#doomhead imagines

[slxsherwriter]

Damnation as a Saving Grace

Fandom: 31

Pairing: Doom-head x female reader

Word Count: 2,725

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death and murder

Author's note: So, due to life circumstances, Nano didn't go the way I wanted it. My final word count for the month ended up 12,666. I'm not disappointed with that by any means. This fic ended up being mostly written within the month. I added the last 600 words today. My first shot at writing Doom. I purposely left his lovely, wordy, wanting to seem educated way of speaking out for the time being due to the circumstances. There will be a continuation, and he gets to show off there ;)

The ache and pains that plagued your body were all shoved in the back of your mind, not present as the beat of your heart seemed to keep time with the slam of your feet against the concrete. Your own personal hell. Words had never been more true than when they had been spoken by whoever the hell was running this sick and twisted game. They weren't the focus though either. If you survived, then maybe you would dedicate some time to figuring out who the hell these people were and why they did what they did. If there was a why. But now, when you were trying to find a place to make your last stand, was not the time to narrow down your focus to those that didn't matter. 

After a while, the makeshift prison started to look all the same. Something that you knew wasn't true given the few places that you had moved through. It was the panic speaking. And panic was a surefire pathway straight to death. Calming yourself down was easier said than done, of course, but if you wanted to make it out of here alive, you had to force it. 

Finding a small space to squeeze that seemed like it would serve as a decent hiding spot for the few moments that you would need it, you forced your body into the space. As quietly as you could, slow, deep breaths were taken in an attempt to slow down the way that you were sucking down air. Think. You had to think. 

Without weapons, you were at a bigger disadvantage. Already, you lacked knowledge of your location compared to whoever it was that they had coming after you. Lacking a weapon just left  you far more vulnerable than if you could at least defend yourself with something. If you could manage to get an attack in. A big if. This newest guy? The one that you hadn't seen yet? He moved real god damn quiet. Unlike the other Heads that had hunted you down, it didn't seem like he liked to play by taunting and building anticipation and terror. It was far more methodical and controlled. The three people that had made it with you through to the final three hours had been picked off one by one. Without warning and without the pomp and show that you had encountered up until then. Which made it that much more terrifying. You only knew it was a man when your friend had taken the chance to shout out loudly as he had died. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you murmured gently to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. "Think…" A sneak attack would give you the best advantage but how did you sneak attack someone that was practically a ghost? And what were you going to use? A pipe? Could you get something off of the wall without making a lot of sound? It was a thought, one that you might have to seriously entertain and take the risk of with such limited options. There wasn't any scrap metal laying around that you could use. For likely being an abandoned area, it was surprisingly well maintained. Likely for the very reason you were looking around if the people running this game were as smart as they had seemed so far.

"Pipe it is." You glanced up and cocked your head. Could you manage to get up that high? A drop down point would be an even better sneak attack. He would be less prepared to anticipate it. At least you hoped that would be the case. And a reaction to that sort of attack might be a little slower, giving you a proper chance to actually cause a little damage. Maybe enough to incapacitate him enough to get away and get out. A fresh wave of determination came over you, washing away the doubt and the worry. It was your best chance, and if it worked out, you would be able to get out of here. It was all you wanted. Plan in mind. You just had to figure out how it was that you were getting up there and quickly. There was no telling where he was. If he was watching, well, your entire element of surprise would be ruined. 

It was a struggle, but you managed to find a small perch that was relatively inaccessible from any sort of high walkway or ladder. It had taken far more time than you would have liked, but the drop down was directly below. Your arms were screaming, muscles burning with the effort that you had needed to exert to get to your spot. Enough so that you were worried about being able to swing the pipe that you had pried off of the wall. Given that it was likely your only chance to get a whack in and escape, you were going to have to make due and give it your all. Survival demanded it. 

Again, you had to work on slowing your breathing. Every sound made seemed to echo in your ears, and the exertion had caused you to all but pant again. It felt like each sound you made was a bright, neon beacon hanging over your head, telling him exactly where to find you.

Straining to see anything in the dark or hear anything above your own breathing and beating heart, now it was a game of patience. Something that was incredibly difficult with the sense of anticipation that kept adrenaline pumping through your veins. The creaking and movement of the building in general was enough to send a shiver down your spine, spiking that adrenaline thinking that it was him who had found you. It was a horrid way to exist, ready to jump out of your skin at the slight sound, but you were going to make it through this. If not for anything other than to try and prove these fuckers wrong, to be able to shove it in their face. And maybe, just maybe, figure out how to get a little revenge for the friends that had died for their amusement. 

Steps. Careful, measured steps were coming down the hallway from your right. It was all wrong. He hadn't made that much noise up until now. It was almost as if he was purposeful in how he was walking to make sure that you were alerted to your presence. Set on edge, your hands tightened around the cool metal, eyes darting in both directions to see if it was some sort of trick. While things had been straightforward up until now, it didn't mean that they would stay that way. Maybe this was some method to get you to come out of hiding to play. You were sure that they didn't want anyone winning. Heaven forbid. That would cause an issue for their game. You were going to be that exception, though. You were going to survive this.

Nothing. Just the sounds of the careful steps. No man. The hair on the back of your neck stood. What was going on? There was still no appearance after a couple of moments, and it was all wrong. The pipe nearly slipped from your hand as you adjusted your grip, trying to keep your breathing as slow and steady as you possibly could. The steps faded away, but the feeling of urgency and danger did not go away. It heightened instead, the overwhelming feeling of dread just seeping in deeper and deeper. Eyes were on you. You could swear that you felt them, but it would be impossible. Shit. Stay still. You had to stay still. Movement would alert him to where you were. It had to be what he wanted, to draw you out, make you panic, get you running around without a game plan. That would just make you easier prey. 

So, you waited. As difficult as it was. Seconds passed in long, drawn out ticks of the clock, making it feel more like minutes for every second. But finally, finally, the lanky frame came into view. Just barely silhouetted against the light, the footsteps were near silent. That let you know the initial thought you had about the audible steps before had likely been right. They had been a purposeful decision meant to draw you out. He hadn't found you. There was a chance that staying would let you win. A slim chance. Which was one that you weren't willing to take. These people couldn't let you live if you did manage to make it through the time limit that had been placed on the game. 

Timing was just off as you dropped down onto the man, catching his back and shoulder rather than knocking him completely off of his feet. You grunted as you swung the pipe with as much might as you possibly could before you stopped midswing. Blinking, you tried again but found the same result. You couldn't bring the pipe against his flesh. Frustration mounted, and the fact nearly made you cry. This couldn't be happening. The man turned and went to swing at you in retaliation during that second swing, but he seemed to have the same problem, the punch missing you by a mile.

"Fuck me…" He grunted as he tried swinging again before reaching for a blade. The blade swung by your face but didn't come close to catching any skin. Realization sunk in as you both seemed entirely incapable of harming the other. This had to be some part of the sick joke that was being played on you. There was only one reason that someone couldn't harm another. Soulmates. This fucked up nightmare had just become worse. Maybe having him kill you would have been the better sort of end game. 

The pipe dropped from your hand, and you took a step back, but it was the furthest distance that you could manage. Something stopped another movement backward. He was simply staring at you, an unreadable look overtaking his features. An emotion that you couldn't place. Did you even want to? Christ, what did you do with this situation? It wasn't like the two of you could sit down and talk about this like normal people. He had been just ready to run you through with his switchblades, and you had been ready to bash his head, or really any part of his body that you could reach. 

"Don't move," he growled out and lifted the blade in his hand, using it to simply point at you this time. "You fucking understand?" You were torn between listening and ignoring the demand that had been made. Just because he couldn't harm you didn't mean that there wasn't others and that he wouldn't be going to get them. Another step back resulted in a rather aggressive sound being released from the man.

"You think I'm going to listen to you?" Your voice came out stronger than you thought it would, giving yourself a mental pat on the back for that. If your voice had come out shaky, you would have felt even worse than you were right now.

"Yeah, you fucking are." He moved closer, that distance that you had established vanished with two quick strides by the man. There was no stopping the wince that came. Logically, now you knew he couldn't hurt you. That didn't stop the emotional and a primal part of your brain reacting to the very real threat that was still perceived. Distance would help you feel more comfortable, as comfortable as one could get in such a situation. That also led to better observations, better decisions, and better outcomes. Swallowing hard, you found yourself nodding in agreement. Just because you agreed didn't mean that you would do it. Figuring that your best course of action would be to follow behind him, hopefully unseen, you had to appear obedient before making the attempt.

"Good. Now, stay fucking put and I'll be right back." One last inspection was given to you before he turned heel and began back down the hallway. You waited just a few moments, listening closely as the steps just began to fade away before you.made your move. The entire maze was disorienting but he made enough sound by the slimmest of margins for you to be able to follow. Was it a safe assumption to think that he would be moving to some sort of exit? Maybe and maybe not. Time would be the only way to tell. 

Ahead, the sound of a door being opened echoed out. Well, that spoiled a lot, but it didn't exactly signal a complete end to the spying idea. If you got lucky and the door stayed open. Given how the night had gone, maybe you had used up all of the luck that a person was allowed in a lifetime. But, the risk was well worth the reward.

