Slasher? I hardly know her! @slashthrashandcrash - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
Slasher? I hardly know her!
@slashthrashandcrash
Danny šŖ she/her šŖ 26 šŖ Slasher x Final Girl Truther
18+ Mature Themes tagged with 'nsf'
Main blog @mutilatedmadonna if you see it in your notifs (:
After years of being asked across multiple sideblogs...yes, I have finally opened commissions up for my sweet lil freaks (you) ā¤
To ensure I don't overwhelm myself, I will only be opening FOUR slots at this time. If I can handle the workload, I may up that to five or six in the future.
General Rules:
Payments to be taken up front through my Ko-Fi [here!]
Slots reserved first come, first serve -- DM me with your request and any reference pictures you want to use and I will respond back with a price.
ETA will depend on how detailed requests are in the order they are given. You may receive your commission back the same day, you may receive it at the end of the week. If I'm running behind schedule, I will let you know ASAP, and will issue a refund if needed.
If you've followed me between sideblogs, I am also open to doing commissions for those fandoms as well (g/t and whump).
Final pieces will be sent back through DM as a .png with my signature. You are welcome to use it as you please :)
She uses a butcher set on her victims, she leaves them laid out like meat at a meat shop for police to find, when she finds her final girl had broken into her next targetās house to steal, her interest is piqued and she abandons her target to stalk this new girl
final girl who breaks into houses to steal stuff and finds the slasher murdering someone
final girl who IS a murderer but she only ever killed once, Slasher finds out and cleans the scene up after she leaves
final girl who is a jerk and bothered slasher to the point where he obsesses over killing her but gets too nervous to kill her specifically because he wants it to be as good as it turned out in his head
final girl who loves horror movies & this interests slasher so he watches the movies with her behind windows & doors & stuff
Nodding, nodding...
I love a final girl who, frankly, kinda sucks. I mean don't get me wrong, I love every type of final girl, but in general the concept of her is kinda defined/parodied as an innocent virgin covered in blood. It's a fun refresh when you get a girl that's not a total goodie-two-shoes -- like the girl from Don't Breathe, or IKWYDLS, who are only in this situation because of their own shitty decisions and now they have to face the consequences.
The first scenario is def my fav to give my flawed FGs, very much the vibe of "what are YOU doing at the devil's sacrament?" except one of them is way more extreme than the other lmao. Like my OC Lisa, who actively covered up the murders that take place at the motel because she's also skimming money and can't afford this place to be shut down.
genuinely thinking about making Final Girl/Slasher characters but i like masked slashers best and im horrid at designing masks LOL
Consider tho!! That many masked slashers either just yoinked their mask straight from a costume shop (Myers, Ghostface) or used something practical they already had around (Jason, Harry Warren). In that case you can totally just scroll through a Halloween store website for their freaky lil masks until you find one that strikes your fancy (:
The lack of Slasher x Final Girl on Ao3 is criminal, how am I supposed to live like this?
I considered trying to write something myself to tide me over, but I have no idea how to write a good female perspective, and I refuse to be the 'bounced boobily' guy.
Have you had any thoughts about it recently? I know the fae have been in your brain recently lol. (This can be about writing or SxFG in general honestly.)
I am always thinking about SxFG, believe you me. Even when I'm not here, even when I'm drifting off at sea, they are at the forefront of my mind...
And you're SO RIGHT THAT WE NEED MORE OF THEM!!!!!!!! Honestly my biggest inspo is watching a slasher movie, thinking the guy is hot, and then stealing his general vibe to stick with a pretty gal who shall now be forever tormented by his lovesick shenanigans (murder).
When it comes to writing a good female perspective, I think the most iconic advice comes from the scriptwriters of Alien when they made Ripley. If I'm remembering correct, I might be slightly incorrect, but they hadn't originally created that character to be a woman and only decided to make her female afterwards. Try coming at it from the lens of "a character who happens to be female" rather than "explicitly a female character", if that makes sense.
Also, in my humble lesbian opinion, there's really no wrong way to write a final girl. She can be a bitch, she can be promiscuous, she have the survival skills of a sardine, she can be a badass, she can be clingy and emotional, she can be a bully, she can be a petty criminal. It really just all comes down to whatever vibe you're in the mood to capture between her and her slasher, as long as those personalities mesh well for their cat and mouse game.
I have like a bajillion different little nameless OCs and scenarios in my nasty brain
Love seeing obsessive slashers/stalkers on a heartbreak fuelled crashout like on the one hand oh fuck dangerous on the other awww poor meow meow lemme kiss it better (they would knife me immediately).
