ideasvoid

[ideasvoid]

[ideasvoid]

🩷 ❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 🩵 💙 💜

(there’s 24 characters in this one!)

[ideasvoid]

I’m not dead, just busy!

I’m sorry for disappearing for awhile, I have been busy with the holidays and work. I do plan on returning once things calm down and filling the requests for those who have been waiting.

[ideasvoid]

you know that expression, "dance like no one is watching you?"

try writing like no one is going to read it

it's easier to let yourself go and just enjoy the process of creation when you aren't also playing 6 dimensional chess with your insecurities and anxieties

write because you have fun writing and if you never post it anywhere that's totally fine because you enjoyed your time with the process

[ideasvoid]

Hey I saw your requests were open and I have this not so short scenario with Herman Carter and/or whoever else you want to add.

Basically a survivor who isn't like the others? When they arrive they aren't frightened, confused but not scared shitless. And as she was going around she made friends with the others but, when they were unnecessarily harmed by the chosen hunter of the round she goes ape shit?

Like isn't afraid to kill them and almost psycho?

The Doctor - Herman Carter

The taste of iron was the first thing to come to Herman's senses, a coppery taste originating from blood over his tongue. His blood. He rose a hand to his face, feeling over the split in his lip and up to where blood dripped from his nose.

Oh, oh this wouldn't do at all.

White eyes trailed from his hand to the survivors stood before him, one cowering on the cracked floor, clutching broken ribs and shaking in their fear. An appropriate response. Then, there was her. She stood before him, fist clutching a rusted toolbox in a white knuckled hold, the same one she had just struck him with. She had hit him, him.

The patient was refusing treatment and lashing out violently.

Cold runs through his veins, seeping into a deep crevice of his chest and alighting something within, something wholly new from his collected calm.

Rage.

[ideasvoid]

OK but Herman carter aka the doctor with a survivor that suffers from the Hanahaki disease? Mainly for the doctor and he may or may not find them passed out in the middle of a trial even though he hadn't gone after them?

Angsty and fluffy?

Some spicy night time sadness :’)

The Doctor - Herman Carter

You heaved again, another horrific cough wracking through your aching body. The room spins, shifting around you in a nauseating wave. You focus yours eyes on the floor, but the sight there doesn’t do much to soothe you. There’s a puddle under you, blood and bile decorated by petals and broken stems.

It had only gotten worse, first it was just a tickle in your throat, a little scratch and nothing more. Then you coughed up a flower bud, a tiny thing without a bloom. Your blood had run cold as you held it, an unasked question answered and a glimpse of a awful future. Now the flowers choked you, vines and leafs and branches scraping along your throat as the clawed their way out.

A blinding spotlight of your rejection and fate.

You had collapsed, lungs giving out on you after so long of forcing them to go on. Generators rumbled around you, loud, thundering noise that pushed harder on your head under their flickering lights. That was the last, whoever was still alive - for now, had finished the last one. You silently prayed they wouldn’t come looking for you, that you’d be spared the humiliation.

He watches you all the while; cold, white eyes surveying over the pathetic mess on the floor before him. A heaving, bleeding mess with a heart where your brain should be. He noted how the white petals stained red, blue veins sprawling out along them. Meant for no other than Herman Carter himself.

It was an affliction he had seen before, from girls in his college classes, to nurses who forgot their places, it always reminded the same pattern. The response of ones heart when another does not return it, the body killing itself in grief.

It was disgusting.

He approached you as another full bloom forced its way up your throat, tearing out of you and falling to the ground. You stared at it, glaring a hole in the awful thing and watch as Herman crushes it under his shoe.

Shakily, you raise your head to him, staining your disheveled face. You stare pleadingly, almost begging, as if by this he may come to love you and take the pain away.

You are met with an empty stare, he looks down at you and feels nothing. Complete indifference to you and the agony you suffer. Your heart clenches, fresh tears running down and burning your skin. You let your head drop again, biting back another choke.

“Please…”

You don’t know what you’re asking for, begging for, and at this point you suppose it doesn’t matter. Angry red lines break through the ground, signalling the end of the cycle.

“Please?” You hear his laugh, high pitched and echoing off the walls of the hospital and the sides of your skull. “Beg for your god. I promise you she’s more merciful than me”

He laughs again, static surging and sparking off of him like a live wire. It fades, echoing throughout the halls as he leaves you, abandons you to your fate. He would not kill you, that would be a mercy. A kindness he would happily dangle above your head then deny you.

