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partyinthemysterymachine · 6 years ago

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You Can’t Look Behind You

Has anyone ever felt like they were being followed?

As far as most people (might be) are concerned, there are a few types of ‘feeling like you’re being followed’. It often goes hand-in-hand with feeling like you’re being watched. This is a trait deeply rooted in the brain from humanity’s long since passed past, meant to keep a life alive in the wilderness. It’s scientifically proven as a survival defense. The brain alerts the individual to unseen danger, causing anxiety, trepidation, feelings of dread. This is also commonly known as a ‘gut instinct’.

Feeling like you’re being followed can be physical and it can be uneasily spiritual. Perhaps one looks over their shoulder and finds that there is someone actually tailing them. ‘Oh shit,’ they might think, and pick up the pace. Then there’s the prophecy type, as many people have reported. The type that says, ‘My mom is in danger’ and being several hundred miles away, or ‘I’m about to be mugged’ as they approach an alley, or even so forthright as, ‘I really ought to get out of this area before I die’.

Thanks to these ancient and helpful leftovers, a human can (sometimes) narrowly escape trouble or call up a family member to confirm their fears. Of course, this doesn’t affect everyone. The unfortunate many have to suffer with consequences that they can’t help. It’s sad to be sure, but this is just how the world works.

Furthermore, on the subject of the unfortunate and also the aware, there are times when one is being followed and they simply cannot figure out who, or what, or why, or where it/he/she/they are.

So is the nature of The Eye.

‘Found footage’ has been very popular since the blockbuster film The Blair Witch Project. It’s sparked internet videos of strange occurrences taken on grainy cameras and web series that detail supernatural entities. So many of these have been debunked and there’s an enormous following (if one might be so humorous to say) after these videos. People have been spooked by these, willingly or unwillingly, and they’ve been enjoyed on various levels ever since.

There’s a slight problem with these videos. Of course, as mentioned, there are quite a few that have been classified as ‘fake’. In many instances, they’re right.

The humble truth is that too many more of them are real.

Take a down and out college student for example. He took the long way home from the bar one night. He needed to reflect; the girl he was desperate to woo had her sights on another man. He spent three hours at that bar swallowing beer after beer and emptying his checking account on drinks for his hopefully-would-be princess. No such luck for this young man tonight: she said thank you for the booze and was kissing a chemistry major in the corner just before he had the balls to ask her out.

Poor idiot. Poor soul. He shouldered his jacket on and left at approximately 1:32a. He had taken an Uber to the bar that was a meager twenty minutes walk away. He didn’t feel like spending any more money that night, contributing to a student debt as per a bank’s delight, and decided to take the scenic route home. The college was smack dab in a quiet town, for being a college town, and was surrounded by wonderful, broad woods that were magical during the fall.

The student thought it’d be nice to roam in the cool air and clear his drunken head. He chose the path cleared for casual hiking that began at the side walk of a main street and ended right by his dorm.

At some point during this roundabout trail, which added a solid fifteen minutes onto his travel time, he began to feel uneasy.

The first brush of it was rebutted by the thought of, ‘I’m drunk, I’m being stupid.’ He continued to shuffle down the path. The feeling grew stronger. There was someone behind him. Around him. To his left; to his right. In front of him. There were eyes, eyes boring into his back and into his skull and made the hair on his neck stand directly on their follicles.

‘This is stupid, the woods are just creepy,’ he thought under weak confidence. ‘It’s nothing, it’s just dark. This is bullshit.’ So he trekked on, but quickened his stride.

He worked up the nerve to glance over his shoulder. There was not a soul in sight. There were no rustles in the leaves, no careful footfalls, no indication that there was actually someone joining him on his night walk. He had to chalk it up to drunk paranoia. Yeah. That’s what it was.

Lo and behold, he did make it out of those woods safe and unharmed. The moment he was on the sidewalk towards his dorm, he felt a gush of relief. See? There was nothing to be worried about. Nothing at all. How stupid it was-- how stupid the night is, making a (nearly) grown man feel so vulnerable.

He was within five feet of the dorm’s front door. Yellow light spilled onto the step. He was within five feet of true safety when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It made him jerk. Fear yanked his heart like a violent puppeteer’s strings, and he was still shaky when he fished it from his jacket. Maybe the girl had a change of heart? Maybe it was a friend that was looking for him? He stood in place and looked down at his lock screen.

There was a text message. Confusion wrinkled his forehead; it was from a blocked number. He didn’t know that anyone could receive text messages from a blocked number. The paranoia momentarily forgotten and replaced with bafflement, he unlocked his device and up popped the message, unprompted.

There was a video.

In his intoxicated state, he wasn’t so sure he was even seeing this. His thumb moved at a snail’s pace over the play button, and the video enlarged to the screen.