You get me....god, you fucking get me...there's literally nothing more that I love than seeing a silent, composed, killing machine finally going apeshit. There's a difference between brutally murdering a surrounding group and absolutely ripping them all to shreds long after they've stopped screaming. Because the only person who could have had any chance in calming them down is the one who triggered this rampage after one too many "rejections".
Bonus if no matter how feral the slasher goes, no matter how many bodies they massacre, they never take that violence out on their beloved. It's almost like watching a child throw a horrible, bloody tantrum -- look at what you've done, look at what you've caused, you could put an end to this right now if you just give him what he wants.
Thereās someone following you. The slight scuff of a boot against the pavement- you whirl around, heart in your throat- nothing. An empty street. Deserted. Despondent.
You swallow thickly, curl your hand together over the strap of your handbag. The other pawing anxiously at the pepper spray inside, finger curling and uncurling over the trigger.
They want you to know theyāre there. A scuff of their shoes, a sudden misstep, allowing you to hear two pairs, not just your own heels clacking against the sidewalk. Enough to keep you on your toes. Enough to make you raise your speed, attempt to cast discreet glances behind you.
But nothing. Each time youād peer at a passing store window, glancing at the other street, behind you as far as you can see. Every time youād be so bold as to whirl around, catch the creep off guard. Nothing. No one.
Only your heavy breathing echoing in your eyes and the dim streetlights flickering in warning.
Itās late. You need to get home.
Your hands slip from the pepper spray to your phone, curling around its cool plastic frame. No police, no emergency services. What would you even say? I think someoneās following me but I canāt see anything? Describe the suspect? No, no I donāt know.
No phone calls. Theyād hear. And you need to be able to hear them. Catch when they lurk too close. React fast enough. You glance inside, hand clammy and sweaty, the phone attempting to lurch from your grip.
A cab. An Uber. A Lyft. Whatever comes first. Youāre too exposed on the street. Youād rather take your chances up with one creep in a car. One you can see. And actually hit. You swipe away- just for a moment, a split second- your location first, to a friend. Just in case.
okay yeah that's who I thought you meant but I didn't wanna assume--
Lisa works the night shift at a motel barely hovering at a 2.5 star rating in the 70s. The place has been going downhill for a while and at this point is teetering the line of being a glorified trucker stop and a shady solicitation meet up. But Lisa doesn't care, she minds her business. The only reason she's working this god awful gig is because she's trying to save up enough money and get the hell outta dodge. No one said her fingers weren't a little sticky either.
Until one day, a guest stopped in for the night. Tall as all fuck, completely concealed in a black rain/winter coat despite it being bone dry outside and the middle of August. But again, Lisa knows better than to ask questions, and considering he signs his name as "John Doe" in the registry book for his room, he's probably not the kind to be truthful to her. Besides, at least he pays cash.
He starts to become a regular, unfortunately. There's a few regulars that Lisa is familiar with, but all that means is a mildly steady flow of income for a dying establishment. And because it's been crumbling for a while now, it means Lisa is a bit of everything when it comes to her job title -- receptionist, housekeeping, the odd handyman job if she's capable of it. So since "John" always leaves the following morning, it's always her who tidies his room afterwards on her next shift.
The night it all comes crashing down around her is completely unexpected. She has no idea what could have triggered him or if this had been planned from the first night he stopped in, but the next time she goes to "John's" room, it's a bloodbath. The sheets, the walls, the floor, all splattered with blood. The bathroom seems to have been where a majority of the attack happened as the tub is practically filled with red water. It's sickening and horrific. There's no body, there's hardly a sign of struggle, and she hardly doubts "John" was the victim here.
But just when she's back to the office, phone in her hand and finger hovering over the 9 button, she hesitates. A grisly murder would be bad enough for business at some place reputable, let alone somewhere half ass and seedy as this place. If it didn't solidify their new shady business exclusives, then this would surely be the final nail in the coffin. She needs this job. She can't afford to be put out of work when she's so damn close, just a few more months away. And not only that, let's be real, she's a black woman in the 70s working by herself in the deep south...literally the last people she wants to interact with are the cops. Especially when they might go prodding for her dirty secrets, too.
So...she does what she always does after a guest leaves the motel with a room in questionable states: she cleans it. Bleach and soap and scrubbing and patching away stubborn stains. She can't say it looks like the crime never happened, but it certainly doesn't look any more iffy than it did before. A few brown spots still on the pillow cases that she turns around, a pinkish ring around the drain of an already yellowing tub. It's good enough. It's fine. The people who stay here for the night aren't expecting the Ritz Carlton, after all.
