#white boy fanfiction

[white-boy-bracket]

Showie woke up on the right side of her bed. This was odd. Why was she-

Something warm.

“Aaah!” She let out a shriek and kicked out desperately, her foot connecting with something- she swung her arm in its general direction-

“FUCK-, Showie, OW.”

Oh. 

Oops.

Heart racing, she quietly scooted off the right side of the bed and slid down into the space between the bed and the wall. 

A pause. Silence, broken only by Xigbar’s groaning. Oops.

Chest heaving, she asked, “A- are you okay?”

"Can't ever get a decent sleep in this place," he muttered. He sat up, a hand covering the steady stream of blood coming from his nose.

Showie peered over the edge of the bed, watching him limp towards the bathroom, blood dotting her marble flooring. She would have to clean th- she would have to get that cleaned. By a. Not by a kin. 

She lowered herself so she was laying on the cool marble floor, the same temperature as her skin. Or the temperature of her skin normally. Now, the left side of her body was warm. :(.

What had happened? Why was- what?

She should be relieved, she supposed. When she’d awoken, she’d thought it was-

She hummed to herself, hitting her forehead with her palms (clink, clink, clink). No. No, she wouldn’t think of that. She didn’t have to think of that. There was no reason to think of that. It was Xigbar, she didn’t need to worry. She was safe. 

She didn’t feel safe. She felt small. Her heart still raced. She was thinking about it. She was thinking about it.

--

Holding a wad of toilet paper up to his nose, Xigbar limped back into the main room just in time to hear Showie (hiding behind the bed) sob.

“... I'm not going to make you talk. Clearly whatever that just was was some kind of response." He paused, as if debating his next words. "... But if you want to talk, I can listen."

He heard a little gasp between sobs. 

Maybe 30 seconds later, he saw Showie peek out from behind the bed. Pale as a ghost. Paler than a ghost. Hair the same color as her skin, the same color as her eyes- huh. 

She said nothing. Just stared at him for a while. Felt reminiscent of when he’d been teleported into this tournament to begin with. 

When she finally did speak, her voice sounded small.

“I thought you were [Name redacted]. I’m sorry. Sorry.”

“[Name Redacted]?”

“M- m- my [relation omitted]. Sorry.”

“Ah. In that case, I think I got off easy with just a bloody nose and a bruise," he quipped. 

She didn’t laugh. He thought she closed her eyes, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. 

“Want me to kill him for you?”

Silence.

“He still alive?”

Silence.

“I. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe. I’m not sure.” She pressed her face into the bed. The white comforter was the same color as her, Well. Her. Her whole she. Xigbar briefly considered what a nightmare it would be to lose her in a snowstorm. Smack right into her. Get another bloody nose.

“How long ago did you last- Like, when’d you…?”

She pressed her face further into the bed. Her reply came out so muffled he couldn’t hear it. 

“Huh?”

She lifted her head, “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I ran.”

Silence. 

“Oh. Well.”

Silence. 

“I should.. Sleep somewhere els-”

“No!” Her head jerked up, her eyes wild, “I- I me- I mean-”

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright.”

“A- alright.”

“Okay.”

“Oka- sorry.”

A bit of blood dripped from the toilet paper onto the floor.

A pause. 

“I’m gonna get new- I’ll be back.”

When he got back, she was sat on the very edge of the bed, blankets pulled around her in a manner that was probably supposed to be like her cloak. Looked a bit silly, though. Xigbar didn’t mention it.

“I was thinking,” She said. 

He waited. 

And waited. 

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking. Um.”

He waited. 

“Yeah?” 

“We. um. We should.”

“Yeah?”

“Check the spike pit.” He got the feeling this was not what she was originally going to say. He didn’t mention it. 

“Check the spike pit?”

“For bodies.”

“They’re in there. I saw them.” And he did. It was a bloody mess. 

“We should check for bodies that shouldn’t be down there.”

A pause. 

“To revive.”

“Oh, right,” He said, “Forgot that was something you did.”

Silence. 

Silence. 

He crossed to the wreckage of the bed the kins had brought in for him and tossed Showie her cloak. She was looking the other way, though, so instead of catching it, it covered her like a cartoon ghost.

--

He looked at the (pink) tablet she’d handed to him as they descended the stairs into the (now spikeless) spike pit. She’d made him open yahoo dot com, like someone who’d learned of the internet five minutes ago. 

“What are you having me look up?”

“Go to tumblr.”

“What? Why?”

“Go to tumblr.”

“Okay, okay.” He went to tumblr.

‘@showierunner’ was logged in. 

“Showierunner?”

“I had that url before I knew you.”

“Okay, doll,” He said, not believing it.

“Hm.”

They reached the bottom of the spike pit. Bodies lay strewn across the floor. 

They approached the body of what probably used to be an old man. A massive hole had been stabbed through the middle of his chest, and he was covered in blood.

Showie knelt down and waved her hand over the body.

Gabriel Agreste. Deceased

The words appeared over the body in pink cursive font.

“Type Gabriel Agreste into the search bar.”

“On tumblr?”

“On tumblr.”

“As a search engine?” Xigbar’s finger hovered over the search bar, “You know there are. Actual search engines?”

“I like to see what people post about them. It gives me more information about what kind of person they are than their wiki pages do.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, typing it in.

“What do you see?” She said, poking at the wound with some kind of stick. He wasn’t sure where she’d gotten it, though.

“Uh, looks like he got second place in a shitty dad tournament,” he said after scrolling past many, many gifsets.

“Hm,” She said, standing up. She nodded to him, and they walked over to the next body.

She knelt beside a body wearing jeans and a button down.

Jon Arbuckle. Deceased.

Before he had the chance to type it in, she was walking over to the next body.

“What, no chance?”

“Garfield annoys me! Too many people per round yell because he’s an orange cat!” She waved her hand in annoyance like she was trying to shoo the idea away.

“Don’t you like Firestar for that same reason?”

“Firestar is different. He remade himself and became a great leader of his clan. I like that.”

The next body. An old man in a fancy, old timey looking suit.

She didn’t even stop. “That’s George Washington,” She explained, “I only put him in this poll to die-”

“Damn, Showie-”

“I’ve taken some interest in Stanley- before yesterday, I mean- and I noticed the two of them- not him and george washington, him and Cesare- they’ve been spending time together.”

“You know the white boys by name?” Why was he looking them up?

“The ones that got past round one,” She said dismissively.

The next body. A blonde teenage boy in a white overshirt and jeans.

Adrien Agreste. Deceased.

“Agreste. Gabriel’s son?”

He typed it in. Gifsets. Art. “What are you looking for? Text posts?”

“Anything with the vibe.”

“How’s this for the vibe?” He showed her a piece of fanart that had the boy blindfolded and crying. 

