trashy-slashy - Tumblr blog

[trashy-slashy]

I am simping for Kurt Kunkle

disgusting

[trashy-slashy]

Has Disney+ got an search function for ‘films that traumatised you as a child?’

Asking for a friend

[trashy-slashy]

Thanks for the tag @earlysunsetsoverambrose! ❤️

1) Relationship Status: Complicated.

2) Favourite Colour: Turquoise

3) Three Favourite Foods: My homemade Bolognese (Babish’s recipe), sweet & salty popcorn, broccoli

4) Stong Stuck in My Head: After reading this, it’s currently State of my Head - Shinedown

5) Last Song I Listened To: Psycho Killer - Talking Heads

6) Current Time: 00:31

7) Dream Trip: I want to go to Snake Discovery’s facility when it opens!

8) Anything I Want: Umm, a tonne of different reptiles/inverts? False water cobra, cow reticulated python, black and white tegu, jewelled lacerta, Grammostola Pulchripes, blue-tongued skink, hognoses, millipedes, frogs... I hope where I move to next year has enough space.

I tag @quiveringdeer & @thesightstoshowyou! 😘

[trashy-slashy]

Revenge

Arkin x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You find something special in one of the Collector’s trunks

Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore, cuckholding, praise kink, daddy kink, creampie

This was another commission by the fantastic @roachcult. Another happy birthday present! Hope you enjoy <3

~~~

             You weave through the maze of wire stretched across the hallway. Your motions are smooth, practiced; you’ve been sneaking around this hellscape so long it’s starting to become routine. Duck, jump, turn, twist…. It’s like memorizing a dance.

             When you round the corner, you pause. The peeling red door at the end of the hall is closed. This could mean one of two things: One, the Collector simply closed it as he was leaving. This is unlikely; he never does anything without purpose. Which means the answer is two: He’s added a new victim to the collection.

             It is morbid curiosity that draws you. There is nothing that could shock you worse than what you’ve already seen, what he’s already made you see. Carefully, you ease over the spikes protruding from the floor and avoid the boards that will break under your weight and send you plummeting into a nest of barbed wire. Your fingers close around the doorknob and twist.

             The door swings open and you automatically duck, but nothing swings down from the other side. He must not have gotten around to setting the trap for this room yet. As you suspected, there’s a new red trunk sitting innocuously in the middle of the room.

Keep reading

[trashy-slashy]

Devil in a Midnight Mass (Part 1)

Priest!Asa x Fem!Reader

Finally managed to get an idea written down. Shoutout to @quiveringdeer & @thesightstoshowyou for the idea!

Warnings: Religious themes, violence, 

It was freezing. You could feel every goose bump as damp clothes clung to your skin, your body practically vibrating in a futile attempt to bring your body up to temperature. Clenching your hands, you noticed blades of grass jutting from between your fingers. Your head pounded relentlessly, the pain keeping you crumpled on the floor. It was raining, not heavily thankfully. Where were you? You could barely remember anything, all thought consumed by the throbbing ache in your skull. Delicately, you cracked open an eye to get a glimpse of your surroundings. In the dim moonlight, you could just about make out a nearby line of trees, a few picnic benches between you and it. Your whole body pulsed uncomfortably, a thick smog of suffering that settled into your bones. What had happened to you?

“Heh, what’s this?” A voice broke through the night to your left. The stench of weed enveloped your senses and you grimaced. Sturdy boots stopped in front of your face; one pressed into your shoulder, tipping you onto your back. A small hiss escaped through your teeth. Your whole body groaned at the movement. “Bit late for you to be out here alone sweetheart” You couldn’t make out his face, features covered in shadow from the oversized hoodie he wore. The malicious grin on his face was evident however. Your eyes blew wide as you saw something glint in his palm. He whistled, the sharp noise aggravating your pounding head. “Guys, over here!” Your heart raced, the sound overwhelming your senses as it pumped adrenaline through your veins, temporary relief from your agony-stricken body. The man stepped away briefly, trying to catch the attention of his friends. Impossibly, you launched yourself to your feet, making a break for the small bridge to your left; across it, a hill, artificial light twinkling atop it.

Shouts erupted behind you. Your body screamed as you pushed it, you swore you could feel your flesh splitting and tearing with every step. The thuds behind you kept you on your feet, tears streaming down your cheeks as pain flared through every muscle. Despite your efforts, they were gaining on you. The lights were getting closer. Just a little more...

