#slashers pov

[2braincellslz]

Billy Loomis: tell him where he can stick her grapes.

Billy lenz: UP HER PU-

Billy loomis: BILLY!

[michaelinprogress]

Thinking about how this must have felt...

Being able to freely move his body again, to feel some semblance of life after over a century of lying in that grave rotting. Up to this point, he's been so stiff, lumbering around arduously. But this is where he becomes more man than corpse.

And the first thing he does with his newfound life?

He dances with Lisa.

He knows there is a piano inside. He could go in and play it for her, he could finally play music after nearly 200 years without it. But he dances with Lisa.

With his new life, all he wants to do is be with Lisa. To touch her, love her, make her happy. He has all this energy and he gives it all to her. Everything is for her.

[billsloomis1996]

AND I SHOULD TELL YOU

THAT I’LL MISS YOU

BUT I SIMPLY JUST DON’T CARE!

this is not a ship post!

[toxicbrothel]

I hope I’m not late for the brothel sleepover 🥹

POV

"Musta been out whorin'," Joel hypothetically grumbles like it doesn't turn him on. You called him for a ride in the middle of the night after slashing your own tire. Now you're back in his camper and coming to terms with the fact that it's the coziest you've felt this holiday season. You have a beer on the TV dinner stand and he's on the floor between your knees, a position you weren't sure you'd ever seen him in. He shoves his hand up your cutoff denim skirt and finds you're drenched. He digs his thick fingers into the diamonds of your fishnets and looks up at you darkly, then rips them open. He spreads your legs wider, folds the skirt all the way up, and rips the hole in your leggings even bigger. He squints as he thumbs your wet little hole, then slides his thumb up to your clit. Your chest flutters as his head descends between your legs, and your fingers slot into the soft, brown curls in your lap. You shiver and twitch as his tongue dips into your wet little hole. But it's only a taste. He palms himself and sits up to ask, "didn't let'em cum inside?"

[downtowncannibal]

agnes i er uh it's me billy

don't you er uh tell them what we did Agnes

[happysaddca]

Me, needing to write something for myself: wait but what if it's not right @wyervan is this right?

Proceeded to rewrite it twice before it got looked at and then another time after because we realized it is in fact publishable for the public viewing and I'm a perfectionist (not seen in my daily writing don't judge me please)

anyway tw needed for animal cruelty. Not torture just. Eos is fine, I promise. So is Moon's hand.

Ellis’s newest purchase is a luxury: a TV with a built in VHS player and especially long cord. They’re delighted by the purchase, immediately renting a “shit ton” (Sun’s “Language!” netted an eye roll in his direction) of movies they wanted to catch up on. They are talking excitedly about what they want to watch first at Star when Moon steps inside for a break from the kids. 

When he expresses interest in the movies they rented, Ellis invites Moon to join them, “without breaking in for once,” they joke. It’d be Monday after the arcade’s closed for the night. Ellis usually does skoolie maintenance on Mondays, getting gas and changing water and pulling close to the building so they can charge the auxiliary generator. 

Monday nights are also the start of Sun and Moon’s other work days. 

Moon… agrees, much to Sun’s dismay. 

“And just how am I supposed to go out with my jester-in-crime?” They’re alone currently, and Sun’s draped himself dramatically over one of the lower locker’s open door, angling himself to watch Moon’s face even as he tap tap taps impatiently on the metal.

“You’ll survive one week without me.” Moon fixes his beanie by feel, letting most of his hair hang loose. 

“But I need it today Moony.” 

Moon understands. He’s fiddling with his belongings in his locker to have something to do, tugging on the little nightcap of his mini-Moon currently pinned under a magnet. He’s meant to give it back to Ellis so they can sew it back on the doll’s head. His fingers ache for something different, to tear and slice and—no. The magnet snaps back in place and he shoves the door shut harder than intended. 

“Distract yourself. Star mentioned wanting to bowl. We’ll just go out later.” He shoves a hand in his pocket, clenching it until his fingers ache. “Watching movies late. Might stay out.” He doesn’t quite meet Sun’s eye as he turns for the door. 

Sun follows after him like an overgrown puppy. “You’ve been getting awfully close to Nova the past few months. Anything going on I should know about?” Sun wheels around Moon, faking a gasp of concern. “Moony, is your virtue still intact? Are they taking advantage of you?” 

