#fearhiimself

 live  action  yeeting  in  progress . . . 

By all appearances, Michael looks as if he hasn’t heard the antagonizing question -- nor made the effort to listen to The Nightmare at all. His empty stare is fixed ahead on a point in the distance, stance as immobile as an inanimate object. Unresponsive, seconds drag by like a painfully prolonged dirge until Michael finally turns to the scarred face at his side. He inhales – once – studying each marked grove where skin has blistered and peeled away, red as cooked rare, the only untarnished feature being a pair of eyes piercing up at him.          Michael’s thumb swipes over the knife handle in his grasp before he raises it to Freddy’s lower line of sight. However, it is not the blade’s razor-thin edge nor its tapered point that threatens the burned man’s facade, but the flat of the steel -- simply hovering as it traps The Nightmare’s reflection in silver. To enact his retort, Michael’s forefinger taps twice against the distorted impression of the already distorted Freddy Krueger, then the same forefinger points directly at his real face.          If Freddy were able to see what little is revealed of Michael’s gaze, he would find a glint that held a certain infantile, smug satisfaction.

          ❝ How’ve you been, Fred? Haven’t seen ya ‘round in a while. ❞

     Eyes opening wide, she found herself out of her warm bed and somewhere else. Steam rising around her, Thompson pulled a strange face, confused and disoriented. “Hello?” she called out, not honestly understanding why. Dreams were like this. “Is anyone there?”

“ What can I say ?? I’m a sucker for a guy with ...”  Tate paused , eyes raking Freddy over from head to toe with raised brow .  “ With a real deep tan .”  Perhaps the sight of him would frighten most , but nothing could come to shock him after what he’d seen post - mortem . The Infatata , the anti - Christ himself  ( his own son !!)  He was desensitized beyond what anyone should ever be .  “ Seriously , you remind me of my ma’s old boyfriend , and it’s wigging me out . Only Larry’s half - crispy ; Sure taught him not to piss me off , am I right ??”

        𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑 smacks the machete-wielding killer square under the right, sunken eye hole of his mask with enough weight of force to make the thin hackles on his cranium rise. he wasn’t at all feeble in this new form ------- a cyclone, a cyclops, a mongrel. annihilating, and devastating; a new storm was coming, raising a shoulder to steady his weapon to pitch like the devil's fury back at him.