There was a sliver of light guiding the way, hinting where the almost invisible door was. If you weren't trying to stay quiet, you would have cursed, violently and loudly. That was how these fuckers were slipping around unnoticed. Of course. Nothing to be done with that information now. Rather pointless to focus on it when the important bit was the murmured voice on the other side of the door. For a moment, you thought that there might have been more than one. Straining to hear, eyes closed and leaned as far forward as you cod be without giving yourself away, you realized it was only one. His. Low enough that it was nearly impossible to fully make out each word but the timber of the voice that had just sent shivers down your spine was now unmistakable. Only every second or third word was caught. 

He most certainly was talking about you. But was he talking to anyone? Those sick fucks running the thing were clearly watching so he could have some way to communicate without their voices being heard by others. Right? Maybe. Your fingers, weak and injured from the long night, couldn't keep their grasp on the wall, causing you to loudly stumble forward, actually falling right to your knees by the door. Well, that certainly would alert him that you hadn't stayed put like demanded and promised. 

The door ripped open, and there he stood, eyes wide and alight with anger. 

“Told you to stay the fuck put!” The words came out in a growl as he swiftly reached down and grasped your arm, yanking you upward. “Dumb fucking bitch.” Off balance, the pull that he gave towards rhe room that he was in had you stumbling again, barely able to keep to your feet. You didn't know what was going through his head but he was leading you somewhere and you were far too exhausted at this point to give much more of a fight. If this was the end, so be it. 

After a few minutes, you noticed that you didn't hear any other sounds. No voices, no pipes banging, no hissing of steam. It was far more quiet than any other section of the hell maze had been. That piqued your interest just a little bit. Either he was taking you somewhere private to kill you or…

The possibility sparked that survival instinct once more, and your eyes moved to the tall man that was just ahead of you, jerking you around by the ironclad grip he had on your wrist. Could he possibly be getting you out of here?

“You say a word, I'll change my mind about it all. One fucking word and I'll happily give you to to those two clown brothers.” The words were final and for once, you decided that it was best to listen to what you were being told. It seemed that maybe, your luck hadn't run out entirely. You didn't know what this meant or what his ultimate plans were for you. Maybe you were better off dying but it was an unknown and one that you weren't willing to chance. “Rich old fucks are gonna end up taking half my fucking pay for this shit…” Getting outside served better for you to have the chance to escape anyway. Following your twisted, psychotic soulmate was the only path forward that you saw. Hopefully it would work out. 

[its-monster-mash]

i know you havent written for doomhead in a while but i found one of your older imagines posts and i was wondering if you could perhaps write something for doomhead with a blasphemy kink? him as a priest or anything like that. thank you and have a nice day <3

ABSOLUTELY!!! I LOVE this request; Blasphemy is kind of ✨My Thing✨ so I was really excited to write this!! It’s been a while since I’ve written in Imagine Format, so I apologize if the pacing is a bit awkward. It does start a little slow, building up to WHY Doomhead is a Priest now, and why The Reader crossed paths with him.

Summary: Doomhead has to relocate following a loss at 31, ends up masquerading as a Priest in a small town. Reader is the Survivor of 31, who skipped town because she thinks that if she told the truth, no one would believe her and she’d be arrested for the murders of her band mates. Reader of course ends up at the same town as Doomhead.

Content Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, Blasphemy Fetish(of course), Implied sex

Fake Priest!Doomhead X Survivor!Reader Imagines

Blasphemy Kink

• This was the kind of conclusion to The Yearly Festivities he hated most; wholly unsatisfying without so much as a glimpse of the last target’s face. No fun when they’re too good at hiding.

• To top it all off, this of course meant he had to go on the move again; after all, he hadn’t seen them, but he’d bet the sneaky little rat wouldn’t forget the sight of him. Probably went straight to a Police Sketch Artist...he had to reinvent himself if he wanted to keep doing what he does best...go someplace no one would ever expect.

• He was wrong though. You, the Sole Survivor of that year’s game of “31”, didn’t go to the Police...you didn’t go to anyone. Who would believe you? At best you’d be institutionalized for your “Delusions”, at worst...well, you’d be damned if you were going to give that pompous shitdick judge the opportunity to look you in the eye and charge you with the murder of your band mates.

• It wouldn’t be too big a leap; it was no secret that you’d been at each others’ throats for months now. No one would care enough about a group of small-time musicians to actually care about the truth.

• No, it was best that you “died” with them. Getting a fake ID was easy enough, now you just had to find a new place to start over...

• When you finally felt like you were far enough from home that no one would recognize you, you stopped at a town off the highway...way way out in the middle of nowhere.

• The people seemed friendly, but not friendly enough to bother asking questions, and that suited you fine. It wasn’t exactly what you were used to, but that’s kind of the point isn’t it? This little haystack hick town would be the absolute last place anyone would expect to find you...if anyone bothered to look in the first place.

• You weren’t exactly the most religious, but in small towns like these churches tend to have their grubby little hands on just about every aspect of life; you figured they’d be your best shot at finding someone to point you in the right direction as far as a job goes-shit, maybe they could help you into some cheap housing. You really weren’t picky at this point; hard to feel safe sleeping in your van after Satan’s little Halloween Party.

• Besides, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten; and Sunday Morning Services tend to conclude with coffee and doughnuts, so it was unlikely to be a total bust.

• It was unseasonably warm, so you were able to slip near silently into the building through the propped-open door; settling neatly into a pew in the back row where it would be easy enough to wait out the God Talk.

• You had intended on ignoring the sermon, maybe even sneaking a little nap, but the Priest’s voice carried through the echoing halls with a flourish reserved for men who love to hear themselves talk.

• He was more performing than preaching, the rhythm of his voice doing absolutely nothing to lessen the lewd undertones of Solomon’s “Song of Songs”. You had heard it plenty of times when you were made to attend church as a child, and if it was genuinely written about Capital-G God like the Priests say, then God had a seriously nice set of tits.

• You took notice of the old ladies in the front row nodding along; no doubt this was the highlight of their day...not that anyone wants to admit to being hot for the Preacher.

• When it came time to take communion, you fell in line with the rest of the community, receiving a few sideways glances. Not that you really faulted them for it, you were after all, a bedraggled stranger.

• When you get close enough to the alter to really see the Priest your heartbeat quickens; something deep and primal within you begs you to tuck tail and run, but by the time you will your legs to function it’s your turn.

• The Priest smiles at you, almost smugly, and bids you kneel at the velvet alter; you think you must be imagining the sadistic gleam in his eyes.

• You do as he asks, too deep now to decline without looking odd to the townspeople.

• You look up at him helplessly as his hand cups your face a bit too tenderly, a shameful heat pooling between your thighs when his thumb coaxes your mouth open. He tips the silver chalice to your lips just long enough to give you a taste of horribly dry wine.

• Your instinct is to recoil with a gag, remembering the awful church wine of your youth, but he doesn’t let you go, gazing down at you expectantly with the communion wafer pinched between his long fingers.

• It feels indecent the way he’s looking at you, and you can’t help but feel as though he gets off on this, the Power Imbalance of his position. You can’t help feeling like Prey under his predatory eyes, but you were never one for reverence.

• You let your tongue slip out, just a bit more than necessary; teasing if he’s hot for this, hardly noticeable if you’re wrong. You shudder as he presses the wafer to your tongue, holding it there a bit longer than he has to while his eyes threaten to drown your own in their intensity.

• “Partake of the Body of Christ, and May his Peace fill you with Salvation,” he says as his fingers slip from your mouth.

• “Amen,” you say, according to custom, face flushed from the sultry tone of his voice.

• You gather yourself, mentally dressing yourself now that his gaze has left your form as you hurry back to the pew; your fellow churchgoers none the wiser in regards to the indecency of your exchange; perhaps you’re the one imagining things.

• Once the service is over, and your teeth are cracking the glaze on a delicious locally supplied doughnut, you feel a firm hand cup your shoulder.

• “Coming home, or passing through?”

• The Priest’s voice catches you off guard, the warm twang piercing through you and making you shiver.

• He explained that he himself was a recent arrival, and that it is a pleasure to meet someone else who plans on making this...quaint little town home.

• You can’t help but feel like he’s studying you, appraising, looking for something he won’t say out loud. “You seem awfully nervous in a House of God.”

• You admit to him that you haven’t been to church in quite some time; you only came because you need help, and you’re not sure where else to go.

• You meant material assistance; shelter, a job, but his gaze pierces you where you stand. “Yes, of course. The Church, such that it is, can aid you with those things...However, Confessional is always open for matters of the Soul.”

• You sleep in the Church that night, a cot made up for you in the room where the extra books are kept; you feel safer than you have since you escaped that Hell Hole...and yet you can’t fall asleep.

• The Priest’s words and strange nature claw at you, and you begin to wonder if maybe you should Confess; Priests are forbidden to speak of what they hear in confessional, right? You never were one for Religion; your family spoiled that for you, but you did make it out of that twisted game alive, and only a little wounded...relatively speaking...maybe there was a higher power looking after you.

• Maybe you were just lucky.

• Your chest tightens as you reach for the handle on the small wooden door; you were never claustrophobic, but after squeezing into such a tight space and waiting out the Killer Clowns for a painful three hours, you’re a bit on edge entering the tiny candle lit room.

