Hello! I’ve had this blog forever but never knew what to do with it. I’m thinking of turning it into a writing blog for my little fanfic blurbs. I usually just quietly stalk through the fandom tags I follow but I’m hoping to interact more!
Richard Harmon fans, I’ve currently have a blurb about Lars from Pitfall in the works.
Main fandoms I’d like to write for:
The Pitt
Final Destination
The Passenger
Richard Harmon
I am also currently writing my debut novel and will be posting about it to not only keep myself accountable but to also info dump about it as much as possible. In the name of lore development.
The doctor's words, hushed and causally shot off as more of an observation to his injuries as opposed to an actual opinion, rattled around his skull as he stared at the window parallel to his hospital bed. The shades were drawn, leaving only the abrasive fluorescent bulb to light the room. He could still see slivers of the gloomy, dark sky through the cracks of the blinds. Lucky. Lars was real fucking lucky. He was lucky that the deep cuts scattered across his back hadn't nicked his spine. Being forced to lay on his side because his entire back throbbed with pins and needles was only temporary. Lars was lucky that when that psycho jammed that knife through his face, the blade had only pierced the soft skin of his cheeks and not his tongue. He hadn't been stabbed through the eye or the brain so he supposed he was rather fortunate after all. The stitches that marred his cheeks, covered by thick pads of gauze, were simply a by product of his incredibly favorable luck.
Sure, Lars could hardly open his mouth with the strain of the stitches halting him not even half way but what was there to say? And the hole in his hand? Well, the doctor claimed he'd be lucky if he would even be able to make a fist once the wound healed considering the sheer amount of nerves that had been sliced through by the blade. This doctor really had to work on his bedside manner because he didn't even crack a smile at Lars' halfhearted joke about jerking off as a form of physical therapy (no, he did not say the words "jerking off" to a man with a medical degree but he had clearly alluded to it). While it wasn't Lars' finest comedy, his wit weakened by the morphine dripping into his veins, the doctor could afford to lighten up a bit considering Lars' condition. But you're lucky, remember? And maybe he was. He wasn't poor Gwen, stabbed through the back after fighting tooth and nail to survive nor was he Charlie, burnt to crisp and lungs smothered by smoke. He wasn't one of the many other poor bastards who'd been brutally slain in those damn woods. He wasn't Ashley or Scott who had to watch the people they loved die, again.
Lars wasn’t entirely convinced he was supposed to survive those woods. In any run of the mill horror movie, he probably would have been the first (or second, after the final girl's boyfriend- sorry, Charlie) kill. The single friend, the comedic relief. There was that pesky word again; luck. That really was the only explantation as to why he lived but Gwen and Charlie didn't. It wasn't because they were weak or stupid, in fact, they were quite the opposite. If Charlie hadn't thrown that bear spray at Lars, even if he was being a bit of a condescending asshole, Lars would have been sent back to his mom in a bodybag instead of throwing himself a pity party in a hospital room.
That was exactly what Lars was doing right now. Feeling sorry for himself. He resisted the urge to pick at the gauze on his cheek and risk opening his stitches. He remembered the tang of copper on his tongue vividly and would rather not experience the flooding of blood in his mouth again. Instead, he rolled into a sitting position. Grimacing at the strain of his stitches, Lars moved slow and lethargic. Or maybe that was the morphine. He rubbed his shoulder with his good hand, trying to work out the tension tying his lateral muscles into large knots. He closed his eyes for a moment, glad to see something other than the hospital’s crummy plastic window blinds.
In his moment of brief tranquillity, Lars missed the sound of the door opening. He missed the soft shuffle of socked feet on the tile floor and someone gently clearing their throat.
"Why the fuck are you not resting?"
Whirling around, Lars hissed as his stitches rippled in his skin. He cradled his back with a dramatic pout to recover from his palpable fear. He was in a hospital room, not the forest. The woman he'd know since they were children was standing across from him and not a hulking, deranged serial killer. Ashley, wearing a matching white gown and socks, looked almost guilty for startling him.
"Sorry, I thought you heard me come in." Ashley, albeit hesitantly, shuffled to the end of his bed. "But seriously- why the fuck are you up?"
Lars huffed and gestured vaguely at her shoulder. I could ask you the same thing, he thought. As much as he wanted to lovingly tell her to fuck off, speaking was a little difficult for him. Ashley looked far too amused about his injury.
"Oh, he can't talk now? That's gotta be tough for you, motormouth." The nickname was born out of affection- one he hadn't heard since their early 20's. He remembered how Scott had coined it for him in the eighth grade. He specifically remembered flushing fire engine red from his forehead to his neck and blaming the rickety radiator in the sibling's basement.
