I do. I just… can’t right now.”

“You already missed dinner last night. And breakfast this morning. Are you really going to let your embarrassment keep you from eating and talking to Jason?”

Piper risks a look at Annabeth from under the pillow she has covering her face. Although Annabeth’s voice is a bit condescending, there’s no hiding the worry on her friend’s face.

“I just don’t understand, Piper,” Annabeth continues. “You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?”

“It’s not that simple,” Piper protests, burying her face deeper into her pillow and rolling on her side to face away from Annabeth. “I’m not trying to do this.”

“You’re not trying to stop it from happening,” Annabeth says softly. “You’ve had every chance to go talk to him since yesterday and you’ve locked yourself in your cabin. You won’t even talk to Leo.”

“Leo won’t understand this.”

Annabeth’s hand, calloused from hours of training, rests on Piper’s arm. It moves down to rub her back. Annabeth isn’t one for physical comfort but she must sense Piper needs it. “Why won’t Leo understand? He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

“Leo’s never been in a relationship,” Piper mumbles, her voice mumbled by her pillowcase. “I’m sure if I tell Leo how I feel, he’ll look at me like I’m crazy.”

“You’re pushing away the guy of your dreams. You are a little crazy,” Annabeth weakly teases.

Piper lowers her pillow and stares at the cabin wall. She stares at the picture of her and her dad in front of her face and her chest tightens. “Maybe he’s not the guy of my dreams.”

“You literally called him that after he kissed you for the first time.”

“Yeah, well, I was stupid and I wasn’t thinking straight,” Piper retorts. “I’m fifteen. What do I know about love?”

Annabeth sighs. “You’re the daughter of Aphrodite. I feel out of my element here. I’m not one for relationship advice.”

Piper chews on her bottom lip. She wonders if Annabeth would understand her crazy, irrational fear of Jason breaking her heart. If her dad, the person who raised her, could break her heart, what was stopping Jason from doing the same? Good guy or not, he has a history he still doesn’t remember, a family of Roman soldiers across the country who might change his mind. The uncertainty of her relationship—and her life—had been eating away at her sanity for weeks.

Before Piper could come up with a response to Annabeth’s comment, a knock sounds from the door. Annabeth calls out, “Who is it?”

“Uh.” Piper sits up because she recognizes that voice. “It’s me, uh, Jason.”

Annabeth looks over at Piper, eyebrows raised. Piper shrugs so Annabeth asks, “What do you need?”

“I know Piper’s in there,” Jason says through the door. “I need to talk to her. Piper? Can I please talk to you? Alone?”

“We’re not allowed to be alone in a cabin together,” is Piper’s pathetic reply.

Jason sighs. “Okay, then we don’t have to—”

Annabeth stands and quickly crosses the room despite Piper’s noise of protest. She opens the door, revealing a crestfallen Jason, and says, “I’ll keep watch. You guys need to work out whatever’s up, I don’t really know what’s up, but if we’re going to go on a quest in a few weeks, we can’t have miscommunication. Got it?”

“Understood,” Jason replies obediently.

“Piper?” Annabeth’s grey eyes flash.

“Yes,” Piper mumbles, still clutching her pillow to her chest.

“Perfect. I’ll be right outside. Yell if you need me.” Annabeth sends Piper one last stop being a baby look and shuts the door behind her.

A long silence follows the door closing behind Annabeth. Jason stands just inside the cabin, staring down at his feet, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Piper’s heart races inside her chest and she grips the pillow like a lifeline.

I just don’t understand, Piper, Annabeth’s voice echoes in Piper’s head. You chased after him for two months, hoping he’d like you back and within two weeks you’re, what, pushing him away?

“You can sit down, if you want,” Piper offers softly. Jason lifts his head and she pats the bed mattress beneath her. “I promise I won’t bite. Or yell. Or push you off.”

Jason cracks a smile and he chuckles. “Promise?”

“I promise. Come here.”

Jason finally walks over and sits on the edge of her bed. He turns his body to face her and for a moment, he studies her face. Her heart races and she wonders what he’s thinking. Although she’s getting better at reading his face, sometimes it’s impossible to know what he could be thinking.

“What… happened yesterday?” Jason asks quietly. “I noticed something was wrong a few days ago, but I didn’t… I just thought you were a little down, which is totally understandable. But yesterday you really worried me. Did I do something wrong?”

It takes Piper a few seconds to realize Jason blames himself. She blinks and rapidly shakes her head. “What? No, no, of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong. I mean it. If you did, I would tell you.”

“Are you sure?” Suddenly Jason isn’t the son of Jupiter, or Zeus, or whatever. He’s not the guy who fought the king of the giants with a piece of scrap wood. He’s not the guy who jumped into the Grand Canyon to save her. He’s a scared, insecure fifteen-year-old boy who looks worried about messing up.

If only he knew the only one messing up was her.

“Jason.” Piper pushes away the pillow and scoots closer to him. She takes his hands into his, threading her fingers through hers. She looks up to meet his eyes and she sees the fear. She has to swallow her embarrassment from yesterday’s blowup as she says, “You are… perfect. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I feel like I have,” Jason whispers. “You’ve been so distant. So quiet. I thought you were overwhelmed with the upcoming quest and the fear and everything because I’m scared, too. But yesterday it seemed like you were distant from me and me only.”

Her stomach twists into knots. The hurt in his voice is so evident and it’s her fault. Her irrational fears have forced a perfectly good guy, a guy who likes her, to doubt himself. Some girlfriend she is.

“I’m… scared,” Piper breathes. Jason leans in closer, staring at her with such an intense gaze that she forces herself to look away. “I didn’t realize how scared I was until we got together.”

“Scared?” Jason asks. “Scared of… me?”

“No,” Piper assures him. She squeezes his fingers and he brings their intertwined hands up to kiss her knuckles as he sighs out a breath of relief. “Scared of… this.”

“This?” Jason keeps her knuckles against his lips. “Our relationship?”

As Piper hears it out loud, she realizes how stupid she’s being. She nods miserably, staring at her knees. “Scared of trusting someone this much.”

“Is it me? Or just in general?” Jason asks. His voice is so kind and understanding that it makes Piper want to cry.

“In general… and a little bit of you,” Piper admits. “I know that Hera’s meddling wasn’t your fault, but the Mist really messed me up.”

Jason kisses her fingertips this time. “Gods, I know. It would mess anyone up. I am still so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The Mist and my dad and the whole demigod thing… It was a lot to swallow at once, you know? That and all of my baggage.”

“Baggage?” Jason sounds confused.

“You know. The relationship with my dad. Not having a mom.”

“Oh.” Jason tightens his grip on her hand. “Yeah. Not having a mom… sucks.”

Piper realizes how insensitive she sounds—she has a mom. Sure, Aphrodite is a goddess, but she’s still alive. She’s there in her own weird, annoying, immortal way. But Jason… His mom was abusive and she gave him away when he was a toddler and now she’s dead. At least Piper had her dad, which is more than what Jason could say; Jason has never met Zeus and judging by the tallies tattooed on his arm, his dad has had more than enough time to pop in and say hi. If Piper has it bad, Jason has it worse.

“It’s… so stupid and it’s unfair of me to be taking it out on you,” Piper continues. “But I thought I knew you and then it was all the trick of the Mist. I’m still getting to know you. And trust me, I like what I know. I really, really do. But my own dad broke my heart, Jason. He neglected me for years, thinking he was providing for us. He was gone for days and weeks at a time. He missed every dance recital, every parent-teacher conference. He didn’t see me graduate from middle school. He didn’t come to my first soccer game. My dad missed everything. I know it sounds so unfair because I had a dad, I had a pretty normal life and you didn’t, but my dad… I was a kid and he broke my heart. My own dad did that. If the person who raised me could do that much damage, what’s stopping any other person from doing the same thing? Is something wrong with me? Are you going to wake up one day and realize I’m not the person you want and leave?”

Jason is quiet for a long time after she finishes speaking. Her heart hammers uncomfortably in her throat and she’s afraid that she just drove him away. He probably sees the fifty shades of crazy she is and doesn’t want a part of that—who would want this? A BMW stealing girl who got sent to court for wanting attention? Someone who is pushing away a perfectly good person just because her dad wasn’t around? If he wants to run for the hills, she wouldn’t be able to blame him.

“My mom’s name was Beryl,” Jason says softly. “She was an actress. Hollywood’s starlet. Attracted Zeus himself not once, but twice. And when he left, she lost it. Drowned herself in every bottle she could get her hands on. I don’t remember this, but Thalia says she raised me. She was a kid and making my bottles and changing my diapers. I wouldn’t want anyone to be raised the way I was, but then to make matters worse, my mom abandoned me in the forest? She left a two-year-old in the forest with a wolf goddess to fend for himself. I didn’t even know any of this until a few weeks ago. I… I didn’t even know my mom broke my heart until recently, and I’m so angry about it.”

Piper’s chest tightens. “Jason, I’m so sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m so upset and I don’t even remember this woman. You know your dad. Your dad has recently hurt you, Pipes. You have a right to be upset. You have a right to be afraid of me. I don’t think I get that right because I hardly even know who I am.”

“I don’t accept that,” Piper argues. “You can be upset over something you don’t remember. Your mom changed your whole life. She forced you away from your sister. I’d be angry, too. I’d be furious. You’re allowed to be furious and you’re allowed to be afraid of me, too.”

Jason’s eyes are frustratingly soft when he whispers, “But I’m not afraid.”

“How?” Piper murmurs. She leans in even closer and when she does so, Jason raises one hand to cup her cheek. “How are you not terrified that I’m going to break your heart like your mom broke yours?”

“Pipes, even if you did break my heart, I’m sure I’d deserve it,” Jason says. “I was a baby then. My mom was a drunk. What she did… It wasn’t okay. That was neglect. I look at you and I’m not scared. I trust you with every cell in my body. You… you trusted me when I was just an illusion. You kept trusting me when you found out I was a Roman. You keep trusting me. You trust that I’m going to lead us to defeat Gaea and keep us alive. How could someone like you be someone I’m scared of?”

Piper’s heart skips a beat and she stares at him, a lump forming in her throat. “We might die.”

“You’re right, we might.”

“Gaea… she’s capable of killing us.”

“Yep. She is.”

“Aren’t you terrified?”

Without skipping a beat, Jason nods. “I am. But I look at you and it doesn’t seem so scary.”

It’s like falling all over again. She stares into his deep blue eyes and it’s a slow tug, a warm feeling pooling in her stomach, and she’s back at the Grand Canyon; he saved her from a death fall. He’s holding her upright, keeping her from hitting the ground. This boy in front of her is not her father. Even if he wanted to, she’s convinced he couldn’t break her heart. He could try and he’d never intentionally hurt her.

When Piper leans in, Jason meets her halfway. She kisses him softly, his warm hand cupping her cheek and his fingers burying themselves in her hair. His lips taste like strawberries and he smells of Old Spice. She melts against his lips and pulls him closer. He complies, both of his hands on her cheeks, soft and warm and comforting.

By the time they pull away, Jason’s cheeks are red and Piper’s breathless. He presses her forehead to hers and for a moment, they just look at each other.

“Next time you feel this way, can you please tell me?” Jason murmurs. “I’m pretty dumb and I can’t read your mind, even though I wish I could. I know years of abandonment aren’t going to be healed by a talk with me, but I want to help. I want you to know I’m here and I’m not going to leave you, Pipes.”

Piper feels her lips curl up in a tiny smile. “Thank you. You handled my crazy and that’s something I never asked you to do.”

“You’re not crazy, but you’re welcome.” Jason kisses her forehead. “Waking up on that bus… I felt so alone. I didn’t know who I was, and I’m still learning. But you… took control of my fears and you made me less afraid. You make me feel like me if who I am is the person I was before I woke up.”

“I don’t know who that person is either, but if you’re anything like who you used to be, I know I trust you,” Piper whispers. She pulls him in for another soft kiss. “I know you’re probably busy, but I haven’t eaten all day so I am starving. Can we head to lunch before going to Bunker Nine?”

Jason smiles and nods. “Anything for you.” He stands up and offers her his hand, which she takes. “Maybe we can take some strawberries before lunch. Sound like a plan?”

Beaming, Piper presses herself against his side. “You read my mind. Let’s go.”

And as they step out into the daylight, Piper can’t help but admire how the sun makes everything golden.

#hi hello i have emerged from the void of social distancing to give you this #i said a few months ago i would write a one-shot based off harry's new album... here is the first one #in trying times we need a lil golden #also i am so: rusty so pls be kind on me :(#it's scary releasing new content after so long #idk if ppl will remember i actually write AAA #anyway . i hope you guys like #and i hope this makes this scary time a lil better <3 #fine line series #jasiper #my aesthetic #my writing #mine

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 10

Tommy wandered Black Mesa for what felt like days.

It couldn’t have been days; his hands were still sticky with rust and he hadn’t gone far from where -

Where that happened.

He didn’t feel like he even had permission to mourn. Tommy barely knew Gordon - had known him for maybe 72 hours max - but he had grown so important so rapidly that his absence punched a hole straight through Tommy’s torso. He couldn’t shake the sense of loss, how bitterly unfair it all was.

To have someone be such an almost. An almost friend. An almost lover. Never having gotten close enough to be allowed to miss him.

This was not to mention the overwhelming sense of guilt that had crawled inside his lungs. If he had been quicker, if his judgment were sharper, he could have prevented this. If he had been strong enough to break free of whatever bound him. If he had paid greater mind to his father’s warning.

Tommy drifted, heavy with regret as he glided through the halls like a spectre. Shackled down by should-haves. What did he do now? What was there left to do, when the world was fucked and the only person who gave a shit about it was dead?

The room he wound up in was cavernous, ringed with a toxic neon glow. Appropriate mood lighting, he thought wryly to himself as he stood in the shadow of a massive cistern. It was strange, standing there, saturated by radioactive waste, almost-grieving an almost-lover. Would have been nice if not for the cockroaches.

Would have been nice if Benrey wasn’t there, too.

Tommy felt his presence as soon as he appeared, unpeeling from thin air and hanging his elbows over the edge of the cistern. Looking all the world like a kid at a pool party. Tommy watched him materialize and felt something dark settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey,” Benrey drawled nonchalantly.

Tommy didn’t have the patience for pleasantries. He was going to set this guy on fire. As he raised his hand toward him, the entity blurted the only thing that could have possibly saved him.

“Dude, he’s alive.” His voice was pained, as if he were already feeling the blood boiling in his own veins. “Chill.”

He released his hold on the atoms that made up the entity’s body as hope lodged a painful lump in his throat. Benrey sagged with relief while Tommy took a thoughtful step back, eyeing him warily. His hand was still lifted in a threat.

“Where is he?” he demanded coldly.

Benrey threw his careless exterior back on once he was sure he wasn’t about to be immolated on the spot. He gave a narrow shrug. “I don’t fuckin’ know. On the move somewhere. Last I checked he wasn’t in the garbage anymore.”

The garbage. They had tossed him in the garbage. Tommy wanted to kill this guy all over again. He clamped down on that impulse, instead uttering a single, perfunctory syllable.

“Why?”

“Probably because he didn’t wanna be in the garbage anymore.”

“Why,” Tommy tried again, barely containing his anger, “did you do that to him?”

Benrey began picking at his cuticles lazily, rolling his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Tommy’s gaze. “I dunno. He was getting boring.”

“I don’t believe you.”

When Benrey showed him his teeth, it was more of a snarl than a smile. “Your problem, bro.”

Tommy was about to grill the entity, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, when a scuffling sound echoed from a pipe on the opposite wall. He turned, tempted to dismiss it as another alien, but a heavy thud followed, and a very human groan came shortly after. Benrey’s mouth turned into a knife as he leered at Tommy.

“Huh. Maybe he’s not so boring after all.”

Tommy turned back to face him, his stare hard and dangerous. “I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to kill you again.”

“Hurts, man,” Benrey said, but he was delighted. “Just like old times.” He dangled his arms over the edge of the cistern, grinning cheekily. “I missed this.”

The noise from the pipe was growing louder. The person inside - and he had a pretty fucking good guess who - was clearly in a lot of pain. Tommy’s heart squeezed just hearing it.

“Get out,” he told Benrey.

The entity smiled his shark’s teeth smile. “Make me.”

Tommy did. Clapped his hands together and slammed Benrey into the same pocket dimension he’d trapped that shithead soldier in only a day ago. His patience was nonexistent, his self control barely hanging on. Go have a time out in the void. It was a kinder punishment than the entity deserved.

He stood there, watching the space where Benrey had disappeared from, for several long seconds. Then he turned and strode across the room to watch the dead come back to life.

The relief that surged through Tommy upon seeing Gordon Freeman crawl out of that drain was so sudden and powerful it knocked the breath out of him. He was alive. He was alive. God, he was alive. Tommy could only stare, gaze catching mournfully when he noticed he was short a hand.

