#hubofhorror

[obsessicn]

Books packed in small backpack remained untouched. Instead, Laurie found herself admiring the change in landscape: small towns to fields, highways to hills, eventually miles length of forest. At times they would stop, but only for the necessities. Few words were exchanged between a father and a daughter, something lighthearted, while radio played softly in the background - at times lulling her asleep while mister Strode drove the car, farther and farther from Haddonfield. A gentle shake against her shoulder, she wakes up at their destination.

As they get outside after hours of sitting, fresh air greets them with a strong after rain scent. Carrying her luggage from the back of the car, she glances over at a yellow sign sticking in between green of nature. ‘WELCOME TO CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE’.

     ❝ —  We’re bit early, I’ll make sure she comes to pick you up before I turn. Be good. ❞ Mister Strode smiles from his watch and pats her shoulder, giving it a rough but gentle shake. A whole Summer season without Laurie, parting ways wasn’t any easier for him. Not after everything that had happened. But he believed Summer vacation far away from Haddonfield would help her. The lady mister Strode had spoken with in the phone sounded friendly - and how Laurie would have a different place to work and spend her vacation in. Of course, he also hoped that she could have a connection with his daughter, in a way he couldn’t as her father, even if it wasn’t a direct way.

     ❝ —  Dad, you’ve got hours to drive back. I’m not kid. And soon responsible of bunch of people... come on. ❞ Laurie smiles in her usual way, worried her problems would cause him more stress than her. Even taking her here, all the way to Camp Crystal Lake at the cost of few days of income. Wrapping her arms around her father as a form of good bye.  ❝ —  Thanks for taking me here, wouldn’t have imagined an opportunity like this, ever... I’ll be fine. ❞ Her eyes open at a sight of a figure, and slowly Laurie breaks the hug - by an instinct she takes a step back, trying to process the image of a person getting closer. Mister Strode directs his gaze towards the direction, and with a smile, turns around for greeting, offering his hand for a shake.   

     ❝ —  Oh. Mrs. Voorhees, I presume? I am Morgan Strode, we spoke in the phone few weeks ago, and this is my daughter Laurie Strode. ❞ 

    ❝ —  Oh, right. Laurie Strode, nice to meet you. I’ll be staying here for the season. I should have called you myself, but dad has a habit of taking things to his own hands. ❞ || @youlethimdrown / @hubofhorror

[voidvoyeur]

004. — Hit my muse with a blunt object. --LFxCS (Bubba scared.)

the ides of myers ( hurt michael meme ) || no longer accepting.@hubofhorror chose: 004. — hit my muse with a blunt object.    

The Cannibal is rancid with fear.          Michael hovers behind the butcher; an inanimate corpse standing over the man who’s sweltering like a slaughterhouse. The Cannibal is hunched into himself, patting his hands over his borrowed face -- anxious in a way Michael has never felt the severity to express, not unless there was a knife in hand. He watches and waits. Searching for the slightest action to trigger a palpitation, but there’s little offered: only a man wearing a mask, cowering into itself.         The first step backwards is what gives Michael away, his boot rippling a cold pool of blood. He looks down, staring at his own bone-pale face in the liquid, a crimson-cast twin staring straight back at him. By the time he looks back up again, The Cannibal’s figure has grown in height and stature -- darkening Michael in its shadow. His thumb presses into the handle of his knife but before he can plunge the blade into the bulkish, sweat-damp back -- it twists around. One arm, the size of a ham joint, slams into Michael’s jaw -- whipping his head to the left and blindsiding him to the hammer in The Cannibal’s other fist. Its weapon plunges down, and skull cracks with a hollow, enclosed boom.          Blood trickles from his cracked skull, seeping from the edge of his mask and onto his neck in red trails that course over his lapels and fall. Michael stands, barren of breath, dripping like a strung animal into his reflection on the floor. 

[allbravado-archive]

hubofhorror replied to your post: clementine DOES think identity theft is truly the...

does taking somebody’s face count as identity theft

the clem verdict is yes

[videoxnasty]

big himbo energy

// You’re right and you should say it.

[videoxnasty]

❝ i’m in desperate need of a hug. ❞ --LFxCS (but like, said with body language sjhdfbgfn)

@lfxcs

“…I gotta level with you, man. I uh…this isn’t how I pictured my going…but come on, bring it on.” Jack sighed, holding his arms open to give the big man a big hug. Call it a sixth sense, a gut feeling, whatever you want…he didn’t seem all bad…skin mask, notwithstanding. He patted his back. “It’s alright, champ. It’s alright.”