#so many new horrors have been unveiled

[fagexe]

astronomically devastating wet emo boy moment x

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

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Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Rhysand x Playwright! Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

  “You’ll regret it, darling…” The voice reverberated in her head, but Y/N batted it away. The last thing she needed was Rhysand’s phantom voice today haunting her. Especially today. Because today she’d be unveiling her newest creation to the High Lord of the Day Court, Helion, his court, and all of his people. 

         The Night Court weren’t necessary enemies with the Day Court, but Helion and his people certainly got a good laugh at her plays poking fun at the brooding High Lord. Best of all, if Helion liked her play, then she would get the Helion Award for Playwriting Excellence. Maybe then she could use that clout to write about whatever she wanted. 

         The Day Court had a rich culture, and history, and Y/N yearned to write plays about those. Unfortunately the only way in to the world she loved so much was to create works honoring Helion, and making sure he came across the best out of all the other High Lords. 

         Surely Rhysand’s threats at the ball meant nothing, she thought as she straightened the jacket of the actor playing him backstage, just for something to do. He just wanted to seem scary. Which was entirely the point of tonight’s play. To take the wind sails out of him. Once people laugh at something, they cease to fear it. She hoped it would work on her too. She’d paced the rooms of one of the Day Court’s many libraries in anticipation of this night. She’d be damned if Rhysand found a way to ruin it. 

                                                        ~

         Thousands of miles away, Rhysand primped in his bedroom at his well-lived in townhouse in Velaris, the City of Starlight. A city that the rest of the Night Court, and the rest of Prythian in fact, including the part Y/N lived in, did not know existed.

         Aside from a whole city, the rest of the world had no idea of the genuine friendship Rhysand had with his tight knit group of friends he called his Inner Circle. They weren’t afraid of him. Not in the slightest.  

         “Please let me come along,” Mor said with a grin, settling on Rhysand’s bed as he got ready for his not-so-welcome guest appearance at Y/N’s play.

         “Mor,” Rhysand began, but then Cassian poked his head in too.

         “An entire play devoted to making fun of you? Tell me again why I can’t come,” Cassian drawled, barely containing his laughter. 

         “I won’t look as intimidating if I come in with other people,” Rhysand said unconvincingly. 

         “It works for the people of Hewn City,” Mor protested, twisting her long blonde locks. “What about if we go in through the back, and Cassian pretends he’s in costume, or something?”

         “People don’t usually go in costume to watch plays,” Rhysand replied, brushing invisible lint off his jacket.

         “Rhys, have you been to a production of Rocky Horror in Velaris?” Mor asked, shocked. 

         “Oh, he’s a Rocky Horror virgin?” Cassian grinned. “As soon as you kidnap that girl, we should take both of you. Rocky Horror is the place to hook up.”

         Rhysand tried to laugh off his best friends’ comments. “What makes you think I want to hook up with her?”

         Morrigan gave Rhysand a knowing look. “Anyone else you would have killed. Well, in the Court of Nightmares anyway. Anywhere but here. What’s so special about this girl?”

         Rhysand thought about it for a second. “We met at one of Helion’s balls, and when I threatened her with certain death to stop, she still didn’t back down.”

         “Seems like theater is very important to her,” Mor noted. “That or pissing you off.”

         “I like her already,” Cassian crowed. “Promise we get to meet her soon? We can give her some new material for her next plays? Azriel and Amren too once they get back from that mission.”

         “No,” Rhysand insisted. “She can’t meet you guys right away. Especially not you and Azriel. She has to be scared of me and think she’s coming here to be punished.”

         “Well, we can,” Cassian began, but Rhysand interrupted, “No,” firmly. 

         “Don’t be too hard on her,” pleaded Mor. “You should know what it’s like to love something so much you’d do stupid things for it.”

         “I do,” Rhysand admitted. “You know, I still don’t have a mate yet.” Cassian clapped his back at this and chortled. Rhysand continued, “If she’s willing to make an enemy of me, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, over this, then she can be just brave enough to be High Lady of the Night Court.”

                                                        ~

         Backstage at Helion’s Theater, Y/N joined hands with her actors. She did not tell them about the threat she got from Rhysand, or mount even more pressure on them by mentioning the award they might possibly get. That way, she decided, they would perform their best and not be nervous. She passed the energy to the male next to her that she got from the female on her other side. It was a beloved, time honored tradition that Y/N was eager to partake in. 

         Her heart was in her throat as the play started, but as it went on, she started to relax a little. The roof didn’t cave in from shaking mountains so close by. She didn’t get any jump scares backstage.

         Then Act 3 came. Everyone was laughing at the actor in the Rhysand costume talk about feminism as if he’d only taken a freshman year womens’ studies course at the local university. It was to poke fun at how behind womens’ rights were in the Night Court compared to…at least the Day and Dawn Courts. Y/N was grateful that since Helion was queer himself, everyone in his court was made to feel comfortable to be their true selves publicly. Rhysand would probably have them hung up and shamed publicly. So he deserves this, she thought. 

         Suddenly a huge thunderclap sounded through the theater. Then came a swirling black cloud onstage. Oh fuck, Y/N thought. There was only one person who could make an entrance like that. The actors were frozen with fear. Hmmm, maybe in hindsight I should have told them that Rhysand threatened me, Y/N thought.

         Rhysand didn’t say anything for a while, drinking in everyone’s fear. He’s probably loving this, Y/N thought, rolling his eyes. 

         “Helion,” he announced. “I’m surprised at you. If you wanted war, you could have just said so.”

         Helion scoffed from the balcony. “Come on, Rhysand,” he shouted from the balcony. “Can’t you take a joke?” But there was a tremor in his voice. 

         “I let this go on for much longer than you deserve, Helion,” Rhysand said steely. “I demand retribution, if you really don’t want war.”

         Helion sighed as if this was a big favor, probably to look good in front of all his people. “I suppose. What do you want?”

         “The writer of this play,” Rhysand said simply. “Or everyone here will die.”

         Oh shit, he was serious about that? Y/N thought frantically. 

         “Oh good,” he said as if reading her mind. “She’s here. Come on out darling. I won’t bite...here.”

         I could run, she thought. I could make a run for it. But then he’d catch me since he could hear my thoughts. 

         “You’re right,” he chuckled, to the confusion of the audience. “Should I give you until the count of 3? I could kill three people as I do so.” He surveyed the audience of now frantic theatergoers. “Will that be funny enough for you?”

         Fuck, she thought as she reluctantly stepped out onstage. She could see Helion with his head in his hands in the balcony, narrowly avoiding a political disaster. She guessed she would be the sacrificial lamb for that. And to think doing the plays for Helion was going to be a way to catapult me into a better life of creative expression and freedom and making change through art.

         Now she would be sentenced to torture in the Night Court, all because Helion wasn’t brave enough to take on Rhysand. But she was. “So what?” she demanded. “You’re going to kill me? Go ahead. Then everyone will see how horrible you are and how right I was.”

         She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. The she felt something horrible. Her mind being cleaved open and something creeping in. 

                                                        ~

         You’re really not afraid of me, are you? Rhysand thought, and it echoed inside her head. 

         No! she shot back. But then she thought about the legendary Court of Nightmares and it took everything in her to keep from trembling. She couldn’t live like that forever.

         So you are scared, Rhysand taunted, raising an eyebrow.

         Please don’t take me there, Y/N relented. Just kill me now. Make an example of me, or whatever. Please just don’t let me-

         But Rhysand merely said, “I warned you, darling.”

         Y/N’s heart started beating faster and she started looking for a prop dagger, hoping if she stabbed it into herself hard enough, she could take herself out of this. It would look bad for both Helion and Rhysand. But Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, whispering “Oh no you don’t” and the black cloud that circled him before started circling both of them. When they were out of sight of everyone else, he whispered, “It won’t be that bad. There was no need for you to try that. Not that it would have done anything.”

         “I hate you,” Y/N said, truly dreading her time at the Night Court with this monster. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt swirling winds. 

         “I know,” Rhysand replied as Y/N stopped feeling the whipping wind against her face and her nose was engulfed with, rather than burning flesh, notes of jasmine and freesia. 

(1642 words.)

[anglingforlevels]

Through the Mountains (Paranormal Investigator Reader x Yan!Creatures)

A small concept blurb about a paranormal investigator that attracts the supernatural. Reader is honestly having such a good time doing it that they’ve thrown the horror genre out of the story.

CW: Death, Light Body Horror, Not Proof-Read, Not really a story just a concept, Yandere (more suggested than shown in this), monsterfuckery, Reader's morality is dubious at best.

Minors DNI

Humans have always been both fearful and drawn by the unknown, looking to the vastness of space or the depths of the oceans. But we know very little about the earth we stand on – hidden in creaks and shadows, or sometimes even plainly in sight, lies the unknown, beckoning us forth.

And you have never been one to ignore a call.

Already from an early age, you had noticed things, oddities that set themselves apart from what others believed to be possible or real. You didn’t particularly believe in magic, anything could be magic as long as it was unknown, but you didn’t care much to unveil the science of these oddities either, you were simply enthralled by what you didn’t know.

And the unknown seemed enthralled by you as well.

From the curious pebble-figures there’d wander through the gardens to move rocks – and who had left many small presents for you to slithering and clicking creatures there’d cling to your shadow, melting it to the ground so that you were forced to stay.

All manners of creatures, from harmless to terrifying to downright confusing, flocked to you, which was perfect for someone with your enthusiasm. It was obvious you’d make use of this to study them in full, traveling around with your notebooks and gear, hoping to study a new oddity every day.

Some days were more difficult than others, some creatures more persistent than others. You were much flimsier than they were, happy to fly from one thing to the other, it was the way you preferred. One oddity was far from enough, you needed to see everything the world had to offer. They were much more content with just you, and rarely willing to let you go on your merry way.