“Hey!” Gordon shouted hoarsely. He sounded terrible, like he had been dragged for three miles from the back of a moving van. Looked as much, too - he was covered in a horrible smear of his own blood and whatever sludge had been at the bottom of the trash compactor. A crack spiderwebbed across his glasses. Tommy felt awful, seeing him like that.

Gordon was still calling his name like it was the only word he knew. “He - Tom - Tommy! Tommy, up here! It’s me! Tommy.”

Tommy smiled sadly up at him. “Hello, Mr. Freeman.”

“Are you - are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” he demanded, and the fear in his words broke Tommy’s heart. “Did they tell you to finish me off? Please, please tell me-”

“No,” he interrupted him before Gordon’s voice could get any more distraught. “They tricked me.”

“What? Oh... god.” Gordon slid unceremoniously out of the pipe and onto the floor. Tommy took a step forward retroactively, but paused when he caught the nervous look Gordon threw at him. He didn’t know if he could trust Tommy. Hell, he didn’t know if he could trust anybody .

Keeping his distance took a great deal of effort, but Tommy managed.

Gordon groaned. “Oh, my fucking arm.” He staggered to his feet, clutching the stump where his hand used to be. He returned his gaze to Tommy’s face, studying him warily. “Hey buddy,” he ventured. “What are they-what did they do to you?”

What did they do to me? Tommy wanted to ask. What did they do to you, you half-dead, waterlogged, survivor of a man? He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, joking to calm his nerves.

“Um, they gave me a Beyblade.”

Gordon paused, ignoring the jest as he puzzled over Tommy’s situation. “In exchange for - for going with them? Why are you - th - did they leave you behind?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered. He turned his eyes back to Gordon, utterly loathing himself. “I ran away.”

Gordon, however, relaxed visibly at this. “Oh my god,” he sighed, and then he didn’t approach so much as he pitched forward, unsteady on his feet as he was from blood loss. Tommy caught him, pulling him in close. The armor of his suit dug into his chest but he hardly cared, arms clasped tightly around Gordon as if he would slip through his fingers if he let go.

The other man sagged against him, barely able to stand. “Thank you, man,” he breathed. “Honestly.”

Tommy supported him, tucking his chin into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and weeks of garbage and the awful tang of alien guts. Ironic that the first time he got to hold him like this was in a pit of toxic waste. Tommy would find it funny if Gordon wasn’t rapidly losing blood.

He smirked into his neck, drawing out the bit despite everything. “They took the Beyblade back though, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon exhaled through his nose in a weak, silent laugh. “Oh,” he said. “Would you go back if they gave you another Beyblade?”

Tommy took a step back, steadying Gordon with both hands on his shoulders, checking him for further injury. Other than the gaping fucking hole where his hand used to be, he was purpled with welts from the beating he took. There was no telling what kind of head trauma he had - the man could barely stand upright on his own. But he was alive, alive, alive, and that was better than Tommy had allowed himself to hope for.

He was going to shred Benrey for this. Him and Bubby both. If they wanted to play god, he’d step up to the plate and take a swing. Hot, angry tears suddenly sprang to his eyes, and he pulled back, blinking them rapidly away.

“I know, that’s hard to think about,” Gordon broke in gently. “That’s a good - that’s a good deal.”

He was still playing off his stupid Beyblade joke. Tommy gave him a watery smile and swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, wondering what had compelled the universe to gift him with this wonderful man twice over. He glanced back at Gordon’s ruined arm, making another lame attempt at levity.

“Oh my god,” he said sarcastically. “You don’t have a hand.”

Gordon chuckled mirthlessly as he examined his own wound. “I know. I know.” He sucked in a painful breath. “Oh, god.”

“How are you going to… write?”

“That’s the least of my concerns,” he answered, suddenly serious. “I’d like to live. And get out of here.” He cast a curious look around the room. “Where the hell are we? Are we back in the nuclear reactor?”

Tommy was still fixated on the hand thing. Maybe he could pull some strings with time and space. Call in a few favors. It would be tricky, but he felt somewhat responsible for the wound’s existence at all. The least he could do was find a way to reverse it.

“We can get you a new hand, but not in this room,” he said thoughtfully.

That caught Gordon’s attention. “A prosthetic?”

“This room has too many creatures in it,” Tommy went on, wrinkling his nose in particular at the cockroaches. “It doesn’t look sanitary.”

“Do you have any medical experience?”

“No,” Tommy answered honestly. His complicated relationship with mortality made first aid knowledge a low priority. He briefly thought back to what he’d read online. Was this a tourniquet situation? Was he bleeding enough to need one of those?

Gordon cast around for even a miniscule sense of relief. “D’you have any pills?” he asked. “You have like maybe an ibuprofen or an Advil?” He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a thin sob. “It hurts, man. It hurts a lot.”

Guilt closed around Tommy’s throat. All this power at his fingertips and he couldn’t ease Gordon’s pain even a little.

“I only have soda,” he admitted, too drained to make it humorous. “We should get going.”

Moving to support the man’s unsteady weight, Tommy reached for his elbow. If he could get him through the facility quickly enough, he’d make it. Gordon Freeman wouldn't die here. Tommy wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah, probably not gonna be in herewait wait wait, don’t go anywhere.” Gordon yanked away from Tommy, wincing as he did so, and fixed him with a critical look. “I need - we need to talk a little bit more.”

Tommy tried to meet his eyes, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the bleeding end of his arm as it slowly dripped scarlet onto the floor. The longer they stood here talking the less time he had to live. He waited wordlessly.

“So - enough - okay, I’m gonna trust - I’m gonna trust that you... are go - I trust-” Gordon shook his head, starting over. “Can I trust you, Tommy?”

He lifted his gaze and gave Gordon a heavy stare. “Yes.” It was not even a question. He had chosen Gordon. He wasn’t about to lose him again.

“Are we good together?”

God, Tommy hoped so.

---

He guided Gordon through the obstacle course from hell, answering his constant slew of questions as best as he could without breaking his brain. Tommy wanted to shush him - the more he spoke the quicker he would bleed out - but he suspected that the constant talking grounded him somewhat, so he spoke to him gently in reply.

Gordon’s thoughts had turned the tap on and his mouth was a faucet of words. He was steadily losing hope; it leaked out of him like the blood from his stump, his sanity going with it.

Tommy needed to keep him alert and engaged. He murmured into his ear as he carried him through Black Mesa, reassurances and stories and the shittiest jokes he could think of. I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe. Stay with me.

“Look,” he told him as they leapt unsteadily over a pathway of stones. “That rock you’re standing on looks like Tibet.”

It was a delayed response, but he saw Gordon’s shoulders shake as he snickered. “Showing off your geography skills even in the worst of times, huh?”

Good. They were still good. Tommy turned, continuing to lead.

They kept moving.

Emerging on the other side of a network of pipes, they were met with a room clustered with vats of waste, each one slowly pressed by a hydraulic plate. Tommy, struck once again by the utter ridiculousness that made up this backwards facility, snorted with derision. Beside him, however, Gordon staggered, looking crestfallen.

“It’s okay, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy muttered as he studied the presses. “I think you’ll be fine - this room is OSHA approved.”

Gordon managed to scrape together a response. “To code? To code, like you said?”

Tommy turned his attention to the man beside him. He was weary and haggard, too exhausted to smile, but humor glittered behind the lenses of his glasses as he stared back at him. The fondness flowering in Tommy’s ribs threatened to suffocate him.

He was going to get Gordon out of this nightmare and then he was going to date the hell out of him. Maybe even marry him. Become a second father to his stock photo son. Apocalypse be damned.

They kept moving.

Their path led them through darkened hallways and more vats of sludge. Where was all this shit coming from? Gordon had slipped into the substance a few times already, and was rapidly growing delirious, his words stringing out incoherently. Tommy was just beginning to wonder what it would take to physically remove the toxins from his veins without removing all of his blood in the process when Gordon caught him with another question.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked, referring to the event that rendered him handless.

Tommy crouched thoughtfully in the dark as he gripped his rifle. “Screams after that,” he said. Even remembering the sound sent a chill through him. “But… I think that I - I also screamed.”

He could just barely see Gordon’s face in the glow of the flashlight beam reflecting off the tunnel walls. A worried little crease had formed between his eyebrows, and Tommy resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it over with his thumb. Gordon didn’t need to waste his energy on concern over him. They had a bigger, more blood-related problem right now.

Gordon didn’t ask him anything after that, so Tommy didn’t answer.

They kept moving.

Tommy would be happy if he never had to swim again. The pressing sheet metal walls and the smell of raw sewage had kind of ruined the experience for him. He hauled Gordon through the water, coercing a current to propel them along.

Gordon chuckled softly as he allowed himself to be carried. “You ever tried to swim with one arm?” he asked.

Tommy rolled his eyes and rewarded him with a smirk.

“It ain’t easy.”

He appreciated the levity, and the fact that Gordon could tell how uncomfortable Tommy was - enough, at least, to crack a joke on his behalf. It was beginning to get to him: the scent of blood and shit and the slimy water sloughing around him and the dead weight of Gordon on his arm and the harsh industrial lighting searing his eyes and -- Tommy wanted to hit pause and catch his breath, it was all so much. But he had to get Gordon out of here first. He had to make sure he was safe.

Tommy pressed on, pulling the man under a submerged barricade and breaking through on the other side. Stopping to rest was not an option. He had anticipated that this would be a hard journey and had steeled himself accordingly.

He did not, however, anticipate the clones.

Chapter 9 <-----> Chapter 11

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #blood #amputation #hlvrai

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angelubasco · 3 years

Text

"YOUR MIND AND BODY MATTERS"

-October 28, 2020

Have you ever check upon yourself? Especially your mind and body? And if so, when is the last time you did it? As of now that the worlds facing a pandemic it is important to monitor our mind and body not just on the month of celebration about mental health. Many news are coming out about their physical and mental health to their family and personal problems in life especially those students who are having difficulties on their online classes. There are lots of sayings that this is not good for them as you browse on different social links that is based from their experience and it is sad to say that most students felt depression and anxiety that they killed themselves because their minds are full of pressure about simultaneously deadlines/activities and felt sick beacuse of having a lack of sleep. This is one of the examples I have cited that I wanted to encourage my fellow students to ask themeselves right now this kind of questions, "How healthy is my mind and body?" & "Am I truly happy and enjoying what I am doing?". Because we can't deny somehow we feel lost and empty. That's why it is important to assess if we are still okay about our physical and mental health because both are interconnected as our thoughts affects our physical body.

According to Newport Academy (2019), "The mind and the body are not two separate entities—although they are often treated that way. Physical health and emotional health are intimately intertwined in what’s known as the mind-body connection.

Our chemistry and biology impact our mood and emotions, as well as thoughts and beliefs. With all of these factors combined, they play a major role in influencing our stress and physical health. If you’ve ever felt your stomach tighten up when you were anxious, you’ve experienced the mind-body connection."

If you are one of this kind of students who doesn't have healthy mind and body or who wanted to know how to maintain your mind and body strong and healthy, here are Eight Habits for you according to Valentine (2017).

1. Exercise using something you love

Physical exercise has been shown in countless studies to help reduce stress, increase energy, improve mood, and even help make us more creative.

Great right? However, advice on how to make exercise a habit is a bit lacking. That’s because exercise can be a really difficult habit to stick to. But if there’s one thing I’ve found really helps stick to physical exercise and make it a long-term habit it’s this:

Exercise in a way that allows you to enjoy something you love.

You have to really look forward to working out. Whatever it is that you do, whether it’s running, lifting weights, doing cardio, martial arts, Yoga, or something else, you need to pick an exercise method you really enjoy.

For example, I love martial arts. I’m a lot more likely to stick to my work out while doing that than running or lifting weights. On the flip side, if there’s no particular exercise-like activity you enjoy, maybe you really love music. Play all your favorite music during your workout and you’ll notice yourself far more likely to get up to exercise. Another option is listening to podcasts about your craft while running.

Either way, exercise is a big one, so find a way to make it work for you.

2. Meditation

Meditation is another huge one. However, meditation isn’t really what most people think it is.

If you don’t like the traditional idea of meditation, you can meditate while doing virtually anything if you use the right method (i.e. mindfulness meditation). Also, studies have shown that as little as five to ten minutes of meditation offers great benefits, so don’t think you need to sit for a half hour every day. You really don’t.

Similar to physical exercise, there are several different methods and forms of meditation, so do a little adventuring and experimentation to find a method and form that works for you. Everyone is different and different methods of meditation tend to work better for different people.

3. Mindful walking

This is easily one of my favorite activities on this entire list, but it’s also the most obscure. Mindful walking, also known as walking meditation, is meditation in motion. It can be done formally as a dedicated practice and informally by paying attention to your steps and what is going on around you as you move.

This is great for many of the reasons formal meditation is (albeit less concentrated), however, there’s another big reason to do mindful walking: it helps you tune in to the body.

Sometimes, things occur in the body that we don’t notice. Oftentimes, chronic issues and illness begin to creep up in ways often unseen. However, by learning to tune in to the body with mindful walking, we can notice these things arise before they become more of an issue.

It’s a hard thing to explain, but it’s been infinitely useful to me. In many ways, this one exercise gives us a way to check in with both the mind and body on a regular basis and in an incredibly convenient way while going about our daily activities, so its place on this list is well-earned.

4. Rise early

Rising early is something I took years to develop. However, it was so worth it.

There are positives to staying up late, particularly if you find that you’re more productive or creative during late night hours. However, in general, I’ve found that the majority of people are most productive in the early morning hours.

In addition, though, waking up early and adopting a morning routine that prepares you for the day helps you start each day off with the optimal state of mind to tackle problems and make decisions, something incredibly useful for everyone no matter what your profession.

So, if you’re not already, see what waking up a little earlier does for you.

5. Adopt a nighttime routine

On the flip side of that, adopting an effective night time routine that puts your mind in the right state before bed and helps maximize the quality of your sleep is also incredibly beneficial.

Unfortunately, most of us in the West just don’t value sleep enough. We tend to place work above well-being and prefer to leave sleep for when we die. However, two decades of scientific research now says this isn’t just a bad idea health-wise – it’s unproductive.

Take some time to craft a simple but effective nighttime routine and I promise – you won’t regret it.

6. Remove sugar, add water, get your food from the source

This is the basic recipe I follow when it comes to nutrition advice.

Over the years, I’ve learned a lot and tried so many different things with regards to nutrition. At this point, my ideology on nutrition is pretty relaxed. And it’s never worked out better.

There’s a ton of advice out there and, rightfully, it can be pretty confusing. So, I’ve chosen to follow a pretty simple mantra that offers me roughly eighty percent of the benefit of any particular diet while doing about twenty percent of the work to get that benefit. It’s this:

Remove sugar: Sugar is bad. Really bad. Occasional sugar is just fine, even daily, as long as you try to keep it under 50g at an absolute a maximum (30g even better).

Add water: Buy a dedicated flask just for water and you’ll have a one thousand times higher likelihood of sticking to the habit of drinking water daily. About eight to ten cups is fine, but you should look into what your specific amount is based on your body weight.

Get your food from the source: Do you have a farm where you live? Or a farmer’s market? Awesome. Section of your grocery store with local farm foods? Pretty good too. Also, this refers to what food you eat as well. Put a little more whole foods into your diet or get a juicer.

Keep it simple and use this method to get most of the benefit of altering your diet while saving you time to focus on what’s most important to you.

7. Find friends who identify with your challenges

We’re social creatures. No matter what you do, you can’t escape this.

And so, by virtue of this, the more social we are, the healthier we tend to be.

However, there’s something very specific about relationships that helps us more than anything else: having people around us who identify and sympathize with our challenges and who we communicate with often about those challenges. The lack thereof is often the reason for suicide in those who suffer from depression or bullying.

When we have people around us who listen and understand what we’re going through, something magical happens: we get through it (what it is for you). It’s a very simple thing that we often overlook but is so critical to our mental and even physical health.

8. Find a passion project or creative outlet

If you’ve been pursuing something you love for some time now, I don’t have to tell you how great it makes you feel.

The energy we get while pursuing our passions is limitless and gives us a sense of vitality that is hard (if impossible) to acquire any other way.

Using our brain regularly keeps our mind strong and moving helps keep us physically healthy, so if you haven’t yet taken the time to find what you’re passionate about and to start pursuing that with every fiber of your being, start now (before it’s too late).

There's no harm in trying, our mind and physical gives us energy. A person who can change his/her mind can change his/her lives. Always remember health is our wealth. Keep on checking and doing the things you love.

Sources:

Newport Academy, (2019). Understang the Mind-Body Connection. https://www.newportacademy.com/resources/mental-health/understanding-the-mind-body-connection/

Valentine, M., (2017). 8 Habits You Need to Lock Down for a Strong, Healthy Mind and Body. https://www.goalcast.com/2017/12/14/8-habits-healthy-mind-and-body/

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ineffably-good · 5 years

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Flufftober #17: Chess (Good Omens)

You know this is exactly how Crowley would approach the game, right?