Sun’s teasing, but Moon feels heat work down his spine like hot wax. When Sun gets close enough, he pushes him away, not trusting his voice. Sun leans against Moon’s arms, and Moon covers Sun’s grin with a hand. 

“You would tell me if something’s changed, right?” The cheerful facade’s still there, but Moon can feel the tension held under the surface. He moves his hand up and pushes down, tangling it briefly in wild red curls.

“Would tell you. Now go. Find Star. Have fun.” When Moon releases Sun, he gives a slow smile, one that’s quickly returned. He endures the overly excited if far too brief hug before he’s finally alone in the arcade, waiting for Ellis’s return from the gas station. 

The side door opens an indeterminate amount of time later, Ellis walking backwards as they drag a bright orange extension cable to plug in the back. They’re humming to himself, and Moon watches as they move, utterly oblivious to his presence. Sun’s faux to genuine concern makes him shiver and run a hand over the back of his neck to make sure his hair isn’t actually on end. 

Ellis is coiling the excess cable out of the way when he approaches, opting to touch their shoulder when he notices a lack of hearing aids. Ellis jumps, their body going tense even as they twist in place and nearly fall. Moon catches them, squeezing their shoulders. An act of reassurance. Not him needing to repress his natural response to Ellis trying to run away. 

It would be far too easy to catch them. They can’t even hear his bells without their aids; he and Sun have tested this. Trusting. They’re far too trusting of them. 

Ellis says something as they manage to pull away, dragging Moon out of his thoughts and back to reality. They look flustered. Moon can only stuff his hands as deep into his pockets as he can manage, clenching them until his nails leave deep impressions in his palms. Ellis has their back to him again, pushing the cable out of the walkway as they lead the way back to the door. Moon follows in silence. It’s only because of the time he’s let the thoughts linger at all. His hands hurt, and he squeezes them tighter. 

The bed in the bus is somewhere between a full and queen. Comfortable enough for Moon when he sneaks in for his midday nap, absolutely decadent for Ellis on their own. Less so when they’re sandwiched in together, the television perched on the edge like the most awkward box shaped bird. Ellis has pressed against his side, a hot line of contact made all the worse when they rest their head against his shoulder. They’ve exchanged their glasses for their ears, but they hadn’t brought up the scare earlier. And they’re currently so engrossed in the movie Moon wonders if he registers as a person at all and not a slightly awkward upright cushion. 

They’ve already powered through Home Alone and a bowl of popcorn. Why they’d picked Halloween of all things to watch after a Christmas movie (and why a Christmas movie when it’s past the new year) is beyond him. Ellis seems unaffected by most of it, save for some commentary about Myers stealing the headstone and questioning his choice in fashion accessories. “Honestly, the masks you and Sun have for your acts would be so much scarier than whatever he’s got going on.” Moon tries not to let his mind wander too far with that compliment. 

It’s not until Myers kills a dog—an offscreen squeal of pain—that Ellis flinches and and pushes further into Moon’s side, pulling his arm over their shoulder. Seeking comfort. Moon lets them. He isn’t sure how to stop it, isn’t sure he wants to, and that isn’t a line of questioning he wants to entertain. Ellis remains in place even as the scene changes and Myers is on the prowl again, and Moon lets his mind follow the slasher. The pickings in town were getting awfully slim. It might be time to travel. Madiline had been pulling sections of the county newspaper. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t know exactly what they do, but the gifts can be helpful. So long as she’s not too nosy about it. 

He’d like to use the hammer again. The knife is fun, a tool for finesse and detail, and the axe gets the job done quickly, but the hammer isn’t for killing. It’d have to be swung to just the right spot to kill. No, its use is pain. Breaking fingers and kneecaps. A large enough cudgel could take out a man’s legs with ease. Knock them down, make them hurt and when he’s ready, he can sit on their chest and wrap his hands around their throat, feel them struggle. Choking doesn’t usually kill them, especially if Sun’s the one doing it. He doesn’t have the patience for it. But Moon likes the way their faces change, from defiant to pleading to hopeless to… nothing. And then after, the clean up, that’s when they make sure they’re dead. Don’t need anyone to come back and snitch. 

But it’s the pain, the choking, the feeling of life quite literally at his fingertips that’s the focus now. His fingers itch to hold something, and he squeezes them instinctively.

“Moon?”

