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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

Omg Slashers with a super athletic reader? Preferably a runner and fucking outruns them? Perhaps gender neutral??

Slashers with an athletic reader

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt Warning(s): Vulgar language, deliberate mention of violence and murder. Type: Ambiguous | Headcanons

It’s safe to say that each of them had varied reactions.

• Billy Lenz

For the many years that Billy had remained to strike at the victims who live in the sorority home, not one of them did he expect to run from him. He also did not expect to encounter someone who was much more faster than he was. Billy initially thought that it was funny at first, recalling how none of the others did it, but it got him much more angrier after a couple of minutes.

— You had shoved the man with all your might, your dominant hand slapping the weapon out of his hands. A loud shatter ensued the moment it hit the ground, leaving the man in a temporary shock at your defiance against death—you could almost pinpoint when he became enraged.

“You pig bitch!” You could hear the man yell, his voice hoarse from having done so a good feet away.

You didn’t expect to get so far away from a killer who had been so careful with all his kills so far. Maybe he wasn’t right in the head, something that led to this disaster surely couldn’t be the work of a murderer who perfected his craft. You slowed down when his voice became softer the further you ran. You leaned against a tree, gulping down your anxiety as you looked around.

In front of you was the sight of a few houses, alongside a street you recognised—You’ve ran that far, so much so, that it had led you home. No wonder you couldn’t hear the angered man’s voice anymore.

“Thank god.” was your only response, quickly entering your home and locking it shut. You made quick work to clear your mind in some way, falling asleep despite your best efforts to remain alert. There you were, unaware of the now silent man’s stare.

The man’s gaze trailed onto your sleeping form from the window, before his attention moves onto the upper storey of your home.

It seemed you had an attic, too. —

Expect Billy right on your tail no matter how far you were from him, as he chases you down with bated breath.

• Bubba Sawyer

Bubba was used to the victims running away in an attempt to escape. Having you was, of course, difficult—you narrowly missed his lunges just by fraction. It had him throw a larger tantrum than before. Having you run about as carelessly as you did had him extremely anxious, the visual reminding him of his first runaway victim.

— Bubba couldn’t handle the idea of you running away, really. It brings him back to those days in ’74, where that girl had escaped him. This was the third time in a row where you booked it to run, and yet another time for him to react on autopilot and cage you in his arms ever so tightly.

You kept screaming, your voice becoming scratchy and weak as you pleaded with Bubba—or anyone, really. He felt some form of remorse about it, letting you go quietly, which was an opportunity you took advantage of quickly as you dashed down the road.

All could have been well, maybe, until Nubbins dragged you back from your legs. Those screams returned and Bubba couldn’t do anything about it this time around.

Seeing how you returned to the Sawyer home, Bubba realised that he could catch you easily. If Nubbins could, he could do so as well.

He stares at you, having heard the screams stop, his head tilted curiously. You stare back at him knowingly, seeming calm now that Nubbins and Drayton had left.

Bubba realised now that he never really knew anything about you, even the life that you had before. You came here with nobody, so he had no idea why you didn’t escape as you did.

He doesn’t understand what reason it was that you returned to their territory, he’s curious, but you pose a threat to the Sawyers—that meant he had to keep you.

Oh, you stress him out. —

Expect him to be rougher when he does catch you, just because Bubba’s exhausted doesn’t mean that he would just let you get away.

• Ghostface

• Billy Loomis

Sure, it was expected that the majority of Ghostface’s victims were to put up a little bit of a fight. He, however, has never anticipated to encounter someone who would have put up a similar fight as you did. You were on the track team, closely tied to Sidney in all sorts of ways. Though, it seemed as though you had other plans.

— ‘It’s expected. This is what you should expect every once in a while.’ Billy reminded himself, flicking his wrist as he took a moment to catch his breath. He has remained silent for this long, there is no way is he going to use his voice on you, seeing how you could easily escape—a benefit for being on track and field, he supposed—and tell the authorities that it was his voice.

The more he repeated the thought in his mind, the more he felt angered at the little process that he has made getting everything over with you.

He called off on killing you tonight, deciding on planning how he could get rid of you in a lot more gruesome way. Maybe to taunt your team, he could always take polaroids of your dismembered legs and send them as ‘good luck’ gifts. To fuck around even more, maybe even sneak some pieces of you in their home—incriminating them instead.

He thought of many more ways to ruin you, a grin hidden by his mask as he disappeared into the thick of the forest, retracing his steps back home as he snuck back in by the window. He’s gotta greet Stu tonight about the change in plans.

Billy honestly wanted to be back at your home, your blood on the floor as the life drained from your eyes as you gasped for air. He should try strangling you, just like Stu did with rope last Christmas.

Yeah, some of the victims picked by the two are bound to be better runners than others, but fuck were you annoying. —

Expect a more sadistic Ghostface hunting you down, the dagger in his hand with every swing to match your pace.

• Stu Macher

Stu finds it exhilarating, really. Someone is actually smart enough to leave—and even better, is able to outrun him! His victims, to an extent, did escape his clutches once or twice. Though, none of those on his hit-list ever made it out alive by the end of the night—not until you, which has you promoted as his favourite chase out of practically every victim he’s gotten.

— Stu stared at your running figure, feeling giddy once more. There you go, his favourite victim! If he felt the need to put in any effort to really kill you, he would have, but how could he resist tasting the fear that your body exuded in waves?

Those teary eyes you had when you were cornered? The glint of hope that resolved itself in your eyes when you found a route to escape? Oh, all your miniscule expressions has him excited, seeing how you restrict yourself from showing too much to Ghostface, but plenty to him.

The duality interests him a whole lot. He likes seeing the contortions of every muscle that has you tensing up when he reenacts movement that he had done on one of those very nights—just to taunt you, but to also see how you’d react and if you were smart enough to make connections.

He’s lost interest in killing you, really! Maybe he could show you a few parts of your friends as tokens of appreciation for participating in their game and playing it so well.

Stu honestly wanted to see you shatter before him; be it on these nights he visits you as Ghostface, or you breaking down in school and turning to him for comfort.

Oh, he can’t wait. —

Expect a rather playful Ghostface greeting you, the dagger’s blade lightly nicking you a few times each time he caught up to you.

• Jason Voorhees

Jason had run-aways often, the window of opportunity being possible with him being incapacitated beforehand, though it was always temporary. Nothing of the sort happened, and yet he was still unable to get rid of you. You had the ability to escape him and live to tell the tale, why would you return to him?

— Jason’s good eye trained on you as he walked in large, domineering strides, following you from a much closer distance. Despite that, he remained ever so silent, making you almost unsure of how close you were to escape.

How the hell were you supposed to tell the police department? A masked killer who looked eerily to the infamous Jason Voorhees killed your friend and was after you? How were you going to explain to them why you were in Camp Crystal Lake? Were you supposed to leave out some details? Leave out the fact that you were in there, maybe, and that you were concerned for a friend?

Fuck, thinking while running was not a good idea. You got sidetracked and lost sight of where you were headed along the way. You were already in the thick of the forest, the sight of a road from afar one that you focused on in an instant.

You gulped down your fear, not wanting to face the wrath of the killer that you and your friend had unknowingly incurred.

You saw the road become closer, until you were a few meters away. You felt relief reach your aching muscles, only for them to tense up once more.

A large hand, its skin gray and rough, gripped onto your dominant wrist. You could only let out a wail as he drug you back, his nail digging into your skin as a warning. —

Expect an extremely focused Jason for every time that he catches a glimpse of you, a feeling washing over him with each time that he follows you.

• Michael Myers

• ’78/OG

OG expected you to do so after you (quickly, he noticed) realised that he was no average Halloween participant. He, however, did not expect you to disappear from his sight as quickly as you did. He will (just barely, that he ignored) catch a glimpse of you in the very distance, a rush of energy flowing through him as if he could not wait to catch you.

— You couldn’t see the man anywhere once you had ran from the building, fear still present in your eyes as you kept looking around. Paranoia still stuck with you as you made a few changes in your path, taking multiple shortcuts and longer routes to throw the killer off your path.

Surely that would confuse the masked male who, without you realising, had been closely following you. His steps matched yours, though a lot more quieter as your shoes crushed the dead leaves beneath you.

You were different to him, your appearance one that he took to committing to his memory if you happen to break into a sprint as you did when you realised who he was the first time around.

You were passing these houses now, the candles that were in those carved pumpkins still lit. Their presence illuminated the now dead streets of Haddonfield, shedding light onto the killer who acknowledged the fact that you stopped walking.

After hearing another set of footsteps, you turned to see the man once again—this time around, you did not choose to hesitate. This was a matter of life and death, after all.

And so, the chase was on. —

Expect a curious OG to be unrelenting as he stalks you down, the idea of killing you a thought he now had abandoned out of intrigue.

• RZ

Maybe it was the fact that RZ had developed a little more than his original counterpart, patience is not a word that can be associated with this killer. The longer the victim lives, the more aggressive RZ becomes in response. The very fact that you remain to graze past the inevitability of death, the more destruction is caused by him in its wake.

— You heard the woman’s scream as the boogeyman struck her, the sheathing sound of a blade intercepting her chest, tearing through her flesh—it even hit bone, the harrowing echo of cracks sounding throughout the entire room—you felt horror intercept your very being, heartbeat at a state of unease as it pounded against your chest.

He killed her as if he was gutting her like a fish. You felt your breath quicken, catching the attention of the killer. You couldn’t hear his footsteps; they were far too quiet to hear over the rush of thoughts that overtook your mind.

Only when you heard his heavy breathing, you reacted on autopilot. You ran, and ran. Away from that house, away from the street he was at.

You were only a passerby—not even someone he was targeting, so why was it that he felt more rage toward you running away?

You were nosy, that’s what. You sat through the woman’s death and did nothing. Did you hear of the woman’s words? How long? The thoughts plagued his mind, more rage flowing through as he stared at your smaller figure from a good distance away, following you now.

At home at last, you relaxed, unaware of the man standing on the porch by your backdoor.

He recognised your face now, you won’t get away from him so soon. —

Expect a more aggravated RZ hunting you down in the nth chase that you two have been caught in. He remains unstoppable, curious to see you break.

• Thomas Hewitt

Thomas supposed that with time—there had to be people that will outrun him and book it from Texas, never to return to taunt the folk there. You kept returning, much to the Hewitt family’s chagrin. Thomas felt on edge whenever you were visible in town—even if you couldn’t see him—preparing to catch you once and for all.

— “Oh, shit.” Thomas stood before you, his eyes trained on you as he remained still. You felt your body tense, though you tried to offer a sheepish grin. You knew how to get out of this alive—plus, he didn’t bring his chainsaw along this time around.

“This is a bad time to–shit, why the fuck are you everywhere? I just wanted to—” You were cut off with a snarl. A warning you knew not to mess with. You backed away, unsure of what that was to imply for you. Was he thinking about butchering you? Hanging you on the hook as he skinned you?

You couldn’t tell, nor could you make a coherent thought as he raises his hands slightly to abdomen level, seemingly in preparation to do something. You turned on your heel and ran, even if the hot Texas heat burned against your back, your lungs burning now with the uncomfortable warmth that dried your throat.

You were running on the road now, the gravel brushing against your beaten down shoes as you kept running. The heat, of course, became one that was your enemy. You weren’t thinking ahead, nor were you able to grasp how far out you were in the state.

Collapsing, a figure neared your limp body. You gasp as hands hoisted you right up to land against their broad shoulders, the wind having been knocked out from your throat. You began to whimper as you two made the long journey back to that damn house.

A thought settled in your mind and had you teary eyed, as you gave into this situation helplessly.

You were never leaving this place, weren’t you? —

Expect a determined Thomas whenever he sees you, though, no matter how long it will take to catch you; he’d always catch you.

Hey! I hope you enjoyed this piece and that it fulfilled your request!! Thank you to all the many requests that have ended up in my inbox alongside the occasional asks! I am ecstatic at the fact that you all enjoy my work!! (: Again, please reblog this post! I really appreciate it. Thank you again for reading this, have a great day/night!! (:

#billy lenz x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #black christmas x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #ghostface x reader

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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

Hi! I have a request idea, but i wanted to ask first, if you’d be okay with themes of suicide n selfharm? i’m unsure whether that falls into the angst category or not haha

thank you so much <3

Hello! Thank you for taking your time to ask, I really appreciate it!! (:

Regarding your query, yes, I am alright with writing pieces that involve the theme of self-mutilation and suicide. As a heads-up while you pass me your requests, disclaimers [or warnings, as one might put it as] will be in place.

And, as I have done so before, line breaks ["Read more"] will be in place. The only change made, however, is that the break itself will be before the piece itself begins―ensuring that such content is hidden from readers who wish not to see it.

This is so that for the readers who are uncomfortable with the topics are made aware of the themes beforehand, allowing them to make do with the information at hand.

I hope that answers your question, thank you for inquiring and have a nice day/night!! (:

#from the desk of s.

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angled-blade · 1 year

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hi! i’m unsure if you write for billy loomis, but if you do could i get billy loomis x reader who, them and their friend group / just a bunch of ppl from another school are new to woodsborro high (or whatev) and reader tries to one-up billy’s popularity and then ends up falling for him? (yeah it’s long i kno <\3 thankies! if it’s too complicated no worries! i 100% understand /gen)

Falling for your rival, Billy Loomis.

Pairing(s): Billy Loomis/Reader Type: Ambiguous | Headcanons

➻ You remembered your first day in a newly transferred school as if it were only yesterday—perhaps even a couple of days ago if you were generous about it. You were sure that the memory of entering Woodsboro was one you couldn’t really forget—even if you wanted to do so.

—

You and a couple of your friends had been transferred over into Woodsboro, you never recalled the details as to why, but it had been in the early half of junior year. You were already well adjusted in your previous school, so it comforted you somewhat to meet some familiar faces that tagged along—even more when some were from your friend group. You made sure to stick with one another as you begin to adjust yourselves in the new school.

In the first two months or so, you stuck with your group of friends as you accustomed yourself with how the school itself functioned. Sure, you played a little too safe—but the rumours about Woodsboro reached the ears of many, just as much as those very mouths utter the town itself. Gossip spread far and wild, the town’s image of a ‘quiet little community’ shattered as the many controversies that greeted it for the past few years ones were one that left it in a sight of silent infamy. It couldn’t hurt to at least be careful, lest you offend people in some way or another.

—

➻ You learnt of the people who were popular in school—and you’ve especially heard about Billy Loomis. You couldn’t place a finger on him, but you had always felt that something about him was.. off. Though, without concrete proof—there was really no reason for you to antagonise him nor have such an uncomfortable feeling to settle in the very pit of your stomach.

➻ Billy Loomis was an extremely popular person in school, in spite of the fact that his reputation was an anomaly for such a town. He got along with the rest of his peers, no matter how unlikely the situation of them getting along were. It felt planned, hence a reason for you to feel strangely unnerved of him. You backed down when it appeared that everyone was used to his strange antics and equally suspicious behaviour.

➻ Nevertheless, you were quick to learn of how the school functioned, your reputation seeming to rise positively the more you interacted with the students of Woodsboro. To your surprise, you seemed to grow popular as the months rolled by. It was a feat that had your original friend group cheering you on.

➻ This positive rise in reputation did not go unnoticed by Billy Loomis, though it most likely due to the fact that he overheard it from Tatum as she gossiped to her boyfriend. Stu acted surprised, though Billy saw the glint of interest that was hard to see through—it always looked like a deer in headlights, unknowing of everything that happens as if he wasn’t the nosiest person in Woodsboro.

—

“Oh, oh! Do you know about ___? They got pretty popular after… get this, a few months! Gotta respect them though, it’s tough getting in everyone’s good graces.” Tatum finished her statement, quietly giggling at Stu’s now awestruck look, a mumbled ‘No way, really?’ escaping him.

‘Hypocrite,’ was what rang through Billy’s mind as he saw Stu’s clearly orchestrated expression. Everything else that tumbled out of that girl’s mouth was inherently useless to him except for that tidbit about you.

Billy stared at Stu, the other male catching sight of this and adapting a conversation topic into Tate’s, a method to tear information from his girlfriend.

“Tell me more about this ___, Tates.” Stu pried, his head tilted in a way in which he didn’t seem to be interested in you romantically, but rather one of curiosity in learning more about the student. “—Wanna know if they’re someone we can be friends with, ya’know?” Again, this was yet another orchestrated act.

And with that, Billy took in every bit of information Tatum had. The more he learnt about you, the more he felt confident in his abilities to interact with you now.

The only thing left to do was to get your attention and see how it goes—whether or not it was worth to take a shot in gaining the trust of (well, mostly) everyone if he dated you.

—

➻ You couldn’t help but feel uneasy about Billy Loomis now. He began approaching you, out of the blue. The following week after summer break, you could see Billy almost everywhere. You had your own doubts about Billy initially, maybe even getting used to him—but this returned you back to square one.

➻ Be it by requesting to borrow a pencil from you specifically, in spite of the fact that you were six tables away—there was a lot of chatter about that, which especially annoyed your school friends.

—

“Fuck, ___. Is he ever letting up? I swear this is, like, the eighth time we’ve seen him. He doesn’t even hang around here!” Hissed a frustrated Alex as he poked at his sandwich. Alex was a close friend—maybe the closest in your friend group. He had been unfortunate enough to see everything unfold before him, all those interactions by Billy were not at all subtle—which had him uncomfortable too, knowing the other guy’s history as a player.

