slasherparty

[slasherparty]

i’m a freak for the cryptkeeper can we get some of him xx

dude thank you for being the only one ever to request him 😭 finally i can let my inner john kassir freak out‼️

the cryptkeeper 🪦 x reader 💭

he’d sweep into your peripheral vision like a poorly hinged door in a haunted house, all rotten flair and a grin that suggested he knew exactly where the bodies were buried. (they’re right under your floorboards. he helped.)

“my dear, you take my breath away… though that’s not saying much for someone who doesn’t have lungs anymore. but you? you’re to die for — literally, let’s pencil in a date.”

he’d offer his bony hand with mock sincerity. “care to dance, my darling? just don’t mind the occasional bone cracking. it’s… ambiance!”

“so, tell me, do you come here coffin? because you’ve put me six feet under in love, my sweet!” you’d feel an overwhelming urge to both laugh and groan — and perhaps book a séance.

a skeletal finger would present you with a dusty bouquet of nightshade and dried roses, accompanied by the comment, “these flowers are to die for. just like me!”

“your laugh, my dear! it’s like the creak of a floorboard, the kind that makes villagers grab pitchforks. truly, it sets my tibia a-tingle.”

after one of his more daring remarks, he’d lean in conspiratorially, as if letting you in on a secret. “i’m not usually this forward… but then again, time is relative when you’ve already passed your expiration date.”

should someone else glance in your direction, he’d pull you closer, whispering conspiratorially, “careful, my sweet, i don’t share. just ask my last competition — they’re still haunting me.”

“i’ve already got a plot picked out for us! literally. side by side for eternity. isn’t that gravely romantic?”

he’d offer you a perfectly polished skeleton key. “this unlocks the crypt where i keep my heart. mind you, it’s… err… not beating much these days. but it’s yours all the same.”

with a final gleeful cackle, he’d murmur, “now, my darling, don’t you go running off to the land of the living too quickly. you’d break my… well, ribcage.”

thanks for reading! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

haiiii :D if you can, can we get a reader (gn) x slashers who just FLIPS OUT and becomes a murderer/slasher in their own right? something breaks inside the reader and they become just as bad if not worse than their slasher s/o

any assortment of slashers are fine, but I particularly enjoy billy lenz & bo sinclair if you could include them.

if not that's completely fine!! love your blog <3

hi !! thanks for such a fun prompt hehehehe 👹 i’ll separate them into groups, four points each!

billy lenz 🎄 x slasher!reader 💭

the first time it happens, billy watches from the shadows, his breathing jagged with excitement. you’ve cornered the man who followed you home — a man who leered, who thought you weak. there’s a flash of steel in your hand and an unmistakable glint in your eye. when it’s over, billy steps forward, clapping his blood-slick hands together in manic delight. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice trembling with joy, “you’re just like me.”

you didn’t mean to snap, but the woman wouldn’t stop screaming, her shrill voice clawing at your ears until all you could see was red. when it’s done, billy kneels beside you, running his fingers through the still-warm blood pooling on the floor. “Pretty,” he mutters, as if he’s admiring a painting. his gaze shifts to you, wide-eyed and reverent, as though he’s just fallen in love for the second time.

someone breaks into the house — billy’s house, your house — and you’re the one who moves first. there’s a heavy sound as the crowbar connects, a startled cry that cuts short. billy’s laugh echoes from somewhere above, high-pitched and erratic. when you look up, his face is pressed to the bannister, his grin wide and unhinged. “That’s my favorite,” he whispers, as though it’s a prayer.

the caroler had pushed their way inside, insisting on warmth and cheer that felt more invasive than festive. their laugh grated, their footsteps too bold on the old floorboards. you catch them by the christmas tree, the sharp edge of a broken ornament glittering in your hand as you strike. billy watches from the attic stairs, his breathing rapid and shallow. “Do it again,” he pleads, his voice desperate and breathless. “For me.”

bo sinclair 🕯️ x slasher!reader 💭

the man had wandered too far into ambrose, a smug tourist with a camera who thought himself untouchable. you’d warned him to leave, your voice calm despite the tightening coil in your chest. when he laughed and stepped closer, you snapped, shoving him against the wax museum wall with a speed that surprised even you. the broken shard of a mannequin’s arm became your weapon, and when the deed was done, bo leaned in the doorway, smirking. “Damn,” he drawled, his voice honeyed and slow. “Don’t you look good with a weapon.”

it was supposed to be a quiet evening, but the drunk who stumbled into the gas station had other ideas. his words were loud, his insults sharper than the edge of the knife you grabbed from behind the counter. by the time bo returned, the man’s body was crumpled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. bo knelt beside the mess, his grin lazy and wicked. “You just saved me some trouble,” he said, wiping the knife clean before handing it back to you. “You’re gettin’ good at this.”

the trespasser had found the church, poking around where he didn’t belong, his flashlight casting long, trembling shadows across the pews. when you confronted him, he spat an insult, and that was all it took. the heavy brass candlestick was in your hand before you could think twice. bo emerged from the shadows as the man fell, his laughter low and approving. “Guess we’re takin’ turns now, huh?” he said, his drawl dripping with amusement.

