“he looks more like a sam to me,” said a voice from behind you, startling you so much you nearly flung mason—or sam—into the air. you made sure the little guy was okay before turning to look at the intruder, fear flooding your eyes when you realized it was the killer.

a member of the legion. joey, maybe?

you began scrambling away, trying to get up and run, but the killer towered over you and you were catty-cornered with the generator and the tree.

mason seemed unbothered, looking up at you from the palm of your hand as if to ask, “what’s wrong?”

joey crouched down in front of you slowly, mask expressionless and body language unreadable. somehow among all of your racing thoughts and panicky heartbeat you managed to notice that his knife was nowhere in sight—why didn’t he have his knife out?

“quit shaking,” joey almost laughed. “i’m not going to hurt you.”

your head tilted to the side curiously at his words as you realized that you had been trembling, because you thought he was going to kill you, as a killer should. why wasn’t he going to kill you?

speechless, you watched as joey reached out and scooped mason (sam?) from your hand, observing the bug calmly.

“wow, you really think he looks like a mason?” the killer mused, looking up at you. his face was hidden but it seemed that he was smiling, and he was probably waiting for an answer.

but you were so afraid and confused.

“relax,” he said, as if reading your mind. “just relax.”

so you tried to relax.

but what if he was tricking you? why would a killer be nice to you?

maybe joey just really liked bugs too.

he could sense that you still felt uncomfortable, so he sat down all the way and placed mason/sam in the space between the two of you.

“does he not look like a sam to you? i just really think he’s a sam,” joey mumbled, scratching his head. you couldn’t help but giggle, which made the killer snap his gaze to you. he made you laugh!

after a few moments of silence you gathered some confidence and said, “i don’t know, mason was the first vibe i got. i think it suits him. isn’t that right, mason?”

mason didn’t reply.

but he was only a leaf bug, so what could he say?

the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a minute, and it was nice. the ground was soft and damp; there was a slight drizzle, but not enough to make your clothes wet; crows shrilled in the distance—it was probably nea’s fault. she loved to mess with them.

then suddenly joey said, “thomas.”

“…what?”

“thomas. he looks like a thomas.”

you cocked your head, studying mason/sam/thomas. huh. he kind of did look like a thomas.

you hummed and nodded your head. “alright. thomas it is.”

picking up the newly named thomas, you smiled first at the bug and then up at joey. he was being quite nice, and you quite enjoyed his company. odd behavior for a killer, but you weren’t complaining.

joey asked, “what kind of bug is he?”

“leaf bug! isn’t he cute?”

“yeah, i guess so. he’s pretty cute.”

a beat.

“..hey joey?”

“yeah?”

“are you sure you’re not gonna hurt me?”

joey sighed in amusement. “i’m sure. i’m not as bad a guy as you think—believe it or not, under this mask, i’m extremely attractive.”

“oh, i see.” a smile lit your face at his sarcasm.

“like, so hot, you wouldn’t believe.”

“intriguing, mr. legion. i’ll have to see for myself one day, won’t i?”

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

i am sorry to inform you that frank is a bitch and would 100% kill any bug just to make you sad.

the first time he saw you admiring a bug he laughed at you and smushed the little thing under his boot. the expression on your face was priceless—that pout on your lips was so cute and sad :)

although he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt after you simply pursed your lips and turned away from him, continuing what you were doing before.

you were genuinely interested in that bug, and he took it away from you without hesitation—of course you were a little butthurt. the entity never showed mercy, never granted anything good, and yet you had found a tiny sliver of life and beauty. now it was gone.

frank found himself longing for your forgiveness. why?? he had no idea. but he actually…felt bad.. there was just something in your expression that rubbed him the wrong way. you were hurt.

wow… guilt was certainly a new concept to him….how gross.. he didn’t want to feel guilty. he had to get you to forgive him so he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.

how could he make it up to you though?

he decided that perhaps he could show you something else beautiful. if beauty is what you wanted, he could—no, would—show you beauty, even in the entity’s realm.

frank stole you away from the campfire, leading you by hand to somewhere unknown. the whole way there you pelted him with questions, frazzled and afraid, but he didn’t answer, only forged on with determination.

it wasn’t long before the air turned frigid and dry; the cold wind razing your skin and the chilled air nipping at your cheeks caused uncontrollable shivers to ripple through your body. you had arrived at mount ormond.

frank’s hand was coarse, yet warm, and so was the rest of him, so you found yourself huddling against him as best you could while you rushed to the ski lodge.

you didn’t know each other too well, and of course there was the bug incident.. and he was also a killer.. but despite this you didn’t mind frank. you figured that the killers had no choice in this job, and aside from the crazy ones like ghostface or trickster, most of them didn’t want to be murderers for eternity.

well…they still killed people.. but now that you were stuck here there, a new area of grey-ish morality and judgement had formed. it was the best most survivors could do; most traditional or personal ideals had been abandoned.

once inside, frank rushed to find blankets and jackets and hats and gloves; he practically made you a marshmallow with all of the layers he insisted you adorn.

“what—mmf—are you…what are you doing..” you somehow managed to mumble as he wrapped a scarf around your neck and yanked a beanie over your head, both of which invaded, respectively, parts of your mouth and eyes.

“you gotta bundle up. it’s cold.”

“okay..”

he himself remained in his simple hoodie and jeans. an absolute madman.

next thing you knew, frank was hustling you up the stairs, up a ladder—and now you were on the roof.

