g0r3rat

[g0r3rat]

Once upon a December

[Scenario: Winter has overcome your small cabin. You don’t have the luxury of central air, but you do have a lover with inhuman strength and plenty of trees]

--

Snow kissed the limbs of the looming trees; leaves long gone and deceased. Sadly, autumn was over, bringing all the Halloween traditions with it. The cabin you resided in was quiet old, yet very sturdy; the cold seeped through creaky windows, crawling along the baseboards and dancing along your spine. “Fuck.. it’s so cold in here,” you mumbled, huffing a breathe into your gloved hands. Neither you, nor Michael, anticipated the sudden snow fall, rendering you both unprepared; no heater, no luxury of central air, just an old fire place that even you were unsure of. Michael seemed unbothered, standing in front of the foyer; eyes glazed over in subtle wonderment, you almost missed it if you hadn’t been huddled beside of him. Then it struck you; he hasn’t seen snow in ages. It’s a change of pace from being stuck behind four white walls for the majority of your life. Glancing up at the large man you smiled fondly, looking back out at the window. Michael was a smart man; very observant; he could practically feel your small body rattling beside of him. Attempting to gather any warmth he could radiate. You were cold. Taking in a deep breath, he moved from your side, grabbing a lone axe that was hung upon the wall on the day of your arrival; possibly from previous owners; and exiting out the front door. “What is he doing..” you thought aloud, tucking your hands under your armpits for a shred of heat. Your curiosity cut short when your lover raised the axe high above his head, rearing it down and splitting into a thick log. Good god. If that didn’t blossom heat onto your cheeks, then him picking up said log with his hands and tearing it apart the rest of the way definitely did the job. You should see his muscles flex beneath the flannel he wore. It was a shock in itself that he wore anything other than his coveralls, but since you’ve stolen that for him, he’s always wearing it. Good job you, you’ve earned yourself a lumberjack boyfriend. It took everything in you to stop ogling, quickly walking into the kitchen to prepare a hot cup of cocoa for yourself and your lumberjack; by the time the refreshments were ready, Michael had made his way back inside, stomping his boots roughly to knock off the snow that clung to the material. He carried wood in his arms, using, shockingly, gentle hands to set a pattern for them to burn. Pulling an old Zippo from his breast pocket, he started the fire. Seeing Michael doing the smallest of mundane things seemingly caused a tingle in your ribs, blossoming into a warmth that laid snug in your chest. You’re both damaged from what life dealt you; forced to succumb to fates undeserved. But now, you’re free. “You must be cold. I made us some cocoa,” you cleared your throat, speaking up after realizing you’re staring.. again. Michael didn’t respond, but today he seemed to offer his attention, allowing his face to be bare. For quiet some time, he kept his mask on around you, even sleeping with it; despite being unfeeling, not caring what anyone thinks, he feared you would see the ugly beast he’s known to be. A monster; something undeserving of love or compassion. One evening he was repairing an old truck, covered beneath a tarp in the shed. Oil had gotten everywhere, especially on his face; it burned his eyes, causing him to become hostile. You had been so kind, seated in a swivel chair beside him, laughing gently; reaching up you gently pulled off his mask, ignoring the warning grunt he offered. You didn’t shun him or call him cruel names. You just smiled. Michael took the cup from your hands, inspecting the brown liquid before chugging the whole thing. “Mikey-- Michael you’re going to burn your mouth..” You laughed lightly, watching as the man just stared you in the face, almost challenging you. Your attention wandered to the fire, almost melting at the heat it roared. With aching bones, you sat down in front of it to soak it in. What you hadn’t expected was for Michael to drape a blanket over you, and for a moment you assumed he would leave after, until he rested himself on the floor behind you, pulling you backwards into his chest.

Maybe December wasn’t so bad after all.

