interests ; the passenger, american horror story, ethel cain, nicole dollanganger, hozier , literature , themes of perversion and sado-masochism . the grotesque . boys .
this is just a sideblog for me to repost things i am interested in and perhaps interact with some people . very new to tumblr, be gentle with me .
and you said “hey, do you wanna see the west with me? ‘cause love’s out there, and i can’t leave it be” / and i said “honey, love’s never meant much to me, but i’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need”
Could be pre relationship or not. Benson went hunting and can't stop comparing the deer he just killed to Randy
fucking loooove this concept so much .
THE wind steadily rustles through the leaves, whistles through the trees in a high pitched noise . most of it's drowned out by the sound of branches breaking underneath the weight of his boots, the crunch of leaves turned orange—brown from the change in seasons .
when steps finally slow down , it is right in front of the body . fur still shining in the little bit of sunlight making it's way through the gaps in the crowns , dark eyes wide on open and perfectly framed by long lashes .
gloved fingers reach and place themselves among the creature's neck, trailing down towards it's shoulder where the shot had landed . something most alike to a circle ripped through skin , muscle , bone and pushing forward a steady flow of sticky redness that soaks into the dirt beneath .
a real young thing , from what he can see now — past it's spotted stage, certainly, but still full of youth, of innocence .
his gaze sways back to shining eyes , stuck in this very position forever, and it reminds him of something else entirely . Bradley with his head bent , golden hair falling into his features in sweaty, thick strands while he's scrubbing at the drawers in the kitchen . the way his eyes had snapped right towards him once Benson had entered , wide and struck as if he had been caught , somehow . Benson remembers the way his face had cracked into a meek smile before he had forced his gaze away again, but right now . .
he dreams of that face in the dirt , flattening greenery to the ground with his cheek . streaks of dirt across those delicate features and a wide open mouth , bleating like a fawn . big , round && teary eyes staring up at him while he's bleeding from a hole benson had made in him . bony fingers in the crown of his hair , gripping and yanking like he's trying to rip the hide from him, fingers that run across his anatomy and study where exactly he would butcher him later. where to seperate him into clean parts, cut through cartilage to take him apart limb by limb .
Benson imagines that his skin would bruise like an overly ripe peach when he presses his fingertips into his flesh , how easily his skin would dimple under the force of it . thinks he would pry him apart like a pomegranate , tear a chunk out of him like he is nothin' more than the shiniest red apple in the neighbours yard . drain every ounce of sweetness out of him just to have it . quantified , tangible between his hands .
the thoughts circle right back around later on when he is scrubbing skin off flesh with the sharp edge of his knife , when he is making the first, clean cuts , holding onto the thin leg of a dead thing .
the image of bradley spread out in his sheets — nothing but skin and bones and his pouty mouth — haunts him. one of his long arms clasped by the wrist, stretched to allow benson to press the sharpness of his canines to the dip of his neck , to slowly tear him apart and devour him with mouth and tongue .
the cosmic rift that would've happened if benson said "theres just something about you, baby" in the passenger would've been too powerful and crush by ethel cain so they had to take it out of the cut, but i bet kyle gallner knew and said it anyways thats what this picture's about
May I suggest; Pre-Canon Benson drunk dialing Randy, and saying some things he normally wouldn't?
ohhh ... yes ...
THE call comes through at 2 : 13 am , randy's ringtone echoing through the otherwise silence of his room . it rips him out of his dreams in an instant, lids barely cracked open when he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand . squints, lashes squeezed together and wet with the tears of exhaustion clinging to them .
he can hardly believe it when he sees it — the screen lit up with the fat letters od Benson's name sprawled over them . for just a second, he debates on simply hanging up . figures it is some sort of booty call, a mistake . he worries , though .
that benson needs help, that he might need a ride or some help with his truck, that he's got himself in trouble in some way, anything .
the moment his thumb has swiped across his screen and the call has collected , benson's voice comes out in the deepest, raunchiest growl he's ever heard . it's thick with his accent and even heavier with the obvious weight of alcohol in it , and even hearing benson only say 'Bradley?' is enough to send shivers down his spine .