Alas, as someone setting out to be an expert in this field, you welcomed the challenge. It only meant that you had to be thorough in learning about the creatures, as to foil their attempts at keeping you, so it wasn’t much more than further encouragement to you.

Besides, it was a fair trade-off for getting the chance to meet them to begin with.

You were tracking through the mountain forests presently, returning from the peak of the mountain, which you had visited to get some good readings and pictures of the place to better understand the habitat of the oddities who made this place their home. Though the equipment was heavier than you cared for, thus you had hired a helping hand from the local town at the foot of the mountain.

Tally, a fit twenty-something that had wanted the extra cash and had the needed youthful hubris to disregard the warnings of their elders, who had grown up with the tales of dangerous monsters and disappearing trekkers in the mountains. They had shrugged it off as old wives tales, and you were grateful for that, because every other young adult you had asked, had assumed it was wild animals.

They wouldn’t go far in life with that attitude, but you appreciated it greatly.

“How are you so familiar with the mountains?” Tally asked, as you decisively led the two of you through the terrain. It was a fair question, there was no man-made paths here, after all, people did tend to go missing in the mountains.

“Oh, I’ve been here before, but I usually never bothered with the village beyond restocking. But I needed extra muscle this time around.” You explained while fiddling with some of the pictures from the instant camera you also had brought along.

“See,” Tally said with a satisfied smile, “I knew all those stories were bu-“

You shushed them. “No swearing, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Force of habit.” Tally apologized. When you had hired them, one of your set rules was no swearing in the mountains. “So, what exactly have you been studying since you visited here? Is there some kind of animal native to this mountain or something?”

“I don’t know about native, but most of them have probably been here longer than your village at least. At least, that’s what suggested by the stories your town tell.” You weren’t really paying much attention till you realized Tally had stopped up.

They groaned. “Stories? Don’t tell me you’re here to look for monsters.”

“Of course not.” You waved your hand dismissively, earning a sigh of relief from Tally. “I’ve already found them, well, most of them I’m guessing. I just wanted to know a bit more about their living habitat, I may not look it, but I’m a professional.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’ve been told that jokes aren’t my strong suit, so no.” You simply said, growing a little impatient at the fact Tally still wasn’t walking.

“Right… If these things were real, don’t you think you’d be dead by now.” It was a fair point, albeit Tally’s dry delivery hurt a little.

“Most of the things in this mountain only act if provoked, besides, they like me. Death is usually the only thing I don’t have to worry about, they usually try to take me rather than my life. But I’m very good at what I do, I don’t mess up, so I always manage.” At this, Tally lifted an eyebrow, looking perplexed and completely unconvinced.

” So, if you slip up, even once, you might be taken by any given one of these so-called "monsters"?"

“The quotation marks hurt a bit but yes. But what other choice do I have but to continue? Either risk being whisked away eternally to the obsessive whims of creatures who work on moral and biological systems beyond humanity’s ken or not go looking for weird creatures?”

“…See, that sounds like a very easy dilemma.”

“Exactly, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“This is so fucking dumb.” They sighed.

“Ah,” you sighed with a troubled smile, “Swearing is off limit in this forest, remember?”

“Huh? Uh, sorry it was a- grh!” They let out a pained grunt, their eyes traveling down to their legs, where something beneath their skins were rapidly crawling up their legs. They fell to the ground, howling in pain.

“Yeah, the thing in this forest really took that youth pamphlet about not doing drugs or swearing to heart, it considers swearing a sign of hostility.” You explained though they did not seem very interested in what you had to say.

“Do something!”

You scratched your neck awkwardly. You did feel bad, it looked very painful to watch small bulges and bony finger push against their skin, traveling upward their bodies. But… “It’s contagious at this point, I don’t want that thing in my body. Trust me, even when it’s not trying to kill, it’s a hassle.”

If they had a response to that, they never got a chance to say it, as their eyeballs were pushed out of their head and bony, tree-like fingers poked through their cheeks and mouth. They collapsed on the ground, the gear they had been carrying clattering to the ground.

“Guess this means I’m carrying all of this back myself.”

[lokischocolatefountain]

Unveiled || Chapter 1

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG 13 for violence. Subsequent chapters’ ratings may vary

Word count: 1.7k words

Summary: Saving a life was noble. You didn’t expect applause or praise for it. But kriff it would be nice if you weren’t treated as the scum of the Earth for it.

A/N: Gonna make this the SADvent calendar instead of the advent calendar. At this point, I have to admit that I won’t be posting everyday. But I’ll still post when I can. When I have internet and am able. Lot of shit happened. My friend and I got fucked over in three different cities in a very short period of time. We were humiliated in Venice, robbed by an intentionally dysfunctional system in Riyadh, and almost sexually exploited in New Delhi. It’s a round the globe horror story. But some good things happened too- we made friends through our shared trauma and I got to meet my internet friend I’ve been moots with for a loooong time. So in true fanfic writer fashion, here’s a fic I’ve been writing posted during some of the most difficult days of my life

“Go!”

He screamed loud enough to break through the sounds of the intensifying battle. You ignored his heart-wrenching screams and dragged him with all your strength, your own weapon slung over your shoulder and reachable should you need it to defend the wounded Mandalorian. You were a warrior, trained through years of life or death battles. It was why you were sent to the Mandalorian covert on Navarro to train with them. But this was an impossible one. Even for you. Even for the man you were dragging past enemy combatants using your own body as a shield.

You settled him against the walls of the cave you’d dragged him into. You reached into your armor and retrieved the bacta patches you had with you. You took a look at the patches and then at the large gash on his neck that went up who knew how far. The hope you had for saving his life dwindled. But you couldn’t give up. The motto of your teachers back home rang loud and clear in your head.

No soldiers left behind. No life collateral.

“Not s-safe. Not safe you— Listen to me,” he choked out as you leaned in close and inspected his wound.

“Shut up, Din! Shut the fuck up!” You spat as you retrieved more medical supplies from your pouch. You’d done this many times in training. You could do this. You could fucking do this!

“My helmet…” he whimpered too soft to be audible if you weren’t so close to him.

“It’ll be okay, Din. I got you,” you reassured as your brain finally comprehended the exact risk he was in and you knew what you had to do.

“This is gonna hurt at first, alright?” You warned more than asked as you inserted the needle. It was the last thing you did before he lost consciousness in your arms. The last thing you did before making the big mistake that would change the course of both your lives.

———

“Din.”

He looked up at you from his bed, resting after a long session in the bacta tank. You imagined him underneath the helmet, the only face you knew in the covert other than that of the children who were yet to take the creed. His features came to memory, bloodied and bruised and at the edge of life itself. His strong nose, his messy black hair and blood. So much fucking blood. That he was alive at all was a miracle.

“Din?” You called again when he did not respond.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice stoic, emotionless as it came through his helmet. It was how it always was. Something about wearing a helmet filtered out part of the humanity of voices. But there was something about the way he spoke this time that was chilling to you.

“I…I just wanted to see if you’re doing well.”

He snorted, turning away from you as though your mere presence disgusted him. Rage boiled through your veins as pain shot up through your legs as a reminder of the blow you’d taken in the process of saving his fucking life.

“You know what? Fuck you, Din. I know you’re hurt and shit, but you have no right to speak to me like that.”

“Get out. Right now. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”

You flinched at the way he spoke. The coldness of his voice and the words themself. You turned away from him and walked out of his room, bearing the pain in your leg as you trodded on to your own room. You didn’t expect him to thank you. No, that was not why you saved his life at the risk of ending your own. But you didn’t expect him to behave so appallingly either. You raked through your addled mind for clues on what you could possibly have done to deserve this. Did you say something before the battle? No, it couldn’t be. You’d exchanged few words before battle and he was…nice. As amiable as could be for a man who spoke in grunts and sighs more than he did words.

You crashed on your own bed, whimpering when the act shot another piercing sensation throughout your body. It did nothing to alleviate your anger for Din, reminding you of what you’d done to yourself for him. For someone you thought a friend until now.

On a strange planet, fighting for space and acceptance, Din was one of the first people to be amicable to you. Well, you took his grunts and sighs as a sign of friendliness. For all his stoicism and his beskar like facade, he never did snap or show signs that he wanted you to fuck right off. So you stuck by. Stuck by when training, when you ate your meals and he sat by listening to your idle chatter. Stuck by when he took a hit and needed saving.

Perhaps he had a concussion.

That should be it. For a man clad fully in beskar, he had a soft heart. Never did he speak to you or anyone else in the harsh manner he just spoke to you. You shivered as images of his dark messy hair and blood so dark it matched returned to your mind. His closed eyes and his limp body collapsing on you as you attempted to remove the shrapnel that has somehow gotten underneath his helmet to his skull. A sharp pain shot through your leg again and you let out a cry. It was a mess pop emotions. You were happy it did not hurt as much as it did on the battlefield yet annoyed that your body was outside your control.

You jumped, both from the pain and from the opening of the door. You looked up, hoping to find the nurse droid that visited you every now and then to check your vitals. The gleaming gold helmet on a tall, strong stature told you that this was no small visitor. Despite all the beskar and the strong shoulders that carried an entire covert, she was very human.

She said you name, in a way that was gentle, calming, yet told you that she could be relied on.

“Did we win?” You managed to ask through the spasms of pain.

“We did,” she said, stopping in front of you. “You did well, warrior.”

You snorted. “I succumbed within minutes of the battle.”

“You did. So did a few others. That does not make you any less of a warrior. You were valiant.”

Despite disagreeing, you nodded. You were in no mood to start an argument with the leader of the community that was housing, feeding, teaching, and caring for you. No matter how much you disagreed with their way of life.

