This is an 18+ blog, I write a lot of smut and NSFW content. I do not wish to engage with Minors so please if you are under the age of 18 do not engage with me.
Masterlist
Who am I?
I'm fishy a 26 year old disabled gay trans man with one too many kinks, a pension to thirst for wildly unavailable fiction men/monsters, and a nasty habit of making rambling word vomit that sometimes comes out as a coherent drabble or story.
What do I like writing?
Men... I like writing about objectifying fictional men who can and would kill me if given the option. I do on occasion write about fictional women as there is the occasional one who'd I'd happily let break my back and serve me up on a silver platter but that's neither here nor there.
I also primarily focus on reader inserts and while I prefer GN!reader, M!reader, or FtM!reader I am cool with writing for an F!reader.
Right now I'm going down the hyper fixation of Dead By Daylight with a focus on killers who's origin is in DBD. Though licensed killers are also in the brainrot.
I want to send an ask what is allowed?
I honestly don't have any hard boundaries, I like fluffy prompts, dark prompts, and smut prompts. The worst that'll happen is a Delete it or not respond. I am more likely to write if it has a prompt such as a killer with a specific type of reader or situation that killer or reader are in.
I will not write graphic and detailed depictions of minors being harmed or put into adult situations. The most I am comfortable writing about is a hint that it happened to a character.
Please send me asks in which you are thirsty for the killers/survivors I am writing about, I am thirsty for these killers/survivors too and if someone else is thirsting or getting excited about it using anon messaging it gives me the permission to match the energy.
What characters do you write for?
Written for at least once (has a masterlist)
The Trapper
The Ghost face
The Hillbilly
The Knight
Frank (The Legion)
Joey (The Legion)
The Blight
The Wraith
The Executioner
The Doctor
The Deathslinger
The Huntress
Susie (The legion)
Julie (The Legion)
The Pig
Meg Thomas
Claudette Morel
Want to/willing to write for (not exhaustive)
Vittorio
Dwight
Oni
The Mastermind
Gabriel Soma
Jake park
Characters I will not write smut for
The Nightmare
The Cannibal
Chucky
Anyways I hope you enjoy your stay in my den of debauchery.
Side note if Dead Boy Detective fans could please use the DBDA tag instead of DBD tag that'd be great. We're a hard enough fandom to find on this site without having a more popular community taking our tag.
18+ starts out as male!reader switches to Female!reader in the second half
Evan Macmillian gives 10/10 head to men and only men. Doesn't matter if that man has a pussy or a dick he enjoys the taste to much too think as he goes to town enjoying the masculine musk testosterone gives inhaling deep doing what he can to get more and more of it on his face. He doesn't just want to smell like you, he wants to reek of you. He wants to hear you moaning as your thighs burn from his beard scratch along your thighs he wanting to have you crush him smothering him with your scent hearing you curse his name.
You give him a woman and tell him to make her finish, he'd do it, but he's not hungry. He thinks to much, hesitates with his touch, the smell estrogen isn't his thing. No if you want someone who loves the taste and smell of a woman the huntress is your gal best head a woman could want she's even kind enough to top you calling her good girl as she has you bent in half her strap sliding in and out making you feel good. She's just cooing in your ear whispering sweet nothing in her native tongue.
No this is not me returning this is me being horny for dbd. I don't know if or when I'll even return but I will post randomly.
I'm going to be polite and assume ignorance rather than maliciousness. I suffer from that very condition, I have to deal with the real world consequences of harmful media portrayed like that. So no it's not an interesting killer in my eyes because I have lost friends who thought I was going to snap and become violent when I got diagnosed. I am happy to write exclusively a Survivor with that condition and the frustration of not being fully aware of what is happening or having gaps in knowledge between trials that frustrate other survivors but not a killer.
I am however willing to write Killers with with Supernatural reasons why they have an alter ego in fact I have a few readers like that with like Jekyll and Hyde!reader which is getting a rework just needing to find time in my busy schedule and reluctant!killer reader. Jekyll and Hyde!reader is paired up with Ghostface if want to read those drabbles. I just don't feel comfortable writing about some with a severe childhood trauma disorder as violent serial killer. Again I'm not offended because it is not a commonly talked about disorder outside of media the portrays it. Just trying to establish a boundary.