—

Playing chess with Crowley was, in a word, a highly irregular experience.

Aziraphale had been an early adopter of chess, picking it up in the early 7th century and coming to be quite the master over the following millennia. Over time, he’d collected multiple chess sets, and even once posed as a model for the bishops in the famous Lewis chess pieces. It had been, at various points, one of his favorite and most invigorating past times.

Which is why, in the mid-fifteenth century, he’d decided to teach Crowley the game.

He had since lived to regret this several times over.

It wasn’t that Crowley wasn’t a good player. He was actually a fine chess strategist, his quick and agile mind taking immediately to gambits and long-laid strategies, traps and double crosses. For the first century or so, Crowley was a perfectly well-behaved partner at the game; then, however, having mastered the basics, he moved on to trying to “improve” the game in various ways.

This quickly became a problem.

“Shall we play?” Aziraphale said one winters evening, gesturing towards the chess board he kept on a small table to the right of his desk. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve had a game, and we do seem to be snowed in…”

Crowley looked meditatively at the board for a few minutes. He had nothing pressing to do, and there was no sense of danger lurking anywhere in the vicinity. He noted that he was relaxed, warm, happy, well fed, and slightly tipsy -– all good conditions to be in if one were going to play chess, in his book. Plus chess offered him numerous opportunities to subtly aggravate his angel, which was always good fun.

“Sure, why not!” Crowley said. “I’m black, though.”

“Of course you’re black,” Aziraphale said. “As if you’d ever play the white side.”

Crowley nodded. It was true; proper demons would never choose to play the white pieces. They got to work setting things up, each of them putting their own pieces in place.

“Where’s my other snake?” Crowley complained, brandishing a piece. “I only have one.”

Aziraphale stared at him flatly. “That’s a bishop.”

“No, you have bishops. I have snakes.”

“You know very well that piece is a bishop,” the angel said firmly. “He can only move diagonally, and in one direction at a time.”

“Yours can only move diagonally,” Crowley explained matter-of-factly. “Mine can pivot and go back and forth diagonally. Like a snake. You know, slithering.”

Aziraphale sensed the early beginnings of a headache. “No. That’s not how it works!” He dug around in the box and found Crowley’s other BISHOP and handed it to him. “No slithering!”

Soon they finished setting up and started the game. Aziraphale began with a strong effort to control the center of the board, while Crowley seemed to be playing some game of his own devising, slithering his “snakes” around the edges of the board and picking off Aziraphale’s pawns (which he insisted on calling priests) one by one with no real attempt to protect his own side.

What really enraged Aziraphale, though, was that this complete lack of a strategy seemed to be working. Despite knowing every major and minor gambit of the game, it seemed impossible to predict and defend against someone who played as chaotically and with such complete disregard for all known theories on strategy as Crowley did.

Somehow, within an hour of play, the angel found himself pinned down in one corner of the board, with his queen, king, one rook, and one knight left to try to build a defensive perimeter.

“Ha!” announced Crowley. “I’m about to take your last Templar.”

Aziraphale frowned dramatically. “It’s a KNIGHT, serpent.”

“That’s what I said, angel,” Crowley said forgivingly. “Knights Templar.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said begrudgingly, “I suppose that makes sense.”

Crowley gave him a feral grin as he captured the knight; he then set about making noises of intense suffering (“help! oh no!”) as he dramatically dropped the piece to the floor. In Crowley’s view, captured pieces ‘fell’ into the infernal realms.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Such dramatics.

The angel fought back valiantly but soon found himself nearing checkmate.

“YES!” Crowley said with a fist pump, and smacked his bishop down on the board dramatically. “My snake will have your archangel in two moves! Take that, you pillock!”

Aziraphale looked like he was considering banging his head on the desk. “There isn’t any such thing as an archangel in chess, and you know it!”

Crowley looked put off. “Of course there is,” he said, pointing to the white king. “That’s him right there. Yours is Gabriel, mainly because it makes it more enjoyable for me to kill him. Mine can be Uriel, since she punched you. That way if you capture it – which you won’t – it will be more satisfying.”

Aziraphale didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why an archangel?”

“Because!” Crowley insisted, sounding a bit as if he couldn’t imagine how the angel didn’t grasp this already. “It’s a totally rubbish piece! Ineffective little git, can only move one square at a time, totally self-important but never really helps anyone in the whole game – doesn’t that sound even a little bit like the archangel Gabriel to you?”

Aziraphale thought that one over and then grinned. “Ok,” he said, “I’ll allow that one. Makes perfect sense!”

“Good,” Crowley said, grabbing another piece and dramatically adding it to the pile of ‘fallen’ pieces on the floor. “Because that’s check mate. I’ve got your God piece in the next move, and there’s nothing your cathedral can do about it, and then the Archangel is mine.”

“Queen,” Aziraphale moaned. “Rook. For heaven’s sake!”

“Not in my game, angel,” Crowley smirked. “Now hush up and take your defeat like an entity should.”

Aziraphale suddenly remembered why he only had the stomach to play chess with Crowley once every century or so.

#good omens oneshot #flufftober2019 #Aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #idiots in love

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proxylynn · 5 years

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Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #1

Chapter 1: Death is Not an Escape

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR A ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

Life can be a little unfair at times and very lonely. So seemed to be the case with a nutty woman named Lynsie. Her life was fairly typical, uneventful as most would say. Growing up poor? Check. Middle child issues? Check. Parents divorcing due to reasons they couldn't explain to a child but as an adult were simple/retarded in hindsight? Check. No friends because all the world is a bunch of scummy assholes so why even bother? Check again. That is probably what someone would say if you could find anyone that knew her. She kept to herself and that was her biggest flaw. Though to her credit, there wasn't a time when she needed anyone. If a problem came to her, she'd think up a way overcome it, whether it was the right way was up to interpretation. Being alone made her mind work in ways normal people didn't understand. This was only an issue when in social situations as, used to only fending for herself, she was not a team player. Her antisocial tendencies only pushed others away more, leading her to delve deeper inward and eventually crushing her under the weight of loneliness/depression. This would get her to seek ways to fill the void in her soul where companionship had shriveled to death, and that thing was getting lost. Now that isn't some cute clever thing. She would literally go out into God only knows where, stay there, and then only when the need to return home came would she find her way back with nothing more than knowledge/skill. This behavior was concerning at first. I mean, wouldn't you be worried too if a family member vanishes for days on end? Even when she left blatant clues and information behind, her family would still go nuts till she came home. She was never gone for more than a few days to a week. Something about being away in nature, places with no humans to remind her of the emptiness inside that others were able to avoid with ease, just brought a sense of peace to her wary soul. She could forget all the worries, cares, and pain even if only for a little while. Though perhaps this was one escape too many for her. For this time...she wouldn't be coming back.

Cold. Dread. Smoke. Something...unsettling. These odd senses start to come to me as I stir from the blackness of unconsciousness. There's an eerie grip on my heart that slowly crawls over my skin as it fades yet lingers while my eyes strain to open. I can hear muffled voices, some male and some female. But there is one more that I can't identify. This soft guttural groan of a voice that whispers in my skull like a fleeting memory. I swear it says something half-way between language and pure terror. He's dead? Something like that. Maybe? A blur moves into my line of sight, what I can only guess is a hand waving in my face. Recalling that I was alone in the middle of the woods only moments ago, I understandably slightly overreact and end up grabbing this blur's arm before punching their gut as hard as I can in this fogy state. The blur falls over and I see more move in to help the downed one. My dull senses try to process everything around me as definition resets sluggishly, such as making out a bonfire and the chill of the wind rustling the trees around this unfamiliar campsite. Suddenly I'm grabbed from behind, arms looping in my own to lock them behind my head, restraining me for their safety. I snarl, making the one holding me fidget in concerned confusion. My senses begin to get better enough as one brave more human-shaped blur moves to stand in front of me. It looks timid but they are at least trying.

"H-Hey...just calm down. We're not here to hurt you."

My snarling increases as I bare my teeth threateningly at this wimp of a man, judging by the voice.

"Please?"

"*annoyed groan* Let me give it a shot."

Another figure approaches and slaps me across the face.

"Hey, bitch, you're outnumbered. If we wanted to fuck with you we would've done it by now. So get your panties out of a bunch and stop being a huge cunt."

This woman pisses me off.

"I'm going to rip your throat out with my teeth!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Hey!"

Another woman, based on voice, comes over and shines a flashlight in my eyes, making me hiss in harsher blindness.

"You need to settle down. We aren't your enemies. And you...Your attitude isn't helping."

"*scoff* Whatever."

Their bickering allows the spots in my sight to clear and now I'm back to clarity. The pissy one was right, they do outnumber me. There are seventeen of them, ten guys and seven girls. Another thing I notice is the area. I have no clue where this place is, but it's not where I was before. This area of the woods seems to have no day or night, just a perpetual intolerable gloom in the form of a miasma that blankets the woods yet doesn't touch the campfire zone. What the fuck is this? My visible confusion makes the man holding me let go.

"I know, this is very weird. But we'll explain it as best we can. Just promise not to hit anyone, okay?"

I have no real choice here. I'm in an unknown location with random unknown people. Any explanation would do me wonders as the moment they ask if I remember how I got here I draw a complete blank. Once gathered around the fire they proceed to inform me that this is not Earth anymore, but a fake realm made by something dubbed the Entity. The Entity is a nameless being that lives in the space between our world and our imagination, the kind of place only revealed in dreams. To obtain its source of sustenance, The Entity reaches out into the hearts of susceptible victims and corrupts them into performing hideous acts of violence, because the only way for it to manifest itself in the real world is through an act of violence so extreme, that it results in fatalities. Once this event has taken place, The Entity has a handhold into our world, being able to pull people through this weak spot into its nightmarish construct, the Realms of The Entity. The first victims are the corrupted ones, those pushed to do the deeds that summoned this ancient evil in the first place...the Killers. Prey for The Entity comes in the form of uncorrupted victims...the Survivors. Normal people who stumble into these corrupted areas and are pulled through by The Entity with no memory of how it happened. Once they awaken by The Campfire in the nightmare, there is no escape for them anymore. The Entity builds a reflection of the real world in its construct to confuse the Survivors. Unable though to understand the true nature of the world it touches, it tries to replicate it as best it can, although it never quite gets it right. As a result, the world is an ever-changing nightmarish fusion of familiar and strange elements as The Entity makes up what it cannot comprehend. In its Realm, The Entity is everything that one sees except for the Killers and Survivors, meaning it is part of what it creates. In this bizarre world, there are several familiar parts. The areas and their Realms are based on the world it infects and there are strange mechanical Generators that the Survivors can power up to open two Exit Gates or a hatch that will open when only one remains. If they succeed they will escape, although only back to The Campfire that they started from. The Entity feeds on strong emotions, for example, the Killer's rage, the Survivors' desperation, hope, or even affection towards other Survivors. Sort of like an Emotion Vampire. The easiest way for it to procure those strong emotions is through the never-ending trials, invoking hope in Survivors towards an escape from the nightmarish construct. The actual process of feeding itself comes in the form of the sacrifices. It is through that bizarre ritual that The Entity can extract the nourishment it needs to increase its power and sustain itself. With each passing death, a little of the Survivor's soul is lost. Eventually, as all hope evaporates, the Survivor becomes less and less useful to the Entity, slowly devolving into a cold and emotionless shell. These lost Survivors, whose hope has long since left them, are eventually thrown into what is known as "The Void", a limbo full of such empty shells. A weird thing is that once a year, The Entity undergoes a purge, which infests it with blight. The blight manifests itself in the form of cankers spawning throughout the Realms, which bloom into pustules from which a mysterious nectar can be harvested. Escaping from the grounds always takes the survivors back to the campfire, and offerings can be created to be burnt at it and appeal for the Entity's favor. Since the Entity feeds off the hope of the survivors to escape, it helps them just as much as the killers, acting as an impartial observer of the hunt, stepping in only to claim those hung on its hooks.

Needless to say, I find this a bit much and call bullshit. I attempt to leave them by finding my way back into the woods to a more familiar place. They warn me not to do this. That to leave the fire means to put yourself in great danger, possibly even running into one of the killers that like to taunt and freak out the survivors. Again, I claim this as a massive steaming load and enter the foggy woods.

This does not end well.

I tried to march my way out of these forsaken woods to no avail. Aside from the fog being super thick and nearly impossible to see in, but the sounds are disorientating as hell. From the echoing caws of crows to indescribable growls, I regretted this choice quickly. Then I saw something I can't explain. Something was stalking in the darkness, a being in a human form, even though "human" is an exaggeration. No, this thing was a monster. A shadow of its former self, a horrid shadow. I just manage to escape by dropping to the ground and creepy crawling back following my footprint impressions. Back at camp, I am more willing to believe them and their odd information that they themselves got from a journal left by a man named Benedict Baker whom they've never seen. Yeah...They really make it hard to believe shit is real with things like that. They swear the guy is alive out there somewhere even though they told me the guy's been in this world since 1956 and I'm from 2019. They tell me that means nothing as the Entity can rip anyone from all across time which sounds like a lot of convenient bullshit. But what the fuck do I know? I'm no interdimensional god expert. I don't know of its powers.

Lame exposition aside, I introduce myself to the group and they do the same back. The timid mad from before is Dwight Fairfield, a nervous leader and possessing a purple soul. Dwight was geeky and scrawny through high school. He always wanted to be one of the cool kids, but somehow never had the charisma. He tried out for the football team but was cut, the basketball team didn't even take a look, and his grades were distinctly below average. One weekend, on a team-building exercise from his dead-end job, Dwight's boss led them deep into the woods before breaking out his family recipe moonshine. Dwight remembered taking the first sip before waking up late the next morning all alone. During the night, the others had abandoned him. Once again, the laughing stock of the community Dwight tried to hike his way out of the woods. That was the last anyone ever heard of Dwight Fairfield. Dwight isn't the typical guy you think of when someone says "Survivor". He lacks that certain pizzazz and without his glasses, he's more or less blind. But as the sun sets and the woods come alive, Dwight clasps to his rat race life, making sure that he'll live to see another day even though something unimaginable is after him. Dwight won't stop. He'll survive no matter what. As others spent hours being seen in high school. He spent hours becoming invisible and avoiding danger. And it doesn't matter if it's dangers in the hallway or dangers in the woods. Survival is key. As other employees panic when terror infects them, Dwight makes use of his disturbing teen experience. The tables have now turned and now others need to follow to Dwight's firm directions if they are to survive as he knows how to disappear.

The pissy cunt is Nea Karlsson, an urban artist and possesses an orange soul. Nea is of Swedish descent, a tagger and a bit of a troublemaker. She started rebelling when she was 16, she dyed her hair black and cut it in a way she liked it. In her early teens, her parents thought she lacked that thing that makes everyone else "normal". She may have gone too far when her friends, not thinking well, dared her to tag the old asylum. She was never seen again and now tries her best to survive the Entity's dangers. Nea grew up in the small town of Hjo in Sweden. She had a happy childhood even though her mom and dad worked hard. As the opportunity to move to the US became a reality she started acting out. Her parents didn't pick up on this as a reaction to their move. Nea was forced to leave her friends and life behind. Nea shied away from what her parents considered "normal". Instead, she took refuge in skate parks, and her tag "Mashtyx" was seen more or less all over her new hometown, and Nea made a sport out of tagging government buildings. Finally, Nea's parents became used to Nea disappearing for a few days on end. As she's nimble and almost catlike, she's able to evade deadly dangers. Years on skateboards have proven worthy training. And keeping her head down, avoiding the fuzz can be applied to all dangers. The only question is whether she has some interest in not giving up.

The woman of reasoning that blinded me is Laurie Strode, a determined survivor and possessing a red soul. You never know what matters in life until you've realized it might end soon. Laurie is one of those who just want a quiet life in the suburbs, hanging out with friends, family and maybe go on a date or two. Laurie is a typical teenager. You could pass her on the street and not think twice. She does her homework and is liked by her friends, teachers, and family. A simple night of babysitting turns into something that will forever change the course of her young life. A knife swooshing through the air. Screams from afar. Noises that plays tricks with her mind. But not Laurie, she's made of something stronger. Something that won't give up.

The man that held me back is William "Bill" Overbeck, an old soldier and possesses a blue soul. It took two tours in Vietnam, a handful of medals, a knee full of shrapnel, and an honorable discharge to get William "Bill" Overbeck to stop fighting and try to live a peaceful life. He hated it. After decades spent drifting aimlessly through dead-end jobs, Bill went in for a routine surgery and woke up to find the world he knew was gone. A plague was turning normal people into mindless killing machines. Naturally, the first thing he did was fight his way home and put on his uniform. Making his way through rural ghost towns and pitch-black forests, he found other Survivors, and together they fled from the infected hordes. In the end, Bill sacrificed himself to ensure their safety. Bill was left for dead. No one knows that he still has the only thing he ever wanted: an enemy to fight endlessly.

