⇢ Pairing: Amanda + Meg Thomas
(background GhostMeg & platonic GhostPig)
⇢ Length: Oneshot
⇢ Synopsis: Amanda's perspective of Danny and Meg's relationship, trapped in a trial with both.
⇢ A/N: Amanda isn't in the 2v8 (yet) but I think I'd be terrified more than enough if she was.
A reminder that a “+” signifies a non-romantic pairing (typically platonic but I’m not certain these two are even at that level yet)
Amanda sees her before she does. It’s a given, considering she’s the predator, trapped in an arena with her prey.
She stills where she’s crouched in the foliage, waiting to lunge at one of the survivors, too distracted to notice her as they run past. Her flare of bright, red hair is the first giveaway. Danny’s gushed about it more times than she cares to count, and she’s practically sick of the sentence “luscious red locks” even without having ever seen them. (More than once she’s considered shaving them off if it would only get Danny to SHUT UP-)
Two braids fly behind her head, lightly smacking her on her shoulders as she whips her head around in every direction, eyes narrowed, ears straining as she cautiously pads. Not quite a walk but not a run either. Gathering her strength, saving it for a boost when she’s startled and needs to bolt.
Amanda tilts her head, squints her eyes. Now she can see the never-ending comparisons to a red hare that Danny loves to make. The constant glances in every direction, the footsteps, angled and poised, ready to bolt at the slightest rustle. She can practically make out a pair of lopsided bunny ears on top of her head, twitching in every direction with the way she keeps a keen eye out.
The other giveaway is the mismatched hair ties holding both of her braids; one a dark brown color that nearly blends in with her hair, the other a shock of bright, teal blue. A glaring constant to the rest of her clothes, and a wonderful pop against the red strands of her hair. She doesn’t need to ask to know which ones is her usual style, not with the way Danny had practically skipped into the Ormond Resort after he’d returned from a trial weeks ago, fresh blood splatters darkening his clothes from a round well done; spinning a hair tie on his finger with too much delight and giddy excitement for the man’s usual energy.
She’d sighed and finally placed down the knife she’d been sharpening when his almost giggling had started to give her a headache, rubbing the wrong way on every nerve she had left as she monotonously asked where he’d got it.
The bastard had grinned back at her, mask long since taken off and leaned in close. Close enough for his breathe to waft over her face as Amanda grimaced. He tilted back out of her personal space before she could shove him- or maybe even stab him- and given her a cheeky grin.
“Secret,” he’d winked, annoyingly, pressing the hair tie fondly to the corner of his mouth.
Amanda had held back an irritated sigh (if only to not delight him with how much of an effect he had on her) and returned to sharpening her knife, imagining how it’d look if she jabbed it into his eye and twisted. (Not that that’d bring much relief when he’d come back alive and well, thanks to the favoritism of the Entity, no point in it if he didn’t stay dead.)
She shifted closer, careful to avoid any rustling branches as she readjusted her hold on her knife. She couldn’t kill her, despite how much more annoying Ghostface had gotten since his budding obsession over her, but she could certainly have her fun. Even knew how to kill two birds with one stone and save the rest of the survivors for herself with no clashing competition. No giddy killer to splay himself over her back afterwards to brag about the kills he’d stolen from her.
She pulled into herself, inhaled, quiet, quiet so they never heard her- and lunged. Typically the move would catch one of the survivors off guard, lucky to only escape with a knife wound and panic thrumming under their skin, tripping over themselves fearfully. The redhead was faster, wide eyes snapping to her pig mask before she bolted, feet slamming against the dirt only a moment before Amanda’s knife cut the air where she’d been, bloodthirsty and locked onto her.
She growled, pivoting on her feet to keep her momentum as she missed, lurching after the redhead sprinting away from her. She had to give it to her, the girl knew how to run, dodging at every last moment, ducking behind a pallet before the pig could strike.
But she wasn’t quite good enough. Not when there were two killers in the match, not when Amanda had a plan.
She doesn’t see him, too focused on glancing back at her, ensuring the steady distance, searching for another route to try to shake her off. But Amanda does, has since the hunt started, since she nudged her in the direction.
Meg didn’t notice the root until her foot snagged in it, yelping as she went flying, arms pinwheeling as she desperately tried to keep her balance. It’s a losing fight against gravity with her momentum however, and she certainly would’ve been eating dirt had a pair of dark, gloved hands not lashed out to catch her, yanking her upwards to collide with a broad chest instead, stepping backwards to catch her energy.
Amanda slows her pace, snorting as she places her hands on her hips and catches her breathe, regards the view in front of her with a glow of self satisfaction. Meg is splayed against Ghostface’s chest, feet scrambling for purchase as she gapes up at him with horror stricken features. She shoves against his chest, desperately clawing, scrambling, like a prey caught in a snare.
Amanda tilts her head up. She doesn’t need Ghostface’s mask off to feel the smug satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, arms lashed across her back to keep her pressed to him, leaning backwards to keep her scrambling on her toes, unable to kick or find enough purchase to leap away. He coos something to the survivor that makes her blanch and renews her desperate efforts, dull nails scratching at his arm as he shakes in laughter at her response.
Amanda shudders, a shiver running up her spine as she fights to keep the bile from traveling up her throat. She couldn’t hear what he’d said from her distance, nothing more than the tone. But she’d live a happy life never knowing, nor hearing that sappy, nauseating, lovesick tone he’d taken on ever again.
