#markedprey

[lifesver]

@markedprey said: [ tilt ]

he doesn't look up, even as johnny crouches down in front of him. bloodied hand comes away from his side, slowly, to support himself on hands and knees. it’s just that this time, he can’t find the strength to push himself off the ground again. battered, exhausted, and steadily bleeding out in this god-forsaken basement freezer— he isn’t feeling quite as brave as he had at the start. every part of him just hurts.

leland stares, pointedly, bitterly, at his own bruised hands. and johnny's shoes, and the blood drip-dripping to the floor — determined not to give the man the satisfaction, until the skinning knife settles under his jaw. leland tries not to flinch. swallowing against its cool edge, and letting his breath shudder out in a cloud of vapour. but the blade doesn’t dig — just teases, dragging up until it stops under his chin, tilting leland’s head up nearly gently. or mockingly. leland's face burns, angry and ashamed; now he has to look the son of a bitch in the eyes. there's a grim satisfaction in knowing, at least, that he hadn't made it easy for him. he put up a fight.

❝ go to hell. ❞ leland's eyes narrow below wet lashes, hateful, but glassy with pain. a sort of heavy, sickening sense of defeat. your friends — were they still alive somewhere, above the floorboards of this house? had you bought them some time? or had you failed them, too? ( — like you'd failed maria? ) his eyes sting worse, and brows crunch down to try and mitigate the tears — which fall anyway, dragging hotly down dirt-flecked cheeks. grief, anger, guilt — all of it making his stomach turn. this room is freezing, and tilting, and buzzing like tv static. all he can smell is the fucking rot.

❝ i'm not going to beg you for my life, ❞ he rasps, quietly. eyes flutter with another dizzy spell. it was pointless, all of it was. appealing to this insane bastard could save him for a minute, or a day. but he was completely alone, down here. what did it matter, now? ❝ just. tell me. ❞ his gaze falls, back to the chipped concrete under his trembling palms. ❝ ... did you kill her? ❞ teeth chatter against the cold, and he doesn't want to know, really. but he thinks he needs to. even if it's all over, now. even if it didn't matter. even if it's still hard to say her name. a beat, and his eyes lift to johnny's; ❝ maria. ❞

[finalslay]

@markedprey said : "you're it, okay? i'm never gonna love anybody in the world like i love you."

the  words  are  meant  to  placate,  to  bring  him  back  from  the  edge.  eddie  would  be  a  fool  not  to  see  that  —  but  at  the  same  time,  they  do  the  opposite.  hands  ball  into  fists  at  his  sides,  and  despite  the  way  that  johnny  stands  there  looking  at  him,  the  urge  to  wrap  them  around  his  neck  is  almost  overwhelming.  logically,  he  knows  he  won’t  do  it  ;  eddie  cannot  lose  johnny,  cannot  let  him  go.  not  after  he’s  worked  so  fucking  hard  to  get  him  here  in  the  first  place.  but,  seeing  him  standing  there,  an  uncharacteristically  calm  expression  on  his  beautiful  face  (  or  is  it  fear  he  sees  there?  )  as  he  tries  to  talk  him  down,  eddie  wonders  if  it’s  all  worth  it.  the  words  seem  condescending,  yet  at  the  same  time,  genuine.  which  one  is  the  truth?  which  is  the  result  of  a  cracked  psyche,  twisting  and  deforming  intended  meanings,  and  which  one  is  reality?  he  can’t  tell  —  they’re  bleeding  together,  and  he  doesn’t  know  which  is  which  anymore.  not  right  now.

eddie  steps  forward,  large  frame  looming  over  johnny’s.  standing  this  close  to  him  makes  him  feel  insane.  it  makes  him  want  to  take  this  man  and  throw  him  down  on  the  bed  and  make  him  moan  his  name … but  the  urge  to  sink  his  knife  into  his  stomach  is  also  there,  flashing  behind  his  eyes.  both  involve  laying  johnny  sawyer  bare  before  him,  desperate  and  pleading.  the  two  acts  are  one  in  the  same,  interlocked  hand  in  hand.  two  sides  of  the  same  coin  —  just  like  them.