[g0r3rat]

long-haired mentally ill men with masks

[g0r3rat]

Rz Michael Myers: is 7 ft tall, haunted by visions, doomed by fate, spiritually connected to his sister, very grunge

OG Michael Myers: some 5’10 dude absolutely off the shits

[g0r3rat]

My mind is an enigma

**Michael and his gremlin s/o sitting down, making paper masks together**

S/o:.... you know what I love about trees? They’re just so neat and old!! *goes on a 10 minute tangent about trees, stopping every minute to talk about something else that doesn’t even relate to the original topic*

Michael: 

[g0r3rat]

Hit and run (RZ Michael)

h[Michael’s s/o get’s cocky and gets him with the ol’ pillow attack]

!!Gender-neutral pronouns are used in this scenario. If you would like a different version, send me an ask <3!!

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>>You seriously think it’s a smart move to hit the Michael Myers; Haddonfields boogeyman? wow. You really must have a death wish.

>>Everything was planned out. You would hide just before Michael returns home, though it’s uncertain when he’ll come back. Sometimes he just randomly disappears for days at a time; returning home soaked in crimson, smelling like a dumpster fire. What a party animal.

>>Hiding behind a small Coraline door in the foyer. Unlike the movie, this door didn’t lead to some magical world; it instead was a mere crawl space that you dedicated to all of Michael’s cherished masks. You see, when you both chose to stick here, Michael brought his crafty demeanor with him. Which is lovely! but good god this man literally sits and makes masks all day. Gotta store his favorites somewhere safe.

>>Speaking of making masks, Michael actually dedicated a few to you, though don’t kill yourself trying to get him to admit it. He won’t. One time you both attempted to make masks together!! Obviously, Michael’s turned out perfect as usual; yours on the other hand.. yikes. Someone didn’t get locked in a mental ward for their whole life and spent time learning arts and crafts did they? for shame. No worries! Michael made it clear that yours sucked, so he fixed the shaping. Surely you can do a design. Michael made a clown one just for you, maybe it’s because he thinks you’re a complete clown and you need to accept it. Anyways.

-- Short fic below --

The clock ticked, and ticked... and fucking ticked. After awhile you grew tired. Eyes slowly growing heavy, the pillow you tucked against your chest didn’t aid your attention. Suddenly, the door swung open, heavy boots creaking the old cabin floors. “Shit..” you mumbled, eyes caked in sleep. Your evil, sinister, plan came to the forefront of your mind, shaking the tired itch from your shoulders. Gently, you pressed your ear against the thin door, hearing the soft grunt and pacing around the quaint cabin. Poor Michael was confused, but most importantly worried; he may be a dangerous man with almost no remorse for any living creature, but you’re the only thing that he couldn’t bring himself to hurt. What have you done to him? Crimson soaked fists clenched at his sides. You were fucking with him; he could smell your perfume.. the body wash you use every night. He definitely doesn’t use it. pfft.  His body remained still, expanding his senses. thump.. thump. While mister skilled, master, hunter was busy being super cocky, you managed to sneak out of the crawl space, tip toeing behind the large man. Raising your arms high above your head, you swung; coincidentally, Michael happened to turn at that exact moment; The pillow made contact with his exposed neck. You’re very lucky he didn’t have his prized jack-o-lantern mask on. I mean, you’re still fucked, but now less fucked. With wide eyes, you stared up at the man, mouth slightly ajar. You resembled a deer caught in head lights. Michael stood motionless, blue eyes peering down; the room became heavy. Almost too thick to breathe in. In a second split, the limp pillow was tore from your hands. Michael wasn’t mad, per say, but he definitely wasn’t amused. He could practically hear your heart pick up panicked rhythm; like when the prey acknowledges their fate against the big bad predator. Just like that, you were off. Running as far away from the giant as possible; golly, you’re quiet fast, but hun, Michael is much faster. He doesn’t run, oh no, he simply walks. Slowly calculating your every move. You attempted to duck behind the kitchen door, but you tripped your own feet. The cabin fell silent; the wind howled against the old cabin; windows whistling. Evening your breath, you listened closely. Where is he? After a few moments, you emerged from behind your hiding spot, quietly walking into the living area. He must have gotten bored. Your relief was short lived as the devil himself appeared from behind a corner, swinging the pillow with a fraction of his might; he wanted to get back at you, not kill you. Despite him going ‘easy’ on you, the hit threw your small frame back onto your ass harshly. “Ow! Michael.. I didn’t hit you that hard,” You whined, rubbing your ribs where the pillow made contact.

