#walter sullivan x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Note

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request an imagine where a victim “escapes” from the slashers and hurts s/o in the process. What would the slashers do during and after? Thank you!!

Hi! I wasn't sure which slashers you wanted for this, so I put my list into a randomizer and went with the first 5!

Walter Sullivan

Thomas Hewitt

Jason Voorhees

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Erik ("The Phantom")

SLASHERS WHOSE VICTIM HURTS THEIR S/O

cw: mentions of suicide, reader being injured/in mortal peril, mentions of torture and killing etc etc

Walter Sullivan

Oh no. Oh dear.

You are possibly the only good, pure thing in this world or the Otherworld and someone hurt you? Walter is ... not happy, to put it lightly. The only person who should ever hurt you is him, and he won't do that unless it's for your own good.

This only enforces his belief that the world and everyone in it are monstrous. It drives home the truth he's already convinced of - this existence in terrible and torturous and needs to be destroyed if anything holy is ever going to be allowed to blossom again.

Whether The Victim is pre- or post- Walter's suicide, he's already stopping at nothing to go after them. He doesn't view it as personal, he doesn't hold any particular hatred for most (most) of his victims; they're simply links in a chain. But this person, the one who hurt you ... it's personal. They'll die in absolute agony.

If the victim in question is pre-suicide, Walter will bring them down and find somewhere to keep them for later. This will not be a quick death.

While they're bound/gagged or knocked out, he'll check on you. You're special, possibly even the Mother Reborn, and he can't let you die until the time is right. If you're seriously injured, he'll see to it that you're taken to the hospital, and pray to a dead God if he has to that you'll be alright. If you're not seriously injured, he'll do his best to patch you up - he lived on the streets for many years and had to take care of himself, so he knows basic first aid.

Once he's certain you're safe, he will put you somewhere where you won't witness what he's about to do. Even if you want to see it, he'll insist you stay hidden, saying the sinner doesn't deserve to be in your presence. You'll have to really convince him if for some reason you want to watch.

Their torture will depend on what they did to you. If it was just a few scrapes and cuts, he'll let them feel every ounce of pain before they die. If they really hurt you, their torture will be prolonged. In his mind, and according to his religion, death is a sacred sacrament, and this evil being doesn't deserve its release. If they did something to seriously traumatize and/or sully you ... the crime scene he leaves behind is going to be grisly, to put it lightly.

If the victim in question is post-suicide, the results will be similar, but he has absolute control over the Otherworld - and he will utilize that. He will have his creations take care of you and keep you somewhere safe ... they may be terrifying, but they won't hurt you unless he wills it. As for the victim, he can twist them into their worst nightmares over and over again before killing them. He will make them see their wrongdoings and pay for their evil. They will beg for mercy and there will be none.

After it all, he will simply move onto the next one, with you somewhere safe ... until it's time. Until it's time. You are so perfect.

Thomas Hewitt

Dammit. If he'd just been quicker or smarter, he could have caught them before they escaped and hurt you. He immediately blames himself.

There's no time to beat himself up over it, though. He briefly checks to make sure you're not bleeding from anywhere vital and sends you (or locks you up) somewhere safe before going after the victim. You're on your own for first aid for now - unless you're literally dying, he can't let them leave the property.

If you are literally dying, he's staying and doing all he can to help you. But if Hoyt yells, he may have to pawn you off on someone else and hope they do a good job taking care of you. He'll hold your face and give you tender kisses goodbye - whether you want them or not - because this might be the last time he ever sees you.

He chases the victim in a fever, much more erratic than you would expect from him. He's faster, less careful, more inclined to put himself at risk just to get a swing in at them. It's not generally anything personal when he kills someone - it's something he does for the good of his family, and because he was told to. This one he's not interested in saving for meat. They hurt you. You, his special person. He's going to grind them into the mud, and he's not even going to let Hoyt have a go at them.

Sometimes, sometimes, he struggles to see the animals in his victims. But this one ... he doesn't even feel the urge to twist them into an animal. That's a whole human, an evil one, one he wants to kill. It's a different feeling for him.

Once it's all over and everything's calmed down, he's rushing directly to your side. People don't come around all too often, so he's comfortable putting down the chainsaw for now. He neglects any skin projects he planned and lets someone else do the butchering, focusing on taking care of you, especially if you're seriously injured and put up in bed.

If you're not as seriously injured and tell him you're fine, he's still keeping an eye on you ... and making sure you're well-fed. You've been through a lot and it was all his fault. He doesn't want you to be exposed like that again. Next time someone comes around, he'll insist you hide somewhere.

Jason Voorhees

It's a toss up whether or not he'll actually notice you're hurt. Not because he doesn't care or anything, but because Camp Crystal Lake is a lot of ground to cover and there's a low chance he'll be in the same area as you at any given time.

For this imagine, though, let's assume you've found your way to him or he's sensed you're in trouble and has rushed to you.

You were supposed to be safe in the cabin, so he's a little irritated that you wandered out, but that's completely overshadowed when he realizes you're hurt. He stops everything he's doing and clinically and thoroughly pats you down, identifying every solitary injury.

Just like his mother before him, he is a vengeful soul, so he is not letting this go even if you're just scraped or bruised. If you are critically injured, he'll at least get you to the cabin and get a tourniquet on you.

Otherwise, he leaves you behind. Not very mindful, but you should know that he wants you to get back to the cabin or at least stay out of the way. He is no longer thinking of you - he has established his target and knows what he has to do. He's laser focused and decisive as he stalks after them, using anything at his disposal to get to them.

Their death is quick - he doesn't play around - but he has a lingering sense of irony and playfulness. If there's a particularly interesting weapon nearby, he'll take them out with that; or perhaps he'll hurt them in the way they hurt you, just, you know ... more fatal. And a lot gorier.