Ellis’s voice is distant, choked up, and their warmth is missing from his side. All that heat has narrowed down against the palm of the hand that’d been draped over his shoulders. He can feel a pulse beating rabbit fast under his fingers, and he knows if he looks, he’ll have Ellis by the neck. They try for his name again, and their hands pull at his. He’s pressing right against their carotid artery, can just make out the line of his arm against the black of their shirt despite the dim light. If Moon looked up, he knows they’d be staring at him. What would he see? Fear? Betrayal? He squeezes tighter and listen to them wheeze, to the blood rushing in his own head. 

Moon doesn’t expect the claws in his lap, dangerously close to his groin, or the sudden hissing maelstrom that is Eos. He tries to push her away and she bites his hand hard, clinging on when he tries to shake her free. He has to let go to scruff the cat and prise himself free, tossing her into the television, to just get her away. There’s a yowl of anger and surprise and sudden weight as Ellis reacts, tackling him off the bed. He can just make out their face, terrified and pale over the bright red of their throat. Moon shoves at them, but his hands hit wood. He must’ve blacked out, just for a second, when he hit the ground cause they’ve got that damned bat out from under the table and are using it to keep him pinned.

There’s no words, just a silent push and pull as Moon tries to free himself. He’s strong from his clownery and taking care of the arcade in addition to his and Sun’s auxiliary interests, but Ellis has the advantage and they’re strong too. It’s a waning strength, however, and Moon is able to shove off the floor with his shoulders and force Ellis back. They fall against his legs, but he focuses on wrenching the bat free, shoving it aside as he pins them by the shoulder instead. He leans forward, free hand tucking just under their chin. 

“Now what was all that about duckie?” he asks, and the fear in their bloodshot eyes is delicious. He can just slip his hand down an inch and start it over again, and his hand does move but—

There’s warmth on his mouth and he can taste menthol and tobacco and iron. Moon freezes, unable to move, unable to process as chapped dry lips mash clumsily into his. Even when Ellis pulls back, he can’t tighten his grip to keep them in place. 

There’s still fear, but it’s no longer arousing. He can’t hear over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and there’s this buzzing numbness spreading alongside the familiar, embarrassing heat down the back of his neck. 

There’s a solid thwack against the side of his head, a burst of bright pain that shatters any coherent thought. He reels back and away, grabbing at his beanie where Ellis had struck him with, yes, the bat. He’d not shoved it far enough away in the tight space. “Ow,” he finally manages, still tasting blood. He’s bitten through the inside of his cheek. 

The new silence is broken only by Ellis’s broken breathing and the sound of static from the TV. Moon tries to spot Eos on the bed or under the table, but he can’t look away from the bruising beginning to show even in the dark. 

“Are you okay?”

“Get out.” Ellis moves first, bat clenched tight in both hands. When Moons stands, their heels hit the bed, and they point the bat at him. 

“Nova…” 

“Oh, so I’m Nova again?” Their voice is hoarse, laugh painful. They gesture towards the door with the bat. It’s shaking, backlit by the now broken TV. “Just go.” 

Moon steps back, shoving his hand deep into his pockets. He moves slowly, trying again to find Eos. The rattle in Ellis’s breathing pushes him towards the stairwell, but he never totally turns around, so he can see when they move to follow him. He struggles with the door, pausing before he steps out into the dark. 

“Why did you kiss me?” 

“Moon.” Their voice cracks. “Please.” 

“Okay.” He continues to hesitate, finding himself staring, knowing. His hands ache. “Ice on your neck.” He waits.

“Yeah.” They’re waiting too. “Get home safe.” 

Moon nods and steps off. The bus door slams shut behind him with a puff of air, and he’s unsurprised when the lock immediately clicks over. He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t move away, staring off at the brickwork of the arcade.  No music starts up behind him, and when he finally does turn, he can make out a shadow in the window nearest the door. As he watches, it disappears, and he tracks Ellis towards the back of the bus. 

They’ll be okay. His head hurts. He needs to call Sun. He reenters the arcade with shaking hands.