Your ears rang as your head hit the damp earth, the air knocked out of your lungs. Try as you might, every attempt to scream was a breathless whimper, uselessly dissipating into the night sky. Your body was pinned down by what you assumed was one of your assailants, his hot breath tickling the back of your neck. A dark chuckle made you whimper, mustering all of your energy to shout for help. The building ahead of you was maybe 20 meters away; maybe someone would hear. Dirty fingers clamped over your mouth. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He snarled, nails digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks. You whimpered uselessly into his palm, eyes scrunching shut as you felt cool steel on your arm.

“I’m going to ask once. Leave her be.” Laughter erupted around you, agitating your searing headache back to life.

“Whatcha gonna do old man?” One of the men audibly spat onto the ground. “Pray us away?” You heard a tired sigh, exhaustion establishing itself in every fibre of your being. Your eyes couldn’t open. You couldn’t warn the poor man to just leave you be, the thought of extra blood on your hands leaving your gut unsettled. Warmth trickled down your wrist as the blade nicked flesh.

“Something like that.” There was cold indifference in the voice. The weight atop you shifted suddenly, leaving you frozen and weak in the soil. In your stupor, you could just about make out the commotion above you. Words barely formed on your tongue as you begged your saviour to leave you, murmuring pointlessly into the dirt. Why did they intervene? You were barely aware of pain in your body anymore, your senses dulling as the cold seeping into you. A heavy thud hit the floor beside you, splatting your form with chunks of mud. There was no fight left in you as arms scooped under you, heat radiating from the chest you were pressed against, enveloping you as your consciousness faded away.

* * *

The pain was back. You started to wish you’d just died. Maybe you had? Maybe this was hell, a life of eternal pain? You groaned, the attempt grating against the arid lining of your throat. Soft shuffling to your left caught your attention, a gentle hand pressing to your forehead.

“She’s awake father” A kindly voice spoke. You attempted to take a deep breath, pain racking through your torso. “Shh, it’s alright, you’re safe here.” Soft blankets enveloped your body, your flesh no longer damp and icy. You managed to crack your eyes open, catching a glimpse of the woman nursing you. She was a large build, dressed in a black veil and a corresponding gown, white cloth covering her chest. A small cross sat across it, the chain dangling from her neck. Glasses framed concerned eyes, her lips pursed as she watched you come to. She looked to be middle-aged, maybe slightly older.

“Thank you sister.” You recognised the voice from earlier, but you couldn’t make out the figure from your position.

“Could you pass me a glass of water please?” Her hand moved from your forehead to support your shoulders. “I’m going to try and sit you up a little, you think you can manage that?” You managed a small nod, gritting your teeth as she helped to position you upright. “Thank you.” The man pressed a glass to her hands, narrowed eyes glancing over you. He looked younger than the woman, dressed in a matching attire minus the cowl. Dark honey-coloured hair framed his face, combed neatly into place. A day’s worth of stubble adorned his chin. The priest had a kind-hearted expression, though it didn’t seem to entirely meet his eyes. You sipped at the liquid as it was offered to you, relishing the soothing sensation as it slipped down your throat. “What’s your name dear?” You stilled; you couldn’t remember. Your head still stung from an unknown trauma.

“I- I’m not sure.” You sighed dejected. The woman cooed over you, squeezing your hand empathetically. More of the room was visible to you now. Tomes lines the wall furthest from you, an ornate oak desk sat beside it. Various religious ornaments decorated the walls, some you recognised and some more uncommon. It seemed to be some sort of office, though it seemed you were laid on some sort of cot. Why would they keep a bed in an office?

“Oh you poor thing.” She glanced up at the priest. “Did you see what happened?”

“Perhaps she knocked her head when she fell. When I came outside, she was already on the ground.” The nun didn’t seem impressed with his answer, instead turning her attention to push a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His gaze hadn’t left you the entire time, scrutinising the extent of your injuries. He hadn’t met your eyes once.

“T-thank you.” The smile the older woman gave you warmed your heart.

“I think it’s best you stay here a few days, just until you get your bearings.” You nodded gratefully. “She can stay in here then? I don’t think we should move her...”

“Of course.” Your eyes met his for the first time. You felt a pang of familiarity as he took your other hand, cupping it in both of his. The priest gave you a sympathetic smile as he addressed you, keeping his tone soft. “Take as long as you need, my child.”

