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casiia · 4 months

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༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; cooties.

warnings .: x reader, dad simon, afab ! reader, soso much fluff, unedited.

.: masterlist.

imagine simon’s daughter coming home with tears just running down her face, you’re trailing in behind and trying your best to hide your laugh as you console her.

“it’s just a myth, dear.”

but that only makes her cry harder, because she’s 7 and doesn’t know what the fuck a myth is. who is she supposed to believe…her loving mother who raised her and has never lied to her a day in her life, or the girl she’d met just an hour ago on the playground.

“it’s true!” she gasps out, wiping her wet cheeks with her palms, dramatically dragging her hands down her face as another sob wracked her tiny body.

you could only snicker silently as you brushed away baby hairs that clung to her cheeks. frankly, you didn’t know what to say; you’d tried everything to help your daughter and ease her of this new world ending conflict.

simon’s on immediate alert, normally he’s welcomed home with kisses and hugs and bottomless babbles about pointless things. hearing his baby’s loud cry followed by her quick and urgent footsteps makes him panic and his mind instantly goes to the worst.

hurriedly, simon makes his way down the stairs nearly breaking his neck when he trips over a stray toy — but he manages to grab the banister before falling to his death and peaks into the living room.

you’re sitting on the couch with her cradled in your arms, a tender and gentle shush whispered off of your lips as you untangle knots in her hair. your attempts to calm her down don’t, she’s as stubborn as her father, if not more.

“what’s going on, sweet pea?” simon asks, treading carefully as he inches closer to you, his eyes clouded with a mix of worry and question.

before he can sit down, the girl in your arms shrieks so loud he can hear it ringing in his temple. wincing at the loud intrusion, simon watches as his daughter shoots from your arms all the way across the living room, her back pressed to the wall and eyes wide with what seems to be horror.

now simon’s afraid, is there something on his face? did he forget to shave? is he even simon?

you only snort behind your palm, furrowing your eyebrows and returning back to your playful yet serious expression. “go on, babygirl. tell dad what she said.”

his heart is hammering in his chest now, what did she say — who are you talking about?

and he doesn’t know if that scream altered him deaf but all he can see is her lips moving. the sound of your quiet giggles calms him though, and you have to ask her to say it again.

“she said boys have cootie!” she screams, looking horrified — looking at her dad as if he’d grown a third head and eaten all of her halloween candy.

simon begins to open his mouth to say something, something along the lines of “who fuckin’ told ya that.” although the more he thinks it over he’s compelled to play into the roll. he pauses for a moment, concentrated on weighing out the pros and cons.

on one hand, it breaks his heart to see his girl avoiding him like this. going to the edge of the earth just to distance herself from him. crying out because her world is shattered, her dad? having cooties? what nonsense.

on the other hand. simon’s been hearing about this ‘jack’ boy that she’s been in love with on the playground, he even proposed to her with a fucking stick. his daughter can do better than that. and hell, she’s too young to be dating, she doesn’t even know her alphabet!

so with some quick thinking a small smile paints his lips, he opens his arms and watches as she hesitantly takes a step forward. his heart leaps at that, she’s willing to catch a fake disease of cooties just for a daily hug from her father.

“boys do have cooties, but not me, see this?” he reaches inside of his shirt and pulls out the dog tag that hangs around his neck, he gives it a nice tug and smiles a bit. “it’s cootie-repellent.”

another step, hesitant but slowly the small girl is inching away from the wall and closer to the awaiting arms of her dad. “r-really?” she asks, a hiccup following her shaky breath as she calms down.

simon only nods, he’s grateful that your daughter isn’t one to question much. a hard believer in anything she hears, to this day she still believes that fairy’s live in the freezer. he’s not sure what story he would make up if she began questioning him, maybe something with fairies. they were always his go to.

“y’want it?” simon begins to take the necklace off, holding it out to her. shes just an arms reach away, but she’s curious.

“yes.” she mumbles, her heartbroken expression from moments ago turning into that beaming smile that warms simon’s chest. “i’ll give it to jack!”

simon stills. fuck. no way was he going to lose his girl this soon. “nuh uh.” he laughs, quickly tucking the chain back under his shirt and pulling his daughter into his chest.

you watch as he ruffles her hair, her muffled screams falling onto deaf ears as she squirms and punches her dad, begging for him to let go. simon only tightens his arms around the flailing girl, peppering kisses all over tear stained face, watching her once glossy eyes crinkle with joy at her dad’s affection.

thank god for cooties.

#[ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒. ]#do 7 year olds know the alphabet #?!??!?!#silly lil thing i wrote at 5am #( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ )#simon riley x reader #simon riley #dad simon #cod #call of duty

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ghouljams · 7 months

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Happy Halloween!! Die attempts to confront Ghost about his issues, Ghost doesn't respond well.

Tags: Ghost x f!oc/reader, angst, vague references to Ghost's canon backstory, hurt no comfort, Ghost is an asshole who can't communicate

Ghost doesn't even glare at you when he opens the door. Glaring you could handle, at least it would be a show of his feelings. No, the gaze he levels you with is cold indifference. You sit on his bed, all but begging for him to look at you with something other than disgust.

"Figures you'd be here," he grunts looking away to pull off his gloves.

"You're room?" You ask, eager for any bone he'll throw you.

"My bed," his tone is so even and cruel you wince.

"I thought we could talk," you try. Ghost stays silent, his focus on his nightly routine. He sets his gloves on his dresser, strips his shirt over his head, careful to keep his balaclava in place. You try to keep out of the rolling tide of his emotions. Disgust rears its ugly head too often for your comfort. Although you can't tell who it's directed at. If you weren't here you wonder if it would still point its wretched finger at Ghost. "Maybe I should start with an apology." You mumble. Ghost snaps the top drawer closed, presses his fists to the top and leans against it.

"You don’t even know what you’re apologizin’ for," he spits, you flinch. You don't know how to respond to that, what to say or how to say it. You don't have the words for the ache in your chest that his words conjure. He swallows, you feel his mind settle on something like pulling the brakes on a speeding train. Everything screeches to a halt, and piles in on itself. You'd be crushed under that weight, you don't know how Ghost can stand it. "Why couldn't we stay strangers," it's a question, but it isn't really. He isn't looking for an answer.

"I don't-" you don't understand. Ghost turns to look over his shoulder at you and you catch the spark of his glare, the cool heat that shoots through you.

“Least you can admit it,” He grumbles.

“If you would just talk to me,” You plead. Ghost slams his hands on the top of the dresser and you flinch. He clenches his fists tighter, another roll of disgust hitting him. Hitting him. It’s not you that he’s disgusted with, it’s himself. His anger, his hurt, his want to hurt you.

