Hello! Welcome to my angsty slasher page, This is where you can fall more head over heels for your favorite murderous men. You are welcome to send in request's for various slashers, if it's a slasher I'm not aware of i'll go out of my way to watch their movie or movie series to get it done for you. If I don't feel comfortable writing for a slasher I'll delete the the request as I would feel awful for rejecting and posting it for others to see. Please request in my request or ask box!
DISCLAIMER; please note that these individuals are people who kill, some imagines and or scenarios may come with trigger warnings when i feel needed, especially for some slashers.
I do have a list of main slashers I write for and this includes
Jason Voorhees
Michael Myers
Thomas Hewitt
Chromeskull/ Jesse Cromeans
The Collector/ Asa Emory
Vincent Sinclair
Bo Sinclair
Brahms heelshire
Please do not request anything that has to do with rape or anything non consensual, pedophilia, incest, ddlg or anything to do with minors.
I do write headcanons, fics, nsfw and sfw!!
I do take Nsfw requests so please don't feel afraid to request anything for that!
I do hope we can make a wonderful fanbase! Thank you for reading! Scenarios and imagines will be posted soon.
Working on some asks! Please be patient!! I’m in my second last month of highschool and my stress is on a all time high! But asks are coming out!! Miss you all!!
Ive unfortunately deleted all of the requests in my ask box as they have been from months ago!! Sooo! I’m accepting new requests so we can get this writing back on a role! Much love XO.
If you are unaware of what things I write for and what I don’t feel comfortable with, there is a pinned post that you can read through. Rules and info.
It’s been a whileeeee.. haha but I’ve been working on a creepypasta blog as well as this. But I’m here to stay lovelies, I promise this time please follow me here as well @cottageslashers
Hm! Could I get RZ Michael Myers! Having a fluff moment with his s/o! Like, maybe something seems to be really bugging him and his s/o realizes so she (or whatever pronouns you decided to use!) tries her best to comfort him and he kinda for the first time in a long time let’s put tears, I just know my poor boy Michael has a lot of pent up frustration and the poor thing needs to let it out!
Michael was rarely inconsolable — there were moments where his frustrations bubbled to the surface, but they were few and far between. Sometimes you wondered where it all went, how he compartmentalized fragments of his past intertwined with all of those negative emotions. He was always eerily stoic, an unyielding mass who never seemed phased.
Tonight was different — something was gnawing away at the masked behemoth, clawing at the seams.
You often waited for Michael each night, and after the sun slipped behind a darkening horizon, you always attempted to stay up until he returned. Oftentimes, his navy coveralls would be splotched with crimson stains, ruby spattered upon the pale rubber of his mask, but he was spotless when he quietly stepped through your back door.
For a man as indomitable as Michael, you wondered how he’d gotten to be so stealthy.
His hulking shadow lingered within the kitchen, though instead of waiting for you to notice, he sluggishly traipsed in the direction of the staircase. Michael’s footfalls were heavier this time, as if he were dragging himself up, detectable to you as you hastily scrambled off of the sofa. You watched his massive shape round the banister before disappearing altogether.
This was foreign behavior, unfamiliar to you and discomforting to witness. He was always keen to your embrace, his subtle delight flourishing whenever you greeted him with adoring hugs and compassionate touches. With a furrowed brow, you stood at the bottom of the stairs, heart hammering within your chest.
Your initial thoughts were swirling with doubt and a crippling fear of abandonment, fear of Michael disappearing from your life without a trace. He was unpredictable like that, but you didn’t allow yourself to succumb to intrusive thoughts so quickly. Despite your befuddlement whenever it came to his vehemence and expression of feelings, you weren’t about to leave him alone to dwell on it all — you would go to him.
With a sharper inhale, you began your ascension, climbing the staircase that led into a small, narrow corridor. There was a spare room, empty save for a few boxes and scarce storage, and your bedroom, the white door left ajar. Moonlight pooled against the wooden flooring, intercepted by the curve of a bulky shadow, who didn’t seem to be moving at all.