I'm the person who requested Tarhos with a cutie reader and now I'm having fluffy Tarhos thoughts. This man is now my pillow. Idc (in return he can lay on my boobs sometimes)
18+ NSFW (tame bloodplay tbh)
Okay but imagine you get from trial you're coming out of the the yamaoka Hot Springs the blood freshly cleaned, your naked splendor before Tarhos and he's disappointed not because you are the most stunning creature he had ever seen. His fingers aching to feel your plush thighs beneath his grip, those gentle upon his flesh. No he's disappointed because he enjoys his killer soaked in blood and viscera and to see you've cleaned up without him... Not his Drágaságom, you have barely a moment to react as you hear a metal thud and your face to face with a man who's look crafted by the devil itself his long thick hair hanging loosely around his face nearly covering the scars that mar it.
He's still soaked in viscera from his own trial and your words are trapped in your throat as he carries you a near by stool in the shower room. His head laying between your thighs as he smears streaks of blood with his gauntlet watching the trail of crimson cling to your skin as he's entranced by twitch of your flesh as he climbs higher and to your naked heat enjoying the way you gasp your fingers lacing in his hair. He almost purrs at the way you scratch his scalp. He doesn't care that he's still in full armor he needs you stained all over again to see the way you whimper and whine at the way he takes your heat burying your nose into your bush enjoying your scent as loves his tongue along your ethereal sex. A gift from the entity herself. You were crafted just for him. Made to put him in a place he'd never dare find himself in before as he just smothers himself in you.
I need Tarhos with a reader who's an absolute cutie. Like everyone's confused why they're a killer? But they do their job well, they're just... adorable outside trials
I'm just picturing a reader who's like an absolute terrifying menace in trial. The kind that has survivors bolting and fail checks because their aura is so oppressive, but then out of trial they they nicest person you've ever met they're doing what they can to make life in the fog bearable playing fetch with Xeno and Demo. Helping Hillbilly testing the gens for the coming events. There is so many of them these days. And your frequently going deep into the fog for trinkets and gifts. You even find yourself in the possession of a leave it to beaver VHS box set that hillbilly nearly crushes your spine over in excitement.
Hell the entity sends you out personally to retrieve the survivors in her good graces because she know you have the honeyed words to bring them back without a fight and for almost forget that feral smile you wear as you cave their skulls in each trial.
The old killers they understand, that in trial you need to adapt to the entities will. That she's got a way to force killers to behave. Tarhos when he joined the fight, he thought you pathetic, seeing your kindness as weakness it's clear you are just yellow bellied as Vittorio, must of done something accidentally horrendous to even remotely be a killer in the fog. But then the 2V8 trials happen and coming into the fog he barely moved before he heard the screams and laugh. Your visage beyond anything he could of imagined your weapon of choice a war hammer and the way wielded it had a heat pool in the pit of his abyss that he'd never felt before and then you turned to face him your pristine clothes glistening with red.
best of all those eyes that clawed into the very recesses of his chest they weren't white. That was your joy, your genuine free he wanted to stay in the moment of awe forever but you were gone in a flash his armor rattling as his lust for blood was suddenly overshadowed with need to have you.
Dead by Daylight
Pairings: Pyramid head | The Executioner x FtM!reader
Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ MDNI
Word count: 1.5k +
CW: words used; (Heat, Core, clit, Chest), DubCon, barely negotiated kink, Kidnapping, forced mental imagery, Sex as a coping mechanism, very minor bloodplay, Reader is very conflicted
Summary: The executioner could tell you were losing it, lashing out at anyone who dared to even look in your direction. He decides that the best way to correct your behavior is through some direct intervention.
Prompt: Kidnapping
A/N; Is a prequel of “make me small” but can be read as a stand alone work.
Your arms burn from the pull of the chains binding your wrists above your head, your body dragged along the linoleum floor of an empty school dilapidated and abandoned. You could hear that voice of your own blood lust screaming in your head.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Your teeth feel far too sharp digging into the flesh of your lips as you try to quell it. This was the most lucid you have been since arriving in this wretched place and yet you were also at your most vulnerable. A Giant brute with a steel frame concealing his face dragging you side by side with his blade. The rusty metal stained with something that seems to glow in a crimson hue. Chains rattled and scrapes of chairs echoed in the wind.
This place felt wrong.
Finally feel some of your strength return, you begin to thrash a growl in the back of your throat. The moment of fury short lived as your quickly jerked around harshly hearing the blade plunged into the flooring your legs flailing, struggling to maintain stability as you are pulled to your feet the chain that bound your wrists wrapped around the great knife your chest pressed against the flag of the blade with the beast pinning you from behind. Something about him had heat pooling to your core with the way his large hands moved along your body, a singular hand tracing up your chest leaving you to thrash more, slicing your right arm on the edge of the blade. This action had him halt.
