#halloween hits

[artwolfs-blog]

Halloween, Musik - Video

[egophiliac]

I got a really tough question.

What’s your favorite Twst event of ALL TIME?

I like Harveston

this truly is the hardest question. :( but after much consideration, I think Endless Halloween Night wins out for me, because it's nonstop Characters Being Silly the whole way through. the whole thing is just lots of these little dorks having the most ridiculous interactions, which is always my favorite! and of course the big twist is SO delightfully stupid and doubles down SO hard that it becomes AMAZING and I 100% unironically adore it. AND it's Halloween! everyone is in their cute little costumes and having a spooky adventure! it's great!

however, I am ALSO a big fan of the Harveston event! how can I not be! everyone is wearing comfy winter outfits and getting along really weirdly well with Epel's grandma and he's getting a little worried about that! my terrible loud son sews a plush squirrel and then gives it a silly little nickname and refuses to leave it behind when it breaks! the ending shot with the sled! I LOVE IT.

obviously we need the best of both worlds now

[bozo4michael]

[stuntghoul]

Kill them with kindness? WRONG!!!

UNLEASH THE FUCKING BATS 🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 129

Danny, now an adult, has just moved to the city of Gotham. Actually he’s been an adult for a while, but every once in a while he has to end his life, at least legally, lest someone get suspicious. Usually whenever Dan or Ellie does an oopsie and pulls a firebird with being reborn through their core. 

So legally, one Danyal Nightingale, has just moved to Gotham to open a bakery (Thank you for the wonderful recipes and bonding Clockwork) while taking care of his practically newborn son Jordan. Of course Elnath- Ellie- had to pull a core retreat too, which is just his luck. 

It wouldn’t be a problem, but he’s trying to not be so broody. A ghost- even a half-ghost- carrying another core though, has instincts turned up to like, eleven. Which again, wouldn’t be much of a problem if not for someone falling into his dumpster late at night bleeding. A vigilante, which he’s sworn to stay away from that life years ago. And it’s not a lethal wound…

But his instincts are screaming to not let the person bleed all around his nest, and he knows from experience that it would continue to bother him. Which is how he ends up with Batman on his couch to Dan’s glee if the ghost chirps are to go by. 

[umbrellainkart]

I swear it

[crypticbunnygirl]

Teasing the shape 

Michael Myers x female!brat!reader

Prompts: “You’re gonna regret that” “I’m screwed” “I’m not done with you, you brought this upon yourself” 

This is my first time writing smut, I am open to constructive criticism! just please be nice! :) 

Warnings: rough sex, light bondage, light dom and sub, bites, bruising, darcyphilla (michael loves to see you cry from overstim), slight breeding kink if you squint real hard, overstimulation, size kink, degradation, dumbifaction (like a few words), micheal gets soft with aftercare, Michael does talk a little but only a few lines 