After that, he'll move onto their friends, until every last one is dead. Once his objective is completed, he is returning to you directly and finishing the job of patching you up.

He can't help but feel a little guilty that you were hurt. You shouldn't have left the cabin, true, but perhaps he should have been watching for you. He should have locked you up. Pamela might say rude things in his head. Then again, she might comfort him. If she doesn't like you, maybe she'll even wish he'd left you to die.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Well ... you usually keep him around to scare off other Ghostfaces - something he's very handy at - but you don't usually run into trouble with his victims.

He doesn't really tell you to go anywhere in particular when he's killing. He knows you can take care of yourself. But now he feels stupid for not having a backup plan. Of course some asshole was gonna eventually identify you as his loved one and try to get cute. He should've had something prepared for that.

But, if he's good at anything, it's improvising. He skids into whatever room you're in, drops his weapon, and pulls his mask off right away to check you over. If you're only mildly injured, he's visibly relieved, and tells you to stay put while he deals with whomever hurt you. If you're more seriously injured, he'll grab your phone and shove it in your hand. "Get in the car, get the fuck out of here. Drive to the emergency room if you have to, just leave."

If you're unable to drive, he'll make you call emergency services - or call them for you, if he has to. The game is over, he's done playing; this isn't fun if he's not winning. Everyone in this place is gonna be dead and he'll be long gone by the time the ambulance shows up for you.

The one who hurt you is going to get an extra special surprise. A particularly grisly death, and a bunch of selfies/short videos of Ghostface with the corpse - taken with the victim's own phone, posted to their instagram, tiktok, facebook, sent to any discord groups, and any other social media they have. If he has the time, he'll even make them in meme formats (definitely posting with meme captions, the fucking troll). He'll probably send a copy to you as a "hey, look what I did!"

If there are survivors, especially if that survivor is the one who hurt you, you better believe he is immediately doxxing them. Since he's had a little time to cool down, he might even play the long game, maybe catfishing and blackmailing them. Ruining their pathetic little life even further would be pretty fun. In the end, though, they'll die like all the others.

When all is said and done, he's going to be there for you, helping you recover any way he can. He'd suggest rest (for an amount of time relative to your injury), some movies and candy, maybe some video games. And time spent with your favorite Ghostface, of course, right?

He'll never forget what happened, though. Even though the person is dead, he'll be stewing and pissed off about it for a long, long time. And he won't let something like that happen again, or at least, not without a contingency plan in place.

The hash mark/tally mark he stitches into his costume to symbolize this kill is gonna be twice as long and large as the others, maybe in the place you got hurt as a reminder.

Erik

You already know what's about to happen.

If anyone so much as hurts your feelings they're getting menaced and receiving a strongly worded letter - actually physically harming you? That's suicide.

If he can't immediately kill this person, or if you're seriously injured, his primary objective is helping/comforting you. He has to push down a lot of wrath to do it ... every instinct tells him to immediately dispatch the fiend responsible ... but you are more important to him than anything in this world, even revenge. He will administer any first aid you need and may even drug you with ether to ensure you rest.

Don't think that means your attacker is off the hook, though. As soon as he decides you're well enough, he will put you somewhere safe - lock you away if he has to - and kill them. His preferred method is the Punjab lasso, but if they did something particularly egregious, he'll knock them out and take them to his torture chamber. They have a lesson to learn before they go to Hades.

Another option is, like Deacon, playing the long game ... playing with his food, stalking them, making them live in fear before they die. But he has a lot of wrath in that skinny little body, so it's a toss up as to whether or not he'll actually be able to follow through with that for very long. It depends on his mood, really!

He will keep the killing and torture hidden from you, of course ... unless you express an interest in seeing the vengeance being carried out. He would be worried for you, however, and advise against it. Those sights are not for the faint of heart, and certainly not for someone as beautiful and good as you.

Once all is said and done, it's as if it never happened. As if that person never existed! What a happy thought! Sometimes you even think Erik has completely forgotten the incident ... until he's stalking another victim and he locks you away again, and you remember you are always on his mind. He will never, never let that happen to you again.

#imagines #walter sullivan #walter sullivan x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #erik the phantom #phantom x reader #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher community

392 notes · View notes

lackingspace · 4 years

Text

Dispirited (Ghostface X Reader)

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: Depictions of injuries, mentions of blood and gore, suggestive language and themes, mentions of choking, slight dirty talk, humiliation, and degradation just to be safe, Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson is his own warning,

Author Note: Reworked and updated as of 10/22/23 ✧

Part 2

Previous ch: Homecoming

Next ch: Torrid

AO3 Link: Dispirited

Staring at the wheezing generator seemed like the perfect opportunity to contemplate your life decisions. What was it that led you up to this point? Being dragged into another dimension not once, but twice. Beaten, almost sacrificed to rebirth a god, made a deal with another, unnecessary desires for a lunatic in a mask. How did you end up here.

Closing your eye as a sigh escaped your lips, Ghost Face … Unpacking the issues that quick interaction sparked was liable to reveal how broken your mental was …possibly…probably. He got under your skin a little too easily. If it was just lascivious thoughts, it’d be inconvenient, but manageable. Too bad it was more than that. Pulled too many feelings that were better for everyone left buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

Pushing the thought of him and everything that’d just happened between you two from your mind. Rather you focused on the fact that sacrifice was about to become a common occurrence. Knocking your forehead against the metal again left an ache radiating from your cracked cheekbone down into your teeth. But you were glad for the pain. It helped focus your thoughts and sober your mind from lingering heat.

You’d made a deal . There hadn’t been enough time to weigh if it was a good deal. Too desperate and backed into a literal corner. The imminent threat of Walter fucking Sullivan forced the only hand you had. It seemed that either way, you’d be made into an offering.

