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vfdarkness · 3 years

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Script: Voicemail - A Typeface for Horror

[[Dr. Ryder’s Voicemail Message Plays]]

[[Beep]]

Caller:

Hello, Dr. Ryder. I’ve always wanted a reason to call into your show, or at least leave you a voicemail. Alas, my life is hopelessly mundane. Or at least it was until recently...

I’ve had two major passions throughout my life. Professionally, I work as a typeface designer. Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure of creating dozens of new fonts. Mostly these have been for commission by publishers across the world. My other great passion is for horror stories.

I’m not a writer, but a mere reader of terrifying tales. Maybe that’s why it’d never occurred to me until a few years ago to combine these passions. Why is there not a typeface for horror?

I do not mean something kitsch like blood dripping from letters or whatever silly “spooky” fonts are used by Halloween stores. I mean there should be a typeface that, when looked at, evokes fear in the reader. Regardless of what’s written. And when a horror story uses said typeface, then it should drive the reader to cower in fear. To have nightmares for weeks. To be haunted by what they’ve read.

You might be thinking, “Dear God, this typeface designer thinks awfully highly of his profession.” And perhaps I am a bit pompous. But please let me make my case.

Studies have shown that people associate different emotions with various fonts. Font choice manipulates you in ways you might not be aware. It tells you what emotion to feel before you’ve read a single letter. Comic Sans makes people feel happy. It also comes across as immature. Trajan might be the most commonly used font on movie posters. It’s serifed. It looks old, traditional, serious. The movie poster for Titanic used it. Imagine if they’d chosen Comic Sans instead.

Maybe now you understand my quest better. It’s proven that different fonts evoke an emotional response. Fear is an emotion. I want you to feel an even deeper fear when you read a horror story in a particular typeface. A logical, worthwhile goal, is it not?

I called this hypothetical typeface Farboshia. An homage to Marcus Fillebrown and The Cartography of Shadows - the supposed memoir of a lost cartographer’s travels through a shadowy otherworld that haunts America. Where black stars hang in the sky, a kingdom has fallen to ruins in the east, and an endless sprawling forest strangles the west. I know you, Dr. Ryder, claim the tale is true, but I always took the book for a work of fiction. I mean, the stories in it are impossible, are they not? I used to think so...

Over the years, I made multiple attempts at crafting Farboshia from thin air. All were unsuccessful. They yielded new typefaces. However none terrified me. I became so frustrated by these setbacks, I nearly gave up my quest. But I asked myself: What would Garamond, that Patron Saint of Type Designers, do?

I don’t know the answer to that question, but by asking it I found another sort of answer. I looked to the past. I researched - had any typeface designers previously attempted anything like this? I didn’t anticipate finding a satisfactory answer.

I’m happy to tell you I was mistaken. One of my brethren did go down a similar path.

I will not bore you with the details of what lengths I went to to unearth his story, but it is as follows:

Jehan de Veelu was a 16th century French type designer, punchcutter, and publisher. He was responsible for designing a typeface and publishing an edition of the Vulgate that Pope Urban the VIII praised as, “How God himself meant for us to view His Holy Words.”

Veelu received a generous stipend from The Church to continue printing his editions of the Vulgate.

For years he lived an idyllic life. Until his wife and son died of sickness.

Veelu was despondent. He prayed to God to bring his family back. He’d devoted his life to spreading the Word of God. Surely, God would answer his prayers. But God did not.

So Veelu wrote to the Pope. He begged him to send a saint to perform the miracle of resurrection. But the Pope too denied Veelu’s request - stating that whatever happens on this earth is God’s will.

It was then that Veelu explored a darker path. Somehow he found a copy of The Black Book of Hergest. A work that’s said to contain the ravings of a mad Welsh druid who’d summoned creatures to him from beyond black stars. Creatures who could violate any and all natural laws. Including bringing back the dead. The book was illegal to possess. The Church burned any copy found. And the Inquisition executed all suspected warlocks.

Veelu was not deterred. And his apprentices were devoted to their master. But he did not wish to devote decades mastering the complex spells contained in the black book. He thought his profession might offer another solution. He would create a typeface. One that would cast the spells off the page when gazed upon - regardless if the person staring at the text could read or not.

The act itself of seeing the spells written in the typeface Veelu created would be enough to summon whatever beings reside past the black stars, grant them safe passage to our world. And then Veelu could strike a deal with them. To some, Veelu’s quest, from the onset, might sound absurd. Perhaps it was. But he was a typeface designer. And when the only tool one possesses is a hammer. Everything is a nail.

Only his three apprentices knew his goal. He took his beautiful Vulgate typeface, and created a perverse, unholy sibling from it. Designing it on paper, casting it in iron. He printed various spells from the black book and traveled to nearby villages, asking illiterate beggars to examine the parchments he brought. For years this yielded no results.

But one winter, after casting a new variant of his typeface and printing one of the spells, something was different. One of his apprentices took the paper from the press and stood there. Enraptured. Something happened. It was not recorded how, but the apprentice died. I believe I know what happened, and I’ll get to that later. But whatever happened was so terrible that one of the two remaining apprentices ran screaming from the workshop into the cold winter night. Veelu did not pursue him - assuming the cold would kill him before he traveled the several miles by foot to town.

The remaining apprentice was fully dedicated to Veelu and his dark quest. They printed a single edition of The Black Book in Veelu’s unholy typeface. Or at least they started to.

The Inquisition, led by the apprentice who’d ran into the night, came to Veelu’s workshop before they could finish. Veelu and his last loyal apprentice were burned at the stake.

The partially printed black book was either destroyed or taken to the hidden library beneath the Vatican. Pope Urban VIII ordered the collection of every edition of the Vulgate Veelu created. Nearly all were sealed away beneath the Vatican. Sixty years ago one surfaced at an estate sale. It sold at auction for a higher price than a Gutenberg Bible.

Because of my reputation in my field, I have many contacts. Some within the Vatican. I asked if Veelu’s edition of the black book still existed, and if I could examine it or one of their copies of his Vulgate. My request was denied.

I asked every contact I had for anything related to Veelu. Anything at all. I was desperate. Imagine my surprise when a librarian for the special collections at the Newberry Library in Chicago said he could help me.

The Newberry had a set of Veelu’s punches - the metal type used to print his edition of the Vulgate. They’d been given them by the estate of John Wing - an eccentric Chicago book collector and publisher. The same man who’s estate gave the Newberry a book bound in human skin. Imagine such a treasure hiding right under your nose, doctor. Aren’t you a lifelong resident of the windy city?

I asked if I could scan the punches to create a digital version of Veelu’s typeface. They had no objection, but I didn’t tell them the rest of my plan - to start with the punches as a base and try to “unholy” them. Since that’s what Veelu himself had done.

When examining the typeface, I noticed some strange details. The punches looked new. Not in the sense that they’d been recently cast. But not worn down. If these were the punches Veelu used for his Vulgate, they should look more used. I wondered - could these instead be the typeface Veelu created for the black book?

After I scanned the punches, I was easily able to create a digital version of the typeface. A dark thought entered my mind. I found a digital copy of The Black Book of Hergest (it’s amazing what people put on the internet without a second thought). I printed a spell in Veelu’s typeface. I’m embarrassed to say I did this without staring fully at it. I’ve never been one to believe in magic. But I was cautious.

I live in a large city. I traveled downtown and wandered until a homeless man approached me. It was night, we were near an alley, and no one was near us. He asked for money. I told him I’d give him twenty dollars if he looked at a piece of paper.

I handed him the folded paper. He opened it and gazed upon the text. I held my breath.

Nothing happened. I don’t know what I expected, but I reached into my pocket to pull out the twenty I promised. But then the light shifted. We were downtown. Normally it’s impossible to see the stars there from all the light pollution, but from above us, the stars burned black.

The homeless man gazed into my eyes.

“The candle is lit. Now cast the shadow, '' he said in a language I did not recognize, but understood. His canine teeth grew, piercing through his cheeks. His tongue slid out of his body like a snake and strangled his throat. His arms and leg joints cracked and bent backwards. He fell to the sidewalk. His spine corkscrewed and stretched. When he died minutes later, his body was twisted into a shape none would ever recognize as human. I believe this was the same fate as Veelu’s apprentice who first looked upon the text.

In a state of shock and sickness, I don’t know how I accomplished what I did next. I pulled his body into the alley and threw it into a dumpster. From my car I retrieved a lighter and set the dumpster on fire. I ran into the night. Black stars, glowing above me.

________

The next day, all the news said was that someone lit a dumpster on fire with an unrecognizable animal corpse inside. No details of the body. No photos. No detectives came knocking on my door. I was relieved.

My initial goal, of creating a typeface to make horror stories more frightening feels childish now. No, I have a greater purpose. I must finish Veelu’s quest. I’ll print the whole of The Black Book in his unholy typeface. I’ll cast the shadow.

[[Caller Hangs up]]

#a voice from darkness #avfd #the cartography of shadows

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matildaofoz · 4 years

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The Harvest Pt.1 (Warlock!Michael x Reader)

A/N: Happy Halloween, Witches and Warlocks! Here it is, part 1 of The Harvest, the one night of the year were predator and prey come to revel under the Blue Moon.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Cursing and the promise of more to come in Pt. 2

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable @jimmlangdon @drasangel @leatherduncan @sexwon131 @rocketgirl2410 @9layerdevilfoodcake @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @michaellandgons-sunshine @iwillboilyourteeth @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

I hope I tagged all of you who showed interest, if not - I’M SORRY! Forgive me (and shoot me amessage so I can add you for Pt.2)

Fair Maiden,

you are hereby cordially invited to attend the annual celebration and Warlock tradition that is The Harvest.

Upon the last night of October, you will partake in the ancient tradition as a guest of honor, taking place at the Langdon Estate.

All further necessary arrangements will be divulged to your person at an appropriate time.

We look forward to welcoming you and remain until such time

Sincerely,

Ambrose Holt,

High Warlock

The hand holding the parchment sank into your lap after you finished reading its contents out loud to your mother and stepfather. Confusion and a hint of fear flitted over your features and you began to worry your lip as your eyes skimmed over the contents again in an effort to make sense of them.

“That damned Son of a Whore, Ambrose Holt!” your stepfather cursed, beginning to pace the length of the drawing room.

“John Henry Moore, hold your tongue!” your mother hissed, taken aback by his foul language. Her eyes followed him around the room as she scooted closer to you on the chaise longue to take a look at the letter herself.

“It's all my fault! I never should have taken the two of you back here with me. I was foolish to think that something like this wouldn't happen,” he seethed, running his hands through his dark hair. He stemmed himself off the fireplace mantel, his mind racing at the significance of the letter.

“We'll tell them she won't attend, it's simple,” your mother retorted, placing one hand atop your own still clutching the piece of paper. The look on her face told you that she wanted to believe her own words more than anything.

“Darling, that won't be an option. Once you are invited you have to attend, you do not decline a High Warlock's Summon. This is a direct attack on me in the most barbaric way and I’ve dragged you both into my mess.” A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest at the admission. Your mother’s hand squeezed yours tightly, lips drawn thin as she watched her husband. This was beyond a nightmare. He needed to come up with a plan, a way to halt the events that had been set in motion but begun a long time before he met you and your mother.

“I need to pay a visit to an old friend,” he muttered under his breath suddenly as he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” your mother threw after him but he was already out in the hallway.

“I’m going to see Behold Chablis. Don’t wait up for me!” he shouted before the front door slammed shut and the two of you were left in silence.

“It will be alright, Angel. Don’t you worry,” your mother said. She forced a smile and you weren’t sure if her words were meant solely for your own reassurance.

You remained silent, looking down at the letter, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. If your stepfather sought the council of another warlock when he had sworn of his brotherhood for over a decade, it was a bad omen of things to come. Your eyes traced the elegant penmanship on the page. The Harvest. Whatever it was, it made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

The letter had arrived that afternoon while you were busy tending to the garden with your mother. John Henry had taken custody of the letter, delivered by a private courier and paled as he saw the High Warlock Council's sigil etched on the envelope beneath your name.

Before your mother's marriage to the Warlock, you had believed the supernatural to be but flights of fancy, parables adorning the pages of children's fairy tales as a way to keep them from misbehaving, whispered his hushed voices over a candle under the guise of a full moon to scare each other. All that changed with John Henry's entry into your life at the age of 12. While he was himself a Warlock, a fact he kept hidden from everyone around him except for you and your mother, he had come to condemn his kind several years before. He felt his brethren had strayed from the righteous path of magick, meant to guide, heal and better the lives of those through who's veins it flowed in favour of a darker, more sinister purpose. At the centre of it, he believed the Langdon's were to blame. They had corrupted those around them, slithering their way even into the High Council itself and changing the fabric of the ancient brotherhood.

He told you what he thought you would need to know when you were old enough to at least partially understand, for your own protection should such a time arise. You were not of his blood but you were his daughter and he had sworn that he would protect both your mother and you. The arrival of the letter had made it clear that the time had come and he wasn't sure he would be able to make good on his promise to you after all.

He did not come back that night and after you mother had retreated to their bedroom, you too went up to your room to ready yourself for bed. However much you willed it, sleep did not come easy. In the darkness of your room, dimly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows, your eyes were drawn to your writing desk were you had placed the letter. The words kept running throughout your head and the more you thought about them, the less you felt you understood them. With a huff you turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an effort to stop the thoughts running a mile a minute. It must be past midnight by now and you were no closer to falling asleep. The last day of October was just over a week away and even though you couldn't possibly know what the night held in store for you, you'd be damned if you showed up unprepared. You may not be magically-inclined but you were well-versed in the art of reading. John Henry's library was just down the hall, the myriad of manuscripts and tomes softly calling your name in the dead of night.

“Oh, curse all this!” you muttered under your breath, throwing the blankets off your body and tiptoeing across the room to the door, evading the creaking floorboards that would alert your mother. She was a terribly light sleeper. The air around you was frigid, your nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill that crept up your legs and over your bare arms. You edged along the wall to your desk, placing the knitted shawl hung over the chair around your shoulders.

