Hi!! I've recently been on a major Joy Ride kick and there isn't enough content for Rusty! Can you please write what you think he'd be like with a really sweet partner?
To be more specific, they don't know that Rusty's a serial killer and they're really affectionate, basically spoiling him with attention and baked goods whenever he's home.
I love your works sm!!! Thank you for reading my request.
- 🕸️ Anon
Thank you very much for the request 🕸anon! I appreciate you reaching out with it. There certainly is not enough Rusty content out there. I am glad to be able to provide. This request spawned a little fic first but I thought it would work well as a means of posting my first headcanons. Two for the price of one!
As always: Not beta read, mistakes are my own. Likes are appreciate but reblogs and comments keep the muse alive.
While sweet, there was a certain innocence and naivety to you. Untouched by the horrors of the world. That was what first drew Rusty to you.
You were different from everything he typically encountered. The sort of break that he needed in his life. He had decided to keep you before you had even known of his existence.
Rusty preferred to keep you as innocent as possible, which meant hiding all of his activities from you. You were barred from going into the barn. He explained it as dangerous for you given all the machinery and old equipment. You took the lie without question and obeyed the request.
Doesn't ever want you finding out about what he does on the road. Or be exposed to those sort of people. Makes sure that business never enters the house by any means necessary.
Possessive. Without a doubt. Rarely lets you leave the house on your own. He has to accompany you. It's under the guise of ensuring you had the help you needed. Again, you don't question it.
Constantly has some sort of hand on you, or his body all but plastered to yours when you are out. No one will dare to get close. Not on his watch.
Hates it when you talk with others on those trips. Basically willing to do anything to distract you, cut the conversation short, and move you along.
Happily the guinea pig for any and all baking experiments. Even the ones that are barely edible, which is rare. Sweet about it the entire time with compliments and praise.
Same thing with your cooking. Will devour anything set in front of him. He has his favorites and his heart does melt a bit when you take notice and make those more often.
The first time you make a cup of coffee for him, it's perfect and completely catches him off guard. He didn't tell you how he liked it. It's such a small detail and yet showed your level of care that he is entirely smitten with you all over again. No one has ever bothered to take such care.
At the same time, he reminds you not to over do it and take it easy. He doesn't expect it and wants you to take care of yourself. Even though he never says no when you say you are cooking or baking.
Southern gentleman and yet will allow himself to be pampered. You wanna run him a hot shower after he's been on the road? He won't complain. You made sure his jacket was shown up from a tear? He will make sure to thank you in whayever way you appreciate best. His laundry is done, despite the suspicious stains you never ask about? Man will make sure to run you a hot bath in return.
Free with his affection when he is home with you, showering you in it. Matches the enthusasism that you show for it yourself. The only time he ever feels guilty about being on the road is when he has to leave you.
He adores when you allow him to sprawl out on the couch, with his head in your lap and run your fingers through his hair. It's one of the most relaxing things in the world to him.
Finds out that you love cuddling up to him when watching movies. He makes sure there is always a blanket near by. When he is on the road, he makes sure to leave one of his worn in flannels for you. All little things he would have never thought of before you.
Never does a complaint pass his lips about you being affectionate or clingy. He is happy to hang you pressed against him, hanging onto him, or fluttering around him. The only exception being if he has work to do in the barn.
Ends up getting a guard dog to help keep watch over you when he isn't there. You find it silly since you live in the middle of nowhere but humor him about it since he is so serious.
There was a time when home was a small sanctuary and one that he enjoyed but the pull of the road was far more. As time went on, he enjoyed being out there more than being home. But knowing that he was coming home to you? There was a genuine excitement that bubbled up. A sense of peace knowing he was going home to a well cooked meal and your gentle affection. It put a sense of right into the world and made all the work he put it worth it.
Ultimately: Rusty soaks up every ounce of affection and care that you give him. He's protective and possessive over you, willing to keep you as safe and guarded from the rest of his life as possible.
Monsters love their wives II (Bo Sinclair x f!reader)
Hello everyone! This is the last part of this mini series about Bo being an idiot and hurting his wife even though he loves her. You can find the first part here.
Hope you'll enjoy <3
Warnings: ANGST, comfort (in a dark way I guess), violence (graphic), blood, murders, fear, strong words, very morally grey reader, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating and sexual activities, mentions of torture, suicide and death, threats of sequestration... But Bo loves you 🥺
Bo had tied up the girl on the chair and had glued her lips together because he didn’t want to hear her screams.
He just needed to take his anger out and she was perfect for that, especially after what she just did. He was beating her with violence and insulting her.
“Ya saw this, whore?” he told her as he showed her his wedding ring “Kissin’ a married man, ya bitch, and believin’ I'd want ya” he said as he punched her face one more time. Her cheeks and eyes were already starting to swollen as her nose and lips were bleeding. He was about to break her fingers one by one, when he heard the door being opened which made him pause. He really hoped it wasn’t you because he didn’t want you to see him covered in blood like that. You were already afraid of him, no need to add more to it.
He was very confused when he saw Vincent coming downstairs and he turned his back to the girl who tried to scream for help.
“Better be important, Vince. Can’t ya see ’m busy right now?” he asked Vincent who started to angrily sign:
"It’s about your wife. Important enough for you?"
“... Ya know she is.” Bo nodded, a little bit worried now.
"Well Y/N thinks you are cheating on her and soon going to kill her! I promise her you were going to kill that bitch in front of her, but you better think of something very fast or you are going to lose her forever."
“What?” Bo was completely taken aback. He felt his heart sinking inside his chest. “But I love her, none of this’ true” he whispered
"Well if you hadn’t fucking hurt her the last morning and if she hadn’t seen you kissing that slut, maybe things would be better right now, fucking idiot!"
“How? What was she doin’ here?” Bo wondered, not even caring about the way Vincent was talking to him.
"Don’t know, don’t care. Bring the girl for a public execution. Because of you, I won’t even be able to use her body for the House of Wax or anything. No need to upset Y/N even more. Good job, really." Vincent paused for a few moments. "Fuck, Bo, don’t tell me you’re cheating on your wife."
“O’course not!” Bo exclaimed as he turned around and gave another vengeful punch on the girl’s face.
She lost consciousness and he started to untie her. Vincent helped Bo bring her back to the house to show you she meant nothing to your husband.
The eldest Sinclair brother was silent as he was trying to think on how he could fix the situation with you. He also was wondering what you were doing at his garage. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that you came to earn cuddles from him - even if he would have been more than happy to drop his work to show you how sorry he was.
When you saw the two men in the house, you had to admit you were a little bit relieved to see that Bo’s hands were covered in the girl’s blood and that he didn’t seem like he was in the middle of fucking her when Vincent interrupted him. Bo let the girl fall on the ground without a care in the world and quickly walked to you to cup your face in one hand. You refused to look at him at first but he forced you. He needed to see your eyes and he looked for them before telling you:
“Ain’t cheatin’ on ya, wife”
You swallowed hard and you fought against the thought that he seemed sincere. You removed your face from his hand and looked away. But he grabbed your face once again, in a very gentle way.
“I mean it. Ain’t cheatin’ on ya.” he insisted
“Then why were you kissing that girl?” you asked, gesturing with your head toward the woman
“And what were ya doin’ at the garage?” he asked back and it made you frown.
