Slasher!twst Introductiongraphic For Those Who Are Sensitive To Murder And Overall Fucked Up Shit In

Slasher!twst introduction…graphic for those who are sensitive to murder and overall fucked up shit in general.

I do not condone or support this behavior in any way, this is for entertainment purposes and for those who enjoy slasher films (it's where I got inspired off of) and not glorify actual serial killers.

basic tw. murder, human trafficking, abuse of power, clearly unhinged and purposely not good characters, mentions of snuff films, stalking, cannibalism, mentioned beheading.

Note: might come back to add more stuff and fix grammar lolz

Riddle

A doctor who craves to see his patients insides. Riddle finds everyone to be unique, during his years in the medical field he’s seen it all. Unlike most people he’s intrigued on the human body, almost taking the role as a psychiatrist but it’s nice to be up and personal with a corpse.

He wishes to understand every single aspect of the human body and brain, there is so much to learn and see. He’s kept a couple of his patients eyes in his lab, staring back at his favorites in remembrance of their once living memory.

Hot tempered however. Abuses the power that he’s a doctor, someone you should trust in health and well being. It kinda gets him off. Besides that he can’t stand patients who don’t listen, snobby and lack manners when he’s asking questions. An easy killer to avoid, just don’t catch his attention.

Trey

Did you see it coming? The friendly baker who’s pastries taste so good yet different no matter the brand. Trey is great at avoiding conflict, his victims are loners, people who don’t have much of a name. No one would suspect him because Trey made it his duty to befriend the law, clean from their records.

Trey had killed off a classmate that bothered him or snuck their nose in places it shouldn’t be. Resulting his decision to hide the evidence by making it into deserts. Or better, meals prepped for guests he plans on bringing over. When he doesn’t need to use his unique magic he eats it as it is. Human flesh doesn’t taste as bad as media says.

Calm and friendly. Someone you wouldn’t expect. Probably lures his victims by giving false hope, he can help you with anything you need. Seduction if needed, get you to isolate yourself so no one would suspect he was behind it. Another easy killer to avoid, don’t pry into his business.

Cater

Makes snuff films. Pretty popular for his cherry attitude and quirky kills. Got into this kind of stuff in high school, at first he was disturbed, but it grew on him the more his curiosity got the better of him. Becomes more self aware of people’s likes and dislikes, this sick thought that he can harm someone. Kill, someone’s daughter, son, and baby he could kill. With hopes and dreams, he can take it all.

Two-faced, he’s great at pretending, a little too good at being your trendy friend who enjoys giving his fans what they want. And he does exactly that. It was the attention he never thought he’d be addicted to. The praise and vulgar language, amusing.

Victims range from how popular and known you are, or if you really caught his eye and he thinks you can scream just right. His unique magic makes great use, multitasking on being in places he shouldn’t be, getting information and learning his victim’s routines. Those who love dressing cute, may you never cross this man.

Ace

A shitty killer, does it for fun. There’s nothing tragic for him he just thinks breaking the law is great….when he’s not caught, thanks to a little friend of his. Likes the adrenaline of a fight, resistance gets him off badly. Pants like a fucking dog if you’re bitchy, finds it hot when his victim can bite back. Brings him more of a challenge.

Picks up his victims from diners or the bar late at night. He’s got charm, unlike his high school years he’s learned to bite back his tongue and instead seduce his way through in situations. Here to impress, after a couple of failed attempts he’s gotten rid of he knows how to play his cards.

Gotten away with a lot of things. Like Trey he has befriended the law, the more corrupted side. The one that enjoys hurting the innocent, that understand the power trip of accusing and punishing. Deuce is his partner in crime, the two are almost regularly seen together.

Deuce

Genuinely wanted to help those in need. He saw himself as the savior in the story, he’s doing good by getting rid of the bad guys. But it’s starting to get boring. No matter how many times he’s slapped himself with water or stare at the cells. The way some more of his aggressive officers handle their suspect started to irl him. In a way others would deem normal.

Man did he miss the feeling of slamming his fist into another’s, the crunching sound of his knuckles and their jaw was exciting. Like a rush of youth, their cowering expression brings him memories that he didn’t know existed. Who is he to lie to himself that what he’s doing is wrong, it feels right to put criminals back in their place.

Respected by all. No one would bat an eye regarding his past records of violence during his school years. Deuce is a changed man they say, even when he’s with that play boy friend of his. He’s gotten better at controlling his bloodlust, the law honors a great officer like him.

Leona

It’s gotten rather lonely and boring lately. Leona had gone into some shady places to get the things he wanted. He’s no stranger to things such as assassins and human trafficking. That was something he was interested in, you only live once to do something fun. Such as owning a person. He’s a prince, it’s the least they can do to shut their mouth and let him have this moment.

Just as him, his family is corrupted, turning a blind eye to Leona’s hobby in collecting different types of victims to play with before discarding. Too many times did he wash the blood away and under his nails. Ravishing in their cries and last moments before taking it. Maybe it was the hunt he was after, but thinking about it that way reminded him of that hunter. Possible chance of them hunting together for sport.

No law can touch him. Not when hush hush money is being covered. Every eye witness is ordered to be silenced with threats and a wad of cash hovering above. Leona takes great interest in enthusiastic people, they rub him off in a nice way that makes him want to see them squirm.

Ruggie

Works for Leona. When Leona doesn’t find the time to buy his next toy that’s where Ruggie comes in. Ruggie has a good eye for candy that’s either sweet or sour, didn’t matter as long as they’re warm and breathing. Ruggie had dug himself deep into things he shouldn't at a young age, but the money was tempting, food was scarce so often relied on the dead people left behind after harvesting their organs.

Leona often gives him a treat for a job well done, getting rid of witnesses or naughty toys. Hyenas have teeth that can easily chew through bone, he's basically a garbage disposal for him. Not that he minds. In fact he loves the lifestyle he has at the moment.

This can go multiple ways, Ruggie is either Leona's personal assassin/helper or a cannibal by heart. But he prefers to work in the crowd, working all alone can have it's flaws, no better way than to have easy access. It's simple, when Leona is happy so is he.

Jack

Some sort of vigilant. Unlike the rest, he beats himself up for not controlling his emotions better. His more animalistic side gets the better of him when he sees the weak get pushed around. Multiple times has he actually tried to stop and get help, but his brain mushes and stretches each time he's seen something dead, unmoving, bloodied and crying in front of him. As if it was right to hurt them. There's so many people who are bad, he'll do the right thing by getting rid of them one by one.

This doesn't go as planned, he's built up some degree of blood lust, a need to excuse his behavior. Slowly getting into denial that what he's doing is ok, as long as no one knows. From killing off bad people to taking in those he deemed interesting. It was normal he said, a wolf needed to protect the weak. Whether they want it or not.

Jack isn't dumb but his victims are usually scared shitless to reason with him. But with a more collected person they can try talking it out with him. Jack however can get possessive because said victim has a point. You understand Jack, you helped him with all the burden and worry. He can't let you leave now tho...

Azul

Everything Azul had was all built up from scratch. He's made some unpleasant decisions to get to where he is now. High off of power and greed he cared little. His morals stripped the second he shakes hand with governments officials. They pay large sums to trade, buy, and sell things for the sake of their country. Organs play a great game into his empire, with the help of the twins social net work he was able to be top dog. Yet up in the surface he's nothing but a gentleman.

Azul gets his hands dirty by obtaining illegal substance and trafficking. Getting himself into these types of business opened his eyes to a whole new world, people are willing to do anything to survive, it's horrible and harsh. But it's starting to grow on him.

He's built connections with corrupted officials for the sake of enjoyment, it's nothing but fun for his customers. He's all too happy to supply them with things that'll keep them satisfied. All of this influenced him to have a cute thing of his own. Wouldn't it show just how much power he has?