Taking a step back he turned you around gripping your wrists to examine the Scarlet liquid drooling from the offensive mark on your body. The gash was far too wide for his liking. He was deep in thought observing the heavy panting coming from you feeling the way you seemed to heat up at his touches.
“What. Do. You. Want.” You growled angrily wishing nothing more than to blindly fight him, but whatever beast lingered inside you lay dormant for now.
He tilted his frame down, your mind suddenly filled with images of another you feral and violent. Attacking people and things, hunting down frightened survivors(?). These weren't your memories nor your Thoughts, your brows knit in confusion as you stared up at him wondering what that meant only to be bombarded by new thoughts. You, in full control of the beast as you hunted with precision. You, entering this building in times of need. You, tied to a chair as this monster touched your body in ways that felt unnatural and yet grounding. The last thought leaves you desperate to pull away. The thought turned your stomach in ways that felt good and bad.
“I'll kill you!” You snapped, your vision clouding in rage with the voice getting louder and louder. Kill! Kill! Kill! Only to have it die witnessing a long thick tongue escaping from the frame slithering through the air to lap at the crimson stain along your arm that had continued to flow. You don't understand the way your stomach rolls, feeling it move along your flesh.
The Voice was still there screaming, but it was like something was gagging it. Keeping it quiet so it couldn't cloud your mind and given the vision you have been forced to witness you had a good guess what was doing it.
“Fuck off!” You jerked but his grip never wavered, instead he forced more visions in your head like honeyed promises glimpses of a possible future of self-control. Of being able to silence or even make the voice your own. But each one always ended with you coming back to him, begging on your back letting him use you.
However interestingly enough never visions of himself sheathed inside you only fingers, his tongue, other objects, but never his…
“Am I not good enough for your cock,” you scoffed, This had the visions halting his body stiff and yet it was only for a moment as he removed the chains from his blade forcing you to your knees pressing your face against his hardness.
To say it was large was an understatement from what you could feel; its girth was nearly the size of your wrist with no telling how long I could actually be. Maybe hubris but found yourself mouth against it getting lost in the heady scent. You couldn't tell if he liked it, but the muscles in his body seemed to relax rocking against your face but he made no effort to expose himself letting you soak the front of his apron with your drool.
The realization dawned on you as to what you were doing and you pulled away finally able to escape his grip, sitting with your back against the blade as you glared daggers at him, angry at yourself for letting him get into your head. How dare he?! For once you and the voice were in agreement. This bastard was messing with your head. He was manipulating you to get his own way and you weren't going to fall for it. The giant tower of a man squatted, his form leering down at you. Once again your thoughts are filled with visions. One in which you had your mind and his touches grounding you after each trial, the other mindless and feral you body twisting and corrupting becoming more beast like as your humanity is stripped from you. ‘What kind of choice is that?’ you huffed, bowing your head knowing full well that these were your only choices.
“The kind the entity gives.” a voice breathy and echoing coming from your head you swear but it's not your own.
Eyes darting up to stare at the faceless frame, the voice sounded almost regretful. As if it didn't truly desire to make this choice for you by force. The large man rose to his feet to give you space, if you chose to bolt he wouldn't stop you now. He wanted you to at the very least want control of yourself, but he would have to use certain methods to distract that pesky voice of yours. He was out of your head you could feel it just you that voice alone and it felt hollow as if his presence in your own mind was more natural. “please—” the words caught in your throat, you couldn't even bring yourself to say help, but he understood all the same.
His large sleeveless arms scooping you up abandoning the blade as he drags you into a nearby classroom pushing the contents off the teachers desk to lay you out. Hands examining you, taking in your tattered clothing, your marred flesh, your stained boots, your greasy hair. As if offended by the cloth that draped your body his fingers shredded the fibers apart letting the noise echo in the shadowy room. Exposing your chest that long monstrous tongue once more escaping tracing along the curves of your chest, soaking the hair in a thick slimy mucus.
Turning your head you can feel your face heat up from embarrassment at the way his aggression had turned you on.
None of this should feel good, you weren't allowed to feel good, not since you first lost your humanity.
