#suburban slasher

[goeticgalaxy]

art dump from the last little bit lol (noel from the diptych belongs to @unvexes)

[mariocki]

The Black Room (1982)

"I just want to know one thing up front: are there any restrictions?"

"Restrictions? No, none. This isn't the YMCA."

[dialmforolrik]

Are you saying

suburban zoning -> 70s & 80s serial killers -> slashers -> Stranger Things Season 4

?

just found out reading is cool. i am reading an ethnography about the destruction of the community through horrible suburban zoning.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 2

You listen to the story about those woods. Turns out, real life is way, way nastier than any of those stories. Don't lose your head.

TW for the chapter: Blood, gore, dead bodies, slut shaming(usage of outdated horror tropes), knife play, blood play, mentions of STDs

— Do you know what animal is this? 

The body of a small creature – rodent, probably, you don’t think there could be any other animals around – was lying on the road near the place you decided to stay for the night. The “Coolest fucking thing in the world that is also just a few hours from here” was still a few hours from here because it was fucking dark and you already left your car on the sidewalk, hoping no one would steal it because honestly, why would anyone need this pile of burning crap. 

— According to the “Basic Bestiary of Austrian Animals” it might be an extremely rare Austrian Marmont.

You fucking hated Max. Mostly because his form of being different was “being an intelligent asshole” and also because he would never forget to rub the fact you were behind him in the grades into your face. 

— Waaaaaaait, a mamont? But it’s small! You have to give Karen – blonde, tan, tall, straight C everywhere except for her chest (then it would be D everywhere) – credit. As adorably silly as she was, she was still the only person you could have a meaningful conversation with. Except for the times when she was fucking your boyfriends. Or when she forgot that you don’t have a boyfriend so he doesn’t need to fuck random people just to spite you.

— Perhaps, if we are extremely lucky, a European edible dormouse, also known as…

— Fuuuuuck, people eat this thing? Yuck! Austria is like, literally the worst country EVER!

You feel like every second of this conversation, even though you are just listening to it, is going to take 10 years from your life span. You never knew why the two got together – maybe because Max loved fucking someone dumber than he is, and Gretchen loved placing the responsibility for her actions on her beloved sociopathic boyfriend. 

You wanted to say that this was literally a fucking squirrel, but you know better. Not like anyone is going to listen anyway. 

You get to the supposed location a few hours – already deep in the night, everything that you hate about forests – unkept environment, horrible living conditions, mosquitos, and occasionally wild animals are making you squirm each time your butt switches the place and you involuntarily sit on the cold, damp ground. You lick your lips, trying to adjust in the position in front of the fire. Fire that you probably shouldn’t be making in the middle of the private territory, but Chad said the place belongs to some weird hillbillies who wouldn’t care about a bunch of college grads having fun. 

You just finished the last of your coke – mixed with cheap whiskey and rum you got back at home, you feel just buzzy and fuzzy and relaxed enough to at least try to engage with people around you. Just didn’t want to make Jenny embarrassed – she was the one to vouch for you, even though you didn’t want to go camping with them. 

— I heard there is something happening in these woods. 

Everyone around you groans and you comply, groaning too. Chad has the worst storytelling voice and even Marty – the resident stoner of the group – is visibly unhappy about having to listen to his dumb jokes. Brace yourself for at least twenty minutes of dumb story with a cheap attempt to scare you. 

— You talk like those locals. What can be here except for drunkards? 

— Very fucking funny, Marty, I hope you laugh at people’s death too. 

Everyone groans again. 

— Shut up and let me finish! So, there is something hiding in those woods…legends…

— What legends? This place was built like 20 years ago. 

— Shut the fuck up, Max! It’s the legends before the town even was built. In those very forests…

— Forests? I thought it was like, just a suburban area. 

— It’s wild Austrian woods, why I would put you to adventure in the fucking suburbs? 

— You’re a suburb baby. 

— Shut it! God, I hate you guys. Alright, so…these woods are populated with���creatures. 

— Ooooh, like the mammoth we saw! 

— Karen, seriously, what the fuck? These woods are filled with motherfucking human-eating killers, not just some animals! 

— Then why do you say “creatures”? — Because it makes for a good fucking story! God, everyone, this is why none of you are studying creative writing! 

— Only your parents have money to pay for it. 

— This is why you all are fucking losers. Alright…god, I hate you. People went missing in these woods. Mostly tourists, never the local population – this is why police don’t care about it. Bodies were found, half-eaten, rotting under that very tree! 

— Which tree? There are like 10 of them just here. 

— More like 100. 

— Under every fucking tree! — That’s a lot of bodies. 

Chad groans, visibly aggressive. You just tilt your head to the side, only talking to him once before taking the last sip of your Coke and standing from your place. You wanted to take a chance to see those woods before you’d be going even deeper the next night – Chad was planning quite an adventure in the wilderness, to your dismay, and you wanted to have a chance to see the cool part of nature before you would grow tired of it. 

To your surprise, Karen was nowhere to be seen. Knowing the girl, she is far too innocent and dumb to be here – probably ran away to not listen to scary stories or got lost while trying to find a good place to pee. You sigh, feeling that it is your responsibility to pick her up – she is Marty’s girlfriend, but he is too stoned out to notice her disappearance yet. 

You stumble on your foot – alcohol makes you dizzy, makes you relaxed and smiley. You don’t even care that no one came to ask what the fuck you are doing – as far as you aware, they all can go and fuck themselves while you have a lot more fun things to do. Like searching for a drunk girl in the forest in the middle of the night…yeah, you really should work on your definition of fun. 

You already a good few minutes into the forest. Nothing but trees, not even a squirrel or a wolf pocking around to feast on yummy bodies. Not like you wanted to see a wolf, of course, but meeting with the wild life could be fun. You’d like to see a bear, for example. 

(And you will – just a bit later) 

— Karen? Karen, are you alright? You decide to scream for her once you are far enough from your friends that they won’t question why you are so concerned for her. Poor girl was obviously scared and you didn’t want to embarrass her even further, so you stroll through the woods, an empty bottle of coke in your hand – not sure why you didn’t threw it away. Littering isn’t nice, after all. 

— Karen? You’re scaring everyone, come out! 

You scream some more – she is probably lost, deep enough that she can’t even hear you. You try not to panic, try to be the reasonable friend – it’s usually Jenny’s task but here you are, trying to be the cool one of your friend group. You yell for Karen some more, listening closely to every little sound that could be easily taken as her whimper or cry for help. 

Nothing. 

Just how far can a scared drunk girl go? Probably not further away than you – you’re already starting to get tired and you knew that Sidhey got far drunker than you are. Which means she could lay here, somewhere, passed from the exhaustion, freezing, with forest animals feasting on her…no, no, you can’t think like that. She is fine, she has to be, or you are going to get into so much trouble with the police and her parents. You never told any of your families about the trip, so you wouldn’t want to get in trouble what ould require their assistance. 

You take a step into deeper part of the forest – and you think you saw a glimpse of…something. Metal, probably, might be her phone or that atrociour hair dye she is using to stop everyone from calling her a mouse. You also think you could hear a sound of someone breathing – heavily, gruffly, definitely a male, but you don’t really know how. You squint, trying to see through the trees. 

You see Karen. 

— Karen? God, you scared everyone…well, me. Where the fuck have you been? 

You smile and wave at her, your drunken state isn’t allowing you to see that, for some weird reason, she isn’t waving back. Or moving, so to speak. She stared at you with that terrified expression of hers and you tilt your head to the side, not udneratanding why is she like that. Something happened between her and others? 

You take another step back and Karen falls. 

Well…her head falls, anyway. 

There are a lot of feelings right now. Panic, panic, panic, a little bit of panic and, oh, who could have guessed, another riel of panic which makes you freak the fuck out and sprint – towards her. Maybe she will be alive if you could put her head back on her neck really-really fast? 

— Is it too late to convince you this is all a dream? 