"Because everything has to be done your way.” He pushes his shoulders down, trying to keep the tension in his figure from showing. He’s wound so tight you’re worried he might break. “You couldn't just leave well enough- God, you can't leave me alone." You almost wish he were yelling at you, that it wasn't the cool even tone he always carries tearing you down. He yelled for Soap. Why won't he yell at you?

"I can't, I'm- the contract doesn't have a dismissal clause, there's no precedent-"

"So every fucker that gets one of you is satisfied with it? Don't believe that," he ticks his head to the side, clicks his tongue, "Give a man a brag rag that says 'e's a monster, and you lot think 'e's happy with it?"

"It's not-"

"How'd you tally it up? Hm?" Ghost turns towards you, "How’d you decide I couldn’t-” He looks away again. Couldn’t what? There’s nothing in your arsenal Ghost couldn’t use, no part of you that isn’t made to complement him.

"I'm a reward," you press. He looks at you again, eyes narrowing. You squeeze your hands into fists, dig your nails into your palms. You can smell blood, feel the sharp break of your skin.

"A reward. You think just because you give a dog a pretty bone it doesn't know it's gettin' kicked?"

You look away, you can't hold his gaze when he looks at you like that. A dog with a bone. His gaze is hot, his disgust pointed inward. He doesn't want to want you Iike he does. He wants you though. There’s a softness to it, an unease, a resentment. Another voice in his head that barks at him, reminds him of what he is. It feels older, darker. You don’t like it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you try, you feel small, a bad sort of small. You don’t like this part of you, the human part, the cursed blood your mother gave you.

“No, you want me to hurt you,” He snarks, his sarcasm more biting than his teeth ever could be. Your ribs tighten around your lungs, squeezing them closer together until you can't feel them expand anymore.

“I don’t,” you mumble. Your throat hurts, scratches uncomfortably, and your eyes itch in a strange way.

“Wha’s that? Can’t hear you, love.” Ghost’s tone is mocking, he leans comfortably against his dresser. Smug, but not pleased with himself. You can feel it. He’s making a show of it, but it still hurts. Hurts in a way you’re not used to, but perhaps starting to be.

“I don’t!” You yell at him, sob at him. You press your hands against your face, unsure if it’s wetness from the blood or the new tears rolling down your cheeks. “Why don’t you like me?” You cry, pulling your knees up to your chest, “Why? I’m good, I can be good! I can be good, I promise." You feel your fingers trembling, your voice getting softer, more watery, “I can be quiet, you won’t even notice me, please.-" you draw in a breath, "-Please don’t hurt me.”

Simon’s horror slices through you like a knife. But it’s fine. You can't hold form anymore, you don’t have to feel it when you melt into the shadows. You don’t really have to feel much of anything, not like this. This is good.

“Die?” Simon calls, his fingers pressing against his blankets where you'd been, his eyes darting around the dim room. It’s ok, you can be good. Your weight leaves his chest, and a new one settles in its place, as familiar and dangerous as coming home.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #x oc #simon ghost x reader #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley cod #ghost cod #oc: die #demon!darlings au #“How'd you decide I couldn't be saved” Ghost says absolutely destroying me #die baby I'm so sorry he's being mean to you #you come live with me I'll take care of you #she's such a wet cat I love her lol

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peachesofteal · 9 months

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Trick or Treat

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/female reader 1.8k words For @glitterypirateduck's GAZFEST Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but contains suggestive themes, slice of life, dad!Kyle, light angst, fluff/comfort. Brief character appearance from another series. I didn't use a prompt for this but it is a one shot.

Trick or treating is an odd custom.

You feel this way, because like Kyle, you didn’t grow up in a place where knocking on doors for candy was a predominant tradition. Halloween was celebrated, surely, but dressing up as little ghouls and running around, screaming ‘smell my feet’ to your neighbors was just… not a thing when you were a child.

Times have changed though, since you were young. Customs have floated across the oceans. They have melted into new traditions, new practices that took over schools and playground chatter.

“I wan’ ta be a ghost!” Oliver’s little face beams up at you as he clutches your hand, skipping beside your body with boundless energy, crisp brown leaves crunching beneath his heels.

“A ghost?!” you gasp, fake fear making him shriek with giggles. “That’s too scary!”

“Naw it’s not!” it’s a playful protest, and you when you turn the corner, he forgets all about the allure of trick or treating for something infinitely better.

The sight of his dad standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. His dad, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three weeks, waiting for him. For you.

He takes off into a sprint.

He’s only four, but fast, and you stay on his heels as he flings himself into the arms of his father.

“DADDY!”

“Don’t you look the part.” Kyle murmurs, heat creeping up your neck into your cheeks when his hands graze your waist. He ducks under the brim of the black, pointed witch hat you managed to find last minute, and presses his lips against yours. You savor him, soaking in everything, the smell of his skin, the remnant flavor of sweetened peppermint on his tongue, the heat of his body pressed to yours.

Everything you’ve been missing.

Everything you’ve ever needed.

“Do you like it?” you croon, and his hands lift the edge of your shirt, just enough so that his palm lays flat against you, kneading against your hip.

“It’s… bewitching?” He tries the word before the crack of a smile forms, a breathy chuckle, amusement at himself blooming across his face.

He stuns you. Still. Even after five years. Even after being married, having his child, being separated across continents for too many too long stretches of time.

“I think-“ you’re about to tell him that you’re thinking about after trick or treating, when Oli will be asleep, when the house will be quiet and dark, all of the candy given away, the candles blown out. When his body will be flush with yours in bed, and you’ll push and pull one another into a daze of pleasure.

He’s been home for a week, but the longing, the wanting never stops. It only builds, desperate to drink up as much of him as possible, eager to hang on to everything he gives you before he goes again.

“I’m ready!” Oliver’s shout interrupts you, chiming over some camp Halloween music crackling in the background, finally ready for his grand entrance even though you got him ready over a half hour ago, and Kyle huffs a laugh into your neck before you both pivot to where your son stands on top of the stairs, clad in his very fancy, brand new Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What's this?” A perfectly packaged Buzz Lightyear costume sits on the kitchen table, and Kyle rubs the back of his neck.

“He ah- didn’t want to be a ghost anymore.”

“What?” The dog barks from the backyard, pulling a glance from you to where Oliver plays with her, where they chase each other around in circles in the dusk lit grass.

“And I couldn’t tell him no…” Your husband tries to explain sheepishly, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, you’re not really good at that.” His hand envelopes yours, lips pressing to your knuckles. “That’s alright though.” You know he feels guilty. He feels the weight of his absence, feels the pain every time he comes, or goes.

You try to hold it for him. The sadness. The remorse. The struggle. Try to put the flames out, when they grow too high, when it’s too much for him to bear. After all, Oliver was a decision the two of you made, together.

Sometimes you succeed in lessening this weight that he carries.

Sometimes you do not.