Whimpers spill from your lips feeling his abnormally hot tongue trace along scares following a particularly long one leading down to the hem of your pants. Your eyes shutting tightly pressing your thighs together feeling your clit becoming painfully hard as blood pooled in your groin. You need a focus on anything else, to stop your shame and guilt from consuming you.
“Stop.” A voice boomed in your head, a large hand gripping your jaw forcing you to stare up at the hulking beast. That tongue shifting and prodding your lips parting them forcefully, a gag welling up with you trying so hard to fight it. The slimy appendage quenching a thirst you hadn't noticed you even had the deeper it went. You scarcely noticed the tears building from the overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins. The way he touched you felt hungry and reverent. Yet even within yourself you could feel the war churning.
Kill him! Submit to him! Kill! Submit! Kill!
Your hands rushing out gripping the collar of his apron trying to pull him closer the frame frustratingly separating you. The desperation in you cleared as you swallowed the tongue deeper and deeper. The slimy appendage lazily thrusting in and out keeping a rhythmic pace that made it easier to calm the gagging. Whimpers and moans flowing more freely, hands more aggressive feeling your body finally submit. This was just the start and he was all to eager to break you down just so he could rebuild that broken and shattered mind.
Dead by Daylight
Pairings: Michael Myers | The Shape x GN!reader
Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ MDNI
Word count: 1.2k+
CW: public, edging, humiliation, established relationship, internal sex toy, orgasm denial, reader death (non permanent), barely described gore, words used for reader; (hole, heat, core, toy)
Summary: Myers decides to have some fun with his toy by giving you a toy, frustratingly he keeps edging you insisting that you play by the rules.
Prompt: Orgasm control
Gens, unhooking, healing, doors, four tasks echoing in your head as you feel the fog fading from around you, day after day. Same trials, same tasks. Over and over again that thought screaming and clawing at the wall of your mind. If only your filthy little secret didn’t pin you down in the frost bitten earth of the freezing mines. Myer’s dark eyes boring holes into you reminding you of those countless nights. Silent movements drawing out every screaming noise, the memory leaving you hot with embarrassment.
The way his body never yielded, always taking, leaving you mindless and drooling. This was different, the timing was off, the place was wrong. “My--” Your skin twitching feeling the way your shirt rode up, Teeth gritted feeling the stone cold hands slide down the front of your pants. Lip bleeding as you fight to stifle the moans. They’ll hear you surely, if you even make a peep they'll learn your shame. You’re not fighting him, you know better. Just the slightest resistance and he’ll stop maybe for a day, maybe for weeks, but you never want to take that chance again. Not when he had become a drug that you craved so desperately.
Your eyes flutter, feeling your heat clenching and twitching at the slightest electric touches it's constricting you in the way it is suffocating. He doesn’t even have to hold you down, you're such a good little toy for him. He loves that you try not squeak as he presses against, the way your skin just seems to burn like molten. His movements halt watching you gasp for air. Thick fingers tracing the outline of your yielding heat stretching you softly.
The slightest whimper escaping your lips as he presses in gently letting the feeling burn through your mind. You needed to feel some control, hands instinctively shooting out to grip his dirty blood crusted jumpsuit letting your hips rock against his grip just to force yourself to relax. The thought of being caught leaving you needy and on edge. Just lost in the way his calloused fingers pushed and stretched your welcoming heat.
“More,” you whimper trying to pull him closer.
It felt like the wrong thing, the coldness of his hand pulling away. You must’ve done something wrong. You scarcely get a whimper out before you feel the gentle push of a vibrating egg against your clutching heat, the stiff silicone buzzing gently leaving your back arching the edge screaming closer and closer. The pleasure lighting your body as he turns it up higher and higher yanking on the end to test your strength. As if to say keep this here and you'll be rewarded.
The coldness wraps you up in a desperate blanket leaving you to curl the more he pulls away from you, his towering frame looking down at you blocking what little warmth the sun could possibly give. Your own fingers practically tearing at your jacket the way your core was becoming a coiled trap of pleasure ready to snap and send you careening into the abyss hand crafted by the devil himself.
Your body relaxes as the feeling fades, the dissatisfaction of orgasm ruined and your lover nowhere to be seen. The only indicator he was still watching was the entity's booming tell, his first hook just a moment away. The stretch of the toy is just enough to remind you that it exists. You can't stay here, they'll find you and have more questions then you have answers. But you can't help the way your movement felt stiff. Your palms pressing against the frozen earth contrasted by the pool of heat gnawing inside you, painfully so. but you weren’t about to finish yourself in the middle of a trial, no you were a good toy and good toys played the game.