[littlecorpselady]

Coney island baby

House of wax fanfic - part 3

Content: Stockholm syndrome, mentions of Vincent, mostly focused on readers mindset tbh

Note- didn't really proofread sooo :p

You spent hours scrubbing just as you did wandering around. The walls around weren't as grimy or old as the last ones but they still confined you. Just in a bigger space. It was hard to tell what bothered you more, the silence or the isolation. Besides the odd run in with Vincent, you have yet to see anybody else. The odd attempt to try to interact with Vincent when he isn't busy wasn't worth the silent glare you received in return. It was hard to tell whether or not the silence was a choice or something permanent. It wasn't like you cared all that much anyway, coping was just difficult. Said coping consisted of reading one of the multiple books laid around the house, usually the cover had to be dusted off first or scrubbing at the hard woods blood stains. Occasionally though, youd flip through the old Polaroids to get the picture of Bos upbringing. They displayed various general activities, playing on the piano and with legos along side his brother but the stuff you found told a different story. Specially the highchairs in the museum, something you stumbled upon whilst Bo worked on a broken light in the other room. The restraints were painted with dry blood and scratch marks. It was easy to put the pieces together, the highchairs spoke enough volumes for themselves.

The heavy sound of the gravel crunching outside, snaps you hard into reality again. Interrupting your session of daydreaming as the front door swings open and in steps a disgruntled Bo. The door is kicked shut behind him without being locked, not really necessary anyway considering the circumstances.

It's hard to tell whether or not he noticed you or he's just plain ignoring you but Bo walks right past into the kitchen. His hand clings to his side where blood seeps through the overalls. The grumbles are followed up by several curses as he sloppily tends to it. Pouring disinfectant on it and soon yanking open drawers until he finds the painkillers. From a distance it was hard not to watch, it was a sight you would have soaked in happily just not too long ago. Now you couldn't help but feel a pang of pity tug at you watching him like this. Almost tempting enough to offer help, maybe reassurance. Almost. Instead just watching as he stumbles off out of sight to do god knows what. Nowadays all you did was watch, sit idly by the side lines taking in whatever bo did. Watching him chase down tourists from the living room window or sometimes when you were allowed in the garage watching him work under a rusty old car. Not only did you watch but you also admired him. It was hard not to at times even if you forced your own thoughts to shame yourself for it. No amount of shame could stop these thoughts from flowing through. It was almost a infection, disgusting and spreading. It spread rapidly, each day becoming harder to cope with reality. It was too much to accept at times. Sometimes despite the shame which followed, it was just so much easier to let your eyes squeeze shut. Pretend there was nothing wrong, nothing off with your life. The warm sheets of his bed feeding into your delusion, the strong scent of his cologne and the lingering cigarette smell.

He disappeared that night to go smoke away the pain in his side. Slowly blowing the smoke out and watching it fade off into nothing. Shifting his focus to watching the pale night sky as you settled down besides him, unsure and slow. His eyes only flicker over momentarily before returning to the sky. Barely a recognising the presence settled by his side but enough to let you know you were atleast acknowledged this time around. Clasping your palms together tightly and following his mindless gaze, the few seconds passing by begins to feel stretched out. Nothing interrupts the silence either, atleast not until the cigarette is stubbed out and he rises to his feet. "Comin' in?" After a moment, you nod and rise up to your feet as well. The porch light flickering off with the flip of the switch and Bos hand ushering you inside. Resting on your lower back before sliding over to your side and pulling you close besides him. Instead of his hand leaving a clinging cold mark, his touch felt almost warm. Warm enough to be mistaken for tenderness, the sweet embrace of being loved.

[slicznymartwy]

I’m not sure if your comfortable with it, but if it’s alright, can I request Billy Lenz and the reader (established relationship) having some sort of conversation on his past and the reader comforting him?

this one is rlly sad im sorry :(( this is mostly hc since i've only ever watched the original 1974 film, so idk if this lines up with the canon from the other movies. from what i know about it, i think it's similar. no mention of agnes in this warning: sa of a minor mention, please do not read if that bothers you. also, reader insert was abused/beaten by their mom. very sad take care of yourselves please

☾⋆⁺₊ billy lenz x gn!reader

Night fills your bedroom and coats itself on the floors and walls, except for where the yellow streetlamp spills in past your curtains. Sparing a glance to the alarm clock on your bedside table, you see the time is so late it could already be considered early. 

Still, you can’t think about sleep; not when Billy is laying beside you and the house is blissfully empty, two things so rare that it almost seems serendipitous. You’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you keep staring at the ceiling and let the warmth of his body radiate into yours.

“Billy,” you whisper into the quiet room. “Are you asleep?”

You can hear him grunt and squirm beside you, and you feel bad for waking him. It wasn’t often he got a full night’s rest on a bed, and you knew for a fact that there was no mattress in the attic. There were only so many chances to have Billy and the house all to yourself, though, and you don’t want to squander it.

“Billy,” you say again, nudging him with your foot.