• You apologize, unsure of what you’re even supposed to say. You know there’s specific rules to them; but like much of your childhood, those memories have been blocked out for a long time.

• “Bless Me Father, for I have Sinned.”

• His voice startles you, making your heart pound. You hadn’t honestly expected anyone to actually be sitting in the booth this late, and the whisky smoothness of his voice reminds you of your sinful thoughts during communion. You’re glad he can’t see the flush to your cheeks.

• “Bless me Father, for I have Sinned,” you repeat, trying to still your racing heart. “You...you can’t share this information with anyone, right? Whatever I say is between us?”

• “Between us and God,” he replies, almost cheekily.

• “Right,” you sigh, satisfied that this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

• In truth, he believes you’re about to confess your lust for him, and he’s already thinking up all the ways he wants to disgrace your body in the eyes of a fairy tail god. He plans on sweet talking you, assuring you that your desires are a gift from ‘The Lord’. He wants to make you his private whore, a secret ‘between us and God’...Your actual confession hits him like a club to the chest.

• You tell him all about 31, the grizzly deaths you witnessed, how you mercy killed your band’s keyboardist after finishing off the fucker who put a chainsaw through her gut; how you skipped town, and how you’re absolutely terrified the cops wouldn’t believe you if you tried to fess up. All is silent, and for a moment you’re terrified you’ve grossly misjudged the sanctity of Confessional, and soon you’ll be locked up at the police station...

• You reach for the door handle, attempting to make your escape, skip town like you did your home, but to your surprise the door is ripped open, and the Priest forces his way inside, clicking the lock shut behind him.

• He’s too tall to stand fully in the little room, and your body is crushed against the wall, knee bent awkwardly against the wooden bench seat.

• His hand’s around your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “Well well, Sweet Eurydice, you escaped The Underworld, but it seems as though Orpheus looked back. Do you remember me?”

• Your chest aches from the torturous pounding of your heart, sheer terror enveloping your senses. You hadn’t seen much from your hiding place in 31; your glasses broken and blood dripping into your eyes, but in this moment, trapped in Confessional with the man, there’s no question as to who he is.

• You remember hearing those horrible people announce him from your hiding spot. “Doomhead,” you whisper, because that’s what they called him. You remember watching him gut your Bassist, taking his sweet time setting up a gruesome sculpture for the others to find. You also remember him going absolutely mad trying to find you after he had killed the others; and the way he threw a fit after ‘Game Over’ was called.

• “You cost me a pretty penny...see, I don’t win, I don’t get paid. The folks up top pay me a lot of scratch to do what I do best...but only if I get the job done.”

• You shudder, struggling against him to no avail. You are going to die here.

• He squeezes your neck a couple of times to get your attention, as though he had ever lost it. “Easy girl; it’s too late now, game’s over. I kill you now and all I get is a mess to deal with. I don’t need to kill you, you said it yourself you can’t go to the cops.”

• “Then what the fuck do you want from me?” You choke out.

• He catches your ear between his teeth, just a bit too roughly, and you gasp. “You were pretty bold on the Alter today,” he muses, his free hand fiddling with the button on your jeans. “I want to make you see Jesus.”

• You’re not sure whether to be disgusted with yourself or relieved that the terror you feel is giving way to your earlier lust, but you make a decision.

• Fuck it.

• Before he has a chance to react, you grab the back of his hair and yank, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

• “Bless Me Father for I am About to Sin.”

• A maniacal grin splits across his face, his fingers finding their way into your pants. “A-fucking-Men.”

I’m thinking about actually writing this out into at least a One Shot fic (full smut; not ending where the Imagine ended); let me know if you(or anyone) are interested in a full fic!

[salemshotspot]

SLASHERS WITH A READER THAT PICKS AT THEIR SKIN:

Includes: Chop-Top Sawyer, Bubba Sawyer, Luigi Largo, Otis Driftwood, Freddy Kreuger, Doomhead

WORD COUNT: 2k

DESC: How slashers/horror characters would react to their partner picking at their skin

No use of gendered pronouns/anatomy

WARNINGS: Skin Picking//Anxiety//Drug Use//Slight Self Harm//Not Proof Read//Swearing

Enjoy!

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Chop-Top Swayer:

I feel like he would notice your scalp picking pretty quick but not really say much at first; not because he didn’t care but more of the fact he picks at his scalp a lot [because of his plate] so he assumes it’s normal and nothing to worry about, he’ll just assume your head has been particularly itchy lately like his plate from time to time.

However one rare evening where no one had any pressing matters to attend to you sat with the Sawyer’s to have dinner and afterwards you all sat and watched the television.

Drayton had absolutely no interest in the television because “tv isn’t as good as it once was" so he just kind of looked around the room aimlessly and it just so happened that his eyes landed on you as you were picking at your already damaged scalp.

Drayton goes in a partly joking tone "fuck y/n has chop-top been rubbing off on you that much, you’ve been picking at that darn head more than him lately.”

You just awkwardly laugh trying not to bring more attention to the matter and move your hands away from your head, feeling yourself grow more anxious about the fact attention was brought to the matter.

After a few minutes you make up an excuse along the lines of “I’m tired I’m going to head upstairs” and quickly rush to the bedroom which you share with Chop-Top.

Chop-Top would notice you left when he went to place his arm around you and he couldn’t feel you there.

He would be confused as to where you were because he wasn’t paying attention because he was focused on the tv after it caught his attention, however when Drayton explained in a slightly annoyed tone that he made a, slightly, joking comment and you upped sticks and went to what he assumed was sleep for the night Chop-Top was puzzled to say the least.

He decided to make his way to the bedroom which he shared with you to see if you were ok, however when he walked in on you close to tears, struggling to breathe as you was trying to hold in your tears, he could tell you wasn’t holding up too well.

He isn’t too familiar with people expressing feelings around him as due to his nature and the whole family business he never really formed bonds with anyone, let alone him comforting them.

It’s safe to say his first thought would be to freak out, threatening to kill whoever upset you [very aggressively.]

I feel like he’d also just kind of stand in the door way while he tried to work out what to do, he hates seeing you like this but he also hates knowing that he doesn’t know how to help.

He’d eventually land on just holding you, still freaking out inside.

When you finally calm down and regulate your breathing he would 100% try and break the silence with a joke.

”We all bored you to tears down there y/n?” He anxiously jokes.

“No it’s not that” you trail off and take a deep breathe; you then explain everything to him from how anxious you’ve been feeling to how you’ve been stress picking at your scalp.

He feels immediately guilty because he noticed it happening but said nothing about it.

It’s safe to say after that you both lay in each other’s arms for a long time.

As he is also prone to picking at his scalp Chop-Top knows how you feel better than anyone and in turn has a long list of ways to try and help you stop, or at least reduce how frequently you pick at your scalp.

Chop-Top would definitely be one to advocate getting high whenever you were stressed {and he certainly wouldn’t be opposed to getting high with you, apparently it’s "good couple bonding.”

Despite his best efforts, he shows his support in the most round about, ‘Chop-Top’ way possible, for example he’d tell you that “your scalp is far too pretty to hurt” [he thought it was endearing.]

Most importantly he’d want you to know you can talk to him, even if he’s not the best with his words.

I also feel like he’d pat your head a lot to try and comfort you whenever you were stressed so you would be less inclined to pick at your scalp.

Bubba Swayer:

He wouldn’t notice the scalp picking but he’d notice the cuts on your head; basically he’d just start seeing more cuts and marks through your hair and royally freak out.

Immediately wants to, violently, kill whoever kept hurting your head.

This idea was very quickly put on the back burner once you explained that you did it yourself.

I don’t think he’d fully understand it, like he finds hurting others, when deserved, very therapeutic because it’s what he’s always done but he can’t wrap his head around the idea of self-inflicted pain.

Although he doesn’t understand it he wants to listen to you talk about it to try and understand it better so he can support you the best he can.

Would most likely end up hugging you so tight that you thought you was going to die after you explained everything in detail.

If he ever saw you picking at your scalp or looking anxious he would just place his hand on your head and kind of just leave it there? You found it very comforting all be it confusing at first.

Luigi Largo:

Luigi isn’t the world’s most observant man so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t notice your nervous habit straight away.

I feel like he would find out in the most unconventional way, not because he’s oblivious, he’s just so focused on work that he pushes everything aside.

I feel like him finding out would be something along the lines of Pavi bringing it up, like casually asking Luigi how you was doing with the whole thing [because let’s face it, pretty much everyone else has noticed you picking at your head once or twice when you was stressed because you’re too overwhelmed to try and be discreet about it.]

This would cause Luigi to become, even more, short-tempered declaring “if something was going on he’d know.”

On the outside he’d become much more hostile but he would be internally freaking out because he’d feel awful for not noticing if this was happening and convince himself that you’re going to leave him for ‘not caring enough’ or something like that.

He’d eventually psyche himself up enough to go find you and try to talk to you about it, however he’d do it in his own round about way.

"I’m going to kill Pavi” he shouts as he enters the room.

”It’s nice to see you too Luigi” you’d chuckle.

Part way through his rant he’d explain that he was mad because Pavi had essentially made him feel like a bad boyfriend for not noticing that you’d be struggling.

You’d have to get him to backtrack for a moment because he’d miss a few key points such as what Pavi had meant by “you’re struggling” as he apparently put it.