“Michael?” You whispered, hushed as if you two weren’t alone. You were always tender in the way you went about approaching him, even if the two of you had been together for some time now.
Crossing the threshold from wooden panels to plush, thick carpet, you lingered in the doorway, hand perched upon the brass doorknob. Michael was standing at your window, the curtains drawn aside to allow him proper room to view the desolate streets down belpw. The crown of his mask nearly swept against the curtain rods, his musculature engulfing whatever space he occupied.
Without any prompting or coaxing, Michael’s roughened hand moved upward, digits tightly wound atop the mask’s coarse hair as he tugged it off in one smooth motion. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen his face — the third, more like it. Each moment that Michael willingly revealed himself to you, was another step toward trust, toward needing one another.
You never pushed or prodded for him to reveal his visage, and it seemed to go much better if it came about organically instead of forced. Of course, a sliver of you yearned to see the man without that haunting rubber veil more often, but you cherished each time that he felt comfortable enough to remove it.
Clutching the mask in one hand, his disheveled, flaxen-blonde tresses fell in some heap around his broad shoulders, tangled around his face. Hardly any noise emerged from him, save for the puffs of his husky breathing. His posture was indicative of a restrained vexation, though it almost seemed far too rigid — maybe you were overlooking things.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” That endearing nickname slipped, rolling freely from your tongue, but it was too late to retract it. From your spot in the doorway, Michael visibly twitched, head canting a mere inch or two in your direction. You felt flustered, but decided to push through, stepping forward toward the man.
Everyone knew about Michael Myers — the tormented childhood wrought with neglect, the killing of his sister, her boyfriend, and his father, his many years spent imprisoned at Smith’s Grove. This was all information you were privy to, but never his emotions. He was indecipherable, something you’d come to accept, but everything was off — this didn’t feel like the stoic Michael you’d grown so accustomed to.
He was suffering, bottling up the swell of unpleasant memories whenever he walked by his own home. Michael often stalked Haddonfield by day and by dusk, but he happened to linger inside of his childhood residence for too long this evening. Michael had turned the photograph over time and time again, a faded picture of him as a boy, holding his beloved sister within his lap. There were no regrets about the way his life had gone, but he did wish to see her grow up.
It was difficult to reflect on his past, but Michael was more concerned about the fate of his sister — he missed her terribly. She was the only remnant of his family that wasn’t steeped in the turbulent chaos and toxicity of his youth, someone to cling onto, but it wouldn’t be possible.
Only a baby at the time of his murderous rampage, Laurie happened to be the only person he’d ever loved in his youth, aside from his mother. When he’d finally come crawling back to your home, head plagued by an unhappy reminiscence, it effectively soured his typical guise of stoicism.
Michael never spoke due to his selective mutism, but even without any verbal communication, you were intuitive enough to know something was amiss. It made him all the more grateful that he’d found you, a metaphorical sanctuary. He finally turned a little more, shifting his body to properly face you, visage obscured by his unruly locks.
Without any hesitation, you quietly closed the distance between the two of you, watching him stoop down to ensure a level of intimacy. Lifting your hands, soft digits came to cradle his face within your palms, thumbs languidly tracing across his stubbled jaw. Michael let out some pleasant rumble, reassured by your presence and embrace, letting you caress his cheek.
Something moist collected upon your fingertips as they soothingly brushed across his leathery cheeks, unfamiliar and wet. Realization dawned upon you, right there and then — Michael was crying. They were soundless tears, made without so much as a huff or sniffle. You wouldn’t be the one to point this out to him, but instead, you knew he needed comfort now more than ever.
A congenial silence lingered between the two of you, something that Michael found himself commiserated by. You were typically chatty and always on the bubbly end of the spectrum, an unusual clash against his impassive personality, but your hushed nature in the moment was appreciated. You were here, and you were attentive — it was more than he deserved, he thought.