you and bo stood in the street, your conversation boiling into a heated argument. bo’s voice was sharp as he pushed your boundaries, a cruel remark about a shared secret landing like a blade. anger rose in the you — a deep, ancient, unspoken rage — and before you knew it, a knife was in your hand from your pocket, gleaming in the pale light. without hesitation, you lashed out, striking a figure that had come too close — someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. the sound of flesh tearing and bone breaking filled the air as the victim fell to the ground. bo froze, eyes wide as he realized what had just happened, but your rage was a tide that couldn't be stemmed. you turned toward the fog, breathing ragged as you disappeared into the shadows, leaving another body behind.

jennifer check 💄 x slasher!reader 💭

the rain drummed against the window as you and jennifer shared a booth, the air between you charged with unspoken words. she swirled her coffee, smirking. “You ever wonder how far you can push someone before they snap?” a voice came from behind you — harsh laughter, sharp and cruel. you turned to see a man hassling the waitress in the corner. without thought, your hand found the butter knife, cold and steady, and you moved. the knife bit into his hand, silencing his laughter. jennifer’s hand was on yours now, her voice soft. “It’s okay,” she whispered. but it wasn’t.

the alley was narrow, damp, and quiet except for the sound of footsteps. jennifer stood beside you, eyes locked on a man pressing a woman against the wall. his voice was low, cruel. your hand found a jagged piece of metal. the anger rose in you like a wave, and before you could stop it, you struck. He fell to the ground, gasping. The woman stared, her breath quick. jennifer’s hand found yours, steady and warm. “You did the right thing,” she said, her voice soft as shadows.

the stage was cold, dimly lit, dust floating in pale beams of light. a group of men laughed, their voices sharp and cruel. one of them had cornered a young man, his words a venomous hiss. something snapped inside you. you picked up a jagged piece of stage equipment and threw it. it struck him in the shoulder, and the laughter ended. jennifer’s hand closed over yours as the others scattered. she didn’t say much but looked at you with unreadable eyes.

the apartment was still, the air thick with the scent of smoke and the faint hum of distant traffic. you and jennifer were alone in the dark, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards. she was sitting on the couch, her gaze distant, contemplative. then came the sound of movement—footsteps in the hallway. a figure appeared at the door: a man, loud, confrontational, his voice a sharp growl. he had broken in, and his intent was clear. you moved before he could step further, the knife cold in your hand. a quick motion, a gasp, and he fell to the ground. the air felt empty after that, silent and still. jennifer was staring, her eyes wide but calm. she stood, crossing the room, her hand brushing yours. “It had to be done,” she whispered, and you didn’t argue.

added jennifer just for funsies hehe >:)

thanks for reading!! 💌

you can read more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

r u able to do smth fluffy & affectionate with (bill skarsgaard version) pennywise? 👀👉👈 maybe exchanging i love yous for the first time / penny realizing he loves them, or smth sappy like that.

either way have a good one, love ur blog!

i am VERY able to do this for you :•D 💌✨

pennywise 🎪 / reader, first feelings 💭

pennywise watches you, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light, not with hunger but with something deeper, something alien to him but strangely welcome. “You,” he says, his voice a low ripple, “are far too precious for this world.” he’s never said anything like it before, and it lingers in the air like a secret he’s only now learning how to keep.

the first time you brush a hand against his face, his skin doesn’t ripple or twist. instead, he leans into it, his sharp teeth hidden behind a hesitant smile. it feels wrong to him, this gentleness, but also like it has always been waiting beneath his monstrous edges, just for you.

pennywise realizes he loves you the way he realizes most things — suddenly and overwhelmingly. one moment he’s watching you laugh, a sound as bright and fleeting as a firefly, and the next he’s aching with the knowledge that he never wants it to stop. “I don’t want to eat you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “That’s… new.”

“I love you,” he says one day, almost angrily, as though the words have betrayed him by surfacing at all; as if you’ve tricked him somehow. his claws flex but don’t lash out, his instincts warring with the strange warmth he feels as he sees your smile in response.

you tell him you love him, and it’s not what he expects. it’s not whispered in fear or forced through trembling lips. it’s soft, steady, and real. pennywise feels his form flicker for a moment, as though he might dissolve entirely under the weight of something so pure.

he cups your face with his hands, careful not to let his claws press too hard, and stares into your eyes like he’s searching for something. “Say it again,” he demands, but there’s no malice, only need. when you do, his grin is sharp and wide, but his eyes are almost human.

his affection is strange and startling. he wraps you in his arms, his body shifting around you in a way that should feel wrong but instead feels like the safest place in the world. “Mine,” he whispers, his voice a growl, but there’s no threat, only a promise.

pennywise doesn’t understand softness, not really, but he tries for you. his sharp edges dull just slightly when you’re near, his predatory instincts pulling back just enough to let you see the flicker of something tender beneath.

the first time you kiss him, his entire body tenses, his teeth glinting in surprise. but then he leans into it, his lips cold but pressing firmly against yours. when you pull away, he looks at you with something akin to awe, like you’ve just rewritten a rule of his existence.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” he admits one night, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. he traces a claw down your arm, careful not to hurt, and looks at you with an intensity that feels like being pulled into the deadlights. “But I know I don’t want to lose it.”