The tired-looking man is Quentin Smith, a resolute dreamwalker and possessing a red soul. When he heard that his friend Nancy's mother had disappeared, Quentin Smith knew instantly that their success had been short-lived. Although their plan had seemed to work flawlessly, Dream Killer had beaten death yet again. But Quentin wasn't about to give up. It may take many attempts, but he vowed that somehow they would find a way to beat it, once and for all. If he didn't, it would only be a matter of time before that thing would win and Nancy was lost. Someone like Quentin never attracted attention in a library, no matter how strange the texts he requested. He devoured all the information he could find, on shared dream worlds, lucid dreaming, and the methods to control the dream space. Forcing himself to stay awake, via a steady diet of pills and energy drinks, he searched through dusty volumes, finding myths about the demons that live in dreams, trapping their victims in limbo and feeding off their terror. He worked quickly as he knew that the killer would soon be coming for him. It wasn't long before that moment arrived and it began appearing in his dreams. He stayed at the periphery at first, taunting Quentin, seemingly hoping to tire him out. Using all that he had learned, Quentin was able to see flaws in the dream; cracks where escape routes could be formed. He tested this skill carefully, not wanting to show his hand, hoping that it would give him some kind of advantage that he could use to defeat that thing. Then, one night, he found himself in the familiar environment of Badham Preschool. the killer had tired of the taunting and had finally decided to gut him. Quentin ran through the school, his quick eyes scanning for something useful in the maze of rooms. He found a can of paint thinner and quickly formulated a plan. Once the trap was set, he waited, acting as the lure to draw the murderer into the right position. And there it was, claws scraping on metal as he closed in for the kill. Quentin allowed himself time to enjoy the surprise on that thing's face as the corridor ignited and then he was away, running through the building, heading for the exit that he knew existed. If he harried it, weakening it and then escaping the dream, surely that would defeat him over time? Before his eyes, the cracks in the dream closed and his escape route was blocked. He was in the killer's secret room again, and there was nowhere to run. As it closed in, a broad grin spreading across its ruined face, Quentin was consumed with a need to see this thing finally obliterated. He wished it had been him, not his father, who threw the gas can that ended it's life, that it had been him who cut its throat. Perhaps that desire would be enough? This was a realm of the mind after all. He let it consume him, concentrating all his thoughts on wishing it gone. His vision was obscured with roiling tendrils of fog and, when it cleared, he was somewhere else. In another dream? If so, it wasn't his; it felt cold and unfamiliar. A flickering drew his attention and he realized he was by a campfire, and he wasn't alone. Other people were trapped here too, and they needed his help.

The man in the police get up is Detective David Tapp, an obsessed detective and possesses a yellow soul. Detective David Tapp was one of the good guys. His determination to see Killers brought to justice and their victims avenged had led him through a long and respected career. When he first saw the details of the Jigsaw case, it seemed like many others. More grisly and macabre, sure, but just another lunatic with a penchant for the over-dramatic, who would soon be behind bars. A stroke of insight brought Tapp, and his partner Detective Stephen Sing, to an abandoned mannequin factory, where they discovered Jigsaw's lair. They apprehended the man but he managed to escape before being unmasked, slashing Tapp's throat as he did so. Leaving his partner, Sing went in pursuit but fell victim to a booby trap. Tapp had failed to go by the book on this one occasion, entering the lair without a warrant, and it had resulted in a Detective's death. He was discharged from the force and left with a ruined throat and crippling guilt. He channeled that guilt into an obsession: he would find the killer, stop the murders, vindicate himself, and avenge his friend and colleague. Following the evidence trail brought him to Dr. Lawrence Gordon and he staked out the doctor's apartment, sure that he would find some evidence of guilt. Then he saw a stranger at Gordon's window and heard gunshots. Tapp confronted him and the man fled, with the pursuit leading to an industrial building. Tapp's age caught up with him, a fight that he would easily have won in his younger days ended with Tapp taking a bullet to the chest. Slumping to the floor, he saw only failure. He had failed his partner and the other victims. Whoever the killer was, Tapp had been unable to stop him. More would die and it would be his fault. He let the rage and guilt consume him and closed his eyes for the final time. Beneath him, the concrete floor softened. He dug his fingers into the ground, feeling dirt and leaves. Where his chest had been wet with blood, the shirt was now dry and the pain had gone. His eyes opened onto a darkened sky and the jagged, searching fingers of branches. Screams echoed through the forest and a new determination filled him. His mind was clear for the first time in months. Victims needed to be avenged, killers thwarted. He didn't know what this place was, but he was still a cop, and he always would be. He had a job to do.

The brooding loner that isn't me for once is a man named Jake Park, a solitary survivalist and possessing a cyan soul. Growing up the son of a wealthy CEO was always going to put pressure on Jake Park. When his brother graduated with honors from Yale, the pressure on Jake intensified. Jake just wasn't the academic type, but his father never really understood his refusal to embrace the expensive education he lavished upon him. Eventually, Jake rebelled by dropping out of school entirely. Now, Jake lives off the grid on the edge of the woods. It's been years since he spoke to his father but his mother checks in once in a while. It was she, who eventually called the police. The cops said he got lost in the woods and a search party looked for days but gave up as bad weather rolled in. Despite passionate pleas from his mother, they never resumed the search and Jake went down in history as another casualty of the woods. Jake's destiny was set even inside his mother's womb. Heir to wealth, noble manners and caretaker of the family reputation and legacy. During torture it's not the pain that breaks a man, it's immense pressure. And Jake couldn't handle any more pressure. Instead, he sought the opposite of fine dining and maids. He left the grid and ended up with a forest as the closest neighbor. A self-made outsider, Jake understands nature. He's not there to tame something - rather him becoming feral. Remove the brutal Killers that seek out blood to drain and Jake would feel just at home. No Wi-Fi. No Fortune-500 companies. No father nor mother. Years away from modern life has given Jake a new feel for problems. Pain is just an obstacle that hinders you from getting fed. No matter what is hunting you, you need to stay one step ahead. Struggle, blend in, adapt. Just don't make it easy for others to erase you from the Earth's surface.

The red-headed girl making me want a Wendy's burger by just looking at her is Meg Thomas, an energetic athlete and possessing an orange soul. Perhaps it was her mother that had instilled the fierce streak in her or maybe it was her father that left them when she was a baby. Meg excelled at schoolwork but she was off the rails. Fortunately, an athletics coach encouraged her to channel her misspent energy on the track. She motivated herself into becoming a high school star and earned a scholarship to college. When her mother fell ill, Meg decided to give up her chance at college to care for the woman who had raised her. One summer's day, on a long run deep in the woods, Meg vanished. Search as they did, they never found her body. Meg is one of those who is just simply filled with energy. Unfocused and uncontrollable energy that had to come out. As a kid, it came through rowdiness and rebellion. Someone had to focus Meg before something went wrong. Fortunately, someone did. She started to run. Maybe from something undefined that fueled her energy. So to run equaled life. But to run now might attract those beings that crave the pain of others. But as she runs from something, instead of towards it, she understands something. She understands that speed is not of the essence. It's reaching that finish line. Rather last but still breathing. She deludes whatever is out there as she glides through obstacles and fear, thus managing to stay alive.

A man with an old flattop haircut is Adam Francis, a resourceful teacher and possessing a purple soul. Adam was born in Rollington Town in Kingston, Jamaica. His father died in a car accident when he was two, and his uncle took him in. His uncle was a strict, but fair man, who raised him to value education. At Kingston College, Adam discovered his father's published works, which triggered his passion for literature. His campus, however, was known for its focus on athletics. As a shy teenager with his nose stuck in books, he was the perfect prey for bullies. What he lacked in sports, he made up in grit. He learned to defend himself in the thick of it. It's during his years in college that he started to imagine his life elsewhere. While his close friends orbited the music industry, he followed a surer path. His grades granted him admission to higher education, and there was a demand for teachers abroad. After graduating from university, he taught extra classes to afford applying fees overseas. He had a steady diet of long commutes, grading piles, nightly lesson plans, and early classes. After a year, he managed to apply for a position abroad. His first plane ride took him to Southern Japan for a new start. His life in Kagoshima was hectic. There was little time to do everything he took for granted back home. His Japanese was elementary at best, which slowed him down. Buying groceries took hours, long commutes had to be planned, and lesson plans relied on Japanese notions, which he had to learn. But after a few months, he found his rhythm. He reflected on it one morning while riding the train to work. He no longer had to study the Kanji characters filling the map. He knew his way. His language skills had improved, he felt connected to his students, and he'd treat himself to luxurious restaurants on weekends. He even had his first vacation planned. Within seconds, Adam's world was brought down to slow motion. Rails hissed, bags came pouring down, and the floor trembled before the hit: Adam crashed forward as the train flipped upside down. He landed on a windowpane as an unhinged door came flying at a passenger. He rolled over so that the door would hit him instead of the girl. He shut his eyes as he braced for impact, but nothing happened. He squinted one eye open and he saw nothing but darkness. A heavy Fog had taken over the train. Ice seemed to flow through his body, reaching his lips first, then the tip of his fingers before spreading to his legs. Lulled by the warm hum of the dark whisper, he closed his eyes, drifting. No one truly knows what happened to Adam Francis. The school teachers imagined the worst when they watched the train derailment on the news and saw he was missing. Their fears seemed to be confirmed when Adam's bag was recovered from the crash site, but his body was never found. To this day, his uncle believes that Adam took off after the train crash, alive still, somewhere out there.

The quite gal staring off into the brush is Claudette Morel, a studious botanist and possesses a green soul. From the day that her parents gave Claudette her first science kit, she loved experiments. Her single-minded pursuit lead to an early scholarship at a great college. It was a huge decision to leave Montreal, but the chance was too good to pass up. Her introverted nature means that chat rooms and forums are now her best source of social interaction. Her new favorite activity is to answer botany questions for others under her new moniker of Science Girl. One evening, during a long bus ride back from the city, Claudette took a stroll that would change her life. It only took a minute for her to get completely disoriented in the thick woods. She never found her way back. Her forum only started to wonder where she was a week after she stopped posting. Claudette is not the outgoing type. Her brilliance provided her with a social handicap and she has fled the real world for chat rooms and forums. Botany and studies fill her life and even though she yearns for something else - it won't come via a modem. Being thrown into a real-life situation can feel awkward and forced. But as she is used to shutting out the world, she suddenly finds hope in this unexplained darkness that is slowly devouring her. A plant. A tree. A bush. Simple greenery that might save a life. She hides within and amongst them. Her knowledge and skills flourish as gruesomeness roams free around her.

The sleazy man that appears to be taken from a shitty casino is Ace Visconti, lucky gambler and possesses a cyan soul. Ace Visconti is one charming guy. With his sharp Italian looks, grey-streaked hair and silver tongue, he could pass for an aging 50's movies star. His heart has always belonged to the cards. From his roots as a poor boy in Argentina, he gambled, scammed, seduced and smooth-talked his way to a life of luxury as a high roller in the land of opportunity. Despite money always having a way of slipping through his fingers, Ace always figured he could win more. He never fulfilled that ambition; eventually, he racked up too many debts with the wrong kind of people. And when they finally came to collect, Ace was nowhere to be found. No one knew who tipped him off or where he fled to, but anyone who knew Ace Visconti can agree on one thing. He will survive: against all odds.

The ray of sunshine woman strumming softly on a guitar is Kate Denson, a hopeful songbird and possessing a green soul. One of Kate Denson's earliest memories was standing in front of her family, singing a song that she'd learned that morning at school, and watching smiles spread across their faces. Seeing how something as simple as a song could make people so happy was the moment when she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She practiced, learned the guitar as soon as she was big enough to reach over it, and was performing in front of crowds by the time she was eight years old. Her mother did everything she could to fulfill Kate's dreams, taking her all over their home state of Pennsylvania, then across the South, and even to Nashville itself. Kate won folk music competitions and talent shows whenever she participated, but for her to win others had to lose, and that wasn't in her nature. She only wanted an outlet, a way to touch people's lives. To make them forget the worries of the world and just enjoy themselves, if only for a while. With age came new-found freedom. She bought a battered old Chevy truck and was able to travel around by herself, meeting fans and making new friends wherever she stopped. Hers wasn't a story of rock excess though: just the road, her guitar and maybe a good bourbon to end the day. From sun-baked festivals to dark and cozy bars, people flocked to her voice and her self-penned songs of friendship, family, love, and home. These sentiments weren't just lip-service: she made sure to return home as often as she could, to help out in her community and entertain the local children with her tales of the wider world. She saw it as a way of giving back, of supporting others in the same way she had been. It was home where she found most of her inspiration as well. She had always loved to take long walks in the woods around her town, exploring off the beaten track, finding a quiet spot to play and write her songs. She had a favorite location she returned to time and time again, a natural hollow, encircled by trees, that looked almost as if it had been blasted out of the rocks thousands of years ago. Here she felt a strong connection to nature, and to the Earth itself. She let her mind be enveloped by the forest and it rewarded her with constant inspiration. She picked up her guitar and played, her fingers dancing across the fretboard. The music that she made this time was unlike her usual uplifting tunes, being much more melancholy, even dark. Still, something compelled her to continue, to finish the song. Around her, the leaves vibrated in unison with the guitar strings and the boughs of the trees lengthened, coalescing into a living form. Spider-like legs descended from the canopy above, grasping for her. Regaining her senses, she grabbed a rock and tried to beat them back, but their skin was as hard as iron and the rock simply bounced off and skittered away. The legs coiled like tendrils around her limbs and lifted her towards the darkness overhead. Fog rolled across the clearing, obscuring both Kate and the creature of nightmares that drew her up towards itself. When the fog cleared, there was no sign of any struggle, or life. Just an acoustic guitar, the scratchplate engraved with flowers; as well as the initials KD, inlaid in mother of pearl.

Another keeps to themselves type is Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen, a quiet artist and possessing a green soul. Jeff Johansen was born and raised in Ormond, Alberta. He grew up as a quiet, only child with an aversion for large crowds. During High School, his anxious nature was mislabeled as shyness, which he covered up with a tough, stoic persona that intimidated bullies and teachers alike. At home, he discovered an interest in heavy metal and started a vinyl collection. The evocative symbolism on the covers inspired him to make some art of his own, which helped him cope with his parents' constant fighting. To escape his parent's increasingly recurrent blow-ups, Jeff started working at a video store. Few customers passed by, so he had a lot of free time to draw. A late-night regular noticed his sketches and asked him to do some artwork for his gang at the abandoned lodge up Mount Ormond. Jeff accepted the challenge and painted a large mural depicting "The Legion" in runny, bloody letters. He was given a fifty-dollar bill and a 12-pack for his hard work. It was his first paid commission, a milestone to be proud of. After his parents' divorce, Jeff was forced to move with his mother to Winkler, Manitoba, which was miles away from his home town—and his dad. In Winkler, Jeff was more isolated than ever, except for art and music. His solace came shortly after graduating from High School when he started working at a local bar with live music performances. He found a roadie gig shortly after, leaving Winkler behind. A few years later, Jeff got injured after getting involved in a fight during a concert. He was told he could lose part of his eyesight, so his doctor asked him to stay in town to monitor him. It was a difficult time during which Jeff re-assessed his life choices. He went back to school—art school. His eyesight slowly returned, but he had to be careful. He took a few courses, experimenting with a wide range of mediums, ultimately choosing oil painting and digital art, the latter of which offered paid internships. He took up a desk job and found his calling in designing labels for microbreweries. He led a quiet, simple life: he brewed beer, took-in a rescue dog, designed tattoos, and freelanced album covers for bands he liked. All until one morning, when he got a phone call from Ormond saying that his father had passed, leaving a few things to sort out. Jeff drove back to Ormond. He felt a pang of nostalgia when he reached his late father's house. Inside, there was an old guitar case sitting in against the wall. It held a black, vintage model with a sticky note that said, "for my boy." He stayed in town longer than he planned to, reminiscing about his childhood. Driving by his former High School, he remembered the mural he painted up Mount Ormond. He bought a 12-pack and headed to the lodge. After weeks of not hearing back from Jeff, his colleagues assumed that grief had gotten the better of him. His neighbor got tired of sitting his dog, which became more and more agitated as days went by. The dog became a stray again, erring while seeking the familiar trail of Jeff's malty scent.

