#Laid To Rest

[evilvvithin]

LAID TO REST robert hall, 2009

[noxturnals-void]

Gifs I think represent slashers

✨Holding hands edition✨

Characters include:

Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Michael Myers, Sinclair Brothers (separately), Brahms Heelshire, Jesse Cromeans, Asa Emory

————————————————————

Jason Voorhees:

Thomas Hewitt aka Leatherface:

Michael Myers:

Bo Sinclair:

Vincent Sinclair:

Lester Sinclair:

Brahms Heelshire aka The Boy:

Jesse Cromeans aka Chromeskull:

Asa Emory aka The Collector:

[evildeadboy]

LAID TO REST (2009) DIR. ROBERT HALL

[weirdlookindog]

“Laid to Rest”

© Sarah R. Bloom, 2008

[thesightstoshowyou]

Never Say Never

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Jesse loves himself a cam girl.

Warnings: Reader is a webcam model, noncon, daddy kink, kidnapping, a little blunt force trauma, boot play, bondage, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, sex in a coffin, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, branding.

This was a commission for the lovely @genzisnotokay Thank you for your business!

Gif by @sweeetestcurse

CS: Meet me.

The black letters stretch across your computer screen and your fingers freeze, hovering just above the keyboard. You’re so taken aback that, for a brief moment, you forget you’re on camera. You forget you’re performing. Your practiced smile falters.

CS: C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that. You know I won’t bite.

Just like that, you snap back to reality. Your sly grin returns.

‘Tired of only being able to look and not touch, Jesse?’ you type back. On screen, you see the black suit shift, the shoulders raise and lower with what you assume is a huffed laugh. There’s no sound, never is when you video chat with your most generous client, and his face is never in frame, so you do your best to pick up on his body cues.

Seems to be working out for you so far, if your bank account is anything to go by.

CS: I’ll be doing a lot more than touching when I get my hands on you, baby.

You sound pretty confident I’m gonna agree to this, Mister CS.

CS: When have you ever said ‘No’ to me?

There you go, freezing again.

Truly, the list of debauched things you’ve done for him on camera is close to endless. You’ve readily agreed to it all, and he’s certainly not shy about asking. All that green has proven to be a great motivator.

He won’t show you his face though, no matter how many times you ask. You’re sure this is what stops you from agreeing. That, and the survival instincts that keep you from meeting clients in the first place.

CS: It’ll be worth your time, babe.

A number crosses your screen, a number with more zeros than you’ve ever seen in your life.

Inhibitions be damned.

When and where, Daddy?

***

You’re pretty sure you fucked up the moment that horrible chrome skull mask emerges from the darkness, streetlights glinting off its shiny surface.

And you know you fucked up when that baseball bat collides with the side of your skull.

***

The first sensation to return is pain. Bright, splitting agony arcs through your head and blinds you. It brings a broken cry to your chapped lips and has you reaching through silk to cradle your skull.

Awareness trickles in past the pain, sand through an hourglass, the first grains alerting you to the fact you can barely bend your arm. Palms reach, press against soft fabric—silk. There’s resistance just beyond. To your left, to your right, above you, at your back….

All around you.

Pain ebbs just a little, adrenaline dulling it to replace it with fear. Panic rises and snakes up your throat to choke you. You’re trapped in a narrow box, a container of some sort. Trickling sand, more cognizance falls into place.

Not a box.

A coffin.

Your chest rises, the frenzied scream locked and loaded in the back of your throat. Muscles tense, fists prepare to beat the lid open, legs poise to knee and kick and flail. It all comes grinding to a halt with knocking atop the coffin lid.

TAP TAP TA-TAPTAP….TAP TAP.

Shave and a haircut.

Hinges squeal as the lid is thrown open. Light blasts you in the eyes, temporarily reminding you of the throbbing in the side of your head. Cold air rushes into your prison, raising goosebumps across your skin and spilling into your lungs with your inhale.