Jade and Floyd

They work for Azul, he's just full of surprises! Jade and Floyd are kept busy with doing Azul's dirty work, relieving in targeting their newest victim so they can be sold off. Or knocking at a mans doorstep because he didn't pay Azul back on time. It's a sense of rush, the urge to harm and cause chaos among the innocent. Their job is to keep tabs on clients for any potential scammers, snatching people off the street in the middle of the night, sort of like the mafia but worse.

There is a low chance in encountering them or becoming their victim because of connections to their business. Alter egos, well associated with celebrities or people in power. And they're mostly seen with Azul as body guards, the ones actually doing the more "dirty work" for him. Discarding bodies or simply eating them to quickly get the job done.

Jade is interested in keeping something for the sake of experimenting or true relations. Floyd often have quick hook ups with people he finds interesting before getting bored again. Horrible and cruel with their things, none yet to survive, their parents have yet to complain in need of grandchildren and to further expand family business.

Kalim

Has some type of connection with Azul. Not much besides the trafficking. Something much more sinister under all those smiles, either because of his position or he's great and should do theater is the reason he faces no consequences. Family like the Leech are similar when it comes to traditions, keeping those in power satisfied with twisted and inhumane products. Kalim is probably desensitized, because at a young age it was taught to be normal to traffic those paid high enough. No longer seen as human.

Still very kind to others however, just much more aware and less dense when it comes to more darker subjects. Doesn't get his hands dirty, controls what route or person is taken in, receipts and what not. No hard feelings, maybe just don't be poor/jk

Encountering him is hard, must be related through connections or snooping too much. Like Leona, had many playthings in the past almost like a harem of those who passed his test. Nothing but sweet to his victims because he believes they get to experience pleasure before dying.

Jamil

Plays the same role in canon, Kalim's bodyguard/servant. In this AU he has not yet to envy Kalim as they set foot in the same page. Instead understanding each other through words and acts of loyalty. Has killed at a young age in order to protect Kalim, finds it his purpose to enjoy life while he has the chance. Disturbingly enjoys his job because he has an urge for bloodlust, possible sociopath. Helps get rid of unwanted enemies that are after Kalim in revenge.

Taunts his victims a lot, usually uncaring unlike Kalim. Innocent or not he's ruthless when it comes to disposing of them, gives him a sense of adrenaline in hurting those who did no wrong. Power abusing his status and strength for the fun of it. When not protecting Kalim he goes on his way to meet potential clients who wish to buy someone off or have them killed.

Stalks his victims and always a step ahead, interestingly enough if he finds them intriguing he might just keep them alive for a while. It's nice getting to know someone unwillingly before taking their lives, the thought of their future and life in his hands irks him to continue. Until he gets attached.

Vil

A killer who nobody would suspect as well. Vil is a famous and well known celebrity, who knew his hobby was stalking some more attractive fans and committing unspeakable crimes. Started this hobby in high school. Was somewhat detached as a child as he used to kill small rodents and was home schooled by private and strict teachers. As an actor he does an amazing job in not getting suspected of things people wouldn't think he had the guts to do.

With his magic in going undercover the paparazzi have trouble finding him, they're exhausting so he takes out his frustrations by eyeing pretty things that either adore him or unsuspecting. His reasons are fueled with envy towards those who are kind and considerate, a nobody that catches his eye. So he starts going for both.

Money can do a lot to satisfy his killing spree taking those he favorites and keep their bodies somewhere in one of his penthouses. In a room hidden underground, their body is plastered in a way he'd call art, hanging on the ceiling or kept in glass containers.

Rook

Family tradition to take unsuspecting hikers or foreigners as a sport. Instead of hunting for animals they hunt for people. Once a year the Hunt family meet up with their victims to set them free in whichever area was picked to search for them later on. A game of cat in mouse and usually Rook beats his siblings to these types of games. Can get very attached to his victims, finds every one of them beautiful when alive and dead.

He lives rather far from the city, having to move place to place because of his family's games. This gives him more opportunities to meet new people and find potential victims. Like any hunter, he's sharp and gets straight to the point, police have trouble finding the killer that's been abducting random hikers.

Pretty basic to encounter, because he spends most of his times living in the middle of the woods far away from civilization. I've seen the trend of Rook being a slasher like ghostface and I'm here for it, this is just my take on him in this au, much more darker.

Epel

The type of slasher to get away with everything because of pretty privilege. In this au Epel willingly cross dresses to trick his victims. Bias he was inspired to become a slasher because of movies. What exactly spiraled him to get into these type of things was for the sake of petty revenge. Tired of being seen as weak and fragile, he finds it amusing to see the confused and terrified look on their face when he's revealed to be their misfortune.

He gets really into his hobby, deceiving men who assumed he was a girl and easily befriending their families in case fingers were pointed at him. In fact Epel actually has several identities regarding cross dressing. He doesn't stay very long in places and tends to move when he can.

Victims? Majority are men he dislikes when first meeting. It's rare of him to go after girls, at times he will correct them if they misgender him or he plays along. Meaning putting up the act of a girl best friend. This usually happens if he's interested.

Idia and Ortho

Corrupted during his childhood. Had access to the internet and parents just weren't watching what he was looking at. Idia has seen it all, with the murders, snuff films, and inappropriate ads. It stuck with Idia through adult hood, all his years he's lived in guilt and fear, he's more unstable and lets his thoughts get the better of him. And Ortho makes it worse. It's unsure if Idia is seeing Ortho and hallucinating his voice, he blames that he's the source for all of his killings. All of the failed experiment and loved ones that "passed" away.

Ortho is dead in this au, Idia just can't accept that. But this forms him into who he is now, his family cover up whatever shit he's done, in fact they encourage Idia to do what he must if it made him happy. I wouldn't say they are shitty, because they know exactly what they're doing.

Idia had grown an obsession with trying to revive the dead, or make humans stay longer, he already failed with Ortho and is willing to spare more lives for the sake of science. His victims are people he met online, trollers or crushes to be exact.

Malleus

Malleus is a powerful fae who is influenced by his status, with that power comes a tendency for arrogance and a sense of being above the rules and law. This can be seen in his treatment of others in his kingdom, but it's (not) safe to say he prefers to go after humans instead. it could certainly lead to a sense of entitlement and a lack of regard for the lives of others. Additionally, he is a very passionate character who can easily become consumed by his emotions, and if those emotions are negative, it can lead to a desire for revenge or a need to assert his power and authority through violent means.

After years of being neglected only anger was left, he doesn't see people around him as equal rather than pawns. It's due to jealousy does he tend to lash out on those who either wronged him, throwing fits and tantrums when things don't go his way. Malleus has a glimpse of a child-like behavior when consumed by these emotions, having to replace one too many maids when crossed his paths.

He may be attracted to targets that are also powerful or notable in some way. This could include powerful magic users, royalty, or prominent figures within the magical community. Alternatively, he may also target those who have wronged him in some way, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

Lilia

war veteran that craves the glory and violence when it came to the human and fae war. He’s not like crazy sadistic or anything but killing when “necessary.” Which is a bad excuse because he doesn’t feel bad when harming bystanders that accidentally trip their way into his business. Also being a war veteran he’s highly respected so no one is on his ass when suspecting.

I’d say he’d miss the way skin goes under his nails, having a life in your hands is exhilarating to say the least. It’s almost comforting to him because of how harsh his days were back then. Headcanon that Lilia fought in war at a very young age, traumatic yet he’s addicted to the very thing that harms him. It’s unhealthy but I think he’s in a position to not care, being highly respected of his status is a free way ticket.

Silver

Not a slasher. A poor unexpecting citizen who’s friends with psychos. Silver is kind of a victim in this AU…? Sometimes Silver finds things he should’ve left behind, but in the goodness of his heart he seeks out the problem of his “friends” disappearance. Because of this Lilia regularly has to keep up with Silver so he doesn’t make those mistakes again. Using magic to reduce his memory of the night he saw a woman get beheaded, his son too kind for this world.

