#in love with slashers

[ekathaenyra]

Cuddles🎀

Sitting on Thomas's lap while he watches I don't know what on TV, snuggled up against him, you can hear his heart beating, he has one of his big, calloused hands under your T-shirt, gently caressing your back, his other hand on your thigh.

His hair is still a bit of a mess, he's wearing his leather mask, you can see his eyes locked on the TV screen.You run your fingertip along the line of his neck down to his torso.

''Thomas...how about we do something else?''

A single grunt in response, but what appears to be a yes from him as he turns off the TV. He lifts you up and takes you to your room.

You can imagine what happens next, they either cuddle or fuck like animals until the sun comes up again.

[lesbianwithchainsaws]

Edit: I see a ton of answers saying "torture porn" and some asking why I didn't add it. Torture porn isn't a subgenre of horror. Every single horror film that yall describe as torture porn falls into an actual subgenre (usually slasher/splatter or body horror, though there are exceptions). Torture porn was a term made to describe the rise in realistic brutality in horror in the early 2000s. If you don't like the brutality or gore in horror, that's fine. But that's not a subgenre. Every single one of these could be incredibly gorey and brutal, as well as can be the opposite of that. Torture porn is not a subgenre in itself

[artemisia-nova]

happy michael day to all who celebrate!

[blackcatfromthevoid]

“Oh my god, he’s so scary,” I say as I kick my feet up in the air and giggle like an idiot.

[blackynsupremacy]

black girls,

write the content you want.

i’m serious.

idc if you think it’s gonna flop.

idc if you think you’re a terrible writer or artist.

idc if you believe that character/celebrity/athlete/whoever likes black girls or not. (who cares what the fandom says anyway!)

idc if you’re the first and only one to start that _____ x black reader tag.

make the content you want to see!

do it for you most importantly! (you will inspire others ofc)

in conclusion, you won’t get it if you won’t make it.

[pumpkinpowder]

Silly country man breaking it down 🐓🧡

[veritasrose]

I am begging, begging y’all to understand the difference between gore and body horror please.

Body horror is transformation/monstrous sort of things like a mouth where you shouldn’t have one or like, the shifting bones and whatnot in werewolf transformations. It is where something horrific is happening within the body itself.

It is not a bloody nose, cuts, wounds, injuries ect. That is gore. It is not scars, limb differences, or visual disabilities either.

For fuck’s sake please learn this stuff because the next time I see someone tagging a scarred or disabled character as “body horror” I am gonna lose it.

(Image ID courtesy of @consistantly-changing )

[Image ID: a section from doesthedogdie, a site that allows users to put common triggers on movies. The question is "Is there body horror?". There are 4 votes for Yes, and 0 votes for No. The text below, which elaborates where and what the trigger is, says "bloody head/nose and some cuts on a childs arm from her mum. also an infected rabbit bite on the protagonist".]

[evilvvithin]

THE BLACK PHONE scott derickson, 2022

[hop3isaprison]

sketchbook snippet: slashers

[redwolfstabs]

The MEN who want to fuck ghostface are also not okay. And that’s me. I’m men.

the girls who want to fuck ghostface are not okay. it’s me. i’m girls.

[ekathaenyra]

Idk how weird you wanna get with these suggestions, but I lovvveee the idea of Thomas keeping the reader as a prize or pet or something. And he takes care of you like a prescious toy ❤️❤️ brushing your hair, giving you a bath and dressing you up. Just him taking care of the reader while she's just paralyzed with fear and doesn't understand why he's keeping her. Her eyes are puffy from crying, but he just keeps wiping the tears away.

I hope this gives you some inspiration 🥰

Thomas Hewitt x reader

English is not my native language, sorry if there's mistakes.💕

The room was dimly lit, with the only source of light a lamp that flickered in the thick, hot Texas air. The walls seemed to ooze humidity, and a heavy silence, barely disturbed by the occasional creak of wood, reigned. Lying on an ancient bed whose mattress creaked with every movement, you remained frozen, paralyzed by fear and incomprehension.

Your eyes burned, swollen from hours of crying, searching for a way out of this incomprehensible nightmare. Why you? Why here? Terror mingled with exhaustion, but your mind remained wide awake, fighting the urge to close your eyes even for a moment. Every time you tried to get up, to escape, something, or rather someone, would gently pull you back to your place, like an invisible hand forcing you to stay there. Then he appeared, silent as a shadow but with the quiet strength of a beast.