Words: 1.3k 

Somehow, some way, you had convinced Micheal to let you ride him. He never liked being underneath you, unless he initiated it.  But now, you were straddling him, his mask on the floor. His rough hands on your hips.   “C’mon mikey, lemme tie your hands...it’ll be great.” You state. He gives you a sharp glare.  “Come on! Please!! I’ll make you and buy you lots of sweet things!” You say, trying to get him to cave in on letting you tie his hands to the bedpost.  “Fine, don’t make me regret it.” He mutters, his voice raw and deep. Your heart flutters at his voice. You grab the red rope, and make a knot. A few moments later you sit back, biting your lip at how Micheal looks. You feel his eyes practically burning your skin. “I’m going!” You voice, you knew what that look meant, he’s getting impatient. Micheal had helped you with getting ready to take him. You let out a sigh; no matter how many times you and Michael have had sex, it still takes you a while to get used to him, with you riding him, you can take your time. It helped that he was already erect, you let out a shaky breath and slowly sank onto his cock. You look into his eyes, you know you need to hurry up. He didn't have to say anything for you to understand. You let out another deep breath as you continued to slowly go down on his cock, you could see he was growing impatient when he slammed his hips up, his cock filling you up. You gasped at the sudden fullness. You start to move slowly, bringing your hips back up and down, your hands supporting you. You moved slowly to be a tease. How could you not pass this opportunity to tease him?? You weren’t going to pass this up. So, you start moving, slowly knowing damn well Micheal will make you regret this, but you don’t care. Your right hand goes down to your clit and starts slowly rubbing in a circular motion. “Michael~” You utter.  You know he’s about to snap, the way he’s tugging at the rope. Did you purposefully tie them poorly? Maybe. You continue this slow agonizing pace, for him anyway, you were enjoying this. You continue your motions, feeling pressure build in your abdomen. Micheal was glaring at you. He hated this. He wants you to have your hands tied, with him pounding into you like an animal, and you knew this. This was torture for him, watching you please yourself, with your small hands? Please he could do so much better. He knew what you liked, hell loved in bed. How to get you to cry for him. You close your eyes, basking in the pleasure, the slow sensual pleasure. Suddenly you hear a snap, you open your eyes, the bed post is broken, Micheal has gotten out of the rope. Fuck. You're screwed. You feel his hands on your hips and he slams you down onto his dick. He switches so he’s on top, you're beneath him, where you should be. He grabs your wrists, takes the rope that he broke out of and ties your hands together.  “You're going to regret teasing me.” He whispers in your ear. You shudder with excitement. This is exactly what you wanted, and Micheal knew this. He starts thrusting into you, his hands holding your hips in place to make sure you can’t move away as he slams into you. One of his hands goes to your clit, going in rough circular motions.  “Michael! Don’t stop!” You mutter, like he planned to. He continues his rough pace until you're squeezing him. “I’m c-cumming!” You stutter, coating his cock in your juices. He continues to fuck you, not slowing. He drops his head to the crook of your neck, he starts biting and sucking, making you whimper. God how he loved those sounds. He leaves hickies and bite marks galore, he moves to your chest, sucking on your nipples, knowing it was a more sensitive part of your body. You whine, feeling that pressure build up.  “Mikey, I-I’m g-gonna cum a-again.” You whimper. He nods, you know this is what you get for teasing.  He doesn't slow down, only continues the onslaught on your body. You feel the pressure build, build and then, he gets deep enough, hitting the right spot, sending you over the edge. 

“M-Michael!” You whimper, clenching around him, making him groan. Soon his thrusts get sloppy and he dips into your ear, your name falling from his lips, as he cums. You're panting and you see a sly smirk on his face. Before you get a word out he resumes his harsh thrusts. Michael leans down and whispers, “This is what you get, you're going to cum until I’m satisfied.” This is the most vocal he's ever been, you whine as he continues to slam into you. He smirks as you whimper and whine. 

“Whine for me, slut.” He mutters in your ear, his voice making you clench. He starts a rough pace on your clit making you gasp. You can't find the words to let him know your cumming again.

“Mi-Micha-” You can’t even form a sentence, he chuckles.

“Look at you, my baby is all dumb hm? Did I fuck you dumb?” He asks. All you can do is nod and whimper, his voice making you wetter. 

“Of course I did.” He whispers, his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer to him. You smirk dumbly as he lifts you up by your waists and thrusts into you, hitting that bundle of nerves making you squeal. He continues to hit it. Positioning himself to always hit that bundle of nerves, over and over. You can feel that same feeling building in your gut. Before you could get any words out your coating his cock and he adores watching you come undone underneath him. The way you whimper and your squirming. God, he loved it. He kept thrusting and soon became sloppy, you knew he was getting close. With three thrusts he comes in you, his grip on your hips tightening and holding you in place. Once he finished he pulled out and looked down at you. To him you look like a piece of art, covered in hickies, bite marks, bruises, and his cum leaking out of you. You watch him walk away. You're too exhausted to ask, your brain fuzzy. A few minutes later he comes back with a rag and starts carefully cleaning you. It felt nice, the warm water on your sensitive skin, it was relaxing. Once he finishes cleaning you up, he holds you, a little awkwardly. He wasn’t used to giving affection. But you were very content with his aftercare. He’s a work in progress. Soon you feel sleep take you, falling asleep in Michaels arms. 

[scarlet-bee]

My keyboard's first suggested words

[ID: A phone keyboard's predictive text suggestions, above the top row of keys. The suggested words are: "phineas and ferb" "trans" "halloween." End ID.]

[eudaemon-m]

weapon

[matd0]

another peek to my sick and twisted mind

pretty sure i haven't posted any slasher art?? which is sort of wacky considering i love slasher films probably as much as creepypastas?? (fyi my top 3 movies are black christmas, texas chainsaw massacre and halloween. + my favourite overall franchise is scream. v generic but ay man theyre good lol)

anyway im pretty busy working on commissions rn solike I'll mostly just post whatever silly warm-ups i do lol

[defectivevillain]

old habits die bleeding

pairing: Michael Myers/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: You’re kidnapped—and on the same night Michael Myers returns to terrorize Haddonfield. Just your luck, really.

word count: 2.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood & injury; kidnapping, chloroform, smoking, burns, hospitals.

