Leatherface:

Bubba’s closeness is a little overbearing, to be honest. You don’t hate it. No one you’ve ever met has been so eager to be with you every moment of every day. You’ve begun to appreciate everything he does for the farm in a new light. He works hard and you want to be just as solid and hard-working as him. Bubba is used to everyone belittling him and for you to see him as someone fully functioning, someone you want to learn from or take after is just seemingly wrong. He’s not a daddy. He can't remember his own daddy so he’s pretty sure that he’s not someone to be seen as fatherly. He understands wanting to feel safe more than anyone else so he sort of gets it.

Nonetheless, it's all very confusing. But… you’re so smart, he trusts you… you can’t be wrong about anything. If looking up to him makes you happy, he’ll do his best to be the person you see him as. Expect almost comically fatherly behavior. This guy is gonna demand you go to bed at sundown and eat ALL your food. He’s gonna give you tripled servings of veggies and insist that dandelions are good for you. He’s gonna put his hands on his hips and stomp around mumbling frustratedly because that seems to be all that Drayton does and it’s gonna be hard to not laugh at it all. 

That being said, if you leaned into his mother-hen aspects, he’d fucking love it. He wants to brush your hair and make you pretty. He wants to plant flowers and squawk and squeal over boxes of jewelry and makeup. He leans into a motherly role easily and he loves taking care of someone happy to receive it. He starts carrying around a purse because duh, that’s what mothers do. In the purse is a bunch of cool rocks, chicken feathers and the occasional worm or mouse or something. Expect to see the pretty lady mask much more often. 

Thomas Hewitt:

It's hard to determine much of anything he's thinking or feeling due to the mask. You slipped on something the other day and Thomas didn’t seem to appreciate the resulting calamity. He stomped up the stairs and grabbed you by the armpits to hoist you up in order to check you for damage. He grabbed your head like a basketball to inspect it for damage and you took it to mean that he cares about your well being. Communication isn’t his strong suit but he cares… at least you think he does. He’s unaware of the role you’ve slotted him into but he’s been giving you things to do and he tolerates you in his vicinity.

With gestures and the occasional huff of breath, he sat you in front of some scrap wood and you quickly realized that he wanted you to check for wood rot. It felt good to be given a task and perhaps your happiness alluded to your thoughts because he’s been showing you all sorts of things and how to use a bunch of tools. There’s a certain approving grunt he does that’s become your favorite thing to hear. You've started to not hate waking up at the crack of dawn. You wonder if he’ll one day let you work with leather. Maybe he’ll teach you to tan it?

Billy Loomis:

This is amongst the worst possible characters you could’ve possibly chosen to see as a father figure.

First of all, he’s barely out of high school and second of all, his expectations are high and impossible to achieve. He wants a protege, he wants to create a killer that he refined with his own hands but unfortunately, he's stupid. Unfortunately, he gets stuck in long-winded rants about the power of a knife and blah blah blah movie reference blah blah.

The asshole’s given you fucking homework and on top of that, he keeps making you go get him slurpies and vape refills from 7/11. It's the worst. You thought he was some kind of mastermind killer but he smells like axe bodyspray and keeps talking to you about his expert manipulation skills when you saw him fully kick a trashcan when someone refused his fake ID at a bar. You’d like to get onto some KILLING lessons or maybe see the Ghostface with your own eyes, but so far most of what you’ve seen is him checking himself out in mirrors.

You're beginning to think you could definitely kick his ass and everything he’s managed so far has been a genuine fluke. You feel as if you’ve looked up to Ghostface for so long that the real deal is a huge disappointment. Perhaps it’s time for a new ghost to take up residency.

Leslie Vernon:

This is what he’s doing all of this for. It's the height of killer fame to retire and let your successor take up the reins. He’ll fade into memory and fearful recollection and he’ll make you a mask of your very own so you can continue his legacy. He’s been planning for this for years down to the itty bitty specifics. You’re gonna be some down-on-your-luck kid and you’re gonna make some rookie mistake with your first crime and then he’s gonna get you out of a pickle and the rest is history. At least… that's how it works in the movies.

With all the planning he’s put into this, it’s gonna work out perfectly. You haven't seen him yet but he’s seen you. You're perfect. He can already feel the fatherly love slamming some burgers onto a grill inside of him. Maybe the two of you can play ball with someone’s cut out heart. Wouldn’t that be something huh? Alright, squirt let's get this shebang started! He’s just gotta put the finishing touches on the whole orphaning thing…. 