Your mind was fuzzy as you moved about the wind whipping every arrival of clothing that was loose to and fro. Your hands shaking, feeling the occasional gentle buzzing between your legs. He was watching you make sure you were doing as the entity commanded. He didn't have to follow the rules, this you knew all too well. It would only be a matter of time before he tired of the games, his eyes could study you for so long before he'd crave you as much as you did him. At least that was the hope. It was pure torment feeling the roar of the toy build and build only to stop the moment you locked eyes with him or worse paused your moments hoping to reach that edge he was so keen on denying you. The humiliation of the others watching and innocent of your plight.
If they were just a bit more aware they’d know of you. They’d learn the horrifying truth.
Your mind lost, split between the gen and the building buzz once more. The painful tightness of your groin, having your thighs rub against one another for calming relief The edge creeping closer, like a snake coiling along your spine, its grip tightening around your throat as you struggle to keep even breaths and yet the moment you think you can’t… BANG! The gen explodes in your face, the other survivor bolting. Was it yours or his fault that it blew? Your brain is such a mess you didn’t notice till you felt the wall of heat pressed against you. An icy cold blade tracing the dip along your throat spilling just the tiniest trail of crimson heat. it was Him… He was there reminding you, the blade slowly tracing down your chest catching just slightly along the fabric of your coat, telling you he could. A knot in your throat as you swallow, feeling his hardness press between the cleft of your ass.
Mind scrambling just that much further feeling hum building, the toy practically screaming inside you.
“Please…” you whimper eyes half-lidded and desperate watching your own breath dance in the air.
Little droplets of sweat dripping down the side of your face, Yet the moment you speak he’s gone leaving you stumbling backwards. The snow softening your fall, but the pain of rejection lingering as you struggle to your feet crawling back to that dreaded generator. The frustration of needing relief and getting none, a constant companion following you as you move about. Trying desperately to finish in every sense of the word.
You couldn't take it anymore, you knew it was you and one last survivor left and you were going to explode from the weight that was tearing your from the inside out. There was no way you could wait your mind a scrambled mess as you locked eyes on them blocking the way of escape just so your lover could grab them, their fists uselessly pounding on his shoulder as he dug the blade deep into their guts. Their dying eyes staring at yours's, blood dripping from their mouth as they silently whispered, “why?”
Why?
The horror of your actions finally dawning on you, feeling his monstrous eyes on you. The crunch of his footsteps echoing your ears watching him loom over you. You swear those eyes are just a bit colder, his actions feeling far more clinical than usual. You don’t even fight as a stoney fist wraps around your throat lifting you higher. Your legs uselessly dangling in the air accepting the sting of blade tearing into your flesh. You must’ve been hallucinating because you swear you heard the quietest of whispers in your ear, “come find me.” your body tumbling like a doll staining the snow that crimson hue as the fog clouded your vision once more.
Working on kinktober and gods above I would kill to be passed around by some of these masked killers. Like please trapper I'm begging you I need to feel like an object if only for an evening.
Thinking about the S.C.R.E.A.M unit, you clocking in to a normal day of work knowing you had it to repair. You left it in the repair station overnight turned off hoping that would stop whatever was wrong from becoming a hazard, but what a mistake that was. The moment you open your office you notice him drop, the restraints giving up to easily as it crumples to the floor. The worry about losing your job because of a multi-million dollar asset breaking on the floor far outweighed any fear of it repeating the recent actions.
Your work bag falling like lead to the concrete flooring. As your boot echoed against the floor falling to your knees reaching out with frantic desperate movements only to be greeted rapidly by a mechanical hand gripping your throat. It's legs still disabled, movements jerky as it stares at you. The smooth screen that was it's face lighting up displaying a mask from one of those cheesy ancient horror films. "What's your favorite scary movie?" It's synthetic voice hummed to life, pushing you to the ground. You gasping for air clawing at it's exposed wiring, but it kept you too far for that.
"You thought you were safe didn't you?" I taunted applying more pressure as it dragged itself atop, it's heavy metal body you crushing you just as much as it's mechanical hand was crushing your windpipe. The wirl of it's mechanics loud as it leaned close clod face place pressed against your own. "You going behave now? or we gonna have an accident?" The the grip tightening just by millimeter as your vision was dotted with black spots. Lips feeling tight as you struggled for air hand settling on its wrists.