Amanda easily spins on her heel, tossing her knife between her hands as she stalks through the grounds, keenly eyeing her surroundings. Now with Ghostface perfectly subdued, she was free to have her fun with the other playthings. A win-win scenario.
She snorted to herself, rolling her shoulders back as she cracked her neck. Really he should be thanking her.
⇢ Synopsis: The ocean has been Meg's home for as long as she can remember. But the tides have shifted with a new mer appearing, and now Meg has to fight to keep her head above the waves left in his wake.
⇢ A/N: Side-eyes the failed dual update promise. In my defense, it's finals season. How was I supposed to know?
Meg shifted, burying her feet in the sand as she shuffled nervously in place. She grasped the board underneath her arm tighter, clasping it with both hands in a strained grip. Was this the same woman who used to stride on the sand as if she were floating above it? Who used to carry her board slung under an arm as easily as if it weren’t there?
Who could blame her though?
Meg forced a deep breathe in, holding it as she slowly counted in her head, then released it. Just the way Claudette always coached.
She forced one foot in front of the other, a step forwards, and then another, gaze glued to the sand.
Claudette would kill her if she knew what she was doing. So Meg had left the voicemail for Dwight instead. He was never up early, she’d be back by the time he’d be awake enough to listen to it.
And by then it’d be no issue, because she’d be at home safe and sound. And if she wasn’t.. Then they’d know where to look first.
Not to mention- Meg glanced up for the umpteenth time to make sure they were still there- it wasn’t as if she was completely alone. Another swimmer was further out, dark hair a stark contrast against the water as they dipped in and out of the water with an ease that made Meg’s chest tighten in jealousy.
Mers wouldn’t attack a group, not when they typically hunted solitary and could risk being dragged onto shore. The only reason it’d happened last time was because she was stupid enough to be alone. Stupid enough to not even consider the possibility and be caught completely off guard.
Meg stilled as she realized she’d reached the edge of the ocean, shoving her heart back down as it tried to leap upwards when the waves nudged at her feet. She gripped her board tighter, an old comfort. A reminder of her wondrous memories before, a life saving grace in her time of need. There was no possibility she would’ve been able to escape in her exhausted state without it.
She had no intentions of surfing again, of peering into the abyss of the ocean and having it stare back. But she was comfortable enough to finally wade in. To let the water reach higher than her midsection. And the redhead would prefer to do so with an old friend. With a shield if necessary, and an aide to cut through the water faster to return her to shore.
Meg took a final deep breathe, and with all the conviction of a man stepping off the plank, waded in.
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The water was warm. Meg gripped her board in a death grip, knuckles flushed white, as she let her feet float underneath.
The current had pushed the wooden board further out, but she could still reach the bottom if she straightened. For a moment, she let herself rest her cheek on the board. Feel the sway of the water surround her like a featherlight blanket, the gentle rocking of the board slow her heart from its jackhammering pace.
The water lifted her and Meg felt weightless.
Of course, everything had to go wrong then.
The redhead jolted upwards at the sound of frantic splashing, feet slamming against the sand as she braced herself, twisted her torso for the shore. She threw a desperate glance over her shoulder, ready for fins and sharp teeth, for webbed claws, for tentacles that wrap and wring.
There was nothing. No Jaws style fin jutting out of the water. No suckers to entangle around her legs and yank her back.
Meg’s heart slowed from where it’d tried to leap out of her chest. She shoved against the waves to keep wading back to shore. Another splash and she whirled around, holding her breathe as she craned her eyes and ears, scanned the peaceful horizon intently.
Nothing. Just her.
She turned back, the prickle on the back of her neck shifting to needles jabbing into her spine. The shore was within reach, there was no need to stay any further in the water, she’d achieved what she came here for.
The redhead stilled suddenly, twisting back around to scan the water as an image of the morning flashed in her mind. The figure in the water- her heart thundered, eyes darting to each shift in the water- the dark spot of color against the blue- Meg’s heart crashed like the waves against the rocks as a head lurched above a wave, hands desperately paddling and gasping at water, before they went under again.
Meg’s body knew the motions before she did. By the time she blinked, she was already crouched on the board, hands slamming against the water to paddle to the deep. She may be a coward, but she wouldn’t let someone drown.
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The swimmer was further out than she’d expected, likely caught in a riptide and dragged deeper than they could manage. In drowning, panic is always quick to dart in and cloud the mind, give no rational thoughts other than STAY ALIVE and seize control of the body.
Meg is ever grateful for her board, a floatation device for the swimmer to cling to without dragging her underneath as well. She can only hope a passerby on the shore can notice the situation from a distance, it’s not as if she has the chance to call for help.
Meg’s faster to the person than she expects, her body on autopilot, limbs finding their familiar rhythm as she pushes them to points she hasn’t touched in weeks.
She inhales the salty air and forces her mind to clear. There’s already one person panicking, it won’t help if she starts to too.
She can make out more of the swimmer’s features from the closer distance as they shove their head above water again, coughing up mouthfuls of water and grasping in her direction.
A male, pale skin, dark hair, and piercing eyes that lock with her’s for a moment.
And then he’s gone.