Quietly, you inched across the hallway, stopping for a moment to look at your parents closed bedroom door. Silence. Taking it as your cue, you flitted to the door on the far end of the corridor, hoping to God that he hadn't locked it. Gingerly, you pushed down on the handle so it wouldn't squeak. The door swung ajar. Unlocked. With a small satisfied grin, you pushed through the opening and closed it behind you silently. A relived sigh escaped your lips as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, any moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. You had only been in John Henry's study a couple of times, to stand at the threshold as you told him that dinner was ready or to venture in to bring him a cup of tea while he poured over manuscripts behind the large mahogany desk. While he did believe wholeheartedly that a lady should be educated beyond learning to play the piano and housekeeping, he had made it clear that the books in his study were off limits.

“There is nothing in my study that a young lady such as yourself need concern yourself with. The less you know, the better,” his words rang in your ears. You wagered he would be eating his own words right about now, considering the events of the afternoon. You scoffed, as you inched your way across the plush carpet under your bare feet, to where you believed his desk was. Your eyes were beginning to make out the silhouettes of the furniture and soon enough your hip bumped into hard wood. You winched at the the small pain and your hands began to feel out for the box of matches you knew he kept on the desk somewhere. He could easily light the candles or the fireplace in his room with a snap of his fingers because he had shown you. However, he preferred not to, saying it made him feel more like any other man who was not gifted with his supernatural inclination.

“Ha!” you exclaimed as your right hand came upon the match box, your left coming up over your mouth to stifle the sound. Several seconds went by with you as still as a statue as you waited to hear your parents bedroom door creak open. When no sound bar the pounding of your heart reached your ears, you let out a breath, cursing yourself. You couldn't risk being found out when you hadn't even begun to gather any information. Without wasting any more precious time, you swiftly took out a match and light it on the rough side of the box. The flame came to life before your eyes and all you could see was the bright light for several blinding seconds. Your eyes roamed over the desk now bathed in the small flame and you found the candle holder. You took off the glass cover and held the match to the wick, lighting the candle and placed the cover back over the now burning candle to keep it from being blown out. Hooking your finger into the holder, you ventured over to the wall of books, suddenly discouraged from your task at the sheer volume of knowledge stacked into the ceiling-heigh bookcases tat adorned the wall. This was going to be much more tedious than you had anticipated. Your eyes began skimming over the spines, half of what was on them not making any sense to you.

The Seven Wonders, The Musings of one Augustus Bromhold, Lupercalia throughout the Ages, The Warlock's Pocket Guide to Necromancy. You continued along the shelves, some of the books so old that in the dim light you couldn't make out the writing and some didn't seem to have any on the spines at all.

A Complete History of Warlock Traditions

At the title, your mind went back to the letter. The Harvest had been described as an annual tradition so surely, in a book entitled 'A Complete History of Warlock Traditions' it must be mentioned. You peeled the tome from the confines of the shelf and went to sit in the armchair stood next to the cold fireplace in the corner. You placed the candle on the small side table and and opened the book at the back, hoping to reveal the glossary. Having found what you were looking for, you flipped back to the page and began to read, teeth softly gnawing at your lower lip.

The Blood Harvest, an archaic ritual celebration held on the 31st of October was outlawed by the High Warlock Council on 4th April, 1763. Still referred to by outliers of the Warlock Brotherhood simply as The Harvest, in an effort to conceal the brutal nature of the dark rite of passage ritual, it is rarely observed to this day. The High Council has prosecuted the outlawed celebration and of those who oppose the rule of law and remain faithful to the ritual to this day.

Celebrated annually before its outlaw, the ritual invoked the divine duality. Warlocks and human women, dressed to represent The Horned God and Triple Goddess respectively, partook in the ritual sacrifice on All Hallow's Eve to appease the supernatural beings that stalk the living on the night of the undead. Often cited to bestow great powers on the Warlocks who successfully complete the ritual rite of passage with one of the women selected, it is now widely regarded as nothing more than bloodshed, sacrificing those unfortunate and unknowing females to a slow and painful death at either the hands of the Warlocks if they so choose or the creatures invoked as formidable foes to the young men as a way to prove their supremacy over the dark forces and step into adulthood.

A cold shudder ran down your spine as your eyes read over the passage, letting the book sink into your lap. How was it possible that a High Warlock invited to you to an outlawed tradition by the High Council itself 100 years ago no less? Unless, it was no longer outlawed...John Henry's knee-jerk reaction to the letter no longer seemed so cloak-and-dagger.

A sudden creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door made your pulse thrum in your neck. Had your stepfather returned or perhaps you had been too loud and your mother had heard? You would've heard either the front door or the bedroom door open but then your mind was still swooning from your discovery. Gingerly, you placed the book on the side table next to the candle and inched to the door. Your breath caught in your lungs as you listened, on ear pressed to the cool wood. You could hear someone, something on the other side. The sounds of scratching against the wood made you shrink back, one hand coming to rest over your chest, your heart beating erratically. Your other hand reached for the door handle and you collected your wits about you before you pushed down the handle and yanked it open. You were greeted by a mass of fur and dark eyes that shot up to your face, equally as surprised as you were.

“Oh heaven's, Rosie!” you hissed, trying to calm yourself down at the sight of the family dog that must've heard you wandering around and decided to see for herself what you were up to in the dead of night. She tilted her head slightly at the mention of her name, looking past you and into the study that was off limits to her, her nose sniffing at the foreign scent of the room. If it wasn't for your incessant insistence that the St. Bernard was despite her outward appearance, nothing more than an overgrown lap dog,your parents would have kept her outside almost exclusively. With a lazy curiosity, she stepped over the threshold past your legs to inspect the new-found territory. You quickly walked past her to place the book back in its place on the shelf and took the candle holder in your hand, before turning around to see that Rosie had plopped herself down on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching you through her friendly heavy eyes.

“Rosie, you know you are not allowed in here. Well, technically neither and am I so where does that leave us? Come on, let's not leave any trace of us being here,” you berated her half-heartedly, grabbing her by he collar in the hopes that she would grace you with compliance. She looked up at you with an expression of indifference, seeing as your late-night musing must've roused her from her slumber downstairs as she came back up on all fours with a huff to trot out the room in front of you, waiting at the threshold.

“I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air, what do you say?” you whispered in her direction, her presence calming your frazzled nerves somewhat. With one final glance around the study, you exited, making sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, leaving no trace of your trespassing. Should your mother, wake you could put the blame on Rosie for rousing you to go outside. You'd make sure to bring the candle back up with you, when you came back later. With a nod of your head, you silently bade her to follow you down the stairs and out the front door.

The midnight air was as welcome to your burning skin as it was chilling, serving to ground you and you pulled the shawl tighter around your shoulders with one hand, the candle in the other dimly illuminating the air around you. You watched the lit wick flicker slightly, growing and wavering in intensity, shielded only by the glass from the wind. Ever since this afternoon, your world had begun to tilt on its axis, threatening to plunge you into the unknown, to blow out that candle and yet there was no glass cover to keep you from being engulfed by the darkness that surrounded you. Rosie began to make her rounds around the front of the house and you became lost in your thoughts of what would happen but a week from now. John Henry had tried to shield you, believing it was safe to finally return to his birthplace with you in tow. Now it seemed, all those years of shielding you from his past would come to haunt your present.

Rosie's low growl beside you pulled you out of you reverie and your eyes snapped into the direction she faced, teeth bared and snarling. You struggled to see the source of her sudden defence through the candlelight blinding you of your surroundings and the dense mist that settled over the ground at night. Beyond the stone walls along the gravel road, you could make out a cloaked dark form and for a moment you thought it was John Henry who had come back from his visit to his old warlock friend. Yet the tall figure stopped about 100 yards away in the middle of the road, an ominous feeling creeping up your legs and spine at the sight. Your house was nestled in the countryside, the next estate and their occupants miles away. You stood, frozen to the spot as you waited for the figure to move. Around them, the fog grew thicker, spreading outward like pipe smoke blown against a glass pane, and engulfing both you and Rosie, who began to growl beside you.

Michael watched as you left the house, your nightgown billowing in the frigid night breeze, revealing glimpses of the smooth skin of your legs. When Ambrose Holt had told him of the letter sent to John Henry's stepdaughter, he knew he needed to see for himself what would ultimately be the downfall of that heretic Warlock who had come too close to undoing all of what his family, his father had set out to achieve. To restore the warlock bloodlines to their former glory and to retake what he and many others considered to be their birthright. It was foolish to think that mere humans could achieve what his kind had over millennia, he scoffed at their hubris in the face of such mundaneness. John Henry had forsaken his kind and had tried to smother their power, their supremacy. He should've remained in his self-imposed exile, Michael mused as his eyes took you in, still unaware of his gaze on you, smiling at the way the breeze plucked small strands of your hair out the loose braid you wore to bed, the way it flushed your cheeks a rosy red. You would make the perfect Goddess to his Horned God.

He could whisk you away right now when you offered yourself so freely, unattended in the middle of the night, your pet of a dog wouldn't stand in the way one bit. Patience, he chastised himself as he walked closer along the road with calculated slow steps, his black cloak swishing around him, his hood drawn down into his face. He had waited this long to take revenge on John Henry, he could wait a week more, even though you made it hard for him when your eyes finally spotted him, raking over him at the sounds of that wretched beast beside you. Underneath the hood, he grinned, satisfied by your reaction. He could smell your fear even from here, so deliciously terrified at the site of him, frozen on the spot. He had you precisely where we wanted you. With a barely cognisant flick of his wrist at his side, the fog grew ticker around him and his invisible fingers reached through it to graze along the backs of your legs and up your spine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this years Harvest more than ever when the prize was you and all you embodied.

You felt the fog move against the base of your neck, distinctly like fingers on your skin. The candle in your hand began to flicker and blew out, leaving your in darkness, only the pale moonlight as your guide. Your eyes grew wide as you were plunged into darkness and before them, the cloaked stranger disappeared into thin air, swallowed by the mist. Rosie's growls stopped and she shook off her guard, back to her usual self. You met her gaze, you heart still pounding furiously before you hastened back to the house, nearly tripping on your way up the stone steps. Rosie trotted after you, nudging you up the stairs. Even though she didn't seem half as bothered as you, she rarely moved this quickly. You pushed open the front door, Rosie slipping inside past your feet. You threw the door closed behind you, your back pressing into the wood as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, you stood in darkness and silence before heading up to your room, not caring if your mother would wake at the ruckus you made. You prayed that John Henry would be back by the morning with answers. The candle holder out of his room stood forgotten on the hallway table.

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #warlock!michael #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagines #spooktober

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lucidpantone · 4 years

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Visitations Preview Finale pt. 1

This finale chapter is getting so long so as a gift I thought I give you guys the first 5k.

Disclaimer: Same rules apply.

Italics is the past. If not, it's August 15th.

His atop a precipice.

A vantage point where all things come into view.

Where the decision to plunge himself into the abyss invites him in like a gaping wound but he chooses the latter a dance around the hardwood.

A dance.

Is that all it is?

Love and life a mere tango between two forms battling for governance; for the lead. The notion of control dangling in the air like some token of chance, a lucky charm, a rabbit’s foot. He’s frozen. Paused. In mid-air transition.

A live wire at a stop light waiting for the green. A brethren of the craniate in the peril of deoxygenation, mere seconds away from contorting his skeletal structure into hyperextensions.

He inhales.

Shoulder and neck slanted on an incline. He pushes towards gravity and lets the slab of maple [swish] the surface. The wheels of his board drawing everlasting as he brushes figure eights. The male body truncating in the air like an oversized bolt drilling down a sealed vault. His thoughts [swirling] through him like a polar jet stream. Icy and ferocious. Early day discussions on fast forward and repeat.

“I need my meds recalibrated doc” Sander mumbles out.

“Hmmmm” The doc sounds apprehensive.

“It looks like you have had a recalibration every year for the past 3 years.” The doc thumbs through Sander’s medical chart.

“Are you sure this isn’t a symptom of all the stress you’ve been under? The grand opening tonight? The financial pressures?”

“NO!….I mean yes, but no, I’ve been edgier than usual but that's not why” Sander states adamantly.

“Plus, I'm having trouble sleeping.” Sander tacks that one for good measure knowing if anything they will re-up his sleeping aids.

They weren’t all lies he thought to himself as he swung like a pendulum from side to side on the crown jewel. Loud cheers and celebratory adorations coming from the gallery space; breaking him out of his reflections. He can’t avoid the crowd much longer. The party is in full swing and he needs to go make the rounds. Poetic discussions about his vision await him; descriptions about the counter duality of dark and light, functional or utilitarian, for profit versus non profit but he wasn’t in the mood. He was proud of himself, he knew that much and though he relished in his attendees jovial shoulder taps and glass raises it all felt empty. His exterior soaked up in white lies when questioned about the space's interior. His slapstick smile perfected to compliment his pheasant plumage as he peacocked around the room; hosting duties increasingly onerous as the guest list questioned him about the young hot shot architect that he had collabed with to create such an impressive view.

“Can we meet him?” They’ll ask, but they won't be able to.

He bailed, or so that’s what he texted Sander that morning. His usual slew of excuses that he hid behind as to why he couldn’t make it back to Antwerp. Back to Sander. Same reasons as to why he’d always be the first to drop off on a conference call between him, Sander and the contractors. Why he’d walk the space with everyone but his counterpart. Purposefully avoiding displays of patronage or binary settings on life’s stage. An agenda via obstruction; creating an alternative universe in which the skater boy and his artist were destined to miss each other every time.

As Sander continued to surf the half pipe the laws of thermodynamics began to dilute his intentions. Velocity and gravity leaving him as the wheels underneath screeched to a halt cutting off the tracings of eternity he had swiveled onto the plywood.

It was time for the dog and pony show.