Oxygen pours into your blood and kickstarts desperate movement. You heave yourself up and over the side of the coffin. Blinking, scrambling, you feel chilly concrete against your palms. Your fingers bump into something sturdy, rubbery, but it’s gone a moment later.

You only realize it was the toe of a boot when the sole stomps down on the side of your face.

Blinding anguish erupts behind your eyes once again and that scream finally has a reason to fly free. Sleep-weakened hands grasp the sides of the shoe, but there isn’t even a hint of give. Above you looms the shadow of a body, silhouetted against the overhead light, the barest hint of chrome glinting in the darkness. Beyond is a room, dark and basically empty save for a few sheets hanging from the ceiling and those blinding floodlights.

Rubber squeaks near your face—the other boot—as weight shifts. The person pinning you to the icy floor crouches. You jolt when words shriek somewhere overhead, as though a terrified woman is speaking with every new word.

I take it back. I think I might bite.

Your stomach drops at the same moment your heart jams itself into your throat. “J-Jesse?! Jesse please, w-why are you doing this?!” Your trembling voice is muffled and distorted by the boot smashing your cheek into the floor.

Give it a kiss and I’ll show you.

Give what a kiss? Your confusion only lasts a moment as the toe of the opposite boot waggles suggestively before your face. You barely hesitate. The sharp, turpentine scent of shoe polish fills your nose as your lips press to the smooth surface.

With tongue, piggy. C’mon, I thought you were a professional.

Abhorrent chemical flavor bathes your tongue as you drag it along the side of Jesse’s boot. Saliva makes it shine brighter than the polish. Your nose wrinkles and you fight back the bile that begs to burn its way up your throat.

Weight lifts from your head and you would cry out in relief if it wasn’t quickly replaced by a gloved hand digging into your hair. You yelp and sob as you’re tugged back to the coffin. The hand on your head shoves you face first over the side, cheek meeting soft lining.

Rattling meets your ears, dulled by the blood rushing there. Chain slides across metal and wood and cool steel encircles your wrist. It clamps down, digs into your flesh. Shifting weight, fingers grappling with your opposite hand. You won’t let this one be restrained—

Viciously, you are yanked upright and a horrible, serrated blade the size of your forearm is brought just before your face. Reflected in its gleaming surface you see the chrome mask and your own wide, frightened eyes.

Click, click, click, click. His thumb types out a message on some kind of cell phone. You can see it in your peripheral, but can’t make out the words.

There’s no need to read as they are shouted at you the moment he’s finished: Fight me like that again and I’ll just cut off the whole fucking arm and be done with it.

A whimper and a hasty nod are your response. You hand over your wrist and it’s swiftly secured by a shackle attached to the other half of the coffin lid. Both sides have been modified, you notice, a D-ring bolted into the wood. Now, your arms stretch out in a T, knees digging into the concrete floor, Jesse and that terrible blade at your back.

‘Comfy?’ asks the screaming phone. Chest heaving, eyes searching for reason, you crane your head over your shoulder in an attempt to predict what’s coming. Unfortunately, you don’t guess ‘knife cutting away your clothes so sloppily it catches your skin more often than fabric.’

Each slice burns with white hot torment, your own sweat adding insult to injury when it drips into your wounds to sting and sting and sting. Mascara streaks down your face, aided by your tears and your throat grows raw with how fervently you shriek and plead.

When Jesse smooths his hands over your gashes to paint your bare skin in scarlet, you realize the cuts were intentional. The cruelty, the pain, the terror are all by design. You quake uncontrollably, fear, and cold, and pain gripping hold and sinking in deep.

‘There’s that pretty pussy you show off to all those strange men online.’ The flat of the blade slaps sharply against your clit and you cry out in shock, back going ramrod straight.

Not quite as wet as I remember though. Maybe she needs a little help, huh?

Two gloved fingers slide across your back to wet themselves in the blood trickling across your flesh. With no warning, they plunge deep into your cunt. You wheeze and try to scoot away, but the coffin edge against your thighs keeps you right where you’re wanted.