The voice. 

You don’t recognize it – it’s distorted and quiet under the mask and you don’t know anyone int his fucking place anyways. The voice is weirdly happy, weirdly laughing and you want to vomit from how easy-going it sounds. Like the corpse of your beheaded friend is nothing, like it’s a fun pun, like…

You laungh forward, trying to, maybe, get revenge on your not-really-a-friend. Guy lets go of Karen’s body, allowing it to fall down, her head rolling to the nearest creek and tumbling into the water like a sports ball. You can’t even sob – the situation feels too unreal, too shocking, you are still very much drunk and when the guy simply wraps his hands around your waist, not allowing you to move even an inch, you fall limp in his hold. 

You sob. 

His hand goes to grasp your face in a tight embrace, making you gag from the smell of blood splattered all across his hand. You hear chuckle. 

— Didn’t want you to see that first. Wanted to play hero, yes? 

You sob, you tremble, you can barely master a few words out of your mouth. You want to scream, but it’s like all the air just decided to disappear from your lungs. So, you cry instead. How brave of you, Karen would be so proud of her friend not even trying to avenge her death. 

— F…fuck…you. 

You master with all you strength. Guy is laughing again – his other hand goes to squeeze your waist even more, pushing you against a tree. He wears a full mask with some red drawings on it – a satanic cult, really? You thought about serial killer, maybe, but definetly not about crazy cult maniacs running around. The more you know. 

— Oh, kitten, I’d love to fuck myself. But you’re here for this, no? 

He called you kitten – you squirm in his grasp, not wanting to give him the easy way to kill you. Something pokes you to the side – it’s a knife. Large, sharp, military-issued, you saw it in movie and action TV shows – and now the bloody razor almost grazing over your skin, through the thing fabric of your open jacter and a simple T-shirt. 

— Wh…who are you? 

Stpuid question, really. 

— Why does everyone wants to ask who we are all the time? Would you die happier knowing my name? Would it help you escape knowing how many beauty marks I have?

It would certainly help the police if you were to survive the encounter. Even though you are certainly going to die right next to Karen over there. 

He pushes a knife towards your side, the blade cutting through fabric easily, You brace yourself for being gutted alive. 

— I don’t like stupid questions. Ask something wrong and I will see if you are as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside. 

In a normal situation, you would punch him for such a corny joke. But you’re too drunk for this, but you’re too exhausted for this, but you just want to curl away in some nice place and fucking die, but not because he was the one to kill you. You certainly do not want to give him the satisfaction of being the one for you. 

So, you feel your cheeks heating up with the faintest of blushes. 

— What are you going to do with me?

He pushes the knife deeper, sharp edge cutting the thin line into your side. You sob immediately, tears filling your eyes as you almost feel blood – not a lot of it, just a tiny sharp streak – fill your shirt. You want to vomit, hate pain, and everything that is related to it. Thinking that the knife is dirty already and he would probably infect you with whatever one of the 13 STDs Karen has if he were to proceed. He stops right before the blade can penetrate your skin. 

— I’m a serial killer. What do you think I will do with you? 

You shake your head, trying to search for the question that won’t make him plunge a knife into your body. 

— W…what is your favorite color? 

Good job. Amazing job. Let’s hope you don’t like your liver all that much because he is definitely going to cut it out and eat it. 

— Red. I like you. 

Suddenly, you are being pushed to your knees. Suddenly, he is standing right in front of you – he is tall, of course, bulky and big, and he seems even bigger from this angle. Your face is pressed against his crotch and you can feel the dread slowly filling up your weins. Is he going to…

He presses a knife against your lips – you part it obediently, nervously, you feel your face twitching with disgust as your mouth immediately fills with the metallic taste of Karen’s blood. You really need to vomit right fucking now, but he is petting your head with his other hand like someone would do to a dog or a cat, and you sob. Too scared to do anything and here you thought you would finally stop letting people walk all over you. You thought it would start a journey of self-actualization and finding your own priorities, but…

He presses the knife a bit deeper. 

— Someone here has manners. Your friend here was trying to fuck me until she saw a knife. 

Sounds like Karen. You still remember her fucked-out face when she happily stumbled out of your room, with your boyfriend that you thought was never into cheerleaders. She had her urges and it was normal until she started to get off with those urges on everyone who liked you, or who you liked – and with such an innocent smile that no one was ever mad at her. 

He presses the knife against your upper jaw, laying it flat on your tongue – you sob, trying not to shake your head too much as he wipes away your tears and pushes your throat even deeper on the blade. You don’t know how it still hasn’t penetrated you yet. 

— Squealed like a fucking pig, not even fun anymore. I assume she was the whore of your group? 

You shook your shoulders, not wanting to give him any answers. He laughs, pressing the blade down and slightly turning it to the side. You feel the string of saliva running from your open mouth – he wipes it with his finger, leaving blood stains on your face. 

— Clean the knife for me, okay? I might leave you live if you would be good for us. You launch onto the opportunity to save your life so quickly, that you don’t even register the word “us” slipping from his tongue. 

You suck the knife obediently, carefully holding your tongue from the sharp edge so you won’t cut yourself, trying so desperately not to hurt yourself on the blade, that it’s almost adorable, He looks at you, the way you even fucking hollow your cheeks to clean it more efficiently, like you were sucking a cock and, with every passing second, he doesn’t really feel like killing you anymore. 

He feels like keeping you bound to him – maybe cutting your ankles so you would never run away from them, maybe tying you up to the body of your friend and holstering you both to the house, making you watch him gut Karen so you’d know not to run away from them. 

He pets your head like you were a cat – and, god, he always adored cats. 

You hear the noises from the side – your gaze darts to the nearest bushes as the guy waves his hand to someone gigantic sitting down at your side. Two pair of hands are now petting your head like you were a fucking animal – and you’re still sucking on his knife, feeling the pressure on your lips. You want to die, but there is no choice but to keep living. 

— Scheisse, what do you have here? 

A hand goes to cup your face and turns you to the side, to meet the giant, bulky figure fully wrapped in camo gear. His face is concealed with some sort of hood, which makes you shake even more. They both look like soldiers – or soldier-cultist-butchers from a horror movie. But, then again, you are in the fucking horror movie, since the big guy has Karen’s head in his hand, holding her by the hair. You sob even more. 

— Stumbled across me as I was gutting the slut. 

— Is she a smart one then? 

The guy with the knife laughs, yanking the blade from your mouth. You want to close it immediately, but the second guy pushes his finger between your lips, keeping them apart – and you are too scared to even try to bite him. Instead, you sit here, obediently, feeling the alcohol in your system working its magic. Again. Making you drowsy and relaxed, panic drained so much energy from your body, that you genuinely feel horrible. 

— No, wouldn’t say so. Obedient, more like. 

— Not a cool one either. Are you a virgin, Schatz? 

You want to lie, just so you won’t feel so fucking embarrassed because of it – but something in the brutality of what they did to Karen made you reconsider. You just shake your shoulders, not wanting to give a definitive answer. 

— Cute. Been some time since we saw a cute one like this. 

Your sobbing intensifies and the big guy suddenly yanks you on your feet. You immediately feel ill, pressing your head against the tree and emptying your insides – mostly because of the panic and partly because of the amount of alcohol you drank. Their touches are surprisingly soft on your skin, gently removing any stray hairs from your face and holding a firm hand on your back, rubbing the blood and grim into your jacket. 

You stand like this for a few minutes, choking on your own tears, vomit, and blood. They coo at you, gentle hands on your body guiding you towards them just so the second guy – a smaller one, relatively of course – could get a hand in your hair and yank it back. Hard. 

— Calm the fuck down. 

— You’re scaring her, Tigeren. 

— Aren’t we here for this? 

— Thought you liked this one. 

— I do. But…

— But? 

— Not fun to take her just now. She can help stir her friends a little. Make them run a little. 