“Hm.” She took the tablet. Her hands practically glowed in the darkness of the pit (she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup). She swiped her finger across the screen, then frowned, and tapped a few times. 

She made a noise of disapproval and grabbed Xigbar’s hand? And started using his finger to scroll?

“Showie, what-”

“It doesn’t recognise my finger.” She said by way of explanation.  

“How do you use it normally?” His wrist was twisted in an uncomfortable way.

“Those touchscreen bandaids.”

Huh. okay. 

After a moment she handed the tablet (and his hand) back to him, “We’re reviving this one,” She said, lifting Adrien up and draping him over her shoulder effortlessly. 

She walked right past a few more bodies without stopping. And a cookie? A few bodies and a cookie. 

She paused over one corpse, “Ugh! Paul Matthews. He went against Garfield in the round where you smuggled yourself in. I actually tableflipped that one. Too many people yelling! But here he is! Back because of the food form.” She sounded disgusted. 

Something was off about the body. Xigbar nudged it with his foot, and-

Not a corpse. Paul Matthews jumped and whimpered, then quickly went still again like they somehow hadn’t seen that.

“Oh.” She said, sounding very annoyed. 

Xigbar summoned one of his arrow guns and aimed it-

“Not yet, Xigbar,” She raised a hand.

“You. Paul.”

He played dead.

“How did you survive?”

He played dead. In one hand was clutched a lunchbag. Did he bring a snack to the death match?

She kicked him. This time he stiffened but otherwise didn’t react. 

She was getting frustrated, Xigbar could feel it. She kicked him again. 

“Stop playing dead! I know you’re alive!”

“Hey, fake it ‘til you make it, right?” Xigbar said, waving his arrowgun a bit.

She seemed to consider it. Then she appeared to get an idea. 

“Guess we were wrong, Xigbar!”

“What?”

“He’s dead! Must have been a final firing of the nerves!” She said, clearly acting (poorly) (he got the sense this was on purpose).

“You sure?” He said, playing along.

“Yeah! I’m sure! You know when you catch a fish, and you chop its head off and then cut the entire body into little pieces, but the head keeps moving and the mouth keeps trying to breathe? Sometimes for hours?”

“Sure,” he said. If she said so. 

“Must have just been that. Let’s go ahead and head back to the apartment, and press the button that drops all of the bodies into the incinerator!”

“Incinerator?!” Paul Matthews gasped.

They both turned to look at him.

“Do I kill him?” Xigbar wanted to. He wanted to kill him. Blow off some steam. 

“I almost respect the audacity to lay there and pretend to be dead after squealing like a kitten,” She said.

“Audacity or Idiocy.” 

“Hm. Perhaps the second one.” She walked closer to Matthews, being sure to keep her head low, “What do you think, Paul? Are you stupid or just impertinent?”

He stammered, and Xigbar laughed, “Guess it's the first one.”

“Hush,” Showie said, amused, “Let him speak. And Paul, there is a correct answer.” She leaned down to get a better look at him.

It was then that his hand, which had been creeping into his lunch bag, suddenly jerked upward.

The gun inside the bag fired directly at Showie’s head.

[amymone]

Galatea rolled a ball of clay between her palms, warming it. It felt good in her hands. After a moment she opened her hands like a book, staring at the perfectly round ball of clay inside. She pushed a thumb into the center, leaving a print, then crushed the whole thing in one hand and began to work it again. 

She liked working with clay, she thought. She came from a family of sculptors, after all. And she was the family sculpture. 

The studio was empty, the house quiet. It was eerie, she thought. Normally her daughter could be heard making some kind of chaos- picking a fight with a bird, challenging someone to a footrace, running full speed into walls just because- but her daughter wasn't here anymore. And she wouldn't be here. Not ever again. 

A tear slipped down Galatea's face and off her chin, landing on the pillar of ivory she was sitting on. She wasn't sure why she'd let her go. There wasn't anything wrong with home, but she'd felt some… tug. And an uneasy feeling. And she'd let her go. 

She squeezed the ball of clay and stared at it and it forced its way through the spaces in between her fingers. 

But no matter. It was approaching dinner, and her husband was sure to be hungry.

She went into the kitchen, ladling some soup into a bowl she'd made and walking into his bedroom with it. She didn't want him to need to leave his room, not after what a day it had been. 

She handed him the bowl, smiling. "Here, honey!"

Pygmalion didn't smile back. Her heart sank slightly, she hated it when he was unhappy with her.

He said, "Galatea."

"Honey?"

"Where is [CHILD NAME EXCLUDED]?"

'No. ' said a voice somewhere inside. How odd. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Stranger and stranger.

"Galatea. Answer me."

She opened her mouth, ready to respond, but the words caught in her throat. 

' No!'  

Why couldn't she-

"Galatea!"

"I'm trying! " She exclaimed desperately- then stumbled back as the bowl of hot soup was thrown at (and shattered on) her face. The wounds stung with the salt of the broth.

"You killed her!" Pygmalion loomed large over his wife, staring up at him from the ground where she'd fallen.

She tried to protest and found, again, she couldn't . Tears came to her eyes, and she shrunk back, raising a hand to shield herself-

" Get out! " He shouted, and she scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping and falling and she hurried out the door. The sun was setting fast on the horizon, a sight she couldn't stop to marvel at as she fled. Get out , he'd said. Get out.

Galatea got out, disappearing into the treeline.

-

It seemed like hours before she finally made it to the other side of the woods.

In the distance loomed a large and imposing… something . And on the other side, a sort of cabin. Blood running down her face, feet aching, scalp still tender from the scalding liquid, she thought whoever was in the cabin may be able to help.

She trudged through the slightly overgrown field, climbing over a few tree trunks that seemed to have been thrown, leaving deep gouges in the ground. 

She knocked on the door of the cabin, and a sea-green eye appeared in the slot in the door. 

It opened. Oh, he was a son of Lord Poseidon for sure- the dark hair, the green eyes- he even smelled faintly of sea salt. She dipped her head.

"Another one?" came a voice from within the cabin.

"Shit, she's all beat up-"

Galatea felt her cheeks heat up in shame as she was ushered into the cabin. 

"What happened?"

' No!'

"I-" she managed, "I had to run, I was told to get out-"

"It's okay-" said the son of the sea god, "You're safe here. We'll protect you from them."

She nodded, feeling her shoulders relax, " Thank you." It was so good to know that she was safe here. Safe from whoever they were. 

A blonde boy she thought may be a child of Persephone gently pulled a shard of pottery out of her cheek. He laid his hand on her face and glowed- literally glowed . 

Healed. 

" Thank you," She said.

"Don't mention it." Said the blonde boy.

