Robin-the-enby - Never Meant To Be Human

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ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 1x05 - "Everybody Wants to Be My Enemy" ↳ "We've accomplished a lot together, Marcus. Sheriff. And there is more yet to achieve. I hope you can remain a part of it."

Scammer pretending to be in Palestine v2

This post has been remade with better info! Please go to this one:

Got an ask from someone claiming to be in Palestine needing mutual aid? Unfortunately there is a scammer going around and it’s likely the ask you got sent is the same one being sent by multiple accounts who target users interacting with Palestine posts. These blogs use the text/images off a real fundraiser and then post it here pretending to be the person it’s made for. Their accounts are usually only a few days old and they don’t interact beyond the ask/follow. Lately they might make the link to their PayPal account in different colors or claim their GoFundMe is pending so you will assume the real one is theirs. They don’t have any GoFundMe’s set up. They steal from them. If you need proof of something being stolen, searching the text of their post in a search engine should pull up the source. If you know how to report PayPal accounts, please report those used by the scammers.

(Moved to new list)

Below is a growing list of fake/stolen names used across the accounts:

Nour Samar | maryline lucy | Fred Odhiambo | Jeff Owino | Valentine Nakuti | Conslata Obwanga | JACINTA SITATI | David Okoth | Martín Mutugi | Daudi Likuyani | William Ngonyo | Fred Agy | George Ochieng | BONFACE ODHIAMBO | Sila Keli | John Chacha | benson komen | Alvin Omondi | Jacinta Sitati | Daudi Likuyani | Noah Keter | Faith Joram | Rawan AbuMahady (any PayPal’s using this name are scammers who have stolen it off a real GoFundMe. The real person does not have a PayPal account that they post on tumblr.) | Asnet Wangila | Remmy Cheptau

Keep in mind this post isn’t saying all accounts asking for mutual aid in Palestine are scams. Rather, this post is meant to bring awareness of a scammer stealing money from those who really need it by pretending to be a person in Palestine. To report scams, use this:

Report -> Something else -> Illegal uses or Content -> Phishing

I love how you write the first meetings between the reader and William so naturally. Meeting at the clock out machine is such a creative scenario, like how do you even come up with these things???

And boy oh boy, you layed it on thick right in the first chapter, I love it! If this is going to be a dark series, like Mechanised devotion was, then I'm so looking forward to reading more of it!

Melancholia (William Afton x F! Reader) [Part 1]

~So, I decided I wanted a go at writing William Afton from the games instead of Movie version/Steve Raglan, and I thought, what better way to explore that than through some really obvious religious imagery because that man definitely has a god-complex. This is obviously an AU, please don't hate on it because 'it's not cannon'~

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI - Age difference, Older man/younger woman, Murder (adult and child), violent acts, manipulation, gas-lighting, dead bodies, blood, gore, graphic description of injury, use of religious imagery, toxic relationship, boss x employee, god-complex, knife-play

The shrieks of voices and the blaring, bleeping arcade lights were almost overwhelming if you had never been to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza before. There was always a chaotic energy to the place, kids running about, practically seeing who could take out the most staff as they barrelled from the dining area and party rooms towards the arcade. You learnt to be quick on your feet and observant of your surroundings quite quickly.

"Hey superstar, you need to watch where you're going okay?" You laughed to a child who almost collided with your legs, one hand shooting down to protect your black work pants from the half-drunk cup of soda as they looked up at you and stuck their tongue out, scowling as much as the chubby face of an eight year old could before running off again.

Picking one of the nearby tables that had no patrons sat at it, you began to clean up. Piling up the discarded wax-paper lined baskets of half-chewed fries coated in god-knew-how-much ketchup and the pizza tray, swearing under your breath as you spilt soda down your purple starry vest. The uniform had changed recently from fairly easy to clean plain red, to the god-awful embroidered purple, the silver stars were supposed to match the curtains on Pirate's Cove and the paper ones that hung from the ceiling. Glancing up at them, you caught sight of the large window that overlooked the main dining room, the dark.

Every employee in Freddy's knew of that room. William Afton's office, from where he looked down at all the people like god-on-high. You hadn't had a run in with Afton during your two year employment, but you'd heard the tales. He moved weirdly silently for a man of his height, you'd even heard co-workers joking that he wasn't even human, that Henry Emily had replaced him with a robot some time ago, that you could tell by the cold, dead way his blue eyes focused on people. That he had been the one orchestrating the aftermath when an employee had had their skull cracked open by a malfunctioning animatronic, standing calmly amongst the chaos and blood with barely a wrinkled nose of disgust.