The on her guard woman in a team outfit is Feng Min, a focused competitor and possessing a red soul. Feng Min was a young girl when she first picked up computer games, and she was instantly hooked. The brand new worlds enchanted her with colors, sounds, and explosions – a chance to be somewhere else, or someone else. Her parents saw no wrong with a few minutes in front of the screen, but as minutes turned into hours and sometimes days, they finally decided to pull the plug and force Feng Min to put more efforts into her studies. She felt smothered by her parents who refused to see the potential of a future in games, so she left home and spent her time in internet cafés and LAN parties where the old rules didn't apply. She spent hours playing, streaming, competing to rise to the top. Her parents became what she called "holiday parents" as she never saw them outside the holidays, and she became the black sheep of a one-child-family. In the gaming world, however, she finally found respect. Nicknamed the "Shining Lion," she was invited to join a prestigious e-sports team and to live in their dorms, where she found a sanctuary free of the misconceptions and prejudice she had felt from her parents and the non-gaming world. Feng Min pushed her limits to prove she was the best. Sleep was less important to her than training. At the top of her game, she filled stadiums with fans who adored her. But it couldn't last forever; The pressure to be the best grew stronger and stronger. She pushed herself too far, slept too little, and her performance began to slip. She started to lose. At night, she would stay up, tormented by the thought of disappointing her parents...and her fans. She spiraled out of control and fell into a pattern of self-destruction. She started wandering the streets and visiting bars, where no one knew of e-sports, waking up in places she didn't remember. One day she woke up somewhere completely different...in a never-ending nightmare. Feng Min did not despair – as she learned more about the challenge she was up against, she realized this was what she had been training for her entire life. Now, she was going to win.

The man making flirty eyes at me is David King, a rugged scrapper and possessing an orange soul. The single child of a wealthy family, David King seemed destined for greatness. While growing up in Manchester, he demonstrated serious potential in both sports and academics, and with his family connections, all doors were open to him. He could have succeeded at anything if it weren't for his combative nature. David lived for the adrenaline rush of a good fight and would go out of his way to get into one. His robustness and athletic abilities led him to rugby, where he could cut loose and cause a ruckus. King excelled and gained a reputation as a promising, if somewhat reckless, rookie. His meteoric rise came to an abrupt end when he lost his temper and assaulted a referee, earning himself a lifetime ban from the league and cutting short what most people assumed was going to be a long, successful career. King was unconcerned; money was no issue, so he took it as early retirement and focused on other fun things to do. Free from the constraints of career and enabled by the wealth of his family, David King spent most of his time at the pub, drinking, watching games, and getting into fights. Some might say he was wasting his life away. Not many people knew that he was an occasional "debt collector" or that he fought in clandestine bare-knuckle fight clubs. When David King stopped showing up at the pub, the few friends he still had were not surprised. They figured he had finally picked a fight with someone stronger than he was. In a way, they were right.

The last of the women is Jane Romero, an influential celebrity and possesses a red soul. Jane Romero was the daughter of the famous actress, Loretta Lawrence, of whom she had no memory. Her parents had separated when she was still a baby, mainly since her mother was often away filming. Jane was raised by her father, a struggling visual artist. She grew up torn between resenting her mother's absence from her life and admiring her presence on screen. As a teenager, Jane secretly wished to emulate her mother's talent. She would direct and perform in plays, audition for TV commercials and help her father at his studio. During her senior year, she entered a national oratory contest and won first prize. Her performance attracted the attention of a radio station that contacted her for an interview. During the live show, her natural charm and repartee impressed the staff, who offered her a part-time job at the station. After graduating from college in Communication, she quit her job at the station to work for a trendy variety show. But her frank delivery and ad-libs were not appreciated by the show's executives, who fired her after five months. Desperate for another opportunity, Jane pitched a show at the radio station she used to work at, only to be turned down, her proposal being too risky. Four months later, she received a phone call from a producer who had seen reruns of the show. He was looking for a co-host to spark up the failing show Quick Talk. Live television meant long hours, a low salary, and no stability, but it also offered a platform to broadcast her views. She disputed the crude inflammatory tone of Quick Talk and pushed for a relate-able coverage of personal issues. Her honest delivery resonated with her audience and within weeks, the show's viewership was steadily growing. After two years, she launched a full-hour segment called The Jane Romero Show, which was broadcast nationally and covered tabooed topics, including her struggle with abandonment. Her show broke records and her initials J. R. became synonymous with products ranging from beauty creams to fashion accessories. But Jane needed more; she wanted others to follow her in her footsteps. She published a memoir that covered her childhood with an absent mother. Her book was an instant best-seller but was reviewed harshly. Critics called it "a serving of sad anecdotes seasoned with bland, generic self-help tips." Jane took this criticism to heart since, despite her success, a voice in the back of her mind was starting to doubt her achievements. Her success also generated an increasingly demanding schedule and a growing pressure to entertain constantly. During a particularly tense week, she canned an episode and instead launched a two-hour-long special on divorce. Her stress peaked when she learned that her mother had agreed to star in her show. Jane put on a brave face and began the show. Most of it went without a hitch, but her mother walked on set, smiling warmly at the audience, Jane's stomach lurched unpleasantly. She was consumed by violent envy that had been festering. Yet she carried on with a strained smile, until Loretta interrupted her, saying that they were not related. The interview went haywire after that. After the show, Jane was driving to her father's house in New Jersey. She needed to talk things over with him; she had not been feeling like herself lately. She turned on a free-way along the coast to avoid major congestion and popped some painkillers to numb the throbbing pain in her temples, which had been nagging her all day. Then she started to relax and turned on the radio; classical music was playing. The drive was slow. Black ice covered the highway, which was packed with cars on their way back home. Night fell. A darkness began to blur the corners of her vision and turned the headlights into swirls of red. Jane blinked to sharpen their outlines, but each time she closed her eyes, her eyelids became heavier and heavier until they remained shut for a moment too long. The following morning, authorities were fishing out Jane's car from the water. Despite leading a meticulous search for weeks, they were unable to retrieve her body. The airing and production of The Jane Romero Show was suspended until after her funeral, which both her father and mother attended. As the public grieved for Jane, there was a surge of orders for J. R. products and all her episodes were re-released a month later, with an opening credit that wished her eternal peace.

And lastly for the men is Ashley "Ash" Joanna Williams, an alone wolf and possesses a blue soul. During a weekend at a cabin with friends, Ash Williams uncovered the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis (The Book of the Dead) and awoke something dark in the woods. Evil possessed his friends, whom he was forced to kill, and his right hand, which he sawed off. For the next thirty years, Ash ran from his past, working at a Value Stop department store and seducing women in dive bars. But he screwed up one night while being high when he read from the Necronomicon to impress a woman. Evil found him once more, wrecking the life of those around him. But his co-workers, Pablo who was raised by a shaman and Kelly who was orphaned by the Deadites, helped him put up a fight. While battling Evil, Ash was reunited with his long-lost daughter Brandy, who encouraged him to embrace his role as savior of humanity. After a terrible fight with a fully formed demon, Ash, drawing his last breath, was taken by the Knights of Sumeria and transported into the future. Ash wakened to a voice, his head throbbing. Since defeating a gang of Deadites a weak ago, he had been in a perpetual state of hangover. He heard the voice once more; a woman singing, sensual and inviting. Stepping into the corridor in his boxers, he strode towards the voice, which lead to the public locker room. As Ash pushed open the door, the singing stopped. There was a rustling of curtains. He called out, entering the change room. His voice reverberated off the moldy tile walls. He pressed on, reaching a shower that was still dripping wet. Cold, humid fingers ran down his bareback. He turned around. A woman stood naked, her skin glistening in the morning light that streamed in from high windows. Ash recognized her instantly: Linda Emery, one of his former high school flings. They had gotten back together years later while saving their home town from Evil. He had ended their relationship soon afterward, preferring to indulge freely in his new-found popularity. Linda winked at Ash, who closed the distance between them. He caressed her cheek wistfully: What was she doing here? Did she know anything about the whereabouts of her daughter? And Pablo and Kelly? A sharp blade dug into his hand, making him jump back. Linda slid a finger across the edge of her blade, collecting Ash's blood on her fingertip. She smiled, and her skin shriveled, her hair faded, her shoulders stopped, and her curves sagged, aging decades older in a matter of seconds. She attacked Ash, who poorly managed to block, being half-naked. Every blow she delivered earned him a new wound. She slashed his bad knee and he fell to the floor. As she jumped on top of him, Ash shrieked in disgust, knocking the knife out of her grasp. Her varicose hands wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Gasping, he outstretched his arm, hand landing on a soap dispenser. He spurted out some liquid on his fingers and poked her in the eyes. The elderly woman winced, weakening her hold, and Ash elbowed her in the face, knocking her back. He rolled over and grabbed the knife on the floor. Just as he was about to plant it in her chest, he stopped. There was something else he wanted more. He pressed the blade against her throat. Let's make a deal, demon. In exchange for not killing you, you portal me back to my friends. The demon agreed. She began reciting the incantation, instructing Ash to repeat after her, which he failed to manage. When nothing happened, Ash threatened the demon, who argued back, blaming his poor pronunciation. Their combined exchange of Sumerian words triggered a hiss from the shower behind them. The wet tiled floor darkened, and the pipes burst. A whirlpool of dirty water, shower curtains, and used toilet paper swallowed the demon, while Ash held onto a locker door, which slowly slipped from his fingers. FFFUUUC- ...Ash landed flat on his chest in the Realm of The Entity, sputtering grass. He got up, brushing off the dry clothes he suddenly had on. Then he looked around and his grin fell. It was the kind of place that made two things obvious: one, there wasn't any bar for miles, and two, he was going to need his shotgun and chainsaw, both of which he lacked. As he started to walk towards a glinting light ahead, a scream rippled through the trees. Groovy.

As for me? By comparison, I feel a sense of relating to some and others I just can't get a feel for. Mostly because we nearly all come from different points in time that makes no sense to each other, aka Bill and Ash. Bill comes from a zombie-filled time and Ash a demonic one. So add alternate timelines to the fucked up mess of things. Other than that we all seem to have the unfortunate thing in common of going to areas where we shouldn't have to wind up here. My role and soul have yet to be determined due to just arriving. Only after a trial are these things discovered. Though they tell me there is some time before the next trial starts. Seems when the Entity drops in a new survivor, it gives them a chance to get their bearings before sending them off to die. Apparently, it doesn't do that with the killers which have lead to random encounters and sudden deaths of unsuspecting survivors. Though from what Jake tells me, even though the killers brought here have done terrible things, not all of them easily bow to the Entity's will. The Killers are made to do the Entity's bidding, which is to relentlessly hunt and kill the Survivors. Many Killers do not do so willingly, although some are happy to sate their Bloodlust. Some have to be tortured over endless years to be coerced into doing what The Entity wants. The Entity is ever patient and the torture ever more severe. Eventually, they all cave in and start the hunt for the Entity. To mold these unwilling ones even further and strengthen the willing, the Entity has embedded its power into them, changing them to beasts that are no longer human. The killers are monsters, both figuratively and literally. For successfully sacrificing to their master, the best Killers are granted the sweetest reward of being able to slaughter Survivors on the spot without hooks. Either way, everyone on both sides loses and only the Entity wins.

Suddenly there's a deathly chill in the air. The tops of the trees sway in the opposite direction. And the fog thickens to the point the glow of the fire reflects off of it. My puzzlement grows when four of the group (Nea, Jeff, Bill, and Feng) stand up and become engulfed in black smoke, disappearing from the camp without a trace.

"They've been called out to trial, Luv."

David voices as he plops himself down beside me.

"No worries though. They'll be back. Though if those soddin' monsters hook'em up, they'll be takin' a bit longer."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be fed on by the Entity."

Meg states.

"It takes its time to feed and restore our bodies. We take a lot of damage in trials. Stuff you shouldn't live through. Not even Claudette's healing skills can fix everything like the Entity."

"But don't let that bug ya, Luv. Even if we die, we never die. Think of it as a fucked-up version of immortality."

I look into the fire and smirk.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die."

My words make Ash flinch.

"Whoa...That sounds familiar. And by familiar, I mean, sounds like some Necronomicon type shit."

"It's a quote from an H. P. Lovecraft book. He wrote a lot about Elder Gods, demons, and messed up stuff from other dimensions. Heh...Kinda fitting considering this whole thing."

He shakes his head and waves off with his metal hand. The hell kind of prosthetic is that?

"If you have more questions, you don't have to hold back. It's best for all of us to have a full understanding."

Laurie interjects.

"Well...I know you said the killers sometimes roam the woods but is that a permanent thing? Like, is that where they live?"

David scoffs a laugh.

"Oh, that's fuckin' cute."

"Don't be such an asshole."

Meg moves over solely just to punch his shoulder.

"What? It was cute."

The guy is ridiculous. Though I'm a cliché for digging his English accent.

"What he means is, no. The Entity picks the killers before it chooses survivors, but it lets the killers roam around to mess with us, maybe even pick which of us they want like lobsters at a restaurant. Though they can't come into the campsite. It's off-limits and the Entity prevents them from coming in."

"We found that out thanks to that twat, Nea. Damn bird kept tauntin' the monster till it got fed up and charged for all of us. All these black throne riddled vines encased the camp like a dome. And when they came down, the monster was gone."

"But while the killers do sometimes come to our forest, they don't live here. There are sixteen killers that we know of right now. They have territories that relate to them and they often choose to stay there. Some even sharing the area because the Entity put it's belonging there. Though it's those territories that we get sent to for the trials and sometimes it's not even that territories killer that hunts us."

"Agh...So much info-dumping. It's making my head hurt."

"Easy, Luv. We just have a little bit more to share."

I groan and give into this.

"Fine."

"There are twelve territories we've seen so far. These territories are pockets within The Entity, who constructs everything from itself except for the Killers and the Survivors. The Realms do not co-exist at all times but are rather created whenever needed. The location of the Campfire is also located within such a pocket. The Woods and Fog beyond the Trial grounds represent the boundaries of the pocket and are just a façade. The MacMillan Estate is home to the Trapper. The Blood Lodge around Autohaven Wreckers is where we guess the Wraith to live. Coldwind Farm is home to the Hillbilly but is shared with the Cannibal. The Nurse shares her home turf of the Crotus Prenn Asylum area with the Clown who stay in a carny's caravan around Father Campbell's Chapel. The Shape lives on Lampkin Lane, Haddonfield. In the Backwater Swamp there is the Hag and a shack called the Grim Pantry is where she resides. The Doctor can be found at Léry's Memorial Institute. The Huntress resides in the Mother's Dwelling and the Plague in the Temple of Purgation, both are found in the Red Forest. The Nightmare lives on Elm Street, Springwood. The Pig hides out in the Gideon Meat Plant. The Spirit is at her Family Residence of the Yamaoka Estate. The Legion is found in the Mount Ormond Resort. And Ghost Face...doesn't really have a place as far as we know."

"The narcissistic fucker likes to roam apparently. No one place is ever good enough for long."

"But even with all these zones just for them, there is one place they all have control of. The Killer Shack and it's Basement. Down there is a room of pure hell, the closest point to the Entity itself, what with all the freaky unnatural lights and sounds found there. It's packed with memories of endless suffering and torture. The smell of dried blood and bowels stays with you even after death."

"Huh...Maybe it was him out there then."

"You saw one?"

"Why else do you think I came literally crawling back? I'll admit that sometimes I can be crazy, but I'm far from insane. If I see something weird, I don't stick around like a dumbass in a horror movie."

"Clever girl..."

David's arm rests over my shoulders.

"If you're smart, keep your 'ead down, and can move fast, you should 'ave no trouble avoidin' those creeps."

I give him a funny look which has him looking back at me in playful confusion.

"What? What's with that face?"

"...You're lucky I have to save my energy for not being killed or that arm would be up your arse."

I use the British word for ass hoping it would make it sink in. It has the opposite effect, as he smirks.

"You got spunk, Luv. I like it. Nothin' more attractive than a woman that can kick some arse."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Dude, I'm giving you ten seconds to back off before you find out just how spunky I can be."

"Is that a promise?"

I can hear the bones in my right-hand pop as it clenches into a fist. Though this is made for nothing as a hand on my shoulder keeps me just levelheaded enough to not punch David's teeth in. It's Quentin, and a simple shake of his head is all he needs to do to say so much. I sigh and stand up, walking towards the outskirts of the camp.

"And people wonder why I don't socialize."

Leaning on a tree that just barely stands within the glow of the fire, I hear the petty squabbling of a few of them berating David on his actions. Honestly, they're wasting their time. I don't blame David. Dude's honestly got a nice cut of jib. I'm just not used to having attention. Especially THAT kind of attention. It makes me feel awkward.

"Are you okay?"

Adam comes close but not very, wanting to stay in the light and not be so close to the forest.

"Yeah, I'm okay. No harm, no foul."

"Are you sure? You looked pretty upset."

"Why is it that when someone says that they're fine, the questioning party always repeats the same question again but in a different format?"

"I'm just trying to make sure..."

"I said I'm fine! I don't need to be babied!"

I can't stand this. There's too much pressure. Bad enough I'm in a huge group. Bad enough this whole Entity and killers bullshit. But I don't need someone thinking I need help or pity.

"Okay...You don't have to snap."

I growl at him and myself.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy. I told you I was fine and you kept at it like somehow my answer would change. I don't need this. Fuck this shit! I'm out!"