there’s a hunger in him that’s never gone, but when he’s with you, it shifts. it’s not about devouring anymore — it’s about holding, keeping, cherishing. for the first time in his long, twisted existence, pennywise feels full, and it terrifies him as much as it fills him with wonder.

thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Hello! I would like to request a match-up for when you have the time! Prepare for a long description (sorry in advance)

My name is Jay, I'm a gay trans man. I also have a laundry list of mental health issues (Adhd, social and generalized anxiety, depression, sensory issues to name the most prevalent). I'm very specific about physical touch (sometimes I crave it, other times I despise even the idea of it). I also have issues with sudden loud noises, but I love loud music (I can control that) I have communication issues, meaning i don't entirely know how to show how much I appreciate people and I also don't know how to communicate my feelings or thoughts properly, either nothing comes out or it all comes out jumbled (give me patience and time though and I'll get it out eventually though!). Validation is something I kinda need a LOT of, though I tend too keep my thoughts and feelings inside untill it blows up into a meltdown.

I'm very sarcastic as a person. Dry humor is my forte. I enjoy relaxing and going to concerts/festivals (even though noise is a big sensory issue for me, I still enjoy attending them), creating art, and playing the drums. I like all things horror, and i am a massive metalhead. I also enjoy acting. Im an aspiring actor. I also have a love for animals. I speak English and a little bit of German.

Physically, im basically a pale twig. I'm about 5'4" and quite skinny and very pale (kinda like a vampire, lol). I do not have just one style of dress that I adhere to. I can dress in alternative fashion, vampire Gothic, Grunge, or basic metalhead attire.

I'm sorry if that was too much information, im a very specific person if it wasn't abundantly clear, but I hope this will do you well. I just love your work. Thank you!

thanks for the request!! i got immediate inspiration — thank you for being so thorough! 💛

without further ado… i pair you with michael myers (rob zombie edition)!!

why it works…💭

michael’s silence is a steadfast void, a canvas for your jumbled emotions to unfurl. he doesn’t demand words, and his eternal quiet carries a validation of its own. your eventual articulation — be it slow, messy, or explosive — would be met with his unsettling yet steady patience.

you, with your distaste for sudden, uncontrollable noises, might find unexpected solace in michael’s deliberate, methodical way of moving through the world. his every step is precise, almost rhythmic, a metronome that mirrors the thrum of your own heartbeat.

though michael is stoic to the point of unnerving, his blank mask offers an irresistible setup for your dry wit. imagine quipping to a man who never blinks — humor thrives in the silence where awkwardness would typically fester.

as an aspiring actor, you might appreciate the irony of performing for michael — a slasher who watches with a predator’s intensity. the attention is validating in its own twisted way, a gaze that never looks away, though it might fluster you.

your love of horror would resonate with michael’s very existence, as he embodies the genre you adore. he would silently admire your appreciation for the macabre, finding kinship in your fascination with darkness.

your alternative and gothic style would pair almost poetically with michael’s eternal, monochromatic uniform. together, you’d look like a horror film’s marketing poster brought to life. being prone to grungy styles himself, you may even convince him to wear a few of your concert tees or ripped pants.

when you crave touch, michael’s almost mechanical stillness would provide a controlled, consistent form of physical presence. when touch is unwelcome, you won’t have much of a problem setting that boundary, as it takes persuasion to get michael to express the most basic of intimacy to begin with.

you, being a metalhead, might find a strange kind of excitement in michael’s soundtrack-worthy killings — slow, relentless, and impactful, much like a doom-metal song given human form.

at concerts and festivals, michael’s towering and intimidating presence would ensure you feel protected. he wouldn’t flinch at loud music or chaotic environments, standing steadfastly by your side so you could enjoy the experience fully.

michael would appreciate your creativity, watching with silent fascination as you bring your art and music to life. whether you’re making art, drumming, or performing, he would quietly recognize the passion and individuality you pour into your work.

while your love for animals might clash with michael’s cold indifference toward life, his history with animal violence would likely be tempered by your sharp wit and strong personality. you would be the only person bold enough to say, “Leave the cat alone, Michael,” and somehow, he’d listen.

michael’s actions speak louder than words, and his quiet but absolute protectiveness would provide you with the validation and reassurance you need. his devotion would be unshakable, making you feel seen and appreciated without the need for frequent verbal affirmation.

in the quiet, eerie pockets of your companionship, something haunting and strangely fulfilling could grow — a connection as sharp as a blade and as fragile as breath in the cold.

thanks for participating in a matchup! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

herbert west with a trans bf imagines pwease i luv dis cranky little man

finally getting to this prompt, sorry dami. anyways wow we love two trans guys in love!!! ;•)

herbert west 🦠 / trans bf 💭

herbert would view your mind as a puzzle box full of intricate gears, each click and turn revealing a new layer of brilliance. he wouldn’t love passively — his affection would be sharp, dissecting, but never cruel, as if every word shared was a piece of vital data he was privileged to collect.

he would have no patience for societal conventions, dismissing the opinions of those who failed to see your true self with the same disdain he reserved for outdated medical theories. in herbert’s world, truth and science reigned supreme, and he would hold your identity as immutable fact, unworthy of debate.

in his ever-vigilant scientific brilliance, he might offer to synthesize your hormones for you, to save you the cost of the pharmacist. however, you remain dubious, as herbert is known to mix up his compounds sometimes...

