#Friday the 13th: The Fall of Camp Blood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captain-tch · 7 months

Text

Friday The 13th (Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader)

After surviving the events of Terminus, the group stumble upon an abandoned camp site when searching for shelter. Their dream turns into a nightmare when they realise the reason why Camp Crystal Lake was truly abandoned. TW for the series: excessive descriptions of gore, excessive violence, character deaths

part 3: deaths apprentice

You couldn't believe your eyes, the flames engulfing the mess hall. Your friends, your family was in there.

Glenn surged forward, trying to reach the smoking door. Abraham snatched at Glenn, pulling him into his chest. Glenn was screaming, akin to a wounded animal, thrashing in Abraham's grasp. You couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breathe as the building flamed bright.

The door was kicked open from the inside. A rush of smoke ploughed through the hole, briefly disguising the figure rushing through the door. Hope surged in your chest - someone had survived.

Then you heard the shrieks.

The figure staggered past the porch. They were a human candle, and the wick burning bright within, was Rosita.

Her screams were inhuman. She collapsed to her knees, flopping to the floor. It was hard to make out her features, her skin having charred and melted away the person you once knew.

Abraham's arms went slack in shock. It was enough time for Glenn to break free to his grasp, sprinting directly into the fire.

"Glenn!" You screamed. Wetness splashed onto your cheeks; you didn't care, you just wanted him to come back. "Glenn!"

Daryl's hand cupped your upper arm, giving you a gentle tug. You tried to shake it off, to wait and see if Glenn would return from the fire carrying your family out into safety, Daryl merely tugged again. "He made his choice."

You looked between the fire, then up into Daryl's face. The flames reflected in his eyes, turning the blue you usually found comfort into another mirror for your pain.

"We've got to get out of here." Abraham's gaze became clear again. Eugene nodded, looking as if a puppet was pulling his strings. Abraham started to run for the entrance of the camp, Eugene hot on his heels.

You cast one last glance to the mess hall, the building shuddering as it finally gave in to the hungry fire. The building collapsed in a plume of ash and burnt wood.

They were gone.

Gulping past the lump in your throat, you followed Abraham, knife in your hand. It felt like you were naked - your gun had been in the very building that just crumbled. Daryl's crossbow was swinging by his side, eyes darting into every shadow.

A gurgled shout. Abraham snatched at his throat, now pulsing with blood, an arrow pointing through his jugular.

Daryl dragged you behind some overturned canoes, just as another shot was fired. Eugene screamed, falling to his knees, an arrow protruding from his eye. From where you were crouched, you could see the blood and viscera where his eyeball should be. Your stomach turned, desperately you clutched at your mouth to keep the bile in, wincing from the burn. Daryl's hand was firmly pressed to your back.

Footsteps crunched. You watched with baited breath as a man in a hockey mask emerged from the trees, bow on his back, and machete tightly gripped in his grasp.

Daryl raised his crossbow, training it on your masked assailant. Your attacker hadn't noticed your presence yet, stalking towards where the bodies of your friends had fallen. He stopped besides Abraham's body, tilting his head. He delivered a swift kick to his side. Abraham's body remained still.

You kept your hand pressed firmly over your mouth, this time fighting back the scream threatening to rip out of your body. You were staring down at the man who had stalked, gutted, burned and spilled the blood of people who had endured more than their fair share of trauma.

More footsteps crunched. Daryl stiffened behind you. You held your breath, praying your heart beat would quieten, terrified that even the pounding heart rate would grab the monsters attention.

It lingered besides Eugene's unmoving body. He gawked at the damage he had inflicted, slowly moving forwards, gently caressing the arrow stuck in Eugene's head. A whimper echoed throughout the silence.

The monster stilled.

He retracted his hand from the arrow. It disappeared at his side, only to reappear holding the machete. Like a viper he struck, delivering a brutal blow to Eugene's head.

Silence followed.

Unconsciously, you felt behind you blindly for Daryl's hand. There was an impending sense of doom you couldn't shake, no matter how hard you tried to shake it down. This man was an apprentice of death, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he had felled every person here.

Daryl's fingers caressed your own. The soft, soothing touch was nearly enough to break you completely. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks. He gently rubbed circles into your skin.

You felt him lean closer to you, his breath hot on your ear. It felt so similar to when you had first arrived in the area, teasing you with lewd promises he now would never be able to follow through. Except this time, there was a sense of playfulness, of that soft, gentle love you both shared. No, that moment had been like clouds on a spring day, parting to show the sun. This moment? This moment reminded you of the fierce devotion you shared.

"Ya run when I say, okay?"

You frowned, turning to him. He didn't let any emotion show on his face: you knew what was lying beneath that stone mask. His thumb reached up, brushing against the crease that had settled between your brows. He followed his thumb down, stopping to stroke your cheek, smearing the blood speckled there.

"No." You whispered adamantly. "We get out together."

He was deaf to your pleading, determined eyes searching yours. "Ya gonna grab one of those canoes and get across the lake, ya hear? Ya get as far away as ya can."

"Daryl-"

"Promise me." His resolve was clear. You knew no force on this earth could stop him from doing this - this man, as closed off as he had been when you first met, loved fiercely and was loyal until the end. The monster prowling ahead had ripped your group apart, had killed our family, and Daryl wasn't going to let him get away with it.

The words were lodged in your throat. You resisted the urge to say it; you knew the one small comfort you could give him was this. Solemnly, you whispered. "I promise."

"We don' have time, god I wish we fucking did. We would've had the most beautiful life." Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaning against it for a brief second. "I love ya."

The words were choked as you uttered your love to him. His mask slipped for a moment, the bravery dissolving into a soft smile. The heat of his touch left yours. You wanted to launch yourself after him, to battle this demon together, to go down fighting together.

But you had made a promise.

Daryl peeked out from behind the canoe. Only to be yanked upwards.

You jumped to your feet, seeing Daryl hanging in the air, at the mercy of the man who killed with no remorse, one hand crushing his neck, the other holding a machete. Daryl's crossbow had been strewn to the ground.

In one fell swoop, the blade was pulled across Daryl's stomach. He let out a cry, squirming in the assailants grip. From where you were standing, you could see Daryl's organs beginning to slide onto the mud. Your breath hitched.

Promise me.

Fighting back the sobs, you got a grip of the nearest canoe, dragging it as quickly as you could behind you. You could feel the attention on your back - you pushed harder, your arms burning with each step.

You nearly cried when you were near the waters edge. You flipped the canoe over, digging in with your heels to push the canoe out. Water began to seep into your shoes, and soon, the water swam around your ankles. You were numb to the cold, numb to the splinters working their way into your hands, numb to the world around you.

Once you were far enough in, you all but fell into the boat, flopping in like a fish dragged from its home within the depths. You pulled yourself upright, searching for an oar to push you out further.

There wasn't one.

Frantically you dipped your hands into the water, pushing as hard as you could against the still lake.

Agony shot through your shoulder. You cried out; you didn't dare look. You could see droplets of red falling in the water as you propelled yourself faster.

More agony. This time it sent you crumpling forwards, landing roughly on the floor of the boat. You moaned, trying to push yourself up. Your arm shuddered, then folded. You fell again to the floor, tears silently streaming down your face.

Promise me.

His face, smiling at you, his fingers trailing your skin.

His cry, his guts decorating the mud.

Grunting, you fought past the pain of your injuries and of your losses, pushing yourself up with something short of a scream. You sat up, looking to the shore where the man had once stood.

No one was there.

You wanted to be relieved, but you knew you wouldn't escape. He was like a disgruntled child playing with his food. You twisted around trying to see his figure in the trees surrounding the lake, only finding shadows.

The canoe dipped slightly. An arm wrapped around your throat, snatching for purchase. You were pulled backwards, off the canoe, and into the murky depths, never to surface.

It was in your death that you learned of the man who sealed your fate. Jason - what he was remained unknown, all that was known was he was once someone who had drowned in the lake, but he stalked the land of camp crystal lake, killing anyone who ever set foot on his land. Those whose blood spilled in that lake were chained by eternity.

Those whose blood seeped into the soil were able to move onto the afterlife.

You were now doomed to spend your forever with Jason, your ghosts alone destined to repeat the events of Friday the 13th.

the walking dead masterlist

44 notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 2 years

Text

Movie Night 🎬

Spooky Season Edition 🎃🍁

Having a horror movie marathon with Eddie on Halloween and when it’s time to go to bed, you can’t sleep so he stays up with you to read or tell you about his latest DND campaign until you fall asleep on his chest.

Wayne finds out about Bat!Eddie. Eddie transforms back into a human in front of his uncle and is just like, “hey, uncle Wayne” like normal.

Requests are by @ali-r3n 💞 I've combined them both to make this 💞 Hope you like it.

Warnings; Fluff, teeny bit of angst, more fluff.

Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always appreciated ❤ I do not give anyone permission to copy my work.

💞💞💞💞

"What one next sweetheart?". Eddie holds out Halloween and Friday the 13th. They had just watched Sleepaway Camp as the first movie for their horror movie night.

Eddie had popcorn on the table and a massive bag of m&m's. A pumpkin was sat on the counter, carved by her and Eddie.

She had even brought over some fairy lights to create a cosy glow.

"Hmm Halloween". He nods and kisses her cheek.

"A good choice m'lady". He puts the film on and they cuddle up together. At one point during the movie, he turns into his bat form.

After the events in March, she thought Eddie was dead, they had been growing closer and she had fallen in love with him.

He "died" protecting her and Dustin from a demobat attack and took the bites himself, he appeared to pass away in her arms but then a few days later after the defeat of Vecna and the destruction of the upside down he appeared again.

Well his bat form appeared at her window when she was hosting a celebratory for their victory over Vecna and the Mind Flayer.

She screamed thinking it was a demobat until she remembered that they were all dead and the little bat's eyes looked so much like Eddie's beautiful brown ones.

Still lost in grief for him, she opened the window, the bat flew in and changed into Eddie before her eyes.

Bloodied but alive. Still in his Hellfire Shirt which was ripped and stained with his blood.

She couldn't believe her eyes and was just so glad to have him back, everyone was. Especially Dustin who was grieving as hard as she was.

It took a little bit to get used to bat Eddie but everyone soon came around to it. He could be a little shit about it sometimes and change into bat form wreaking havoc but she could never stay mad at him for long.

Current bat Eddie flies up to her and snuggles down on her chest. She rolls her eyes amused. Eddie loved her breasts so it wasn't a stretch that he would still love them in bat form.

They are so into the movie that Eddie forgets to change back exactly as Wayne comes in. He smiles at her then completely freezes as he sees Bat Eddie nestled into her chest.

"What the hell is the bat doing in here?" Fuck! She wakes us a dozing Eddie who squeaks when he sees his Uncle Wayne.

"Sir I can explain". She murmurs wringing her hands. How the hell does she explain this?

"Darlin I told you to call me Wayne and I hope you do have an explanation". At that point, Eddie changes back into his human form.

"Hi, uncle Wayne". He says shyly waving at his uncle who gapes.

💞

They manage to sit Wayne down to tell him how Eddie ended up like this. He's always believed in supernatural shit or strange things happening in Hawkins so he isn't exactly stunned.

He just didn't expect it to happen to his nephew, but hearing about his near-death experience makes him break down again and y/n sheds a few tears as Eddie and his uncle Wayne hug.

"Doesn't matter if you turn into a bat son, you're still my boy, my son. Just don't do it without warning me yeah? Nearly gave me a god, damn heart attack".

Eddie nods wiping his eyes and she cuddles into him soothing him.

Wayne smiles.

"Come on, I'll make you both some hot chocolate and you can continue your movie night". He ruffles her hair and claps Eddie on the back while busying himself in the kitchen.

💞💞

It's late at night and despite the delicious hot chocolate that Wayne made she still can't sleep. She and Eddie had made love twice and that helped sometimes ( sometimes they just couldn't get enough of each other)

Tonight it hadent helped, she was well sated and lost in the glow of the mindblowing orgasms but sleep still evaded her.

Eddie noticing her dilemma cuddles her closer to him.

"Can't sleep, sweetheart?". She nods and he kisses her.

"Want me to read to you?". She beams and snuggles up on his chest.

"Yes, Lord of the rings, please? I know we finished it but can we read it again?". He grins. She loved the voices he did and the way he would act during these readings.

"Anything for you princess". He begins to read and she sighs content.

"When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton"

Slowly but surely Eddie's voice helps her drift off to sleep and she feels Eddie's lips press to her hair.

"Good night my princess".

🌙🍁🎃

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #bat eddie munson

247 notes · View notes

nocturnal-milk-dud · 7 months

Note

I've been watching the Friday the 13th movies. . I want Bishop Losa/MC in the Friday the 13th movie setting. Camping. Slashers. Sex. Hint Hint. 😈

Camp Blood Can't Contain Him

Pairing: Bishop Losa x Reader

Warnings/notes: NC-17 18+ only; smut; public sex; oral (m receiving); voyeurism (sort of); smoking; language; violence; gore; blood; gun violence; choking (not the fun kind); I'm kinda noticing this trend where my readers are badasses and the all the men are just doing their best which ya know sure; I'm suddenly nervous about the level of smut I hope it's ok

Rating: NC-17; 18+ only

Word count: 1478

There's a terrifying excitement in standing naked in the woods. It feels wrong and right all at once, after all what could be more natural? But then again, anyone could be watching. That thought sends an icy rush through your veins and makes you stand a little straighter.