“So, do you visit everyone who got a little scratch of their leg?”

“I do, yes. But my visit is not just to check on your wellness.”

“Oh?”

“You saved one of ours. Din Djarin.”

You said nothing, feeling too embarrassed to acknowledge it even though it was true. It would sound too much like boasting if you accepted. In poor taste in your dismissed it. It was best to take a sip out of the mandalorian pog soup and remain silent.

“Do you know what this means for his future?”

You tilted your head as you considered her words. What the kriff was she expected to say to that? What if it was a rhetorical question and you’d just acted like a womp rat in the snow about it?

“You removed his helmet, soldier.”

“To tend to his wound,” you quickly interrupted. “You— you didn’t see what— you weren’t there! He would’ve died if I hadn’t done that,” you sputtered, shaking your head in disbelief of the implication in her words. The Mandalorian were quite strict about wearing their helmets. Once a child took the creed and wore their helmet, they would never take it off again. But there were exceptions. Right? There had to be. Receiving emergency medical help had to be one of them.

“I know.”

You waited, not for long, for her to proceed. For her to reassure you that it did not count because you had no other choice but to remove his helmet to save his life. With no words coming from her, you shot up from the bed, pain be damned and dragged yourself to where she stood.

“He would have died!”

“I know,” she said, more sternly this time.

“Go on then, tell me how you are going to punish him for the audacity to be alive.”

“He became an apostate the moment his face was seen by a living thing.”

“An apostate?”

“He has strayed from the way and will be cast out from the covert. He is Mandalorian no more.”

You shook your head frantically. That was some bantha shit! “No. No, no, no. No,” you sputtered. “That is not fair. Look, it’s not his fault. He was unconscious when it happened— when I did it,” you said, thumping your chest. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He told me to go away. He was ready to die. Kriff— you can’t— This is not fair,” you screamed, your voice breaking at the cruelty of it all.

“This is the way,” she said in a manner that was too cold for you to consider calm.

“Oh, for void’s sake, spare me the kriff about the way. What kind of way of life is it to cast someone out for being alive?” You spat, all your reservations about rudeness and your sense of cultural relativism flying off into a blackhole.

“There is only one way for him to remain in the covert and he rejected the proposal. Said he could not possibly do that to you.”

“What is it? Does the way ask for a human sacrifice? Is that what it will take to keep him from being excommunicated from everyone he knows and loves?”

“I understand you think us barbarians, soldier. I will discount it on account of your efforts to save one of our own. And for how you have protected us. There need be no blood. Only the establishment of a riduurok so that he will have been seen by the only being he is permitted to show himself to.”

“What is a riduurok?” You asked, even though you had a sinking feeling about it.

“Marriage.”

.

.

.

Masterlist

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Nine: An Alliance Or A Mistake?

Gates Of Hell Masterlist

Word Count: 3227

Warnings: swearing, fluff, a little bit of angst, trauma- these kids have literally been through it all

[A/N: I really can't lie to you, I'm scared this one is just plain boring. We see a lot more of steve x reader progression but my current writing is literally scrambled all over the place so I'm just gonna post this one so I can make the next one perfect x]

An Alliance Or A Mistake?

Sleep didn’t grace your presence like it had before.

The rest of the night, you had stared into an empty space on the roof of Steve Harrington’s car, replaying that horror over and over again.

Except the longer you sat there with your insomnia among the soft snores, the further your mind ran to every single little terrifying moment you had experienced over the past two days. You had cheated death more times than anyone would believe. You just hoped that your luck wouldn’t run out.

And then there was Robin, your recurring nightmare, the pieces slowly falling into place. You were too afraid to fall asleep again, to unveil another blurry image in your subconscious. Maybe it was stress, causing you to relive the same dream over and over, a side effect of the dangerous world falling apart around you.

Light shone in your eyes through the very small tear in the tent’s fabric and you almost sigh in relief. Morning, finally.

You look to Robin, her head lolling against the back seat, hair swept across her face. You could try to wake her up but, as you’ve learnt many times before, a nuclear bomb could set off and she would merely groan and roll over. She’s only awake when she wants to be.

Steve was surprisingly a quiet sleeper. You had assumed the boy would be snoring to the extent of you debating suffocation. Even with his steady breathing, a soft frown etched a line between his eyebrows. Maybe he had nightmares, too.

Your legs had started to ache a while ago with the position you were in, unable to stretch without kicking Robin in the face. So, you bite your lip and slowly turn in your seat, careful not to make too much noise. You desperately needed to stand up.

Clicking open the door, the frame slowly pushes against the fabric and you crouch down, practically crawling out of the car, and duck under the tent until the light finally shines onto your face, making you squint against the morning sun.

It was peaceful before you remembered you were stood in the middle of the apocalypse. Your eyes darted among the trees surrounding the road, an uneasy flush coating your body. You hadn’t forgotten to grab the shotgun before you left the car. It was an instinct now, as necessary as food and water. At least one of you can be on look-out now that the car would be easy to spot from the brightened sky.

After taking a moment to stretch your legs, you head to the front of the car and carefully perch yourself on the bonnet, shotgun resting in your hands.

A few breaths went by before another problem arose. The side of your head was throbbing and, as you reach to brush against it, you realised it was still healing from your encounter with the shapeshifter at the school.

“Why me?” You whisper into the breeze, squeezing your eyes shut.

Let it be known that April of ‘85 was the worst month of your life…

Except the tragedy was that it really wasn’t the worst month of your life. The surface wounds could never compare to the ones that had torn you apart from the inside, the feelings you lock away in guilt and despair.

But fucking hell, was it a close second.

Steve’s eyes flew open before the demodog could make a fatal impact, jolting himself awake. He hadn’t had that nightmare in a while.

Rubbing his eyes, he takes note of where he is, a sudden jolt of realisation that he wasn’t in his bed. Nor was he surrounded by those ugly walls he never wanted in the first place. That’s what happens when your mother decides that a ‘new and hip’ designer was exactly who you wanted designing the bedrooms. She all but tore down the walls of her own bedroom when she saw the design.

Sighing, Steve catches Robin’s hair-covered face in the mirror, almost snorting at the sight of her mouth hanging open, clearly knocked out cold. He turns his head to look at you, blinking in the dim light. Unless you had turned into a car seat, you weren’t there.

A pang of panic hits his chest as he straightens in his seat. She’s probably outside, he tells himself. His hand is already on the handle before he controls himself, grabbing the backpack on the seat beside him.

As he gently pops open the door, he ducks down to slip underneath the tarp and immediately blinks against the burning sun. He really should have prepared himself for that.

He does a quick sweep of the treeline before finding a figure perched on the front of his car, a strange feeling in his stomach when his eyes focused on you. He was probably hungry.

“You’re up early.”

You whip your head around to see Steve stood beside the car, yawning as he ran a hand through his hair. The sun did wonders for him, casting a glow on his skin, unnatural to how any teen should look this early into the morning. You despised that.

When you didn’t respond, Steve walks over and rests against the space beside you, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a small box. You glance over, but you don’t comment. You didn’t seem like you had the energy to fight him on it; you looked tired.

“Here.” He hands you a cloth and a bottle.

Propping the shotgun against the car, you tentatively take it from his hands and fold the cloth, placing it atop the bottle and tipping it in a swift motion.

You try to clean the wound yourself, but you weren’t entirely sure where you should be pressing the cloth. Was it in your hairline? Higher? Lower?

Steve could sense your hesitancy and takes the damp cloth from your hand. You look shocked at his help but nod regardless, turning your head. He delicately traces his fingers along the side of your head, locating the source and biting his inner cheek. It wasn’t a horrible wound at all, barely needed stitches. But you had lost a lot of blood. And he knew concussions from experience. Two in two days was going to leave a lasting mark.

He presses the cloth against your hairline and you hiss, but you don’t move. Like you were used to it.

“Sorry.” He mutters, gently wiping away the stained blood that surrounded it.

You let out a breath and when he looks to your face, he sees your eyes are closed. Not squeezed shut, just… peaceful. Calm. Unusual.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks and you almost let out a laugh, nodding slowly.

“I’m… splendid.” You reply with a smile and he can’t resist the chuckle, removing the cloth and setting it beside you. He reaches back into the bag and pulls out some medical tape. It wasn’t much, but it should help.

As he presses the tape down, you sigh. “How about you? You okay?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and gently pinches your skin, securing it together with the strips of tape and testing to see if it holds. “Does that even matter? You’ve obviously been through the worst of it.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug as he checks his handiwork. “I thought we had a deal. You know? ‘Question for a question’?”

Steve pulls away and smiles inquisitively, shaking his head. “You remember that?”

“I may have hit my head, but my memory isn’t that bad.” You say, patting the side of your head to get used to the feeling of it. “Plus, you wouldn’t shut up about it, so… Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, resting back against the car and looking out at the road ahead. “Yeah, I’m good.”

A silence fell and you bite your bottom lip, a soft frown knitting your brows. There were so many things bothering you, so many unanswered questions, terrifying notions, that you couldn’t even pick just one. Did you even want to admit them to Steve? He wasn’t so terrible after all, and he seemed to care if you lived or not. Maybe… maybe you could trust him.

But that box inside of you was sealed tight.

“What happened?” You suddenly ask, looking to him. He blinks in surprise. “With you? The shapeshifter?”

“Oh.” Steve sounds, tightening his lips. “I, uh… I took care of it.”

“Took care of it?” You raise a brow and he shrugs it off.

“Yeah, I just…” He mimics a gun like it was as simple as making toast, pretending like it didn’t make his stomach churn at the thought of the shapeshifter.

“Hm.” You lean back, tilting your head. “How’d you know it wasn’t me?”

