#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.

[Oh I love this!]

~♪ — 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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.