They fucking killed Karen and they want to…let you go? They made you clean their knives, stand on your knees in front of them, and then gently helped you empty your insides – just to let you go when you could run into the nearest policeman and destroy their whole little game? Are they dumb or overly confident? 

— She could run. I would rather keep her with us. 

— They won’t get out of these forests without phones. And their car is already…shit. Spoilers. 

— Alright. But I would be the first to take her next time. 

— She won’t be any good after you, Ko. 

— Our Kleine Hase has more than one hole, ja? 

This is it. 

You take the opportunity – they are distracted by their little conversation, so you duck under the hand of the bigger man and run in the close direction to where the group is sitting. You are covered in blood, and dirt, you shake like crazy and you can barely even run straight without getting right into the various trees, but you don’t care. You aren’t strong enough to sit here and listen to their conversation – not when the self-preservation makes you forget about Karen. Not when that feeling in your chest can only be described as “She got what she asked for” – because she was a bitch, but not nearly enough to deserve being beheaded by two psychos. 

They laugh as they watch you run. Horangi smiles, nudging Konig to the side – you’re not a fighter, but still interesting enough. Adorable and obedient, just vile enough to suck on the same knife that killed your friend – interesting mix, to say the least. Hongjin always wanted a cat, but never got the time on the various deployments – and you behave like a perfect mix of a kitten and bunny. 

Konig tilts his head to the side, watching you, this pathetic little thing, run like the devil was after you. He was, of course. and he came in double, but it was still funny, how a city girl like you seriously thought you would be able to get away if they weren’t allowing you to. You’re cute, for a tourist, and he wants to hunt you some more – perfect foreplay before destroying you with either his cock or his knife. 

One down – and both of them couldn’t wait to finally get to you. 

[sanctifie]

hello !! 25, gmt on the lookout for new discord rp partners ( 21+ ). i love long-term plots w heavy development, worldbuilding & mumus w a host of intertwining characters --- also v down to swap inspo boards, playlists, headcanons, drabbles & all that other fun stuff !! i write all pairings ( mxm, mxf, fxf, nbxany ) but i'm generally more comfortable portraying masc characters. i'm p flexible when it comes to literacy, short rapid-fire replies or longer prose are both fine w me & i normally try to match my partner's length. under the cut are a list of plots & general vibes i'm looking for. pls dm me or like this post if you're interested !

high fantasy in the same vein as asoiaf, dragon age & dnd

urban fantasy & magic realism

small town americana / suburban, southern & midwest gothic

dark academia ( i would do unspeakable things for a the secret history inspired mumu )

cyberpunk !!

supernatural themes. hunter x hunted ?? vampire x reincarnated soulmate who finds them in every lifetime ???? paranormal investigators ??

dystopian / post-apocalyptic settings

something in the horror genre. pls give me a slasher plot inspired by scream or friday the 13th

toxic, codependent relationships / devotion that corrupts

spoilt rich kids doing spoilt rich kid things à la gossip girl

outlaws/western. literally just give me anything w gay cowboys

something inspired by yellowjackets ??

[snailchimera]

Having watched Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time last night, with no other context for the series, I have a proposition I would like to put forth to you:

The real actual human being, Fred Kreuger, may have been innocent.

Whether he was or not, the dream monster Freddy Kreuger actually originates from the minds of the parents, as the feverishly paranoid idea of an outsider predator lurking in a Nice Suburban Neighborhood amplified by the real lived experience of having a serial killer in your area growing up, and the necessary justification for burning a man to death in his own home and stealing his weird art gloves as a trophy you keep in your basement for some reason.

I don't really have enough of a functioning brain right this second to do a full essay right now, but. There's something about how the parents of the targeted kids in Nightmare on Elm Street are antagonists in a similar way to the mayor in JAWS, ignoring, dismissing, or misappropriating blame for the problem of Freddy Kreuger even once it becomes obvious that something out of the ordinary is happening. I'm not saying it actually makes sense to jump straight to "my daughter really is being attacked by a Dream Murderer", but throughout the film there's not only this intense insistence that Everything Is Fine Now even after multiple murders have occurred, there's a deep hostility towards any action implying that things are not fine now or acting like a problem still exists after it's been "dealt with", and an ongoing theme of looking away from the problem and acting like that makes it fine when it doesn't (which even helps make sense of that strangely abrupt ending).

The parents want simple actions and simple answers, and they want to not have to deal with the situation anymore. The clean even slashes on Tina's nightgown must be from too-long fingernails. Rod was the murderer and he killed himself, case closed. Nancy's acting "crazy", she must be dangerous herself. Would it be that surprising if people with this approach to danger, who know themselves to be in danger and crave a simple solution, two of whom grew up to be a cop and his daydrinking "learn to look away" wife, looked at a man acquitted of murder and decided that him being wrongly acquitted was an easier, more comfortable answer than still not knowing who the threat actually was? Would it be that far-fetched for people with these thought patterns and behaviors to have cemented said thinking and behavior by enacting horrifying mob violence (because burning someone to death is a hell of a thing to do, and to witness, regardless of who's burning to death or why) and needing to be able to live with that afterward?

And Kreuger doesn't act like a real person. Sure, yeah, it's a slasher movie, you're not necessarily going to expect a slasher killer to act like a real person. Also, horrible people can in fact be horrible in uncomplicated, unsubtle, over-the-top ways (see Donald Trump). Kreuger, though, is practically a distillation of the child predator and murderer as imagined by the kind of person who legitimately believes people are putting heroin and razor blades in Halloween candy, you know? Outsider, dirty and disheveled, visibly marked as Different (by their own actions), flat and seedy hypersexual behavior, a person whose only motive is to instill fear and who has no internal or external justifications otherwise. He's the, word choice intentional, reality-disconnected nightmare of an upper-middle-class centrist-to-conservative white suburbanite, a perfect subhuman threat of a monster, the kind you can look at and go "yeah, setting this guy on fire was a fair call".

(Speaking of, it's... interesting, the way he reacts to being set on fire, isn't it? Everywhere else he's either implausibly resilient and unconcerned, furious and still threatening, or has a hammy movie villain sort of distress when threatened or thwarted. But he sure does act like an actual person who's on fire there, doesn't he? Like the sort of scene that might be indelibly marked on someone's memory, if they watched a real person burn to death?)

And he's also pretty explicitly framed in the movie as a construction of some kind, much moreso than as a vengeful ghost. The (weirdly casually racist but period typical) lucid dreaming explanation, and Nancy's approach from that point on, certainly support that framing, as does the fixation on (drawing strength from?) fear and belief. Nancy seems to think he's coming from her brain, and maybe he is by that point, but Nancy didn't know who Fred Kreuger was when all this started. Her parents and her friends' parents did.

I dunno. Like I said, this is a ramble, not a coherent essay. But I think there's a decent argument to be made that the real Fred Kreuger was never involved here at all, except as a fossilized impression in the psyches of a nightmare's true source.

[romanceyourdemons]

halloween (1978) is of course a genre-defining piece of slasher horror, but its theme that fascinates me more than the standard sex and gender discourse is that of suburbia. cars and telephones are major motifs in the film; in the broad-lawned world of haddonfield, neighbors shut their blinds on fleeing final girls, and it is only with cars and phones that the characters can seek connection and help. cars in this film represent agency and place in society. the sheriff’s power is written on the hood of his lawfully issued car. the girls are granted limited agency and a caveated place in society when their parents allow them to borrow their cars; they are in a tenuous position where they must hide their adult behavior—smoking in the car, or having sex—lest their parents remove their conditional agency and place in society by no longer letting them borrow the car. the film’s huge emphasis on how little credence, freedom, and power children are given in suburban society raises the stakes of these teenagers potentially being socially reduced to children. and, finally, michael myers drives a stolen car with driving lessons he acquired in secret: he takes agency despite never having been granted it. michael’s motivations are an ultra-simplified rehash of norman bates’s; what he wants or does is not important, but it is important that he is able to do it without being granted agency or a place in society. he is a blank slate who has never existed in the world as an adult, and yet he is able to drive without permission, enter homes without permission, punch through doors as though they are not there. he approaches through the blurred background of shots, rather than appearing in the foreground like other characters do. the horror of michael myers is that he resists the rules and categorization suburban society lives and dies by, and so it is appropriate that he is only weakened enough to be chased away when first his father and later laurie pull off his mask, revealing his face and making him vulnerable to naming, categorization, and personalization. although most of the themes of halloween (1978) are extremely popular and well-trodden roads in the film world, its presentation of american suburbia and the horror it is weak to is well-conceived and well-executed

[tac-the-unseen]

Vincent Sinclair x Slasher obsessed! Male reader

CW: Blood, Gore, bad friends

While on a road trip you and your friends pass through Louisiana. You’re driving two of your friends around the country in an act of spiritual journey.