“Okay, hold still!” you hurry backwards, lining them up in the frame on the front step, flanked by the poorly carved jack o lanterns, the jagged teeth and uneven eyes glinting at you from where the LED lights flicker inside their hollowed-out guts.

Oliver grins, looking between you and his dad, who crouches beside him, holding him close in an embrace. They have their arms around one another, and they're so happy, so sweet, that you have you hurry up and blink your tears away before Kyle’s super senses catch on.

You click a million frames of the same photo, just in case, selecting the second one to send off in a group message.

>Buzz and his favorite Sergeant go trick or treating! >Soap: I thought I was his favorite Sergeant? >Price: Enjoy, make sure you get some of the good candy for yourselves! >You: Of course, and we will! Soap, send pics of Bee in her costume and the fam!

The response comes fast, a picture, a selfie in an elevator. Soap’s got a half full pillowcase in one hand, and the phone in his other, their partner standing behind him, her fingers folded over his waist, face beaming and bright as she smiles up at the camera. Ghost looms next to her with a little girl curled up against his chest in a homemade bumblebee costume.

Kyle barks out a laugh, and types out a quick reply.

>Kyle: Who made that costume? I know it wasn’t you, Soap. >Ghost: It definitely wasn’t.

“Muuum!” It’s an impatient whine, and you slide your phone away, handing him his plastic pumpkin.

“Alright, rules.” Kyle begins, the tone of his voice serious enough to jog Oli’s attention immediately. “Stay with us at times. No running too far ahead. Mum or I should be able to see you, yeah?” Oli nods agreeably. “No crossing the street without a grown up. And say thank you at the door.”

“But wot if they give me apples?”

“Say smell my feet.” Kyle deadpans and Oliver’s eyes go wide, while you smack your husband’s bicep lightly.

“No! You still say thank you. Buzz Lightyear likes apples, you know.” Oli deflates a bit, and Kyle laughs, pulling him in for a hug. The little boy melts, still content to just be cuddled and held by his dad, even though he tells everyone he’s a ‘big boy now’. You try to memorize the sight, something to think back on in a few weeks when your bed is empty again, and there’s one less setting at the dinner table.

“What are we waiting for?” Kyle pats Oliver on the back, and then the three of you take off down the street under the orange glow of All Hallows Eve.

“He’s cleaning up well.” Kyle muses. Oliver runs down the sidewalk, pointing at his orange globe with pure excitement.

“Mmmm.” You hum your agreement, pulling your jacket a little tighter. It’s gotten cooler since the sun went down, and the crisp fall air nips at your skin. “Cold, love?” A warm arm goes around your shoulders and then tucks you in tight, close enough that your face can nestle into his clavicle. “I’ll warm you up later.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes.

“You’re so cheeky sometimes, you know that?”

“I do.” He’s solemn when he says it, but his eyes twinkle, mischievous streak simmering just beneath the surface of his enchanting gaze.

“No question where he gets it from.” Kyle’s fingers touch your temple and then swipe down, glancing across your cheekbone before he’s cupping your face fully, tilting your mouth up to his for a dizzying kiss.

“You’re not so well behaved yourself.” He chides between the slide of your lips, and you smirk into it, nipping at him when he deepens the kiss. Your heart glows in your chest, warm, happy, sated, and you melt into him, content to be swallowed in the bliss of his touch, his love-

Oliver screams.

Everything happens at once.

Oliver screams, and you both recognize it immediately. You gasp, moving to turn away but you’re too slow, far too slow compared to Kyle. You feel the strength of his body, his muscles turned to action in your grip, and then nothing, save for his absence.

He’s already gone.

He’s already over the fence, and up the little yard of the house where you son stands with tears streaming down his cheeks.

There’s a bowl of candy on chair next to him, and as you get closer, you notice that it has one of those animatron hands in it, the ones that snap forward and grab someone unsuspecting when they reach for a treat.

Oh. Your body sags with relief. Your heart slows to a slightly elevated pace.

“You’re alright, shhh. I’m here. Dad’s here.” Kyle has Oliver in a hug, and he rocks him side to side, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly. “Just had a scare, is all.” Your son’s crying relaxes, and he sniffles, keeping his face pressed into Kyle’s chest, hands clutching at him. When Kyle moves to stand, he lets out a frightened cry, and your husband is quick to comfort him, shushing in his ear as he holds him tight. “I’m right here.” He coos, rising with the boy in his arms, looking at you over his head.

“I think that’s enough for tonight then.” You whisper, leaning forward to peer at Oliver’s sleepy and tearful face. It’s late, well past his bedtime, and he’s already hit every house on the block, filling his little jack o lantern to brim. “Let’s go home?” Kyle nods his agreement.

Your fingers intertwine with his during the walk home. He holds you, and his son, the entire way, until the front door is swinging open and the two of you are lowering Oliver into bed, tucking him in carefully and kissing him goodnight. Kyle strokes a gentle touch across his cheek, and you volunteer to do the clean-up downstairs so he can linger there, sitting by his son’s bed, watching over his sleeping form.

When you’re done, and the lights have been turned off, the jack o lanterns no longer flickering in the night, the street nearly quiet, Kyle pulls you into your bedroom.

“Want to leave the hat on?” He raises a brow, and you smother a giggle before pulling the pointy hat off your head with a flourish.

“Trick or treat?” He steals the question from your lips with his, pulling you downwards, burying you between his body and the sheets.

“I love you.” He whispers against you in the dark, mouth tracing a map across your skin. “Happy Halloween, my love.”

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #gaz cod #peaches writes

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tachimichishrine · 7 months

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Please I am begging, I can’t get over just how perfect Tachihara would be with the whole ghost face trend. Please please please

<what. what if I told you I wholeheartedly agree. throws my headcanons and love at you>

"scream for me"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! reader {ghostface trend} hcs

warnings: nsfw ; kitchen sex ; knife play ; intended lowercase ; cursing; unedited so unedited i wrote this half asleep thinking abt being pussy drunk on tachi pls forgive me

manz is a SPY. he's done undercover work and wears a disguise 24/7 (his disguise is a goddamn bandaid but he's hot so we let it slide) he adores getting dressed up

I think he'd be really bad at taking it serious though

100% he gets very childish about things like birthdays, holidays, halloween bc he didn't get that kind of experience with his family when he was younger (womp womp :/)

the hunting dogs obviously don't have anything to do with halloween so imagine his surprise when he caught the port mafia hq covered in spider webs and blood.

the blood was likely real

elise was the one who insisted on it, and if she insists, everyone is wearing cat ears and fake vampire fangs.

chuuya was a vampire the dude definitely had practice

he was definitely in the spooky scary spirit when he had his head on your lap, one hand sliding under and up between your thighs like a pillow and watching scream

i KNOW he felt just the teeny tiniest insecurity when you started calling certain scenes really hot but he tried, really hard, to ignore it.

got a little too comfortable and sleepy when you starting running your fingers through his hair and found himself letting out a yelp at the stupidest jumpscares

you teased him for it all night

"do you think I'd survive in one of those horror movies?" you asked later that night, curled up in bed.

