final girl outfits
• lila crane/psycho (1960)
• sally hardesty/the texas chain saw massacre (1974)
• jess bradford/black christmas (1974)
• suzy bannion/suspiria (1977)
• laurie strode/halloween (1978)
• alice hardy/friday the 13th (1980)
• nancy thompson/a nightmare on elm street (1984)
• kirsty cotton/hellraiser (1987)
• sidney prescott/scream (1996)
• julie james/i know what you did last summer (1997)
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Billy Lenz Misc. Headcanons
He always runs hot but at the first sign of a cold wind he’ll shudder dramatically and grumble to himself. He seems to be warmest at night in the spider’s nest of a den he’s created for himself in the attic. He sleeps on a pile of old moth-eaten coats, patchwork quilts that smell musty from years of storage, and knitted sweaters that have awaited repair for a decade or so. He tosses and turns, fussing and fretting in his sleep. His cheeks are flushed. He pulls at the neck of his sweater and dreams noisily.
Billy likes to watch different girls for different reasons. He likes the way they all look when they think no-one else is looking. Clare has a soft looseness to her willowy body even when she’s working on banal tasks around the house. Barb is tight in the way she moves, a bow pulled tight, aching for the release. Jess furrows her brow just so, always full of some serious feeling. Phyl fixes her glasses more often than she needs to, pushing them up at the bridge of her nose crinkling her face each time. Watching them makes him excited. He likes to imagine himself talking to each of them in turn, being there in those quiet moments of solitude with them. Just him and the girls. He yearns after their obliviousness and salivates from his hideaway. He steals these moments from them and hold them in his clammy fists. They’re all his now.
He hates the smell and the taste of cigarettes. He often hides Barb’s packs or, if he’s feeling like a nuisance, he will take the pack in the night and carefully rip each of the remaining cigarettes in half, tittering and gurgling as he places them back by her bed. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke reminds him of his grandmother. The old woman had a ring of smoke around her wiry grey hair all the time, her clawed, ruby-tipped hands clutching cigarettes until they burned all the way down and no sooner had they reached the spongy filter, the crone would light another. The scent of it on the girls’ clothes upsets him.
He often gets headaches from dehydration, lack of sleep and his own confusion. It makes him irritable, which worsens the headaches. Sometimes he sleeps for days to avoid facing the sharp throb behind his eyes.
Billy doesn’t have a particular favourite among the girls at 6 Belmont Street. He has obsessions, switching from one to the other to the next and onwards for no reason at all. Something about one might catch him off guard and intrigue him and he finds himself salivating above her every night, his previous fixation forgotten and left to sleep peacefully without the feeling of eyes watching her in the gloom.
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I lack the words on how much sleep i have lost over this. Either way happy fucking holidays i love all of you beautiful people
btw everyone has a theme claude is rudolph, jess is a reindeer, billy is santa, michael is a christmas tree, laurie is the star at the top of the tree, brahms is a mistletoe, greta is a christmas present, danny is a gingerbread man, and amanda is the grinch ok byeee
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