“..are you gonna kill me?” you wondered aloud, somehow only considering this just now. but frank just waved his hand dismissively, helping you settle down into a safe little divet in the roof. so you took that to mean no, he wasn’t going to kill you.

you hoped.

now everything was still. it was quiet. the wind, even though you were impossibly high up, had ceased, leaving only the unmoving air to chill you. but thanks to frank’s thorough fashion show, you were a warm little marshmallow.

the thing that took your breath away, however, was the sky.

it was the first time you had ever noticed the stars here. there were millions—no, trillions—of them, all scattered about the navy canvas like freckles to a sunkissed face. they winked intermittently; you liked to imagine that they were laughing. if it could be heard, you mused that it would sound like the gentle tinkling of bells or the clinking of glasses.

and then there was the moon. you wondered if it was even real—how could you know if it was real? you didn’t know where you were: if you were on earth or in hell; if you were in another dimension; if you even existed anymore.

but still, the moon was undeniably beautiful. milky white, dotted with craters and scars, large and lonely—the object loomed above everything, its watchful eye seeming, to you, to protect you and frank and all other things in its sight. what was the moon if not lovely? if not wonderful? if not comforting?

you could feel frank’s gaze burning the side of your face—when you finally tore your eyes from the sky to him you realized his mask had been cast aside, and his features were revealed.

you smiled warmly. and he smiled as best he could, even if his best was a slight twinge at the corner of his mouth. you could see in his eyes what he wanted to convey.

then he pulled his hand out of his pocket, unfurled his fingers, and you gasped—a lightning bug scuttled forward, the light on its rear-end blinking once. the gentle creature then opened its wings and buzzed away; you watched it go.

where had this side of frank come from? who was this guy? surely it wasn’t the domineering opponent who had so many times harmed you, who had so many times sacrificed you, who had so many times struck fear into your heart?

your dazed and awestruck expression provided all the redemption frank needed. he hadn’t expected to be so enraptured by your fascination with lovely things—he had only wanted to get rid of the strange guilt he harbored. but now, he wanted to provide you with more things beautiful. he wanted to see you captured by wonder, dazzled by grace, moved by purity.

…what was wrong with him? holy shit

um

wow, he had to step on another bug or something. he was getting way too soft.

but those desires remained. the firefly had elicited such a feeling of curious joy in your heart that frank could almost feel it too. he wanted to feel it too.

gradually, he learned from you. he had observed your innocence, and he had ultimately decided that he did not deserve you—he was much too empty and broken a person—but strangely, you continued to pursue him. you sought him out to show him small bugs you had found, little flowers, curious thing you had contemplated. you wanted to show him what it was like to feel wonder in a place where at first glance, there was nothing to wonder about.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐒. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon was possibly the most loyal person you had ever known. no matter what pain you both suffered, what shame you both endured, he remained at your side, and you at his.

you were still quite new to the entity’s realm, so many things were changing both internally and externally for you, but the one thing that stayed constant was leon. from the second you arrived he guided and taught you how to survive here; he was kinder than anyone; he was a great comfort in this terrifying shift from normal life to genuine hell.

leon found himself undeniably fascinated with you, and everyone except you knew this. when you left, his gaze trailed after you; when you were focused on a task, he was focused on you; when you smiled or laughed, he chanced to be attacked by a sudden coughing fit, because he just couldn’t handle the sight.

meg swore that leon’s pupils grew twice the size just looking in your direction, after which jake teased that the rookie just liked the view when you walked away. leon shoved him off of the log.

you weren’t necessarily airheaded, just oblivious.

your favorite pastime in-between trials was searching for bugs or interesting plants at the survivor camp. sometimes while you were doing this, leon couldn’t help but glance over every now and then, until it became constant and he was just watching you.

once, meg had come up next to leon, observing you for a few moments. she then commented that you were akin to a fairy, and leon’s red ears indicated that he happened to agree, despite his silence.

your fairy-like demeanor even carried over into trials. you didn’t seem to be worried about…anything. you made light conversation while repairing generators with a teammate, you smiled at anyone you met eyes with, and you sometimes forgot you were in a trial as you meandered about, wondering at the crows and plants.

leon took it upon himself to protect you when you were in such a state, all amazed and dreamy, though you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself if you were only more present. getting lost in your imagination was simply your method of coping with the terrors that were constantly at your heels.

it just made leon feel better to know for sure that you were safe. when you were in a trial without him, anxiety consumed and immobilized him, leaving him to rot until you returned.

eventually, he grew in confidence and expressed his worry more outwardly instead of letting it shake him up on the inside. you didn’t mind at all—it was adorable. never had anyone doted on you like leon with his careful and altruistic ways.

when you appeared at the campfire after a trial, it was guaranteed that leon would be there, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. and sure enough, this time was no different.

leon rushed to you with the utmost haste, taking your hands in his own the moment he could reach them.

“are you okay? who was the killer? did they ever chase you? did you get distracted again? tell me you weren’t hurt badly.”

he really fretted over you like a mother hen, you thought, laughing to yourself.

you only smiled warmly, squeezing his hands back. there may have been a bit of a mischievous twinkle in your eye; when he worried too much, you shut your lips tight, trying to show him that nothing of significance had occurred and that he need not spare a thought your way.

but how could leon ever do that? he poked and prodded until he got a definite response—and i mean that literally. he poked your tummy, tickled where he knew it would affect you the most, and held your face in his hands (more like squished your cheeks into a ferocious duck face) while staring you down with mock seriousness.

and the most he got was, “i’m doing fine!” and a bout of laughter to accompany it.

his shoulders sagged.

your lips quirked to one side. “i told you not to worry about me, mr. i-save-everyone. but to show you my thanks for always caring about me, i brought you something.”

his eyebrows raised suspiciously. you brought him something?

miraculously, the little ladybug you had managed to coax into your palm had remained there throughout all your endeavors. perhaps it trusted you—probably not, but you liked to believe so. in reality, it had probably used your hand as a bathroom.

leon’s eyes widened at the sight of the spotted creature. he knew you had a knack for nature, but this was something else. he would never be able to find something so small and…lovely.

you grinned. “it’s not much, but i thought you’d like it. you wanna name it?”