"your dumbass would probably trip and kill yourself on a kitchen knife while making breakfast."

"well, fuck you."

"only if you insist" said with his trademark grin.

you got him back by playing into his jumpiness and hiding around every corner, even when you're on missions

you sprung out with a dramatic ghost-like scream (holding back laughter) on one important mission and the man almost shot you

like he pulled the trigger and everything and had to use his ability to keep the bullet from drilling a hole in your stupid skull.

you toned down the pranks after that.

however, it did give him an idea.

he started using his ability to set up the mood for payback by making metal doors creak or scraping chair legs on the ground slowly

a chill physically ran up your spine when you were walking hand in hand and the front door of an empty "for sale" store slammed open, then shut.

maybe he liked it a little how you squeezed his hand when he did that

maybe he liked it a little when you punched him on the shoulder as you realized it was just his antics

but he sure as hell liked it when you roughly smacked his naked ass and shoved his face into the sheets later that night to teach him a lesson

you liked his screams more like that anyways

tachihara was nowhere to be found after you disappeared into the shower trying to wash off all the smeared cum he'd left on your body. you already thought it was strange that he didn't join you even when you offered, but it was even weirder when you came out in nothing but a towel, and the bed was empty.

"michi, I know you're tryin' to be cute or whatever and scare me, but you're not very subtle about it," you giggled, ditching the underwear to just put on some shorts and one of his shirts. your body bounced onto the mattress that was still warm from your bodies, still smelling like sex and gunpowder. the covers were thrown over you and snuggled into and you waited patiently.

it was amusing, at first.

it was annoying after 10 minutes.

you'd gone on your phone, scrolling listlessly to pass the time while you waited for him to finish up whatever stupid prank he was planning so you could get back to sleep, but a whole half hour had passed and it was beginning to feel a little wrong. you weren't worried (he kicked your ass in training too many times for you not to know how strong he was), but sure as hell curious as to what was going on. it was the spooky season, after all, and there was no harm in indulging a little bit; you dialed his number and heard it ring from somewhere in the apartment.

he was really trying to set it up for you, huh? cute. you figured you'd play along.

the phone was vibrating from the kitchen counter, and you picked it cautiously, glancing around you to find out from where your boyfriend was inevitably going to try to jump at you. you heard a chair move, and your eyes darted to look over in that direction out of instinct.

of course a hand clasped around your mouth and another pulled your waist backwards. you bit his gloved hand playfully to get him to let you go and just giggled, shoving your hips back onto him teasingly and trying to flip around to get a look at him.

your entire body got slammed onto the kitchen counter, hair pulled back in one harsh movement

oh fuck.

you didn't think you'd be bent over so fast, his hips already grinding into your ass while the thin, cheap plastic of his mask rubbed against your cheek, his husky voice laying out every lewd thing you both knew you were thinking. from the way his body was leaning onto you, you guessed that he was shirtless and wearing just about the tightest, low-cut pants known to man being held up by a belt (there was definitely a thick belt; you felt the buckle poke into your lower back every time he'd grind too hard)

"michzou..." you didn't have any problems with what he was doing, but loose fingers were touching your body all over and the thin shorts you'd thrown on previously without a second thought were soaking with every word he'd rasp out. "michi, stop playin' around, I-"

it seems your simple ask got you manhandled again, and both gloved hands were now on your thighs, lifting you up to sit you down on the counter so he could rub against you from the front. it was hard to take it seriously and you let out a giggle when you watched him loom over you with the ghostface mask on, trying to be serious. your fingers went to dig into his shoulders as your hips rolled, back arched trying to feel him better.

he sighed, groaning and trying to slip off the mask when he realized it wasn't having the effect he wanted, but you flicked it back on.

"just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I don't think this is fuckin' hot," you reassured him, ironically chuckling again, and this spurred him to grab your hands and pin them above your head on the cabinets above.

"can't believe you liked gettin' fucked by a masked man this much." his voice was deeper than it usually was but god did it get you throbbing. your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to regain control without your hands.

you quipped back with a sly grin. "would be better if you actually fucked me."

shit, you knew just what to say to get him riled up. he let your hands go to pull off your useless shorts which already had splotches of your arousal, and you seized the opportunity to unbuckle his belt, slide your fist into his pants and pull him out.

getting fucked senseless by your masked boyfriend on the kitchen counter at 3 in the morning was not on your schedule for halloween.

"you know," you mused, your pace slowing once the build up had passed but still rocking yourself on him, "usually the victims try to fight back."

"the fuck does that me-"

the cold metal of a knife poked and teased the exposed skin on his neck, and you felt a little irritated you couldn't see his shock through the mask. "c'mon, you've had your fun, baby, it's my turn."

he wanted to play the part, he really did, but before he could try to resist you had him gently sliced into streaks of red, teeth marks coating his body and his tongue gagging on blood-stained fingers from under the mask. your legs were still secured around his hips, fucking into him slowly and deeply, and every guttural groan that echoed out in the hollow apartment was good enough to keep you going while his body tensed up with rigid muscles and heavy breaths.

he couldn't take it anymore once the searing sting of you smearing his blood on his skin mixed in with the pleasure of dragging against your tightly clenched walls, and he murmured a curse before discarding the mask, messily kissing you with groaning lips buried into your neck once he finally got enough air to pant your name.

ah, the dumbass. he really tried to get you to play along but it was hard when you had him under your thumb. maybe next year, he'd try again.

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rotworld · 2 years

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3: Outnumbered

you can't outrun a pack of wolves.

->explicit. contains noncon, gangbang, gore, murder, semi-public sex, feral behavior, predator/prey, implied captivity, conditioning, mindbreak

Fifteen seconds per house. That’s all you can spare. Stagger up to the porch on your bleeding, blistered feet, bang on the door, and try not to hope too much. “I need help,” you tell whoever might be listening. Fifteen seconds. If nobody answers, you have to move on.

You try cars when you see them, wave down anybody who passes. Hobbling down the side of the highway, you look like a ghost or a bad Halloween prank. The sores and scrapes on the soles of your feet heal up, scab over, then start bleeding all over again. It’s a spotty, uneven trail, splatters and dragging footprints in crime scene red, but it’s a trail all the same. They could track you with less. A young couple sees you, slows and thinks about it. They pull over and you hurry to the passenger side window. “Please help me,” you beg them. A heavy full moon pushes through the clouds.

They leave you there. Speed off without a word. Too much time wasted. You keep moving, follow the lights.