As tears continued to dampen Michael’s visage, you swiped them away with diligent fingers, nearly shuddering when he pressed closer. The two of you were still stuck in some limbo between the earlier stages of your relationship and the more intimate ones. Whenever Michael became flush against you or surprised you with some affectionate gesture, it made you wistful, contemplating when you might cross that threshold — not tonight, of course.
Clutched and crumpled within his left fist, Michael revealed the photograph to you, something you’d seen fleetingly before, but not like this. Capable of connecting the dots, you realized that this was what Michael was so exasperated over, so visibly torn apart. Even as a boy, you could see the inklings of agony, but you weren’t about to comment on such a thing.
Instead, you allowed your hands to drop momentarily, accepting the photograph as he permitted. “You miss her, don’t you?” Your voice was kept to a sweeter whisper, index finger lightly tracing over Michael’s face and the smiling expression of his baby sister. You knew that Michael was quite discontent when it came to his family history, but to see him openly express it now made your heart wrench within your chest.
Equipped with his typical silence, you could see it in his face — an unbridled anguish, a woe that consumed his glowering stare. You would never openly comment about his grief, you felt that it wasn’t your place to do so. Michael merely grunted, making no indication to answer your question fully, but you knew he missed her. He wasn’t completely heartless or incapable of feeling, you’d come to understand that all too well.
Taking back the dilapidated picture, he would pocket his little relic, briefly tensing up when your dainty palms returned to his face. It took him a mere fraction of a second to careen into the amiable comfort of your gesture, yearning to stay there forever. Your solace was all that he needed, truthfully.
Sluggishly, Michael’s arms came to wrap around you, certainly not unfamiliar, but unexpected. It was his own way of expressing gratitude for your compassion, though it happened to make you blush with a scarlet flourish. Cerulean oculars bored into yours, noticing the little twitch and curl of your lips as they morphed into a tender smile. It never failed to make his chest tighten with a slew of once-dormant sensations.
Your capability of evoking his softer side was unparalleled, his brutality squashed by your tender touches and saccharine words, the blanketing warmth of your presence. Michael hadn’t loved again until he encountered you, but what the two of you shared was a sort of love he’d only seen in movies. This wasn’t the love his parents had shared, something he desperately wanted to avoid, but a love he unconsciously desired.
Gingerly, you swept some of those flaxen tresses away from his visage, just enough for you to see a little more of him. Michael was painfully handsome to you, and you felt privileged and delighted with each time he kept the mask off. Your digits idly perused throughout his hair, your other palm still cradling his cheek, something he was actively leaning into. You were smitten, red-faced and pleasantly flustered.
“I’ll always be here for you, Michael.” You murmured, solemn with an underlying promise as you lovingly held his face, stroking just underneath his eyes. Once more, you listened to that baritone rumble, a vocalization of his satisfaction that he found with your words. Michael nudged forward again, until your foreheads would meet in a gentle collision, though his roughened lips would press near your temple.
He was on a continuous streak of surprising you with these unanticipated gestures, not that it was unwelcome. You felt held within his grasp, protected and beloved to some degree whenever he kept you close like this. His frustration hadn’t ebbed away completely, but from his body language alone, he was beginning to calm.
Mere centimeters apart, Michael was decisively hesitant about attempting to kiss you. It was always up to you to make the first move, and you had before, but he was steadily working his way up to a degree of mutuality. With a quivering breath, your plush lips melded themselves to his, initially shy despite the many times you’d kissed him before.
Kissing Michael differed from day to day, entirely hinging upon his demeanor. The many times he’d return, entrenched in blood and panting, your entanglements were often rougher and heated. When he was docile, they lacked the usual callousness but retained some streak of dominance, and in moments like these?
