let's escape reality together

Welcome to my little corner of the internet! On this blog we love the 80s, slashers, vampires and all things horror. Have a fun time perusing!

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Spooky season pixel dividers are by @strangergraphics, any other dividers are by the wonderful @saradika-graphics! The amazingly colorful TLB blog header is by @marnievanhelsing!

Fandoms I'm currently writing for:

The Lost Boys (1987)

Including: David, Dwayne, Paul, Marko, Star

Masterlist

House of Wax (2005)

Including: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair

Masterlist

Other slashers

Including: Thomas Hewitt, Brahm Heelshire (coming soon), Jason Voorhees (coming soon), The Collector (coming soon)

Masterlist

Fred Hechinger characters

Including: Simon Kalivoda (Emperor Caracalla coming soon!)

Masterlist

Miscellaneous

Since two people sent in this emoji, and I'm really excited about this wip, I'm sharing two snippets hehe.

WIP: The Collector x GN! Reader

Content: canon typical violence, Stockholm Syndrome

Thank you for the ask! This one I'm really excited about. I've been wanting to try something darker than what I usually write, and I feel like The Collector is the perfect character to explore that with.

WIP: The Collector x GN! Reader

Content: canon typical violence, Stockholm Syndrome

Send me one of the following emojis in an ask and I'll share a snippet from one of my drafts. What kind of story each one of these emojis hide? Well, you'll just have to find out.😊 Hint: there are some new characters in there that I haven't written for before.

The emojis:

Thomas Hewitt x GN! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

You woke to the sound of heavy breathing. You rolled over, eyes squinting in the dark as you tried to make out what was going on.

“Tommy…?” you called out hesitantly, extending your arm until it bumped into the mass of him.

As you ran a gentle hand along the muscle, you realized a few things that made you immediately alert. He was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his back in a way you were sure was uncomfortable, but more importantly – he was trembling.

You sat up, taking in his hulking form in the moonlight seeping through the window. His head was tossing and turning, hands fisting the sheets next to him in a grip so tight you feared he might tear the fabric. Cold sweat beaded along his forehead too, making his hair stick to his skin.

But what broke your heart were the noises he was making. Distressed grunts left his chest, interspersed with the occasional unintelligible mumbling. Then he let out a whimper. It was a sound you’ve never heard him make, so pathetic and full of fear; it awoke every protective instinct in your body.

“Tommy, wake up, darling, you’re having a nightmare,” you coaxed, but he didn’t seem to hear you.

Usually, he would have jolted awake by now. He had bad dreams from time to time – considering his childhood and upbringing, it would be a miracle if he didn’t –, but calling out to him would bring him back to reality most of the time. This wasn’t the case tonight. Thomas was a light sleeper, waking at the creaking of the floorboards or you moving around in your sleep. Now, however, no matter how many times you said his name, his consciousness remained buried deep in whatever terrible scenario was causing him so much distress.

You couldn’t bear to see him like this. So, without really thinking about your actions, you reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle shake.

The next moment he startled awake, grabbing after your hand blindly, his fingers wrapping around your arm in a vice grip. You yelped, out of surprise and pain, which only caused his hold on you to tighten.

Looking into his eyes it was clear that he was still halfway in his dream. He didn’t seem to see you as his chest heaved, his shoulders squared as he tried to look threatening even in his confused state. He was sensing a threat, and so he was lashing out.

“It’s okay, Tommy, you’re safe. You’re here with me, at home, in your bed. No one is going to hurt you.”

You tried to keep your voice soft and calm despite the pain he was causing you. However, your soothing words didn’t seem to have much effect. For a moment, you were honestly scared that he might snap your arm. He had the strength to do so. And even though you consciously knew he wouldn’t do anything that would harm you on purpose, his dark expression and wild eyes still managed to strike fear in some deep animal part of your brain. Despite your better judgement, all your instincts were screaming at you that you were in the sight of a predator.

He was certainly that. But he was also your Thomas, your loving, gentle Thomas who would linger close if Hoyt got rowdy while drunk, who would always come to you when you needed him, who would sit so still and patient while he let you fuss over all his scrapes and bruises, who would pick you wild flowers and present them to you with a sheepish look, clutching the slightly crushed stems in his big hands.