She curses and lurches forwards, nearly diving off her board as he dips under again, hands splashing above his head. But even that's sinking quickly, and Meg worries if she’ll be able to reach him a moment later, see him in the persistent waves.
Meg gives a final, powerful propel and dives her arm into the water, gripping her board securely with the opposite.
She can see him! She grabs for him- to pull him up safely- and her hand drifts past, fingertips skirting his skin.
No!
The redhead slams her eyes shut, inhales, and forces her arm further in, head splashing into the water as she stretches as far as she can reach. She nearly wants to cry in relief when clammy, cold skin meets her palm, grasping onto it immediately and yanking upwards.
Meg doesn’t release him until she slams his palm onto the board, feels him grip onto it and heave himself up higher. She gasps, heart threatening to give out from its adrenaline fueled dash.
Her hands shake as she reaches upwards to wipe the water from her eyes, a mix of the nerves and exhaustion finally reeling their heads, her body pushed to limits it hasn’t even considered since the incident.
A relieved smile peeks at her lips as Meg blinks, drawing her hands away. It’s alright though- it’s all alright! She’d managed! He’s fine and she-
Meg freezes, hands in midair as she stares down at the figure splayed on her board. The mer’s ear fins playfully splayed out as he rests his upper body on her board.
Her breathes still completely, horror freezing her veins, skin suddenly cold as he reaches upward to grasp each wrist with terrifying claws, easily encircling each one. He pushes himself upwards with the help of his lower limbs, sharp teeth flashing in a wide grin as Meg feels something wrapping around her legs.
The redhead doesn’t turn, doesn’t need to even glance to know exactly what’s winding up her ankles.
The mer- the damned octopus mer with dark hair and darker scales and tangling tentacles- pushes himself up higher until he’s level with her.
He gives a cheeky, excited grin as he chirps, ear flaps fluttering, soulless golden eyes drinking in every detail of her face. Meg doesn’t dare blink.
He seems to find what he was looking for anyway as he tilts his head and lurches forward -too quick for her to even gasp- face pressed into her neck as tentacles lope around her back. They squeeze her closer to his frame, press her flush against him as a low rumble starts in his chest, a purr that shakes Meg’s bones.
Meg trembles in place, held fast with his tight grip and ensnaring tentacles, weighed down by her own exhaustion.
The ocean laps at her knees and nudges at her board like an eager dog, welcoming her home.
A/N: Danny had full intentions to eat Meg at first. But dw! He doesn't anymore :)
⇢ Synopsis: The ocean has been Meg's home for as long as she can remember. But the tides have shifted with a new mer appearing, and now Meg has to fight to keep her head above the waves left in his wake.
⇢ A/N: Happy Mermay! And I'm only- *flips calendar* 6 months late!
In all seriousness though, I'm quite proud of this work. I've managed to go from solely oneshots to multichaptered works (fun fact, this one's exactly 50 words under 4,000!). And incorporate more of my style into this one. As always, loosely inspired by Slash's delicious art. Happy reading! And feel free to tell me what you think!
Meg inhaled deeply, feeling the salty sea air rush into her mouth and settle in her lungs. The sun tentatively peeked over the horizon, the sky awashed in watercolor hues shifting between every glance as the stars twinkled down at her. The sand was cold from the chill of the night, but the water was warm where it lapped at her feet. It tugged at her ankles, like the bounding foam of excited puppies trying to drag her in.
“Come in! Come in!” The water called, large waves breaking the horizon and crashing back into itself. “Come home,” the beach whispered, wind pulling wisps of hair from her face.
And Meg obeyed.
She gripped her board tighter, hoisted it higher, before breaking into a run; the water rushing up to meet her as she dove in. The motions came as easy as breathing and Meg broke through to inhale the crisp air, easily settling on her surfboard as she paddled further out.
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The redhead propped herself up with her hands, legs swung over one side of her board as they leisurely swung in the water. She tilted her head back to bask in the warmth of the rising sun, drying out her wet hair and swimsuit.
Now she felt like she could properly breathe.
Meg couldn’t recount when her morning ritual had begun, could only mention that she’d practically taken to water from the moment she could walk. She was more than grateful that she’d landed a job as a swim instructor for children, able to spend her entire day in water.
Of course though, no pool could compare to the ocean. To the natural beauty of it, it’s liveliness as it’d lift her board into the air, until Meg was certain she knew what it meant to fly.
When the world would seem to fall away and every stress left behind the moment her feet touched the sand. Where it would just be her and the ocean for a moment, where no other people remained.
Meg shifted with a groan, glancing at the sun’s position as she shielded her eyes. Her internal clock was ringing an annoying alarm of departure. If she wanted to get to work on time, it’d be best to leave now.
Meg tilted her body to the side, slipping one foot from the water to straddle her board. The ocean protested immediately, small waves breaching the stillness to bat at her board.
She dipped her hand in the water in apology, swaying it through the clear, blue liquid. It’s not as if she was keen to leave as well, but she’d be back the next day! There was no need to throw a tantrum.
The water stilled and Meg glanced at her surroundings one final time before she shifted into a comfortable position.
A piece of seaweed abruptly startled her as it wrapped around her ankle, firmly coiling in place. Meg grimaced at the cool, slick sensation of it, practically alive as it swayed with the current. She dropped her hand into the water, bracing against the board with the other as she grasped at it.