The rage at yourself simmered. Why would it be anything else? You really should have known. Why would this entity be any different than the one you’d been taught to worship? But you hadn’t been focused on what this one might want, just that it could get you away. Make sure that the sacrament failed. Fuck over that cuck Sullivan and The Order in one fell swoop. Maybe you’d feel bad about it at one point. But not now.

Your family roots were dug down deep in Silent Hill. Maybe founders? Maybe not, but no one remembered otherwise so that distinction didn’t matter. Claudia always said “There's only ‘us’ and ‘them’”. She’d always been a bit loony, but looking back now? She’d been right. As far as members of The Order were concerned anyway.

The town itself really wasn’t bad— it had built itself up into a decent tourist destination. Lots of historical sights, breathtaking views, and cozy shops to satisfy a variety of people. The old district even saw an influx of people that Vincent bragged allowed for uncapped economic growth. Rolling your eyes, thinking of your old school friend. He’d always had a mind for numbers. It was true that the economy boomed, but not everyone was happy about it.

As an adult, you realized your town had highly questionable activity. Although, what town didn’t? Organized crime wasn’t a new concept, but yours was more…esoteric. Growing up, there were areas you’d been forbidden from wandering around altogether. Your parents had said those areas were dangerous for kids, that only adults should be there. Which you eventually learned meant Order members only. It was something you never questioned, just part of life.

If you ever did poke around too close to a blacklisted location, usually from some pushy schoolmate who didn’t understand what being an old district family meant, a friendly family friend would promptly take you back home. Sometimes you didn’t see those school friends again, but that never bothered you.

It wasn’t until you were a teenager that the realization clicked that there was a slightly different religious belief within your family circle. That it was the pinnacle definition of a cult. That what they did behind closed doors would be considered reprehensible to the average person. But again, knowing some of the things they did hadn’t fazed you.

As a child, the church services were all mumbo jumbo anyway. Just a thing your family went to every so often. You were far more concerned with learning gymnastic skills.

That was probably your damning moment. That your parents have enrolled you in a local gymnastics club. Something not even in your control— rambunctious and needing an outlet for excess energy. Turns out you were good, but it kept you away from a lot of The Order’s business. And that singled you out as an apostate in their eyes.

Your parents weren’t as zealous as most other families either. So they didn’t mind the missed services for competition or practice. Once you were a teen they’d left the choice to attend the services up to you. Occasionally you’d go, but opted out frequently. It was too inconvenient with training and school. You did read the literature though. Enough to know what’s what, who’s who, and the proper rituals for things.

You could hold a conversation with any of the members— even Claudia’s fanatical rants made a strange sort of sense. Vincent was always a bitter asshat about how “free” you were, even if you argued what a gross misjudgment that was.

The Order seemed a bit silly to you as a teen, still did, and the people you’d talk with reinforced that fact. Others were just blatantly crazy. Still, that seemed normal in and of itself, your parents said that there were always those kinds of people. Having since traveled the world, well, they’d been right. Your town just had a very condensed population.

There was the occasional insomniac night you’d lay in bed deciphering where you stood on being not quite a full cult member but close enough. It was a dichotomy of apathy, disbelief, and acceptance. Did you love many of the members, before all this? Yes. And if push came to shove, would you say you believed in the Holy Mother? Yes. You’d seen too many strange things not to. But all the fanfare required by The Order of its members? That didn’t interest you.

That’s what would ultimately fuck you over, huh? Love…or abject dismissal. You should have listened to Vincent when he’d warned you to leave. But that was typical of his flippant self when you hadn’t visited. If you’d listened and seen the real warning behind the words maybe you wouldn’t be here. If you’d trust less and use more caution for people you grew up with, that giant prick wouldn’t have been able to drag you into the other place.

You’d only heard stories, but the alternate foggy nightmare version of your town was just as fucked up as you’d heard. The fog did something to everyone you’d encountered there too— more crude, unrestrained, violent, raw. It brought the worst out in people.

You’d felt it too. It had a strange sentience that seemed to carry faint echoes and whispers within it. They latched onto that place in your mind you tried to bury. An abyss filled with all the dark violent desires. Amplified it and all the urges you controlled effortlessly were suddenly difficult to ignore. Compulsion to snap, break, kill overwhelming.

The literal monsters hadn’t seemed so bad in comparison. Maybe that's why Ghost Face seemed to pull so many things to the surface. You were already too raw, too exposed.

After all this though? If you ever made it back to reality…The Order was dead to you. Cold indignation and rage were all you felt for the members. Vincent's face didn’t even stir sympathy. He wouldn’t have stepped in. It was only lucky timing by the most terrifying monster in town that you’d had a second chance.

A sick sense of glee bubbled under the discontent and anger. If you were about to be killed either way, at least you’d succeeded in fucking over their plans. Besides, you knew these things didn’t come for free, and whatever the demand the entity asks, would be steep. Knocking your forehead against the machine again and clenching your aching teeth as you berate yourself. You should have expected the price wouldn’t be any different with this one.

Slowly relaxing your jaw with a deep sigh, at least you’d had a choice in this. Not a good one certainly, but it was yours. From the sound of things, death wasn’t permanent here. That was already a huge improvement. Back home there wouldn’t be any “respawning”.

The Holy Mother would have consumed your soul, always hungry for human sickness— flesh, blood, pain, agony, murder, sacrifice . A shiver overcame you suddenly, like your thoughts centering on the entity you’d prayed to since childhood somehow prickled the new one, the presence that had settled in the back of your mind bristled.

It was odd knowing something made a home inside of you that shouldn’t be there but was. The spindly tendrils of its consciousness resting against the back of your skull turned deadly. More akin to claws sinking into the meat of your mind as that strange chattering sound was back in full force. You were shaking before you realized.

