#voicestm

Being his dearest Entity's favorite had its perks. Like being able to orchestrate such stunt, one Danny was extremely proud of. The way just thinking about what was to come send a pleasant shiver through his whole frame. Calm down, you have a part to play. Jed adjusted his glasses, the fingers of his free hand slipping around a certain redhead as they moved away from the campfire. A simple and yet effective excuse to get her alone; checking the resemble of a lake that one of the other survivors found. " Are we sure we are on the right path? " Jed mused, feigned worry laced in his tone as they moved deeper into the forest. A bashful smile was offered to Mikaela when he turned to look at her.

The darkness closing on them as if it was alive, and perhaps it was. " Maybe we should go back. " Even without his attire and pretending to be someone else, Danny could still still manipulate the little gift that the Entity gave him the first time he stepped into the fog. The tendrils of his shrouds moving to wrap around her ankles, preventing her to take any more steps, brushing over the exposed skin of her legs as they moved to coil around her throat. the hold tight enough to be felt, possessive in nature, but not to choke. By now she should be aware of who exactly just came to play. " Mikaela? " Confusion painted upon Jed's features when he took a step forward but was stopped from the way Mikaela was held into place. " Is everyth- " Jed didn't finish to speak before he was suddenly dragged away into pitch black darkness. His scream echoing around her. Ah, Danny had always wondered if his own screams of despair were convincing enough, and perhaps tonight he was going to get the answer to that.

It was mere moment later that Jed stumbled forward. Ah, Danny should personally thank the Entity, after all the poor soul that was made to looked exactly like him as his Jed persona wasn't going to witness the end of the night. His hands holding his middle, trying to keep the deep gashes from bleeding more, trying to keep his insides from spilling out on the ground. Except he was doing quite the pathetic job. A bloody hand reaching towards Mikaela, his mouth opening, however he didn't get to make a sound. A sharp blade glinting in the darkness, coming from behind and slitting his throat with accurate precision. Danny watched as the unfortunate double crumbled on the ground. Blood and guts spilling onto the grass, creating a grotesque masterpiece.

He never knew that killing himself ( Ah! ) could have been this exciting.

Danny's movements were deliberate, calculated. With the sole of his boot he pushed the man, making him lay flat on his back before he leaned down. Fingers slipping inside the wounds, feeling around the organs, a hum of appreciation leaving his mouth, after all he had always enjoyed the warmth. Tugging pieces of intestine out; ever so carefully rearranging them in the shape of a heart. He could be so sweet, couldn't he?

Danny approached Mikaela only when satisfied with his handiwork, circling her so he could step closer from behind. Blood stained gloved fingers trailed over her arm and shoulder before taking a hold of her jaw. He pressed close to her, breath fanning over ear when he leaned over. A click of his tongue. " Someone was planning to be a naughty gir, mh? " Despite his words, there was mirth laced in his tone. Nose nuzzling at the spot just under her ear.

He picked her up with ease in a bridal carry then, their surrounding fading away just so the entrance of his basement could appear when he stepped forward. A familiar excitement crawling beneath his skin when he brought her inside, settling her on the rundown couch. Blood stained fingers stroking her cheek as he took the seat next to her before pulling her onto his lap. " Did you forgot who you belong to, babygirl? " A murmur when pale hue met hers.

" Perhaps I should remind you. " The shiver that took over Mikaela's body didn't pass unnoticed, and Danny found himself tilting his head to the side, the curve of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk. The glove removed and one hand came to rest on her thigh. The other reaching for the back of her head, fingers burying in fiery locks before he grabbed a fistful and gave a sharp tug, exposing her throat. His mouth latching on the exposed skin, teeth following suit. The marks he was going to leave. " Or was that your plan all along? " A whisper, while he moved to drag his mouth over her exposed collarbone before he let go of Mikaela's hair, prompting her to look at him.

He didn't wait for an answer, he didn't need to, instead he captured her mouth in a searing kiss. " Seeing how far I would go for you. " Words spoken between kisses. Gods, he loved to play with her mind. He reached for the hem of her shirt, slipping his fingers underneath, just so he could trail them over her stomach, dipping into her navel before reaching to slip between her bra and bare breast, thumb stroking over her nipple before rolling it between his fingers.