Fuck the danger. Fuck these people. Fuck everything! Nothing matters! I storm off into the woods, ignoring the shouting of warning, I just want to be alone and away from all this fuckery. So what if I run into a killer? Big whoop! They claim to die all the time by these monsters and they're still kicking. Bet the only inconvenience will be the pain. To quote a famous movie killer doll..."Go ahead and shoot! I'll be back! I ALWAYS come back! ...But dying is such a bitch". Geez...How long have I been walking now? If I keep going would I end up in a loop or possibly wind up in one of those other areas they told me? Why is it that all the cool stuff always happens when you have no means of recording it? Then again, who would I be recording for anyway? Wait...Is this really the direction of thought I'm having while all of THIS is happening? What the hell is wrong with me? I mean...

*CRUNCH*

Uh oh. That wasn't me. Maybe? Just to be certain, I won't move.

*CRUNCH*

Yeah, that wasn't me. Did someone follow me out here? No, they're too fearful to do something like that. I'm the idiot with a death wish.

*CRUNCH*

It's getting closer. Whatever it is. Damn fog. Can't see a thing it's so thick. Okay, keep calm. Don't panic. Just stay low to the ground and scurry into some shrubbery till it goes away. Then run like hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Is that...Is that my heart beating in my ears? Wow, that is clear. Also creepy as hell.

*CRUNCH*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, really don't like how that's getting louder.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

What the fuck has my heart going nuts?! There is nothing out here! What kind of crazy bull...

*CLANG-CLANG*

Shit?

The sound of a bell tolls and a figure materializes from the shadows. A tall imposing thing now stands not far from my little hiding bush. This thing is draped in a faded black hooded tattered cloak smeared with ash or dust traces, it's face obscured from sight with only the tiny glow of white coming from its eyes, and bandage wrappings around the mid to lower torso region along with parts of both arms. On its waist are two pouches, one large on it's right and a smaller one on it's left. I can't see its legs but going off on how it walked I'd say this thing is barefooted. There's strange scarring on what I can see of its right arm, this arm also holding a very macabre and deadly weapon. What looks almost like an ax but made from the skull and attached spine of a human that has three wickedly sharp blades coming down from the teeth. Its left arm seems to have wire or ring-like bangles along the wrist, and in this hand it holds the source of the ringing. A heavy-looking cast iron bell that is also made of a human skull. I'm seeing a theme here.

"Tra la la. Come on out, little one..."

That voice...like a quiet garbled growl, as if it has a congested throat.

"You can not hide forever."

The hell I can't.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Man, that is getting old. Am I only hearing this because it's so close? Gee, that would be useful knowledge to have. Thanks, teammates! You spam me with all sort of crap about your lives and you leave out the essentials. I hate people.

*CRUNCH*

It stomps harshly into the ground and it makes me flinch, which makes the blush rustle faintly. Too bad for me that this slight rustle is enough for the creature to notice. A sudden red glow coats the ground in its line of sight and it covers the bush I'm currently in.

"Found you. Tra la la."

My choices for moves at the moment are limited and time-based. I have to pick something. Instinct and pure randomness kick in. Making me pull one of the weirdest moves out of my zany bag of tricks.

"*sheep bleats*"

Arguably not the smartest sound to make but the effect is what I was praying for. This odd sound coming out of a bush confuses this killer. This momentary mind fuck is just the slight advantage I need, using its daze state to dash out of the shrub on all fours. This also adds a bit more confusion to the killer but not for long.

*CLANG-CLANG*

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Okay, still beating hard but not booming crazy like before. No doubt it's giving chase. Only things I don't know are how fast it can move, if it can flank me, and which way is camp. Best to serpentine as much as possible.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

It's settling down? Is it not following me? No! Don't be stupid. Don't slow down. Don't look back. Keep going forward and never stop.

*CLANG-CLANG*

The red glow suddenly flashes at my left side. I do my best to dodge out of the light's radius and I do manage to keep my vitals from harm. That, unfortunately, didn't mean I avoided the attack. No. While still in its reach, this creature took great aim and swung it's weapon down hard to stick its blades deep into my left leg's calf. The sound that escapes me becomes a haunting roar that makes the forest even more spooky than it already is. I skid across the ground into a tree, a trail of crimson highlighting my path, the weapon of my crippling still jammed in my flesh and possibly bone.

"Poor little lamb..."

Please don't rub salt in this wound by gloating.

"You should've stayed in the corral with the rest of the herd. Tra la la."

Don't do something stupid brain. For the love of God, do not do something stupid because you're distracted by that somewhat adorable speech tick it has.

"*wincing* I can't help...that I'm sheepish."

Okay, that wasn't doing something stupid. That was saying something stupid. Good job. You found a loophole. This stupidity puzzles the killer. I know I'd be questioning so much if I was in its place.

"You are a strange one. Tra la la."

I meekly shrug.

"*wincing* I prefer...quirky. *whimpering chuckle* Oooh...fuck that stings!"

That gets it to snicker lightly as it approaches.

"Quirky? Heh...I suppose that is more fitting for an oddity such as you."

I can't move. I mean, I probably can, I still have three working limbs. But I can't make myself move. Its aura is smothering enough to hold me down. So when it reaches for the ax handle I nearly bite my tongue off to keep under control for when those blades are yanked haphazardly out of me. Though my attempt is a failing one. Another eerie wail cries out of me and into the forest as more blood is spilled.

"Such odd sounds you make, little one. But a refreshing change none the less. Tra la la."

Thank you I guess? Honestly, I can't tell if it's complimenting me or dicking around. Either way I'm in too much pain to care and I'm fairly sure the bone in my calf is broken.

"Till we meet again."

For a moment I swear it was going to leave. To spare me this one freaky encounter since this wasn't a real hunt. But that is wishful thinking on the hopeful part of my soul. For these monsters aren't called KILLERS for no reason. In that fraction of a second where my hope had spiked, I fail to take note of the dark whispers in the wind and the violent swinging of the ax to my back. The first strike alone paralyzes me as it's a direct blow to the spine. Blood splattering in a vicious burst across me, the area, and it. The next three are just overkill and break my body's necessary connections to keep it going. Regrettably, I'm still alive. Bodily functions are coming to a slow stop and I'm bleeding out rabidly, yet I'm still very aware of all of it.

"Maybe next time you will remain in your pen like a good little lamb. There are wolves about. Tra la la. It would be a shame to see such innocence strewn about like a gutted corpse on a hook."

I want to say something. Anything. But all that leaves my mouth is blood that is flowing out of my deflated lungs.

"Tra la la. Let this be a lesson, little one. Learn it well."

My unblinking eyes lay their sight on that dripping ax once more as it's lifted high and comes crashing down like a merciful gift to my skull. Because all pain stopped the second darkness takes me.

[The Entity is pleased! The meat. It bleeds. Wiggle, little worm. Wiggle. Do not waste precious time! Find others! Quickly! Kill more meat! Catch meat. Sacrifice meat. Appease The Entity. Do not let the light in!]

I bolt upright with a sharp gasping breath. A cold sweat coats my skin and my heart is pounding a million miles a minute. I don't get the chance to question if any of that was real, for the first thing my eyes see is the campfire and then the people around it giving me weird looks. All seventeen are there now so I guess the trial ended. I instinctively feel around for damage I know happened but find none. There's no ripping of my clothing or even a drop of blood staining it. It's like...nothing happened. The only odd thing, the thing they're all looking at me funny for, is my exposed soul. It's not a single color like theirs. Hell, it's not double, triple, or even a handful of colors. This heart-shaped soul floating out of my chest is a fucking rainbow of ten, yes, ten colors all sloshing about in a torrent of colliding waves. Black, purple, blue, cyan, green, yellow, orange, red, pink, and white. Three of these colors I don't think they've ever seen before. Not liking their staring, plus this soul exposure makes me feel naked, I force the heart back inside my body and react as one might do in such a situation.

"The fuck are you looking at?!"

That bark gets a good chunk of them to turn away. Yet some don't and one has more balls than the rest to come near me...David.

"You don't look so good, Luv. Did one of the monsters moris ya?"

I'm sorry, Brit boy say what now?

"Come again?"

"Memento Moris. It's the killer's ability to kill Survivors while skippin' the whole stick you on a 'ook thin'. A neat little trick they don't often get to do."

"Oh...Yeah. That happened. Not sure if how far I got or if you lot heard me at all."

"We didn't 'ear any screams. But we did 'ear some messed up shit. Was that the killer doin' all that?"

Alright, that makes me laugh. They thought that was a killer? Can't blame them. I don't make human sounds when in pain. My amusement puzzles him and even more so when I pat the spot next to me, giving him the okay to join me. He does so but cautiously.

"What's so funny?"

"Those sounds you heard...*giggles* That was me."

The "what the fuck" look he gets is priceless.

"You? You made those monster noises?"

"Yeah."

"Bullshit."

"Dude, why would I lie about that?"

"I...How?"

"I don't know how to scream."

"...Okay, now I know you're fuckin' with me."

"Dude, I literally woke up here growling and snarling like a beast. Are you sure I'm yanking your chain?"

He ponders this a moment.

"I guess not. Still a bit nuts though."

"And what isn't in this place?"

"Good point, Luv."

Maybe David isn't so bad in small doses. At least now he isn't being a flirty douche and I can take note of the two tattoos he has. One is behind his left ear of a Rose and the other is on his right forearm of a Lion. From what he spoke of in his past, that rose is from his Rugby Union Jerseys.

"So...Which of them freaks was it that did ya in?"

"The hell would I know? You were all so busy tell me your life's stories that you didn't give me info on the killers other than names and territories. Which, by the way, thanks for that. Real fucking helpful."

He chuckles as I glare. Though it doesn't hold much attitude when he pats my head apologetically.

"Sorry, Luv. But to be fair, we didn't expect ya to run off a second time."

"Yeah yeah. Excuses excuses."

"If it 'elps, I'll make it up to ya."

This shouldn't get to me but does get me curious.

"How?"

"If we get paired up on a team for a trial, 'ow about I watch your back?"

I shoot him a look.

"What?"

"You're just going to check out my ass the whole time."

That catches him off guard and he laughs loudly.

"Oh man...I fuckin' love it..."

"Come on, you know you totally would, Mr. English ball buster."

It takes him a bit to settle down. Though when he does, he pulls me into a playful headlock and nugies me.

"Not gonna lie, Luv, I would. The tail around 'ere ain't really fair game. I mean, all but one or two of you birds aren't of jail bait standards. Little Laurie is only seventeen. The oldest one is Jane but that duck ain't my type. Everyone else falls somewhere low but older than Laurie. It's a real minefield."

I feel like lying about my age would be a smart move on my part. Too bad I already gave that detail out when we did our whole "hi, my name is" thing. Curse being 32.

"You, on the other 'and, I like."

I'm starting to think I had it easier with the monster in the woods.

"Now spill it, Luv. What did this monster look like?"

He stops the nugies and I growl at the rat nest he made out of my head. That's going to be a bitch to fix.

"I couldn't see its face. Just the eyes. Though if it helps with knowing what it was, it had a bell."

He nods with recognition.

"Ah. The Wraith. Soddin' tosser can go invisible with that bell. Can't attack though till it's visible again. But it's much faster while 'idden."

"Again, really could've used that info before. Explains how it caught up to me so fast."

"And again, we didn't expect ya to leave."

"Well, now you know. And knowing is half the battle."

"G.I. Joe is still a thing in 2019?"

Laurie chirps.

"If you think that's weird, so is Cabbage Patch Kids dolls."

She gets this look that says "why" very clearly.

"How?"

"Some things just can't die no matter how much time passes."

That innocent yet ominous statement sets a chilling mood. The others keep away from me for now, only speaking to me if needed. David remains with me and aside from a few random blunt flirts here or there, his willingness to chat gives me a little more details on this bunch. Laurie and Quentin are the same age, making them the youngest ones here. Bill, even though he's been pulled from 2009, is the oldest here at the ripe age of 80. No clue how he's so damn spry for that age and managed through a freaking zombie apocalypse. In second place is Ace at 63, followed by Detective David at 58, and Ash at 57. David swears that Jane is in her 60s, yet she looks to be in her 30s, but it's always hard to tell how old a person is in the entertainment industry. They seem to defy aging...just like Madonna. Everyone else is all scattered between 19 and 40. It makes me think. I mean, I get why some of them are here. They went somewhere that was tied to a killer in some way or were with the killer when they too were picked by the Entity. But some of them...Why are they here? Were they pulled in because of crazy strong wills? Did the Entity taste something it liked and was like "sure I'll take that"? God, I have so many questions and I doubt I'll ever be able to even begin to scratch the surface for answers. There is however two questions I don't want answered...When will my first trial start and who'll be the killer?

[Elsewhere: Killer Shack]

*CLANG-CLANG*

"Tra la la. Meeting will come to order."

Wraith materializes and gets the other killers attention.

"Ah, so I was thinking...Tra la la...If we all stop wiping and griping and looking at our weapons after we hit one of those little squirts. We'd probably kill them a lot faster. What does everyone think? Tra la la."

The fifteen other monsters make sounds of agreement.

"Any questions?"

A hand is raised by the Huntress.

"Is it true that a new punk has been brought here?"

Wraith nods.

"Yes, dear. As some of you may have felt, the Entity has brought in a new Survivor. Tra la la. One that I have had the pleasure of finding in the woods outside of the campfire."

"A new human, you say?"

Ghost Face toys with his knife.

"Tell us, darling, what manner of prey are we getting to enjoy this time?"

"A new female has been added to the group. Tra la la."

"Heh...Another bitch that needs to be put down like the rest of the dogs."

Nightmare says with a menacing grin.

"I am not so sure she will be as easy as you think."

That gets some notice.

"AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?"

Trapper, understandably, questions.

"Do not toy around with riddles, friend."

The Nurse makes a good point.

"Just tell us what you know already, bellhop. Some of us have kills to be ready for."

However, Hillbilly is more blunt about it.

"Very well. Tra la la. While I did kill her, she was not without some odd tricks. She did not act like the other humans. Nor did she move like them either. Tra la la. If it weren't for her inexperience, I most likely wouldn't have caught her."

"Sounds more like you're losing your edge. *coughs*"

The Clown interjects between hacking fits.

"There is more. This human also is in possession of a very...how to put it...perplexing soul. Tra la la."

Interest is now at its maximum level.

"hag wants learn. hag learn ALL THINs!"

Hag, for the better part of it's effort, is eager to learn.

"Upon killing her, I managed to glimpse her soul before the Entity could take her away. This soul is unlike any I've seen before. Tra la la. It had multiple colors."

This gets some chuckling out of the Legion.

"heheheh...really trying to hype up this girl, aren't you?"

Wraith shrugs.

"I am merely informing you of what I know. Tra la la. Do with this knowledge what you will."

"then in that case, i choose to call dibs on the new meat."

The others voice out in disapproval.

"🕈☟✌❄ ☝✋✞☜💧 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟☜ ☼✋☝☟❄ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 👍✌☠ ☺🕆💧❄ 👍✌☹☹ 👎✋👌💧✍" (WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO THINK YOU CAN JUST CALL DIBS?)

The Doctor asserts his authority.

"..."

The Shape is very displeased.

"Deary, as much as that tough act is cute, there is a pecking order. Newer killers like us can't claim things willy nilly."

The Plague seems to know her place or just doesn't care.

"screw the rules. i have numbers."

"*snarls*"

Cannibal grips his chainsaw tightly, ready to have it's blade feed on the nearest flesh it can touch.

"I-If you think y-you're good enough to have a s-shot at the new meat. M-Maybe you should p-prove it."

The Pig isn't very menacing when she speaks.

"If anyone should call dibs IT'S ME! I need TENSION! CONFLICT!"

Spirit twitches violently, it's body trying to keep itself together.

"the way i see it, this bull your calling me on is moot. everyone here is gonna vote for themselves to go after the new meat, that is obvious. but what you dorks fail to remember is i don't have just one vote. there are four of me. and last i checked, four beats out any of your ones."

The dirty looks given to Legion would be worth their weight in killing potential if looks could kill. Yet he shrugs this off with a cocky grin and tucks his hands into his pants pockets while heading for the stairs leaving the basement.

"welp...catch you guys later. i'm gonna see what's so special about this human. wait...scratch that...my human."

He mockingly laughs as he ascends the stairs and the remaining fifteen are all glaring at where Legion once was.

"Can we end the meeting on agreeing that the Legion is an arrogant prick? Tra la la."

The resounding agreement is unanimous.

"Very well. Tra la la. Meeting adjourned."

*CLANG-CLANG*

With that, Wraith vanishes and takes its leave along with the other killers. Returning to their areas to prepare for the coming trials. For soon they will be unleashed upon those poor unfortunate souls. And there will be much bloodshed, for some Survivors more than others.

Let me know what you think. And I'm so sorry for all the info-dumping in the beginning. I personally hate it but there's no other way to describe the Survivors. Now...Some of the Killers aren't set in stone yet, but here's the idea for each killer and the monster they are.