“Bo” Lester rolled his eyes at his big brother and Vincent also groaned in disapproval at Bo’s question, saving you from answering.
“Alright, alright” Bo grumbled as he let go of your face and knelt in front of you “She jumped on me, didn’t have time to stop her. Didn’t ya see me pushin’ her away? And once downstairs, I wasn’t… Ya can ask Vince, I was beatin’ her to death when he came. Ya can see the state of her face” he softly told you and you looked at the woman. Vincent roughly grabbed her by the hair to show you her face, and you had to admit she wasn’t looking too good. She groaned in pain as she was slowly getting back to reality.
“What do ya think, sis?” Lester asked you and you nibbled on your bottom lip.
It was true that it didn’t seem that Bo was cheating on you with that girl in particular. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to kill you, and it didn’t mean you shouldn’t find a way out of Ambrose whenever you would be able to.
“Just kill her already. But not on my floor. I don’t want blood everywhere” you finally replied.
The boys relaxed a little, because you still seemed to consider this house as your home. Hence, it meant you weren’t going to leave. Bo kissed your forehead and you had to resist the urge to flinch away from him. He grabbed the girl by the hair and pulled her out of the house. Lester and Jonesy stayed by your side as the twins quickly put her out of her misery. She was quite lucky you had been there or your husband would have tortured her for hours before killing her.
“How feelin’?” Lester asked you and you simply shrugged
“Gonna grab that nap now” you replied and he nodded.
“Sounds like a plan, love” he agreed and he helped you to get up and followed you upstairs. He tucked you to bed and wished you to sleep well before closing the door behind him. Jonesy stayed with you and settled at your feet. You took comfort in her presence.
You did sleep a few hours, but you woke up covered in sweat, with the very clear thought that you needed to run away now. You didn’t remember the dream you had before waking up, but it was obviously a nightmare. You were feeling absolutely panicked. It woke up Jonesy who asked to get out of the room. So you got up, opened the door for her and then you frantically started to look for clothes in your wardrobe. You needed to find an outfit you would be comfortable in and you needed good shoes and…
You heard a very soft knock at the door and you froze, as Bo slowly opened it. He was about to ask you how you were doing and if you were hungry, when he saw you. Your hair was sticking to your forehead. You looked like a deer caught in headlights; you looked almost ill. He locked the door before coming closer to you. The gesture alone made you sick.
“Whatcha doin’?” he softly asked, his blue eyes piercing yours.
“Just… looking for clothes… I need a shower. I’m not feeling too well” you replied, half the truth, aware he would instantly know if you were lying to him.
“Still thinkin’ ‘m cheatin’ on ya?” he asked as he took a step closer to you and your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t trust your voice so you simply shook your head. “But ya’re still afraid ’m gonna kill ya?” he asked again and you cursed yourself for having said that to Vincent and Lester. You should have been smarter.
“I just need a shower. Please let me unlock the door” you said because you were just unable to sincerely reply to this question. You grabbed an outfit, without even really looking at it and you tried to walk past him but he grabbed your wrist.
“I know I shouldn’t’ve hurt ya” he said as he brought you closer to him. He took the clothes you had in your hands and threw them on the bed. He took both of your hands in his. “I was worried my wife wanted to go. O’course, I shouldn’t’ve reacted that way. But even if ya’re afraid of me, for the moment, ya don’t want to go no more? Ya know your place’s in Ambrose, by my side, right? Ya know I want ya and only ya? Ya know I’ll never let ya go anyways?” he whispered to you with a gentle smile
“Is it a threat?” you asked as you tried to stay strong. He quickly shook his head
“Ah baby, it’s just a promise. We’re married, remember? Together 'till the end.” he mused as he stroked your nose with his.
“Yes, untill you kill me” you told him and he looked back at you, his head moving to the side. It was really saddening for him.
“What were ya doin’ at my garage earlier?” he asked but you didn’t answer “where ya trying to find a way out? Did ya think ya could find some help?” he asked and you looked away. He grabbed your face, a little less gently than earlier that day “Answer, Y/N” he sternly told you and you heard the danger just under the surface of his calm voice
“I wanted to find a way out, yes” you admitted and it made Bo groan in anger.
“And why that? Don’t ya know it’s your duty to stay by my side, as my wife?” he asked you as he pushed you against the nearest wall. You just wanted to cry again but you didn’t want to give him that kind of power over you.
“And you, isn’t it your duty to take care of me? To be good to me? As my husband?” you asked back “You hadn’t been nice to me in weeks. You even did this to me then” you continued as you moved a hand on your sore and bruised throat.
Bo stayed silent and his dark demeanour instantly disappeared. He tenderly stroked your cheek before bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss.
“Don’t be afraid and don’t leave, and things will go back to normal” he promised
“I’m afraid, Bo” you replied
“It won’t happen again. I’ll do better. But don’t try to leave” he warned you
“Or what? You'll kill me?” you insisted, even though you knew you were playing with fire in this instant
“But love, why would I do that?” he asked as he pressed himself even more against you. You could feel his breath against your face “Don’t want to kill my wife. I want ya here, with me, forever” he whispered to you
“You can always ask Vince to turn me into a wax statue” you said and he let escape a humourless laugher
“A wax statue wouldn’t argue, talk and flirt with me, wouldn’t make love to me, wouldn’t tell me it loves me… Ya still love me, wife?” he asked as his lips were almost against yours but you turned your head to the side to prevent him from kissing you “Oh com’on, doll, ‘m missin’ ya so badly” he whined
“So what would you do if I left? You said…” you started but he cut you off
“Ya know that when ‘m angry, I say stuff I don’t mean. But I do mean that ya better don’t try to leave. I would indeed hunt ya down and bring ya back to Ambrose, where ya belong”
“And that’s all?” you asked, you needed to know what Bo had planned for you
“And I would tie ya up on that bed until ya would behave like a good girl. If I need to lock ya up inside the house to keep ya here, be certain it’s what I’ll do, without a second of hesitation. So do I need to tie ya up, love? Or will ya be a good girl to me?” he asked
You didn’t even need to think; you cupped his face with both your hands and you crashed your lips against his. You didn’t want to be tied up. You didn’t want to lose the small freedom you still had by badly reacting now. You were still afraid but you needed to be smart. Bo instantly replied to the kiss, so happy to finally be allowed to touch you that way. He was passionate, but also so gentle with you, as if he was afraid he could break you if he was too forceful. His hands were soon all over your body, enjoying to feel you. You were a drug to him, and not being able to touch you was quickly making him lose it. His lips trailed down from your mouth to your throat. He left very tender little kisses all over your skin, as a silent way to apologise for what he did.
“Fuckin’ love ya” he whispered to you “Ya know that, right? Would go completely insane without ya in my life. That’s why I can’t let ya go. That’s why I needed us to get married. I’m gonna be good to ya, I swear. As long as ya don’t try to go” he murmured to you in between kisses.
You simply nodded because you had no idea what to answer to this. You were a little bit surprised by such words and touch, and you wanted to believe him. You wanted to let go of your fear of the man, and you wanted things to go back to normal.
But something was broken now, and Bo would need to work very hard to fix this, and a lot of time and patience for things to truly go back to normal.
