#fingerknived

[goreswine]

                                                         ❛ NIGHTMARE, was it? ❜

                             She knows he has a NAME; they ALL have a name. . . But she’s never allowed herself to get that close. They may be by her side, but she expresses so much HATE for everyone that isn’t HIM. But this individual, this entity, this demon that dances in the dark-. . . She swears she’s FELT HIM BEFORE. Perhaps in a distant dream when she’s woken up sweating and shivering; or maybe he’s just the incarnation of everything awful, everything she wants to avoid about herself ( a reflection of what could’ve been before finding sanctuary in slaughter ) -. . . Regardless, her first instinct is to feel UNEASY and yet, she can smile so sweetly at him - coating words with sticky syrup to mask the need for MURDER. 

                                                         ❛ You come off as a REALLY vulgar guy, like someone I once knew. . . I bet, if we weren’t playing this game. . . I’d try to PUNISH YOU TOO. ❜  / @fingerknived

[zoneral]

@fingerknived​ said: ❝ it’s halloween, motherfucker. ❞

     Sitting down on the couch to watch TV was almost guaranteed to make Quentin fall asleep, which was why he kept himself busy with carving a pumpkin that he hadn’t gotten around to doing earlier. There was no real point to it anymore, since it was getting late now and most of the kids had already visited his house, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing. In the background, he could hear the low volume of whatever show or movie was on; something not scary, as his own life gave him more than enough of his fill of horror.

     Minutes passed and the doorbell rang again, much to Quentin’s surprise. He wasn’t all too eager to get to the door due to his hands being covered with the insides of the pumpkin, so he figured he’d ask his dad to answer it instead. “Dad, can you get that?” He called, hands continuing to work at gutting the pumpkin. A few seconds passed and again the doorbell rang with no answer from his dad. Maybe he fell asleep on the couch and didn’t hear the doorbell, Quentin thought. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it,” he spoke under his breath to himself.

     Pulling his hand out of the pumpkin, Quentin nearly fell backwards in his chair when he saw what was on his hand. Rather than the orangey-yellow color of the pumpkin guts, it was red and stringy in a way that most certainly didn’t belong to a pumpkin. It was covered in what looked like guts and veins and sinew--something which quite obviously belonged to a person rather than a pumpkin. “--Shit.” In that moment, he knew exactly what had happened. The reason nobody was answering him was because he’d fallen asleep, and the familiar voice he dreaded to hear behind him confirmed it. Immediately, Quentin was on his feet and backing up to put distance between them.

[hexaeus]

“If you sleep I’m gutting you like a fish and hanging your skin on the wall.”

MISC .  DISCORD CONVERSATIONS

at    the    sound    of    krueger’s    voice    nancy    flinches,    jumps    a    mile.    reflexively,    she    hits    herself    hard    on    the    head    to    keep    herself    awake.    god,    either    she’d    almost    dozed    off    or    she’s    beginning    to    hallucinate    ————    one    of    the    two.    oh,    GOD.    (    stay    awake.    stay    awake.    stay    awake.    )

she’s    begun    to    lose    track    of    time.    perhaps    she’s    been    awake    twelve    hours,    or    thirty    three,    or    fifty    one    …    nancy    has    no    idea.    practically    sleepwalking    at    this    point,    she    gets    up    and    makes    herself    another    pot    of    coffee    and    takes    another    pill,    hands    trembling    with    the    excessive    amount    of    caffeine    she’s    been    drinking    this    week.    (    it’s    practically    an    addiction    now.    whenever    she    finishes    a    cup    she    can’t    go    too    long    without    having    another.    but    it’s    not    an    addiction,    she    tells    herself,    it’s    survival.    )    when    she    tries    to    put    the    coffee    pot    back    on    the    counter,    it    slips    and    drops    on    the    floor    and    she    has    to    cover    her    mouth    to    stop    from    screaming    and    waking    mother.    in    that    moment    she    feels    so    HOPELESS,    absolutely    shattered,    like    nothing    she    can    do    will    ever    end    this    endless    cycle    of    torment.    