Stuck between the sound and claws, it felt like your mind was being split in two. The chirping morphed into a screeching, ringing, metallic sound as the feeling of nails tearing became sharper. It ripped a cry from your throat, anguish retching itself into your throat. It was like you were a chew toy being pulled by two forces intent on unraveling your mind.

Your thoughts were scattered, everything jumbling into a vague sentiment of Fuck! Stop! That only seemed to kick it into higher gear. You couldn’t tell what was going on, what it wanted, or why it’d started. All you could do was shudder harder and if your breath wasn’t stuck in your lungs you’d be screaming, Dying can’t be worse than this.

Wincing as the clawed grip sunk deeper mixed with the sensation of something slithering up, up, up, and around your spine. The alien stimulation provoked a visceral reaction in your stomach— muscles clenching that ended in a dry heave. Good thing there was nothing on your stomach to actually come up.

Please …. Your pleading thought trailed as the cacophony of sound and sensations made thinking hard. Eyes fluttering and another heave before you could manage the plea, Stop! Please! I’m fine with it, grateful. I’d rather be sacrificed to you than her. Two very distinct and concerning things happened at your confession.

Whatever had a choke hold on your spine relaxed its grip and all but purred while the noise turned simultaneously ear-splitting yet muffled. Wincing again, but it wasn’t as nearly as bad. Much more manageable even if it added to your throbbing headache. The ghost of those claws retracted completely and became spindly tendrils once again. The purr was gone, but you could sense a certain smug satisfaction drifting off it into your own feelings.

Shakily your breath left you. How did you get here? Get to this moment where you weren’t even safe in your own mind? Breath coming in puffs trying to calm the mounting nausea. You didn’t want to vomit, but it was still a very real possibility with the way your stomach felt. Whatever that had been wasn’t pleasant and you didn’t want a repeat anytime soon.

Lifting your shaking hand to wipe cold sweat from your brow. There had to be a moment in your life that clearly screamed, ‘There's no hope for you’. But you couldn’t remember anything like that. Nothing that stood out in your mind forewarning of utter damnation. Nothing could be that simple. Not when it came to your hometown or you.

Maybe that's why you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d gone wrong. Because maybe. Maybe you were wrong to begin with. Born into the corruption of Silent Hill and the only mistake you’d made was attempting to leave that behind. Leave your God behind. That this all was some strange divine punishment for the blasphemous rebellion you’d gotten away with for much too long. A shuddering sob caught in your throat. Thankfully everything was quiet, but you didn’t need to attract attention when you were having a breakdown.

Ghost Face mask flashed behind your eyes. You didn’t doubt he would capture more moments of your internal struggle if he were here and you didn’t like the idea of someone having something with you at such a vulnerable moment. If only you’d been magically healed when you were swept away. Looking down, your arm sat snug in the sling, stray aches throbbing even without movement. That would have been really fucking nice … No response from the presence in your mind, just the silent observation. Sighing aloud, wishful thinking.

A far-off scream cut your inner monologue completely. The noise sliced through the silence that’d settled around you. The generator having long since completely quieted. It echoed uncannily through the landscape in an altogether unnatural way. It lingered in the air longer than it should and didn’t really indicate where it came from. Trying to pinpoint the direction the sound had come from filled you with a strange confusion. Maybe that was an effect of this fog? Less agitating and more disorienting.

I ’ll take the gaslighting god over the torturous one any day. Snorting, that description actually worked. If trials and dying didn’t have permanent effects, who’s to say it ever happened? Shaking your head as another scream echoed. And like before, it was useless trying to identify where it came from. This one sounded more painful if the pitch indicated anything. The anguish clearly rang in the shrill noise.

Your lips twitched as you thought of who was causing those screams. He certainly looked the part, the leathery outfit, hood, and combat boots would have given you pause regardless, but mix in the mask, gloves, and knife? There wasn’t a doubt he was dangerous. Had you met him back in reality, it would have been a hard sell convincing you he was harmless. Even without the getup, the way he carried himself sparked caution. Wonder how he does it?

As soon as the thought registered you shushed it away. As pleasant as contemplating that would be. It wasn’t the time or place. Your thoughts were already too scattered as it was. Another scream reverberated through the fog. Should probably have some kind of reaction to that. But just like when you were younger, all you felt was cool indifference. No one was around anyway, there wasn’t a need to pretend right now.

Instead, you focused on trying to follow Ghost Face’s advice and practice. Only having one functioning hand and eye made this much more difficult, but you tried. Moving the components like he’d shown resulted in clunky movements nowhere near as dexterous as he’d been. Between how agile he was fixing the machine and the fluidity he’d tossed his knife with it, made you wonder, what else could he do that smooth? Dylan would even be jealous. The face of the easygoing juggler flashing in your mind had a smile upturn your lips.

Quick scuttering footsteps sounded nearby, but they faded just as quickly. It wasn’t much long before another scream rang out— this one definitely male. It timed perfectly with the electric shock delivered to your fingertips as the cord you were moving sparked. Hissing in pain while ripping your hand from the machine.

“Fucking hell!” shaking your hand a few times before blowing on them. Inspecting your digits, fingertips were slightly red and a numbing tingle was persisting, but otherwise no damage. Grumbling to yourself, Ugh, that didn’t happen with him. Bastard made it look so easy. Everything was quiet again, serene even.

After the sting subsided, you diligently moved the cords again…only to have it end the same way— a small spark zapping your fingers. A hissed whine escaped you, but ignored the sensation and kept holding of the cords trying to repair. If I can …just…get out of— Another electric sting and this one had the generator let out its own whine. Somehow, as you’d pulled your hand away the few cords you’d managed to connect were jerked free.