A touch on your shoulder shook your out of your thoughts and snapped you back into the chaos of Freddy's once more. The dark, neon patterned carpet making your eyes swim as you realised you had looked down automatically to child level.

"You look fucking exhausted." A mousy brown haired guy laughed, wearing the same uniform as you, his own white shirt splattered with ketchup and other slightly dubious grease stains as you relaxed your shoulders. You couldn't remember his name, but you knew the guy at least, you'd worked together a few times, and he always spared a smile for you.

"There are children present." You mumbled, earning a laugh as he grabbed the glasses from the table, holding onto them as you picked up the tray full of dining debris and headed towards the kitchen together. "If Mr. Emily or Mr. Afton catches you, you'll get your pay docked."

"Mr. Emily keeps himself in the workshop constantly and maybe three people on staff have seen Mr. Afton, like...ever." He laughed, rolling his eyes and weaving through bodies like he too was well practised, although the slight sheen to the work pants legs told of plenty of grabby little, sticky hands that had collided with him.

"He's not a god-damn cryptid!" Shaking your head and placing down the clutter from the wash-pass, wiping down your hands against your pants before bending over slightly and looking at the clock through the small window.

It was time to clock out at least, sighing as you headed towards the back corridors that belonged to the staff. The colourful lights dancing across everything in the pizzeria as you heard Freddy and the band starting up through the tinny speakers that should have been replaced something like a decade ago. Your colleague following you with a shrug as he gestured to the chunky watch he had on his wrist.

"Hey, it's time for me to clock off too. God knows we don't get overtime, and secondly, going back to my earlier point; half these kids know more foul language than we do." Pointing to a corner where a bunch of kids seemed to be focused on a much small child, crying in the corner. The laughter you could faintly hear as you passed by them to get to the employee's only door giving you a good indication that it wasn't in good nature, both looking at each other before walking a little faster.

Not on the clock, not your problem.

You waved goodbye as you headed towards the women's locker room on the west side of the building, thankful that least upper management had thought to put in separate changing rooms as you tiredly unbuttoned the starry vest, breathing a sigh of relief as you ran your fingers through your hair. Cringing when you realised that you didn't quite know what they'd touched through the day and sighing that you were going to have to wash your hair. Again. Nobody told you that working with kids would leave you feeling like you should get hazard pay for simply being in their vicinity, god only knew how many times you'd filed for sick pay when some brat had given you the flu or some other stubborn thing that wouldn't leave you be.

Changing quickly, you headed out. Uniform stuck in a plastic bag to avoid it getting too close to the semi-clean clothes you'd shoved in, in order to change into once your shift ended. Glancing up and down the comparatively quiet corridor as you picked up your time card and placed it into the clock, swearing slightly as you couldn't get the punch to work. Banging your fist against the wall in frustration, wondering why management didn't just spend a little more money on the damn equipment that you all had to use, rather than public relations to cover the bad press the pizzeria had.

"Is there a problem?"

You spun on your heel as you heard the unfamiliar voice, brow knitted together as you stared at the voice's owner. He was leaned against the nearby wall, his head cocked to one side slightly as he looked down at you with a cold regard that seemed more like he was regarding something inanimate than a person. Glancing over him, he was slender, but wiry as he had his arms crossed over his chest, able to see the tendons moving in his hands as his fingers flexed, but he was wearing the white shirt, purple starry vest and black pants that marked him as part of Freddy's. The start of dark circles under his eyes were also par for the course.

"Yeah, stupid punch clock won't move." Huffing and turning your attention back to the clock, feeling yourself wince as you noticed the time had crawled by and you were already a few minutes over your shift. Time you would never get back. "You can clock in in a moment."

He was too clean to have been clocking out. You supposed that the clock on the other side of the halls closer to the men's was probably just as busted, if not more so.

A pale, slender hand reached into your vision and startled you, making you take a step back as the man clicked a small button on the side of the clock before pressing down the stamp. Stamping your card for you, pulling it out with a flourish and handing it over with a lazy smile that made your chest tighten unusually, even if his blue eyes didn't seem to carry any warmth to them.

"You've got to check the safety's on or not. It's to stop people messing with the time cards if they came back here accidentally." His accent was rough, British, soothing. You frowned, looking up slightly at him and watching as he ran his fingers through his cool brown hair, which seemed roughly cut like he had done it himself. Greying at the temples and the occasional grey hair standing out against his darker hair. "You'll get used to it."

"I've worked here for two years and never heard of that bullshit." You muttered, rolling your eyes and changing your bag to your other hand as the man raised a thick eyebrow and stared at you some more.

"You've worked here for two years?" Seemingly surprised by the statement as you shrugged your shoulders. Wanting to go home and collapse onto your bed, not stand around talking to some newbie.