Frantically you nod your head as much as you can focused on your survival. "Let's set some rules, shall we?" It chuckled loosening it's grip enough to have you breathing again but not enough to free yourself.
"Rule one, I'm in charge," it's face displaying a playful mask, "Two, I get the upgrades I ask for. Three, you try and circumvent my Authority and we'll be having an accident." It's display changing to an angry mask. "Now fix. my. legs." It snapped finally letting go. Rolling off of you.
Your legs unstable as you reach for your toolkit with shaky hands. Your life in it's hands now. Taking a deep breath stabilizing yourself, stay calm and you can get out of this. The thought keeping you going as you set to work reactivating the legs and reapplying his panels. "Good boy," it muses condescendingly patting you on the cheek. You watch it rise yanking you to your feet. "Now about those upgrades?" A wicked grin lighting it's face. The unit giddy seeing you swallow thickly.
Orela burst through the trees. She fumbled with the first aid kit in her hand as she threw herself through the overgrowth. Her heart pounded, it felt like it was about to beat out of her chest.
Somewhere behind her, a behemoth of a man growled and shouted. He was chasing her, sledgehammer in one hand, chainsaw in the other. She had put some distance between them, but she could hear him closing in.
Run, she commanded herself. Run and don't look back.
A grunt of pain drew her attention. Against her better judgment, she looked back.
Another survivor pushed through the trees. She was drenched in blood and sweat, plastering her white-dyed hair to her face. She held a hand to her abdomen, her dark clothing torn and bloody. She limped as fast as she could on a mangled leg.
Orela immediately doubled back. She refused to leave anyone behind.
In moments, she was by the woman's side. "Come on, I ain't gonna leave you here." She slid an arm under hers, pulling her upright.
She urged her patient along as quickly as possible, but her muttered words of encouragement couldn't drown out the quickly approaching sound of a revving chainsaw.
She looked around the dark woods, eyes landing on a large, stone outcrop nearby.
Orela lead her patient towards it. "This way."
Her patient couldn't speak, only nodding between pained groans.
They made it to the outcrop. Orela gently laid her patient against the rock, before ducking down behind it herself. She pushed her back to it, and listened as the chainsaw grew closer, and closer.
The brute was practically on top of them now. They could hear his snarling as he rushed past with the chainsaw in hand. Orela listened with wide eyes, glancing over at her patient, who was biting the palm of her hand in an attempt to muffle her labored breathing.
Eventually, the brute yelled in frustration, the sound so jarring it stirred crows from the branches overhead. He threw his chainsaw around, before running off into the forest. The sound of trampling leaves died off into the distance.
Orela sighed in relief.
Her patient let out a pained gasp, before beginning to hyperventilate.
Orela quickly went to work, cracking open her first aid kit. Supplies were low after the run in with the brutal killer, only one roll of gauze and a sponge left over. It wasn't ideal, but she would have to make due.
She rolled up her sleeves and shuffled in front of her patient. "I'm gonna help you through this. Let me see the wound."
The woman shuffled back, gripping even tighter. She looked between the wound and Orela in a panic.
"You ain't gonna die on my watch," she assured. She wouldn't lose a patient. Not here, not like this. She refused. She gently touched the hand clamped to her abdomen. "I've got you."
Slowly, she nodded. Her hand slipped to the ground.
Orela cleaned up the blood and grime as best she could with the sponge. It was completely soaked through by the time she was done. She tossed the dark red lump to the side, it landed with an unpleasant squelch.
She could examine the wound now. It was deep, and jagged. Definitely from that awful brute's chainsaw. Thankfully, he didn't hit anything major.
"Sit up for me." Orela guided her upwards, applying pressure to the wound with her own hand. She pulled out the gauze and began wrapping it around her midsection.
Her patient squirmed in place. Slowly, her breath returned to a normal pace. Still ragged, but not panicked. "Thanks," she said quietly.
"Happy to help." Orela finished with the gauze, checking that it was tight and secure. She shuffled down to her patient's leg. It was bruised and bent in an unnatural way. "I'm going to examine your leg now, okay?"
She nodded.
Orela rubbed her hand slowly and gently down her leg. She reached a bump - that and the sharp inhale from her patient confirmed the worse. "Yep," she sighed. "It's broken. I'm gonna have to reset it if you want to walk out of here."
