@feral-fuqboi-danny​

It was a secret that was held like breath underwater. It rose up to her throat, which squeezed it , gurgled it back into her chest, where it, like a carbon dioxide, wrestled with her lungs and demanded to get out. But it didn’t. It couldn’t  Not after what she did. What she was doing for a long time.

Clare’s days in solitude were over. The tent she destroyed to make a hammock between the long, tall branches of the two pine trees was cut down, and dragged to the clear sight among the other survivors. It didn’t happened over night, or did, she was not certain. It was like feeding a wounded animal, with patience and dedication, the other survivors were hell bent on luring her back into the in the meager dimensions of security, near to the bon fire. The day that changed what seemed to be an eternity was when the temperamental loner that was mostly despised saved every single survivor just when it was time for them to be consumed by the entity.

She had an exit. And everyone thought she will take it. 

But the redhead did the opposite, humiliating the killer in the process. And no other, than Myers, the one counting sins mercilessly in silence. After all, the man stole the gravestone in pure malice, to continue his wicked path of revenge. However, that night he ended up with a foot in the head, knife hammered to his hand, and to top it off, ruined mask with a fire cracker no less. What she did, took great bravery and even more insanity, but the example she showed, to go after the killers, bloomed fast, and soon enough, she became a leader, everyone spearheaded by the fearless redhead. It gave them hope. It gave their spirit something more than the desire to run, to be more than rabbits running in front of their certain demise. The slight change in the survivor’s behavior didn’t end there. To be frank, there were secrets, hidden affairs, favorites. . . the place was worst than Big brother, just here the lucky ones won their life not ravaged for Entity’s entertainment.  But from all the shenanigans, drama and private affairs, there was something that was almost a taboo subject, something no one dared to do. And that was to openly and loudly, mock the killers. Even around the spitting embers. Mocking the killers meant more suffering, brutal kills, a unholy torture. . . but quickly it became a routine, fun way to spend the night. Again, starting with Clare. 

The woman went after all the killers, maybe the Huntress a bit less due to the history told in whispers, but there was one she had her claws in the most. Shroud always hiding every inch of his body, shadows covering his every move and embracing him as one of their own, silence was his weapon, stealth his death sentence he forced upon everyone. . . with more joy than others, with such enjoyment that he even took photos to admire or mock later, who knows, Clare swore he even jerked on them. Sick fuck. So, she did what no one else has done before. Went to the killer’s realm in order to do mischief. In order mess with them. With him. 

It was not easy, not in the slightest. Risk was higher than with others, this one could be anywhere and no one would hear him coming. But after months of effort, she got a window of ten minutes she needed. It seemed the man was a fan of the Legion, and while he was enjoying himself with his ‘ friends ‘, scarlet haired woman entered his living area. . . and made sure he knew it. Stolen goods, ruined photos with a red marker stating ‘ DICKface ‘, Eat it, Fuck you, You are no ones favorite scary movie, just a comedy’ .. . . the messages were endless, along with the photos of her middle finger on every empty film roll he owned. However. . . there was something she didn’t expect. A photo. Hidden  photo. Clare stared in shock and. . .well, fascination. The only killer hell bent over never to uncover his face, the only one no one has seen. . . had his mask off. Taking a photo with the legion. Pine-green eyes stared at the undeniably handsome face. Two dark pearls of the eyes luring her in with something dangerous, challenging. . . promising. That staring nearly got her caught, hearing the movement in the last second, and fleeing the ‘ crime scene ‘ with the picture by mistake. 

It started. . . strange. Gazing at the photo in private, under the ‘ new ‘ tent the survivors helped her to built. Frowning at the picture, throwing it around, nearly tearing it, since it had some unexplained charm to it, something that pulled her in like a magnet. Something that brought a bunch of realizations she managed to burry until that cursed moment when she saw his face. The way he operated and staled -- flawless, a skill to admire in eve. The way he played with the pray --- fascinating to observe, specially to her and her endless interest in such people. The way he thrived and bathed in every sick kill and slash he made, the way the hoarse voice sounded, the way the deep, smoky laugh echoed through the fog. . . it made a lethal combination in her mind, and before she knew it, the one she wanted ruin the most, became the favorite killer, and she didn’t look forward to his arrival only to ruin his day. . . oh no, it was much, much more.

It began with comments, whistles, waves . . giving away her position for no reason, stalking him, like they were playing a game. Much less pallets on his head, much more small things that don’t hurt as much thrown at him. Much more. . . ‘ playful ‘ winks and jokes. Of course, none of it sounded nice, playful or anything that would be mistaken for something that is ‘ not ‘ . . . but it was. . . very different. So different people started to notice, the survivors, some of them. 

Clare was low on ground, fingers resting on the muddy surface. The hook hovering over her head. She looked around, hearing the busy hands working on a generator. She was supposed to stay and guard the area, to alert. . . but what she wanted, was to distract. Ivory color of the mask flashed quickly behind the thick tree trunk, almost seeming as a literal ghost. . . but she knew it was him. A a secretive and scheming grin on her face. Her heart accelerated with some form of happiness, like the teenager seeing their crush in the hallways. It was so foolish it slipped her mind, and just like that, she got to her feet. “ Photos you take are so. . . boring.  All the same poses, all the same places, same bleeding shit. . and so much potential is wasted. “ Long, elegant  arms reached for the hook, bringing the whole body up with ease. “ Always thought this grim things were much more exciting than a stripper pole. “ Hourglass shaped moved quickly, sensually, as she flipped her head and allowed herself upside down then back, spreading the alluring inked legs before wrapping them around the hook again. “ Was that one of your kinks, hm? Chasing down strippers and prostitutes for an easy kill. It’s a good start. No one looks for them, they don’t scream when you touch them, you can take your time with both pleasures, if you are catching my drift. “ Remaining to swing like she isn’t confronted by a killer that is known to go feral on the sight on her, dedicated to tear her apart, she continued. “ What was your choice? Brunette? Blonde?. . . Redheads? “ Cheeky green on the plump lips, teasing the man. . . or. . . . . fishing for some information about his taste.