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.
the slashers with an s/o that walks in to them killing someone and saying “Aw rip” or “F in chat” before leaving
LMAOOOO omggg!! Love it haha
Brahms Heelshire
-Honestly, Brahms is going to be like ‘huh?’ and then shrug it off because he’s just happy you aren’t running away screaming and goes about continuing whatever he’s doing.
Stu Macher
-Stu is going to CACKLE like a hyena and say ‘good one babe!!’ and laughs about it literally all day until Billy gets really tired of it and tells him to shut the fuck up. It doesn’t hit him till late at night that you might have reacted totally differently and he’ll call you and be like ‘🥺 You still love me, right?’
Billy Loomis
-Billy is going to freeze, his knife still in the person’s chest, and then look at you like ‘wtf’. When you seem calm and leave, he’s just going to quickly kill the person and chase after you so he can gauge your reaction. For weeks later, he’ll chuckle to himself about how you just went ‘f in chat’ with a peace sign while he was killing someone.
OG!Michael Myers
-Literally couldn’t care as long as you don’t try to run from him or get in his way lol. Maybe a bit of interest that you aren’t screaming or crying, wonders how far he can take things in front of you until you snap.
RZ!Michael
-He’s going to be a bit uncomfortable with it, but he will mostly feel relieved you aren’t upset with him or hate him. Wonders what the fuck you are even saying and wonders how much he’s missed since he’s been away at the hospital.
Asa Emory
-Finds it annoying that you stumbled upon him and will kill the victim before storming after you to punish you. After he’s done, he will ponder how far he can take your seeming lack of empathy (which is what he’ll read it as, not seeing it as a shock response) and push and push with you. Has you sit in on his next playtime.
Jesse Cromeans
-Freezes then chuckles silently when you say ‘aw, RIP’ before calmly walking off. Keeps hacking away and comes and finds you to give you a bloody cold kiss. He’s amused by your reaction and finds it endearing.
Bo
-Why must you use youth speak with this man? Can’t you see he doesn’t understand it? But it’ll make him grin viciously and go to town hacking up whoever he and Vincent decided they weren’t going to keep. He might try to join in and say something like that next time, which is just embarrassing really.
Vincent Sinclair
-Has no idea what you just said and is panicking, thinking you aren’t reacting normally. Oh God, are you in shock?
Thomas Brown Hewitt
-He’s literally going to stop what he’s doing, chain still revving in the persons chest, and grab Luda Mae, because he definitely broke Y/N, see?! They are too calm!!
Billy Lenz
-This gremlin is just going to cackle and repeat it back to you like a parrot. He’ll join in and it’s just going to be a wild time between you too.
Jason Voorhees
-You have confused him but he’s mostly just relieved you aren’t running from him and think he’s some terrible, horrible monster. He doesn’t want you to see him kill people though, so please stay in the cabin next time. It makes him nervous that you wandered off while he was fighting someone.
me writing fics: I mean let’s be real jason’s zombie dick would probably fall off if you sucked him too hard, he has open wounds, his skin kinda rotten
a bunch of miscellaneous michaels i did for warmup today! :) been thinking about rewatching some of the movies to refresh my perception of OG michael and try to get a more consistent grasp on the way that i portray him.
Michael doesn’t masturbate often. He’s too used to the claustrophobic cells of Smith’s Grove where there are always guards watching him through the hatch or orderlies poking and prodding at him. He suppresses his lust along with many other deep, primal urges though he does occasionally fall prey to his needs. When he finally gives in to the uncomfortable heat in his belly, he brings himself to orgasm with rigid precision. He works his length just enough to draw low grunts from his chest until he spills over his knuckles. It’s over in minutes and though he’s sated for the time being, the hunger lingers in his bones.
Jason Voorhees
Jason was raised to believe that self-pleasure was sinful. Shameful. He feels that shame each time he roughly palms the bulge in his jeans. Jason’s instincts go through peaks and troughs; over the decades he has felt himself aligning with his woodland home and he moves with its cycles. Unlike the handsome stags or the chirping birds in the branches above, Jason has no mate. Instead, he resorts to hiding away in the cool darkness of his cabin where he rocks into his own calloused and cold grip. The tightness in his chest is unbearable and yet he has learned to tease himself until his ribs shift with phantom breaths.
Bubba Sawyer
Bubba is fascinated by his own pleasure. When he feels the familiar, deliciously sweet longing grow, he sneaks away to somewhere private and comfortable and settles there. He feels beautiful when his meaty hands are tucked into the haphazardly unbuttoned slacks that he wears to accomplish his daily chores. Sometimes, when he is dressing for dinner, he will observe his appearance in a time-tinted mirror that he keeps on the wall in his bedroom. He runs his hands over his body, feeling each and every warm inch of it, and hums contentedly.
Bo Sinclair
Bo is an insatiable man in more ways than one. He craves another beer, another woman, another hit of whatever hedonistic pleasure is in his sights. Sometimes the pretty pneumatic blondes that he plucks from dive bars are not enough; once they are gone, he takes it upon himself to satisfy his own urges. Bo has pleasures himself in all ways. He has taken in slow and steady as well as hurried and breathlessly. Sometimes he lights a cigarette and carelessly taps away the ash while his other hand slickly works the throbbing, rosy tip of his cock until he spills hotly against his knuckles with a grunt. Once it’s over, he snatches up the sweating bottle of beer at his bedside and takes a long drink. He catches his breath in the hollow silence of his bedroom.
Vincent Sinclair
Vincent’s pleasure is like a rolling wave. It pulls back and away from him, leaving him dry and yearning before crashing back to him and overwhelming him in the pure, feral need to yield. In the infernal heat of his workshop, he rocks against his palm and slurs moans into the night. Kneeling upon a wax-stained chaiselongue, he torments himself slowly through the layers of fabric separating his strong, pale fingers from his straining cock. His back arches in the light of the fire, curving like the crescent moon hanging heavily in the indigo sky.
Brahms Heelshire
Brahms has a wild imagination. After years of solitude and separation from his peers, he has accumulated dozens of fantasies sprawling from the dead-eyed girls in the magazines that he has collected. He has fallen into a routine and chosen his favourite reveries that never fail to tip him into the heady throes of climax. He spits into his own palms and works his length until his toes curl and his head falls back.
Billy Lenz
Billy needs no excuses to masturbate. He is addicted to the pleasure of edging himself towards his climax. The sensation of being on the cusp of something wild and unstoppable drives him. He will never grow numb to the sensation of his own heat streaking across his knuckles and staining the sheets or the soft, satin bedclothes of the sweet girls that he watches. Once the haze of lust has dissipated, another hunger growls in him and its teeth are far less delicate.
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