Bloody digits pump and curl and massage and circle until you all but forget they’re coated in gore, that you’re bleeding from multiple knife wounds, that you’re chained to a fucking coffin. You clench your eyes shut and do your best to remind yourself what’s happening to you, what’s likely about to happen to you. Then, your hips tip on their own accord and your back arches and your lips part to exhale a quivering moan.

Cum on them, piggy.

“F-Fuck, n-n-nuuuuugh—“

It’s too late. You crash into climax, crimson coated walls gripping those fingers and telling Jesse exactly what he wants to know. Your shaking voice echoes around the room, pitch rising sharply when the fingers slide from your cunt to rub perfect circles into your clit.

‘Cum again and you get my cock,’ screeches the phone. You don’t have a choice. He knows exactly how to get you there, has seen you do precisely this in all the videos you’ve made for him.

You stammer out some garbled protest, but it’s lost in the wake of the pleasure that unravels in your belly. It forces your legs to shut and bows you forward just as though his hand has returned to your head. It’s nearly too much, but that won’t stop the warm, thick length that settles against your entrance.

Now that’s the pussy we all know and love.

One hand returns to your hair and the other holds the knife flat against your lips. This allows you to see your scream fog up the blade when Jesse surges forward to impale you on that cock he promised.

You don’t know why you say it: “D-Daddy, it h-hurts, it’s too-too much…!”

Shaking behind you, rhythmic, like silent laughter. The hand leaves your hair so the phone can reply, ‘That’s why I’m doing it, baby girl.’

Jesse fixes his grip on your locks and renews his efforts tenfold. You can’t talk anymore, not with the way you’re arched, not with how furiously he brutalizes your hole. Every breath becomes a moan as it’s punched from your lungs, every jostle further tweaking your aching shoulders where they’re stretched wide. Shackles dig into the flesh of your wrists until steel turns red.

When Jesse wheezes in your ear, when cold Chrome touches your shoulder, when every inch of his girth throbs to paint you full of him, you cum again. The third orgasm is wrenched from you, painful and tight. Everywhere sings with strained pleasure, every nerve frayed and twitching.

A pathetic whine spills from your mouth and you’re released, allowed to slump over the edge of the coffin, cheek meeting silk once again. Warmth vanishes from your back and boot falls echo through the empty room. Plastic flutters.

Clattering. Squeak. Rushing of air. Click. WHOOSH. Using the last vestiges of your strength, you pull yourself upright. Blearily, you look over your shoulder. Make-up smeared eyes widen.

Jesse lights a torch. The flames reflect eerily across the chrome grin. He shifts to place the torch against the end of a long metal rod.

A branding iron.

Wildly, you yank your arms, jiggle the chains, brace with your legs. You cry and scream and thrash and jerk, anything to free yourself. You only succeed in scooting the coffin a little way across the floor and peeling the skin away from your wrists.

Slowly, ominously, Jesse approaches. Each step is a cacophony as it echoes around the room to fill your ears with panic. The branding iron glows in the dark and acrid smoke fills the air.

You sob and shake your head, feverishly begging, desperately scooting as far away as your bonds and aching limbs will allow. Jesse’s head tilts to the side and he waves the iron teasingly through the air. The phone screen momentarily lights up the mask as he types.

There’s no saying ‘No’ to me now, is there?

[sweeetestcurse]

Nick Principe as Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull in Laid to Rest (2009) 06/??

[classichorrorblog]

10 Modern Slasher Movies To Consider For October/Halloween

[robin2radical]

First edit!! ∘⊹✲

They are the little worms living in my brain

[spoopieere]

*MAGIC YAOI BEAM GO!!**

For the love of god- click for better quality PLEASE

This looks WAYYY better on Twitter btw

This took a while bc i keep experimenting with new styles lmaoaoaoa- i'll draw them a ship chart sooner or later after this to wind down hehehehe

[the-faceless-bride]

Pretty piggy in a cage...