she    doesn’t    let    it    last    long    though    :    she    won’t.    not    if    it    kills    her.    this    is    what    freddy    wants    and    she    knows    it    and    she’d    rather    kill    herself    than    let    it    happen,    shaking    as    she    kneels    down    to    the    ground    to    pick    up    the    smashed    glass.    well,    she’s    going    to    need    to    ask    her    parents    to    buy    a    new    coffee    machine.    and    she    knows    what    the    answer    will    be.    nancy    curses    under    her    breath.    ❝    damn    it.    damn    it    !    !    ❞

when    the    coffee    is    cleaned    up    and    the    glass    is    thrown    in    the    trash,    nancy    buries    her    head    in    her    hands    and    lets    out    a    strangled    moan    of    frustration    before    popping    yet    another    pill    for    good    measure.    she    can’t    go    on    like    this.    but    she    will.    she    WILL.    nancy    forces    herself    to    straighten    and    open    her    eyes    wide.    she    won’t    give    in,    not    to    krueger.  

when    she    finally    brings    herself    to    answer    him,    her    voice    is    filled    with    absolute    VITRIOL.    ❝    how’s    about    you    MAKE    me,    freddy    ?    i’m    WAITING.    ❞

[goreswine]

♡

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship,italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance / pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  / newly entered /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  / awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[goreswine]

💕

Dr. Love thinks that a relationship between Freddy Krueger and Amanda Young has a reasonable chance of working out, but on the other hand, it might not. Your relationship may suffer good and bad times. If things might not be working out as you would like them to, do not hesitate to talk about it with the person involved. Spend time together, talk with each other.

❛ What FUCKING DEMON MAGIC did you use on this thing, FREDDY?! How is it that EVERYTHING I DESPISE ends up being a GOOD match? You must be feelin’ pretty good about yourself. Guess that means I have ETERNITY to make your life WORSE. ❜

[meagertm-blog]

❛ you better hide before she finds you. ❜

          slim frame visibly shakes as his fingers crawl up the wall at his side . nails crawl , dig … he needs to FEEL somethings . he needs to know if this is all real .  norman raises the other hand towards the being to point an accusing finger .          ‘   STOP IT ! mother wouldn’t … she wouldn’t do any - anything to hah - harm me !   ‘

@fingerknived     (   within temptation starters   )

[goreswine]

                                                          ❛ Don’t you perceive this as PUNISHMENT? ❜

                           Her statement is so sullen, but she finds the STRENGTH to keep her composure, especially around fellow killer. Eyes refuse to meet with his make; she still DESPISES his design, DESPISES what he stands for, what he’s done, who he’s killed-. . . If he were alive within her world, she’d ensure he was TRAPPED within one of her games and buried among the remnants of PIG GUTS and BURNT BODIES. Her mind would change if she knew his story, but it’s better for her not to dwell on a murderers misfortunes. She wants to hate, HATE SO BAD, hate them all for bringing her here. But there has to be a method to this madness; surely she’s not as bad as this BEAST, so why do higher beings compare her to someone so unholy? FRUSTRATION is evident in the way she works, in the way she attaches mismatched add-ons to her traps ( another blessing from the gods that requires blood ) and jams fist into metal maker. She’s tempted to place it upon her own head, but alas. . . THE GREAT TAKERS AREN’T MEANT TO DIE ( she would know; she’s tried it before ).  

                                                                    ❛ We slaughter THE SAME PEOPLE, over and over again - . . . I’m starting to think God doesn’t know WHAT TO DO WITH US. ❜ / @fingerknived

[pocketknlves]

❛ nice shootin’ , tex . ❜

The forest feels the same, the unknowable black of the lake glittering in peripheral view, and the chilly rustle of the tree branches overhead. The darkness feels the same, choking and familiar, always like drowning, always like pulling him away from the surface. The feeling— of being watched, of being pinned into a corner of deep dense forest—it’s all the same. Except—

His ears ring with the shotgun’s blast, shoulder jerking with the impact of the recoil. He thinks he hears the buckshot casing hit the dirt with a dull clink, but the rest of the forest falls unusually silent. The smoke clears, but his adversary still stands, cutting a cold silhouette in the fog. He raises the weapon again, a tired instinct.

The voice rattles him, unexpected (his demon doesn’t talk), and it shakes down any sense of confidence the gun had afforded him. He pulls the trigger almost mechanically, heartbeat rolling staccato in his chest. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. There’s a certain desperation that takes over the action, fingers feeling cold and numb where they fidget with the weapon. And the unfamiliar figure looks back at him with too many teeth to his smile. His gaze catches on gnarled claws, on burnt flesh. “This is a dream,” he mutters, like an affirmation—a phrase practiced and stiff around his teeth. Dreams and nightmares—there hadn’t been a difference between the two since he was twelve. There’s no mask, this time, though—not the same hulking figure he’s accustomed to drowning at the hands of every night, and somehow it turns his blood all the colder. His breath stutters out in a quickly dissipating cloud. “This isn’t real.”