` * I. I WANNA PLAY A GAME ANSWERED . - Tumblr Posts
` * i. DON’T FUCK WITH THE ORIGINAL‚ SIDNEY PRESCOTT . ` * i. THEY BROKE MY WINGS AND FORGOT I HAD CLAWS‚ STUDY . ` * i. I ALWAYS FEEL SAD FOR THE GIRL I ONCE WAS‚ AES . ` * i. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SCARY MOVIE‚ PROMPT . ` * i. I WANNA PLAY A GAME‚ ANSWERED . ` * i. BUT THIS IS LIFE — THIS ISN’T A MOVIE‚ THREAD .
` * man of medan, with daphne blake: ‘ i was so worried you might say no. ’ ( @mysteryheels )
meanwhile, sidney’s wondering if she was right to say yes. she’s not the partying type—not for the last few years, anyway. yet there was something about how genuine daphne was that pulled at her, drawing her in, making it almost impossible to say no. maybe she was getting soft. maybe she always was. in her mind, she’s quick to rationalize: it’ll be good to get out of the house for a while. surround yourself with people your age. just let loose. relax. how long has it been since she truly relaxed? ‘ who, me? ’ she feigns surprise well, though the humored undertones speak loud and clear as a smile curves onto her lips. ‘ what gave you that idea? ’
` * man of medan, with jed olsen danny johnson: ‘ i don’t know how all this is gonna end, but… i wanna end it together. ’ ( @stalkheir )
this is not the end. not for her; no, sidney prescott has been through this countless times before and always made it out the other side, if not through skill than by sheer stubbornness. she won’t die—not now, not in this hellscape, not under these circumstances, and not by this asshole’s hand.
she remembers his face, attached to a different name up until now, smiling at her during one of her book signings, telling her about how out of darkness was such a gripping read that he couldn’t put down. how he admired her strength to persist. how it helped him realize his own purpose and drive him to achieve his goals. it was a brief interaction, but it stuck with her. it was almost haunting how quickly it slapped her in the face the moment the mask slid off by his own hand, eyes almost soulless except for the spark in them that seemed to come from some sick, twisted joy at the events that had transpired over the last several hours.
the others were gone—hunted like small prey, sacrificed to whatever god oversaw this place—and sidney was back to being the last one standing, subjected to the slow, steady pain of bleeding out from a stab wound to the abdomen, blood pooling slowly around her as she tried in vain to crawl away, the only exit blocked by his body as he crouched down to her level. her skin crawls at his touch, fingertips pressing under her chin, lifting her gaze up to meet his as he speaks in the same awed tone he had what felt like a lifetime ago, same wondrous smile painted across his face. it’s enough to make her want to scream—instead, she’s spitting as hard as she can, fueled at this point entirely by spite, vision hazy as her gaze narrows. ‘ fuck you. ’
what’s your favorite scary movie?, with billy loomis: ❛ what do i have to do to prove to you that i’m not a killer? ❜ ( @ghostkilla )
there’s an icy prickling at the back of her neck that has nothing to do with the cool, californian spring air around them; the sack lunch in front of her on the schoolyard picnic table remains untouched though this is the first moment she’s shown any interest in her meal despite having no appetite. it gives her a chance to place her focus anywhere but him, and his piercing stare, and his words that have a way of making her second guess herself at every turn. maybe she’s been too hasty to isolate herself again. it’s been over half a day since her harrowing brush with death, escaping with not so much as a scratch. under the surface, the whole ordeal cuts deep, reminds her of the last time she was scrambling through her home in a panic, blood-covered hands frantically dialing for help. everything and nothing has changed in a year and her mind can’t cope with it.
‘ billy — ’ she exhales his name, gaze moving away from a humble spread of tuna salad and an apple. she can’t avoid him anymore than she can seem to avoid the exhaustion that comes with survival ( but surviving what, exactly? ); fingers brush against her bangs, through the sections of hair that isn’t fastened back, a reminder that she’s real, this is real, this is happening — as much as she wishes it wasn’t. when she finally meets his gaze, hers is apologetic. tired. exhausted. ‘ this isn’t — can we please just put it behind us? ’