You curl up in a ball, sobbing to yourself as the realm around you crumbles. The vines choke you, your heart shattering as you cry out into the empty halls of Lery’s.

[ideasvoid]

How does Frank, Susie, and Ghostface react to a survivor who's selectively mute? (I don't know if Ghostface is liscensed or not but you don't have to write him if you don't want to <3)

The Legion - Frank Morrison and Susie Lavoie

- Frank doesn’t catch on to it very quickly, to him you’re just another survivor and most don’t exactly want to speak to him.

- but he notices that you don’t speak to your teammates, you don’t beg for mercy like the rest.

- assuming you two have some kind of relationship, romantic or platonic, he doesn’t mind it. Eventually he gets used to how you communicate, even if it frustrates him sometimes.

- Frank is a prick, anyone who speaks to him can tell you that. So expect the occasional comment or him trying to prod you into speaking.

- Susie on the other hand notices very quickly, her best BFF of her BFFs is Joey, and he doesn’t speak very often. So she catches on to your quietness faster than most.

- very supportive, if you two are close she makes sure to find paper and pens laying around Ormond for you to write with.

- she is more than happy to do all the talking, telling you about anything that pops into her head at the moment or new ideas for art projects.

The Ghost Face - Danny Johnson / Jed Olsen

- let’s get one thing straight - Danny is an asshole. Danny is a massive asshole.

- he will not only taunt you, but flat out bully you. Sadistically laughing at your fear and discomfort all the way.

- if he likes you, however, he will tone it down. Simply teasing and prodding at you. Trying to get a reaction than make you miserable.

- whether or not you’re selectively mute doesn’t particularly matter to him. As long as he gets a good chase and nice photos he’s content to live and let live

[ideasvoid]

Hi again! Coukd you do one of Wesker with a sarcastic reader teasing him so he ends up... punishing you..? (Like, pinned up against a wall or sm)

Tysm I love your writing ♡♡

Neutral pronouns pleaseee

Hi, I apologize but as stated before I do not write for the licensed characters.

[ideasvoid]

Wow I really liked those shorts for the blind chick! Do you think you could continue on with the doctors one?

Hello! I can certainly try.

Since no specific pronouns were given in the original, I will continue keeping the reader gender neutral here.

The Doctor - Herman Carter

“Yes.”

The answer was simple, matter of fact in a way that seemed like it was the obvious answer.

Herman collected the pages, shuffling them together into a neat pile and slipping them away into a file. He had always been meticulous, organized to a point of near obsession that even a pen being slightly misaligned would sour his mood for the entire day.

“Why?” You asked, tilting your head as the man stood and rounded his desk. Herman made a noise akin to a scoff, folding the file away neatly with the others. “Superstition.” He replied, the same matter of fact tone as before. “It clouds judgment, makes one panic over things that aren’t there.”

He raised a hand, grazing a hand over the selection of documents until he found what he was looking for. Pulling from the shelf, he returned to his seat and continued “How many times have they watched you die?”

It was an uncomfortable question, one that made your stomach twist with anxiety at the memories. “I don’t know” you mumbled quietly. Herman simply nodded, satisfied with the answer “Enough for you to lose count, yet they still believe you are some form of construct.”

The man opened the file, thumbing through the pages within and selecting a few to lay out. Reading was still a skill you were working on, your new found eyesight bringing forth the opportunity to understand things that were previously just blank empty textures. Still, you noticed the descriptions written, matching them to several figures around the campfire.

“It is ridiculous.” He muttered, the normally calm even voice twisted with …annoyance and anger. You watched the way his pale eyes scanned to pages before him, his crazed stare darkening to something wholly different.

“Is that all?” His eyes snapped to you, left eye twitching slightly as a pulse of static moved along his neck. Herman was a man of many, many words. Sometimes it was difficult to get him to stop talking once he found a topic that piqued his interest, yet when it came to the discussion of the two of you, Herman became noticeably quiet.

Feelings. The discussion on his personal feelings was one he greatly avoided speaking of, it made him fidget and uneasy. He wanted to say it plainly, as clear and concise as he always spoke but every time found his throat too dry, and his brain too scattered. Insufferable. Herman sat straight, fixing his gaze on burning a hole into his desk.