WELCOME TO SUMMITVILLE says a weather beaten metal sign. It’s midnight and there’s nobody around, just long, empty streets and shuttered storefronts. Not good, you think. Too small. Not safe. There’s a gas station on the corner and you limp through the doors. Harsh, fluorescent light stings your eyes. Cold. Smooth, hard floor. Not dirt and twigs, at least. You grab a bag of chips, a cold drink. Eat here? Keep walking? Fifteen seconds. Shouldn’t linger any more than that. You’re so tired, hurt so much. You lean your forehead against the refrigerator doors. Deep breaths.

“Holy shit!”

You drop everything. No. Not him. Not any of them. Just some guy. Works here, probably. Wears a blue shirt and khakis, headphones around his neck. He’s staring. His eyes move down to your torn t-shirt, the sweat and grass stains, nothing but underwear underneath, then flick back up again. Doesn’t quite meet your eyes because he’s looking at that ragged neckline hanging off one shoulder, at the marks underneath.

Like spots. Like clumsy basting stitch. Crescents of teeth, the flesh sunken and scarred. All over your throat and shoulders and forearms.

The rumble of a motorcycle pulling up outside makes your heart skip a beat. Been here too long. You shove past him, pulse racing. Enclosed. Trapped. The door opens, bells chime. “‘Scuse me,” you hear, a casual, bored drawl, and you go completely still. Don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Crouch between a line of beers and a row of cheap candy and listen. The guy in front of you hesitates. Looks at you, then glances towards the front of the store. “Anybody home?” The next words are sharper, more impatient. He leaves, and so do you. EMPLOYEES ONLY says the door, but it’s unlocked. A back exit down a short corridor. Voices from the front of the gas station drift by.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Lost my dog somewhere around here.” You can hear the cruel smirk in those words. “Seen any strays lately?”

Back outside. Chilly wind. Cold pavement. It hurts, everything hurts, but the pain will come and go. They won’t ever stop. Fifteen seconds. You follow the railroad tracks downtown. Hardware. Auto shop. Antique store. Everything’s closed and dark and dead. The night is cold and your fingers are numb. There’s an old place, worn brick and empty windows, ancient FOR RENT signs slathered in graffiti—an open door in an alley. Could stop, catch your breath. Fifteen seconds. It lures you in but you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door. Voices. Growling. You wedge yourself behind a dumpster as footsteps pass by.

“...can’t fucking believe this. I told him to get one of those GPS collars, y’know, with a tracker on it? Now we’re gonna be out here all fucking night—”

“Quit your bitching. You got a nose, don’t you? Don’t need a fucking GPS.”

“Who was on duty, anyway?”

“I dunno. Forest, I think.”

“Gonna fucking kill him when we get back.”

“Alpha beat you to it, I think. You see him tonight, don’t make eye contact. Haven’t seen him this pissed since the territory dispute.”

They pass without stopping. Footsteps fade. Forty seconds, way too long. You slide out from behind the dumpster.

You hear a growl.

You look back only for a second. You need to check. Have to know your chances. The wolf comes prowling out of the abandoned building, half in shadow. Too dark to make out details, but a varied coat, you think, a light muzzle, a dark stripe along the spine. Teeth bared, he sinks low to the ground and snarls. Your final warning. No time to think. Doesn’t matter who it is, anyway. A wolf is a wolf and you’re delirious with exhaustion.

The blisters on your feet split open and every pounding step across concrete feels wet and sharp. You hear the wolf right behind you and then a pause, a growing gap, and you know he’s about to lunge. You throw yourself towards the curb just as a huge, powerful body slams into the pavement where you were just standing. You both lose time, scrambling, pushing yourself to your feet. He recovers faster. Can’t last like this. The world bobs and trembles all around you, dark and hazy at the edges. Have to hide. Break line of sight. You weave into another alley. Climb a fence clumsily, scream when jaws snap like a bear trap around your ankle, but you hold on. You slam your heel against the wolf’s face again and again until the jaw loosens, teeth slipping out of new, fresh marks. You land hard on the other side with a grunt. Not good. Everything hurts, more than before. The wolf paces on the other side, panting, irritated. Yellow eyes watch you scrape yourself off the pavement and limp away.

Your legs protest, knees buckling. You suck in a ragged breath. Not now. Not like this. Have to hide. You drag yourself down another quiet street. There’s a howl behind you. Another answers up ahead and you veer off in another direction. Where? you think, looking around wildly. Where, where, where? Lights. Follow the lights. Streetlamp. Traffic stop. Headlights. A car trundles out of a small, crowded parking lot. Light. Noise. People, there are people here!

You shove through the doors and you’re engulfed in it. People! Neon and the stench of alcohol and talking, laughing, bodies shoulder to shoulder at a bar counter. It’s packed, it’s busy, it’s safe. “Help,” you say, but it’s too loud. They can’t hear you. Music, blaring guitar, a sports game on the TV in the back. “Help me. Please help me!”

You go to the bar, slam your hands down on the counter. So much dirt and grime, blood under your nails. The bartender takes one look at you and fumbles, drops the glass in his hand. You hear it shatter under the counter. “Christ,” he says. “Is, uh…is that—?”

“That’s them, yeah.”

You choke on a gasp. Fuck. You didn’t look close enough. Weren’t paying attention. People, you thought, and charged in without a second thought. Right next to you, seated on a barstool, elbow on the counter and chin resting against his hand—

“Sit,” he commands. A shiver runs down your spine. You fight the impulse to obey. Your body revolts, breaking out in a cold sweat. Those animal eyes are even more frightening in a human face. “Gone for a day and forgot how to behave already?” You’re acutely, painfully aware of everything, from his casual posture to the lazy smile on his face, the neon shine reflecting off of his leather jacket. “You’d better close for the night,” he says. The bartender doesn’t even stop to grab anything, doesn’t say a word, just walks straight out the doors and never looks back. A few other patrons follow, but a few stubborn stragglers refuse to move. One of them gets between the two of you, drunk, slurring his words.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he says, just before his face is slammed into the bar counter.

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You stand there, your gaze trained on the floor and your bare, mangled feet, as shouting turns to squealing and dies to pained groans. You hear his nose crunch. You hear his face turn to tenderized meat. You hear stools scraping the floor and clattering, overturned, as everyone else makes a dash for the doors. The only one left squirms helplessly in the grasp of your alpha, hair caught between clawed fingers. There’s no anger on your alpha’s face, no strong attachment to the violence he’s inflicting. He reaches across the counter and grabs an empty beer bottle, smashing it into a pronged, jagged weapon. It goes into the man’s throat with swift, brutal precision, a hard squelch and splatter. The body slumps over the counter, clawing at a bleeding, gaping wound, and then falls still.

Your alpha wipes the blood on his jeans. He leaves the corpse there, ignores it as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He texts someone, lets out an amused exhale. You take a step back and he pins you in place with nothing but a sharp glance. “You wanna make this worse?” he asks.

