#gotthebody

Nancy vc: Is thaT JAMIE LEE CURTIS?? Laurie: What?

✞   𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧, delirious, replied, “Is she’s not?”

He laid supine, dirt mucking up the back of his button-up, legs kicked up onto a log rotting beside the campfire. His hands, pale and scarred and lately chilled, pressed over his eyes like a sleeping mask.

These were the ephemeral times. The transitory humor and dulled wits of boredom and cosmic exhaustion. It came as a pattern, a beat in a song, these were the brief moments of pause between the lyrics.

Jesse’s question turned itself over in his mind. Once, twice, four times. Then he started.

   “𝐎𝐡! Oh. Wait, yeah. Yeah she’s both. I think.” Suddenly, he was left feeling small and unsure of his own mind, as weak as a dried leaf on the open sidewalk. His head was heavy on the ground.

There was another while. Quentin was still picking at his thoughts, trying to cobble together something coherent. He was melting into the silence of the song. The tape was skipping.

Random Violence ;; Accepting

There’s hesitation, despite his previous action. Hesitation, because he’s not entirely sure where Jesse had gotten a weapon. He didn’t seem the type to carry knives, nor firearms of any kind. Nothing even remotely dangerous, not even a sharpened pencil or box cutter.

Yet Jason could feel the murky, dark blood oozing down his chest, rolling sluggishly out of the wound -- no. Wounds. Plural. There was more than one knife in his hand, ON HIS HAND--

THAT GLOVE.

The hockey mask might not have shown any kind of emotion, but the eye behind it? The dilating pupils, the look of shock, rage, RECOGNITION. He knew that glove, knew the evil it belonged to. Could hear the man - demon - ‘s voice in his head simply thinking about it, all sharp edges and cruel words. Nothing like Pamela, always with him with her words of encouragement and love.

Freddy.

Not caring in the slightest if he simply broke the boy’s arm or ripped it off in his haste, Jason tangled fingers in the boy’s shirt to THROW him, as far as possible. Unable to process even thoughts to himself, had he the vocal cords he would have screamed. Jason had been mad before, people still living and playing and desecrating his home like it was all some kind of game to them -- but now?

“...that obvious, huh?” he’s looking down with some defeat to where the other boy is sitting on the carpet, petting the homeowner's german shepherd. he hadn’t lasted long in the sea of noise downstairs, had only barely avoided an altercation when his unassuming camouflage had failed. anyway-- he hadn’t expected anyone to be here when he’d closed the door to a quiet room. his distant but oncoming panic attack was probably going to have to wait. 

‘ you don’t get it . i know you think i’m distant . i'm just trying to survive . ’

✞ survive, that’s all anyone’s trying to do here, thinking about themselves, about tomorrow, about weather or not the world has something else to offer other than the endless suffering of the realm they ache in, a pause before he looks back at the other- tired eyes almost can’t focus on the figure standing before him, maybe Jesse was right- being distant was a side effect of living, the more they go on, the quieter it gets, the more they learn not to make noise ‘lest risk a blow that would end his life ( he’s gone to far to die now - ) 

@gotthebody​​ : Is there even anything to do in this town?  random ask - always accepting.

❝  you got downtown.  but other than that  - we got nothing.  ❞      he shrugs, hands slipping in his pockets.       ❝  hawkins is a whole lot of nothing.  but i hear they’re building a super mall.  that’ll be pretty rad.  ❞