Balling your fist that suddenly wasn’t feeling so good anymore. Fingertip dulled while simultaneously filled with painful throbbing sensations. Slamming your clenched fist into the metal casing made you feel just a tiny bit better as the warbled noise it’d been producing died. Back to square one.

Sticking your hand back into the tangled mess, Why’d it have to be mechanics? Attempting to push the wires you’d pulled out back into place, I’m terrible at mechanical things. As if the generator heard you, it sent another zap into your hand, but luckily your fingertips were too dull to feel the full brunt of it.

Lips forming a pout as you pushed yourself to keep at it. practice, practice, practice, had been a mantra in the gym, and giving up wouldn’t solve anything. Trial and error was really the only way for you to get any better at this. No one could say you lacked perseverance.

Keeping at it was good for your mind too. Staying focused and occupied, cut down on your incessant ADD scatterbrain. This is what you were supposed to be doing right? Helping the people being hunted? Well, you were lumped in with them, so it’d be helping yourself honestly. There didn’t seem like much other option than playing nice. Follow the rules of the realm and all that… this really is a punishment.

Burning your own fingertips off didn’t seem conducive to a long-term help though. And you were under no illusion that you’d be any help for this ‘trial’. Not with the amount of screams that were coming more frequently now and the generator incapable of producing anything stronger than a sad sputter. The presence didn’t seem to have an issue with your not-so-stellar performance either. It was quiet, not even a whisper against your consciousness.

If the entity didn’t care, then you figured it didn’t matter if you stopped to let your fingers cool and feeling to return. You hoped one of your new teammates didn’t stumble back around because you didn’t have the emotional capacity to act interested in their well being or escaping. They likely wouldn’t take kindly to the fact you felt perfectly content in ignoring their screams. A part of you was even soothed.

It wasn’t like you knew these people. If the entity wanted to garner your sympathy for good behavior, it should have pulled Lisa or Tove. Hell, even Vincent once you’d finished being pissed at him. There was no emotional attachment with this group and maybe you should care for your own benefit, these trials seemed like cooperation was key, but you couldn’t muster it at the moment.

You were honestly an emotional person— It just largely depended on what and who the subject was to pull a genuine reaction. Most times, you flitted between being a social chameleon or too apathetic to engage. You’d contemplated therapy, but it was too intrusive. Besides, you didn’t need a professional to tell you how fucked up you were. Tilting your head back, face towards the sky, puffing out a sigh until something caught your attention.

In the sky, a swirling black cloud burned a hole in the storm clouds. A void with mist pouring from it like a waterfall. Tumbling down to mingle with the fog blanketing the area. Your breath caught and eyes widened as spindly black protrusions unfurled slowly at first, but movement quickened on the descent.

Looking directly at it stirred that other in your mind. You could visualize the same appendages in the back of your mind twitching. That was the entity. A God for the power it held. You remembered something griping your form after the ritual— dragging, lifting, and pulling before everything had turned dark.

The sight of it now prickled the skin on the back of your neck and an itch in the back of your skull. A need to look away from it battled against the overwhelming compulsion to stare. It was like something out of Lovecraft’s wet dream. The appendages were being retracted, but now they held something, lifting it into the void. Squinting your only eye didn’t help much, but it looked humanoid and if you were to be sacrificed, you supposed that's what it looked like.

You continued to stare until the void slowly started to close. The mist slowed, edges started to blur, shifting smaller and smaller until there was nothing left but clouds again. Like a blanket had been set back in place to cover the voyeur in the sky.

The brief break was exactly what your fingers had needed to regain semi-normal sensation again. The lingering unease at witnessing a creature that shouldn’t exist, but did slowed your movements. Setting your mouth into a hard line of determination you were focused on getting this machine to sound like something other than a dying horse.

For the next few minutes, you put as much attention as you could into the tangled web of wiring and away from the prickling thoughts of Gods and monsters. The secession of shocks said you weren’t improving by much. Removing your hand revealed it dirtied with grease or oil, you weren’t sure which or if there was even a difference, but the sight of it made your lip curl in disgust.

“Gross.” Another reason you hated mechanics. Don’t really want to have a permanent grease stain on my sling. Doubt the Hidden One does laundry. Pursing your lips as you looked to the ground. There was enough grass and you didn’t have a spare cloth. It’ll do. The moment your fingers touched the blades, the wet chill soothed the inflamed tips. Threading your fingers through the patch doing your best to get the stuff off was the moment faint footfalls suddenly approached.

You could hear the splatter of soggy mud underfoot of someone in a light jog. You weren’t sure if the fog was playing tricks or if the person was actually close. So you kept idly wiping your hand as the sound seemed like it drew closer. Quickly rounding the wooden border emerged the other woman who’d originally run at the sight of you. She was moving fast for having a limp. Her hand held a tight grip on her side and on closer inspection, the light-colored shirt did little to hide the blood slowly blooming beneath her hand.

When you locked gazed there was a half-second stutter in her step. Like she really was surprised to see you on the ground there, but only needed that moment of hesitation to get over it.

Her pace slowed as she neared you. Coming to a halt altogether when she was next to the generator. Her gaze held a hint of distrust, but you could see the curiosity painted on her face. The silence was only broken by her huffs of pain as she wince and clenched her fist tighter. Her gaze looked you over and you could see the questions building on her face, ones you’d never hear. At that moment, time seemed to slow— like you were suddenly submerged in water. Movement slowed, but still retained a strange fluidity.

There had only been a few moments like this in your life. All of them when you were training or preforming. But neither of those things were happening now. Maybe it had less to do with you, and more to do with the masked man leaning around the same portion of wooden wall the woman came from. It must have only lasted seconds, but felt much longer.