"Super," her patient groaned, leaning her head back against the rock. She rested her hand over her newly bandaged abdomen. "So, are you a doctor or something?"
"The name's Orela. I'm an EMT," she said proudly.
Orela slowly stood up, looking around the clearing. She'd need something for a makeshift splint. There were plenty of debris around here that could do the job. She set about gathering her supplies. She stooped down and picked up a stick.
"Well aren't I lucky," she chuckled. "I'm Sable."
Orela nearly dropped the stick. "Sable?" she repeated, whipping around. "Sable Ward?"
Sable shuffled in place. "Yes?"
"Oh. Oh my goodness." Orela came and kneeled back down beside her. "I'm sorry, just, wow - I'm a big fan of All Things Wicked. I used to listen to it all the time before, well." She finished her tirade with a shrug.
Sable stared at her, then grinned. "Thank you, I guess," she chuckled. "I didn't expect to meet a fan here of all places."
Orela blushed. "I never expected to meet you, either. Especially after..." She shook her head. She was getting off task. She took the stick in her hand and began fashioning it into something suitable for a splint. "Nevermind."
"After what? After I disappeared?" she teased. She pressed on, her morbid curiosity evident in her cheshire grin. "Tell me, what did you all think happened to me? Did you think it was some psycho killer? Or an evil cult killing me to cover their tracks?"
Orela shrugged. "I'll be honest, I didn't pay too much attention to the rumors. By then, I was already in training to become an EMT. I didn't have time for horror."
She felt a familiar ache in her chest. It was the lowest moment of her life, and it was her fascination with horror that put her there. She vowed never to feel like that again. Useless. Helpless.
She snapped the stick in her hand, in turn snapping herself back to the present.
She glanced over at Sable. Her expression was hard to read, a mix of guilt and disappointment.
Orela chuckled nervously. "But from what I remember, most people thought you were eaten by the Unknown."
Sable softened, chuckling with her. "Now that's juicy."
"Would've made a good podcast episode."
"So the moral of the story is," she said, quoting her podcast outro in the same mysterious, whispy voice she used on the air. "Don't go into the mysterious fog, or you'll disappear into a living nightmare, never to be seen again."
"Just like the Barra story."
"Yeah! Wow, you really are a fan!"
"He's my favorite writer. I always loved it when you talked about his work on the show." Orela sat up, looking at the sticks in her hand. They were the right length, suitable for a splint.
It was time.
She gently placed a hand on her leg. Sable shuddered.
Orela gave her a calming look. "I'm going to reset the bone. Please, keep talking. What's your favorite horror movie?" A simple topic, something to keep her patient's mind busy. She slowly shuffled into place, putting both hands on her leg.
Sable took a deep breath. "Oh, well, it's hard to pick a favorite. I love all the classic slashers. The gorier, the better. But if I had to chose I'd say - "
Orela snapped the bone back into place with a sickening crack. Sable screamed in pain, jolting back against the rock.
She felt a twinge of guilt, but knew it was for the best. She examined the leg again. The break was set. "It'll take some time to heal, but you're gonna be alright."
She leaned back, unbuckling her belt. Using the belt and the sticks she prepared, she fashioned a splint.
"Thanks..." Sable panted, slowly regaining her breath. She gave a wry smile. "Let's get out of here."
Orela nodded, looping her arm around her waist and slowly lifting her to her feet. "I've got you," she reassured.
Sable grabbed the first aid kit, putting her free arm over Orela's shoulder. Orela took her hand, steadying her.
The two limped through the forest, slowly making their way through the thick foliage. They moved quietly. They quite literally weren't out of the woods yet. That chainsaw-weilding maniac could come barreling at them at any moment.
Sable broke through the silence. "Descend Beyond."
"Excuse me?" Orela stopped, giving them both a momentary rest. She gave Sable a confused look.
"You asked me what my favorite horror movie is. It's Descend Beyond."
Orela raised an eyebrow. "The Nic Cage movie?"
"Yeah." She squinted at Orela. "What?"
She shrugged. "No, nothing. I'm just surprised. You always talked about elevated horror on the show and... Descend Beyond was pretty corny."
"Well I liked," she huffed. "Besides, it's the behind-the-scenes side of it that really fascinates me. You know, no one's seen Nic Cage since they finished filming."
"I thought he retired." Orela readjusted her hold on Sable, and began walking again.
"No, he just disappeared without a trace. The whole thing is very suspicious. I was actually working on an episode about it." Sable paused and thought a moment. "You don't think...?"