“hell, yeah. how about…patty?”

“patty. okay. i like that!”

patty the ladybug had now decided it was time to take her leave, having been christened; and so she bid farewell, lifted her itty bitty wings and darted off into the murky forest beyond.

that left you and leon—he was awestruck. and not necessarily with the ladybug. he looked at you like no one has ever done before, eyes fixed on your face with so much intent and curiosity you were struck with the nagging urge to hide away.

but you ignored the heat rising to your face and suddenly took his hand in yours. “you wanna look for more ladybugs with me, big man?”

a soft smile met his lips. “sure. only if i get to name all of them.”

“wow, selfish.”

“hey, i’m gracing you with my presence. it’s only fair.”

“oh, wow, alright then—it’s settled.”

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

ok so frank?? we have already established that he is a douchebag (affectionate)

normally as a killer, he would want to catch the survivor he is chasing, yes?

unfortunately he catches ur pants instead </3

trying to vault through the window at shack, you lost your footing as frank grabbed a handful of your clothes and yanked you backwards--but somehow you managed to break free!! oh golly gee!!!!!

hmm

your legs are rather cold all of a sudden hmmm

you look back to see frank frozen at the window, the smile on his mask seeming to taunt you as he held your clothing in his hand.

and then his mf stupid laugh hit your ears and u swore u lost it later when telling claudette about it (bc i love claudette and i think she deserves the world, yes)

"LOOK I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS THE ENTITY PUT THEM ON ME" you cried out desperately, grasping at what little dignity you had left by hiding behind the generator in the middle of the room--you were referring to the embarrassing undergarments frank was so unfortunate to see. it was mostly just embarrassing because he had seen them; perhaps you liked the pattern, but that was only for you to know!!!! not anybody else!!

his laughs melted into a withering sigh. "oh, doll, cute bunnies. really. so adorable."

steam was probably pouring out yo ears as you fled the crime scene and hid the rest of the trial because no, he wasn't giving you your pants back <3 he is a douchebag remember (derogatory) (the rock eyebrow picture) (vine boom)

~~

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐘

JOEY!!! :))))))

joey is a nice boy you cant change my mind

when he accidentally snatches ya pants hes like whaaaaaat nooooooo aaaaahhhhh

sorru its 3 am and this is how im writing there are no excuses i am just doing it because i want to bye so anyways

like a gentleman he looks away, but not fast enough. he still saw those mf bunnies and he can’t ever forget it

“um. sorry. here’s your… yeah.” he holds your pants through the window for you, head still turned the opposite way.

he won’t comment on the bunnies on your underwear because he’s nice but ya he’s definitely thinking about it lol

im going to bed brb i canmt write for shat

okay im back

you shyly take your pants back, astounded at the killer’s polite attitude. “oh.. thank you.. “

“um.. no problem.. yeah… i’m just gonna, uh.. im gonna.. go now…” he mumbles, shuffling away.

so he leaves lmao he can’t take it!! ur kinda really cute in case you didn’t know. you have bunnies on your undies babe he’s dying over here

when he sees you later he just kind of freezes, and you stand there uncomfortably like👋😄

from that point on he never sacrifices you in trials. he just can’t. he thinks about the bunnies every time he sees you. lmao

~~

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny is the worst and i still stand by this HE IS A BAD GUY OKAY

(but jsust bc u are bad guy…. doesnt mean u are bad guy… ) (please tell me u know where this is from)

he’ll laugh at you, first of all. resting his chin in his hand as he leans on the window, he says, “oh, my. never took you for the innocent type” in the most sleazy, silky voice. and it so pisses you off

if you try to get your pants back he lifts them away, watching you desperately grab for them while more laughter bubbles up in his chest.

embarrassment burns in your face as you scramble to gather your wits—what the fuck are you supposed to do right now? the chase has been cast aside, but now he’s just taunting and mocking you for your underwear, a whole new battle.

“aaww, look! you’re angry! look at that pout.. how precious.. like a bunny,” danny muses, his head tilting almost affectionately.

and then

babe he takes out his mf camera

and before you can react he gets a picture☠️☠️☠️

DIDNT I TELL YOU HE’S THE WORST :)

“EY EY EY DELETE THAT” you yell, anger simmering inside of you. you were so ready to slap a bitch but how could you do that to a killer?

he laughs EVILLY cause hes an EVIL BOY and then sulks away EVILLY

Normally you were careful not to get caught by the killer, being quite adept in chases, but you were just out of it this time. Your mind was occupied with something—mainly Steve Harrington. Something about him was just…infuriating. Even looking at him made you wanna sock the guy in the face.

Since your mind was off in the land of vengeance, Ghostface easily snuck up on you while you repaired a generator—you were sulking and imagining giving Steve a solid kick in the ass—and the killer snatched you from your work. Before you knew it, you had been tossed onto a hook; you exhaled with a tremulous sigh, the familiar pain relatively numb at this point.

You hated this—waiting for someone to come save you. All your life you had been fighting for your independence, and being here, in this realm, was like having it stripped from you all over again. You nearly considered sacrificing yourself, but with an uncomfortable frown you forced yourself to wait for Steve to come save you. That is, if he ever did.

When he did come, his eyes never once met yours as he lifted you gingerly from the hook and began to cleanse your wound. But he was obviously in one of his bastard moods, because he said, “It didn’t pierce your heart, did it?” as if he were being caring.