But he can be your friend in here!!! Befriending Silver is almost like a golden token, less likely to be victim depending on who’s eye you’ve caught. Some won’t care if you’re under his protection and Lilia’s. Silver could get attached to you tho, causing him to get unpleasant thoughts of wanting to keep you safe, even by force.

Slasher of a making? Lilia would find this an opportunity to fill his head with scenarios and create a false impression of his doings. He’s right to keep you, it’s for your own good and everyone around him keeps leaving. You’re all he has left.

Sebek

By slasher I mean background character lmaoo. As usual, works with Malleus as his personal guard. You could’ve been so many things to get in a situation with Sebek/Malleus, having been bought or maybe a friend of Malleus that he grows to resent. Sebek knows better then to let anger get the best of him, having blood on his hands are a normal occurrence especially when assassins tend to come left and right. So he’s always alert and very distanced when it comes to forming a relationship.

Some sort of executer, gets rid of any evidence from either within the castle or a good hunt. Much more connected to his animalistic urges but can easily overcome them. Anything grotesque sets him off to harm those around him. His hunger for any sort of flesh is unmatched, worse than any other beastfolk as he consumes it raw and alive.

Sebek would be the last person you’ll ever meet because encountering him is very very random. He’s a busy person who is barely seen in public unless it’s for important events that includes Malleus being there.

our paths crossing

Pairing: Tsu’tey x Avatar!Reader + Adopted!Spider

Summary: Tsu’tey is given a second chance at life, but not even Eywa could convince him to accept it. 

Word Count: 9k+

Warnings: single mom power, generational trauma, parental manipulation (tsu’tey’s parents suck), fluff

Na'vi words used: pa'li - direhorse, nivi - hammock, olo'eyktan - clan leader, ikran - mountain banshee, Iknimaya - Rite of Passage, marui - home, oel ngati kameie - I See you, taronyutsyìp - little hunter, teylupil prrnen - teylu face baby, niktsyey - food/leaf wrap, tsaheylu - bond, sa'nok - mother, Uniltaron - Dream Hunt, irayo - thank you, tawtute - human, tswin - queue braid, maitan - my son, sa'sem - parents, taronyu - hunter, tsahik - spiritual leader, tsakarem - tsahik in training, meresh'ti cau'pla - banshee catcher