While riding around in bum fuck nowhere, you find yourselves needing gas. You catch the site of a sign telling you there's a nearby town.

“Ambrosia? Like the food of the Gods, Ambrosia?” Tim asks to No one in particular. Tim was just an average looking, nerdy, white guy. Pale from hardly stepping outside, brown straight hair, socially awkward, acne scars, and a crooked nose from taking a beating one to many times. Despite needing a shower, He's a decently friendly guy.

“What other Ambrosia do you know?” Brian retorted with sass. Brian is Honduran. Tan skin, black wavy hair, thick eyebrows, cracked lips, and two moles on his left cheek. He's a bit of a jerk, but is just a nerd guy at heart too. You've caught him sneaking out to magic the gathering tournament a few times.

“How about that shitty fruit and marshmallow salad white suburban moms make?” you quip while driving towards the town. The three of you were on your way across back home from college, and simply crossed through Louisiana on your way. You were the ‘crazed’ horror obsessed friend. Tim and Brian have told you several times that you talk about it way too much.

Tim slaps your shoulder and scoffs, “It's not that bad!” he pouts at you. You don't even look over your shoulders “You only say that because you're white suburban mom makes it for parties!” Tim dramatically gasps and slaps your shoulder again “And so what if she does!? She makes it good!” he argued back.

“Blah blah blah, both of you shut up!” Brian says and looks out the window. All that just for Tim and Brian to have a hussy fight of a fight in the back seat. You roll your eyes as the car slowly pulls up into the dingy Town of Ambrosia.

Almost as soon as you enter you spot a gas station. It only takes a little bit more driving to reach there, but it's also a good pit stop to go to the bathroom and grab some snacks. you listen to the mindless rambles and arguments of your friends, nothing important.

As much as these two are your friends, they're also the people that annoy you the most. They're just the only people that will hang out with you for the time being.

You pull up to the side of one of the pumps, turn off the car, hop out and pop the gas cap. Both guys slither out of the backseat and slump off into the gas station without talking to you.

“Rude!” You jokingly call at them. They laugh, turn around, and flip you off.

You put in your card and start pumping gas. You think about the end goal of this trip and how it is just a few more hours before You arrive at your destination.

Once the tank is filled up, you pay, close up, and drive into an actual parking spot. You take a moment in your car to catch your breath. You have no idea how you're going to deal with eight more hours of this, but you'll endure.

You, Tim, and Brian have a bunch of plans for this trip. You have plans on where to eat, where to go, what hotels to stay at. And it sounds so fun, but you don't know how you're going to manage with the two of them.

It's gotten to the point where you don't really care if you seem like a bad friend at times, they're just…too much.

You exhale and get out of the car. When you walk into the store you see Tim chatting up the store clerk, and Brian snagging some snacks.

You walk in and nod at the Clerk, but start going towards Brian.

“What you find?” You ask him, looking over the aisles. “Dude, all they have are seeds, jerky, beer, and gum.” Brian huffs louder than you would like him to. You jab him in the stomach and give him a disapproving look.

“Dude!” He yelps, but otherwise he shuts up. A hardy laugh snaps both Yours and Brian's attention. The clerk and laughing with Tim over what you assume is a bad joke. He lets out a breath and turns to look at us “This kid, is something else!”

You assume that's supposed to be a compliment, But then again you're in the south so probably not. You just smile and nod and turn back to the snacks, not really wanting to get mixed up in this.

“You know what? How about I spot you three a beer! You're all over 21, right.” He takes a quick second for one of us to respond. Before anyone can he just smiles and walks out from behind the counter, “Meh, I don't really care!”

He puts on a big, wide smile and lightly jogs to the refrigerated section of the store. “You Boys Cool with Blue Moon?”

You and Brian watch in confusion while Tim answers, “That's fine, Boss. A drink is a drink!” The Clark does a weird little happy dance while he grabs a case.

Finally you get a word in, “Um, Guys I have to drive later…Our hotel is 3 hours away!” You guys prepaid all the hotels that you're going to be staying at on the trip.

The Man gives you a strange look. For a second you thought you saw something gleam in his eye, But as soon as it comes it goes and his charismatic smile return. “Oh, come on! It's just one!” He smirks and closes the fridge with his heel. “Youa lightweight or something?”

Brian pushes your shoulder, “Dude it's just one, we'll just wait until you sober up.” You give him a look of disgust and once again before you can say anything the clerk speaks first. “Lemme take y'all to my shop, I got seats in there.”

Tim start following The man, And Brian shoulder checks you while he does the same. You stand there stunned for a couple seconds, before you blink, sigh, and follow after the three.

Apparently these jackasses have never heard of stranger danger, And you don't want to pay the price for that. You really should have stopped talking to them after The first semester.

You walk through a hallway, out a back door, In spot a glimpse of Brian entering a mechanic shop. By the time you show up they'd already snapped their beers open. The Clerk pays the seat next to him and grins. “Pop a squat!”

You think over all your options.

Sit next to a stranger, Drink, and hope he's not a crazed serial murderer

Sit next to a stranger, don't drink, and hope he's not a crazed serial murderer

Run, leave Tim and Brian, and hope you're not blamed for whatever happens to them

You bite the bullet and go with option two. You drag your feet over to the bench, and slowly slide next to the stranger. You glance at Tim and Brian but they're eyes are closed while they greedily gulp down their wheat juice.

The man next you you offers you a bottle, but you hold up your hand “No thanks, Not a beer guy.”

Tim slams down his now empty bottle, why he polished it off so fast you don't know, but he shouts at you “Boooo, you whore!” the man and Brian chuckle but you just don't say anything.

They start with small talk, you learn that the Stranger's name is Bo, he owns the gas station and the Mechanic shop. Useful information at least, but you also learn that Tim and Brian are dumber than you thought. They talk about where they currently live, Brian even went ahead and gave out his street’s name. They go as far and tells Bo where you're all headed and where you'll be staying.

You want to slap them silly, but hold back. They might as well hand the motherfucker a map.

It's when Tim decides to grab his third bottle that you stand up. “Okay, I'm sorry Sir, but we need to leave or will miss our hotel reservation.”

Tim and Brian give you a mean look, but couldn't care less. Bo on the other hand, just sighs sadly and stands up too. “I understand, clean up and I'll walk ya back to your car.”

You're a little shocked at how easy Bo took it, but you still can't shake an uneasy feeling. You help toss away the empty bottles and start walking towards the exit. When you don't hear footsteps behind you, you turn to look at your passengers but they're still sitting at the table. “We don't want to leave, we'll just move the reservation.”

You glare at them menacingly. “If only that's how reservations work.” Your voice drops a bit and your words turn sour. “We. Have. To. Go.” Brain's nose scrunches while Tim's Lip curls. They move slowly and stiffly, but stand up and start walking to the exit.

You mentally cursed everyone out and dreaded the cross country ride even more. You can already hear the bitching and tantrum adjacent huffs. But the relief of being away from this place is downright euphoric.