After he explained everything you’d probably have to reassure him that he isn’t a bad boyfriend; despite his demeanour he’s really insecure because of the lack of affection from his dad growing up.

Now he is aware of your problem he’s really observant, like scarily observant.

Your hands move? He’s looking to make sure you’re not stress picking your skin, he’s been busy and hasn’t seen you all day? When he sees you he checks to make sure you have no cuts on your skin from picking.

If you have been picking at your skin he would be concerned; he isn’t the best at talking about feelings but he’ll listen to you and try his best to understand.

If he noticed you were getting anxious and picking at your skin he would definitely be the type to just grab your hand and keep hold of it to comfort you and stop you picking at yourself.

He’s very protective of you as it is but he would probably get more protective; like if he even thinks someone or something might be stressing you out he’s resort to violent means instantly [which isn’t anything new.]

Otis Driftwood:

I feel like he’d either be exactly like Luigi Largo in the sense he’s oblivious and wouldn’t notice without someone bringing it up or he’d notice straight away, I feel like he’d be in a bad mood and notice you picking at yourself and it would annoy him so he’d tell you to stop [which would in turn make it worse.]

When you didn’t stop he’d go to question it but when he noticed you were stressed he’d be confused; “what the fuck is up with you?”

I don’t think he’d completely understand what was the matter when you explained how you felt but he’d understand enough to know that he should probably keep an eye on you.

I don’t care if you agree with this, I will die on this hill, if you were really stressed and started picking at your skin, he would just swat your hand away from your head.

However, I feel like Otis would also kiss your head, when no one was looking, and I will not take arguments on this one.

Freddy Kreuger:

Freddy would be surprisingly observant of you, so when you start picking at your head when you’re stressed or anxious, he will notice.

He wouldn’t try and be gentle and ‘walk around the topic’ he’d just ask you about it straight up.

I feel like he’d be really sympathetic and understanding of the whole situation.

After you spoke about it he would probably try and cheer you up afterwards and take your mind off of it to cheer you up by telling really shitty jokes.

I feel like if he saw you getting really anxious and start picking at your skin his first thought would be to kind of prompt you to stop by gently pushing your hand away from your head and try to take your mind off whatever is making you anxious by completely removing either you or whatever is making you stressed or anxious from the situation.

If that failed to work he would take matters into his own hands, quite literally, by keeping hold of your hands until you’ve calmed down.

He would probably just talk to you until you felt better, whether it be about the situation or talking about something completely random to try and take your mind off of it; he’s definitely a talker.

Doomhead:

He would without a doubt notice your habit straight away, he seems like the kind of person to notice *everything* for no other reason than paranoia; he needs every element of his surroundings to be in his control all of the time so he himself doesn’t become stressed so in turn he pays attention to everything all of the time.

He would try and make you feel better and, at first, make you feel worse.

"Can you stop doing that, there’s better things to be doing” was meant to be endearing and meant to show you that you don’t have to hurt yourself but it came across as him calling your habit stupid.

When you started crying at his comment it’s safe to say he’d be confused as fuck; “what the fuck are you crying at now.”

Once you explained it he’d fee quite bad but he wouldn’t want you to know that; he’d just explain that that’s not what he meant.

If he ever saw you getting anxious or stressed I don’t think he’d try and physically stop you he’d just shoot you a look or say something to you.

If you didn’t stop picking at your skin after he brought it up he would then physically move your hands and give you a long ass talking to about why you shouldn’t do it.

TLDR; if he sees you picking at your skin he will give you a lecture.

He cares about you, he just doesn’t really know how to show it so it manifests in him acting like a pissed off parent or teacher.

——————————————————————————

A/N >> God I wrote this so long ago, drop writing requests in my inbox!

[tuliptyper]

HI SORRY FOR THE VAGUE REQUESTS BUT I WANNA HEAR ANY THOUGHTS U HAVE ON DOOMHEAD OR FOXY i enjoy them so badly 🙏 no pressure ofc pls take ur time mwah

YES OFC!! ANYTIME FOR U MOOT 🙏🧎

im sorry i only did doomhead bc i had more ideas for him and it looked weird to have like paragraphs abt DH and 4 sentences about foxy 😭😭 ill write a separate post about him if you want nws!!

rlly messy post, a mix of thoughts + headcanons with a LOT of projection (potentially ooc) proofread but still shitty

LONG POST!

TW for suggestive themes and angst i mean...this is doomhead we're talking about

- my backstory headcanons differ slightly from yours (please check out imeldas DH headcanons theyre great!);

- i think he came from a well-off family but was definitely abused and neglected. growing up in the time and place that he did, he had no support and was forced to take his future into his own hands. he probably ran away or estranged himself from his family as early as possible (possibly stealing a few stacks to keep him afloat)

- pre 31 he was most likely a petty criminal who got mixed up in some violence, possibly word got around and he was picked up by Father Murder (i imagine it the same way models are recruited on the street and thats funny)

- i agree that hes been in 31 since its conception, hes definitely the top dog, the most reliable and efficient Head out there. I'd like to think Father taught him a thing or two about hunting numbers down (and how to clean his messier kills) so younger/less experienced Heads definitely aim to be at least acknowledged by him

- i think doomie does many odd jobs just to pass time between 31 ; security at seedy bars, occasional plumbing/installation jobs etc. not only does it help with his small-time acting (being able to play and adapt to many roles) but it also allows him to slip into the background of the community. hes not too important but not too insignificant either

- i think the face paint and theatrics was his idea. i believe Father (and co) are just hardcore snuff/sadists and just wanted to see their victims in fear, but DH really took it upon himself to add character (and subsequently more fear) to his job! slay

- being involved with 31 and all, i think he has a few connections with organized criminals, especially considering he has to obtain fake IDs and alibis. hes grown quite friendly with a few respected mobsters and its rewarded him handsomely

- with all this said! i don't think hes some perfectly suave, totally composed Casanova, i believe hes really scared of feeling vulnerable and that makes it hard for him to form any relationships that arent superficial, simply because he doesnt know how to cope well with feeling exposed and emotional around others.

- i diagnose him with (gay) BPD and i think hes very insecure abt that fact. he was probably taught that his emotions were bad so he puts extensive effort into seeming composed and put together around people. one good thing about 31 is that its a space where his bizarre outbursts or even mania is not only accepted but embraced/rewarded so hes got that going for him i guess??

- i think, deep down, he'd really love a somewhat domestic relationship; having somebody at home to eat with, a partner he can rely on, to be cared for and care for someone else. hes a sap at heart, hes just very scared of showing it

- probably wouldn't want kids, even in an accidental knock-up, he'd slip his baby mama plenty of scratch and encourage her to find a man thatll support them. he can always be the distant but fatherly family friend but thats really it (UNLESS you're his s/o then thats a completely different story-)

- probably neurodivergent in some way, simply because i see him as incredibly observant, analytical and calculated when hes focused/interested, traits i typically see in other ND people lol

- my doomhead is definitely queer, he doesnt use labels but i see him spending time at drag shows (in the corner silently handing the queen a stack of cash LOL) at underground gay bars (and had a few fellas for company ykk😏) hes more than aware of the struggles of having no family to support you and needing to make ends meet no matter what (since hes been there himself) so he has respect for such folks

- hes SO committal, especially because he doesn't have many healthy long term relationships. hookups dont mean much to him and really just give him dopamine boosts during the lull of a lonely life (#bars). if you're his s/o, you're his life partner, he would kill and die for you 100%. even if you guys split he would probably just give up on relationships then and there (as sad as that sounds lmao)

- ik the movie is set in the 70s but in a modern setting, i think he'd listen to some quirky, creepy music. probably genres like glam rock and dark cabaret (think scissor sisters and the dresden dolls)

- on that topic!! some songs that remind me of him include

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Title: Life Or Death

Gif credit @thatmyerschick21

Requested on wattpad

Hope you all enjoy

Happy reading dollies

"Come out, come out where ever you are". You sing as you caught up with Charly. The timer was running out on 31 and she was the last contestant. Doom-head went to cut her off at the end of the hall and you followed her.

But she got you by surprise swinging her bat and nearly taking your head off.

"Stupid bitch". You yelled as you took a dive for her, your hands wrapping around her throat. Squeezing the life out of her, she struggled to get her bat that flew from her hands when you tackled her. Her fingers clawing at the ground, she finally reached her bat, clobbering you in the head.

"Shit". Hissing as the pounding in your head blurred your vision. You didn't see her pick up your knife, the knife you killed two of her friends with.

"I'll see you in hell". Charly plunge the knife into your stomach. You cried out, Doom-head must have her your screams. Charly heard his boots hit the ground behind her. She pulled you up and got behind you the knife rested on your throat.

"Stop, where you're at". Charly gave Doom-head instructions. "Drop your weapons".

"Doomie, don't do it. Kill her".

"You take one step closer, I'll fucking slit her fucking throat". Charly pressed the knife deeper into your skin, Doom-head saw the trickle of blood run down your neck.

"Let her go and I'll let you walk out unharmed".

"Don't you do it, you fucking kill her now". You yelled at Doom-head, he dropped his knives and stepped away.

"You're fucking with me. The minute I leave you're going to kill me". She panted.

"I'm not. You have thirty minutes left, let her go and run. Just don't hurt her".