"And?"

"I've just never seen you around."

"You probably know me by my name, it's-"

"I honestly don't give a fuck what your name is. I need to finish my work, and you should go home, doll, I'm sure there's...something...you have to fill your time with." The sudden shift in his soothing voice made you blink, his tone never changing, reading as bored. Somehow, you felt mildly offended that this stranger simply seemed not to care, sucking your teeth and tutting as you shook your head and began to walk for the door. Feeling his eyes linger for just a moment before footsteps moving away told you that you were being left alone.

The next day, you managed to drag yourself into Freddy's with five minutes to spare before your shift. Grabbing your punch card and clocking in before you quickly got on your freshly washed uniform with barely enough time to grab a soda and carry with you into the main dining area. Wednesdays had never been particularly busy, but then again, what counted as 'quiet' for Freddy's never quite aligned to the other businesses in Hurricane's idea of it.

You took a deep breath and went to lean against the prize counter for a brief reprieve before the onslaught, hearing a door open and looking towards the arched entrance and waiting for a customer to emerge despite the fact it was nine in the morning, shrugging when you didn't see one emerging. Eyes flickering about to see if you could locate where the noise had come from, seeing movement on the staircase up to Afton's office that was tucked away in the corner of the pizzeria. Raising your eyebrow as you pulled out your soda and took a sip, wondering who was visiting your elusive boss.

You almost choked when the figure paused and looked directly at you however.

It was the guy from the previous day. Only this time he had a black blazer over the top of his purple vest, one lapel covered in various pin-badges from the arcade games and prize counter that made a faint clinking noise with how many there were as he walked in your direction. His hair was swept back, like he had just run his finger through it, and you could see a slight curl to the flyaway pieces that had refused to comply. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks as he glanced at you for a moment, pausing and blinking slowly as you stared back.

"No trouble with the punch-clock this morning then?" That same soothing lull to his voice as you quietly shook your head and took another sip of your drink. Eyes flickering over his badges on his lapel, one worn out enamel pin of what looked like a rabbit head catching your eye before you spotted some red against his purple vest. The colour having seeped into the silvery stars embroidery.

"You have something on your vest." Making the man look down, pulling his vest away from his body to look before his blue eyes snapped back up. A wolfish grin spreading across your face that made your heart race just a little as there was a dark spark in the usually dim eyes.

"Oh, nothing to worry about. It's only marinara sauce."

With that, he passed by. No explanation, no excuse. You watched the tall, lithe man leave with a little confusion as to who he was. You decided that you had to know, jogging after him slightly to catch up with his long, purposeful strides. The man pausing and looking at you curiously, eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Look, you might not give a fuck about what my name is, but I do give a fuck about what yours is." Crossing your arms across your chest, he cocked his head slightly, regarding you with a sudden interest that hadn't been there before. Like he was realising that you were a living, breathing person for the first time. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, turning to face you fully before sliding his hand from his pocket, offering it for you to shake. You noticed that his hands were well manicured, even if the nails were a little longer than you expected and the way he squeezed your hand when you shook made them bite a little into your skin.

"William, Afton that is." You could feel the colour draining from your face as he pulled you forwards, having to take a step closer and his voice low, almost purring as he spoke quietly. "And don't worry, doll, I'll let the swearing slide this time."

"You didn't care yesterday."

"You weren't in uniform yesterday, remember?" Releasing your hand and giving you another wolfish smile as his hand returned to his pockets, the faint jingle of the pin badges as he moved an almost comical sound as William stared for a second. Turning on his heels and moving off with no more thought than if he had already said 'goodbye'.

Well, now you could at least say you had met one of your bosses. Even if something in the back of your head scratched and itched as to why William Afton was handling marinara sauce, reasoning that it was probably from his lunch break, not that he looked like he ate often, and you had never actually seen somebody take anything up to his office space. Glancing at the darkened upstairs window, you shook your head and decided it wasn't worth thinking about. Swallowing down your confusion and settling your sights on one of the smaller, fresher faced workers with a scowl as they tried to make a beeline for the prize-counter unnoticed.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going, newbie? Older workers get to pick their jobs first, you know the rules." The unwritten code of Fazbear Entertainment workers as the smaller figure startled and scurried away whilst you detoured to pick up your drink and head towards the prize counter.

It was going to be a long day.

You'd forgotten you were on closing duties, even though you had begged to swap. Open to close was a brutal shift that nobody enjoyed, especially since to 'cut costs', recently there had only been one member of staff closing down each night. The pizzeria was creepy when the lights were mostly turned off, only the flickering arcade screens and the backlit animatronic stage to light the main dining area. Casting long shadows across Freddy, Bonnie and Chica's soft furred parts. The eye sockets seeming hollower without the eyes being lit up, the way their jaws hung open slackly seeming almost like the death throes of the animals they represented, or an all too human scream. You couldn't decide which was worse.