Imagine her surprise and immediate horror when weeks later "John" returns to check in. She thought for sure the trauma had suppressed her guilt up until now, but the way her heart drops to her stomach says otherwise. He requests the room he had last time, almost like he's trying to dig his fingers in the wound, and she shakily hands over the keys. How curious he is when he finds that it's been cleaned nearly spotless (well, as spotless as you can get) after what he's left behind. No signs the room was gutted by a crime scene technician, no mention in the news that a murder had ever been reported. And when he mentions to Lisa that she had cleaned it, nearly making her jump out of her skin when he came up behind her in the parking lot, she simply says that it was dirty. That's her job.
And so begins his delightful little whirlwind for Lisa, though to be fair he had always found her quite pretty since the first time he saw her. But now here she was, his unofficial partner in crime. Not such a good girl after all, despite the cross she wears around her neck. Now of course the motel doesn't immediately become his new killing ground, that's far to risky, and the interstate gives him a much further range for that. But when he's down this part of the country, he knows he can always stop in and not have to worry about the mess. It's not like he's a pig, he's always leaves a nice cash tip for her housekeeping if he leaves the room a little...worse for wear. And every time, Lisa cleans it. Pockets the extra cash. Says nothing to no one. Minds her business.
But now she has a mountain of a man with puppy dog eyes that she can't even see under his hood following her around the complex whenever he's booked for the night. Sometimes she knows he's there, other times it's just out of sight. Every now and then he'll call the front to request a few buckets of ice or new towels or...actually maybe just bring him the mop, and she has no choice but to comply. And in return to constantly being her second shadow, he's happy to assist with anything the second she says it, even if she wasn't talking to him. Oh, that one hallway light is out? Done, he's tall enough to reach it without her silly little step ladder. Washer's unbalanced? Fixed it. Skeevy perv keeps oogling her every time she goes to his room and unsuccessfully kick him out? Well, he's definitely gone now. And "John" has already gone ahead and given her the cash tip up front for what she's about to find in his room.
when I first gotten into dbd, I was excited to play Ghostface but was a lil bummed out that it wasn't billy or stu (i've watched the first three scream )
tho now I really love danny johnson and how he's a professional serial killer !
We all love the Entity's favorite little nastyman!! And if it makes you feel better, you can always play Ghostface in Mortal Kombat, at least one of them is canonically Billy (:
ā¢ Pairing: Amanda + Meg Thomas
(background GhostMeg & platonic GhostPig)
ā¢ Length: Oneshot
ā¢ Synopsis:Ā Amanda's perspective of Danny and Meg's relationship, trapped in a trial with both.
ā¢ A/N: Amanda isn't in the 2v8 (yet) but I think I'd be terrified more than enough if she was.
A reminder that a ā+ā signifies a non-romantic pairing (typically platonic but Iām not certain these two are even at that level yet)
Amanda sees her before she does. Itās a given, considering sheās the predator, trapped in an arena with her prey.Ā
She stills where sheās crouched in the foliage, waiting to lunge at one of the survivors, too distracted to notice her as they run past. Her flare of bright, red hair is the first giveaway. Dannyās gushed about it more times than she cares to count, and sheās practically sick of the sentence āluscious red locksā even without having ever seen them. (More than once sheās considered shaving them off if it would only get Danny to SHUT UP-)
Two braids fly behind her head, lightly smacking her on her shoulders as she whips her head around in every direction, eyes narrowed, ears straining as she cautiously pads. Not quite a walk but not a run either. Gathering her strength, saving it for a boost when sheās startled and needs to bolt.
Amanda tilts her head, squints her eyes. Now she can see the never-ending comparisons to a red hare that Danny loves to make. The constant glances in every direction, the footsteps, angled and poised, ready to bolt at the slightest rustle. She can practically make out a pair of lopsided bunny ears on top of her head, twitching in every direction with the way she keeps a keen eye out.Ā
The other giveaway is the mismatched hair ties holding both of her braids; one a dark brown color that nearly blends in with her hair, the other a shock of bright, teal blue. A glaring constant to the rest of her clothes, and a wonderful pop against the red strands of her hair. She doesnāt need to ask to know which ones is her usual style, not with the way Danny had practically skipped into the Ormond Resort after heād returned from a trial weeks ago, fresh blood splatters darkening his clothes from a round well done; spinning a hair tie on his finger with too much delight and giddy excitement for the manās usual energy.Ā
Sheād sighed and finally placed down the knife sheād been sharpening when his almost giggling had started to give her a headache, rubbing the wrong way on every nerve she had left as she monotonously asked where heād got it.Ā
The bastard had grinned back at her, mask long since taken off and leaned in close. Close enough for his breathe to waft over her face as Amanda grimaced. He tilted back out of her personal space before she could shove him- or maybe even stab him- and given her a cheeky grin.Ā
āSecret,ā heād winked, annoyingly, pressing the hair tie fondly to the corner of his mouth.Ā Ā
Amanda had held back an irritated sigh (if only to not delight him with how much of an effect he had on her) and returned to sharpening her knife, imagining how itād look if she jabbed it into his eye and twisted. (Not that thatād bring much relief when heād come back alive and well, thanks to the favoritism of the Entity, no point in it if he didnāt stay dead.)