“Um…” He frowns, shaking his head. “Something to do with the hands. They were really creepy.”

“Oh.” You nod, looking somewhat disappointed by his answer. Steve didn’t lie. It wasn’t the whole truth either.

The moment of eye contact felt different this time also, that glint of fire you usually held now diminished. Maybe you were just recovering from what you had seen. But that didn’t make Steve any less hesitant about your story.

But he couldn’t relive that fear again, especially since his last memory of that thing was staring at an unsettling portrait of you, a begging tear in the eye of the girl he shot in the chest.

Even just looking into your eyes now, he knew it was you. And he wasn’t ready to admit how he knew that.

“What, uh… what happened to you?” Steve offers and you sigh, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie wrapped around your wrists.

“I was an idiot.” You admit with a sad laugh, shaking your head. “I thought… god, it was so stupid- I thought I heard my dad.”

“Hopper?” Steve frowns and you look up at him.

“I don’t even know what came over me.” You bite your lip, brows furrowing, “I knew it wasn’t him but I- I couldn’t for the life of me stop what I was doing. He told me to drop the shotgun, so I did. And then before I had any time to realise what was happening, it… it grabbed me.”

“It?”

“The shapeshifter.” You whisper and Steve feels a rush of ice down his spine. “Its voice… I think I’ve heard it before. I think… I think it’s been following us this entire time. Waiting for the right moment.”

“Fuck.” Steve breathes and you nod.

“It knocked me out and got into your car. It studied me, I think. Then it became me and… it was so…”

“Unsettling?”

“Terrifying.” You lower your head before clearing your throat. “Um, then I ended up at the arcade.”

Steve frowns. “How did you-”

“I don’t know.” You sigh, “Really, I don’t want to know. There was another one of those people zombie monster things. And…”

It was one of those things. The person turned monster. This time it was a woman, tearing apart the body of someone you didn’t want to observe too much to know. And she was covered in blackened red, darkening her clothes and matting her hair.

All of these bodies after just a day…

“I escaped.” You finish, deciding against that image of those bodies scattered around your brain like some morbid canvas. “I saw… I saw something in the sky. But I- I don’t know if it was real.”

“What did you see?” Steve prompts and when you look up at him, he had his head tilted with curiosity, looking at you like you were the only person he wanted to hear from.

Ignoring the strange rush of feeling in your chest, you clear your throat. “Like a… like a giant kind of spider? It was black and looked a little bit like-”

“Dust.” Steve breathes and your eyes widen, nodding.

“I’m guessing that means I wasn’t hallucinating?”

“No.” Steve runs his hands down his face, “No, last year, it was there. I think. I didn’t see it, to be honest. But Byers was talking about his brother and how it had-”

When he suddenly stops talking, you frown, searching his face that paled with each second.

“It had what?” You ask and Steve’s stomach churns.

Steve wasn’t sure if he was hearing it right, but considering all he had been through, it shouldn’t be a surprise. They were chatting about some kind of ‘Mind Flayer’? Which, as it turns out, isn’t just some character from the kids’ nerd game but a real life monster that they had to battle. And on top of that, Will was possessed and likely helping it kill the rest of them soon. Sometimes Steve wishes he had never gone looking for Nancy.

“Nothing.” Steve gulps, looking into your eyes as the venom of a lie burns his tongue. “Nothing, Hopper sorted it out in the end.”

“But-”

“He knows more about it than I do.” He says quickly, flashing a smile. “You should ask him about it when we find them.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking a breath.

And then the conversation fades into silence, leaving only the sound of your soft breaths echoing into the breeze. It wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable. In fact, if you weren’t so delirious from recent events, you’d even say you maybe possibly could be… enjoying Steve’s company.

“Should we, uh…” Steve glances back at the car with a raised brow, his voice cutting into the air. “Should we wake her?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Only if you want your arm bitten off.”

“I know you’re joking, but I can see it.” Steve widens his eyes mockingly and you laugh, shaking your head. “How long have you guys been friends?”

“Oh god.” You furrow your brows, biting your lip. “A while now. I met her around the time Hopper decided to move our trailer into the middle of nowhere. We… uh, we bonded over some stuff. I literally can’t even imagine my life without her now.”

Steve nods and you contemplate your next choice of words. Maybe it was time to take that risk.

“Plus, she’s like the only friend I have.” You add, glancing over at him as he frowns with curiosity.

“That can’t be true.” He dismisses, but your face didn’t change and he adjusts his stance to face you properly. “No, I’ve seen you around school with other people. I think. Right?”

“I’m the chief’s daughter.” You say a little sadly. “No one wants to talk to the girl with a dad in charge of a police force. Most of the time people only talk to me because they’re hoping I can get them out of a parking ticket or something dumb like that. I haven’t even had any real friends since freshman year started.”

Steve shakes his head. “Why? What happened in freshman year?”

He watches your face drop, the way your eyes flicker to his before looking back out into the trees beside the road, lips thin. Steve wasn’t always the best at reading people, but it felt like he had said something wrong, like he should have known. But he truly couldn’t remember.

“Surprised you don’t know.” You finally speak, shaking away that emotionless voice. “It was all the rage in the gossip train when we started high school.”

“I don’t remember that time.” He admits and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like I said, concussions aren’t something to kid about.”

“Oh.” You sound, and Steve watches as you pull that familiar face again; one twisted with disappointment. “Well, it… it was bad. Nobody really stuck around after that. Except for Robin.”

“For what it’s worth…” Steve starts, a hint of a smile playing on his pink lips. “They were missing out.”

You look to him in surprise, the corners of your mouth lifting. You couldn’t explain it, but maybe you had been wrong about Steve Harrington. Maybe there was much more to him than you ever cared to admit.

Steve couldn’t help the flicker of his eyes then. Your smile… there was something so magical about the way he was the one to bring that light to your face. You were meant to hate eachother, tease until one of you eventually snapped and walked away. But that strange whirl in his stomach was back to haunt him. And he loved it.

He inches closer, expecting you to move away, laugh at him for even suggesting something could ever happen. You didn’t move.

And as the silence finally took hold of his anxiety… he turns away.

“We should probably head off soon.” Steve pushes away from the car and takes a few steps, looking out into the road. “It looks pretty quiet and the sooner we’re out of the open, the better.”

“Right.” You say quietly, and he hears you stand up, clearing your throat. “I’ll see if Robin’s awake.”

His eyes squeeze shut as you walk back to the car, gently tugging down the tarp that covered it still. That was a close one. But did he dodge a bullet? Or was he the one shooting the gun?

Robin groans awake as soon as the light hits her, covering her eyes with her arm and grumbling. “What gives?”

“We gotta go.” You say and she groans again, sitting up. Her hair was messy, odd parts sticking out. She had it cut recently to just above her shoulders, a phone call that ended in her regretting everything and swearing to you that she would grow it out.

“Why-” Robin blinks, suddenly taking in her surrounding and focusing on you. “Oh. Right. The apocalypse.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t just a nightmare.” You try to joke, but she immediately sensed the tone in your voice.

“You okay?”

You glance over at the boy still stood with his back turned away from you, shaking your mind free of those thoughts. What were you even thinking? That he was going to kiss you? No. Not the Steve Harrington you knew.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You dismiss, reaching over and trying to smooth down some of her hair.

“Uh-huh.” Robin squints, leaning forward. “That was less believable than that UFO sighting my mom swore happened when she was shooting tequila. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” You frown, batting her hand away when she prods your side. “Hey. Nothing.”

“I’ll get the truth out of you somehow.” She declares, scooting around in the seat and facing forward.

“You gonna torture the information out of me?” You chuckle, Steve’s approaching form catching your attention. It was only for a second, your mask dropping before slipping back on and looking back to your friend.

“No need.” She smirks. And with that, she settles back in the seat as Steve joins you. “Onward, Jeeves.”

Steve shoots her a confused look as you turn around, side-stepping away from him.

“Sorry.” You mutter, walking to the passenger side and slipping in.

Your eyes were glued to the road as he settled in, noticing how you were physically incapable of being further away from him. You didn’t care if he noticed. You just needed to pretend everything was normal. You hated him. You hated him. And you wouldn’t ever kiss- Ugh, you couldn’t believe you had even let the thought cross your mind.

Especially when he has no idea what he did to you.

Chapter Ten: Part One: The Lab ->

taglist: @manyfandomsfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips. @nix-rose . @palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear. @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 . @80saestheticismyfav

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: The Legend of Ruby Sunday (Worth the Wait).

In a season that has been decidedly hit and miss (with more of the latter than the former), The Legend of Ruby Sunday stands as a both startlingly detailed and wonderfully well-made. It might even be better than Boom! (the standout for this season so far) but I’m undecided on that one. It’s really astonishing how much of this episode just works, straight off the bat, especially given how many elements are in play at once. And there are are lot of elements. The Legend of Ruby Sunday is a dense, meaty slice of science fiction that feels worthy of the show’s spectacular, confident 2005 return. We have a woman who seems to have been multiplied and scattered across time and space but who, on present day Earth, is a tech billionaire preparing to release a new app that will change life on the planet in some mysterious and unspecified way. We have a time window that lets us see into Ruby Sunday’s equally mysterious past, developed in secret by UNIT (who have been spying on the tech billionaire). We have a dark cloud hanging over the TARDIS itself and ominous portents that He Who Waits is ‘returning’. It’s heavily implied that He Who Waits is something like the Celestial Toymaker but worse; far, far worse. And finally, at the end, we get a big, scary reveal that unveils the tech billionaire as a mere pawn in someone else’s game and the real identity of He Who Waits (and what he has to do with the dark presence lurking around the TARDIS). By golly that’s a lot of things and they all gel together nicely, creating a plot that feels kinetic and energised without feeling rushed.