Heading back into the employee corridor, your footsteps seemed to echo slightly against the chequered tiles, so used to the faint sound of the extremely loud music playing from birthday parties and children's games as they ran around. Instead, there was only your footsteps and the hum of the halogen light strips above you. Casting everything in a slight sickly yellow glow. Eyes darting as you took stock of the cobwebs that had probably been there since the restaurant opened, posters lining the check bordered walls, kids drawings scattered amongst it all. Memories of happy children who loved to see the animatronics perform, or had their birthdays at that location.

You were pulled from your thoughts as a metallic clatter caught your attention. Pausing and glancing down the corridor where the sound came from. There was only one door at the end of it, which you couldn't read the signage on from where you stood. Slowly approaching and trying to place your heel down first, quieting your footsteps against the tile as your heart began to thump harder in your chest.

"Hello?" You called out instinctually, cursing yourself for it when you were trying to be sneaky. If there was anybody, they surely would have gotten spooked and ran off by the time you got to the door, but you reasoned that you weren't about to get jumped by some drugged up junkie looking to steal metal to sell off to feed their habit. The door looming large as your eyes wandered over the lettering embossed onto the plaque screwed to it. 'Parts and Services'.

Pushing the door open, you had to blink to adjust your eyes to the darkness inside. Swallowing as you stepped in and the heavy door automatically swung shut under it's own weight behind you. Eyes adjusting to the very low light, flickering as your hands reached out in front of you and felt for some form of light to turn on.

Two years you had worked there, two years you had avoided any of the creepy horror stories that surrounded Freddy's and it's owners. You just had to go and stick your nose where it didn't belong, and you were left fumbling in the dark, managing to grab onto a table as you slipped in something slick across the tile floor. Feeling across the table and squealing when your fingers touched something furry. Praying that it wasn't a rat that had decided to place itself upon the altar of mechanical parts. Heart beating so quickly you could hear it pounding in your ears, hands shaking as you reached your hand out again to check whether or not the thing was still there.

Your fingers found the furred texture again, realising it was longer than anticipated and pushing your fingers into it, trying to figure out what on earth it was.

"And on the first day, the lord said; let there be light!" The voice startling you as it seemed to be so close yet so far away, blinking rapidly as the light turned on in the room and you couldn't help but flinch and look down towards the table. Your head hurt with the rapid change of light, taking a moment to adjust as your fingers curled around the soft texture in your hand, keeping your head down, vision finally clearing.

To see the face of your co-worker staring back at you with the same slack jawed expression that the animatronics had. Your hand in his hair, shrieking and pulling your hand free, slipping and tumbling as the face followed and you watched in silent horror as the head bounced against the tile. Rolling to face away, the bloody, raw meat, bone and gristle that you could see inside of what was once a neck, looking down and realising that your shaking hands were covered in claret. Thick, clotting, the smell of hot pennies and raw red meat overwhelming, wondering how you didn't notice it before.

Footsteps, your eyes wide and transfixed on the rolled head of your co-worker as well polished black shoes came into view, kicking the head slightly and making you wince as you head the meaty thud it made when it connected. Bloody hands coming into view, one clutching a fire-axe near the head as the figure crouched. Looking up, you saw the pale, angular face. Star vest coated in red, splashed against his pale skin as the blue eyes sparkled. William looked positively elated, a predatory grin across his face as you looked him over, realising that the childish pin-badges were coated in the gore too.

"Oh doll, you shouldn't have come back here. But I'm not going to punish your curiosity, little lamb." The cool, calm British voice made you shiver, there was something dark and feral in the way he fixed you under his intense gaze, eyes lazily drawing down your now coated body with his own shiver of delight as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

"H-He's- He's..." You stammered and William scoffed, rolling his eyes as he reached out, placing the flat side of the bloody axe under your chin and tilting it up so you would look at him again.

"Come on doll, you can say the word." Cooing encouragingly as you trembled before him.

"Dead. You...Oh god you killed him!"

"That's right, here at Freddy's, I am god." A self satisfied smirk as he tilted the axe to make the blade almost brush against your skin. Heart pounding as you realised that this was probably the end. Murdered by your boss, covered in your co-workers blood.

"So let me show you what a merciful god I am, and allow you to take your first communion." Standing up and spreading his arms wide, smile never leaving his face as the single lightbulb above illuminated behind his tousled, greying hair and formed a bloody halo for William Afton.