Just as you breathed in your relief, a big, dirty white truck starts pulling into the gas station. As it got closer your hit with a horrid smell. And you know you're not The only one because right from behind you someone gags.

The truck pulls in and Bo hussles over to the driver's side window. They have a conversation you can't hear and after just two minutes the truck pulls out and drives away.

With the same charismatic smile he lightly jogs back over to your group. “Sorry ‘bout that gang” he beams. You want to ask a few burning questions, but you also want to get out of there as fast as possible, So you hold your tongue.

“Oh no, it's fine. We're leaving anyway!” You smile and nod. Bo digs his hands into his pockets and sighs sadly. That cues Brian to defend him “God, you're being such an ass to a guy that's been more than nice to us this whole time!”

Your body heats up and your eyes begin to twitch. You take a deep breath to try to calm yourself down, but it doesn't work. All you're trying to do is look out for these idiots, try to stay on time for a vacation they wanted to go on, and remind them of stranger danger.

But before you can spit out your heated response, Bo cuts in “Awe thanks man” he pause for a few seconds “Almost makes me feel bad for what imma bout to do.” Before anyone can react Bo pulls a large hunter's knife out from his pocket, grabs Brian's hair, and slits his throat.

The sight is gruesome. Brian tries to form words but only bursting bubbles of blood spill from his lips. The dark crimson spilling down his shirt and seeping into the fabric. It spreads like an infectious disease, and in a certain way it looks like one. Brian drops to his knees and looks up at you.

You can only imagine what he's thinking.

He desperately tries to stop the bleeding by wrapping his hands around his throat, But the blood persists. its stains his hands and trickles through his fingers. And finally with one last burst of blood from his mouth, He drops onto the floor. His limbs twitch but only for a few moments before finally all going limp.

Tim stumbles backwards and bumps into you. “What- what the fuck man!” He yells desperately. Tim flails one of his arms back to grab you, pulling on your other arm.

Bo lunges at both of you, But you're able to pull both you and Tim away. You run in the direction you saw the truck go, hoping to find the driver and get help.

You listen as three sets of footprints smash against the gravel in a desperate run. You know not to look back, that'll only slow you down. By now Tim has let go of your arm and it's just a few steps behind yours.

You listen to him pant and wheeze as the air is squeezed from his lungs. He's not used to running. He's never been a running type of guy. You've seen his fitnessgram Pacer test He typically only makes it to lap five. You curses and athleticism but only for a few moments, You're not a star athlete either. You may have lasted longer in those tests, but not that long.

Finally you spot the truck parked in front of a house. “Almost there Tim!” You shout to him for reassurance. He continues to wheeze but you know he acknowledged you. With just a few more pushes you finally make it to the steps of the house. You sprint up the wooden staircase, jump onto the deck, and start desperately pounding at the front door.

“LETS US IN, LETS US IN!” You cry while beating both of your fists on the metal door. It only takes a few seconds for the door to swing open. A man with a cleft lip stands before you, He goes to ask a question but you don't let him answer. You shove him aside, pull Tim in, and slam the door behind you.

“What the hell are you to doin’?” The man asks with some upset in his voice. You take a second study his face, He has short brown greasy hair, brown almost black eyes, a cleft lip, and the ghost of a beard and mustache. he's wearing filthy clothes, a baseball cap, And a dog tag necklace.

“That man out there killed their friend!” Tim tells him in despair. “Please sir we need help!” He begs.

The man stares at you two like Tim has two heads and you grew six arms. He licks over his right canine tooth before smacking his lips and nodding “Okay…I'll help ya…here.” He points to a rickety wooden door. “I'll distract him, You guys go hide in my basement.” He looks over his house real quick and nods to himself, Then turns back to look at you too “It's real dark down there…If you hear some shuffling it's because I got an old dog down there. She overheats easily and needs to cool off.”

You don't care. You rip open the door and practically fly down the stairs with Tim following.

Your feet hit the cement and your legs finally go weak. Your knees hits the floor and your shoulders slump in relief. Tim also finds himself on the floor. You finally get a second to breath and reflect.

You praise yourself for a few seconds for your instincts being correct, Just as quickly your formulating an escape plan. You take a half of air, sit up, and look around.

The basement is dark, damp, and ominous. So like most basements in the world, but in the dark you catch the glimpse of a door frame.

Bingo

Just as you breathed a sigh of relief, The basement door whips open. A man starts descending the staircase rapidly, while you can't see his face you can see the outline of his body.

Bo

You and Tim shoot up from You're kneeling positions. You grab Tim's arm and rip him across the basement and into the door. You hear both slinging curses your way and letting out frustrated roars.

You slam the door behind you. You heard a thump as Bo seemingly couldn't slow down and hit his face against the wooden door.

You look around the new room and discover it's lit by candlelight. The glow of the light is ominous but you can't relish in it now. You spot another door frame and bolt to it. Bo kicks open the door And once again starts chasing you and Tim.

You feel the air shift around your back as Bo takes a slash at you. The slash to your back sends another surge of adrenaline through your veins, and you're able to push you and Tim through the door before Bo can make it behind you.

You slam the door behind you and lock it. You take a look around your environment while you greedily suck in air.

A sad green light illuminates the room. A simple bed, a desk with random art supplies strewn about. It's quite pathetic For what you assumed to be a bedroom?

Just as you come to that conclusion Bo finally busts through the door.

“Now I'm getting sick of you!” You go to run away but are suddenly shoved forward and claps to the floor with the murderer beneath you.

Both you and Bo grunt When you hit the cold, hard, tiled floor. Clumsy feet scamper away and deeper into the bedroom. The air freezes. Time stops. Realization hits you like a truck.

Tim just pushed you.

Tim just sacrificed you to get away.

Bo gives you a strange look, not one of murder or hate, but one of surprise and shock. He also didn't see that coming.

You push off of him and turn your head in the direction the coward fled. It's silent, but only for a couple of seconds. Tim lets out a scream of terror as he comes barreling back towards your direction.

A huge hand stops and grabs him. A huge man with a strange mask slams a knife down onto Tim's chest, repeatedly.

Tim spits out blood in a similar fashion Brian dead. The cool blade rips through his skin over and over again. His blood spills to the floor in red, splattering waves.

After about 8 stabs a big man lets Tim go. And like a rag doll Tim crumples to the floor.

You look back at Bo looking for a reaction “Well that was something.” he grins. He moves out from Under you and leans on his side next to you. He seems to want to go on some cocky lecture but you stop him.

“Thank you…”

Bo makes a dramatic shocked face “Excuse me?”

You repeat yourself “...Thank you…” The charismatic man seems completely shocked by your gratitude, He looks towards the larger man, Who even though behind a mask, looks equally shocked.

Your eyes light up looking at the masked man “I hated those two, I'll give it two guesses why.” You sigh and lean your head onto the ground.

“Yeah they're kind of…. Wrong in the head.” Bo sympathizes.

“They're dumb, or, were dumb.”

Bo let's out wild laughter “That's a nice way of putting it!” bone stands up and offers you a hand. “Tell you what, We call it even.”

You look at him confused “what even?”

Bo smiles that charismatic smile that got you here in the first place “You wanted them gone, We wanted more statues. We both say nothing and move on with our lives.” You take his hand cautiously and stand up.

The man with a cleft lip slowly enters the room with a curious look. “We, meaning you three?”

“We what?” The man asks.

Bow disregards the man entirely “Deal?” He devilishly smiles. You think for a second, But come to the conclusion that this is ultimately the best option. Still holding his hand you shake it in confirmation and nod.

The larger man comes closer to you, and into the light. He looks you up and down before disappearing for a few seconds.

When he emerges again He's holding a first aid kit. He gently offers it to you, gesturing towards your back. “Awe, Vincent. You big softie!” Bo teases the man.

The man, Vincent, ignores Bo entirely and shuffles you towards the bed. Bo huffs at the disregard and gets a little angry “I'm hurt too, Asshole!”