in the stillness of late-night experiments, herbert would pause to offer you a cup of coffee or adjust your coat when the cold crept in. it wouldn’t be grand romance, but in these tiny, meticulous gestures, his devotion would become undeniable.

conversations would often veer into the macabre, herbert’s enthusiasm for experimental biology blending seamlessly with your curiosity for the bizarre. together, you'd explore the line between life and death, your discussions an interplay of morbid fascination and intellectual intimacy.

herbert’s hands, more accustomed to scalpels and syringes, would find an unexpected gentleness in brushing a stray lock of hair from your face or tracing the edges of a scar. he would marvel at the humanity he worked so tirelessly to understand yet often overlooked in himself.

he would lend you the kind of loyalty reserved for his work — unyielding, absolute, and often overwhelming. to herbert, you would be as essential as the formulas that kept him awake at night, a constant amidst his chaotic obsessions.

his awkwardness with emotions would be balanced by his frankness. herbert wouldn’t offer flowery words but instead deliver a precise truth: "you make me better at being human, and i don’t know if i’ll ever deserve that."

when you spoke of your struggles, herbert would listen with an intensity usually reserved for groundbreaking discoveries. though not always eloquent in his reassurances, his support would be unwavering, offered in the unspoken language of companionship.

herbert would insist on your presence during experiments, not out of necessity but because he trusts you implicitly. you’d become a team, each respecting the other’s mind, your shared purpose a quiet testament to your bond.

beneath herbert’s clinical exterior, his feelings would simmer — a love that didn’t shout or demand but was constant, undeniable, and fiercely protective. in a life surrounded by death, you would be his proof that life, in all its imperfections, is still worth fighting for.

thanks for reading! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Hi, friend! I was wanting to request a matchup whenever you get a moment; I love how thorough your writing is! My name is Caspian, but I go by Cas for short. I’m a 25 year old pre-t trans man. I have a lot of conditions that make life difficult (PMDD, PTSD, depression, anxiety, auDHD, arthritis to name a few), but I try my best to not overload myself. I’m really into disability and human rights because of this! I love to draw, read, crochet, play video games, and go down research rabbit holes. I graduated last year with a bachelor’s in fine art, and I’m still really proud of it! I practice witchcraft whenever I’m able to. I was born and raised in the south, so I maintain an accent and superstitions from that. For physical characteristics: pale skin, brown hair, hazel eyes, glasses, chubby, 5’1”. Thank you in advanced, and I hope you’re doing well!

i hope you’re doing well too!! thank you for the request!

it took some consideration, but i think i have an idea… i match you with hannibal lecter! (all media but using an nbc gif here)

why it works…💭

hannibal would admire the resilience in your many challenges, seeing the tapestry of your life not as fragmented, but as a complex and beautiful mosaic. as a psychological professional, he would find the way you navigate your conditions with grace and determination a testament to the strength of your character.

your passion for human rights and disability advocacy would intrigue him deeply, as he is drawn to those who wield their intellect and empathy into change-making actions. he would appreciate the thoughtfulness in your convictions and the subtle defiance in your care for others.

your love of research rabbit holes would charm him, as he himself delights in the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. he would relish conversations where your curiosity leads the way, threading together obscure facts and unexpected insights that leave even him surprised.

hannibal would find your artistic pursuits enchanting, particularly your ability to bring life and meaning to your creations. whether it’s drawing, crochet, or fine art, he would see your work as an extension of yourself — a visible manifestation of your unique mind.

your practice of witchcraft, rooted in both modernity and southern superstition, would captivate him. the combination of ritual, belief, and the unknown would appeal to his love for the esoteric, and he would quietly marvel at the mystery it adds to your character.

your southern accent, softened by your wit and intelligence, would delight him. he would savor the way you speak, the cadence of your words carrying echoes of a life lived deeply, yet tinged with the nuances of your transformation and individuality.

hannibal would admire the pride you hold for your academic achievements, recognizing the weight of what it took to earn them. to him, your degree in fine art would be a sign of both discipline and passion, traits he values deeply.

your physicality — your chubby frame, glasses, and stature — would draw his eye as charming aspects of a complete whole. he would admire you with the precision of an artist, finding beauty in the specific and the personal.

your ability to balance intellect, artistry, and advocacy would resonate with hannibal, who sees life as a delicate balance of passion and restraint. he would see you as a person who lives intentionally, even amidst difficulty, and this would fascinate him endlessly.

he would be intrigued by your understanding of the world as layered, from your connection to witchcraft to your appreciation for human rights. to him, you would be a puzzle worth solving — a multifaceted being whose life reflects the complexity he so admires.

thanks for participating in a matchup! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Brian Van Holt as Vincent Sinclair in House of Wax (2005) 01/??

[slasherparty]

How are you?

welllll i’m currently recovering from acute sinusitis :’) but i’m on break from work and enjoying time off with my rats & gf 💚 i’m also writing and drawing! but yes… mostly just resting a lot lol 🪦

[slasherparty]

Would you ever write for mark Hoffman,Vincent Sinclair,Charles Lee ray or movie and series hannible?

oh yes!! i’m not super familiar with mark / saw characters or chucky in general, but that doesn’t stop me from writing them :) as for vincent, he’s on my character list and i def want to write more for him!

my personal fave hannibal is hopkins hannibal from the movies 💌💌💌 but i love nbc hannibal / mads, so i’ll gladly write either of them! hannibal as a general character is on my character list :)

[slasherparty]

Hi! do you do male readers? if so, can I please request headcanons for Brahms with a male reader that has an attractive killer alter ego?

