#nominalgravy

Ok so like. Im not normal about N.O.M. I am a little freak, I’m pretty sure my perspective and reason for excitement isnt normal and im not gonna pretend I am or it is bcs I know better than that. That being said, I respectfully do not care and am gonna say this anyway

So. I freaking LOVE villains that are scary, that are confident and not like that “Mwahaha imma kill you now” but the “I found you. There isn’t anything or anyone that can help you. I am in control of this situation, and this is where you die.” kind, if that makes sense. N.O.M. definitely hit that for me. 

Anyway someone in stream suggested that he might play the final moments of the previous people he’d killed to someone else as an intimidation tactic, and I had a few thoughts bcs f e a r and Write Brain would NOT shut up about this.

Imagine, right? 

This… thing, stands before you. It looks human, for the most part, and if you looked at it for a brief, glancing second, maybe you wouldn’t notice that it’s not quite so. But then you see those red eyes, glowing with something bitter, seething and burning, paired with both calm cruelty and predetermined victory: the satisfaction of a cat that’s caught a mouse. Its right hand and forearm, instead of covered in the continuous flesh of a person, displays metal plates and wiring, clicking and whirring faintly whenever it moves its fingers.

You just wanted to know what happened to him [‘him’ would presumably be Wade unless N.O.M. has more kills after that but for this I'm using Wade for this specific example], and then it started stalking around.

A dark figure passing by your front door at night, lingering and framed by the light of the streetlamp through the beveled glass. The red eyes and that strange line down its face reflected and shone faint, crimson light into your home and onto your floor as it stood motionless for periods of time you never recorded. You swore your footsteps had echoes of their echoes if you walked alone.

And now, it’s here. It caught you.

“What are you?” You demand, heart racing against your ribcage like a bird frantically throwing itself against the bars of its cage, as though it can flee from your chest entirely.

It tilts its head, stepping forward as it seems to consider you, for lack of a better description. You hold a gun in your hand, you tense, raise it to align with its chest with a trembling hand, but for some reason, you cannot bring yourself to pull the trigger. “Someone else asked that question. He didn’t know how to mind his own business. He couldn’t learn when to leave something alone. And, it seems, neither can you.” It states, somewhere between mocking and scornful. 

“You’ve been looking for him. Were you close? Do you miss him? Sleepless, long nights, plagued by the worries of where is he? What happened to him?” Another step closer, and your breath hitches slightly. It knows, it must, which means it at least saw. A dark thought rises, a natural train of thought to follow after such a statement.

What if it means to kill you?

What if it came to keep you quiet?

The shake in your hand becomes a fine, quivering tremor, and you swallow thickly, feeling your pulse thrumming in your ears and pounding in your temples, and this does not go unnoticed. It smiles, which in another context would have been sympathetic, but holds no such kindness here.

“I know what happened.” It starts, lifting its head slightly. “I can tell you, if you’d like. Perhaps it’d give you some closure.”

“No.” You say, barely able to choke the word out past your heart since it migrated to your throat. It laughs, slow and malevolent.

“Come on, don’t you want to know what happened to your friend?” It insists. A soft click, not from the even softer rattle of the gun but from the thing masquerading as a person itself, and the faint mumble of a voice, steadily becoming clearer as the original origin of the words draws closer. 

“...eyes, looking at me through the night. I–It saw me, I saw it–! God, I need to–I–it’s alive! That–this ISN’T HUMAN.”

That was his voice. He sounds so terrified, so awfully scared, and it seems to physically hurt you to hear, a pang in your chest like someone had driven a knife into you. You want it to stop. You open your mouth to beg for it to stop, but the only noise that comes out is a whimper that you aren’t sure came from you or the undoubtedly already dead man you hear before you. Another voice cuts the momentary quiet: that of what has cornered you here.

“Well… well… well.”

You hear a scream, a rapid, despairing plea of repeated “no”, cut silent by a single gunshot.

There’s another click, and you are left with the tears flowing down your cheeks, the lowered gun that you can’t find the will or resolve to raise again, and still those unblinking, glowing red eyes, watching your every move. It says nothing, and you are no mind to wonder whether that could be a mercy.

“You—” You stop, shudder and bite back a broken sound, then try again. “You killed him.”

“Yes.” It answers, voice wholly empty of remorse or guilt. “Are you afraid? You should be.”

You grunt quietly, mustering up what courage you can past your paralyzing fear, the sense of resignation crawling up your shoulders, and harness it to lift the pistol as you turn horror and grief into determination and rage.

It killed him.

It is likely to kill you.

“Go ahead. Take the shot. Avenge him.” It says, sharp but encouraging, mocking as much as it is goading.

Neither of you move.

Eventually, it chuckles.

“You can’t do it, can you? You’re too human.” It tells you, spitting out that last word as though it were rotting in its mouth. “I, however, have no such restrictions.”

It moves, faster than you anticipated, even with the adrenaline coursing through you, ready to respond to the danger, you find yourself staggering back, crying out and gasping in pain from metal colliding with your gut and sinking slightly with inhuman force and weight driving it. The gun is torn from your hands, there’s two clicks in succession–the loading of a chamber, a bullet prepared to fire.

There is one second where neither of you move, one waiting and the other realizing. You gasp.

“No—”

The gun fires, followed immediately by agony piercing your abdomen, stopping you mid-step, swiftly making your knees weak, before dropping you to the floor as warmth spreads out from where your hand now crosses your gut.

It takes one final step, the floorboards creak with its weight, and you look up, gasping and involuntarily making strained, sharp noises of pain. Slowly, with increasing difficulty, you look up, shaking not just from fear but the intense pain you’re existing in. It looks down, regarding you without pity, without hesitation, only the cold, unfeeling weight of a choice it had made long before it caught you and is determined to see it through. You try to desperately move, get somewhere, crawl away from the fate it has chosen for you, but your hands refuse to grasp anything, opening and closing without performing a true function.

It points the gun at you again, and the last thing you see before everything is black are its eyes.

uh So yeah I might have liked that idea and ran with it

Just a-just a little bit

I will say this wasn't meant to be such a big thing so im sorry but also not really

Not quite human nom skin reveal!

I can't believe we clocked that he already used the Nqh character voice as The Problem I'm losing my mind.