@voicestm || 5 times

i.

It's barely a scar at all when they meet. Fresh enough cut to still open itself back up when she uses her arm more than she's meant to this soon. Sam's not sure if it's the scent of her blood seeping that draws the curiosity or if the other is just that eagle-eyed, but she awaits the curiosity all the same. Mental gears start grinding, getting to work on what an answer would even be. She's still finding her way between the honesty that Tara and Dr. Stone demand of her and the kind that just... horrifies, makes things uncomfortable and awkward.

This one... the one she hurriedly presses a hand to, trying to stem the slow trickle had been Ethan. His father in front of her, him at her side. Counting down masks. Mrs. Loomis... Stu Macher... and her father's. The one that Mr. Bailey wanted her, needed her, to put on to make his story fit. Taking a swing at him with brick in hand had made Ethan lunge and get a slice of her. Sam both hates everything that drove them to it and how they chose to handle it and... understands... slashing a hunting knife in defense of family.

She has no leg to stand on. Even less so when the question she now feels ready to answer never comes.

Just bandaging and a quip that 'scars are the new sexy'.

ii.

Close quarters like mostly only girls share, Sam is rarely startled by the sudden chill of Reese's fingers drifting across her skin. This kind of proximity is a place Tara has intentionally vacated, left open. Sam keeps it open for her to return to whenever the time is right for it, but she doesn't shut anyone else out of it either. Reese is Tara's age. Both of them doing their college thing. It's an almost perfect fit. She tries not to assume that makes the other girl attach, though she has a few guesses considering the company she keeps and what it's sorely missing. Sam just opens arms, opens heart, and takes her in.

Laughs, too, when Reese makes a little tsking noise and finds tiny flat-iron scar hidden in her hairline. Well... Sam thought it was hidden. New York uniform still gives her a hard time. The color's right but there's no keeping Pacific Ocean waves out of her hair. She tries. She fails. Black waterfall won't be changed.

At least this one doesn't call for explaining.

iii.

It is quickly becoming trained habit. Feel the familiarity of Randy come to play or visit or need attention and quickly cover arms, décolletage and anything else on display. Not usually a hardship. Sam has a uniform for a reason. Layers with purposes. Summer and Cali habits mean that sure, arms, shoulders, collar, and midriff are sometimes on display, but they can go away quickly enough with handy sweatshirt. It never really occurs to her to question the developing habit with not much conversation behind it. They talked about it once??? Maybe? If a petulant demand that she cover her arms could be considered a talk. Randy wasn't much better with words than she was, some days. Still, somehow the request must sink in... the habit forms.

"Yeah, I have no idea what those are from...?" is the only answer she can give, when sweatshirt can come off again and bare arms sport healed pin pricks that aren't quite mosquito bites but... that she has no memory of earning or causing either. Mystery.

iv.

Girl code. Reese tugs up fallen strap and Sam's just pleasantly surprised that it doesn't feature a pull and thwap! She turns to flash a smile of gratitude just to see precious girl quietly fretting as she does about the marks that litter her. This one doesn't make the 'sexy' list, she guesses. Sam lets Reese get her fill of touching it, wondering which thing specifically bothers her? Is it seeing knife work leaving mark on pathetically human friend, or contrasting it with the eternally sinking in fact that it'll never be her again? Sam knows how she feels about the latter. Thank God! Not Reese. Never Reese. One Hi-C pouch later and she'll always be intact, untouched by unworthy hands. "It was this deep," Sam stage-whispers, fingers pathetically close together— barely an inch of airspace between thumb and index. Shallow little tip of the knife wound. Could be talking something else entirely if observed from outside of their little bubble, girls cackling together.

v.

Reese doesn't have to ask about things she's there for. Daycare shenanigans at Sam's. Mind the kids, give the grown ups a break. Sam's the happiest volunteer, hoarding Reese and Randy and his gang in her stupidly small apartment, laughing when they dunk on it and talk big changes. Furniture she should get, colors she could paint.