Time to hot trot around man made obstacles displaying prowess in form. Sander kicked up his board and walked off the ramp’s flat and jumped down onto the cement floor. Leaving the amber coated world that housed a statuesque half pipe in the backdrop with the autograph R+S marred onto its body when he heard the [click] of a lock. He’s body instinctively flinched as the knob to the door twisted open and the sounds from the other world serenaded their shangri-la.

Sander took a step back as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness of the tattoo shop’s working space. Hues of black splaying across the cement finish. Sander’s eyesight travelled from the floor to the figure holding onto the door and gave a mocked laugh in disbelief.

Robbe took another step forward, let go of the door, and let it slam shut. Instantly killing off the volume from the outside. Entering the space where the other half of a war torn love story survived.

The story of a pair of star crossed lovers enveloped in a love quagmire.

Robbe cranked the lever.

The car door flew open.

“Careful there. If you don’t treat it well you’re going to break it” Luc teased out to Robbe.

Robbe pushed himself off Luc’s ride, his body seesawing between two worlds when he stepped out onto the pavement.

The night was inviting. The spirits of the dead were amongst the living. Or so, that's how the legend goes..

Of course Sander would choose ole hallows eve to host his Grand Opening. It was fitting for him. A night wrapped up in the witching hour. Where the spirits of the past are able to walk side by side amongst those prepared to sin. Unknown entities, ghouls and those who feed off the darkness of others dancing around the room whispering bad intentions into well intentioned beings.

This night was a trap but neither of them knew it yet.

“Can you hold this?” Robbe asked Luc as he handed him two black frames wrapped up carefully with black tissue paper to protect the glass from any scratches. He took a moment to fix his black shirt and ruffled out his black mid length pea coat and then took back the frames off Luc’s hands.

Robbe noticed Luc’s slight displeasure at his primping and quickly readjusted the frames underneath his right arm and went to grab Luc’s hand with his left.

“Hey don’t get in your head. Ten minutes and we are in and out and then we can go to dinner with my mother. I know it's weird but Jann is a client who owns a ton of other businesses and it’d be stupid of me to mess up future possibilities. This is strictly business nothing else.”

“Promise?” Luc questioned.

Robbe narrowed his brow and tilted his head to one side in an inquisitive manner.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Luc tipped his head downwards and plastered on a fake smile in agreement. Luc squeezed his lover’s hand and they walked towards the shop's facade as the Halloween vibes speed skated around them and the veil between two worlds began to thin.

“ROBBEEEE!!!!!” Jann screams out amongst the crowd.

“You came” Robbe gives Jann a little wave as he walks over to Robbe clearly a little intoxicated enjoying the celebrations. Jann was the majority investor in Sander’s tattoo shop and someone he and Sander had known for years. Jann was practically a giant. He towered over the crowd at 6’5ft (195cm). He claimed his height was a genetic trait of being born in Eindhoven. He was in his mid fifties but you would never be able to tell. He was covered in full sleeve tattoos and wore his black t-shirt and leather pant uniform everyday since the first day Robbe met him on his 18th birthday.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It was such a pleasure working with you.” Robbe schmoozed him.

“Jann this is my boyfriend Luc. Luc this is Jann he is the investor in this project and the poor soul who trusted me not to mess it all up” Jann roared out a half drunken laugh and gave Robbe a slightly to forceful pat on the back.

Jann leaned into Robbe’s neck which caused Luc to raise a brow and began whispering secrets at a low volume.

“We got approved” Jann confirmed. Robbe looked up at him and pointed his index finger downward towards the white floor of the gallery space. Jann shook his head in confirmation and continued to add on.

“And the community park license so we can teach lessons out back in the skate park” Robbe’s face lit up like a light bulb. He never thought the crazy plan he concocted months ago would actually work. His idea to try to register the gallery and public park as charity spaces actually came through and most importantly saved Jann a ton of money meaning he wouldn’t try to refurbish them into business spaces anytime soon.

Robbe scanned his white surroundings in attempts to find a mop of lunar hair sticking out but nothing in sight.

Jann noticed Robbe scanning the room so he pointed him towards the back.

Robbe excused himself for a moment and as he walked towards the back of the tattoo shop Jann yelled out.

“Robbe don’t forget about our appointment to cover up that shoulder tattoo. It's on the house.”

Robbe didn’t even acknowledge Jann as he transitioned from the white gallery space to the tattoo shops black working space. His all black outfit practically blended him into the wall paint. He got to the back door and twisted the handle. It was locked.

He twisted the bolt and heard it click.

As he pushed his body into the third space the amber earth tones consumed him and as serendipity should have it Sander was waiting for him.

Robbe took one more step forward and let the back door slam shut. It felt like all of sudden him and Sander were stuck in zero gravity.

In some type of suction vacuum where oxygen was limited.

“Hi” Robbe tried to cheerfully break the ice but that was short lived.

“What are you doing here? I thought you bailed?” Sander’s tone was loaded with so much poison that it stung Robbe.

“Well I changed my mind. I thought it’d be nice to finally see the finished product. You know since Jann, you and I have spent so many months working on it.”

Robbe was nervous. He kept fiddling with the frames. It felt like Sander’s gaze was dismantling him.

“It looks great by the way. The contractors did a great job. I mean it looked great when I walked the space last month with them but it's really impressive now that it's all done.”

“You were totally right about keeping the layout white, black and into earth tones. Oh and I brought you a gift.”

Robbe tired to hand Sander the frames but Sander made a hands all full gesture as he held up his Element skateboard. Sander walked over to a table that looked like it had been set up for drinks placement and slid his board underneath it.

“Just put the frames on top. I’ll grab them later.” Sander directed Robbe.

“I didn’t know you still had the old Element I brought you.” Robbe stated.

“Old habits die hard.” Sander threw back at him.

Robbe just shook his head up and down in agreement.

Robbe looked out towards the ramp and just took it all in for a moment.

“Remember when we went to go get this thing from that crazy guy in Ghent…..” and before Robbe could even finish the story Sander cut him off.

“I thought you were here for business? Or are you ready to go down memory lane now?” Sander’s tone made it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood for Robbe’s fake banter.

Robbe turned his body to look directly at Sander. It always took both of them aback how each other's gaze always felt like they were baring their souls to one another.

Robbe and Sander could find so much tranquility in one another and yet so much turbulence at the same time.

Robbe finally broke the silence.

“I should have told you about my boyfriend”

Sander’s eyes widened and he bit his bottom lip. Robbe recognized this gesture; Sander was pissed.

“So, why didn’t you?” Sander shot back.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you cared. You never called me after the last time I saw you.”

Sander enunciated the next part.

“I DIDN’T CALL YOU?”

He then repeated himself again.

“I DIDN’T CALL YOU?”

“I am sorry that I’ve been busy trying to make one of the most important business deals of my life happen and didn’t have the time to fucking wait on you hand and foot.”

Sander ran his hands over his face to calm his temper. His cup runneth over with emotion.

“If you weren’t so damn selfish you would have realized I am stressed out of my damn mind. I literally have no money because I sunk it all into the shop and that I could easily lose everything if things don’t go well but of course you wouldn’t get that since you’ve never made those types of sacrifices for anything in your life.”

Robbe was really biting his tongue. He knew Sander was just stressed out and venting at him but Sander knew very well that Robbe had made those types of sacrifices time and time again for him above anyone/anything else.

“I think I should go” Robbe stated.

“I think you should go too. We should try to keep this little arrangement copacetic.”

Robbe turned his body to head for the door when Sander just couldn’t leave it alone.

“You were never one to stay anyways”

Robbe turned back to look at him knowing very well that Sander was harping on their esoteric love sonnet.

“I always knew you didn’t really have any fight in you” Sander was just slicing knife wounds in Robbe now and they both knew it.

“You know why I didn’t call…..”

Robbe looked straight at Sander. His beautiful brown eyes pleading with him to stop. Sander was starting to drag their love into purgatory but his impulsive need to punish Robbe apexed and Sander ran the spite laced knife right through Robbe’s heart.

“You were right. There is no us.”

He was reveling in the pain.

“There hasn’t been for a long time….and there’ll never be again.”

Sander drew out the knife from Robbe’s heart.

His hands coated in disgrace allowing his love to bleed out right in front of him.

It surprised Sander when he saw Robbe’s eyes darken and glaze over. It scared him. He got the reaction he wanted but seeing it materialize in front of him instantly made him want to take Robbe in his arms and tell him that he didn’t mean it but before he could even react Robbe ran out the door. Practically running over Jann in the process.

“Where is Robbe going?” Jann questioned.

“I told him it would probably be better if he left. He’s just so selfish”, Sander answered back.

“What?” Jann looked genuinely astonished.

“Jann stay out of it. It's none of your business.” Sander forgot who he was talking to.

“Look, I’ve known you two since you were a pair of teenagers getting sappy tattoos for one another so whatever it is, fix it, but more importantly this is my shop. So everything that concerns it is my business. Do you understand that? ”

Jann rarely took on the authoritarian stance he was exuding now. So Sander knew he meant it.

“I understand”

“Good because tomorrow I am calling Robbe and offering him the Brussels project for next year and if you happen to not fuck up before then I may get you in on it too”

Sander gave Jann a head tip in understanding.

Jann heads for the door to leave Sander to stew when he decides to teach him a lesson.

“Oh and next time, why don’t you check the books before calling someone selfish. That selfish kid ran around for months trying to get the right paperwork so we could get on the right registry to save thousands in taxes and his boss called me today letting me know he forfeited his personal architect fee. Something about he had a prior agreement with you that he wanted to honor.”

Point taken.

Sander practically felt like Jann had slugged him in the face. He quickly exited the amber coated world and ran past the black and into the white gallery space. Sander could hear he’s friends calling out his name and people tugging at him to get his attention but he just wanted to catch up with Robbe before he left.

He finally made it outside but the street was empty, dead, comatose.

“Fuck” Sander yelled out in frustration.

“You just missed him” Sander turned around to find the voice speaking to him.

A brown-eyed beauty stood in front of him. You’d swear she could be a doppelganger for a young Zendaya.

She walked towards Sander.

“Good looking guy with great hair in all black right?”

“Yea” Sander confirmed.

“Yea he jumped in a taxi with some tall guy about 2 minutes before you ran out.”

“Thanks”

“No problem…. You look like you need a drink”

“I do, are you buying?” Sander flirted back lightly.

“Well if you mean am I inviting you to the free bar then yes am buying”

Sander threw the pretty girl a smile.

“Sander, by the way” he held his hand out to her.

“Genade” she slipped her hand into his.

“Come on let's go get you that drink” Genade joked out as she dragged Sander back into his own shindig.

White walls.

Bareless ceilings.

Sleep, it was simply a stranger to him. He grabbed his phone and checked the screen. Nothing. No calls, no text, he’d even take a voicemail cussing him out at this point but nothing made him feel more like a piece of shit then seeing the blue light of the witching hour (3am) looking back at him. He rested the phone on his chest and Sander could swear in that moment the weight of the world was on top of him.

He turned his cheek to the other side of the bed to check if Genade was fast asleep. She was, Sander wasn’t sure how this night had unraveled so suddenly and how he found himself in bed with such a beautiful creature and yet still left so unsatisfied. He slid out of bed carefully and managed to somehow find his boxers in the dark of the night.

He twisted the door knob to his bedroom open as carefully as possible not to wake her. Once he heard the click of the lock as he closed it shut his entire body relaxed. He walked into his kitchen to get a glass of water and as he walked passed his kitchen table the black frames caught his attention. They just sat there waiting to be opened.

Sander had been so wrapped up in his own unconscious revenge that he had missed Robbe’s white flag of surrender. He picked up the first black frame and began to tear at the tissue. It was Robbe’s first initial blueprint of the tattoo shop which included the skate park. Sander could still recall how excited and nervous he was to pitch the added addition but that he was adamant that it would compliment the whole vision of the space while additionally giving young kids a place of refuge. He even whipped up one of his guilt trips when he asked Sander why he didn't think it was important to provide a place where young boys like them could find one another.

Sander gulped down the memory.

He put the frame down and picked up the second frame. He tore off the paper and when he saw it looking back at him he literally felt the spit laced knife dig into his chest. He practically stopped breathing for a moment. He pulled off the white post-it off the frame that read We made it happen in Robbe’s hand writing and behind it encased in time was the white napkin that Sander had used to map out his dream tattoo shop all those years ago sitting across the booth from Robbe. In that moment Sander felt like he hit rock bottom and he didn’t care that it was 3 a.m. or that what he was about to do was far from appropriate because all he could think of is that he needed to hear Robbe’s voice. Luckily he had brought his phone with him from the bedroom; call it instinct or intuition but something made him take it with him. He texted Robbe immediately.

Are you awake? - Sander

Sander was sure Robbe wouldn’t text back after all the horrible things he had said to him just hours earlier but something deep inside him told him not all hope was lost and before he started to whirlpool into panic his phone vibrated.

Yes - Robbe

Can I call you? Please… - Sander

Two minutes went by..

K - Robbe

Sander never thought the ring of a phone could make him feel so nauseous but he felt like his heart was in his stomach when he heard Robbe’s voice on the other end. It was practically a whisper…

“Hey”

“Am a fucking asshole. All the shit I said to you tonight, I didn’t mean it. I mean I did but am frustrated. I never thought this is how we would end up. I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me about your boyfriend after everything…… I don’t know I just thought……. We had agreed…..”

Sander could hear Robbe sigh out on the other end of the line.

“I just want you to be happy, baby. I don’t care if it's with me or not….”

Robbe didn’t react to Sander’s statement so he continued.

“I opened up your frame. I can’t believe you kept that dirty old napkin for the last 5 years.”

“6 years” Robbe corrected him.

“Yeah…. 6 years.” Sander forced out a sweet toned chuckle.

The line went quiet for a moment.

“You still there?” Sander asked.

“Yea”

“Thank you for registering the space. Thank you for figuring out the tax credit thing. Jann won’t shut up about how I introduced him to the best architect he has ever worked with. Thank you for…..”