Moments like these were so very rare. Michael’s vulnerability was daringly high, prompting a far gentler method of kissing. You thoroughly enjoyed it either way, but there was something particularly sweet about his unsure, gradual kisses. He was rather inexperienced, you knew this, but he was certainly learning.
A resonant rumble emerged from within his chest again, making you all aflutter with exhilaration as he reciprocated your kiss. His tears had ceased, and you made sure to wipe them all away, breath hitching within your throat as his hands kneaded into the small of your back, inching toward your hips. The intensity of the kiss had shifted slightly, though Michael happened to pull away before it devolved into something rougher.
Your scarlet-tinged face possessed the first traces of exhaustion, dark circles hanging underneath your eyes. You briefly pecked your lips against the corner of his mouth for good measure, feeling his arms loosen as he relinquished his grip upon you. As Michael became more comfortable with you, he was finally starting to sleep with you instead of the couch or elsewhere.
Neglecting to follow your nighttime routine, you merely settled into bed with your leggings and sweater, watching Michael’s hulking frame sit next to you, removing the heavier pair of carpenter boots beforehand. He was inclined to stay in his coveralls for now, but you didn’t mind whatsoever. You were beyond patient, curled up toward Michael as he cautiously lowered himself to lay beside you.
Rigidity aside, you understood Michael’s hesitation about all of this. It was completely foreign, but you never took moments like these for granted — he was trying, and that was more than enough. You could hear his husky, heavier breathing begin to even out as you crawled into his side, head tucked atop his chest. You were amusingly small when compared to Michael, whose statuesque bulk subtly invited you in.
As your palm settled against his torso, drawing lazy patterns atop his coveralls, you swore you heard his breath hitch, despite the minuscule subtleties of it all. Cracking a faint smile, you perked up for just a moment, hovering above him enough to warrant his attention. Those blue eyes were electrifying, as if tethering the two of you together.
Whatever feelings you held for him were solidified long ago. You were deathly terrified of saying those three little words for fear of consequences, but whenever you lingered like this, lips parting to speak, they often hung upon the tip of your tongue.
Maybe he knew, too — maybe Michael already knew just how much you loved him. Words coagulated within the back of your throat, failing to spill once more, but instead, you pressed your lips against his again.
hello! i love finding slasher blogs that are open to everyone i just wanna make sure w you before requesting! read through your rules but didn’t really see anything about it but do you write for male readers or gender neutral? and do you write platonic drabbles/hc/scenarios?? no romance at all just stabby men being soft.. well as soft as they can be
Oh my goodness yes! My writing is open to everyone!! You can resqiest stuff for male readers! Female readers, individuals who identify as they/them, etc!! What ever you’d like!! Please don’t be shy! I’d love to write these!!
Hello!! I know I keep taking breaks!! But I’m back again!! This month will be filled with Christmas themed imagines, etc! But if you’d like to request something different please feel free to do so!
We keep my precious baby inside as this was a fear for him in general. My cats is a black cat with some white splots. And I’d hate to see him hurt. Please keep dem kitties inside!
Please! I absolutely adore your writing and would love to see you do creepypasta stuff!
PLEASE MY HEART!! Yes!! I’m really hoping people will enjoy it like obviously slashers will be who I mainly write for but if people want some creepy pasta I will 100% write for them too! As I’ve been diving back into my phase 😅
I have question, I plan to still write for slashers as this is what this blog is, but if I was to also start writing for creepypasta would you all still enjoy it? Or maybe if I made a second account? Like it woudlnt be the cheesy “cheesecake, we all live in mansion” it would be them.. but I usually have my own twists and little stories for them?? JUST LET ME KNOW IF THIS IS SOMETHING YOU GUYS WOULD ENJOY
Howdy! I wanted to say your writing is absolutely amazing!!
I also wanted to request something if you’re not too busy or sore from the vaccines! I understand if you have a lot on your hands currently and don’t feel like taking up another request! 😊
Requesting some dabbles of soft michael talking? maybe after s/o has had a bad day and he’s trying to cheer them up? Please and thank you!