It feels like home. Too much so... too comfortable with tall boy who needs kid gloves.

Too hot for layers in the kitchen, Sam keeps ignoring pinches and prods, more focused on making lunch for the one who can eat it. Reese's snacks are in Ziplock baggies in the freezer. Missed movies are on the agenda. One pinch too many from Randy makes Sam sigh quip too loose at the mouth.

Same moment she feels sharp sting Randy is suddenly way too close, holding her— being weird, demanding as always, "Don't move, Sam— don't!" What??? What the fuck... look, she tries to listen to him plenty because he seems to need it but he's being weird and she can't not try to recover distance and figure out. What is even... why can't she... coughing takes her and it HURTS. Randy looks stressed, Reese is suddenly crowding her too, worried and angry???

Babysitter has lost control of the asylum. Inmates trying to run the joint. No no no...

'You can mist, can you put your hand in there?' 'You want me to stick my hand in her chest and then what!?'

Sam doesn't want anyone's hand in her chest, but it's a little hard to say so. Chest hurts, back stings, breath is short and weird. Not enough.

She knows she's in trouble when she sees Randy turn Agent Spector. Swoops her up in arms that... what??? He shouldn't be able to pick her up so effortlessly. She's heavy. Bark bark bark. He needs a name. Why? She has a name. Fingers snap in her face. How old is she? Heh. Fitting age for this to be her hilarious exit. "Twenty-seven." The other two fall into step. One on phone, the other just talking, keeping pace. A funerary procession out of her apartment. Bye-bye~!

Emily Johnson gets checked into the hospital emergency style, punctured and collapsed lung courtesy of a lover's quarrel. Funny story, if she could actually laugh. What? Is even happening? Whatever it is, the troupe sells it good. She catches bits and pieces. Good enough story to dump a waiting stone into a deep hole. Frame and dump. Fix the files.

Sam gets patched, one new scar added to the pile before she's stitched and given recovery orders hours and hours and hours later. Everybody huddled together bedside to come up with cover story for work and beyond. Extended sleep over. No additional invites.

i.

Low rider jeans will always be a girl her shape's best friend. Of course, these days, they need pairing with body suits or long enough undershirts that tuck in but neither of those are hardships to find or keep stocked in her closet. The uniform is lived in. Tight enough layers to be second skin close to her skin, looser flowy ones on top. Snakeskin meant to be easily shed when the inevitable hands come reaching, clutching, grabbing at her. Try to restrain Sam by flight jacket or oversize sweater and you'll be left holding them while she makes distance and readies to flee or fight. Like she ever gets a choice.

These things serve their purpose until they don't— until girl needs to stretch to reach and layers ride up and put on display the one scar she keeps most secret. Sort of. It's not really a secret. Life of fame and infamy. There are leaked police reports, hospital things... a book. Mercifully a squashed Stab movie installment that probably would have seen some Italian actress playing her, only half right and not the half she'd prefer if she had a choice about it. The world would see not!Richie stick not his knife right there where Reese's fingers suddenly are, tickling and startling her, cold as ever and yet making her face heat. Too close to intimate.

Fuck it. Reese is a saint who has earned the trust. Someone ought to hear it. Someone on her side. Who can and will laugh with her.

Sam leans in close to whisper in ear. "That one was Richie. The only time he'd ever manage to get seven inches in anyone. Only time he ever rearranged my guts."

   “ya  don't  get  t'  call  me  tha'.”  the  words  are  cold.  cold  as  the  ghost  had  once  been  before  all  of  this.  before  soap,  before  johnny.  god.  johnny.  dead.  should  be.  maybe  ghost  will  make  sure  of  it.  sure  as  hell  isn't  doing  him  any  favors  to  see  the  man  alive  in  front  of  him.  after  mourning  him.  having  his  whole  world  shattered  again. 

   am  i  a  fuckin'  joke? 

   words  he  doesn't  bother  to  say.  instead,  it's  a  cold  glare  from  behind  the  impassive  skull  mask.  he  had  to  move  on  without  his  johnny.  somehow  find  a  way  to  live  when  the  one  light  in  his  life  snuffed  out,  leaving  him  alone  again  in  the  ice  cold  grip  of  the  dark. 

   shoulda  learned.  shoulda  stayed  a  ghost. 

   the  ones  you  know  are  the  ones  who  can  hurt  you  the  most.

   he'd  said  it.  he'd  lived  it.  learned  it.  and  still…  a  fool.  in  the  end  -  a  fool.  he  handed  that  old  dagger  to  johnny,  and  gotten  struck  by  it.  carving  into  old  wounds  that  he'd  finally  stitched  back  up  again. 