“The behaviour will be corrected, you’ll not have to worry about it much longer.” You watched as resumed his notes, writing down various ideas in the strange almost messy way he wrote. You looked back towards the ceiling, closing your eyes and listening to sounds of Lery’s.

[ideasvoid]

saw you writing for kenneth chase im literally hooked ! could you write him wth a bimbo reader ! im so in love with how you write his character

I’m glad you enjoyed it, my dear!

The Clown - Kenneth Chase / Jeffery Hawk

- Kenneth isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, far from it actually. He did well enough in school and his alchemical knowledge isn’t anything to sneeze at but this is still a man who is still somewhat on the fence about whether the earth is flat or not.

- But then he meets you, a bombshell in every sense of the word - and then you ask him with a straight face what kind of animal turkey came from.

- one could almost hear the windows start up noises from behind the mans eyes as he tried to process your question. Then tried again. And again.

- Kenneth likes you, Kenneth really likes you, but in that moment he was contemplating if your infectious personality and nice ass was worth the psychic damage you just inflicted on him.

- it was, he decided.

- “turkeys. Turkey comes from turkeys. The bird. The actual bird called turkey that walk ‘round and gobble at people. You draw them lil fuckers with your hand in kindergarten”

- “really?!”

- your excitement was adorable and mind numbing all at the same time.

- Going forward however he decide to direct you to turn your questions to one Herman Carter. For who would be better to answer such brilliant questions? He’s called several times to come remove you from Lery’s.

[ideasvoid]

How does Jake Park, Dwight, and Meg react to a survivor with selective mutism?

Since I can’t really think of a way to stretch this into a proper written story I’m going to give a go at formatting it as headcannons.

Also I’m sorry, I still need to make boards for the survivors.

Jake Park

- He actually doesn’t notice at first, simply shrugging it off as you being quiet.

- Eventually he begins to catch on. Even in trials you’re silent, instead gesturing to communicate with your teammates.

- He does his best to accommodate you, and as you two grow closer he gets better at understanding how to effectively speak with you. Even adopting a few of your gestures to make you feel more heard in your silence.

- Jake understands how much being misunderstood by people who don’t bother to learn hurts, so he goes out of his way to learn.

Dwight Fairfield

- Dwight is a jack of like two trades, master of none. So when he introduces himself and only receives a smile back he’s not entirely sure what to think.

- He has to ask around a bit, worried you simply didn’t like him before it’s finally explained to him by their resident veteran.

- He tries again, reintroducing himself while hastily brushing leafs away from the ground in front of you and writing his name with a stick.

- If you agree to this unconventional way of communication, Dwight will happily chat your ear off in the quiet moments around the campfire. Telling you stories of his many, many life experiences and the accidents that followed.

- If Dwight is anything it’s persistent and if it helps someone he cares about, he’ll do just about anything.

Meg Thomas

- Meg has met many different kinds of people in her lifetime, especially through track. From people who have been deaf to a girl who ran with prosthetic legs.

- But you are the first person she’s met with selective mutism.

- In all honesty she does get a bit frustrated the first few trials the two of you share, communication is essential in such situations and her lack of understanding what specific gestures you make mean only serve to rile her up more.

- After the trials however, she takes a moment to properly think it over. With a clear head and no one trying to murder her, she approaches you and apologizes, offering to give you her full attention.

- Everyone was different, and some people needed a little extra help and consideration. Meg promises you to do her best to provide that for you.

[ideasvoid]

How does Leon, Jill, Ada, and Chris react to a selective mute survivor?

hello! I apologize but I do not write for the licensed characters. however if you have any other survivors you'd like to see such a situation with I'd be happy to fill that for you

[ideasvoid]

hello, i was curious of how Trickster, Ghostface, or Frank from Legion react to a survivor who feels little to no emotion. for instance, if the killer is about to attack the survivor but the survivor just looks at them like, "that's crazy". or another is when the survivor doesn't feel anything when being chased down or stalked. if it's possible, may i please request this? i haven't found much of the headcanons anywhere. if you do write this, i truly thank you / gen.

Hello my dear! I’m not too sure if you mean they are incapable of feeling emotion or if they’ve been desensitized to the ways of the realm. As such I will leave that to reader decision and stay in a bit of a mid lane.