Summary➡ Being Asa's newest and precious little butterfly, he feels the need to show his good friend Jesse... Only things quickly backfire as Jesse takes interest in his friend's little piggy...

Tags: @gothmothsiren @frostbitefae @wallywaffle @brwnicons

Warnings: Dark Content, sexual implications, Objectification, infantilization, marking, forced touching, forced kissing, body horror, some violence to reader, kidnapping, name calling, mentions of cannibalism, attempts of escape, Starvation, reader is described as having long hair at least shoulder length

You put yourself in his box. You had nothing left, nothing but the money you had saved, the clothes on your back, and those sweet eyes the strange Masked man seemed to enjoy so much.

You have never seen his face, and you honestly didn't care. All you knew was when he saw you he held your face in such a gentle manner, his gloved hand was gentle and held you softer than anyone ever had. His blacked-out eyes just stared into yours with such an enamored and curious look like you were the only thing in this world he wanted.

So when he picked you up and tried to lower you into the red box you didn't struggle, you tucked yourself into the box curling into yourself as much as you could to fit as comfortably as you could.

He seemed to enjoy that, he patted your head before stroking down to your cheek before slowly closing the box.

And once the box reopened, he held your shoulder moving you around the broken-down building that looked like it used to be a hotel.

The art around the building was... Interesting, the more you looked at it the more the stranger rubbed your shoulder. And once he lead you through a hall full of pounding locked doors, yelling, and people in cages the stranger held you to his chest.

He brought you into a bathroom and sat you on the plush pink stool. He picked up a soft-bristled brush and carefully brushed your hair, you sat there for a long time before he stopped and moved to open a wooden box painted with butterflies and lined with gems, pulling out pink and blue ribbons, sectioning your hair before trying the ribbons, looking at you in the mirror before reaching back into the wooden box and pulling out a gloss; squishing your cheeks making your lips pucker before smearing the glittery pink gloss across your lips.

He admired you for a moment before pulling a knife from a holder on his waist and using it to slice down your clothes, your shirt was first; he pulled the shirt off your shoulders from your front your best exposed to the cold air, you closed your eyes feeling the strangers gloved hands felt below your chest and felt around your ribs before moving to your hips and ripping your pants.

The strange man put you in a soft white dress, it fell to your knees in layers, a silk ribbon in the middle of your chest, soft long puffed sleeves felt smooth along your arms.

You hang your head as he presses what you think is a kiss you the side of your temple, putting a gloved hand on the small of your back and leading you through the building, he had to guide you around to not step in a trap or get glass stuck in your bare foot.

He picked you up, carrying you up the long flights of stairs before opening a heavily bolted metal door that had hanging flowers around the door; some were dead, and others seemed fake.

Upon entering the room, a large bed covered in ruffled sheets and fluffy pillows, a sheer curtain of some kind hung around the tall wooden frames around the bed. A pink fluffy carpet was placed on the oddly clean floor, the vanity mirror had a single crack running through it, and the large dresser doors were open exposing the hanging frilly dresses similar to the one you were currently wearing.

You're his butterfly; the pretty little thing he likes to observe and touches with such soft hands, showed off to the others who could only wish not to be in chains like you, to be able to wander around, to be able to speak without being beaten.

One day he seemed extra touchy with you, he put in extra effort to make you look the way he wanted perfect you didn't know what you had done to deserve the extra treatment but it was better than what anyone else was getting in this depressing hotel.

He braided your hair; intricately placing flowers in it, he put you in a bodysuit made of silk that showed more of your chest, around your waist he tied a wispy skirt that reached the floor; it was slightly sheer and also had flowers embroidered giving it a very whimsical look, finally, he actually put you in shoes; they seemed like warn down ballerina shoes, elegant and gold the flowers were delicate.

After giving you one last look before running a hand down your neck moving in close and pressing his masked nose to your hair taking a long breath.

He placed you back in your room, sitting you down on the fluffy rug and making a 'stay' motion before leaving the room; you didn't know how long he was gone for, but when he came back he wasn't alone...