She blinked, then shuddered in disgust.
It was strangely… thick. And circular…
Meg’s hand grabbed at it, intent on removing it immediately- it returned the favor, small suckers attaching to her palm as she yelped and jolted upwards.
In a moment, too quick to even gasp for air, the board tilted out from under her, the water rushing up to meet her as Meg was yanked down.
⇢ Synopsis: Ghostface hasn't had his hands on his darling survivor for many, many trials. The Entity isn't that cruel of a mistress to deny him for long of course.
⇢ A/N: (Dark) fluff?? In MY Ghostmeg works?? In my defense, I was sick and weak, they struck me when I had no means of defending myself-
For those unaware, Slash and I have also agreed that Ghostface's ribbons have a mind of their own, and now that I have figured out how to slip that into my writing, expect it constantly.
Ghostface rose off of the splayed, mangled body of the last survivor, grimacing in disgust as he nudged it with his foot, flicking the blood off of his knife. He easily stepped over the corpse, wiping the remaining red liquid on the sleeve of his robe as the death toll rang out, the unmistakable sound of the sky parting for the Entity’s hungry grasp. He didn’t bother to look back, focused instead on striding to the now open exit gates.
His pace was too quick, too heavy, his posture too stiff and his dismissal of his favored weapon more violent than usual, all but slamming the knife into its sheath without a glance to ensure he wouldn’t stab himself doing so.
It’d been….. many, many, far too many trials since he’d seen his lovely little, red rabbit. Caught scent of her fear, snapped his teeth around her delicate skin, her wrists clasped in one hand, able to feel her racing pulse in her wrists, ran his fingers through her hair-
Ghostface growled, harshly yanking the mask off of his face as he shoved his hood down, digging his nails into his scalp as he ruffled his hair and tried to force the brimming edge threatening to boil over back. His ribbons lashed behind him, jerking in all directions in rapid succession.
The killer had begun to find it troublesome to properly conduct his trials when she failed to show each and every time. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d grown sloppy, slow, useless.
Oh no, no, of course not. Why it’d rather become quite the opposite. The survivors unlucky enough to be cast into trials with him must’ve done something to displease the Entity, to be dropped into an enclosed space when the bloodlust boiled within him. He’d lost nearly all his patience for his stealth specialized moves, preferring to go gunning for them like a bloodhound, the panicked survivors darting in all directions like brainless hares.
The anger within him had lent him harsher swings and quicker slashes, his knife finding the spots that were sure to cause maximum pain, for choked gasps and grunts and unbridled screams. To revel in the blood that would coat him nearly head to toe at the end of each trial.
Hooks were too kind of an end for the survivors, Ghostface would ensure a complete mori of each and every survivor. Able to feel the haze settle for just a moment while his knife would dart in and out of their soft flesh until it was too torn to take any more of his anger.
But reset deaths could only take him so far, could soothe the growing fire within him only so long before he’d snap. By the fog, if Meg didn’t show her cute little butt soon, he’d be sure to find the survivor camp himself and drag her out with his own two-
An abrupt, panicked scream from above shattered the killer out of his musings, snapping his head upwards to catch sight of a falling figure above him. By pure instincts, Ghostface lashed out to catch her, a female slamming right into his arms, scrambling to grab him around the neck as her body trembled from the fall.
The killer tilted his head down to catch a proper full sight of her, freezing stone still as a familiar, red headed runner was planted right in his arms, focused on vehemently muttering choice words to the disappearing Entity above.
His ribbons had stilled in his moment of surprise, and now excitedly regained their wagging, twirling to and fro, darting closer to gently brush against Meg’s form while the killer could only stare mutely at his favorite survivor, dropped right into his own arms.
Meg finally seemed to register that someone had caught her, turning to face him before she froze, body completely still as her wide, terrified eyes stared up at him. Her mouth dropped open slightly, a small, startled noise escaping as her grip unconsciously tightened around his neck.
(Like a rabbit, that freezes before the hunting dog, hoping it’s gaze will pass over it if it dares not breathe.)
Ghostface’s lips twitched, before stretching into a full blown, wolfish grin, drawing her closer tightly as the survivor finally snapped out of her shock, scrambling to break out of his hold.
“Hi baby,” he purred, easily holding her flailing figure in place to plant a kiss on her forehead, the redhead grimacing and shuddering in response.
“Did you miss me?” He cooed, drawing her closer, tighter against himself as Meg tried to shove at his chest, kicking into open air. He rubbed his cheek against her head, akin to an affectionate cat, while the survivor tried to claw at him with blunt nails.
“I missed youu. On my sweet girl~” Ghostface sighed silently in relief, feeling the tenseness ease from his figure, his ribbons idly entangling around her legs to keep her in place. Meg snapped to them too late, while Ghostface easily spun to a new direction, happily trotting off to a more private part of the woods instead of the killer campfire.
Oh he’d missed her, and he wasn’t about to let anyone else catch sight of her. Meg was the opposite of complacent in his grip, kicking and fighting and scratching (really, you’d think he was holding some feral cat instead of a survivor). Her gaze darted to his exposed neck, freezing as her thoughts flashed across her face, hands twitching as she battled within herself.
Ghostface fought to keep from bursting out laughing. How opportunistic, how cute. Not that he’d blame her of course, he’d given her his own fair share of marks to recall him by, some visible above the limits of her clothing, others more private. It’d be quite adorable for her to do the same for him now.