Unfortunately, in order to review it properly, I’m going to have to spoil the big reveal at the end, so if you haven’t seen The Legend of Ruby Sunday yet, consider this a hearty, two-thumbed recommendation, go watch it, and then come back here for the analysis. SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT.

Done? Okay? Brilliant. So it turns out that He Who Waits is- and there’s no easy way to say it so I’m just going to come right and drop a bombshell on y’all- the no-kidding god of death (Sutekh to his friends). The tech billionaire (Susan, but it doesn’t matter) is one of his vessels, come to bring the gift of death to the noisy, babbling universe while the dark cloud around the TARDIS is Sutekh’s own body, scattered but waiting to manifest. And manifest he does, immediately causing his vessels and harbingers to turn into zombie-things whose merest touch can turn people to dust. Cue the ‘TO BE CONTINUED’ bit and roll the credits, because that, ladies and gents, is how you do a fucking cliff-hanger.

Doctor Who really does seem to be at its best when it’s doing full-on cosmic horror lately (the ridiculousness of The Giggle notwithstanding, it still leant heavily into that vibe; even moreso Wild Blue Yonder). Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t necessarily a fan of the wishy-washy supernatural elements introduced this season (the stupid bloody fairy circle for 73 Yards can grab its cunty little goblin friends from The Church on Ruby Road and fuck right off), but I’ll forgive them since this is apparently what they were building to. The Doctor- the pinnacle of intelligent, problem-solving rationality- matching wits with a god death embodying the blackest, deepest depths of terror and superstition? Yessity-fucking-please! And the route we took to get here: the reunions and cheer of UNIT overcast and overshadowed with a palpable sense of looming dread as a storm rolls into London, presaging the terror to come. It’s great! It’s even gotten me psyched for the next episode; the final instalment of this season and this story. Well, it’s mostly got me psyched.

See, as much as I enjoyed The Legend of Ruby Sunday, I do worry that one great episode does not equal a trend and that the titanic confrontation promised at the end of this one might not actually be paid off in the sequel. We could end up with the Doctor getting sidelined by other, more active characters, or Sutekh getting nerfed for reasons of plot-convenience. Hopefully the two-parter got written in one mammoth session on one of Russel T. Davies’ more switched-on days and the quality will remain consistent across the halves, because it would be great if this season could end on a bang instead of a whimper.

Sorry. I don’t mean to sound negative while I’m in the middle of praising something. The problem is that this season has been such a mixed bag, it’s hard not to have my opinion of even great episodes coloured by the quality of the episodes that surround them.

Anyway! Back to the positivity! What works here is as much about what the episode doesn’t do as what it does do. We’re not interrupted, for example, by any unnecessary musical numbers (look, I was fine with the Celestial Toymaker having a song-and-dance routine, because he’s that kind of over the top villain, but the number of episodes that ground to a halt for musicals this season was starting to get ridiculous). We’re also mercifully free of rushed romantic subplots (again, Doctor Who plus romance is fine, it just needs awhile to percolate, and if you’re not going to do it properly, you shouldn’t do it at all, BBC). And, most importantly of all, there’s no overt, straight-to-camera speeches about [INSERT RIPPED-FROM-THE-HEADLINES ISSUE HERE]. I’ve broadly agreed with the show’s politics this season (we’re not lost in Tory Chibnal territory here), but I don’t want to hear any point repeated ad nauseum, even a good point. All the focus here is on delivering a proper, well-constructed story and it’s really refreshing.

I have gripes, of course. I appreciate the low-key diss someone slipped past the editorial team by making the god of death look a bit like a mouse. Disney, whose money Doctor Who now depends on is, of course, the ‘House of Mouse’ and it’s fair to say it’s influence is one of the factors slowly killing interest in the show, so yeah: right on whoever came up with that monster design. Unfortunately, it does have the unexpected side-effect of making Sutekh look adorable, which probably isn’t the vibe they were going for. Also, I’ve seen Lenny Rush on Taskmaster and now I’ve seen him in this and he definitely makes a better comedian than an actor. I mean, fair play to the wee fella, I’ve just googled him and he’s only fifteen so it’s totally to be expected that he’s not quite there yet. It just seems weird he’s in a more serious-skewing episode.

Overall, however, The Legend of Ruby Sunday is a refreshing change of pace in a season that’s struggled to find its feet. Hopefully, it’s a blueprint for both the season finale and Ncuti Gatwa’s upcoming second season as the Doctor. This kind of thing is good. This kind of thing can bring fans together. This kind of thing is what the show needs now.

Please, please, Russel T. Davies. MORE OF THIS SORT OF THING.

EDIT: Yes, I'm aware that Sutekh is supposed to look like a jackal, but 'supposed to' is the operative phrase in this context. From the camera angle privileged towards the end of the episode, with the big ears and adorable little whiskers, the motherfucker looks like a mouse, and that will never not be funny to me.

[made-some-ki-points]

Character Ideas Day 3: Artillerist Artificer

During your tenure as a student in a college for creation bards, you were fairly convinced you were the worst spellcaster alive. None of it made sense to you, and even creating small inanimate objects companions seemed nearly impossible. So, fed up with feeling like a failure, you cheated, constructing tiny mechanical constructs to serve as fake versions of the companions your classmates could make so easily. You were caught and sent to your instructor’s office, but instead of being reprimanded, you were praised. Turns out, you’d made something conducive to a completely different type of spellcasting, one your instructor wants to help you improve at. It’s an offer you quickly and graciously accept.

As a child, you, like many others, enjoyed pretending to fight with sticks, a harmless game that should have caused nothing but good childhood memories. You even liked to carve your stick, a mighty sword for a mighty warrior. However, you unknowingly carved a legitimate arcane symbol on your “sword” one day, making an extremely rudimentary arcane firearm and accidentally hurting one of your dearest friends. Now, years later, some still haven’t forgiven you, and some deeply question the fact that you continued your craft, but you press on regardless, determined to make more of a reputation for yourself than the kid who made a dire mistake. 

You come from a place with an elite corps of warriors, able to fight off any single attacker with unrivaled proficiency with swords and shields. So, your people’s enemies got creative, sending swarms of flying beasts to overwhelm your protections. You, a weapons designer for the corps, weren’t exactly ready to unveil your experimental weapon, but circumstance gave you no choice, and with gritted teeth, you watched as your invention was singlehandedly credited with saving your town. Now, you’re off to pitch your invention elsewhere, but you know all too well that the swarms are moving faster, and beginning to target you. 

The eldest child of beloved and peaceful nobles, you’ve grown tired of the nice guy routine your family demands. Soon enough, a rebellious spirit begins to blossom, one that not only craves adventure and combat, but wants to do it in the most obnoxious way you could possibly imagine, just to stick it to mom and dad. You’ve always been savvy in the classroom, so redirecting your intelligence into making loud, obnoxious and visibly arcane weapons instantly appeals to you, and after you build your first one, you leave to join the first adventuring party you find. Any company is good company if they’ll let you blow shit up.

You grew up hearing endless horror stories about the time one of your parents spent lost in the feywild, honing skills of nature out of necessity, and a drive to survive alone in such an odd and often terrible place. These stories make the magic of machines seem much more beautiful than nature based magic to you, and for most of your life, it was the only sort of magic you trusted. It wasn’t until you met and befriended (or perhaps fell for) a druid that you began to reconsider, and even combine your ideas of magic into something entirely new. But a new threat is emerging, one that sounds a lot like one from those years old horror stories, and you find yourself reconsidering once again what exactly makes magic “good.”

You are a dragon living in a disguised humanoid form after being badly injured by an adventuring party desperate to find your rumored hoard. When they came out without a scrap of material wealth, they were livid, and your legend faded to obscurity. Until, that is, someone discovered the true meaning of the riddles that guarded your hoard: You did not hoard arcane goods, but arcane knowledge, and the exact details of how to make magical items of untold and unrivaled power. You managed to escape with much of the knowledge, and now, the hunt is on to find you. Thankfully, you’re more than prepared to build what you need to defend yourself.

Though your sibling is a powerful sorcerer, their physical health has always been extremely fragile, to the point where using their magic even to perform extremely minor spells can be extremely dangerous. They’ve expressed time and time again that they love their magic, and they want to use it freely, but it’s just not safe to do so. So, you and your family set off on a quest to make an item for them to channel magic through, something that will take the weight off of their body. You find you have a particular knack for it, and what starts as a necessity to help your sibling turns into a passion.

While exploring an abandoned or decimated town, you stumble upon the skeletal remains of a powerful mage, whom you quickly recall has no family or close connections. Before you can stop yourself, you steal and study them, shaping some of the bones into a powerful arcane staff that can sling spells you can barely conceptualize. All you can do now is adapt as you go.

You’re a toy maker by trade, one famed for your clockwork implements and wooden animals. It earned you a reputation as a jovial and loving person, popular with the kids of the town you lived in. But when war broke out, your technology was sought out by completely different sources, people who are desperate to turn your tech into weapons of war. Horrified by the production, you take some of the weapons for yourself, determined to protect and help those the war left behind.

You constructed and operated a state of the art shooting gallery carnival game in one of your town’s most popular traveling carnivals. The weapons were far from powerful, but they were easy to operate and fun, which mattered to you much more anyway. So, when a group of bandits robbed your carnival, and the other workers looked to you, you thought they were crazy to think your weapons would stop them. Thanks to some last minute alterations, they did the job well. Now, the people who own the carnival are paying you good money to work out even more improvements, and your reputation is quickly beginning to grow.

