Slashers As Fathers With A Child Reader.

Slashers as fathers with a child reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is less than ten years old (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART ONE.

Freddy Krueger

It felt like he had been a completely different person when he did it. Work had been stressing him out, parts of the house needed fixing, and he was a single parent. He wasn't getting enough rest. Eventually every little thing began to get to him.

Freddy hadn't been in his right mind when it happened. You loved making pictures for him, and one day you decided to nail some pictures on the wall by yourself. Not only had you nailed the pictures too low, but you had also accidentally made a large hole in the wall.

The incident had caused Freddy to explode. Not only did he yell at you for ruining the wall, but he ended up tearing one of your pictures in half. "I don't need this shit," He had shouted at you, "You think I feel like dealing with that? You ruined my wall, (y/n), and now I gotta fix it. I just- I can't... Ugh."

Freddy had avoided you for the remainder of the night- not because he was mad at you but because he was afraid he 'would' get mad at you again. It was a bad idea. He should have apologized for the way he acted. Because the next day when he woke up and went into his office, he noticed that every picture you had drawn him had been torn from the nails on the wall, shredded up and shoved in the trash.

Horror, heartache and regret immediately consumed his guilty conscience, and he rushed to find you. You were in your room playing with toys. It nearly destroyed him to see the way you flinched and scurried to hide behind a laundry basket.

"(y/n)," Freddy went to kneel in front of you, "Sweetie, what did you do? Why did you tear up daddy's pictures?"

"Because," You whimpered, keeping your teary face hidden, "You said you didn't need them. You... You tore it in half. I... I'm sorry, daddy. Hic... I-I-I'm sorry th-that I-I made a hole in the wall, an-and I'm sorry th-that you h-h-hate my pictures."

The amount of sadness, regret and complete and utter crushing guilt that fell upon Freddy was suffocating. Hearing your broken apology and seeing the way you were shaking caused him to be so disappointed with himself. He couldn't believe what he had done. Why did he do that? He would never do anything to cause you to feel this way, and he 'loved' your pictures.

And yet look what he caused. Not only did he hurt your feelings by being cruel, but he lost all of his near and dear pictures- even the ones you made when you were a toddler. They were all destroyed.

"I-I'll never color again," You swore in a loud whine.

"Oh no, sweetie, no," Freddy attempted to get closer to you, frowning heavily when you flinched at his touch, "Please don't do that. Listen- hey, look at me. I need you to look at me."

And when you did look at him, Freddy felt like punching himself in the face. You looked so scared, so sad and unbearably hurt. Oh gosh, what had he done? Why?

"Oh (y/n)..." Freddy sighed, shaking his head, "I'm so sorry. Yesterday I... I was just in such a bad mood an-and not because of you but because.... Look, (y/n), daddy didn't mean to act the way he did, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that I yelled at you and I'm especially sorry that I did that to your picture. I regret it so much, you have no idea. Please... I'm sorry. I 'love' your pictures (y/n), please don't stop making them."

As Freddy eagerly waited for a brightened response from you, his heart sunk from his chest when you turned your back to him and quietly mumbled, "I wanna play with my toys please."

Excuses and more apologies sat on Freddy's tongue, but he denied saying them for he believed that you simply needed time to forgive him. "Ok sweetie," He got up to leave, "If you need anything, come get daddy, ok?"

"Ok, daddy."

While, over time, you did warm back up to your father, you never did say that you forgave him. And Freddy never got another picture. And he would never, ever stop regretting what he had done.

Michael Myers

Michael was overwhelmed by the frustration work caused. Due to lack of loyal employees, he was forced to work over-time and pull extra shifts. He was sore, tired and angry. It felt like he was the only person at work who ever did anything right.

And that anger built and built until it eventually brought out the worst in him and made him do something that he would regret for the rest of his life.

You loved (sport) and had been outside practicing with some of the neighbors. Michael had been inside attempting to relax when suddenly one of the living room windows shattered. He flinched and rushed to his feet, red clouding his vision when he saw a familiar ball on the floor.