   “you  ain't  anyone.” 

   the  words  are  cold  and  concise.  without  a  second  thought.  without…  care.  his  eyes  are  devoid  of  that  soulful  warmth  they  used  to  reflect.  it's  just  cold.  cold  and  dead.  a  man  who  once  again  resembles  the  namesake.  the  ghost. 

EVERYTHING HAD HAPPENED SO FAST, there was no changing that. william's downfall had been his making and dealing with the aftermath of everything had been... a lot. even now, henry was positive he would never truly be free. he had tried to be there through everything. his sons death had been tragic, and elizabeth following suit had been worse. when charlie died, henry had lost his entire world and his wife didn't stick around long enough to watch her husband drink himself into oblivion. at first, maybe she had tried her hardest to be there. to comfort him, but nothing could comfort a prison of his own making.

the business had fallen. his daughter was gone. william had become a monster. what was he supposed to do? how could he fix something he had no control over? he couldn't bring those kids back. he couldn't even bring his daughter back, and believe him. he had tried. if only he had been able to learn what it took. maybe he could have fixed william, too. he could have fixed them all like a puzzle, but the hidden piece had never been found. even as he sorted through these diagrams he had found. he wasn't any closer to learning what remnant was, nor was he any closer to learning how it involved keeping the children stuck in their animatronic prisons.

he promised himself he'd never come back to this place. it was abandoned. crippled. destroyed. yet, here he was. this had been his home for so long and some of those memories just didn't go away. the padlock didn't keep him out, either. for henry, there was always alternate ways in. alternate ways he had found ages ago. moving to the back of the building, he shoved his hand through the broken window and pulled the bolt holding the lock closed.

the creaking noise of the door opening when he shoved it forward just made his eyes roll. he couldn't remember how many times he had fixed that door. the fact it still didn't work properly annoyed him even more as he stepped forward. the place was well maintained, which was a little interesting. like someone was attached. perhaps william had been here, too. nervous to let go of his legacy. henry certainly was.

the first time he had come here, seeing them move on his own had been terrifying. immediately, he thought it was a glitch, but it hadn't been. they seemed to keep things safe. tidy, even. like under some sort of command. yet, they never attacked henry. they hadn't even looked in his direction. seeing the stage empty made his heart hurt, he'd admit that. but it was for the best. henry kept an eye on this place at a distance, yes. but he knew what was going on to a certain extent.

There had been another princess that long ago day on Kaitain as beautiful as something carved from stone. She had recited some story from old Terra about a hero in a maze, who had to be guided out by a princess holding a golden thread.

She was like her always guiding him out of the maze of his own moods. He sat beside her but didn't become still instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "What I need is you," He said simply.

YOUR MUSE HAVE A QUESTION FOR MINE? | accepting! ( @voicestm )

Is he scared? Of course he is. Sammy isn't an idiot. He knows of Billy's past, what he's done, what he can still very well be capable of, but aside from these angry looks and a snarl here and there, the man's never given him much pause. Not until now.

"Intentions, sir?" He's not playing dumb, but he is genuinely dumbfounded by the question, and it shows by the deer-in-headlights look he's providing. Sammy swallows hard, suddenly finding it hard to. "I-- Sam and I are--"

Are what, exactly? He doesn't even know. Before the shared intimacy of their first kiss, he would have just said they were friends, the best of, but the kiss had gummed things up a bit, and they are now much more blushy and bashful than usual. There's something more there and Sammy supposes Billy can sense that, like only a parent could.