[bluedevilsrpg]

RAZOR FIST

BLACKSMITH. M. ( 34 ) Lewis Tan.  TW: eye horror, implied abuse

HISTORY

THE GRIEF, THE PAIN, THE MADNESS, AND BEYOND IT, THE LOVE. ALL OF IT COMES AND ALL OF IT PASSES. What did living have to offer other than the big payout? The life you knew was as volatile as the sea - where everything was at your fingertips and then gone all over again. Orphan boy with only your own instincts to rely upon, you grew up with the familiar sound of a knife kissing your skin - the brutal reminder of what little a child could afford. Dreams were your only source of comfort from the nightmares that condemned an unwanted child. The alleyways of decrepit streets synonymous to home. You wake from the ruptures of bone, sleepily wandering, never quite awake. It is only when one of your eyes is gouged out that you see through the gaps of time itself. Evolution, strength, a burning desire to be more than your circumstances. 

All roads lead you from one world to the next; your notoriety grows as you make your livelihood from bounties - the chase and thrill of becoming a touted hero brings a clandestine smirk to your otherwise carefree nature. But all of it comes easily and you find yourself accustomed to the mundane schemes of whatever life has to offer. In the perpetual motions of life's rhythm, you have grown aloof, sarcastic and rude. Your talent to survive and conquer bores you until one missing piece of history claims you. That very day, the hunter became the prey: a secret treasure buried by one of the Greatest Pirates uncovered. The truth? You are his legacy, you, his one and only son. 

CONNECTIONS

GOD KILLER & MADAME MASSACRE ⌱  TELL ME OF WHO I AM, WHAT I AM TO BECOME

The world was a lonely place for an unwanted child and when the truth of your bloodline unveiled itself into the light, only darkness would follow. So many questions were left unanswered and your hatred festered within the cavities of your heart from this new discovery. It is your need to know that has brought you to GOD KILLER, for it is he that understands the best of the Greatest Generation. And it’s through him you look to mutilate the shadow of your father. You have long admired MADAME MASSACRE’s father while she looks at you in scorn. Envy, hatred, glory all following your newfound fame - you have all the things she has demanded for herself. Yet you never desired it, not when you were abandoned from the moment you were born, not when you have a target on your back.

KING OF DROUGHT ⌱  I’VE BEEN LEFT WANDERING IN THE WILDERNESS

It was rare to receive direct requisites from your patrons. He was an exception to everything you had known in your line of work. He threatened you first, striking you with a challenge to see what lengths you’d take to achieve guaranteed success. With the stakes at their highest and your pride on the line, you delivered beyond what was requested. At first you saw him as another entitled and wealthy benefactor who knew nothing of the filth and grime that it took to survive. All of this changed one night when he accompanied you on a bounty hunt - the merciless way he defended you shifted the tides of what you thought you knew. Before long, you succumbed to depravity. But perhaps you placed too much faith in front of a man who took it all away. You found yourself haunted by the unseen scars that were left and all the unanswered questions left by his disappearance. One question always cut between the ridges of your lip, was this filth not good enough for the would-be king?

MASTER OF DEATH ⌱ OUR TRADES WILL ALWAYS BE MADE IN DEATH

TW: organ harvesting

Desperation, survival and terror were the three guardians of your childhood. And it was in him you found a companion in your troubles. Two boys impoverished and licked by the mouth of poverty itself - you knew best of what it took to see the sun rise. The sins would never fade from your hands for all that you had done for the price to live. You’ll never forget the way your hands were covered in filth. He was the one to take the lead when he propositioned you for the errands. A boy with nothing but cold apathy for humanity stood with one hand carrying a bag of bones and the other with a palm of gold. Both or none were the choice offered, morality or depravity, make your decision. It was hard work and your life hung in the constant balance of jeopardy but it cemented you into becoming stronger than you had ever known. It’s hard to be thankful to the man, however, when he discarded you in worship of gold.

SUNKEN WITCH ⌱ OUR LIVELIHOOD IS MADE IN CURRENCY AND NOTHING MORE

You remember when you met her and she was nothing but a woman with a pretty face. You never imagined her becoming something so poisonous and profitable in the world of the rich, powerful and elite. The pair of you were  friendly with your business transactions but then one incident unraveled it all and has soured your relationship ever since. You gunned for a prime target of high royalty before she had finished acquiring their wealth, thus jeopardizing her life once their death was revealed. The reason for your betrayal had been made in gold - why settle for her price when you could earn more? While she managed to claw her way out of her grave, you are well aware of her grudge and bitter hostility. 

RAZOR FIST IS CLOSED & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS STRENGTH.

[shadowedvales]

what are you hiding? from morgan jones. @nonpareil

trepidation rears its familiar, haunting face in the light of uncertainty. she'd been gifted a sense of normality [what you could consider normal in their new world] thanks to the walls of alexandria, thanks to daryl dixon finding her on the brink of extinction, and granting life in replacement of everlasting sorrow. this was something she had feared, however, someone coming to understand the expanse of her secrets, growing cautious regarding her desire to keep to herself most days. morgan showed her nothing but kindness thus far, but what she hadn't realised, was he might've been sniffing around in an attempt to discover the things she kept buried in the crux of her core. she didn't truly know him, after all, and trust was no easy companion. the chill tingling her spine bites down to the bone, momentarily destroying the warmth her bruised body felt in her new home here. breathe, eleven. he may just want to see it, not specifically do anything.

elle hesitated, then released a breath caught between clenched teeth, movements swift yet slow. she risked a final glance to the man, simmering nerves witnessed through the tension of her brow, a tight jaw. eleven had much to hide, secrets bleeding in her waking stance; this was the easiest thing to uncover, to physically reveal, opposed to unveiling past horrors hiding in the pit of her closed heart. she shifted so he'd have a clear view of the marred skin intended to showcase. rolling her left pant leg upwards, soft jeans no longer concealing one of the many mysteries attached to a girl of mere fifteen: a walker bite. still ugly and red, but no longer fresh nor oozing. the flesh was excessively clean— if jonathan had taught her anything back in hawkins, it was to never be too careful. to never make assumptions. so she never did, despite the wound long since healed.

“i won't change.” she assured sternly, chin raised high in some fickle bid of bravery, [though the voice wavers slightly, should he strain close enough to listen]. “it happened months ago.” a great deal of time passed, but the constant fear that one day she could become a creature of the night remained. hence the almost desperate routine she'd implemented to keep it clean, free from infection. “do not tell anyone. please.” deanna alone knew about it; she provided elle a few days of rest before introducing herself, and their meeting had her practically folding under the weight of the older woman's gentle aura. she'd wondered, very briefly, if that's how it felt to have a mother. elle hadn't gone into the extent of her history [will and jonathan the only ones likely to ever gain insight towards those memories] but deanna had been empathetic to not require the answers of every question put forth. but she had requested that the injury be hidden in public, because not everyone may fathom it. “they might think i am... dangerous. i am not. i promise. it is very old.”

[jonquildove]

theintendedone:

Even in the thickest of frosts, a bloom that was meant to form could, a fire kindling brightly in waking from the ashes. That was how Edmure and Roslin had come to be. If they had not been meant to be together things would have assuredly gone south in the wake of what her father had done. There had been this connection between them though that she’d felt the moment her eyes laid upon him. She’d been anxious and afraid before they met but he’d calmed her and it had just felt right. When they faced their darkest hour, she clung to his side and comforted him, protected him until they could be safe again. If her father had not been foolish enough to let Jamie Lannister have them and he ultimately release them, they would not have ended up back in the safety of their home. As soon as her son had been born, she would have lost him. Now they were capable of growing old and seeing Robb with his pale skin and Tully features grow and have as many brothers and sisters as the gods saw fit. It was beautiful to experience life, as she sees the colours more clearly in the world. The horrors she felt constantly, ruminating thoughts that were like rice cooking in the pot, had darkened and muted the world she was in. It did not really swirl and spin in magic beauty after moments of terror, yet the world was the littlest bit brighter. It felt nice to share this joy with her. “I pray he grows healthy and strong. Edmure simply prays that we give him brothers and sisters to play with when my body is strong and capable again,” she told her with a nod. “I believe that we will have no difficulty there. We managed this one when we weren’t even trying all that hard in truth.” Who wanted to have a child in captivity? The mother inside of her was enough to make her want to say she hated her father for what he’d done to her and the man he’d married her off to. The whole thing was cruel and something she would be forced to live with forever. She knew what he deserved but she could not force herself to hate him. She was a daughter he distinguished as the most fair of his daughters, she seeing Edmure surprised and pleased to see her as she unveiled her face to him, he wondering why he did not see her among the others when Robb apologised to them. “I neither love nor hate him,” she confessed. “I simply cannot understand a parent who would put a child through what he put me though. I know he believes in what he did it all but it turns my stomach just thinking about it. I could never do anything like that to my son.”

“And I too, Lady Roslin. I pray sweet Robb sees many summers to come. I anticipate to see him soon. That is indeed good news, I pray that you have a happy growing family with my Uncle, although there is no pressure to do so. I have heard you conceived him, on your first bedding with Edmure.” Sansa nods, at Roslin’s confession, she looking at her with her blue eyes and cut lip. It was not particularly surprising what she said. It was a difficult decision on who to side with, when the one who’d committed the crime was your own blood that you’d known your whole life. “I understand that Walder wanted revenge for my brother’s betrayal, but this is just returning it to a massive magnitude that cannot be compared. And I truly believe that you would never inflict such burden on your son.”

[bewitchingbooktours]

Brother’s Keeper

David Vorhees

Genre: horror, thriller, family drama

Date of Publication: October 31

ISBN: 9798849162690

ASIN: B0CKYGKPL1

Number of pages: paperback 355

Word Count: 89595

Cover Artist: Myers Taylor

Tagline: Families love. Families support. Families betray.

