❝ Just look at his face. Just look at his face. Not to another part of his body. Just look at his face ❞

    he would very much prefer it if you did not do that

He pops Michael's ass with his chainsaw so that maybe he'll move the fuck over. There's no room to walk in those tight Haddonfield passageways between white picket fences. "Scoot."

    If there’s anything a quick pat on the ass with the blade of a chainsaw gives him, it’s definitely NOT the will to move out of the way when ordered to. Not on his turf. All the Shape does is pivot to loom over the Crooked face to face, shoulder to shoulder with the high fence and the house, delivering that signature stare and slow, rhythmic breathing that really makes one wonder if he’s even listening at all. He’s a very obstinate obstacle.

How are we supposed to stay alive with a fine ass like that to entice us into a trap?

     ( x )  u don’t my dude just take the L it’s worth it i promise just lookit that ass

          The BOOGEYMAN is coming…..                                                  The trick is to stay alive. 

let's be honest here, it's the bOOTY doin all the work for Michael 👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌

that ass IS killer lbr

calmspirited:

If it had been light enough for Jake to see, he might’ve caught a glimpse of the dark, empty, Godforsaken eyes hidden and shrouded in obscurity behind the equally desolate mask. Might’ve. But probably not, and even if he did he would’ve kept quiet in case that triggered the giant or something. He’s already being carried somewhere and if he doesn’t making any false movements things might turn out to be… interesting. Or, at least, not deadly or hopefully not painful.

Speaking of shoulders, Myers has slid him off of the wide area, and had taken to grabbing him by the back of the collar and leading him like a mother cat would their tiny offspring. Jake couldn’t keep up unless he started running, and even after jogging along he came to the realization that he couldn’t keep up even if he was sprinting, and that he was slowly being choked by his own scarf, so, stealing a quick glance up at the killer, he quickly unzipped his jacket and ducked out of his scarf, doing that by ripping down the zipper and doing a 180 to quickly slide his arms out of the sleeves, and the combination of that, the sudden dizziness, and doing a limbo move to slide out of his a little too tight scarf, and Jake ended up twirling around and falling flat on his ass, facing the way he had came, to Myers’ front left, and out of breath, a smattering of dirt and leaves covering his blue undershirt he was left wearing.

“You… you running Iron Grasp and Agitation?” A hand rubbing his own neck and trying to catch his breath from the fall, Jake looked up at the behemoth of a creation and stood back up. “Can’t leave now; you got my clothes.”

    By now, the victims of his capture would be screaming, crying, begging for mercy, for someone to come rushing to their aid. The eerie silence, however, is broken only by the out-of-sync pattern of their footfalls as the Shape strictly guides his captive through the woods and towards the enclosure that encompasses the abandoned fragment of Lampkin Lane. He can only assume that the lack of a strong response of fear from the saboteur can only denote rebellion---a willful act of sabotage intended to deter him from his plan. However, stubbornness does not discourage the masked kidnapper to abandon his efforts but rather to carry onward. Even if the boy shows no sign of anxiety now, the Shape is certain of a change of heart sometime in the very near future.

    Lack of empathy in part of the Shape prevents Jake the opportunity to catch up with his captor as he persists with long strides, nor the chance to catch his breath as the hand closed around his collar and scarf yanks ruthlessly every time he shows signs of falling behind. He is entirely apathetic to Jake’s plight, transfixed on the pinpricks of light beginning to peek through the leaves ahead. In fact, so focused is he that at first he fails to notice the escape of his young victim. 

    It isn’t until a decisive tug in the opposite direction that he detects that something is amiss. The stark-white face whips around just in time to catch the sight of the boy sliding free of his coat sleeves and turning only to fall on his rear. Lifting the stray garments disposed to his unyielding grip, he lowers his face to ogle them before turning his gaze on the seated saboteur to accompany a subtle tilt of the head towards his right shoulder. What swift thinking to slip free of the binding clothes, but how FOOLISH that he does not seize the opportunity to run. Casting the garments aside, the Shape advances on the rising Jake and closes his massive fist in the boy’s hair and mercilessly yanks him upward, lifting him several inches off the ground until they are met eye to eye. Black eyes cast level of his cruel, incessant gaze onto his captive before swiftly dropping his arm and letting Jake hit the ground. He gives him no time to steady his footing before resuming his determined procession. Regardless if Jake trips, regardless of the pain he’s surely delivering, the damnable Shape drags the boy onward, abandoning the coat and scarf in the woods. Forget the chit-chat ( not that the Shape comprehends what the boy is talking about regardless ). He will teach the saboteur that this is not a friendly invitation for a play date. 

October 31st, 1978; Halloween

starter call!!

Chromatics - Dagger Moon

calmspirited:

Jake has those periods where he feels like he could barely move from the Campfire, and then there are times where he can’t stay, where he feels like he has to not stare at a Campfire for all eternity. Not that he just jumped up and started running around when he first got here: he wasn’t stupid, maybe just a bit reckless and impulsive, but he knew better than to just run into a dark and unknown forest without anything to help him or supplies. So, he did that. It went without a hitch, so he kept doing it. He’s run into some others, but he hasn’t died yet, so Jake has become less and less punctual about his excursions, and has ventured out further and further and less prepared, until he’s just been going out when he gets the restlessness in him in a random direction.