>>Michael didn’t apologize, of course. This man would rather shave his head than apologize. He’s stubborn. But he did feel a little guilty for hurting you.

>>As a way to make it up to you, he allowed you to have a piggy back ride through the woods on your daily walks. He even let you pull his hair back and brush it. Honestly, he just doesn’t want to hear you complain and whine about how he was too rough with the pillow. Secretly, he enjoys it. Yes, brush his hair more and mess with it. 

>>Even weeks later, he still crouches down to offer a piggy ride when you’re feeling down. Sometimes memories from the past bring you down, so he’ll offer any distraction to bring your smile back. You’re his entire focus when he isn’t terrorizing the village. 

>>Moral of this experience, don’t hit the boogeyman with a pillow or you’ll get your ass handed to you. But also, you gained piggy rides and the passage to spoil his glorious mane.

--

//Hope this was good!! I had this concept on my brain and this was really fun to write//

[g0r3rat]

You

[Scenario; you were sent to Smith Grove for unknown reasons. Unlikely bonds form.]

!!This is gonna get angsty for a moment; mentions of depression, self-hatred, violence and descriptions of blood. loosely based on the song “You” by The Pretty Reckless!!

ngl, I kinda have no idea what i’m doing. 

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You don’t want me, no

You don’t need me

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The walls were cold; unfeeling and lifeless. Smith Grove wasn’t known for it’s cheery staff or mentally stable recipients; no, it was known for the harsh treatments that even the most innocent received. A clock firmly bolted onto the cement wall read ‘12:53′. Lunch time. The meals here were absolutely fucking disgusting; brown paste, similar in texture to oatmeal, stuck to the thick plastic meal tray. God, if only it was oatmeal. Pale hands carefully picked through the concoction with the flimsy plastic fork. I’ve been here for 2 months; fits of rage and short fuses only get you so far. Eventually you’ll land in a spot where every interaction feels numb. You can’t feel the hair between your knuckles, or the blood curdling screams of those around you. Screaming for you to let go; to fucking stop; and when you come to, your head is finally quiet. Sometimes, I still feel them. “Hey, aren’t you that chick that just fucking lost it?” an older man, slim and brunette, snickered, leaning his side on the table I sat at. It wasn’t the first time someone has said that since I’ve arrived. What was there to deny? Pushing the paste around the tray I kept silent, chewing on the insides of my cheeks; an old anxious habit. “What are you fucking mute? Just like that fucking idiot Michael. You sure had a lot to say when they dragged your sorry ass into here.” Man, he was pretty persistent, leaning down to become eye level. “Maybe someone should knock some sense into you,” he mumbled, becoming closer than needed. With a heavy sigh, I sat the fork down, gripping the ends of the tray, moving to get up. “Where do you think you’re running off t--” his words cut short as thick plastic is harshly whipped into his skull. A whistle was blown. “Put the fucking tray down!!” the thumps persisted, slim man now curled onto the floor, a small body stood above, persistently assaulting. Crimson dotted the tile, clung to the bottom of said weapon. Within moments, a guard tackled, pulling the tray from my hands; arms harshly pulled behind my back. “If you’re not going to behave, then we’ll put you exactly where we’ll straighten you out.” The guard seethed, yanking my feet off the floor and directing me out of the room. 