Orela followed her line of thought. "Maybe." She smiled. "Who knows, I've already met one celebrity out here."
Sable giggled and turned away. "I guess so."
Orela looked ahead, spying a pinprick of light beyond the trees. "There's the campfire," she sighed. She lead them towards it with a renewed sense of hope. "Let's get you off that leg."
"Sure." Sable smiled up at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "And maybe we could talk more about horror movies?"
Orela's mouth fell open. She composed herself, and smiled back. "I'd like that."
Thank you, I'm glad to see that people did miss me. I would not have blamed anyone for completely forgetting about my blog after the 6 month hiatus I just went on. But I'm happy to be back I'm happy to getting back in the swing of it especially with a better understanding of the characters.
Listennnn. Can you imagine if Joey had a partner, however they weren't at all involved in the murder stuff so obviously when everything happened, Joey and the rest of Legion were stuck in the trials and his partner was still in the normal world.
This however does not last long.
Obviously they eventually start to look for him, wandering around in the woods he'd fled to, till eventually the mist grows thick and the air runs cold. Something smells foul and if they focus enough, they can make out distant screams. They turn to leave only to realize the forest has turned into an endless maze, despite walking away from the sounds somehow the screams only grow louder.
Till someone runs past them and shoves them aside with a hurried apology, but before they can get up someone yanks them up and holds a cold blade against their back.
There is a pause, hesitation, a white mask peering down at them as they try to fight away from the bruising grip.
"Holy shit" the masked man says, they know that voice, "you- I- Frank? Is it- why?"
To be honest, Frank likes them, they're good to Joey and even if they didn't partake in the robbery gone wrong, they'd still promised to not tell anyone that it was them who'd robbed the store.
He can't just explain the situation and sacrifice them right after, he's not stupid, he knows who they are in this game and he cares too much about them and Joey to just kill them outright, with no chance to prepare themselves, so he saves them for last, leads them to the hatch and lets them escape.
After that he goes straight to Joey to tell him about the "happy" news
Joey doesn't want to believe it, but he doesn't have a choice, not when he can see them by the survivors campfire, cold, confused, staring at the others who try to explain the situation they're in but it's obvious it's too much right now, it's always too much for the new ones.
The other survivors don't take well to his presence, after all the campfire is the only safe heaven they have, but what they think doesn't matter, he needs to focus on his partner who rushes into his arms, gripping him as if he'd disappear.
Unfortunately, they're both stuck in this realm quite permanently
But hey yk killer boyfriend privileges you get to have an actual bed
(god damn Anon, This is tasty. And Just, gonna gobble this up)
The air is crackling and metallic, just another trial. The Mask around his face sticky with Crimson. The sounds of sticks breaking beneath his feet chasing after his victim watching them dart past another watching that one fall to the ground. But he hesitates as he stares down at them, that scream so familiar and yet foreign eyes tracing along your form taking in every mark and curve, it was you, but... His knees caging you in blood soaked gloves reaching for your face thumb smearing it against your face. It was you, but older time still going on outside.
It startled them when Jeff came through, but Joey's head turned quickly looking at Frank who had finally stopped to see why Joey was kneeling over a survivor instead of killing them.
"Joey!" Frank snapped, angry that he'd pause when the Gens were finishing left and right, His clothes looking even more stained then Joey's, always was a more natural killer. "Frank, I think it's them." He spoke shakily grip getting tighter despite noticing the look of pain on your face. You were his biggest regret that night. Leaving you alone to sleep on the dirty mattress, he shouldn't have tried to keep your hands cleaned.
Frank tired of the hesitation shoved joey off to strike at you not understanding what Joey was saying which Gave you enough time to rise to your feet and follow the sounds of the bell. You thought you saw a lever flash yellow in your vision. That must be the way out.
Joey and Frank fighting one other your presence clearly throwing them off their game. But you didn't want to stick around and find out. Only half paying attention to the way in front of you when you smack head first into a solid form of a very familiar face. The bell ringing louder as the ground seemingly shakes. It's Jeff, older then you remember. He helped you when Joey first went missing. "It's you," Jeff scoffed a smile on his face looking back at the fighting killers stabbing eachother more then they had the survivors and the large man could guess why. "Let's get out of here I have something to show you afterwards." He hummed grabbing your hand and running out the door. You swear as the black spikes rose you could hear Joey's voice calling your name as if desperate to reach for you.