Vincent looks over his shoulders and points at the other skinny man. A silent ‘ask him’ annoys Bo enough to leave.

Vincent sits you down and sits behind you. He opens up the kit, takes out a sterilized napkin and rubs it all over his hands. He just tosses it aside and gently pulls at your shirt, asking you to lift it.

You hurriedly lift your shirt so he can clean you up.

He works quickly and gently on your wound. His large fingers work diligently while the adrenaline finally dies down. The wound burns and stings, but he's soft with you.

The three of them switch up fast.

Bo being friendly, killing Brian, then being friendly to you.

The strange man Helping you but turning out to be working with them.

And finally Vincent, Killing Tim brutally but being very gentle with you.

A whole family of whiplash.

Finally Vincent busts out the bandages and wraps you up. His large hands gently glides around your back and chest. Something Sparks in your brain, and you get hyper focused on his breath. A sharp contrast to yours. You're still sucking in air while he is softly breathing.

When he's done he stands up and starts cleaning up the supplies. As long as you can dodge their wrath, it probably won't be bad.

Thanks for reading <3

So sorry this took so long! It takes me a much longer time writing one shots then headcannons :(

Also I kind of sort of lost the plot towards the end, sorry about that......¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

@hornyslasher

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello! I have two (separate) genres im interested in recs for, if youve got them (though combined would be fascinating tbh): Horror and farming sim-like ttrpgs. Horror im sure is fairly common, just not in my circles (which are adventure fantasy based); farming sim though seems like it may be rarer? for that id be interested in either solo or with 2+ people

Theme: Horror Games

Hello friend, I’m going to let one of my older posts do some of the heavy lifting, and point you towards the Small Town Farming collection I put up back in 2022.

You are absolutely right that Horror is much easier to recommend, but I’ll also try and put some quick recs for solo-farming type games at the bottom of this post.

1978: The Night They Came Home, by World Champ Game Co.

1978: The Night THEY Came Home is a 1-2 player horror roleplaying game telling the story of a fateful showdown between Survivor (a clever and resilient person caught up in horrifying circumstances) and Slasher (a legendary force of evil). Using a deck of poker cards, dual rule books, varied resources, and shared play space, players will recount the events of a forsaken Halloween, zooming closer into the haunting folklore of a small Midwestern town and its inhabitants, and culminating in a violent battle for survival.

Here is a game for solo gamers and folks who want a more intimate experience. If you’re a fan of Friday the 13th, this is probably in your wheelhouse! 1978 has a win condition, meaning that either the Survivor or the Slasher will come away as the victor, and the fact that this is also a game that depends on a deck of cards means that I think this might also be a good game for folks who also enjoy card games and board games.

Vast Grimm, by Infinite Black.

EACH MISERABLE DAY THAT PASSES, THE UNIVERSE INCHES CLOSER TO ITS INEVITABLE DEMISE.

Vast Grimm is a stand-alone, art-filled, punk-fueled OSR role-playing game about the few humans remaining in a universe being consumed by growing parasitic würms.

Are you a MAnchiNe ravaged by war, pieced together with remnants of bots and the little flesh left of your body? Maybe you're a twisted biochemist shoving needles into your arms in hopes that this next fix will be the one that saves you and what’s left of humanity? Or perhaps you are a soul survivor, like a cockroach, doing whatever is necessary to stay alive even if it means the rest of your Legion must perish.

This is a game about survival, no matter how gruesome things get, humanity must survive.

If you’ve heard of MÖRK BORG and thought it was cool, and if you want the same kind of energy but in a sci-fi future full of mutant animals and horrific parasites, then you might want to check out Vast Grimm. Your characters will have to ration food, energy and ammo in an unending battle against the worms. This game looks to have a large amount of support, from expanded content, to a number of adventures, to an online character generator. For over-the-top violence, plenty of alien goo, and shambling pathetic characters that look like they might fall apart at any moment, try out Vast Grimm.

The Lost Bay, by IKO.

What Is The Lost Bay? The Lost Bay is a Suburban Gothic tabletop RPG se199X. The Lost Bay is also the name of the setting where the game takes place: a coastal suburb inspired by films and media from the 80s and 90s. In it you play as a young person touched by the Weird, an ancient force that gives you supernatural powers. You roam the Bay with your gang, its malls, arcade games shops, skateparks and beaches, and fight the Horror that has awakened.

The Lost Bay is a game for folks who like their horror drenched in 90’s nostalgia. Characters are archetypal, and each one comes with special powers. Using your powers is exciting and effective, but also brings you closer to Scars, horrible truths about the world around you that will irrevocably change your hometown.

The Lost Bay is great for planning heists, rescuing friends, and trying to get out of dodge when the going gets rough. It’s not about fighting your way out, but more about trying to keep you and your loved ones safe. A lot of game designers have had a riot putting together adventures for this game, which you can check out in this game jam. The link above is for the Kickstarter, but in case you see this game after the campaign finishes, you can also check the game out on Itch.

Flyover Country, by Headstone Hills.

Fields of wheat and corn ripple in the wind, hungry eyes peering out between the stalks. Billboards along the road advertise strange and dangerous attractions. Smiles are too wide, manners too polite, secrets buried too deep. The neon light of a diner glows in the distance, but you may never reach its doors. An empty highway stretches out to the horizon, then wraps back in around itself. This is Flyover Country.

Flyover Country is a Midwest road-tripping horror role-playing game for 4-6 players: one gamemaster, or Watcher, and 3-5 players, or Drifters. It is designed to be played in one setting and without prep. It only requires paper, writing utensils, and a tarot deck.

This is a great option for a group where the GM is uneasy about doing a lot of prep. While one person acts as the Watcher, much of the events in this game are simply generated by drawing tarot cards from a deck. Characters will also draw from the Major Arcana to determine what their secret is - and what special ability it has given them. This is a game of hidden information, and grinding your characters down towards a tragic or grisly end.

Gravemire, by Clawhammer Games.

Gravemire is a tabletop roleplaying game about death, growth, horror, and survival, based in an original mechanical framework and set in the churning waters of the Louisiana bayou circa 1894. Players slip into the roles of outsiders arriving in the town of Scarstone, a rural outpost that has been warped by a terrible transformation known as the Convulsion. Once, Scarstone was surrounded by similar towns. The Bayou once had an end. Now, unknowable numbers of horrors seep through the uncharted backwaters, strange magic contorts reality to its whims, and the settlements that called Scarstone their neighbour jut half-ruined from the mire like bones from a wound. Times have changed.

Gravemire is a pretty brutal game, not afraid to kill your character and steal their soul. The town of Scarstone is a trap; your characters wandered in one day through curiosity or the desire for adventure, but leaving the town isn’t nearly as easy. Characters are built using a point-buy system, and as you play you may acquire more skill - but you will also acquire Aversions, which sap your Willpower and inhibit your ability to muster through the worst of what the game can throw at you.

If you want to check out an abbreviated version of the game, you can check out the Kickstarter playkit here.

Under the Autumn Strangely, by Graham Gentz.

"Under the Autumn Strangely" is a storytelling game of pastoral horror priming with anachronistic Americana set in a land that Never Was.

Inspired by "Over the Garden Wall" created by Patrick McHale, players collaboratively create a world uncanny and old. Codify and encourage tonal clash as the Three Roles meld whimsy, autumnal melancholy, and dread.

Take a wrong turn on a dusty road. Follow the sign past the red barn with peeling paint. Doubt your senses.

Get a little lost.

Welcome to the Never Was.

From what I understand about this game, it works best with three players, as there are three roles that the participants are expected to embody. One person plays the Arcadian, who embodies the landscape and setting. One person plays the Traveller, who acts as a “main” character. One person plays the Terror, which grows to dominate the story. Each role can only add to to one role’s suggestions, and can only deny the other’s. If you want to mix your horror with nostalgia and a romanticized vision of the rural USA, you might want to check out Under the Autumn Strangely.