SOMETHIN' STUPID

C.Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader w.c 2.1k

Summary: after 8 months of traveling with the well feared ghoul, you're worried you might have misinterpreted your long term companionship.

Warnings: use of nicknames(darlin', sweetheart, doll) fluff

A/N: I was deeply inspired to write this while listening to Frank and Nancy Sinatra's "something stupid". I included the song if anyone wants to listen along while reading! Sorry if this is literal trash yall, this is my first time writing anything in almost 2.5 years.

It was nice in Filly. A quaint little camp, yet highly functional. Each person in there had a job ordered by the gracious Ma June. Yours happened to be a bartender in the middle of town. You were grateful, it was one of the highest paying jobs due to frequent tourism of anyone who passed by the camp, along with the daily customers who would rather lose a limb than not get their daily drink. It was safe -despite being a bar you had multiple customers looking out for your safety-  busy and entertaining. You liked it a lot. It helped distract you when your well-feared companion was out on his own. Any time away from him left you craving his presence more and more. You always waited like a lost dog for him; desperate, ready to roll over and show your belly for any affection he might give. Part of you hoped that he never knew about your silly little “crush” on him, worried that it would ruin the peace you've made between the both of you, and part of you begged inside for him to notice the way you looked at him. 

He developed a whole new sense of kindness, appreciation, and protectiveness towards you; after almost 8 months of tension and brooding. It didn't go unnoticed by you. It gave you a false sense of hope that it meant something more, that maybe he felt the same way; but you kept those feelings buried deep in fear of rejection from what's come to be your best friend in the immortally cruel world. 

It was almost 10:30 at night, it hadn't been an overly busy day. No newcomers, just the usual customers. You sighed, you weren't supposed to clock out for another 2 hours and you dreaded the time you had left. Not because you wanted to stop working, no, but because you hated going home without Cooper being there. A house isn't four walls and a decaying roof to you, it was the barbarous ghoul you'd come to love. 

You were faced away from the counter, wiping down glasses and stocking them in their designated places for tomorrow's opener. A scratchy voice, thick with a southern drawl spoke up behind you, “Ya think this fella can get a drink darlin’?” You almost jumped in excitement. Your smile beaming with glee, you ran around the counter to give him a hug. You expected him to push you off, he had many times before, but he didn't. He reciprocated it lightly, his arm wrapping around the back of your waist.. 

“Someones happy to see me, huh?” he chuckled looking at you as you released the hold you had on him, walking back to your spot behind the counter. You grabbed a glass behind you and a top shelf bourbon you know he’d appreciate, “You're my only friend and you've been gone for two weeks, how could I not? Nobody to talk to besides Ma and these drunken slobs.” He gave a genuine laugh at that. You had to stop yourself from blushing, doing your best to ignore the familiar warmth that was rising up your neck. His laugh was pretty. Everything about him is pretty, you thought. 

You placed the glass in front of him, “Hope you  like it, somethin’ new but i'm sure you’ve already tried it sometime during your wandering.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips, “Thanks doll.” You grab more glasses from the sink and work on mindlessly wiping them down. The rugged ghoul lets out a moan after his first sip. Good choice, you think, be sure to get that for him more often. You finish putting away the last glass and turn back to the serving counter, finding him staring at you. You raised a brow at his antics. What you didn't know was that he was festering inside. There was an incredibly close call during the last bounty, in short, a large gun threatened the strength of his cranium. He fought his way out, he always did, but now he finally had a reason to not give up, to not submit no matter how hard things got and that reason would stay with him for as long as you were alive. The cordial startle of your voice brought him out of his thoughts, “You gonna stay tonight?” Cooper breaks eye contact with you and sets his now empty glass on the counter; you refill it per his silent request. 

“Think I am. Got a bunch-ah bounties turned in, gotta wait till tomorrow to get the caps from Ma,” he says as he puts the glass to his chapped lips, downing his second drink in one gulp. He hissed through his teeth at the burn while staring at the glass as if he were looking for the lable. You laugh at the sound, “Thought you'd be used to the burn by now after all these years.” You grab his glass and set it in the sink, leaving it for one of your coworkers to deal with. 

“Why don’t I clock out and we finish this bottle at home?” you nodded your head to the gold liquid on the counter. He gave a simple nod, his hat covering the view of his eyes for a split second, “sounds like a good idea sweetheart.” You smile at his agreement. You walk behind the wall that the glasses sat delicately on, finding the notebook that Ma June used to keep track of clock ins and outs of her employees. You wrote down your clock out time, 10:42, next to your clock in time that sat after your name from where you wrote it earlier in the day. On your way of walking behind the counter you grab the bottle and gesture with your head for Cooper to follow. 