Lars gave a pitiful sigh as he nodded. Woe is me, he thought and tried to project it into his friend's brain but she was clearly ignoring his psychic projections. Rude. He watched her survey his room, eyes scanning the small space. The faint pinch between her eyebrows and the purse of her lips made Lars tilt his head. Something was on her mind and she was holding back. Lars knew his friends' tells after all their years of poorly playing poker together. Ashley and Scott were the two most important people in his life, as sad as that might be. Scott had been the one to comfort him when Lars' father split after he turned fourteen. Ashley, not great at physical affection or soothing words (similarly to Lars), had endured a Nightmare on Elm Street marathon while he pretended to not ugly cry into the popcorn bowl. Scott's approach was much more "It's all gonna by okay, Lars" and "You know you've always got me".
The fact that Lars had nearly lost both of them was enough to make his heart stutter with a persistent grief. All three of them, though very much scathed with a few new holes, had limped their way to safety yet a part of Lars still felt trapped in those woods. Surrounded by the mutilated bodies of his friends. Maybe he got off on the wrong foot with Charlie, something he deeply regretted given the man's fate. It was just Lars to not know when to shut his damn mouth. If he listened closely, Lars could still hear the crackle and pop of fire devouring the tent Charlie had been zipped up in.
A soft sniffle brought him back from the waking nightmare roaring through his mind. He glanced at Ashley. She rubbed the pendant on her necklace between her fingers and shook her head. "What a time to be sober." She muttered, plopping down roughly on the bed beside Lars. She grimaced, reaching up to cradle her injured shoulder. Lars couldn't agree more with her.
He cocked his head, pointing at her stomach. How is my nephew doing? He tried to convey. Ashley inhaled sharply before swatting his hand away. He gasped as he jerked his hand back because of course she would hit his injured hand.
"Don't point." Ashley scolded, sounding eerily similar to his mother. She rolled her lips together before speaking again. "The baby's fine, which is good. That's... good." She breathed the last part, scrubbing a hand over her face. "I keep thinking... It was a mistake to tell Charlie I was pregnant when he was... when he was in the tent. I thought it might make him move faster but it probably just made it worse. I can't even imagine what the last thing going through his head was."
Lars frowned softly as Ashley bowed her head and stifled a weak sob. He swallowed thickly, summoning the words to his dry tongue. "Don't... do that. You did... the right thing. He deserved-" He winced, cheeks burning faintly as his frustration built. He spoked through clenched teeth so as to not upset his stitches more than he already had. He deserved to know he was going to be a father.
"Easy, buddy." Ashley mumbled, wiping at her cheeks. "If I have to sew your face back up, I might puke."
Lars huffed a laugh. "Like I'd let you near me with... with a needle after the stick'n poke incident." He retorted, referencing their junior year when Ashley wanted a tattoo but her parents were staunchly against it. She'd begged to practice stick and poke on Lars, given his mom wouldn't notice anyway, and ended up getting the needle stuck between his knuckles while trying to sketch out a bat. Funny, that was the same hand that had been pierced by a hunting knife.
Luckily, Lars was always good at making his friends laugh. He might have clammed up around tears and stuttered through words of encouragement, but he knew how to pull a chuckle out of even the grumpiest sucker. Ashley tilted her head back and closed her eyes. He eyed her before speaking again.
"He... He was probably thinking about you and- and baby." Lars mumbled. That's what he hoped Charlie had been thinking about, anyway. He knew the man had been in unbearable pain, his brain desperately trying to hone in on survival and protect Ashley.
"I was thinking about him too." Ashley mumbled. "I was thinking about a lot of things when I was hanging over that pit. Charlie, Scott, my parents. All my regrets and short comings... but also all the things I'd never get to do." She exhaled slowly.
Lars, any other day, would have made a joke about robbing a bank or starting their own acapella band. His face hurt too much. His entire body throbbed like one big bruise. He was struck by the unfairness of it all; what had they done to deserve to be terrorized? Had Lars made one too many jokes about the big man in the sky and damned them all? Ashley nudged her good shoulder against his.
"Alright, give it up. What were you last thoughts? Your 'oh, shit, this is it' monologue." She sniffed, trying to disguise her need to switch the attention from her as convincingly as a bear pretending to be a duck.