“Still love me, right?” he insisted because you hadn’t answered when he had first asked you. He slightly moved from you to observe you, eagerly waiting for those three little words to resume his kisses and lovingly caresses. You nodded.
“Of course, I love you” you said and the man instantly smiled and went back to loving on you.
It was then it hit you: you might have married a very dangerous man who could so easily kill you, he was a lost puppy without you.
“Hey, Bo” you said and he looked up at you. “I don’t want you to take care of the women anymore.” you told him
“Anythin’ you wanna” he nodded
“And if you ever hurt me again… I’ll make sure, you’ll never have me again either” you promised him and he frowned without understanding
“What?” he softly asked
“Married 'till the end, you said, and you’re not the only one who can kill me. I can too” you explained and his eyes widened
“Y/N” he whined “Don’t say such things” he whimpered, knowing he wouldn’t last more than a few hours without you in his life. And he couldn’t fight Death.
His lips found yours again, hoping to make you stop saying such horrible words and promises. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his wife. He would rather die.
However Bo never forgot those words.
Like you never tried to run away from him anymore.
He should’ve never left you alone. He went to get you a plush toy since you desperately wanted it to go with your collection of the other small stuffed animals. He had his mask off so he wouldn’t just be seen as a scary person or the fact that people would recognize him too quickly.The loud crunch of your head being crushed filled his ears, making him snap his head in the direction where four other teenagers had on their own animal masks. Staring up at what they did to you, in complete shock. Your body laid limp in the animatronics mouth with blood splattering over the metal and on your clothes. Michael shoved the teenagers harshly to where they fell to the ground with loud sounds or even fell against the chairs as their impact. Michael held one with a red fox mask, ripping it off his face.
His cold eyes stared at the teenager and the teenage boy tried to make Michael let him go, he apologized repeatedly with more cries, not being able to handle his gaze and begged to be put down. Michael had a death grip on his shirt before slamming him head first into a corner of the table. Some of them screamed and scattered away. Michale then grabbed one of the teenagers in a yellow chicken mask. His grip was firm and it broke her arm with a loud crack, making her scream and he shoved her into the ground too, the other two with the bunny and bear mask screamed for help, when he was at a far distance they took their friends away from him. Michael didn’t care, the yellow bunny kept moving while the bear stood in a glitch, Michael nearly ripped its mouth off trying to get you down, holding your bloody head against his chest. Your face was too bloody to show him any form of life.. but you were still breathing..slowly. His grip on your body got tighter, his veins showed on his hands, they trembled.
Michael’s fingers clenched onto your clothes, he breathed heavily, looking around for some sort of help, no one was there to help. The teenagers were lucky Michael didn’t kill him..or any of his friends for the matter. He left without a trace…hoping he could get the help you needed, hoping you didn’t take your final breath in his arms.
Jason Voorhees
All four teenagers stood frozen when the animatronic bit down on your head, your screams cut out with a loud crunch. Jason heard the crunch. He dropped the plate of pizza he had got for you, taking slow steps before he speed walked to the teenagers who did it. His blue eyes through the mask held a deadly glare that scent chills down their spine. His eyes flickered to every last one of them, seeing who was the guiltiest which gave him the indication that they came up with the plan. The boy with the red fox mask looked the most guilty, even trembling under Jason’s gaze.
Jason’s strong, large hand wrapped around his neck, immediately cutting off his access to breathe. His breathing was heavy the more he squeezed, his friends tried to pry Jason off, but it made him shove them hard. He was never the one to hurt kids, but they hurt you. And he was livid. The boy kicked and tried to cry but with every sound that came out made him loose more air, Jason’s hand trembled, dropping him and he fell to his knees to painfully gasp for air. Jason rushed over to you. Ripping off the upper jaw of the bear animatronic to get you down with trembling arms.
His cold hands pressed against your pressure points for any sign of life. He didn’t feel anything, he didn’t even see your chest rise and fall. Jason held you close to his chest. He watched his mother get murdered, and now..he saw you get murdered. He couldn’t believe it, he wished he was there sooner. He already lost his mother. Now he has to come to the terms that he lost you too.
Art the clown
The clown’s mouth was left agape at the sight of your bloodied body hanging from the animatronics mouth. His eves kept flickering from the children and to you. His kith then turned into a frown. A deep frown. His eyebrows furred together in a pit of rage but out in a fake smile to try and get the teenagers attention.
He snapped his fingers and they all looked at him. Terrified, shocked, and confused. All three of their emotions were displayed their eyes through the animal masks, Art’s eye twitched as he held up a finger as telling them to watch. He heard one of them step back before the rest followed the others motions, he pulled out a gun. A fire gun. Holding it out as if it was a trophy. The teenagers screamed once he pulled the trigger to let out heavy fire, aiming it in their direction. Every last one of them screamed in agony from the fire. He kept going. He didn’t stop until every last thing was on fire. One of the tanagers cried and tried to crawl away from the fire.
The corners of his mouth turned into a smile. Grabbing gasoline from his trusty trash bag and poured it all over them, they screamed louder and the fire got brighter. Throwing the small gasoline box away. Tilting his head up to you, he opened the bears mouth to drop you in his arms. Your weak arm shakily held onto his costume, your breathing was slow and he took you out to leave the place ablaze along with more screams.
Pennywise the dancing clown
The smell of blood filled Pennywise’s nose. Even in his human form he could smell it. Looking around to try and find the culprit of the smell until he took a second to actually smell it. It was your blood. The scent of you filled his nose. His eyes flashed yellow at the sight of the four teenagers. Their fear smelled intoxicating. Every last one of them trembled at Pennywise’s gaze even as he began to shapeshift into his clown form, they screamed louder. Two of them tired to escape but every last door was closed shut.
They didn’t deserve the deadlights. They deserved death. His jaw opened wide as his he lunged towards one of them, ripping their arm off with one bite. Every last one of them, he attacked, ripping them apart and biting into their flesh with loud roars and their screamed mixed with his growls. With one last bite from the last one standing, he dropped them all with his tongue licking the blood off his lips. Glaring at all of their now dead bodies, the walls splattered with their blood covering the walls, almost like a scene out of a horror movie.
Finally, he went to your body that didn’t have a pulse, he growled again and used his teeth to rip the upper jaw of the animatronic off. Sulking slightly at the sight of you dead. Holding you close to his chest, having a hand on your bloody head. You might be dead.. but he’ll cherish your soul.
I Don't Think This Was A Term In The Waiver Agreement
Just because the scare actors were allowed to touch you in this section of Hell Fest doesn't mean they're allowed to butcher your friends and leave you bound on the floor. Wait, what do you mean that's part of the fine print?
Yippee! Here's a Hell Fest fic I wrote months ago and never posted for...no reason actually lmao. God, this movie was so, so close to being perfect for us slasher x final girl fans (all 7 of us). I had to take it upon myself to give it the ending interaction it deserved.
Word Count: 6.4K
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The haze of brief unconsciousness loosened its hold on Natalie, regrettably allowing her senses to return to her one by one in the awfullest of states. Mindless bliss was first interrupted by the realization of how she struggled to breathe, her airways clogged with blood from a surely broken nose. The metallic taste lingered in the back of her throat so that even when she took deep, shuddering inhales to counteract the suffocation, all that filled her lungs was coppery air. She had to be dying, God, it sure as hell felt like she was dying.