The Facility, by Galen Pejeu.

You awaken, cold and in the dark. Fumbling around by low blue lights in a coffin shaped pod. You pull yourself out of the box, and in the dark see the faces of others. You are all wearing loose fitting white clothing and laceless shoes. Hospital patients? 

You peer into the dark, seeing little but hearing the sound of dripping, running water and distant machinery. You gather what you can, knowing that something is hunting you. It will be here soon.

Wait.

Can you remember who you are?

The Facility is a game for any number of players, taking on the role of ordinary people, stripped of their memories and trapped in a hostile and insane labyrinth of machines and interdimensional weirdness.

The Facility places your crew into an unknown place full of machines that want to kill you. It’s great for high-action scenes, and since your characters have lost their memories, I think the struggle to find pieces of who you are (or were) is a great way to zoom in and make the horror personal. The game is Breathless, so expect your character’s gear and/or abilities to slowly wear down over time, and for the staked to get bigger every time you pause to try and re-stock. If you want a science-fiction twist to your horror game, check out The Facility.

You Should Also Check Out...

My Shudders Rec Post

The Curse of the House of Rookwood, by Nerdy Pup Games.

Nature, Town, Farm, Villagers, by CardboardHyperfix.

Weeds in the Waste, by Meghan Cross

The Wandering Tea Garden, by AP.

Green Thumb, by Curious Frog.

The Bonsai Diary, by Sticky Doodler.

Iron Valley, by M.Kirin.

[lostloveletters]

OC Horror AU: Holly Dean - '80s Suburban Slasher Final Girl

'Cause let's face it, baby—these days, you gotta have a sequel.

[cupiditas-and-ao3]

Day 15 of Kinks-Your-Tober! Part 3

The Tumblr Poll voted for 3rd person so here it is in 3rd person glory!

There's another version on AO3 that's 1st person stalker talking to the reader (think You(TV show))

Day 15: Boot Worship | Cock Warming | Melolagnia - Classic Slasher (Ghostface)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

They found his body in an alley closer to the club than your parking lot. You followed instructions so well. Hurled until your gut was empty and dry heaved for a few minutes. Then you crawled to your car, realized the door was still locked, screamed and sobbed and dry heaved again, and then you crawled to your keys to start the process over again. Your pile of puke had covered them and by the time you were out of tears, he was back to watching you from the shadows. It felt so shallow, so empty, to watch the camera feed after the fact. To watch you shake the vomited blood from your key ring without pulling your hair out of your face. To see you rip the cute plush figure from your keychain and throw it down the alleyway without picking it up and washing it to return it to you. 

To see you scream and swing a fist at the dead body without praising you for it. 

He watched you crawl back to your car in real time. Watched you unlock the car and leave your keys outside of it when you crawled in the backseat. He watched you cry yourself to sleep before he came back for the body. Before he took the keys and drove your car back to your suburban duplex. Before he took your keys inside, rinsed them in your kitchen sink, and put them back in the driver’s seat of the car with a photo of you. Your beautiful drunken and sloppy face still crunched in the midst of a nightmare. Your dress hiked up around your waist, showing the lacey underwear that he could imagine tearing beneath his fingers. Tears of mascara and eyeliner running down your face and blood on your palms and knees. He took a second photo for himself. 

The police never questioned you. Why would they? There wasn’t any connection between you and Chad, he didn’t have your DNA on him. You still watched the news every night. Were you waiting to hear that you were a person of interest? Were you waiting to hear that they caught him? You ran to the bathroom and puked your guts up every night for a week when you watched the coverage.

 You didn’t tell your friends what happened. They called and asked if you got home safe. Said that a guy was murdered outside the club. None of them remembered him from that night. Chad wasn’t worth remembering. Not for you, not for me. What mattered about that night was that you remembered him. The part Chad played in it was negligible. 

He was much more important to you. You didn’t watch the video you’d stolen from the Jones’ anymore. You watched the news and every time the sketch artist’s drawing of him came across the screen your hand would slide inside your pajama pants. You’d rub and fuck yourself, bucking into your hand until you cried and screamed. It was beautiful to watch you. To photograph you. 

The first time he left you a photograph of your nightly routine you barricaded the windows. Which was quite cruel of you. He didn’t even hurt you. He was so kind to you, so loving. Sharing your beauty with you when you never would have seen it otherwise. You still covered the windows, blocked them with furniture. It didn’t keep him out, of course. He’d made a key so long before you knew he was there. The next photo on your kitchen counter with a hot coffee and the croissant you liked from the cafe downtown was a message. 

Don’t break my heart. 

You moved the furniture back later that day. 

At some point you stopped being shy about it. You started looking through the windows, waiting for him. You started watching for him before you would go sit on the edge of your bed. Your hand would lead up your thigh, dragging oversized boxers up, then to your hip, up under your shirt, over your shirt, squeezing those perfect tits, wrapping around that gorgeous throat. One hand down your pants while the other was around your throat. You squeezed as your fingers strummed under your boxers and your back arched. 

You didn’t know he wasn’t at the window you were facing. He’d set up in your closet before you got home. He recorded your show though. Cameras facing in your windows, a camera in my hands. He took a photo at the height of the arch of your back, artistic in the curve of your spine. A photo for you, a photo for him. It was his favorite one of you awake so far. Your orgasm was a thing of beauty. A work of modern art as you shook apart. You looked around afterward. Expectantly. As if you thought he would come in through the window to reward you for the show you put on. 

As if he didn’t know that the police were outside waiting for the code word from the wire you wore under your shirt. 

He didn’t blame you. He didn’t know how you convinced them it would work. How you convinced them to listen to your pretty moans over the wire while you lost your mind thinking about his boot in your mouth, his hand in your hair. 

They’d have been dead if he hadn’t beaten you home. If he hadn’t hid in your closet hours ago. He watched them walk you through it. Watched you get fitted with the wire, mic nestled between your perfect bouncing tits. Watched the way the officers stared at your chest for too long, the way the one fitting you for the wire ran his fingers along the curves for too long. If he hadn’t been in your closet, if it hadn’t been so important to be in your closet, to watch this play out, to see how far you’d go, they’d have been dead. He had opportunity to leave. To see to the business you’d forced on him. But he wouldn’t have seen you. He wouldn’t have seen your trembling lip when you realized he wasn’t coming. When you realized he wasn’t going to be caught, not here, not today. 

You cried when they came and tore the wire off you. Tore the tape that had nestled it between your perfect breasts hard enough you screamed. You sobbed when they called you the slut that you were. You begged for another chance, told them you weren’t making it up. That you had the photos. 

“A whore’s porn photography isn’t proof of a murderer,” the one who’d touched you sneered. 

You cried on your floor. You threw things. You screamed for him. 

“I’ll fucking kill you,” your screams tore cracks into your voice, “I’ll kill you!” 

He let you break down. You needed it. You needed that, you needed the breakdown. You needed to see what happened when you turned on him. 

He wanted to trust you. He wanted to trust you so fucking much and you ruined it. 

When you fell asleep, he left. He let you sleep in peace, sprawled across your bed, fists bloody from punching your bathroom mirror. Clutching the pillow you’d humped through your second sobbing orgasm. 

He came back with the bodies. It would have been harder if you had been in an apartment, if there were stairs. Hell if you’d even had a screen on your window it would have been harder to stage the room while you slept. So peacefully and sweet in your bed. 

He left the photo of your first orgasm stuck with a knife in between the handless corpses on the wall where your TV had been. Your TV was safe, stowed in the closet playing the VHS on repeat. The hands were gone. The flesh that touched you burned off, the rest in the dump heap where they belonged. Fucking pigs. Their faces were scarred, their eyes that had lingered too long plucked out and fed to them in the moments before they died. 

It belonged in a renaissance painting.