Book Description:

Shea receives a call that completely upends her existence and forces her to return to Sundown, the town she thought she had left behind. Tensions increase as she deals with her brother Donovan’s untimely death, and long-buried family dynamics start to show again. Shea’s return brings back memories of a town with a troubled past that is racially divided as she makes new connections with her childhood friend Marcus, the town’s new police chief, and her elder brother Jay, who is now mayor. The repercussions of the past challenge the ties between family and friends.

Angelo, Andy to his friends, a Navy Veteran who retires from his civilian job of 35 years and decides to return the San Francisco Bay area to see the places he never saw while he was stationed there. Andy meets a beautiful woman who runs the bed and breakfast and almost instantly falls for her. As they grow closer Andy grows closer to unveiling a horrifying secret about this woman and her sick son in A Mother’s Love.

Quarantine tells the story of a Father and Husband who goes to great and horrific lengths to save his family from the ravages of a new and mysterious disease. These and many more tales of family, love, and betrayal await you.

Brother’s Keeper is a gripping collection of love, loss, and the enduring power of family ties. These stories will leave you captivated and emotionally invested in the characters’ journey, making it impossible to put down. Don’t miss these compelling narratives that tackle pressing social issues while delivering heartfelt and engaging stories.  A must-read that will linger with you long after the final page is turned.

Don’t miss out on this emotionally charged tale that challenges societal norms and leaves you craving more.

Dive into “Brother’s Keeper” today and get ready to confront your own assumptions and biases as you become engrossed in a world where love and loyalty are put to the ultimate test.

Amazon

Excerpt – Sundown

“Coffee?” the young pretty waitress asked, holding a pot of coffee.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Shelby,” Jay said and she turned his cup over for her to fill.

“Do you want your usual?” Shelby asked, smiling brightly.

“Please,” Jay said, smiling back.

Shelby turned and looked towards Shea, and without smiling at her, said, “And you?”

Just coffee please,” Shea said, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Uncle Jeb made me eat a big breakfast before I left.”

“Shelby, you remember my sister, Shea?” Jay said.

“Your sister?” Shelby said, finally looking at the young woman sitting in the booth across from Jay. “Oh my God! Shea! Honey, I didn’t recognize you. Get up here and give me a hug.” Shea stood up and hugged her.

“Hi, Shelby,” Shea said. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you. How long are you back for?”

“Till tomorrow. I will be leaving after the funeral,” Shea replied.

“Oh, yes, I am so sorry about your brother. Everyone loved Donovan,” Shelby said. “He truly was a good man.”

“Thank you,” Shea said, then Jay cleared his throat intentionally.

“Ok, Mr. Mayor, I hear ya. Let me go and put this order in and I’ll let you guys visit.

We’ll talk later,” Shelby said and walked away.

“You know, I think she has a crush on you,” Shea said slyly.

“You think? I hope so since we have been dating for the past year,” Jay said, laughing.

“Really!? That’s wonderful. I always liked her,” she said.

“She always liked you too,” Jay said.

“So, do you see this going somewhere? I mean, you’re getting a little long in the tooth, don’t ya think?” she said jokingly.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, smiling. Then his smile faded. “But we’re not here to talk about my love life. We’re here to talk about your husband and kids.”

“Oh, so your love life is off the table but mine is the topic of conversation?” Shea asked sternly, looking at him with a hardened look.

“Don’t look at me like that, Shea. I am just trying to say that maybe it’s not the best idea for them to come to the funeral,” he said.

“Why? Because my husband is white and my kids are mixed?” she asked coldly.

“Yes,” he stated bluntly. He had never approved of her marrying a white guy. Daniel was nice enough but he was white and Jay could not let that go, especially after who killed their parents and now who killed Donovan.

“Uh-huh, I see,” she said. “You have hated Daniel since the very first time you saw him.”

“I didn’t hate him, but you have to understand how wrong it is,” Jay said, trying to reason with her. It was difficult to reason with her when she got mad and, even after all these years, he could tell she was getting angry.

“Oh, you’re so full of shit. I had been dating Daniel for almost a year. I never brought him home because I knew how you would react to him, and then one day, you and Marcus show up at my school unannounced. You yell at me and get in my face because you caught me kissing a white man, and Marcus gets in Daniel’s face and threatens him. You embarrassed yourself, me, this family, and this whole damn town that day. I never forgave either of you for that and I hoped that maybe because of Donovan, we could get past that and become family again, but I guess not.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have had to come to your school to find out what or who you were hiding if you would have just told us,” Jay said. “I still can’t believe you would even consider dating a white guy after what happened to Mom and Dad.”

“Told you? Why, so you could come up there and threaten to kick his ass if he didn’t leave me alone? Oh, wait, you did that anyways. Besides, what happened to Mom and Dad was an accident. It could have been anybody driving that other car drunk, it just happened to be a white guy. You can’t hold Daniel responsible for that,” Shea said.

“A white guy that got what… two years’ probation and a stint in a rehab?” Jay said, getting angry himself now. “And every white person is responsible for that.”

“The white guy didn’t pick his punishment, that was the system and the system is broken. We all know that,” Shea said.

“And who set up the broken system? White guys.”

“And we are trying to fix it. Daniel and Donovan were—are—trying to fix and change the system and ya know Donovan liked Daniel and loved those kids. He would want them there, and maybe if you got over your racist bullshit, you’d see how wonderful they are.” She stood, getting ready to leave.

“It ain’t about that. You know how this town is and you know what could happen,” he said.

“I know what could happen, huh?” she said. “I know what should happen. This town you so dearly love should join the rest of us in the 21st motherfucking century. That’s what should fucking happen!” Shea said, turning to head for the door.

“Shea!” Jay tried to say.

“Nah, fuck you. You don’t get to threaten my family and try to justify it,” Shea said. “Fuck you and fuck this town. This kind of shit is why I stayed away for so long, and after tomorrow, I ain’t never coming back again.” She turned and walked away.

“Shea! Shea!” he called after her as she left the diner.

“I don’t know what happened, but I am pretty sure you need to apologize,” Shelby said

“Yeah, I know, and I will after she gets back home. I promise,” Jay said as he sat back down. Everyone in the diner had stopped to watch them and now they turned their attention back to their food and their conversations.

About the Author:

Horror and drama are passions to David as a Book Author at Amazon Direct Publishing. He has published three books, The Feast and Other Horrifying Tales and Abigail’s Odyssey, and Brother’s Keeper that explore different themes, scenarios, and characters in these genres. 

David’s writing skills are also rooted in journalism education and experience.  He studied Journalism at the University of Phoenix, which he completed online while working as an Assembly Line Worker at Addecco Staffing. Before becoming a Book Author, he worked as a Reporter at The Wapakoneta Daily News, covering local news, events, and stories, as well as taking photos and designing pages. David enjoys learning new things, exploring different perspectives, and creating engaging and original content.

David lives in Ohio with his wife and family.

LinkTree https://linktr.ee/dcvorhees

Twitter/X: https://twitter.com/AuthorHorror

Website: https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees

Blog: https://dcv1975.wixsite.com/davidvorhees/blog

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19429806.David_Vorhees

[bokuaosubs]

I'm happy to meet you (Hayasaki Suzuki 1st blog)

Thanks for coming to take a look at this blog. It’s nice to meet you! My name is Hayasaki Suzuki. I am very nervous about [writing] my first blog, but I will do my best to make it enjoyable (ง •̀_•́)ง This time, I would like you to get to know me, so please allow me to introduce myself.

● Name and nickname: My name is Hayasaki Suzuki. Suzuki is an unusual name, isn’t it (lol) I don’t have an official nickname, but my friends and the members often call me ‘Suu’, ‘Suzu’, ‘Suu-chan’ or ‘Suzu-chan’ ( ¨̮ )

● Profile: My birthday is on the 13th of March, 2005. I’m 18-years-old and I live in Tokyo! Actually, I was born in Osaka, but I moved to Tokyo when I was about 5-years-old, so I lost my Kansai dialect right away (- -;) My height is 161cm and my blood type is B. My personal colour is Brevet Summer ♪

● My favourite things: ・Favourite food and favourite season: My favourite food is mizu yokan! [Yokan is a wagashi (Japanese confection) made of red bean paste, agar, and sugar. There are two main types of yokan: neri yokan and mizu yokan. ‘Mizu’ means ‘water’, and indicates that the yokan is made with more water than usual] I have loved mizu yokan ever since I first ate it, back when I was in junior high school.

I love summer, too, because there’s lots of mizu yokan then. I guess I like mapu tofu, too, I like lots of different types of food (lol)

・Favourite colours: They’re purple and light blue! ⸜❤⸝

・Favourite type of movie: I like watching horror movies at the cinema! The feeling of not being able to escape at all is quite interesting.

・Favourite type of songs: When it comes to songs, I tend to listen to ballads ♪

・Something you like to do in particular: I like walking! I often go on walks with friends. However, it’s been getting hotter and hotter out lately, so I recommend going on walks either in spring or fall!

● Charmpoint: The only charm point I can possibly think of is the mole on my eyebrow. You can’t spot it all that often because of my bangs.

● Special skills: My special skills are the piano, badminton and the kendama! I’ve been playing the piano for 12 years, but recently, I haven’t been able to play at all, so my skill level is slowly declining ( .. ) I’ve also played the violin for 5 years! Badminton was a club activity I partook in for 6 years. Playing with the kendama was quite popular in elementary school, too, and I used to practice it constantly, so I could do it for hours on end.

Thank you for reading all the way until here. That’s about it for my self-introduction!

● To every one of you who has read all the way until here: I’ve loved idols ever since I was a child, and I have secretly longed to become one. However, because I lacked self-confidence, I used to avoid trying new things. But I didn’t want my dream to end simply at that, instead of becoming a reality, so I decided to audition. Many times, I find myself wondering if my current situation is merely a dream. I used to constantly be full of anxiety, but, as of late, I’ve often felt like the feeling of fun triumphs over my fear.

