#threadbarescarf

[nightmaretrialed]

threadbarescarf reblogged your post “�� for Claudette”

Relaxation was a rarity, wherever they were trapped at. Resting periods at the campfire were always short but often treasured by each and every one of the survivors. A way to catch their breath and enjoy eachothers company.  Jake always made Claudette feel safe somehow. So sitting like this huddled up by the fire gave her peace she hadn’t had since their last trial had begun. She was good at keeping cool, calm, and collected but deep down she was scared each time they entered a trial. More scared for her friends than herself. “Yeah...Just a little tired myself. That last trial was brutal. But we all made it out safe. That’s what matters most, right? And I always appreciate your company.” The last part of her statement was murmured, a hint of shyness creeping in.

[litheandalert-blog]

Cont. with @threadbarescarf

Feng snorted and chuckled at his comment, shaking her head as she set to rolling another joint, tearing bits of a map. She listened, her foggy brain trying to focus on her task without fucking it up and spilling weed everywhere.

“Ah- y’know, sometimes you just gotta fucking, uhh, unwind. Get all relaxed n shit. Drink and smoke myself to death in the woods,” Feng reasoned as she fiddled with the paper, snagging the bag of weed back. “If the entity would even let me do that.” She sniffed with a rather wry chuckle.

[shxdowborn-blog]

threadbarescarf replied to your post “    If Philip ever got the ability to talk again, you can bet it would...”

[Oh I love this!]

    Just be careful because he’ll get sassy with survivors in the middle of a Trial  Wraith: -from across the map- I see you working on that generator!!

[sleep-insomniacarchive-blog]

♪

~♪ — Rub my muse’s back!~

Having The Trapper’s handmade iron cleaver lodge deep into the flesh of your back two, three, four, five times was never pleasant. Neither was the switchblade digging deep into your palm to force it away from your face, or even The Huntress’ massive log axe embedding itself into the crown of your skull.

Of course, Quentin wanted to think he had been through worse. He always thought Lisa’s was much more cruel than any of them, she always tried offering her “homemade” fly lollipops to him afterwards though. He always politely declined.

But, it was always something. Something itched at his insides - itched at every corner of his bloodstreams.. when The Nightmare took the position of killing by hand. It was something when he slowly stood to keep walking, to survive, thinking he was safe - until those claws tunneled straight through his torso- spewing his scarlet blood and that laugh echoing in his head as he fell, dead. The times it happened, Quentin returned to the campfire much more depressed than when he had left it. He would pick the spot farthest near the edge of the camp and stare into the foggy woods, his world turning mute almost as he just stared.

Until the time, Jake Park, the solitary saboteur survivalist decided to join him. Neither said a word until Quentin jumped as a hand lay on his back. Understanding and silently saying he was here. The tears came next, almost immediately blurring his vision as he sniffled. It was one of the first nights Quentin had sobbed and cried til exhaustion - Jake never lifted his hand nor left..

[litheandalert-blog]

🍺 + the devil’s lettuce

Feng knew it was going to be one hell of a night when she snagged half a bottle of the Hill Billy’s moonshine.

It had been tucked away in a barn on cold wind farm, under some hay. The bottle had glinted in the light, catching her eye, and when she recognized the smell she knew she couldn’t pass it up. If the killer found out it had been here, she’d most likely be on the top of his list for chainsaw-and-camp every match. But to her knowledge he hadn’t.

So, once she was back at the campfire, she slipped away as quickly and quietly as she could with a small bag of her other belongings. she didn’t own much, but she wasn’t going to leave it unsupervised whenever she could watch after it.

A little deep into the woods, the camp fire just a glimmer between the branches, Feng had sat herself against a tree. The bottle was a big one, and even though half of it was gone, she probably wouldn’t be going through more than a quarter.

To make the night even better, she decided to indulge in something she’d found a while ago. It was a huge surprise to find the weed growing in the woods, but she definitely wasn’t complaining; she took it as the entity trying to convince them to not just start killing themselves or giving up hope.

In any case, after a bit of drying and some half-assed curing, she had something that would most likely to something to her.

30 minutes in, she was getting a little bit loud. She hadn’t gone through much of the bottle, but had smoked quite a bit. She had her bag open as she sorted through her stored offerings, but was mostly just giggling and snorting as quietly as she could bring herself to in her state.

A crack of a branch made her head zip up quickly, giggles immediately stopped. She wiped at her mouth, a subconscious attempt to hide the smell that definitely permeated the area.  “...Hello?”

[michael-is-dead-inside]

↕

Memory Meme

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened 

The memories of the time he spent in various asylums were always a little blurry in his mind. Most that he could identify were about him staring out a window into freedom. 

However, there was also this one memory where he wasn’t sure if it really happened. In one of the hospitals he was staying at, there was a nurse that seemed to like him. She always checked on him when the rest of the staff neglected him. Who really wanted to treat a murderer? She gave him just a little more food than the others and even managed to convince the doctors to give him a pen and paper in order to communicate. He still wouldn’t talk to them, but he used the tools given to him to draw whatever he saw outside of that one window.

He couldn’t recall the nurses face or even her name. Maybe she was just a figment of his imagination. The drugs they gave him really messed up his mind for a while.

[michael-is-dead-inside]

Reverse ♦

Manhandling symbol starters

♦ - grab muse’s hair and yank

As much as he hated the Doctor, he really liked the new surroundings he brought to this realm. The closed space in Léry’s was very useful to the Shape, being able to easily sneak up on survivors. He loved to hear them scream in surprise and fear. Another thing the madman taught him was how to be even more silent when he wasn’t chasing someone. It really came in handy when he lost the advantages of his lowest power level. 

He had already killed half of the survivors as he snuck up to a nearby generator. He could hear someone working on it, so he took the chance and burst out of his hiding place to grab the survivor, only he misjudged his grab and instead of grabbing Jake’s jacket, he gripped the black hair tightly and yanked on it. 

[michael-is-dead-inside]

🤕

Send a symbol for your muse to find mine…

🤕- Injured/sick

Michael hated to follow orders, to obey someone. He wanted to do whatever he pleased, take his time with stalking his victims and have the death be the climax of it all. However, this wasn’t allowed here. He was lured here with the promise of being able to kill for all eternity, to not have to face the annoying presence that the law and the police were only to find out he was forced into a game of life and death. He couldn’t take his time here, he had to be fast. 

Even though he never let someone escape as far as he could prevent it, he still often got punished. The Entity didn’t like it when someone broke the rules and Michael would break them as often as he could. He wouldn’t let some gigantic spider in the sky tell him what to do. 

This time the punishment was extremely bad. The Entity was able to hurt him in places that had been numb to any pain for so long, made him experience the hot burning pain he hadn’t felt for years and to show him just how much the Entity hated his disobedience he was forced into a trial before he could even recover. 

Barely able to move correctly he was forced to chase survivors. Admittedly, he just looked like he wore his prestige clothing with blood everywhere and none of the survivors cared to notice the blood coming out of the mouth and eyes from his mask, all but one.