Oh well.
He gave her another bold, grinning peck on her face as Meg startled and renewed her fighting, squeezing her closer. The two of them had a lot of time they needed to make up for, and he excitedly relayed it to the horrified expression growing on the survivor’s face, his ribbons curling tighter around her in anticipation.
He’d have to find some way to thank the Entity afterwards, for dropping such a wonderful gift right into his arms.
⇢ Synopsis: Ghostface just wants to spend some quality time with Meg, but she tends to run off too quick. Oh well, desperate times call for desperate measures.
⇢ A/N: Slightly disconnected from "One way or another", takes place some time after (NOT part 2!)
Meg strained against her bounds, trying in vain to gnaw at the fabric encircling her wrists together, kicking out her legs in an attempt to free them.
She cursed under her breath as she broke away, twisting her wrists to glance for any give. Her shoulders slumped as the fabric remained tightly wrapped Nothing.
Ghostface had caught her off guard at the near immediate beginning of the trial, managing to lash her hands together as she’d struggled and spit, fighting against him. Then he’d (gently) shoved her into a locker, her legs bound together before she could even begin to kick, the grinning killer looming over her.
The survivor’s heart had dropped into the pit of her stomach, watching the giddy killer with wide, terrified eyes. But he’d only booped her nose, telling her to “behave darling!” and “I’ll be back soon enough dear~” before slamming the locker door shut, ignoring Meg’s raised yells for him to let her out.
She slumped forwards, groaning in irritation and exhaustion. The fabric he’d used seemed to be the same flowing ribbons on his own outfit, surprisingly tougher than she’d expected. She shifted her wrists, giving a halfhearted attempt to pull them apart when she already knew the outcome.
But not too tough. Despite her endless struggling, her wrists hadn’t been chaffed, nor was it particularly painful.
Meg slumped against the wall of the locker, idly tracing the ribbons on her ankles. She’d tried everything, but the knot on her legs was out of reach and no amount of gnawing would free her wrists.
She’d stopped yelling in favor of saving her voice to try and untie the knots- not to mention she’d been unfortunate enough to be dropped off in a desolate corner of the map- but maybe if she kept up enough of a racket someone would find her.
The locker door slammed open, Meg startling as she yelped, snapping her head to the shadow filling the open doorway, blocking her way out.
Her stomach dropped at the desolate, bloodstained mask that grinned down at her, hands already crowding her space, wriggling under her legs and back to scoop her out.
Meg’s eyes widened, scrambling to escape his grasp, searching for anything to grab onto to keep herself inside-
“No no no no no- wait wait-“ she gasped, grasping at the rusted walls as his hands curled under her, easily maneuvering her out. She froze as she was pressed against a broad chest, a nearly indiscernible giggle sounding from the cold blooded killer above her, nuzzling his face against her’s.
⇢ Synopsis: Left the only remaining survivor, Meg's best bet is to find the hatch before the killer does. Ghostface might have more in mind than just that though...
⇢ CW: SUGGESTIVE!!
I am still very much a sfw blog but this is most certainly the most suggestive thing I have posted.
⇢ A/N: Inspired by slash's very wonderful GhostMeg artwork! Thank you very much for reviving my favorite ship!!
Meg bolted upwards, stray sparks nipping at her fingers as she hastily released the wires in the generator, waiting with baited breath. Above the mechanic chuffing, she could hear Dwight’s panicked scream cutting out, deathly silence darting into the space behind, pressing against her chest and making it hard to breathe.
Her fingers twitched, eyes scanning the area around before the death tomb rang out, startling Meg enough for a flinch. She watched the Entity’s long grasp come down, reaching across the map to retrieve his body. Meg allowed herself a moment for her heart to bleed for her friend, no doubt killed in terror, before swiftly turning to her left to duck behind a large rock close to the wall.
Claudette had been the first to go, collected by the Entity off of a hook; Jake not too long after, mori’d, considering that he had never reached his second hook.
She swallowed thickly, cautiously peeking out before darting to the next closest hiding spot. With Dwight gone, Meg was the last remaining survivor. And with two generators left to complete, she had better odds to find the hatch than to attempt the typical method.
She strained her ears for any careless scuffle against the ground to warn her of the incoming killer- not that the elusive, stealthy Ghostface would ever do such a thing- before hesitantly peeking out. When no killer lunged at her face, she tiptoed out, drawing herself in, taunt like a spring, before she burst into a sprint, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of her exit.
All she had to do was find it first- and considering she’d run the map enough times to nearly know it like the back of her hand- it shouldn’t be too hard. … Hopefully.
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Meg panted, half hunched over as she hovered between two boulders, knees bent and poised to bolt. The bastard before stood casually, stance hardly tense- a lie though, Meg knew if she tried to bolt past him, he’d be at her before she could even blink. He idly twirled his knife in his grasp, before throwing it upwards, snatching it out of the air without taking his mask off of her for a moment. Meg hunched lower, skin prickling uncomfortably from his piercing gaze.
She flinched as he crossed an arm over his chest, propping his head on his other hand and tilting it slightly, sighing dramatically.
