haddonfled

[haddonfled]

I'VE MISSED YOUUUUUU THE BLONDE MIKEY TO MY BRUNETTE MIKEY

DO YOU WEAR WIGS? HAVE YOU WORN WIGS? YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL MAN. A BEAUTIFUL MAN. WILL YOU WEAR WIGS????

#( oh we’re BACK in business baby ) #( the dynamic duo ) #( like a couple of piano keys…. ) #ooc tbt #theshaepe

[haddonfled]

hey sorry fell asleep xx

#( literally embarrassing my own blog was recc’d to me again ) #tbd #idr my tags

[haddonfled]

#( help. m e ) #( did you MAKE this ) #( did you FIND this ) #( literally who can say ) #( but here we are ) #theshaepe #( quick someone write a poignant metaphor about mirrors ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ]

[haddonfled]

𝙾𝙱𝚂𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽.      to   sate   an   obsession   or   to   stoke   it   /   to   feel   it   as   the   bar   of   a   cage   /   to   trace   its   edges   like   teeth.      an   obsession   that   whets   itself   on   what   he   feeds   it,   sharpened   so   keen   that   it   might   split   him   open,   break   a   new   thing   out.      (   from   michael   myers,   the   shape.      what   it   means   for   two   beings   to   inhabit   one   body,   each   with   its   bloody   fingers   grasping   at   the   same   wound.   )

𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙸𝚃𝚈.      the   point   is   not   to   carve   out   that   which   is   human.      the   point   is   to   carve   despite   the   humanity   ––   to   locate   it   and   sink   the   blade   in   anyway.

𝙷𝚄𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁.      insatiable   palate   pressed   against   the   tongue,   festering   in   the   deepest   crevice   of   himself.      michael   can   tolerate   the   sensation   of   starving   /   has   never   known   what   it   means   to   be   satisfied.      he   can   endure   this   nothingness   of   existence   ––   has   made   it   his   own   and   become   one   with   it.

#( compilation of things that didnt make it into drafts ) #( honks my clown nose ) #( i do write tbh ) #( just not where anyone can see it i guess ) #( aka the notes app in my phone xx ) #[ 𝙳𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙿𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃. i was a child but now i am nothing. i am watching myself rot away. ]

[haddonfled]

PISTOLLIPS   /   athena.

            𝖎𝖓  such  a  short  moment,  barely  a  second,  you  cycle  through  a  rollercoaster.  he’s  going  to  grab  you.  no …  wait  …  he’s  not.  yes  he  is.  and  then  he  does,  and  the  grin  on  your  lips  falters,  but  not  to  be  replaced  with  a  frown,  or  a  sign  of  fear.  a  ghost  of  the  smile  lingers,  interest  overtakes  your  features,  excitement  ignites  behind  your  already  shining  eyes.  the  grip  is  tight,  and  you  know  even  if  you  wanted  to  fight  it,  you  couldn’t.  it’s  a  good  thing  you  don’t.  it’s  a  good  thing  you’re  ready  to  embrace  whatever  consequences  are  wrought.  it’s  almost  like  you  want  him  to  hurt  you.  you  want  to  experience  what  others  long  before  you  have  had  the  pleasure.  what  better  way  is  there  to  appreciate  one’s  power,  if  you’re  not  at  the  business  end  of  the  barrel?  

            𝖎𝖙'𝖘  not  that  you’re  not  at  all  scared,  though.  you’re  afraid  in  the  same  way  you  imagine  one  would  fear  their  god.  in  awe,  in  appreciation,  perhaps  even  a  form  a  worship,  but  with  full  knowledge  that  you  could  be  crushed  in  the  palm  of  their  hand.  and  you’d  be  honored.  

            𝖍𝖊  tilts  his  head,  and  another  wave  of  exhilaration  courses  through  you.  what  will  he  do?  clearly,  he’s  even  debating  that  with  himself.  you  don’t  think  anyone’s  looked  at  your  skin  this  closely,  or  for  this  long.  another  layer  of  appreciation  grows  over  the  surface  of  this  moment.  you  almost  think  he’ll  never  let  go,  and  you’ve  got  no  issue  with  that,  but  then  he  taps  your  button  nose  with  your  own  finger,  and  your  grin  returns,  dimples  on  full  display.  

            𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘  mercy  should  not  mean  you’ve  not  earned  your  lesson.  the  boundary  was  blatant,  wordless  as  it  was.  and  yet  …  the  urge  to  reach  out  again  is  so  strong.  you  don’t  even  realize  you’re  shaking  until  you  lift  your  arm  again,  and  the  hand  shaped  pink  around  your  wrist  catches  your  eye.  you  look  at  it  closer,  then  look  at  him.  lower  your  hand  where  it  belongs.  if  you’re  good,  maybe  he’ll  even  speak  to  you  someday.  don’t  break  his  trust.  

            ❝  𝖎𝖋  i  made  you  a  friendship  bracelet,  you’d  wear  it,  right ?  ❞  

WHAT   IS   A   RIVAL   IF   NOT   AN   EQUAL   ––   some   dim   reflection   in   a   distorted   mirror,   deigning   to   press   its   fingers   against   the   glass   and   dirty   it.      like   a   reflection,   she   takes   her   cue   from   his   movements   and   concedes,   and   so   becomes   tolerable   once   more:      an   echo   of   an   evil   he   recognizes   within   himself   ––   familiar,   even   if   only   by   the   invisible   blood   beneath   her   nails.      he   observes   her   in   action,   taking   note   of   the   dimples   that   look   like   wounds   and   the   trembling   of   the   bones   beneath   her   skin.      she   is   a   body   that,   for   a   moment,   is   made   only   for   him.      [   chase   you.      find   you.      cut   you   open   and   sharpen   the   blade   of   myself   against   those   smiling   teeth.   ]      yet   her   eyes   ...   those   are   her   own.      he   thinks   he   sees   a   wish   in   them,   although   michael   wouldn’t   recognize   god   among   the   brightest   of   stars.      what   does   she   want:      for   him   to   be   a   knife?      for   her   to   be   held   against   it?      he   believes   the   answer   lies   in   the   pink   memory   of   his   hand   around   her   wrist   ...   but   then   she   speaks.      michael   reflects,   reconsiders,   and   rolls   the   left   sleeve   of   his   jumpsuit   up   to   his   elbow.

the   shape   shows   her   what   it   cannot   tell   her:      a   part   of   itself.      the   dead   deal   in   body   bags   and   toe   tags,   but   the   living-dead   trade   only   in   hospital   bracelets.      staff   braid   them   around   wrists   like   nooses   around   the   neck,   sharp   paper   pressing   against   skin   and   whetting   its   corners   against   the   shallow   pulse   below   the   palm.      (   a   reminder:      you   are   property,   and   property   lives   only   by   the   virtue   of   its   owner.   )      michael   wears   his   further   up   his   arm   than   it   was   ever   meant   to   be,   and   it   sits,   too   tightly,   against   the   liminal   space   between   his   wrist   and   elbow.      the   tag   is   brilliantly   white,   but   against   the   graveyard   of   his   complexion   it   hardly   looks   incredible.      (   MICHAEL   AUDREY   MYERS,   9780234.   )      and   beneath   the   neatly   printed   identification,   a   reminder   /   a   designation   of   ownership:      DR.   LOOMIS.      he   does   not   look   at   the   bracelet   as   he   raises   his   arm   for   her   to   see;      the   letters   have   already   been   etched   into   the   backs   of   his   eyelids,   and   these   days   his   name   is   little   more   than   a   stranger’s   signature   scrawled   across   a   condolence   book.

he   is   not   a   friend   ––   he   is   a   sickness.      THE   DOCTORS   TOLD   HIM   SO.      THE   STATE   TOLD   HIM   SO.      THE   DEVIL   TOLD   HIM   SO.      and   how   can   an   illness   wear   a   bracelet   when   its   wrists   are   bound   by   shackles?      michael   shrugs.      [   no   room.   ]

#( michael will have one thing on his arm and be like. sorry too crowded ) #( alternatively he wants to add to his collection ) #( next up: atty bedazzles the boogeyman ) #pistollips #[ 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴: dead by daylight. ]

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HAPPY   HALLOWEEN,   THITCHES.     stay   safe   and   stay   groovy   and   pick   costumes   that   you'll   have   to   explain   to   every   single   person   you   know<3

#( i would like to thank the 'remove background' tool on photoshop ) #( thank u for ur service ) #eye contact / #( the only slasher villain i maintain i could fix</3 ) #( literally my meow meow ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ]

[haddonfled]

editing an out-of-date carrd full of typos is like. flopstar: never stop always flopping

#( you all let me get away with writing 'halloween 1979' in the verses page ) #( for like five months ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ] #( movers came yesterday to pick up my shit. expect activity to pick up<3 ) #( i have free time again ) #( updated my shit to reflect halloween kills ) #( who wants me )