A few more gasps helped pull Natalie further out of the void, much to her displeasure. All too quickly did she become aware of the agony that throbbed across her face in tandem with her heartbeat, radiating from her busted nose to the back of her eyes and down the roots of her teeth. Sticky blood was smeared uncomfortably over her mouth and pooled under the cheek pressed into concrete, enough so that she involuntarily coughed until she could gather enough saliva in her mouth to spit out the bitterness coating her tongue. It wasn’t until she forced her face to relax from its grimace in an attempt to ease the ache of her cheekbones did she realize how tightly she still had her eyes shut.
With as much strength as she could muster, Natalie pushed through the Herculean task of opening her eyes, almost instantly squeezing them closed again when the barest of light seeped through her lashes. She groaned, enduring the stabbing sensation in her temples as she slowly made her eyes flutter open to a squint. Her vision swam in doubles, triples, before swirling back into a single image of near blackness. For a moment, she was unsure if perhaps her eyes were still closed as there was hardly anything to see. As the darkness thankfully adjusted into something that didn’t make her want to rip her eyes from her sockets, she was able to blink away the remaining haze clouding her sight.
White blobs looking down at her sharpened back into the shape of expressionless paper mache masks, a red overhead light catching the edge of their silhouettes, tilted at a dizzying angle. Natalie would have jolted at the idea of so many people staring at her with blank expressions, but her rattled brain hadn’t quite rebooted back into working order after being knocked around her skull. Right, these weren’t real people, they were just a bunch of dummies cloaked in fabric for a cheap scare. They wouldn’t hurt her, but they wouldn’t be able to help her either.
…help her from what?
A scream echoed down one of the maze’s many corridors outside of the room Natalie was in, all but yanking her the rest of the way out of her daze and into harsh reality. Hell Fest. Her pictures. Gavin’s texts. Taylor, Quinn. The Other.
Brooke.
…
Brooke!
Like she had just been drenched in ice water, Natalie was scrambling to pull herself up off the floor. Frustratingly, her limbs refused to cooperate with her sense of fight or flight, almost as if she was piloting a body that didn’t belong to her. While the fresh shot of adrenaline coursing through her veins did wonders to clear her mind, it did little to motivate her still aching muscles into moving how she needed them to. Her headache was worsening by the second, certainly a concussion, probably some broken cartilage at least and a fractured skull at worst, but thankfully her face had settled into a more manageable buzz of pain. One less thing to worry about in the moment, even if her eyes wanted to pop from their sockets to relieve the building pressure behind them.
Rolling from her stomach to her side very nearly caused her to gag at the sudden wave of nausea. Coagulated blood trickled down her throat at the shift in position, forcing her to roll back onto her front as she retched again to avoid choking on any potential vomit. A part of her was grateful she hadn’t eaten more of the overpriced pretzel Gavin had given her, though another part chastised her as those carbs could have been soaking up the copious amounts of alcohol still sitting in her soured stomach. Either way, she would have been stuck with the miserable feeling of needing to puke; it was simply a matter of whether it was better to not have to worry about drowning on her own blood and bile or if she would actually feel better if there was something substantial to purge.
Natalie clumsily pulled her arms up in an effort to brace them against the floor, hoping to elevate herself that way when…she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t.
It wasn’t that her reactions were delayed by head trauma - although that still couldn’t be ruled out amongst other things - it was that there was something quite obviously preventing her from doing so. Hindsight mocked her for not realizing the predicament she was in sooner – how had it only now come to her attention that her arms were immobile from behind her back? To which she argued back that the fact she was only seventy percent sure her face hadn’t been split open by the blunt end of an ax was a perfectly valid excuse for her lack of awareness. She rolled her shoulders and tugged her arms to either side of her body once more, straining against the unseen binds that bit into the crooks of her elbows. Her hands were free, but utterly useless when they could only stretch forward enough to graze her hips.
Confusion was giving way to panic in her already heightened state of anxiety. During her incapacitation, The Other had left her tied up and helpless on the floor before presumably going off to finish his rampage. He could have killed her, he should have killed her, seeing as he had no problem before when it came to snuffing out whatever lives were unfortunately caught in his grasp.
But not with Natalie.
No, he seemed to take sick pleasure in drawing their game of cat and mouse out for as long as possible, like he was teasing her with the chance she’d ever be able to win. Ax in hand, Natalie sprawled on the floor, it would have been too easy to declare himself the winner by spilling her brains.
Instead, he left her, bleeding and unconscious, yet ultimately alive. Bound, so that she couldn’t go anywhere before he returned, because he would be coming back for her once he had taken care of Brooke’s loose end. Was he saving Natalie’s death for last, his final prize of the night? Did The Other want her to experience the full scope of her earned punishment after she had poked fun at him earlier in an attempt to look brave to her friends? Or had this always been a part of his plans; rope or cables or whatever the hell was securing her arms having been stashed away in his hoodie pocket, just waiting to snare the perfect victim?
A second scream snapped Natalie out of her aching head, making her heart freeze its desperate pounding in her chest. It sounded too raw, too primal to be a soundtrack jumpscare triggered by one of the maze’s sensors. The guttural terror made every hair on the back of Natalie’s neck stand on end. There was no doubt about who it could have come from. Brooke wasn’t going to be able to move fast enough to fight off her attacker with that gash on her thigh. If she was going to survive then Natalie was going to need to find a way to get to her before The Other had a chance to finish what he started.
And then it was quiet.
Natalie strained her ears to listen past the drumming in her skull for any further sign of Brooke, hoping to pick up a whimper or fainter yells or the exit door triumphantly slamming open. Distress was a cruel thing to wish for, but it was the only sure sign she had that her best friend was still alive. She couldn’t lose Brooke, not like this, not when they had already lost so much in a matter of mere hours. They were going to go to Spain–!
“Brooke!” Natalie called out, hoping her voice would carry down the changing hallways. When only ambient music responded, she tried again. “Brooke!”
Nothing. Silence. No, no, Brooke had to be hiding and unable to give away her position to respond. She had to be too far away. She had to have already escaped. Natalie refused to accept there were any other alternatives, not if she wanted to cling onto what little sanity she was afforded in this moment. With renewed vigor to save Brooke from a brutal end, far more concerned for her than her own safety, she fought against her restraints until she was able to gain enough footing to scooch herself forward on her belly. It was a humiliating position to be in, literally writhing on the ground like an insect waiting to be stepped on, but it was better than rolling over to expose her underbelly and wait for The Other to gut her accordingly.
She didn’t have much in mind when it came to a game plan, all her ideas having been bashed out of her head when she was knocked out. There was little she could do without the use of her arms, much less when there wasn’t a way to pull herself onto her feet without toppling over the rest of the standing mannequins. She thought about shimmying herself up the doorframe to help her get on her knees before the sight of the discarded ice shaving knife caught her attention from the corner of her eye.