Trapper = Fell Papyrus Wraith = River Person (AU determined later) Hillbilly = Flowey (AU determined later) Nurse = Horror Toriel Shape = Undertale Grillby Hag = Horror Temmie Doctor = HorrorFell Gaster Huntress = Fell Undyne Cannibal = Asriel (AU determined later) Nightmare = Napstablook (AU determined later) Pig = HorrorFell Alphys Clown = Asgore (AU determined later) Spirit = Mad Mew Mew (AU determined later) Legion = Sans (tale,fell,swap,horror) Plague = Undertale Muffet Ghost Face = Fell Mettaton (Yes, I'm aware of two more killers coming soon, I'll plan them out when they appear)

Also, you may have noticed I didn't say Freddy Kruger during Quentin's backstory even though his game bio dose. There's a reason for it and it fits with the lore. Nightmare is Freddy, no doubt...Now you're picturing Napstablook as Freddy and it's fucking cute...But, thanks to the Entity, he doesn't remember that. During a Q&A with game creators, they were asked this question..."CAN THE KILLERS REMEMBER THEIR PAST?". They answered..."It depends on the profile of the killer. Some of them do. Some of them don't. And remember might not be the right word. Have access to... maybe." This means that even the willing killers can be altered by the Entity to make it easier for them to be used and kill for their master. So if the Entity can mess with the killer's memories, why not the Survivors? So I'm making it that none of the Survivors that knew a Killer before the Entity got them remembers that Killer's past identity. This makes them true monsters. I'll also be editing the Killers lore to match the monsters a bit better, Legion for one in the game is comprised of 4 souls (2 male, 2 female), but in this story, the 4 souls are all male (4 different Sans). Needless to say more, that needs some tweaking. Thanks for reading all this. Have a good day or night. Laters. ^_^

#undertale #dead by daylight #Anomaly #Lynsie #lynchtale

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your-friendly-neighborhood-sc00t · 5 years

Text

Star vs. The Forces of Evil: Thoughts on the Series Finale

SvtFoE just concluded a few days ago, and to be perfectly honest, Im incredibly conflicted.

I've been putting this off for a little while now, since I've needed to time to gather all my thoughts and criticisms of everything that happened in the finale.

Firstly, I don't think they needed a full hour or so to properly wrap things up, like other people have stated.

Instead, more time should have been devoted to the plot and Star in general.

The very strange thing is, despite how much of a threat Mina is, and clearly was in the past few episodes, the writers decided to severely downplay her in favor of revolving mostly around Star and Marco's relationship.

I'm sorry, but in a show as engaging as SvtFoE, romance shouldn't really be the priority in the FINALE, the SERIES finale mind you.

Alot of time gets wasted on the two obsessing over being with each other and it's honestly sickening.

Like, I never cared for Starco, but I really feel like they shouldn't have wasted time with Marco/Jackie Tom/Star, if these two were obviously gonna be endgame.

Had they gotten together waaaay earlier, as they should've, let's say, Season 2, I probably would've felt more about them supposedly being forcibly separated after just getting together.

Another thing that really bothered me was that Star literally just broke up with Tom a few episodes ago, so basically, the relationship was entirely one-sided, and Star was forcing herself to cry during the breakup, and forcing herself to simply be in the relationship with Tom, since she was absolutely, head-over-heels for Marco at that point.

Just feels so rushed and forced, but whatever.

Something that really urked me, was the fact that there was no final battle between Star and Mina, y'know, one last confrontation between Star and the primary antagonist of the season.

No, she just, convienetly is out of the picture thanks to one of the stupid corrupted milhorses, and that's it. She can't even postpone the destruction of Magic or anything.

In my opinion, two, actually cool situations could have played out here.

So, y'know being in the Realm of Magic and all, this should've powered up Mina even further, and Star as well, they're surrounded by pure Magic, so, why shouldn't it empower them?

And then there's some epic final battle between them, maybe Moon and Eclipsa fight alongside Star, Hell, maybe even Tom and Marco get in on the action, and maybe Mina's so powerful here, that they just barely stop her, and while she's temporarily incapacitated, bam, they destroy magic, y'know? Something cool like that.

The other scenario that could play out, is the one that would've been FIRE.

So, the show established a Multiverse exists within the show's universe.

This is seen in Mathmagic, where we get a glimpse of various versions of Star in different universes and timelines.

Now, IMAGINE, if in the Realm of Magic when Mina shows up, Star tries to fight her, but she's too strong or whatever, so she opens up several portals to enlist the help of herselves to help her battle Mina, that would've been so cool, and would have killed two birds with one stone.

1. A proper final confrontation that is epic and different from all the other battles in the show.

2. The show has it's first and only "Multiverse Episode"

Just feels like a missed opportunity to me.

But what do we get?

Oh boy! More Starco drama!

Well, not before they successfully destroy Magic.

I did think it was really nice to see Solaria's spirit, or whatever it was, finally accept Meteora, she just kind of touches her cheek and smiles, it's a pretty sweet moment.

And Glossaryck's last (actual) line is kind of sad to be honest.

Something that really freaking bothered me was the fact that both Star and Marco chose each other over their friends, FAMILY, and HOMES.

Sorry, but I'm just not buying into this whole

"uwu we belong together forever uwu" crap

Like, they should've been together ALOT longer than a few episodes if dialogue like that was to be warranted and for non-Starco viewers to even care about them being separated.

Wait, there was one thing I forgot to mention that happens during this RoM part.

Marco literally is impaled around his stomach by Tom's corrupted Milhorse, and the crazy thing is, he just WALKS it off.

Like, I understand that after Magic is destroyed, the wound disappears, since that's obviously a magical wound, but, he walked around for a good long while BEFORE Star successfully destroyed Magic, so... He just, walks it off???

There's no logical reason for Marco to be able to endure a wound like this, he's fifteen, he's a CHILD for crying out loud.

So, that was shown in the trailer specifically to clickbait everyone, but there's actual pay-off at all.

Marco is able to literally flip one of these horses by the freaking horn, AFTER HE IS WOUNDED.

I feel like, obviously Marco shouldn't just fall over and die after being impaled, but I feel like he should've had to lean on Tom for the rest of the time here, like, there's no plausible explanation as to why he is able to walk this off like nothing happened.

But that isn't the only thing that has no logical explanation.

I know I'm covering most of the negatives so far, but just so you know, I actually was digging this episode for the most part, up until the last two minutes.

Moon and Eclipsa helping Star destroy the Magic was nice and dandy, and finally seeing Eclipsa's and even Meteora's Butterfly forms was pretty sweet.

Finally discovering why Glossaryck loves pudding was actually kinda funny, and served for the plot.

I've hated Ponyhead for a really long time, but she actually made me smile for the first time when she was comforting Star, telling all these stories to assure her, her friends were all well.

And Janna had a similar moment with Marco, where the two, for what seems like the first time, genuinely acknowledge eachother as friends, which was actually really nice.

But then, something has to happen to ruin EVERYTHING.

For a literally entirely unexplained reason, a portal opens between Mewni and Earth, then it explodes, and then Mewni and Earth have merged...?

Oh HEY, Star and Marco can be together at last!

Oh wait, none of this makes any fucking sense.

Is this show honestly trying to tell me, that a MAGICAL PORTAL opened up, despite the fact that Magic was literally destroyed five minutes ago???

There's no logical, rationale, reasonable REASON for this to have happened.

It's all just deus ex machina bullshit Daron came up with just so Star and Marco could be together, great.

Aside from that, there's some very concerning implications as a result of Star's actions that doesn't seem to be acknowledged at all by the characters.

The first thing being, the destruction of Magic means that all magically-based entities will be wiped from existence.

Meaning that entire species have just been wiped off the face of the Multiverse.

Meaning that Star has committed mass-genocide on a Multiversal scale.

And yet no one in the show seems to acknowledge that.

What they should have done, in my opinion, was simply depower all magically-based entities, leaving them to learn how to live without utilizing Magic on a day-to-day basis, that would have been interesting, and far-less scary.

The only one who would justifiably be gone is Glossaryck, who clearly has strong ties to Magic.

I'm surprised a show that is marketed towards children includes a protagonist who commits mass-genocide, and still gets smoochies from her boyfriend.

Woooow.

Another thing is, the Cleaving of Earth and Mewni, isn't exactly beneficial to ANYONE except Star and Marco.

Are humans, mewmans, and monsters, etc going to be able to live together in harmony?

I mean, I highly doubt everything is gonna be all peaches and cream, especially at first.

This probably is going to result in a whole slew of problems, but remember, it was worth it, so Star and Marco could be uwu'ing.

Props to a friend of mine for bringing this to my attention, but Star destroying Magic should've technically erased Meteora as well.

Think about it, Meteora was pretty much reborn through Magic, which would probably make her fall under that magically-based area.

Same thing with Star to be perfectly honest, her original body was destroyed during The Battle for Mewni, and her new body was entirely reconstructed from Magic, meaning that she should've been erased as well.

Which would have made for a hell of an interesting conflict in the finale, but oh well.

Seems like the rules are being ignored if you ask me.

The show unfortunately follows in the footsteps of the Legend of Korra, in which it's final shot and lines are dedicated to shipping, and not the series as a whole.

Which is incredibly disappointing, but oh well.

And then Mina, man oh man...

So Mina is depowered, and Moon offers to rehabilitate her, truly pitying her, and apologizing for using her, (although technically Mina was using her but, whatever)

And instead of Mina finally regaining a bit of her sanity, instead of finally showing some kind of development, instead of finally ending her conquest against monsters, instead of accepting that offer.

Mina just, basically says her racist ideas will always linger in the minds of others, and she walks off into the woods.

Her dialogue and the way she does this is just an absolute joke, like, the writers just downplay her at every possible moment.

The dialogue is clearly supposed to be funny, despite how mentally fractured this woman is, and it just feels disrespectful to the character in general.

Do you want her to be a psychotic, deranged soldier, stuck in her ways, who knows nothing but war and bigotry?

Or do you want her to be a clown, which is it, Daron?

I can't really say I'm satisfied with this ending.

There's too scary and/or concerning implications, unsatisfying resolutions, and questions for this to be a truly good finale.

I think more time should've been dedicated Mina, considering she's the main antagonist of the season, and it's the series finale, and the merging of Mewni and Earth should have never have been a thing.

Star and Marco should've went on with their lives.

The last we see of Marco should have been him going back to school.

And the last we see of Star should have been her giving a speech to the people of Mewni.

I don't know, I was just hoping for alot more, but the end result was just kind of rushed and unfulfilling.

However, when all is set and done,

Star vs. The Forces of Evil was a hell of a four-year ride, I had a blast watching it for all it's 4 seasons, and I'm really gonna miss it.

#star vs. the forces of evil #my thoughts #might edit later if i have more thoughts

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agentargus · 5 years

Note

(( if not too late )) Have you got any opinion on Guinevere and Cherub? ❤️

Harry: “Carter has asked me for advice on how best to please Caroline in bed. I doubt he’d be offended if I told you so, he hasn’t much in the way of shame. Personally, I think it’s something of an admirable quality. As for what they ended up doing, I believe that costumes of some sort—or maybe just fae glamour were involved. Carter had mentioned something about an interest in spicing things up a bit for special occasions. He worries that she’ll doubt his affections on those moments when her jealousy outweighs her better judgment and wants nothing more than to let her know that there isn’t anyone else. As for the rest, I’ll err on the side of caution. Something about gentlemanly discreetness, though I suspect that I myself have little.

I’ve known Guinevere—Eli— since she was a trainee agent. She was adorable and as fiercely loyal as any of the Kingsman puppies and she’s only become a better agent (and friend) with time. She and James were a love story we could see coming from miles away—probably before they did, to be quite honest. There are plenty of mission logs where you can all but taste the chemistry—and the unresolved romantic tension—between them. They got married despite Chester King’s endless insistence that a spy should live a life devoid of affection and companionship (come to think of it, that would certainly explain why Charlie was such an arse to Eggsy back in the day. We should all be grateful that Charlie keeps far better company now. I know I am.)

I don’t know how she’s been handling his death since we’ve reconnected, but she was devastated at first. We all were on some level. I myself was every bit as angry at Valentine for killing James as I was for how Eli was affected by it. Though my actions toward Professor Arnold were staged, the rage behind them was not. Merlin has said something about Borley working with the Washington Avenue Project on an interdimensional communication device and that they had intended to test it by communicating with restless spirits in between dimensions. I don’t suspect that James was anywhere near ready to die and that he has all manner of unfinished business. I only hope that when the device is finished, he and Eli might have some degree of closure. They both deserve it.”

—

Hamish: “Harry has something of a chivalrous nature, one that I’m nae inclined to share when it comes to the good stuff. Cherub...well, you know how I feel about herbalism, witchcraft, all that. Even with the things I’ve seen, I know a lot of it is nonsense. I do hope she knows what she’s doing...I suppose I’ll just have to trust Morgan on this one...

Oh, but Elizabeth...I’ll tell you about when Eli was a bairn, better than all the boys in most of the tests, but still had a proper lady’s nature back then. A target for pranks, she was, and she took it hard back then. Poor girl was treated like dirt by the snobby rich boys in those early days—well except for Perceval and Lancelot. There’s a reason those two outlasted the others. Along with poor Lee Unwin, they were the best of the lot.

But those two, Percy and James, well they made her a little too reckless at times. I have computer files of nearly every time they’ve had a bad influence on her and she forgot to take off her glasses. A little too much alcohol, she and James deciding that the bedroom was just too boring a place to make love, that one time she hacked Percy’s file and thought I wouldn’t know about it (I know everything, Elizabeth. EVERYTHING.) Rae was wrong about her selling Kingsman secrets to the Germans, however—she was selling secrets about Perceval to James in exchange for certain favors. I know about the threesomes, the uses of schoolgirl outfits, how James stole the good liquor from Arthur and I never said a thing because the old bass had it coming. Eli is the reason Arthur always thought James was nothing short of exemplary...Oh, I could be here all day...”

—

Dante: “Agent Cherub is perfect. Her skill in the Green Arts is beyond reproach. She ...Lei ha le mani d’oro. Natural talent. Her heart is every bit of gold. Just call Thorn King Midas. Most valuable, the both of them. Trust me, if Thorn was dating anyone of a lesser quality, you would know (because they would probably be dead if Parker got to them first and experiencing non-fatal but nonetheless severe stomach ulcers if I got to them first.)

As for Miss Guinevere, I don’t know her very well, but I worry for her. Take it from a guy who was taught pre-calculus by a ghost who told me he was an ancient Roman mathematician when he was alive, but turned out to be a delusional mathematician from 1935, the dead are rarely what they seem. There’s a good chance the ghost she’s in contact with is actually her boo—get it? Because ghosts? Never mind. But it might be worth making absolute certain. She should ask him questions only he would know. Favorite song? Favorite flower? Favorite pair of boxer shorts? Any one of you might know him better than I do.

As much as I’d like to make a crack about entities being “mean-spirited” let me attempt to be completely serious for once: manipulative people don’t stop being manipulative after they die. Pathological liars have more power because they can take any form they please. At Repubblica, this is one of our more common problems. Whether it’s possession or just opening doors that shouldn’t be opened, people believe think that just because they have reason to believe in ghosts, they have reason to believe ghosts. I haven’t given much reason for her to believe me either, but we’ve got friends in common and I’d hate to see another casualty of—I’m sorry, but I can’t resist—mean ghouls.”

#the knight of swords (agent argus)#the magician (agent merlin)#the page of swords (agent alichino)#they stan two legends

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dumbledearme · 6 years

Text

days gone by

~~ read Where Demons Hide here ~~

Harvardville, June

For the longest time, Chris was not aware of anything. He found himself in a state of non-existence where he couldn't see, hear or feel. His body was in some sort of limbo, while his mind was being haunted by images he didn't understand. The skinless dog. His partner getting up after being ripped apart. Great chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling of an abandoned mansion. An underground laboratory. Confusion. The rush. The blood. The chaos.

Slowly, some of his senses started to come back. Although he still couldn't see, he could hear voices hovering over him.

"...Chris..."

"...we'll have to leave soon..."

"...we're trying to ..."

"...please, come back to me..."

"...Chris, please, wake up..."

It wasn't always the same voice although they all sounded feminine. They were getting so insistent now that, with effort, Chris was able to obey the command. His eyes opened and immediately he closed them again when the shock of the bright sunlight blinded him. Slowly, he tried to open them again. This time he was ready. He stared at the white ceiling as he tried to figure out where he was. He moved. Painfully. He was able to sit down after several minutes of struggle. Then he looked around.

He was in a hospital room. How he had gotten there or why remained a mystery in Chris' hazy mind. He tried to remember something. Where had he been? What was the last thing he'd done? Something was bothering him. He had forgotten something important and was painfully aware of it. But the effort to remember only made his head hurt more.

And where was Claire? He had definitely heard her voice. She had insisted that he'd wake up and now that he had, she was not here to see him? It wasn't like her. Claire's determination was flawless. If Chris was in the hospital, she would have stayed with him 24/7. Could she have gone to grab a bite? Take a shower? Talk to someone?