You take a running start and jump off the edge of the dock.

"You know anybody could find you out here like this?" You smile at the gruff voice, but keep your eyes shut. You're drying off on the dock, naked as a jaybird--an expression you actually don't understand, come to think of it.

"And how lucky I am that 'anybody' is you," you say. You shade your eyes and look Bishop up and down.

"You're wearing way too many clothes for an afternoon at the lake," you say, getting up on your knees.

"Some would say you're wearing too little." You give Bishop an innocent smile as you unzip his boots.

"Would you say that?" you ask playfully, making him grin. Bishop obligingly kicks off his boots and watches as your hands move to his belt and the zipper on his jeans. He's hard and eager, and you slide your hands up the back of his thighs--the action making his skin jump--before taking him in your mouth.

The idea of being out here like this makes you tremble with excitement, makes you move faster, take him deeper. Your spit drenches Bishop's cock, drips from your lips, but you pull away before he comes, your mouth wide for air. Bishop is looking down at you like he's ready to give you anything.

You turn around and place your hands on the blanket, spread your legs a little wider. Your body is on fire and Bishop quickly fuels it, slipping inside you. Your hands curl around the blanket and you moan his name. Neither of you are quiet, and hearing Bishop moan and curse, and sigh your name turns you on even more. The two of you are loud, fast, hungry. You only pause for a moment when the feeling that someone's watching comes on strong.

But Bishop doesn't notice, and you quickly forget.

A blood curdling scream tears you from sleep. You sit bolt upright and stare wide-eyed into the darkness of a room you don't recognize, and it takes you a moment to gather your bearings--to remember where you are. You reach over for Bishop, but find his side of the bed empty. After sitting in the dark for a few moments, hearing only the light fall of rain, you get dressed and go look for Bishop.

Bishop is sitting on the back porch smoking a cigarette, staring out at a distant point of light.

"I heard a scream," you say, speaking quietly.

"Gunshots too, before that," he says, his voice low and clear. He sounds as though he's been awake for a while. You sit down next to him on the swing. "There's another cabin over there." Bishop gestures with his chin at the light on the other side of the lake.

"I had no idea there was anyone else out here," you say, thinking about your afternoon at the lake and the moment you felt like you were being watched. Bishop grins, and you can't help but hide your face.

"You don't get to be embarrassed now," Bishop says. You shake your head and get to your feet.

"They need help," you say, trying to return to the issue at hand.

"Not now," he argues, "not at night." He's right, you know that. Whatever these strangers are dealing with sounds serious. Trying to help is one thing. Trying to help in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere with no idea what you're getting into is an entirely different beast altogether. All the same, urgency gnaws at your gut.

Another scream splits the night.

"We won't be able to help them in the morning." You're off the porch and out into the trees before Bishop can stop you.

The A-frame cabin lights up the woods around it, looking far too bright and cheery for anything to be wrong, but as you near it you see the front door is hanging loose on its hinges. Inside, furniture is toppled over, and cushions are split open, their stuffing scattered across the floor. The TV has a spiderweb crack in the screen. A broken wine glass crunches under your foot. Bishop checks the hall closet, finding it empty. Empty like the room you're in. Empty and quiet.

"Whatever happened, we missed it," Bishop says, tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"What did happen?" you ask, the question bothering you even more now that the cabin seems to be offering up no answers. You look over to Bishop expectantly, and your stomach turns to jelly. Bishop doesn't react fast enough to the hockey mask-wearing giant that somehow caught both of you off-guard. He's struck on the side of the head by the hilt of a long, bloody machete, and falls to the floor. You drop to your knees next to him, trying to wake him up or drag him away or cover him with your own body any and all you don't know which, you just know that something has to work, that he can't stay here, that you can't leave.

The killer raises his machete, meaning to bring it down on your neck. Lightning flashes, glinting off the blade and his eyes--cold, cruel eyes. You roll out of the machete's path at the last second, and it comes down hard, lodging in the floor. You scramble to your feet, sprinting up the stairs, and crash through a bedroom door. Across from you is a set of floor-to-ceiling windows that follow the triangular frame of the cabin. You close the door, and another flash of lightning illuminates everything in the bedroom, including the dead body hanging on the back of the door like a robe hanging from a hook. Part of its face has been cleaved away, and you clap your hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

You don't have to wait long for the door to crash open, the sound making you jump out of your skin. You stop breathing as the killer enters the room, your entire body tense as you focus all your energy on remaining perfectly still. His eyes sweep the room as he slowly moves through it, and the longer he takes, the longer he's there the more fearful you become. His eyes will find yours and your face will become as mangled as the stranger's. He nears the window, peering out through the pouring rain. Your hands feel sweaty and limp, you swallow hard. It's now or never.

You grip the beam you're perched on and swing down, letting your weight carry you. Your feet land square in the killer's back and knock him into the window. The glass shatters around him and he tumbles out into the dark. You land hard on your back, crying out as broken glass slices your leg. Warm rain falls on your face and your breath comes out of your mouth in heavy shudders. You'd like to crawl under the bed and cry yourself to sleep, fear seeping away and exhaustion taking its place.

"Bishop."

Bishop is lying where you left him, still unconscious, blood trailing down from the right side of his head. You kneel down, cradling his head in your lap. You whisper his name and kiss his brow. Bishop's eyes open slowly and you smile down at him.

"You missed all the fun," you whisper. Bishop's hands hold gently to your forearms.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice raspy. You take a deep breath and nod. You lean down to kiss Bishop, and a hand closes around your neck. A pained noise escapes from your throat as you're wrenched to your feet and hauled away from Bishop, into the dining room. You get a good look into the killer's dull, unresponsive eyes as he lifts you from the floor, his hands moving to grip you under your arms. You call Bishop's name in a desperate plea for help, finding your voice cracked and broken. Over your shoulder, you see a chandelier made of antlers hanging over the dining room table, and you know it's meant for you. You thrash harder, uselessly, before remembering the knife in your belt. You sink it into the killer's neck, gritting your teeth as you twist it in. A shot is fired and he lets out a pained grunt. Giving up on the chandelier, the killer slams you down on the dining room table, hard enough that it buckles beneath you, and everything goes dark.

#bishop losa x reader #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #spooky season requests #spooky season fic #horror fic #bishop losa #mayans mc #michael irby #cruzwalters

11 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

june 13th, 1986

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body

8.6K words

warnings - descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), you and eddie get high, friday the 13th au

summary - On June 13th, 1986, Camp Hawkins Hills is the victim of further tragedy after its poisoned water with roadkill in the tanks, perished foods from ill-storage, and the disappearance of a young camper. Seven are left dead. One injured.

Tammy Thompson wakes up to find that her boyfriend still hasn’t quite gotten them to camp.

“Reilly,” her hair, big and bouncy, smushes against the headrest of the passenger seat, “It was a straight line from Cunningham, baby, how’d you get lost?”

“It’s a longer path than I thought,” he runs a hand through his own hair and huffs. Comically distressed about the situation.

“Then just… hit the gas,” she glares, rather lightheartedly but still apparent.

“No way, my cousin got speed trapped out around here, I’m not risking it.”

“Fine, fine,” Tammy shakes her head, “if I’m late, I won’t call for a whole week.”

Reilly tears his eyes away from the dirt road for a mere moment, just long enough to properly side-eye his girlfriend, “You’re an awful liar.”

She picks at her purple-tinted nails and kicks her feet up onto the dash, shrugging coyly. She bats her lashes at her boyfriend.

Before he can respond, his brows furrow, slamming the brakes. Tammy rocks forward, a knee pressing to her gut with the motion - her gaze flies forward, instantly meeting the body that stands in front of her boyfriend’s car.

They don’t move, though, and she can only vaguely recognize them.

Tammy sits up and pushes herself to half-hang out the window, “Hey! You’re workin’ at the camp, too, right? We’re on our way…”

She trails off when the person only stares.

Reilly and Tammy spare a glance at each other. Reilly sticking his own head out the window, “Are you… feeling alright? Do you need us to drive you somewhere?”

Tammy unbuckles and cautiously gets out of her boyfriend’s beloved Corvette Stingray, her arms fold over one another. Head tilting. She presses her lips, pink lipstick popping when she goes to speak, “Did something happen up there?”

Suddenly, she’s grabbed by the hair and slammed face-first into the hood of the red Corvette. There’s a loud crack and Tammy slips back onto her ass, mud stains her white khakis, shaky hands flying up to cover her nose. Blood leaks from both nostrils and she’s certain it's broken.

“Hey!” Reilly throws his door open and darts out from the seat, but before he can get a good hit in to defend his girlfriend, there’s a knife pulled. The blade embeds right in his gut, twisting.

Reilly tumbles backward, wheezing in pain while Tammy crawls to him on her hands and knees. Blood drips down her lips and onto her white polo.

She’s merely watched as she tries standing with Reilly, her hands desperate as they clutch and tug at his shirt. She’s relentless in her need to get him up - back in the car, she just needs to get back in the car and they’re home free.

The figure is silent. Voyeuristic.

Until they decide Tammy’s suffocated, nerve-wracked sobs are enough.

Her big and bouncy hair is snatched back, head pulled high until she’s practically standing on her knees. Reilly snaps up to try and save his girlfriend, but the gouge in his gut stings like salt to a slug - he screams in agony and terror. Blood gushes from the hole in his stomach as he watches Tammy’s skin pull against a blade.

The slit moves and opens as she screams and crashes.

Resounding numbness comes over Reilly as Tammy’s body falls over his. Her blood smears across his clothes, arms limp around his sides. He can’t be scared when he knows this is it.

No more adrenaline. No more ‘what if?’.

So he squeezes Tammy’s body, neck still leaking onto his chest, to his own as the figure lifts their knife. He clenches his eyes and feels the fear return when he actually realizes this is it. His heart burns, races, thunders, and not even the feeling of his girlfriend between his arms can calm it.

The knife is brought down towards his forehead.

“Where the hell is Thompson?” Steve throws his hands up, looking from his clipboard to your lackluster lineup with your fellow counselors as if ‘Thompson’ will suddenly appear, “Has nobody heard from her?”

You don’t get the whole point of the headcount anyway, Steve already knows that only your bosses, Murray and Joyce, and cook, Jonathan, have left since this morning.

“Thompson?” Eddie looks to you, hands jammed in the pockets of his black ripped jeans.

“Tammy,” Robin lights up from beside you at the name, “new recruit,” you gesture towards the far end of the line, where a new face sits grinning broadly, “She was supposed to come in with Argyle.”

Argyle - a friend of Jonathon’s, though the cook was displeased when his hiring was announced.

“Sorry, bros,” Argyle puts his hands up in defense, “I was at her house this morning but she said someone else was giving her a ride.”

Steve huffs and Nancy steps out of the counselor line to rub his arm sympathetically, she tilts her head, “I’m sure she’ll show up.”

“If not, it isn’t like it matters,” Steve runs a hand through his pampered hair, “We have six counselors, so it should be fine.”

“Fuck,” Robin mutters, lips pulling into a large pout.

“Buck up,” you nudge her arm as Steve and Nancy head to the campers’ cabin to count beds. You continue once Eddie and Argyle wander off, “Country singer girl probably wasn’t the best option for your little lesbian heart.”

“Yeah, but she’s so hot,” Robin groans, “And she tutored me in algebra II.”

“I know, Rob, I know,” you look up at the cloudy sky,

None of you are mentioning the elephant in the room - the way you all have to start camp later than usual because of extra safety precautions - but you can sense it. As the day grows older, lips will come looser.

When you find Eddie alone in the archery range, separating arrows into bins, you don’t have to wait. He immediately speaks his mind, as is usual for him.

“I can’t believe this shit. Opening shop was a bad fuckin’ idea,” he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag of weed, “But hey, I’ve got treats.”

After last year?

You come closer and snatch the bag, stuffing it back into Eddie’s pocket, “Keep that shit to us, Steve and Nancy’ll go nuts.”

“My bad, sweets,” Eddie returns to organizing the arrows, “Just thought I’d give you something to make you excited about this hellscape.”

You roll your eyes but pat his chest, “Thanks, big guy.”

But really - weed? After last year?

The campers were sent home in the rain on June 13th, 1985. It was a heavy Thursday pour, something akin to needles against the skin - thundering upon the roofs of cabins and buses alike. You and the other counselors were stuck watching the children - just to make sure no heads were missing as they filled the buses. Last thing Murray and Joyce needed was a following incident. Especially Joyce.

A couple of the kids were whining as they were loaded into the vehicles - pouty-lipped and cross-armed as they asked you and Steve, the head counselor, why they were going home. Murray had drilled it into your heads - do not tell the kids anything, so help me God. Joyce was too distraught to so much as look at your lot. Steve told you and the other counselors to say that the water supply was bad.