You’ve celebrated Halloween in Haddonfield for more than two decades. You’ve escaped Michael Myers a few times now. And you won’t let him drive you out of your home. This Halloween is no different, you tell yourself as you finish putting up the cheap decorations in your window. Trick-or-treating isn’t much of a thing in Haddonfield anymore, but occasionally a few brave (or just foolish) kids will stop by. Your heart always skips a beat whenever you look out your window, as you think back to that night years ago. 

It was your first Halloween in Haddonfield and, while you had been warned that the night often brought terror, you assumed it to be an exaggeration. You weren’t much of a party person (and you still aren’t), so you had settled in on your couch and spent the night watching television. 

At least, that was how things were supposed to go—until you felt a large hand close around your mouth and pull you up and over the couch. You fell to the floor, only to be pinned down with a knee to the chest and a hand on your throat. A man in a mask stood over you, taking the breath from your lungs. You tried to shove him off, but he was too strong. You kicked out and eventually managed to knee him in the gut, momentarily loosening his grip and providing you with an escape. From there, it was a series of increasingly close calls, until you finally managed to race out of your house, down the street, and out of sight. 

While that was your first encounter with Michael Myers, it wouldn’t be your last. The killer would come every year; and each time, your escape felt narrower and narrower… 

That brings you to tonight: Halloween. You’re still sitting on your couch, watching television as you normally would. This time, however, you’ve kept the lights on—and have monitored the shadows cast on the walls with vigilance. 

So, when a large hand covers your mouth, you’re ready to fight back. Except… it’s not just a hand. There’s a rag pressed into your face, forcing you to breathe in whatever drug is evidently laced through the fabric. You try to shove the person’s grip off, but your vision is spinning and your limbs don’t seem to be obeying your commands. You’re stumbling on the ground, desperately trying to keep your balance while you fight off your attacker. Their grip is persistent and you’re forced to take another deep breath, inhaling the mysterious substance once more. 

This doesn’t seem like something Michael Myers would do, is the last thought that runs through your mind before your vision quickly fades to black and you crumple to the ground.

You wake up to find yourself in a musty room with crumbling wallpaper. Your hands are tied behind your back and your legs are tied to the wooden chair you’re situated on. Your head is pounding and your ears are ringing as you try to get a better idea of your surroundings. Ultimately, there’s little else in the room save for you. You don’t see anything sharp that you could use to cut yourself free from the ropes binding you. 

You’re alone, by some miracle. Your head keeps dropping as you nod off, fighting off slumber. You can’t sleep here, no matter how much you may want to rest. You have to get out of here. You’re not sure what your kidnapper wants with you, and you don’t desire to find out. You grit your teeth and try to maneuver yourself so that you can reach the pocket of your pants. Smoking has been a bad habit of yours—one that you’ve been meaning to kick—but you’re extremely thankful you didn’t get around to it, since it prompted you to place a lighter in your back pocket. You manage to maneuver so that you’re holding the lighter in your bound hands. You flip it around with your pinky finger and manage to light it. 

Unfortunately, your escape method isn’t entirely painless—which you soon realize the hard way. You’re trying to burn the ropes, but you’re dealing some damage to the skin of your hands in the process. By the time you’ve successfully frayed the rope and pulled it off, your skin is rubbed raw and irritated from the lighter. 

Thankfully, now that your hands are free, you can simply untie the ropes around your ankles. Your hands are slightly shaking as you free your legs, but you still manage to set yourself free within a few moments. Immediately, you quietly step towards the doorway, pressing an ear up against the inside wall to listen for your captor. After several seconds pass in silence, you decide to risk it and step out of the room.

From there, you find yourself in a dark hallway—maybe a basement, of sorts? Your thoughts are confirmed when your eyes catch on a staircase in the corner. You slowly walk over towards the stairs, as quietly as you can muster. 