Through an irritated scoff you replied, “No, clearly not.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

There it was. There was always a bite-back comment like that if you ever gave him attitude. Though you knew the best thing to do would be to move on, you just never could. Your resentment for Steve had been festering for so long, and now you had reached your breaking point.

“I am so fed up with you, you know that?” you purred menacingly after a long silence, staring him straight in the eye. You weren’t backing down anymore. You didn’t care how vulnerable of a position you were in or how close his face was to yours—your gut was telling you that now was the time to address everything, whether that was a smart decision or not.

Steve stopped cleaning your shoulder for a moment to meet you on a level playing field, squaring his shoulders. An outsider might as well spot electricity crackling around you two, sparks flying in anticipation as two hard heads were bound to clash.

“I know you are,” Steve replied, words honeyed by his sardonic arrogance. “You’re so fed up with me, in fact, that you can’t ever keep your eyes off me, and it seems you don’t even know it. Why is that?”

At his words you immediately averted your gaze to the side, picking at the hem of your shirt in shame. The fact that you couldn’t even look at him is what embarrassed you the most. Steve grabbed your wrist surprisingly gently, purely to stop your fidgeting; he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

you are so cool. like ,,,,,so cool

dwight admires you so much. you just got here and yet you are breaking pyramid head’s ankles—dodging his trail of torment left and right, the killer just can’t touch you.

and how did you feel about everything? terrified, honestly, but nobody would ever be able to tell because you didn’t let it get to you. it was like you had already been here before, because the second you learned how to do something, you had it down no problem. fixing generators came naturally, and you could also run the killer for the whole trial if you had to. teammates could easily rely on you to do whatever needed to be done.

that was what made you and dwight such a powerful duo. from the moment you met, you knew you felt comfortable around this guy. he was sweet, maybe a little timid sometimes, but he knew how to step up and be a leader for everyone despite his fears.

you both knew what to do, and you fit together like a glove. your minds worked in very similar ways, which made communicating that much easier and efficient; the second a decision needed to be made, dwight was on top of it, encouraging the teammates and helping them get on their feet. you were already ahead of them, so dwight would just nod to you, knowing you could do your job well.

of course, there were times when dwight’s anxiety got the better of him, and you had to be the one encouraging him.

dwight hated the hag. despised her. he could not stand her jumpscares when a trap was triggered, he would swear he was about to have a heart attack. he couldn’t admit this at first, but you figured it out when feng min was hooked and dwight stuck to the generator, nervously glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. he always went for the saves, so something was obviously wrong.

“dwight? why don’t you go save her?” you asked, eyeing him from your side of the generator.

he didn’t respond, looking over his shoulder again.

you decided to rescue min, but when you got back, you were going to chew dwight out until he gave you a straight answer.

you crawled up to the hook to avoid triggering a trap and gently lowered min to the ground. the two of you inched away carefully until you were far enough away to patch her wound.

“dwight, get off your ass and answer me,” you demanded (affectionately) once you were back at the generator, which was nearly finished. “what’s wrong?”

his eyes conveyed nervousness in every sense of the word; they darted all around, searching for any incoming danger. this was your first time seeing him like this, so you were confused. was he alright?

“it’s just…the hag,” he started, still fiddling with the wires. “her traps, i can’t…”

oh. was he anxious about the traps?

“i just can’t deal with them,” he finally said with difficulty. that was understandable; when they caught you off guard it definitely made you leap out of your skin.

“dwight, listen,” you said. “you’ve dealt with every other killer in this realm, haven’t you? you’ve bested the nurse, the huntress, micky myers, and even the spirit, who’s a bitch. i know hag’s traps are fucking terrifying, but you’re dwight! you are a leader, and you are good at being a leader. you can get out of here, i promise. and besides, with me here, you have nothing to worry about. i’ll kick that witch’s ass, got it?”

your very inspirational speech got him to smile. you were right, anyways—you could definitely kick the hag’s ass. what could go wrong?

nothing, actually. genuinely nothing went wrong. you took chase for the rest of the trial so that dwight didn’t have to worry about a thing, and everybody escaped with no problem. he didn’t understand how you were so good at evading capture—but perhaps you would tell him about your past eventually. you hadn’t yet decided.

back at the campfire, you and dwight comfortably sat side-by-side, patiently waiting until your next trials.

“thanks,” he said.

“for what?”

“for that very motivational speech you gave me,” he laughed.

you wiped imaginary dust off of your shoulder, giving him a confident smile. “i got your back. and man, that hag lady really is a bitch, huh? i can see why you hate her.”

that comment unintentionally caused one of dwight’s long, angry rants about his least favorite killer, and all you could do was watch him and listen with a soft grin on your lips. you’d never seen him angry before—it was adorable. made you wonder if you should just piss him off for fun sometimes.