Well, there was no reason The Other needed to dual wield two blades, she supposed, likely having dropped it during their brief scuffle. But if he wasn’t going to use it…
Grunting, Natalie pushed forward as well as she could, relying on her legs to scoot her along the filthy concrete, further soiling the once white top she had borrowed from Brooke – I’ll wash it, I’ll bleach it, I’ll buy you a new one, I promise, Brooke, I promise. Her right knee throbbed every time she bent it to wiggle further, the bruised joint not taking too kindly to the extra strain after having just been kicked by The Other. She should consider herself lucky that he hadn’t managed to dislocate the bone or she’d really be in trouble, though perhaps she should focus more on the fact she was still alive and not decapitated rather than gripe about a bum leg.
It felt like she was running a marathon with the amount of effort she was exerting just to move a few feet to the left. Natalie liked to think herself to be in relatively good shape, maybe not exactly toned as there was hardly a muscle to flex on her lithe body, but her labored breathing said otherwise. Even with the adrenaline shifting her instincts into overdrive, giving her tired body its much needed second wind, it didn’t change the fact she could hardly breathe through her bloodied nostrils and that her weight was fully resting on her diaphragm. Coupled with a blinding pain that still threatened to make her hurl if she moved her eyes too fast and it was no wonder why she felt as worn down as she looked.
There was plenty of fight left in her. All she needed to do was get a hold of that knife, blindly fumble with it behind her back while hoping she didn’t slice a finger off on the serrated edge, and saw through her bindings. Rope, hopefully. Predictably. If it was something thicker, stronger, like cable or nylon, her plan would already be massively screwed before she had the chance to–
A yelp escaped her lips before she could contain it, flinching back when a steel toe boot stomped down on the hilt of the knife less than a foot away from her. Ideally, she would have scrambled a good pace away from her sudden attacker, but all she could manage was to duck her head into her shoulders and hopefully avoid getting curb stomped by his other foot. Brown eyes were blown wide in shock, helpless watching as her one salvation was caught under The Other’s sole and kicked far, far out of her restricted reach. In her current state, he may as well have launched it outside of the fairgrounds, because there was not a chance in hell she’d be able to sloppily crawl for it while the killer was looming overhead.
Her breathing hitched in her throat, not having expected him back so soon. How long had she initially been knocked out? How long had she truly spent regaining her senses and wriggling around? Had she wasted a precious hour without realizing it, or could he truly be efficient when he wanted to be, when he had grown tired of toying with a bunch of college kids? Despite her head pounding in protest, Natalie rolled over onto her side and dropped onto her back, unable to bite back a pained whimper as her migraine worsened. In this position, she could at least brace on her forearms for a bit more control in moving backwards. Better than relying solely on her legs skidding on concrete.
It took a terrifying moment for her new perspective to stop tilting, adjusting to the blood now pooling towards the back of her head rather than dripping from her nose and mouth. She worried her sudden drop in blood pressure would cause her to blackout again, at the literal worst possible moment with a serial killer hovering by her side, completely at his mercy to hack and slash her vulnerable body.
Who was she kidding, she was already in that exact predicament, the only difference being that she had the unfortunate pleasure of watching her execution in all its painful glory. As much as she didn’t want to, she needed to keep The Other in her sights, needed to see what move he was planning to make next. Whether it was better or not to know what was coming was debatable, but the last thing she wanted was to be caught off guard in her final moments, missing something that could have been the perfect defense.
The red light that barely illuminated the cramped room was horrifically artful in the way it reflected off him. Muted shadows blended into his dark clothing, making him appear larger, all encompassing, while the crevices of the faux rotted mask pulled into more sinister expressions that hid his own underneath. Inky splotches reflected off of his hands still tightly gripping the ax’s handle, splattering up to the cuffs of his hoodie and streaking over his knuckles when he flexed his fingers in anticipation. A sickening feeling settled heavily in Natalie’s stomach as it became apparent his exposed skin, his only exposed skin, was drenched in blood that surely wasn’t his own. Not only that, but the dripping red liquid continued its gory trail up the length of the ax all the way to its head, glistening crimson and thirsty for more.
It was much more blood than had been on his new weapon of choice before, far too much to have been caused by the single slice he had gotten on Brooke’s leg. Too wet. Too fresh. It was damn near coated in viscera, impossible to pinpoint whether the blood splattered outward from the blade or the blunt hilt. Maybe he had partially caved in Natalie’s head when he slammed the end into her face – the brain was capable of functioning in plenty of wild circumstances, like a metal rod through an eye or a bullet that lodged between the folds. She must be lying here with half her brain hanging out without realizing it, the blood on The Other and his ax primarily belonging to her impressive head wound because…because if it wasn’t…
Then that would mean Brooke, she…she couldn’t…she’d be…
It all hit Natalie in that moment, yet she couldn’t process a single thing, too overcome by a tidal wave of emotions to be able to experience them individually. Her mind desperately tried to rationalize what she was seeing, convince her otherwise of the obvious evidence that dripped at her feet. There was no body, there was no proof. The blood on his ax was copious, sure, but nowhere near a lethal amount. Excluding whatever backsplash was soaking into his clothes out of sight. Excluding the ever growing puddle that was sure to be spreading from the bone-deep wounds. No, no, no! No, she refused to accept it.
This wasn’t what was meant to happen! They were meant to escape together, a bit worse for wear but alive in each other’s arms! They were meant to have a fun night out with friends and boyfriends to make up for lost time!
It was all Natalie’s fault. She should have been a better friend, taking a break from her studies to accept Brooke’s invitations for a hangout rather than brush her off. So many extra memories they could have made together if Natalie hadn’t been too absorbed in her own world to the point of distancing her best friend. Maybe then they wouldn’t have felt the need to go so big at Hell Fest, instead sticking to more local bars and pop up houses. Maybe she and Gavin could have shared their first kiss earlier. Maybe she and Taylor could have properly buried the hatchet from their schooldays and become real friends. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so guilty for canceling going out as a group on tonight since they had would have just seen each other earlier, then maybe the rest of the group never would have become targets by proxy for The Other, then maybe they’d all be alive because Natalie hadn’t stupidly teased a dangerous man into committing a very real murder in front of her. Fixated on her. Obsessed over her.
She sobbed, unable and unwilling to hold back the ugly emotions in her chest. Her vision was blurring, this time from tears that rapidly cut through the blood on her cheeks to make streaky paths. Her sinuses burned, amplifying the pain already accompanying her broken nose. God, she must look like an absolute sight; helplessly rolled over on her back, struggling to crawl backwards in a vain attempt to keep distance between herself and the killer, face filthy in blood and sweat and tears. All she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and hide her face, hide her shame and her self hatred, and wait for the big scary monster to go away and leave her alone. These kinds of things weren’t supposed to be real. And when it was real, it was the kinds of things that happened to other people, for her to later hear about on the news and think to herself wow, how awful, thank God that wasn’t me.
“Please,” she whimpered. It was difficult to find balance with her arms angled near sideways behind her, causing her to scoot too far and slip fully on her back with a wince. She didn’t let it deter her, opting to ignore how her elbows dug awkwardly into her spine while kicking her legs to inch backwards as quickly as she could. “Please, please, I’m sorry!”