When you get to the top of the stairs, you’re foolishly deluded into thinking that you’ll get out of this unscathed. Then you take another step and a loud creak echoes throughout the space. Abandoning any hope for silence, you sprint towards the front door—surprised to find that you seem to be in a house of some sort. Your hands are fumbling for the first lock on the door—there are two—but just before you can slide it to the side, there’s a hand on your collar yanking you back into a hard chest. There’s a knife pressed to your throat and an unfamiliar voice in your ear. Instinctively, you pull at your captor’s arm in an attempt to create some distance between the knife and your throat. The knife is only pulled towards your throat tighter, until it’s drawing blood from your skin and a pained whimper from your lips. Just as the blade draws ever closer, you bring your knee up and slam your foot back into your captor—connecting with their ankle and successfully making them stumble long enough for you to twist out of their grip and run back towards the door. This time, you manage to slide the lock open, but there’s still the second lock lower on the door. You hear them get up and instinctively move to the right, just barely dodging their strike and sending them careening forward into the door. 

From there, you reach out and slam their head into the door again, before turning around and bolting towards the other side of the house—hoping there’s a door to the backyard. You hear the telltale shink of the knife getting pulled from the door and your heart drops to your stomach as you frantically look through an entirely unfamiliar house. You run through the kitchen, before doubling back to grab a sharp knife from the knife block. Your eyes then catch on a wooden door past the kitchen and you race over to it, flipping the lock and pushing it forward. But the door doesn’t open, no matter how hard you yank at it and beg for it to open. Suddenly you’re tugged back and slammed into the locked door. Your knife falls from your grasp. Blinking stars out of your eyes, you try to push your assailant away—but their grip is too strong and suddenly they’re jamming their knife into your abdomen before brutally ripping the weapon back out. You choke on a breath and slump forward, as blood drips down your chest and begins to splatter along the floor. You fall to your knees and slap a hand onto the wound, wheezing and fighting for breath. Your hands fall to the floor and your right hand falls right next to the knife you dropped. Through the blinding pain, you manage to subtly grab the knife and jam it into your captor’s crotch. They scream and you aim a bit higher, sinking it into their abdomen and shoving them away from you as they fall to the ground. You manage to push yourself into your feet and press a hand to the nearby wall to stabilize yourself as you look down at their body. They’re definitely unconscious, at the very least. That should give you enough time to make it outside and call for help. You stumble back through the house and towards the front door, unlocking the second lock and shoving it open. 

As you awkwardly shuffle across the front porch, you’re hit with a striking realization: you’re still on your street. In fact, you’re only a few houses down from your own house. The thought provokes a nearly infinite amount of dread within you, as you try to come to terms with the fact that there is yet another killer in Haddonfield. Eventually, you have to push the thought aside and focus on getting back home. You’re hobbling on uneven footing, your hand pressed against your side like a vice. Your breathing is ragged and loud in your ears; your entire chest is on fire. 

But the universe is smiling down on you—because you manage to make it back home. Your front door is unlocked and you’re quick to stumble inside, clumsily locking it behind you before moving towards your living room. Within a few steps, your knees crumple beneath you and you’re forced to crawl towards the sofa. What follows is an excruciating effort consisting of you pulling yourself up on the sofa and collapsing onto it with a pained hiss. Your vision hasn’t stopped spinning since you first entered your house. Worst of all, you can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the killer coming back for you—it’s very likely that you only incapacitated him. Despite your best efforts to remain awake and attempt to move, your vision is quickly giving way to an overwhelming, suffocating darkness.

You wake a few hours later to a knife pressed against your throat and a dark silhouette looming over you. You instinctively want to push yourself up to a sitting position, but the blade is pressed into your skin hard enough to draw blood and you’re forced to abandon the effort. It’s then that your vision clears to reveal just who is standing over you and, despite the sheer terror running through your veins, a laugh wrenches its way from your lips. 

“Michael,” you say, greeting the killer who has made a habit of visiting you every Halloween. This year is no different, it seems. He presses the knife against your throat pointedly, as if waiting for you to push it away. You can barely manage a pathetic attempt at shoving the blade away and you eventually settle for staring at him. 

(Michael stares back at you. There’s blood splattered across your hand, he realizes, and the skin is raw from what he can only assume to be burns. Not to mention, there’s a seemingly unending crimson stain marring your shirt. Something unfamiliar churns in his stomach, combined with that ever familiar rage that boils his blood.) 

You watch as Michael tilts his head to the side, before removing the blade from your neck. You blink at him in disbelief, and stare as he lifts his hand to tap his wrist impatiently. You’re late, he motions. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare in confusion. Then you realize he must be referring to this unfortunate tradition between the two of you: the cat-and-mouse chase that ensues every Halloween night, without fail. “...I was kind of preoccupied,” you mutter, motioning down to the wound on your abdomen that hasn’t stopped burning and stinging since you woke. 