On his way to the door, you ran inside breathless and gasping, "Ah! I'm sorry, daddy, it's my fault. I-I accidentally threw the ball too hard and-"

Michael, with his emotional bridge broken, raised his hand to cut you off. A seething scowl took place upon his face, and he began to lecture you out in sign language. "I don't wanna hear excuses. Why were you playing so close to the house? You should know better. Now look at what I have to fix. All I want is to relax and now I can't because of your stupid (sport). Why do you even play (sport)? You're not even good at it."

Even though his words were literally silent, the crushed look on your face explained that you knew exactly what he had said. Michael ignored your crestfallen face and quiet sobs and demanded that you help him clean up the glass before sending you to your room. Yes, your friends had watched the whole thing.

Michael's seething attitude didn't diminish until the next day after he got some good sleep. He soon realized that he felt bad for how he treated you yesterday and decided that he wanted to apologize. But when he went to your room, he was stricken to see all of your favorite sports gear sitting in a trashcan. (sport) merchandise and even pictures you drew were also in the trashcan.

Overcome with concern, Michael wandered to your bed where you were hiding underneath your blanket. When he tapped on you, you twitched but otherwise kept pretending to be asleep. So he tried again.

You caved and lowered the blanket. Michael didn't like the way you winced at him, your eyes squinted as if you were expecting the worst out of him. He quickly used sign language to ask, "What is going on? Why are you throwing all your (sport) stuff away?"

"I..." Your voice was hesitant and quiet as you gazed away, "I don't like (sport) anymore. I... I-I'm not good at it, an-and you h-hate me playing it, an-and I'm sorry that I broke the window... I'm sorry, daddy. I promise-huh... I-I-I'll never play (sport) again."

What? Michael's eyes nearly popped out, regret, guilt and fear clouding his soul. Oh no. What had he done? You didn't like (sport) anymore? And all because he had overreacted and told you that you weren't any good at it. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It couldn't be like this. You couldn't stop doing what you loved all because he was stupid and having a bad day.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, Michael quickly explained with sign language, "But you are good at (sport). Don't quit. I was having a bad day, I didn't mean to say that stuff. You don't have to quit. I'm sorry that I said that. Don't quit playing (sport), you love it."

Your lips wobbled and you turned your head away, your voice a broken whisper, "Ca-an I sleep some more before school. Please?"

Your lack of an answer both irritated Michael and broke his heart. He became angry at himself and regretful about what he had done. He wanted to talk to you more about it, but decided not to. Hopefully you would think about his apology and take all of your (sport) stuff out of the trash.

But, unfortunately for Michael, you never did get back into (sport), and he never got to stop feeling guilty about it.

Bo Sinclair + Uncle Vincent and Lester

Bo could admit that, on the surface, he had a very fragile temper. Ever since he had you he had tried his hardest to hide all the ugly parts of himself, especially his anger. Any time he began to lose his temper, he usually stomped off somewhere by himself to maybe punch something and take a moment to breathe.

So far he had done a fairly decent job.

Up until today that was.

It had been a long week. It was summer. Tourists were pouring in at random needing fast work done to their vehicles. The gas station and church needed extra attention. It was hot outside. And, once again, Bo had a very fragile temper.

It happened when he was elbow deep in truck externals. Ever since you could walk you had always been his little helper. Already at your age your dream was to be an engineer, but you still had a lot to learn. And the fact that you had a lot to learn is what caused Bo to snap.

With the impatience of the person waiting on their vehicle to be fixed, Bo also became impatient. You had been trying to help him, bringing him tools he needed.

Whenever you brought him one too many of the wrong tools, he ended up throwing a wrench and his hat to the ground. "What is your fuckin' problem?" He shouted at you, "Are ya stupid? If ya can't bring me what I need then get the fuck outta here."

You had flinched, tears immediately filling your eyes as you carefully backed up. Bo continued to give you a serious, livid glare that scared you, his words ringing in your head and shattering your heart. He watched you run away, his chest pounding with guilt he ignored as he finished his work.

Bo didn't see you for the remainder of the day, but he did check in with Vincent to make sure that you were alright. As night fell, he became more calm and relaxed, and soon he felt absolutely horrible for how he treated you. He sat on his bench rubbing his forehead in distress for almost an hour wishing he could take it all back.