Thomas Hewitt. This colossus with a heavy gaze, his features hidden beneath a mask, barely hinting at his humanity. And yet, in his eyes, you perceived something disturbing, something inexplicable. A kind of twisted gentleness, a desire for protection that, far from reassuring you, petrified you. He approached you, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty room. Each time, you expected something brutal, some imminent violence. But it was not to be. Instead, he knelt beside you, his large hands, battered by work and beatings, reaching out to you, not to hurt you, but to offer you a strange form of tenderness. In a movement surprisingly delicate for his imposing build, he wiped away the tears still beading your cheeks. His rough, clumsy fingers ran carefully over your damp skin, seeking to erase every trace of sadness. You couldn't help shuddering under his touch, both terrified and bewildered. He seemed oblivious to your fear, or perhaps he chose to ignore it.

Without a word, he grabbed a brush from the small wooden table next to the bed. He ran it slowly through your hair, as if he were afraid of breaking you. Each stroke was calculated, measured, as if he wanted to make it a reassuring gesture. He acted with the attention of a man who takes care of a precious object, something he wants to preserve from the slightest imperfection. Your hair, even tangled and witness to your struggle, gradually let itself be tamed under his fingers. Slowly, he ran a damp cloth over your face, cleaning away the traces of fatigue and tears. His gestures were methodical, almost ritualistic. You could feel his breathing, heavy and calm, matching the rhythm of his task. Sometimes, he would stop for a moment to look at you, as if to check that everything was perfect. His gaze had something possessive, a mixture of pride and satisfaction, as if, by taking care of you like this, he was claiming your existence as his own.

After finishing with your hair, he would go to a corner of the room where he had arranged various clothes, carefully folded, as if chosen for you. Simple but clean dresses, he must have found it somewhere in luda may closet. He would come back with one of them and hand it to you, waiting for you to take it, to dress yourself under his scrutiny. But your hands were shaking, unable to move, as if paralyzed by the fear that gripped your guts.Without a word, he understood your distress and began to help you, buttoning each button with infinite patience, adjusting each fold of the fabric. He made sure that everything was perfect, that nothing was sticking out, as if you were a doll that he cherished.

He seemed to want to make you understand, in his twisted way, that you belonged to him, that you were under his protection, that he would watch over you, no matter what. Every gesture, every light touch, resonated like a silent declaration, a promise you had never asked for, a golden prison whose rules you did not understand. You felt strangely lost, as if you were floating in a limbo, torn between the desire to struggle and the exhaustion of the fight. And he, imperturbable, continued his strange ritual of care, as if every detail, every tear he wiped away, every knot he untangled, had no other purpose than to remind you that you were now his treasure, his precious thing.

[matchavtea]

gonna draw 1978 michael and 2018 michael next

[kayleerowena]

this barbie refuses to die!

🫀 tip jar 🫀 patreon 🫀

[ozzgin]

Art the Clown x Reader

Halloween Special! Come pick up your killer clown boyfriend. content: gender neutral reader, gore, murder, obsessive behavior

You always wondered what it would be like to have someone fall madly in love with you. You'd imagined it as a sort of dreamy scenario, plucked straight out of romance books, or maybe a Hallmark movie.

All it takes is one smile; that's how most of these stories usually begin. You were waiting for your coffee when you happened to glance across the diner and notice a costumed man. By the time you made the discovery, he'd already been observing you intently. He flashed you a wide smile, decaying teeth glistening underneath the smudged lipstick grotesquely contouring his mouth. Intrigued, you returned his gesture, shyly waving at the stranger.

It was obsession at first sight.

One could argue that whatever you're dealing with resembles a romance, albeit a terribly gory one. Days after your fateful encounter, you were surprised to find the same man standing before your house. Was that a bouquet of roses hiding behind his back? Almost! It was a bloodied axe, thick red liquid splattering down your pavement in thin streams.

You ran outside, horrified, and nearly stumbled over the dismembered body scattered across your lawn.

"Oh, God," you cried out. You immediately recognized your ex.

You know, the annoying one who wouldn't leave you alone. The one who kept following you around, insisting for a second chance.

"This is a nightmare," you whined. "I'll never be able to wash this out."

The clown carefully placed the axe down, then bowed before you theatrically. This was his way of flirting with you.

Don’t fret, he has other aces up his sleeve, and he won’t stop until he has you swooning. Who shall be the next offering? That irritating coworker? The guy who winked at you on the bus? Surely he must’ve known you already belong to someone else. That’s where boyfriends come in, you see. Art will be certain to remind him you’re all his.

You’ll never find another guy like him. And you won’t have to! He’s all yours, and it would be wise of you to accept his undying affections, too. You won’t regret it. Everyone else will, but not you.

[Horror Masterlist]

[batterycityghoul]

@finalgirlsource final girl appreciation week: day 4 - favorite final girl quote