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊

this guy has hella respect for you

you’re independent and easy to teach, and that’s everything he could ask for.

now and then, the other survivors basically gave newbies to jake to teach them everything about the realm—they considered him the expert on all things survival. you were one of those newbies he was forced to take care of.

jake normally hated teaching new survivors more than anything, because it was never his choice and they were all so difficult. but you were different. you were responsible, reliable, and smart, and it made his job so much easier. as time went on, he grew to be quite fond of you.

word eventually got out that the new girl had managed to charm jake out of his “hermit ways,” but he insisted that it was not true (he also disagreed about the “hermit ways” part). it was never spoken of between the two of you, but it definitely floated around in the air waiting to be addressed.

it really couldn’t be ignored any longer. anytime you were seen anywhere within 24 feet of each other, the other survivors would give you looks and wiggle their eyebrows or shoot you a thumbs up—all of which were unwanted. it created a weird tension between you and jake that wasn’t there before, and you really didn’t like it.

you missed when you were first starting out, and jake had just realized how competent you are. those days were fun—he respected you a lot; you could see it in his face when he looked at you. you always knew when he was pleased and when you did stuff right, because he would have the tiniest, most subtle grin on his face, but you could see it, and it made you feel accomplished.

you knew he still respected you, but you had basically jumped the learning curve of the realm and quickly adapted to every killer, every challenge, and every task. how you did it, nobody could ever know. but you were almost sad, because there was kind of no reason for you and jake to spend a lot of time together anymore. if you did, then everybody would freak out for the wrong reasons, and it would ruin your friendship.

so what if you had a few small feelings for him? no one gave a shit—you knew jake probably wouldn’t give a shit. to him, you were just another annoying survivor he was forced to teach. besides, you didn’t have time for that kind of thing.

man, were you wrong, though. he really, really wanted to be around you, but you already knew everything, so he didn’t know what to do to spend time with you. his way of initial bonding was sharing knowledge, but that had already been done, so…what now?

then came the one trial that changed everything.

it was normal at first. the killer, blight, was doing well, so you had to step up your game. one generator was completed and he had 4 hooks on three different people—you were the only one not hooked yet.

he was after you, and you were expertly dodging every rush and swing he threw your way. unfortunately, you accidentally ran to the generator that jake was working on, and things got a little complicated.

when the blight rushed at the wall, then at you, jake ran towards you while you ran towards him—you were both looking over your shoulders—and alas, bonk. you crashed into each other.

oh, no!! how terrible!! looks like jake fell on top of you :/ what an unfortunate situation to be in /s /s /s /s /s

wowwww near proximity ! you’d never been so close before and it was awkward but nice (?)

then you remembered there was a crazy drug addict or whatever over there and he was chasing you, and the moment was ruined. jake quickly rose and pulled you up with him, and you went in opposite directions, both nervous and wide-eyed now.

lol

after that, the trial went quite south. everybody was sacrificed. perhaps the loss could be partly attributed to you and jake avoiding each other like the plague. but who knows, right?

back at the campfire, you began feeling overwhelmed by all the weird stuff happening lately, so you excused yourself to the edge of the woods to have some quiet time to yourself. a few minutes later, jake came to check on you bc he is a fucking gentleman and yes i will die for the “stoic man who is actually caring and thoughtful” trope. fuck you

it’s slightly awkward at first, but then you start talking like normal and things feel a lot better. a little bit of the tension eases away, but not completely. what the fuck do you do with feelings like this?????

you simply composed yourself as best you could. it would have to do.

now that you felt a little more normal (lie), you trekked back to the campfire to wait for your next trials side-by-side. there was no one you felt more comfortable with or more respected by than jake. he appreciated you for your competency, and that was one of the best things you could ask for.

and to your surprise, jake actually took your hand and laced your fingers with his own. and it felt nice. never in your existence would you have thought he would be okay with displaying public affection, but you smiled up at him and gave his hand a light squeeze.

maybe the entity gave him drugs.

or he just liked you that much. either one would make sense.

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

danny hated you. he really did.

you were so unbothered, so calm, so good at knowing what to do. it really pissed him off.

you got so much attention from the other survivors for your skill and that really pissed him off too. it’s not like you cared or wanted it or anything, but how dare they even touch you when you so clearly belonged to danny?

…who knows wtf that even means. so anyways-

when you realized how much time danny spent chasing you in trials when he should have been patrolling generators, you began to get suspicious. especially when he would take you to the hatch and then close it in your face, watching you die to the entity. he obviously had some kind of beef with you.

you were determined to find out what he had against you, so you began to tease him a bit in chases. your favorite and most frequent phrase was something like, "can't catch me? lil baby man? lil baby? lil baby man gonna cry?" you were really testing your luck with that one, and that's why you loved it.

once, you told him his fly was down, and he actually fell for it, making you nearly keel over in laughter. you got moried without even being hooked after that.

despite the horrors that frequented this place, you were never in a crisis about it. you simply learned what had to be done, and then you did it, much to the chagrin of danny. you had skipped the big "useless baby survivor" phase, and that one was his favorite :( he loved trials with new survivors because it was so easy and fun!

but alas, from the beginning, you were always on top of things, always slamming pallets onto his head or saving teammates with a flashlight.

oh, don't even get him started on your flashlight usage. you were the absolute worst to go against--every pallet stun, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. every time he picks up a survivor, boom: danny's eyes fucking burned out. you were a bitch with that item.

he finally began to get so fed up with your behavior that he decided you must be taught a lesson. somehow, countless mori and tunneling and camping incidents had not even managed to bother you. you literally did not care. but he had something different in mind this time.

the realm was haddonfield, of course. all of the killers despised this map, and for good reason--you ran danny around the entire neighborhood for three generators. did he have to chase you? no. but he needed to for himself.

he finally caught you in a dead zone, rejoicing to himself as you fell to the ground in defeat. "wow, that was a good chase," you mumbled under your breath, feeling accomplished. one of your best against danny, probably.

you were expecting him to pick you up, but instead he snatched the flashlight from your grasp and chucked it as far away as he could. and before you could protest, he pulled you up to stand again and yanked you towards himself, gripping your wrists so tightly you swore it left bruises.

"what's wrong...lil baby man?" you said with a pout, trying not to laugh. "is baby man angry?"

you were slightly scared if you were being honest, but you couldn't let him know that.

danny sighed. you really didn't know when to stop, did you?

"bitch," he spat, voice dangerously quiet. "cut that shit out."