"Please, let her go. I won't hurt you".

"Funny,  I didn't know monsters have feelings, especially to love". Charly chuckle, throwing you to the ground in front of Doom-head. She grabbed her bat and ran off.

"31 has ended". A voice came over the speaker.

Doom-head knelt down, his hands cupping your face. "I'm sorry".

"You should have just killed her, I would have been fine".

"I can't lose you. I won't lose you".

"I love you Doom". You kissed his bloody lips, you could taste the metallic taste of his blood as your tongues dance. Doom-head raked his finger up your leg, going to the place you needed him the most. Usually during 31 you'd have sex at least six times by now but these characters put up a fight and didn't give you a chance. Both of you were horny from all the killings.

His knuckles brushed against you pantie less mound. If you wore panties during 31 he'd cut them off before hunting. He said he could smell your juices leaking from you as you got excited. It made him so hard thinking about fucking you covered in blood. Hard and rough was his style and you couldn't get enough.

You moaned into the kiss when his slipped one of his boney finger into your wet hole. He pumped in and out, he grinned at the amount of wetness covered his finger.

"God, you're sopping wet for daddy, aren't you"? He growled, take a bit to your neck. You cried out as he added another two fingers ,stretching your walls. His speed quickened, his fingers curled up inside you. Hitting your gspot. Turning you into a fountain. Doom-head quickly and aggressively pushed his head between your thighs. Lapping up your juices as they flowed. He hungrily ate you out until you came. Your whole body shaked, your tried pushing Doom-head away but he kept licking you up give you another orgasm.

"Fucking hell". Your voice trembling as Doom-head came out from under your dress, his face over with wetness and smirk plastered on his face. You squealed as he slapped your sensitive pussy.

"That's my girl". He eagerly kissed you, tasting yourself on his lips.

"Are you okay"? He asked about your knife wound.

"I'm fine. Go get her". Doom-head smirked evilly as he kissed you again. He sprinted off trying to catch up with Charly. He wasn't going to let her get off that easy.

You were going to be fine, you walked back to the van and checked out your wound. It wasn't to deep, luckily. You couldn't say that about Charly.

Doom-head cornered her as she tried to get out of the building. She got lost and forgot how to get out.

"You're going to pay for every laying a finger on Y/N/N". Doom-head walked closer to Charly, she swung her bat and he caught it in mid air. Jerking it from her hand and throwing it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry". She cried which made Doom-head laugh. He plunged his knives into her chest hard. Pressing deep and raking them down to her stomach. She started coughing blood, it splattered on Doom. He laughed the whole time she struggled even when she knew it was to late to fight.

Doom-head jerked his knives out and wiped the blood dripping from his knives on his pants and placed them back in his waistband.

He followed the path to the outside which was about four more feet. He saw you smiling in the passenger seat, the music playing and you singing along to it.

Even though he didn't win and get the money, he had something better than that. He had you, you were worth more to him than any of that.

[miss-slasher]

New Slasher Imagine Blog!

Hey everyone! I'm miss Slasher and starting now I'll be taking requests for imagines, scenarios, one shots, match ups, and so on and so forth.

I will write for

Jason Voorhees

Michael Myers

Freddy Krueger

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

Leatherface (Bubba and Thomas)

Ghostface (Billy/Stu)

Tiffany Valentine

Carrie White

John Kramer

Doomhead

Nathan Wallace

Hannibal Lecter

Pinhead

Tom Hanniger

Brahms Heelshire

And possibly more upon request!

NSFW/Kink is fine with me, however it will most likely not be in one shot format.

I will NOT write:

Rape/Non-Con

Pedophilia

Scat/Watersports

Daddy Kink

Abuse

Glorification of self harm

That one dude from Leprechaun

Other than that, go nuts! I look forward to to be able to write for you all!

[coopermorrow]

Who I Write For

Hi! My name is Cooper and I am hoping to be a writer one day so I thought what better way of starting off than by writing about my favorite celebrities and characters? I am in many fandoms but not all, so if you don't happen to see one of your favorite celebrities or characters on my list you can still ask me to write about them and I'll do my best!

American Horror Story:

Tate Langdon

Violet Harmon

Nora Montgomery

Lana Winters

Kit Walker

Sister Mary Eunice McKee

Queenie

Madison Montgomery

Zoe Benson

Cordelia Goode

Misty Day

Kyle Spencer (pre and post death)

Dandy Mott

Tristan Duffy

James Patrick March

Elizabeth/The Countess

Kai Anderson

Winter Anderson

Michael Langdon

Mallory

Brooke Thompson

Xavier Plympton

Montana Duke

Harry Gardner

Slashers/Horror Characters:

Michael Myers

Jason Voorhees

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

Bubba Sawyer

Vincent Sinclair

Bo Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Tiffany Valentine

Baby Firefly

Doomhead

Brahms Heelshire

Darry Jenner (Jeepers Creepers)

Norman Bates (Bates Motel)

Hannibal Lecter (Hannibal)

Art the Clown

BTS:

Kim Seokjin

Min Yoongi

Jung Hoseok

Kim Namjoon

Park Jimin

Kim Taehyung

Jeon Jungkook

Jackass:

Johnny Knoxville

Steve-O

Ryan Dunn

Bam Margera

Chris Pontius

Rachel Wolfson

Marvel/Avengers Characters:

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson

Tony Stark

Peter Parker

Natasha Romanoff

Steve Rogers

Sam Wilson

James "Bucky" Barnes

Bruce Banner

Wanda Maximoff

IT (2017 and 2019):

Richie Tozier

Bill Denbrough

Eddie Kaspbrak

Mike Hanlon

Stanley Uris

Ben Hanscom

Beverly Marsh

Patrick Hockstetter

Henry Bowers

Reginald "Belch" Huggins

Victor Criss

What's Eating Gilbert Grape:

Gilbert Grape

Arnie Grape

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter

Ronald Weasley

Hermione Granger

Luna Lovegood

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Draco Malfoy

It's Always Sunny In Philadeplphia:

Charlie Kelly

Dennis Reynolds

Deandra "Dee" Reynolds

Ronald "Mac" McDonald

The Last Of Us (show):

Joel Miller

Ellie Williams

Wednesday:

Wednesday Addams

Morticia Addams

Xavier Thorpe

Miscellaneous:

Javier Pena

Kevin Khatchadourian

Jay (Jay and Silent bob)

Jareth the Goblin King (The Labyrinth)

Mort Rainey

Victor Van Dort

Tarrant Hightopp/The Mad Hatter (Alice In Wonderland)

Edward Scissorhands

I will not write rape, 18+ content for underage characters, or anything where the character is another species. I will not take requests containing pedophilia, ablism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, or any other form of bigotry. Comfort imagines for things such as depression, eating disorders, and anxiety are fine as long as you do not want them to be very descriptive and/or explicit. Please make formal requests through my ask as I will not take comments as formal requests. I write for multiple genders but only smut for afab people as that is the anatomy I am most understanding of. I do take "x reader" requests. I can try to write crossovers, though I'm not too experienced with them and I do write for celebrities as well.

Requests are open now so if you do decide to make one, please include the character(s) you want and at least a small description of what you would like the plot to be. Thank you! <3

[womensblood]

Who I Write For (UPDATE) + Rules

Slasher(s)

Michael Myers (2018/2021 version ONLY, and I usually write for him on my own but don’t worry cause I’m GOOD AT IT)

Jason Voorhees

Chucky/Charles Lee Ray (but I only write him being poly with you and Tiff sorry bruddas😔)

Tiffany Valentine

Jennifer Check AND Anita “Needy” Lesniki (dude, they are in love so I can’t imagine them ever separating, so you guys are poly>:()

Nancy Downs (I know she’s technically not a slasher but idc)

Billy Lenz

Pinhead (+ Pinhead as a woman cause boobie)

Candyman (and Helen also when she’s a killer if you guys want *enter lip biting emoji*)

Hannibal Lecter

Herbert West

Art the Clown

Annie Wilkes

Jack Torrance

Wendy Torrance (I made an AU where she went insane instead and was an alcoholic and Jack was the better parent but she’s hot guys so it’s okay<3)

Baby Firefly

Captain Spaulding

Amanda Young

Kayako Saeki

Pyramid Head

Jessie “Chromeskull”

Doomhead

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis (they can be poly too if wanted)

Dead By Daylight

Danny/Jed “The Ghost Face” Olsen

The Oni

Sally “The Nurse” Smitherson

Legion (all except Susie)

Laurie Strode

Ash Williams

Amanda “The Pig” Young

Cheryl Mason

Pyramid Head

Anna “The Huntress”

Philip “The Wraith” Ojomo

Evan “The Trapper” MacMillian

Lisa “The Hag” Sherwood

Claudette Morel

Dwight Fairfield

Nea Karlsson

William “Bill” Overbeck

David King

Herman “The Doctor” Carter

Charlotte “The Twin” Dershayes (I am not writing for that stupid ugly ass baby do not request it I’m fucking begging)

Carmina “The Artist” Mora

The Executioner

Laurie Strode

Feng Min

Mikaela Reid

Caleb “The Deathslinger” Quinn

Adris “The Plague”

Leon S. Kennedy

Jill Valentine

Yun-Jin Lee

Jane Romera

Final Girls

Laurie Strode (both gilf and young version)

Ash Williams

Sidney Prescott

Ellen Ridley

Kirsty Cotton

Erin Harston

Nancy Thompson

Jamie Lloyd (ONLY PLATONICALLY)

Mortal Kombat

Mileena, my beloved

Literally every single woman in MK. All. Especially Mileena

Rule 1

I mostly write for trans readers/nb readers, so all of my content is trans and LGBT friendly. I generally use GN terms, but sometimes I specify. I will also use neopronouns if requested/if I feel like it! So don’t be afraid to ask<3

Rule 2

I’m not going to be unrealistic in my writings. Most of the people I prefer/will be writing for, are slashers. In some of these relationships, it’s not always going to be rainbows and sunshine. In fact, in a lot of these relationships, it won’t be the healthiest. Off you think Michael Myers would genuinely comfort you, you, my friend, are delusional. No offense. Along with many others.