Sander started to get choked up, so he composed himself before he continued.

“Thank you for chipping in. You didn’t owe me that”

“I did actually. I promised you I’d find a way, remember?” Robbe questioned.

Sander just ran the palm of his hand on his forehead and through his hair recalling the promise Robbe made to him so long ago.

“And you always keep your promises” Sander tacked on.

“Always” Robbe confirmed.

“Can I ask for one last one?”

“Sander….” Robbe sounded slightly dejected.

“Whatever happens..I love you. That’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Okay?”

“Sand--”

“Please” Sander pleaded.

“Promise” Robbe agreed not knowing then that to fulfill this promise he would need to forsake another.

The silence crept back in. Sander knowing the call was nearing its end. So he said his final words.

“I am so happy that I found you. That we got the time we got together and that we are one of the few people in the world that can actually say they found their soulmate.”

5 seconds of silence filled up the call.

“I love you baby. I always will. Am so sorry I hurt you tonight.” Sander added on.

“I….. I….” Robbe false started but he was so close to getting off the blocks in that moment and running towards the finish line but he faltered.

Then doubt took a hold of him.

“I have go now” Robbe stated, and before Sander could even respond he hung up the phone.

Once Sander heard the dial tone go dead he walked over to his couch and plopped down. He grabbed his sketch pad off the coffee table and began to draw the design that would go above his heart.

Robbe just looked down at his finger laying over the end call button and stood there in silence.

He wasn’t sure what he had just done but it all happened so fast.

His body and mind had completely shut down hearing Sander say those words to him. He stood there in his living room in between two minds. A big part of him wanted nothing but to call Sander back and tell him how much he loved him too. Another part of him was so angry that they were in this position. Robbe had done everything he could in his life to protect them from the world but he never planned that the thing that would ultimately tear them apart would be each other. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat down on his couch. He leaned forward slightly and rested his elbows on the top of his thighs. His thoughts made him anxious. Made him press his palms together and scratch his nails on the surface of his left hand.

Robbe took a big inhale and as he exhaled out all his doubts got caught up in his throat and he began to cough up sobs. Hot tears began to stream out of him and like the collapse of a dam the water pressure broke the walls of his interior. He crumbled. He just fell on his side and curled up like a young child. He buried his cries on the couch pillow and cried himself to sleep and in this moment of his despair Robbe felt Bowie come over and lie down next to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s a void at the heart of the universe.

A place where space and time collide. Where the boundary lines of the event horizon can be found. Where a choice lies to leave the remnants of the mother, or to enter the ergosphere; the grey place where time ceases to exist and everlasting is a perpetual promise.

Man has sensed the presence of the black mass for quite some time but only until recently did we find ourselves asking: if no light can emanate from within then should we defy the gods? and cross into a plane that could potentially spaghettify the human body: two faces, four arms and four legs pulled into threaded form. A fruitless purgatory? or maybe, all together something else, an unknown, an entry door to another universe.

The lovers essence is mirrored here; splashed across the buildings exterior as they stumbled out of their metallic cocoon placed into park. They dance atop the asphalt in embrace; need, and desire. A rendezvous of their lips tangled up in an act of amnesty. The automatic lightening levers flicker into automation. The sulfur vapor caresses their skin as they stand outside the apartment entry door. Robbe fumbles through a set of nickel, copper and brass finally identifying his right to pass. His hands are shaking suddenly, his body aware of his nervous system, reacting to what’s sure to come, their unspoken contract. Sander notices the delay and comes up behind him. He places his palm on top of Robbe’s hand and begins to guide it towards the keyhole. Robbe takes note of the fact that his Casio watch is looking right back at him. The dials in full functional spin.

Robbe unknowingly holds his breath as Sander assists him in unlocking the entry door. The [click] of the lock makes Robbe flinch. He isn’t sure why but suddenly he feels the axis shift. Robbe has no time to wallow in his concerns as he and Sander stumble into the lobby’s backdrop. The vapor wash has vanished and they find themselves amongst the whitest of all fluorescent lighting. It gives off a celestial feeling. The change of ambiance is almost cleansing. Sander focuses his attention on a chunk of real estate on the lobby floor it once served as temporary housing on the night Robbe jumped in between worlds. He smiles at the thought that he sat there that night, pen to paper calling on the properties of general relativity. Yearning for a distortion in time, a tear, an entryway. He disregards that flashback quickly as he senses Robbe’s shadow dance on screen. He grabs Robbe’s hand without much thought and the duo rush into the steel vault like a pair of runway bandits. The interior of their metal forge covered in a reflective surface. Sander navigates the route and makes his floor selection. As they travel from south to north they inch closer to their glass ceiling they run through their usual rolodex of the familiar. Violent pants interrupted by wet kisses, eager petting complimented by hair pulling, a bareless ceiling being balayage(d) by photo negatives that echo past dealings but the denominator of time begins to unravel and they are interrupted. The vault doors swing open.

Times up now.

They’ve arrived.

#wtfock #wtfam #wtfock fanfic #sobbe fanfic #visitations

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nrth-wind-a · 4 years

Text

Among Us Halloween Event: Crew 1 // End

(Tw: vague mentions of injuries and blood, tw: horror, tw: death)

Krel finds himself in the cafeteria once more, as the game forces them back to the apparent starting point for each round. Beside him is his sister and Eli. On Eli’s other side is Douxie. Barbara and Strickler appear last, standing next to each other, hands linked. They wear the same alarmed expression that everyone wears, as the ship flickers to life, and the round begins.

Barbara looks to the children. “Do any of you want to come with me and Walt? I understand if you’re scared… we’ll be there to help you, okay? I promise.”

The four teenagers meet each other’s eyes. An agreement is reached, and slowly, each teen turns back to the woman, and shakes their head no.

Barbara looks hurt for just a moment, before she sighs, and nods, resignedly. “Alright. But if any of you need us, just… all you have to do is ask, okay? We’re adults. We want to help you all.”

Eli looks almost as though he wants to take her up on that offer right then, but he glances at Krel, and then decides he feels safer with him than he does with the adults, who’ve seemed a little scarier as each round goes by.

Quietly, then, Barbara and Strickler turn to speak to each other, and then, as Strickler explains to Barbara what tasks he has, they exit the room.

Krel, Eli, Aja, and Douxie all stare at each other for a moment.

And then Krel speaks first, breaking the silence. “We… we should go. Do… um. Do we all want to stick together?”

Aja shakes her head, though she looks unhappy about what she says. “It will be faster if we separate. But if you want a companion, brother—”

Eli cuts her off, “I’ll do it! I go with him!”

She blinks. “Then… I guess the Pepperjack will go with you.”

Krel makes eye contact with Aja, and something passes between the two, but after a long moment, Krel finally nods, slowly. “Yes… let’s go, Eli.”

The two exit the cafeteria together.

Douxie and Aja are left, and, with few options remaining, they decide to go with each other.

Krel and Eli slowly make their way down into Electrical, and as Krel pulls out the colored wires for his task, Eli leans against the machine next to him, trying to look casual, collected. “So… you think we can make it out of this?” His voice wobbles, and gives him away, as if the white knuckles against his dark green space suit don’t do that already.

“I think that we will. We just have to finish tasks… and look,” Krel points to the holographic task counter on Eli’s helmet’s display, “We are almost done. We are doing well. We can fix the ship, and once it’s fixed, we will sniff out those Imposters in no time. Now, I have done one of my tasks. What is your first one?”

“Uh… I have to clean our oxygen filter…” Eli says nervously.

The adults were over there… He doesn’t say. But he doesn’t have to.

Krel notices his fear, and wraps a casual arm around Eli’s shoulders, affecting a voice of ease, “It is okay. You have me here. We will be fine.” He smiles.

It does end up relaxing Eli a hair. The two boys then begin to make their way toward O2. But, it’s as they round the corner into the hallway they need that they hear… noises.

It sounds like—

Krel and Eli meet each other’s horrified gaze, and then take off running toward Navigation.

Krel gets there first.

He gasps as he looks into the room, but the sight petrifies him, and he stills, just… staring, unable to move.

Eli reaches the room second, and pales upon seeing what his friend is trying to process.

Aja has looked up from where she is holding Barbara’s helmet, the glass now cracked in the middle. She is splattered with red, which is mostly hidden by her crimson suit, and it is eerie how she seems so unstained, and yet, there she stands, teeth sharp, eyes glowing brighter than ever, perched above a dead body. “Oh… It seems we’ve been caught, Douxie…” She says, a smile on her face.

Hisirdoux Casperan glances up, then, Strickler’s helmet dropping from his hands with a taunting purposefulness, “Oh… What a shame. Though, personally, I think it’s alright that they know. Keeping this a secret has been exhausting. Pretending to care when they voted their own brethren off… It was just so amusing. I can’t believe I didn’t give myself up right then and there. ...Oh and Aja? Now that I can, I must compliment you on your NotEnrique strategy… What better way to implicate dear old mother and teacher? Shame it didn’t get them voted off, though. Still, getting them here has been a nice treat, so I suppose I’m glad they weren’t voted off. More fun for us, hm?”

Krel feels like he’s been punched. He finally gets his brain to catch up with his body, and he unfreezes. “Eli, run!” He orders, shoving at the boy. If Eli can get a head start, Krel can catch up, and maybe they can hide, or— or something.

As the two crewmates dart toward the cafeteria, aiming to look for anything that could save them, Aja and Douxie share a victorious grin, eyes twinkling. Their kill cool-offs are still in effect, so they get to play a little game now, with the human and the Akiridion. The poor things… Thinking they could escape the inevitable.

Aja takes the lead into the hallway, teeth gleaming as she beams, stalking through the ship, “Oh, little brother…! Why did you run away? We have so many games we can play together, now…”

“Yes, come back, you two. In a few moments, we can have some real fun… Don’t you want to join?” Douxie quirked an amused eyebrow, as his voice echoed into the empty cafeteria.

“Yes!” Aja said brightly, “In seven...” pause, “five...” pause, “three… two… one…”

A sharp inhale of breath.

The cafeteria wasn’t so empty, it seemed.

#halloween event 2020 #oh my god not posting this early was so hard #I hope y'all like it!#I'll put out a more formal ooc thank you after crew 2's ending is posted but for now:#HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who's participated or just kept up with reading everything!#I appreciate it so much!!#<3 #crew 1: end #tw: horror #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: death

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count-v-dracula · 3 years

Note

🍉 🍊 🥭 !!

{ meme } | not accepting

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

→Autumn and winter. He’s always favored cooler weather in both human and vampire lives. I’ll write more specifically on both.

→Autumn: Not because of Halloween and how vampires (and Dracula) are a major part of that holiday alongside other ‘monsters.’ But because of the death, or sleep of nature, but also a time of reaping the fields and if weather conditions were bad (especially for isolated villages and towns) it was the last time people could see each other before any winter storms would not permit easy travel. It is an ending of things, and surprisingly Vlad loves it. Vlad loves the colors, too.

→Winter: Ahhhh!!!! SO MANY things I can say about this season association. Vlad was born in December. In Van Helsing it is late fall/beginning of winter. Lots of snow, steamy breathy, rain, and cold. Vlad is literally banished to a place where winter prevails eternally, it seems. I often refer (on purpose) to Vlad’s skin as ‘brumal,’ ‘wintry,’ ‘icy’ (just like I never, in any of his verses except his human one, refer to Dracula as ‘a man’/’the man’ in the narrative or description) because I associate him heavily with winter more than autumn. He can manipulate snow and rain. His disposition can be cold at times. If I made him, like, a Slavic god AU where he can be a deity? THE GOD OF WINTER (and war, also I associate him more with Ares than Hades)

🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes?

→Oof. A verse-dependent one, really, but I’ll speak in the general scheme of things. I would say he doesn’t immediately desire romance, but he does want it and he needs it, whether he knows it or not. Romance is not always the first thing with him, it’s usually lust. With romance, it can happen naturally or he can be active about it, it depends on the other individual and Vlad’s level of interest.

→Vlad’s multiple love lives are usually very intense, physically and emotionally. And with that can come problems, and usually, he is the problem. This has resulted in separations that take decades to be resolved. Vlad can be incredibly outspoken and that might rub partners the wrong way, but this is because he can be so intense and adopt tunnel vision. Then he realizes he’s the guilty party and will apologize (even if he thinks he isn’t wrong).

→He has certainly had crushes, some have come to nothing and others have!

🥭 : how important to my muse is their hometown, or where they’re from? are they proud of it, or considered a hometown hero? did they move away, or do they wish to?

→VERY IMPORTANT AND VERY PROUD. Vlad loves his Balkan/Eastern European brethren (even though he killed them, too, oy he is a complicated paradox). You could say Vlad is a nationalist, though he does enjoy other countries/nations/states/you name it, very much.

→Well nowadays he is considered a hero, but back in the 15th century, it depended on your point of view/religious and/or political alliance! He’s always been a person that you either love or hate. Vlad has no intention of ever leaving his beloved homelands (except he does after WWI, he couldn’t bear it anymore).

#headcanon #[ thank you!!! ]#deromanum

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hphm-etched-engraved-everlasting · 4 years

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2. Em

Author’s Note/Table of Contents

If I had to be honest, I had no idea just what Hogwarts would be like.

All my life I have heard of my siblings facing trouble there, and it was a never-ending topic of conversation among my family. Amidst the hardcore studies, there was trouble brewing. After I received my letter, my parents almost stopped me from going, and I didn't have any trouble agreeing with them when they shook their heads. But Clara kept begging and pleading, telling them that she'd keep me safe. It was then when she told me what she was truly hiding, and I had to say, I've never felt more moved by the amount of care she had for me.

So they said yes. And that was when I began to wonder just what laid in store for me--just one month ago.

Walking into Hogwarts now still felt like walking into a dream, really. It was like stepping foot into a trance you knew you wouldn't want to wake from. Huge chambers filled with history and mystery made up this incredible fortress for us to study magic--and, in my family's case, solve a huge case that would potentially put the school at ease once more. Candles burned bright everywhere, flames in torches lit with a warm welcome glow. Everywhere I looked, there was something cool to see--even now, as I stood in the Great Hall, a small soul among many others my age gazing at a worn old hat atop a tall stool.