Ghost Face had a finger raised to the perpetually open scream of his mask in a gesture of quiet. His knife glinted under the flickering light of the generator. Your gaze snapped back to the woman and she seemed none the wiser. You’d give her that there were a lot of injuries to take in, so maybe she was too caught up on the rest of your appearance to notice where your focus had gone. And you were thankful for it because your feelings said you didn’t want her to notice.

You could warn her. It’d be so easy to speak up, point, do something to indicate that the stalker was behind her. You could have too. There was plenty of time to drop a hint. A better person would have, but you never claimed to be good. It came down to the fact that you really didn’t care and you liked Ghost Face more. He might have dragged too many things to the surface, but not all of those feelings were questionable. He sparked a sense of familiarity among other things, that you were more interested in exploring than whatever this woman could do for you. For now at least.

So instead of gasping out for her to run, your face remained passive as you waited for the moment Ghost Face would strike. Watching him silently sneak up behind her, you were impressed. There wasn’t any sound of his steps that you could make out. The fog really is gaslighting me. Raising your brow at the woman as she looked down at you with a pinched brow. She opened her mouth about to speak as your thought turned biting, D id you not realize you were being stalked or did you just forget? Then Ghost Face broke the silence with an exaggerated, “Boo!”.

Before she had time to respond, his knife slicing through the air and sunk the polished blade in the front of her neck. The scream she let out was piercing but quickly turned to a gurgle as his slice carried through around the shoulder towards her back. She collapsed at your feet with only a gurgle.

The initial slice must have been at the right angle or hit an artery because blood splatter against your cheek and shoulder making you flinch.

“Dude, gross!” you huffed at him, disgust clearly coating each syllable. He chuckled, the sound wrapped in the silky sound as he pulled the knife from the woman's back with ease before fisting her hair and pulling her head from the ground. From your angle you could see the gaping wound in her throat, flesh pulling away revealing muscle as blood rushed down her front. Surprisingly, her eyes fluttered, still alive? The way she’d collapsed, you thought she’d been dead, but it seemed there was a little life left, Not for much longer though.

He must have found whatever he was looking for because the next moment he dropped her head. The moment was filled with a confidence that teased at how often this happened. In a practiced maneuver, he hefting her up to one shoulder which only reinforced that this was an often occurrence. The display gave you pause. It was impressive how easy he made it look, “I could have some disease now, you know?”

He clucked his tongue in response as he lugged her past you. Gaze glued to his form as he moved. His physique looked to be decent, but the strength to lift someone that easily after presumably intense cardio? Even Ty got winded from lifting you during training. Apparently, he was fucking shredded under that outfit or the entity was giving some kind of strength gift.

A patronizing lilt colored his tone, “Wouldn’t really matter if you did. Not here.” Trying to wipe the blood from your face did nothing but smear it at best, “So you did it on purpose? Good to know.”

He looked over his shoulder at you while carrying toward some kind of wooden structure, “Me? Get you bloody on purpose?” It looked cobbled together with a few trinkets hanging down the side and a mean-looking hook jutting from the center. You’d think you would have noticed it earlier, but there was so much going on you hadn’t even looked towards it. Guess I’ll be hung out like bait until the entity decides to bite…

A harsh shove of his shoulder into the woman's stomach popped her up enough to grip her side, “Sounds like something I’d do.” Twisting her around only to swiftly jerk her down onto the hook. Blood splattered onto his mask and chest, albeit the leather already held splotches of blood that hadn’t been there when you’d seen him last. The woman didn’t even struggle and the only noise she made was a soft puff of whatever breath she had left. Probably pierced a lung. Likely suffocating if not passed out from blood loss. Your head tilted in thought, is this all they do for sacrifices? No chanting, ritual, or big ceremony?

It seemed silly that the gaslighting god was still more straightforward than your previous one. It pulled up the corners of your lips in a half smile, you could appreciate that. There wasn’t any noise, but those same spindly appendages crept around the wooden beam and ripped into the woman’s torso.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched on. You’d never seen someone be disemboweled this close before. There were a few times in the other Silent Hill where you’d see something, but you were too far away to make it out clearly. This though? It had your heart racing. Blood, guts, every grotesque detail clear as day.

If you were more normal, you have looked away. But all those dark urges you hid away were bubbling to the surface and they were captivated in morbid curiosity. Everything in you demands that you watch— to see the spark of life be snuffed from her eyes. As the alien legs lifted her body a mix between a gasp and sigh left you.

The sky had peeled away again and the void was above, your system flushed with sensations at both what you’d just seen and the proximity to the void. Your throat tightened as the presence in your mind twitched, dragged against yours in a contented purr as you watched the legs draw her body in the abyss.

Does this make me an accessory to murder? The random thought was enough to remind you of who had committed the crime. Dragging your gaze back down to settle on Ghost Face’s figure you found him leaning against the wooden wall. A spike of panic shot through you when you realized he hadn’t been watching the spectacle. He’d been watching you.

The internal struggle raged between staying silent to see what he’d do and saying something to cover for whatever he might have gleaned from you. He made the choice for you by pushing off the wall and sauntering towards you only to crouch down in front of you. You narrowed your gaze at his mask and it was your turn to tilt your head at him, silently questioning what he’d do now.

“Enjoyed yourself there, Cupcake?” You scrunched your nose in disgust, panic making you combative, “Not nearly as much as you.” He snickered and you could almost hear the smirk curling around his voice when he said, “Aw, don’t be like that.” Lifting a bloodied glove to point towards his mask, “Even made sure we matched.” Your lip twitched, but you refused to smile for this guy, “How romantic.”