A man walked in with him, he was tall very tall...strong and wore a sharp black suit, and a chrome skull mask.

The chrome stranger looked to the man who kept you in this room, getting a single nod from your kidnapper and he started moving towards you; you whimpered and slightly moved back, but when the black-masked man hushed you and the chrome stranger reached out to you, his hand ghosting over your braided hair moving to brush a finger under your eyelids and moving to your neck giving a small squeeze before continuing his journey, gloved hand moving down your chest across your stomach to your legs squeezing your inner thigh.

He was inspecting you...

He caught you by surprise when he lifted his finger to your nose and gave it a little flick before teasingly pitching your cheek.

What a pretty little piggy. What a Fine Catch Asa Found; Jesse thought. Looking up at him with those sweet pretty eyes of yours. Almost tempted to think of you as less of a piggy and more of a doe... A sweet fawn. Jesse stopped squeezing your cheek and moved behind you leaning to push his mask against your soft hair. What a sweet thing.

Asa and Jesse both take one of your hands and take you out into a separate area you've never been to before. The room had two comfy-looking chairs, plane walls, and a small fluffy 'rug' just to the right of one of the chairs, the room also had something you found interesting. It had camera monitors, and you really wish you could just look away.

The horrors of what you saw.

You knew to some degree that there were poor souls in this place and that something terrible was happening to them. But you couldn't imagine what was on the screens. Rows and rows of people that... Weren't even people anymore... Monsters. Real-life horror movie monsters. Body's mutilated some with multiple limbs, some blind, some with jaws broken and modified to be long and odd-shaped, some of them seemed to be in a room with other monsters and they were... Eating each other.. God. What is this place? Why? Why was this something that never crossed your mind before.? Was... Was this going to happen to you?... Was this his plan? Will this happen to you when he gets bored of you?!

You slowly sat on the small rug where you were told, your eyes never leaving the monsters on the screen.

The two masked men were signing at each other, communicating about something. You couldn't understand them, but you truly couldn't care.

And you felt an itch. An itch to run. An itch to get away. Not wanting to be the next monster...

You would've been fine... You could've ignored the itch... If it wasn't for that one moment. Where one of the monsters that was cannibalizing the other turned. And look right into the camera.... Right.

At.

You.

And you ran. And you seemed to catch both men off guard. As they had yet to catch you.

That monster... That thing...

The blood fell from its odd crooked mouth. It's red bloodshot eyes staring at you.

And it only got worse.

Along the walls of the hotel, bodies ripped open. Displayed like art. No. No. No. Please. You don't want this. You just wanted to be taken away from the mean world. And now you were stuck in an even crueler one.

Loud footsteps could be heard down the halls, you look and your eyes meet the ones of the masked man. The one who took you... The Master...

You started hyperventilating as you tripped over your own feet. One of your feet getting locked in a trap. You let out a yelp of pain. Almost sounding like a kicked puppy, as you fell to the hard cold ground.

You try and yank your foot out, but that only makes the trap worse. Making you cry out. The skull masked on being the tallest and taking the longest strides gets to you first. Shaking his head and wagging his finger at you in a moving way, before giving you a little tap, bad.

You shink in on yourself. "please. Don't let the monsters get me. Don't let me be one of them..." You whimper into his shoulder. he brushes your hair from your face. And uses his loose hand to unlock the trap.

Asa truly was a lucky man. A lucky man indeed... He wouldn't mind if he... Borrowed you... For a while would he? Of course not. What else are friends for? Right?

[evilvvithin]

Jesse content 🗣️🗣️

[noxturnals-void]

Slashers with an s/o that has scars

Characters include:

Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Michael Myers, Jesse Cromeans, Asa Emory

———————————————————————————

Tw: scars, mentions of abuse, mentions of self-harm, toxic relationships, mentions of death/murder, characters being their questionable selves

(The scars are a mix of self-harm and abuse)

This is just a big mix of comfort imagines.

Feel free to add your own thoughts/ideas.