The hat suddenly ripped open at the brim and began to sing its song.

As years passed in this hallowed school I aged to do my task To sort all younger magic folk In houses--which, you ask?

Brave Gryffindor, we are to start For sheerest courage and dare With loyalty and strength to heart They'd sacrifice and care

Sweet Hufflepuff, ah yes, that's one To see the hard work shine Among their brethren in the sun Always patient, just, and fine

Then Ravenclaw, intelligent With smarts and certainty Give credit to the ones who went To read, to know, to see

Shrewd Slytherin, the ones so sly They love to meet their match By any means, they dare to try Ambition, that's their catch

They started off as founders four To build this wondrous school They made me with their goal of core The custom, placement rule

So put me on, try me out And I will look to see The house where you belong, no doubt The house where you will be!

For a talking hat, it wasn't a bad verse at all. I glanced over at the Gryffindor table and caught my older sister's eye; she just gave me an encouraging nod as she clapped with everyone else.

"Now, when I call your name, you will come forward to be Sorted," Professor McGonagall told us then. She unfurled a long scroll in her hands then, and began reading it aloud.

"Ahn, Eunice!"

A tall girl with tan skin and a rebellious white streak in her black hair walked up and put the hat on her head. I counted approximately ten seconds as she sat on the stool before the hat shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

I glanced over at the table where everyone was wearing black robes followed by green accents--the same table where Eunice Ahn was walking to. I shouldn't be surprised to see them grinning like maniacs at the new addition. Like the Sorting Hat said, they'd achieve their means by any means necessary.

"Amherst, Remy!"

Next, a burly boy with ash blond hair walked past me--almost pushing me to the side--and put on the hat.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

On and on, the list went, each person trying on the hat and getting their results shouted to the entire school a minute later. Some people barely had the hat on for a second before its decision was announced. Others took longer. I remembered this one boy, Cedric Diggory, sitting on the stool for almost two minutes before the Sorting Hat declared that he'd be put in Hufflepuff House. Each time someone was sorted, though, thunderous applause could be heard from the various house tables, all around the Great Hall--now that I looked at every house, I wondered where the Hat would put me. It didn't help that the lower Professor McGonagall went down the list, the closer the time for my Sorting got.

"Lester, Felicity!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Lian, Michael!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Lin, Emily!"

That was it. The bomb had finally dropped, and the Hall had gotten so eerily quiet, one could hear a pin drop in the middle of the room. Then I heard the whispers.

"Another Lin?"

"No way. I thought Jacob only had one sibling!"

"Looks like we were fooled."

"Better not have another snob walking around the place."

Snob? I took it that another Emily must have left some muddy tracks somewhere in her Hogwarts reputation, but that wouldn't mean that I would be the same. I couldn't be. True, not many people knew about Jacob Lin's second little sister--mostly because my mother didn't want anyone to know that she had failed not just one other child, but two children who didn't deserve the pain that was losing their eldest brother. Still, who gave them the right to openly judge me when they've only just known about me for the first time?

The hat eventually dropped over my head, obscuring the vision before me--all the heads craning at me, trying to get a better glimpse of me. Then I heard a small little voice in my head.

"Another Lin. Yes, they were right. I wasn't expecting another sibling of the infamous curse-breaker," it seemed to say. "But here she is. My, what an intriguing personality. You seem to be different from your siblings."

"In a good way?" I whispered, my mouth barely moving.

"I see courage and loyalty, yes. Your greatness is strong, but there is something else. I see a thirst for justice. I see a will to work hard, and spread kindness among others. You will prove yourself, little Em, in a way you might not expect."

Silence ensued. Then--

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Thunderous applause suddenly came from the Hufflepuff table on my left, and I saw Clara stand up at the Gryffindor table to give me applause, too. I got off the stool and looked at her; she nodded and jerked her head to the Hufflepuffs, and I saw another girl about Clara's age with blonde hair in plaits and bright blue eyes wave me over.

"Wotcher, Emily!" a girl with pink hair greeted me with a grin as I approached the table. "You're Clara's little sister? She's hardly mentioned you much."

"Tonks, that's not nice. I'm sure Clara was only doing it to protect her," the girl with blonde hair said with a frown. "I'm Penny, by the way. I hope you enjoy it here in Hufflepuff."

"Of course. I really look forward to some fun times here," I responded politely, though I knew that might not happen. At least, from the way things were going, it wouldn't be.

The rest of the Sorting continued without me paying much attention--all I could remember was loud roars from the Gryffindor table as a pair of redheaded twins got sorted there. The moment everyone was seated, the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, stepped forward.

"To our new students, welcome! To our old students, welcome back!" he commenced. "There will be a time for serious speech, but for now, we feast. Tuck in!"

Suddenly, the plates were filled with food I could never imagine having eaten at home. Heaps of golden mashed potatoes with the slightest sprinkle of parsley, juicy steak with savoury barbecue sauce, steamed vegetables of various kinds bringing colour to the meal. As everyone else grabbed their forks and knives and began to grab their servings of food, I too began to help myself to everything I could see.

"This looks incredible!" I exclaimed, shovelling a small spoonful of mashed potatoes in my mouth. "Mm. I can see why Clara loves the start-of-term feasts so much."

"Any feast is a great feast here at Hogwarts!" Tonks exclaimed with an eager nod. "Ooh, wait till you get to the Halloween feast. Always good spooky fun."

A girl with short silver hair nodded. "At least we'll be safe from the threat that is Greyback returning to Hogwarts." She then turned to me. "Your sister was really brave, stepping up to stop him."

"That's Chiara," a boy with dark brown hair introduced her. "And I'm Diego Caplan, the greatest dueller at Hogwarts."

Did I just imagine that, or did he just smirk at me? I laughed and took a quick swig of my pumpkin juice. "Ah, I remember you. Clara told me quite a bit about you, Diego."

"All good things, I hope." Diego smiled and produced a bouquet of roses out of nowhere, handing them to me.

"Ooh. They're beautiful, Diego," Penny approved with a nod as I took them--hey, it was a friendly gesture, after all. "Nice welcome gift."

"Wait till you get to the Hufflepuff common room! I've got a cool present for you too!" Tonks said excitedly, clapping her hands.

The rest of the time, we were eating and laughing together, just Clara's Hufflepuff friends and me, until dessert came around. Clara then came over to the Hufflepuff table just as I was grabbing a fruit tart, tapping me on the shoulder.

"Come on. I want to introduce you to the rest of my friends."

So I took the fruit tart and went with her to see some of her friends from other houses. It kind of saddened me to see that I wouldn't be able to meet Bill--from what I heard in Clara's stories, he was a crucial part in Clara's education and growth here--but the others were just lovely company all the same. There was Tulip, who was also quite the troublemaker at school. Andre, the fashionista and Quidditch fanatic who simply nodded at my choice of wardrobe and complimented me with the rose bouquet I held. Barnaby, a Slytherin who looked confused half the time, but was genuinely kind. Charlie, the redhead who loves dragons to no end. I found myself at ease with Clara's friends, but I knew that I would have to make some of my own, too. They wouldn't be around here forever. By the time I enter my third year, I would have to have some friends of my own age.

I just hope I could without the judgments going around.

"This is weird," Clara eventually commented to me. "I told you about Ben, Merula, and Beatrice, didn't I?"

"Ben, Merula, and Beatrice? Yeah, I remember." I nodded thoughtfully, glancing at the doors of the Great Hall. "But you told me you never really liked Merula."

"Doesn't mean that she'd be fully fine on her own. I know how bad she got it last year--almost as worse as me." She glanced around the Great Hall, a concerned look in her eyes. "They're not here. That's troubling."

"You think they didn't come? Or that they wanted to skip?"

All Clara could do was heave a long sigh before Professor Dumbledore reappeared on his grand podium, clapping his hands. I quickly returned to the Hufflepuff table, grabbing a custard cream and quietly munching on it as he talked.

"Students of Hogwarts, your attention, please."

The Great Hall fell silent once more--so quiet, you could hear the echo in Dumbledore's voice greatly magnified across the chamber.

"It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the start of a new year at Hogwarts," he said, sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture. "And with a new school year comes new opportunities, to further your studies...develop new friendships...grow as young wizards and witches...and apply difficult lessons learned to build a brighter future."

Or will learn, in my case. Still, I was enraptured by his speech. That was what Hogwarts was made to do--that was the purpose of the school. Raising young people with potential...I nodded quietly, sparing a glance at my sister, who was just looking at him with a serious glint in her eyes.

"In recent years, we've been through some trying times," Dumbledore continued. "But Hogwarts remains an institute dedicated to learning, and there is no place here for those who seek to threaten it. And so, Professor Rakepick will no longer be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. All are urged to let the proper authorities deal with her and the Cursed Vaults."

I could see Tonks looking like she was holding back tears. Penny turned as white as a sheet of paper. Diego's eyes narrowed at the announcement, and I wasn't sure if it was my imagination again or not, but he seemed to spare a glance at me--a concerned glance, as if silently asking if I was okay.

"Your priority should be your lessons, and preparing for your wizarding careers," Dumbledore encouraged with a solemn nod. "Our staff is here to support you in those efforts. Do not hesitate to ask for help. Now it is time to wrap up the feast--I imagine your cozy beds are awaiting you."

At these words, everyone got up and huddled towards the door in large masses. From afar, I could hear another girl's voice calling, "Hufflepuff first-years, come over here please!"

I quickly finished off the custard cream and was about to walk over to her, but was stopped by Diego again, who reached a hand out to me.

"If you need anything, little Em, just let me know," Diego said. "Anything that bothers you, you can tell me--and the other sixth years. They're good people. Clara trusts them, even me."

His eyes glinted with concern when he said this, and I nodded, taking his hand and shaking it. "Thanks, Diego. I'll keep it in mind," I responded lightly.

Then we parted ways while the Hufflepuff prefects lead us to the common room--a cozy little place below the castle, where everything glowed topaz and gold. It reminded me of a hobbit hole, with tunnels and circular doors branching off to the various dormitories. As I entered my dormitory, I barely noticed the other girls coming in--I suppose everyone was just as exhausted as I was.

I quickly got changed and climbed into bed, my head hitting the pillow before closing my eyes.

Would I really be safe here, or would I face potential betrayal too, the same way Clara did? And when it happened...what would it take for me to protect myself?

#here's chapter 2 #in little em's pov #let me know what you think #hphm #hogwarts mystery #cursed vaults #hphm clara lin #hphm em lin #year 6 #hphm spoilers

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muffinrecord · 6 months

Text

Character outfits!

#Magia Record #Brethren Come Back To Life On Halloween #Yuna & Juri (Vampire ver.)#Yuna Kureha #Juri Ooba #Asahi Miura #Rabi Himuro #Urara Yume #Chara Outfit Sets

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winetae · 6 years

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⇁ peek-a-bitch

vampire!au taehyung

↳ When the hunger hits, Taehyung calls his local pizzeria to sate his late night cravings.

inspired by the halloween bop, peek a boo, that was released in nov. drabble.

✘ spoopy masterlist

(pls i’ve always wanted to name smth peek a bitch forgive me)

Your pulse jumped in your throat.

Taehyung’s eyes zeroed in on the spot where he could see the the hummingbird-flutter. His mouth went dry. The seam of your mouth parted open in surprise, but words failed you, almost as if his unearthly beauty had robbed you of voice.

It wouldn’t be the first time his godly looks had made a woman lose her breath — and you were no exception.

His lifespan had stretched over a century, and his decades worth of experience left him immune to the way his victims reacted to his appearance. He was accustomed to the way his looks induced awe, how his mere presence was enough for mortals to stop in their tracks and stare up at him in wide-eyed wonder.

He was used to it and yet—

He would never tire of it. Shadows hid the glint in his eyes as he observed your slow unraveling. His chest burned with anticipation; he couldn’t wait to see you fall deeper in a haze of submission, until you were ready to offer yourself to him like a tribute to a god.

The corners of his lips curled into a smirk with all the feline grace of a cat that had succeeded in cornering its prey.

Well aware of his affect on you, he tilted his head so that the porch light could illuminate his chiseled features for added dramatic effect. He knew how to work his angles.

“H-hi?” You clutched the pizza boxes tightly between your fingers. “I’m looking for one Kim Taehyung.”

It had been years since humans had used his name and Taehyung paused, caught off guard. How sloppy of him. No matter. Although it was undoubtedly reckless to use his real name, you wouldn’t live to tell the tale, so there was no cause for concern.

Taehyung smiled, no teeth, his eyes gleaming with thinly veiled hunger. “You’re looking right at him.”

You gulped, the sound louder than a roaring current in his ears, and his eyes were once more drawn to the fragile and unblemished column of your neck. It was a canvas ready to be bruised and splattered red. Taehyung was almost tempted to sink his teeth in the juncture of your neck without preamble. He stared, unblinking, only realizing he had made you uncomfortable when you started to shift your weight from one foot to another. “Two large triple cheese pizzas?”

Confirming the order he had placed over the phone with a nod, he allowed the corners of his mouth to stretch into a pleased smile. The reality was that he couldn’t care less if the pizza was sprinkled with artichokes or pineapples — those details were insignificant. It wasn’t as if he would eat the greasy food anyway, not when a much more appetizing meal had presented itself to him on a silver platter.

For once, there was no lie to his flattery, “Had I known such a pretty girl would be delivering my meal, I would have ordered sooner.” His voice was smooth like silk and rich like aged wine. As he watched you fall under its spell, he had no one else to thank but his creator.

Taehyung’s very existence was a ruse. He had been conceived to entice his targets; everything from his statuesque beauty to his honeyed tenor were designed to facilitate his hunts for food. He waited patiently for its effect to take hold on you like he knew it would.

And ah — there it was.