He pulled out the digital camera from before, “Right?” he shuffled closer while flipping it around, “So give me a smile.” His arm slung over your shoulders to grab your right and pulled you into his side. Your injured arm smashed into his side and sent jarring tremors of pain through you. Eye fluttering as you yelped, “Fuck, careful!” His response was to press you harder into his side.

Glaring at his side as your good fist balled and shot into his ribs. It wasn’t a very hard punch, probably hurt you more than him, but it made you feel better. Growling through the pain and muttering, “So much for chivalry.” The pain pulled nausea back to the surface, “Get the fuck off me.” You heard the distinct click of his camera. Your jaw clenched at the sound, of course he would.

The grip on your shoulder tightened, “There’s that pretty little mouth of yours again.” Heat shot through you at the tone— dark unamused huskiness soaked his words again. Releasing his grip to wrap around your neck to firmly grip your chin. Gloved fingers pinching and pulling until you were glaring up at his mask.

You didn’t need to see his eyes to feel your gazes locked. “You’re the one that needs to be careful.” His thumb swiped against your skin and from the wet sensation, he managed to smear more blood, “Someone else might notice.” Panic turned your glare frosty while your blood froze in your veins. There was no way …He couldn’t have noticed…

He cut off your panic with a smug, “Now be a good girl and pout for me,” His arrogant demand sparked a slow heat that thawed your blood some. His thumb lifted to brush against your bottom lip. Voice suddenly deeper, sound teasing, “Or do I have to squeeze your throat again?” A sharp intake of breath as your face flushed in response. Burning heat settles across your cheeks. Fuck. Of course he’d bring that up.

Although, you weren’t very opposed to the idea. If the heat was anything to go by, you were very much inclined towards it. “Nothing to say?” Dragging his thumb back across your lip, “Like that idea?” Your lips pressed into his thumb with your response, “What makes you think that?” It couldn’t have been your dilated pupil or the blush that was no doubt standing out from the bruising.

His hand slipped down to curl around your throat, “Intuition.” Gently caressed the skin as he continued, “You seem like the type.” Light caress not enough pressure to choke, but just enough pressure to have your eye fluttering. A moan wanted to slip out, but you held it in, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction so easily. Swallowing hard against his hand, “What types that?”

“A dirty little brat.” He applied a little more pressure, breathing just a little tighter. Your core throbbed and the skin crawled as a zing of tingles slid down your spine, “I’ll let you in on a secret.” His hand clenched until your breath was completely cut off.

Your eye fluttered as another pulse of heat settled in your lower stomach, “I like this idea too.” That's what finally pulled a pathetic groan from your lips. You expected a snicker or tease from him, but the only reaction he gave was to curl his fingers around your neck more. You were losing breath quickly, but he wasn’t letting up. Seemingly content to choke you out as your chest began to burn from the lack of oxygen.

A few more seconds passed before you were gasping, trying to draw in any air you could, as heat burned through you. Reaching up to wrap your good hand around his wrist while searching the inky blackness of the eye holes. The mask gave nothing away but dark pools of shadows, light not penetrating through. Jerking at his wrist did nothing, his grip too strong and arm seemingly immovable.

“So cute watching you struggle.” Your nose scrunched in anger, fingers digging into his bloody leathers, “You going to be my good girl, now?” Blackness was slowly eating at the edge of your vision, your skin tingled, and you were ashamed to admit how wet this was making you. Lightheaded but still aware, you lowered your chin in a nod. Your grip dug in deeper as you arched towards him in a silent gasp, “There it is.” And just like that he released your neck and moved his hand back to your shoulder.

Greedily sucking in ask much air as your lungs would allow as your eye watered. Chest still burning, lightheaded, and heat prickling inside your mind as Ghost Face lifted the camera up again, “Pout for me.” Staring at the object absentmindedly trying to come back to yourself.

Although he’d just had you on the brink of passing out, it only sent pleasant shivers down your spine. Something in the back of your mind said he didn’t really want you to pass out. Just wanted to get you into that sweet spot of submission that came when you were pushed just hard enough. Your lips puckered at his request and you heard the click of the camera again. Blinking rapidly as your breathing slowly evened out and he snickered, “Choking gets you there quick, huh?”

Clenching your jaw grinding your teeth, grumbling up at him, “No idea what you mean.” Strumming his fingers against your shoulder, he was already looking down to you, “Ah, just me then?” The confidence on this guy. Looking away you snorted out a strangled sound of disbelief, “You wish.” His hand trailed back up to grip your cheeks. Winching as he dug into the bandaged side, but holding the cry in, “Thought you were going to be my good girl?” Turning your face back to look into his mask, “Wanna rethink that?”

That sent liquid heat through you just as much as the pain, the mix of sensations had your toes curling. In a breathy voice, you whispered, “ Fuck. ” A husky chuckle left him, “Haven’t decided if you’ve earned it yet.” You groaned at that and if his grip wasn’t hold your face in place your head would have tilted back into the wooden wall, “So, be good and admit it.”

He was quipy, threatening, and an ego that did more for you than you’d like to admit— certainly nothing you should let him know about, but like before, he could read you too well and already seemed to know the answer. He just wanted the power trip of having you say it.

You should make it more difficult just to spite him, but you weren’t really opposed to the idea of him— genuinely liked him so far. The only thing that made it problematic was where the entity had decided to place you. You were supposed to be working against him. But you really had no interest in that. It couldn’t really hurt to play his game, might even turn out to be entertaining for you. Didn’t seem like there was much else going on in this place other than trials so you all but spat, “Fine! Yes. You’re fucking hot.” Pursing your lips and tipping your chin up, “Does that do it for you? ”

You could hear his breath behind the mask, much heavier than it should be if he was unaffected. The knowledge that you were causing a reaction in him just as much as he was in you had a smirk curling the edge of your lips. The silence was telling too. He was so close his scent was overwhelming— an intoxicating mix of a crisp clean scent, leather, and metallic blood. A moan almost slipped as you took him in. It was another moment before he answered, “You’re a real glutton for punishment,” he moved the hand into your hair and ruffled your dirty strands, “I was going to be nice and let you find the hatch.”