"What's your name?" asked the son of the sea, "If you remember it."

"Galatea. Where- where am I?"

"Galatea." His brow furrowed. "I'm Percy. Welcome to the Cabin."

[ervotica]

this smut is all well and good but i fear i want patrick in domestic ways.

him waking you slowly from a nap with a warm palm that slides the length of your neck, a thumb that drags slow lines below your ear. kisses to the corner of your mouth. lazy days where you do nothing but watch movies and fuck each other to sleep - and then fuck each other awake again. him teaching you to play tennis and trying - and failing - to keep that fucking smirk off of his face as you pout and whine and stomp your feet, insistent that you suck. cheering you up with his chin digging into the soft dip of your neck as he mouths at the exposed skin. soft smiles. yelling as you bite his knuckles playfully. relentless teasing. big fights and the tearful reconciliations that follow.

and, yeah, really fucking good sex.

[ghoastixx]

Bringing your slashers/horror characters to Thanksgiving

Includes: Michael Myers (OG), Beetlejuice, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher, J.D., Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Poly Lost Boys, Carrie White

Includes: gn reader, swearing, pet names,

———————————————————————————-

Michael Myers

In reality, this man is not going to your family’s Thanksgiving. He’s not even taking his mask off.

But let’s pretend!!

Let’s say you DID get Michael to take off his mask and venture out of your home for Thanksgiving.

You told your family that he was mute, some understood that better than others.

Grandma? Loves him for some reason.

“Hi baby, is this Michael? Oh hi sweetheart, how are you doing, come let’s get you guys seated.”

She’s so sweet he’s so unused to it other than from you.

He would freak out a lot of people by sitting there and just staring at everyone.

He’s so big and tall compared to everyone, grandpa would ask if he could help him move a dresser or some shit.

“Come on Michael, we’re gonna be late!” You called, waiting patiently by the door.

When you both arrived at your family’s home where Thanksgiving would be hosted this year, Michael was very tense. Very rarely did he ever take his mask off and he hadn’t had a thanksgiving in years. You took his hand and brushed your thumb over your knuckles as you walked inside, taking your shoes off. Your grandma greeted you with a hug and a comfortingly sweet voice.

“Sweetheart! So glad you could make it! Is this Michael? It’s a pleasure to meet you young man,” your grandma said with a smile, touching his hand which made him tense. “Come now, let’s get you guys seated before the food gets cold.”

Mikey was nervous walking through the house, seeing pictures of grandkids and uncles and cousins, seeing everyone seated.

Your grandpa took liking to his muscles,

“Yeah! Looks like you could get the job done, you mind helping me move some boxes in the garage? My back isn’t as nice as it used to be and my kids are pieces of shit.”

“Dad😡”

———————————————————————————

Beetlejuice

Yeah he can pretend to be problematic for thanksgiving.

Would purposely scare the shit out of your cousins.

Your family calls him musty..

Your emo cousin likes him though!!

“Y/N…get him out of here he stinks!” Meanwhile your dead boyfriend is sitting across from your emo cousin who’s lowkey studying him over. He’s just letting them too, he says it reminds them of Lydia.

Your family is boring to him, he’d much rather have thanksgiving at your own house with Lydia and Adam and Barbra.

“Come on babes, this is boring, we’re out of here,” he states as he takes a Turkey leg and promptly leaves the home, hand in yours.

———————————————————————————-

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Your parents and family do not approve.

They’re mostly confused as to why you brought two boys with you. They call it slut behavior.

Billy’s family most likely can’t even get through a normal dinner, let alone Thanksgiving, so he was down for coming.

Stu’s family were out of town and he didn’t want to go to some fancy thanksgiving with a lot of people he didn’t know. He’d rather stay in Woodsboro and get drunk for Thanksgiving, but being with his partners worked too.

Your family is way turned off by Billy, they think he’s rude, where as they think Stu is too energetic.

Billy and Stu would find any excuse to dip, letting them have private time, away from everyone.

Stu would make dirty jokes at the table in you and Billy’s ear.

You get a lot of side eyes from everyone..

You knock on the door with both of your boys, only to be greeted by a strange look.

“Y/N, baby, you brought your friends? How..nice..”

When you were all sat down at the table, your aunt started,

“Two boys Y/N? You friends from school?” Your uncle interjected

“I recognize you Loomis. You better not be causing any trouble.” He practically growled. Billy just nodded.

Lots of apologies to your boys after.

“It’s alright baby, it was bound to happen,” Stu said, grabbing a beer from his fridge

“It’s alright puppy, the food was good,”

———————————————————————————-

J.D

Would genuinely probably be the politest to your parents and family,

Got to make a good impression!!

He’d stay close to you the entire time, making sure to show off who he was to you,

God don’t even get him started on his opinion on politics PLEASE..

I feel like he’s the type of guy that your parents would be nice to in person but when he leaves everyone’s like “he’s so weird?😀”

The type of guy to call older relatives ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’

Would hit the deserts HARD

“Sweetie your new boyfriend is very nice,” your grandma hums as you help with the dishes, he sits in the other room, arguing about politics.

“Yeah, he sure is something,”

“I’m very glad you could bring him,”

Your aunt walks in the room, shaking her head, “he’s really weird honey,” you looked at her with a confused facial expression, “I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just.. odd.”

———————————————————————————

Otis Driftwood

You’re eating dinner at his house. Nothing else.

——————————————————————————-

Baby Firefly

Would actually try to go to dinner with you if that’s what you really wanted.

Would probably make an okayish impression on your family,

They think she’s energetic and odd,

She knows…a lot,

I like to think that she does like domestic feelings, so she might actually love to go to your thanksgiving,

You’re holding her hand as you drive back to the firefly home, smiling as your stunning girlfriend rambles next to you.

“It was so fun! Thank you for taking me baby,”

“Of course,” you hun as she continues to speak very highly of the little tradition.

———————————————————————————-

Poly Lost Boys

Your parents are very thrown off when you tell them that Thanksgiving needs to be a little later than 1:00 this year because your boyfriends get off at 5:00.. (when it gets dark)

They are even more thrown off when four bikers walk in with mullets and frills and no manners at all.. well, the quiet one has manners.

David would try and make a good impression while keeping up his ‘I’m the top dog’ behavior.

Dwayne just wants to help out and actually make a good impression.

Marko will spend most of his time with any pets and Paul will follow in foot.

They house down food. It’s sort of embarrassing

Your parents are so thrown off it hurts.

“Sweetie where did you meet them again?” Your mom whispers to you from across the table,

“So, boys, what do you do for work?” Your father questioned, each boy having a way different reaction it looks suspicious.

Your parents just nod and try there best to get through the dinner.