A/N: This was heavily inspired by other Tsu’tey works written by @simps256 @byunpum @shu-box-puns and @little-box-of-autism on Tumblr, and @ AlexiHollis on Ao3

~~~~~~~~~

PANDORA, 2154+

Everything is connected, one way or another. From the tiny stem of a plant, to the pa'li that steps on it, and to the ginormous tree looming over it. Pandora is made up of various different sizes of networks, from microscopic to gigantic. Some are easier to see than others. The network of tree branches and roots is clearly visible, but there are small ones, not physically distinct, and Eywa can see it all as clear as day.

Keep reading

[BRIAN THOMAS, TOBY ROGERS, TIMOTHY WRIGHT x FEM! READER]

chapter warning. gore, death, mutilation, maggots, talk of killing an animal, gutting an animal.

wc. 7860

authors note. this fic gonna be long asf so buckle up. sorry its lowkey boring up yk its building suspense. any questions about the fic or concerns please submit an ask!

important, read. even though this is implied to be a female reader that has she/her pronouns, I suggest downloading this extension for Microsoft edge to replace [Y/N] as your name and to replace she/her with your preferred pronouns to make you feel more comfortable if you do not identify as a female.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: 𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄

meaning. a mushroom that grows over decaying bodies

As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, casting its golden hues across the land, a lone car ventured forth on the winding roads leading to Grove, Oklahoma. The engine purred softly, its rhythmic hum blending harmoniously with the melody of nature. With the sounds of soft rock and country preoccupying the silence that the car held in its void. The silence was filled with the songs of Linda Ronstadt, and Deana Carter; two maestros of musical storytelling, graced the airwaves, serenading the passenger with a poignant repertoire of cherished memories. The tunes resounded with the recollections of sun-drenched summers spent in the Western fields, where her mother's berry farm unfurled its emerald charm.

[Y/N]’s mind wandered back to the days when the weathered white barn stood as a sentinel, and the family's nearly antique truck nestled alongside, an endearing relic from bygone eras. Each note carried her back to the sight of verdant paint curling and surrendering to the passage of time, revealing glimpses of raw metal beneath. She vividly recalled the delicate act of running her nails over the lifted layers of paint, peeling them away one by one, as if uncovering the hidden stories embedded within the truck's weathered facade.

In nothing but her nightgown, [Y/N] ventured out, her bare feet delicately dangling just beyond the worn-out Ford logo adorning the truck bed. Wandering through the fields, she traversed the rough terrain, her feet bearing the brunt of her barefoot journey. The berry saplings, a recurring sight in spring and summer, had now blossomed, displaying their succulent fruits as late summer approached. Yet before their transformation, the bushes stood tall, their leaves pointed and vigorous. Her path, confined to the Western fields, beckoned her toward the barn. Basking in abundant sunlight, the western expanse fostered accelerated growth, causing the saplings there to sprout thorns at a rapid pace. As a consequence, the girl’s feet endured the accumulation of mud and crusty blood, an undeniable testament to her traversing the formidable fields.

With dirtied feet and a stained nightgown, she embarked on her ritual every morning, just before the sun's radiant glow graced the sky. Ascending the antique truck, she found her perch, eagerly awaiting the mesmerizing spectacle of the sun's rays stretching across the vast expanse of land. Yet, amidst this ethereal beauty, her heart danced with anticipation for a different kind of awakening.

As the first glimmers of light began to peek over the horizon, a familiar melody filled the airwaves, heralding the start of a brand new day. Soft country tunes, like those sung by Tanya Tucker and The Judds, tenderly embraced her senses. However, her ears strained for one particular tune, a treasure she yearned for each morning at 8 AM.

And then it happened—John Denver's timeless classic, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," resounded through the airwaves, soothing her soul with its heartfelt lyrics. Sitting atop her vantage point, she became a symphony of joy, her voice bursting forth despite its imperfections. With every note, she poured her heart into the song, her little lungs valiantly attempting to reach every high and low.

Though [Y/N]’s singing may have lacked finesse, it mattered not, for her spirit soared with unbridled enthusiasm. Without pausing for breath, she sang the entire composition, as if on a sacred mission to carry its melody across the rolling hills and valleys. In those precious moments, the world was her stage, and she, the star of her own enchanting performance.

 Queens ensemble of trumpets and brass instruments harmoniously faded into a gentle hum, merging with the engine's subtle vibrations. With every turn of the wheel, a captivating journey unfolded, transporting her to an enchanting realm where time lost its urgency, and the world transformed into a vibrant symphony of colors.

[Y/N]’s grip on the steering wheel remained relaxed, a testament to her confidence in navigating the road ahead. However, the weight of exhaustion was evident beneath her eyes, concealed by bags that hung like heavy burdens. Her gaze alternated between the winding road and the small, blaring red text of the clock on her car monitor: 7:59 A.M.

Anxiously, her fingers drummed against the supple leather steering wheel, mirroring the racing beat of her heart. Her eyes darted back and forth, desperately seeking confirmation of the fleeting minutes. As the hum of the engine threatened to engulf her senses, its dominance was suddenly overpowered by the opening notes of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

In that moment, her attention was captivated by the red letters once more, and they revealed the time: 8:00 A.M. A gentle hum escaped her lips, akin to a sigh of relief, as she muttered along with the song's lyrics, embracing them with unwavering devotion. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sang along, infusing her voice with the song's nostalgic melodies.

The road stretched out like an asphalt ribbon, carving its way through sprawling meadows and rolling hills. Fields of emerald green extended as far as the eye could see, adorned with delicate wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. The air, crisp and invigorating, carried with it the scent of earth and the promise of new beginnings.

As the car glided forward, the scenery unfolded like pages in a vivid tapestry.Towering trees lined the roadside, their branches stretching toward the heavens like ancient sentinels. Leaves shimmered with a kaleidoscope of autumnal shades, painting the landscape with fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows. The trees seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their rustling leaves creating a symphony of nature's own design.

The road wound its way up and down gentle slopes, revealing panoramic vistas that stole the breath away. Mountain ranges stood majestically in the distance, their peaks kissed by the wisps of ethereal clouds. They stood as guardians of the landscape, their stony faces etched with the stories of ages gone by. But nothing could compare to Grand Lake. 

The bridge, spanning what felt like endless miles, gracefully arched over the water, its reflection shimmering in the gentle waves. As if in a dance, a multitude of boats navigated the water's expanse, trailing wakes that glistened in the crystalline depths, mirroring the celestial azure above and the passing cars on the bridge. The radiant spectacle transformed the water into an irrefutably luminous spectacle. It seemed as though liquid silver veins intricately intertwined with the land, carrying the harmonious melodies of life and the captivating tales of the creatures that resided within its mysterious depths. Geese gracefully etched invisible patterns against the vast canvas of the heavens, casting a mesmerizing spell on the onlookers below.

The scratching of gears wound up, blending into the symphony of sound, as the window glass slowly rolled down. The mechanical protest produced a terrible screeching sound, reminiscent of an animal's anguished cry, piercing the air and capturing her attention. Her eyes widened, captivated by the scene that unfolded before her.

Inhaling deeply, she savored the dewy summer air that gracefully entered her lungs, infusing her with an ardent fervor. Each breath became an embrace of life itself. The atmosphere, cool and revitalizing, carried a tangible energy, blending the essence of earth with the promise of new beginnings. The aroma of raindrops and freshly cut grass intermingled, filling her senses with a harmonious fragrance that evoked a sense of contentment. As she exhaled, a sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips, releasing any lingering tension—contentment.

The car engine purred in agreement at the sight of landscape, the tranquility of and complete beauty was simply enchanting.  

In a graceful display of poise and determination, she effortlessly steered the sleek vehicle away from the confines of the bustling main road, opting instead for a captivating detour onto a secluded single-lane path. As the tires glided over the uneven terrain, the verdant canopy of lush green forests enveloped the winding road.

Along this path, a humble dirt road emerged, veering away from the well-trodden route. Its weathered surface, pockmarked and rough, dictated a slower pace, Each jolt and tremor sent ripples of anticipation coursing through her veins, heightening her senses as she pressed on with unwavering resolve.

Gradually, the path unveiled a breathtaking vista, an opening that seemed to materialize from the very fabric of a storybook. A small pond, its crystalline waters shimmering under the gentle caress of the sunlight, beckoned with an irresistible allure. Nestled harmoniously by its side, a resplendent cabin emerged, a captivating testament to rustic beauty.

The cabin, although once a haven of tranquility, now appeared as a relic of forgotten memories, as if time itself had woven a shroud of neglect around its weathered exterior. Weeds triumphantly sprawled across the surroundings, their emerald tendrils dancing in the wind, while determined vines conquered the cabin's weathered facade, gracefully ascending its walls in a seemingly eternal embrace with nature itself.