“  you  know,  ”  he  snarls,  shaking  his  head  slowly,  “  you’re  a  wicked  thing,  johnny.  ”  a  slut,  a  whore.  something  worthy  of  being  crushed  beneath  his  heel.  the  thought  isn’t  a  comfortable  one  ;  johnny  is  perfect.  he’s  the  one  that  eddie  has  been  looking  for,  the  one  he’s  wanted  for  so  long  —  he  isn’t  like  the  others,  the  unworthy  ones.  that  thought  is  the  one  thing  that  his  hand  moving  away  from  the  knife  tucked  into  his  waistband.  instead,  he  reaches  out,  hand  coming  to  roughly grip  johnny’s  chin. 

thumb  strokes  along  his  bottom  lip,  eddie’s  expression  shifting  from  one  of  unbridled  rage  to  something  more  unsettlingly  calm.  “  promise  me,  ”  he  murmurs,  calloused  digit  pushing  its  way  into  johnny’s  mouth.  “  tell  me  you’re  mine  and  only  mine.  ”

[creatureshrieks]

Dry grass surrounded Ana, scratching at her exposed arms as she pressed herself into a secluded corner. She grit her teeth, forcing herself to take quiet, shallow breaths despite the pain from her wounds. Blood had streaked across her skin, it stained her clothes. Bruises bloomed across her hands, her wrist, her arms. Her muscles ached. Her head throbbed. She was hurt, exhausted, and yet by some sheer miracle adrenaline still flooded her veins. It dulled everything just enough to keep her standing. Kept the pain and the fear and the disgust at bay. Come on, Ana, you can do this. A self-assuring promise. She could do this. She had to do this. The escape was just within reach. She'd managed to evade the rest of them, was sparred the horrible fate at the end of a chainsaw, sparred the same terrible end the rest of her friends had succumbed to. She swallowed back bile at the thought of them, lifeless and mutilated, covered in lacerations if not completely dismembered altogether. Focus, Ana.

All she needed to do was make it past the gate, down the path winding up the house. She could make it to the road, someone would have to see her. Someone would have to hear her, someone, God, please. All she needed to do was make it past him, the only one that seemed know just where Ana had run off to. She figured it was the blood, droplets that alerted him to her tracks. Footsteps in the dry earth. He was all that stood between her and her escape, but by the sheer grace of God or whoever was listening to her, it seemed he lost her scent along the way. He knew she was close though, this was certain, but she figured he wouldn't spend too long searching one spot. He couldn't afford the time, what if she already made it out? What if she doubled back, some attempt to lose him? There were hundreds of different reasons he couldn't just stand around and hope he'd stumble across her by chance -

He spoke. And her entire body stilled, her breath halted. He knew she was around, hiding somewhere nearby like a rat on the farm, unaware of the traps being laid around it, baiting her out. He spoke of her friends, slaughtered by him and his family. She remembered them being tossed back down into that pit, thrown away as if they were garbage. Her jaw tensed, her fingers tightened around a sharped piece of bone - no, no, Ana. Don't fall for it. Don't-

He spoke of Maria, a girl he liked. Liked the way she ran, hunted down like an animal. How she died begging, crying out for help that never came. For a sister that never came.

Ana's feet moved before she could even bother to stop herself, any thoughts of remaining hidden shoved out of her mind and replaced with the all-consuming desire to kill the monster that taunted her. That hurt her friend. That killed her sister. Anger and hate twisted inside her, burned in her stomach and chest and under her skin. She charged from her hiding spot with a strangled shout caught between her teeth. He spun to face her. He wasn't quick enough. Not this time. Her arms swing down and the bone collides with his chest, punctures through flesh. She tears it out, as if preparing to strike again, rage and grief fueled attacks with no goal other than to leave him just and bloodied as her.