He grunts again, but it sounds more cognisant than before. He reaches over himself to pat your arm, almost like he’s quieting down a noisy cat, and you can feel his hand trail down to your own. His palm covers the back of your hand, and he threads his fingers in between yours, curling them down together. 

It’s a gesture so sweet that you’re tempted to let him fall back asleep. There’s no helping your addiction to him, though, and you tighten your fingers on top of his.

“I’m not tired,” you say with a pout. “I wanna talk.”

This time, Billy groans, low and long. You think it might be out of annoyance, but you can feel him stretching out beside you, straightening his long legs underneath the covers. He huffs when he’s done, eyes blinking open.

You love his pretty eyes, an orangey amber that you were always getting lost in, no matter how unsettling they could be. It always felt like he was staring into you, like he could see the marrow in your bones.

You loved his intensity. It made you feel alive when the rest of the world was tired and grey.

“Hi,” you say, reaching over with you unoccupied hand to touch his jaw. “I didn’t ask before. How was your day?”

He’s quiet for a long time, and you wonder if he can fall asleep with his eyes open, but then he says, “Bad.” 

The word hangs in the air. Billy’s face gives up nothing, a blank page with no words of his own to say. You frown and pull your hand back from his face to rest on your own chest. The other stays in his hold, neither of you willing to let go.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, although it doesn’t surprise you when Billy shakes his head against your pillow.

“Okay.” You squeeze against his fingers again, pulling gently on his arm so that it rested more heavily on top of you. The bedroom air is quiet, but your mind continues to race. It’ll be good for him to get it off his chest, you tell yourself.

“Is it something old or something new?”

He thinks about your words for a while, but then you hear him mutter, “Old.”

“Bad memories?” you ask, looking back at him. He blinks at you, then nods.

“I get bad memories, too.” You lean against him slightly, and glance up at the ceiling. “From when you were a kid?”

This time, Billy shrugs. You know you shouldn’t push him, but your heart aches to see him hurt and to not have the rememdy.

You turn around and let go of him for only a moment. You search for his hand again, this time with the opposite one to press your hands together, palm to palm. Your fingers entwine so easily, so naturally, that it makes your heart ache.

Maybe he just needs to know he’s not alone in whatever bullshit he’s had to endure in his life. Maybe it will help to know that you have bad memories too.

“My mom used to hit me,” you admit quietly. You stare at the way your hands mesh together, with your nails polished and Billy’s own chewed up. “She used to take my stepdad’s belt and hit me with it. Used to just be the leather part, but then she would swing the buckle at me too. She broke a tooth, but it was just a baby one. My adult teeth grew in alright.”

You keep your voice casual as you speak, because facts are facts, and there’s no reason to get upset about something you can’t change anymore. Besides, you reminesce about your childhood so infrequently that it feels like it all happened to another person. 

You remember the beatings like you’re watching it happen to someone else – something else, because you don’t feel bad for them when they can’t sit at school because of the welts on their ass. You don’t bat an eye when their mom has to take them to the doctor to reset their broken nose.

“Bitch,” Billy spits out from beside you, and you have to laugh at the venom dripping in his voice.

“I don’t talk to her anymore,” you tell him, smiling sadly. You glance at him, but it’s hard to look at the mean look on his face. It probably isn’t for you, but your mind is traitorous and too sensitive.

Even worse, Billy could be mad on your behalf. No, you can’t think about that either, not when you’ve spent so long pretending that it didn’t really happen.

“Anyways. All that to say, I know what it’s like, having bad memories. You don’t have to tell me, just… I’m here for you,” you say, running your thumb along his hand where they’re still locked together.

“Want to,” he mutters, voice croaking unnaturally as he speaks in his own voice.

Quietly, you release his hand and instead wrap yourself around him, laying partially on top. He lets out a heavy sigh as you settle, with your arm coming up to rest by his head and your same-side leg resting over his hips. He watches the ceiling, and you watch his face from where you lay your ear to his chest

“Bad billy. Disgusting,” he mutters, and you pet his cheek with the back of your hand.

“I don’t think so.” You keep your voice careful and quiet, but he sighs and its agitated. Pent up memories start to overfill, and you can see it on his face.

“Mommy,” he starts, but his voice breaks and he coughs to clear his throat. “Mom. Fucking hate her. I hate her. Stupid fucking slut. She’s disgusting. Not me. Not Billy.”

You take your hand away from his face, watching how his expression continues to contort, mixing between anger and disgust and fear. It wrenches your heart in your chest.