“Just make up a reason why, they’re kids - they’ll believe whatever you say.”

Nancy and Robin were packing away their belongings while Eddie assisted poor Robbie and Layla - who sprained their ankles in tandem following a bad swing off the tallest dock at the lake - onto the bus.

Jonathan was in the kitchen. You don’t think he’s even packing - just stewing in his misery. Not that you, or anybody else, can blame him. Murray is talking to Officer Hopper, who so graciously lent half the police station for this camper extraction.

Nobody knows exactly where Joyce is. Again, not that you all can blame her.

You feel a burning marble in your throat. Shame and guilt that wells within your stomach as the campers chatter and whine about being forced onto the buses. Nobody told Joyce or Murray where they were during the incident. Everybody agreed to not snitch. Only Hopper knows, and he was sworn to silence.

But the way he looks at you all - so disappointed and despondent - is salt in the wound. It’s sickening.

Jonathan knows, too. Only because Nancy gave it up and spilled her guts under his promise that he wouldn’t tell his mother.

His stares are the worst.

Rain coils through your hair. Dipping into your eyes and clinging along the planes of your face. You can just barely make out the dismal faces of your campers through the buses’ tinted windows.

Steve senses the way you tense, your shoulders scrunching as your arms fold over your chest. He lays a hand on your shoulder, but doesn’t dare look at you. You feel sick.

“I’m gonna puke,” you don’t bother dampening your voice. Only Steve is listening - unless Joyce is behind you and you haven’t noticed.

“Wait till the kids are gone,” Steve soothes the hand down your back.

As soon as the buses were off campgrounds, you’d keeled over and emptied what was left in your stomach from lunch.

You and your fellow counselors were sent home soon after.

Just as predicted, once nightfall hits camp - lips loosen and fears crawl forward.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Robin is shaking her head with so much force that her freshly cut bob whips against her cheeks, “Like. I know I usually don’t feel good about most things, but this is such an awful idea. Putting maggots inside your nose - awful.”

“We get it, Robin,” Nancy squares her shoulders, face knit in cold defense, “We all know this is a bad idea, but there’s nothing we can really do about it, is there?”

“Come on, let’s not fight,” you toss an extra large, neon orange shirt onto your bed from your suitcase, “This summer is going to be hell, but we don’t need to pick at each other like this.”

“That’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?” Nancy turns to you now, lashes narrowed and lips pursed, “Are you and Eddie going to be actually joining us when the campers are here?”

“Fuck off, Nancy, you and Steve were just as…” you suck in a breath and pick up the shirt Murray assigned you for this upcoming summer, “Forget it, put on your team shirts so we know they fit.”

Each counselor was the designated leader of a certain team. Last year, you had green, but now that vomit-tinted honor has been assigned to the new recruit. Well, the one that was here, anyway.

Tammy Thompson still had yet to appear.

Robin quickly tugs out a violently azure tank top from her suitcase before following you out of the girls’ counselor cabin. Nancy stays behind.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything, you know?” Robin shoves the blue tank top over her thin nightshirt, her eyes wide while staring at you, “Really.”

“I know, Rob,” you twist the bottom hem of your team lead shirt between your fingers, “Just try not to bring it up around Eddie,” you shoot her a glance, “Or Steve.”

“Or Argyle,” she nods to herself, snapping her fingers in remembrance, “He probably doesn’t need to know that.”

“If nobody’s told him already.”

You and Robin push into the mess hall to find the boys already sitting around with a schedule between them. Steve is stood behind Eddie and the newbie, his hands on his hips and a stupid curl hanging over his forehead. The ugliest pair of bright red short-shorts you’ve ever seen is snug on his thighs with a coral red shirt - sleeves cut off - over it. Eddie is snapping a pencil against the wood table, head bopping to the music only in his head.

Eddie’s team lead shirt is an inky black crop top and Argyle has a plain, highlighter green T-shirt. Both are in similarly hideous red shorts.

“Planning jobs, big-head?” Robin pops over to Steve’s side and punches his shoulder, “Don’t forget tradition.”

“Already got him in for shitter duty, big Rob, don’t you worry,” Eddie grins, then jabs the eraser of his pencil into your arm, “How do you feel about dishes?”

“Wouldn’t that be on Jonathon?” you feel your skin prickle at the thought of sharing a workspace with the boy. His stares hurt, practically burning your skin.

“We’re trying to make it easier on him, my dude,” Argyle roughly claps a hand to your upper arm, grinning wide and stupid.

“Why doesn’t Nancy do dishes?” you can feel the glare Steve shoots you and you don’t dare to shy away, “You’re not an idiot, Harrington, everybody can feel their chemistry. Except you, I guess.”

“Because they don’t have chemistry, you’re just trying to shill dish duty,” Steve leans over Eddie’s shoulder and harshly jabs his finger into the paper, “Put her down.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you lean over Argyle’s shoulder and snatch Eddie’s pencil, earning a cartoonishly huffy ‘hey!’ from the metalhead, “We’re not doing this like last year, I don’t want anyone whining about jobs.”

“I can do dishes, brochacho,” Argyle takes the pencil and marks his initials next to the chore, “Me and Jonathon go way back, it won’t be weird to work together at all.”

Nancy comes in shortly after Argyle returns the pencil to Eddie, her baby pink shirt tied up with a scrunchie at her waist. She sits beside where you stand, a small, thin smile comes to her glossed lips and her hand squeezes yours.

Jonathan arrives once the chore chart is plastered upon the counselors’ corkboard (a big, bold FRIDAY. JUNE 13TH, 1986 at the top of the page). A white shirt with the camp logo printed on it covers his heaving chest as he carries in armfuls of groceries. His dark circled eyes, deprived of and starving for sleep, crawl along your lot before he raises his arms to show off the bags.

“Anyone mind helping?”

Eddie and Argyle are the first ones over. The only ones over until Nancy is trailing after the trio to put groceries away. You look at Steve, who’s already watching her, and when he meets your eyes you raise your brows and ‘hmph’ - earning a middle finger from the man.

It still doesn’t feel quite right - being here. Too much time apart and yet entirely not enough. So much history. So many stories. Everywhere you look, he’s still there. Lingering. Smiling and waving and pleading for his life. The idea of Will Byers like that, miserable and helpless, sends a chill over your flesh.

He was a sweet kid. A really sweet kid.

Clung to mommy’s apron as a child and then he clung to you, Robin, and Eddie as a teenager.

“Can smell the outcast on our clothes,” Eddie would say.

And perhaps that was true. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nancy and Steve, but you could tell he was more at ease around his fellow rejects. The rejects who feel left out even among their friends.

“How do you think the boys will do?” Robin leans against your side, cheek squishing against your shoulder as she looks at you through her lashes, “Without Will.”

You look to Eddie, who’s had the infamous quartet - trio now - as part of his team since they first arrived in the summer of 1980. If anybody could feel their agony as they did, it was him. And Nancy, older sister of their leader, but she was in the kitchen.

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip, lashes narrowing into the distance, “Let’s just say I’m not gonna give ‘em shit if they don’t participate in activities.”

And nobody would blame him.

“Alright, campers,” Steve calls as the trio returns to the main hall, clapping his hands to catch your collective attention, “Big day tomorrow.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Nancy mutters to her boyfriend, though still grinning broadly. She pops him in the arm playfully before turning to the rest of you, “Really, though, be up early so we can start cleaning for the kids. No excuses,” she points right at you and Eddie, “So try not to fry your brains tonight.”

Eddie flips his fellow counselor off and you fold your arms, glaring at her as you speak, “It would only help us sleep, Barbie.”

“That’s like telling you ‘n’ Ken not to bang your brains out,” Eddie grins when Steve glares at him, tossing an arm over your shoulder to guide you out of the cafeteria, “Let’s go, darling, time to smoke the devil’s sin and bathe in his blood and all that shit.”

“I never said that!” Nancy shouts after the both of you.

“I hate when she says that shit,” you feel free to release these feelings once the doors have loudly slammed shut, “Like it’s our fault.”

“It…” Eddie seems to retract into himself, his arm is still around you but it hovers now - ready to rip away should you say the wrong thing, “I shouldn’t have brought it out. It was barely after lights out and I should’ve fucking known something was gonna happen.”

“It’s not your fault, Eddie,” you watch him step back and up the stoop to pull the boys’ cabin door open, “Seriously, if you’re at fault then we both are - it can’t just be on you.”

“I brought the shit,” he jerks his head towards the doorway, “Get in ‘n’ shut up about it. I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

A temporary, ineffective solution. Eddie was always thinking - even when it seemed like he wasn’t, he was. Maybe not always about the most important stuff, but the lights were constantly on. And Will Byers’ disappearance was always, always resting up there.

But you grant him enough mercy - or perhaps yourself enough mercy - to not bring it up.

Nancy is quietly rearranging the pantry under dim, flickering kitchen light. Robin and Steve had originally insisted on waiting until she was done so they could walk to the girls' cabin together - but then she reached minute 30 and the two lost patience. Though, to be fair, she didn’t think they’d make it even that long.

Jonathan and Argyle had wandered off with Argyle having come back in only five minutes ago - giggly and red-eyed - for chips.

A can of corn is shoved to the back of a shelf that just barely reaches her chest, more room is made for boxes of oats and Nancy can’t help but internally groan. She really gets to missing her mother’s cooking when summer rolls around and her only food options are what Jonathon feels like making.

Sometimes Joyce brings doughnuts, though. Those are always nice.

Just as Nancy goes to slide a couple of those dreaded oats boxes to the leftmost wall, the kitchen door slips open. It must be ready to storm because the wind howls as it blows through. A chill brushes against her legs and billows the hem of her skirt.

Her shoulders scrunch and Nancy narrows her eyes at the door, but the flickering lights make it difficult to see who stands there.

“Hey,” she can just make out the hair - then the lips - then one final healthy burst of the bulbs illuminates them completely, “I’ll be done soon, I swear. It just…” she shakes her head, permed curls bouncing, “just bugs me when things aren’t where I want.”

Footsteps thud on the kitchen floor as she returns elbow-deep in the pantry.

Nancy isn’t quite used to feeling afraid.

Sure, horror movies send her heart racing and the morning of a test is anxiety-inducing. But she’s never felt such absolute terror - well, except last year. When Will Byers wasn’t in any of the cabins and couldn’t be found within a hundred miles of the campgrounds.

There’s a body behind hers. The heat leaks onto her neck and while Nancy usually doesn’t fret over personal space, this feels new. Odd.

“Back off a bit, will you?” she nudges the chest behind her with a rather gentle elbow. The chest doesn’t move. Nancy turns towards the body, “Seriously, get back.”

A hand comes to her throat and she quickly snags her nails into the person’s wrist. Then claws at their face.

Another freezing brustle of wind crashes over Nancy as she’s lifted up, up, up - her slips come off her feet as she kicks at the attacker. Their hand tightens around her throat, pressing her back into the wall with crushing force.

Just when her vision is beginning to spot and bruise in blacks and yellows, she’s dragged away from the wall and slammed back against it. Then again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

She thinks she can hear her skull split. And she can definitely feel when the blood begins to trickle past her hairline and down her neck.

Blood and stray hairs cling to splintering wood in the pantry entryway, Nancy’s hands fall limp, and with a final hack and kick, the rest of her falls limp, too.

More cold breeze flutters through as the oldest Wheeler’s body thumps onto the wood panel floor like a cinder block. Blood creeps down her curls and flattens, rolling across the wood. Leaking between the cracks.

The kitchen door is slammed shut and locked. Body alone and bloody and cold.

“Billie Jean, I will say,” Eddie blinks at you - slow and stupid - with bloodshot eyes, “isn’t a shit song.”

“Wow,” you muse, wetting your dried lips, “‘s pretty big for you, Eds.”

“I know, right?” he takes a final hit of the joint you’d been passing back and forth before putting it out in his bedside ashtray, “If you tell anyone… you’re dead.”

“As if,” you turn to your side, burying your face into the pillow of Eddie’s bed, “Do you think he’s out there?”

“Don’t,” he points at you dangerously, then lays at your side, “Don’t start that right now.”

It truly isn’t a good idea to start this right now. While you’re both high. Vulnerable. But it’s now, as you’re in a loose head with no ties to your tongue, that you can actually bring yourself to ask.

“But what if he’s…” you pull your head from the pillow, and the tight ache in your chest grows worse, “You know?”

There. Terrified. Cold.

“He’s not,” Eddie looks at you, dead serious for once, jaw tight, “We looked. I looked. Just- “ he sits up on his knees and turns his head away from you completely, “let it go.”

He picks at the curled hem of his crop top and no matter how you angle your head or lean over his thigh, he won’t meet your eyes.

“I looked everywhere for the kid, if he were out there, I’d know it,” Eddie’s voice is soft but undeniably strict. He swallows the lump in his throat, brows knit tightly, “Will’s dead.”

You sit up now, too, your body feeling just a little too slow. A little too slugged. You wrap your arms around his and lay your chin on his shoulder, “‘m sorry for bringing it up.”