Next

[mariocki]

Deadly Games (1982)

"It's an incredible feeling, you know? You hold someone's life in your hands, and because you choose... the life passes out of them. Now there's a game again. With winners and losers."

[adrianicsea]

what do you like about nightmare on elm street? (genuine question, I respect your views and would love to know your opinion)

OH MAN thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to talk about it!!! i’ve always had a huge soft spot for the elm street series as it’s what got me introduced to/hooked on horror, and imo there’s a lot to love about it and a lot that sets it apart from its contemporaries.

for starters, while it IS a slasher series, it was the first big one to really foreground/mix in the paranormal and even some elements of the fantasy genre. while jason voorhees and michael myers are both supernatural in origin, they continue to occupy the physical world and are thus constrained by mundane laws when it comes to their kills; not ONLY is freddy supernatural in origin, but he continues to occupy the realm of dreams and use supernatural powers in his kills. this sets the series apart by adding a greater element of mystery to the events, and it ALSO opens up the series for a variety of creative and memorable nightmare/kill sequences that wouldn’t be possible if freddy had to play by the rules of the real world. (this is also notable bc the slasher cycle had begun to feel a bit tired when nightmare 1 released— elm street is credited for jump starting the slasher for a NEW cycle in the 80s, partially by virtue of introducing a greater fantasy angle to it!!)

freddy himself is just SUCH a fun and creative character. prior to nightmare, the majority of slasher villains didn’t have much of a personality and didn’t talk a lot, but there’s always (imo) been something so fun about freddy WITHOUT compromising how genuinely menacing he can be. robert englund is a fantastic actor, and i think the series was also able to maintain more integrity (such as it is) by keeping englund as freddy throughout the entirety of the series. even after the series crosses the threshold and becomes Not Scary And Kind Of Bad, freddy still provides a lot of camp fun in his jokes and creative kills.

wes craven’s horror movies almost always have elements of anti-authoritarianism or other types of political critique to them, in a way that feels more deliberate and purposeful than a lot of other 80s slashers (which, on a surface level, tended to be either apolitical or outright regressive compared to the 70s horror films that came before). in nightmare, this first manifests as a combination of police ineptitude, a critique of white suburban parenthood and of parents not listening to their children, AND a critique/commentary on the disastrous fallout of vigilante justice. that is a frankly impressive amount of ground to cover in an 80s slasher, and the second and third movies only up the ante by looking at the horror of realizing you’re gay during the peak of the AIDS crisis (in nightmare 2) and of the ways that the mental health institution preys upon and fails to meaningfully help institutionalized patients (in nightmare 3). after that, the series kind of loses its vision and starts to feel more generic and less pointed, but the original trilogy at least is a SHOCKINGLY cogent body of work for the decade and subgenre that they occupy.

the movies can also be very funny! the original trilogy has a lot of tongue-in-cheek or darkly humorous moments without compromising the moments of horror, and the latter films are still funny in a more camp sort of way. i’ve always personally found the scream series to be TOO glib and too meta, so the type of comedy/humor used in the elm street series is more my speed.

speaking of scream, i feel like i HAVE to talk about the last film in the original series, Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (yes that is its full title). it feels like the prototype for scream in a lot of ways— it’s ALSO a meta-horror horror movie, but here the story is ABOUT the actress from the first and third movies coming back to the series to make a new one. but things keep going fatally wrong on set, robert englund is acting strange, and a mysterious stalker keeps leaving threatening phone calls for langenkamp’s son. i think this movie is SOOOOO ahead of its time for its investigation of fandom and its raising the question of “what do we do with these modern monsters we’ve created?” i always get so smad that this movie has been so overlooked in comparison to scream, bc they’re a lot more similar than people realize, and i think that scream wouldn’t have happened the way it did if not for New Nightmare.

this is more of an ancillary thing and something i didn’t come to appreciate until much later in life, but craven’s body of work was a HUGE influence on james wan and leigh whannell— lawrence gordon of the saw series partially owes his name to a main character from nightmare 3!!! there’s a lot of other neat little connections between the elm street series and saw, which i particularly enjoy as those are two of my absolute favorite horror series.

any movie where j*hnny d*pp dies badly is worth celebrating imo!!

as a final note, i’ll acknowledge that a lot of my love for the elm street movies IS because they were my first horror movies, and so i have a very nostalgic emotional attachment to them. which is to say i’m a bit biased!

i can see a lot of the common criticisms of the series— for some people, the core fantasy element of “he kills you in your dreams” makes it too unrealistic and therefore not scary for some people, and while freddy was very purposely changed to be “just” a child murderer due to high-profile cases of CSA around the time of the film’s release, he still carries a VERY predatory subtext, which can be offputting for some viewers. i also feel like the things that made the elm street series such a standout— the fantasy element, the talkative and funny slasher villain— were then imitated by SO many other 80s slashers that it can be hard to recognize elm street’s originality today. but the franchise wasn’t just a member of the pack, it CREATED those tropes!!

if anyone reading this hasn’t seen the elm street movies (and is so inclined), i definitely encourage you to check them out— and for people who have historically disliked the series, i hope this post was informative, even if it doesn’t change your mind :)

[gremlingottoosilly]

I kinda see König a little bit like Jason?! Maybe it’s just me but there is definitely something there,

I love you page💕🙏🏼

Hi!! Yes, you get it!! Out of all masked killers, my favorites are usually Ghostface, in all incarnations, just because I really like this suburban babysitting-killer vibe, but it wouldn't work with Konig because I can't imagine him really getting into a college party without looking like someone's strained uncle. With slashers like Jackson, however, it works perfectly - they are in the forest, he wears a mask and Horangi is his beloved accomplice.I was also thinking about Konig as a little bit of Leatherface, minus the cannibalism bit(I want to explore cannibalism themes more with Horangi) , while Hoangi has those vibes of killers from The House of wax. Let me know if you'd want a oneshot for slasher Korangi to crash reader's college party. Horangi has more of a refined killer vibe for me, I can mostly imagine him in a more civilized setting, while Konig runs around like an overexcited puppy and would crush a head or two given the opportunity. This is why Horangi was using knives, for example, a little homage to the classic Scream(also has two killers which is great, almost all Ghostfaces work in groups) and konig was using a crossbow. I wanted to write about a bow at first, but then it would be too much of a "Wrong Turn" and I don't like the franchise very much,.

[skinnywalker]

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[romanceyourdemons]

although originally pitched as a prequel to saw (2004), the collector (2009) has several key points of thematic departure. first and foremost, the jigsaw-figure of this film is stripped of any and all dialogue, transforming him from the verbose and articulate villain-protagonist-material antagonist that would become central to the saw franchise into a m.o.-in-lieu-of-motive force of faceless destruction and perversion—in a word, a standard slasher villain. the argument of the film is likewise much more in line with halloween (1978)-descended slashers than with its precedent film; this film quickly abandons the upstairs-downstairs class commentary of its opening and settles into a comfortable fable about the very structures the wealthy rely on for safety, from their vast houses to their day-labor staff to the infrastructure of police and ems services, being invaded and corrupted into something unfamiliar and unsafe. despite this fairly lazy premise, the film sinks its teeth into the torture porn genre with brutality and gusto. where the saw films go for quality in their traps, seeking (sometimes to their detriment) to make every trap as psychological as physical, this film goes for quantity, filling every square inch of the house with rustic, home alone (1990)-like, utterly brutal traps. whereas the saw franchise approach gambles its tension on an easily overblown operatic storytelling style, this film’s steady stream of small and simple dangers, with stakes made real by its lovingly depicted gore, makes for constant tension—not to mention an ending that follows the denouement of the most satisfying slashers beat for beat to great effect, with the long-suffering hunted becoming the righteous hunter at last, before falling prey to the false safety of rigid, binding suburban society. while it may not be eligible for consideration as a successor to saw (2004), the collector (2009) certainly performs its chosen role as a combination torture porn-slasher extremely well, and for those who enjoy those genres, i would certainly recommend it