“You’ve been so good, Billy. You’re not disgusting.”

“I hate her. I hate her,” he chants again. “Oh, Billy! Shut up!”

When he says his own name, it sounds like a feminine moan. You almost don’t understand, but the implication dawns on you only a moment later. It’s not difficult to piece it all together: his rage, the names he calls himself, the moan. You feel sick.

“Hey, we can stop,” you try gently, but Billy either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t want to stop.

“No one needs to know, Billy. Be a good boy.” You can’t look at his face anymore, the ugly way it scrunches up hurts you down to you core. Guilt claws at you from inside, and you wish you knew the right thing to say but you don’t. The truth, you decide, is enough for now.

“I hate her, too,” you tell him, and it sounds a little wet. You don’t let yourself cry, but your heart breaks for a younger Billy, afraid and confused. 

“That’s my mom,” he says. You don’t know what he’s trying to convey when he says that – if he wants you to pity her, or if he’s sharing his betrayal with you. He whines, a painfully soft noise that gets trapped in his throat.

Gently, carefully, you card your fingers through his hair where you can reach, and you kiss his shoulder.

“She’s gone. She can’t hurt you anymore,” you tell him, although you don’t know if it’s true. You do know that, as long as you’re by his side, there’s no way you’ll let that woman touch him again.

“I wish I could kill her,” he says through clenched teeth. His voice is thick, like he might be crying. You can’t bare to look. Billy’s grief melts into you like it’s thermodynamics, heat into cold, and you can only hope that you can take some of his and ease his mind.

“How would you do it?” you whisper, pressing your hand over his hammering chest.

“Cut… cut her head off. Smash it like a pumpkin. Oh, Billy! Good boy, Billy. Shut up!” His voice breaks when he shouts. He coughs, then gasps for air, his breath shaking as he fights against the tightenness in his throat. “I’ll turn her teeth into pumpkin seeds,” he snarls.

Without warning, you move yourself to lay completely on top of him, pressing against his body with your body weight. He groans, and you’re sure you must be squishing him, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, his arms come up around you, hooked under your arms and pressing you against him with his hands at your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” you tell him, pressing your face against his neck. “You’re okay now. It’s just us in here. Just me and you.”

“I hate her,” he whimpers again. “I hate her. I hate her.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t think there are any words that could possible take away his hurt without also being a complete lie. Underneath your body, you can feel Billy start to relax, grounded back to reality from the rotten memories playing in his head.

“I’m sorry today was a bad day. We can have a good one tomorrow,” you say. It’s an impossible thing to promise, but you mean it like one. You’ll make sure Billy has a good day, whether fate wants it or not.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll kill your mom too.”

“Thank you,” you say. You kiss his temple, and he leans into your lips.

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

a/n: reblogs and replies are really appreciated

[queer-wizard]

I am experiencing severe levels of brain rot <3

[syncast-err0r]

during the whole post s2 montage or whatever, it's revealed that gabriel and beelzebub actually live in a cottage in North Downs, being their resident cryptids and functioning in worse ways than crowley and aziraphale could ever manage, and that's just them not trying

their entire house has rooms that are either completely empty or fully thrashed. these two idiots didn't even bother with trying to seem human. the house just spawned out of nowhere and they don't even bother with humans' memories they literally do not give a fuck. there's no bathroom, no bedroom. however there is a dungeon. neither of them ever sleep so they're just walking around at night for funsies. they're awful. their neighbors at least are grateful because flies refuse to enter anywhere else aside from the bureaucracy house (house is a strong word) just bc beelzebub is nearby. fuck it. they have several floors which can only be accessed from the inside, meaning it looks like it only has one floor from the outside. they have a garden and for some reason it's full of the worst smelling plants to attract flies but also they don't smell at all because gabriel was like nah n beelzebub was like fair enough

do u guys see my vision. do u

[2braincellslz]

Tw: abusive relationships

[blueiight]

MKUltra the Vampire. im sure THAT wont be revisited later on this season

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Bloody Valentines

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Young Justice 98, Titans, GL Corps, Legion of Super Heroes, Flashfam, New Gods

Summary: 90s vampire slasher AU

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Dick Grayson, Joseph Wilson, Jason Todd, Charley Parker, Zatanna, Eddie Bloomberg, Daniel Cassidy, Chester Williams DC, Guy Gardner, Kyle Rayner, Lilith Clay, Raven Roth, Kole Weathers, Bette Kane, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Jenni Ognats, Bart Allen, Virgil Hawkins, Richie Foley, Ayla Ranzz, Zoe Saugin, Rol Purtha, Darla Aquista, Lori Zechlin, Hal Jordan, Helen Jordan II, Orion DC, Lightray DC