Chris glanced around the room once more. There was a vase on the nightstand, but the flowers were rotten. More suspicious. Nothing was ever rotten in a hospital. On the opposite wall, the clock hands were frozen.

Confused, Chris decided it was time to find someone to clear things up. He rose from bed, slowly, and felt his legs give in from beneath him, and the next minute he was stretched out on the floor. He let out a deep groan. It felt as if he had been stranded in the desert for days. His body was in no working condition. "Nurse!" he called, as loud as he could, which wasn't very loud. "Help me, nurse!"

Nobody answered that call. How was that possible? What kind of hospital was this?

Chris made an inhuman effort to rise to his feet. His legs trembled like jell-o, but somehow he made it to the bathroom. Leaning on the sink, he opened the tap and drank the water until he was full. His stomach protested at the lack of food, but his senses sharpened and his vision brightened.

He made his way to the corridor and the situation took on another level of weirdness. It was like a horror film.

The hospital was completely empty, something Chris never thought he would see. There were sheets of paper all over the place, as if the officials had thrown them up in the air before leaving. Hospital beds were abandoned and the ceiling lights flashed in a sinister effect. There were bullet holes in the walls.

The silence, however, was what bothered him the most. It reminded him of something. Another situation in which silence did not fit.

Breathing heavily, Chris headed down the hall to the reception desk, where he tried to use the telephone but there was no line. Again, he wondered how that could be possible. Had they dropped him off in a deserted place? Like a prank? The silence told him no. The discomfort in his stomach made it clear that something serious was happening. Chris followed the opposite corridor that led him to something his brain could not conceive: double doors, locked with thick chains and a long wooden plank.

Don't open. Dead inside.

Chris approached. The doors led to one of the hospital's larger wings. The first thing that occurred to Chris was quarantine. Definitely an epidemic. People had died. Bodies were isolated to keep the contagion. It was the only reasonable explanation.

But then, as he pondered the possibilities, one hand, pale and bloody, forced its way through the double doors. Only the fingers were able to come through, but that was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Chris' neck. Something jerked on the door but the chains kept them closed. More and more hands began to appear, desperately trying to get to Chris. The silence was broken by growls and groans, noises that human beings should not be able to emit, and Chris ran.

A thought teased deep in his mind. A memory. A skinless dog. A dead man walking.

The sunlight granted him little hope when Chris left the hospital. He recognized the streets of Harvardville around him, even though everything was somewhat unrecognizable. The hospital's parking lot had been taken by bodies wrapped in bloody plastic bags. The sight made Chris' stomach twist. Military cars had been abandoned in the streets and there was no living soul to be seen. Chris walked down the familiar streets, ran, followed, with only one thought in his mind: to find Claire.

He didn't get very far. Something hard and unpleasant hit the back of his head and everything went black.

The house was trashed but the little comfort it could provide was enough for her; after all, Alice would only stay for one night.

Redfield stirred on the bed where she’d put him. He had a nice face and a fit body but he drooled a lot as he slept. Of course, maybe that was her own fault; she had hit him in the head with a shovel. His eyes opened, blue as the sky. Alice leaned over him revealing her favorite knife. It was sharp silver blade adorned with hard leather. It had been a gift from her father many years ago.

The man set his eyes on the object. “Take a moment, yes?” she told him. “Look how sharp it is. You try anything and I’ll kill you with it.” He didn’t answer, which Alice took it as a promise of good behavior. She stepped away from him.

“You knocked me out,” he accused massaging the spot on his head where she’d hit him.

“You were freaking out,” she justified. “I thought you’d start screaming out there. Which would’ve called a lot of unwanted attention. Trust me.”

Redfield studied her as if she was a threat. Point for him; Alice had had innumerable chances to kill him. But then he noticed where he was and jumped to his feet. His head, however, must’ve been giving him a hard time because he had to lean against the wall to keep standing. “This… This is Claire’s house… my sister’s house. What are you doing here? How did you…? Where is she?”

Alice sat on the dresser near the window and shrugged. “I suppose she left. Everyone with a brain did. Everyone alive. And I can’t guarantee that she is.”

A shadow crossed his face. Aversion. Anger. Followed by fear. Alice knew very well how that worked. She knew it wasn’t her he was afraid of. He was afraid he wouldn’t find anyone he cared about. He was afraid there was nobody else in the world he could count on. Afraid to be like Alice. But instead of having a fit, he swallowed his feeling and asked for an explanation to what was going on.

And oh boy, how to begin… Alice considered one or two ways before deciding they weren’t good enough. If she was right, he couldn’t remember a damn thing. She would have to be patient. She owed him that much. Problem was she wasn’t all that certain of the events as she tried to pretend.

“Are you aware that at the beginning of the 21st century, the Umbrella Corporation had become the largest commercial entity in the United States? Nine out of every ten homes contained its products. Its political and financial influence was felt everywhere. In public, it was the world's leading supplier of computer technology, medical products and health care. Not necessarily in that order.” Alice felt a bitter smile forming. “Unknown even to its own employees, however, its massive profits were generated by military technology, genetic experimentation and viral weaponry.”

Redfield watched her for a few seconds. He seemed to be struggling to understand where she was going with that, but he looked dizzy. Well, it was astonishing he was standing at all; the guy had been hit on the head soon after awakening from a coma. Alice would’ve felt sorry for him if she could.

“Who are you?” he asked as if that bit of information could make things clearer.

“My name is Alice. I worked for the Umbrella Corporation,” she told him. “I was head of security at a secret high-tech facility called The Hive.”

“What’s that?”

“A giant underground laboratory that developed viral weaponry. The mansion where the S.T.A.R.S Teams were sent to, the Spencer Mansion, was an emergency entrance to the Hive. I was the security guard stationed there to protect this entrance. The Hive itself is located underground deep beneath the streets of Raccoon City. A top-secret research facility, owned and operated by the Umbrella Corporation. Technicians, scientists, support staff... They lived and worked underground. And their research was of the highest importance. "

“What was it?”

Alice shook her head. “Its nature was classified.”

Redfield had to sit after that. Alice didn’t blame him. “Why can’t I remember anything?” he asked.

“The Hive had its own defense mechanisms, all computer-controlled. A nerve gas was released as soon as you and your team broke in. Primary effect of the gas is complete unconsciousness. The lasting time can vary, depending on how long you inhaled it. Secondary effects can include acute memory loss.”

“For how long?”

"Subjective. An hour, day, week."

“I still don’t understand,” he admitted. Alice played with her knife as he strived for the right words. “Why were we sent there? I… I can’t remember. I mean… A helicopter fell. And the mansion wasn’t abandoned as we thought. But… The rest is blank.”

Alice tried to comfort him at the same time as she explained. She knew first handedly how much loss of memory sucked. “Earlier, before the S.T.A.R.S. Teams showed up, something big happened. I don’t know the details, before you ask. But the Red Queen went homicidal. Sealed the Hive and killed everyone down there.”

That didn’t sit right with him, she could tell, but then again who enjoyed hearing about mass massacres? Redfield frowned. “Who is the Red Queen?”

“Artificial intelligence,” Alice said. “The computer that controls the Hive. Its holographic representation was modeled after the head programmer’s daughter, Angela Ashford. She was made to deceive and confuse when it felt threatened.” Alice stopped to consider her words. She knew he was confused. She knew it was hard to understand. But he had to. She needed him to. “You know, corporations like Umbrella think they’re above the law. My father was a renowned scientist who participated in several projects and brought many gains to Umbrella. Even so, when he said he didn’t condone what the company was doing, a company to which he had dedicated his life, they killed him. So I decided I would put an end to them. But we needed something concrete. Anything to expose Umbrella to the press. Proof of the research that was going on in the Hive.”

“What kind of research?”

“The illegal kind,” she said. “Genetic. Viral. My partner was going to smuggle out a sample of the virus they were developing.” Alice prayed that her feelings didn’t betray her. She prayed that she could call him partner without letting out that he’d been so much more than that. That was the best she could do. If she had to say his name aloud, if she had to say it…

“And you were going to help him make out of there?” Redfield guessed.

“He was my contact within the Hive. And I had access to security codes, surveillance, everything he needed.”

“Considering everything I saw today, I’d say he didn’t make it? Your plan didn’t work? Why?”

Alice looked away. She hated having to admit her failure. “Someone got there first. Someone who wanted the virus for themselves. Do you have any idea how much the T-Virus would be worth on the open market?”

Redfield looked disgusted. “What, worth all this?”

“Yeah. To someone.”

He let that sink in for a moment. She waited. “Where do I fit into all this?” he asked, at last.

“My contact, my partner…” Alice took a breath, avoiding the name. “He said we could trust you. Said you had contacts of your own. That we could get you in the whole thing and you would help become public. I don’t know what happened.” Suddenly a terrible need to explain herself took over Alice. An overwhelming guilt. “Someone got to him. Someone killed him.”

Redfield didn’t need more than that to understand. His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together, and Alice knew that was the farthest he would go on letting his emotions show. And that didn’t mean he felt the loss of his friend any less than she did. “Billy,” he breathed and her eyes stung.

“I knew you’d be part of the team they were sending to the Spencer Mansion. I followed you guys there and watched. I saw the dogs. I saw… I saw what happened to the S.T.A.R.S. And after you went inside… I can’t tell you exactly what happened, but I know that you found your way to the Arklay Laboratory. That’s the entrance to the Hive. But you didn’t go through it. The house defenses were activated and whoever was still alive lost consciousness. I got you out,” Alice told him, “but there was nothing I could do for the others. A group of Umbrella scientists showed up. They…”

“They what?” he pressed.

“Those scientists... They had special suits and gear. Gas masks. Do you think that helped them when they reopened the Hive? That it prevented them from being contaminated? No. And you know why? Because what they found down there was not a virus in the air or the corpses of their companions.”

“What did they find?”

“I think you know,” Alice suggested. “You were there. You saw them.”

“You mean the…” Redfield swallowed hard and then had to force the word out, “...zombies.”

She nodded.

“They’re out there now?” he asked pointing to the window behind her.

“Yes. They get more active after dark. Maybe it’s the cool air or… Maybe it’s my imagination.”

He didn’t look like he believed her wholeheartedly. “Are we…” he stopped. Then he tried again: “Are we sure they’re dead?”

“I knew you’d ask.” She smiled; being right could be a pain in the ass sometimes. “They’re dead. Except for something in the brain. That’s why you have to get them in the head.” She stood up. “Anything else you have to ask? Someone’s gotta cook dinner and it isn’t going to be me.”

“Yes,” he said standing up as well. “You still haven’t told me why you’re in my sister’s house?”

Alice blinked. “I thought that was obvious. Someone suffering from amnesia, I thought you’d feel better waking up somewhere familiar.” She crossed the room, went through the door and headed down the stairs, two steps at a time.

Dinner was made and ingested silently. Chris felt like part of his brain would explode any second now because of all the information he was trying to process. The other part, however and inexplicably, had already accepted it. Despite how hard it was to understand all that, Alice had been right: he had seen it. And seeing it changed everything.

If he trusted her? Chris doubted he would ever trust anyone other than his sister. But Alice hadn’t given him reasons for suspicion, at least not yet. She was a tall, slim woman, with hard, cold features that indicated she had gone through a lot to be there with him. And Chris suspected her pain had something to do with Billy’s death. She answered his questions as best as she could, but he could see she had doubts of her own. They were on the same boat and she had to adjust to the reality of it just as much as he did.

“Why are we in Harvardville?” he asked, the thought having just occurred to him.

Alice raised her fair eyes. “I brought you here. From the mansion. I knew your sister lived here. I thought you’d want to be with her.”

Billy, Chris realized. If she had known that, Billy must’ve told her. “Thank you,” he said and he meant it.

“It hasn’t been that long she left,” Alice went on. “I kept an eye on her, you know, just in case. There was a revolt a few days ago. The hospital was shut down and she wasn’t able to… I don’t really know. But she left with two other women.”

Yes. K-mart and Jess. Claire would’ve taken them with her. Claire would've taken the whole world on her back if she could. Which meant that if she had left Chris behind, she’d had no choice. “There was nobody in the hospital,” he said. “When I woke up, there was nobody.”

“No,” she agreed. “The last doctor left about an hour before you woke up. I was coming to get you.”

“But you chose to hit me in the head instead.”

She shrugged. “I do whatever works best.”

Chris felt his lips twist into a smile and wondered how that was possible.

“Is she’s alive,” Alice said, “she’ll be in Raccoon City.”

That didn’t sound right. If that whole mess had started in Raccoon City, why would anyone have gone there? “Wouldn’t that be suicide?” he mused.

“Not necessarily. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m sure Raccoon is looming with the walking dead, which is why the main streets should be avoided. But there’s a refugee settle. Somewhere strategic, from I gathered.” She pointed to a radio in the corner of the dining room. “Huge, when they said it, before the broadcast stopped. Military protection. Food. Shelter. They told people to go there. Said to be safest.”

“If they told people to go there, why didn’t you?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, as soon as she heard it and faced him with those eyes filled with pain.

“I didn’t go because I was watching over you,” she said dryly. “It was all I could do for… for him. I owe him more than I can repay.”

Chris nodded, ashamed. He wanted to thank her again but knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“Besides,” she returned to the subject like there’d been no interruption, “dr. Charles Ashford took over the Arklay Laboratory. Said he’s working on how to solve this thing. Find a cure.”

That word brought a new sense of purpose and suddenly Chris knew what to do. “If you think I might find Claire in Raccoon City, then there’s where I’m going,” he told her. “We can leave at sunrise.”

“No. I’m not going.” Alice tapped the table with her fingers. “Maybe I’ll find you later on, Redfield. But I still have business here. Reckoning.”

That wasn’t what Chris had hoped to hear. He’d been counting on her help. The idea of going alone… It wasn’t exactly appealing. But if that’s how it had to be, he’d do it. Nothing would stop him from finding Claire. And Alice remained resolute. Chris might not have known her well, but it was clear that when she made a decision, nothing would change her mind.

The next morning they said their goodbyes.

"Watch out, Redfield," she told him. "They may not seem much one at a time, but in a group, all round up and hungry… Better watch out. And I hope you find your sister."

Chris also wished her good fortune and then he hit the road. First he went to the Police Centre of Harvardville, now abandoned, and filled a bag with all the guns and gear he could find. The armory was half empty when he got there, but he found a good amount of weapons, more than he'd dared to hope for. He also took one of their vehicles.

As he drove away, he turned on the radio and tried to send a message: "Hello? Can anybody hear my voice? Anybody out there? Anybody hears me, please respond. Broadcasting on emergency channel. I'll be approaching Raccoon City on Highway 85. Can anyone hear me? Please, respond."

There was no answer but nor had he expected there to be. Good things take time, Claire always said, and that was likely more true in the apocalypse. He wasn't going to let that take his faith away. He drove and drove, and eventually ended up on a part of the road that was blocked by vehicles that had been abandoned. There was no way he could proceed on car.

That was that then. He'd have to keep going on foot. Chris decided that wouldn't be a problem either.

He passed the billboard that welcomed him to Raccoon City. The level of destruction shocked him. He eyed the empty streets, the garbage, the signs of death. There were helicopters and cars, some had been thrown around, and even a war tank left in the middle of a crossroad of the main avenue. Remembering what Alice had said, Chris thought maybe he should follow through narrow, darker streets instead of the open avenue but the tank held his attention. And there was no visible threat, he calculated. Surely a quick look wouldn't be a problem…?

He approached the tank. It was a modern model, one of those new, colorless ones. Chris could smelled something foul. He looked up and saw a body being torn apart by crows. Disgusted, he rounded the tank, nearing the tail and that's when he saw it, turning the corner, a huge group of zombies approaching. He ran backwards just to realize there was another group coming from the opposite side.

Congratulations, Chris, you're going to die.

Surrounded, he did the only thing that came to mind. He threw himself on the ground and crawled his way underneath the tank. Unfortunately, the dead mimicked his movements. Heart beating fast, Chris felt his lungs demanding more air but the smell of decomposed flesh was making his stomach lurch. Chris pulled a revolver and fired three shots, hitting bullseye the three times. But that was the only gun he had in hand, the others were in the bag on his back.

There was no time. He wouldn't even get to-

Looking up, he spotted his salvation: a hatch at the base of the tank. Chris crawled up there at the last second and closed the door underneath him. Then he took a moment to calm himself down, to breathe.

When he moved again, he saw he was not alone. A dead soldier faced him. The thing moved, attacked, and Chris, without thinking, fired his revolver a fourth time. Big mistake. The noise was like an explosion to his ears. The world started spinning and the ringing in his ears made it that much worse.

He was definitely not deaf, he found out, in the end, because the next second he heard a woman's voice coming through the tank's radio: "Hey, you. Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank. Cozy in there?"

#zombies #resident evil #the walking dead #crossover #fanfic #dfcrosas #chris redfield #jill valentine #alicia marcus #where demons hide #claire redfield #spencer mansion #umbrella corporation #raccoon city

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