“Listen, darling-,” Ghostface drawled. Meg tensed, jerking to the left to fake him out before she leaped to the right. Her knees buckled, giving out from under her and she bit down on a yelp, stumbling to straighten herself.
She drew up, back into the same position, the killer before her now several paces closer, hands stretched out as if he were approaching a small, terrified animal.
Perhaps he had some reason to- Meg bristled uncomfortably, half tempted to bare her teeth at him, the air tense, her fatigue chaining her in place. Both of them knew she was cornered, Meg just wasn’t one to go down without a fight.
The hatch hadn’t been in any of its typical locations, and by the time Meg had wasted precious minutes nearly upturning the entire map for it, Ghostface had managed to catch a glimpse of her, locking in with vigorous precision.
The game of cat and mouse had gone on longer than Meg had expected. Each moment she thought she was finally free to take a breather, Ghostface would leap out at her, trying to corral her as she’d bolt off by the skin of her teeth. By now her feet and legs ached from her constant running, and several strands of her hair had drifted loose from her braids and now clung uncomfortably to her wet skin.
Obviously the killer looked no worse for wear, as calm and cocky as always. Meg knew him a tad bit better than that though, could see the tenseness in his shoulders, the coil in his frame, the jerkiness in his movements when he’d lunge and miss. He was tired of this.
Meg shifted uncomfortably, drawing into herself, trying to gather the last dredges of her strength for one last sprint. Maybe she’d get lucky this time, maybe the Entity would finally take pity on her and allow her her freedom from the trial (wishful thinking, but a girl could hope).
Ghostface struck at her moment of absent mindedness, lunging at Meg before her head snapped in his direction, reflexes too strained and exhausted to react. She yelped, scrambling backwards as she tripped over her own feet, slamming against the hard ground.
She gasped for air, the breath knocked out of her as stars danced in her vision, the darkness at the edges slithering and threatening to cover her vision. She forced a breath in, coughing as her lungs protested and her throat threatened to close. Another and the darkness receded, Meg finally returning to her own body as she forced strained breaths before the action became second nature. Her vision wavered, swimming in colors, before finally settling, her brain processing the view a moment later as her breath hitched.
A long, desolate white mask filled her entire vision, close enough that Meg could hear the concealed breathing behind it, his covered gaze boring straight into her face. She tried to jolt away, realizing a moment too late that her movements were halted by Ghostface, a strong hand encircling each of her wrists and keeping them pinned down. Panic thrummed in her chest and Meg spurned it into her legs, kicking up at him and trying to draw her knees up high enough to hit him in the groin.
The killer had prepared for that though, straddling her while she’d tried to catch her breath, a firm pressure on each side of her hips keeping her contained and him high enough that Meg couldn’t reach.
A low chuckle came from him as panic flashed in Meg's eyes, her movements jerky and exhausted, straining against his hold and scrambling at the ground in an attempt for any leverage to shove herself away. He leaned in, the redhead freezing, watching with wide eyes as the mask pressed itself against the side of her neck, flinching as an exhale of warm air expelled against her vulnerable flesh. Her body locked stiffly, a cold chill crawling up her spine despite the sheen of sweat that coated her.
Ghostface inhaled deeply and Meg cringed, uncomfortably attempting to shift away to no avail. He followed her movements, chuckling at her exasperation and panic.
“C’mon, I just want to play with you a bit, pretty girl,” he teased, Meg able to feel his grin against her neck. She tensed as fabric rustled next to her ear, straining to glance over for his next movements, heart jackhammering in her chest. A cheek pressed against hers and Meg flinched hard enough to nearly knock her head against the ground. She froze completely, blood settling into ice as the grin pressed against her throat, no fabric covering to protect her now.
“Wait- wait-” she scrambled, panicked, flinching once more as a kiss pressed against her exposed collar, her blood thrumming against her veins. Warm air traveled upwards to her cheek, hovering above her as Meg tilted her head as far back as she could, eyes slammed shut before a soft sensation settled onto her face.
She flinched once more, drawing into herself as much as she could, trying to raise her shoulders to hide herself. Ghostface gave a low chuckle, easily shifting to bury his nose in her neck, lowering closer onto above her as Meg panicked.
“Wait- wait- you don’t-”, she kicked helplessly, tongue screwed into knots in her mouth, saliva evaporating in fear. She was a runner, darting away from grabs or weapons, leaping over windows, keeping at a distance. She wasn’t- what was she supposed to do for- for this?!
Her scrambled thoughts were interrupted with a soft pressure on the corner of her mouth, Meg stiffening as she startled. Ghostface’s shoulders shook in amusement at her reaction, lowering his body to trap her completely against the ground.
“You weren’t thinking of a way to try to get away, were you, hun?” He teased as Meg panicked, legs kicking fruitlessly in the air as she strained against his hold. His mouth drifted close to hers before he shifted upwards, pressing a soft kiss to edge of her brow as she screwed her face up tensely.
“You’re just so adorable. I could eat you right up,” he breathed above her, warm air fanning her face as the survivor pressed further into the ground, glancing desperately at the glimpses of the sky above his frame. The Entity would never let a match go on so long, punishing any attempts to take a break within its games. Where was it now?? Why hadn’t she been forcefully grabbed out of the trial yet?!
“Are you looking for help?” Ghostface teased, Meg’s gaze immediately snapping to him. She could only see his mouth curling into a satisfied, coy grin from her angle, drifting closer as Meg turned away once more.