It was less than a 3 minute walk to your shared home. No, you two were not in a romantic relationship, you guys hadn't even fooled around even once in your time in the wastelands alone together. You were just the only person Cooper trusted sleeping next to when he eventually did need rest, and you the same. 

The moment you stepped in the front door, urgently followed by the ghoul, he dropped his duster and hat to the floor, letting his other accessories follow in suit leaving him in his classic pinstripe jeans and worn down button up. You turned around and laughed at his actions, “what was that about?” 

“Y’Know sometimes I get tired of these fuckin’ things, heavy ‘n’ hot, don’t like ‘em most of the time,” he sat on the arm of the couch in the process of taking off his boots. His admittance was laughable, the most feared ghoul in the southern wastelands hated his own character design. He let out a rough groan as he got the last boot off, leaning back and flopping onto the seats of the couch, his lower half of his legs dangling off the arm of the couch where he once sat. You took your own shoes off, placing yours and his discarded boots next to the front door. You made your way to the worn velvet couch to sit next to him, your thigh accidentally touching the top of his head as you sat, you mumbled a quick “sorry” and scooted farther to your now designated side. 

He hummed with his eyes closed, “ya got any more of that bourbon?” The bottle still in your hand you pop off the top and take a deep swig of it. You shiver as it burns its way down your throat and instantly warms your chest. 

“Yep,” and you plopped the bottle on his chest, holding it so it wouldn't fall and spill until his hands replaced yours. His calloused fingers graced yours and a spark of warmth ignited in your hand at the contact. He sat himself up slowly next to you, taking a swig of his own from the bottle. 

“I got something from a trader last week, I think you’ll like it,” you excitedly say, breaking the short lived silence. He watched with curiosity as you stood hurriedly from the couch and made your way to the broken down kitchen. Grabbing the item off the counter with a grin on your face you made your way back to Cooper. 

“No shit doll, where’d ya get this?” he says astounded as he grabbed the item from your hands. It was an old radio. He switched it on and crooked a smile as it cracked to life, a low tune of Things by Bobby Darin played. He closed his eyes and put it close to his ear. You smiled at his contentment, “You can turn it up y’know? I dont think anyones gonna hear it or care if they do.” Pulling from his ear and to his lap, he did as you said. The song crackling loudly through the speakers but still eligible enough to hear the lyrics clearly. You reach to gently grab the radio from his hands, setting it on the almost broken coffee table in front of you two. 

Standing up, you turn to him and reach out a hand, “Just one dance?” You did your best to hold your shaking hand still, the fear of rejection in any way from him made you want to hurl. But you had to ask for this, for the contentment between the two of you could end much quicker than it took to build. You had to let him know how you felt before the moment was too late. If anything the wastelands taught you, it was to not take the good things for granted. Don't waste time on enjoying them, because you may not get to experience that kind of joy for a long while. 

He looked up at you from his seated position, his hazel eyes hooded from the exhaustion that was finally starting to settle in. To another great surprise, he took his hand in yours and stood in front of you. 

“Only for you, darlin’,” he said suavely. His charm made your heart thump, and it was him who closed the distance between you two. Taking a hand of yours in his while his other sat gently on your waist, you instinctually set your other hand on the upper portion of his chest, just below where his collar bones sat. 

He began to sway and you followed in suit, letting the music guide the pace of your sway. He stared down into your eyes, they burned into you in the best ways. Your heart fluttered non-stop, this was something you couldn't have even dreamed of. Something that 8 months ago you would have laughed at the idea of. Resting your head on his chest, his chin rested upon the top of your head. You closed your eyes and tried focusing on the sound of his heartbeat, wondering if it beats any differently than yours, or beats at all. It's fast, faster than yours and you wonder if it's just part of the ghoulification or if he's as nervous as you are. 

“I love you, Coop…” you trail before you can even process what you're saying and your eyes shoot open. His movements stop and you stop with them, your palms become sweaty, terrified that you had royally fucked up. He lifts his head and you do so, scared to look up at him. He can tell. His rough hand reaches under your chin and cups your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. A new song plays in the background but you're unable to tell which one it is, the pounding of your heart becoming deafening in your ears. 

“Why ya always gotta say somethin’ stupid huh, sweetheart?” His tone is anything but condescending, which you are relieved about. His eyes continue to bore into yours, but they're soft, they didn't hold their usual stiffness. You break his stare and shrug apprehensively, not brave enough to give a verbal answer. You're brought back to his attention with a startle when he directs your face towards his once again, pressing his dry lips to yours in a hurried rush. You don't have enough time to react and kiss back before he pulls away, leaving you in a euphoric daze. 