In this serene tableau, the intrepid traveler found herself drawn to the essence of this forgotten refuge. Its dilapidated state only served to enhance the mystique, inviting her to uncover the tales that lay dormant within its timeworn walls. She sensed that beneath the encroaching foliage and the fading echoes of life, whispers of untold stories and echoes of forgotten laughter still resonated within, yearning for someone to listen, to breathe new life into their cherished existence.

As the shadows danced amidst the rustling leaves, she stepped out of her vehicle, her footsteps cautious yet filled with reverence as the gravel beneath her crunched. The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as if the surroundings acknowledged her arrival, recognizing the significance of this encounter.

As her boots pressed against the gravel roadway, their crunch merged seamlessly with the harmonious of natural sounds that enveloped the picturesque surroundings. Advancing towards the cabin, each step resonated through the ancient floorboards of the front porch, releasing a melancholic creak as if the timeworn planks were exhaling with a subtle sigh. Weathered by countless footsteps, the wooden planks bore the indelible marks of their enduring journey, their once vibrant hue now transformed into a rich, dark oak shade. Inhaling deeply, she absorbed the essence of the place, her hand gravitating toward the doorknob of the screen door. For a fleeting moment, her gaze caught the old rocking chair, swaying gently in response to the playful caress of the breeze that meandered through the air. Finally, [Y/N]’s turned the the doorknob as the screen door creaked open—exhaling.

 She inhaled, the sharp fragrance of pine and bleach wove its way into her senses, its pungency tugging at her  nostrils. Their potent combination was not without consequence, for it provoked a reaction within her, eliciting a gentle scrunching of her nose. 

The house exuded an eerie aura of both familiarity and enigma.  She found herself standing in an expansive, open area cabin, devoid of hallways, which seemed to beckon her further inside. With each step, the immaculate cleanliness of the interior revealed itself, creating an almost surreal ambiance.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the second floor, with its single set of stairs ascending like a mysterious gateway to another realm. On the ground floor, to her right, lay a quaint and compact kitchen, an intimate space that appeared to have witnessed the preparation of countless meals and conversations with its worn down appliances. 

To her left, the living room stretched before her like a tapestry of memories. A comfortable couch adorned the space, an inviting haven where the occupants must have spent many hours engrossed in captivating tales or deep contemplation. In front of the couch, the heart of the room resided—a grand fireplace. Its flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, seemingly whispering forgotten secrets.

Perched atop the fireplace, an old flat screen TV served as a window to the past, where characters from era that might have come alive came alive, momentarily escaping their scripted confines. The juxtaposition of the antiquated screen and the modernity it once represented painted a vivid portrait of the house's intriguing history.

Yet, despite all the intriguing elements that adorned the room, her gaze eventually shifted downward to the very foundation of the space. The wooden floor bore the weight of countless footsteps and stories, its grainy texture inviting her to feel the past as she walked upon it.

In the realm of her consciousness, she possessed an intimate knowledge of the house's history. In the era preceding her own, her beloved grandparents had entrusted its care to a man of enigmatic nature, one by the name of Willard Tucker. The townsfolk, adorned with tales and whispers, had deemed him a peculiar figure, cloaked in the shadows of perceived insanity. Yet, the precise details eluded her, veiled behind a shroud of uncertainty. All that remained were fragments of narratives whispered through the winds of time—stories suggesting that the man, his heart shattered by the loss of his wife, had departed for the fertile lands of West Virginia, seeking solace within the embrace of family ties, all while taking up farming.

She had guessed that Willard was the reason for the foul smell of cleaning products. Cleaning and scrubbing off residue so as to not leave it behind for the next tenant. That being her—a girl from small town Kansas in the depths of the west. However, she secretly cursed Willard for using so much of the cleaning product.

Upstairs and to the left, In the midst of simplicity, her bedroom exuded a quiet charm. Nestled against the wall, a regal queen-sized bed commanded the center stage, flanked by two modest nightstands. On the left, a generous window framed the wall, revealing a glimpse of the  wooden sanctuary beyond.

As she gazed through the window's translucent pane, a tingle of anticipation caressed her being. It was as if the wistful tendrils of nature, woven into the fabric of the scene, beckoned her. The sheer simplicity of the room was deceptive, for within its unassuming boundaries. A shiver traced its delicate fingers along her spine, electrifying the air with a gentle chill.

She shook it off as paranoia. 

As she ventured into the confines of the bathroom, her delicate fingers gently placed the small pills of respite into the trinity of mirrors ensconced within the cabinet. Ambien, a faithful companion in her torment against insomnia, found solace in this sanctuary. The affliction had haunted her since the early years of her high school debut when a merciless onslaught of ghastly nightmares infiltrated her slumber. Rarely, she could sleep without nightmares, rarely she could sleep at all. Not through a full night at least. In a valiant attempt to retain her grasp on reality, she adorned her abode with vibrant beacons of guidance, neon yellow sticky notes that served as simple reminders.

Before she placed the pills in their place, with meticulous care, she tenderly appraised the contents of each vial, her discerning gaze fixed upon the pills nested within. Twelve, she confirms. Retrieving a vibrant yellow sticky note from her pocket from her linen jacket, her blue pen danced across the note, etching the numbers upon the labels of both bottles with blue ink. 

Nestled gently beside the cabin lies a quaint garden, albeit a modest one, marred by a profusion of resilient weeds. Throughout her family’s lineage, they had cultivated a bounteous farm teeming with an abundance of blossoms, nourishing produce, and succulent fruits. This trio, her mother, father, and herself, helmed a "berry utopia"—an expanse of verdant fields, stretching across countless acres, brimming with an assortment of fruit:  blueberries, blackberries, vibrant raspberries, strawberries, and cranberries—each variety harvested with unyielding dedication.

As her gaze fell upon the  garden, now overrun and wild, a surge of nostalgia washed over her like a familiar melody from a song. The sight evoked memories of her home, where there were fields upon fields of saplings of fresh berries. Determination welled up within her, fueled by a profound sense of connection. With resolute certainty, she understood that this hallowed ground deserved to be restored to its former glory. And then this became her mission.

With a hum, she nestled into the plush embrace into the seat of her car, releasing a wearied sigh that spoke volumes about her exhaustion. The weight of countless sleepless nights seemed to settle beneath her eyes, casting shadowy hues that deepened with each passing moment. Her gaze drifted toward the console, where a vibrant neon yellow sticky note had found a temporary perch upon the sleek gear shift. Delicately scripted upon its surface were two simple yet poignant words: "Call Mom."

A flicker of recollection sparked within her. Reminding her of the promise she had made to her worry-laden mother. A call was expected, an assurance of her safe arrival. Jane, her mother, possessed a peculiar knack for turning fret into an art form, yet in her own idiosyncratic way, her daughter desired nothing more than the act of vanishing without a trace.

In the tender embrace of  Jane’s watchful care, her protective nature has forever been her daughters steadfast companion. Jane ardently desired for [Y/N] to remain by her side, nestled within the sanctuary of her love, tending to the bountiful fields of the farm until the end of days. Undoubtedly, affection for her only child knows no bounds, yet an undeniable sense of confinement subtly gnawed at her being. 

Since the untimely demise of [Y/N]’s beloved father, a transformative shift enveloped her mother's being. Like a shadow cast by the moon's gentle glow, she became an ever-watchful sentinel, closely monitoring her daughter's every step with unwavering dedication. Her love took on an armor of protection, shielding [Y/N] from the world's perils with an intensity that left her in awe. The mere notion of forging friendships seemed inconceivable, friends were near to few, yet she made it through. 

As she embarked on her journey to the store, a fleeting thought of reaching out to her beloved mother danced in her mind, promising to materialize into a heartfelt conversation once she fulfilled her immediate errands. Before delving into the realm of garden essentials, a trusty blue ballpoint pen found its place in her hand, etching a list: a delightful assortment of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and  blackberries. A sudden mishap tainted the pristine clarity of the yellow paper, as her thumb inadvertently collided with the wet ink, obfuscating the very last word with an smudge, rendering it a mere blur, without her noticing

The jingle reverberating through the air above the door was no delightful melody, but rather a haunting creak that sent shivers down one's spine. As the door swung shut, it unleashed a piercing screech, its brass hinges groaning under the weight of accumulated rust. In that moment, it seemed as though a flurry of white paint chips had erupted into the air, propelled by the force with which the door had slammed shut. She was consumed by a wave of embarrassment, cast her gaze around, desperately seeking an opportunity to offer a timid apology to the cashier. Regrettably, the name tag affixed to the cashier's uniform bore the name "Ranae Reeds," yet the older woman remained oblivious to the commotion, deeply engrossed in the captivating narrative of her newspaper, so captivated that she spared not even a passing glance.

The quaint little store exuded an ambiance both intimate and grundgy. Its petite dimensions were adorned with luminous streams of yellow light, gently cascading overhead, a mesmerizing sight that lured a vibrant array of insects, their presence immortalized by a delicate layer of expired life at the base of the ceiling fixtures. Amidst this glow, a second source of illumination emerged from the rear of the store, emanating from the flickering glow of the freezers, whose contents contained nothing but dairy products.