Relationships: DickJoey, Daniel Cassidy/Zatanna, Jenni Ognats/Virgil Hawkins, Raven/Lilith Clay

Additional Tags: POV First Person, Unreliable Narrator(s), Vampires, No Capes AU, 90s Slasher AU, Homoeroticism, Horror, Slasher

Chapter One: The Flesh (Dick's POV)

The flesh was soft and warm. I could feel the tha-thump of his heart beating against my lips, and I bared my teeth. I wanted to devour him whole. I'd never felt desire like that. It was so much deeper than lust, and he could feel it too. He shivered when I touched him. It ran through our veins, pulling us together. Magnetic debris in the very fiber of our being. It would never have been enough to fuck him. No. Something inside me burned to be part of him in an impossible way. I needed him. I pressed my lips against his chest. Pressing and traveling, pressing and traveling, pressing and traveling until our lips met. He was intoxicating.

He made three gasping breaths when our lips parted the first time. I wanted him so badly that it made my head spin. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder and lost my nerve. I couldn't fuck him. I didn't want to sully his perfectly freckled skin with cum. It would've been like shattering a stained glass window or dragging a dagger through a Monet. His cock bobbed up and down against his belly, begging to be noticed and touched, but I couldn't do it. He opened his eyes and glanced down at me lazily. I raised my head and looked into his eyes. He knew I wouldn't be able to do it, but it didn't stop him from forming a satisfied grin.

Instead of talking, he turned on his side and kissed my neck and throat, tracing my jawline with his fingers. Then my neck. My shoulders. He slid a hand down my pants, and I gasped as I held my hand over the front of my jeans. I felt the heat of his mouth against my neck and at the bottom of my ear. I kicked and writhed beneath his smooth and capable hands. An artist's hands. He pulled his hand away, and I offered a look of desperate betrayal, and he chuckled, tasting his fingers before returning his hand to its rightful place. I trembled as he ran his thumb over my head, dabbing at my precum. The whimper that escaped my throat frightened us, and he covered my mouth. His thumb was still wet on my cheek as he held back a laugh. He hid his face in the pillow to suppress his laughter.

He got up and pulled my clothes off, throwing them to the side before rubbing his body against mine. Our cocks touched, and the friction of his frenetic grinding made me sweat. I rolled my hips to make up for the moments of space between our bodies. He kissed my neck, shoulders, cheeks, and lips as I clutched his sheets, pushing against his weight with desperate craving and open mouth. It was dizzying. Hips, shoulders, neck, mouth, chests. Fuck.. I wished I could make noise. I wished I could speak. I would've told him how beautiful he looked. It was the fiercest he'd ever been, and I imagined he was devouring me whole.

He rolled off of me, cock drooling and bobbing against his stomach. I opened and closed my fists, holding onto his sheets as I tried to stave off my orgasm. I was so close I could taste it. He went through his drawer, poured oil into his palm, slathered it over his body, and returned to me. The oil heated up as our bodies collided. His hips crashed against mine. He gasped and made a soft noise as he shook his head at me. He rolled off of me to take a breath, and I returned to kissing his neck and chest, and stomach until my bottom lip brushed his head. He raked his fingers through my hair and held my bangs out of my face. I wouldn't let fear overpower me this time. I touched his tip against my lips and took his cock in my mouth.

He raised one of his knees, and I gagged. I pulled up for air and drooled onto his cock. I'd never done that before, but I wanted to taste him. I bobbed up and down until I could take his full length. I choked, and my eyes watered as I tried to look into his eyes. I hoped he would open his eyes and smile at me. I came up for air and went down on him a third time.