“He’s so weird—always coming to you out of fuckin’ nowhere just to ask for a pencil? Wait ’til Jess hears this. That Loomis kid is giving me a lot of red flags with how he’s—”

“—I get it, Alex. Let’s just leave it at that, your sandwich is probably becoming soggy.” You interject.

“He’s giving me all sorts of warnings, too. I’ll keep my distance, there’s honestly way too many of them to ignore.” Almost in an instant, a familiar girl bounds over to the table where you and Alex sat. It was Jessica.

“...So what about that Billy kid?” she asked, having only heard Alex’s words and not yours.

You groaned at this, already fed up with all this talk about the boy. Jessica stares at you questioningly, before taking her chance to demand answers from you.

You begrudgingly reply to all of her queries.

—

➻ Of course, time had passed by then. Your encounters with Billy lessen as the days dragged on, much to your relief. Though, the same could not be said for Billy. According to him, your standoffish behaviour and hesitance planted doubts in his plan to get you with him.

➻ It begun when he saw how you looked at him when he was walking past you. It had him torn at both ends. One was nervous of getting caught before he could pull the curtain of his movie, the other intrigued in how you may interfere with his plans, seeing how distrusting you were of him.

➻ Billy took a step back, feeling quite annoyed with this development. Did you think of him as lesser? Perhaps even thinking that you were better than him, out of his league? The lack of development in your relationship with one another cemented that idea as fact, which had him grow a lot more annoyed. Unbeknownst to you,, his overthinking mind zeroes in on the idea that he should no longer see you as just anybody—but rather someone who he now considers as a rival.

➻ It was somewhat tense on Billy’s end, seeing how he keeps tabs on you and how you remained indifferent yet extremely distant with him. He wanted to at least have a reason to strike you back, maybe even to guilt you into a relationship with him. The longer he kept searching for a reason, the more his original plans deviated into ones of wonder and a deeper curiosity to find out everything about you. It got to a point where Stu even pointed it out, which had Billy reevaluating everything that he has done up until that point.

—

“Bro, again?” Stu teased, a hand wrapped around Tatum’s waist as he pulled her a little closer to his chest. A playful smile was across his features now.

“What?”

“You’re practically drooling at them, Billy. When you gonna stop staring and tell them whatever you got on your mind?” Tatum rolled her eyes, repositioning herself in Stu’s lap, leaning against his chest to relax her posture. “It’s as if you—” She stops in her tracks, stopping Billy from interjecting at the sudden pause.

“—Oh my god.” Tatum squeals. “Did you fall for ___? Is this an—don’t tell me—no, that you fell for the new kid? Ohhh gosh, that is so cute. Right, Stu?” Tatum rambles, body becoming jittery with excitement.

“You’re so right, Tates. So smart.” Stu chuckled, giving Billy a knowing look in the process. He would have laughed at his friend, but he’d rather not ruin the moment. It’s not everyday that you see a red-faced Billy Loomis, his expression entirely caused by embarrassment.

—

➻ The same appears to occur with you, with less of Billy’s attempts to interact with you, you find yourself looking his way a little more than usual. He seemed to understand boundaries and had backed off when you became more distant with him—keeping him at arm’s length, as Jess suggested—you took your time to learn about him, too. Were you too hard on him? You wondered yourself. This change in attitude toward the subject Billy quickly caught the attention of your friend group.

—

“Okay, stop. ___. Did something happen to you?” Jessica spoke up first, catching the attention of Vince, who had tagged along with you as you left for lunch.

“Uh, no? Why do you ask?” You respond. She stares at you with suspicion, eyes squinted as if she thought that you were lying. “You sure? It was definitely you who was looking at Billy in English—You are so lucky Mrs. Lake didn’t even—”

“—wait, wait a minute.” Marcus interjects, turning to you in disbelief. “You did what? What happened to ‘I’ll keep my distance’? Are you having a crush on him or—” A pause was in Marcus’ voice now, feeling shocked at how easily those words tumble out.

“—Are you really? Like, actually?” He stares at you, softening his voice a little more now. He seemed worried that he had spilled out a secret that you might not want to reveal so soon.

“...Maybe.” You murmured, your whisper loud enough for the both of them to hear. You three were out of the building, the chattering from students deafening. Jessica bit her lower lip, feeling as though she had overstepped a boundary of yours, which was sort of true in this case.

“Oh shit, really?” Marcus replied, feeling guilty for being insensitive. “Just.. You know we worry about you, like a lot. But if you—well, if your opinion on him is changing, fuck, I guess we gotta deal with that.” He assures, a nervous smile on his features as he gauges your response to that.

“Yeah. I—It’s just surprising. Are you gonna tell him soon or…?” Jessica adds on, cautiously treading on her words. Silence comfortably formed between the three of you, finding no need to add on to it. That was until Jess, of course, tries to lighten the mood.

“Alex is so going to burst a blood vessel when he finds out.” Now that made you laugh, a smile over your features now.

“Find out about what?” Alex’s sudden appearance had Jessica scream bloody murder.

—

➻ Confession was not at all difficult, seeing how Billy waited for you to make a move instead—having already learnt from before. Shy confessions aside and with ample support from your friends, Billy accepts. The difference with this confession in comparison to many others, not once did a confession had his heart beating as hard as it did when it came from you.

➻ Billy was smug about the fact that you were now his, wrapping an arm around you. Possessiveness grew in his heart, finding it due to the fact that he had to—in a way—earn your affection. It was also due to the fact that his reputation did not even matter to you, not one bit, with that support system you have with your friends. The longer it took for you to reciprocate his love, the more he fell into the feeling of wanting you even more.

➻ Now that he had you, he was content. So much so that he began taking his time to progress his relationship with you. He doesn’t want you to be distant with him any more longer, not after all that he had done.

—

“God, Billy.” Stu chuckled at his partner in crime. The two sat at the very end of the library, paper before them as Stu scribbled down code words. “You really are obsessed, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” Billy grumbled, tracing his finger on a polaroid photo that he took of you. It was from the sixth date that you had been on since you had gotten together. You were amazing to him, Billy—whilst having his actual thoughts under lock and key—he felt, for a brief moment, that he wouldn’t have been surprised if you were out of his league. You became someone he cared for deeply, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey, Stu.” Billy quietly spoke after a few minutes of listening to Stu’s busied scribbling.

“Mmm, yeah? What’s up?” Stu responded, still not looking up from his paper.

“You think we can make a few changes to the plan, before executing it?”

Billy’s words had been enough to stop Stu’s from scribbling down anything more.

—

Hello again, I had framed the storyline in which it’s a tad more believable and to how I believe it may work out other than a dagger to the heart by Billy. I hope you enjoyed reading this piece! (: There are few more Billy and Stu requested pieces coming your way, please be on the lookout for them! Please reblog this post, I really appreciate it!! Have a good day/night!! (:

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Within Reach.

Pairing(s): {OG} Michael Myers/Reader Warning(s): Deliberate mention of violence and murder. Type: Ambiguous | Ficlet

At first, it was a voice that no longer blurred with the rest. A voice that could reach without it becoming one that he found easy to ignore. Your voice wasn’t one that typically called for everyone’s attention, but it was commanding in which your voice was memorable to those who stopped to recognise and remember it. It appeared incongruent amongst the sea of people that he had encountered thus far.

Perhaps that was why he found it easier to enter your home lacking the intent the kill, and even lacking a sense of direction the moment he stepped inside your home. Perhaps that was why he felt as though he could follow your voice, assuming that it did the impossible that the doctors at Smith’s Grove deemed it as—in which it had reached Michael.

Your voice had reached him, and that interested him.

Without you knowing, your life was on borrowed time by the time he felt the roots of his interest wrap themselves around the image of you—one he had seared into his memory. There wasn’t any word in the world that he knew of that described this infantile infatuation. He was neither a human nor was he truly the devil, leaving him with little words to attach to this interest he was now silently harbouring.

Michael kept an eye on you. In an almost aberrant fashion, one that Michael realises was an unexpected development the second time that he did so, was that he returns to you. And there he was, standing inside your home as if it were his. The only thing he hears now was your faint breathing as you slept, unaware of him and his staring.

By the time he stood at the foot of the bed, the roots of interest began to steadily grow, no longer thin as they curled themselves around your image—the very same image that he held onto the first time he heard you.

What was it that had him harbouring an ever so flourishing interest in you? The thought rings in his mind, incongruent to the others that simply gave way to his desires of harming you. This new restraint that he found unexpected himself, Michael only grew restless. In response, he began to target Haddonfield once more—catching the town’s breath as those he encountered slaughtered ruthlessly.

They assumed the rise in killings as unexpected of the killer, which was what Michael expected of them. He found it foolish of the townspeople to expect him to remain stagnant in craft, to remain silent during the months of February. To him, they seem to forget that he killed with little rhyme or reason time, and time again.

Though, he supposed he was a hypocrite, as one might say, seeing how he remained stagnant in his process of killing you. Perhaps he was one, but there was no one else to see it except for him.

Similar to his sealed lips from those years ago, you were an unmentioned secret—one that you were unaware yourself, your decisions dictating how long you were to live another day. Michael found himself impatiently waiting—though he was sure that you were to be dead by the end by his hands—in some way or another.

Much to his confusion, you remained something of interest to him. That, itself, intrigued him to watch a little longer. The roots of his own interest beginning to sprout even more from its base, its grip slowly distorting your image. The longer he watched, the longer his mind began to alter the image of you, something that Michael now believed belonged to him.

It didn’t take long for the roots to destroy your image, in response to you encountering him in your house.

Now knowing of Michael’s existence as he stood before you, you were frozen in place and prepared for his blade to strike you. The killer held onto the handle of his kitchen knife tightly, feeding further into your fear.

To your surprise, Michael stood still. Despite his eyes being obscured by the mask, you could feel him staring into your very being. His gaze was uncomfortable as it had your skin crawl the longer he remained stationary. To you, this was a fate far worse than the death that you knew the killer promised with every one he encountered—even more when you cannot see his face.

He could see all of you—whilst you on the other hand could only see his hands that held the knife handle ever so tightly. The thought you concocted now left you vulnerable and uneasy for what’s to come, shutting your eyes tightly.

To your surprise, the expected outcome did not arrive. Silence greeted you when you opened your eyes, the killer no longer in sight. You looked around in confusion yourself, your body still unnerved as night bled into the evening.

Michael found that the image of you that he had before was replaced with one that was your encounter of him.

It seemed to him that you will remain in his memory, in which he takes with an essence of possession. His roots no longer curled around you as suffocating as they were before, this development keeping his interest in you alive.

Curiously enough, your encounter with Michael seared itself into your mind. No matter how hard you try to do so, he remained in your memory as well.

I hope you have enjoyed this piece of OG, I apologise for my absence! Time has simply caught onto me. Your requests have been received, and I am currently working on a few of them. Billy and Stu are quite a favourite from what I see.

Again, please reblog this post! I really appreciate them. (: Thank you once more for reading, have a wonderful day/night!!

#michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #og michael myers x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

hi :]

what's ur opinion on Buffalo Bill/and or Hannibal Lector?

Hey there, thanks for making an ask!! It is all under the cut.

It got a little too detailed, I believe you may know why. (,:

Reading Jame Gumb’s biography, it appeared (to me and my own interpretation) that he is a disturbed man—turning to the irredeemable act of countless murders in a response to what? Being rejected from transitioning because he was deemed mentally unfit? He was, initially, a very pitiful when you lay his thought process out and dissect it, but even then, I find him barely redeemable with how aggressive and violent he gets in the film adaptation.

He is complex enough for it to catch my attention, but I believe my opinion on him are as similar as to how Dr. Lecter would put it; [“Our Billy wasn't born a criminal ... He was made one through years of systematic abuse.” - Silence of the Lambs, 1991] That is all I can say for Buffalo Bill.

Hannibal Lecter on the other hand, is a whole other ballgame. He is cunning and extremely calculative with the words from him and others. He has an amazing way with his words, picking apart someone from what? The accent they have? The way they carry themselves? It is no wonder he was such a wonderful asset to be kept alive. But then, it is such a dangerous game; keeping a smart man in a cage. It was bound to happen, in my honest opinion.

I have an idea on how his mind may work, though it is still an assumption on my end! But, I won’t detail it, seeing it is an ask and not an analysis, haha!

I enjoyed the movie as a whole, the symbolism of the moth at play being absolutely fantastic alongside the camerawork and scripting! Everything came together and portrayed these two characters as they are to be seen; chilling and downright horrifying. I am an absolute lover for the details and there were so many in the movie.

#from the desk of s.#silence of the lambs #hannibal lecter #jame gumb

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Stu’s sweet angel.

@lilbisexual’s request for Stu Macher with an s/o who happens to be a crybaby. Warnings for a detailed description of murder.

Pairing(s): Stu Macher/Reader

Type: Comfort, Fluff | Headcanons

➻ Stu adores you, a lot. Your soft, gentle personality was a direct opposite to him since he is independent—you, however, were dependent on him, as it seemed. Stu thanks whatever it was that had him be so lucky to get into a relationship with you. He felt as though he took you off the market from the prying clutches of the other guys at Woodsboro—getting with someone so endearing was difficult to come by, especially if they too reciprocated the same feelings you had for them! Stu honestly believed he struck the jackpot when he had you—his sweetheart.

➻ He never minded the fact that you were as clingy as you were with him—he most likely revels in the attention you shed onto him. In fact, Stu acts accordingly, ensuring that you both are attached to the hip wherever (and whenever, really) possible. He flaunts PDA in Woodsboro whenever he can, rubbing it in everybody’s faces as a hand of his affectionately squeezed yours whilst he rambles. How lucky he was to have you. You think so too.. don’t you, baby?

➻ Stu finds it entertaining that you fret over him whenever he comes and goes. As much as his “personality” may pretend to care about your worries for him. He knows he can handle himself, much more than you would ever know. The manipulative side to him creeps out as it takes in your whines, so revelling in the fact that you genuinely care for him despite not knowing who he was when you head to bed. The deceitful nature in his body takes advantage of the fact sometimes when he needs to sway your opinion on someone.

“Stu! Wha—What happened to you?” Your hand immediately raised itself to touch his jaw, a thumb gently rubbing against the bruise that blossomed. Stu faked a wince to exaggerate—this isn’t the worst that he had gotten beaten up, his ‘Ghostface’ occupation brought worse in his honest opinion, but you didn’t have to know about that.

—

A few days prior, you recall Stu returning to the benches with a few bruises on his lower jaw and cheek—was that a bit of blood trickling from his right nostril? You got up almost instantly as you walked over to him in strides.

“Brad Kemp. That’s what. He was being creepy talking about the girls in the locker room. You think I’d let it slide?” Stu mumbles rhetorically, his voice now low. Again, another exaggeration. Actually, scratch that, Stu’s being a liar at this point. It was injustified. Brad never did anything, only teasing Stu’s relationship with you—maybe he lightly joked about how he was a better option for you–but all that mattered was that Stu swung first, something akin to scout’s honour in response to Brad’s clearly disgusting behaviour. You didn’t have to know anything more than that. It was justifiable to Stu.

He can see that same glint in your eyes—that showed disbelief, you were friends with Brad, after all, but Stu was hurt. He hurt your boyfriend. In your eyes, that was unforgivable. You decided on scolding Brad, though you changed your mind as you chose the option to distance yourself from your friend.

He shuts his eyes, feigning innocence as he, in exaggeration, winces in response to your already featherlike touches brushing against the bruises that no longer ached.

➻ Sure, to say that Stu didn’t take advantage of your nature was an understatement, but it helped him in curating the perfect alibi whenever a mistake of his from last night was pointed out. That, and his already playful personality that made fun of anything that would have been remotely serious—no matter if it was the right time or place, after a couple of times to pry answers from Stu, the questioner would return empty-handed—their attention no longer on him.

You didn’t need to know that it didn’t hurt anymore. All that mattered was that you believed his act. You won’t have any hard feelings when Brad is greeted by Ghostface a few nights later. That was all there was in the end. You didn’t care as much, tending to Stu as much as you could—relaxing in his arms once you were done.

—

➻ Something that came with your clinginess was how you’d worry about him getting home safe. He’s acknowledged that there’s a killer around and made a promise to ‘protect himself’—but what about you? Cue impromptu night checks from Stu—so much so that him entering your home appeared natural, even if on some days Stu visited unconventionally and appearing out of nowhere.

Having Stu was a comfort to you, seeing how he’d try to continue the night that he was spending with you—he ensured that the night remained as normal as he possibly could try. You seat yourself on the couch, wrapping an arm around Stu’s neck.

—

You don’t recall the window to your living room being open, but there wasn’t anything to worry with Stu being there as witness. There were more instances that happened around in your own home, which had you feeling uneasy when you were really alone.

You felt thankful that your boyfriend was here with you, even more that he is safe. You made sure of it, taking care of each locked door in your home. You two were barely halfway through the movie—it was some kind of cheesy rom-com, from what you heard from the synopsis—you found yourself already dozing off. In your last moments of consciousness, you can almost barely feel a gentle kiss that was planted onto your temple.