But you can’t help the thoughts that creep. The idea that maybe you didn’t look everywhere. Maybe Will is starving, dehydrated, restless.

You bury your head into the sleeve of his crop top.

Joyce still couldn’t look at any of you when you’d all arrived at the campgrounds.

Murray and Hopper were a little more forgiving. Though Hopper wouldn’t allow his daughter back, much to her boyfriend and friends’ dismay, he could at least shake your hands before leaving. Murray could pretend-punch your guts as a surprise attack and grin when you all would huff (his usual behavior).

But nobody blames Joyce for her distance.

You all lost her son. Through pure, unadulterated negligence, you all were at fault.

And that’s what bugs you most about Nancy, when she pretends it was only you and Eddie occupied when Will went missing. It was her, too. She and Steve.

Robin’s fingers pluck through the collection of cassettes Steve brought to camp, brows furrowed, “You listen to music like a douche.”

“Hey,” he guffaws, “hey! You like those bands, too.”

“Yeah, but - like, it’s different when you listen to The Smiths and when I do,” she turns to look at the man as he gathers clothes for a shower, “You’re a bitch and I’m cool.”

“Other way around,” Steve throws one of his old Hawkins High pride shirts at Robin’s head, “I’m gonna take a shower while the freaks are smoking out the cabin, so if you need anything…” he pauses at the doorway and shoots her a sardonic smile, “don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Robin throws the shirt at him while the door slams shut.

Mere seconds later, she can make out the sound of his shower head sputtering to life, then consistent jets of water hitting ceramic walls. Robin searches for something in the cabin to do, but both you and Nancy have hidden your more interesting possessions from her snooping nature. And there’s no point in going through her own things, she already knows what’s in there - no fun.

But what is fun is sparking debate between you and Eddie while you’re both high, so she stretches, fingers reaching high to the ceiling until there’s a soft pop at the base of her spine, and begins towards the door. It creaks as she lugs it open, a cold wind blows over her exposed arms. Chills race up her freckled skin and tingles up her nose.

Hawkins’ nights were hell frozen over, even in a beautiful summer.

Robin jumps, a hand flying over her heart as if to steady it, she groans and glares at the person who dared scare her, “You can knock when you wanna come in, you know?” Robin steps aside and down the stoop, leaving the door open, “It’s just Hair in there right now, so I dunno how much fun you’ll be having.”

Her elbow is grabbed before she can leave, though. The strength of the grip surprises her, eyebrows flying up in shock.

A humorless laugh escapes her painted lips, Robin quirks a brow at her holder, “Do you… need something?”

She’s met with silence.

Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

“You need to let go,” Robin’s quieter than she wants to be, fear shakes her hand when she tries prying away from her holder, “Seriously. I’m gonna scream.”

At that, she’s yanked forward and inside - the cabin door is slung shut. Robin goes to make good on her promise and scream - more genuine than she was originally swearing - but a hand is quickly swiping over her mouth. It presses so tight her teeth begin to ache.

The hand over her mouth squeezes, Robin claws at every inch of skin she can reach. Steady, harsh water hitting ceramic clogs the sound of her whimpering. She chokes on panic and unshed tears, legs kicking as she’s brought up to your bed.

Your bed because you were last to pick and left with the annoying knobby bed posts that creak whenever you shift.

Robin feels her eyes sting as she’s dragged up by the grip on her face and, in a harsh, quick, cruel slam, bashed over the leftmost knob at the foot of your bed. Her head cracks open and she knows she’s bleeding, though it feels numb. She’s tossed onto the carpeted floor and her eyes can barely stay open long enough to notice the kitchen knife in her attacker’s hand.

She whines, a hand going to the back of her head and pulling back to see it smoothed over and dripping in crimson. Robin looks up at the blade as it’s brought down. She chokes on her blood. Sharp and suffocating through her chest. The heart. Blood fills her mouth and leaks between her parted lips, eyes wide.

The knife is pulled out and stabbed down again. Into her stomach, right below her breastbone. With jagged, jerky tugs - the knife slices through her puckering skin.

Inside the bathroom, the water cuts.

Steve holds his eyes shut as he reaches for the towel he’d set out. Patting his face dry, Steve quickly rustles through his hair with the towel and ties it around his waist. It’s quiet as he brushes soaked framing hairs from his face. It’s quiet as he steps out of the tub. It’s quiet as he reaches for his shirt. It’s quiet. Robin Buckley is many things, but talkative and loud are what most immediately comes to mind.

So he abandons his clothes on the granite bathroom counter, feet crossing the cold tile floor to the door. Steve cracks it open enough to stick his head through and screams at the sight.

Robin is sprawled on the ground between her and Nancy’s bed with a kitchen knife through her throat. Her head is turned to the side, hair matted and covered with blood. Stomach gaping and leaking. Blood puddles and runs on the floor below and Steve can’t breathe.

His shock washes away enough for Steve to dash forward, he collapses onto his knees and cradles Robin’s brutalized body. Her blood slips over his skin and Steve can’t breathe.

Robin is useless in his arms, her head lolls back entirely and blood is already drying at her chin and cheeks. It clings to her neck in speckled patches. Her eyes stare wide and dark and sparkless at the moldy ceiling and Steve can’t breathe. It’s brutal. It’s evil.

“Robin- !” Steve manages to catch his breath, one hand smoothing back blood-crusted bangs, and shaking when she doesn’t respond, “Robin, please, Robin - get up!”

Robin’s once blue tank top is dyed unevenly - purple and crimson - it’s shredded at the stomach.

“Robin!” Steve’s hands are red and he knows she’s gone. There’s no chance of his beloved best friend responding to his calls, but there’s something in his heart that makes him hope. Just one more time, she’ll wake up, this will all be over soon. Just one more time.

“Robin…” his ears are ringing with her blood staining the snowy towel at his waist, he doesn’t hear the steps behind him.

Robin Buckley was a lot of things.

She was loud. She was chatty. She was spacey. She was energetic. She was overwhelmingly unhelpful in most cases. She was a terrible listener when something disinterested her. She was lovable and loving. She was his only friend when he and Nancy took a break. She was his Platonic (with a capital ‘P’) soulmate.

And she was supposed to go on a date with Vickie this weekend before the campers arrived.

He doesn’t hear the steps and he doesn’t hear the final click of shoes stopping behind him on the wood flooring.

Robin Buckley was dead.

A grunt rips through the attacker as their knife drives right between the blades of Steve’s shoulders.

His body jerks forward, Robin tumbles out of his arms as Steve tries ripping himself away with a scream. The pain is flashing - hot and blinding - and it ripples down his spine.

Steve can’t even get up, can’t even turn, before there’s a solid kick right in his stab wound. It sends him back to the floor, cheek to cold, hardwood. A shoe cracks against his head, holding him down, before a knife splits through his side. His throat raws while he shrieks. Pain and panic and pure terror rings through the bloodied jabs and up to his lightening head.

Steve tries against the very will of God to push himself up and fight, run, anything to save his own life and rescue those that remain. Who remains? Oh God, is Nancy okay?

Another piercing ram into his side sends all thoughts scattering. And as the pierces grow faster, tougher, more animalistic in their devouring of his flesh, he’s unable to think long enough to plan his next move.

He’s breathless. Numbing.

The attacker rips another hole through his skin and muscle and Steve can’t breathe.

“Did you hear that?” you stand from the bed, sobering as the time drags on. You look through the soft white curtains that hang over the cabin mirror, right at the girls’ counselor cabin, “Am I going nuts?”

“No and no,” Eddie is half-asleep, sprawled out starfish-style on his bed and scratching at his exposed stomach. He yawns, eyes closed and lashes fanned over his cheeks, “You didn’t smoke enough to start hallucinating, so stop trying to freak me out.”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” your head snaps away from the window and back towards Eddie, face stern, “And if I didn’t smoke enough to hear shit then that scream had to be real.”

“All the more reason to stay inside,” his eyes flutter open and narrow at you, “I’m not walking in on Harrington and Wheeler again.”

“That wasn’t a sex scream, Munson,” you replay the sound in your head and turn away from the mirror completely, not seeing the killer step out of the cabin, soaked in your friends’ blood, “That was, like…”

Agony.

“That was violent,” you whisper, almost as though you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.

Eddie sits up, sluggish and tired, he blinks at you through what remains of his high, “What are you saying?”

“I’m going out there,” you nod resolutely, “We have to call Hopper.”

Eddie watches you as you move to where the emergency ax is held behind safety glass. He watches you smash through the glass with your shoe and haul the heavy weapon over your shoulder.

“I know what I heard, and I’m not- “ you think back to that final night. On the rainiest night of that summer, “I’m not gonna be stoned and useless again. I refuse to do nothing.”

Eddie is used to staying put and running away to keep himself safe. It’s never something you’d judge him for, if he wants safety then you can’t fault him for that, but you’re not going to let it happen like it did last year.

When you heard a camper walk by and assumed it was to use the bathroom. When you heard five more campers walk by. You stayed in bed with Eddie - passing a joint between yourselves and convincing each other that everyone was fine. You stayed in bed while Robin was sleeping hard enough for five people just one mattress over. Joyce never found out, but you lived with that knowledge - and the knowledge that Steve and Nancy were fucking in the other cabin the entire time - for a year. Unless Jonathon or Hopper told her, a violation of their separate promises, Joyce doesn’t know, but you can’t forget.

Will went missing because of your inaction, and you refuse to let it happen again.

Eddie stands up, bites the chapped skin of his bottom lip, and approaches the cabin door, “Alright. Yeah,” he sighs and you can see his fear in the way his body is so unnaturally tense, “Will, this one’s for you.”

The main office is cluttered but you manage to find the phone easily. It sits pretty on Murray’s paper-scattered desk and you run to it like a mouse from a snake.

Your shared path from the boys’ counselor cabin to the office was largely spared of attackers, and your shoulder was left aching from the weight of the unused ax.

But you refuse to let up, dialing the number directly to Hopper’s office. Back when things weren’t tense and it truly was like a big family at camp, you and your fellow counselors enjoyed teasing Joyce for personally pining the number to her corkboard.

Now, you make Eddie keep watch outside the office windows as Murray’s phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It picks up, and a voice you’re dreading answers, “Yeah?”

Your heart thrums heavy, mind blanking for the moment. Then he repeats himself, dragging out the vowels in a way you’ve always hated.

“Murray?” you hear Eddie’s body thump against the frame of the open office window, you assume tossing himself onto the wall in that dramatic way he always manages, “Why- where’s Hopper?”

“Going to you,” Murray stresses the word and you can see him blinking at the wall like you’re the idiot, “Where’s Joyce? Get her on the phone.”

“What do you mean where’s Joyce?” the ax burns at your shoulder now, forearm beginning to burn and sore at its weight, “Isn’t she with you?”

“She left to check on you guys an hour ago, I sent Jim because she never called like she was supposed to.”

The drive between camp and the police station was twenty minutes if you went the speed limit and Joyce always did. She should be here.

“You… haven’t seen her?”

“No,” you clench the phone tighter in your hand, throat tight and gut clenching in that way it does before you retch up bile, “why did Joyce come?”

“Huh?”

“Why was Joyce coming?” you can’t find air, too thin and sparse, your arm hurts like hell, “You two were supposed to be out all night,” your knees are weak, they tighten and buckle, “Why was Joyce coming?”

“Oh- “ his reply fails you, the line cuts.

“Murray?” you drop the ax to the ground, that hand already flying to the phone so you can dial Hopper’s office again, “Come on, come on. You’re kidding.”

The line is dead.

Entirely dead.

“Fucking- !” you throw the receiver down and pick up the ax, fighting down rising tears and panic as you do, “Fuck!”

When there’s no question, no worries, no input whatsoever from Eddie, you realize how silent he’s been. You feel sick.

Eddie’s body has thumped against the frame of the open window. Jaw slack and left eye wide. In his right eye is an arrow.

The arrow has run completely through his skull, its head sticking out the back, clunked with blood and brainy mush.

You pull the ax tight to your chest, the wood scratches your neon orange shirt and you feel it like an anchor. The thing tethering you in this office. Heavy as the smooth wooden handle buries in the dip of your chest.

Blood oozes from the wound in his eye and you can already see where the red is drying in his eyebrow.

Sneaking past the body as if it’ll jump back to life, you press the office door open cautiously. After ensuring a clear path, you rush out and to the girls’ counselor cabin. Robin and Steve are still there.

They should still be there.

They’re there.

You stumble back, terror shredding the burning muscles that hold your ax. You crawl backward and slip down the stoop, your head smashes on the dirt floor in your fall. Scrambling, you grab the ax from the cabin’s landing and stand back. Staring through the doorway, you still see them.

Their bodies are obscured only slightly at your position, you can still see Steve laid over Robin at the waist. His sides ripped open and Robin’s head tilted so far back that her now listless and dull eyes are staring straight through you.

Retching, you dry heave the sick that desperately wants to claw its way up your throat. Using the ex as leverage, you push yourself up and run to the last place you saw Nancy. The kitchen door is jammed and that should’ve been a sign.

You should’ve turned away. Should’ve run.