(Reader is basically Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde lol)

A short, scrawny, and shy nerd by day, a tall, muscular, and confident sadistic heartthrob by night.

When the mean grocery dude tries to lay a finger on Reader while the sun goes down, both him and Brahms are in for some real fun!

Despite how intimidating Hyde!Reader is, he's still quite gentle with Brahms.

(feel free to delete this ask if you're uncomfortable with writing this)

you can assume all the reader requests i write are neutral / can be interpreted any way, unless stated otherwise! i'll note here: this sounds like a oneshot idea or veering on oc x slasher, which i consider commission territory, so i'll just be doing a loose imagine/headcanon list for this. if you'd like a fuller concept written, particularly regarding the grocery store plot, please consider paying me! thank you! <3

brahms heelshire 🪞 x hyde!reader 💭

brahms has always known that faces are merely masks — he wears his own porcelain one daily. when he meets this hyde-like personality, the darker shadow that slips from your soul, he doesn’t flinch. he gazes at you with a tilt of his head, as though peering at his own reflection in the blackened glass of his being.

you, for all your dark intensity in these moments, speak in a way brahms understands: softly, with a hint of menace woven through mock kindness. it isn’t the words that matter but the energy beneath. brahms doesn’t fear you; instead, he sees a kinship, another creature who treads the borderlands between terror and tenderness.

when this personality surfaces, brahms feels no need to hide (no pun intended). in fact, he grows more trusting, knowing your strength could shield him from the world’s prying eyes. and yet, brahms feels an odd protectiveness — after all, monsters, no matter how gentle, deserve care too.

your intimidating demeanor doesn’t scare brahms; it fascinates him. he’ll often creep closer, studying the sharpness of your movements, the precision of your words, and the way they soften in his presence. your gentleness toward him feels like a secret he’s been let in on, and he hoards it greedily.

on nights when your composed self rests and the other emerges, brahms feels most at peace. he shares his nighttime rituals with you, wordlessly expecting your compliance. together, you walk the house’s dim corridors, brahms clutching his doll-self tightly as your imposing shadow falls across the walls. brahms insists on precise adherence: food must be left on the plate at exactly 7:00 PM, the phonograph’s needle placed gently on a haunting lullaby before bed. when the doll is tucked into its small, immaculate bed, your strong hands, though intimidating, move with reverence to straighten the blanket brahms has fussed over.

when you join in, brahms feels a rare, strange comfort. for all your sharpness and strength, you treat the rituals as sacred, understanding that brahms’s rules are not to be broken. if a step is missed, brahms’s tantrum bubbles to the surface, but you, with surprising patience, redirect his frustration, whispering, “It’s fixed now, little one.” your voice is steady, grounding him, and the rituals continue as if nothing had gone awry.

brahms takes to playing hide-and-seek with you at night specifically, not out of fear but out of fascination. he leaves trails for you to follow, footsteps in dust and whispers in the walls, and waits, almost breathless, for your imposing form to loom nearby. when you finally find him, you never scold. you only smile, something wicked and warm, and brahms basks in it.

brahms whispers his fears to the darker you, things too delicate for daylight. he doesn’t know if you keep these secrets out of loyalty or your own inscrutable reasoning, but he trusts you. you listen, your piercing gaze softening, and offer cryptic reassurances: “Monsters like us don’t scare each other, little one.”

brahms knows that your gentleness is reserved for him alone. he’s seen the strength you wield, how the world can bend to your will. and yet, he’s never afraid. he knows he’s the exception, the quiet in the eye of your storm, and he cherishes the precarious balance you share.

thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

For your matchups I’m a female intj. I’m a sagittarius.I have a high pain tolerance. I can actually sing really well but only when I’m alone. I never wanna drink alcohol in my life and I secretly despise it. I’m also an introvert. I’m also Latina and 4”11. I rarely get grossed out. I’m straight . I love horror and rarely get grossed out and I like cats more then people . I have autism. I love watching movies and playing genshin impact. I also like learning and reading . I know English, my Spanish is rusty and the basics of French. I also love to make arts and crafts . I like painting and customizing dolls.

i have to admit, i immediately knew who i wanted to put you with... Vincent Sinclair! (house of wax, 2005)

why it works...💭

vincent, with his own quiet and introspective nature, would recognize the quiet strength in someone who values solitude as much as he does. he, too, finds solace in creation, his wax sculptures echoing your passion for painting and customizing dolls. you share an unspoken love for things others overlook — where you bring dolls to life with paint and care, he preserves fleeting moments in wax. together, your crafts would become a shared symphony of creativity, his waxworks standing alongside your vibrant, customized creations. you weave a bond built in the language of hands and art, unspoken but deeply felt.

your INTJ sharpness and love of learning would draw vincent in. he is an artist, yes, but also a careful planner, someone who thrives in meticulous detail. he would admire your curiosity, your hunger for knowledge, and your ability to see beauty in complexity.