“..’night baby. Go on and rest.” Stu’s voice faintly registered in your ears. Even then, you can already imagine the sweet smile he’d present to you—one that was genuine and incongruent to his ‘class clown’ personality.

You slept soundly that night, with Stu only moving to hug you against his chest.

➻ Stu knew that on top of the other worries, he knew of your concerns regarding his nightly whereabouts. To circumvent them, he made a couple more arrangements and a few more promises to be made with you.

Coincidentally, there wasn’t any more instances that happened afterward.

—

It was mid-scare as the two donned their costumes, watching as their victim of the night tremble with the phone in her hand. Stu made sure to opt out on the murder for tonight [the reason being that he’s been the one ‘striking them all this while’], keeping an eye on the clock as each minute passed. Stu broke in the victim’s home via the backdoor, heavy duty rope that was held in his gloved hands. He heard Billy hanging up on the victim, in which he made his move.

—

It got on Billy’s nerves, Stu was sure of it. Even then, Stu didn’t care. You were too important to him to simply brush off your worries as if they weren’t worth anything. It sucked that Billy didn’t see it and bothered to find for himself, but it had Stu prideful to have some form of ‘normalcy’ unlike his partner in crime.

He strangled the victim. Not enough to kill her, but render her disorientated enough for Billy to handle. After all, Stu has already made arrangements—that he made sure to explicitly say days before this event.

Familiar, heavy footsteps entered through the backdoor. Stu turned around to present the almost immobile victim with pride, as if he were offering her up as a sacrifice. The image was funny to think about. He never was the religious type—but the display itself was something like wrangling a goat for slaughter.

“Wh.. Why…?” The victim’s voice choked out, voice soft as she attempted to use as little air as possible. The two killers remained unresponsive, the rope around her throat tightening as Billy unveiled the hunting knife he held onto his person, stabbing straight into her chest. Then began the thrashing, the girl writhing in panic as she pleaded for mercy—much to their amusement.

Stu’s phone began to quietly buzz, momentarily dragging the attention of the two toward it. Billy stared at his partner’s left pocket.

Stu couldn’t help it, his shoulders began to raise as he let out a few muffled chuckles—finding humour in the situation. Billy stared up at him incredulously, shaking his head as he continued stabbing her.

She was long dead by the time the two were done decorating the home with her entrails, but Billy was frustrated. The two killers were unmasked, the air having been quite stuffy when they donned their Ghostfaces.

“We could’ve gotten caught if someone else heard that!” Billy grumbled, tying the rope that Stu held onto into a square knot—the reason for the idea because it was December, what better than presenting their murders in a similar theme as well? The symbolism was there, that the killers were evolving the longer they weren’t caught. Take her intestines as a substitute for garlands—as the other killer was cleaning up any sign of a struggle, keeping the place spotless.

“Who even was it?” Billy pried, still focused on the presentation Stu pulling out his phone from his pocket to read the caller ID.

“Ooh, shit.” Billy froze at his words, preparing himself for the worst with those two words. Did they get caught?

“..Who?”

“It’s ___.” If only he could beat the shit out of Stu for riling him up like that.

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that..” An ingenuine sorry came his way, Billy ignored it as he continued talking. “Besides, what’s so bad about that—”

“—If I haven’t responded, they’re gonna think the worst and try over to my house to check on me.” Stu answered, panic slowly reaching him the more he thought about it. It was past the time he was supposed to meet up with you and even later, that’s gotta ring some warning bells in your head.

“Fuck. I gotta go, Billy.” He sounded panicked, which had Billy scoff. Why even worry about you?

“Just what was so good about being in a relationship that has you so fucking soft?” Billy began, hearing the footsteps stop right by the backdoor, he assumed.

“___’s a risk you’re taking, y’know. Should’ve just killed them. No need to panic.” Billy suggested, turning to look at Stu. He paused when he saw how Stu looked back at him. They were unrecognisable, widened to a degree as if he couldn’t believe Billy’s words, despite the nature of what they were doing.

“I swear to fucking god, Billy.. If you’re going to pull some shit like that with ___—I’ll make sure your death is forgettable to everyone in Woodsboro. Go fuck yourself.” Stu seethed, his eyes holding malice like none other. It intrigued Billy to see Stu as emotionally charged as he was, but he supposed it was probably him bringing you up that sparked it.

➻ It was uncharacteristic of him to be angry, but that display for him cemented how real his feelings for you were. The anger lingered with him until he saw the sight of you nearing his front door. Stu changed directions, heading home through the back.

Billy stared at the now open backdoor, watching Stu slink into the darkness in a light jog. He chuckled himself, shaking his head as he began washing the bloodied blade of his hunting knife.

—

➻ Stu headed back home through his own backdoor, already out of his Ghostface outfit as he shoved them all inside the washing machine. He had already heard the ringing of doorbells coupled with you calling for him. Stu made quick work, opening it to see you on the verge of tears. You held onto his hand tightly.

➻ Stu answered every concern you had, rubbing his eyes to pretend that he had only just woken up. Another alibi for him to mess around with. He smiled genuinely at you, assuring you that he was alright, apologising for throwing such a wrench in your plans for a movie night. He hugged you tightly, obstructing his face from view that had already curled into an almost dopey smile. You didn’t have a single clue. This was good for him.

➻ His smile grew even more once he felt you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around him in response. He offers to spend the night at his home to make up for the lost time. You accept in an instant, which has his heart doing somersaults. What did he even do to have you?

➻ Oh, how he adored you, his sweet angel.

Hello! I apologise for the late response. I hope you have enjoyed reading this piece! It’s a little short, but I hope it suffices! (:

Please reblog this post, thank you!

Requests are open, if you’d like to make one. Please read the rules before doing so, though!

#stu macher x reader #stu macher x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

hi! if it’s not too complicated how ab billy loomis x autistic fem reader? to narrow it down (since it’s a spectrum) mayb reader is more anti-social and passes off as a little mean when she doesn’t mean to? thank u sm! and dw if it’s too hard no pressure ^^

Assisted by Billy Loomis.

Pairing(s): Billy Loomis/(Female) Reader

Type: Fluff | Headcanons

➻ Billy is ignorant of it at first, due to him initially being uneducated about developmental disabilities. Of course, with him being unaware—there were many things that he said that made you uncomfortable or had rubbed you in the wrong way. An example of which being an instance where he once referred to your stimming as ‘that strange thing you do’, often finding it amusing that you were mean to the other students at times—he never knew that it wasn’t done on purpose. He may even encourage the behaviour at times, which in the beginning, you may feel ignored and misunderstood in the relationship. Your mixed feelings may show themselves in the relationship, which would immediately be noticed by your boyfriend.

➻ Once he found out about it, you can honestly say he felt guilty for how he had acted prior. You may find Billy now appearing distant with you—one aspect that you took note of almost instantly. You may begin to assume that Billy was starting to get bored of you, perhaps he was as the rumours had depicted him—those whom he had dated slowly erased from his memory bit by bit. However, it was quite the contrary, as Billy had begun researching—more specifically on autism, its spectrum. One can only imagine how many sleepless nights Billy took to educate himself on the topic.

➻ By the time Billy had spent well over three weeks researching, he begun the next phase by asking directly from the source—you. Billy will take his time, not wanting to overwhelm by overloading you with an influx of questions. This will be the time where Billy is uncharacteristically assuring, being sure to take in each answer you provide and commit it to memory. With some time and a few questions later, you’ve got a boyfriend who’s gotten a self-appointed role as a protector or, in much simpler terms—your personal guard-dog. He is extremely protective over you now, making sure that you feel safe and happy whilst being in a relationship with him. He barely forgived himself for being as insensitive as he was in the beginning.

➻ Coming from where he’d brush off comments, seeing him acutely aware and ever-so accepting initially had you unnerved. Now, however, it is seen to be quite.. adorable, in a sense. Billy made sure to know your boundaries first and foremost, before working his way on apologising to you. By then, Billy is much more understanding.

➻ Your relationship with Billy can be described as simple as a breath of fresh air—the feeling of a new beginning, an era of being heard. Billy is a lot more open minded, the added knowledge helping him reconsider his choices and how he should approach people. You may even say that he was becoming kinder, in a sense. Billy supports you in every way that he can, helping you even whenever you have difficult days at school.

➻ If allowed, Billy may also do his part in helping you socialise better with the other students, despite it initially having him hold back on his insults at first. After some time, Billy finds it a breeze helping you out when you need it. You may even say that Billy is now at your every beck and call. He knows how the students of Woodsboro are—they aren’t exactly the brightest, in his honest opinion. Billy supposed that he could get things to fall into your favour so that you won’t have to deal with the short end of the stick, or so to speak.

➻ You can also count on the fact that Billy is making the necessary arrangements that is the best for you. If you happen to be overstimulated by the environment you are in, visually or audibly—Billy will lead you to the side and assist wherever he could, such as handing over your noise-cancelling headphones for instance. There are other ways, most if not all were never impossible for him to handle. He’s extremely good at multitasking, really.

—

He kisses you on your cheek, savouring the sight of you in his arms again.

‘Anything for you, babe.’ He thought, a gentle look in his gaze as he kept his eyes on you.

Billy couldn’t ask for anything more, really.

I apologise for the shortened set of headcanons! ): Due to unforeseen circumstances, my writing speed has decreased temporarily (partly due to my fingers now needing breaks every 2 hours). I tried my best in fulfilling your request and added a few more ideas that had been provided by a friend! (: Thank you again, Jim!

I hope you are satisfied with this piece from me! Please reblog this post, thank you!!

Requests are still open, though, please check the rules before making one of your own! Thank you again for reading through this, have a wonderful day/night!!

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

May I request Thomas Hewitt comforting a reader who is over sensitive? She has been belittled and made think that she is stupid and clumsy in every way possible, so whenever someone *cough* Hoyt *cough* is particularly harsh on her she shuts down until she gets the opportunity to hide away and cry? Thank you ❤️

Thomas Hewitt comforting you.

Pairing(s): Thomas Hewitt/Reader

Type: Angst, Comfort | Headcanons

➻ Thomas is very much aware of your gentler personality even before he had first gotten into the relationship with you. As a matter of fact, it was what drew him toward you to even form such an attraction. Thomas adores you, associating you similar to a comforting blanket that once wrapped around him whenever he had gotten patched up for any injuries. There were so many words and phrases Thomas is unable to associate you with—but the fact of the matter is that you are endearing to him.

➻ It had definitely been a long day for Thomas, having been hard at work chopping up the food and storing them for later. Thomas has already blocked out Hoyt’s demeaning words for quite a long while—the words from the older man practically bouncing off him with how often they are used to pin Thomas down. He’s grown used to ignoring, knowing how it could be either that it’s true or not. Even then, Thomas has never quite gotten that much free time to dwell on whatever it was that Hoyt’s said—he has work to do, leaving him no choice but to take it as it is and move on after it has been said and done. The only thing that he can’t leave sitting about is you, the newest member to the Hewitt family.

➻ Thomas knows what it feels like being belittled, though he has never stood up for himself when the remarks had been made by his own kin. Of course, this is more often than not the fault of Hoyt’s reasoning that it was to ‘toughen ol’ Tommy’, much to Ludae Mae’s chagrin and protest. The only reason that Thomas had any problem with it was when he noticed how affected you were with the sheriff’s words.

➻ It was one of those nights where he resigned himself back into the shared bedroom—Thomas feeling more than ready to return to the bed, his exhaustion prevalent with every footstep made as he headed toward the door to the room. In spite of that, Thomas’ hearing is still as acute as ever, immediately picking up on the shift in the room as he opens the door ever so gently before entering. He sees your body curled up in a fetal position, back facing him. Thomas didn’t know what came over him, but seeing you in such a position had his immediate attention.

➻ It didn’t take long for you to notice the shift in the mattress as he takes a seat next to you—he didn’t get a good chance to look at you, which made him all the more concerned for you.

—

“Ah—T..Tommy. I didn’t hear you come in, sweetheart.” You whispered, voice low in an attempt to mask the fact that you had been crying. You kept your face obstructed from Thomas’ line of sight with your hands, already feeling unsure of how he’d react to it. You honestly were not ready to find out anytime soon—not after what the Sheriff said.

The only response you received from your lover was a concerned grunt before you felt a familiar large hand hold onto one of your left wrist, gently tugging it away to reveal your face before him.

—

➻ The wave of emotions he felt was shock, not once had he seen you break down as you did now, this time being the only time he saw it for himself—never having the time to see you when he works away in the basement. The feeling that bled into him after was anger, an emotion that drove him to react violently, chainsaw in hand or not. He saw it all on your face, you had been crying for maybe even hours—and yet, he doesn’t know what it was that caused you to feel that way. Thomas was nothing short of livid. What, or who dares to make you cry? Thomas’ rage dissipates however, once he had heard your voice through the barrage of thoughts swimming past him call out to him.

—

Thomas seemed to untense when you whispered his name, as if it were a hidden sin to call for him. He stares back, no longer zoned out in his own headspace as he refocuses his attention on you.

“Am I..—You know—Am I really that stupid, Tommy?” You whimpered out, voice no longer low as it seemed to have returned to its original pitch. The question had Thomas dumbfounded. You? Stupid? Those words did not have any particular correlation, nor did he want to think that it was even a palpable thought in his mind—There was simply no way you were and Thomas was extremely confident in that as fact. You are smart. Much, much smarter than him.

He urges you to elaborate on why you began thinking so lowly of yourself. He’d like to know what it was that caused you to shed as many tears as you did.

You couldn’t help but let out all of your grievances for Thomas to hear. There was no point keeping it away from him any longer, you were in the comfort of your room—a space that only you and your lover occupied with nobody else to intrude.

And so, you broke.

“I know–It’s.. You don’t hear me say this stuff, but—Hoyt was..” You took a sharp breath to collect yourself, your gaze focusing on your hands that were now moving to hold onto Thomas’.

“Hoyt’s been telling me all these things—I’ve been.. I’ve been trying to help around the house, you know. Help Mama with the chores and clean up the house. I struggled with some of it. Hoyt saw me–I think after the last two he brought back for you to take..”

Your voice trailed off, sighing shakily.

“He’s been calling me stupid for being so clumsy—he’s been doing it for a while.. I’m.. I just think today’s not my day. Maybe.. Just maybe, I’m just overreacting and it’s stupid for you to hear this from me.. ’m probably wasting your time.” You gently squeezed his hands once you finished. At the last sentence, you could hear a hitch in Thomas’ voice.

It took you a while to look in his eyes. But when you did, it was only then did you see an equally familiar sight in those brown eyes you adored.

It was the look he had when he was hunting people down.

—

➻ Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You weren’t–No. You can’t possibly believe whatever it was that Hoyt said. To think that you’re wasting his time? Thomas thought otherwise—He never knew. He really did. Now, he feels as though he has failed his role as your lover. Guilt is what he would feel now, self-deprecative thoughts eating away at his mind as he looks over your disheveled state. As much as the hateful thoughts began bubbling up in his head, he shoved it aside to tend to you. He needed to show to you that he was there for you, there would be no point if he wallowed in his own guilt.

—

Thomas’ sudden surge of rage quickly transitioned into one that was saddened, exposing his vulnerability in the process. He felt a sense of obligation, his hands quickly moving to pull you right toward his chest. His arms wrapped themselves around you, hugging you firmly in a comforting embrace.

As he leaned his head down to nuzzle against your neck, he heard you break into sobs once more. Every tear you shed tugs at Thomas’ heartstrings.

Each tug was an ache that tore at his previously docile behaviour whenever his family members demeaned others. It tore at him.

Thomas gently rubbed circles into your back, an assuring coo reverberating from his throat as he did so. He shut his eyes, planting a soft kiss against your temple.

He felt your heart beat slow down and relax, an indicator that you appeared to not be as distressed as you were before. It relieved him that his comfort, while it was quite subtle in providing, hearing your sobs quieten down.

—

➻ Thomas still felt some form of guilt remaining with him by the time you admit multiple more accounts of you being harassed by Hoyt. Seeing how he had, in a sense, ignored the signs and the possibility of you being affected by Hoyt’s words, he felt useless. From that day onwards, Thomas made an arrangement to remain by your side. Luckily for him, there were little chores for him to complete for the day—they were quickly tended to before returning by your side once again. He also made sure to let Ludae Mae know about what happened, too.

➻ By the time the grandfather clock struck noon, Hoyt came strolling in. The sheriff was stopped by Mama, matched with Thomas side-eying the older man as he was reprimanded. He may not have the voice to scold Hoyt, but he had his Momma in his favour. Thomas will go at great lengths to keep the sheriff in line and careful in what he’s saying. Everytime he does slip up, he’s met with Tommy’s glare and his huff of disapproval. It’s gotten Hoyt to back off on his words a smidgen.

➻ Whenever you do feel the need for an outlet to cry your heart out, you can be assured that you can safely do so in Thomas’ arms. He’d happily welcome you in them if you seek it, knowing himself you aren’t similar to the words Hoyt said. Expect his affection in the bedroom to increase tenfold, his shy kisses now directed with a narrative to comfort you just as much as you comforted him.

—

It was late again, though this time around, Thomas was in bed with you. He remained awake as he glanced over your features.

He could hear your light breathing, unaffected as you slept content. No longer was it laboured from crying, much to his relief, finding that his tactics of intimidating Hoyt had gone well after a few weeks.