---

You can’t see me, no

like I see you

---

My upper arms aches, knuckles bruised and still caked in blood. The guard never elaborated on what they meant by ‘straighten you out’, but I also didn’t care to ask. Suddenly, we stopped in front of a large door. “Michael, I’ve brought you a room mate,” he practically sang, unlocking the door and shoving me inside. The room was lowly lit; hand made masks decorating every inch of the wall. Scoping the room, my eyes landed on a large figure, hunched over the single metal desk bolted to the floor. So.. this was Michael. With nervous steps I approached the spare bed, sitting down. I expected the man to yell; threaten me; or even remove my head off my shoulders. But instead, he remained silent. The only sound the filled the space was the sound of tearing paper and my own breathing. Gulping nervously I scooted closer to the desk. “I like your masks.” His silence persisted, but his movements stopped, blue eyes peaking out from underneath dirty blonde hair to stare. God, his fucking stare was unnerving. “I uh.. I’m not really sure why I’m in here,” I admitted, completely ignoring the fact my hands were dirtied. The evidence of impulse. His sudden shift made me jump, only to realize a mask was held in his hand. What does this mean?.. nodding my head slowly I took it, glancing up at him cautiously. “Are you giving this to me?” though I couldn’t clearly see his face, I didn’t miss the subtle nod. That was the only answer I would receive. The remainder of the day was filled with silence, and so was the next week. 

---

You can’t feel me, no

like I feel you

---

4 weeks have passed. We’ve grown closer, though he never spoke. He rarely gave reactions to any questions I had, but he listened. I mean there’s a chance he wasn’t and I was just talking to myself, but it’s a nice thought. Things were fine. Then one day the alarms sounded; patients fled out the main door. The guards had rushed outside, fearing the Boogeyman himself had escaped.  Peeking out my door I held my breath, darting from the room. I had no destination. Maybe I could escape too-- maybe they would be so distracted catching everyone else that I could slip through. Where’s Michael? Despite all my running, I hadn’t seen him anywhere. “Ma’am.. you can’t be here. Please return to your room,” a male voice spoke. It was an unfamiliar guard. I stood still, watching as the man huffed, getting up in attempt to direct me himself. His movements were cut short when strong arms lifted him up by the throat. There he is; he didn’t leave me behind.

---

I can’t steal you, no

like you stole me

---

Life is... complicated. One day you’ll go from being drug into a sanitarium to being piggy backed out those very doors. To feel the fresh October air whipping through your hair; to finally feel. The memory remains fresh, still adjusting to the outside life; you can leave your room whenever? no one standing out the bathroom door while you shower? it was freeing; we escaped. Michael had silently waited for me to join him, staring intently as my feet remained grounded. “Where.. where would we go?” My family had me sent here, despite being in my 20s, I didn’t have a home to return to. I didn’t need words to tell me that his gaze was serious; no room for arguing. He wore an orange mask, clearly made to represent a jack-o-lantern; it was his favorite one. Glancing back to the deceased guard, I looked down at myself. If I didn’t leave, I would be here for the rest of my life. I would lose Michael. “I trust you.” Those simple words had me pulled along, stumbling behind him. He wasn’t running, but this man was fucking giant; one step for him was easily 3 for me. I couldn’t keep up. Dogs barked in the distance, guards shouting. “Michael.. i’m just slowing you down,” I yelled, attempting to pull my wrist from his grasp. He stopped, my body colliding into his firm back. My wrist was released, slowly, he turned around. His aura becoming heavy. It took only a moment before I was tossed onto his back. an object shoved up into my face. “What the fu-.. did you make this for me?” it was a mask; a clown one to be exact. This was the mask I complimented when we first met. Smiling gently, I pulled it on. Hidden away. Now, we resided in a small cabin, tucked into a back road that looked rarely used. All is quiet. Life is complete.

---

And I want you in my life

and I need you in my life

////// Thanks for reading!! This turned more into a short fic, but it’s my very first. I used the term ‘you’ but it’s loosely based on a nameless oc. My asks are open so feel free to request. If you’d like to see another part to this lemme know!! <3