"what shit?"

he squeezed your arms tighter, provoking an "okay, okay, i get it!" from you.

"do you?"

"sure. what's the worst you could possibly do to me anyways?" after those words left your mouth, you got a weird feeling that the killer was smiling behind his mask.

"listen, uhh, danny, is it?" you said, putting as much nonchalance into your voice as you could. "i just wanna know why you hate me so much. remember that time you closed the hatch in my face? the fuck was that for?"

he frowned at the use of his name but responded regardless, "you're a little bitch, and you deserved that."

you gasped dramatically, feigning offense. "ouch. that one hurt."

"i can make you hurt a lot more," he said darkly. you probably should have been scared, but you just really couldn't take him seriously.

so you laughed. it shouldn't have been funny, but it just was and now you couldn't stop. "you're just--you--i can't--" you wheezed, shaking from the laughter. "i'm sorry, it's really not funny."

danny didn't understand you. anybody else would have been sobbing if he so much as touched them, and here you were acting like it was a joke.

what could he do if you truly were not afraid of him?

perhaps it was time to let it go.

while his guard was down, suddenly you reached above his head and plucked his mask off, revealing his face and continuing your bouts of laughter at his shocked expression.

you threw the mask in the same direction as the flashlight, composing yourself and putting your hands on your hips. "you look pretty nice," you said, nodding.

wow. what the hell was danny supposed to do with you? perhaps the only completely unbothered, completely unserious survivor? he knew you were smart, and you knew what you were doing. he didn't even want to kill you anymore, you were just that fascinating.

(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.

your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.

the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.

it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.

you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.

it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.

“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.

hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.

“that i am,” he replied.

then it was quiet for a while.

very quiet.

well, what were you supposed to say now?

the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—

it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.

it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.

“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.

you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.

however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.

there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.

despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”

quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”

you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”

“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”

from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.

he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.

most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.

that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.

and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.

you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.

your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.

after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.

he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.

you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”

“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”

leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.

but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”

begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.

but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.

“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.

the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.

you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.

it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.

but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.

the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?

biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..

but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.

leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.

from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.

you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.

“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.

“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.

you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.

he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.

steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.

eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.

as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.

“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”

you know, the usual friendly stuff.

you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.

and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.

and that was when the chaos started.

steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.

“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”

steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.

it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.

after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.

“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.

“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.

“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”

he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”

oh. oh.

realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”

“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”

oh.

huh.

you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.

this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.

your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.

sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.

this was very funny to you.

not to him.

while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.

he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.

frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.

the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.

so he threw a rock at you.

it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.

“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.

he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.

you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.

“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.

frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.

“i want a truce,” he said.

you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?

he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(

just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.

“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”

he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”

frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”

“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.

of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.

so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.

when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.

when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”

you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.

he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.

this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.

oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.

and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.

Things were weird with Frank, and they always had been from the moment you stepped foot in the Entity’s realm. He always tunneled you relentlessly, and that made you think of him as a big asshole, but there were some strange details tacked onto the sentiment that greatly confused you, should you think about it for more than three seconds.

Sometimes, it seemed like he went easy on you in chases, like he put in no effort. He would chase you for a while, let you waste his time, and then leave without even getting a hit on you when he definitely had the ability to.

And you hated saying this, but when he handled you, it almost felt…gentle. Granted, he was a killer, and his job was to murder you, but your experiences with him did not quite line up with those of the other survivors.

They always described trials against Frank as “stepping on legos in the middle of the night” or something akin to that. You never felt like that, though—when he chased you, it felt fair. Almost as if he played nice with you. And more often than not, the killer would let you go when he caught you. The reason remained a mystery to you until quite a bit later.

This trial, Frank was in 100% bastard mode. You had begun to think of his trials as quite easy due to his seemingly calm nature around you, so you were rather caught off guard when he downed you in the first 30 seconds of the match and tossed you onto a hook, no gentleness whatsoever.

You wanted to yell at him and ask what the fuck was wrong with him until you realized this was his fucking job, and this is how he should have been treating you all along. Maybe you had just been imagining it all, but you could have sworn he used to leave you alone more than this. Something just felt different.

After you were unhooked, he went for you again. And again. And then you were dead, completely wiped out of the trial. Frank had demolished you with no remorse.

You knew it was silly to feel betrayed, but you really couldn’t help it. In such an insane and hellish place, anything that could be even remotely perceived as kindness seemed like so much more of a big deal than it truly was. So Frank’s supposed “gentleness” with you had felt somewhat like a friend doing you a selfless favor. Of course, it was not a selfless favor, and it was certainly nowhere near kindness, because he was still a killer chasing you with a knife, but your standards had really lowered in this place.

After that trial, you were back to hating Frank for tunneling and bullying you (like you probably should). You began to understand the survivors’ saying about the legos—and you hoped that Frank would step on some legos too, because he fucking sucked sometimes.

And for a while, that’s just how it was. You nearly forgot how he used to go easier on you, and how you used to do okay in his matches. Now every time you were pit against each other it just felt like you were being stuck with a bunch of pins; you never had any time to breathe or rest or do literally anything. He just went after you until you were gone, and there was next to nothing you could do about it.

Everything changed very suddenly during a trial at Ormond.

You were expecting the same old routine with this asshole—chase, blah blah blah, die. You hardly had energy to fight back anymore.

So when he arrived out of breath at the killer shack, somehow knowing you would be here, Frank was surprised to find you relaxing under the window with your arms loosely crossed, a disapproving scowl upon your countenance. It was enough to make him hesitate in his tracks.