He lifted his head to look me in the eyes and gave my scalp an affectionate scratch. I could hear his soft guttural groaning. He used my hair to pull and push me down on his cock. I pulled up and gasped for air, and he sat up and wiped my mouth. I held my breath as he thumbed my bottom lip and ran his hand down my chest. He poured oil into his hand and wrapped his hand around my cock. It was so close to his face that it made my body tense. He poured more oil into his hand and applied it to my shaft and balls. I gasped at the heat of the oil as he stroked me gently. I held my breath as he kissed my hip bones. He looked up at me as if he were asking for permission. I nodded and shut my eyes as his soft lips brushed my head, and he slowly engulfed me with his mouth. He'd done this before. He'd done this with his perfect lips and tongue and throat. And tongue. And throat. Fuck. And his lips. The walls of his cheeks were softer than his hands were. I ran my rough palms up his face and into his hair, careful not to disturb his curls. He placed one hand on my hipbone to hold me steady, and I opened my eyes. We met eyes, and he looked into the deepest parts of me. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his nose ran, but he still looked beautiful. He pulled up for air and took his t-shirt to wipe his face before he ran the point of his tongue up the seamline of my balls and up my shaft to my head, where he gently skimmed against my tip, teasing me until I thought I'd lose my mind. Then the warmth of his mouth welcomed me in once more. He held his mouth tightly around me, taking me into his throat, and as soon as I felt like thrusting, he'd pull up and suck on my balls. I shut my eyes and clenched my ass until I couldn't hold it any longer. I hadn't even realized he'd used his hands, but I went weak in the legs, rolled my eyes back, and came in his mouth. I wanted to stop cumming and apologize, but it was out of my hands. It felt so good, twitching inside his mouth as he raised up, tightening his lips around my head, sucking me dry. I couldn't open my eyes.

He didn't seem to mind. He swallowed, licked his lips, and grinned before thumbing my head. I shut my eyes and chewed my lip to keep from making noise. It was so sensitive and hurt a little, but I didn't want him to stop. I grabbed his hand to make him stop because I knew we'd be caught. I flopped next to him and caught my breath as I started to go soft, and I watched with half-open eyes as he milked himself dry. I watched as he shuddered and splattered all over his stomach. He took a tissue box and wiped himself off, and turned on his side to do the same to me.

I wanted to fall asleep there, but it wasn't safe. I got dressed and crept down the fire escape. I couldn't risk getting caught, so I rode my bike home before sunrise. I got a page from him before I got home. R U SAFE. I knew it was from him.

YES.

I climbed into my apartment through the fire escape and jumped when I saw my brother sitting on the couch. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked. He shrugged. "You can't just break and enter because we're brothers-."

"I needed to talk to you, and you weren't answering your phone... Wait... Why are you sneaking into your apartment, Dick?" Jason grinned.

"Nunya... What do you want?" I asked. I smelled my shirt as I took it off and threw it in the hamper. "And hurry up because I've been up all night." Jason poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped in a scoop of ice cream.

Jason had a strange look in his eye as if he could see something I couldn't. He always acted weird when he came to see me. It was because of something that happened to him in high school. He never talked to anyone about it, so I never thought to ask. Still, it made him seem spooky whenever he stared like that. "Jason," I called him back to the present.

"I wanted to take you up on your invitation," Jason mumbled.

I was almost afraid to ask him why. Jason rarely left Gotham, let alone Jersey, so I wondered what mysterious reason he had for joining me. "Okay... But couldn't you have just called and left me a message?" I questioned. Jason shrugged. He wouldn't look at me.

"I wanted to see you, I guess," Jason answered. A lie. Most of the time, he broke into my apartment to eat and leave cryptic notes. Threatening, cryptic notes.

I left the room and took my shower, still thinking of Joey's skin against mine. I wanted to call, but I knew I shouldn't. It was the first time we'd ever done that, but I hoped it wouldn't be the last. It took me nearly a year to work up the courage to kiss him, let alone fuck him. I lathered the soap on my body as I thought about how it felt. The warm oil dripping off his body onto mine, the smooth feeling of his cock sliding against mine, and his lips. I could've cum just from the touch of his lips against my skin. I ran my hands over my chest and shoulders, finding myself in the same intoxicated position that led me to Joey's house in the first place. I let my hand slip down to my balls and thought about how good it felt to cum in his mouth. I wished I could go back. I wanted to go back and feel his hands, mouth, and body against mine. I groaned and shot my load down the drain. "Fuck... Okay. Fuck," I whispered through my orgasm.

I rinsed my hair and skin and dressed for bed. Jason sat at my kitchen counter, watching TV as he ate a cup of noodles. "G'night," Jason muttered with a full mouth. I raised a hand in reply before falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV.

[solivagantingrebel]

Local man! (me) forgets that they love writing from Ghost's pov and starts another fic from Soap's pov. They (me) will learn nothing from this.

[littlecorpselady]

Pov: Lester sinclairs☆