Thomas held his hand out, his finger parting aside a lock of your hair that obstructed your face slightly from his view.

Despite him failing to protect you from Hoyt, you still stayed and continued loving him in the relationship.

Taking this as a second chance to be a better lover, Thomas made a promise to himself to protect you in any way that he could do so.

It felt right for him to do so, seeing it as the least that he could do to repay you for your love.

It was the least that he can do as your husband; that was fact.

—

I hope this is what you wanted, anon! I apologise for any mistakes you may find in the piece, but I once again hope that you enjoyed reading it. (: For anybody interested in requesting through the ask box, be sure to look through the list of rules and slashers available if you aren't sure if your request would be accepted. Again, please reblog this post! Thank you in advance!! Thank you again to whoever is reading this, please take care of yourself and have a wonderful day/night!! (:

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Most to Least: Possessive

Slashers: Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt

Out of all of them, who did you think would be at the very top?

Most

(RZ) Michael Myers

RZ is a lot more assured in his mind once he is in a relationship with you, but he is far more aggressive than his original counterpart whenever he does feel that someone was getting far too close. Whilst OG may stare, RZ is not afraid to get physical with the person in question. RZ would decide to put the person through some form of psychological torment, leaving behind dead critters about in their home in the spots they most frequent—before increasing the severity of it by making loud, unexpected noises in their home. They will eventually put two and two together, assuming that it was affiliated with you in a way. Most of RZ’s actions would reveal itself in due time with the person’s admittance to you before distancing themselves from you as well. Try as you might, RZ is the hardest to convince not to wreak havoc on your social life.

Billy Loomis

Billy has his own possessive streak, established with how little he has dear to him—you are especially precious in his eyes. In the relationship, you are his sense of comfort during his time in Woodsboro. Billy, with his already complicated life with an emotionally detached father, you could say that you are one of the few good things that he looks forward to as the days pass by. His hand would find itself holding onto yours, if he has not already wrapped his arms around your waist whenever you two were in good company. He wants to make it inherently clear to every student who looks your way that, no, you are not single, and yes, you are his.

(OG) Michael Myers

OG has his own version of possessiveness over you. It is neither a show of dominance nor was it to please a romantic aspect in his cognitive brain. It is primal, similar to having a favourite that he has permanently ingrained in his mind as a part of normalcy he had obtained in his life. It is really a fact to him—seeing you as his, as much as he is yours. People might find it difficult to approach you at first due to OG’s unseen gaze boring into their back.. Contrary to popular belief by Dr. Loomis, Michael can listen to orders, even more so whenever they’re from you. He won’t clash into your social life unless he deems it necessary—which he won’t do so, so long as you remain entirely honest with him.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is familiar with the feeling, though one may say it was rather a desire after receiving something that was once believed to be unattainable, to hold onto it as tightly as one could. His mannerisms and behaviour could be chalked up to something similar to something carnal, his possessiveness is the product of his fear of losing you, paired with his low self esteem—you may find yourself being held onto a little more tighter whenever he feels as though he might lose you. However, with enough time and assurance, Thomas will most definitely let up on his possessive behaviour—his trust in himself and you strengthening even more the longer the relationship continues.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba has his own concerns when you had gotten in a relationship with him. He, just like Thomas, worries about losing you—though not because of him, but rather to the victims who traipse into the Sawyer’s territory. He wouldn’t know what to do if you get hurt, and you can safely bet that he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.. He’s also a bit hesitant on having you around his brothers, as he’s unsure on how they’d react and interact with you at the beginning of the relationship, which means he’d keep an eye on you in the mean time. Please assure Bubba that you’ll be fine and that you can take care of yourself. Similarly with Thomas, Bubba will grow his confidence in the relationship as it progresses, albeit it would be a lot more faster than the Hewitt.

Billy Lenz

Billy flips quickly with almost a flick of the wrist, though it is to be noted that he will only be possessive whenever he has his moments of dissociation and episodes. You are ingrained in Billy’s memory as his go-to comforter. He won’t be especially happy if there happened to be someone in the way of what he wants—your attention. It will more often than not result in Billy throwing a tantrum when he is in such a catatonic state. It is up to you to figure out how you could help him whenever he slips into said episodes. It will be difficult dealing with him on some days, though, you will learn multiple ways to help make this arrangement work for Billy—and he’d try his best, too.

Jason Voorhees

Jason had been carefully taught by his mother the right manners and would uphold her teachings even when it was well past death—In his eyes, it only feels right to honour her in some way or another. For a relationship to fully work with Jason, he has to trust you just as much as he would love you. With him having quite a lot of love to spare, you can be assured that he completely understands how you have a life outside of Crystal Lake. Jason believes in providing you the best with what he has, he’d rather not add on to your burdens by hovering over you all the time. Jason’s mother had taught him better, which is why he’s good at reading you whenever you do need him.

Stu Macher

Stu is entirely faithful toward you as much as he is acutely aware of what you do, seeing how being the classclown—word gets to him quite quickly when he asks the right people. Stu doesn’t feel threatened by anyone at all, knowing that he can target the person if he ever felt like it. He doesn’t go through with the plans at all, though, as he’d rather wait on your call for him to let him do something about it. Stu is a lot more trusting of you, having been more used to social interaction and certain cues in comparison to Billy. Being in a relationship with Stu is fun, yet still full of trust and comfort. He is at your every beck and call, feeling as though you deserve to be treated as such.

Least

Thank you for reading this post! I hope this ranking format doesn’t intimidate you, haha! (:

I apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors! I have a couple of headcanons coming soon by the end of the week, so be sure to be on the look out! (:

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Thank you again and have a wonderful day ahead!

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angled-blade · 1 year

Note

hi! m in love with ur fics, and if i can, i’ll req Billy Loomis x fem/gn (anything tbh) reader hc’s where they go from “playful” friends to a kyute couple?!!!?!!!?? tysm if you can do it! and if you can’t, no worries ^^!

Falling in love with Billy Loomis.

Pairing(s): Billy Loomis/Reader

Type: Fluff | Headcanons

➻ You two were only freshmen, having just enrolled in Woodsboro High. You were lost in the sea of students who passed along the hallways. It got to the point where you desired to cling to another first year in Woodsboro High. It just so happened that you locked onto Billy Loomis, who seemed to be just as lost as you. Finding familiarity with that, you took a shot by interacting with him first.

➻ Billy, albeit hesitant, reciprocated by responding. You quickly became friends of convenience—a buddy initially to find places (or not—you two had always gotten lost in the first week), which soon turned into acquaintances who help out one another with homework and eventually, friends.

—

‘It’s funny how things turn out in a single semester.’ Billy sighed softly, waiting for you to return to the table with food, making sure to keep an eye on your things as he did.

He honestly did not expect to see you as a constant in his consciousness. It was as if you were becoming something that he felt strangely protective over. You reached him with ease despite having no personal connection tied to him before Woodsboro. In the corner of his eye, he saw your figure arriving with a tray of food. Billy straightens himself in his seat, a sly smile over his features now.

“Took you quite a bit, huh, ___?” He greets you. You rolled your eyes at his teasing tone as you sat down at the table.

—

➻ Surprisingly enough, you are a voice of reason for Billy. No-one could tell from his aloof demeanour that he held onto quite a bit of pent up rage. There had been a few words said that rubbed him in the wrong way, often resulting in Billy feeling the need to react aggressively. He tolerated you in a way that he would respect you and where your words held weight to him, where your opinions mattered to him unlike the others. It has definitely prevented unnecessary fights from happening with Billy holding back his silver tongue.

➻ The transition of you two’s feelings from platonic to romantic will be relatively the same. You balance out one another in a particularly unique way, your relationship becoming so close, that either of you could understand what the other is thinking with a single look.

➻ You most definitely had late night calls. During those nights, the only voices were you and Billy’s—which left you two comfortably staying on call as you talked through the night. You had discussions about anything, really.

—

“Mmm. Hey ___?” Billy asked, his voice softer now—not really finding any need for him to raise it at 2 in the morning.

“Mhm, what is it?” You responded, your focus on the page changing to Billy’s voice. Though, you made sure to bookmark it as you waited.

“Are you still sure about that movie? Honestly, John Carpenter’s Halloween is a way better–”

“—You’re still on about that? Gosh, Billy. I don’t mind Halloween, but I really want to watch the other movie..” You whined, putting emphasis in your words.

Billy felt heat rush to his cheeks just by your voice. He honestly really loved the sound of it.

“...Sure. I’m.. I shouldn’t have pushed it. How about snacks then, hm?”

Silence formed on the line.

“Aw.. That’s so unlike you. Never thought you’d let up and have such a change of heart, Billy—” Your voice answered, a teasing lilt taking over in your tone. Billy found it entirely endearing. He had to keep up his front, though.

“—Oh, shut up. I just—I’m just being considerate!” He huffs in response when he hears you tease him a little more.

When you had hung up, he laid his forearm across his face. Billy fully processed the conversation he had with you, now realising the situation he was in.

“...Shit. I really do like them.”

—

➻ Billy realises soon enough that he had grown a crush on you, seeing how differently he treats you in comparison to the other friends he had accumulated at the end of the year. He notices how differently you treat him from your friends, and it has him wondering about what you thought about him. Do you feel the same about him? Or is he just overthinking it? No matter howmuch he’d think about it, Billy would begin to plan out the multiple ways on how he could convey his message and confess.

➻ There is no doubt that he’s taking reference from romance movies, finding them a much more palpable option to learn from instead of his dad. Billy planned out a lot of possibilities, though he settles on keeping it simple—getting his answer directly from you.

—

Billy called you again at one in the morning. It was comfortable as always, offhanded comments here and there—though silence began to occupy the space a little more longer.

Believing this was his chance, Billy went ahead and took it. It took him rambling about the movie to slowly transition into his confession.

“... I also wanted to ask you something, maybe it’ll get complicated, but I wanna let you know anyway.”

A sharp inhale, he gathers his confidence before speaking.

“I really like you. Th—..This isn’t a joke, I’m serious about it.” Billy states, his nerves steeling as he waits for your reaction.

You couldn’t imagine how relieved he was when he heard your voice admit that you felt just as similarly.

—

➻ You two fell into the relationship almost instantly, parts of your relationship falling into place naturally—similar to a jigsaw puzzle that had found its missing pieces. If you two were close before, you were practically inseparable now. Even if your timetables didn’t match, you made do with the time you had—be it during lunchtime or after school.

➻ You two still kept up with the late night calls, though each one ends almost embarrassingly sappy with Billy’s now raspy and tired voice murmuring sweet nothings. His personality—the one you knew before he took on the ‘tough guy’ persona during his final two years in Woodsboro, is distinctly different as it unveils all of Billy’s vulnerability out for only you to see.

➻ Movie nights are spent together. There were far too many times to count where the both of you had fallen asleep in the midst of watching the movie, characters talking now being droned out as you held onto each other—almost fearing that you may part permanently if you did not do so.

➻ Cuddling is guaranteed with Billy in private, though he is not the most keen on publicly displaying his affection.Of course, your circle of friends knew about it. The only noticeable detail of your relationship to strangers and the students would be majorly well-hidden hand holding.

➻ Billy is someone who would offer to take you on dates, some of them heavily inspired by romance movies he absorbed a week before and took notes on. During the date, Billy replicates the scene—acting it out perfectly as he holds you close to him in the end, away from the prying eyes of people.

➻ For you, Billy is your motivator. His words are articulated in a way that brings you ease, seen with him assuring you whenever you endure stress and insecurity. Another example would be Billy taking his time to explain to you concepts during classes whenever you need assistance, he’s quick to help. To you, he is someone you find yourself trusting with your entire being

➻ For Billy, you are his safe place. A person who he can freely share his ideas about without it being judged—a line that has long been passed for the both of you. Billy can return to his actual interests in movies, shutting off the aloof persona that he donned for all of Woodsboro to see. To him, you are his space where he can express himself freely—a healthy outlet, if you will.

➻ It played a big part in him reconsidering some of his plans as Ghostface, though he only wonders what you’d think about his ideas now. He makes sure to keep you out of harm’s way, letting his partner in crime know not to do so as well.

—

Billy’s fingers gently stroked your head, his eyes staring at your sleeping figure fondly.

You were peaceful, off in a dream you may recall and recount to him once you wake.

Not once did he expect to be so vulnerable with another person, let alone fall in love with them. Not once did he think it was enough to form a relationship and claim the title as your boyfriend—the term one that he holds onto proudly, like a badge of honor.

He had begun his reign as Ghostface, though, he had made the necessary adjustments to keep you protected.

Assured with his own thoughts, Billy pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, an even softer yawn escaping him. He closes his eyes shut, drifting off to his own slumber as well, his arms wrapped around you ever so securely.

—

Hi! I hope you enjoyed these headcanons, anon!! I am so very happy to know that you liked my fanfics as well!! (:

Thank you for also being the first request, I was really excited to write this! A reminder that requests are open for everyone, simply read up on the rules on my pinned post, thank you!

Again, please reblog this post!

Thank you to whoever is reading this as well, have a nice day/night!! (:

#billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Being childhood friends with the Slashers

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt

To think that you were so close with them, it’s almost as if it weren’t coincidental.

• Billy Lenz

You only recall Billy as one of the only friends you had who had been so willing to try out all the weird dares back in middle school. You were fond of his strange antics, as it made you giggle at times. You kept his secrets as well, pinky promising him. Billy was really happy that day, his small hand holding yours the whole time. You never really thought you’d ever interact with him again after he had been pulled from public schooling altogether.

—

“___… ___’s here! Billy’s gotta call.. Right? Right! ___’s coming here!” Billy whispered under his breath, barely able to contain himself as he picked up the rotary right as you stepped inside the sorority home. He saw you from the attic window, your appearance remarkably the same, in which he identified in an instant. It made him giddy.

“Hello?” A voice responded. Someone that wasn’t you. Billy began to scream, his screams were calling for you all while he was simultaneously insulting the person on the other end. You were concerned, though you held the phone to your ear when one of the girls handed it to you teary eyed before exiting.

You didn’t expect to hear someone blabbering expletives and curses on the other end as he signed off with the name, ‘Billy’. What you didn’t expect was to recognise that voice, no matter how loud and unintelligible it was.

“Billy.. Billy..” That was when you realised, shock overtaking you. “Is that really you, Billy?” You murmured. You looked around the room nervously, though you were relieved that nobody was around.

“___!” He cheered, repositioning himself on his stomach as his kicked his legs. He was absolutely delighted to know you still remembered him, a coo escaping him.

• Bubba Sawyer

You had known the Sawyers since you were little, your family having been quite close with them as your father had been working at the same slaughterhouse as they did. With the automation of the slaughterhouse, your parents decided to move in response to it, much to your protests that went ignored. After moving away, contact with them began to lessen and got a lot more harder—though you missing them had gotten a whole lot more bigger, especially for Bubba. He was always so kind to you.

—

You didn’t expect your visit through the heart of Texas to have you running into the man you missed.

You saw that Bubba had been maskless, washing his face and his bloodied arms in the pond, maybe he was finished with butchering meat. The pond tugged at your heartstrings, seeing that it was where he and you always went to whenever your parents were busy.

“Bubba!” You hollered his name, your voice startling him at first. When he saw you, he was quick in running over to you. His pig-like squeals were amplified, wrapping his arms around you tightly. To the average person, those sounds from him would be unnerving—but you found it a familiar sort of assurance.

• Ghostface

• Billy Loomis

Billy was initially distant with you when you tried to talk to him at school, though he crawled back to you at the end of the day, shyly asking to be your friend in school. He would excitedly talk to you about movies, more specifically action. You reciprocated by rambling about the movies you’ve watched, too. Billy became something of a quiet protector, though, you two were already difficult to tear from one another in the first place, as it resulted in Billy being petty in the ways he sought for your attention. This friendship continued on until you made it to Woodsboro High, Billy making sure to keep his eye on you as he continued on with his plan.

—

Billy patted at the seat beside him, a smug smile across his features as he began to eat at his sandwich. You followed suit, setting down the books you had been holding onto from the previous class.

“How’s Mrs. Lake? She any good of a teacher?” Billy asked, chuckling at the sight of you huffing in frustration.

“Don’t even talk about it.. Anything you up to tonight?” You changed the subject, Billy catching onto it quickly, having known you for a long while. He nodded, a smile appearing now.

“I’m going to make a call tonight, nothing much, really.”

After answering, Billy returned to his sandwich after doing so, ending the conversation right after.

• Stu Macher

Stu had been dubbed as a problematic child long before you were even enrolled into the school. From what was honestly meant to be a day long interest in the new kid, Stu found himself quickly getting attached to you. He honestly craved the fact that you readily accepted him as he was and helped him focus on class in that really gentle way you did. Imagine his reaction when he heard the news that the school had offered you to be his aid in class, with you accepting it in a heartbeat? He was absolutely ecstatic. This arrangement continued until you two were in Woodsboro High, that fact itself had him quietly grateful.

—

“Uh, hey ___?” You hummed softly, indicating to him that you were listening. His tone alone already had you knowing what it was that he wanted. You quickly passed him your notes for him to copy down.