“If you need anything” the woman chimed in, “ask for sister Deborah”. She climbed to her feet, clasping the cross around her neck. “I will be back in the morning. Get some rest, God will be watching over you.” Sister Deborah waited expectantly by the door, cocking her head. “Father Emory?” He released your hand, straightening his collar as he stood.

“Coming sister.” The priest gave you a small smile before following the nun out of the room. Your brows furrowed as the door clicked shut. Something didn’t seem right. How exactly did one priest manage to dissuade a group of hooligans? You’d only heard one voice so you doubted he had any help. Unless they never had bad intentions in the first place. You remembered the slash on your arm, glancing down at it, noticing the fresh bandages. Gingerly, you settled yourself back down, snuggling under the comfortable blankets. It wasn’t worth dwelling on it for now. How untrustworthy could a man of God be anyway?

[trashy-slashy]

So .... in order for people to read the ideas I have .... I have to WRITE them?! What bullshit is this?

[trashy-slashy]

@little-lily-w sent me this wonderful idea:

~~

Asa wakes abruptly, eyes snapping open and scanning the dark bedroom. When he exhales, his breath curling white before his lips, he discovers the reason for his sudden awakening; it is absolutely freezing.

Frowning, Asa sits up, careful not to disturb your still form buried under a pile of blankets. A quick glance out the icy window confirms the first snow had come early this year. He’ll need to get up and turn on the heat.

Pulling the blankets back, he moves to get out of bed when he’s stopped by a chilly hand on his wrist. Annoyed, he looks down to find your delicate fingers clinging to him. You murmur something, some half-asleep untelligble rambling.

You tug, urging him to come back to bed. Asa considers ripping his arm out of your grip, but then your thumb strokes the thick scar winding down his forearm and his expression softens.

Sighing in defeat, Asa slips back under the blankets, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. You bury your face into the crook of his neck as he rests his chin on top of your head. He tugs the blankets up over your shoulders until he is sure none of you is exposed to the chilly air.

He might not go back to sleep, but you will, and that’s enough for him.

[trashy-slashy]

no offense but...the future is bulletproof. the aftermath is secondary. it’s time to do it now and do it loud. killjoys.........Make some noise...

[trashy-slashy]

Oooh I'd love some SFW HCs on Bo, Michael, and Thomas. Maybe something fluffy for these trying times? 🧡

Abso-fucking-lutely my dude (Michael and Tommy are established relationships and Bo is a train wreck 🙃)

Michael

It’s no secret that the concept of affection is extremely foreign to Michael. When you first explain that you’d appreciate him holding you on the sofa or reciprocating the fleeting touches you give him, he simply does his signature head tilt and stares right through you.

There’s no point trying to outlast Michael when he’s being stubborn. He can and will become an immovable object for hours on end. Throwing your hands in the air you trudge off to the kitchen, fixing yourself a cup of coffee. Absentmindedly stirring the liquid, you didn’t expect to feel a heavy palm on your shoulder, patting condescendingly.

“Michael you’re an assh-“ You turned to look at him, stopping when you saw his mask was gone, brows knitted in frustration. Michael refused to meet your eyes, fixated on the corner of the room. He hated to be wrong. Before you, Michael never gave a second thought towards how he was perceived; he simply didn’t care. And he still doesn’t. Except for you.

“Michael?” You saw his eyes glaze over, indicating he was deep in thought. Something clicked in your head. He simply didn’t know how to be affectionate. It wasn’t something he’d ever had experience with, considering you were one of the first to avoid being gutted by a kitchen knife. The fact he refused to talk didn’t help either. You laced your fingers in his, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “Go grab some blankets and we’ll watch a movie, okay?” He nodded slowly, backing out of the room.

You settled into Michael’s lap, feeling him go stiff underneath you. “I’ll show you, here” You tangled your fingers in his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his head. He sighed softly as you tucked your chin against his shoulder, guiding his hand to your back. Michael began mimicking your actions, caressing your skin through your shirt. “That feels great Mikey” You cooed, feeling the rest of him come to life. His head nestled against your neck, the sensation of hot breath on your pulse. You hummed happily as he brought his other hand to your hair, playing with the strands framing your face.

“Love you.” Your heart fluttered against your chest, his voice was bitter and coarse from neglect. Michael’s lips brushed against your throat, warmth flowing through you like molten gold. He squeezed you gently, lacking the usual possessiveness of his touches. Now he wanted you to know you were his, and he was yours.