He had shown you one of his worst sides. And it had hurt you. Now what was he supposed to do? He called you 'stupid'.

Unfortunately for Bo, he didn't get a chance to apologize that night for Vincent soon brought him a note explaining that Lester had taken you home with him for the weekend. Gosh darn it. He really wanted to apologize.

But his apology had to wait for- not one week or two weeks- but a whole month. That's how badly you were trying to avoid him. It was more than enough time for Bo to sit and think about his mistakes.

When Lester finally brought you home, Bo was grateful that you didn't appear to be angry or sad. You rushed to him and gave him a big, welcoming hug that soothed his core, "Daddy!"

"Hey, critter bug," Bo chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Missed you. Guess what? Some ol' couple brought in a beat up station wagon. Needs fixin'. Wanna help?"

"No thank ya," You said casually, leaning away from him, "I don't wanna be a engineer anymore."

Bo's world stopped rotating. "What?" He gave you a stabbed look, "But ya love doin' that stuff?"

"Not anymore," Your voice turned into a lightly disappointed mumble.

Bo's mouth went completely dry. He didn't know what to do or say. All of this time apart he thought that you would have gotten over his temper tantrum, but apparently you 'really' got over it. He had been the boulder that crushed your dreams. And it...

It almost made him wanna cry.

Bo swallowed, trying not to seem too beaten down, "But... Who's gonna be my helper?"

You smiled and pointed to the man standing beside the truck, "Uncle Lester will."

"Right..." Bo nodded, his chest aching with guilt, self-hatred, regret and sadness, "Right."

You never helped him with another car again.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal liked to believe that he was the ultimate best at keeping his temper under control. He never got mad at you or expressed any negative emotions towards you. If you needed to be taught a lesson, then he would sit with you and have a firm, constructive conversation about how you needed to improve.

Your bond was strong and healthy and it made Hannibal proud. You even took after him by wanting to be a professional cook. And Hannibal was ecstatic to help you carry that dream into reality.

But one day all of his pride, arrogance and content came to an end.

You had woken up before him that morning and had snuck to the kitchen to make him breakfast. However, things went south and you accidentally ended up breaking one of his rarest, most treasured dishes- a dish that was literally one of it's only kind on the whole planet. And it upset him.

"I-I'm sorry, daddy," You had apologized desperately, "I-I just thought since you liked the plate so much you would also like eating off of it. I didn't mean to break it!"

Hannibal, his heart racing and his nerves burning with anger, had said almost too vastly, "And what lead you to believe that I would enjoy such horrible cooking on my most treasured dish? You knew these pieces were not meant to be eaten off of, yet you disrespected me anyway."

"Horrible cooking?" You murmured.

Because Hannibal was hurt, he couldn't resist the urge to make you hurt as well. "Yes. You are an awful cook. Your presence in this kitchen has always been a waste of time."

The way your eyes widened with hurt and how your hands immediately flew to your chest would be a sight that haunted Hannibal for the rest of his life. Slowly your eyes closed and you began to cry, your hands going to cover your face as you ran away, a sobbed "I'm sorry" echoing through the hall.

Instead of feeling satisfied that he hurt your feelings as intended, Hannibal immediately felt remorseful and guilty. Goodness. He knew that you were young and didn't mean to break his plate. He just... He just treasured the dish so much and now it was ruined forever. He let his emotions get to him, and he hurt you in the process. While it was your fault, he didn't blame you. You were innocent and you just wanted to make him happy.

After he cleaned up his broken dish, Hannibal searched for you and found you snuggled up on the couch. He sat in front of you and spoke calmly, "I'm sorry for getting angry at you. It wasn't my intention. You were just trying to make me breakfast and wound up making a mistake. It happens to all of us."

"I'm sorry..." You whimpered, obviously still upset.

"It is alright," Hannibal reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder. "I'll get started on breakfast."

"Can I help?" You asked hopefully.

Hannibal gave you a hesitant grimace, "I think it would be best if you skipped helping me in the kitchen for today."