your height would captivate Vincent in a way that softens his usually stoic demeanor. towering over you, he would be gentle in every gesture, instinctively protective yet fascinated by how your presence, so small compared to his, carries so much dynamic personality and strength. he’d quietly admire how your height belies your determination, finding secret endearment in the contrast when you stand beside him.

vincent does not pretend to know anything about the zodiac… however, as a sagittarius, your fiery curiosity and philosophical nature would intrigue him, drawing him out of his inner thoughts. your drive to explore new ideas and seek meaning, even within the macabre, would resonate with him, offering a spark of vitality that balances his quiet introspection. he would find himself drawn to your boldness in thought, even if it contrasts with his more stoic behavior.

as someone who rarely gets grossed out, you’d navigate vincent’s macabre world with a steady gaze. you wouldn’t flinch at the eerie beauty of his waxwork creations, and this acceptance would be something he treasures in a world that often misunderstands him.

your introversion would complement his own reserved demeanor. neither of you craves the noisy bustle of the outside world, preferring the quiet of your own spaces, filled with the soft hum of shared creativity and silent companionship.

he would be enchanted by the secret you guard so closely: your singing voice. In the quiet of his workshop or your shared sanctuary, you might let a song escape, and he would listen, still and reverent, as though your voice was another kind of art he longed to preserve.

your high pain tolerance and calm demeanor would align with his world — a world where beauty often comes at a cost. you wouldn’t shy away from the sharp edges of his life, and he would be reassured by your resilience.

vincent is a man of few words, and language is not his chosen medium. yet, in each other, you would find a connection that transcends words, a quiet understanding that doesn’t rely on perfect syntax or grammar. though he'd still be interested to hear you speak in multiple tongues, as he doesn't get to see much of the world and craves having a wide breadth of knowledge about people.

your love of cats over people would make him smile — he, too, has been hurt by humanity’s cruelty, and your affection for creatures who ask little and offer much would resonate deeply with his gentle heart.

he wouldn’t mind that you despise alcohol or the social rituals tied to it. vincent is not a man of parties or indulgences; he would respect your choice and find it another point of shared simplicity between you.

horror doesn’t faze you, and in this, vincent would see a kindred spirit. where others see monsters in shadows, you would see artistry, poignancy, and the heart beneath. he would feel seen by you, not as something to fear but as something to cherish.

together, you would find joy in the quiet: the glow of a movie screen, the soft click of game controllers, the brush of paint on canvas, and the hum of wax beneath a flame. two souls finding beauty in stillness, crafting a world of your own.

thanks for participating in a matchup!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Yes it seems I'm still on this Beetlejuice kick a while longer It's probably definitely too sentimental for beetlejuice buuuuut i was thinkingggg it'd be sweet if he hung around while Lydia grieved the Maitlands moving on

[slasherparty]

Hey uh, I'm new to the Beetlejuice fandom, and I was wondering if you could do a bjxreader where the reader dies as of a result of something bj did, and he feels guilty about it? i crave angst, sorry if this is annoying

it’s not annoying! i love reading angst if it has a rewarding payoff. dunno how rewarding it’ll be here, but it’s good for character study purposes either way. thanks anon!

beetlejuice 🪲 x reader, accidental death (whoopsie!)

his hand, it was a clumsy thing... a grotesque parody of life, all bony fingers and inky black nails. it reached out, a macabre puppet show, and brushed against your cheek. a chill, an unnatural cold, seeped into your skin. you should have known better than to trust a poltergeist with such a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"A little surprise for my favorite mortal," he had purred, a sinister grin splitting his cadaverous face. you’d laughed, a light, airy sound that now seemed so far away. it was a mistake, a fatal one. the prank, a harmless little trick, had spiraled out of control, a chaotic whirlwind that swept you away; "away" being precisely four stories down into the basement of your apartment building.

beetlejuice, the self-proclaimed "Ghost with the Most," has always prided himself on his ability to stir up trouble without serious consequences (in his opinion, anyway). however, this particular mishap proved to be a costly error. a well-intentioned, albeit reckless, prank involving a trap door had inadvertently led to your untimely demise.

now, here you were, a ghost, a wisp of ethereal energy tethered to a world you could no longer fully inhabit. in the immediate aftermath, you watched as beetlejuice paced, his usual manic energy diluted to a haunted stillness. his eyes, only moments ago filled with their trademark mischief, were now shadowed with shock and remorse.

a part of you, a tiny, twisted part, reveled in his misery. but the larger part, the part that was still you, ached with a profound sadness. though you'd scarcely begun to process it, you'd been robbed of your life, a cruel twist of fate orchestrated by such a stupid and poorly set-up joke.

yet, as you watched beetlejuice begin to tear himself apart over it, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace. perhaps it was the knowledge that he was now there, forever, nothing keeping him apart from you. or maybe it was the hope that, together, you could find a way to make sense of this tragic turn of events.

left as a fragile spirit adrift in a sea of uncertainty and the endless maze of the neitherworld processing office, bj finds himself once again in the position of being a guide (he even dons the hat for you).