She shifted closer, careful to avoid any rustling branches as she readjusted her hold on her knife. She couldnāt kill her, despite how much more annoying Ghostface had gotten since his budding obsession over her, but she could certainly have her fun. Even knew how to kill two birds with one stone and save the rest of the survivors for herself with no clashing competition. No giddy killer to splay himself over her back afterwards to brag about the kills heād stolen from her.Ā
She pulled into herself, inhaled, quiet, quiet so they never heard her- and lunged. Typically the move would catch one of the survivors off guard, lucky to only escape with a knife wound and panic thrumming under their skin, tripping over themselves fearfully. The redhead was faster, wide eyes snapping to her pig mask before she bolted, feet slamming against the dirt only a moment before Amandaās knife cut the air where sheād been, bloodthirsty and locked onto her.Ā
She growled, pivoting on her feet to keep her momentum as she missed, lurching after the redhead sprinting away from her. She had to give it to her, the girl knew how to run, dodging at every last moment, ducking behind a pallet before the pig could strike.Ā
But she wasnāt quite good enough. Not when there were two killers in the match, not when Amanda had a plan.Ā
She doesnāt see him, too focused on glancing back at her, ensuring the steady distance, searching for another route to try to shake her off. But Amanda does, has since the hunt started, since she nudged her in the direction.Ā
Meg didnāt notice the root until her foot snagged in it, yelping as she went flying, arms pinwheeling as she desperately tried to keep her balance. Itās a losing fight against gravity with her momentum however, and she certainly wouldāve been eating dirt had a pair of dark, gloved hands not lashed out to catch her, yanking her upwards to collide with a broad chest instead, stepping backwards to catch her energy.Ā
Amanda slows her pace, snorting as she places her hands on her hips and catches her breathe, regards the view in front of her with a glow of self satisfaction. Meg is splayed against Ghostfaceās chest, feet scrambling for purchase as she gapes up at him with horror stricken features. She shoves against his chest, desperately clawing, scrambling, like a prey caught in a snare.Ā
Amanda tilts her head up. She doesnāt need Ghostfaceās mask off to feel the smug satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, arms lashed across her back to keep her pressed to him, leaning backwards to keep her scrambling on her toes, unable to kick or find enough purchase to leap away. He coos something to the survivor that makes her blanch and renews her desperate efforts, dull nails scratching at his arm as he shakes in laughter at her response.Ā
Amanda shudders, a shiver running up her spine as she fights to keep the bile from traveling up her throat. She couldnāt hear what heād said from her distance, nothing more than the tone. But sheād live a happy life never knowing, nor hearing that sappy, nauseating, lovesick tone heād taken on ever again.Ā
Amanda easily spins on her heel, tossing her knife between her hands as she stalks through the grounds, keenly eyeing her surroundings. Now with Ghostface perfectly subdued, she was free to have her fun with the other playthings. A win-win scenario.Ā
She snorted to herself, rolling her shoulders back as she cracked her neck. Really he should be thanking her.Ā
GHOSTMEGGERS REJOICE!!!!! ALL SEVEN OF US!!!!!! THE FAMINE HAS ENDED ONCE MORE AND WE MAY FEAST UPON OUR HARVEST!!!! GHOSTPIG BESTIES!!!!! AMANDA MY WIFE!!!!
just recently i started watching the scream series after iāve liked dbd ghostface for years and honestly the reveals leave honestly a lot to be desired
Yeah...yeah...
Like the first one fucking slaps, hands down. They'll never have a better reveal than that, it's part of what made it so iconic to begin with. But even with the newer sequels, I usually just skim for the Ghostface scenes. I just don't care that much to find out which 2-3 chucklefucks are behind the murders for some insane reason.
Which is crazy given how much I love and rewatch the Saw series