He eyed the way your blood flushed to your cheeks, painting them in a tantalizing shade of pink. The greasy stench of melted cheddar and Emmental was overbearing, but his heighten sense of smell was able to detect your floral fragrance beneath it. All of his senses honed in on the fresh and exquisite aroma that emanated from you.

Taehyung licked his lips, wishing he could sample your taste before the fatal bite for your blood smelled divine, untainted by the pollution of alcohol and cigarettes. You were ripe and sweet, young and virginal, your delicate skin a pretty gift wrapping paper for his pointed teeth to bite into.

His mouth watered and only practiced control kept him from draining you dry. It had been such a long time since he had come across blood as uncontaminated as yours and he wanted to take pleasure in the chase while he could.

If Seokjin had been home to witness, he would have scolded the younger vampire, reminding him that it was bad table manners to play with his food before dinner. But there was no fun in a quick, clean kill. Taehyung enjoyed the careful seduction almost as much as the feeding itself, especially when his meal was as pretty and delicious as you.

“Here you go,” you handed him the brown boxes which he took, careful to avoid the oily film that stained the cardboard. His cold fingers brushed against yours deliberately, lingering long enough for you to wonder if the physical contact was accidental or not.

You jolted, quickly retracting your hands to hide the tremors he had caused. It was cute how you tried hard to appear unaffected. But how could you have ever hoped to resist him? You were only human, naive and weak to the temptation he incarnated. He had seen humans with stronger wills than you crumble at his feet. You never stood a chance.

“That’ll be 20.” You averted your gaze, staring at his polished shoes.

“Ah... Let me go in and get it, then. Do you want to come in while you wait? It’s chilly out and I would feel bad if you caught a cold because of me.” He opened the door in silent invitation, granting you a glimpse of the antique furniture and marble flooring.

Stunned into silence, your eyes widened at the grandiose display of wealth. His affluence — one of the many layers to this lure — never failed to impress his victims. He let you admire the high ceiling flecked with gold and the baroque ornamentation, knowing that it would be your first and last time to behold such luxury. He noticed your eyes flit over to the cardboard boxes in his pale hands, the ordered pizzas vulgar and out of place amidst the ornate decor.

“Um... No, it’s okay. I’ll just wait here,” your lips twitched, heartbeat erratic. You gestured to the fleece-lined coat that covered the standard work uniform with a wave of your hand. “My jacket is really warm, I’ll be fine.”

Taehyung blinked in surprise, his face otherwise blank. A pause ticked by before he finally remembered to plaster on a courteous smile.

“Don’t worry about intruding. I’ll only be a minute,” he promised, trying to appear hospitable. He almost tacked on a friendly ‘I don’t bite’ for good measure, but the joke had gotten old after the sixth bite and Taehyung wasn’t one to recycle old puns.

You politely declined his offer with a shake of your head. His jaw clenched, not expecting your resistance. Taehyung was about to call your bluff when you spoke out. “Really, I’m fine,” you assured, forcing a smile onto your face. Oddly, he noticed that your voice was stable, firm, free of jitters.

He purposefully let the seconds stretch on, eyeing your face for the slightest hint of hesitation. He waited for the shift in expression, convinced you would fall into his trap, and readied himself to pounce when he saw an opening.

But rather than let yourself be swayed, discomfort wrapped itself around you like a shield. Frustration started to seep down his spine, but he ignored the pesky sensation and carefully schooled his expression, not wanting to scare you off.

“If you’re sure...”

Once out of sight, a frown wormed its way onto his features. He discarded the pizzas on the coffee table, eager to separate himself from the stench of melted cheese. He reached for the snakeskin wallet he had left on the mantle, taking out a crisp note and pinching it between his fingers, contemplative.

There were several ways this could go.

Unlike the rest of his coven, Taehyung was still relatively young — easily riled up and angered over trivial affairs that most dismissed with a shrug. No matter how many years he had under his belt, this divergence would always exist. Taehyung knew that had the older vampires been in his shoes, they would have put the delivery girl out of her misery the moment she rang the doorbell.

The point was that he and his brethren weren’t alike. Taehyung prided himself on this division, despising the thought of turning stony and predictable like the rest of them. Even in his mortal life, Taehyung had never liked to play by the rules and immortality hadn’t been able to change these habits. The rest of the vampires blamed his age for his impetuous and volatile behavior; Namjoon had even attempted to supply some Freudian explanation.

The memory made him scowl. God, Taehyung hated when that dusty old bitch psychoanalyzed his every movement.

Unwittingly, he had creased the twenty dollar bill in his hold. Breathing deep, he took a moment to calm himself down, thumb running over the wrinkle. He was letting himself be distracted with irrelevant matters when his priority should be you.

His dinner deserved to be savored. Taehyung didn’t want his anger to make him act rashly. He wanted to take his time with you — enjoy his succulent meal to the full until his stomach burst. There was no need to rush or be unnecessarily aggressive. It was evident that he affected you in some way, and even if you didn’t trip over your feet and bend over backwards to please him like all the others that had paraded in front of the house before, it would only be a matter of time before you caved.

There were enough blood bags in the freezer to keep him satisfied for the next several days... He could afford to let you go this once because he knew without a doubt that you would be coming back. There was no harm in prolonging this game for a while longer. After all, time limits ceased to exist when one had all the time in the world to play as they wished.

Flames and shadows danced across his skin, his expression all the more wicked. The amber glow of the crackling fire colored his face in a hellish hue, and for a fleeting second, his eyes flared crimson.

Had he a heart, it would have raced.

#i tried to write a little to get my creative juices flowing bc the hyrbid au is !! a lot more frustrating than i thought it would be #anyways u can ignore but i've wanted to write a vamp!tae fic in forever #i have two other ones just hanging around in my drafts but idk if i'll ever finish them #so consider this part of the halloween fics LOL #taehyung scenarios #bts scenario #drabble

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cksmart-world · 3 years

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SMART BOMB

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

August 31, 2021

MASKS CAN MAKE KIDS GO BLIND

Thank goodness for ace Courtney Tanner whose recent piece in The Tribune dispelled myths that keep parents from trusting masks. According to doctors, masks don't make kids breath their own carbon dioxide; don't cause kids to get anxiety or depression; and don't weaken their immune system. Here at Smart Bomb, the staff scoured right-wing media to find more myths for freedom-loving parents who remain skeptical:

1 – Masks can give your kids antisocial behaviors — such as armed robbery.

2 – Masks could make you kids hate Halloween for the rest of their lives.

3 – They will make your kids even more paranoid than you.

4 – Wearing masks might turn your kids into bleeding-heart liberals.

5 – Masks will also lead your girls to support the Equal Rights Amendment.

6 – They could make your kids believe in Global Warming.

7 – Wearing masks could get kids to believe in science, generally.

8 – Masks would turn your kids against voting restrictions in minority districts.

9 – They could make your kids into gun-control freaks.

10 – And wearing masks will make kids think they still have freedom!

GERRYMANDERING IN UTAH? PERISH THE THOUGHT

Utah Republicans love to gerrymander voting districts to ensure that Democracy is safe from Democrats. The fact that Salt Lake County, the Democratic stronghold, has been sliced up like a pie is really about saving Salt Lakers from themselves. Ah, but there is a fly in the ointment. For the first time, the new Utah Independent Redistricting Commission will make boundaries more fair in the wake of Proposition 4, which was passed by voters in 2018. There is, however, a safeguard that may save us from real representative government. Republicans in the Legislature will have the final say as to whether to adopt the commission's voting-map recommendations or to continue with the GOP's modus of saving their right to deny people theirs. The brethren on the hill are not only sanctimonious but are as wise as Herod Antipas. They gutted, er uh, modified three 2018 initiatives: Proposition 2, which legalized medical marijuana; Proposition 3, expansion of Medicare; and Proposition 4, which established the Redistricting Commission. Some hope the Republicans will accept the commission's voting maps. Well, maybe they will, right after congressional Republicans agree to investigate the Jan. 6 insurrection — about the time hell freezes over.

EVOLUTION IS ONLY A THEORY — ROLLOVER DARWIN

If evolution were true, every other baby would be born a chimpanzee. We should have known by July 1925 that a lot of Americans think science is so much Voodoo. That's when John Scopes was charged with the crime of teaching human evolution, which was strictly taboo in Tennessee and much of Christian America. After reading about the horrors of the 1918 “Spanish Flu” that killed some 675,000 Americans, President George W. Bush in 2004 ordered that a pandemic response be organized — and eventually it was — only to be thrown out by Trump's National Security Advisor John Bolton. Nonetheless, the authors of the pandemic plan did not foresee that once a life-saving vaccine was created, people would refuse to take it — meaning the virus would mutate (evolve) and continue to infect people, even if they were vaccinated. Many Christian groups have been dissing science for centuries — it undercuts belief in God, they say. You can believe God or science — not both. Hello Galileo. Of course, they don't think about that when they watch a spacecraft go to the moon on TV. Who was it who said, “There is no cure for dumb.” In this case — in a sort of reverse evolution — the ignorant may determine the future of the informed. Darwin, rollover.

Post script —What if Robert Kennedy had been elected president in 1968 instead of Richard Nixon. Last week Kennedy's assassin, Sirhan Sirhan was granted release by the California Board of Parole. The Palestinian shot Kennedy after his victory in the California primary in June 1968. (Gov. Gavin Newsom must approve the parole.) Robert Kennedy may have pulled us out of Vietnam earlier, but one thing is certain — there would have been no “Watergate.” It would be a different world. And what if Al Gore had won Florida in 2000 to become president instead of George W. Bush. We wouldn't have invaded Afghanistan and Iraq. A different world, indeed. The parallels between Vietnam and Afghanistan are striking.Why we didn't learn from Vietnam that nation building can't work in a hostile country without institutions should tell us that our doctrine of global military dominance needs reexamination, to say the least. So forget the old saw from George Santayana: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Instead we should face this reality from Friedrich Hegel: "The only thing we learn from history is that we learn nothing from history." And Wilson adds this: Human beings tend to screw things up. Amen, brother, amen.

Alright Wilson, that about does it for another fun-filled week here at Smart Bomb. So maybe you and the guys in the band can get us to kick back a bit with something that gives a nod to our forebears:

I look out my window, but I can't see the sky 'Cos the air pollution is fogging up my eyes I want to get out of this city alive And make like an ape man Come and love me, be my ape man girl And we will be so happy in my ape man world

I'm an ape man, I'm an ape ape man, I'm an ape man I'm a King Kong man, I'm a Voo-doo man I'm an ape man

I'll be your Tarzan, you'll be my Jane I'll keep you warm and you'll keep me sane And we'll sit in the trees and eat bananas all day Just like an ape man

I'm an ape man, I'm an ape ape man, I'm an ape man I'm a King Kong man, I'm a voo-doo man I'm an ape man...

(Apeman — The Kinks)

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miss-noo-na · 7 years

Text

Crescent (I.M. Werewolf AU)

Title:��Crescent

Featuring: I.M (Monsta X ) x Reader

POV: 2nd

Word count: 5k.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, very subtle smut.

Summary: You’ve hunted werewolves all your life, so when you come across a lone wolf in the woods, you never expected him to become the other half of your moon.

Requested by Anon! Now taking Halloween/Fall themed scenario requests!

Leaves crunched under your feet as you moved slowly through the barren forest; the dead, spiny branches raking across a clear night sky. The air was crisply cold, stinging your cheeks and making your eyes water, but you pressed on, hand against your holster.

It was foolish to hunt alone, you knew that, but you’d gotten a tip about a lone wolf out in the trees. It should be simple to take just one down, especially with your years of experience and acquired hunting skills. You’d been hunting werewolves all your life, so this wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.

Although, you hadn’t killed many lately. Something had happened, something that complicated your entire life as you knew it. You fell in love.

But not just with anyone, you came to love the very thing you had been brought up to despise and wipe out.

You hadn’t meant to, it was supposed to be like any other hunting trip. You’d recently gotten out from under your parents hovering and joined another group of hunters your own age. They were resistant to let you go at first, but eased up once they saw you were carrying on the tradition as you should. Things were freer with this group, you didn’t have anyone breathing down your neck or telling you the “proper” way to do things. You were allowed to create your own identity as a hunter, and you loved it. Your group loved it, too. They called you ruthless, cunning, and precise, and smiled while they said it.

Your mates had taken out a good portion of the pack when you came in for damage control, sniffing through their hideaway house out in the woods to smoke out any stragglers. That’s when you met Changkyun.

He bounded out of the shadows and caught you off-guard, which was not easy to do. You were tackled to the ground, gun sliding away from you in the process. He pinned you, snarling in your face, eyes shining a gleaming gold as his fangs extended. He was part-way through transformation, very much human still but subtle animal-like changes taking place on his face in front of your very eyes.

You struggled against him, but with his supernatural abilities taking hold, he was just too strong.

For the first time, probably ever, you felt fear, and wondered if this would be your last moment on earth. Instead of ending your life immediately like you thought he would, he began to speak instead.

“Was it you?” He growled, and you were taken aback, your body going limp under him.

“What?” You breathed.

“Did you kill them?”

He was referring to his pack, surely.

“No, but I know the people who did.” You swallowed, seeing no reason not to be honest with him.

And to your complete shock, he let you go.

“You’re not going to kill me?” You asked as you sat up, watching him walk away from you.

“Not today.” He said without turning around, and you watched until he disappeared down the hall.

From that moment on, there had been a strange tension in those woods. You would occasionally come across each other, but both bound by your own code of ethics, had not attempted to attack each other. Changkyun refused to kill anyone who had not had their personal hand in the slaying of his brethren, and you could not bring yourself to raise your gun at someone who had so honorably let you go free when he could have ripped you to shreds. Besides, you had kept a close eye on him, monitoring his every move, and had found that unlike his pack mates, he had yet to kill a human, at least for you to see. He fed mostly on animal hearts.