Stu smiled wide, patting your back as he always did. You knew that he couldn’t help the fact that he struggled finding ways to focus, so you always made sure to keep things easy for him to understand and recognise. By then, you always got the news from Stu as he boasted about the grades he had improving significantly.

“Andddd.. It’s all thanks to you~” Stu cooed, hugging you gently—which was uncharacteristic, but it showed how grateful he was.

• Jason Voorhees

You were practically attached to the hip with Jason, having been promoted to being his buddy throughout the time you were in camp. You didn’t mind it all. You met him purely by accident, being far more interested at the drawings he made at the bench that was behind the mess hall. Jason’s mother saw you, and the rest was history. You didn’t understand what was it with the others attending camp, but you made sure to protect him whenever you could from those bullies. You were pulled away from camp due to complications that you never knew. You honestly felt heartbroken when you found out what really happened.

—

Years passed.

No matter how long it had been, you couldn’t help but feel as if you failed Jason.

You shed many tears for him once you found out. If only you weren’t sick on that day, you could have stopped those cruel kids from throwing him in.

Here you were, resting white chrysanthemums on the bridge, right by the spot where it happened. It was quiet, as you would have expected, really.

You were startled by the sight of a hulking man donning a hockey mask as he stared at you.

What you didn’t expect was him dropping to his knees as if he didn’t want to intimidate you.

• Michael Myers

• ’78/OG

OG clung onto you similarly to a cat with a toy trapped in its jaws, unwilling to let go. His possessiveness over you was as prominent as it could possibly appear, making sure that he scared away the boys and girls who shyly came up to you in an attempt to play. You were his only playmate, never to play with another unless you wanted to betray him. That fact remained prevalent even after the incident on Halloween, due to your aura seeming unwelcoming to others ever since that day onwards.

—

You watched the news, overwhelmed with emotion as you read the headline over and over.

MICHAEL AUDREY MYERS: ‘EVIL INCARNATE’ PATIENT BREAKS OUT FROM SMITH’S GROVE SANATORIUM AFTER DECADE-LONG DORMANCY

“After all this time, you decide on escaping now.” You murmured, checking the calender. You sighed quietly at the coincidence. You felt a presence behind you a good few feet away, feeling eyes on your back. Having known Michael for as long as you did, a small smile now formed on your face.

“How fitting for you. Welcome home, Michael.” You whispered, turning around to face your friend after so long.

• RZ

RZ didn’t expect to make friends, seeing how it was his family that had him endure terrible treatment at school. He was surprised that you became someone who he felt protective over, being sure to keep an ear out for anybody who dare speak ill of you. While his size was puny in comparison to the other boys at school, he sure knew how to torment someone. RZ often pulled mean pranks, even going far to put his hobby of photography into the mix of the student’s bags. He even made sure to get the most gruesome shots to creep them out further. They stopped after a while, and he was never really caught per say… until that fateful night of Halloween, of course.

—

You didn’t know if it was purely by luck, but Michael found you as he basked in the aftermath of his murder spree. You were heading home, feeling eyes on you. You shivered, assuming it was due to a heightened paranoia ever since Michael had been taken away to the sanatorium.

You returned home, placing your keys on the side table. It was once you heard the back door creak open did you whip your head in its direction. Before you stood a man in a boiler suit who donned a white rubber mask. You remembered it all too well, knowing how it was one of a kind.

One thing that you knew especially was that mask your Michael wore on that Halloween night.

“Michael..” You muttered, his hand grabbed at his mask. He removed it, unveiling the long hair that he hid under it, further proving your statement. He stepped forward, his hand out for you to take.

• Thomas Hewitt

You were extremely close with the Hewitts, despite your parents warning you that it wasn’t for the best to form attachments; especially with people and places that aren’t permanent. You went ahead and did it anyway, being friends with Thomas Hewitt. He was the youngest of the Hewitt family and you learnt that he was really skillful with his hands in sewing. When you left you given Luda Mae your number for him to take. In exchange, he gave you a handmade handkerchief as his own version of goodbye to you right before you left, which made you cry on the spot. You kept in touch with him regularly as you moved, your relationship with him remaining as close as ever despite the distance.

—

“Guess what, Tommy!” You said, holding the phone closer to your ear as you felt your excitement course through you.

A grunt of curiosity escaped him, allowing you to elaborate on your words. He was in his bedroom, his head tilted to the right to avoid holding the phone as he sewed.

“I’m passing through Texas for something. Do you know what it means, Tom?” You asked giddily, your voice airy and light—indicating your elation. Thomas perked up at that, a few chuffs from him as if he wasn’t sure about it entirely, but a good feeling began to form.

“I’m going to meet—no, I’ll be meeting you soon!” You answered, unable to keep it quiet any longer.

Thomas paused on his sewing, making sure he heard that right.

“We’re finally going to be able to catch up face to face after—how long has it been? Ah, it’s been so long…” You sighed as you moved on to ramble what you could do.

With that confirmation, Thomas reacted with his foot thumping against the wooden flooring excitedly.

Sure, Hoyt was annoyed, but Thomas couldn’t care in that moment.

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#billy lenz x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #black christmas x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #ghostface x reader

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Your Embrace.

Pairing(s): Jason Voorhees/Reader

Warning(s): Implied mention of violence and murder.

Additional: 7,047 words. Written in 2nd POV [You/Your]. Storyline is set after the events of Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives (1986).

You sat yourself by the edge of the bridge, seeming to soak up the warmth from the sun’s rays. When he felt that there were intruders who stepped into his home, he would have expected a group of rowdy teenagers or sexually frustrated young adults swarming his territory as they have done many a times before.

Jason didn’t know what to make of it, seeing how it was unlike anything that he had handled prior.

He took many of his own experiences into account. He recalled how there had been many who would arrive together, and disperse one by one, spurred on by disgracing the woods by giving into their desires through adultery and substance abuse.

Now being met with this new scenario, it had Jason unsure of how he should be approaching the matter.

You were the only person he had detected and seen so far, your features were ordinary to him. Jason presumed that he had seen almost everything appearance wise, with people in a variety of styles degrading the ground of nature that he had grown to care for. No matter who appeared, Jason was sure of ensuring their deaths no matter how far they attempt to stop him—he believed in consequences, after all.

Consequences struck the woman who laid her hand onto his dear mother, in which Jason made quick work of her with the ice pick that he found in one of the drawers of her home. It played out as how she used the machete belonging to the camp to commit her crime, though this time around his mother’s head watched on as he wrung out his consequence against that woman.

Consequences struck the counselors when they attempted to reopen Camp Crystal Lake, as if they wanted to see a repeat incident of what had already happened to him—which infuriated him to no end. He got to work murdering them off, in his way of killing the chances of allowing the camp to reopen.

Consequences struck the man who thought of a cheap attempt at revenge, the lightning revitalising him to be alive no matter how much they attempted to take him down. With his being now impenetrable, the killings frequented far more often than anyone could have expected. With little to no leads—with an embarrassing speculation concocted by the public of an undead killer linked to a death back in the day—the authorities had to put their foot down some way or another. They closed off the camp from the general public for good—which in turn put a stop to the murders entirely, much to the relief of the already overwhelmed police department that handled the Crystal Lake cases.

Jason took the news positively, feeling at peace with the decreased number of unwanted visitors. Are you proud of me, mother? Nobody will get hurt again. It’s just like how you wanted. There had been no reason for him to eat or drink, leaving the undead man to work on a calmer routine, tending to the home he had protected ever so fervently. The greenery was maintained—gorgeous flowers of variety blooming amongst the shrubbery, the sight of flora alluring to the eye. The animals seemed to take a liking to him, the birds who usually actively avoided him whenever his presence made itself known in the forest got used to him—some even perching themselves on his shoulders on days whenever he was taking a moment of rest. All appeared to be well, allowing Jason to relax for the very first time in a long while. That was until you appeared.

Jason supposed that it had been a few months or so after the camp’s announced closure from the people that he had found you.

Jason gradually accepted the fact that you came in alone, without anybody else following after.

You were difficult to find in the forest, which was unanticipated. You wore clothing that was fitting for the terrain—with as little skin as possible showing through, save for your hands. He assumed that he had been lucky to even catch a glimpse of this silent trespasser, seeing how you appeared to blend in with the environment—making you even harder to detect in the forest. Despite that, Jason had found little reason to take action, seeing how you did not make your presence permanent in his territory by settling in one of the vacant cabins or, God forbid, dirty the scenery with the processed items that those before you littered about—he immediately recalled a time where he had to clear aside the beer cans that were strewn about from the last group of trespassers that he had to handle. There were no authorities checking in the forest afterwards—perhaps he did them a favour, ridding the people who seemed to be forgettable and dislikable by society. Though, the officers did not do their due diligence in clearing the litter—making Jason unsure about their credibility as well.

You seemed to not fall under those categories between memorable and forgettable, but you made sure to leave before dark—as if you had someone waiting for you, similar to his Mother. Even after the date of his assumed death, she kept coming back and embarked on her extended revenge against the counselors and camp organisers. She was noble in his eyes, her motives being one that was admirable to prevent the many other lives of little children to succumb to the same fate that Jason did. He didn’t know how else to describe the bottled rage he had that broke in a matter of seconds when he witnessed the death of his mother—and by the time he returned to his senses with some sort of composure, his hands had already been stained with red.

Some of the blood remained on him from that day, no matter how much Jason wished to scrub the memories away. Jason knew that he had to face them head-on as a means to keep his mother in memory, and to cherish the memories that he had made with her during the short life he was subjected to.

He supposed that you were in the same boat, yet you were more fortunate than him. You followed a routine as he did, making sure to leave the forest undisturbed as much as possible as you drove back to wherever it was that you came from.

Your car was now in the distance as Jason stood on the center of the road, memorising the shape and number of your licence plate. Sure, it was a little difficult at first, though, he made sure to commit the numbers to memory. He thought of remembering it as an easier way to pin consequences on your name if your presence slowly brought along unwanted company—especially those who would ruin the peace that Jason had painstakingly curated at Crystal Lake. You were only an afterthought to him.

That was the only reason for it, he’s sure of it.

—

You didn’t know what it was about Crystal Lake. The fact that it had been thriving without human contact, or the fact that you found comfort in a place that had been prohibited by the cops. You snuck in either way, seeing the place as a quick getaway from everything that stressed and irritated you.

You’ve heard of the rumours that surrounded the camp, many that plagued the lake that was situated at the bridge you made yourself comfortable on. The name was not as exaggerated, seeing how the crystal clear waters in its lowest tide, slow waves moving along as the sun began to set in the horizon.

Nobody had anything bad to say about the place itself, only the incidents that occurred in it, tainting the beautiful image that the camp promised. That was why the location was regarded in infamy, any operation running closing down soon to prevent any additional controversy.

That didn’t stop the rumours from spiraling out of control after the incidents.

What was that she said about Jason? That ‘he’s still there’ in that lake?

There were a lot of people to blame for the way the previous camps were held. You always recalled the nightly horror story of the boy that was to blame for the killings—a pretext for all these murders to take place and in the manner in which copied Pamela Voorhees. She was the mother of that boy who drowned, if you recall correctly, and had been the only killer known and identified by the police to be responsible for a good handful of the massacres prior to 1979.

The whispers from town were hushed yet borderline tone deaf as they spoke about the cases. You initially watched as the elders gently attempted to silence any talk of Camp Crystal, but you were quick to find out that they were their own gossip mongers—both loud and loquacious as they spoke of Jason Voorhees. They didn’t have a problem insulting his appearance despite it being quite possible that the boy they speak of could be deceased for all they knew.

Mrs. Voorhees had been an ‘old friend’ of the camp organiser who tried to reopen Camp Crystal Lake back in 1979. She had also been killed by one of the girls who was the sole survivor of the massacre.

Rumour has it that Jason watched his mother die that night. They never recovered his body back in ’57, didn’t they?

Though, nobody has heard from Alice ever since she left.

Rumour has it that she met her demise after leaving. Nobody knew for sure, but they sure as hell were confident to speculate what was made of the girl.

You’ve come to realise that despite the horrible tragedies that took place, people were not at all shy in sharing their opinions and theories about the Voorhees which—in your opinion—was a contemptuous choice made by them to kick an already dead horse. In your perspective, the murders were one of passion. Did she even receive assistance after the news of her son’s death? Was she only an afterthought for the people to mock and refer to as the mother of a disgrace?

Could that not be a reason for her rampage, that she did not receive help? You wanted to ask, but you kept quiet.

You learnt as you passed through the buzz about Camp Crystal, the story of Jason Voorhees was no longer a cautionary tale—one that spoke of an easily preventable incident due to the irresponsibility of guardians who decided to keep an eye on one another rather than on the children that were on camp.

The tale of Jason Voorhees had been reduced, one may even say degraded into a mere old folk’s tale—one for cheap horror, similar to buying into a pathetic novelty to experience a short thrill. It was now only just a story, a word of mouth akin to the stripping of the tree bark from its trunk—marketing the tale once cautionary into something theatrical—a surface-level one, for that matter. Jason Voorhees was no longer seen as a victim, never was he even referred to as one either in the past when it happened. He was only a simple name that just so happened to be the drowned boy of Mrs. Voorhees, with his death being the straw that broke her psyche. He was an afterthought, just as much as she was.

It was.. shameless.

To add further insult to his name, the residents who lived in the town dare not to even think more about Jason, save for his name and his features—each physical description of him they personally added with flair concocted with the idea of something monstrous and unimaginable.

A freak of Nature. You recall hearing one of the elderly say.

And yet, here you were, in the very place that the supposed monster monopolised as his territory, as much as it was his domain.

You initially came to the forest feeling braver than you were, as if the desire to prove yourself of something—a matter that did not necessarily involve the legend.

A multitude of reasons came to you to be used as the framework for your decision to visit the location, but not one of them appeared concrete enough for you to hold onto as a legitimate belief.

You could have been getting away from something, or someone. Perhaps you took the route of coping with yourself in silence, and the other was tempted to even lose the life you were having—during the off-chance that the murderer remained in the woods of Crystal Lake. Though the thought was only in passing, one that dissipated as soon as it materialised.

You couldn’t bring yourself to assume the identity of the killer as Jason Voorhees. From what you’ve heard, his name resurfaced just above the raging waters with agitated and irate relatives and friends pointing their fingers at him, blaming his curse of Crystal Lake being the argument for the lives that had been taken. Their reason for doing so? They believed in the idea, one that had Jason Voorhees reanimated into the form of an undead man, living through what no-one could even imagine. Even if their claims held any merit, it appeared that the bullying didn’t stop at his death from long ago.

He became something to be feared and yet, mocked so freely and equally.

You only saw him as a person curated from a series of unfortunate events. You didn’t fear Jason and the ideas that surrounded him. Not one bit.

That was why you came to visit Crystal Lake.

You found that the reputation of the area, paired with its prohibited access by the law enforcement, had made Crystal Lake charming in a peculiar way. It made the wooded area something close to one being off the beaten path—a hidden gem that had been locked aside by the authorities to put a halt to the massacres committed. They were successful on the latter.

Maybe, just maybe, you were curious to know of the murderer who hid in the woods. The one responsible for the crimes, seemingly honouring the death of Mrs. Voorhees, and who had yet to be identified by the police.

The one that got away.

You supposed that you went off track once you stepped foot into the forest. The agenda you held out had been quickly snuffed, similarly to an already melted candle on its last few centimetres of wax—the image mirroring your restraint in the environment you placed yourself in.

You’ve always had a close relationship with nature, after all. You couldn’t help but immerse yourself into the wooded areas, being the environment’s very own spectator—watching life move along, until your attention had returned onto the time on your watch. By the time you had adjusted yourself fully in the environment, evening would have arrived. It was especially noticeable with the sunsets that rested a little above the trees, a deep maroon taking over the sky before a gentle wash of blues and purples as day began to transition into night.

You left before it got that late, but you made sure to keep returning to Crystal Lake as much as you possibly could.

Your visits were almost weekly, and soon enough, you seemed to reestablish a newer reason to keep visiting the location, having discarded the previous idea of venturing into the area with a hint of curiosity and the slightest tinges of expectation.

You returned to Crystal Lake with zero expectations, embracing the flora and little fauna that were brave enough to interact with you. Whenever the time came for you to return home, you found that the hollowed feeling of desire no longer bubbles against your oesophagus. Your curiosity appeared far less prominent as you left satisfied.

Others chose to see Jason and the memory of him smeared across the sign. You chose to see the nature as it was on its own, appreciating it quietly on the sidelines. You supposed that the peace had left the forest unshaken by any interference from people—you saw the photos of it before, it really seemed that nature took over once access to the location had been barred from the prying eyes of the public.

You brought along a small, portable camera to take multiple pictures to bring back home with you. Most of them were the lake, though some were focused on animals and even parts of the cabins that had been previously so full of life. One could already see that these cabins had people living in it, with all the paraphernalia that had been left behind by the people who died. It seemed as though those very same relatives didn’t have the heart to retrieve the last few memories that could be repurposed to mourn for them in memory. Nobody ever told the public what they did with the suitcases and backpacks the counselors came with, you assumed the authorities threw them away to avoid anybody stumbling upon them.

And now, here you were, seated on the edge of the bridge. Your feet lightly brushed against the slow current of the lake. Your footwear was somewhere back at the entrance to the bridge, not wanting them to be dirtied let alone sink into the bottom of the waters no matter how clear it was.