———————————————————————————

Jason Voorhees:

He’s confused when he first sees the marks on your arms and legs. Were you in an accident of some kind? You’d never mentioned anything of the sort before.

He won’t bring it up until he sees more across your shoulders and back.

It takes a long, very awkward conversation on your part to explain when he expresses worry toward the marks on your body.

He understands what abuse is, but mainly in the form of bullying. Having to explain abuse at the hands of people you trusted was much different in his mind.

He’s absolutely heartbroken. How could anyone have hurt you like this?

He will bury the anger he has toward the people who hurt you, very gently pulling you into a hug and squeezing you to his chest.

That’s all in the past now. He’s here. He would never, ever let anything like that happen to you again.

Thomas Hewitt:

Oh, he knows.

He could tell the moment he laid eyes on you that you were just like him. Hiding your arms away and recoiling from anyone who got too close.

He tries not to make a big deal of it. They look old, so he won’t mention it.

That is, until he catches you changing one day. He sees the collection of deep marks across your back. He’s not stupid, he knows you didn’t do those yourself.

This time, he does bring it up. He’s not judgemental. He understands, probably better than anyone in his family.

When you feel comfortable, you share what happened to you.

He doesn’t push for details. He has enough imagination and his own experiences to supplement any information you decide to give.

He just pats you on the head, grunting low. His way of telling you it’s okay. You’re safe from those people.

You’re part of his family now, after all. He will protect you.

Bo Sinclair:

It doesn’t take long for him to notice.

Unlike him, you don’t hide your scars very well.

Maybe it’s because you don’t mind that he sees. Perhaps it’s because you sometimes forget they are part of you. He doesn’t know.

He asks about the scars the next time you two are alone. It catches you so far off guard you freeze.

You explain, trying not to go into too much detail. Someone you trusted hurt you in an unrepairable way. That was something he could understand.

He gets upset on your behalf, something in your story triggering a part of him he thought he’d buried deep down enough not to deal with anymore.

He doesn’t get sappy about his own scars, but he’ll show them to you in an effort to sympathize.

You’re not alone in your feelings. He reassures you that everything will be alright and that it wasn’t your fault. He’ll watch out for you now.

Vincent Sinclair:

He first saw the scars when you posed for him for a quick sketch.

He was tactful, pointing out the marks in a subtle way. When you don’t quite understand what he’s getting at (thinking you might be posing wrong or something), he walks over and uses his wax-coated hands to investigate your skin.

Was it some type of accident? Had someone done this to you? His blood boiled at even the thought of someone hurting you. 

When you opened up about the backstory to your scars, he withheld his emotions from your eyes. He was angry, of course. He wanted to hurt the people who had hurt you.

He holds you in his lap as he continues with his sketch. He doesn’t truly need you to pose for him. Your shape is already burned into the depths of his memory.

He gently massages his hand over the scars on your arms and legs while his other hand sketches.

It’s the closest he can get to telling you how perfect you are. You’re his muse. His heart.

He will never let you feel unprotected. He’ll keep you safe.

Lester Sinclair:

Poor guy is so awkward about bringing it up.

He noticed the marks littering your body some time ago but never dared to ask.

He was already pretty sure of the answer, but he preferred to hear your side of the story before making any assumptions.

Your story breaks his heart little by little. He cries for you, grieved you had gone through what you had.

He holds you, telling you you’re perfect and didn’t deserve what had happened to you. He’s so sorry you went through it.

He’ll whisper affirmations to you for as long as you let him. He is here for you now. You are not alone anymore. It is all in the past.

He’s got you, and he’s never gonna let you go.

Michael Myers:

He likely won’t point them out.

He knows, of course. You’ve changed clothes in front of him on more than one occasion.

Sometimes, if he’s got the mask off, you might catch him staring. Otherwise, you can feel his eyes trace the pattern of marks over your body.

When you talk about it, he listens. He might not sympathize or react emotionally like others do to your story, but he does listen. He does care.