" Don't talk about my sister! Just- just die! "

@markedprey ;

[lifesver]

@markedprey said: "you know everything about everything, don't you?"

leland raises a brow at him, disguises a laugh with a scoff. ❝ i kind of thought everyone knew who cher was — even out in the sticks. ❞ he flashes the cover of the magazine in johnny’s direction to show him cher, and then resumes what he was doing — reading the astrology section. the magazine he balances on his knee is one of a small selection johnny had brought down to him — after he’d claimed boredom enough times. staring at peeling green wallpaper all day and pacing the length of a chain in a windowless room would do that to your head, after a while. he was kind of surprised, when johnny had actually bothered to entertain his whims, though. probably just finally drove him up the fucking wall.

but lately, johnny’s been spending a bit more time down here. and leland found he didn’t totally hate the company — kind of looked forward to it, sometimes. caught himself recognizing the sound of johnny’s footsteps, and particular gait, down the tunnels. suspected something had snapped, when he caught himself hoping that johnny would hang around just a bit longer, to talk, before leaving him for the night. he guesses having exactly one human connection would also do that to your head. and leland would do damn near anything to get out of his own head.

anyway — leland had been reading out their horoscopes. from a few months ago, when this magazine was actually on shelves. he shrugs, tilting the open page toward johnny, so he could see the section he’s skimming; ❝ … i don’t really know that much about astrology stuff. i know a little bit, i guess? ❞ julie had once explained the basics of starsigns to him — that people believed things like your personality, and your romantic compatibility, were due to the date you were born. that kind of thing. not that he thought astrology was more than pseudo-science, but leland had found it interesting, anyway.

… but maybe johnny thought it sounded stupid? which he guesses he cares about, now. and for whatever reason, leland lands somewhere between elaborating and trying to play it off; ❝ — like. you don’t really seem like a virgo, is all. ❞ he clears his throat awkwardly, ❝ — according to what this says, or whatever. ❞

[finalslay]

@markedprey sent : Hands come to settle on his waist, feeling the strength of his core as his fingers would hook into his belt loops, closing what little space lingered between them as he met his gaze with a grin. "You did so good out there tonight... Real talented with that knife of yours..."

johnny  closes  the  gap  between  them,  and  eddie  cannot  help  the  smile  that  tugs  at  his  lips.  once  upon  a  time,  this  would  not  have  happened  willingly.  johnny  would  fight  and  resist  ;  he  would  deny  the  love  that  was  so  freely  offered  to  him.  now,  things  are  different.  his  bride  is  here  and  offers  herself  up  like  a  good  wife  should.  it  may  have  taken  time  and  a  bit  of  coaxing,  but  it  was  all  worth  it  in  the  end,  just  as  eddie  had  known  it  would  be  from  the  moment  he  first  laid  eyes  on  him. 

the  offered  compliments  do  wonders  for  his  ego  as  well.  johnny  knows  how  to  play  him,  knows  how  to  keep  his  husband  wrapped  around  his  finger  ...  and  eddie  is  not  an  idiot.  he  hears  it,  the  tone  in  which  the  other  speaks  ;  he  sees  the  wicked  grin  on  his  face,  feels  the  hands  on  his  body.  it  does  not  take  much  to  figure  out  where  this  is  going  (  and  he  would  be  a  fool  to  refuse  his  bride's  advances  ). 

“  why,  thank  you  very  much.  ”  his  own  arms  move  to  wrap  around  johnny's  frame,  holding  him  in  place  there  against  him.  there  is  no  escape,  not  tonight.  large  hands  slip  inside  the  back  pockets  of  his  jeans  ;  an  awfully  forward  gesture,  one  unbefitting  of  a  gentleman,  but  ...  the  time  for  propriety  has  passed,  has  it  not?  “  i  would  so  hate  for  you  to  be  left  unsatisfied,  after  all.  ”

despite  the  tone  of  casualness  he  speaks  in,  the  underlying  meaning  is  more  than  obvious.  the  larger  man  leans  down,  lips  brushing  against  johnny's  jawline  as  he  murmurs,  “  and  what  would  you  say  if  i  were  to  suggest  that  i  spend  the  rest  of  tonight  showing  you  some  of  the  other  talents  of  mine  that  you're  so  fond  of?  ” 

the  words  are  low  and  gravelly,  eddie  punctuating  the  question  by  squeezing  johnny's  ass  through  his  jeans.  as  always,  the  urge  to  take  him  and  lay  him  down  on  their  bed,  to  fill  him  up  and  make  him  scream  his  name,  is  ever  present  —  but  eddie  is  a  gentleman,  first  and  foremost.  and,  after  all,  johnny's  been  so  well-behaved  lately.  he  deserves  to  get  to  call  the  shots  tonight.    “  i  promise  i'll  make  it  good  for  you,  my  darling.  anything  you  want  from  me,  i  will  give  you.  ”