But the blood is pumping in your ears and your skin is numb and cold.

Your arms ache and shake and burn while you swing the heavy ax into the kitchen’s back door. It feels endless and you just want to go home. You wish you never came back. You don’t count the swings, you just know it feels like absolute hell. Eventually, the wood is weak and chipped enough for you to push it through with your bare hand. You manage to twist the knob and pull the door from inside.

God, you should’ve just run.

The back of Nancy’s skull is caved and pulped and forming bruises in the shape of a handprint take place around her neck. Blood stains the pantry doorway and stray hairs stick to the skin patches hanging off the more pronounced jagged edges.

You run now, turning away and towards a campers’ cabin that still has the lights on.

A week ago, Murray and Hopper came around to make sure all the camper-friendly doors with locks on them were removed and replaced.

This cabin is locked from the outside.

You bang on the door with your free hand, urgent and nauseous, ready to ax the damn wood down if whoever’s inside doesn’t answer you in the next two seconds.

It swings open to reveal a lax Argyle and the heavy musk of marijuana. His eyes are bloodshot and narrow, lips split dumb, and teeth on display, “Need some help, my dude?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” you shove Argyle into the cabin and jam the door shut with your body, back pressed so hard against the wood that you’re going to have indents left behind.

His brows raise, a rigidness hitting his body, “Oh, shit, am I fired if I don’t?”

You turn your head, eyes clenching shut at his words, “How were you locked in here, Argyle?” you stand up from the door, ax still wound tight to your side, “Who locked you in here?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Argyle cards his fingers together and gestures loosely at the door, “Jonathan locked me in here - seemed real urgent.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Nah, man,” he shakes his head, “Just that I should stay in here. Thought it was, like, a hazing thing.”

“People are dead, Argyle,” you grab his arm and begin towards the door, “We have to go.”

When Joyce is missing and Jonathon nowhere to be found, you can’t risk looking for them. You just have to make it to the van. If the van has been spared of tampering, anyway.

So you lead the way, pushing open the cabin door and holding up the ax. It’s pushing and straining at your arms, but you refuse to let it go. You can’t lose it.

Argyle is hot on your tails, body tense but not nearly as much as yours - whether it be his disbelief or the weed, you aren’t sure. Either way, your body is paranoid and your mind is left reeling as you search the path through cabins to the main gates - where those damned buses took campers away on that rainy night.

It feels like it should be raining now. Like you should be fighting muck and slosh and a figure behind a hockey mask.

You don’t seem to hear the steps behind you. Neither does Argyle. Despite crunching dirt and heavy breathing, you two are oblivious as you cross the path to the camp van.

An ax is held above your head, your chest is rising and falling in little bursts that entirely betray your fear. Your body is shaking. Argyle is no help, but that’s not necessarily new.

The footsteps grow closer as the van comes into sight. Neither of you hears. Neither of you sees. You unwisely drop the ax, right at the last second, and run straight into the driver’s side door - desperately pulling. So desperate, you can’t make out the body behind the tinted window.

Argyle is snatched by the hair, a hand clasping tight over his mouth before he can alert you of the looming danger.

You’re prepared to begin crying by the time you actually manage to haul the van’s door open. But instead of a leather seat, you see beige, satin pants. You stumble back and note the emptiness of your hands - you dropped the ax.

Like an idiot, you went and dropped the ax before you were safe.

The hard, dirt-clodded ground is a terrible landing - the force practically punches air straight out from your lungs, and pebbles lodge deep into the meat of your palms.

Now, you hear the footsteps from behind.

Your eyes crawl up those beige, satin pants and you’re frozen in indecision. Should you run? How do you run? Where could you go?

A hand roots through your hair and tugs your head up and back.

Joyce Byers lays passed out, a rag soaked in what you assume to be chemicals, tied around her face, in the driver’s seat. You look up at the face that looms over you. Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

Bangs cling to his forehead and there’s blood splattered and dried over his skin and clothes.

Jonathan lifts the ax above you. High, high over his head.

Argyle lays on the ground, a deep, gushing ax wound laid right where his eyes are.

Your heart races. Burns. You can’t die. You won’t be torn to shreds by Jonathon’s hatred.

You swing a fist up and right into Jonathon’s groin - he doubles over in a hoarse groan, the ax tumbles to the ground and kicks dirt up around it. Before he can recover, you fly to your knees and push up until you’re racing into the nearby woods.

Jonathan screams after you, you can hear him. You can’t run fast enough. You can feel his blood-and-dirt crusted fingers at the base of your neck, his breath hot on your ear. Toe of his shoes clipping the backs of your own. Twigs and branches snap against your exposed skin - leaves dragging viciously over your face. Like the greenery itself wants you to know that you, and your fellow counselors, deserve this. You all deserve Jonathon’s hatred, but you’re just too scared to die now.

So you continue through the woods until you end up fumbling over a dug-out tree root. Your shoe is ripped from your foot, jammed under the root, as you shriek and tumble.

Mud bubbles from a puddle when you land face-first.

Pushing yourself up, you turn as Jonathon grows closer. Mud clings to your clothes and flesh. The mud reminds you of that night.

The trees climb higher. Moonlight grows tighter. Strangled between the canopy. The ax blade glints, though - blindingly so. Like a mouse to a snake, you cower.

Like Will Byers that night, you can sense your impending doom. The sword of Damocles - Jonathan raises the ax above his head, his foot landing between your legs and splashing mud over your neon orange shirt.

You can’t ask why. You know exactly why.

[FUCK TUMBLR.COM PICTURE LIMITS]

On one end of the hall outside Officer Hopper’s office is you, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Steve. On the other is Joyce, Jonathan, and Murray. Joyce is wringing her hands, sobbing hysterically as she rocks. Murray mutters, shaking his head (“Five- five - counselors on duty and not one them. Not one saw him.”), a new hire is surely on their way if the camp is even to be open next year. Jonathan, however, doesn’t shy away from you all - he stares ahead.

Cold, dead eyes.

You and Eddie and trying so hard not to lean that you’re both awkwardly ramrod straight. Eyes split between squinting at the fluorescents and widening cartoonishly so that nobody notices you’re both squinting. Nancy and Steve have untucked shirts and still smell of sweat and Nancy’s overpowering sugary perfume. Robin is only awake because of the current mystery.

You probably should’ve known that Jonathon wasn’t going to let you all go.

If anything, you’re shocked Joyce hadn’t done something herself.

…

Jonathan’s arms jerk up from their position and he swings. With more force than you’ve ever thought was possible for Jonathon Byers, he swings. The shine of the moonlight on his ax slides up, up, and off the metal as it comes down.

You don’t get to see the flashes of your short life, though. Either by angels or your friends, or maybe even that forgiving heart you always admired in Will Byers, there’s a pop. Just as he’s going to give the final push, right into your heaving chest, his chest arches forward.

His fingers split off the ax’s handle and it tumbles until that blade is buried deep in the gash of the ground between your legs - mud splashes up from the impact. Jonathan stumbles back, blood sputters from the middle of his chest and painting his white shirt.

Red and blue lights flash bright on the trees and you can hear the sound of leaves crunching and mud splashing under heavy boots. Jonathan thuds onto his back, clawing at the hole through his sternum, gasping for air and choking on the blood that froths to his lips.

You’re dragged off your ass by Hopper. Carried out from the woods and back to the main entrance, where Murray and two EMTs are standing around a waking Joyce.

Joyce spots you through bleary eyes - you’re smeared in mud and sweat and tears and you’re left clueless as to why she seems so relieved.

She runs to you, pushes her business partner and the EMTs aside to wrap her arms around you so tight that you almost lose oxygen. Her hands pet over the hair that her son had knotted his own hand through not an hour ago.

When the both of you part, Joyce frets over your face, cupping your cheeks and inspecting each exposed slice of skin for injury. Eventually, you settle your hands over her forearms, gently pushing her back.

“Ms.- “ you cut yourself off, hands curling tighter around her arms, “Joyce. When Will… when Will went missing- “

“Honey,” she shakes her head, “I know. Jonathan- “ her eyes flit down to her shoes, then back to you, “I know.”

Hopper puts a hand over your upper back, angling you and Joyce towards the open back of an ambulance. Neither of you is outwardly injured, but anything to get you out of here.

Away from these corpses. Off these bloodied grounds.

You and Joyce are loaded into the back of the ambulance together, her hand tight around yours. Neither of you speaks. Too afraid, too ashamed, too stuck. But this silence is different, no longer stiff and abrasive - now it’s simple. Neither of you has anything to say so you don’t.

Joyce hugs you close to her side and your eyes slowly begin to drift shut. Muscles going lax against her, breathing slowly evening out. Joyce follows your lead shortly after and the two of you are left that way by the EMTs on your sides. The two of you sleep tenderly, calmly, blissfully unaware of the state of Jonathon’s corpse in the woods.

…

“He really killed all these kids and went down to a shot like that?” Officer Powell looks over to his partner, Callahan, as he jots down notes about the scene.

“Kid’s still human,” Callahan shrugs, turning away to find where you and Joyce were led by their boss, “Come on, we should get back to Hopper.”

Powell takes a lingering glance at Jonathon’s blood-speckled, dirt-stained body before following after his partner. Leaves and twigs snapping under their heavy boots as they go.

Clouds slowly gather in the dark, starry sky. Thick and purple under the moon. They begin to weep gently over the camp, sprinkled rainfall that pitifully patters against the cold, pallid skin of Jonathon Byers.

The water is freezing in the Hawkins air.

A finger twitches. A leg jumps. An eye opens to see the worms that have begun inching to the surface.

Jonathan Byers rises, ax in hand, as the rain grows heavier.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington x nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #tammy thompson #argyle stranger things #jonathan byers #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #friday the 13th au

49 notes · View notes

thekillingjoke-haha · 1 year

Text

Our Scream Queen

Part I: First Bloodshed

Summary: Bill and Stu realize they have a big fucking problem when they aren't the only killers on the loose and their target screamer is someone else's prize,Sidney Prescott.

Warning ⚠️: Blood,Gore,Death,Hinted pedophilia,cursing,threats,Grade A+ Police work, no poof read

"Slasher talking" "Normal Talking" "Unknown talking"

'Written '

Cast, I[here] II III IV V VI VII VII VIII IX X

The phone ringing was the only sound in that large house. It was Tuesday. Just a day before Casey Becker got a similar call that ended her life...the first was made out to a blonde male named Greg Stephens.

Greg Stephens the football jock of Woodboro High School with girls falling off of his arm at ever waking moment. Currently he was at home with his little brother relaxing downstairs with him. He stood up from the sofa his arm moving away from around his little brother who sat next to him to go answer the landline. "Hello?Stephens' residents." He said as his brother still watched the movie they rented from the video store earlier that day. "I'm sorry is Peter there? He gave me this number." A male voice crackled on the other end. "Unless you're talking about pete who's ten years old I think you got the wrong number." He hung up the landline about to walk back when it rung again.

"Hello?" The same voice said. "You got the wrong number guy." Greg said with a roll of his eyes. "Wait don't hang up!" He said almost sounding panicked. "Why the hell not?" The jock folded his arms leaning against the wall dividing the hallway from the living room. "I want to talk to you for a minute. You said you were a Stephens. You don't happen to be Greg right?" They asked with a chuckle and the star athlete felt his chest swell with pride at being recognized from name alone. He started to walk a bit further away from the TV deeper into the hallway. "Do I know you? What's your name?" Greg asked looking down at his socked feet not noticing the shadow that just pasted the front door light. "I had to guess yours come on make this fun guess mine." The voice said full of jovial teasing. "Fine...Scott?" He guessed thinking it was the frontline men. "Wrong. Guess again."

"Tyler?" He hummed the light of the TV hitting his back, his little brother letting out a scream when he got scared at the movie, causing him to roll his eyes at his skittish behavior. "Wrong again, and what was that noise?" The caller asked. "My stupid little brother, he gets so scared at these shitty scary movies." He said as he peaked behind him, seeing his brothers with his head under the covers on the couch. "Awe, scary movies aren't all that bad. What's your favorite?" They asked. "I thought I was the one asking questions?" The quarterback pushed his blonde hair out of his face. "Well, you clearly suck at that game, so I'm giving you an easier one... a trivia game of sorts." The voice said some shuffling on the other line.

Once the movement stopped, the game really began. "So what's your favorite?" Greg thoughts about it for a moment before answering. "Halloween ya know with Michael Myers." A hum of agreement came through the receiver. "That's a good one. The big ass stalker is just out of frame." Greg chuckled. "How about you, or do I have to guess?" The unknown caller chuckled just the same. "Oh, please do." He thought about it thinking of any recent releases, but this guy might not have seen anything newer, so he stuck to classics. "Friday the 13th." He answered. "That's the one where the guy in the hockey mask kills camp counselors, right? He was scary." Greg went to turn around seeing a good chunk of the movie has passed. "I should get off now." He said as he was going to hand up when the next words made him freeze up. "Oh, come on. The Exercist can wait."