Four rows stood in perfect formation, each aisle beckoning with an irresistible allure. Yet, it was the initial 3rd island that caught her attention. Like echoes from her college days, these rows overflowed with an abundance of budget-friendly delights, an ensemble of delectable junk food.

On the 4th and final row, she found what she needed; seeds.  She picked up a variety of packets of seeds, holding the small packets between her fingers. Blueberry, Raspberries, and strawberries—She was missing one thing

She nestled her hands into the cozy refuge of her coat pocket, avidly searching for that elusive neon yellow sticky note. Days of inadequate slumber had exacted their toll, leaving her mental acuity adrift in a sea of drowsiness, a constant companion to her weary mind.

The yellow paper must have slipped out somewhere. 

As she turned to retrace her steps, her gaze fell upon a figure standing a few feet away. Dressed in a dark hoodie that seemed to swallow his form, he was an enigmatic presence amidst the mundane shopping atmosphere. His face was partially concealed by a dark yellow hood, casting intriguing shadows upon his features.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach him. But something compelled her to step forward, her curiosity overpowering any apprehension she might have felt. With a nervous yet determined smile, she approached the figure.

"’scuse me," she began, her voice tentative but polite with a southern accent slipping through her lips. "I seem to have dropped something, and was wonderin if you happened to see a yellow sticky note?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers through the darkness of the hood. His gaze was intense, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden behind her words. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the stray yellow sticky note from the floor, holding it out to her.

Relief washed over her as she accepted the note, feeling a strange connection form in that brief exchange. "Thank you lots," she said, her gratitude evident in her voice. "I wouldve been lost without this."

As she looked up to thank him, her eyes widened in surprise. The hood that had previously obscured his face had fallen back, revealing his features in full. His brown hair was unkempt, falling across his forehead in a disheveled manner, matching the roughness of his beard. There was a weariness etched into his face, as if he carried the weight of a world unseen.

His eyes, though tired, possessed an unmistakable glimmer of something deep and complex. They held a mix of vulnerability and strength, as if he had seen things that most could never comprehend. The lines around his eyes spoke of experiences that had left their mark, making him seem older than his years.

He was quite handsome, [Y/N] thought.

A ghost of a smile played upon his lips as he nodded in response to her thanks, acknowledging her gratitude. “Ain't no trouble.," he replied, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of grave and southern twang. "Happy to lend a hand."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, as if both of them were caught in a suspended moment, each waiting for the other to break the spell. It seemed like the man found himself unable to tear his gaze away. 

‘Dude, fucking break eye contact, this is getting weird’, She thought as an awkward frown formed on her face.

Her eyes flickered to the red gallon he held in his hand, the word gasoline emblazoned across it. Questions formed in her mind, but she hesitated, deciding against asking him directly. There was an unspoken understanding that some things were better left unsaid.

Instead, she mustered a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, thanks again," she said, her voice warm with sincerity. "It was nice of ya to help me out."

His lips curled into a slightly deeper smile, a tooth gap evident, a hint of something genuine breaking through his stoic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet appreciation, before going back to looking at the seeds. 

The way his lips curled into a grin, sent shivers down the curve of her spine. Though his smile, expansive and brimming with teeth, held a peculiar detachment within the depths of his eyes, a dissonance that left her unsettled. His lips, etched into a smile, never reached his eyes. Like an emotionless facaque. He had something of a crooked grin, skewed in its authenticity, that just didn't seem right Deep within her core, an unsettling awareness resonated, silently cautioning her about the man before her. Still, an irresistible force tugged at her very being, pulling her closer to his presence.

She glanced down at her yellow sticky note for the last item, only for the blue writing to be smudged. 

“Fuck.”

The man couldn’t help but notice the frustration on her face as she stared at the yellow sticky note in her hand. The item she had written on it was smudged, rendering it illegible. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them in the garden aisle at the back of the store.

"Hey again,  uh... , 'scuse me for interrupting but aah couldn't help but notice yer frustration. Do you still need a hand?" The man had asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

Startled by his sudden address, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She blinked a few times, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, hey. uh... i was just trying to remember what i needed to buy," she stammered, a hint of embarrassment displayed on her face. 

He nodded, understanding the struggle of forgetfulness. His gaze fell upon a rack of seed packets nearby. "Well, if yer open to suggestions, there's this type of berry seed that might do the trick.  They're strong and grow plenty. Might just be what ya searchin for.”

She hummed, her eyes widening as she turned her attention to the seed packets he indicated. She scanned them, reading the descriptions and imagining the bountiful berries that could grow from them. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Imma give em’ a try," [Y/N] replied, grateful for the suggestion,"Thank you."

He reached out, plucked a seed packet from the rack, and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting connection that sent a shiver down her spine. She accepted the packet, feeling the weight of the possibilities it held.

"Yer welcome," He had said with a genuine smile that still didn't reach his eyes. "Aah sure hope they bring you a fruitful harvest." he laughs.

As she held the seed packet in her hand, she couldn't help but be struck by a sudden curiosity. "Do you gotta a garden?" [Y/N] laughed, “You sure seemed to know lots bout’ plants and whatnot.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he glanced away for a moment. "Well, I used to have one," he replied softly. "But things shifted ‘round, and aah had to leave it behind… but ah’m fixin’ to start a new’un.” He drawled out with a smile. 

Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she nodded in sympathy. Sometimes life forces people to leave behind things they hold dear. It reminded her of something, but she just couldnt put her finger on it. Before she could delve further into the subject, his phone buzzed loudly, interrupting their conversation.

He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A serious expression settled on his face as he answered the call. His voice was barely audible, and he moved away from her, creating a physical distance between them.

She watched him, a mixture of caution and curiosity mingling within her. His hushed conversation gave away little, leaving her to wonder about the nature of the call. 

As the call ended, He turned back to face her, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and urgency. He didn't say a word but mouthed a goodbye, his hand waving gently in farewell. Without another word, he swiftly made his way out of the garden aisle, leaving her standing there, holding the seed packet in her hand.

“I wish i would’ve at least gotten his name.” [Y/N] hummed, rubbing the packet in her hand. She really hopes that the man was right about this seed packet.

She read the packet again, more carefully. The packet read Boysenberry. A cross between  a raspberry, blackberry, dewberry, and loganberry. She could make this work. The picture showed something like a blackberry , yet it was enlongated and a deep red, almost black color. The description read that when freshly picked, it tasted like a sweet blueberry with a tangy aftertaste. 

[Y/N] grabbed a few more more things: 2 bags of fertilizer, Top Soil, and Green gloves

She sighed, walking towards the front desk, flashing a soft smile towards the cashier, Ranae Reeds, she recalled. The woman’s name tag was worn around the edges, with her name partially faded. Much like the name tag, Ranae was a little worn around the edges. With her gray roots, her deep smile lines told tales of a younger, happier her.  

Ranae Reeds delicately placed her magazine, adorned with the captivating headline, "Infamous Serial Killer, Jeffery Woods caught," on the polished surface before her. [Y/N]’s eyes beheld the image of a man whose countenance bore the unmistakable evidence of two hauntingly deep gashes etched into his cheeks, and a profound sensation seized her being. The spectacle unfolded before her like an eerie tableau—an unsettling tableau that seemed to suspend the very breath in her throat. Its sheer grotesqueness sent tremors coursing through her, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise in response.

Ranae cashier merely looked at the younger girl, almost with sympathy.

The cashier took the seed packets with a shaky hand, her golden bracelet jingling  as she scanned the packets of seeds with a ding of the scanner, “I ain’t neva seen ya round’ before.” Ranae spoke with assertiveness and confidence, surprisingly, as her stature was rather petite and she seemed to be soft-spoken. But that was in fact not the case.

[Y/N] was taken aback by her sudden curiosity, she blinked and said, “I just got ere’ this morning, moved in today.” She rocked back and forth on her toes and heels, eagerly wanting to leave already.

Ranae looked at her up and down with a bored expression on her face and asked, “Where yer from girl?” Her lips never moved from the straight line that almost seemed to be formed. Her freckled hands grabbed the fertilizer as she scraped the bag of pellets across the scanner, never taking her eyes off of  [Y/N].

DING. 

“Oh, aah’m from Kansas. Born n’ raised.” [Y/N] didn't have a Southern dialect—well, not anymore. It only slips out on occasion, particularly when talking to someone else with a southern twang. Her momma and daddy always had a thick southern voice, as they were both from Texas and moved to Kansas. 