Rule 3

No p3dophilia. I can write about dark topics but… I’m not going to glorify it. I often write about very dark subjects, so if I go into detail about that, I will give a warning. I’m not a monster.

Rule 4

You are not going to “change” or “heal” these people. With some (if not most/all), if you tried, you’d end up dead or worse. These are sick and demented villains who crave violence. We accept our lovely psychopaths as they are<3

[amandabe11man]

Death Machine for that ask meme? Or, like, the Rob Zombie movieverse (let's pretend that's a thing) or something

i’m actually gonna go with the RZ-movieverse thing (tbh it’s a thing now) cause i don’t feel i can answer all those questions if it’s abt DM? (there’s literally no character i hate there for example, omfg)

the first character i ever fell in love with:young michael myers, tbh. don’t judge me too hard; i was a mere edgy 13/14-year old back then, omfg. despite what almost everyone seems to think, i like it when backstories are added to movie killers…a character that i used to love/like, but now do not:does it count if a character underwent a major personality change between movies? cause the only one that really comes to mind in that case would have to be otis driftwood. i dunno, i still like him in House of 1000 corpses, but he’s almost like an entirely different character in The Devil’s rejects?? (looks-wise as well)a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not:to tell you the truth i haven’t had that many ships in these fandoms to begin with– and the few ones i have, i still like, so :/my ultimate favorite character™:ah shiiiiet, i don’t think i can just choose one, tbh? (man i’m being so boring, omfg)prettiest character:i guess rz’s objective is to make you answer sheri (lee) moon to this question- and sure, bUT i’m gonna say laurie strode (yes, even during her edge-phase in H2) and (you guessed it); doomhead, lmao (actually, let me add count gorgann from Lords of Salem in there as well (he’s the weird guy on my header, omfg))my most hated character:in a way, laurie in H2, but i also have a hard time truly hating her, since hey- i’m sure we’d all become bitter as fuck and lash out at people more easily if we were in her shoes… then, almost everyone in H2 is a more terrible person than she is, omfgi also have this like/hate for the Firefly-family. sure, they’re entertaining and you kinda root for them simply because of that, but when they constantly manage to avoid the law it kinda makes me want them to get shut down as well because it’s frustrating af, lol (hence why i felt the ending to TDR was the right one)my OTP:death- and doomhead (don’t tell anyone tho)— fuck i just told you myself..my NOTP:again, weirdly enough, i don’t have that many ships in this case but idk– laurie and michael, i suppose? (that’s an easy one tho)saddest death(s):I DIDN’T WATCH 31 TO GET HIT IN THE EMOTIONS so imagine my surprise when sex- and death-head were killed and i was like “wait this isn’t satisfying at all it’s just sad wtf :((”character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate:i don’t think there’s anyone tbh? maybe doomhead qualifies a liiiiiiittle, TINY bit, since my opinion on his character, uh— differs a bit from most, i suppose *sweats*my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave:WHO ELSE BUT DOOMHEAD, TBHmy ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave:sheriff brackett, hands down. literally the only consistent good guy between films (at least he didn’t die, but still; he prolly died a lot on the inside)my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship:roscoe and doom, omfg. it would never happen in the movieverse, and even if it did, it’d only happen for majorly fucked up reasons, i’m suremy ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship:roscoe and charly tbh (which is a new one since i have little to no het-ships at all apart from this and like 2 others)

[flashbic]

@amandabel1man Here’s a theater AU thing! i couldn’t remember much details about the AU and couldn’t find the posts about it again, so... hopefully this makes sense?

i don’t remember if the character ages had been discussed, but i’d always imagined them being in their early twenties in this setting? With the whole thing being maybe some sort of group project for school or whatever. So here they all are. With John having a bad time, Scott not caring and Doomhead making everything worse.

(also tagging @spaceviking, since i think you were the one who came up with that setting in the first place!)

“I don’t care, I’m not doing it.”

John quickened his pace, trying to ignore how easily Scott caught up with him. As he walked behind the stage, making sure all the props were in their right place, he flinched when Scott stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

“For fuck’s sake, John, there’s only an hour left!” He shoved the heavy, furry costume in John’s hands, frowned when John pushed it back toward him, then shoved it back again. “We can’t have An American werewolf in London without a werewolf! Doom is going to kill me, we have to make this work.”

“I’m not getting on that stage,” John hissed back. “Ask someone else! I’m sure Yutani could do it. Or Roscoe. Or anyone.”

Scott glared at him, then groaned and threw his head back, running his hands through his hair.

“Uuugh, you’re just being a dick on purpose! You know the suit is too big for them! It’ll be easy: you get in there, you run around for a bit, the werewolf dies, and we don’t even need you for the rest of the show. Come on, it’s one scene. And it’s not even a long one!”

John looked at the heavy costume, frowned, and before he could say anything Scott pushed it into his hands again.

“You’ll be perfect! You don’t even need to really act, plus you already know all the cues.” He saw John opening his mouth to protest and continued before he could place a single word: “You’re the best person for this.”

John seriously doubted it. As his fingers tightened on the heavy cloth of the costume, he felt like a trap was closing down on him. He wanted the play to work just as much as Scott did, and if no one else could play the role, all their hard work would have been for nothing. What other choice was there?

“I can’t get on stage, Scott,” he muttered in a strangled voice. “I’m not an actor, I’ll die out there.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“And I thought Doom had a gift for the melodramatic.” He patted John on the head. “No one has ever died from stage fright, you’ll be just fine. Come on, you have just enough time to prepare. Go get ready!”

He left before John could say a single word of protest. Watching him walk away, John shivered, then jumped when some guy from the crew asked him to move away, carrying in his arms a huge Styrofoam boulder. John stepped back, mumbling an apology that the other acknowledged with a small nod before getting back to his job. They all had their parts to play to make sure the show would be a success… John had his too. He had only hoped it would be smaller and would not necessitate for him to be seen by anyone. He never had any luck, really.

Just as John was resigning himself to his fate (go get ready, walk on stage, freeze in front of the crowd and die, probably), he heard a low, drawling voice call out his name, and shivered. As if the situation could not get any worse. He turned to his left, where the voice had came from, and walked toward Doomhead, who greeted him with a scornful glare.

“So you’re taking the role, then,” he said without a trace of amusement in his voice. “You sure you can do it?”

“Didn’t get much choice,” John grumbled back. “Someone has to, right? Not like you were going to do it.”

“I guess not,” Doomhead said with a humorless grin. “I’ll give you some advice if you want.”

John cleared his throat and shook his head.

“It’s really not nece-”

“I’ll give it to you anyway.” He took a few steps and stopped right in front of John, leaning so close to him their noses almost touched. “Don’t fuck this up. You get on stage, you do your thing, and you don’t fuck up. Or I’ll make your life a living hell. Got that?”

John did not doubt for a second that the man in from of him would not hesitate to make that threat a reality. So he looked down and nodded, and muttered some vague agreement that seemed to be enough: the expression on Doomhead’s face did not exactly soften up, but when he spoke his voice had lost this intense quality that made John feel cold:

“Good. Then go get ready. See ya on stage, man.”