[finalslay]

@markedprey

in  the  beginning,  there  was  blood  and  screaming  and  fighting  ;  in  the  beginning,  nancy  was  kept  in  the  basement  with  threats  of  what  would  happen  to  her  if  she  did  not  behave.  she  had  seen  the  others,  dragged  off  sobbing  and  frightened,  never  to  be  seen  again  —  and  nancy  had  vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  not  be  one  of  them  ...  even  if  that  did  involve  playing  along  with  johnny  sawyer’s  twisted  advances.  escape  would  be  easier  that  way.

then,  things  became  different.  lines  began  to  blur  —  the  game  became  harder  and  harder  as  reality  began  to  set  in.  no  one  was  looking  for  her.  no  one  was  coming  to  get  her  out  of  here.  she  was  just  yet  another  toll  to  the  list  of  the  missing,  another  name  on  a  list  …  and  no  one  cared.  that  realization  had  changed  everything  on  its  own.  nancy  had  not  prepared  herself  for  that  truth  —  it  had  stung,  had  felt  like  a  knife  straight  into  her  stomach. 

it  is  no  surprise  that  after  that,  she  began  to  …  adjust.  there  was  still  fighting,  still  fear  and  flinching  away  when  the  sawyer  boy  got  near,  but  it  didn’t  hold  the  same  weight  as  it  once  had.  and,  as  time  went  on,  it  had  lessened  more  and  more.  now,  nancy  is  no  longer  in  the  basement,  but  instead  kept  in  johnny’s  shack  —  and  nance  is  not  blind  :  she’d  seen  the  way  he  tried  to  fix  it  up,  the  way  he  had  tried  to  make  it  into  something  more  homelike  for  her.  for  them.

on  this  particular  evening  in  question,  she  sits  in  a  chair  in  the  bedroom,  a  book  in  her  hands.  the  book  had  been  yet  another  gift  from  johnny  sawyer  in  his  attempts  to  woo  her,  albeit  one  that  nancy  had  admittedly  appreciated  greatly.  her  attention  is  fixated  on  the  pages  in  front  of  her  until  she  hears  it  :  the  familiar  sound  of  the  front  door  opening,  followed  by  heavy  boots  upon  the  wooden  floor. 

johnny.

nancy  tenses  slightly.  she  knows  what  happens  when  johnny  comes  home  :  he  will  attempt  to  be  close  to  her,  and  even  despite  her  newfound  tolerance,  that  is  still  difficult  to  manage  sometimes.  tonight  though,  something  is  different.  nancy  is  familiar  enough  with  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  to  recognize  that  —  she  can  hear  it,  the  unevenness  of  his  gait.  the  girl  pulls  herself  to  her  feet,  walking  closer  to  the  bedroom  door.

fingers  wrap  around  the  doorknob,  and  once  she  hears  johnny  make  his  way  into  the  bathroom,  she  finally  exits.  it  doesn’t  take  much  to  figure  out  what  happened.  blue  eyes  scan  the  floor,  brow  furrowing  with  concern  at  the  sight  of  the  blood  on  the  boards.  it  is  hardly  the  first  time  that  johnny  has  come  home  bloody  (  with the  blood  of  others  like  her  …  ), but  this  is  different.

this  time,  it  is  more  than  usual  —  and  nancy  knows  that  most  of  this  blood  is  the  man’s  own,  rather  than  a  victim’s.

immediately,  her  mind  goes  a  mile  a  minute.  johnny  is  right  on  the  other  side  of  that  bathroom  door,  probably  bleeding  much,  much  more  than  he  should  be.  right  now,  nancy  has  the  perfect  moment  to  escape.  she  could  leave  him  in  there  to  bleed  out  in  his  fucking  bathtub,  and  it’d  serve  him  right  after  all  the  bullshit  he’s  done  to  her  and  everyone  else.  it’s  what  the  logical  part  of  her  mind  is  screaming  at  her  to  do. 

