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#WAIT I ACTUALLY DONT KNOW IF IT WAS LOU OR TRAVIS
sparring-spirals · 2 years
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brennan, bringing an absolutely masterful, tense, cinematic, beginning rp-sequence to an end: -and you wake up.
travis, speaking for all of us, voice quivering: i think i'm in the wrong class-
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rosyredlipstick · 2 years
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omg wait that fic got me thinkin abt 1970's-80's summer camp au with a murderer. we got the loner, nerd, popular girl, etc etc. class clown connor x popular nerd mitchell who laugh about knowing each other from elementary school and cry in each others arms while saying over and over theyll get out of there together. Horror and gay people.. shakes
Anon dont DO this to me i JUST finished a 100k fic
mention of blood <3
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“Jason Voorhees,” Mitchell hissed, dragging Connor roughly by the wrist through the forest, an aluminum baseball bat hanging in the other. His light-washed jeans, cuffed at the ankles, were stained knee-deep in mud. Across one shoulder, a spray of drying scarlet blood stained his camp shirt. It was still wet, fresh. “What the fuck kind of name is that -” 
Connor was stumbling along, pale and shell-shocked. He was in worse shape than Mitchell in that the blood that he was covered in was actually his—a cut at his throat, small but steady staining his collar. “Oh - my gods, Lou - she’s -” 
“Lower your voice,” Mitchell said sharply, though it likely hardly mattered. They were hardly sneaking through the forestry quietly. They should really get some cover if they were going to do this. “Back here.” 
Mitchell pulled them around the corner of the cabin, tucking them along the side. The darkness was likely their only saving grace. He listened out carefully. No one following them, not for the moment.
“Oh my god,” Connor inhaled from his side, staring down at his hands. “Travis - Katie, they 're-”
“They’re at the Big House with the others,” Mitchell said calmly.  “We just have to get there first, Leo said the car was working again."
They were on the other side of camp, approximately a mile. They could make it a mile. It was just a mile. 
“Silena,” Connor breathed out. “And - Charles, oh my god, they're - dead -”
Mitchell took in a very slow, a very shuttering breath. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No. We can’t freak out right now. We have to find our friends, and then we have to go. That’s what we have to focus on right now.” Mitchell opened his eyes. He stepped in closer to Connor, setting his bat to the side and quickly inspecting the cut at his throat as best as he could in the moonlight. It wasn’t deep, thank the gods. 
Mitchell met Connor’s gaze next, his wide eyes. He brought his both hands to cup Connor’s face, firm—not romantic in the slightest, but incredibly steadying. He stared deep into his eyes, pleading. Connor blinked back at him. “Connor. I need you to keep it together for a bit longer. I need you for this.” 
Connor swallowed tightly. “Okay.” He nodded, only slightly shaky. “Okay. I’m here.” 
“Take this,” Mitchell handed over the flare gun, bright orange. “You’ve got three shots, be careful with them.” 
Connor took it with numb hands. Mitchell plucked up his bat, stepping back. Still, he reached out to squeeze Connor's hand, tight and quick. They both ignored the tacky blood on his skin. "Let's go. We don't have much time."  
They just had to make it a mile. It was just a mile, Jason Voorhees be damned. 
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Then, of course, they don’t make it to the Big House until it’s too late.
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Meanwhile in the background solangelo and piper/jason/leo are living through the 1996 masterpiece Scream in the Big House, chunky 90s landlines and all. Yes matthew lillard is still there. Yes the fic would be tagged with ‘Final Girl Piper McLean.’ It would be set vaguely in the 80s/90s and lean HARD into the aesthetic. The fic playlist would have Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) on it. 
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