[its-monster-mash]

Doomhead Imagines

Doomhead Pursuing You at Your Job

• First off, this man is used to satisfying his needs with hookers and leaving the emotions out of it; so if you’ve caught his eye, you must be something real special

• You’re a waitress at a little diner he goes to sometimes; it’s really one of the few ‘above ground’ haunts of his(plus their cherry pie is fucking phenomenal), and he always makes sure to sit in your section

• While he isn’t particularly subtle about the flirting, he really doesn’t mean for it to go anywhere, he just loves the way you blush and tell him off with that adorable half-hearted little grin. It’s a ritual between the two of you by this point; you even find yourself missing him when he goes too long between visits

• Sure you’re pretty, and witty, and know how he likes his eggs, but pursuing you in earnest would only open him up to the kind of pointless emotions he did away with a long time ago... Besides, you’re dating that little shitstain who works behind the grill

• He always takes a newspaper when he comes in, just an hour before closing, but he doesn’t usually read it(except if he’s looking for tidbits about the poor suckers who went missing around last Halloween). He uses it to mask his gaze as he watches you work

• He always feels a prick of jealousy when the line cook plants a quick peck on your check, or pats your ass when you pick up an order; but one night he can’t help but notice that things seem... off

• You’re not quite your usual quick-witted self, and you seem about a thousand miles away. He gives you the most earnest face he can muster, and asks you what’s wrong

• You smile, not entirely convincingly, and run a hand through your hair. You don’t want to ruin his meal with your problems, so you force a pretty little laugh and tell him not to worry himself over you

• He can’t help it though, odd as it is you’re probably the person in this world he feels closest to; so he’s watching you even closer than usual trying to figure out what’s wrong

• Ah. There it is. He feels his stomach tighten when he sees you arguing with that cook; and the idea of you being single excites him only briefly before he watches the cook punch the wall next to your head, screaming profanities at you

• He’s out of his chair before he even has time to think about it, keenly aware of the switchblade he’s got tucked into his boot

• I’m not crazy, I’m in control; he repeats in his head, doing his best to calm himself down before he stabs this little pissant and has to go on the lamb again. He’s got a nice little setup out here, and where else could he get that same delicious cherry pie? He’s getting too old to keep picking up and starting a new life

• “Now, why don’t you settle down and back away from the little lady before this gets...funugly.” He tips his shades, looking away from you and giving your ex a threatening look that leaves no room for debate

• Your Ex storms away from the two of you with a huff, spiking his apron into the floor. “Fine. Tell the boss I quit; shack up with this crazy fuckin’ old dude for all I care, I’m done lookin’ at it.”

• Doomhead’s animalistic gaze is focused tightly on his retreating form until he hears you exhale deeply, leaning back against the wall “You alright, Doll?”

• He’s the only customer in the diner this late, so he takes a seat at the bar and just lets you spill out all the hurt you’ve been holding in. He’s not exactly listening though, his attentions caught between the burning desire to hunt down the little fuckwad, and grappling with the fact that you mean something to him.

• True to his word, he doesn’t see that line cook back again, and he’s glad to see the pep back in your step as you put a few days between you and what happened

• One night, he’s surprised to hear you actually flirting back with him; so he can’t help but lay it on thick enough to make your ears burn. The man loves his dirty talk. He doesn’t even try to hide his grin when you pretend like you’re not doing your best not to squirm in your shoes

• He gives you a wink and that big toothy grin before he leaves for the night, and you shake your head with a smile as you move to bus his table

• You freeze dead in your tracks when you see the tip he left you; had you even had that much money saved at once before? You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t have much time to think about it before you noticed a small slip of napkin with a phone number written on it, above a hastily scratched “Call me”

• Doomhead’s phone doesn’t ring often, and it isn’t even October, so he’s fairly certain of who’s on the other end of the line; and he answers the phone as smugly as humanly possible

• Even through the phone he can tell how nervous you are; it just encourages his ego that much more, and he starts slipping crude double entendres into the conversation; getting progressively dirtier until he can tell by the hitch in your breathing that you are absolutely soaked for him

• “So...How’s about I pick you up for lunch tomorrow, say...noon?” “Pick me up. Now.”

• Imagine his pleasure when, months later, who should turn up for a friendly game of 31 but...Fuckwad himself! “Hey Shitstain, remember me?”

[its-monster-mash]

Doomhead Imagines

Doomhead discovering you’ve been kidnapped for 31

Tag: @booklover2929

ANGST, MILD GORE

• It’s getting closer to Halloween, and he’s doing his best to hide it, but he’s getting antsy

• You’re so excited for the holiday, but all he can think about is how he’s going to explain it if he has to suddenly bail on you

• So he is beyond relieved when you meantion that your friends invited you on a little road trip. You were on the fence, not wanting to go away from him on your first Halloween together, but he was all too encouraging; sending you on your way with a huge wad of cash, and a little spending money for your friends too... Just to be certain you’re out of the way if he gets called in to the game

• For now, all is well. He’s confident that you’re off having a great time with your friends, and he has a few days to really prepare himself

• He’s doing push-ups, hitting the heavy bag, and really hyping himself up for this year’s game

• He arrives on scene, fresh and ready to bring his A-Game; this year is going to be a fun one, he can feel it

• After he’s completed his dressing room ritual, he enters the gauntlet with long, leisurely strides. He had more than enough time to really enjoy himself, so he might as well have a good look-see around and figure out what the clowns have been up to

• He comes across the head and torso of a young woman, and he nonchalantly pushes it over with his boot; see if he can figure out what kind of group she belonged to

• Behind his greasepaint, all the color drains from his face. He recognizes this girl, friend of yours, voice like a mouse on speed... she picked you up for a road trip just a few days ago...

• “FUCK” He kicks the corpse, practically roaring as he tears at his hair. “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK”

• His chest heaves with panic as he stands there practically paralyzed. Fuck fuck fuck this was his fault. If he hadn’t pushed you to go on that trip you would still be... you would still be-

• NO. He hadn’t seen your corpse, he couldn’t know that you were... dead. Not yet anyway, but he knows it will only be a matter of time if he doesn’t hurry. If there’s any chance of finding you alive he needs to get moving

• He’s like a force of nature as he tears through the gauntlet with a Full Stop Take No Prisoners burn in his eyes. No mind games, no speeches; anyone who gets in his way, Head or Number, is left to die unceremoniously from a quick and deep knife wound before they even have a chance to process what’s happening

• What he does, he does very well; and right now he’s got only one thing on his mind

• Father Murder and the others are completely baffled and awed by Doomhead’s performance. They could think of no rhyme, nor reason, for him to act so erratically; they had certainly seen nothing of the sort since the game’s conception... they couldn’t deny though that it was fascinating

• He hears grunting up ahead, and as he approaches, the wet thud of a spiked bat slamming into someone’s skull over and over until it’s minced meat; he is terrified that he’s too late...

• ...Until he sees you, standing covered in blood-yours and others- chest heaving and bat in hand; he could buy you all the lace and finery in the world, and none of it could ever hold a candle to how beautiful you look to him right now

• You turn to him, waving your bat with an almost feral growl; you’re too out of sorts to even recognize him until he calls your name

• Your eyes widen as the bat slips from your fingers. He approaches you slowly and carefully; his long slender arms cradling your head into his chest

• You can hear and practically feel his heart pounding away in his chest. He had been so sure that you’d be dead; he’d find your mutilated corpse desecrated and dumped shamelessly on the ground like you were nothing; all he could think about now was that you were safe in his arms

• That you might be scared of him had completely slipped his mind

• That is, until you untangle yourself from his arms, and back away from him with a conflicted look of shock and horror

• You had figured he was dangerous, even thought that maybe he killed people for a living; but you never once would have considered that he could be involved in a...a Hell like this

• His eyes are heartbroken as you back away from him, shaking your head softly. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized how he must have looked to you; blood soaking his fine suit, his own marring his grease painted face... There was no denying why he was here

• Your heart is afire with conflicting emotions. You love him, you know you do; but...this? You are terrified, how could you not be? It feels like your feet are frozen to the floor as you stare at him, his own expression wrought with pain

• You had seen your friends die, horribly, at the hands of people like him; you even put one of your own out of their misery. He’s a killer; you suppose you are too now, but your actions were in self defense. What excuse could he possibly have?

• “Please”

• Hoarse and barely more than a whisper, his voice still manages to command your attention as he reaches out for you. Your eyes begin to water, and you can’t keep the tears from spilling over your lashes

• Your heart wins out in the end; you burry your sobbing face into his chest, blood soaked arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders

• His own breathing is erratic, and he holds you almost too tightly in his arms, absolutely terrified by the prospect of losing you

• Father Murder and the depraved sisters watch in stunned silence. This, had certainly never happened before. Not once in the past have they chanced upon an active Head’s loved one

• They have absolutely no idea how to react as Doomhead escorts you off of the premises... should they stop you? How? Doomhead had sent away their faculty.

• No, they needn’t do a thing. Their identities were kept hidden and safe, and you couldn’t go to the authorities, not with the crimes your beloved has committed over the years

• Doomhead drives you to your apartment in an uneasy silence, before demanding that you get your things

• You don’t understand, trying to find the words to begin to question him as he’s going up and down the stairs, loading your belongings into his van

• If you thought he was possessive before...

• Fuck your apartment, fuck your friends, you’re living with him now. This is not up for debate. This world is fucking dangerous, and he refuses to let anything happen to you again

• So much for being too old to start over again

• When you get back to his place, he gives his belongings the same treatment, hurling shit into the back of his van much less carefully than he did your own

• He soaks the place in all the alcohol he had and torches it; it’s... strangely beautiful, standing in the chilly Autumn night, watching it go up in flames. You find yourself much more calm than you think you ought to be; definitely more calm than he is right now

• He can’t risk the two of you staying in this area, not with you returning alone when all your friends are still “missing”, not with people here who recognize your face

• The two of you move out of state lines, to somewhere you’ve never even set foot before, and he gets you your very first fake ID. Everything is happening so fast you feel like you’re in a whirlwind

• You’re in deep now. You wanted to know what he did for a living... now there is no going back. Sure, you could slip away while he’s sleeping, you’re confident that he wouldn’t hurt you; but the idea of leaving him cuts like a hot knife. No, this is your life now, and you’re determined to get used to it

I think I am probably going to continue this with a “Life after 31” imagine, since I have more I want to go into about Doomhead x Reader’s new life

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Doomhead Imagines

Dating Doomhead

N.s.f.w. And ANGST

Tags: @booklover2929 I FINISHED IT!!