[haddonfled]

hey  @haddonfled​

#( can you fUCKING ST— ) #( make a kid cry you get the die ) #mobile tbt #( tonia will be like: i’m in photoshop ) #( and then make the bestworst thing i’ve ever seen ) #( anti bullying slasher group verse when tbh )

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when spider asked me what michael does once he’s home and i said “halloween chills” tbh

#( i am a clown first and foremost ) #( what did i say tbh ) #( what have i said all along ) #( he wants to go home and everything else is secondary. it’s a byproduct ) #( is he obsessed with laurie? yeah. of course ) #( but there are tiers to obsession ) #( and it didn’t start with laurie. it started with judith. it started at home ) #( and so that’s where it needs to end ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ] #halloween kills /

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i     don’t     get     mad.     I     GET     STABBY.

#CRIMEPAID   :     FAT     TONY     of     fox’s     the     simpsons.     rewritten     by     spider.

#( remember your roots [simpsons rp blog]. honour your kin [spider’s tony blog ] #( no yeah. spider is a phenomenal writer ) #[ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. will you kill? will you die? ]

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if this blog ends up being 75% meta-analyses of michael myers that nobody asked for, don’t blame me. im just the brain in the meat suit

#( one thing about me is that i have [thoughts] tbh ) #( if there's a subject matter anyone wants to see / a question anyone wants answered. well. poses for u ) #( feel free ) #( otherwise i will do whatever i want and subject the world to my whims ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ]

[haddonfled]

@pistollips   /   athena.

                  you  know  cat  speak.  michael  isn’t  a  cat,  but  …  well  …  he  might  as  well  be,  right?  in  fact,  in  many  ways,  he  reminds  you  of  your  cat.  a  grumpy  little  bastard  who  ran  away  to  freedom  any  time  the  door  was  left  open  for  longer  than  a  few  seconds.  notorious  for  scratching  and  biting  those  of  your  houseguests  who  he  deemed  deserving  of  it.  they  even  have  the  same  resting  face.  he  blinks  at  you,  real  slow,  and  in  the  feline  world,  closing  one’s  eyes  in  the  presence  of  another  is  the  ultimate  sign  of  trust.  so,  you  blink  in  return,  as  ridiculous  as  it  may  look.

                 but  you  don’t  expect  him  to  actually  smile.  you  weren’t  sure  he  was  even  capable  of  it.  it  makes  you  wonder  if  he  ever  smiles  under  the  mask,  where  no  one  would  see.  it’s  a  beautiful  smile,  as  beauty  is  in  the  eye  of  the  beholder.  michael  is  a  force  of  nature,  only  meant  to  be  observed  from  a  distance  if  you  value  your  life.  you’re  lucky  enough  to  watch  him  work  up  close  and  personal.  you  can  learn  a  lot  from  him.  to  be  more  methodical,  less  emotional.  he  could  really  help  make  you  a  master  killer..  but  that’s  not  even  why  you  like  hanging  out  with  him.  you’ll  take  silent  tips  from  him  every  so  often,  but  what  you  like  the  most  about  him  is  the  honesty  of  his  nature,  his  listening  ears,  and  now,  that  wicked  smile.  

                 you  wanna  brag.  want  all  the  other  killers  to  know  that  you  got  michael  myers  to  smile,  and  not  by  letting  him  gut  you.  at  the  same  time,  it’s  special.  something  for  you.  you’ll  probably  let  it  slip  at  some  point,  but  you  hold  in  your  excited  screams  for  now.  instead,  you  do  the  unthinkable.  something  that  could  still  ruin  the  moment,  but  something  worth  trying.  you  reach  forward  and  gently  tap  the  tip  of  his  nose,  but  tack  on  the  proclamation,  ❝  you  are  the  coolest  mother  fucker  to  ever  exist.  ❞  entity  be  damned.