After dinner it gets even worse, they’re all over you, touching and giving little kisses during conversation, right in front of your parents.. god it was going to be a long night.

———————————————————————————

Carrie White

Genuinely would do her best to come to your thanksgiving if her mama let her.

She’d be all dressed up and pretty, silently so excited that she gets to go to someone’s thanksgiving.

She’s so polite and quiet around your family,

If you all say grace, she’s an active part of it.

She’d be so flustered and happy to be there,

She thinks your family is so nice!!

You knock on the door of her house for her to rush down, saying goodbye to her mama. You would say hello to Mrs.White, but very uncomfortably.. you didn’t like Carrie’s Mama.

You smile upon seeing her. She looks so pretty.

“Hey darling, you look great,”

She blushed, looking down a little flustered, “thank you,”

You open the passenger door, letting her get in and closing it for her. She felt so nice, being treated so kindly. She’d remember this day for a while.

Please send me any slasher requests,

(Although I’m more prone to write for Billy & Stu at the moment)

[simsim54]

alex: so hen, why don't you have a boyfriend? henry: my grandmother would kill me henry: henry: what about you? why don't you have a boyfriend? alex: your grandmother would kill you

[savvylittlecoxswain]

Characters Bios for The Boys in the Boat

[raekensluver]

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʙᴏʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ — sᴇᴘᴛᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ

ʀᴀғᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ (ᴅʀᴇᴡ sᴛᴀʀᴋᴇʏ)

[t4tsnowstormjrwi]

hey guyssssss

i'm so insane over these 2.........

[shaylogic]

"Oi, don't wait up for me, yeah?" Charles informs Edwin, "I'll be in Crystal's room all night."

"Charles! I'm surprised at you," Edwin exclaims, looking flustered.

"It's not like that, mate--she's been having nightmares about David and I've agreed to keep her company. Said she feels safer with a friend looking after her, y'know?" He shifts from one leg to the other, one hand rubbing his other arm, absent-mindedly. "It's not a big deal, alright? Just didn't want you wondering after me." He shrugs non-chalantly and gives his partner a gentle clap on the shoulder before re-entering Crystal's room.

She's already changed into her sleep clothes and curled up under the covers. Crystal meets Charles' eyes and pats the bed beside her. With a small smile, he approaches and sits on the side of the bed, leaning on one hand and looking down on her.

"Would you like to talk before bed, or should I leave you to it?"

Seeing him only sit on the edge, she takes his hand and guides him to lay down next to her. "C'mere. Just lay with me, okay? If you don't mind. . .?"

His eyebrows raise and a twinkle of excitement crosses his eyes that he fails to suppress.

Crystal rolls her eyes at him and he chuckles. She pulls his arm over her side and holds onto him as best she can, letting out a long sigh. Charles feels a fluttering sensation in his chest, like a memory of a quickening heartbeat.

"Thanks for doing this. I'm sure it'll be less interesting than however you usually spend your nights, and I'm not much company to you when I'm asleep."

He grins, fingers attempting to brush lightly along her back. "I wouldn't say that."

She looks him up and down. "Oh, geez, you're not gonna' like, stare at me all night are you?"

"Well, I don't sleep, but I could try closing my eyes and laying here with you. Seems restful, anyway, doesn't it?" Her brow furrows, and he mirrors her expression, sobering up. "I'm not sure, uh, what your plan was?"

". . .I guess I'm not sure, either. I just didn't want to be alone in this big, empty room tonight."

"You could invite Niko across the hall for a sleepover," he teases, tempting her to explain why she chose him.

She recognizes this immediately and narrows her eyes playfully, pursing her lips, and refusing to take the bait. "You've got a cricket bat handy if any other ghosts or demons decide to pop up overnight. Niko would probably just talk their ear off and try to set them up with each other."

He chuckles. "Tough to argue with that."

. . .

After a while, Crystal's breathing slows, her chest rising and falling in smaller increments. Charles does observe this for a moment, before realizing he's doing exactly what she told him not to do. He shifts so he is staring up at the ceiling.

He can't feel Crystal's breath and warmth beside him. Without looking at her, he could forget she's there. He could just be laying alone in this bed for no reason.

He turns onto his side again, facing her and snuggling as close as he can without phasing into her. He has to focus to keep his form solid enough for her arm to rest on.

He closes his eyes and replicates breathing, concentrating on being present, and trying to remember old sensations. How would this moment feel, if he still had his body?

A cold chill runs down his core and he tries to focus on the memory of body contact sharing warmth.

While Crystal has one of the best nights of sleep she's had in weeks, Charles struggles to remember how it felt to be alive.

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

𝕷𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕾𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕳𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕯𝖔𝖓𝖊? 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑨𝑼

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔: 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑬𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒂'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉... 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. 𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒂 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅, 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒔...

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑬𝑺!! 𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒑𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒐𝒖𝒕!

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: [𝑵𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒕! 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓!]

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒇𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕, 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔.

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒘𝒐

“Forgive me.”

He uttered the word with each weak breath that left his lips and into the chill air of the night. He whispered it with every foot forward into the large hole he dug, whenever his grandfathers rusted shovel gathered the moist dirt and damp grass which would be swiftly casted over his shoulder following the rest of the gathering earth.

“Forgive me.”

His sweaty hands gripped firmly onto the wood handle of the shovel, his hold so tight his knuckles grew white as the moon staring that stared down on him, judging him for his actions, weeping stars as if to ask what he has done, what has he done to do this, to violate such a peaceful ground, to step foot into this yard and prey on the vulnerable, who spent their lives fighting, only now to rest?

“Forgive me.”

Michael repeated, his body cold, and yet perspiration seeped from his skin, running down his sharp jaw as he relentlessly worked at digging up the freshly buried grave before him, his arms sore and aching, but he refused to stop, for he knew it was the least he could handle as a punishment for his actions. The end of the shovel halted,  the sound of wood splintering at its jagged edge making his rapid movements stop, pulling it away to see the engraved edges of a coffin creeping through the dirt, the beautifully hand-crafted work now ruined by the edge of his shovel.

He fell to his knees, trembling, splintered hands clawing and digging at the thin layer of soil hiding the elegant casket holding it’s treasure inside. His hands matched his heart and soul, dirty. Filthy. Ridden in waste and muck. Digging into the creases and crevices of his purity like the soil that stains his fingertips and buries beneath his fingernails. His hands wiped away the mud from the engraved cross, stray gems planted into it, the moon striking it at a point they seemed to glow. It felt almost like it was stinging his eyes.

He quickly got to his feet again, looking around him to find a crowbar he had brought alongside his equipment. Grasping it with slippery hands as firm as he could, he readied to stab it into the golden hinges and lock keeping him from getting what he needed inside.

“Forgive me.”