Thomas

Thomas is an unrelentingly sweet, thoughtful and tender boyfriend. Every little thing you needed, he was on you like a hawk. Hadn’t eaten all day? He’ll bring you one of everything he could find (Much to Luda Mae’s exasperation). Exhausted? Thomas would scoop you up and bring you back to bed. But waking up to find you heaving over a bowl? He’s lost.

“It’s okay Tommy, I’m fine” You weren’t. Your guts felt like they were tripping on acid, your hair plastered to your sweat-coated forehead. He whined indignently, a large hand rubbing circles into your lower back. “Maybe a cold cloth?” Thomas was gone in an instant, returning with your request in record time. Despite his lack of verbal communication, Thomas’s eyes were extremely expressive, making him not all that difficult to read. Most men would’ve been a least a little disgusted, but he harboured nothing but concern for you, dabbing at your skin with the piece of fabric.

The nausea passed after a few minutes, Thomas ushering you back into bed. Your stomach churned violently again, but for a different reason. “Thomas?” He stopped. You very rarely used his actual name nowadays. “I have something to say” Panic flashed over his features. This was it. You were going to leave. Charlie wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t hurt you. You muttered something and he didn’t quite hear it, the room spinning around him. Something tugging on his fingers pulled him out of his descent into despair. Why were you crying?

“I’m pregnant Thomas.” He blinked. And again. Thomas stared down at you, the cogs in his brain whirring as he processed the information. “Tommy?” You bit your lip, waiting for his reaction, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. He moved slowly, dropping to his knees in front of you, placing his palm on your stomach. “We’re having a baby Tommy” You cupped his hand in yours against your belly, pressing a kiss to the mess of dark hair in front of you. The only vocal response you got was a gentle sigh, Thomas’s head falling into your lap. He refused to move, cradling you against him like you were the most valuable thing in the world; which in his eyes, you were.

Bo

Every time you said anything remotely positive about Bo, he shot you down with a snarky remark; either deflecting from the subject altogether or indulging his pseudo-narcissism. He pretended not to see the pained look in your eyes. It got to a point where you stopped bothering, opting to spend your free time with the other two, more amicable Sinclairs. Eventually you stopped talking to him altogether, leading you to wonder why you were still in Ambrose when you and the man in charge despised each other.

He needed your help. That’s what he told himself. Not the type of job for his brothers. Bo felt drained at the thought of interacting with you, the way you looked at him with nothing but pure hatred. His chest clenched as you approached, steely glare meeting his own. “I don’t get why you need me.” I miss you. Bo shook his head, dislodging the intrusive thought. “Vincent’s busy. Fuck knows where Lester is.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, beckoning for you to follow him into the truck with a jerk of his head. Bo paused for a moment, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he took in his appearance, unsettled when he saw the grimace on his face matched that of yours.

“Can you not fuck up for 2 seconds?” Bo snarled, fists clenched at his sides. The pair of you stood in a clearing, alone, trying to rig up an abandoned victims car. The hook slipped out from the grill, the vehicle crashing against the ground, the sound reverberating through the trees. You gritted your teeth, instincts kicking in as his threatening presence overwhelmed you. “I’m sorry Mr fucking Perfect, I’m merely a pathetic little human, here for your amusement.” Your words caught him off guard, leaving him speechless. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes.

“Wait-“ You’d already made a break for the trees, trying to escape the suffocating situation. Bo was calling your name, chasing you but you dived over a fallen log, out of his line of sight. The man you’d fallen for when you arrived in Ambrose. The same one who pushed you away, time and time again, making it impossible to even be friendly with him. He’s probably going to kill you soon. Your chest heaved struggling to intake oxygen, each breath racking your whole body. Tears streaked down your cheeks, your vision going blurry, gasping for air.

“Hey, hey now” Something warm settled around your waist and you flinched instinctively at the sound of Bo’s southern drawl. His voice seemed much softer than usual. You sniffled, stifling your sobs as best you could, not wanting to give him more fuel to burn you with. “I’m sorry.” Bo knew he was a despicable person, but he couldn’t have you thinking that you were pathetic. That you meant nothing. Hearing Bo apologise shocked you from your stupor, gazing bleary-eyed up at him, still struggling to catch your breath.