I’m not good at singing or dancing, and there are many things I have yet to understand, but I will do my best to challenge what lies ahead of me, in my own way! I would be happy if you could warmly watch over us in the future.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end! Finally, here’s a picture from the unveiling event ✌·͜·

[TL by: yuzuiro]

[davidsmith24]

Blockbuster Beat - Exploring Hollywood's Latest Film and TV Hits

Russell Crowe’s surprising reaction to Gladiator script: “It was rubbish”

July 31, 2023

Many Gladiator fans may be surprised by Russell Crowe’s initial response to the script for Ridley Scott’s 2000 blockbuster Gladiator. In the end, the film achieved both critical and financial success, earning over $460 million globally and bringing in

The Covenant, directed by Guy Ritchie, is a gripping tale of survival and heroism

July 31, 2023

The Covenant, Guy Ritchie’s most recent movie, may not have been a silly comedy, but it doesn’t sound like it was a challenging production for the filmmaker and his cast. Ritchie says that filming in Spain was “incredibly pleasant,”

Billie Lourd Still Mourns Her Mother’s Death After Six Years

July 31, 2023

Billie Lourd celebrates her late mother, Carrie Fisher, six years after her death. On Tuesday, the Booksmart actress paid a heartfelt tribute to Fisher. At the age of 60, Fisher died on December 27, 2016. When Fisher’s passing was

Oscar Winner Hilary Swank Shares Joy and Gratitude in Announcement of Twin Arrival

July 31, 2023

… Actress Hilary Swank announced the arrival of the twins with husband Philip Schneider in a heartwarming Instagram post.  The Oscar-winning actress, who is best known for her roles in “Million Dollar Baby” and “P.S. I Love You,” posted

Crypto Unveiled: A Glimpse into the World of Cryptocurrency Through the Lens of ‘Paper Empire’ TV show created by Robert Gillings

July 26, 2023

In the intriguing TV series “Paper Empire,” created by director and producer Robert Gillings, viewers are drawn into the captivating world of Laurence Fintch, a conman who orchestrates a Ponzi scheme to conceal millions of dollars in cryptocurrency and

Black Barbie dolls and a review of the 2023 film

July 24, 2023

Black Barbie — Greta Gerwig and Margot Robbie have accomplished the unthinkable by bringing the world’s most beloved doll, Barbie, to life in the film. The teasers and trailers that appeared in the months preceding the film’s release left

A brief look into blaxploitation in the horror genre

July 6, 2023

Blaxploitation — The earliest Black horror films, which gave rise to blaxploitation, a film subgenre with a complex history in popular culture, were discussed in the previous article. One of the earliest instances of blaxploitation is Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassss

Black horror: digging into the representations in the genre

July 5, 2023

Black horror — For many years, the horrible and often predictable murder of Black people in horror films has been a recurring trope, either at the beginning or at the end of the film. People may be turned off

Across the Spider-Verse was a success, but it came with a price

July 3, 2023

Across the Spider-Verse — Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse was released about a month ago by Columbia Pictures and Sony Pictures Animation, and anticipation is still strong. Most sequels have a 50/50 chance of matching their predecessors’ popularity, especially in

The Cliffhanger reboot is set to bring back the iconic character of Gabe Walker, played by Sylvester Stallone, in a thrilling new adventure

June 12, 2023

In the upcoming remake of the 1993 action-thriller Cliffhanger, Sylvester Stallone will return as Gabe Walker, so get ready to soar to new heights with Gabe.  The movie, which is being directed by Ric Roman Waugh and produced by

[cleoenfaserum]

THE NECRONOMICON in H. P. LOVECRAFT.

H.P. Lovecraft statue in Providence, RI sculpted by artist Gage Prentiss. Photo taken by David Lepage (OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA) shortly after the statue was unveiled online. A place has yet to be determined for the permanent installation of the statue in Providence.

Who is this scary dude that seems to have come out of the New England witchery subterranean hell. He is certainly crafty and don't know about him being a lover, particularly in his writings, well, I'll leave you to decide.

I am going to deal with H. P. Lovecraft  "Necronomicon", a fictional grimoire (meaning a textbook of magic) which has been featured it in many of his stories. So wish me good luck with that.

About this New-Englander Howard Phillips Lovecraft (August 20, 1890 – March 15, 1937), he was an American writer of weird, science, fantasy, and horror fiction. He is best known for his creation of the Cthulhu Mythos. I would suggest further reading at H. P. Lovecraft - Wikipedia

(679VID1) https://youtu.be/Ll67gXlC6qE

The Necronomicon, also referred to as the Book of the Dead, or under a purported original Arabic title of Kitab al-Azif, is a fictional grimoire (textbook of magic) appearing in stories by the horror writer H. P. Lovecraft and his followers. It was first mentioned in Lovecraft's 1924 short story "The Hound", written in 1922, though its purported author, the "Mad Arab" Abdul Alhazred, had been quoted a year earlier in Lovecraft's "The Nameless City". Among other things, the work contains an account of the Old Ones, their history, and the means for summoning them.

READ MORE: Necronomicon - Wikipedia

To make a long story short, I've included the following movie. (IMdB rating 5'8)

Necronomicon (also called H. P. Lovecraft's Necronomicon, Necronomicon: Book of the Dead or Necronomicon: To Hell and Back) is a 1993 French-American anthology horror film. It features three distinct segments and a wraparound directed by Brian Yuzna, Christophe Gans and Shusuke Kaneko and written by Gans, Yuzna, Brent V. Friedman and Kazunori Itō. The extensive special makeup and animatronic effects were supervised by Tom Savini[1] and were created by John Carl Buechler, Christopher Nelson and Screaming Mad George.

The three stories are based on three works by famed horror writer H. P. Lovecraft: "The Drowned" has light similarities to aspects of the short story "The Rats in the Walls", "The Cold" is based on the short story "Cool Air", and "Whispers" is based on the novella The Whisperer in Darkness. Read more: Necronomicon (film) - Wikipedia Necronomicon: Book of Dead (1993) - IMDb

(679VID2) https://ok.ru/video/1677493209656

REF: 679 NOTES

History of the Necronomicon - Wikipedia

Necronomicon - Wikipedia

Necronomicon (film) - Wikipedia

THE NECROMOMICON - An immersive film and audio book experience.

Altrusian Grace Media presents THE NECRONOMICON - an immersive film and audio book experience. Inspired by and referenced in the literary works of H. P. Lovecraft, the Necronomicon is the infamous Book of the Dead. The Necronomicon, also referred to as the Book of the Dead, or under a purported original Arabic title of Kitab al-Azif, is a fictional grimoire (textbook of magic) appearing in stories by the horror writer H. P. Lovecraft and his followers. It was first mentioned in Lovecraft's 1924 short story "The Hound", written in 1922, though its purported author, the "Mad Arab" Abdul Alhazred, had been quoted a year earlier in Lovecraft's "The Nameless City". Among other things, the work contains an account of the Old Ones, their history, and the means for summoning them. Download the audio version at https://altrusiangrace.bandcamp.com/a... Narrated by Matthew Schmitz

(679vid3) https://youtu.be/RGi4ACLePGw THE NECRONOMICON - an immersive film and audio book experience

THE FILM WITH SPANISH SUBTITLES...

(679vid4) https://ok.ru/video/85548272194 Necronomicon: Book of the Dead (1993) - VIAJE A LO INESPERADO

See the book in PDF...

Al-Azif-Necronomicon.pdf (holybooks.com)

[thetoxicgamer]

Vampire Bloodlines 2 update is coming, but your pre-orders aren’t

Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines 2 hasn't been mentioned in a very long time, but Paradox has said that we'll hear more about the eagerly awaited vampire game later this year. Kindred, sharpen your teeth because Bloodlines 2 is real and, hopefully, imminent. In a cryptic (pun entirely intended) June 7 tweet, Paradox writes “rise, Kindred, and join us in September for a big announcement!” What that announcement is remains a mystery, but it will likely unveil the game’s developer, and/or a new trailer. All of the 2019 cinematics have been made private on the official YouTube account at the time of writing, meaning there’s not much to look at ahead of time. The entire website has been stripped of detail, too, so whatever is coming in September must be pretty big. A tweet from the Paradox devs about Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines 2 news in SeptemberBut that’s not all. In news that may disappoint some, Paradox also confirms that it is issuing refunds to those who pre-ordered the game because so much of the original content has changed. “We acknowledge it was a long time ago that many of you pre-ordered Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines 2,” Paradox writes. “As development continues, we will be updating the game’s editions and bonus content, and we want to provide the best value to those of you who supported us via digital pre-order after all this time. We are thus offering refunds to anyone who has pre-ordered any edition of Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines 2. “As part of this process, we are proactively refunding all pre-orders of physical products, including the Collector’s Edition. The digital versions of the First Blood Edition, Unsanctioned Edition and Blood Moon Edition remain, but can be refunded if you choose.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eN448PFGtX0 Reading between the lines, it looks like the game is being reworked from the ground up. With a mysterious new developer at the helm, refunded pre-orders, and a completely gutted website, whatever is coming in September will probably look very different from what we see in the trailer above. As an avid VTM fan who plowed way too many hours into Sharkmob’s battle royale game, Blood Hunt, I am so excited to see this new and apparently improved Bloodlines 2. The allure of the darkness has taken hold once more, and I’ll be counting down the days until September. If you, like me, are excited for Bloodlines 2, we have a list of some of the best RPG games to tide you over, as well as a rundown of the best horror games if you’re looking for something with a bit more bite. Read the full article