Randy asks him if he's alright, where he is , why he's calling at a time like this , but Benson merely laughs . it sounds like a bark through the speakers, all gravel from the amount of cigarettes he's probably been chain smoking . he swears he can hear an amused hum coming from the other end of the line before he speaks up again .
' you know what i've been thinkin' of , bradley ...'
he murmurs, and randy isn't sure if it's the breeze slipping in through his curtains or the sceatch in that voice that makes the hair on his arms stand straight up .
'every time i see you waddle back to your meemaw's ugly little car, that shit thing you cruise around in ... i wonder if she could stick her nose in and smell what her baby's been up to after i've had you folded up in there . like a fuckin'... cumhound or some shit . '
randy thinks he is dreaming — surely, he has to be — because there is no way his coworker is slurring these things into the speaker of his phone , grunting between sentences like he's aching for it . he stays silent, open mouthed until the back of his throat starts to feel like a sahara .
' you ever been fucked in a car? no,no, probably haven't ... you're worse than virgin goddamn mary, huh .. '
more of that rough laughter , shaking through his bones, pulsing through his belly until he can feel it stir south .
' little ass car .. i'd have to put your knees to your ears, bend and fuckinnng break you for a piece of that . shit , man . '
the sound of someone calling benson's name , asking him what the hell he is doing , cussing at him for grunting up into his phone like a randy dog . the call disconnects soon after with nothing but the signs of a tussle and an aggressive 'hey' from his older coworker .
randy drifts back off , nuzzles his burning face into the pillow and his hardening dick into rhe sheets . when he wakes , he is certain that all of it had been a dream . at least that is until he checks his phone and sees the still open call logs ; Benson's name at the very top .
watched Carolina Caroline and naturally immediately thought of a ranson AU for that movie . the idea of randy working at BBB and getting swept up by this random, rough around the edges redneck that just had his brain kicking down at the counter , stealing cash from him ...
randy that doesn't call it out, that just lets his shoulders sink and squeezes his lips into a line , knows that he will have to pull that twenty out of his own pockets and add it to the register. benson that knows he knows, can see it in his eyes and the scowl he's wearing and tells him he'll give it back to him if randy goes out on a date with him .
benson that drags him into a whole tour of bar hopping, makes him practice the same trick over and over and over again until randy can finally do it without shaking, without looking too damn guilty about it .
randy that never has to ask how benson knows no one's gonna give them shit for it, because benson is hovering behind him like a guard dog, hand at his hip where there may or may not be a gun .
the whole conversation about feeling bad , the knowledge that benson too hates capitalism ... it all makes so much sense to me . though, i do agree that benson would be more clear about it . he does not feel bad about any of it, would never , because he thinks that people too dumb to know he's fucking with them have suddenly had it coming .
it's been haunting my brain and i need to rp it so bad .
after about two or three days on the run, randy starts to bruise. there are dark, fingerprint shaped marks on his jaw and around his arms. somehow benson always grabs the same spot on randy’s throat and leaves a palm print on his adam’s apple. benson acts like he doesn’t notice, but he enjoys hearing randy hiss every time he puts pressure on his purple and black skin.
benson talks with his hands in the car, flinging them around and gesturing to the road ahead of them. sometimes he has a gun in his hand; sometimes he doesn’t. it doesn’t really matter because randy flinches either way. the moment he sees benson’s bruised knuckles coming toward his face or a small silver hand gun pointed at his skull, he winces. it makes benson laugh.
he always tells randy that he doesn’t want to hurt him, that he’s just teaching the younger man a lesson or two. he doesn’t know if he’s being honest or not; he can’t really tell what his motivations are, but it makes him feel better if he can say his actions are supposed to be positive. he recognizes that randy has started to believe him, though. randy doesn’t try to hide away as much. he’s no longer completely silent or always teary-eyed. sometimes he cracks a joke or snaps at benson when the older man says something a little too out there.
benson’s proud. he likes the person randy is turning into. he loves that he’s the one who’s changing him.
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