The Trickster - Ji-Woon Hak

Ji-Woon is a man of talent, he always has been. Whether that came to his musical abilities, or his killing. In his very humble opinion there is no one who can do it better. So when he flings a knife directly past your head to clip some of your hair and you simply look at it unflinching, he’s unsure how to feel.

Something bubbles in his chest, swirling wildly around in a way that makes him feel almost sick. You look at him, a bored expression on your face and Ji-Woon feels another alight. Rage. This was all you could muster? Indifference? You pulled the knife from the wall, freeing your hair from its hold and simply… walked up to return it.

His body shook with anger, and he roughly snatched the blade from your hand. Imagining all the ways he would make you scream and beg for his forgiveness. Never in his life had he left so… so - so under minded! He was the Trickster, Ji-Woon fucking Hak! You should fear and revere him! You should be thankful he chose you of all people to turn his attention to.

The Trickster watched you walk away, looking back down at the designer blade in his hand. He had practiced that trick for months. He huffed, straightening his coat and fixing his hair. Never mind that, one bad review wouldn’t ruin him. He was a lion among mice, a god amongst men. He’d set it right, starting with you.

The Legion - Frank Morrison

Frank watched from behind a tree, silently counting out the survivors by the generator. The whole squad was here, good shit. Turning the blade in his hand, he took a breath, channeling adrenaline in his veins. Snow kicked up as he took off, breaking into a full sprint towards the machine.

The red head with the glasses heard him first, causing a chain reaction of survivors scurrying like mice. He slashed one, than another and another Breaking off to chase the last, he smiled under his mask and he corner you. You turned to him, looking his over, his smile faltered - why were you so calm?

“Hey” you said simply. Frank lowered his knife, confusion wracking his mind. He glanced around, trying to gauge if this was some kind of joke. “Uh, hey” He watched you carefully, surely this was a trick. Some kind of new method you were trying to throw him off his game. Though, the fact that he had yet to stab you proved it was working.

You gave a nod towards him “I like your jacket”. What the hell was happening? Frank dropped his arm, adrenaline leaving his body as he huffed. “Thanks?” This was ridiculous. Frank opened his mouth, foul words ready to be unleashed when a loud alarm sounded through the resort. The doors had been powered.

The man swung around to look towards the nearest door, watching as the red head from before waved hastily for you to follow her. Rage boiled in his chest and he looked back at you.

“Damn, that’s crazy” you said, sounding just a bored as before. You held up two fingers over your chest, and took off towards your teammate. Leaving behind a very angry, very confused Frank.

Oh, this was war.

The Ghostface - Danny Johnson / Jed Olsen

Danny hummed to himself, adjusting the lens on his camera as he zoomed in to the group huddled around another of those dusty machines. He had been starved of inspiration and was practically elated at the sight of someone new. Well - newish.

The ghostface was as good of a killer as he was a reporter; often times taking in information and conversations with out anyone being aware he was ever present. It was a skill that proved itself invaluable in the realms, where interacting with others of his position could always lead to one not walking away. Extra trials to make up for resurrection didn’t exactly sound like fun if you asked him.

No he’s heard about you, heard the annoyed grumbles from one Dr. Carter about your lack of response to treatments. Seen the way the huntress seemed bored at the way you didn’t give her the chase she wanted. It was fascinating in its own way, how you could look death in the face and feel nothing - or at least show nothing. Danny had his favourites, the ones that screamed the best or made for the best photos, he wasn’t sure where to place you on his tier list.

The shutter of the camera clicked as he took his pictures, examining them with a careful eye that only a professional could hold. It made him wonder, why were you here? The entity fed off of pain and fear, that was the entire reason all of you were here. An endless game of cat and mouse served up on a silver platter for the god above to indulge in. So the fact that it brought you, someone who seemingly was void of that sweet delicacy it craved so much was… oh what was a good word for that? Dumb, stupid, pointless? Obtusely asinine? oh! That’s a good one.

You didn’t provide the same thrill of the chase, or the rush of seeing the fear in someone’s eyes. Which is most cases would make you firmly on the bottom of his kill list, but you still made for good photos. So that bumped you up a few pegs.