There was also something so starkly different about him, in comparison to every other were-creature you interacted with. Werewolves were usually brash, bold, and proud of their lineage. They caused trouble in both human and animal form, and loved every minute of it. Changkyun, on the other hand, was quiet, dutiful, and did not go into the city to wreck havoc like his pack members had, even when they were alive. There was an absence of Alpha posturing, and instead in human form he appeared soft and handsome.

You felt disgusted with yourself for letting those things drift over your mind when you thought of him.

Even stranger still than your awkward run-ins the first few months, were when you started to speak to one another; a few words here and there at first, him wondering where your “pack” was and you saying that although you lived and worked with them often, you preferred scouting on your own. He found this incredibly unusual, so you questioned him back, wondering why he had not found a new pack and hung around that old musty house, and why he had not come to kill you yet.

Things got deeper the more often and longer you talked, until you had started to get to know each other by coincidence. You found out that he stopped killing humans years ago, because he used to be one and the guilt was overwhelming. He knew that you had killed werewolves all your life, and pitied your existence as a “slave” to your parents’ beliefs, which you vehemently denied and defended yourself against. When you got upset at his accusations he’d chuckle at you, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a slight smirk and you had to look away from him.

“You could do a lot of other things, you know.” He’d said to you once, sitting on a log in the forest. He was covered in a black wool sweater, hair pushed to one side, and you could not even for a second believe he was capable of turning into such a vicious creature.

“So could you.” You countered as you sat down next to him.

He laughed a little and shook his head. “There’s no cure for me.”

“I know that.” Your voice softened. “But you could go out looking for others like you, start your own pack. I’m sure they exist.”

When you looked back his head had dropped, and he fidgeted with his hands.

“Let me ask you something.” He started, voice more serious than usual, and you nodded.

“If someone brutally murdered your parents, would you go out and look for new ones?”

Your chest ached at his words, and you understood. The wound was still too raw, he was healing. You hadn’t ever considered a werewolf having feelings before, even though you knew they were partially human. You hadn’t been trained to feel empathy for the thing you were meant to be hunting. Even now sitting here with him, if your parents or your mates knew, you’d be burned at the stake.

“In time, things will get better. For both of us.” You offered, and without thinking you reached out and patted his knee, like you would a friend. He peered up at you, a slither of gold light flashing through his brown eyes as he did so.

You don’t know how you got to the next part, it was all a blur. You don’t remember now if more words had been exchanged or if it was just a look, but suddenly his lips were on yours and you were consumed in his embrace. He was warm and supple and he felt like home; the kind of home you’d only ever dreamed of.

Once you got your wits about you, you felt yourself pushing him away, retracting from the scene of the incident, stumbling out of the woods and away from him in a rush, and he watched you go.

You left after that, to the next town over, renting your own little cabin to work by yourself. You were not able to face him again or even yourself. You had betrayed your entire way of life and those you cared about, and you knew it would be dangerous if you continued to see him. You knew you would only fall deeper in love with him.

There was shuffling in those unfamiliar trees, pulling you out of your reverie. You ducked behind one and held your breath a moment, because you knew something was coming. Something big.

You peaked around the tree to steal a glance and you saw it, the wolf. Though it trotted on 4 legs like any other wolf, you could tell it was of the “Were” variety. It was larger than normal, muscular, and its black midnight hair shimmered under the moonlight, eyes glowing red as he scanned the woods. As it came closer, you quickly rolled around the tree to face it, gun un-holstered and pointing toward it.

The wolf stopped dead in its tracks, and you waited for something, a lunge or a snarl. Instead, it whined and shook its head.

Your brow furrowed, knuckles whitening as you strained your grip on the gun. The wolf wasn’t giving you a fight, and you didn’t know how to react. You should have just shot it while you had the chance, but something was holding you back.

The wolf approached, and your body froze. It didn’t come at you threatening in any way, and before you could realize what was happening, the wolf was nuzzling up against your legs, its back almost high enough to reach your torso.

“Changkyun?” You breathed his name in a puff of cold, white air. He couldn’t respond, but the way it peered up at you, you knew it to be true.

You sighed and dropped your weapon, placing it back in its holster. You’d never seen him in his full form before. You avoided him during these times.

“What are you doing out here?” You spoke, again though he couldn’t answer. You took a seat on a rock and the two of you were face to face.

Compelled by it, though his form was so intimidating, you reached out and rubbed your fingers through the thick, dark fur around his neck. His eyes fell shut and he panted.

This wasn’t his area of the woods; you’d intentionally left about an hour outside of your former town to avoid him.

He let out another whine as he trotted into a circle to lie at your feet. You knew it would take some time for him to change back, and he seemed intent on staying put here until he did just that, and making sure you stayed too.

You thought about it for a moment, and then sank down off of the rock and to his side. You pet him a moment longer before resting your weary head onto his fur and drifting to sleep.

You awoke early the next morning, just after sunrise, and Changkyun nowhere to be found. You panicked for a moment, eyes darting around the now illuminated, autumn forest.

“I’m over here” He called, just a part of him peaking from behind a tree.

“Why are you hiding?” You called, rubbing your eyes.

“Because I’m naked.” He called back, and you swallowed hard, then let out a laugh. You had forgotten about that part.

“There’s a cabin about 2 miles northeast of here. I’ll meet you there.” He called, shaking his head in that direction. You considered his proposal, then pulled yourself to your feet and began walking.

You came to the small house later that morning, smoke rising from a stone chimney. It looked like a house out of a fairytale, and you let yourself inside. It wasn’t quite like his old home, the one he shared with his pack. In fact, for its size, it was actually a lot more comfortable. It had a wooden table set, an old couch with a crocheted blanket on the back of it, a fireplace with fading embers inside, a fully-stocked kitchen, and old art on the walls. His pack didn’t need nor care for a cozy place to call home, but that seemed like an important attribute for Changkyun.

You heard him sometime after you, shuffling around the house to a back door. He appeared a few minutes later fully dressed.

“Would you like some coffee?” He asked as he moved toward the antique gas stove and you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Werewolves drink coffee?” You asked, and he chuckled at you.

“Werewolves do a lot of things. We are still human, you know. At least somewhat.”

Everything you’d ever been told about werewolves from your parents had mostly been a lie, you came to find out through interacting with Changkyun. You’d been told stories about how, even in their human form, they were bloodthirsty monsters who fed off the innocent, tearing apart their bodies while still alive. It wasn’t quite like that, though. Werewolves needed hearts to stay alive, at least one a month, and it didn’t have to be human. Their reputation came from the packs that rebelled against humans, breaking ties with them after being thought of as evil beasts, and getting their revenge in the form of blood and entrails. You didn’t know how an old soul like Changkyun ended up with a pack who thought like this, but you didn’t feel comfortable enough to question it. Though he was still in mourning, you were glad you see him here like this, in a home of his own, living his life. Yet, it had to be terribly lonely.

He brewed the coffee and laid out cream and sugar on the table. You sat in silence while the beans were ground and it dripped into the pot, and a moment later he joined you at the table, setting a steaming mug down in front of you.

“I’m guessing you were hunting.” He commented without making eye contact, focusing on his coffee. This was always an awkward topic for the two of you.

“You, too.” You said as you dropped a sugar cube into the black liquid and began to stir.

“I didn’t expect to find you out here.” He said, and you laughed.

“I could say the same for you; I had no idea you’d left. How on earth did you end up in the same place as me?”

“Fate, I suppose.”

His words made you prematurely swallow a large gulp of the hot drink and it seared your throat, you coughed a little bit.

“I’m sorry if I came on so strong last time.” He nodded his head once, encircling his mug with his hands, and you knew it had to be burning his palms.

“It’s not something I planned on doing, it just sort of happened.”

You’d always gotten that impression. In fact, everything about the two of you had “just happened”, like your logical brain went out the window every time you were around him and you were driven off of pure emotion, which was so unlike you.

You didn’t reply, because you didn’t know what to say. You just stared into your coffee for a long, quiet moment.

“Lonely out here.” You said absent-mindedly, and he looked up.

“Lonely back home, too”

You shrugged. “It’s a nice place; you could easily share it with someone.”

“I already tried that.”

You blinked up at him, wondering if he meant you. There was no way he ever thought of you like that, it’d be foolish. However, you found yourself making intent eye-contact with him, and his gaze spoke volumes.

“What are we doing?” You said with an uneasy laugh as you ripped your eyes away from his. “Everything about this is wrong.”

“I know you hate me.” Changkyun started, idly stirring his coffee. “I know you hate what I am, and everything in your body tells you to destroy me, and yet I keep trying to get closer to you. How sick is that?” He laughed without even a trace of humor.

Your face turned somber, and you reached out across the table to clasp your hand around his wrist, pulling it away from the hot cup and sliding your palms together.

“I don’t hate you.”

He stared down at your entwined hands and sighed.

“But you’re supposed to.”

He was right about that. Hunting was the only thing you ever knew, and though you found yourself longing to have him, another part of you fought against it.

“Were you for real about what you said earlier? About sharing your home with someone?”

His hand squeezed yours, on instinct, and he nodded. “Of course.”

Since he had been brave enough once already, you figured it was your turn, standing and walking around the table to his side, leaning down to kiss him. He tipped his head up and his hands were already cupping your face and splaying into your hair, pulling you down more against his mouth.

You forgot all about your duty as a hunter, what you’d been raised to think, and how wrong this was. It didn’t feel wrong and instead, felt like the only good thing you’d ever done. You felt warmth deep inside your chest, your limbs like jello, light-headed as you found him standing and guiding you into another room. In his bed he touched you, caressed you, and seared every sensitive part of your feverish flesh with his lips and tongue. Before long you were both naked and filled, panting as dew formed on the surface of your skin. Your passion quickened until you fell headfirst into blissful release, and as he came down after you, you held his face and kissed his forehead. You fell asleep in a tangle of limbs.

The next morning you awoke to him brushing your hair away from your cheek and sliding the pad of his thumb over it. You blinked, the sun stinging your eyes and his soft face coming into focus.

“Hey.” He said gently, and you couldn’t help but smile as the memories of the night before rushed through you.

“Hi.”

You both laughed awkwardly before fading into contented silence. You pushed your hand through his hair, stroking his scalp and planting a firm kiss on his lips. You signed as you pulled away.

“I have to go.”

His face visibly fell at your words.

“Will you come back?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know what any of this truly meant, what you were going to do about your life now, you just knew you wanted to come back.

Today you were going back to your hunting mate’s house for a visit, to catch up and have a proper hunter’s dinner. You didn’t know how you were going to handle acting normal around them after you’d just fraternized with the enemy like this.

You dressed slowly, wanting to savor the moment, and Changkyun followed. He walked you to the front door and kissed the top of your head, nuzzling your nose in a very wolf-like gesture as he urged you to be careful going back. You smirked, wondering if he’d forgotten what you were capable of. Still, it felt nice to be protected for once.

You walked back to where you’d run into Changkyun the night before and found your car, driving home to get refreshed and then making the long drive back to your old town and to the house on the hill where your hunter pals lived. You ran your fingers through your hair to un-muss it, and then went inside.

You expected to see their smiling faces, but instead when you stepped into the living room you saw them; your parents sitting on one of the couches, and a few other hunters opposite them. They all gave you a stern look when you entered.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” You said with a forced smile, wondering why on earth they’d be at your old home. They’d visited before, wanting to scope out your hunter friends before letting you leave, but there’s no reason they’d just swing by like this.

“Sit down, we need to talk.”

Your mother’s voice sounded like she was trying to keep her tone even, and you slipped further into the room and sat down in a chair, feeling everyone’s eyes on you.

“You want to explain where you were last night?” Your father asked, his eyes piercing you. Your mouth dropped open and you stumbled over your words for a moment.

“I was out hunting last night, and then I went home.”

It was, of course, a bold-faced lie, and by the looks on their faces, they weren’t buying it. They sat in silence, throwing glances at one another, and you felt your body tense up.

“Robert was out in the same area as you last night, tracking a lone wolf. He said he saw you sleeping in the woods.” He explained, gesturing to one of your hunting mates.

They didn’t need to tell you what else they saw, your head cradled into Changkyun’s fur, perfectly content with the creature of your family’s nightmares.

Your thoughts were racing, coming up with a million different excuses and fibs you could tell, but you didn’t find any of them suitable. Instead, you felt compelled to tell the truth, that this could be your way out.

“His name is Changkyun.” You started, and your parents reactions were visceral, your father standing and turning away from you pacing in front of the fire place. Your mother dropped her head into her hands.

“And why do you know his name?” Your father asked, coming to one spot with his hands on his hips, but still facing away from you.

“Because we’re friends. In fact, we’re more than friends, now.”

You barely had time to look up, you just heard his footsteps pounding toward you and your father was taking you by the throat and forcing you to look into his eyes of rage. Your mother gasped and stood up, but she didn’t move to help you. Everyone else just watched, stoic.

“There is no way in hell my daughter is out frolicking around with a monster.” He snarled. Your eyes widened as you fought to breathe, his hand tightening on your windpipe.

“Pl-please…” You brought your hands up to claw at his arm, and finally your mother had had enough. She moved across the room and tugged hard on his arm, and he let you go.

You bent forward and rested on your knees, coughing and gagging. The rush of oxygen back to your brain made you queasy, and let yourself collapse on the floor.

“Where is he?” Your father yelled, and you shook your head, refusing to ever tell him. You knew he would kill Changkyun on sight.

“Fine, I’ll find him myself.”

Your father stomped out of the room, and you knew you had to get up; you had to get to Changkyun before he did. You pushed yourself haphazardly to your feet, but your mother caught you by your arms.

“Don’t.” She said in warning, her face pulled tight. You knew that she agreed with him, that she would never accept your feelings, but her eyes conveyed a different message, that she still feared for and loved you deeply, and wanted you to let this go for your own sake. She did not put it past your father to kill his own daughter, if she happened to get in the way.

“I have to.” You said, pulling yourself out of her grip. She called after you as you ran out of the room, but you ignored it the best you could.