Instantly your eyes puffed red and turned watery. Hannibal left you alone to exhale your emotions. He knew that you would be upset for a while, but he too was also upset. He just needed some time is all.

But apparently he was wrong yet again.

After that day, you never helped Hannibal in the kitchen again. For weeks after the incident, you didn't even eat the food that he cooked. It was like you banned yourself from the kitchen entirely. He had tried to coax you into helping him, but you always found excuses not to.

Soon Hannibal learned that he had destroyed your passion for cooking by making you believe that you were a terrible chef. And he regretted it so much that it was nearly unbearable. Hannibal couldn't handle mistakes he couldn't fix.

And no matter how hard he tried, he knew that he could never mend your feelings that he severed.

-

In part two I planned to age up the reader and have them secretly doing their passion behind their dad's back. And the slasher will find out and be like "what, I thought you gave up on that! Holy sh*t, I'm so happy". And the reader will be pleasantly surprised.

It's a pretty difficult question, isn't it? Like you have to think about it really hard because, honestly, most of these readers' are past the point of recovery. But I'm curious and I wanted to see what would happen if I made one of these question thingies. You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I hope you all are doing well!

Fate of Broken Roads is honestly my favorite fan fiction, and I really wanted to show my appreciation for your writing, especially since the website was down. Your writing is absolutely amazing, and I love how far you have come. 💛💛💛

Thank you so much for sharing your appreciation, wafflepuff 🤗💖 Fate of Broken Roads is actually the most difficult story for me to update at the moment. And I've honestly come super close to deleting it because I made the mistake of promising sexual intimacy in the fic and I just really don't want to write that. But I'm gonna try to hold my head up and fight my way through it. You and every other wonderful person who enjoys that story deserves an update.

Once again thank you so much. I hope you're doing well and are staying happy and safe ❤️ You should tell me about your flowers some time, btw! 💐

I think for a comeback, I'm gonna kick off with a brand new slasher story before I update Miracle of The Moonlight. (Warning: in this post I share minor details of my life that may be considered disturbing).

To be completely honest, one of the reasons why I wrote most of my stories the way I did (overly dramatic and full of trauma) is because that's all I knew life to be. I dealt with all kinds of bad people and situations that overwhelmed my life with negativity. So I tried to create positivity and comfort by writing my stories.

However, the new state I live in has provided me with a wholesome, safe, unbelievably kind environment that I could never be more grateful for. I love retail jobs, but the last retail job I had in AR I got stabbed nearly to death outside of the store, so after that I had to work in a secured factory for my own safety. But now I'm back in retail and I'm LOVING it. I'm loving my new home so much that I'm getting ideas from it.

So, for this new story idea, I am gonna base the plot a bit off my own environment (which is literally nothing new, lol). There is going to be mega canon-divergence, basically like an AU. Dbd characters will also be used. And we're gonna make a HUGE change- and this is something that I've wanted to try for a long time. Like in my slasher father drabbles, I'm gonna write the killers as good guys. Feel free to hate me all you want. I'm done trying to fit in.

The plot for this story has been inspired by the horror stories I've heard from countless people about the winters here. And it's also been inspired by the incredibly kind, loyal customers that I get. Here's the gist-

Summary: A blizzard is getting worse and worse outside. The radio station has put out an alert for an emergency city shutdown. People are to go home immediately. But you're stuck in the building along with several other people taking shelter from the storm. It's too rough to go outside. The doors are stuck open. It's getting cold. You need to stay calm and get warm. Luckily there are some strong people there to help.

Of course, as you probably can imagine, the strong people are the slashers. Just imagine the safety, admiration and warmth you would feel if they were to help? This story literally has no trauma in it besides the blistering cold I guess. It's just a fluffy, sweet, heartwarming one shot. I've been feeling so happy and I love my little coal miner customers so much that I couldn't help but to feel inspired.

All I can hope for now is that you may possibly enjoy my new story, my loves ❤️

For your ask game, I’ve met a lot of writers who love to draw as well as write stories. Do you like to draw?