He briefly tells Claudette that he’s going for a walk, and with a nod of her head and a comforting hand on his arm, he’s taking off solidarity into the dark. He has no set destination, but he’s free to wander like his mind. He walks for a bit, letting himself appreciate the sounds of the limited wildlife sounds he hears, cooing to a passing crow overhead, and pauses for a moment, feeling something is… off. He hears it a bit too late to really do anything, except for a short yelp and his arms flailing backwards in a vain attempt to ward off his snatcher, the sound of crunching ground that wasn’t coming from him. 

He was quickly silenced with a hand over his mouth, and picked up by a strong arm further silencing him by making air hard to get in and out of his lungs, the telltale sign of heavy breaths against a latex mask letting him know of his captor. He tried wiggling frantically, not unlike what one does in a Trial, but Jake quickly realises that this is not a Trial, and that’s not going to have a guaranteed escape after a certain amount of time. Everything is unpredictable now. He wonders just then what Myers is planning to do with him, obviously not kill him just yet, as he seems set on taking him somewhere, so Jake suddenly stills, as if he’s been suddenly tranquilized, which is really him just waiting to see where Myers was taking him, then struggling if necessary. Saving his strength and energy, so to speak. He looks up at Myers, giving him a ‘what’s your plan, mouthbreather?’ gaze that seems much too lazy for someone in his situation.

    Anticipating the struggle, the arm shot around the saboteur’s chest pins his arms to his sides as he’s dragged back against the Shape that silences a startled squawk from his captive with the palm of his hand. The heels of his boots dig into the dirt as he steels himself against panicked wriggling---an unnecessary gesture as the struggling ceases almost as abruptly as it began. But no more does this convince the Shape to loosen his vice-like grasp than the expression that the saboteur shoots at him when he tilts his shaggy head back. Calm surpassing fear, curiosity overwhelming dread. From where does this confidence emerge when the future seems so uncertain? Surely it must be a challenge.

    It isn’t forbidden knowledge that the interludes between trials provide opportunity for the damned to rest their bodies and minds, thus rendering the flickering ring of light surrounding the campfire a safe haven---a place free from the beasts skulking in the shadows. As long as they believe they are safe, rejuvenation of sanity restores hope, a promise to the deity of meals to come. Rebellion dwells in the eyes of the lamb strayed from the flock, surmised by the empty-eyed stare cast from an equally void face above. Does he believe that he is free from danger, saved by the rules of the game? The chess player’s knight should not take a pawn dangled just before his eyes, but the Shape has never been one to adhere to guidelines when it displeases him. 

    Thus, without fear of the possible repercussions, the hand smothering cries for help slips away as the monstrous figure grasps the back of the boy’s collar and sets off deeper into the woods ( foregoing fireman’s carry should sister dearest have instructed her fellow soldiers on her shiv-making techniques ), dragging the boy along with him like an unwilling dog on a restrictive leash. Regardless if Jake trips or stumbles on the uneven forest floor, the Shape forces him to keep pace, now daring him to cry or scream for help before they exit earshot of the waning firelight behind them. The Shape knows all too well the consequences should the others get wind of something amiss. Does Jake dare risk the lives of his friends should they follow him into the darkness?

Halloween Directed by John Carpenter (1978)

michael myers

quidprcquo:

Lecter waited. He was INCREDIBLY  patient. He could prove to many people just how patient he is. He had had far more stubborn patients than this boy. He had also broken through in many other cases, therefore VICTORIOUS. And more so, the boy may have convinced all of the other doctors and orderlies that were at the hospital, truly making them BELIEVE that he was some sort of handicapped or invalid boy.

LECTER KNEW BETTER.

Hannibal heard the exhale through his nose. It was hardly audible but Lecter’s hearing ability was rather acute and while he heard the sigh, he could see something shift in the boy. He slowly grinned.                       “She neglected you, didn’t she MICHAEL? She was                         too busy with that boy and her sexual desires that                         she did not give a damn what happened to you.                         You felt a flooding of RELIEF when that blade                         pierced her flesh. SHE DESERVED IT.”

    How curious of a feeling it is to be understood. Without more than a moment’s glance, this doctor knows more about what he’s thinking and feeling than in the six years his parents spent raising him and attempting vainly to decipher his unnatural silence. Without even looking ( those horrible, owlish eyes still cast straight ahead into the middle distance ), Michael can sense the keen gaze trained on him. Faintly he’s aware of the way it makes his skin prickle. He can’t help but wonder if the doctor has x-ray vision with the skill and ease it takes to see right through him. The tinted windows made of his empty, black eyes had been dark enough to deflect the suspicion of his parents and of the judge that deemed him unworthy of trial, unworthy of punishment. But clearly the same cannot be said of the doctor peering at him from across the desk, peeking through the façade so consciously constructed.

    Does he have super powers? From the way that the man bares his teeth in a smile as his thoughts return to Judith, Michael believes that the doctor can read his mind. How else would he know that Judith ignored him when was supposed to be watching him ( with mother none the wiser )? That she left him all alone to do bad things with her boyfriend that made his skin crawl? And how satisfying it was to make her PAY---to watch her bare chest heave as she shrieked and bled red, red, red all over the floor? The doctor is right---SHE DESERVED IT. From whence the fire died in the eyes of the child perched motionlessly in the chair births from the ashes of Judith’s demise a spark of life, of sentience. Recalling his revenge begins to reawaken the rage that inspired it, but with no outlet he sits in the chair and he simmers.

begrimedchains replied to your post “calmspirited replied to your post: so i know it’s…”

throws chainsaw at mike

    is this a gift or what, billy