[ideasvoid]

Hello! I'm the anon who asked for The Clown fluff :D Just wanted to let you know that I LOVED it, thank you so much and if you are okay with it, I might request more of him! 🤌🏻❤️

Ah, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that others enjoy my silly little stories. I’m glad you enjoyed it my dear and I’m more than happy to supply <3

[ideasvoid]

Hello! I was wondering, would be willing to write for The Clown/Jeffrey Hawk? Anything fluffly, really, I rarely come across fluff about him and I'm starving for it. I am in need of soft Clown content. Please and thank you :C

Hello sweetheart, I can absolutely do that for you.

Please be warned I have not written for Jeffery yet, but I will do my best.

Bhvr can rip Maurice from my cold dead hands

The Clown - Kenneth Chase / Jeffery Hawk

The carriage creaked loudly as Kenneth stepped down from its steps, rocking back into place once he stepped off. The clown had a mission of sorts. One that had taken a lot of planing, a lot of questions and partial charades with the nurse, and a many favours owed to an old coot with a gun. Entirely worth it, however.

Kenneth glanced back, a final check to ensure everything was just right, before continuing on his way. Despite his… less than gentlemanly appearance and mannerisms, Kenneth did know a thing or two about romance - sort of. He had been relatively popular in his teenage years, lending to showing him the basics of wooing someone.

Whatever he didn’t learn from then he remembered from movies, books and most recently, whatever he had been able to convey from the raspy breathes of the only person in the realm he knew had actually been married.

Tonight would test his knowledge, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t silently panicking. Was it too much? Was it enough? Would he look like a fool? He already looked like a fool he was dressed like a clown - no, none of that. get it together, Kenneth.

The fog at the boarder of the realm began to shift, curling in and out as the land began to change. The clown straighten his back some, quickly brushing back his mussed hair and silently cursing his balding.

He watched closely as you stepped from the mist, stealing away his breath as you did. You were always stunning in his eyes, and if never failed to surprise him just how you made his heart leap. You smiled at him, stepping forward to take his outstretched hand. “Now will you tell me what you’ve been hiding?”

He smirked, turning to begin guiding you back toward the caravan. “Can’t, wouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

The two of you entered the clearing past the burned building, and you gasped. The usual carnival games and tacky attractions had been pushed aside in the corner, lending room for a single table set up in the middle. An old, moth eaten table cloth draped over it with a candle burning in the centre. Strings of lights twinkled above, were it not for the dilapidated and dirty look of everything around you - this would be like a scene from a cheesy movie.

Kenneth watched you take in the sight, silently questioning himself. Did you hate it? You have a snort of a laugh, playfully pushing him. “You’re such a dork!” Oh god, you hated it. You smiled up at him, warmth radiating off you as you took his hand again “this is wonderful, thank you”

oh, alright. He mentally laughed at himself, what had he been so worried about? Psh he still had it.

The clown gave a dramatic bow, waving an arm towards the table in a very over the top display. You laughed again as he led you to your spot, pulling your chair out for you and stumbling slightly to push it back in on the grassy ground. The rusted iron chair creaked as he sat down in it, cussing quietly under his breath. “Where’d you get this idea? ” You asked, your voice light with a playful tone.

“I’ll have ya know, I came up with all this myself. ‘m somewhat of a love expert.” He adjusted the collar of his shirt for comedic effect, pulling small laugh from you. Music to his ears. “Well I look forward to what that expert mind has planned” you smiled propping your head up with a hand.

Kenneth smiled, quite proud of himself. “Nothin’ special, just this.” He closed his eyes, a confident grin on his painted face. You stared at him, glancing around for something to happen or for him to move. After a moment, he opened his eyes, brows knitting together. “I said, just this” silence met the two of you, broken only by a laboured huff from Maurice.

“Caleb! Get your scrawny ass out here!” Jeffery shouted, thumbing his fist on the table. You heard a deep sigh, and from behind the large caravan stepped an older man you recognized. The whispered stories told around the campfire, and horrific memories of glowing eyes. The Deathslinger himself. Gone was his signature duster and hat, traded out for a simple old blue shirt and vest. Pale hair tied back and a scowl firmly placed on his features that told you he really didn’t want to be present.

The bounty hunter - or Caleb, as you’ve now found out - approached, unceremoniously dropping two plates of entity catered mystery food onto the table. “Bone apple whatever tha hell.” He said bitterly, glaring at Jeffery before turning to you and pointing a finger in your direction. “One word o’ this to anyone an’ I make you eat the harpoon.”