• First off, Doomhead would be the ULTIMATE Sugar Daddy; hot Older Man who makes lots of money? Absolute Animal in the bedroom? Hell. Yes.

• He would absolutely be the type to hand you $500 in cash to go on a trip with your friends(a little extra spending money for your friends too if he REALLY needs you out of his way so he can go to work without any questions)

• Btw asking him about his work? Big no no. His past? Nope. Family? Not a chance. Basically you don’t get to know a damn thing about his background. “You’re with me now, why does any of that shit matter?”

• He wants the whole damn world to know you’re his, so expect to be collared. The man himself may be as gruff and grungy as they come, but he likes his baby to have pretty things, so expect your collar in the form of a diamond necklace

• But, Doomhead is also way into degradation, so expect those sparkly diamonds to spell out something along the lines of “BUTTSLUT” in an elegant script

• Speaking of degradation, he definitely wants you wearing a butt plug when you go about your day; he wants to be always on your mind; plus he is really into anal so he likes you good and ready for him

• He buys you so much leather for when you go out together, he has an image and he wants everyone to know who you belong to; leather jacket, leather corset, tiny leather hot-pants; you name it

• By the way, how do you feel about tattoos? He will absolutely try to talk you into a few; maybe a sacrilegious angelic back piece as a counterpart to his own... it’s not something he’ll push though

• But at home he loves seeing you in fine pale lace; his own private little sex angel to do with as he pleases

• He fancies himself quite devilish, and really gets off on the whole demon fucking angel vibes; definitely expect a lot of role play if he’s in a particularly talkative mood

• He may be incredibly energetic for his age, but even Doomhead needs some downtime. There is nothing better than seeing you all soft in the nice lingerie he bought you, and laying his head in your lap while you watch a few good classic horror movies

• And boooy is he a talker. If you’re going to be with Doomhead, you definitely need to be okay with, if not enthusiastically enjoy, his wildly passionate speeches

• It’s hard not to be enthralled by him when he gets like this, manic episodes pouring out in the form of lectures on everything that’s ever interested him

• He is also incredibly possessive

• Possessive to the point where he will push you to quit your job. He feels like he needs you to depend on him financially; he needs that power over you in order to feel secure that you’re not going to leave him

• He isn’t particularly worried about you leaving him for someone younger, in fact he’s quite cocky about his good looks and sexual prowess; but he is terrified of you finding out what he does for a living

• You definitely pick up the idea that he is a dangerous man, you suspect that maybe he’s a hitman; but you never would have expected anything like 31

• Doomhead does struggle with his mental stability; and he tries very hard to not let you see it when he is having a difficult time. He’ll encourage trips with your friends, he’ll ignore your calls; he’ll be terrified that the longer he avoids you the more he risks losing you all together, and this only makes it worse. Show up unannounced at his door when he’s like this and he will fall apart

• His house is trashed, there are new scribblings on the walls, the kitchen hasn’t been touched in days, and there are sketches of you littered all over the floor

• At first he looks angry, he wants to be angry, you can see the veins ready to pop out of his neck; but it’s you, he’s terrified of losing you, and he can’t help but cry

• If you try to help him out by picking up his mess, he’ll stop you, he might even lash out at you. He won’t be able to ask for it, but what he needs is for you to cook him something easy to eat, maybe some eggs; and for you to hold him. Don’t talk, just hold him and for the love of god don’t leave him

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Left in the wake of @/darling-disastrous’s GORGEOUS fic about Michael Meyers as a Priest(not tagging them because I don’t want to bother them, but seriously if you’re into blasphemy stuff and Michael Meyers go read it), I feel that MORE slashers need Blasphemy Kink Smut

It might take me a while to get to it (I’m DMing “Curse of Strahd” for the first time next Sunday and I still have some prep to do), but I’m going to make a list of Slashers/Horror Characters I want to write Blasphemy Smut about; feel free to message me about them-I am much faster at writing imagines than I am at writing Fic so feel free to request imagines about these characters.

• Doomhead | 31

I love the idea of Doomhead as a priest in his life outside of 31 (typically I headcanon him as a disgruntled college history professor, but the idea of him as a priest is HOT). Maybe it’s a generational thing, like his father and grandfather and so on were all pastors, so it was just the natural progression for him as a stable job, despite being an atheist(or perhaps he believes in God&Satan, but hates God-let’s go with that, it’s Dramatic and I love it); that makes the Devil tattoo on his back SO interesting.

• Billy Loomis | Scream

AU where he escaped death, and is currently on the run. It’s been about twenty-maybe thirty years since the events of Scream, and he is now living under an assumed name, hiding in plain sight as the Pastor of your local church-or perhaps you’re a new resident. Either way, you’ve uncovered secrets he’s not keen on letting out.

• Brahms | The Boy

Instead of living in the walls, Brahms’ parents shipped him off to a religious school. People went missing, but no one ever suspected him-no one who could prove it anyway. He grew up to become a Pastor, taunting his parents with his presence in town. He still wears a mask to obscure his burns, but it’s in the image of “Christ’s Face”. The Graveyard may or may not have more inhabitants than you’d think.

• Otis Driftwood | House of 1000 Corpses [Trilogy]

Otis was a drifter as a young man, so this AU assumes he’s taken up temporary residence in an isolated roadside Chapel, after having killed the real Pastor, of course. Exhausted and alone on your long road trip, you stop at this Chapel in search of a safe place to sleep for the night. Father Driftwood is all too accommodating.

• Strahd Von Zarovich | Curse of Strahd [Dungeons and Dragons]

Vampires and Blasphemy go hand in unlovable hand. You’re an adventurer in Barovia, seeking Sanctuary in what appears to be a Temple to some god unknown to you. The Priest inside seems eager to help, and he’s just so charismatic you can’t help but hang on his every word as he preaches his mysterious god. You’re in too deep by the time he reveals himself as Barovia’s Dark Lord. There’s no one around to judge you; despite the obvious danger, you indulge your lurid fantasies.

• David | The Lost Boys 1987

Instead of a hotel, The Boys inhabit an abandoned sunken Cathedral. One night while visiting the boardwalk, you catch the attention of a mysterious group of strays. You find yourself enthralled, but by the time you weave your way through the crowd between you and them, they’re gone. Disappointed, you return to your room at the motel. Some time in the small hours of the morning you’re startled awake by a loud Thud at your door. A small card slips under your door, and you-still dazed from sleep- move to investigate. It’s a Santa Carla Postcard; written in an elegant script is an Invitation. You look outside, hoping to catch a glimpse at your mysterious visitor, but you are alone in the darkness.

• Needy Lesnicki | Jennifer’s Body

A Decade has passed since the band Low Shoulder was found dead in their studio; and you’re a Cold Case Enthusiast. Your unauthorized private research has led you to a Nunnery, but one of the Sisters there knows much more than you bargained for.

• Baby Firefly | House of 1000 Corpses [Trilogy]

You were a lay-sister in a nunnery, but were caught carrying out a lesbian relationship with another Nun; rather than excommunicate you, you were sent to another Nunnery far away...one of the sisters however, is not what she seems. AU where Baby broke out of prison on her own, and is in hiding as a Nun.

Full Disclosure I have a very difficult time remembering things I like on the spot, so I may update this list. Feel free to request other characters, but know I may decline because I am very picky about horror

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For the ask game!

8. Are the locations in your fic based on the real world? How accurate are they? Have you added your own locations? (e.g. town, street, building, etc)

14. What is your favourite relationship featured in your fic aside from the main couple(if you have one)?

15. Tell us a fun fact about your fic/wip!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING I AM SCREAMING

I'm answering this for "'Til Death Do Us Part", my horror-romance novel.

8: The book is set in rural New York, in the year 1970; the town is fictional, but the environment is based largely off of the area I grew up in. Sallowvale is the smallest of the small towns, more of a village, really, and while it and everything in it is completely fictional, the general ~Vibe~ of it is based off of the woods/farmland I grew up in, and the Halloween Attraction (it's called "Pumpkinville") that people come from all over to visit every year, I especially love buying fresh orchard apples from Pumpkinville, so that translated into a huge apple orchard just off of the town. The apples are an old variety of Cortland specifically, because Cortlands go ripe during the time of year the novel is set(and I love baking with them, and the protagonist works in a bakery).

14: The only other notable relationship(between people who aren't dead in the first chapter lol) are the Crumms, an older couple who own the bakery and the local farm. However, their adult son Jed DOES have it bad for the protagonist(Jude). I've got a lot planned in that regard. Jude and Jed aren't requited, but oooh it's going to be so much fun to write.

15: Fun Fact!! This book was ACTUALLY based on that Doomhead imagine I did a few years back about the Reader winning 31 and Doomhead becoming a priest. My initial thought was "I should turn this imagine into a long fic", but I ended up deciding to fully flesh out that concept and run with it as it's own thing. Randall Kaine is no longer Doomhead, but if I'm being honest I'm still picturing Richard Brake lol

(I mean, in an interview Brake DID say that he is dying to play a romantic lead, but he "doesn't have the face for it", so I think he's a GREAT fit for a Horror-Romance love interest)

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Anyone want some Headcanons or Imagines for Foxy Coltrane or Doomhead?