nancy  can’t  bring  herself  to  go  through  with  it,  though. 

gaze  flickers  back  and  forth  from  the  front  door  to  the  bathroom  door,  and  before  she  knows  it,  she’s  making  her  way  over  towards  the  latter. 

nancy  does  not  know  why  …  but  she  just  can’t  leave  him  in  there  like  that. 

she  doesn’t  even  bother  knocking  before  opening  the  door. sure  enough,  it  is  just  as  she’d  thought.  the  sight  of  johnny  sitting  there,  pale,  in  the  blood-tinted  water,  with  a  gash  across  his  stomach  should  fill  her  with  satisfaction.  in  reality,  it’s  the  opposite. 

“  you’re  hurt.  ”   nancy  steps  further  into  the  room,  eyes  meeting  johnny’s  as  she  comes  closer  to  the  tub.   “  …  let  me  help.  ”

[lifesver]

@markedprey said: It was late, really late- that much he knew. However, time wouldn’t stop him from celebrating something so important- something as meaningful as his birthday. Never had he cared for such things, until he stumbled into his life one day. Now, it was important to him, just to see those little moments of joy that would spark in his eyes. “You still wanna go somewhere? For your birthday, I mean.” To think, once it wasn’t even a thought that would pass his mind- to give him the freedom to choose where they’d roam. But he promised him a trip, to wherever didn’t matter. So long as he was happy, was all that mattered. “If you wanna leave, we can take a couple days… just you and me.”

leland liked evenings like this. a little cooler, quiet. just them. elbows are propped against a rickety railing, and they're looking out over the cotton fields surrounding the abandoned mill. up high, away from the house, from prying eyes. from feeling like some defenseless prey animal, penned in with the wolves. funny, fucked-up, or both, to be shoulder-to-shoulder with one, now. to feel safe, when he quietly steals a glance at johnny's profile, against the rose-dusk sky. just watching him out of his peripherals. taking a sip of his beer, thinking real deep about something, maybe. leland could tell — johnny found some kind of peace here, too. leland wishes it was always easy, like this. he wishes there was nothing to be scared of.

johnny speaks, and leland hums a noise of surprise. swings a bright-eyed look up at him; ❝ really? ❞ he asks, perking up. though he tries not to sound too eager — like, a regular amount. honestly, his birthday had been the last thing on his radar. didn't really seem like the type of thing they did, around here. let alone the type of thing he got to have, anymore. jesus. he turned twenty, locked up in this place. a year, since he'd been back at the dorms, with his old friends. now he's known johnny just as long as he'd known all of them. everything was different.

of course, they travelled off the property sometimes — johnny brought him along pretty often. motels and diners, long dusty roads with no sound at all but the radio desperately trying to catch a signal. when they didn't have to put a body in the back of johnny's truck, it was sometimes even nice — but they always had to come back home. and every time, he'd watch the line of johnny's shoulders go rigid, as they pulled into the property. part of him knows it's fucked, but facing things together made him feel like they were a team, somehow.

still, he followed johnny like a well-trained dog. and as easy as it would be to run, now, he never does. non-shockingly, spending months chained up in a basement would change your perspective on a couple things. like the wind in your hair, or the whole world outside the fences of the property. johnny was different when they were away, too. it was like he opened up, when he had the room to breathe. so, leland didn't ever complain about where they went. sometimes, he could even hassle johnny and get a drive-in, or a record store visit out of the deal. something like the illusion of freedom. for both of them, maybe. a place to hide in plain sight — to pretend they were anyone but who they really were. a killer. a dead boy. leland guesses he's both, now.

there's a familiar sinking in his chest. the voice that's always there, always scraping the back of his mind, that whispers; you're older than some of your friends will ever be. you're older than the leland mckinney on those missing posters, too. and part of him knows he should feel ashamed. he knows, whoever he is now would sicken that boy in the faded photo.

he doesn't realize just how long he's been quiet. johnny's waiting on him for an answer, and leland's eyes snap up to meet him again. he rubs the back of his neck, tries to recover with a laugh;