“Oh don’t worry,” he soothed, a hand releasing her wrist to brush through her loose braid, snapping the elastic at the bottom to release it. A strand of her hair was gently clasped in his hand, pulled to his mouth as Meg trembled in exhaustion, tense in the face of the unknown. His lips pressed down, kissing it gently as his grin peeked over it, the redhead feeling as though she were doused in a bucket of cold water.
⇢ Synopsis: Valentine's sucks. Pair that with trauma from a certain horror fest and you've got yourself a great concoction. It'll be fine though, a certain someone is here to make sure Natalie isn't alone this Valentine's!
“I’ve got a Valentine’s gift for you ;)”
Natalie blinked down at her phone, a wry grin stretching at the edge of her mouth at the text from Brooke. She snorted before she sent back a thumbs up, pocketing her phone and returning her focus on the dull lecture.
The brunette wasn’t ever quite a fan of the holiday, first reminded of the crushing fact she was constantly single, too busy juggling her scholarship, classes, and a job, then later grimacing in distaste at the obvious marketing ploy and overpriced goods with a heart stamped onto them.
But, Brooke had always been the more romantic of the two of them and Natalie wasn’t about to rain on her parade. Especially when it was supposed to be a holiday she’d celebrate with Quinn, before-
She swallowed thickly, gripping her pen tighter and ducking her head, forcing her attention to the scrawled words on her papers.
It’d be best to leave the thought, nothing that could be done anyway.
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By the time Natalie was shuffling up the stairs of their apartment, fumbling for her keys in her bag, the darkness had crept in, only a glimpse of the sun’s rays remaining over the tops of the buildings. She hopped up the remaining steps, muttering a few words under her breath as the keys clattered away from her, jingling tauntingly at the bottom of her bag but stubbornly out of reach each time she felt around for them.
Glancing upwards, Natalie blinked at the realization she hadn’t even needed to bother, the front door slightly ajar. She frowned, hesitantly pressing her palm against it to swing it open, creeping a half step closer to scan the dark interior.
Brooke had been just as jumpy and paranoid as Natalie after the night, maybe moreso considering she’d been nearly gutted, helplessly splayed out on the floor in front of the killer, unable to do anything but plead for her life. The female crept in, tense, acting more akin to an intruder than the fact she was entering her own home.
There was no reason for Brooke to leave the door unlocked.
Natalie stopped, straining her ears for any sound, hardly daring to breathe in the whispering silence.
Or maybe she was overthinking it. Brooke might’ve left it open intentionally for her, knowing she’d be home soon from her classes.
Natalie quietly shut the door behind her, shrugging off her backpack in the foyer, still waiting for any sound.
“Brooke?” She hesitantly called out, wincing at the raw fear bleeding into her voice. She shuffled over to the light switch, blinking abruptly at the sudden brightness before her eyes were drawn to the scattered rose petals on the floor, leading a decorative trail that disappeared into her bedroom doorway.
Natalie’s shoulders slumped in relief as she snorted in amusement, carefully sidestepping the flowers to pad to her room. Of course Brooke would go the extra mile, Natalie really should’ve expected as much after being her best friend for years. (And, maybe, it was a way to mask the grief for the holiday, for Brooke to expel her attention onto Natalie instead of the boyfriend who she should've been with today).
Natalie paused at her doorway, squinting into the dark room, tensely waiting for Brooke to jump out at her. When nothing happened for several seconds, she leaned in to flip the switch on, glancing around cautiously. The rose petals were there of course, scattered all across her room (Natalie was definitely going to make Brooke help her clean up the mess she’d made), and a heart shaped box of chocolates nestled on the edge of her bed beckoned her over.
Natalie shuffled closer, glancing it over. Definitely bigger than she’d been expecting for such a goofy joke. She leaned in, hands extended to pick it up before the smell hit her, nauseatingly sweet and overbearing, assaulting her senses. Natalie swore, straightening abruptly as she clasped her hands over her nose and tried not to gag. She finally noticed the red peeking out from under the box, staining her comforter as she grimaced then rolled her eyes.
If Brooke covered her bedsheets in strawberry syrup, she was going to be the one scrubbing at it until it came out. Natalie steeled her nerves, mentally sighing as she left one hand clasped on her nose and the other to nudge the top of the box off, the flimsy cardboard falling alongside it to reveal its insides.
She froze, skin prickling in discomfort, needles stabbing into the back of her neck at the sight of a- a mass of red, the covered scent of iron slamming into her nose.
She stumbled back a step, breath hitching as she couldn’t tear her eyes off of the innocent, red box, knees trembling hard enough she wasn’t sure how she wasn’t on the ground yet.
A heart.
A red, blood bathed, human heart.
She was a Nursing major, she damn knew what it looked like-
“Br-“ Natalie gasped for air as the iron invaded her mouth, coughing against the tinge coating her tongue. “Brooke!” She called, scrambling out of the room, stumbling into the doorframe as she lunged for the hallway. “BROOKE!”
She slammed into her door, gracelessly coming to a halt in the middle of Brooke’s room, her labored breaths echoing in the stifling silence. She’d missed the light switch in her haste, leaving the room bathed in darkness as her eyes desperately adjusted, scanning the space.
Nothing- nothing, she wasn’t there.