And it’s because of that that you tried to hold in your pain as much as you could, but his bone crushing grip was getting too much. You let out a whimper, your hand grabbing onto his arm that was holding your own. “Tommy, you’re hurting me…”

The sound of your broken plea finally snapped him back into reality and back to you. He blinked a few times in confusion. Then his eyes widened in horror. His hand immediately let go of you and he jerked back, stumbling out of bed, almost tripping in his haste to get away from you. You tentatively massaged your arm, wincing at the pain and the thought that it will most likely bruise.

Thomas watched you from the other side of the room, and when your eyes met, you could see they were filled with guilt and sadness. And although you were the one that was physically hurt, you knew he needed reassurance more than anything.

As you slowly approached him, he hunched his shoulders and turned away from you, wanting to disappear into himself in shame. You didn’t dare touch him, not wanting to overwhelm him, even though all you wanted was to gather him up in your arms and tell him everything was alright.

“It’s okay, Tommy, I’m okay. It was an accident, I’m not mad,” you said softly, as if talking to a scared child.

He didn’t look at you, he couldn’t. You knew him all too well to know what was going through his head.

“I know you didn’t mean to. You would never hurt me.”

You thought back to your earlier moment of weakness, and your gut filled with bitter guilt. So you said what he needed to hear the most, and you meant every word.

“I’m not afraid of you, Tommy.”

At that, he slowly, finally, turned to you. His expression was one of desperation, wanting to believe you so badly it was physically hurting him. All his life, he was looked at with disgust and fear. He couldn’t bear to see that look on your face too, he couldn’t bear it if you looked at him like he was a monster.

But all he found on your face was gentle, reassuring love. Tentatively, you reached out toward him. And when your soft hand caressed along his cheek, he didn’t flinch away. Instead, a broken sob left his chest as he instinctively nuzzled into your touch.

You stayed like that for a while, whispering soothing words to him in the dark until he calmed down enough to get back to bed. He still didn’t dare touch you himself, but the tension in his body eased just a bit as you nestled up against his side just like you always did.

The next day, there was indeed a nasty looking bruise on your arm. Thomas looked absolutely devastated when he saw it, and you spent the morning cuddled up in bed, reassuring him with soft kisses and gentle words that you were fine. That is, until Hoys started pounding his fist against your door demanding Tommy start on with his work. 

You put on a loose long sleeve shirt just for good measure. Both of you knew the bruise was there, but at least he didn’t have to see it. Still, you caught him eyeing you with guilt all day. And every time his gaze lingered on your arm, you would make sure to be extra cheerful to reassure him you were fine. You knew it would take some time for him to believe it – probably until it fully disappeared from your skin –, but that was okay. You forgave him the moment it happened. And if he was especially gentle and attentive with you in the meantime, you weren’t complaining.

Welcome! This is my Masterlist for all my slasher fics. (House of Wax is not included, as I have a whole separate Masterlist for that.)

Thomas Hewitt

He accidentally hurts you (GN! Reader)

Jason Voorhees

Secret admirer coming soon

Michael Myers

coming soon

Brahms Heelshire

coming soon

The Collector

Butterfly with a broken wing (GN! Reader) coming soon

Lost boy x GN! Reader

A/n: This one started out as a Paul fic. I wrote it with him in mind. But then I realized that it's generalized enough that you could imagine any of the other boys in there too, hence the Lost boy x Reader pairing. Based on this idea that I posted a while back.

Word count: 1k

Summary: You like to keep your windows open on balmy summer nights. Soon you discover that someone keeps visiting you while you sleep.

There were few things that you loved more than the serenity of summer nights. They always held a strange kind of magical feeling. Even as a child, you couldn’t help but be enchanted by them. The freedom from school, the long daylight that painted the sky stunning shades of pink and orange as it slowly turned into night, the balmy breeze that snuck in through your open window, gently swaying your curtains and bringing with it the distant cheer of the Boardwalk, the salty smell of the ocean and the scent of something that was undeniably and incomprehensibly summer.