“The feeling's mutual,” he rumbles as his sway starts up again, his hands going back to their original positions around you. Closing your eyes once again you allow yourself to be completely enveloped in his warmth. 

The bombs could drop again and even that couldn't ruin this moment for you. 

Slashers! S/O hurt by a victim

Slashers x gn!reader

Includes Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: Beefy murder boyfriends, hurt/comfort, minor angst, injuries, blood, fluffy shit

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t want you involved in his crimes, he’d rather you keep your pretty self out of harms way. Whether that be at home, or somewhere else in general, just anywhere but with him when he’s busy killing. That being said, accidents happen.

You can’t help the curiosity that runs through you when a harsh bang comes from the backyard of the Myers house. It was sudden really, opening the back door when you were knocked backwards, head careening into the wall with a dull thud.

The minute you let out a yelp from the pain and being caught off guard, the shadow of a tall, looming figure isn’t far behind

There was only one word to describe the feeling bubbling in the killers chest and that would be absolute rage

Now, Michael isn’t one to worry himself when someone gets themself hurt, he could care less quite honestly. But seeing you holding the back of your head, blood covering your hands and forehead, eyes squeezed shut with unshed tears, the little bit of sanity left in him just snaps. The horrific screams of the victim who pushed you over are all that fill the house, quieting into watery gurgles and then just silence

Heavy footsteps stop before your slumped over form, rough, unpracticed movements that pull at your body drag a hiss from your lips. Although Michael isn’t one to stop, he’s focused on getting you to open your eyes, see you looking back at him, let him know you’re okay

A calloused palm soothes over the crown of your head, pulling another whine as his fingers hover at the wound. It’s nothing too serious, probably a concussion, some gauze and pain killers will fix you right up. But the usual silence from Michael isn’t comforting, especially considering the way he seems to have doubled in size, shoulders squared, fingers twitching to curl into fists, working eye squinted behind the cut in his mask. The man is clearly agitated, heavy breathing more ragged, rushed

He’s unable to stab his way through this problem, he can’t fix it by spilling more blood. That worries him immensely. He’s not used to taking care of anyone in such a manner, or at all. His body is acting as a shield from the outside world, not holding you close yet not letting you go. To the right, the mangled, haphazardly tossed body of the victim lies, their cruel death far more brutal than you’d even known Michael to be

He won’t say anything, as usual, but the manner in his body language is different, not soft but protective, cautious. He’s not sure what to do with these feelings, not sure how to process the sight of you bleeding, the one person he’d rather never even encounter a simple scrape

He promises himself right then and there nothing of this sort will ever occur again. Not if he can prevent it. He would watch the world burn before you so much as felt an ounce of pain again

Jason Voorhees

Same as Michael in the regards that he doesn’t want you anywhere near any of his potential or current victims. The idea that you could possibly get injured runs through is mind the daily, even without the threat of others. So if he’s dealing with naughty campers, you better be safe in the cabin, doors locked and windows sealed

Although Jason seems to underestimate the lengths some would go to survive, especially the rage that follows when their friends are slaughtered

Imagine his surprise when he’s hunting down one of the people that got away, heart beginning to race as he realizes their tracks lead back to the cabin, the exact cabin you’re supposed to be safe in. “Safe”, is a word that completely leaves his mind upon seeing what he does when he enters the ajar door. Your face is bloodied, bruised and swollen, collar of your shirt clutched by the victim he dared to allow escape. The sight is enough to send the poor man into cardiac arrest, heart beating so fast it feels to him as if his chest will rip open, but that can wait

The way he carves into the unsuspecting back of the offender above you is feral, machete driving down again and again until you’re left with a bloody heap rather than a person, a heap that is quickly tossed carelessly to the side, relieving the pressure from your weakened body

Even through the swell, pain and red, your eyes can see his swimming with extreme pain

He did this, he caused you to be hurt, it was his fault you were ever put in harms way. His racing pulse doesn’t subside even when you attempt a bloody smile, too overtaken with grief to calm his nerves. In Jason’s mind, he doesn’t deserve someone like you, no matter what you’ve done, what you’ve been through, you’re perfection to him. The fact that you’d chose to be by his side astonishes him, so to let you be injured in this way? Beaten and practically frail in his arms? He’s failed you

The anger in his veins disappeared the minute you softly called his name, hand reaching up to caress the side of his mask. There’s evident tears in your eyes, whether from fear or pain both options are the worst case in Jason’s mind. Yet you don’t seem upset with him, which confuses him greatly but ultimately, your anger towards him would only worsen how he felt

In that moment, holding you clutched to his firm, scarred chest, he promises to himself he’d never let another hand cause you such harm