You can’t breathe. You’d thought about this—had nightmares, woke up screaming—thought about what you’d say to him. Now, nothing comes to mind. Instinct tells you to lower yourself. Sit or kneel. Show your throat and apologize. “Please,” you say, a sob building in your throat. “Please, I want…I don’t—”

“Don’t wanna get punished?” His eyes are amber, burning gold. “Shouldn’t have run, then. Easy as that.”

“I wanna go home.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks. “You should be grateful. You’re not gonna freeze to death tonight.”

“That’s not my—”

The bar counter cracks and splinters as he slams his fist down. His whole body lurches forward as he just narrowly holds himself back from lunging at you. Your alpha exhales, runs a hand over his face. His ears have grown pointed, lightly furred at the tips. You listen to his harsh, uneven breaths, a curved fang retracting back behind his lips. “You’re lucky,” he mutters. “So fucking lucky I give a shit about you. You remember the territory dispute? Remember all those bones we found in that basement? The chains on the walls? You want that to be you?” You shake your head and he growls. “I asked you a fucking question. Is that what you want? Do you want me to treat you like shit? Wanna get forgotten in some musty fucking dungeon, never see the sun again?”

“No,” you sob. The dam breaks. Everything you’ve been holding in, all the pain and fear and helplessness comes surging out at once. You collapse, your knees bruising on the wooden floor. You can’t run anymore. This is as far as you go. Your alpha appraises you with cold eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say.

“You don’t mean it,” he murmurs.

“I do! I’m sorry! I’m…I don’t want…”

The doors open behind you, cold air rushing in. There’s a commotion, a few shouts and jeers and clapping as people—not people, not really—start to file in, surrounding you. You see familiar work boots, lace-up, steel-toed. A few pairs of slips on and tennis shoes. You cry out when somebody’s hand closes around the nape of your neck, squeezing, forcing your head down against the floor. A warm body folds against your back and you hear snickering.

“I almost had you!” you hear, a boyish singsong that devolves into laughter. Sully rocks his hips and he’s naked, you realize, just shifted back. His cock is hard and throbbing against your ass, rubbing a damp spot of precum into your underwear. “Aww, are you tired? Poor little human all tuckered out? That’s okay. We caught you now, so you can relax.”

“Wasn’t you, jackass. They’ve been running all fucking night,” Basil mutters. He’s standing to your right, dirt caked to his sneakers.

“But I’m the one who herded them here,” Sully insists. You whimper when he starts humping you, his hips pumping in quick, animal motions. It’s reflex more than conscious thought, the familiarity of your warmth and softness under him.

“We all herded. You just got the last stretch. Y’know, the easy part.”

“You’re just mad ‘cuz you’re not ranked high enough to have a taste till we get home.”

“Stop fucking fighting,” the alpha says. There’s no real bite to the words, just bemused affection. “Let Blake through.”

The crowd parts. Sully’s grip on your neck eases and someone kneels in front of you. Gentle fingers caress your chin and urge you to look up. Faded jeans. Aviator jacket. Dark hair streaked with gray and silver and stern, worried eyes. Your beta says nothing. You feel small under his scrutiny, embarrassed and ashamed. He examines the swelling on your bruised cheek, the scrapes on your forehead.

Finally, he says, “We were worried about you.” His palms are warm and soothing against your skin and you fight the urge to lean into him. “You could’ve gotten hurt out here, you know. You could’ve gotten into serious trouble. Not all humans understand or respect pack laws. Are you listening to me?” He keeps his voice gentle and steady, never raising it, never growling. His thumb strokes your cheek. “I think you are. I think you’re just being difficult. That’s okay. You were difficult when we found you. Do you remember that? We trained it out of you. I’m surprised you got this far. You’re not going to run again, though, are you?”

You swallow hard. The others are quiet. You hear a barstool creak as your alpha stands and approaches. It’s hard not to whimper or flinch. He doesn’t intervene. He just stands there at the edge of the circle. You feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” your beta says. “You’re not going to run again, are you?”

You tremble. It’s hard. You want to speak. You want to promise him you won’t run, you won’t disobey, you’ll do everything they tell you. You want it all to stop. But you know how this is going to end. You don’t want this to be for nothing. Your only freedom is this small act of defiance, resisting everything they drilled into you. It’s all you have left.

Your beta pets you like a dog. His touch is gentle. He strokes your hair and the smallest whimper escapes you. “Max,” he says. Someone behind you steps forward. “Basil.” You hear spluttering, a shocked, “Wait, I…really? Holy fuck. For real? I can?” that your beta ignores completely. “Sully.”

“One step ahead of you. Hold still, cutie.” Sully rips your clothes off in shredded fistfuls, uncaring of how his claws carelessly slice into your skin. “Oh—fuck, sorry, alpha. I think that was your shirt.”

“It’s fine,” your alpha says. “Reeked of outsiders anyway.”

A panicked, “Wait!” slips out before you can stop it, a scared noise that draws their attention like bloodhounds to a deer. “I can’t…hurts…”

“It would hurt less if you hadn’t made us chase you this far,” your beta says calmly. He holds you still as the others close in, his grip on your chin tightening. “It wouldn’t hurt at all if you didn’t run away.”

Sully fucks you open with hard, punishing thrusts, spurred on by your shrieks and crying. “Fuck!” he groans, hips pumping until you’re completely, painfully full. He grabs your ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading, sinking his claws in. You yelp when he slaps you, the shape of his palm seared into your skin. “Ngh, you feel so good!”

You’re in such agony that you don’t realize someone else is touching you, not until you feel a large, calloused hand fold your fingers around a hard cock. “There we go,” Max’s low, quiet voice murmurs. “Just like that. Now do it on your own.” Max is so big he fills your palm. It’s humiliating, how easily you give in. They trained you so well that you don’t have to think about it, squeezing just above the engorged flesh of his knot and making him moan.

“Do I just—?” Basil shifts nervously on your other side. “Should I—? I mean, I don’t wanna overstep…”

“Come here, Basil,” your beta says. He almost trips over his own feet in his rush to obey. Every set of eyes in this room is looking right at you, watching you quiver and moan. Sully slams into you from behind and keeps a firm grip on your hips, keeping you from moving away. He’s already close, too pent up and excited from the chase. He starts rutting mindlessly, nipping at your shoulders and the side of your neck.

“Gonna cum,” Sully mutters.

“No knotting,” your beta says.

“Aw, but—but!”

“Sully,” your alpha growls.