Sorry for making fun of you, sorry for trying to beat the shit out of you with a prop on two separate occasions, sorry for invading your hunting grounds, you’re scary, you’re scary, you’re so fucking scary–
The Other tilted his head at her pitiful display and Natalie choked on another sob. It was like he was mocking her, feigning consideration for her blubbering apology as if it would be enough to soothe the bloodlust she fueled. The meager few feet she had managed to put between them was undone in an instant when he stalked towards her with slow, deliberate steps. Heavy boots sounded like gunshots cracking in her ears, signaling he was coming closer, closer, ready to seal her fate with his deadly intent. No matter how fruitlessly she struggled to keep moving backwards, it was impossible to make more distance than what he was already closing. Her doe eyes were locked fully on him, regrettably resulting in the misdirection she was crawling backwards towards.
Wobbly mannequin legs stopped Natalie in her meager tracks. A couple of the figures, still off balance on their stands from the fight earlier, tipped and fell around her like masked dominos. She flinched, yelping at what she briefly thought were additional assailants that further caged her in with their black capes. Instead, they only served to further halt any escape by blocking all directions but forward, directly towards The Other, knowing she wouldn’t be able to scramble over their uneven bodies without the use of her arms. Like a fitful child, she tried to kick and jerk her shoulders to shake the swaddled figures off of her, but it made little difference besides nestling her deeper between them until her back was against the wall.
Trapped. Game over.
She was hyperventilating now, a poor combination with a blocked nasal and tight throat. She was suffocating, unable to hold a breath long enough for it to be any use before it left her as a strangled cry. The Other was practically on top of her, trapping her between his legs while he stood above her at her hips. Even if she were to try and kick up at him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hit anything, only further sliding herself down on her back and giving him the perfect vantage point of her neck. Perhaps it would be in her best interest to bear her throat to the wolf’s teeth in hopes for a swift ending, but she doubted her stalker would let her escape him that quickly. Not after he had spent the entire night in her shadow, always lurking, never pouncing, wanting to savor the chase as long as possible before digging in.
“Please don’t, please,” Natalie begged again, her hysteria building the longer he toyed with her inevitable end. She didn’t want to die, naturally, but God, she didn’t want it to hurt either. She didn’t want to watch herself be hacked into little pieces for an hour, feeling every muscle be ripped apart and the bones splinter under her skin. His fist trembled slightly at her incessant pleading from where it held the neck of the ax, clenching the wood hard enough to make it creak. The Other was just barely restraining himself, his willpower failing seconds later as he shifted the ax to be weld overhead, poised to strike down.
She had always heard in these situations that people suddenly find themselves with immeasurable strength or that their life flashes before their eyes. Neither of those happened to Natalie; she wasn’t able to miraculously rip through her binds and she didn’t experience twenty-two years of memories in an instant. All she felt was pure, unbridled terror squeezing her heart, threatening to crush it before she had the chance to feel her head being caved in. The ax came hurling down at impressive speed, a testament to The Other’s strength hidden beneath the baggy folds of his hoodie, gunning for the poor girl’s skull. Her arms nearly pulled themselves out of their sockets in the instinctive need to shield her head from the blow, as if that would protect her from an already gruesome end. If anything, it would prolong the attack.
Instead, she screwed her eyes tight and turned her head to the side, shrinking into herself as every muscle wound itself up like a spring. Tears flooded down her face, almost wiping her cheeks clean at this point, save for the runny mascara that now mixed with the remaining pink tracks on her skin. There were no last words to utter. No final beg for mercy. Nothing but a pained shriek for her killer to remember her by, assuming she was worth remembering at all. What was hell on earth for her on this one night could be nothing more than the average Friday to him.
Natalie heard the impact of his ax. She had felt the air woosh over her face as it arced down. She could smell the sickening odor of gore even through the drying blood clogging in her nostrils. But, strangely enough, she could also still feel her pulse thrumming in her ears, her skin feeling electrified to the touch. Still breathing. Still alive. In pain, yes, but no more than she had been seconds prior. There was no rush of warmth spilling from her head or neck to coat her in her own fluids. Hesitantly, she cracked open an eye to see if she would be immediately greeted by the afterlife, or perhaps to check if a chunk of her brain was sitting in her lap and blissfully unaware she’d been lobotomized before The Other finished the job.
The bloody head of the ax was the first thing she saw, less than an inch away from the tip of her nose. She squeaked in surprise and jerked away from it as if it would grow teeth and bite her. It was not, in fact, buried into her tender flesh and eager to rip out chunks of her with each frenzied hack, rather it stayed embedded into the mass of fabric and wooden torsos underneath that had once been a part of the room’s attraction. If it weren’t for the thick layer of gore covering the blade, Natalie would have sworn she’d be able to see her reflection staring wide eyed back at her.
The Other had…missed?
No, that didn’t seem possible, not with his unrelenting prowess. He had avoided carving her face off deliberately, just as he had spared her the first time he had her on the ground and under his ax. Perhaps he wasn’t done playing his game after all.
Her terrified gaze followed up the length of the handle to see the killer at last relinquish his hold on the weapon, effectively disarming himself yet still as dangerous as ever. He could rip her apart with his own two hands if he wanted to, Natalie was certain of it. And there was still a chance that was exactly what he had in mind, too, something more personal and intimate saved just for her. Another whimper had found its way out of her chest when The Other shifted his weight where he stood, from engulfing her in his backlit shadow like a giant to lowering himself down to a crouch. Not quite eye level and much too close for comfort. He sat back on his haunches, arms resting on his knees while Natalie remained sprawled under his legs.
For a moment, he simply stared at her. Studying her. Waiting to see if she was going to make the first move or if she had finally learned her lesson of staying exactly how he wanted her. Her stalker knew all the worst ways to trip her up when she refused to cooperate with his advances; corralling her in the bathroom stalls and swinging his ax opposite of her hiding spot when they had entered this room together. Natalie was too petrified to do anything but tremble and hold back the cries that threatened to overflow from her eyes. A good answer, it seemed, because he hadn’t wrung her neck until every vertebrae snapped yet.
His right arm shifted to reach for her slowly, with the bloody fingers splayed like he were coaxing a feral cat. She didn’t have the feline advantage of needle-like claws or baby fangs to ward off the encroaching predator, nor could she find the courage within herself to hiss and yowl like it might deter him. Nine lives wouldn’t be enough to save her, so Natalie was going to have to make do with what little she had – which, to be clear, was jackshit. All she could do was jerk her head to the side in an attempt to keep him from touching her face, though even that proved to be a fruitless endeavor.
Before she had the chance to fully look away, his open hand lurched forward to grab her by the jaw and stop her in her tracks. She cried out in surprise, unable to resist when he forcibly turned her head back to face him to avoid the risk of a broken neck. His nails bit into the bruising skin of her cheeks, thumb digging to the gap between her sets of teeth and nearly cutting the inside of her mouth on her molars. So badly she wanted to close her eyes and block out the sight of his hideous yellow mask, pretend that he wasn’t there and when she’d open them he’d be gone. But her body refused to let her look away any longer, almost as transfixed on him as he had been with her all night. He was closer now, leaning in far enough that Natalie feared he might try to kiss her through his mangled faux lips.