Kansasans don’t exactly have an accent, besides not pronouncing the “R” in words. Yet, they got a way of speaking that you can clearly tell their from somewhere in the West.  If you went south, close to the Oklahoma border, the accent would get thicker as you went. 

Ranae hummed, almost like she had something to say, yet she bit her tongue. She scanned the items slowly, like she was purposely taking her time.

[Y/N] shook her leg rapidly, impatience growing within her as she watched Ranae struggle to bag the items in a brown paper bag. 

DING.

“My PawPaw and MawMaw died recently, so I inherited their cabin down by Grand Lake,” She said in attempt to fill the silence that annoyed her so much, in hope to pass the time. [Y/N] has always been rather extroverted, starting conversations with strangers she didn't mind, it was this silence that ate at her. The silence was bugs crawling underneath her skin, like roaches gnawing at her veins as they swam in her blood. 

Ranae merely hummed again, scanning an item, completely uninterested in the  conversation at hand, letting silence fall over the conversation once more. The silence was only broken by tapping of [Y/N]’s leather boots, which were worn out and needed replacement. 

“A man named Willard Tucker used to live there—“

DING.

“Ya best be careful round that house,” Ranae suddenly spoke up, her brown eyes boring into the girls, a serious expression took over her features,“There been rumors bout’ some folks down by those parts doing god knows what.” The woman's veiny hands wandered through the bag of fertilizer in search of the bar code.

[Y/N] stiffened at her sudden demeanor. “I see,” She watched intensively as Ranae scanned the last item before bagging it into a brown bag and pushing it towards [Y/N].  

Y/N smiles, “I’Il be sure to be careful—“

“And ya best be careful round that man that was in ere’ earlier. Aah’ve seen him do some suspicious things with those little friends of his.” Ranae cut her off once again, except her loud and apprehensive nature was no more; instead, it was quiet, and she was talking merely above a whisper. 

“He’s up to no good, girl.” Ranae’s eyes once again, bore into [Y/N]’s with a sense of urgency and protection. Ranae reminded [Y/N] of her mother, Jane. From the way, she spoke with a protectiveness of a mother to her veiny freckled hands that trembled constantly. 

DING.

[Y/N] hummed, taking the brown bags underneath her arms hastily, “I will don't worry.” She reassured Ranae with a tight-lipped smile, before pushing through the door that opened with a groan.

The smell of summer once again hit her, and she inhaled the sweet, tangy air. It was humid as well, the weather was hot and sticky. [Y/N] was used to it from being on a farm for all of her life, yet she never really enjoyed it. Her dad, Steve, enjoyed the heat, he loved it. He would always drag her out of the house when it was well into the 90’s.

She really misses her dad.

[Y/N] threw the brown bags in the tail bed of her 1995 Ford 150. She slid into the plush fabric of her seat, shutting the car door behind her as she slumped against the leather steering wheel. 

“Why in the hell is it so damn hot?” 

She peeled herself off of the steering wheel, her head heavy as drowsiness took over. partly from the lack of sleep, and the warm sun that scattered it’s light against her face.

She shoves the old, almost rusty, key into the ignition, turning it to start the car. The car sputtered, before failing to start. [Y/N] sighed, before trying again, turning the key in the ignition. Yet again, it groaned and sputtered with a metallic scratching noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 

It was an old truck, a gift for her 16th birthday. Painted a dark red that rusted around its silver rims, the truck was a relic, almost like a family heirloom that her family passed down from one generation to the next. It was frequent that the truck wouldn't start, constantly breaking down from a plethora of problems. It wasn't just one problem with the truck, but everything. The engine, the ground cables, the filter, overheating-- the truck almost had every problem in the book.

“I swear to fucking god,” She turns it for the third time, Please, god, start.” She pleaded as the engine sputtered once more, before roaring to life with fever. 

[Y/N] slumped her head on her steering wheel once more and said, “Thank you,” She kissed the leather steering wheel, thankful that the universe had answered her pleas. 

With the roar of the engine [Y/N] peeled out of the small parking lot of the Grocery Store.

Within the forgotten garden, an eerie silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of weeds that thrived unchecked. Like rebellious tendrils, the vibrant greens stretched beyond the confines of the patch of tilled earth, entwining their wiry strands with the blades of grass and any unsuspecting object within reach. Mushrooms and fungi covered the garden like a blanket, growing in mass abundance. This unruly congregation of vegetation and fungi seemed to possess a will of its own, reclaiming its dominion over a forsaken realm. Amongst the overgrown foliage, unseen insects and arachnids sought refuge, their presence betrayed only by an occasional scuttle or a shimmer of silken threads. Camouflaged amidst the verdant chaos, they patiently awaited their next unsuspecting prey, ready to seize upon any who ventured too close. 

As the sun descended in the western sky, its golden rays extended through the dense foliage of towering oak trees, painting a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. The ethereal dance of illumination and obscurity enveloped the scene, amplifying the eeriness that permeated the air. The songs of robins and mourning doves serenaded the somber landscape, their delicate melodies contrasting with the ominous backdrop. Amidst the rustling leaves and trilling birds, She heard the distant grunt of a white-tailed deer. And as the final rays of sunlight retreated beyond the horizon, they bathed the discovery in a soft, eerie glow, accentuating the unsettling sight before the witness's eyes.

[Y/N] glanced at her phone, which glowed an illuminating white. She looked at the white numbers that read: 6:00 PM.  

She stretched her limps as they  ached from hours of being hunched over digging to completely remove the wild grass and herbs that grew. Her arms gave a satisfying crack, just as her back did in response. She had napped for a satisfying 7 hours,only waking a few times. [Y/N] was suprised that she was able to nap in general. She was content and fully recharged. On the downside, she probably won’t be able to get any rest tonight. 

At least she'll be able to stay awake binging Netflix.

With a determined grip, she thrust her green gloves into the yielding earth, their fabric sinking into the damp soil as she uprooted the herbs with a swift, purposeful tug. As she pulled, the tips of her gloves absorbed the essence of the earth, their vibrant hue now tainted by the stubborn remnants of the earth's bounty. The once-pristine fingers of her gloves were adorned with a telltale shade of brown, evidence of their close association with the soil. And beneath the surface, her nails bore the weight of the garden's secrets, caked with a fine layer of dirt that clung tenaciously to the thin, porous material. 

[Y/N]’s mind wandered as she aimlessly dug through the soil, ripping the herbs from their roots like tendrils. Until her hands gripped something that squished beneath her fingers.

She gazed down, her eyes widening in pure horror, as a gut-wrenching sight unfolded before her. In her trembling hands, a writhing mass of maggots squirmed with repulsive vigor, their pale bodies contorting and intertwining in an unsettling dance. The pungent stench of decay wafted through the air, assaulting her senses and threatening to overpower her resolve. As her grip tightened involuntarily, the soft flesh of the larvae ruptured, smearing her trembling hands with a sickening mixture of viscera and fluids. The once-innocent soil beneath her feet became a graveyard for crushed worms, their slimy remnants mingling with her fingers, an unholy stain that marked her as both witness and participant in this grotesque scene. 

[Y/N] let out a blood churdling scream as she stumbled backwards from her squatting position, landing on her backside. She frantically swiped her hands together to get the maggots off as they fell into the grass beside her. 

The squirming maggots, now a grotesque spectacle in the dew-kissed grass, seemed to writhe in agony. Their once pale, plump bodies were now stained crimson, their delicate flesh bearing the gruesome evidence of their fallen brethren.  Each wriggling creature fought desperately, their tiny frames flayed violently as they were torn away from their decaying feast. The gore of destruction painted the once vibrant green blades of grass a haunting shade of red.

“What the actual fuck?” 

Laying where [Y/N]’s gloved hand dug, was a mound of dirt that maggots swarmed, their white skin hiding beneath the dirt.

[Y/N]’s curiosity peaked exponentially as she moved closer to the mound, dirt staining her knees brown. Her gloves dug through the maggots filled mound, her stomach filling with uneasiness as they glided through the soil.

Suddenly, her hands struck a soft, pudgy, material. [Y/N] dug through the dirt to fully uncover the mound, and as maggots crawled anxiously around her hands, she recoiled in disgust. She was sure it must be a dead animal, and the land must have grown around it, right? 

[Y/N] knew the stench of death, and didn't partially mind the sight of dead animals. Her father, Steve, was a frequent hunter of deer and other game, to which [Y/N] accompanied him. Steve had taught her from a young age how to field dress a deer. Hanging the deer up by its hooves to a tree, she remembers taking her father's hunting knife and running it down the belly of the animal-- very gently to not puncture the belly. Scooping the contents of the deer out, leaving the inside of the deer completely bare. That was the easy part. Now to field dress the deer, was a tedious and lengthy process, using the tip of her knife to slowly peel the hide off of the animal. Hours would pass in the blistering Kansas heat and wind. It was revolting, yet she grew accustomed to the sight.

For her 13th birthday, she was gifted an old 22. rifle from Steve—an old gun that needed to constantly be cleaned and scoped in. The bullets weren’t made for large game such as deer, but they did work on prairie dogs that plagued cow farmers' fields. Eventually, she got a .300 WIN MAG, which now sat below her bed.

She had guessed the rotting carcass of an anwinsle from the potent smell wafting through the air. An unmistakable and haunting odor tainted the air, suffusing every inhalation with a chilling foreboding. It was the stench of death, a macabre orchestra composed of decaying flesh and the ghostly remnants of blood.  

