#killer ghost

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Springtrap's first night in Dead by daylight..

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that takes great pride in being your built in pain relief.

“you right?”

delicate as always, gruff voice cutting through the peaceful lull as he stands right in the way of the television you were only really listening to.

“just a headache”

“you taken anything for it?”

you slowly open one eye as far as you can manage, confirming that the look on his face is endearing and he’s not purposefully asking stupid fucking questions.

he’s only man after all.

“i’ll give y’one if y’like?”

before you even have a chance to ask him what “one” might be in this scenario, he’s already nudging you up the couch to sit beside you.

he doesn’t give you the chance to ask any questions, really- not when he’s tucking your back into his side and slipping a large hand down your front.

long fingers slide your shorts to the side and immediately get to work, other hand holding your thighs open (more for his line of sight than anything).

“simon- you don’t have-”

“none a’that, rest y’head and i’ll take care a’ya”

[ijustwannahavefunn]

I remember making a magazine cover using the drawings from the old fashion meme for a school assignment once. Ah, the good times 🤓 Anyway, I made some covers again for fun this time 👋

[skellophrenia]

THE CREEPS!! including my vampsona ghost (fangs) :3

[thepumpkin-queenn]

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

Spooky season is almost there...who you gonna call?

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[eriscary]

「 Passing Ghost 」 FIRST || next => I have first few pages pre-made, so let's start this train. Ink Sans - Comyet Dream Sans - Jokublog Killer Sans - RahafWabas

[alpalnd]

My favorite movies

[gellavonhamster]

One Piece + Tumblr text posts, 1/?

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[thedovesaredying]

You guys remember that old post about a writer who ends up dating a serial killer because the two of them are both interested in murder and mysteries? What about Serial Killer!Ghost dating his beloved Author!Reader?

The two of them adore reading murder mystery and horror stories, and both bonded over it on their first date together. Reader loves to curl up with a good crime novel while Ghost is flipping through a classic horror for potential inspiration. He often listens to you talk about the story you're currently working on, offering advice to help make it more accurate. You never question where he gets this knowledge from - he used to be in the military after all - even when the local news begins reporting on murders that are oddly similar to what you're including in your book (you don't watch the news anyway, it's all too depressing).

You love having a partner who is adores your career so much and is so happy to offer suggestions whenever you hit a wall with your creativity. In fact, he's always so eager to try and inspire new ideas in you, fascinated whenever you describe how side character #37 meets their grizzly end.

He loves your creativity. You always come up with interesting new ways to injure and kill people and he finds himself practically vibrating with the need to test out just how realistic those methods could be.

[cheeseatlantic]

yabadabadoooooo

!serialkillerghost x !ballerinareader

cws: graphic depictions of violence, severed body parts, protective/obsessive behaviour, dark themes (stalking, revenge) and mentions of blood and injury

Soft Hands, Sharp Teeth

The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, the only sound your soft, unsteady breathing. The day had been long, exhausting in a way you couldn’t quite name, but it wasn’t the dancing that had left you drained—it was him.

Your dance partner.

His hands had been too much, too firm, fingers brushing where they shouldn’t. A lingering touch on your waist, an unwelcome slide of his palm against your ribs. You hadn’t said anything, too stunned, too unsure if you were overreacting. But the sick feeling in your stomach told you otherwise.

You sniffled, toeing off your ballet flats, and it was then that you noticed him.

Simon sat on the couch, one arm draped over the back, his large frame relaxed in the dim glow of the lamp. His mask was off, but the black compression shirt stretched over his broad chest, his military dog tags resting against the fabric. He was watching you, eyes sharp, assessing.

“Rough day, birdie?” His voice was low, smooth, always laced with that warmth he reserved just for you.

Your lip wobbled.

That was all it took.

He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the space between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His palms were rough, calloused, but his touch was so gentle. Like he thought you might break.

“Tell me.”

Your fingers curled into his sleeves, seeking comfort. “It’s stupid,” you mumbled.

His brows drew together. “Not if it upset you.”

You swallowed, looking down. “My dance partner… I didn’t like how he touched me.”

Silence.

It stretched long enough that you finally glanced up at him, only to find his expression completely blank. No anger, no frustration—just nothing.

“Where?” His voice was too calm.

You hesitated, then lifted a hand, touching your waist. “Here. And… here.” You traced a spot over your ribs. “I don’t think he meant anything by it, but—”

“You don’t have to defend him.” His fingers curled slightly against your skin. “You didn’t like it. That’s enough.”

You exhaled shakily, nodding. Simon had always made you feel safe, even if you didn’t fully understand why. He was a soldier, a protector—your protector.

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “You’re tired,” he murmured. “Go to bed, yeah?”

“But—”

“Shh.” His lips quirked, something almost amused in his expression. “That’s an order, little ballerina.”

You huffed but let him lead you to bed, tucking you beneath the soft covers. He sat beside you for a long moment, stroking your hair, waiting until your breathing evened out.

You didn’t hear him leave.

SIMON’S POV

It wasn’t hard to find the bastard.

He was a predictable little shit—smug, unassuming, the type of man who thought he was untouchable because no one had ever given him a reason to believe otherwise. Simon followed him from the studio, let him drink with his mates at the bar, let him laugh like he hadn’t laid hands on her.

Then he cornered him in the alley behind the building.

The man barely had time to react before Simon shoved him up against the damp brick, gloved fingers pressing against his windpipe just enough to scare. Not enough to kill.

Yet.

“You like putting your hands where they don’t belong?” His voice was smooth, almost amused.

The man choked, grasping at Simon’s wrist. “W-what the fuck—”

Simon didn’t let him finish. He slammed his head back against the wall with a satisfying crack and watched as the fight drained out of him.

“You don’t touch her.” His voice dropped lower, dangerous. “Not her waist. Not her ribs. Not her fucking shadow. You understand?”

The man whimpered, nodding weakly.

Simon smiled. “Good.”

Then he pulled the knife.

The screams didn’t last long.

A soft knock at your door roused you from sleep. You stretched, blinking blearily as you padded across the apartment. Outside, resting on the doorstep, was a pristine white box, wrapped in a delicate pink ribbon.

Your lips curled into a sleepy smile. Simon always gave you little gifts—things he thought you’d like, trinkets and sweets, small tokens of affection. You carried the box inside, settling at the table as you untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in layers of delicate white tissue paper, were two severed hands.

Familiar hands.

Hands that forced themselves onto you.

Your stomach twisted, a sharp inhale catching in your throat, but before you could process it, a note slipped free from the tissue, fluttering onto the table.

Won’t be touching you again, birdie.

Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs.

You should have screamed. You should have been horrified.

Instead, warmth crept up your neck, something dark curling low in your belly. Because deep down, beneath all the innocence, all the softness—

You knew exactly who had left you this gift.

And you knew he was only protecting what was his.

[botanicaltropical]

✨Family photo✨

some doodles

[skellophrenia]

drew theze assholes as ponies a few weeks ago hello

[thepumpkin-queenn]