The black holes of The Other’s mask offered no hint of emotion that he concealed behind it, not even a peek at what color his eyes were. A void; soulless and ready to swallow her whole if she dared to break what she assumed was eye contact again. He wanted to see her, and she was going to see him whether she wanted to or not. Well, she hoped he liked what he saw: a frightened girl barely on the cusp of adulthood in the midst of a panic attack and covered in too many people’s blood, probably with a deviated septum and two budding black eyes to boot. How appealing, certainly how Natalie had always envisioned herself to be remembered as – utterly pathetic. A lackluster final girl.
His thumb that had been previously pressing into her mandible eased up slightly to move across her face, now settling above her cupid’s bow. Natalie hissed in pain, automatically flinching back but not moving an inch thanks to the steeled grip The Other had on her chin. In an instant, he lifted his thumb off her upper lip entirely, giving her a brief moment for the ache to subside before his touch returned. It was lighter this time, gentle, the rough pad swiping under her nose like he was trying to wipe away the mess of blood he had caused in the first place. Of course, it wasn’t like his gesture was doing much to help give how much blood had dried down into a tacky consistency, nevermind the amount of viscera he was transferring from his own hands onto Natalie’s face.
Though she appreciated (in a weird sense) that his touch was softer, it didn’t change the fact her bruising skin still pulsated under his fingers, burning red hot. She grimaced, focusing on blinking back her tears rather than think about whose gore not Brooke’s not Brooke’s not Brooke’s was being rubbed over her mouth, dangerously close to be tasted and surely the final straw to make her retch.
If she didn’t know any better, which one could argue she didn’t as she was battling physical and mental trauma to the head, Natalie would almost think the killer was trying to convey an apology of sorts. As if he was sorry for the short term punishment he felt he needed to give her, certainly not caring about the repercussions for everything else however. Or he was merely admiring his handiwork in a perverse sort of way. A pretty girl covered in her pretty blood, begging to be drenched in more of it just so he could get his rocks off.
Mercifully, his hold loosened and Natalie sucked in a gasp, unaware she had been holding her breath the entire time. It felt like she deserved some sort of reward for not immediately flinching away again when his fingers ghosted over the apple of her cheek. She had been trained well, a quick learner. His hands were warm and rough and sickeningly slick with red, yet so impossibly light in the way they just barely touched her skin in passing. As if these weren’t the same hands responsible for countless deaths and agony, knowing they could decide to gouge out her eyes on a whim. She dared to let her gaze drift from his mask to follow where his deadly hold was traveling next, cringing when they tucked into several strands of hair that had been matted against her face from her bloody nose. Carefully, The Other tugged the hair loose and brushed it behind her ear.
Dirty fingers buried into her locks, uncaring how he soiled them. To be fair, most of her curls had already fallen out and the frizzy ends were likely a mess of tangles, caked in blood and sweat. It was only a small relief that he didn’t go grasping for her scalp, much like how he had tried to grab a hold of her in the bathroom to tug her upwards. This time, he combed his hand down the full length of her hair, stopped by a few knots that he tugged free along the way. It should have been soothing, such a sweet and loving act, even being done with a tender touch, but all it did for Natalie was make her stomach clench in anticipation. The other shoe was bound to drop at any moment. In a flash, his docile facade would be replaced with a blade shoved up to its hilt in her kidney, and she refused to be caught off guard.
When he reached the ends of her hair, he curled them around his fingers, letting the strands slip between his knuckles before twirling them back into his hold. The Other was mesmerized, fascinated, like he was experiencing the luxury of playing with someone’s hair for the first time.
Long and mousy, just like her’s. Not as silky, though, needed to be straighter. Nothing a good conditioner couldn’t fix. One that had a faint coconut scent, just like he used to be able to smell whenever she tucked herself under his arm–
His obsession unnerved Natalie more than usual while he was in her personal space, heightened by the uncertainty of his current behavior. Even if her arms were free, she wasn’t sure she’d have the gall to shove him away while he was so pacified in her presence, a stark contrast to every other encounter. It was a miracle how quickly he could be subdued when she wasn’t clawing at the walls to escape his presence, like it was her fault in assuming he meant her horrific bodily harm given the track record he demonstrated all night. Really, that possibility still wasn’t entirely off the table.
She just wanted a bit of breathing room, wanted him off of her to collect her thoughts before she either spiraled into a nervous breakdown or died of an aneurysm then and there. Crowding her space like this, Natalie could hear every exhale muffled by the mask, see his shoulders rise and fall in tandem, smell the blood that clung to him tinged with just the slightest hint of cologne, pick out all the individual bumps and divots of his mask.
It was like he was sizing her up in the boarding school haunted house again. Before she had given away that poor girl’s hiding spot, stupidly assuming it was all part of an act, when she thought The Other was nothing more than a harmless actor trying to get a rise out of her and her friends. She supposed it worked in the end. He had more than proven his point. If she hadn’t called him out, would he have ignored her in favor of hunting down his target without a second glance? Or would she still occupy his thoughts and spurn him to track her down all the same, equally enamored despite only seeing her in passing? Was there ever a chance she would have been safe no matter how he caught sight of her, would there be significantly less bodies in his wake if she’d just let him corner her in a bathroom stall and play with her hair for a bit?
Fuck, she hoped he wasn’t going to reveal himself to be one of those serial killers that wore their victims skin and was simply fantasizing about what a great wig her scalp would make.
Natalie swallowed to wet her hoarse throat, hoping her voice would be found. It took a few tries before she was confident she could make a sound that wasn’t simply a miserable whine. “What–”
She couldn’t stop herself from recoiling fast enough when The Other snapped his attention back to her face. His breathing faltered, only for a beat, the single indicator that he had been equally startled by her sudden conversation. All eyes were on her now, eager to hear what she had to say. She hadn’t talked to him in a while – screaming and crying didn’t count in his book. The killer was obviously not a man of many words, not while he donned his murderous persona anyways, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pleased to see Natalie initiate a conversation all on her own. It was well worth being shaken out of whatever daydream he’d temporarily lost himself in, especially for her if it meant chasing away any musings he could be having about the best way to peel off her skin to make a belt. He tilted his head, urging her to continue.
“What…wh-what do you want?” She finally squeaked out, cowering under him in case that was all he needed to fly into a bloody frenzy again. It was hard to say if she was truly expecting a response, a verbal one anyways. Who knew if he even could give her that much, if his mutism extended beyond his haunted house hobbies.
Deep down, she knew what the answer was, and she knew he knew it, too. It had been obvious from the start, The Other had made no effort in hiding it from anyone.
He wanted her and now there was nobody left to stop him.