You let out a deep breath, refusing to break eye contact with his mask; you kept up that menacing frown for as long as you could, trying to make him feel guilty (who knows if it was even possible for him to feel guilty? But it was worth a try).

“Just kill me,” you said, voice steady and seemingly unbothered. Underneath the surface, you were trembling, but you stood your ground. “That’s what you’re gonna do, isn’t it? You’re going to chase me until I’m miserable and kill me off as soon as you can?”

Frank went still, not even fidgeting with his knife like he usually did; he was intrigued by your sudden confidence.

You went on. “I’m really sick and tired of you, you know that? I’m sick of you and your bullshit. Why can’t you treat me like everybody else? At first, you went easy on me. Now you just torture me with your stupid mind games, and frankly, I’m sick of playing! I’m done with you—I don’t care anymore! Just kill me, and I’ll get out of your way, okay asshole? Mori me if you want. I don’t give a shit.”

You put your hands up exasperatedly, fully expecting him to take the offer and just send you back to the campfire right then and there. But the man sighed, pocketed his knife, and sat down right next to you as if this were a normal thing for him to do.

You scooted a few inches away out of instinct. Frank noticed, but he chose not to say a word about it.

It was a long time before he said anything, and when he finally did, you wanted to punch him so bad.

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled. And that was all.

Oh, yeah? It was complicated? You scoffed, hanging your head with a bitter smile. “Oh, okay. Sure.”

Silence again.

Awkward, suffocating silence.

And then Frank got up and left. You were unbothered for the remainder of the trial, not even a scratch or bruise on your body.

~~

Sometimes you simply did things, and you didn’t know why. This thing that you just did was irrational, stupid, unplanned, unwise, and everything in-between, and you knew it was, but frequently you just had no impulse control. Perhaps it was the Entity’s influence, or maybe you had always been this way—you couldn’t really remember.

How did you get here again? Why were you laying on the ground? And why did your leg hurt so fucking much?

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, you remember now.

Funnily enough, it seems as though the Entity, along with certain killers, did not like it when survivors tried to enter their side of the forest! But you did it anyways, and it appeared that you had suffered the consequences. It’s not like you had put much thought into it; where was the point in that when nothing mattered anymore and you were stuck in an endless cycle of death?

You remembered entering the killer’s woods, looking around, and doing…something. What was that something? You couldn’t be sure, but then you remembered somebody coming up to you and probably definitely hurting you. Yep, your leg definitely was in a lot of pain. You couldn’t even look at it. Did you pass out for a while? Maybe. How long were you out for?

You lay still there for a while, thinking. Man, it really hurt, and boy, were you miserable. Maybe more miserable than you’d ever felt here. The Entity normally healed wounds immediately, but perhaps you had just angered it so much you deserved to suffer.

Oh, dear! You seemed to be passing out at this time. Yes, that was almost certainly what was happening. Black spots danced across your eyes as your body began to feel distant and numb, but you didn’t feel very worried about it. In fact, you felt like making jokes right now, but you had nobody to make jokes to and you probably couldn’t even speak.

Just as you began to accept it, there was a strange thumping sensation vibrating through the ground growing closer…and closer…

Footsteps! That’s good!

Oh. Not if it’s a killer. That’s not good, probably.

But you had no way of protesting when you felt yourself being picked up, because those black spots in your eyes were dancing a lot faster now, perhaps something akin to an Irish jig, and you also couldn’t feel your limbs.

Then you were fast asleep again, dreaming of Irish dancers who were actually big fluffy cloud people wearing leprechaun clothes. Nobody but you would ever know this, and it was going to stay that way.

On the bright side, it made it a lot easier for your rescuer to carry you to safety like this.

~~

When you awoke once more, you were horrified to find yourself in the Ormond lodge of all places. You knew immediately what had happened and were determined to escape as soon as possible.

Your injured leg proved to be a huge problem, however, and you collapsed the second you attempted to find freedom. Trying again, you collapsed once more, and probably maimed yourself further in the process.

Hearing the commotion from the second floor, your least favorite member of The Legion descended down from the main stairs, refusing to look directly at you even as he scooped you up and plunked you (gently) back onto the couch, which was rather comfortable (not that you would ever tell him that).

So he was playing it cool, huh?

Okay. You could play it cool, too. You were cool. Smooth as butter.

No. You really couldn’t be cool in a situation like this, and plus, your mind was still a little woohoo since whatever accident had occurred. Suddenly you blurted out, “Frank, I hate your guts.”

And he had the audacity to laugh. He laughed at you! He did the man chuckle thing, as if what you were saying was funny. No! You were completely serious! You did hate his guts!

Perhaps your face showed how upset you were, because he started to apologize (still laughing).

“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Frank said after calming down a bit.

No. You couldn’t go back to sleep. You did not want to experience dancing cloud people dressed as leprechauns ever again in your life, for the rest of eternity. Never again.

So you shook your head violently, refusing to give an explanation, which just provoked Frank to anger all of a sudden. If you went back to sleep, he could have some alone time while the rest of The Legion was gone. He kept pushing, and you kept resisting, and he pushed and you resisted, until finally he gave up and let you off with a warning. If you made him mad again, he was throwing you out in the snow.

Fine with me, you said. Okay, I’ll do it right now, he said. No balls, you said.

So then Frank casually went to scoop you up in his arms again, and you started to freak out and beat your hands against his chest until he put you back down. He was was awfully mindful of your hurt leg for someone who was about to throw you into the snow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—please don’t throw me out,” you fussed. You thought he wouldn’t actually do it. You didn’t know it, but you were right—he was just messing with you because it was funny seeing you scared.