Oh, thank you so much for your question! Ha, I didn't think anyone would respond 💖

And, well, I do draw but I'm not like an artist who can create art from their own imagination. I'm an observational artist. I have to see exactly what I'm drawing like a person or a landscape or an object. Used to in school other kids would challenge me to see if I could draw their faces, lol, and I would. It's weird too because I can do the same thing with the violin and flute. I don't need music notes. I just need to hear/see someone else play the instrument and then I can copy them. But it would be nice if I could draw the crazy stuff inside my head, but sadly all that creativity goes into words, not drawing.

Again, thank you so much for your question!

My favorite slashers.

I know it probably doesn't mean anything to anyone, but I've always wanted to make a list of my top favorite slashers and why I love them. I feel like some of the ones I listed won't surprise you, lol. In fact, none of them will. I'm very predictable. Now if I made a list of killers I actually dislike writing- that might actually surprise you.

1). Jason Voorhees

Baby boy!

I love Jason because of his character development. I've literally only written him in like three stories, but the amount of growth that he undergoes is incredibly fun to write. I'm also a sucker for physical flaws, so I think his appearance is really beautiful and cute. His backstory is heartbreaking- I probably sympathize with him the most out of any of the killers. Even without altering his personality, he just seems so much like the kind of person to want to grow and make changes (If he had the right person in his life), and I just really think he's a sweet character.

2). Freddy Krueger

Hey look! It's Jason's husband!

A Nightmare on Elm Street was the very first slasher movie I watched and it's pretty much the only slasher movie that I like. I love Freddy because his past abuse as a child is something I greatly relate to (abusive dads suck ass, bro). Of course I pretend like Freddy is not a pedophile or a rapist because that's just not fun. But altering his personality and writing him in my stories is something I've found to be an extreme joy. He's my favorite killer to write in the slasher dad drabbles. And he makes me happy.

3). Pinhead/Elliot Spencer

Pinny! My sweetest sweetheart of all sweethearts!

For Elliot, I kind of have little explanation. I think I fell in love with him because he has an obedient, submissive side to him, plus self control. The way he made the agreement with Kirsty in the movie without lying was attractive to me for some reason. His power is very interesting and unique and I've really, really enjoyed being able to mingle with it. Broadening his personality has been fun and I love using him to make other killers jealous and/or submissive. And he's adorable and sweet! Seeing Pinhead just naturally makes me feel giddy inside.

4). Herman Carter

Oh! There he is. Prince charming. The one we all expected to see sooner.

My version of Herman Carter is a character that I've grown to both love and be proud of. My altering of his personality is what brought my dbd stories to life. Every time I write him for the first time in my stories, I feel like I'm playing choir music in the background as if I'm introducing an epic character. And I love it. I enjoy it. Writing Herman is fun. His personality is so kind, charming, considerate and modest and just everything good. And that makes him one of the funnest characters for me to write. Plus I'll never forget how he was one of the first killers who I turned into an emotional supporter. When I wrote the first chapter of When a Survivor Bullies, it was such a wonderful moment because that's when something beautiful was born. Emotional support slashers.

5). Jeffrey Hawk/Kenneth Chase

The one everyones tired of me constantly hyping about!

Like Herman, I'm proud of how my version of Jeffrey turned out, and it makes me SO HAPPY when viewers admit to liking him. When I first got into dbd there was literally no positive fics with him. It seemed like everybody hated him, but not me! I'm the fuckin' king at making the biggest bitches likable! Jeffy wudn't even a challenge. Lol, but no seriously, Jeffrey is fun to write. I gave him a personality that's funny, teasing, irritating and caring while still staying true to his finger kinks. Also, I love his appearance. Hey, obese people are awesome and smexy!

6). Evan MacMillan

Sir papatron! The fictional dad of all dads!

As you can probably guess, I love Evan because I pretty much constantly write him as a overly stressed out dad. He's been both a good guy and an ass-hat in many of my stories. His personality is flexible and I find it rather simple and enjoyable to write. We have a lot in common when it comes to our fathers and broken jaws (again, abusive dads suck!) I just love writing him as the overwhelmed pops who just wants to do good but needs sleep and has way too much responsibility. Writing him in My Saddest Journey? Sooooooooo therapeutic <3 I love my papa.