As she slowly uncovered the mound, it became more and more apparent what the mound was. Her hands swiped away the last layer of dirt and maggots to reveal the form underneath the soil. 

[Y/N]’s features contorted with sheer terror again, the lines of his face etched deep with despair. The pallor of her skin turned with goosebumps, a stark contrast to the clammy beads of perspiration that clung to her furrowed brow. Eyes wide, they became twin portals to the void, reflecting the depths of her fear—paralyzed.

A corpse, abandoned to the earth, lies in a state of advanced decomposition. Its once vibrant form is now a haunting testament to the inevitability of mortality. The body, stripped of life, is a pillar of grotesque transformations. The flesh has given way to a grotesque canvas, with patches of decomposed tissue revealing glimpses of bone beneath. The skin, mottled and discolored, hangs loosely, tattered and ravaged by relentless decay. Time etched deep crevices into the once-familiar countenance, obscuring any resemblance to the person it once was. Swarms of maggots and other scavengers feast upon the remains, their writhing presence further amplifying the scene's repulsive nature. 

 Bile crawled up through [Y/N]’s as she doubled over, vomiting into the grass next to her. Food chunks and liquid sprayed the green grass a vomit brown. A tremor coursed through her trembling frame, betraying her tenuous grasp on composure. It was in this harrowing moment that horror unfurled its chilling wings, casting an indelible veil upon her face—a blanket of anguish. The very air seemed to quiver in the presence of such raw, unadulterated fear, as if nature itself recoiled in silent reverence for the intensity of her terror. 

She had torn off her gloves as she scrambled across the grass, grabbing her phone, in an attempt to distance herself as much as possible from the corpse. Her surroundings seemed to spin as the drum of her heart overtook her hearing as well as the sound of the dial tone. When did she call 911?

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?” A woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. Calm, and tender, her voice was comforting. Yet her voice was almost muffled as [Y/N]'s heartbeat filled her eardrums.

“I," [Y/N]'s breath was shaky, quiet as she spoke with a sense of urgency, "Would like to report a dead body."

tag, @rat-briccs-trauma, @strawberrie-fluff, @spookyravioli @darkovergrownforestnymph, @urmomisaqt420 @yipeeesstuff

.@qupiikaaa @fynnwolff

Lil extra after the photo was taken

The Socorro-Quaritch family photo ft the three ( stooges ) Deja Blue members and a lil sad sketch

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: angst. lots of hurt, very little comfort. miguel is a hardass who pushes people away. death.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic.

the intention is for this to be multi-part. how many parts? idk.

word count: 1.3k

pt i : fate

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 

being a spider person was always unfair. mercy from whatever divine being that controlled their universes was hard to come by.

you were no exception.

your father died early, shot by a man who ran with someone’s purse. you didn’t know him well, you were only three after all. but your mother fought hard to teach you about him, to make sure you remembered some semblance of him.

and all was well for a time. you went to school, made some friends, started working for some extra cash under the table.

you were reaching up into your attic when the sharp sting of a spider bite zinged up from your hand. you killed it with a slap, but nothing could stop the venom that now traveled through your veins.

the rest was history: you became your universes one and only spider woman, learning her trade as she went.

the cannon event hit later, and it was different from the others.

you had no uncle to find dead on the street.

but you did have a mother.

she was working the late shift at the hospital when a spouse of a dead patient burst through the doors and demanded to see a doctor. apparently, the man wanted revenge for the hospitals failure to save his wife, and he had come to instill justice.

your mother had raised her hands and tried to plead for him to stop, to calm down, to lower his gun.

the shot made your spider-senses go haywire, and you practically flew to the trauma center. the security guards had no idea what to do, so you just ran past them to find your mother bleeding on the cold white tile.

it took everything in you to remember that behind your mask, no one knew you were this woman’s daughter, and you’d have to respond carefully. you watched as the officers called the next of kin, and you were thankful that you had had the mind to put your phone on silent that day.

no one noticed the tears streaming from your eyes behind the suit. you swung back home as fast as you could, answering your phone when they called you again.

pretending to not know what was going on was the second worst thing you had to do that day. you had to fight from chocking on tears as you answered the call.

eighteen and orphaned, standing over your mothers open casket. a part of you thanked that you were older, because it meant that you didn’t have to go into foster care. but nothing could truly quell your grief.

and then the universe decided to send you a big middle finger in the shape of a Doc Oc right after the funeral ended.

you knew that you couldn’t keep going like this. no one should process grief this fast. but as the villain sent a tidal wave through the streets of new york city you relized that you didn’t exactly have a choice.

with great power comes great responsibility.

and saving these people was your responsibility, no matter what mental state you were in.

this Doc Oc looked to be from some other dimension. instead of mechanical tentacles like that of your Doc Oc, he had real ones, and he apparently threw actual octopi at people when he was pissed off.

it was no easy task, and at one point he had thrown you against the wall and knocked your head. as your vision swam, he picked you up with one of his suctioned limbs and squeezed.

it all happened so fast.

a flash of orange and yellow swirling at the edge of your vision. orange silk shooting into your captors face. and then someone shot forward and sliced the tentacle that held you.

you sank to the ground as you caught your breath, vaguely hearing someone say “Lyla, run a diagnostic. what’s the best way to take this guy down?”

as you wheezed, a large hand rested against your shoulder, and a soft voice greeted your ears.

“Sit tight, kid. I’ll handle this.”

you didn’t have time to argue when the hand vanished, and you peered up just in time to see a large spider-man in a blue suit throwing himself at the villain.

you stood as you caught your breath, rushing right back into battle to help the man that had saved you. the Doc Oc dragged you both to the bay, sinking down into the water. it was advantageous for him, being a water dwelling creature, and you and the man struggled. it took another spider, a woman on a motor cycle, showing up to help defeat him.

but it was you who dealt the final blow, wrapping the villains limbs to a nearby pier to keep him underwater. when the pair of new spider people got him all tied up and prepared to take away, you just…collapsed.

everything came down on you at once. your exhaustion, your sadness, your loneliness. everything.

you barely heard the spider woman murmur to the brash man across from her, and it was only when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pick you up that you snapped back to reality.

but just as quickly as you zeroed in on the feeling, your brain whispered sleep in your ear, and you passed out.

₊ ⊹

you woke to a strange bare bedroom and an odd watch that flickered with light on your wrist. noticing the glass of water on the bedside table, you chugged it, coughing when you got too eager.

“You’re awake!”

you screamed, a small voice coming from right beside your head unexpectedly. you turned to see a small woman illuminated in the light from your watch.

“no need to be afraid. i’m lyla.”

lyla. that rang a bell.

“where am i?” you asked as you noticed the clothes folded in the corner of the room. you cast a sideways glance at the projection, and lyla turned to give you the illusion of privacy.

“miguel will answer all your questions. i’ve alerted him of your new condition.”

you slipped on the black sweatpants and top gratefully, relishing the feeling of soft cotton against your skin. as your hands moved over your body, you quickly noticed various cuts and bruises.

that’s right, i passed out.

“where is this miguel?” you asked as you studied the watch, noticing the flickering ‘EARTH-928’ across the screen.

almost immediately, little glowing footsteps were projected from the watch, making you whip your hand away from your face.

“i guess that’s my answer?” you asked lyla, and the woman nodded.

you sighed, figuring you might as well follow them.

fantastic survival skills from the one and only spider-woman.

well, you thought, not the one and only.

₊ ⊹

the man before you seemed almost nothing like he was when you were fighting Doc Oc.

he seemed…infinitely tired. his shoulders hunched, head ducked down. you supposed that you were distracted during the fight.

but his expression revealed much more than his body language. he had deep eye bags, and his cheeks were sunken in a way that expressed not just natural bone structure but also a lack of eating and sleeping properly.

miguel looked drained.

you were still processing what he had told you, about the cannon and the ‘Spider-Society’ and the ‘Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse.’

you had actually openly scoffed at that one, and he looked dejected by your reaction.

“but i can’t just send you home now. i’m pretty sure jess would actually web me for all eternity if i did.” he was saying, rubbing his brow.

“so what exactly am i doing here, then?” you asked, curious but hesitant.

he turned his back to you, looking forlornly at his screens.

“i’m going to train you.”

“why?” came your response, surprised and uncertain. you may have only known miguel for less than an hour, but you could already tell that taking on a young apprentice wasn’t exactly in his character.

he didn’t turn to you. he just kept looking at a picture of a young girl on one of his screens.

“because you remind me of someone.” he said quietly. then he looked at you, and you were struck with the amount of guilt and suffering that lived in his eyes.

“and because you remind me of myself. and i can’t let you become like me.”

masterlists | part ii

the fact that the first female human experience barbie goes through is being self conscious and experiencing sexual harassment mirrors how growing up as a girl one day you’re okay and the next all of a sudden you feel bad about your appearance and are receiving unwanted advances is something that can be so fucking important to be recognized in film