as the days turned into weeks, you began to adjust to your new existence. you learned to phase through walls, to levitate, to communicate telepathically. when you weren't stuck haunting your apartment, you explored the neitherworld, with bj's ever-present companionship. he'd become a bit of a helicopter since the accident. even though you were dead now, with virtually nothing around to seriously harm you, you could tell the guilt had riddled him with anxiety.

the sight of your spectral form, a pale echo of your vibrant self, haunted whatever was left of beetlejuice's conscience. the memory of your warm living touch, a spark that ignited a strange, twisted affection, lingered like a phantom limb. you still touch him, just as soft as in life, but it's now a bittersweet reminder of a life cut short, a casualty of his own selfish schemes.

he became a constant source of both comfort and chaos. he would spend hours pouring over ancient grimoires, searching for a way to restore you to life, at the behest of juno who of course discouraged any and all investigation into such dangerous breaches of the laws around life and death. "The rules are there for a reason, you brat," she'd remind him, smoke fuming from her neck. you knew this wouldn't discourage him; nothing juno ever said did. but there was some truth to her words... it would be impossible to truly bring you back to the living world in any meaningful, non-invasive way.

regardless, he's always remained determined to make amends, if not to restore your life then to help you transition smoothly into this strange new existence. perhaps, through this unexpected role, he can atone for his past mistakes… and maybe even keep you around, for as long as you'll still have him.

you've often wondered if bj is truly sorry for what he's done. was his remorse genuine, or was it simply a performance, a way to manipulate your emotions? you could never be sure. but you knew one thing for certain: you were bound to him, a ghostly tether that neither time nor death could sever. and maybe that made it all okay, in the end.

bit of a long one! thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

May I add you to my slasher writers list and are matchups request?

omg, yes absolutely!! i'd be honored! 🐀🎉 (and yes matchups are open <3)

[slasherparty]

Can i get some headcanons for Jennifer with a s/o who's bad boy acting and looking but they're actually a goody goody and socially awkward thx💗❤🖤

yes absolutely!! loving all the jen requests i've been getting <3

jennifer check 💄 x bad boy (?) reader (headcanons) 💭

jennifer notices you first. she’s drawn to the leather jacket, the quiet intensity, and the way you look like you’ve walked straight out of a music video. the kind of person who should lean against walls, light cigarettes, and break hearts. except...

you don’t lean against walls — you apologize when you accidentally bump into them. you’re the sort of person who looks tough but thanks the barista for your coffee with genuine warmth, holding the door open for strangers and stammering when someone compliments your jacket.

jennifer likes her toys with a little mystery to them. the ones that begged for mercy got boring quickly, and the ones that tried to fight back were all the same in the end — scratched, screaming, and torn. but you? you're a puzzle. all jagged edges on the outside, like broken glass catching the moonlight… but inside, so fragile it makes her teeth ache.

jennifer finds it hilarious. she catches you in the act of something painfully wholesome — returning a lost wallet, petting a stray cat, or fretting over an overdue library book — and decides she has to keep you around just to see what other contradictions you’ll reveal.

you of course have no idea jennifer’s a literal man-eating succubus. she throws out hints all the time, but you’re too busy panicking over how to ask her out to notice.

she plays up your ‘bad boy’ image to everyone else. when people ask, she spins wild stories about how you ride your motorcycle at midnight and once punched a guy for disrespecting her. (you are mortified by this; the only thing you’ve punched is a vending machine.)

you’re her moral compass — sort of. jennifer, in her darkly twisted way, likes how you make her feel almost... normal. it’s a game to her, seeing how long she can pretend to be just a regular girl with a dangerous taste in friends.

you awkwardly try to ‘protect’ jennifer. you think she’s in over her head with bad influences (oh, the irony). you once attempted to lecture her on "choosing better friends" after catching her talking to someone shady in the parking lot. she laughed for hours.

she grows territorial. not because she’s in love (she’d never admit that), but because she doesn’t like the idea of anyone else discovering your soft center. you’re hers to mess with, hers to tease, and maybe hers to protect... in her own feral way.

you accidentally soften jennifer in unexpected ways. she doesn’t understand it, but your genuine kindness occasionally makes her hesitate — just for a second — before going in for the kill. it’s inconvenient and frustrating, and she blames you entirely.

she would never admit it, but she’s protective of you. if anyone tries to mess with you, she’s the first to step in, her smile all sharp teeth and dark promise. because no one gets to play with her toy but her.

thanks for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Hey, could I maybe get a matchup?

I'm a Chubby German girl with brown hair that are little bit above the shoulder, I have blue/gray eyes and I'm 5'5.

I’m pansexuel.

I suffer from a social anxiety disorder and because if that I'm always afraid that I being judged in the public by strangers for something and i'm generally afraid speaking to people I don't know well.

Or when an embarrassing situation for me happens it could be that I get a panick attack.

I also have a hard time speaking English, because my native language is German, and I mostly learned english through reading and that's why I don't really now how to pronounce words right.

I like to play videogames, anime, horror movies/games, draw and I love musicals.

I dislike being bullied, my body and face mostly. My body because of my overweight and face just because I think I'm not attractive.