He closed his eyes as he carried his strength into the swing of plunging the crowbar into the side of the casket, the sound of wood cracking and hinges weakening, trying desperately to keep it shut, crying out for him to stop. Michael was a very strong boy, and yet even now he found his strength failing to help him carry out his deeds. He gave a grunt as he ripped it out of it’s first location, carefully gliding its curved edge lover, aiming at another lock, and taking one final, and hopeful swing.

On nights like these, he would’ve requested his younger brother to follow and aid him, like the many other nights of carrying out their monthly duty. But tonight was different, just like the many nights he had told his brother that when he asked to help him. It was different. It was dangerous. They were dangerous.

They were growing restless. Impatient. Impatient for what? Michael did not know. He merely knew that the risks of taking his brother with him anymore was something he couldn’t bear to imagine. So, much like his heart and soul, he was alone tonight.

He pushed and pulled with his might, teeth gritted hard enough his jaw grew tense and formed and ached. The casket broke open, revealing the inside. He’d never grow use to the sickening feeling that pooled in his guts, seeing the peaceful, resting face of a human being, now fallen into eternal slumber.

Her name was Patience Willows. A poor, young creature, who had fallen into illness she fought so hard against, but ultimately failed. She was a sweet girl, with a loving family and good friends, and betrothed to a man who was just as hopeless for her as she was for him. Her fair skin, and pale hair stood out under the moon, her black gowns she was buried in contrasted to how lively she seemed to be, the bouquet of orchids and roses, wilting away in her clasped hands, tangled in the beads of rosaries and the small cross hanging from the end nestled atop her stomach.

Michael’s hands came up to her face. Cold to the touch. Like ice on his flesh her face unmoving like stone, as if sculptors carved her body, and she was merely made of the finest marble. But she was a girl. A human, and innocent young woman, taken too soon. Even graceful in death as she was living.

And he had to take that away from her. He had to take it away from her family.

“Sweet Patience. Sweet, sister Patience.” He spoke as if he’d expect a reply, as if her big dark eyes would open again to the sound of his voice. “Forgive me for what I must now do with your mortal body…” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper, his trembling hands left her face, one moved beneath her back, and the other the back of her legs, ripping her body away from its casket and into the night air where he stood tall, holding her like a sleeping maiden. Her head fell back, her arm falling from its gently clasped pose, and limped at her side. Her gowns and hair blew in the chill breeze, the sight was almost haunting.

Michael’s heart ached, he could feel it pound in his chest and wished for him to end this. But he couldn’t. There was no other way. He was beginning to grow desperate, finding every fresh body he possibly could, anything that seemed tempting or tantalizing enough to catch their eye and keep their attention long enough before they grew restless again. But he was beginning to grasp the straws the longer time began to go on. This was his last hope to keep his family and the town of Santa Carla safe.

He trudged through the forests of his family grounds, the settled grass and astray rotting logs pushed away from the path he had spend years creating took him deeper and deeper into the woods. The creeping vines and branches tugging and pried at his holy robes, like teasing fingers and wandering hands, the leaves and grass brushing around him sounding like hisses and whispers. The deep thickets pulled and tore at the gentle fabric of Patience gown, her beautiful resting garments now ruined and made imperfect. It only made Michael’s heart hurt further with sympathy.

The longer he walked, the more the space began to clear, the moon now crept through casting shadows across the trees, and the grass began to shorten. Thorned vines caught on his boots, always overgrowing the path he had created. No matter how many times he’d pull them out, it seemed they merely grew back every night.

Roses sprouted around them light weeds, deep blood reds, and the purest white buds all around, replacing the bushes and trees once hiding him from the moon and the stars shameful stare. The thorned vines and roses wrapped around everything like snakes, choking away like and growing over the ancient stone and ruins Michael was walking to. The closer he got, the more dreadful he felt. It was like the place carried the same evil of the ones who resided in it- yet it could have been the most holiest grounds decades ago, and now it was left to time and darkness to swallow it whole.

The ruins of this Chapel were very large, even if it hadn’t seemed that way from the outside or whatever angle you might have stumbled across it with fate in mind. So much so it was almost like once you walked in, you could never find you way out. Michael was walking toward the back of it, the caved in roofs and broken foundation greeting him routinely night after night. His chest heaved with exhaustion, his arms were throbbing, his legs were burning, the body in his arms felt too heavy to keep going, but he continued. The only thing keeping him going was the thought of his family, waiting for him at home. His mother sleeping soundly by now, and his Grandfather, if not doing the same, was awake busying himself with the strange taxidermy residing in their home and even the Church they ran. And Sam, his dearest brother Sam, he only hoped he wasn’t awake, waiting for him, worried about him. He hoped his brother was sleeping well, not wasting good hours on a brother who had trapped him in such a life he was to live now.

“Lord Jesus,” Michael’s voice trembled, taking each step up the ruined, cracked stares, the moon’s hateful light shining down atop the alter like a spotlight, reveled in display. “Son of God… Have mercy on me, a sinner.” He walked with slow, cautious steps, his footwork calculated, like a waltz, his boots echoing through the rubble stone.

“Wash me from my guilt with Your precious blood and cleanse me of my wrongdoings…” Patience heavy body left his arms, setting her atop the alter, his dirtied hands touching her fair face one final time, the cold feeling of her skin one he had felt many times before, and would forever feel as long as he breathed. “Create in me, a clean heart… Oh God,” He stepped away from her, backing away from the alter and down it’s steps, all the way till he couldn’t see her body put out on display under the moonlight, and even then, he couldn’t handle it, his eyes closing and turning his head away from a sight even imagining made him sick. “Forgive me from all my sins and take not Your Holy Spirit from me by Your mercies…”

The air grew cold, and he could feel the wind on the back of his neck. Wind blowing through the cracks of foundation sounded like whispers, he could hear voices in the trees, and laughs ring out in the halls. Shadows dance on the walls, tempting for him to open his eyes, but they remained shut, not daring to open and witness a sight that would claw through his eyes and carve it’s name on his mind to never forget.

“Forgive… And renew a right spirit within me. Amen.”

And just like that, it went silent. Too silent. The wind halted, and the forest and life within paused. The whispers ceased and it felt as if even Michael’s heart came to a stop for just a moment. His eyes fluttered open, slowly turning his head back up to the steps, only taking a few more just to peek up at the alter.

Patience’s body was gone.

Michael let out a breath he forgot he was even holding, a hand coming up to his head, wiping away the thick layer of sweat forming a residue on his forehead, his fingers tangling in his dark curls. His stomach turned, making him swallow thickly and audibly, shallow breathes leaving past his parted lips. It was done. It was over for those few, spare days. Those few spare, haunting days.

And then he heard it. Quiet at first, so much so he could have merely considered it his mind playing a trick on him and went his way, but Michael knew better. And it grew louder. It was laughter.