Greg stood in the hallway stiff as his breath went stale in his lungs. "How?" He asked not daring to breath as if the walls were listening to him. "How what?" The man on the line asked sounding confused. "Did you know what I was watching?" He started to move again get closer to the door checking out the window before locking the door. "You told me." This angered the jock as he dropped the landline and picked up the cordless phone. "No the fuck I didn't" He heard his own voice double over due to two lines being open. Greg stated going around the house most of the blinds were closed and the front and back door was locked. Rushing over to his brother he pulled the covers off of him the boys eyes scared as he looked at the TV. "Go to your room now." The boy nodded without hesitation not wanting to be in the same room as the movie now. "Still want to play that game?" The voice said sounding more sadistic this time. "I got a fucking game for you to play its called hide the zucchini and you'll play it a-fucking-lot in prison asshole" He growled as he got a knife from the block in the kitchen.

The voice chuckled no longer innocent and carefree. "Play along, and you'll live to see the light of day." He said, but Greg saw this as a bluff and scoffed at him. "Yeah, right, dial a 1-800 number for sick kicks." With that he hung up and what a mistake that was a brick flew in through the window almost hitting him and on it was a note picking the note off of it in messy handwriting it said 'Answer Me!' As he finished reading it, the phone rung again, making him jump, and he answered hastily. "Fine!!! I'll play just leave my house." The voice let out a forced laugh. "Good boy, now I only have three questions. Each one will save a life. Get one wrong, and you'll lose a life."

"It a horror movie game, so I hope you know a thing or two. What was Freddy Kruger in life?" He asked as Greg looked out the window where the brick came from. "A-a janitor at a school." A tsk sounded through the phone. "Half right yet. I asked what he was not what he did...he was a pedophile. Sound familiar Gregory all those freshmen fighting for your attention father like son everyone in town knows he likes em young." Whoever this was knew too much about his family it was only stupid allegations,but the school never pushed the matter and the girls were always willing.

"Don't beat yourself up the next one is easy. What does the reverse bear trap do?" This one was easy. "It rips the victims jaw off by opening instead of closing."Silence washed over the line,he won.

"Right! See not that hard last question. How many people did Voorhees kill in Friday the 13th?" Greg almost jumped for joy this was a trick question. "None! Jason didn't kill anyone till the second movie. I beat you! You sick fuck!" He cheered into the phone panting lightly trying to ease his heart,but the only thing he heard was himself. The other side of the line was quite. Greg paused...

...

He thought he won anyways.

"WRONG! Nine people were killed by Voorhees!!!" He voice seemed to yell ashamed by his stupidity. "No no no Jason was dead it wasn't until part 2 he killed someone!" He defended himself his voice panicked. "I didn't say Jason,I said Voorhees!!! Pamela Voorhees killed nine people before she was beheaded. You only got one right!" That only deepened Greg's confusion. "Only one?! I got two right!" Didn't he? Yes he did, yet he really didn't. "Nope I said half right and I don't give half credit which makes it wrong you didn't answer the question correctly,but that one wrong I took a life and now with the last one you lost yours." The line cut dial tone ringing in his ear as the sound of more glass breaking came from the back door.

Rushing towards the living room with the knife ready to strike he saw his father bleeding on the carpet his intestines spilling from his midsection. A note pinned on him the same way as the brick. 'One wrong answer one life lost.♡♡♡' His eyes went wide as his heart raced...Peter...did Peter pay for his second missed question like their dad? Running up the stairs he ran into his brothers room one hand dialing 911 as he busted through the door.

On the bed he layed there his blond curled locks just above the covers and his breathing steady as he slept. Greg got closer his hand going onto his brothers shoulder "911 what's your emergency?" A female operated asked. His hand pulled away as he answered. "Someone's outside my house and killed my da—" Greg was cut off. "You mean your deadbeat child fondling father!" They seemed to yell over the phone,but there was this odd double layering of his voice which only happened when two lines were...on at the same time...this meant he was in the house. As the odd echoing ended still ringing in his ears the bedroom door slammed close and the red masked psycho jumped on him pulling him out of the room and throwing him down the stairs his kitchen knife being lodged in his shoulder causing him to scream out as the boy laid still in bed as instructed by the masked individual that snuck in.

The oh so high and mighty jock shakingly got up at run away seeing that this person is so much stronger than him and he was now injured. It would have been laughable anyone would think a jock like that would fight,but put a little fear in their hearts and the coward will turn tail. The masked individual casually walked down the stairs their blood stained knife cutting the wallpaper as they hummed. Greg ran out the back door into the wooded area behind his house. Tree branches whipped him and his ankle almost rolled several times as he ran just past the clearing should be a main road. He made it to the small ravine just off the side as headlights came closer he tried to wave to them as he climbed up,but just as his upper body got fully on the pavement a gloved hand grabbed tightly at his blonde locks pulling his head back as a hunting knife slit his throat his torso falling back as the car drove past the older couple talking not even noticing anything just talking about picking up dry cleaning for the dinner party tomorrow night hoping their daughter Casey didn't have that boy over when they leave.

The police stood in the doorway of the house looking at the coroner who took the father's body while in the ambulance with open doors the boy sat in a foil cover over his shoulders as he was checked. A younger officer came up to the Captian by the name of Dewey. "Ya got to come see this Cap."

==Time Skip==

In the kids room the stepped on the other side of the bed opposite of the door looking right under the window. In blood was written. 'Play sleep while I play tag ♡ : )' a dripping smiley face and heart were drawn underneath the message. The forensic took pictures, and the flash clicked as Dewey clapped the police captain shoulder and pointed towards the now closed bedroom door. 'I'll give you that one.. You're safe...well, not you. ♡♡♡' In the same bloody display. "We clearly got someone mentally unstable on the loose any word on the kid, Greg Stephens?" The captain asked as they walked out of the room and slowly down the stairs looking at the peeled wallpaper that looked ripped up after being cut. "Nothing...do you think he would have done this to his own father and brother?" Dewey said as they now stood in the living room. The body of Lucas Stephens having already been removed, the only evidence was the yellow number and the outline of dark red-browning blood. "We don't know anything until we find him, and neither does the news." The older man said, walking out the house unknown to the officers. Almost a fifty yards out into the woods hung Greg by his feet, a long cut from his pelvic bone to his collarbone His intestines were on the ground already swarmed with bugs feasting away if the police didn't hurry they'd lose their sweet parting message written in the organs,but what they don't know can hurt them.

The news of the break in wasn't out to the public yet they wanted it to be swept under the rug since Greg wasn't yet found,but when Casey Becker and here boyfriend were killed the search for Greg as the main suspect lasted only a few hours the body now maggot and fly ridden and picked at by creatures in the woods did they know they had a serial killer on their hands with the same MO.

How wrong they were...great minds just think alike.

===Thursday Morning===

The news crew were outside of the high school buzzing about the murder of Casey Becker and Steve along with the earlier break in at the Stephen's house that lead to Greg's discovery in the forest.

It was hectic at first with the leading suspect haven been Greg since he dated Casey before she dumped him for Steve and them both being found dead, yet that all went out the window when his body was strung up just like her's having been there for who knows how long. The fun has just started the killer looked at the news crew and grinned closing the car door.

A/N: next part will have all the new characters interacting with the orginals. I'll just say they are all connected togther story will go into their dynamic and relationships with eachother. Someone else is gonna die!

Everything will be close to the script with added scenes or scenes with extra character interaction. Also Muder Husbands will so have competition one of them thinks it's hot the other is being a bratty grease ball guess which is which?

8 notes · View notes

talesfromthecrypts · 2 years

Note

omg someone needs to please make a film of the quarry.

As fun as the idea is it probably won't happen for a few reasons: Movie Mode exists, the models are as close as we as a society can get to just having real life people in a video game, its already made to be a "build-your-own" movie with tropes of movies that exist already.

However! I will be happy to give a list of movies that are The Quarry adjacent for all my friends here. Mostly 80s and 90s movies with slasher tropes or werewolf/monster tropes that are used very heavily in the game:

Bay of Blood

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Friday the 13th

The Howling

The Evil Dead and Evil Dead II

Fade to Black

American Werewolf in London

Happy Birthday to Me

Slumber Party Massacre

Sleepaway Camp

April Fool's Day

Night of the Demons

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Scream (cause I will be yelled at if I don't include it)

The Faculty

Cherry Falls

Ginger Snaps

Wrong Turn

Dog Soldiers

Cabin in the Woods

Stage Fright (2014)

#anonymous #the quarry #and i always like to remind people before they watch horror #if they are sensitive to certain things or have triggers to always check sites like doesthedogdie

31 notes · View notes

quietplace26 · 1 year

Note

I have an idea slasher au. Slasher is KK working with Hannya. Slasher KK is yaseotoko. The idea is that Akito is working in a summer camp or there is an urban legend in town. Akito is home alone as Mari left to go on a trip with Rin. My idea is that yaseotoko could be like an alter ego that KK doesn't know about. I also thought that KK made a deal with Hannya which forced him to become a killer. Maybe KK knows what he is doing and the reason why is to bring back his dead wife.

Not gonna lie, when you said Yaseotoko being KK's alter ego, it kinda gave me Mr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde vibes. Where KK is Mr. Jekyll, the good half, and Yaseotoko is Mr. Hyde, the bad half.

Slasher!KK is something I never thought of, but it gives me horror/supernatural/thriller vibes, and I love that! This could also go down a yandere route as well!

Like what if instead of trying to bring back his dead wife, Slasher!KK instead starts to think of Akito as his new wife and becomes a full fledge yandere for the soft boy that was originally going to be his next kill?

Oh, and maybe since you mention Akito working at a summer camp, we can go the Friday the 13th way of things, or at least something similar? Hear me out.

Imagine a child!KK being bullied for saying he could see creatures such as yokai. The bullying gets so bad that KK nearly dies, but thankfully he doesn't. His bullies on the other hand? They weren't as lucky. You see, when child!KK nearly died, a violent yokai, Yaseotoko, snuck into his body and took over, brutally murdering the bullies. Child!KK never knew this, having thought it was a yokai that did this, but over time as he grew up, he started to realize that there was something was wrong with him. He'd black out at random times, ending up somewhere he wasn't before... and covered in blood.

Fearing for other people's safety, he tries to keep to himself, living deep in the woods. But one day he meets a young man called Akito who was a new camp conselor at a nearby summer camp. The same one KK went to as a child. The same one where his bullies died at. The same one where he became wrong. KK of course never mentions this to Akito, just happy to have some company, and soon, he falls for the young conselor. KK never tells Akito his feeings, knowing an old man like him would never have a chance with a someone like Akito. However, this changes when he sees Akito surrounded by the other conselors. This was the moment KK felt something snap within him.

Basically KK/Yaseotoko go on a killing spree in the camp. Yaseotoko even lets KK stay in control and even lends his vessal his powers for the first time!

In the end it leads to the whole camp being massacred, leaving Akito as the sole survivor. And since KK/Yaseotoko wore a mask and never spoke, Akito never finds out the man that 'saved' him, and who he eventually fell in love with as well, was the actual killer.

#anon #ask #ghostwire: tokyo #ghostwire tokyo #gw:t #horror au #thriller au #supernatural au #slasher au #yandere au #akito/kk #slasher!kk #yaseotoko #this went farther than i expected #oh dear

5 notes · View notes

spookyathletedeanmonger · 2 years

Text

Name: Jaden Voorhees (The Hunter)

Age: 20

Gender: male

6 foot 4 inches

Likes: hunting and protecting his family and home plus strong girls or women and wolves

Dislikes: people in his home and being bullied plus called a freak show or monster

Weapons: Machete, Wooden Bow with 13 arrows and quiver, Double Bladed Axe and Bear Traps

Chapter: Camp Blood-Friday the 13th (2009)

Killer power: Relentless Hunt

(Hunter Mode)The Hunter will start a trial with Relentless Hunt and The Hunter can mark a survivor to hunt. The targeted survivor will leave footprints instead of scratch marks. As The Hunter can leave a trip wire on the map so that can cause a survivor to fall down and take 3 seconds to recover and if successfully triggered the power is disabled

(Stalker Mode) The Hunter can deactivate his terror raids at will with this mode on as no survivor can't hear or see The Hunter activate this ability but The Hunter can be brought out of this ability when he entered chase or pick up a survivor as one used the ability will last 60 second's

Perks:

Experienced: You learned to listen to your prey over the long years of hunting them. The sounds of running footprints are 30% louder. The sounds of walking footprints are 20% louder.

Kill for Mother:

You become obsessed with one survivor. The desire to avenge your mother is so great you will do anything to do so. Gain the undetectable status for 25 seconds whenever you enter a chase with the obsession. This effect can only be triggered once every 85 seconds.

Unstoppable:

You will catch your prey,no matter what.