Man hasn’t talked in centuries, let’s here that gruff voice of his, I live for the idea that he’s comfortable enough to talk around you, not too much but he like slowly works on it.. and just- yes. He feels more comfortable doing it in tender gentle moments. okay okay on with the fic
"oh darlin, i'd wait for you"
Michael Myers x sad s/o,
getting him to speak.
The day dragged out longer than it should have. Your tired feet trudged through the wet grass after the worlds poor excuse of a down pour and all you wanted to do was be home, to see Michael.. not that his comfort could help this any. The keys jingled within the door, slamming it wide open there was Michael, back facing you and head turned to look at you. He didn't understand why you needed to slam door open, he only knew something was wrong the minute you stormed past him, head held low. The feeling in his gut almost twisted, he had felt the stress lingering off of you, whatever you had building up.. he felt it and he hated how vile it felt.
You knew Michael had no clue what to do. He could never muster up the courage to just comfort you, to actually tell you that it would be alright, it's almost like he hadn't cared, as if he could not give a shit about when you felt alone or upset, when you felt that life had kicked every inch of you.
This wasn't the case.. it's not that you were mad at Michael.. it was today that had driven you to mentally take it out on him. why couldn't he just comfort you. He wanted to.. he did but what was he to say? That it would get better? Because he knows that's a lie.. he's wanted to be better for years and nothings ever changed. He wants to hold you.. but the idea of holding you the wrong way and hurting you brings nothing but thorns and needles to his heart. he wanted to speak.. to use his words, to just SPEAK. He knows how fucked he is, how awful he is to you, he gives you nothing to reassure you that he's yours, nothing.. nothing. But how? How can he.. because he does love you. Michael has felt nothing but utter love for you, he wants nothing more to just be close to you, to feel your hands, and nails digging into him, to feel one. Get up. Speak to them
Tell them.
Michael's fingers twisted around the grey shirt that laid just right against his large frame, lacing through the gaps and clenching as he gulped the lump growing larger in his throat. There was nothing but the door and his soft shaky breathes.. he didn't want to bug you but the weeping coming from beneath the doors crack made his head hang low. Why were you so upset? Michael lifted his head back up, shoulders heaving up and down before looking directly at the chipped brown wood.
"The door."
He realized how angry that sounded, his voice hadn't been used in god knows how long, it was gruff, deep and.. soothing. It didn't boom.. nor was it too quiet. He tried again, breathing in softly and placing his forehead against the door.
" Can you.. please. Open the door.."
He was.. speaking? Michael speaking was almost like.. it wasn't actually him. Your hands moved faster then your thoughts, slowly opening the door you peaked your head around the corner.. you needed to see it. 'Speak Michael.. speak again..' you thought whilst gripping onto the door frame, aching to just hear it again, anything. He opened the door wider instead, stepping in and using his large finger to lift your head up.
"Why are you crying?"
There was not a muscle in your body that could get you to answer, nothing could compare to the moment in front of you. He was speaking to you.. your heart sank.. in the good way.. almost like relief had washed over, like the last months and years had actually meant something.. it was enough to get him to speak. Whilst all this thinking his thumb had reached to wipe away the salted tears, pulling you close to him. His arms wrapped around your upper frame, squeezing you, he opened his mouth to speak.. but stopped for a moment causing you to look up at him.
'" You don't need to tell me, I understand."
This caused you to tear up more, watching the gentle side smile that was placed on his face. His fingers laced within your hair, lips pressed against your forehead as he mumbled.
" I love.. you."
It made him wince, saying it out loud.. you had to believe him now.. please believe him now..
Writing will be slower today! Getting my second vaccine so I’ll be a bit busy! I’ve got a Michael! And Bo fic on the go at the moment and slowly getting to others! Feel free to send in some requests!! They will all get done! Just be patient as my writing can be slow