Michael follows your gesture and stares down at the wound for longer than you’re comfortable with. Before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing, Michael places a hand on your wound and pushes. You can’t stop the pained outburst that leaves your lips, especially when he twists his hand and digs his knuckles into the tissue. Your vision is swirling again and you desperately try to push him away, but he’s too strong. Just when you’re on the brink of passing out, Michael releases his grip and leans back. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, as your vision slowly recovers. The pain is even worse now. You’re shivering and shaking, your teeth chattering and sending reverberations through your ears and into your very skull. 

Perhaps worst of all, you think you might understand what Michael was trying to say just now. If you die, it will be by my hand—and no one else’s. He’s prideful in that regard. He doesn’t need to capitalize on someone else’s work, or take advantage of your already wounded state. A shiver rolls down your spine as you come to the conclusion that he enjoys the chase—enjoys the hunt. 

Michael is still staring down at you. You almost wish he wasn’t wearing his mask, so that you could read his expression. Still, there’s an aura of annoyance and irritation emanating from his form—and it’s only further exacerbated by the tight draw of his shoulders and the way he stares at you impatiently. 

“Ruined your night, huh?” You ask wearily. Honestly, you’re not sure where you’re getting this sudden surge of confidence—you think it must be the adrenaline. Surely, if you live to see tomorrow, you’ll wake up feeling immense regret. 

Michael is infuriatingly silent, as always. You didn’t expect him to respond, though. You’ve managed one-sided conversations with him before—even under much more desperate circumstances. This one is no different, save for the excruciating pain that binds you to your sofa and forces the most blunt and honest of words to leave your lips. 

“Same time next year?” You choke out sarcastically. You swear you see the mask contort, as if Michael’s brows are furrowing, but you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination. 

You’re not deluded enough to feel safe right now—with a killer towering over you—but exhaustion tugs at your core as your adrenaline quickly crashes. Your eyelids are stinging as you fight off sleep. Michael’s looming over you and you’re sure you’ve never been in a more unsafe situation—wounded and defenseless in front of him. But your fatigue doesn’t care, and your eyes are slipping shut within moments. 

For a while, there is nothing but darkness. Then, your eyelids twitch as a blade is traced along your cheekbone, dipping under your chin and nicking the skin underneath. You flinch and try to open your eyes, but your eyelids are sealed shut and you’re forced to remain entirely compliant and complacent. Your heart is thudding quietly in your chest. 

Thankfully, Michael must lose interest, because that’s the last sensation you register before falling into a deep and unburdened sleep. 

To your surprise, you don’t wake up in a giant pool of your own blood and a ruined sofa. Instead, you wake to bright fluorescent walls and unassuming white walls. Someone must’ve taken you to the hospital. Within a few minutes of your awakening, a nurse arrives and fills you in—apparently, one of your neighbors had called the police after seeing your front door ajar and finding you passed out on the couch with a bleeding wound. You take a deep breath and try to relax, but all you can think about is Michael. 

Why the hell didn’t he kill you? He had ample opportunity. Even if he is prideful, like you were first thinking, wouldn’t his bloodlust outweigh any egotism? You were entirely vulnerable in front of him—he could have flayed you alive and you wouldn’t have been able to resist or struggle. It would’ve been over in a split second. Michael could’ve been in and out of your home within a few minutes. 

You take a deep breath and try to clear your thoughts of the killer. The effort is, understandably, a lot more difficult than you think it will be—especially when you turn on the small television in your room to find a murder being broadcast on the news. The victim, you soon learn, was the same person who kidnapped you. You’re immediately torn between guilt, fear, and a shameful gratitude. They will never bother you again. 

As for Michael Myers, however… Let’s just say you’re already thinking about how to survive Halloween next year.

thanks for reading! <3

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[starrysharks]

i want to finish this design later, but otherwise here's a sketch of a ghost trainer rin

[wingedog]

You know that feeling you get when you want to escape into a piece of media so bad its an ache in your chest?

[bapple117]

I'm never going to recover from the fact that I missed out on this (official) shirt design, it causes me literal agony on a daily basis

PLEASE he's so HOT

(not my art)

[onemetricdylan]

I moved north this season and the cold weather has been a nice change. Struggled with this one but I'm happy with the results