You thought of the fact that this was the very same waters that Jason drowned in. What would he see in the water? Would it be similar to a fear, or was it indifference?

Your toes dipped into the water, moving them against the current. You watched the ripples made by it, another thought greeting you now.

Would he have pictured a monster swallowing him whole when he sank below the surface?

It was a morbid thought, but one that you had that fed into the curiosity that you had about the Voorhees.

Just who were you, Jason? What was Mrs. Voorhees like, to have her maternal love run as deeply as she had for you?

You felt pity for the boy, but something must have happened—there had to be more to the story of him.

They never said how he had been drowned. All you knew was that he drowned and that was all the elderly residents shared about him. Any more questions about him would only devolve into them talking about his appearance.

That was the main reason you chose to be cautious in the forest you were walking through. You knew that after his death, the least you could do was dignify and uphold his name with the life that he lived. That was why you chose to trudge along Crystal Lake with a mindset of respect that you hoped would be reciprocated in one way or the other. As much as you’d like to treat the woods as something you knew for yourself, perhaps even as a companion of convenience as it only listens—the woods are an acquaintance that you should hold out arms length away at best. You made sure to remain friendly, yet keep a distance away from uncharted and sectioned off areas that led to dead-ends. You couldn’t help it, and there really was no harm for you to be careful in the end.

You grew more and more comfortable in Crystal Lake, holding onto the secret of your trespassing and shelving it to the very dark corner of your mind as you stuck to a routine of your own. You paid a visit to it every now and then, finding the bridge at the lake as the best spot for you to destress and escape from the bustling life back home.

They say those who enter these woods would die right after, though, you begged to differ with your personal experience. You found Crystal Lake relaxing.

Though, that was until you saw the tall figure of a man in the rear view mirror as you made your departure.

The image burned into your memory as you noted the physical characteristics of him, your perception of the lake was quickly amended to match one that was particularly unnerved with your findings. Who was that? Your heart made multiple somersaults, hitting itself against your ribcage as you high-tailed it home, your foot on the accelerator. You had just barely parked the vehicle, quickly retreating back into the comfort of your house with hands far too shaky.

Was that the murderer?

You couldn’t sleep that night or the other nights that followed.

You religiously read through the news reports—the articles that people before you had accessed out of mere curiosity, similar to how you were doing in your own attempt to find any description of a man who looked to be well over 6 foot and had clothing that matched the one that you encountered—but the information you found that pertained to it had only been one of speculation and was mainly gossip. Those that you found that supported your description were those that had also mentioned Jason, tying his name with the man in question. You couldn’t help but think it was wrong to think that that was the answer.

A single night turned into days until it had been a week of you being cooped up in your home, a few days past the date when you would usually visit Crystal Lake. You didn’t know for sure, but you were well aware of the fact that you were getting obsessed with the legend of Jason Voorhees—you were falling into your own curiosity again. That was the opposite of what you wanted to do, you were slowly ending up just like the rest of these folk who misinterpret the purpose of his story.

“I’m getting worried over nothing.” You whispered to yourself, chewing on your lip as you set the information away—making sure to shut the tabs that held the many forums you read through thoroughly.

“It’s either that I’m seeing things, or that I had quite literally missed a murderer that was right behind me.” You reasoned, moving toward your drawer that held the photographs taken at Crystal Lake, attempting to calm yourself. Think about the scenery, ignore the massacres that were tied to it—looking at the plants alone, one would have never thought it would have listened to such horrific crimes taking place. You knew you couldn’t bring up the man at Crystal Lake, knowing the authorities would ask you why was it that you were there in the first place. If it were from a spur of your own imagination, you could only imagine the frustration that it would bring to the police officers, and God knows what would happen to you. Your account would be one that held little to no merit, wasting their time in the process.

You’re overthinking this. A thought chastises you into a less panicked state.

How about this— Another one offers. —Why not see for yourself that the man is only a figment of your imagination?

You decided to sleep, your mind quelled for the first time in a long while. When tomorrow arrives, you’ll follow through with the idea.

If only you knew what was to come.

—

You were absent again. He wonders about what happened.

It was a quiet day for Jason. The birds were away for the time being, recalling them migrating for a short period of time. That meant that Jason was alone with his thoughts, leaving memories in wake. One slowly crept up behind him, before replaying itself before his very eyes.

A little boy sat at a bench doodling away on a piece of paper, a camp hat blocking any facial features if you were someone looking at him from afar. The bench was behind the mess hall, a discarded bench due to there being far too many markings engraved into the table top. It was secluded, just as how his mother wanted. Most of the reasons for her doing so was due to the negative reaction toward her boy.

Jason watched the scene play out, recalling that day vividly. He paused on his routine for now, which was him cutting a few flowers from the bushes. He had been growing them for a while, though it appeared that today had been bountiful—multiple of them now abundant amongst the shrubbery.

“Jason, I’ve brought you lunch!” The ever so familiar, delicate voice of his mother was what he picked up. She always held a particular tone with how she spoke, he realised as he set the pencil down. Each spoken sentence were said in a motherly coo, one that offered him comfort as she held out every item that she got ahold of for him to review and experience on his own. A smile formed on his face, one that had been kept hidden for only his mother to see. It was hard to not smile whenever he was with her, seeing how much effort she made to help the boy feel more comfortable.

How long had it been since he heard her voice? His undead heart clenched itself tightly, eyes now a pinpoint focus on her for the time being. The only voice he had heard was yours, though it held a bit of an exhausted tone whenever you spoke to yourself.

In her hands now were a tray of food. Jason readily accepted the meal, trusting his mother’s judgment as he began to eat.

As usual, his mother picked up the drawing to inspect it. It was a drawing of stickmen, one of him and the other was her. ‘Mommy and Me’ was written above the two, some of the letters seemingly written far more shakily than the other.

“Oh, this drawing is beautiful.. Mommy is very proud of you.” Jason didn’t even have to look at her to know that she smiled again, his chest puffing out in pride at her words. He continued to eat, enjoying the meal.

This time around was strangely different. The air went still.

Jason remembered this memory, as it had occurred exactly two days before it happened.

“Jason, sweetie.” She began, her tone sounding.. Unhappy. The little boy looked up, putting a pause on eating as he straightened himself in his seat. “One day, Mommy will not be here for you anymore. Not now, but when you’re older.” An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

To think that the opposite happened.. Jason could not even begin to imagine what his dear mother had felt when everything went horribly wrong.

“In the future, you will meet someone you will find yourself loving. Someone you will find worth protecting. You remember what I told you about love, right Jason?—” A nod. “—Good. I know you will find the right person for you.. You are such a good boy, after all. I know that whoever it is will be so lucky. Mommy taught you best.”

When he was as young as he was back then, the words came to him as a comfort that someone was destined out there for him to meet. The words were bittersweet to him now, seeing the state that he was in now. Was there really anybody worth protecting? He glossed over the people that he met during the time Camp Crystal Lake had been active, only recognising troublemakers and people who were as cruel as the kids back then. It was brief, though his mother speaking once again quickly grabbed at his attention.

“Be sure to treat yourself right as well, okay? The person should be as kind to you as they are with nature—” The boy nodded along at her words, agreeing with them despite not seeming to understand them completely. She smiled anyway as she continued. “—They should be someone that appreciates the simpler things as well.”

Jason couldn’t help but remember you as soon as she mentioned it.

—

You woke up at the crack of dawn thanks to the alarm you set, your mind quieter now as you left your bed. You had to head to work and meet up with a few friends of yours.

You cursed yourself for not planning ahead, knowing how full your schedule was for today. The day began without a hitch, despite your obvious discomfort.

At times, you wondered if you should change your mind on the visit to Crystal Lake by moving the slot to tomorrow rather than today. The obvious promise made to yourself hung heavy in your mind when you did so, alongside a strange feeling of determination to settle things for yourself once and for all.

You bit back your thoughts, your mind now focusing on the other people that you now had to tend to. Apologising, you went on ahead and continued chatting with your friends. The man you saw can be wondered about for later, but you would rather concentrate on the life that you had in this town of yours instead of your post-social hideaway.

It was only a few hours then, the morning slowly turned to noon. Work was over, and the friends who loitered around you began to detach from you as they headed to their homes or to continue on meeting with their own friends. It was one or the other, really. By this time, you would be packing everything to get home by yourself, too, but the prospects of what that meant for you later had you feeling uneasy.

Despite that, you swallowed the feelings you had and left your workplace. Making a beeline toward your car, you drove back home. You quickly showered, putting on comfortable clothing for yourself before heading out once more, making sure to clear the thoughts that attempted to intrude your mind—ones that wanted to have you doubt and give up on chasing whatever it was.

No. You weren’t backing out of this now, you were in it so deep—you feel curiosity burning through your veins. Your foot was on the accelerator again once you drove through the familiar road that led you to Crystal Lake.

You parked yourself in the same spot by the woods, locking your car once more before heading out on foot. The sun began to set in the horizon as you followed along the beaten path in the direction toward the lake.

—

“I know you like the woods here at Crystal Lake.. Maybe you two could even live old together. The lake is really pretty to look at after dark … Maybe Mommy could sneak you out for you to see it yourself.” She sighed softly, going silent momentarily as she began to look to the clearing—one that had a small view of the lake.

Jason never had the chance to with her, but due to the circumstances for him, he saw the stars that dotted along the skyline for himself. She was right about it being pretty.

He wondered if you had seen it as well.

What?

What spurred him to even wonder about it? You were an intruder. A voice hissed.

Yet, you never did anything that was particularly bad for or to the environment.

Not once did you bring people over to wreak havoc, you kept returning to Crystal Lake by yourself. He had multiple opportunities to kill you himself. But he never did.

Why was that?

Soon, the memory that seemed to had suddenly play before him made sense.

“In the future, you will meet someone you will find yourself loving. Someone you will find worth protecting.”

Was this what you meant, mother? He wondered, his eyes widening as he realised what it was that implied for him. Wouldn’t it be impossible?

As if he was struck by lightning once more, he soon realised the double meaning with his mother’s words.

You were kind to nature, someone so delicate with the wildlife as much as you blended in with the environment—as if you were a part of it through his eyes. As if you were meant to be there, in the woods of Crystal Lake. Jason realised that you were the one for him.

“The right person for you..” His mother’s voice echoed in his head once more, strengthening his conclusion in the process.

As if chance had simply made it so, he felt a presence step foot in his territory. Jason initially stuck to the assumption once more that it was an intruder, but he was quick to realise that it was you.

“It doesn’t matter if you are preparing to head to camp or meeting up with friends… You have to at least make a good impression for the others.” His mother’s voice echoed, her words a hint that the man quickly understood.

Jason was quick to realise that he was severely unprepared, taking the opportunity provided to him quite seriously. He looked around, wondering of what he could use to give you a good impression of him. Jason noticed that his left hand was occupied, only now recalling that he had flowers in his hand.

“Do you remember the special language the flowers have, Jason? Each flower has its meaning… I know you remember it well.”

Jason nodded, staring at the flowers that he had retrieved. His right hand grabbed the garden scissors, the blades seemingly rusted over time but still usable. The man got up, a wave of determination now over him. Jason began to move to spots where the flowers he had planted all that time ago were, uncaring of the fact that it was turning into night. That hadn’t stopped him before, nor will it stop him when he had a goal to work toward.

“I knew you’d understand, Jason.”

—

The fact that it turned night seemed to be the last message of the universe telling you that it was a bad idea. It didn’t help the fact that you were freezing cold, despite wearing quite warmly. The cold bit at your exposed hands and face, the entire ordeal uncomfortable but not enough to have you leave. It did the opposite, driving you forward to keep moving through the woods.

The dark made it harder to navigate, but you managed as you slowly inched toward the lake. You passed the worn down bench, a simple indicator that you were getting closer. It was out of place, though the moss and vines that grew over it made it a part of nature—more that fueled the idea of nature taking course and growing over all that had been manmade, slowly but surely.

You saw the bridge, still visible despite the darkness from the night tinting the woods to something you could barely see. You stared at the nightsky. It was the first time you did so, never having the chance to see how the stars appeared on the skyline. As you laid your eyes upon it, you had only one thought occupy your mind as you did so.

The sight was nothing short of extraordinary. It captivated you—and that feeling by itself made the trip bearable for you, at least for now.

You moved cautiously before sitting in place, right at the very spot that you had sat at all these weeks now, admiring the stars living in the sky.

Throughout the entire trip reaching here, not once had you seen the man from that night. You never saw even a glimpse of him, nor did you hear anything that could have come from the man of his stature. The adrenaline you had no longer lingered, your mind’s rationale returning to reprimand you for your foolishness—to think that you were that lucky to escape the clutches of a murderer. The man is not even real, nor does it even seem that he even stayed in the woods at every waking moment. If it were true, you should’ve have died long ago, right as you even trekked to the bridge.

Your rationale appeared to win, though this steadfast mindset didn’t stay for long as what appeared as an irrational fear materialised into reality before you. To think that it all began with a soft creak against the whining wooden planks of the bridge behind you. In an instant, you rose to your feet as you turned to the direction that the noise had been made.

The person’s appearance had been obstructed due to how dark it was, though you quickly realised that the outline of them matched the man you saw in the rear view window. You saw that his hands were holding onto something and that he was now blocking the way to what would be a clean and quick escape, those two facts alone made you all the more anxious.

There he was, standing before you.

You stood still, your body frozen in place, your heart leaping to your throat as the man began to step toward you.

You expected this man, whom you recognised as the culprit behind the crimes, to strike at you with whatever he had in his hands.

You didn’t expect the man to embrace you in a hug, let alone for you to know that the item he held were flowers.

Everything hit you all at once, after you realised who it was that you were embracing.

The rumours were true.

…Jason never really died, did he?

—

Jason had finally met you. Face to face. His hands that held the arrangement of flowers trembling—not out of fear, but rather a strange sentiment of thrill that coursed through his body. He passed the bouquet to his left hand, as its original spot where he had that idea of a first impression for you.

He moved closer, with every step taken a soft creak was sounded through the silence that now overtook Crystal Lake.

He couldn’t see your face, but he knew he didn’t need to. You would accept him either way.

In quick succession, Jason wrapped his arms around you tightly. Holding you close to him, the flowers were now on the floor to your right. They had accidentally fallen from his grip due to his sudden decision to embrace you, but Jason supposed that a first impression was already made.

It took a few moments, perhaps even longer, Jason could never tell the time that it took—but he noticed the movement from your arms as it reciprocated his action. He shut his eyes close slowly, basking in the warmth your body provided alongside the physical contact.

—

Some time passed, a few hours passed with the sun beginning to break through the dark sky. The sound of water moving about fluidly.

You initially believed that the entire incident was a nightmare, one that had culminated over the course of days you had spent absorbing every detail the articles had spoken of regarding the murderer.

In reality, you flush against someone’s chest—the torso adorning the same tattered clothing from before. You slowly lifted your head, looking up to now see the man up close.

He was exactly as described in those accounts, the hockey mask and the attire were what this man adorned. A detail you realised was that a singular eye stared back at you through the eye hole. That detail brought to you your conclusion, that very man responsible—was none other than Jason Voorhees. He was alive—well, for the most part—as you felt yourself move with every heave, his chest rising.

Jason Voorhees was alive and you couldn’t tell a soul about it.

You supposed that he would kill you soon, though you quickly noticed that you both remained on the bridge. Only a few feet away, you now noticed the bouquet of flowers that laid on the planks, it had been hard to even distinguish it in the dark.

They were beginning to rot due to the elements, but they were still discernible to the eye.

In the bouquet lay baptisia, a few bearded irises, and a lady’s mantle. The roses surrounded the flora in a neat ensemble, twine tied around it in a neat bow to fully portray its meaning toward you.

Seeing this arrangement with your own eyes had you feeling a sense of contentment overtook your body despite the conflicted thoughts that swarmed you. It was strange, finding relief in knowing that he wouldn’t harm you. A strange that

You returned your gaze to Jason’s, stilling once you felt a thumb gently caress your cheek. It felt as though it was his attempt to show you his feelings without showing you his facial expressions.

At that moment, you realised that this arrangement was one that you could slowly get used to.

—

You had fallen asleep in his arms that night.

Jason felt accomplished with himself to have you sleep as comfortably as you did in his arms. He had seen you shivering prior. In response he, in a sense, had provided for you as a shield, perhaps a blanket was a better term, from the cold that nipped at your skin.

You woke up, of course, but you didn’t fear him once you realised who it was. You didn’t seem to fear him at all, as if you were indifferent to the fact that you were in the arms of a undead man. Jason felt his heart flutter softly as he realised it.

When you leaned into his hand that has his thumb caressing your cheek ever so affectionately, his heart picked up a little more. His heartbeat began to quicken in response, his gaze softening even further as he hugged you close once again. Jason knew he was being greedy for affection, but this is what good boys deserve, don’t they?

You were someone who didn’t view him in disgust, he’s seen it in your eyes. They held satisfaction whenever you appreciate the flora and fauna that he helped mend—noting the appreciation you had for the little things in life, just as his mother had described.

You didn’t venture into Crystal Lake in search of him, but it was seemingly for yourself as an escape. He assumed that it so due the exhaustion you seemed to have lingering at times whenever you visited.

With each confirmation, Jason realised that you had become someone that was worth protecting.