Brahms Heelshire:

You were lonely in this dead place. That much was obvious.

Brahms knew the feeling. Meeting you went smoother than it regularly went, but there was a clear roadblock in place when it came to taking care of him. You don’t follow the rules at all and that’s just unacceptable. You can't both be babied, that’s not gonna work!

Despite your inability to give him the structure he needs, he decides that just being around you is better than nothing. You seemingly don’t mind quiet and he's happy just to be seen. Even if you both need something that neither of you are able to provide, it's nice to just exist without fear or the worrisome concept of rejection.

In silence, the dusty air settled and it was easy to find some solidarity between you both. Both of you were hugely in need of someone to cling to. You’re scared and so is he. It’s… nice to know that someone else understands his feelings so well. You settle into an easy routine, eating together and sleeping in the same room... It takes a while but he begins to piece together the idea that if he wants to be mommied, maybe you need a daddy? Maybe you just need someone else to look to when you’re feeling alone and scared. Really, that’s all he wants too.

At the very least, Brahms can be that person for you. The two of you might be stuck in an awkward jumble of power dynamics but none of it feels wrong. He loves you but not like he’s loved nannies in the past. He’s starting to think that the two of you are in desperate need of a mommy and a daddy. He’s gonna be a good big brother in getting you exactly what you need. You’re not alone anymore and neither is he. It doesn’t hurt so much to be a real boy when you’ve never thought of him as anything besides human.

Michael Myers:

Well. This is happening.

He’s tried killing you multiple times and for the first time in his life, he’s found someone who disrespects death just as much as he does.

No matter what he does or where he goes, you’re close by. Hiding from somewhere, watching him from somewhere. If he turns around and walks away, you’ll manage to find him again no matter what. It's annoying. You’re annoying. Too loud. Too alive.

You've begun to wear a jumpsuit like his and an eyesore of a mask. Michael pointedly doesn't look your way or acknowledge you in the slightest. You might pester and ask questions but you get no answer. He makes sure to not even breathe in your presence. No matter the targeted coldness, you still chase after him as if you’re excited about wherever he’s going.

Once, he picked you up and physically tossed you through the front door of a recently “vacated” house just so you’d have somewhere to stay and unsurprisingly, you were back at his heels the next time he went hunting. You took up permanent residence in his peripherals and sometimes you managed to even sneak up on him. He’s climbed into impossible places and found the most hidden crevices he could find to rest but you're impossible to outwalk.

You’re a buzzing fly but he’s stopped trying to kill you because it doesn’t work. You don’t have his stature or his stride, but he’s beginning to think that you might be something other than what he’s assumed. Recently, he tossed a knife at you with enough precision to kill and you not only caught the damned thing— but you proceeded to ask when you’d get to use it. Slowly, he turned his head toward yours and you tilted yours ever so slightly in question while your hand tightened around your blade’s handle. That was all the discussion needed. He stood and so did you, you were like a shadow behind him and he’s never felt any particular violent urge toward a shadow. 

Patrick Bateman:

Children are god-awful things. Still, Patrick understands their purpose. With a child comes respect. Others will ooh and ahh over someone bragging over their brat’s acceptance into some ivy league school. You get to brag about your trips to all the best places once you’ve cultured your child enough to let them anywhere near Milan or Dubai. Kids are accessories to people like him. No one raises their kid of course, you hire help to do that for you— but even so, Patrick loathes the idea of something other than himself wearing his face. While Patrick understands now is about the time that someone like him is expected to breed, he hates the idea of letting some whore take his seed and brew up some vile squirming thing that’s half made of someone he knows he’ll hate. How can he trust her genetics? All women are whores and breeding one just sounds disgusting. Ugh. He’s not a family man and he finds the concept stomach-turning. 

With a few moments of thought, he thinks about the youngest person he can think of and he decides that the coffee barista at the expensive roastery is fine enough of a choice. You’re polite enough. Your handshake is firm. He’s looked you up before and you have no criminal record to speak of…. 

By the end of the day, he’s drafted a formal questionnaire and had it delivered to your place of employment via a courier service. When his email lights up with a notification, the subject line: “Interview scheduling.” He crinkles his nose. You don’t know how to spell? Anyone with a brain knows that “Schedueling” is spelled with an E after the U. Obviously, you have a lot to learn but… he’s already had a suit tailored to your size so he might as well interview you despite your poor spelling.