In your car, speeding down a dirt road, you knew your father had a head start; Robert had probably already given him the exact coordinates of where he saw you. Lucky for you, he didn’t know where Changkyun’s cabin was, but it wouldn’t take him long to find it. He was an experienced hunter, after all.

You pulled up on the side of a road and got out, running into the woods without fear. It was getting dark and cold, but you managed to somehow dodge every rock and tree as you scrambled toward the cabin. When you finally saw it, an inviting light on in the front window and smoke coming out of the chimney, you felt relief, yet knew you couldn’t celebrate just yet.

You pounded on the door with your fists, and Changkyun opened it in a hurry. You pushed him inside and slammed the door behind you, locking every bolt and handle on it.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” He asked urgently, and you turned to face him.

“My father, he’s coming here. He knows.”

Changkyun’s face changed drastically, and he swallowed hard. “How? When?”

“One of my hunting mates saw us in the woods last night and told everyone. He’s going to kill you if he finds you.”

Changkyun pushed his hand through his hair and looked at the ground.

You started moving frantically throughout the house, turning off every light and any sign of life. You went to the backdoor and made sure it was locked tight, then grabbed Changkyun’s arm to pull him into the bedroom, but he resisted.

“We can’t hide; he’s not just going to leave.”

Although he was right, you found his unwillingness to try dumfounding.

“What do you suggest? Are you actually going to fight him?”

“Are you actually choosing me over your father?”

You dropped your arms and thought for a moment, but only a moment.

“Yes.”

Changkyun let out a shaky breath, and his face said that he didn’t believe you, though he wanted to.

“All I ever got from my parents was blood and violence. I was a just a pawn in their army, a tool to further their hatred.”

You reached out for his hand and threaded your fingers together. “With you, I can be something different.”

He looked down to where your hands joined and squeezed, purposeful this time.

“Then I can’t hide from him forever.”

Even if Changkyun didn’t want to be the violent beast he was made out to be, there were certain codes even he had to follow, and that included not backing down from a fight, especially one from someone who wished to completely annihilate you.

“Once I change, there won’t be much control over what happens if he attacks me, you understand that, right?”

He looked straight into your eyes, pulling your hand to his chest. He could not live with himself if it meant hurting you in any way, even if that meant hurting someone you may love in self-defense.

You locked eyes and nodded firmly. “I understand.”

As you looked at each other for a minute longer, you heard a truck revving in the distance, making its way closer to the cabin.

Changkyun used his other hand to pull your body forward and crash his lips down on yours, consuming you in one more passionate kiss before pulling away completely. You watched him walk toward the door, and he shot you one last look before leaving.

You felt cemented to the floor the entire time, and it wasn’t until the door slammed shut behind him that you got your mobility back, racing to the window just in time to see him running off into the trees.

You felt completely helpless, but you knew he wanted you to stay. Besides, you don’t know how helpful you’d be in this battle. Back when you thought you were hunting monsters it was fine, killing dnd seeing death didn’t affect you. Now, however, with your father coming after the man you’d grown so fond of, you wouldn’t be able to handle it no matter what the outcome may be.

You sat alone in the cabin for ages, still in the dark. You paced around the room, and when that was too much you went outside and paced on the front porch. You stopped sometimes and stared out into the dark woods, thinking every creak or snap in the trees was one of them.

Finally, after what felt like hours and very well could have been, something dark was moving between the trees. Your eyes followed the figure, not knowing if it were man or beast. Then, you saw a pair of red eyes.

You let out a sigh of relief and came down off the porch, eagerly awaiting his arrival. However, he moved slowly, and as he got closer you saw he was limping and struggling, and you rushed out into the trees toward him.

When you reached him he saw you and let himself collapse, panting hard with his tongue out. You fell to your knees and cradled his head. You cooed and stroked his fur, checking his body. He was obviously wounded but it was hard to tell where in the dark. Your hands came into contact with something wet and warm and you knew it could only be one thing.

“We have to get inside.” You urged him, knowing he would have to help you do that, as he was much too large to carry.

Somehow, after a lot of struggle, you got him inside and laid him out on the rug. You searched the house for anything you could use to help him. Luckily, being a hunter meant you were also quite good with first aid, dressing your fair share of wounds out on missions. You were relieved to see that none of his injuries appeared to be gunshots, as you knew if silver had even grazed his skin he would be in trouble. It did make you wonder, however, how he’d managed to take on your father without sustaining one. Your father was always ready with his gun.

As he crossed your mind, you felt her chest get heavy, wondering if he was dead and not sure entirely how you felt about it. You had resented him for years, his cruel and demanding nature, his over-protective hovering. The way he had handled you earlier in the night was not new to you, but he was still your father, and there was still some sense of loss to be had.

You couldn’t mourn him now, though, there were more pressing matters at hand.

You’d found some alcohol in a cabinet and torn an unused bed sheet into strips to dress the wounds. You brought him water in a bowl until he was no longer parched and you stroked his head as he finally calmed down. You had so many things you wanted to say to him, but knew now was not the time.

You curled up on the floor next to him, telling him to wake you if he needed anything or felt any pain. He understood and nuzzled your face.

You woke up only a few hours later, the sun just beginning to rise. Changkyun wasn’t with you, and you sat up in a daze, eager to find him. You jumped to your feet and ran into the bedroom, but he wasn’t there. Your heart started to pound against your chest.

“Changkyun?” you nearly screamed into the house, and almost jumped out of your skin when he exited from the bathroom. He was shirtless, but wearing a pair of sweats. His arms were freshly bandaged and he had a couple of drying wounds on his chest and face.

“I’m right here.” He said with worry all over his face, and you rushed to him.

“Are you okay? Are you still hurt? Did he shoot you?” You said in a quick rush of breath, checking him over with your hands, examining all his wounds.

He half-smiled and took your hands into his, making you look at him.

“I’m fine, for the most part. Don’t worry.”

He leaned in and pecked you on the lips.

“What about you? Are you alright?”

He meant more mentally than physically, but you weren’t entirely sure.

“Is he dead?” you asked, and his faced turned solemn as he nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact.

“I tried to talk to him, to explain everything, hoping he might understand or at least leave us be. I assured him that you were safe with me, but I don’t think he heard a word I said.” Changkyun tried to explain, and you simply listened.

“He fired off a round but I think he was so angry he couldn’t even think straight, much less aim. He missed.”

Your eyes widened. Your father never missed a shot.

“I didn’t want to change, but when things get heated like that, I can’t help it. My body reacts.”

He seemed desperate to explain himself, to assure you he never meant to truly hurt your father.

“I managed a good lunge to disarm him, and I tried to hold him down but he pulled out a knife.”

That explained the wounds. Your father always kept a knife strapped to his ankle.

“I tried to subdue him, I really did. I didn’t want to hurt him, but he gave me no choice. I’m so sorry.”

You pulled Changkyun into your arms, careful not to hurt him, stroking the back of his head as you held him.

“I understand. You did what you had to.”

You stood there like that for a long time holding him as he circled his arms around you, too. You were both lost in thought, yet so relieved to be back together again.

“Once my father doesn’t come back, they’ll send the others out.” You finally said, and Changkyun nodded.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go back to them.” He said, and you pulled back, making him look at you.

“I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your words.

“We can’t stay here, then”

You hated to leave the cozy cabin, but you knew there were a thousand more out there somewhere. You moved hastily to gather only essentials, throwing them into the back of your truck and heading out of town. You had no idea where you were going, or where you would end up, just as long as it was somewhere far enough away that the two of you could stay together in peace.

#monsta x scenarios #i.m scenarios #lim changkyun #monsta x #changkyun scenarios #kpop scenarios #werewolf au #kpop au #supernatural au

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fibula-rasa · 7 years

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A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1950s

Zombie Girl (Vampira) in Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959)

The Movie

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) isn’t exactly a classic. It isn’t exactly influential or important. It also isn’t any good. BUT it does represent a unique set of intersections for the horror genre in the 1950s.

In response to a changing industry and a changing world, horror movies adapted and diversified. Science fiction began to supplant horror as the big moneymaker of b-movies. Many of the most enduring horror pictures of the fifties blended in with their generic brethren sci-fi: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), Godzilla (1954), The Fly (1958), etc. Ed Wood’s opus Plan 9 from Outer Space is a mega low-budget example of this.

In 1955, Hammer Film Productions in the UK struck gold with their own sci-fi/horror film The Quatermass Xperiment (1955), which kicked off a revival of classic horror movie monster films, starting with The Curse of Frankenstein (1957). But that’s another story for another time (a.k.a. My 1960s post).

Television sets were quickly becoming fixtures in American homes in the 1950s and filmmakers developed strategies for keeping the public invested in moviegoing. Within the horror genre, William Castle started making films with in-theater gimmicks. A ticket to Macabre (1958) came with a life-insurance certificate in case you died of fright watching the film. If you ventured out to House on Haunted Hill (1959), a skeleton would drop down over the audience at a well-timed moment in the film.

In the same year that television networks were active in every contiguous US state, TV also got its first horror-movie host, Vampira. Starting in 1954, Maila Nurmi in character as Vampira would deliver tongue-in-cheek commentary to introduce horror films from the previous two decades. The Vampira Show was a Los Angeles broadcast only, but word of mouth traveled and Vampira became a cult icon.

Vampira’s role is admittedly small in Plan 9 but she is one of the bigger draws of the film. Plan 9 is a tactic developed by extraterrestrial visitors to earth in order to stop humans from developing a superweapon that could destroy the galaxy. The aliens first bring people back from the dead in San Fernando, CA, starting with an old man (Bela Lugosi), a woman (Vampira), and a police inspector (Tor Johnson) who was killed by the first two zombies. As flying saucers begin to appear over US population centers military action is taken and the aliens decide to go forward with their plan to raise armies of the dead, unless the affected citizens of San Fernando can stop them in time.

The Look

Maila Nurmi simply plays “Zombie Girl” in Plan 9, but the look is all Vampira.

Oddly enough, the origin of Vampira is a Halloween costume. Maila Nurmi, an actress working in LA, attended a Halloween party dressed as Morticia Addams, at the time unnamed in Charles Addams’ comic strip. Nurmi was spotted by a producer looking to cast a host for late-night horror movie broadcasts and the rest is history. Though the initial series only ran for one fifty-episode season, Nurmi retained the rights to the character and kept Vampira alive for decades to come.

The Clothes

The Vampira costume is a black fitted outfit, usually belted, with a plunging v-neck. The sleeves were typically three-quarter length with strips of fabric or gauzy detailing hanging off the sleeves and the skirt could be floor length with a front slit up to the knees (though in Plan 9, Vampira’s costume has no slit) or knee length with detailing similar to her sleeves. If her legs were exposed she wore fishnet stockings.

For the closet cosplay, I focused on creating a curvy silhouette with a 1950s air. Inspired by photos of Vampira on break while taping her show, I took a strip of dollar-store creepy cloth and wore it as a scarf to make the plunging v-neck a little more conservative.

For the full costume, I took more of that creepy cloth and used safety pins to attach strips of it to the bottom of a black mermaid-cut midi skirt and the ends of my sweater’s sleeves.

The Makeup

Vampira’s makeup is extreme and exaggerated. In contrast to the 1940s, heavier makeup looks were becoming popular even among average makeup wearers.

For my closet cosplay, I wanted to emulate what a reasonably glam 1950s woman would have worn if she were inspired by Vampira. My hair will be the same for both closet and full cosplay because I don’t own a long or shoulder-length black wig, but that would obviously be more appropriate for the full Vampira.

Start with a full matte base using a color-correcting primer to cancel out any hyperpigmentation, a medium to full coverage foundation in your skin tone, and a setting powder that will leave you a touch lighter than your skin tone.

Sculpting is a must to carve out Vampira’s gaunt cheekbones. Use the shade that’s right for you, but make sure it isn’t to warm or bronze-y since this is meant to be a bit ghastly.

Moving on to the eyes, take black liner and (1.) draw an even line across your upper lashline tapering it toward the inner corner. At the outer edge, (2.) map out a cat-eye roughly extending the upward, outward line your eyelashes make. (I preemptively put on mascara to make this more visible in the photos.) (3.) Go into the lower waterline with white liner, or a shade just lighter than your skintone depending on how striking you want the effect to be. (4.) Take a neutral shadow shade (like the same color you contoured with) and take a small amount just under your lower lashline to reinforce the shape of your eye and finish off with a few coats of black mascara.

While you still have your liner handy, draw on a small beauty mark on the top of your left cheekbone. To make it look a bit more realistic, you can go in with a small brush and dark brown shadow.

The eyebrows have a distinct and high arch, but since this look isn’t meant to be too costumey, I would sharpen your natural arch. (If your brows don’t arch, look straight into a mirror and with a long brush or pencil bisect your pupil from your nostril and draw an arch in where that brush or pencil hits your eyebrow.) It’s the 50s, so go all in filling those brows.

With a red lip pencil, draw the ends of your upper lip out and down a bit. The cupid’s bow should be a soft curve. If necessary, overdraw your bottom lip slightly to even your lips out. Fill in with red lipstick. I went with a shade lighter than the liner for a little more dimension. Note: if you’ve overlined a lot, make sure the finish of your lipstick is matte so the cheat isn’t as obvious.

For the full cosplay, we’ll make four key changes.

1. For Vampira brows, glue down and/or conceal the middle and ends of your eyebrows. Set that with plenty of powder. Starting from the natural head of your brow, map out your arch. It looks like Nurmi typically brought her arch up about a quarter inch over her natural brow. It should go sharply up and down. I used a brown pencil for this step then filled in the shape with black powder and a wet brush.

2. Returning to the eyes, go in with a thick black line and extend the cat-eye a few centimeters. False lashes are sorely needed at this point. Thick lashes with a strong curl to them would be best. The bulk of the length should be at the edge of your eye. Some lashes are constructed like this but you can also just trim down a pair for this effect.

3. Deepen the contour and highlight.

4. Lastly, bust that liner out again and make the false beauty mark into a tiny black triangle.

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