You were real, someone that Jason could hold close to him and share his affection towards.

Jason made sure to wrap his arms around you gently, with him now realising how nice it was to be in your embrace.

Baptisia: Protective / Protection.

Bearded Iris: Faith, hope, courage, wisdom and admiration.

Lady's Mantle: Comforting love.

Rose: Romance, love, beauty and courage.

I had initially planned to post it on the 9th, but I will be busy on that date and will instead be posting a headcanon by then. I apologise for any mistakes made!

I really hope that you enjoyed this piece and please reblog this!!

I appreciate the fact that you all have been really supportive toward this blog. Have a great day/night ahead!! (:

#jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

How the Slashers met you

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt

To be fair, you’d never have expected this to happen.

• Billy Lenz

So long as you are associated with the sorority—be it that you frequent their home or live in it, Billy would have already known all about you. He’s even started adding you as an additional detail to his calls, unnerving the girls even more the longer they were occupying the house.

“Shh! It’s the Moaner!” One of the sorority girls exclaimed, attempting to hush the bustling Christmas party. The chattering came to an abrupt pause, as multiple footsteps neared the rotary phone that sat atop the table. His voice rang through, surprising them with the new addition animosity. The disembodied voice began chanting your name, similar to a mantra before crudely cackling once more. Barb steps in, feeling quite irritated that the man changed his sights from the sorority to you—someone who isn’t even a resident of the home.

“Why are you— ___’s got nothing to do with this, you fucking creep!”

“Naughty, naughty piggy.. Billy knows.. Billy wants ___! Tell Billy, bitch piggy—tell Billy now!” The man screamed many more expletives toward the girls, Barb having held the phone at an arm’s length as she waited for his response. The girls clung onto eachother, worry appearing on their faces the more they listened. One of the girls took matters into her own hands, snatching the phone and hanging up—cutting off the Moaner’s rage-filled screaming from reaching them. Silence returned in the house, with the girls looking at each other knowing now that you were involved in their mess.

They knew they had to let you know as soon as possible.

• Bubba Sawyer

Multiple factors were in place in which you would be spared by both Bubba and Drayton, it’s possible that you knew the Texan family when they were still active in the slaughterhouse. There was also the offchance that Drayton held a soft spot for you, which guaranteed your survival.

“Woah, woah, woah! Ain’t that someone familiar, Bubba?” Drayton’s voice seemed to hold a tone of surprise, as if he was not expecting a victim. The younger Sawyer tilted his head in confusion, multiple questions forming in his head as he wondered what it was that seemed to bewilder the ever so uptight Drayton. He remembered bringing back two people, both were knocked out by the blunt force of slamming the back of the chainsaw against their heads.

“Ya’ don’t look at ’em, don’t ya’... Look at ’em real close up.” He ordered, Bubba following his line of sight as he focuses on you. He squints through the mask, drinking in the image of you. As if lightning struck his own—he now realised who it was he struck himself. A shocked squeal erupted from his throat, his legs now on autopilot as he stumbled toward your unconscious body, babbling apologies as he held you. The excessive movement had you waking up soon after.

You found yourself face to face with Bubba, who seemed sheepish.

• Ghostface

• Billy Loomis

You might have met either through Stu or at the VHS store while you asked the closest person—that being him—for recommendations, resulting in an engaging discussion of horror films before quickly devolving into you exchanging numbers to each other before heading home.

“Good talk, I totally get your enthusiasm. It was nice talking to you… Uh..”

“Billy. Billy Loomis. It was nice talking to you too.. Wanna talk later? We can exchange numbers.”

You nodded, passing him your number before leaving the VHS store. Sure, it wasn’t every day that you met a diehard fan of horror movies, even going so far as to get into the details of the production itself and quoting directly from the actors—you were in no place to judge a person for their interests. You had your own interests and you’re sure you’d be passionate too if someone asked you about it.

It was already night by the time you were at home looking over the new movies rented for the time being. Feeling indecisive, you kept shuffling through the choices you had. By a stroke of luck, you were greeted with a familiar voice. A smile appeared on your features as you began talking to Billy. It was as if he were providing you with his own reassurance through simply talking to you. With all pleasantries aside, down came the questions.

“Hey, Billy.” His response was strangely quiet, a soft yeah as his reply. He’s probably busy with something.

“Remember those movies you saw me pick out?” A hum in agreement now.

“Which one’s your favourite?”

• Stu Macher

You are associated with Stu in school, often acting as his cover whenever he was up to his shenanigans. How were you upgraded to such a role? It was because you were seated closest toward the door to the classroom. You even stalled the teacher whenever he snuck back in.

“Did you see the look on her face? Did you see!?” Stu nudged you, a wide grin over his features.

You chuckled with him. No matter how many times you promised to not entertain Stu’s antics—it was pretty damn funny at how easily he got under the skin of those he pranked. In your eyes, it was merely harmless fun, there wasn’t any reason to get angry about it seeing how the pranks were juvenile. Even then, the only one jeopardising his time was him, really. Though you supposed that there were changes. One thing that was different was that Stu began approaching you outside of class.

“Hey, uh.. ___? How about we head out for lunch and.. y’know, hang out then?” He asked, scratching the back of his head nervously as he waited for your response. He lit up once he saw you perk up.

“Oh, sure. Where do you think we should go?” You asked, interested to know, much to Stu’s delight. He clapped his hands as if he struck gold after a moment of thinking. He smiled at you, his eyes scanning the hallway that was now empty.

“I know just the place! Hmm.. think you can handle skipping the day?” He asked, seeing your face quickly contort into one of concern. He laughed in amusement, patting your back assuringly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you this time!”

• Jason Voorhees

He assumed that he had seen every type of person who trekked along his home, but never would he expect to see someone who came alone and blended in with the environment. Jason watched you, waiting in silence for you to do something that would allow him to strike. You never did.

Jason’s hands were tightly balled into fists, his gaze boring into your back as he followed you around quietly. He waited for you to commit a discrepancy, a mistake that would lead to your death and yet here you were, taking photos. You avoided the trail that led into his territory—meaning you followed the signs to not trespass. Your orderliness initially irritated him, as he presumed it wouldn’t take long before you broke it—so he kept watching you, waiting.

The more time passed, his frustrations with you turned into one of simple respect. You kept to yourself and made sure to keep away from the sectioned off areas. Jason returned to his routine, from where he began to watch you less. What he didn’t realise was that he would be sighted in those very photos you took, which didn’t go unnoticed by you. You were alarmed, though you kept that concern aside in case it were a fault of the camera. Despite that, you attempted to entertain yourself by getting flowers by one of the many spots he was sighted.

When you returned to that spot, the flowers were not rotting as you expected.

They were gone.

Instead, a fresh pink rose laid under the ‘Welcome to Camp Crystal Lake’ sign.

• Michael Myers

• ’78/OG

Crossing paths with someone during his downtime was something that was strange, but never unexpected. OG found himself intrigued with you—just what were you doing, walking the streets of Haddonfield at three in the morning? He was curious, deciding to watch you after that encounter.

Michael watched you move about on your nights once more, seeing how you weaved through the streets as you held onto the groceries. You seemed to be well established in Haddonfield, though not many of the residents were anything but mere acquaintances that you were coincidentally on good terms with. You never knew them personally, but you knew them enough to be something that can remain in their memories for a good week or two.

Michael watched you move closer toward him, appearing distracted before bumping shoulders with him. Your head quickly faced him, apologising. Before you could leave, however, Michael grabbed a few of the bags that you had dropped when you had bumped into him, head tilting slightly. This was considered heavy? You couldn’t tell him by his face, though you asked him to help with the bags if he didn’t mind. He began to move, in which you took it was his way of saying, ‘yes’. You thanked him either way. The residents of Haddonfield were nice.

You made your way home, taking out your keys before you heard the sound of bags hitting onto the front porch. You turned around to thank the helpful man once more, but he was gone.

• RZ

It was difficult to catch his attention with how he resorts to living inside his mind majority of the time, if there happened to not be any goal present to drive him. You happened to intercept it right before he was to transition into it. Your disturbance now led to you right on his radar.

Not once had you felt unsafe in your home with all the doors and windows locked and shut tight—ensuring any break-in attempts to be close to null. That was until now, long after you had passed that man who had been standing near that old, abandoned Myers home. He seemed lost in though, though you couldn’t know for sure. You chalked it up as him being one of those young adults who had felt like they needed to prove something by entering a scrutinised place.

“What’s the point? Let them rest in peace..” You grumbled under your breath, quickening your pace as you headed home, unaware of the fact that the man by the home was now looking in your direction.

Michael followed you into your home, absorbing the layout in its entirety before he hid himself out of sight as you continued your routine at home. Michael took note of the fact that you were glancing around a lot more, your face holding one of discomfort. He inferred that you felt him watching you—meaning that you were more aware than the others. He made sure to commit it to memory to replay as you resigned for the night and head to bed. You woke up later at night, feeling an urge to survey your room before slumber could return to you.

You couldn’t help but feel a shiver down your spine once you saw your bedroom window open.

• Thomas Hewitt

You had to know of him without the influence of Sheriff Hoyt in the way. You might accidentally cross paths at an abandoned area of Texas, one that was Thomas’ personal retreat whenever he feels overwhelmed by his family. With no chainsaw and you simply passing by, he let you go.

“I didn’t know that there were still people living here—Sorry, sorry. I’m just passing through, really.” You stammered, staring at the man who stood before you. He donned a mask that covered his mouth and nose, the material appeared to be one out of leather, which intrigued you.

“That’s a really nice mask you have. Did you make it yourself?” You asked, genuine curiosity ever so present in your voice as you did so. His gaze was otherworldly, as if they were staring right through you, despite the fact that he bore human eyes.

All it took was a grunt and a nod to have you letting up slowly. Thomas continued to stare, taking in your features as you stood there, similar to a deer in headlights. You didn’t insult his appearance or made comparison of him with an animal. He thought through possibilities, before he ultimately decided that you weren’t worth the chase—especially with him simply wanting time alone by himself. It took Thomas all he had to speak, the words seeming to escape from him when he did.

“..Go home.” His voice was softer than he recalled, though he chalked it up to him not finding a need to do so at this point, but you got the message. You made sure to say goodbye before leaving him be.

It felt almost fortuitous that you managed to escape the way you did.

I hope you enjoyed these headcanons and have had a wonderful New Year! I have a lot more headcanons and stories to post for you guys!

I am also extremely happy to see positive responses regarding those two fics including OG Michael and Bubba respectively.. I really appreciate it!! There will be another story, more specifically a Jason Voorhees/Reader fic. Be on the lookout for that sometime soon. (:

Once again, please reblog this post!

Thank you for reading this, have a great day/night!! (:

#billy lenz x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #rz michael myers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #black christmas x reader #texas chainsaw massacre x reader #ghostface x reader

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angled-blade · 1 year

Text

Thoughts Unspoken.

Pairing(s): Michael Myers/Reader

Warning(s): Implied mention of violence and murder.

Additional: 5,432 words. Written in 2nd POV [You/Your]. Storyline is set during the events of Halloween (1978).

Michael felt the rush of adrenaline left him quickly as he walked along the streets of Haddonfield, a cool breeze from the wind gently brushing against him. His body remained tense, ready to be on the run from the authorities whenever it was necessary to do so. The night of Halloween was still young—peace and silence now followed him after the actions he committed. Michael strayed away from his home for now, knowing that it would be the subject of interest for the authorities to look into as Halloween passes into November. He felt particularly empty, with a hunger now ebbing away at him the more steps he took down the street.

The function bothered him, as it still attempted to suggest to the Shape that he was still human. Perhaps it was true in the case of when he was younger, a small glint of humanity prospering in his eyes when he had first been taken to Smith’s Grove as the little child he was. The little light had been dimmed and quickly dissipated as he began undergoing treatment. No longer was he a little boy as much as his actions now were no longer excusable—his understanding of it being obscured even further by Dr. Loomis’ belief and understanding of him. If he was the Boogeyman they chose to depict and interpret, that was on them. One thing that was absolute, was that he was no longer human. The newfound title wrapped around his limbs in a tight embrace—as if daring others to prove otherwise. With it as the truth, his viewpoint on the world began to dull with every year that passed.

Common human functions that Michael saw for himself would be the motivations, goals and even desires belonging to those around him. He saw desire ever so present with his victims, their acts of blatant adultery—alongside their motivation to continue on running from him as a futile attempt to escape.. Despite being witness to the many moments of humanity before him, not once had Michael discovered a suitable situation where it required him to demonstrate it.

Not that there was a possibility that he could have ever tried, but that was the biggest difference between man and Michael. Dr. Loomis’ claimed himself that his mind had already been perfected to the nth degree as a heartless evil who knew no bounds—with a taste for bloodshed, to top everything all off. He, in spite of any circumstance, should know that it was universally impossible for him to attempt at reigniting the cheap alternative of humanity. He knew it was, having had the opportunities to do so permanently snipped away from young.

—

He recalls each defining moment during his stay at Smith’s Grove as if it occurred within a span of a few days.

When he had been admitted into the sanatorium at six, the four white walls were all that he could see and grow accustomed to. Michael had looked into every nook and cranny that may pose to him as a weakness in the foundation. By then, he decided that he wanted to leave Smith’s Grove. It wasn’t an if at all, but when. It was a more palpable answer to himself that where he was now was not at all ideal. Despite his distaste for the concrete barriers, he was initially tended to by the professionals who came to visit him. Keyword on initially.

With time, almost every toy imaginable began to manifest before him, dropped off by the doctor in exchange for his words. Michael settled on answering yes or no questions, his child mind failing to understand—let alone wrap around the use of big words said by Samuel. He never understood, despite his high expectations of him being able to do so.

Michael received more toys whenever he said yes to Dr. Loomis’ queries, to which he took advantage. There were only so many toys for a boy to get. He quickly lost his interest in receiving the toy itself, but still remained stubborn in keeping it a part of his collection. He was quick to figure out that his stubbornness was picked apart by the professionals overseeing him, in which he realised and acknowledged the many eyes on him—those who monitor his every move.

Michael began to shut down shortly after, resulting in his behaviour now appearing slow and inattentive during interviews.

A year passed, the toys gifted to him from when he was seven were removed from his person. The reason for removal was due to his unresponsive behaviour toward the toys and when it was his turn to answer Dr. Loomis. Despite the sudden changes made by his doctor, Michael did not react. Jotting down his unresponsiveness as yet another inhuman quality, Dr. Loomis moved on to clear his collection, leaving Michael with a barren, white room. Of course, the boy did not seem to respond. With the lack of interest in the toys Dr. Loomis attempted to bribe Michael with for answers he wanted to hear, the lesser the primal urge of possessiveness became prevalent in the young boy.

At age nine Michael began to grow even more quieter, with each word he uttered barely above a whisper. In which his voice began to blend in with the soundless room. Even if he spoke, every word appeared to mimic a muffled voice from afar—that very voice being one inadvertently ignored due to its similarity with all that was natural. Not once would anyone expect a voice from normality. It was at this age where Michael began nurturing his patience, doing so after acknowledging that escape from what he presumed to be a tightly secured building would require for him to wait. With his almost hollowed sense of self, Michael’s focus on his restraint was expanded upon tenfold—testing the limits of it firstly, by remaining stationary for long periods of time.

Age 10, the boy was near silent. The only sign that he was living were the small, barely noticeable intakes of breath that he took when the nurses checked up on him. Many of the nurses overseeing Michael presumed that he was merely zoning out. They were wrong, as Michael honed in on his skills, patiently waiting for the opportunity to arise.

With Dr. Loomis’ attempts at reaching him, he was continuously deemed unresponsive with every visit. This resulted in the doctor inviting other child psychologists to attempt at reaching him, the change bringing about the many doses they injected into Michael. Being heavily medicated left Michael even more sluggish, especially matched in movement as he was being led to and fro interview rooms before returning to his room once more. Despite the doses, it appeared to those on observational duty noting that Michael had begun to grow.

By the time his silence marked into its 15th year, Michael Audrey Myers had become a behemoth of a man. His stature was intimidating, paired with his already selective behaviour as a man of very few words—he found himself pandered into an image that was reserved for him, a being thought to be lesser than man in spite of the many human qualities they presumed he decided to impersonate. A concretised, textbook definition of evil.

What they failed to realise was that with every visit they intended to make, Michael’s trust in them dissipates significantly with every direct question they dare ask. Prying into his physical condition was a matter he’d grown to tolerate, however, believing that they of all people have a right to pry into the memories he held onto? Michael stared back unamused, his body unmoving with his lips remaining sealed. Every move of his was monitored as usual, and much to Samuel’s chagrin and frustration, Michael didn’t react. With the claims made by that doctor, it appeared (perhaps as a butterfly effect to seem glad for) that the nurses and guards began to grow careless. Many of them had even been foolish enough to turn with their backs facing him, as if they themselves had forgotten who it was that they were to watch over.

Michael’s eyes were astute in recognising changes to routine, be it his—or the guards that patrol in the sanatorium. He learnt and remembered the changes that the guards at Smith’s Grove make during holidays, with it resulting in a good handful of guards being away and few that would remain patrolling the halls of the sanatorium. It appeared that with recognition of his inhumanity, his senses had heightened to an almost remarkable standard—his sense of hearing being one of them. He used that acutely hearing every footstep as the guard stepped toward the office to clock out. Everything by then appeared to fall into place, a perfect chain of events that followed one after another. Almost as if it were purely by chance, the opportunity to leave the sanatorium had come.