A TRASH PANDA—he will take anything shiny and is just a thief his grubby little paws need to STOP
If he grows a liking for you he’ll take about damn near anything and you’ll stumble across it
This little bastard will take something even if you look at it for too long
“MICHEAL! Where the Hell did you get that Barbie JEEP—” and he’ll just honk the horn and roll away(He may or may not have had a juice box in hand 🤦♀️)
Do not I repeat DO NOt let him get ahold of the spiked Mountain Dew he’ll go through a whole pack in a day they’re just so damn good
ESPECIALLY the Baja Blast he’s a fiend😭
Also don’t let him get ahold of V@PES the gummy bear surprise is his weakness
This little shit has a whole stash of ✨V@PES✨ and juice boxes scattered across town
Imagine this mofo on the merry go round and theres mist pouring out of the eye holes of the mask😭
He has also wrestled a middle schooler for candy and one of these ✨VaPoRizErS✨
He’ll chase people in the damn BARBIE JEEP imagine him just slowly rolling towards you a new definition to “Drive by”
He’s also definitely on the ✨Spectrum✨
You have to *JINGLE JINGLE* to get his attention if it’s important
He also becomes obsessed with kazoos (Just imagine him dancing in slow motion and there’s a kazoo in his mouth💀)
Micheal is also very cold and will act indifferent towards you but he shows affection in his own way
If you can handle his peculiarities Michael will appreciate it more than he shows
But it takes patience and dedication he is a stubborn little shit (Ghostface loves him more than Micheal realizes)
On that note…Micheal will DESTROY for Ghostface (he can be sensitive 🥲)
Micheal and Art are also frenemies (can’t live with them can’t live without them)
Micheal just refuses to play into Arts antics (he eats it up tho he takes notes of his sadistic yet humorous ways)
Micheal is the typa friend that goes on side quests on a random ass Tuesday (sometimes Art and Ghost stowaway for Walmart)
Hey there everyone, hope this feeds you for the time being. A lot of life changes and shift in career, but I still can’t let the readers down and completely disappear at least not for the time being. It’s been four years of this chaos and I appreciate the support and kind words from comments to my messages. Till we meet again ♥️
I had this dream of The Collector💚 I wanted to write story of it
Asa Emory x reader
"Welcome home, my dragonfly."
Sunlight shone from behind the curtains creating a soft yellow glow on the corrido's wall. The rays made shadow boxed incest to shine on their true colors. Most of them were beetles, but here and there where butterflies with most vibrant colors you haven't ever seen. You recognize couple of them, but rest was unknown. Still all of them were admirable.
You did woke up inside the red box, it wasn't locked so you let yourself out of there. He may have done that on purpose. The box was placed in the middle of the living room so you could take a good look of Asa's home. Everything was so organize, tidy. He had lot of green plant and seemingly loved vintage. The house was homely and comforting, better than the cold abandoned hotel. You felt bad for those other who have to be there, alone in dark. You thought you would have been one of them, but you weren't. When thinking all of it the collector, (before you learned his real name) he didn't never really hurt you. He only kept you inside that box, checked you now and then, brining you food and clothes. Now that feels like eternity. Asa let you out of the box in two weeks and toke you to the hotel's library, showing all the books you could read and where to spend your time, of course under his watchful eye. Some reason you are special to him.
The headache you had at the beginning was starting to get you dizzy and your vision blurry. Any memories of leaving the hotel wasn't on your mind, but one faint memory of the needle touching on your necks skin, before you blacked out . You reached your left hand on the wall next to you, taking support on it. You closed your eyes to ground yourself. Feeling of your own heart bounding calmly inside of your rib-cage soothed you. Warmth in your hands made them to tingle. Everything was quiet and still, song of the bird outside made your eyes to open. Then you felt the floor shift under you of someone else weight than your. Large hands creeped around of your neck behind you. They gave your neck a light squeeze not meaning to hurt, but more to show possessive over you, he loved to do that.
"Little cricket let themselves out of the box, without the permission..."
His hot breath hits your neck making chills run down on you spine. Asa knows that made you shiver and melt in his arms. Teasing was his way to show affection and he loved the reactions he could get out of you. His thumb draws a circle on you neck and he could feel how you began to lean on his chest. But before you could say anything he pushes you against on the wall. Making gasp escape of your mouth. Asa's hands moved to your face, cupping your cheeks gently. Hot wave rises to you face, burning like pins and needles were under your skin.
Avoiding his intense gaze was challenging to maintain, twain of black shining orbs looking right at you, seeing you. It was unnerving, but the same time you loved it. How the simplest things Asa did, made a butterflies fly in your stomach. The grip he hold your face, forcing the eye contact, not letting you get away on this time. Asa knows you look at him secretly, when you think he won't noticed, he do. Admiring him whatever his working on at the time, how his unique eyes shine when the light reflect on them.
Corners of his lips rises to a grin, and that made you realize you have had look at his lips for too long. "Do a bug want something?" Asa lean closer to you, watching closely the tiniest reactions and expressions what appeared on your face.
"I...I want you to...." the rest of the words get stuck in your dry throat, becoming a inaudible mumble. Asa's humorous laugh embarrassed you, but it faded away quickly when his lips pressed of your forehead, giving it a soft kiss. When his gaze returned to you, the courage grew in you to press your own lips against his. That took him by surprise, he would never think you would be brave enough to kiss him, but regardless that was enjoyable, it was challenge.
Asa steadied his hand behind you neck, one supporting your lower back. He had a control. Yours kiss was sweet, but he's was full of possessiveness. Asa was going to take everything of this moment. His grip around you got tighter, while his kiss deepened. A moan left your mouth, you hand clenched on his black shirt like you life depend on it. If you were honest, you have dreamt of this for so long. Times you could have been like this with Asa, was only when he wasn't busy. When you rested you head on his lap while he stroked your head or when he give you a soft kiss on forehead before he leaves.
The broke of the kiss left you breathless, lack of the oxygen almost made you to faint, Asa other hand seems unbothered lack of it. His hand stroked your cheek, eyes gazing you dearly. He wasn't sure if you could noticed it, but at the fist time he hasn't any walls around you, he was completely relaxed. No dangers, no traps that could hurt you, or his victims who would use you as escape plan. No one could ever take his precious thing away.
"Do I have to go to hotel again?" Worry in your voice waked Asa back to reality. "If you absolutely miss that place, we can go back" He was tried to sound serious, but you can tell tone of his voice he was joking "No. I want to stay here with you."
Asa smiled at your response "Welcome home, my dragonfly."
7:37 AM. It’s a Friday, which means only one more day of school before a precious two days of freedom. A little over 7 hours until Michael will have a temporary peace.
7 hours too many.
Judith has too many clothes, Michael observes as he seeks refuge in the back of his eldest sister’s closet. He never willingly enters her room, which makes it the optimal hiding spot. No one will look for him here. Coupled with the daily chaos of the mornings, the odds look good. So long as his mother doesn’t notice his absence before she leaves for work, his twenty-fourth attempt at skipping school will be a complete success.
He lets out a quiet sigh, and hopes his sisters will hurry up. The cheap perfume clinging to the clothes is giving him a headache.
His mother’s weary sigh travels up the staircase and through the tightly-shut closet door. Judith must be doing something again, Michael decides. Judith is always doing something. Always upsetting Mom, or picking on him, or starting fights with Dad, or making Laurie cry. Michael hates when people cry.
“Where’s—?” Damn it! His mother has realized she’s missing one-third of her children. Michael scoots further into the dark recesses of the closet. “Judith, go get your brother.”
“Laurie, go get your brother,” Judith orders shrilly, a clear mockery of their mother’s voice.
Though Michael can’t see her, he imagines Laurie’s face screwed up in displeasure. “I don’t know where he is!”
“Michael!” their mother calls, her voice so worn-out it almost guilts him into revealing his position.
Almost.
“Michael!” she tries again. Michael doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Footsteps up the stairs—damn it, damn it—and through the hallway to peek into his bedroom. “Michael?”
She won’t look in here, will she? Michael hopes the hanging clothes obscure him from sight, just in case.