❝ ... could we go to a beach, maybe? doesn't have to be like, the ocean, or anything special. ❞ he'd probably accept a good pond, even. he wanted to feel open water under his fingertips. look out into something and wonder how deep it went. how far. what people lived like on the other side of it. leland grins at johnny, crooked and soft; ❝ you ever go? swimming, or camping or whatever? mom used to take us to lake texhoma. by the border. we have family in oklahoma. ❞ corners of his eyes crinkle with warmth. ❝ bet there's some pretty lakes out this way. ❞

[kinghaargrove]

from here - @markedprey

JUST ABOUT EVERYONE WHO DRANK on a day to day basis to get by, almost always drank to try and forget something. A breakup. The loss of a loved one. Some bad place, or bad thing that haunted their thoughts. Some drank to forget their stress at a job, or to forget their fear and lead their life that night with a bit of liquid courage. Some drank to forget the situations beyond their control - a hole they couldn’t dig themselves out of, or to forget that sometimes there was no light at the end of the tunnel. It was just more of the same.

Billy often times drank to forget the life he left behind. The scholarship he never took. The sister who must’ve thought him dead for well for over a year, now. (Nearly two, now? Who the hell was he to know, time felt like it didn't exist here.) The father who left bruises and scars on his only son that ran through him so much further than skin deep. He drank to forget that the life he lead now, was not his first or second or even anywhere near on the list of things he would have ever chose for himself, but it was a life he’d learned to be grateful for. Grateful, he was, because he knew so very intimately by the initials carved into his hip, that it could always be so much worse. From where he and Johnny started, to where they were, now? He lived like a king. He knew exactly how spoiled, how goddamn lucky he was.

As for Johnny? He couldn’t imagine it just being one of those things. The man carried a lot of demons with him. A lot of ghosts lived in his teeth, and in every inch of this property, a weight he couldn't imagine carrying. A weight he sometimes shuddered to remember, that Johnny often enjoyed. No, he didn't know exactly why Johnny drank so damn much. He only knew that there was more to this man than the world could ever know, or ever possibly hope to understand. He was a bad man, he'd done terrible things and Billy knew he'd never stop, not with his family relying on him to be the loaded gun, to protect and provide. Maybe Billy'd just been in hell too long, or maybe there was still just a bit of angel kept alive inside the devil. With the way he held him, now, his hands soft and warm, squeezing his skin with a gentleness, a reverence that should've been impossible from someone like him... Maybe, just maybe, he, like Billy himself, was just born in the wrong place at the wrong time. This life was all Johnny knew. His captor, his monster, his only friend, his lover. Could he really blame the dog, when all it had been taught to do was bite? He'd taught him to be gentle, with him, at least, in spite of it all. Was it foolish of him to believe there was still hope for more? To want more for him, despite those bloodstained hands and teeth?

There was only one right answer.

He refused to think it.

All he wanted to think, all he wanted to feel, was right here. Warm arms, a warm chest, warm breath puffing over his skin where Johnny breathed over him. He could feel his strong heart beating under his ribs, under his cheek where he rested his head on him to breathe him in. He didn't care if all he smelled like was sweat and beer, this morning, and their shared cigarettes. It was familiar, it was comfortable. It was home. He flourished, he came alive under the slow, sweeping, roaming gestures of his hands on his body, a lot like a cat who would press up into it as if he could possibly feel more. He dropped a kiss to his pec, turning his nose to drag the tip over his collar. Gooseflesh prickled across his skin in places, in part from Johnny's touch, but also, from the cold that slipped into that drafty old shack they called their home and licked across his toes. Texas could be cold, sometimes, even this time of year. At least in the mornings, before the otherwise merciless sun rose to warm everything it touched. He shuffled his chilly feet a little closer, a slow grin tugging at his lips as Johnny's honeyed tone of voice infected him.

❝ I was hoping you'd say so... ❞ his voice was little more than a low purr. Easy, familiar. Indulgent, and greedy to the nines. This side of Johnny was all for him. ❝ It's still a bit cold out here. I know somebody could warm me right up. ❞