You raised a brow, but he continued before you could ask, “But now,” He smoothed down the strands he’d just displaced, “I’m not feeling generous anymore. I’m putting you on a fucking hook.” You stiffened at the thought and couldn’t catch the words in time, “I’d rather not.” He moved away, standing to dust off himself, “Should have thought of that before mouthing off.”

You looked up at him in complete seriousness, “I swear to god or whatever,” he snickered at that, “If you put me up there I’m going to kick you in the face.” He leaned over you, “You do that and I’ll have you over my knee when I find you next. Your choice.” That had the heat spike back to life. You smiled smugly up towards him, “I don’t let just anyone spank me. You’ll have to take me on a date first.”

He leaned an arm into the wall above you and growled, “That can be arranged.” The sound guttural, dark, and full of promise. But what had your heart skip a beat was the honesty buried beneath it all. That…was unexpected. It was clear there was chemistry— between the easy charm, sadism, sarcasm, and a potent lust mixing a cocktail that had you wanting more. You actually liked talking with him so far.

But that admission gave you pause. It wasn’t just lust, something in his voice betrayed him. Desire? Want? Something in that family but darker, more intense, the word on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite capture. An unknown feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Lust was one thing— you were no stranger to it and didn’t shy away from it. And it didn’t seem like he did either. But there being more to this than simple sex? That had a thrill fluttering in your chest.

It’d been so long since someone who might be more than normal took an interest in you. He got under your skin more than anyone ever had. Seen you more than anyone else ever had dared to look. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to have something more than lust. That thought is what pushed you to stand. Hand gripping the generator, pushing up as Ghost Face stepped back. When you were upright, there was a little space between the two of you. Tilting your head back to look up at him before voicing, “Deal.”

His arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he regarded you, “You’re an odd one.” With a half-shrug, you spoke, “Making sure we match.” A breath of laughter left him, “Charming.” He put the camera away in some unseen pocket on his back or belt. He did a once over from head to toe, taking in your overall appearance, “Well, shall we?”

A playfulness floated through his voice. It was clear he was enjoying this, but the dread surged to life in you. It was one thing to know you’d be strung up like a piece of meat, but to face it had anxiety bubbling inside you, “I suppose.” Dropping his arms to his sides he closed the small distance between the two of you, “Any preference on being carried?”

You lifted a brow, “I could walk.” He tapped a foot, “You could.” He made no move to back away, “But you’re not going to let me.” His mask dipped, “You got it, cupcake.” Shaking your head you thought about it for a second, “Bridal. Between my arm and hip, I don’t want to be over your shoulder.” That seemed to grab his attention, “Hip?” He raised a hand to point at you, “Thought you said nothing interesting was going on under there.”

Shit. Forgot about that. Looking down in thought before shrugging to yourself, Whatever, he’d probably see it eventually. At your silence he pressed in impossibly closer, his chest hit your arm in the sling drawing a flinch for you. Stumbling back a step into the wall his voice cut through the pain, “Which hip?”

He followed and planted his right hand above your head. Leaning back you breathed, “Right.” You felt the cold leather slide against the skin of your outer thigh before lifting up under your skirt, pulling the right side up to reveal the area. Everything on display— legs, thighs, black panties, and carving that was likely to scar. Your heart was racing, but embarrassment was the last thing on your mind. A new flush of heat dusting your cheeks and twisting in your stomach, resisting the urge to clench your thighs.

He was silent as he took it in, “Are you this much of a perv with everyone? Or just me?” His mask tilted back up, “Jealous?” You tilted your head the opposite of his, “Maybe.” He dropped your skirt and pushed off the wall upright. He didn’t answer, but his voice was filled with smug satisfaction, “13121? That mean something?” If he wanted to play coy so would you, “Nothing important.”

He stepped back and curled a finger in a come here motion, “Angry boyfriend?” There was a hint of possessiveness in the question. That had a twisted delight settle high in your chest, “Don’t have one of those.” If you hadn’t been watching him, you’d have missed his shoulders sagging slightly, “Girlfriend?” You snorted, “No. No angry lover.” You stepped closer to him and he moved to pick you up. The ease that he lifted wasn’t surprising after watching him with that other woman. His response was only a firm, “Good.”

He was surprisingly gentle when lifting you, but your arm still jostled. The pain was instant and pulled a whimpering curse from you, “ Fuck. ” One hand rested under your knees and the other wrapped around your back, “I like that spicy mouth of yours, but you’re going to get into shit with it.” Walking away from the generator he continued, “Actually, don’t fucking talk with anyone like this.” His fingers dug into your knee, “Just with me. Got it?”

You doubted you would even without his warning. Bantering just came so naturally with him— it was effortless. Switching between sarcastic jabs to compromising positions was as easy as breathing. There wouldn’t be any of that with others. But the possessive demand made you feel playful, “Hm, I don’t remember you being my father. Don’t think I have to listen.”

His head tilted towards the sky in a boisterous laugh before looking at you in his arms, “Oh, Cupcake!” No trace of the annoyance you expected. His voice twisted deep, to the sinful tone that had your thighs clenching and toe-curling, “You’ll be calling me daddy soon enough.” He…You…How did you not see that coming before you let it slip out of your mouth? You weren’t even really into the whole daddy thing, but hearing him say it like that? Heat licked through you and maybe with him, you were into it.

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really walked right into that.” The hand on your back pat in a mock gesture of comfort, “Listen to Daddy and keep your mouth shut.”

373 notes · View notes