Not joyous, not happy or a warm laugh, it was cruel. It was mocking, taunting, and it slowly began to grow louder, and voices joined it, resonating along the walls and ringing through the ruins of the Chapel. Cackles and barking laughter that made Michael’s blood run cold as the sound fed through his ears and froze him from the inside. His hand left his side, reflexively coming to the cross that hung around his neck, nestled against his chest right where his heart was. He clutched the powerful silver in his hand, his fingers running slow circles into the vibrant colored stones embedded into it’s surface as if silently praying, but a prayer wasn’t on Michael’s mind the the moment.

The laughter ensued, louder and louder as though circling him, in the sky, beneath the cobblestone floors, behind him right in his ear or standing before him, yet there was no one to be seen- but he knew very well he wasn’t alone. Not here. And as if his thought were read, the laughter quickly began to silence, very, very slowly. Going silent for only a split second with a few chaste whispers exchanged, and the world slowly began to grow alive yet again in the dead of night.

Michael’s hand stayed firmly grasping his crucifix, feeling his fast heartbeat against his fingers as he took only a few more steps up the stares toward the alter, when he saw a body. The very same body that was lying there just minutes before. He just felt his fear rise the longer he stared at Patience body back on the surface where she was once an offering, now turned away.

Her dress ripped up, legs and arms full of cuts and claw marks. Her blouse was ripped open and her peeled away flesh on display. Her ribs cracked open, like it was a cage, revealing her now hollowed chest where a heart would be, now gone from her bosom with only the bloody remnants of her lungs as the crimson liquid wept from her body and down the pure white marble and stone of the alter, staining the steps, and the petals of roses and orchids stuck to her skin where blood had crept into every curve and crevice along her baren flesh creeped out.

A beautiful woman, a sweet creature, who’s looks reflected the beauty and pureness of her soul… Now mangled and violated in a gruesome slaughter, just for Michael’s eyes to see. He all but stumbled toward her, falling to his knees as he threw his arms over her body, his mind riddled with confusion and utter distraught, blue eyes wandering her face and finding himself unable to understand. Why?

The laughter quickly came back, but it wasn’t all around him now. Instead, it echoed from the seemingly large opening into the ground behind the alter, a cave. Going deep, deep, and down, down into darkness, you couldn’t even see your footing as you would descend into its cavern. The laughter, the voices called out to him, calling his name, and mocking him with snickers and cackles.

“I don’t understand…” He spoke genuinely, eyes dancing between Patience and the cavern below. “I don’t understand.” He asked once more, his voice raising. “What do you want from me?” His guilt, his fear, his confusion all of it was fogging his mind, making him frustrated. It made him angry. It made him enraged.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” He shouted, finding himself unable to handle any more of this cruel madness he was going out through, his voice ringing through the Chapel, echoing back to him and the fluttering sound of bats and disturbed birds followed. The laughter died down as well, but it wasn’t to put his mind at peace. It was to leave him yet again, another night with no answers to his plea.

“I’ve done everything you wanted… I’ve committed atrocities for you. I’ve hurt people, I’ve betrayed my family, my covenants… What more could you want of me?” He cried out, awaiting an answer. And with little hope left, it died out following the silence. He looked to his hands in defeat, now riddled in dirt and innocent blood. “What have I done..”

Silence. Only the quiet comforted him, succumbing him to accepting that he would spend the next month restless, with no answers, with more people getting hurt, with more families coming to his church pleading for prayers and blessings of safety from the beasts of Santa Carla. More missing posters around any wall surface in the town, more questions from his mother. He could barely handle it anymore. How, he was willing to do anything to get this madness to stop.

His heart felt heavy, and as body numb as he got to his feet, wiping the dirt and blood off his Holy robes as best he could, looking toward the disgusting sight of the body splayed out atop the alter, just like the many other past offerings these last few weeks. And like the many weeks before,

He began his walk back home. Dawn approaching, the sun creeping over the view of the boardwalk far, far into the distance...

[slasher-male-wife]

Slashers with an s/o who crochets

I've probably mentioned this before but I crochet as a hobby. One of my mutuals @the-slasher-madame wrote about this before too.

Includes: Brahms Heelshire, Billy Lenz, Carrie White and Vincent Sinclair

Warnings: Non I can think of

Brahms Heelshire

It kinda makes him more attracted to you. He likes the idea of having a domestic partner. He likes feeling like the "man" of the relationship so you being into something more domestic really gets him smiling.

He likes watching you crochet. He finds the repeated moves relaxing to watch and likes to see the project build up over time.

The Heelshire's are very rich so he'll be happy to fund your hobby. He'll probably get yarn in colors and textures that he likes but he doesn't mind getting things at your request.

He tries to learn but quits when it gets to hard or when he can't get a good start on a project.

Billy Lenz

He's going to tease you about it, just a little. He's going to call you a grandma/grandpa and ask if you're really that old. But he doesn't want to hurt your feelings. He's just trying to joke around.

He steals some of your yarn sometimes. If he likes the color of texture he just takes it and does whatever with it before returning it to you.

He also steals finished projects. If you've made a blanket he really likes or if there's something else you've made that catches his eye he's going to be taking it.

But he will ask if you can make him sweaters. He likes the idea of wearing something that you specifically made for him.

Carrie White

She's excited that you have a hobby similar to her's. She likes to sew and you like to crochet, it's a great match.

If you make her anything she'll sew you something in exchange. Like if you make her a pair of gloves she's going to sew you a pair of gloves too.

She doesn't have much money but she will buy you yarn with whatever left over money that she does have. Will ask you about your favorite colors and textures when it comes to yarn.

Like Brahms she's going to want to learn how to crochet. But unlike Brahms she'll continue to learn even after it gets hard. I feel like she'd be pretty good at it too.

Vincent Sinclair

He appreciates the art form of it. As an artist he understand how hard making art can be at times so he's very appreciative of the projects you've made.

He'll ask if you can make clothes for the wax figures or not. He's just proud of your work and he's going to want to show it off.

He'll steal money from victims and pay Bo to go buy you yarn to use. He'll ask you to make a list so Bo knows what kind to exactly get you.

Will use everything that you make for him. If you make him sweaters he's wearing it all of the time. If you made him a blanket he's using it all the time. He doesn't care how hot it is he wants to use what his s/o has made.

[white-boy-bracket]

The Showrunner pulled out her hot-pink laptop, placed it on her lap, and lounged back in her loveseat.

Stanley had lost his mouth; as the Showrunner, it was her duty to fix that. She had put off doing it for a bit– Stanley was just Stanley, and she had hoped that the solution might come to fruition on its own– but a full round had progressed, and he was still without a mouth.

That just wouldn’t do.