After a bit more griping back and forth, Frank began to grow concerned about your leg. He didn’t know how to bring up the topic because things were so odd between the two of you; this was your first interaction since the brief encounter in the shack. But he swallowed his pride, because the wound seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“Hey, do you want me to, uhh…get some supplies?” Frank asked awkwardly. When you didn’t understand, he continued, “Your leg? It looks like it hurts…I could fix it if you want.”

You barked out a laugh at his words, unbelieving of this shift in attitude. “Rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me three days ago,” you snickered, genuinely finding it amusing.

Frank took offense. He was trying to be nice for once, and you thought it was funny. And his situation really was complex, whether you chose to believe it or not. Maybe he should just tell you to get it off of his chest.

“Listen,” he said, voice laced with seriousness. “When I told you things were complicated, I meant it.”

Sensing the mood change from his tone and body language, you stopped smiling and decided to pay attention to him. Just this once. Never again. After this you could go back to hating him.

Frank continued. “The Entity was going to start…well, hurting me, if I didn’t start doing better in trials. I really didn’t want to sacrifice you, which is embarrassing to admit, but I’ll say it. And I don’t think it liked that.”

You were surprised. And also relieved that you had been right all along—he had been going easy on you at first.

“Why me, though?” you asked, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want to sacrifice me? What about the other survivors?”

If the slight tilt of his head at your question didn’t answer it for you, the way he started tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles so nervously did.

Boy, if looks could kill, you would have died instantly at the scowl Frank sent your way; you grinned pridefully at the realization that this man was down bad. You couldn’t see the expression behind his mask, though, which Frank was thankful for.

He hated every second of this, but you loved it. You reveled in his embarrassment.

Leaning forward on your hands, you begged, “Tell me more! I want to hear all about your feelings for me.”

“I could stab you right now, you know that?”

“But you won’t. You liiiiike me!”

“What are you, eight years old?”

“No, but I am severely injured and have lost a lot of blood so I am not necessarily in the right headspace at the moment.”

“You make a fair point.”

“So tell me! What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Your ass.”

“No, really.”

“Okay, your ass and your hair.”

“You know what, Frank, I still hate your guts.”

“No, you don’t.”

Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. What is he doing here? How does he always just show up everywhere?

You glanced anxiously at the edge of the forest where Frank’s stoic figure stood erect; you studied the other survivors’ expressions to make sure they hadn’t noticed the killer before excusing yourself. What the hell was wrong with this guy? He wouldn’t leave you alone. If the other survivors knew you were speaking with a killer outside of trials…well, you really didn’t want to think about it.

Approaching Frank, you tried to come up with something snarky to say per usual, but your mind was blank. Completely empty. Devoid of rational thought. You were tired of Frank always showing up in these random places and scaring the shit out of you. What could he possibly want?

“I need your help,” he said as if reading your mind, to which you gave him the most unamused frown.

“That’s why you’ve been following me everywhere? You need help? What in the world could I possibly have to offer you, Frank?” Your exasperated tone made him wrinkle his nose at you.

“You’ll see. Just come with me,” he prodded, moving to grab your arm, but you jerked out of his grip and took several steps away from him. “I think not, Frank Morrison! I’m not coming unless I know what this “task” is. And I’m willing to bet it’s not even something serious. You’re just gonna humiliate me in front of your friends, aren’t you?”

Frank feigned offense with a very dramatic gasp. “I’m astounded that you think so little of me!”

“Well you’ve never given me a reason not to. I don’t have a choice but to think you’re an asshole.”

Frank pondered this for a moment. Yes, you were right. He was an asshole. A very attractive asshole, but an asshole nonetheless, and he knew it. Perhaps he was a little too proud of it.

“Fine. All I need you to do is come to Ormond and do a blood sacrifice.”

You were not amused.

“Kidding. Really, kidding! Ow, fuck, don’t hit me—“

“You suck, Frank—“

“Hey, hey, hey! Calm your shit! I was kidding!”

“Not funny,” you mumbled, smoothing the wrinkles on your shirt with a dignified pout.

“Don’t cry,” he said, pouting back melodramatically. “Anyways, I actually just need to borrow a medkit. And if you could come with me that would be great. I need to wrap Susie’s ankle. And I don’t know how.” He honestly looked a bit sheepish.

You were surprised. And concerned—“What happened to Susie? Is she okay?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine. Just fell and hurt herself. We don’t have any medical shit so Julie made me come over here, and…you’re the only survivor who actually talks to me. So.”

You never thought you would see the day where Frank Morrison said something genuine, but by god, here you were. Unless you were simply reading him wrong for the umpteenth time once again.

“Um…okay. Sure,” you replied. But then it hit you. “Wait.”

Frank waited. “What?”

“If I do this, do you promise to stop harassing me?” You knew this was a long shot with someone like Frank, but it was worth trying.

The killer’s lips curved into a playful smile, though he remained completely composed otherwise. “Absolutely not. What kind of sick request is that?”

You didn’t know how you could possibly respond, so you sat quietly for a moment, lips pursed, before turning to grab a spare medkit without another word. When you returned, Frank remained standing there with his arms crossed and that little smile still on his face. Disgusting.

As you passed Frank’s still form into the woods and he trailed behind you, you muttered, “I hate you.”

He caught up to you quickly and slung an arm around your shoulder. “Ah, you’ll warm up to me soon. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re close-minded.”

“You’re secretly soft—you care about Susie.”

The man went silent for a few moments. Then, “I do care about Susie.” Just a statement, casual and light as if the words meant nothing. But you knew the weight behind them. It was his confession that his heart was not all made of ice. When you thought about it, it was kind of…wholesome? In his own strange way.

At least you knew he had the capacity to care for someone.