All the air in your lungs leaves in a rush when Sully tears out of you. You hear him snarl, sounding just like he did as a wolf, and then his teeth are in your neck. He latches onto an old scar, tearing the bumpy flesh open again. He doesn’t let go until his harsh panting evens out, until the obscene, slick sounds of him jerking off slow from their frenzied pace and you feel his cum splatter across your back. “Just you wait,” he mutters, kissing the bloody bite he leaves behind. “Gonna fuck you stupid when we get home. Gonna stuff you with my knot all night.” His weight leaves your body and you’re cold, your back arched and your entrance spasming, clamping down on nothing. You wanted him to cum inside, and the realization makes you feel sick.

Your beta shows Basil how to hold your jaw. How to stroke your hair, how to pull when you misbehave. Just enough force to make your scalp burn and tears prick your eyes. Someone else takes Sully’s place and fills you in one brutal thrust and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Holy fuck,” Basil gasps. You take him easily. You barely gag. His length fills your mouth and his tip bumps the back of your throat, and your instincts are pleased, purring. You don’t feel human anymore. “Shit, they’re—so fucking good!”

“...long drive back. Shouldn’t stay too long,” you think your beta says, but you aren’t listening. Can’t, not with all the growling, the slap of flesh against flesh, the ringing in your ears as your toes curl and you feel the smothering rightness of your place here on your knees. Max cums on your hand and then he thrusts his softening cock against it, smearing his scent between your fingers and over your wrist. Marking you. Making you theirs again. Basil starts to move his hips, a slow, shaky pace as he praises you breathlessly, calls you good and sweet and perfect. The praise makes you giddy and you relax your throat, drooling around his length as his balls slap your chin.

“...few more times, just to be sure,” your alpha says, his voice sounding so far away. His eyes find yours and you try to bare your neck to him even now with Basil fucking your throat, arching your back and meeting the thrusts of the person behind you, presenting yourself just the way he likes.

Your alpha smiles for the first time that night and everything hurts so much less.

#rotpeach writes #original #goretober #dedicated to everyone who wanted last years werewolves to be meaner #boy do i have the pack for you lmfao

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dum-vivere-vinum-rubrum · 8 months

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HALLOWEEN ANTICIPATION GOES BRRRRRRRR

aha anyway there you go @iamheretodomythingrip eheh the sillies

so, we have:

-Cathy who was lazy and made the traditionnal ghost cliché BUT Anne follows her and do pranks on people when she's bored/when Cathy's bored/when someone is being a fucker

-Lina who got wild and cosplayed Himiko Toga (Anne did her buns) (she was uncomfortable bc Lina was jumping everywhere) and she started to flirt with herself (no comments)

-Jane, who tried to match with Cathy and tried to make a ghost version of Alexander Hamilton (i didn't really know what to do to make her look like a ghost sry)

-Anna who just put a dog onesie (she sometimes barks at people like a fucking bear) (just bc she wants to jumpscare people) (and Kat find her adorable and will call her "puppy"/"pup" because of that)

-Kat, the final one, she dressed all in yellow and said "I'm a lemon". She got lemon juice on her (no one knows where tf she put them) and her shirt says "Lemon Tree" (like the song teehee). She also prepared for this special occasion tons of puns related to lemons, like "Don't be BITTER" or "My back is really SOUR" before cackling with Anna.

and here is a little anne bonus bc funsies

#and most of the ideas are from the author eheh #tmotj #art #fanart #six the musical #anne boleyn #cathy parr #catalina of aragon #catherine of aragon #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #halloween

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farlydatau · 2 years

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Ghost Dogs Happy Halloween Retro Spooky Season Grunge Distress Classic T-Shirt

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theauthor27 · 7 months

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Halloween costumes I saw this year

WALL-E

The pigeon from that one children’s book series, you know the one

Angler fish

Psychic’s table

Huggy wuggy

An 18th century British soldier (the person who wore this one was my history teacher)

Rick astley

A gilly suit

Gatorade

Princess peach in her kart

3 Waldo’s

10 spidermen

The duolingo owl

3 marshmello’s (the dj)

Something that reminds me of ms. Biljiana electronica’s alien look

Blobfish

2 bananas and 2 minions to go with them

A really shitty big bird (didn’t even have a beak, the eyes were like, on the top of a hood, and he didn’t even have eyelids, only reason I knew it was big bird was ‘cause of the Elmo and Cookie Monster next to him)

Grunkle Stan

A lot of crossdressing from the women only

Big inflatable cow

2 Wednesday Addams’ (one in a dress one in her normal clothes)

A fire alarm

Clark Kent (you can see the Superman suit under the shirt, my principal wore this one)

Daisy in her kart

4 classic sheet ghosts (first time I’ve seen it in person)

2 Mario’s 2 Luigi’s two princess Peaches and 2 bowsers all in the same place

Skeleton pterodactyl

The mascots from the main 3 Kellogg’s cereals

Statue of Liberty

Netherite armor

Various security breach characters

Oceangate

Beetle juice

The human from community

Baby peach in go kart stroller

The imposter from among us

Hot “dog”

Lava girl

Kissy missy

Fall guys character

Some guy was playing the spooky TikTok audio

Pokeball

Balloon dog

The kid from where the wild things are

2 inflatable babies

#look at me. look at me. i am the op now #halloween

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the-fiction-witch · 8 months

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1st Halloween Outfits

Media Some Dogs Bite

Character Casey

Couple Casey

Rating Cute

Halloween Day 1

I heard a loud knock on the door so I got up from my desk and headed out from my office into the main part of the apartment Casey sat on the little blue playmat with Edgar the two playing with many of Edgar's little toys, Casey saw me and smiled so I smiled back as I headed to the door opening it up to see the usual amazon man.

"Hi" I smiled

"Hi," He says handing over the large box

"Thanks" I nodded heading in shutting the door behind me and setting the box down on the kitchen counter "What have you been buying?" I asked

"...nothing," He says sheepishly

I grabbed a knife and opened up the box to reveal a myriad of items "What is all this?" I asked

Casey got up from the floor bringing baby Edgar with him on his hip having a peek in the box "Ohh yeah, I got some things for little boy"

"Without consulting me?" I glared

"You'll love them I know you will," he says sitting Edgar in his high chair and taking the box getting out the first item "It's a Binx onesie"

"Awww that is cute," I smiled looking at the little black onesie with orange cat paws on the feet, a little black tail, and even cat ears on the hood "That is sweet"

"I have more, I got him this little pumpkin jumper," he says showing a cute little orange fluffy jumper with seams to make it look like a pumpkin with a jack o lantern face sewn on

"Awww that's nice a little warm for him though"

"Well it'll be good, for when we go to the pumpkin patch"

"I suppose so"

"I also got this cute little skeleton set," he says showing some black pants and a shirt with a skeleton across it

"I like that the best that's adorable"

"No no no I saved the best for last my love," he says getting a little striped shirt and denim dungarees

"Uhhhh? not really on theme? you couldn't have got fall colours at least? make a shirt with ghosts on?"

"Do you know get it?"

"No?"