"Mm." He hummed as he decided to not to call her out. He made a show of tapping his chin in thought but really was procrastinating answering her question. He already knew what his final thoughts on this plane of existence would have been. Lars' mother had barely crossed his mind and his father hadn't even broached the outskirts of his brain. He hadn't been thinking about his twenty unfinished screenplays. He hadn't thought of the guy he accidentally ghosted because he just kept forgetting to reply to him or the pile of bills on his counter top. He hadn't thought of Ashley. As Lars had been crawling away from that behemoth of man, a blade slashing his back into ribbons, he had been thinking of his childhood best friend, Scott. The sole reason he'd agreed to that fucking camping trip. The one person he had endured a knife in the face for. Fucking Scott.
Ashley's face softened like she already knew. Why wouldn't she? She'd grown up right beside them, had seen Lars' love-sick smiles and heard his goofy laugh when Scott told a stupid joke. When Scott announced that he had finally asked Gwen out and she said yes, Ashley had shown up at Lars' apartment with take out and a blind date with her neighbor. It clearly didn't pan out (Lars got so nervous he'd nearly fainted on the guy's doorstep). Twenty five years was a long time to know someone, let alone being stupidly in love with them.
"You should go see him." Ashley hummed, patting Lars' knee. "I'm sure he's really missing his daily dose of Lars right now."
"Mhm."
"I'm serious."
"Mmmmhmmm."
"Lars." Ashley huffed, lowering her chin and raising her eyebrows. "You have to tell him at some point, man. We almost died yesterday! How is that not the perfect motivator?"
"Gwen." Lars mumbled, heart pinging with sorrow for the woman. Guilt was hitching a ride as well. He had only been a few feet away from her... His legs had been as trustworthy as standing on a thin sheet of ice over a frozen lake but he could have crawled. Lars could have been faster. How could he even think of confessing his feelings to Scott (barf, he was not keen on confessing or feelings) after said man watched the love of his life die?
Ashley sighed, touching her necklace again. "I said at some point, not right now. Scott... He's gonna need us. Need you."
"And I'll be there. Like always." Lars said easily. "For you too."
"I know." Ashley stood as she spoke. "Come on, Lars. You took down a bloodthirsty redneck with bear spray. This should be a walk in the park."
He pouted as she started back towards the door. I'd rather confront a serial killer again, he thought before mentally slapping himself upside the head. Do not manifest that shit, Lars. He doubted his luck extended to the sequel. "Leaving so soon?" He asked.
"I need some jello." Ashley shrugged. "Maybe I'll bring you some, unless you have to drink everything through a straw."
He flipped her off, playfully narrowing his eyes. He wasn't ready to be alone again. Ashley leaned against the doorframe and smiled faintly.
"We're gonna be okay, Lars. Just keep telling yourself that, okay? We'll get through it." The somehow was implied.
He nodded, gaze falling to his lap. He wished he believed her.
"Scott's across the hall from you. He was asking about you." She offered then. "Don't keep him waiting too long, Romeo." With that, she slipped out of his room.
Lars scoffed, nose wrinkling in distaste for the nickname. He might be bisexual but he wasn't Shakespeare bisexual. Don't ask him what a Shakespeare bisexual is either. Eyes still locked on his cracked door, Lars looked across the hall where his friend's room was- allegedly, anyway. Scott's cries for help over the walkie hadn't left his mind and he had doubts he'd forget them anytime soon. He remembered the warmth of Scott's arm around his back as he kept Lars from passing out during their long trek through the woods. His small, beautifully hopeful smile as they (luckily) stumbled on the main road and were able to wave down a passing car. Fuck, he had it bad for the guy. He tore his eyes away from the door and inhaled deeply. Ashley was right; he had to tell Scott eventually. And he would just... not today. Or this month. Soon. Lars would be brave again, soon. He'd been lucky enough to survive those woods- why couldn't he be lucky enough to have a man like Scott?
Thanks for reading this drabble of nonsense, unrequited love and Lars' character study. I'm publishing this close to midnight and praying there are no grammar errors.
The premise is certainly interesting but you know what?? I actually really liked it. I’ve been thinking about poor Danny quite a bit. I’ll have to rewatch it again to fully form an opinion.
Another character from my book (title is a work in progress because I am abysmal at naming things). My other favorite guy, Malakai. A chain smoking film geek who specializes in claymation. And isn’t exactly human.
Putting off finishing my Lars fic by making a mood board for my oc, Carter <3 He's an emo music nerd from the novel I've been working on.
I'm over 250 pages into this damn novel but my goal is to finish it by the end of the year. I'll probably post more about Carter (and the other characters from my book) because this story is very dear to my heart. I'd love to yap about it more if anyone's interested!
Alex Wright as a Still Life from The Backrooms Movie
this took about 20 hours during the heat waves of 35C- I need to get a life
Probably gonna do trevor next- these movies feel really similar so I urge backrooms fans to get into grave encounters!! (and vice versa, but there arent many ge fans)