Bo Sinclair:

Someone looking up to him has something new and weird surfacing from the graveyard inside of him. It’s all sick and twisted, it moves like a roach with its head cut off. He’s sort of flattered but the sincere baffling concept of someone seeing him as a father figure has him edging the line of being pissed about it.

You’re playing some kinda mind game with him, right? He’s not a fucking loser so he’s definitely gonna figure out wtf you’re on about and why you keep asking him to teach you some bullshit or other. You don't care for shit about the engine he's workin' on. Clearly, you're trying to be clever and do something... Y'think you can get one up on him? Ain't no goddamned way.

Unfortunately, the wires in his brain are all over the place and they’re all connected to his dick’s hair-trigger sensor. Obviously, you have the hots for him. You’re flirting with him. You’re doing all this shit for his attention huh? He’s unable to comprehend that your stockholm has turned itself inside out and you're beginning to as a father figure. He's the big man around this town, wearing his big pants and walking with his big man walk. It's not your fault for getting confused in this rot filled town.

Bo immediately assumes your behavior is some lil deviant kink thing of yours and any innocence you intended is quickly destroyed by a loud mouth and a peacock strut.

Vincent Sinclair:

Charcoal coats the side of your wrist and Vincent wonders if he should tell you to go to bed. You’ve been sketching all day and he knows from experience that your back must hurt from the contorted way you’re sitting. Every lesson he’s ever given you has been taken in stride. Anatomy is something you’re giving your all to learn and it’s… fulfilling to have someone so eager to learn from him. His mother’s teaching was enforced with several painful implements and whether it was a metal ruler or stinging words, Vincent learned out of loyalty to appease her. He turned loyalty into passion out of survival instinct and still, he creates out of muscle memory. He’s still haunted by his mother's ghost but he looks at her with less disdain now that he has someone eager to make everything he knows worth something. 

You wear that same sense of anticipatory nervousness he once armed himself with. You shyly show him what you’re working on, and when he shows you an error you always take it with pride rather than shame. You must know how proud he is of your progress. It’s been years since he’s stood up for himself but his twin is somewhere nursing a shiner after he let himself into Vincent’s workspace just to bother you. No. you didn’t need a nude model. No, you didn’t want to do something more fun. No you didn’t want to take a break and look at something less fuck ugly for a change. 

No matter the circumstances that brought you here, Vincent’s been your protector since the day he found you locked in the garage’s basement, drawing in the dirt. You’re his student. Under his care. You’re a good thing and he’s not going to let his twin spoil you like he’s spoiled everything else. 

Billy Lenz:

He’s still got a scar from when he accidentally happened upon you.

Finding you was a complete accident. He broke into a creaky old house, looking for somewhere dry and he quickly realized that someone else had already staked their claim on the dusty shithole.

Crazed eyes met his and you launched at him like an animal immediately, completely without hesitation. The impact knocked him through a rickety old door and you whooped like a monkey before wildly falling into a pit of screaming laughter. Your laughter was contagious. Little thing full of so much rage. Like a kitten scratching and scratching at a fancy couch. It began to be difficult to laugh at your joke on account of the phone cord wrapped around his neck, cutting off his oxygen. You might’ve killed him if he didn't find enough clarity to throw you off of him. 

You scrambled onto a counter, bare feet disrupting the thick layer of dust and you bared your teeth, breathing heavily. Your nose was red as if you just got here out of the cold and it was just so clownish. Billy mimicked you just the same, squatting on the ground and offering you a series of clown honks and circus noises. After a few moments, you relaxed but with his ever so slight movement forward you growled like a dog before telling him that you were going to shove his stupid bellbottoms so far down his throat that he’d be shitting out a denim baby. Instantly, he wriggled about, wincing while imagining the horrible sensation of denim up his ass.

You’re funny! Funny funny clown. Not a piggy. Not to be gutted and pulled apart. His head was a mess and it hurt where it knocked against the linoleum, it had him agitated but not toward you. A nearby house’s Christmas lights snapped into visual existence and you glared through the dirty kitchen window as if startled by the red and green. With a series of vocalizations accompanied by tonal hissing, Billy asked if you wanted to go Christmas caroling and you’ve been having a holly jolly time ever since.