THEY   NAME   HIM   WHAT   PEOPLE   SO   OFTEN   NAME   THE   THINGS   THEY   FEAR:      INHUMAN.      but   is   this   ––   simple   act   of   being   /   rudimentary   practice   of   sharing   space   ––   not   the   epitome   of   humanity?      is   this   not   a   house,   a   home,   and   a   hearth,   despite   the   peeling   wallpaper   and   the   cracked   floors?      she   is   a   lantern   and   he   the   shadow   lurking   at   its   boundaries,   watching   himself   flicker   in   and   out   of   existence.      a   reflection   /   a   perversion   /   a   wax   figure   with   a   wound   for   a   face,   dependent   on   her   light   to   define   his   dark.      but   then   the   light   draws   too   near,   and   it’s   the   closest   thing   that   a   moth   will   ever   come   to   surviving   an   encounter   with   a   candle.      a   finger   on   his   nose   /   a   finger   on   a   trigger   long   ago   rigged   to   self-detonate.

a   cold   hand   catches   around   her   wrist   ––   shackle   made   of   flesh   and   blood,   holding   her   the   way   concrete   cells   hold   prisoners.      the   pulse   is   the   door   to   the   heart,   knocking   steadily   from   the   inside   out   and   inviting   him   in.      every   vein   is   a   threshold   that   whispers   (   HELLO,   WOLF   ––      WHAT   PALE   SKIN   YOU   HAVE.      WHAT   SHARP   TEETH   YOU   HAVE.      WHAT   EMPTY   EYES   YOU   HAVE.      will   you   come   for   dinner?   )      a   tilt   of   the   head,   eyes   held   steadily   on   her   fingers.      he   squeezes   experimentally,   reminding   her   of   the   impermanence   of   flesh.      how   hard   would   he   need   to   press   for   the   bones   to   snap?

he   studies   her   as   if   observing   the   human   body   for   the   first   time,   as   taken   with   her   hand   as   he   is   by   the   image   of   it   in   his   own.      [   who   are   you   and   who   am   i   and   who   are   we   ––   ]      michael   shakes   his   head,   face   drawn   in   an   expression   that,   if   he   saw   it   mirrored,   he   could   not   name.      there   is   a   question   there,   yes,   and   a   grim   answer.      what   else?      he   pushes   her   away,   slowly   /   guiding   her   back   along   the   marrow-twine   of   her   own   body.      [   YOU’VE   LOST   YOUR   WAY.   ]      he   turns   her   hand   on   herself   the   same   way   that   the   ribcage   curls   around   the   heart,   pressing   the   white   of   her   fingers   against   the   wick   of   her   nose.      THE   SUN   WAS   NOT   MEANT   TO   TOUCH   THE   MOON;      in   the   blood   red   shadow   of   their   eclipse,   the   entity   is   nothing   more   than   a   cacophony   of   jealous   stars.

#( literally what are they ) #( she is out of her damn mind for this ) #pistollips #( girl help he's learning ) #[ 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴: dead by daylight. ]

[haddonfled]

#MAEVERPH.   ——   A  COMMISSION  BLOG  FOR  THE  RP  COMMUNITY,  created  by  eve.    →   READ  MORE.

#( that's my fucking girl tbh ) #( eve's graphics are stunning ) #( everything is unique and really embodies not only the aesthetic but also the Vibe of the character ) #( their carrds blow me away fr fr ) #[ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. will you kill? will you die? ]

[haddonfled]

i    met    him    fifteen    years    ago.    i    was     told     there     was     nothing     left           [  …  ]         no     conscience,     no     reason,     no     understanding,     in     even     a     rudimentary     sense,     of     right     or     wrong     ───────     𝐎𝐅     𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄     𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.

HADDONFLED.           a        private        blog        for        MICHAEL        MYERS       from        the        halloween        franchise.           written           by           nina           (           THEY           +           THEM           ).         follows           the           final           timeline           canon.           compatible  ��        with           dead           by           daylight.

#( hrrrrng shdhdhdg let it rain blood and bones fuckers ) #( that movie gave me rabies ) #[ 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵-𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. you sliced me loose and said it was creation. ] #gif / #long /

[haddonfled]

michael myers is the funniest man alive

tbh im in the theatre. sorry about who i’ll become after

#( halloween kills. halloween fucks. halloween goes sicko mode. ) #( hello? ) #( jesus christ ) #( yeah ) #( Yeah. ) #ooc tbt #mobile tbt #( i’m writing as soon as i get my ass back home )

[haddonfled]

tbh im in the theatre. sorry about who i’ll become after

#( me: hiatus ) #( also me: movie make brain go brrrrr ) #ooc tbt #mobile tbt #( halloween kills [nina] ) #( pls love me even though i’ve been gone )

[haddonfled]

saw this blog recommended to me on my multi and thought “jesus christ that’s embarrassing. remember haddonfled dot tumblr dot com?”

#( anyways im back hi ) #( what's all this then ) #[ 𝙾𝙾𝙲. hex: consume beans. ]