Thomas Hewitt

In Thomas’s eyes, you’re safest as you can be furthest from him, no matter his hearts urge to keep you as close as possible

The image of you crying, bleeding, or simply making a face indicating unease, upsets his stomach, twists and turns his insides unpleasantly

That is until one day, another hot, overbearing Texan day in the heat when one of the trespassers managed to escape the basement, god knows how they did it, but they did. And now Thomas was lost in the sweat of a days work, eyes scanning the grain filled yard, dusty streets and dead land, no one in sight. Until the buzzing in his ears is cut off by the unmistakable, bloodcurdling scream of someone not too close, yet not far either. What makes his blood run cold isn’t the sound itself, but the familiarity of it. Now Thomas has never actually heard you make such a noise, but he’d be a fool to not recognize it, especially when it came from someone who brought him such warmth

Terror, he can also recognize the tone at which you use, the fear in it, he can feel every ounce of dread you do, tenfold at the idea he may be too late, he may not make it in time, if only he was closer

He’s running now, chainsaw alive and screeching, heavy pants beneath the leather on the lower half of his face, eyes wildly searching the open area for a sign of danger, a sign of you

Thats when he spots it in the distance, a figure standing above another, some kind of tool held high, what looks like a kitchen knife in the gleam of sunlight that hits it. His legs feel of jelly, unable to move until another scream fills his ears, this time it’s of his name, most desperate, pained. And if that didn’t get him moving, he didn’t know what would. Chainsaw raised in pure adrenaline, the lumbering man is quick to slice downwards, down and down and down until body parts dismember, organs are strewn, red covers the wheat and grass and dirt

Saw thrown off to the side, Thomas kneels beside your nearly curled up form, hands pressing into the stab wound decorating your side, blood seeping from your hands that clutch to keep it in. He’s gentle, like a butterfly kissing you, years of scars and rough work should make his hands feel like sandpaper, although grasping you like you’d dissolve, his palms are simply silk

Head lulling into his chest, ignoring the blood that’s spewed across it, you nuzzle the underside of his chin, although in grave pain, the wound stinging with each stride Thomas makes, you feel at peace, comforted by the large man holding you like you would a breakable doll

Dark, heavy eyes shift down to gaze upon you, worried brow furrowed deep, clearly in distress upon seeing you so weakened, losing blood. Luda Mae can fix you right up thankfully, he just can’t imagine ever seeing you in such a state again, he never wants too, it would physically kill him

Carrying your tired body, heartbeats one, Thomas enters the Hewitt mansion with one thing on his mind, he’s never to be far from you ever again

Vincent sinclair

You never went in the basement when Vincent was, “working”, you’d learned it best to leave him alone, ignore the screams of pain and smell of hot wax hitting warm skin

The mans activities aren’t a secret from you, although he’d rather you not watch him participate in such acts, he’d rather you keep from seeing such horrors, allow your sleep to be uninterrupted by nightmares unlike his

You were headed to the kitchen when the loud screaming of what sounded like someone in fear and confusion could be heard, the thunderous steps of someone hurling towards the room you were in, the form of a startled victim coming into view

Their eyes changed from fear to rage, seeing you unharmed, at peace in such a place that got their friends killed, mindlessly headed for the fridge. You could already hear the heavy boots of Vincent rushing up the basement steps, and as if he couldn’t move any quicker, your yelp of fear proved otherwise

Your eyes were wide when the masked man finally came into view, hands grasping as the arm around your neck from behind, body pressed against the person that had narrowly escaped, shaking as they held a kitchen knife to your cheek. The look in Vincent’s eye was deadly, in fact you would’ve been trembling in fear from the intensity if not for the fact that you knew the man would do anything to protect you, and vice versa

Garden sheers were clutched tight in one of his rough hands, knuckles caked with wax. The knife against your cheek began to dig slightly into your delicate skin, causing a soft gasp to leave your lips before red filled your vision, sprayed across where the offending weapon once was, arms leaving your body as the body fell limp to the kitchen floor. Turning to look at the damage, your face was softly grasped by two warm palms, eyes still wide from the ordeal, staring into Vincent’s now calm gaze

His thumb swiped at the blood beading on your cheek bone, clearly discontent with even the smallest cut adorning the face he loved the most, a low noise coming from the back of his throat, akin to a wounded animal

Pulling you into his broad chest, dark locks brushed the sides of your face, Vincent stared dead ahead, one hand on the back of your head as he internally cursed himself out, how dare he let someone that close to you, how dare he let them draw your blood

Glancing as the nearly decapitated victims body on the floor, blood pooling, Vincent swore to himself if anyone ever caused you such pain again, they’ve face a cruel, slow death

Hope y’all enjoyed <3