Increase the effects of bloodlust by 3.5%

Add on's:

Mother's locket

Ripped sack head

Cracked hockey mask

Wrapped bandages

Memento Mori:

The Hunter headbutts the survivor causing the survivor to be stunned as The Hunter sneaks behind them and stabbed his machete through them in the chest as The Hunter grabs the end of the blade and lift's the blade up to the survivors chin then The Hunter kicks the the survivor off his weapon

Chase Theme: https://youtu.be/neGMci1QqG0

Personality: calm , torrential and switch (dominate and submissive) plus smart (with traps and hunting)

#friday the 13th 2009 #dead by daylight #my original posts #original character

3 notes · View notes

v4xzaki · 2 years

Text

thing idk

Tuesday, October 3rd, 1967

Ive been released. I can finally see my family again. i've waited so long for this. My little girl, my beloved wife. Its been a year since ive seen them.

Wednesday, October 4th, 1967

Today i went home and saw my family. My girl has grown a bit. But my wife has been fishy. I dont think shes hiding anything, though.

Friday, October 6th, 1967.

Though i'd been released, the voices are louder.. i suppose my medication will help.

I feel slightly better. I suppose more of my medication will help.

I' a bit dizzy, i suppose i should take my medication.

Saturday, October 7th, 1967

My girl has taken her first steps today. I felt a sudden chill when she did, i suppose i should take my medication.

Monday, October 9th, 1967

i feel something calling my name almost on a daily basis. He's telling me to do it. i dont know what it means. i suppose i should take my medication.

Tuesday, October 10th, 1967

I went to the basement to grab camping supplies, but as i was down there, i saw it again. I couldve sworn he left me alone... i did what he needed last time. maybe he needs more.

Wednesday, October 11th, 1967

He needs me. i will do it. he needs it, i will give it. lord has said i will get eternal living if i do... i must. i can become a god. i will get so much power. everything i have planned out is for my family.

Friday, October 13th, 1967.

today is it. i shall give my remaining tasks back to lord. i will pay off the debt i owe. he shall give everything i must dream of.

I walk up to My girl. she seems confused. she'll understand. i know she will. she looks at the knife, then at me. she asks "Daddy, what is that? It's shin-" she gets cut off by the blade stabbing her chest, then her head.

i go to my wife. "Vex, did you remember to take your medication this morning?" she asked in a concerned tone. "Yes." i say in a monotone voice, proceeding to slash her all over her body. as she screamed, i knew i was closer and closer to this eternal youth and life.

As i wondered who else would understand my doings, i realized why i havent been able to get it right... the correct candidate is myself. I stare at the knife with a large smile on my face. All this time, it was me. i was the one he needed. As i lift the knife up, the cold fall wind breezes by. its time. Ive waited so long for this. i can be on this planet among these mere beings forever. While pushing the knife into my heart, i feel a sensation i never have. Its amazing. i have been granted all i have ever wanted...

October 14th, 1967

I wake up after laying on the ground for who knows how long... i see blood on my chest. I dont remember anything of last night. i suppose my wish has been granted. I forgot who i used as my candidates, but im sure they understood!

#story #horror

2 notes · View notes

hardtickettohomevideo · 6 months

Text

Schlocktoberfest XIII - Day 25: Friday the 13th - The Fall of Camp Blood

Friday the 13th – The Fall of Camp Blood Full Movie: *Spoilers Throughout* What’s This About: Someone decided that 2 dozen lame Friday the 13th movies wasn’t enough and decided to contribute to the mediocrity. Here are some of my observations as I watched the film: July 19, 1984. OK. That was a Thursday. That was also National Hot Dog Day! Film opens with the sound bites of Corey Feldman’s…

View On WordPress

#Blairstown #Corey Feldman #Crispin Glover #Friday the 13th #Friday the 13th part 2 #Friday the 13th Part 3 #Friday the 13th part 8: Jason Takes Manhattan #Friday the 13th Part V: A New Beginning #Friday the 13th part VI: Jason Lives #Friday the 13th part VII: The New Blood #Jason Voorhees #Tommy Jarvis

1 note · View note

your-dietician · 2 years

Text

Why Do Final Girls Always Have Killer Style?

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/why-do-final-girls-always-have-killer-style/

Why Do Final Girls Always Have Killer Style?

In I Know What You Did Last Summer, meanwhile, final girl Julie James (Jennifer Love Hewitt) favors a simple, girl-next-door aesthetic. “Her final look is a midriff-baring [top], which is what most people think about when they remember that movie,” says Danny Pellegrino, a pop-culture aficionado and host of the Everything Iconic podcast. “She also uses her wardrobe at the end of the film to escape the killer, when she’s stuck in the boat—so the outfit becomes a useful piece to her survival.” In the film’s sequel, singer Brandy joins Hewitt as a final girl. “Brandy’s style was so great throughout that entire movie,” says Pellegrino of her character’s beachy dresses and cowboy hats. “I always felt we were robbed of not getting a third film with Brandy and Hewitt.”

Having stylish leading ladies in the horror genre isn’t super surprising, given that eerie motifs have always crept their way into the high-fashion arena. Designers frequently find delight in the macabre. For his spring 2000 season, Raf Simons designed an entire menswear line of Camp Crystal Lake tees, an homage to the setting of the classic horror flick Friday the 13th. Prada’s fall 2019 graphic prints served as a tribute to Frankenstein. For resort 2020, Moschino’s Jeremy Scott even designed a whole line of different scary-movie-inspired wares, including Dracula shirts and spiderweb-print dresses.

Just this past spring 2023 season, final girls were one of the main inspirations for Interior designers Lily Miesmer and Jack Miner. “If it has a pulse on Rotten Tomatoes, it’s high art to us,” Miesmer says. While designing their assortment of deconstructed separates, they took cues from the slashed pieces that final girls often sport. “We’ve seen our fair share of final girls. The drama of the visuals are just priceless—a girl covered in blood, with only the whites of her eyes visible, is a forever favorite,” says Miesmer. “To a certain extent, we all feel like final girls these days, always narrowly escaping some chainsaw-wielding, apocalypse-grade monster. This beat-up, busted, mud-stained spirit of the collection reflects this feeling of always outrunning the devil.”

Jennifer Love Hewitt and Brandy in I Still Know What You Did Last Summer

Photo: Courtesy of Everett Collection

Read full article here

0 notes

trashboi2768-archived · 2 years

Text

Good Enough

Friday the 13th

Jason Voorhees/GN!Reader

SFW/Slight Angst

TW: Mentions of Murder/Profanity

…

Jason comes home one day from taking care of trespassers but something seems… Off. He seems more distant and sad. Turns out one of them knocked his mask off.

…

This is just something that’s been floating in my head for a day or so now

I just typed this out pretty fast on my phone so don’t come for me lmao it’s just a short

I’m so soft for Jason right now I swear

I hope y’all enjoy lovelies

…

You stood in front of the stove, humming as you absentmindedly stirred the soup you were cooking.

It was getting close to dinner time, and Jason had been out most of the day taking care of some teenagers that decided to ignore the No Trespassing sign you had posted on the entrance of the camp.

You knew he didn’t really need food, being undead and all, but he always seemed to enjoy the domestic bliss of having a dinner together, and you enjoyed cooking for him.

You continued to add seasonings and stirring, occasionally tasting it as you waited for Jason to return.

The already darkening sky had finally fallen black and the soup had been done for nearly half an hour by the time Jason finally opened the door.

He set his machete down outside and pulled off his jacket that was now covered in blood to set it beside his weapon, knowing you hated cleaning blood off of the floors.

You stood from your seat at the table and walked over to greet your undead husband, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace as you finally relaxed.

“That took longer than expected, they didn’t hurt you, right?” You asked, pulling back to examine him.

He shook his head and you sighed in relief, pulling him back into a hug.

Jason hesitantly placed his hands on your back instead of smothering you with hugs and kisses like he normally did.

“Jay, are you alright?” You asked, pulling back.

He nodded, but you didn’t miss how his eyes darted away so he didn’t have to look at you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, running your hand along his mask, “Did something happen?”

He reached up and tapped his mask.

“Your mask? Did it crack?” You asked, now looking over his signature hockey mask.

He shook his head.

“Did it fall off or something?”

He nodded.

“Is that all, love? Why did that upset you so much?” You asked, knowing Jason was never one to care about strangers opinions of him.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He lifted his hands, trying to sign out what he was saying from the little bit you had taught him.

“They saw my face.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He awkwardly fumbled his large hands around as he attempted to sign something else.

“They called me disgusting.”

You felt rage bubble inside of you but held it back as you held him again, “They’re fucking wrong.”

He pushed you back slightly and looked down at you.

“Jay?”

He ran his rough fingers against your cheek as he looked over your face.

You watched his hands slowly begin to sign out a sentence.

“You’re too pretty for me.”

“No. Don’t say that. You know you are the most beautiful person in my eyes. I don’t want anyone else in the world. I only want you, just as you are.” You finished your sentence with a kiss on his mask, right over his lips, “I love you, Jason.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against yours, his way of telling you that he loved you too.

#slashers #slasher #slashers x y/n #slashers x reader #slashers x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher x you #slasher x s/o #slashers x s/o #Jason Voorhees #jason voorhees x s/o #jason voorhees x y/n #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you

165 notes · View notes

morgana-ren · 3 years

Note

👉👈 Spare thoughts on like Crystal Lake/Friday the 13thesque camp counselor au with the Lov or mainly Shigaraki. I was thinking about watching Fear street and suddenly this was all I could think about

So I wrote this bit and yes, I’m painfully aware it’s not plot-perfect or polished but I LOVE the concept and wanted to put something out for it to show my appreciation that you shared it with me. Warning: it’s very nasty and I took a lot of liberties here. I hope that’s okay. Tomura is the gross incel-y killer. It wasn’t QUITE Friday 13th style, more “creepy counselor gone mad” because when I started writing it, I was a bit out of it.

I hope it’s okay!

A slippery hand clutches yours- stark red and slicked with sweat and blood, trembling bones and quivering fingers- clinging to yours as if you alone could keep her anchored to her quickly fading lifeforce. She’s been stabbed repeatedly, but it’s the wound on her chest that pulses most noticeably with her breath; A font bubbling from the cleave a few inches beneath her collar bone, a scarlet brook staining down the front of her pastel camp uniform.

Her mouth open in a strangled, wordless cry: A petrified 'o' shape that seems terribly uncanny alongside her sallow cheeks, fear and pain reflected in her wide and panicked eyes as her grip on consciousness rapidly fades. Crimson stains her slippery ivory teeth, gurgling on her own bile as she struggles to make out a fragmented sentence between her presumably collapsing lungs and the blood pooling in her throat.

Her face, the perfect mask of fear covered in dirt and her own fluids, begins twitching, blinking tears through the muck that cakes her cheeks. The hand not wrapped around yours in an iron grip curls into a point -shaky and pale and borderline indiscernible- and it takes you a brief moment for you to realize she’s pointing directly behind you. It’s only then that you rip yourself from your traumatized stupor and hear the footsteps approaching from the cabin door.

You’re ready and willing to defend yourself if need be, shooting to your feet with lips pulled in a snarl, but you’re not greeted with the sight of a terrifying killer brandishing a knife: You’re met instead by the familiar face of your fellow camp counselor and long time friend.

“Tomura!”

You can’t help it. You throw your arms around his scrawny neck, almost knocking him over in your relief as you bury your head into the swell of his black hoodie. He’s a welcome sight- been close to you ever since you started attending even though he’s years older than you are, and he’s always made you feel better- safer somehow.

You’ve never been more happy to see him than you are now, thanking whatever God is looking out for you that he’s alive and that he found you. You squeeze him with every ounce of strength your little body can muster as he wraps his own gangly limbs around you and cages you to his chest in turn- almost too tightly.

“I looked for you! I couldn’t-“ Breath escapes you, tearing up in his embrace. “I couldn’t find you! I thought he’d gotten you too! I was so scared-”

He gives a firm shake of his head, shaggy silver hair ruffling over his shoulders. He reeks, as always, of slight mildew and something vaguely earthy- like ash or cinder, even as he hasn’t ever been allowed on fire duty. “No. He can’t be far behind though. We need to go.”

“Okay!” You nod, wiggling free of his reluctant arms and dropping to your knees again by your wounded friend. “Just help me with Maureen- she’s really hurt- We need to get her to a hospital and fast-” “Leave her.” His knobby fingers encircle the rounds of your forearm, jerking you back to your feet at his side again with a bruising yank. ”We don’t have time- she’ll only slow us down.” “How can you say that? We can’t just leave her here! She’s bleeding out- We can save her, we just have to-”

A quick peek back at her and you realize she looks- if possible- more terrified than she did only moments ago in the face of death. She’s shaking like a leaf- Her wide, milky eyes focused in on Tomura as she attempts another gasped word. “Look- Just look at her. She’s done for. Let’s go- I can keep you safe, I can-.” “You don’t know that- You don’t know that- Please Tomura, we don’t have time to argue, just help me!”

“I do know that,” He insists, trying again to tug you towards the door. “She’s in shock, and the blood loss is too much for them to be able to save her even if we could drag her out of here. It was obviously intentional. I can protect you but we need to leave now-”

Your eyes flick back to Maureen and the pooling beneath her prone body that seems to grow larger by the second. Her mouth trembles, choking on the words that are trapped in her flooded throat.