“Don’t” He pressed a calloused digit to your lips before you could speak, terrified of what you might ask. You nodded meekly, your insides feeling like they were collapsing in on themselves. Bo’s eyelids fluttered shut as his pressed his head against the top of yours. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer against his chest. You steadied your breathing in time with his, the scent cigarettes and oil oddly comforting. Holding you like this, Bo couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything quite like it; an almost lucid experience, he felt feather-light, warmth spreading through his limbs, something he could easily get addicted to. Maybe it was worth dropping the facade. Just a little.

Bonus Bo gif that I’ve been waiting to use for something like this 🥺

[trashy-slashy]

well fuck

Sights you’re gonna send me to hospital

Asa please touch my hair i beg of ye

gasp asa would definitely pull it oh my lord im deceased

Oh! Also another idea: Asa's s/o trying to do her hair and she gets frustrated only for Asa to come behind her and help her out, adding a beautiful butterfly hair accesory. 'My precious butterfly'. 🤭🦋

😍😍😍 I love this!!!

No warnings.

~~

You huff, slamming down your comb in frustration. You blow a strand of hair out of your eyes as you slump over the vanity in defeat. You’re about to stand, give up on your hair, move on to something else when you hear Asa walking down the hall.

He strides into the room, pausing and taking in your irritable expression in the mirror, the mess you’ve made of your hair. Biting back a smirk, he crosses to you and holds out his hand expectantly.

“Oh, you don’t have to—

Asa shushes you and moves his hand closer to you for emphasis. You hand him the pick and he gets to work, deftly combing back your unruly locks until they are twisted into a sleek chignon on the back of your neck.

Reaching into his pocket, he produces a shimmering gold hair pin—a butterfly—and pushes it into the base of the bun. Gripping your chin, Asa turns your head this way and that, assessing his work.

He leans down to press his lips to the shell of your ear, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine when he murmurs, “For my little butterfly.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

[trashy-slashy]

The collector:

☻

🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷

🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷

🕷🕷🕷🕷

🕷🕷🕷🕷

🍆🍆🍆🍆🍑🍑🍑🍑

🕷🕷 🕷🕷

🕷🕷 🕷🕷

🕷🕷 🕷🕷

🕷🕷 🕷🕷

[trashy-slashy]

December 5th. Mistletoe. Leslie Vernon X AFAB Reader.

Ah here we are! My third entry into Kinky December! Thanks again to @horrorslashergirl​ for setting this up! I am having soooo much fun with it! This was so fucking fun to do, holy shit! I LOVE Leslie and it had been WAY TOO long since I had last written for him so this was soooo needed. And ended up being way longer than I originally intended but what else is new? So let’s get into it! 

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.6K Warnings: Established Relationship. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Don’t Get Caught. Hold The Moan. Panty Snatching. Leslie Being Leslie.

—

In The Spirit Of Giving.

It was only a few days apart. You weren’t going to be gone long and your parents didn’t live very far away. 

Still didn’t mean Leslie had to like it. 

Let’s get one thing straight, Leslie isn’t a super clingy guy or anything, he could be away from you for days at a time and was on occasion due to his work but this was the holidays we were talking about. The guy wanted to have you around, of course he did, who wouldn’t want to spend that time with their SO? But he understood and respected the fact that some time had to be allotted to your family as well, and you did want to spend time with them too. And so it went, saying goodbye with the promise of him getting you all to himself for a few days once you were back, you would have a good time but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t looking forward to what you had planned together too.

It was really nice being back in some ways and not so much in others but hey isn’t that how this time of year always went? You take the good and the bad, but it has mostly been good, thankfully.

Keep reading

[trashy-slashy]

Your number eight song on your 2020 Spotify wrapped is the song that plays in the background of your umbrella academy fight scene

[trashy-slashy]

Slashers as dead memes on my phone:

Bo Sinclair

Asa Emory

Vincent Sinclair

Michael Myers

Otis Driftwood

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

[trashy-slashy]

OKAY BUT THIS IS DEFINITELY LESTER WALKING PAST BO'S ROOM WITH HIM STANDING IN FRONT OF A BODY MIRROR AND TALKING TO HIMSELF OKAY

[trashy-slashy]

would you go back in time if given the chance? where? why?

Yes! I’d like to say I’d want to see the dinosaurs but I think I’d probably want to see my parents again more.

[trashy-slashy]

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

Probably most of my friends. I don’t have many but I love them all dearly. I’m generally quite timid and avoid conflict but I will always stand up for them.