She searched up ‘Stanley Parable’ in Yahoo, and clicked on the first link.

She skimmed through the advertisement for the game, and saw… no.

No! No, this couldn’t… no.

‘You will make a choice, and you will have your choices taken from you.’

No, no he–

‘You are not here to win. The Stanley Parable is a game that plays you.’

And she saw– oh.

That- that Narrator. She knew he was trouble! And now– now she knows his true nature. How he had made Stanley. How he had played with him. How he had acted affectionate towards him– no, she wouldn’t let this stand. Stanley was– and then, there, it said here that he sometimes destroyed him-

Feeling distress rise in her chest, she typed “https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard” into her search bar and hit ‘enter’. She typed “stanley parable” into the tumblr search bar and saw- well. Art people had drawn, post people made, all very clearly pointing to Stanley being controlled, having no choice- the Narrator- the dictator- controlled every aspect of his life! She saw a post about him turning away someone trying to check in on Stanley- a cage?!

M- maybe she was wrong. She typed “Narrator Parable” into the tumblr search bar, and saw- was… was that art of Stanley killing himself?

She pressed her lips together and scrolled a bit further. She saw someone posting about… the “countdown” ending… they seemed lustful towards the narrator… she clicked on the video they had linked…

He blew him up?!

Oh, no, she was not wrong. This Narrator was just like, just like- 

Her breath came in short gasps, and suddenly the cloak felt too heavy, too hot- she was sweating now, and her makeup would run-

She wasn’t wearing her heels, and her feet clinked across the marble floor as she ran as well as she could into the bathroom. She splashed her face, the cool water calming her, the runoff colored the pale color of the makeup she put all over her skin.

She had to get- she- Stanley was already away from him, but- was that- was that all she could d- ANNABETH. That girl was, what, 17? And she’d-

She felt hot with panic, and quickly grabbed some foundation powder and applied it to her face rather carelessly. 

She ran out of the room, then- stupid, stupid, stupid- ran right back in, tripping over herself and landing with a thunk. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” She whimpered, crawling across the floor to her cloak and pulling it on. She pulled herself to her feet using her chair and then slipped a pair of wedge heels onto her feet- these would help her run more steadily. 

Limping slightly from the fall, she hurried out of her apartment and into the adjacent, heart shaped room where she kept her… terrariums. She rushed over to the ornate, Victorian style dollhouse she’d retrofitted and, hands shaking, makeup dripping, pulled out a key and swung open the front. 

Annabeth looked up at her, clearly startled. She brandished some kind of weapon- The Showrunner wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that, but all the better to defend herself from-

Where was he?

The- the Narrator wasn’t in the- 

She grabbed Annabeth (gently- The Showrunner liked Annabeth) and pulled her away from the dollhouse. The girl was only a little bigger than The Showrunner’s hand. Annabeth’s makeshift dagger clinked harmlessly against her skin.

She searched thoroughly. No. Oh, he was gone alright. 

She walked a few feet over to an unused terrarium- this one like a cabin, with a small grassy area and a sand pit with a tetherball. A safe terrarium. One the Narrator had never been in.

She lifted the glass dome and set Annabeth gently inside, quickly closing it. She latched the bottom up safely. Annabeth would be safe here. No creator-predator would get Annabeth as long as she stayed safely inside of that dome. 

The Showrunner crossed back over to the dollhouse and latched it tight. If the narrator returned, he’d be locked in there alone. 

Now, to find him.

[imagine-mokey]

An early Starrison! 😜

Ringo and George! I don't know who's in the middle.

[i-understand-vangogh]

i blame my need to read for my lack of a relationship LMAO… these fanfic boys set the bar HIGH

[ghoastixx]

Slashers x reader

How protective are they?

Warnings: blood, death (obviously), degradation

Slashers included: Michael Myers (not specified), JD, Nancy Downs, Beetlejuice, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Poly Lost Boys, Carrie

Send Requests!!!!!!!!!!!!

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•Michael Myers

I was asleep. I went to bed alone that night, Michael was off on a hunt. I shot up when I heard my bedroom door slam.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

“You gotta help me! I’m being chased by this fucking psycho in a mask!”

“Psycho in a mask- you mean the shape-? You do realize this is his house, right?”

“What?! You gotta help me! Call the cops or someth-“

Suddenly the door was forced open and there stood Michael, bloody and shaking. He spotted his victim and then spotted me. The only sound in the room was the victim pushing me towards Michael and the sound of his heavy ass breathing.

“Please! Please take them! Not me! I’ll do anything- please-!” Michael grabbed my face with his hand and pushed me aside, most likely leaving a bloody handprint on my face.

“Please-“ THUMP

Michael walked up to me, he grabbed my face, and looked over it.

“Michael-? I’m okay- please get the body out of my room.” He patted my head.

•JD

“Y/N! Your boyfriend’s here!”

“Send him up!” I put my book down and sat on my bed. He came in, closing the door behind him.

“Hey J,”

“Y/n,” he sat on the edge of the bed. “You wanted to talk about something?”

“Kurt’s giving me trouble.” His expression shifted.

“Oh, is he?”

“Yeah- he keeps shoving me in the halls and keeps getting his friends to throw food at me during lunch.”

He smiled a bit and reached out for my hand,

“Don’t worry, he won’t mess with you anymore. Come on, let’s go get something to eat, ya?”

I smiled back, “sure,”

The next day at school, JD seemed a lot happier than normal during lunch.

“What’s got you all happy?”

“You’ll see, babe.”

“Attention!” I turned around to look in the direction of the voice.

“As some of you may know, there was a suicide last night. Our beloved Kurt-“ I turned around to look at JD, who was smiling at me.

“Jason-“

“I told you he wouldn’t bother you.”

“Did you- I didn’t want you to do that,”

“I thought you’d be more excited.”

“Excited that you killed Kurt?!”

“Quiet.” I grabbed my tray and stood up, I threw my stuff away and left the cafeteria. I avoided JD for the rest of the day. I didn’t see him again til that night when he knocked on my window.

“Hey darling,”

“You’re not supposed to be here,”

“I’m just trying to make you happy. I want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Then let me in,”

Sigh, “fine.”

•Nancy Downs

I was being bullied by a girl in my science class. She kept laughing at me when I answered questions wrong, and she’d publicly humiliate me and ridicule me in class. Sister never did anything to correct her. Of course, I confided in Nancy as she was practicing a makeup look on me.

“She’s humiliating you?”

“Yeah. Sarah’s boyfriend has even started in on it too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. That sucks, now, hold still.” She finished doing my eyeliner.

I was upset by her not seeming to care about my problem, but passed it off. Nancy was like this.

A few days later, my opinion started to change.