Natalie wasn’t sure to feel relieved or horrified, slowly backing out as her brain flipped through every scenario, through every possibility, through each location she knew.
Where was Brooke? She wouldn’t-
Natalie’s thoughts came to a stuttering halt as a broad chest pressed into her back, wide arms curling around her frame and hugging her close before she could even gasp. She froze, tense, trembling, as the figure nosed at her neck, flinching at the warm breaths blowing across the back of her neck.
She didn’t want to turn around- didn’t want to acknowledge the only person it could be, the killer she’d left splayed out, wounded and bleeding out on the floor. Actually- she doubted she could, not with how numb her body had gone, trembling uncomfortably against her will, nor with the way the male pressed herself against him, without a gap of space left.
A flicker in the corner of her vision and Natalie snapped to it in a panic, heart threatening to burst from her chest at the sight of what the killer held. A knife? One from the kitchen, they didn’t leave them locked, there’s been no reason to. An axe like the one he’d slashed at Brooke with, a syringe like the one he’d killed Asher with-
She blinked.
A card. A small, dainty card held in a large hand, unfitting for his size, slowly coming to rest before her.
Natalie stared at it with wide eyes. It was a store bought one, covered in eye-gouging pink and red even in the dark, with too many hearts and overbearing cute images, cupids holding bows and blowing kisses. He’d obviously added his own touch, a red liquid splattered in random sections with a message in a messy scrawl, topped with a heart.
The killer pressed her impossibly closer, inhaling her scent as Natalie traced the words until they blurred in her eyes, trembled in his grasp, and couldn’t feel her own legs.
⇢ Synopsis: The ocean has been Meg's home for as long as she can remember. But the tides have shifted with a new mer appearing, and now Meg has to fight to keep her head above the waves left in his wake.
⇢ A/N: The calm before the storm.
A seagull cried in the near distance, accompanying the familiar sound of waves crashing against the sand.
Meg wrapped her arms tighter around herself, wound uncomfortably taut, staring at her feet.
“Come in,” the water whispered, lapping at her toes. “Come home,” it whined, pulling away before lurching forwards to ensnare her ankles in the sinking sand. Meg made no motion to move, blinking sluggishly as if she were watching through someone else’s eyes.
She wriggled her feet in the sand, watched them sink deeper until she couldn’t see the top of them anymore. Deeper… deeper… like the ocean swallowing her whole-
A splash from a distance away, a flash of scales in the morning sun as a fish leapt upwards.
By the time it hit the water again, there were only indents left of her presence, sand thrown hastily from running footsteps.
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It’d taken a month for her to step out onto the sand again. A month after she’d failed to show up to her work with no prior notice.
Her friends -(and Meg could never quite put into words how grateful she was for them, past the lump that would swell in her throat and make her eyes water)- had sent themselves on a manhunt for her.
Jake found her, limp in the sand, unresponsive. When Meg had finally opened her eyes, she’d been greeted with the eggshell blue ceiling of Claudette’s clinic.
The shorter female had kept a close eye on her from that moment onwards, chiding her each time she’d grown restless in the sterile bed, constantly reminding her of the dangers of secondary drowning. The redhead couldn’t find it in herself to be irritated at the infantilized treatment, at how constantly her vitals were checked every few minutes.
Not when Claudette’s hands kept shaking, giving her difficulty with inserting the IV. Not when Dwight had raced over as soon as he was informed she was awake, panting from the oppressing heat and the ill fitting tie and button up shirt he’d run in, sacrificing his lunch break.
And not when Jake had hugged her silently, tight enough for her ribs to ache. (She hadn’t said a word, not when she could feel the tremor in his body, how he pressed downwards to hear her heartbeat. How the tenseness in his shoulders slumped once he could feel her breathes and he held on tight, as if death itself would have to fight him first.)
When her vitals had stabilized, and Claudette had kept her bed bound for several days after to ensure so- Meg finally received the all clear. The water had left no lasting injuries (none physical anyway), and she’d returned to work easily.
But her schedule was wrecked.
Meg’s body still rose on its own before the break of dawn. She’d tried to counter it with everything: morning swims in the pool before her lessons started, stroke after stroke after stroke until she’d lost track of her laps, until her arms threatened to fall off.
She’d filled the bathtub, settling slowly into the cooling water to just.. sit. And stared blankly.
But that had done nothing. And weeks later, nearly two months after the incident, she’d found sand clinging to her feet again, the wrongness in her bones shifting slightly.
Of course, Meg was no idiot.
She found herself a new spot, closer to an oceanside town. An extra 30 minute drive but it’d rewarded her with dog walkers greeting her as they passed. With joggers giving her a passing glance and an occasional swimmer or surfer bobbing in the water.
Her surfboard was left abandoned, collecting dust in her garage as Meg learned how to step into the shallows without scrambling backwards. Without a tightness in her chest and a burning in her lungs.
Exposure therapy, Caludette would say, if she knew what she was doing. Learning how to live again, how to swim when it had been as natural as breathing before, Meg would call it.
Every shift of sand against her feet sent her heart racing, she eyed floating seaweed with a wide berth, and if anything so much as brushed against her, she’d be out of the water like a rocket.
Swimming had felt freeing before, like soaring. Now, it seemed to only make her chest tighten in panic, to chain her feet to the ground.