One of my main hobbies is shooting Air rifle. I'm and few friends are also in a club where we go every week and shot. I'm pretty good with my aim.

of course!! i think i have the perfect guy for you... Jason Voorhees!

why it works...💭

jason, like you, has faced harsh judgment and bullying throughout his life. his childhood experiences, especially with being ostracized for his physical differences, mean he deeply understands the pain of being ridiculed for things beyond your control. you both share a fear of judgment, making him someone who would not only empathize with your struggles but fiercely protect you from anyone who dares to make you feel lesser.

jason’s quiet, protective nature ensures that he never judges you for your anxieties, appearance, or struggles with social situations. in fact, he would likely admire your courage in facing a world that can be so cruel.

jason is famously silent and nonverbal, which could actually work well with your social anxiety. there’s no pressure to carry conversations or worry about how you’re pronouncing words — jason doesn’t rely on words to express himself. instead, he communicates through actions, and his body language would speak volumes.

your love of horror movies and games aligns perfectly with jason’s slasher origins, creating a shared interest that could make for fun (albeit unconventional) bonding experiences. beyond that, your talent for air rifle shooting and precision would resonate with jason’s expertise in throwing weapons and strategic thinking.

imagine him from afar, silently watching you practice at your shooting club, perhaps even learning a few tricks from you. your accuracy and focus would likely impress him, and you could bond over a shared skill that showcases your strength and determination.

both of you seem to thrive in environments that don’t demand constant social interaction. jason, being an introvert who lives in the solitude of the woods, would provide you with the kind of peaceful companionship that feels safe and unpressured. you could draw, play video games, or watch anime while jason quietly stays nearby, ensuring your comfort and safety.

jason’s entire backstory revolves around avenging those who are wronged, especially by bullies. if anyone were to mock you for your appearance, your accent, or your anxiety, jason would immediately step in to defend you. his protective instincts are unparalleled, and he would never let anyone make you feel unsafe or insecure.

while his methods are extreme, his unwavering loyalty to those he cares about would mean you’d never have to face the cruelty of others alone. his presence would be a constant reminder that you’re valued and worthy of love.

jason is someone who has never judged others based on societal norms. for better or worse, his tragic experiences have made him someone who sees past physical appearances and anxieties to the person underneath. he would adore you for your hobbies, talents, and the kindness you show despite your struggles.

jason would, in his own nonverbal way, reassure you that your body and face are not something to be disliked —they’re uniquely yours, and he values you for exactly who you are. his lack of words wouldn’t diminish his ability to make you feel loved and accepted.

thanks for participating in a matchup!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!

[slasherparty]

Hi! Could you Please do Beej with An S/O with PTSD? (Possibly he accidentally scares them with something that Triggers a PTSD Attack?)

i can try my best, for sure! (disclaimer, i don’t have ptsd and have no experience with it outside of discussions with friends who have it, so if anything i write here is an incorrect or harmful portrayal please let me know!)

beetlejuice 🪲 x reader with PTSD 💭

as usual when it comes to beetlejuice, it begins with a joke gone horribly wrong — a flickering illusion of something monstrous. a moment frozen in your eyes, wide with dread, as beetlejuice realizes he’s stumbled upon a memory far more terrifying than his gags could ever conjure.

ever the showman, he tries to apologize in his own bizarre way. maybe it’s with a bouquet of dead flowers plucked from some poor soul's gravestone, or a song sung by a ghostly quartet he's conjured, their harmonies more unsettling than soothing.

determined to avoid making the same mistake, bj starts paying attention — truly paying attention. he listens (a rare feat for him) to your stories, your fears, weaving his manic energy into a solid presence instead of a disruptive force.

to help you feel secure, he transforms your living space into something magical yet oddly comforting. the shadows on the walls stop feeling like threats and start feeling like guardians. they whisper reassuring nonsense, a soft hum of distraction from the noise in your head.

in his own twisted way, he tries to help you reclaim power over your fears. he turns nightmares into comedies, mocking the monsters that haunt you until they’re laughable, grotesque parodies.

for someone who thrives on disorder, beetlejuice attempts the impossible — reining in his instincts. when he wants to pop out of the floorboards or summon swarms of skeletal insects, he pauses, remembers your needs, and opts for a (relatively) gentle knock instead.

beetlejuice becomes fiercely protective. your very own "guard dog of the underworld." when someone or something from your past tries to resurface, he steps in — not subtly, but effectively. a howling wind of curses, spectral barriers, and his disjointed grin scare the intrusions away.

when you’re caught in the spiral of an episode, he’s there, pulling ridiculous faces or juggling severed ghostly heads to coax out a reluctant smile. sometimes it works. sometimes he just sits quietly with you, a presence more comforting than one might expect.

when words fail, bj doesn’t. he wraps his striped arms around you awkwardly, his voice softening as he promises, “I’ll make sure no one — or nothing — hurts you again. Scout’s honor... okay, not a scout, but still.”

therapy, in his mind, is far too dull. (do not listen to him on this.) instead, he tries to pull you on otherworldly journeys to the neitherworld to confront your fears head-on, safely, with him as your guide. each step is riddled with his snarky commentary and oddly heartfelt encouragement.

for someone so used to quick fixes and chaotic solutions, he learns the slow dance of healing. he doesn’t rush you — well, not too much — and sticks around when it matters most, even if it means suppressing his inner urge to turn everything into a spectacle.

thank you for reading!! 💌

you can find more of my writing here on ao3!