When you were younger, you used to daydream about getting a visit from some otherworldly being during these twilight hours when reality seemed just a tad less tangible. As a child, you imagined a fairy appearing in your open window, winking at you and inviting you to some great adventure into another world. When you reached your teenage years, your daydreams took on a more romantic hue, dreaming about some dashing creature stepping into your room, taking your hand and taking you away from all your problems.

It was a fantasy that kept you company for years, and even now as a young adult, when most of your thoughts consisted of more down to earth issues, you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes. About what might be out there, at the edges of human reality.

Perhaps that’s why you still kept your window open on warm summer nights.

Perhaps that’s why you weren’t alarmed when you found one of your tapes on your bedside table when you were certain you left it on your desk next to your radio.

Of course, you chalked it up to forgetfulness. Because that’s what people do when they encounter something out of the ordinary. But in the back of your mind you heard that tiny voice of ‘what if’.

And it kept happening. It was small stuff at first; a photo frame slightly out of place, some little gadgets and decorations ending up on the other side of the room, a tape or CD going missing and turning up a few days later at a place you could have sworn you’ve checked. It seemed like whoever – or whatever – this was, they had a real interest in your music taste.

You started referring to ‘it’ as a person when it became clear that this wasn’t just a sudden bout of absent-mindedness. And that was after you found a boot print on your rug. 

Oddly enough, the discovery didn’t alarm you. You knew that if it was them since that first little sign, if it was the same someone visiting you almost every night, they had plenty of opportunity to hurt you. Yet, they didn’t.

So you kept your window open. And they kept coming back.

You were starting to anticipate them, always looking through your room the next morning with curiosity, searching for a sign that they’ve been there. You tried staying up late more than once in the hopes of catching whoever your midnight visitor was, but they always seemed to know.

Sometimes you would wake in the early hours of the morning to the curious sensation that you were not alone in your room. You would feel the tingle of eyes watching you from the dark. But even though you were a bit unnerved, the chills running down your spine were never because of fear.

Sometimes, when your mind drifted between sleep and consciousness, you felt phantom fingers playing with your hair or caressing your cheek. And you wouldn’t know it, but you leaned into their touch every time.

Then one night, you were jolted awake by a loud crash. You heard snarling and growling coming from somewhere in your room, and when you sat up, heart beating out of your chest, you could just about make out two dark shapes struggling and rolling on the floor by the pale moonlight. You clutched your blanket in fear, your body instinctively getting ready to run if you needed to. After a few terrifying seconds, you watched as one of them broke away from the other and fled through your open window. Your second floor open window.

Sudden movement snapped your attention back to the one still in your room and your breath caught in your throat when you saw yellow eyes glowing in the dark. They were fixed right at you, assessing you. For a long moment you stared at one another, the silence filling with a strange sense of familiarity that your conscious mind couldn’t place. Then you blinked, and you were alone once again, the soft rustle of clothes gone with the wind.

For a few nights after your terrifying encounter, your room remained untouched. There was no sign of your nocturnal visitor, and you couldn’t help the feeling of sadness and disappointment when you woke up in the morning and everything was where it should be. When you awoke in the middle of the night, there were no watchful eyes on you, no fleeting touch of phantom fingers on your skin. You thought they might never come back. You thought they had abandoned you. In moments of deep loneliness, you deluded yourself into thinking you’ve imagined it all. Even though you’ve never properly met them, their presence has become a comforting constant in your life. Now you just felt alone.

Then come one morning, you found a small present on your bedside table, a beaded bracelet you were positive you didn’t own. It came with a note.

He wasn’t one of us. He wanted to hurt you. But he won’t bother you again.

At the end, there was a name. And you just knew it was from him, the one with the yellow eyes.

The next night, you stayed awake, waiting for him. An hour after sundown, there was a sound coming from outside, a voice calling for you. When you leaned out your window, there he was looking up at you, eyes glowing in the dark. Then the shadows shifted, and he was joined by three others.

“Can we come in?” he asked.

Your heart fluttered. As your lips formed around a ‘yes’, you knew you weren’t abandoned. You knew you would never be alone again.

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