He rolled his eyes taking it and Edgar into another room for a moment When he returned Edgar was dressed up in the outfit

"Aww you look very cute darling," I smiled

"You still don't know?"

"No?"

"Uhhh does this help" he says getting a knife and holding it close to Edgar's hand

"Casey don't give him a knife!"

"I'm trying to help," he says "It's the Chucky doll outfit"

"Ohhh? I never saw any of the movies"

"Really? Well, I know what we're doing on Halloween," he says "But doesn't he make a cute little mass murderer?"

"He does, come here Edgar" I smiled pulling him into a cuddle "You look very handsome" I smiled giving his head a kiss "and you did good, but don't buy Edgar clothes without consulting me. Mummy knows the aesthetics best" I smiled

"Yes dear" He laughs giving us both a cuddle

#thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #casey #somedogsbite

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sordidery · 10 months

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∘ ▫ ♚ richard campbell gansey iii & shakespeare aesthetics.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you'd say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls' day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love's sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you're unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you're home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren't jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: @oddyseas. im smothering u in kisses and u cant do shit about it. tagging: @altarcup, for sabran or lestat or alice! @dreamlorn, love u. @damsul. @thanatologies. @wildkissed, for the trc kids or van or mal! @zerorisk, for the driver or grace!

#all of macbeth and king lear could've been put in bold. imagine ur gonna die soon but in hot southern summer with your friends.#i dont normally do these but this slayed #*TAG GAMES.

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brawlqueen · 10 months

Text

shakespeare aesthetic.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by. stole it from @riwrite ! tagging: @zelotae @bonescribes @desuetmort @nulltune @nostomannia @paraleech @hopefromadoomedtimeline @lykaiia @causalitylinked @woeborns @sinplly @kiealer @toadmiretoweepover @peachrote @stellarhistoria @pleiadeshalo@sheyearns @psychcdelica + you !

#𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 *ೃ༄ “you wanna fight? bring it on!”#𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 *ೃ༄ seasons change but your heart never fails.#uGH #yeah she's fine

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xbadnews-a · 11 months

Text

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

tagged by: no one! i saw it in my recommended posts & snatched it tagging: @softersinned ( on any blog ), @deathwalkerr, @stellarhistoria, @whalefelled, @seeliecourt, @bookofvesper, @turnedfolkl0re, @khenzi, @zealctry, @barovianblood & literally anyone who wants to do it i want to Know

#ooc.#dash games.#hc.#musings.

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belasso-blog · 10 months

Text

ted's shakespeare aesthetics.

tagged by: @andthe6 (thank you!!) tagging: @becoach @shegunner @afuckinglion @bekeeley @sangwoochos @consumare + anyone else who'd like to do this!!

#ooc. trick ramblings.#this was a fun one!!

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random4townheadcanons · 2 years

Note

could you do headcanons of what 4town would dress up as for halloween?

What 4town members would dress up as for Halloween!

@chocolatechimsugakookie2 did these first and they were SO GOOD.

(These are going to take place in a modern universe btw and also I’m not including pictures for all of them because it will only let me post 10 🙄)

Robaire - Robaire would definitely be more into costumes that make him look good. He wouldn’t primarily choose a goofy costume unless T forces him into it. Some costumes I could picture Robaire wearing would be:

an Angel (lol)

Like these wings with a halo and probably some kind of skimpy/sheer shirt of some sort, but maybe he wouldn’t even wear a shirt which gains scoffs and eye rolls from Z and Jesse.

Ok also I could picture him doing the same thing except with devil horns and a tail (and a bow tie lmao).

I could see him dressed as a vampire with the fangs and the blood, and the neck ruffle and vest, but he obviously would not wear a shirt underneath smh.

Jesse - Jesse would do the most half assed Halloween costumes, which the other members disown him for.

He would do the kind of lazy shit like drawing a face on a red t shirt and claiming that he is dressed as “the kool aid man”

Or he would just cut holes in a sheet and go as a ghost, but would be over it after 20 minutes and take the sheet off.

Tae Young - Tae likes dressing up as classic characters usually, cartoon characters or characters from popular franchises that he loves. Some costumes that I feel like he would dress up as would be:

Harry Potter

Idk why I just can picture him in the Gryffindor robes with the glasses and scar. I feel like he’s pretty into Harry Potter.

I could also picture him dressed up as Luke Skywalker.

I think him in the white outfit from A New Hope with the lightsaber and his blonde hair would be perfect.

Jack Skellington

I can’t really explain this one, I just think it would work. He wouldn’t wear a mask or anything, but he’d have his face painted and the skeleton gloves and suit and everything.

Aaron T - ok so I have a few ideas for the Aaron’s, so I’m gonna do them individually and then together in duo costumes after 😭

Ok so T was (and still is) definitely an avid watcher of Gravity Falls, and he would totally dress as Dipper.

He has the perfect hair, and the hat would be perfect also.

Dustin Henderson

I think all of the members would be big big Stranger Things fans, but Dustin would be a perfect costume for T. Like Dipper, he has the right hair, plus the hat, and he would probably carry around a plush demidog.

Aaron Z - Z would be more into the angsty Halloween costumes, but he wouldn’t take it too seriously.

I think one costume that would be kind of hilarious to see him wear would be Edward Cullen from Twilight.

I don’t have much of an explanation for this, but I can just picture it. Even though this costume totally seems random and not very fitting for Z, but I think that would be the part that compelled him to do it because he just thought it would be funny. He’d have the jacket and the unbuttoned shirt, and he’d cover his skin in glitter. Him and T are Twihards.

I could also see him dressed as Wybie Lovat from Coraline.

Z would be a big fan of darker movies like Coraline, which is ironic because he’s not really into scary stuff, but he does enjoy the more pg-type spooky movies of his childhood. He would have the skeleton mask and gloves, and definitely would keep them after Halloween.

The Aaron’s (as a unit) - The Aaron’s would do a lot of duo/couple costumes and they’d have a lot of fun putting it together. Some costumes I think they would do would be:

Shaggy and Scooby.

T would be Shaggy, which is ironic because Z is so much taller than him, but his hair is closer to Shaggy’s. Z would wear a brown spotted T shirt with dog ears on a headband and a giant, gaudy Scooby Doo collar.

Mike and Sulley

Obviously T would be Mike and Z would be Sulley, and Monsters Inc would be one of their favorite childhood movies.

Napoleon Dynamite and Pedro Sanchez

Z would look adorable in the geeky glasses and the “vote for Pedro” shirt and high waisted jeans, and T would look hilarious in the obvious black wig and the drawn on mustache.

I had sooo much fun making these!! I hope you liked them :)

KEEP SENDING REQUESTS!!

#4town #4 town #4*town #4town headcanons #4town robaire #4town jesse #4town taeyoung #4town aaron t #4town aaron z

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