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[finalboy]

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@jewellery (1/2)

[finalboy]

( from here )

[yeah, not happening. before ash can say as much, the loud CLANG of a nearby locker door opening and slamming shut makes him jerk his head up. shortly after he hears that, another survivor (ace, by the sound of it) screams out weakly in the hallway. when ash hears yet another door open even closer to him, his breathing quickens to near panic attack levels. time to go.

whether or not he's misjudged the distance the killer really is from him or his own body's speed as he fights to overcome the nearly paralytic levels of terror rooting him in place, ash doesn't react quickly enough. in hardly no time at all, a shadow passes over his locker, blotting out the light from the vents. when it doesn't move, he knows he's run out of time.

this is it. he's dead.]

@goodbabysitter

[finalboy]

( from here. )

[omg someone thinks he's cool. that almost makes up for— well, everything else here.]

Totally! You don't get to be this cool overnight. It takes time. Why don't you start with something simple?

[being that this ash isn't completely out of his mind yet, he has something his future self doesn't: sense.]

What about something like, 'Run this off!" And then you stab him in the dick.

[never mind.]

@gloryisbullshit

[finalboy]

( from here. )

[there's a lot going on in the room ash is lying in.

for starters, that offer he made back there: floor or wall? doesn't mean a thing when there's a nice pile of coats within range. from the... trajectory of the mess coupled with how most of it's gotten on his feet, it seems like he managed to make it a few steps over to the bed before his stomach finally decided enough was enough. by the time party poison shows up, he looks dazed, his eyes nearly black as they stare aimlessly off into the space at some water stain on the wall.]

Mm, you mean Ash. [it's a tiny little mumble against party's shoulder. ash's head lolls to the side.] Hey. When you're right, you're right. I feel— much better.

[you can hear the grin in his voice, wasted and content. but mostly wasted.]

@babysitters

[finalboy]

( from here. )

What happens if we run into him? We can't just throw him into a bottomless pit.

Can we?

@micronap

[finalboy]

( from here. )

Like a half hour ago? I think?

We can handle this. I've been through this before, I know exactly what we have to do.

[highvishorror]

Hey man, you get my weed yet? I gave you the last of what I had, and the rest of the gang is in a trial and I'm bored as fuck now.

[shitheads]

Hey man thanks again for snagging that weed. I've only smoked a couple times, and that last time with was one of the few times I didn't totally get wigged out.

@pharmacy

[finalboy]

( from here: )

Ha ha

[That translates about as well to text as it ever will. He's in too much pain to manage anything more than that. He holds his hand against his belly, blood trickling between his fingers. The light from the windows of the cabin lights up just enough of the Delta for him to see how much he's losing; the upholstery of the car seat is rapidly turning red — black, in the dark — beneath him, and the front of his shirt is soaked. His eyes slip shut as he begins to breathe through his nose, counting to ten in his head.

Inside, the movement under the floorboards stops then starts again, soft and monotonous. It follows Quentin as he moves to the kitchen where the remains of a long-abandoned dinner are spread out across the splintery table. Flies hover over a glass salad bowl filled with browning lettuce and a dish covered with aluminum foil. Pulling the foil back reveals a nest of squirming white maggots, wriggling through moldy bread and rotting lunchmeat. At the center of the table is a blender filled with blood red sludge, ostensibly the remnants of a Bloody Mary given the glass bottle of vodka across from it.

There's an audible thud under Quentin's feet as something crashes to the floor in the cellar, followed by a low, miserable whimper.

—Then Ash's phone vibrates in his hand, snapping him back to reality.]

Im ok
Just dizzy
Theres beer in the fridge I think
Can you grab me a can
On your way out

[dyinglights]

not that we're friends now but

do you think we would be friends in real life