Jeffery coughed, fixing the man a look. Caleb turned on his heel. Muttering to himself as he limped away, once he was gone you released the laugh you had been desperately holding in. Kenneth joined you, his familiar harsh laugh filling the clearing.

You smiled, it had been so long since you had been able to enjoy a meal with someone you cared for. Yes you ate at the campfire with the others, but this was something different, something special. This was a date. A real, proper date with someone you loved. Someway, somehow Kenneth had hopped through enough hoops to arrange the closest thing to a romantic date one could get in this hell, and he had done it for you.

You reached across the table, taking his hand into yours and fixed your gaze to his. “Thank you, Kenneth. Really.”

The clown leaned forward, raising your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the top of your hand. “Anythin’ for you, Doll.”

[ideasvoid]

You ever have someone whose work you love, like one of your silly little stories? 10/10 experience

[ideasvoid]

In my grave, I’ll rot.

The dark sky seemed unending, dead stars shining from their graves millions of miles away. Farther away than Caleb could comprehend. He held onto his abdomen as he stared off, hoping that with enough pressure the deep wound would stop it’s persistent bleeding. The boards of the wooden shack groaned against his weight. The ground was entirely too hard, almost painful on his lower back from his sitting position, yet he couldn’t find the strength to force himself up.

Forcing oneself to get back up had been a skill he had been made to learn from a young age. Get up Caleb, be a man Caleb, if you don’t get up you’ll die Caleb. You got left behind if you couldn’t go on, left to die alone and in pain. He could almost hear his father scolding him for sitting here like a wounded animal, disappointment heavy in his voice. It made him sick - the idea of his parents seeing what he’d become. All their blood, sweat and tears put into him just for him to become… this. Little more than an attack dog.

The state of him.

He was almost glad they wouldn’t be able to see him here, he was almost glad you couldn’t either. Caleb could only imagine what you thought of him now, he had left town so fast with barely an explanation. His anger blinding him once again as red filled his vision and the sight of Bayshore’s bloated corpse in his mind.

Caleb had had every intention of coming back for you, to marry you and give you the life you deserved. The blood loss clouded his vision, made his limbs heavy as he sat in his cell. The fog came not long after and well… the rest wasn’t important.

The Deathslinger hissed as a wave of pain pulsates through his body, darkening the edges of his sight. Whose bright idea was it to let the bounties find sharp objects? He couldn’t tell if it had been a knife the blonde girl had pierced between his ribs or something she had found around glenvale, either way he had to give her credit. She knew where to hit.

His thoughts were interrupted by a wet, painful coughing fit. Hacking into his fist and only proving to further agitate the already nasty wound. Caleb heaved, looking at his hand to see crimson staining it. “Well that ain’t good…” he rasped. The darkness at the edges of his vision grew darker, despite the warm blood pouring from his side his finger felt cold, numb.

The clouds above darkened, spider like claws breaking through the sky and slowly lowering towards him. About time, he thought, sooner she claimed her evening snack, the sooner he’d be rid of the pain. Low whispers filled Caleb's mind, sounds he couldn’t begin to describe whispering words that should be nothing more than nonsensical noise but he understood all the same.

He had done a good job providing, it was right to bring him here, his inventions were more than they deserved. The same as always, bloating his ego, attempting to fill him with a pride he had lost a long time ago. Your face flashed into his mind, making his heart sink. He missed you, more than he could ever express. She could bring you, as a reward, it could bring you here and he could hold you again. You could be his again and he would never lose you again. All he needed to do was ask and the pain would stop and you would be right by his side when he woke up. you would be so happy to see him again. Just ask Caleb.

“No.”

Another cough raked through his body, the claws hovering just above his bloodied form, ready to put him out of his misery. Anger flooded his mind, but not his own, it pours from the very world itself as the entity was once again turned away. Caleb missed you more than anything else, but so long as he had any say in the matter Caleb Quinn would make sure you never saw this hell.

Hooked appendages retracted, returning back to where ever she watched them all from. And Caleb was left to die alone and in pain. He rested his head back and looked at the stars again, his breath shallow as his body grew colder. He would be back, he always would.

After all, death is not an escape.