No one but him is allowed to hurt you. The rage of someone else laying their hands on you has him itching for his knife.

Someone you trusted hurt you? What’s their name?You mention a location they frequented in the past. Got it.

He’ll hunt them down within the week.

You won’t question the blood on him when he comes home late a few days later.

He holds you close that night, not allowing you to move from his side until dawn.

You’ll understand his unusually clingy behavior when you hear about a recent murder on the news.

You’re his. They can’t hurt you anymore.

Jesse Cromeans:

He sees the marks across your arms one evening.

His phone drones a partially insensitive joke about the scars, but he sees the way you react to them being mentioned and leaves it be.

He doesn’t talk about them again until you’re ready.

He has a big ego on him, but that doesn’t mean he will force it out of you.

When you do tell him what happened to you, he’s furious. Someone hurt his favorite little piggy?

He’s going to hunt them down. Spann is already in the process of finding their address.

They won’t get a video, though. This isn’t a film; this is revenge.

When everything is said and done, he’s going on a shopping spree. A big bouquet of your favorite flowers, all your favorite treats, and your favorite series/movie in the disc player ready for a long night in.

You’re blissfully unaware of what has happened to cause this treatment, and he will keep it that way.

From then on, he reminds you that your scars do not change how he feels about you. You’re perfect. He made sure they won’t ever harm you again.

Asa Emory:

He’s scarily observant. It didn’t take him long at all to find out.

He asks directly, lacking a certain amount of tact someone else might deploy for this kind of conversation. He’s not one for beating around the bush verbally.

He’s surprisingly understanding when you tell him about your past abuse. He experienced similar things in his youth. He won’t share, of course.

He doesn’t use your scars against you like he would if it were something else deeply personal.

Usually, he’d discover a pressure point such as this and use it to manipulate you subtly. This is not a pressure point he will use often, if at all.

You’re his now. You belong to him in every sense of the word. Whatever scars you gain now will be from him and only him, and only when they’re done intentionally.

You’re his favorite pet in the collection. The marks across your body don’t detract from your value in his eyes.

He will create masterful works of art out of your past, enmeshing it with your future with him.

[frozrowan]

ChromeSkull⚔

[the-gory-gardner]

Slashers with a creature teenager reader who has anger issues and she rages while having a fight with a slasher and nearly kills them by ripping them to shreds lol

( this can be aaa x Jessie or anyone else for the reader as their parents )

Slashers & Teen Creature Reader

Asa Emory x Jesse Cromeans As Parents of Creature

First thing first is they have no clue what kind of creature you are.

Asa puts more work into figuring it than Jesse does.

Jesse wrestles with you a lot to help you with your aggression.

Asa tries to encourage you to talk to him to help with your anger.

They do actually try to find legal ways to help you since they don't want you gaining any unwanted attention.

Of course, talking and wrestling can only do so much and eventually you do get into a fight, a bad one.

Luckily the fight isn't with either of them, but they do have to help you hide the body since you don't know how to.

Asa assures you that no one will find the body, Jesse assures you that if someone does between the bites and claw marks, they'll think it was an animal attack.

Harry Warden As Parent of Creature

Harry found you in the mines hiding out.

Usually he'd either scare an intruder off or outright kill them.

But something about you obviously being inhuman and the fact you were covered in blood made him decide otherwise.

He let you stay in the mines with him giving you food he scavenged.

Harry would sometimes carefully let you use one of the pickaxes to swing at the walls to help you get rid of any aggression.

That again only does so much for you.

So unlike the previous two he will take you with him to go after victims.

He doesn't worry much about authorities knowing about you since they haven't been able to do anything about him.

He doesn't even mind how gruesome you are, he's very gruesome himself.

(Happy Valentine Days!!!)

[cynicatalyst]

Bit of a wip, but couldn’t get these two out of my head.

Thought process was Jesse visiting an old friend/lover after the events of his second movie perchance…

[sweeetestcurse]

Nick Principe as Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull in Laid to Rest (2009) 07/??