“Y/N, do you want to tell us the answer?” I looked over at Tasha, the girl, and back at Sister,

“..the powerhouse?” Tasha chuckled,

“No.. how about you Tasha?”

“It’s obviously 27-“ I looked at Tasha, as did everyone else in the class.

“27?” Someone laughed,

“I didn’t mean to say that!” Tasha screamed,

“Quiet.” Sister persisted.

I sat confused for the rest of class, until later after swimming when I heard her talking to her friends in the locker room.

“It’s so embarrassing! It’s like, I know what I want to say, but then I say something completely opposite! Like that the sky is red!”

“This isn’t funny Tasha,”

“Yeah, I never knew you were so stupid.”

I sort of had to chuckle to myself, it was pretty funny.

That evening I was invited to hang out with Nancy and her friends.

“Soo, you hear what happened to Tasha?” Rochelle sneered. Bonnie laughed a bit.

“Yeah, it’s like it just magically happened or something” Nancy laughed, causing me to look at her.

“Did you guys do that?”

“You said she was bothering you. Plus, we wanted to see if it would work.”

“At this rate, she’ll be held back when we graduate!”

Nancy smiled at me, I felt a bit guilty but.. it would probably wear off.. right?

•Beetlejuice

-BJ is pretty cut and dry, he’d protect you if you needed it, but he wouldn’t let anything happen to begin with. Silly 🤷

It would probably be someone hitting on you. He’d get all jealous and shit. (If anyone wants a one shot let me know)

•Otis Driftwood

I was in the kitchen when I heard what sounded like a stampede of wild buffalo upstairs. Mama Firefly flew down the stairs, Baby followed closely and ran out the back door. Tiny was no where to be seen. Grandpa stayed upstairs. Mama turned to me,

“Cops are here!”

“Cops?!”

“Yeah cops! I’d assume they’re lookin’ for you!”

“For me?”

“Yeah! You said your family was important, what happens when their kiddo goes missin’?”

“Shit!”

Baby came back, Mama turned to her.

“Baby, take Y/N up to Otis’s room and lock the door behind ‘ya.”

Baby took your hand and bolted upstairs.

“Where’s Otis?”

“Out back, gonna take care of the cops. You stay here.”

She closed the door, I checked the handle. It was locked. I peeked from the window. There was only one cop car. There were two people walking around. I could hear one downstairs flirting with Baby and Mama.

I put my ear to the floor, trying my best to hear.

“We’re out lookin’ for a few people. ——, Britany Carshy, —— Y/N L/N, ——— Candace Dickel—-“

“Well, I’m sorry sir, I haven’t seen any of them. Have we Baby.”

“We don’t get many visitors.. officer.”

I peeked out the window again, I saw the one officer on the ground. Otis looking down at the other. I sat on his bed for a while and eventually heard the officer downstairs scream and fall to the floor. I heard footsteps and the door unlock.

“You in here darlin’?”

“Otis? Is everything okay? Are Mama and Baby okay?”

He stepped into the room.

“Everyone’s okay. Was just a couple of those nosy cops. We took care of ‘em. Are you okay? Did ya’ see anyone get away?”

“No. I’m okay Otis, I heard they were lookin’ for me.”

“Yeah, Mama said they were. We’re gonna keep ya’ close for a while. Alright?”

“Okay Otis.” I went up and hugged him,

“Thank you,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” I kissed him and squeezed passed him to go check on Mama and Baby.

•Baby Firefly

Baby had lured some new victims into the house. Mama had them stay over for dinner while Otis “fixed their car”

The group had been very judgmental towards Otis and Tiny. The one girl wouldn’t stop flirting with baby, and the one boy seemed to have the hots for Mama.

“So, what’re you kids doin’ the whole way out here?”

The one snotty girl started instantly talking.

“We’re one our way to a wedding and stopped for gas at that Captain Spuaulding guys place. He told us about some creepy ass doctor and Jerry wanted to come check it out.”

“A weddin’? Aren’t those great? We’re waiting for my Baby to marry her significant Y/N.”

“Mama!” Baby laughed playfully, I blushed in response. The snotty girl started to pout.

“Oh.. that’s, uh, unfortunate.”

“What’s unfortunate?” Baby asked,

“Show time!” Grandpa yelled in excitement.

I sat in the audience next to the snotty girl, much to my delight. I watched grandpa do his stand up comedy, greedily anticipating Baby’s performance. When she came out on stage, I was immediately entranced in her and only her. I could feel, although, the girl next to me getting excited too. When Baby started interacting with the audience, the girl got even more excited.

“Why be with a slut like that when you could have me?” Baby stopped performing.

“What?”

“Why be with a slut like that-“

“You better shut the fuck up.”

“Hey- I’m just speaking the truth.”

Baby punched the girl in the eye, she drew back right into the arms of Jerry. Mama came up, I held Baby back.

“You better get out of here.”

“Whatever let’s go.”

The group left.

“Are you okay Baby.”

“Mhm. No one calls you a slut but me!” She grinned.

“This is gonna be fun.” Mama snickered.

•poly Lost Boys

A fight broke out on the board walk and it just so happened to be my fault.

I was walking around, looking for the boys when a surfer came up to me and grabbed my waist.

“Hey baby, where do you think you’re going?”

“Don’t ducking touch me!” I spit as I ripped away from him.

“Hey bitch, no need to get violent!” He shoved me.

“Well then, maybe, don’t touch me!” I shoved back.

He was the one who threw the first punch. As soon as it had started a crowd had formed. Suddenly, I got pulled back.

“Hey- Paul?”

“Are you okay?? That looks pretty bad!” I looked back over. Marko, David, and Dwayne were “taking care” of the guy. No doubt he’d be their meal later.

“Come on, let’s get you something cold for your eye.” Paul dragged me away from the fight and to a stand. He got me a cup of ice.

“Are you okay, doll?” David asked, the boys approaching. Dwayne sat down next to me and took the ice, putting it over my eye.

“I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Marko said, sitting down as well.

“He tried to grab me, so I shoved him.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t over something stupid.”

“Don’t worry, we took care of it.”

• Carrie White

Carrie would be too shy to confront whoever was bothering you straight up, but she would definitely take the time to clean you up if it was a fight, or to make sure that you were okay if you were being bullied.

She’d try to talk with a counselor or someone who’d try and help, she really worries about you. She’d try to talk to her mama, but she probably would tell her not to get involved.

She’d make sure that you knew just how much she loves you

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-Ghoastix

My requests are open!!!!! If you want a specific character or one shot

Slasher requests are now open!!!

[simsim54]

henry : PeOpLe I dAtE dOn'T iNtErEsT mE aNd PeOpLe WhO iNtErEsT mE i CaN't DaTe alex: i've never been more confused in my entire life