You shake him off once more and lean down to her as Tomura groans in what seems like, if you didn’t know better, annoyance. You ignore him, trying to coax her into your arms carefully, but she only quivers in your grasp, still trying to hiccup out something between her pained gasps and slipping mortal coil.

“C’mon Maureen- You can make it, I know you can!” But she remains limply, dead weight on the cabin floor, more fearful of something directly in front of her than the inevitable death that awaits. You lean forward once more to try and get a grip beneath her arms to hoist her upward, but she holds firm, puffing a final wheeze in your ear that takes a moment to process. “Him.”

Blood bubbles up through her throat following the words and she spits it up over her blouse, eyes going blank and body falling into limpness. The wounds across her body still ooze a steady stream of blood but the last of her spirit seems to still, light fading from her eyes in one final moment.

“Tomura, help-” Panic threads through your voice, still trying to drag her forward.

But he doesn’t move to help you. He only stares blank faced and cold as Maureen seizes in her death rattles; Her pallid fingers still coiled in an accusatory gesture at her side.

“Please-”

“I told you, she’s dead.” He pulls you away by the collar like a kitten, knocking your center of balance clean from the sheer force of the grab as he coaxes you once again into his arms. “Can we go now? We need to go, need to get away from here-”

Something catches your attention, something solid in his hoodie’s kangaroo pouch that pricks you slightly as you fall into his chest. A slight sting on your arm as it collides with his torso.

”Ow!” You pull away once again, his body stiffening as you inspect a fresh little cut on your arm where something sharp pricked at your flesh. “Tomura, what the hell is in your pocket? That hurt-” ”Nothing! Quit wasting time- Come on! We need to leave.”

“It cut me...” You pluck at the skin once more, hissing in slight pain as the small laceration pulls apart under your attentions. “Do you have a knife in your pocket?” “What? No- well, yeah. I picked it up in the kitchens when I was trying to find you. I thought I could defend myself with it if he caught up to us-”

You turn and narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head. “We don’t have knives that sharp. We have butter knives. It’s not safe for the kids, and after you got caught last time-” “We have one, remember? The one we keep in the drawer for the barbeques.” “I looked! When the girls cabin scattered after the attack, I went and looked and it was gone!” “I must’ve grabbed it before you got there. Is this really important right now? We need to go! Stop being difficult!-” “How is that possible? The boys cabin didn’t know anything was going on until we fled there when he attacked Stacy and Becky. You didn’t even know what was happening until- You- You weren’t even there-”

“Well I have it, alright?” He interrupts you, face contorting into a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be happy? It means you’re not fucking defenseless if he shows up again.” “How-”

“Don’t worry about it!” He grabs your arm again, bruising grip deceptively strong for such a lithe man, crushing the bones in your wrist with his fingers. “Come on- Lets go! We can finally leave here together- You’ll be safe with me-”

Him

It could be the ferocious expression, or his demands that are cloaked in the facade of a benevolent request. Maybe his story that doesn’t add up or perhaps you’ve simply known all along somewhere deep down. Either way, It hits you in one terrible moment- one world shattering instant where everything suddenly clicks into place.

Tomura- quiet, eerie Tomura with the sharp mind and the eyes sharper still. Tomura with boundary issues who always found a reason to touch things he wasn’t supposed to. Tomura who only ever had a soft spot for you because you were kind to him when everyone else kept a mile berth.

Tomura, who’s only friend to speak of is you.

‘He’s so obsessed with you! It’s fuckin’ creepy! You should get a restraining order before he, like, snaps and corners you and makes you suck his dick or something. He’s not even supposed to hang around with the younger group but he’s always following you around like a lovesick puppy.’

‘What? No he’s not! That’s a horrible thing to say! He’s a nice guy, you guys are just awful. You don’t even give him a chance-’

‘He’s always staring at you like he wants to eat you! I bet he’s the one stealing your stuff. I’ll bet he has one of those weirdo shrines to you in his cabin and jerks it over your picture like ‘Oh, oh yeah, ride me harder, oh fuck me faster- Oh!-’

‘You’re disgusting! He’s just nice to me because I’m nice to him! Everyone else is such an asshole to him- Including you! God, you guys are so fuckin’ mean for no reason! Just because he’s a little different-’

‘He gives me the creeps. He’s been like that since we were kids. Remember when he was a teenager but still only ever hung around you? He couldn’t even make friends his own age! Even the other councilors are wigged by him. The only one who even talks to him is you. I’m telling you, he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. There’s something totally off about him. He’s going to snap one day. We’re not the only ones that avoid him, you know-’

‘Fuck you guys. You guys are such fucking judgmental dicks. He’s never even done anything to you. You’re just a mean spirited bitch.’

Tomura who would sneak you into the woods and show you rotting animal corpses with macabre excitement in his wide red eyes. Tomura who used to sneak knives in his bag as a camper and show you how to sharpen and hold them until he got caught and the entire camp had to institute a new safety policy. Tomura who had to be scolded repeatedly for trying to sneak into the girl’s cabin as a young boy to try sleep next to you, and that it wasn’t appropriate for him to wait outside of it for you as he got older either. Tomura who has distain for everything and everyone in a world that shunned and rejected him in equal capacity.

Everyone but you.

Your friends are dead, slaughtered like animals and strewn across the camp in a grotesque tableau of vicious murder, the only knife in the area conveniently tucked in his pocket, his hand clasping your wrist in an iron hold that doesn’t ask, but demands you obey him.

“Tomura- Tomura tell me you didn’t- You couldn’t-” You’re shaking now, feeling more in danger than you did before the man in the mask who conveniently never chased you or even gave you a second glance even as he had every opportunity to do so. The murderer just as gawky and gangly as Tomura, lean, wiry muscle and imposing height almost too tall for his own body and manic, scarlet eyes. The killer who held the knife with the same practiced grip that he’d shown you so many years ago-

“What are you even talking about? Let’s go-”

He rips you forward, taking you into his arms again and squeezing.

‘He’s going to snap one day-’

“Tomura- Tomura no! Tomura! God, please tell me you didn’t do this! Look at me and tell me!”

He looks at you, mouth opening to form a sentence before abruptly cutting short. He studies your face, your quivering body, the blood across your cheek. You think, for a moment, he might break down. But he doesn’t. He laughs. A nasty, cruel chuckle directed at you and only you; there’s no one else alive to hear it.

“You always were too smart for your own good.”

The facade of panic and adrenaline falls from his pallid face, replaced with his stereotypical look of total nonchalance and almost boredom. Your stomach plummets, limbs paralyzed in abject terror as his pale hand reaches forward, thumbing at the swatch of blood across your face.

“I had to, you know. Wanted to for years. But I had to wait until you were a counselor with me. Had to wait until I could do it before the kids arrived. Too many variables I couldn’t control. No one is coming for days, and they’re finally dead, and by the time anyone finds them, we’ll be long gone.”

A stab of ice down your spine at his words, the uncanny horror of it all whirling your vision to a blurry abyss. “You can’t- what have you done? What have you done?”

“What I had to! They were insufferable and stupid- your harpy friends wouldn’t let us be. But now they’re dead.”

“-Have to get help- we need to call the police-“

“Stop being stupid.” He brushes the hair out of your face with a tender finger laden in blood. “We’re leaving here and never coming back.”

“You need to turn yourself in-“ you stammer. “They’ll know it was you, God, Tomura-“

“Do I look like I care?” A snarl lifts his scabby lips, bearing the sharp canines beneath. “I don’t give a fuck if they know. I hope they do. They’ll never find us. I’ve had so long to plan-“

“No! Tomura, this is insane!”

“It’s over. Come to peace with it.” He hisses, wrenching you even closer, his dry lips on the shell of your ear. “You’re coming with me, baby, and we can finally be together. You can finally show me all those dirty little things you never got the chance to because your friends made you feel ashamed.”

The edge of the blade in his hand flicks up through the thin threading that binds the top buttons of your counselor uniform, baring your cleavage and the top part of your bra to him. You scramble to try and cover yourself, but he’ll have none of it; he quickly swats your hands away and presses the tip of the knife to your sternum.

“I’ve waited so long for you-“ A ragged breath escapes him, chest shuddering with the force of the exhale. “To touch you. To take you. Do you know what it’s like? What you fucking do to me?”

“Tomura- this- this is wrong! Please! Please let me get help! We’ll get you the help you need- I will! But you can’t do this! It’s not right!”

“There’s only one way you can help me, babe.” The hand not threatening you with the knife slides down and squeezes your breast, your entire body stiffening in visceral disgust. “Something I’ve wanted as long as I can remember. If you’re eager enough for it now, we have some time-“

“No! No! Don’t- stop touching me! This is sick! They’re dead! Tomura- stop it!”

“They are. And I could never, ever hurt you, but I’m sure there’s someone still alive that I could to calm you down- to make you see sense.” He squeezes hard enough to make you cry out, nipple catching between his fingers through the thin fabrics you’re wearing.

You blink up at him, bleary eyes full of silvery tears that trail down the slopes of your cheeks. He doesn’t look like Tomura anymore- not your Tomura. He looks like something twisted and uncanny, some feral beast that’s inhabited your friend’s brain and driven him to the brink of madness. He leers down at you lasciviously, thick pink tongue swiping across his teeth and you’ve never felt more uncomfortable in your own skin under his gaze than you do right now.

“It’s not fair when you cry like that. I’m already painfully hard-“ He releases your tit in favor of clutching your wrist, bringing your trembling hand down to his crotch hidden by the length of his sweatshirt and forcefully rubs the length of his throbbing erection against your palm. “But it always did things to me when you got all weepy.”

You’ve been defending a monster.

“Remember when you would cry into my lap because that group of girls was mean to you and I had to keep adjusting you every few minutes?” He barks a laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “God, it was so hard not to sink you down on my cock right then. Fuck, I would have destroyed you if I let myself- all sniveling and delicate and weak. You always needed me to protect you, didn’t you? So trusting. Naive, really. You had no idea what I was thinking about at night. What I’ve been planning to do to you for years-“

You can only give a broken, disbelieving cry of his name- trying to bring back the boy you knew. The sweet boy. The shy one. The quiet one with morbid curiosities and wild ideas on the world.

“Your friends knew, of course. But you didn’t listen, you silly, dumb little girl. Tried to warn you, but you just wouldn’t listen. And now they’re dead.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you bastard! You’re a monster! You’re-“ You batter your fists uselessly against the steel panes of his chest and he barely even budges.

“Remember when you could come to the woods with me and I would show you all the cool stuff my dad taught me? You thought it was weird but you still came because you’ve always been so sweet to me. My dad’s dead now, but I made sure he left me his remote cabin. I’ve wanted to take you there for so long, and now I finally can.”

He advances on you and even in your rage, you instinctively backpedal. Before long, he’s got your back flush against the scratchy wood wall, toe to toe with you with his imposing frame trapping you to the surface behind you in a gangly cage of his spider-like limbs.

“Fuck- It gets me so hot when you act like a little brat. When you fight me even when you know there’s no way you can overpower me. You never could. Even when we play-wrestled. I could make you scream without even trying. So fucking precious to see you bare your teeth at me like you’re capable of lifting a finger against me.”

“I hate you- I hate you!”

“That’s okay, babe. I can learn to forgive you. Tell you what, why don’t you wrap those pretty lips around my cock and start sucking out my forgiveness with your sharp little tongue and we’ll take it from there.”

“Go to hell-“

“If I go, you’re coming with-“ He puffs into your ear, one hand swirling into the front of your shirt, the other slicing from hem to collar in one swift motion, leaving your torso bared to his greedy eyes. “I’ve earned you. You’re mine now- you belong to me and anyone who has ever tried to say otherwise is dead!”

And the worst part is he’s right. Maureen bubbles a lifeless pool of blood a few feet away. The ones who tried to fight slashed repeatedly until they were too weak to stand and died a slow, painful death into the grass. The ones that tried to run cut down from behind- a cowardly act that shows his true nature. You can scream and cry and wail your sorrows to the terrible moon that hangs through the trees, but no one will come to help you; there’s no one left. No one but him.

And no one is coming for days.

“I was going to wait until I got you home to fuck into your guts but you’re just not getting it, and I don’t think I can wait.” He thrusts the knife back into his pocket temporarily, opting instead to fumble with the front of his jeans. Dread pools in your stomach, threatening to overturn the contents into the filthy floor, but all you can do is watch in terror as he unzips the front of his jeans and fishes his pale cock from behind it.

“Go ahead and get on your knees for me and stick your tongue out. Think of it as a practice round.”

You shake your head, weakly resisting as he shoves you to the ground and taps the hot, purpling tip on your face, smearing his precum across your ruddy cheek.

“Don’t be shy. I promise once you get a taste, you’ll love it. You will learn to love it. You don’t have another choice. Just wait until I get you back home. I’ve learned so much since last summer. I can’t wait to show you.”

#morgana and friends #reader x shigaraki #nsft #tw dacryphilia #tw implied noncon #tw blood slaughter and all the fun stuff #him being gross and disgusting #not my best work but I wanted to get it out #just a snippet really #think of it as a cute fun lil thing I’m puttin out for funnies

84 notes · View notes