Michael followed through, escaping Smith’s Grove Sanatorium the night before Halloween.

—

That being said, he knew this change was what he wrought out for himself. It never would have been permitted by the doctors who tended to him. He had already blocked out the unnecessary aspects of social function with those people, finding each voice equally irritating than the last. Even if he tried to reciprocate, most, if not all, took advantage of his reaction as being the key to his path of confession and rehabilitation. Alas, there was no need to dwell on life at the sanatorium now that he had successfully paved a path for himself.

Hands far more bloodied than ever before, Michael seemed to snap from his thoughts as a voice calling for him rang through his moment of silence.

A voice among the blurred ocean, one that he was not used to.

Michael turned his head to the right, his gaze immediately locking onto someone not too far away—perhaps only a few feet. There you were, standing on the front porch with a large plastic bowl tucked under an arm. You waved at him.

“You should head on home and eat, it’s getting late anyway—” You cautioned, before a smile appeared on your features. It was barely noticeable to the naked eye, but not to Michael’s. He took note of your smile that seemed to be illuminated from the warm light of your home. “—...Uh, Happy Halloween.”

With that, Michael watched as you retreated into your home. It had only been a half an hour, he thought. The authorities would still be at the Myers home, loitering around his property in an almost futile attempt to gather even a sliver of traces that could aid in pinpointing the Shape’s current whereabouts, as he came to expect. With a tight grip on the kitchen knife, Michael decided to follow you into your home, deciding to quietly enter through the backdoor.

—

You didn’t know what it was, but after seeing that strange man, you could almost feel an extra pair of eyes staring you down. It seemed as though they were watching your every move.

You chalked up the concern to something close to mere paranoia, setting aside the orange bowl atop the kitchen counter as you tucked away the leftover candy into the pantry. You felt too exhausted to make any labour intensive meals, leaving you to settle on a simpler meal to make. You took your time as you made a few slices of French toast, plating them carefully beside the bowl as you wait for it to cool. You found yourself continuing to ignore the unnerving stares that lingered, shutting the lights off with your plate in hand.

You stopped in your tracks once you turned on your heel to exit the kitchen. Your path was blocked by a tall figure, their presence looming over you despite them remaining almost perfectly still.

By some coincidence, you recognised the figure’s posture.

“You’re that man from earlier.” You spoke, voice already uneasy on how you should conduct yourself before this man. It was as if he was more intimidating up close, but you weren’t too sure.

“You really shouldn’t break into people’s homes—” That’s when you saw it. It was barely noticeable, and yet with a small glimmer of light hit against the object that the man was holding, revealing the weapon. It was only for a brief moment, although you were now aware of the large kitchen knife that he held in his right hand. Figuring out ways to defuse and minimise the risk of danger, you wracked your brain to recall what you said prior. It hit you in an instant, with you quickly glancing at your plate of French toast.

“…Are you hungry, sir? Wh–” A hitch was present in your voice as you tried to string words along in a cohesive manner. “Was that why you broke in?” You asked, hesitation layered thickly in your voice. His head slowly tilted slightly toward his left, as if processing your statement.

—

Tilting his head back into its original position, Michael watched as you set the plate back onto the kitchen counter in its place. Deciding to humour you, he moved to the side before awaiting your reaction. You took the bait, though you ensured that you kept facing him as you moved away. You acknowledged the fact that he was dangerous even before he struck, a fearful expression plastered across your features. Michael turned his attention back onto the meal you had prepared, the smell of butter and egg still in the air as it attempted to combat the thick iron that seeped into the fabric of his boilersuit. The knife was now on the kitchen counter, coincidentally beside the empty plastic bowl that you had been using to innocently hand out candies to the trick-or-treaters. He lifted his mask ever so slightly, his mouth only revealed before he began to eat away at the bread. The meal assisted in abating the hunger he had, the function disappearing soon after—which returned Michael back into a familiar, clearer state of mind. He turned to face the direction from where you escaped to. Your shadow remained at the same spot—he presumed you were standing by the front door, ready to run when the time calls for it. He picked up his knife once more, the sound causing your breathing to quicken. The urge to kill had already died down earlier, leaving him at a loss on what to do.

He left shortly after, leaving behind a victim bewildered at what transpired.

✻

The days bled through November as you wondered about the night on the 31st.

This strange man who you chanced upon on that fateful Halloween night—you found out about who he was that you survived from. It gave you chills that it was Michael Myers, the infamous serial killer known to be ruthless as he terrorised those who lived in Haddonfield, who had spared you amongst the others whom he crossed paths with.

After that night in particular, you expected that he would return to kill you some way or another. You never expected him to be by the kitchen doorway, standing still as he watched you cook dinner. You almost dropped your meal once you saw him now a few steps forward, making himself known in an instant. The initial shock didn’t last once you noticed that he no longer carried the large kitchen knife from before, and that his attention was no longer on you—but rather, the meal you had prepared. You grabbed a fork before holding out the plate of carbonara toward him, eyes shutting instinctively in fear of any aggressive reaction. It was nerve wracking, feeling his larger hands grab the meal and fork. You peeked, seeing Michael’s back facing you now as you heard the sound of the metal fork hitting against ceramic.

“Y..You should be sitting down and eating. You might choke on the meal if you keep eating as you stand.” you chastised softly, tensing up once you realised that he stopped moving. You braced for the worse. This is where you die. You could hear yourself reasoning. You’ll die in your kitchen at the hands of Michael Myers. To your surprise, he seemed to listen. He moved toward the dining room, which had you even more agitated with the realisation that he must have figured out the layout of your home without you knowing—either by watching or something even more heinous—seating himself on the chair. It was as he was seated that you grasped how tall he really was, his body hunched over as he ate as quietly as he could.

He stood up as soon as he finished his meal, his stare returning onto you before he nodded slowly. You blinked in confusion, before realising that he had left once again, leaving you once again mystified at his uncharacteristic behaviour.

You tried to not think too much about it, though you found out that it was only the beginning of his visits.

Days turn into weeks as you find yourself greeted with the sight of Michael more often than not.

One-off visits became weekly before transitioning into him visiting twice or thrice per week. You attempted to adjust, purchasing ingredients to prepare meals for two, plating your meal closest to the doorway to make any particularly quick exits—and almost routinely, Michael returned to eat once again. It was silent during the dinner you now shared together, leaving you to bask in exasperation at the current situation you were in with Haddonfield’s most wanted killer.

It was a Friday, you were seated across from Michael as you ate your portion of lasagna. You turned toward the direction of where he was seated, seeing him slowly take bites. His mouth was the only thing that was uncovered, save for his blue eyes that were visible through the eyeholes of the cheap latex. They were alluring, despite seeming empty yet so full of hidden secrets—some that he kept aside under lock and key. His slow movement as he ate had thrown you into a loop in the beginning, as it was jarring when compared to his ability to disappear sight in an instant—as if he were playing into the idea that he looked to be unassuming and harmless with the reaction speed he had, despite it being further from the truth. You knew that he was far faster than he would let on, leaving you to be reminded further that he was dangerously unpredictable. Alas, your staring did not go unnoticed, seeing how he paused on eating. Not long after, you were quick to realise that Michael was staring right back at you.

—

He watched as you stumbled on your own words, expectantly waiting for you to clarify.

“Sorry for–you know, staring. Did you… Did you like the food?” You asked sheepishly, seeming unsure of yourself as you did so. He could see a grimace present in your eyes, though it appeared to not be directed toward him but toward yourself. Michael wondered about the question, turning his gaze back onto his plate—his head tilted in the process.

“The food.. Did you enjoy eating it?” You seem to have pressured yourself to elaborate further, most likely due to the silence that perturbed you.

Like? He thought, a feeling of loss now taking over his mind as he ran through multiple ideas on what that word entailed in his case. Did he like eating? Eating was a function he had to endure as a part of him to conduct—as it was a means to stave off the other functions such as hunger and fatigue. After eating as regularly as he visited you, he noted himself that the two functions made themselves less present. Eating was a function to prevent the other two, which were equally troublesome—and had been responsible for nudging the possibility of his humanity. With that conclusion in mind, he supposed that he did like to eat.

But to enjoy? What did that mean?

Michael returned his gaze onto you, head once again tilted as he stared you down. Once more, he was expecting answers from you. You seemed to pick up on this, appearing confused now at his reaction.

“Do..—” You paused, seeming to think over your words before continuing your statement. “—Do you… not understand what those words mean?”

Michael did not respond, though his eyes glanced at your plate for a brief moment.

“To ‘like’—” You made sure to air quote it. “—it’s… a positive feeling that you might have sometimes. Say, doing a favourite activity for example. You would feel strongly about it, to say the least.” You explained, using your hands to gesture an emphasis on your own words. Michael mulled over your description of the word. You didn’t stop your explanation, filling the awkward silence now with your voice. This time around, Michael didn’t seem to find himself needing to block out your voice. He supposed there was no need to, seeing how your voice did not match the scratchy tones of those before you. Strangely enough, Michael found himself listening to you as you spoke.

“To enjoy… It’s something you find pleasure in—like an activity you like to the point where you want to repeat—and even return to it—whenever you have the chance. Just like you eating right here… if that is okay to use.” You quickly ended your sentence, a sheepish expression appearing over your features. Michael did not appear to respond.

“Right… right. I’ll be clearing the plates now—” You spoke cautiously, before clearing your throat nervously, your voice now returned to normal. “—I hope that my explanation helped you out in understanding what it meant.” Michael stood abruptly, a slow nod being his only response to you throughout the entire night. Michael left soon after, multiple thoughts swarming his mind as if it were a hive of irritated wasps, a low buzz following after every thought that passed through it.

There was a lot to think over for Michael. He didn’t know what it was, but it intrigued his curiosity to look into it further.

✻

Days pass by as usual, he heard that it was near the end of November.

Michael still continued his visits, your home now a secondary shelter that he found himself returning to more often than his own—be it after a kill, whether he was hungry again or his visits were purely out of boredom—your home was a place that he returned to with a comfortable feeling washing over him, despite him not understanding why he felt it so. You seemed to welcome him inside as well, greeting him each time he stood in your living room or kitchen. You began changing, too, from your initial reaction of fear to one that seemed welcoming to the killer as you began talking to him, your hands multitasking as you did so. This change was new to him as well, seeing how it usually went quite the opposite for people who had interacted with Michael. It was always their guard being down and acting carefree in the beginning before it morphed into one of sheer terror. It was a horrifying feeling, one that overtook their entire body once they saw Michael as the danger he truly was. Despite that, their screams appeared satisfactory to the killer as he watched the life drain from their eyes.

You, on the other hand, reacted differently. You acknowledged that he was dangerous, as seen with your fear on that night. How you used that fear to escape, however, was what made you incongruent from the victims before him. You reached him with a simple question, one that had him stopping just enough in his tracks from killing you. As if you were struck down with a short sliver of luck, you didn’t die. Slowly, but surely, Michael began to associate you with something similar as a provider—something to feed him. He supposed it couldn’t be helped that he needed you alive to solve the function of hunger.

And then there was your explanation of those very two words that he was initially lost on.

One thing that also set you apart from the others that he met during his sprees was that you answered him truthfully. His questions were left unspoken, but you picked up on it. He knew how to tell whenever something was amiss, and by body language alone, you were no liar.

With the time he spent over at your home, he realised that you were growing used to him—that left him confused.

Left to his own devices, Michael realised that he kept on repeating the words that you said in his mind. Answers came easily from you, it seemed to him. He took advantage of it, becoming quick in absorbing your words like a sponge, adding the newfound knowledge to something that was tangible for his mind to accept. Michael applied your examples, especially in the case of him constantly returning for you, taking his time forming new reasons as to what it meant for him.

He started simply enough, what was it that he liked?

He knew he liked eating. It served its purpose in reducing the function of hunger to a noticeable degree, allowing him to continue on his day. He liked the fact that you were quick to adapt and make food for him, as it benefitted him.

Not long after, Michael began to realise that his answers were beginning to delve into far more specific aspects that pertained to you.

One notable answer was that Michael liked your voice. It was easy to listen to, nor did you seem to use it carelessly. You chose your words tactfully and with a caution that you still held onto despite having gotten used to him as a frequent visitor of yours.

Another answer was your eyes. They held many emotions that Michael could not even begin to comprehend, nor would he ever find himself to begin understanding. As intriguing as it was seeing you emote freely, it left a bittersweet feeling to form within him the more he stared. This was more due to the fact that those eyes of yours were windows to something that he would never become. A human.

It was midway into December. By that time, he learnt more about feelings with your assistance. Michael began to understand the strong surges of what it was that came over him whenever he did experience them. He learnt the feelings of joy and excitement, seeing it prevalent as you talked about your hobbies. It was one of the many afternoons in which Michael entered your home once again. He did not kill today, nor did he feel the urge to do so.

Michael noted the fact that you were not in your living room. It didn’t take long for him to realise that you were in your bedroom. He wondered why it was that you were keeping yourself quiet and hidden from him. There was nothing else for you to hide from him anyway. He walked closer, where he heard it a good few feet away from him. It was the sound of you crying. The sound by itself was one of many noises that he was used to hearing, but never from you, which resulted in him being put on high alert. He stood by the door to your bedroom, lightly tapping against it with a knuckle. You quietened shortly after, your hand now on the door knob. He expected you to open it right after, but you seemed to hesitate.

“—’m sorry, Michael. I’m.. I’ll be out soon, give me a second.” You sniffled through your assurance. Michael backed away from the door, standing still as he waited. There was now the soft sound of the doorknob being twisted, the door opening to reveal you before the killer. Now that you did so, he began to assess the situation and the state you were in.

While you tried to wipe away the tears that streaked down your cheeks, the puffiness of your eyelids and the distressed demeanour you exuded gave everything away. Michael didn’t know what it was, but what followed after struck his chest hard, as if someone swung their bat and had it made contact with his chest. There he felt tide of negative emotions that swept over him, now with words that he learned from you to describe what it was he felt.

Unbridled rage took over his body, an especially strong emotion that he initially was surprised to know he had, but it felt especially accurate to describe it as such. To him, it felt as though the world around him began to quickly quieten itself at the sheer malice that emanated from his person as his vision turned red. Your words began to sound muffled as he ignored all that was around him, his mind immediately zeroing in on what—or who, in this case—that had you end up in the way you were. He felt his previously dormant bloodlust spike once he had a name to his target. Michael realised that in that very moment, you had become the prized item that he unknowingly sought after from when he was a little boy—one that truly interested him, one that he felt had to be earned—unlike the however many toys that ended up in his way. In which by some stroke of luck, it had fallen into his hands right after he had made that decision to leave the sanatorium. To him, you were something that he now had to look after in his own way, in fear of you enduring harm as you had right now.

Michael’s vision cleared, the red quickly dissolved once he heard you call for him. Your voice seemed to pierce through the rage that he had momentarily, having him glance at your face. You made an attempt to assure him that you would be alright later on, resulting in the man staring back at you, eyes peeking through the mask unamused. He moved toward you, his gaze softening to an considerable degree as he nodded to you in way as if asking you to return to your bedroom. You attempted to protest, but the words quickly died in your throat as you saw how tightly clenched his fists were. You sighed and nodded, retreating to your bed, hearing the door shut behind you.

The killer was quick to leave your home, knowing that there was a target for him to take care of.

—

It was now nighttime when Michael returned to your home. He made sure that there was no blood present on him, knowing you would connect the pieces if he came back as he usually did.

What he didn’t expect was you bounding over him, concern over your features now as you looked all over him.

“You had me worried, Michael.” For what? He wondered, standing still as you lightly touched him—checking him over for any particular injury you presumed he might be concealing from the human eye. You worry too much. Michael huffed quietly, shaking his head to dismiss your concerns. You sighed, accepting his response.

“Alright… Okay. How about we eat dinner, then? I’ve already prepared it.” You offered before waiting for his response. He nodded, observing your expression turning into one similar to delight. You made your way toward the dining room, leaving Michael on his own by the backdoor. Visiting your home had brought upon many different experiences that were new and unknown to Michael. As he was, the killer began to acknowledge multiple things about himself that he believed to be fact and the truth itself.

Your words had its way to disturb his line of thought and the engrained beliefs he had about himself. Your thoughts and explanations had even challenged the very idea that he was evil incarnate and that he was… human.

You gave him answers, for the better or for the worse, Michael didn’t care. Because of you, he learnt about the feelings that he had. Because of you, he was acknowledging the parts of him that made him human, and that had him realise he was not as emotionless as he was described and portrayed whenever he was with you. To others who have encountered him, he didn’t care that they saw him as such, knowing how reputation affected those deeply in the town of Haddonfield.

In the end, Michael found himself acknowledging a thought that he had been originally unsure of. Now, he was sure it was definite.

Michael was certain toward the idea of him liking you.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I am really sorry for any poor quality you might detect!

Hopefully this rendition of Michael Myers that I have written is alright as well!!

If it is alright, please reblog this post! (:

Once again, thank you again for reading and Happy New Years!!

#michael myers x reader #og michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #og michael myers x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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