His eyes grew as wide as they’d ever be. From the caverns of his chest were dumped icicles through his heart right down to his heels. His bones locked in place. There was nothing he could do but view a horrifying, dangerous video.

The moment it ended, he gasped for breath. It rattled like marbles on tin, and though he began to look behind him, he hadn’t the courage to complete the turn. He felt sick to his stomach and bile was at the back of his tongue. Instead, he found his feet and bolted for the dormitory door. Locked, he dug haphazardly into his jeans and passed the key four times under his violently shaking fingers before he could even grip it and open the goddamn fucking door.

In his terror, his precious phone was dropped.

He would not remember it until morning. He’d be late for class, waking up at 11:30a for a lecture that began promptly at 8:00a. At first he’d feel a jolt of anxiety - his phone! - and then, he’d try to settle into his uncomfortable mattress. He’d remember what he saw. He’d feel guilt for losing his phone, and hope that it was gone for good. Maybe he could convince his parents to buy him a new one. He’d curl up under a scratchy comforter bought in a bed set from Bed Bath and Beyond on clearance, and stare numb, frightful, and nauseous at the opposite wall.

For all he hoped, it had been an alcoholic fever dream.

Yeah.

That’s what it was.

VIDEO PLAYBACK

[Subject walking ten feet ahead. Green glow of night vision tints the video. Movement of camera suggests the natural stride of a large man. The only sound is from the walk of subject. Subject is followed through the trail for the remaining two minutes of travel time. Subject is seen looking over his shoulder and reflection shines in his eyes. Appears to see no one. Continues to travel. Videographer stops and remains at the mouth of the trail. Camera observes the subject walk towards the dormitory. Camera swings downwards, suggesting the videographer is preparing to end the video. Camera blackens. Three seconds pass. Red text appears on a black background reading:

HAVE A NICE WALK?

Footage ends.]

Since the phone was lost, he’ll never know if the video remained. He’d like not to. The truth is that as soon as the video ended, it was mysteriously deleted from the phone’s memory forever. Someone else would pick it up and enjoy a nice bit of cash from turning it in to a reseller.

The instinct to know if you’re being followed is precious. Hang on to that. There may be an Eye watching at all times. God forbid you find yourself on a YouTube video someday.

Others haven’t been so lucky.

#ches writes #ches writes stuff #the smile on your face #oc: the eye #creepy #horror #horror fiction #creepypasta

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silluuuu · 7 years ago

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And Cat Makes Three

Here’s my submission to SE’s February Prompt Challenge! I was so excited to scoop up @makapedia‘s prompt: Character A and character B try to take care of a lost dog in an apartment where dogs are strictly prohibited. Or a lost cat. A lost pet. Any pet is acceptable.

This was a blast! Thanks to @jaded-envy and @piercelovewonton for the beta eyes and a big extra thanks to jaded for organizing this event!

And Cat Makes Three Rating: G

“No.”

“Please?” Maka says.

It is far too early in the morning for Puppy Dog Eyes, but here she is, unleashing them while Soul is still in his plaid pajama pants, mug of tea in hand. The juxtaposition of Puppy Dog in her eyes and black, mewling cat in her hands is as charming as it is grating.

“Maka. We can’t even have cats in the apartment.”

He wants to make her see reason, but unfortunately, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a weapon, in possession of perfectly good sense, must be in want of a meister with no sense at all.

He’s not being entirely fair. Normally she does have good judgement, but alas... today it has been stolen by a four-legged purring machine.

“I know, but look at her.” She holds the cat up, another meow escaping its jaws. Soul walks over to it and leans in, narrowing his eyes.

“...Looks like a cat,” he observes, which earns him a scowl. “And--” Accusatory eyes flash. “How do you know that it’s a girl?”

Check out the rest below the cut, or on AO3 | FFN !

A wave of guilt crosses her face before it’s replaced with a smile. She feels bad, but not bad enough. “Beeeeecause… I might’ve already taken her to the vet. And had her microchipped.”

“Makaaaa,” he grouses into his teacup, closing his eyes.

“...We don’t have to keep her,” Maka says softly. She’s the queen of the guilt trip, even when dumping a large shopping bag on the counter that is, incidentally, filled to the brim with cat toys.

“We can’t keep it,” Soul says. “Unless you wanna get thrown out of the apartment.”

He stands no chance. Her heart is too big, programmed to help every living thing that needs saving, and it’s going to leave them homeless, wandering the streets of Death City with Maka’s feline charity case in tow.

If they have to become vagabonds because of this, he is not carrying the cat toys.

“Just for a little while, then,” Maka says, looking down at her feet. “Until we find somewhere for her to go. Okay?”

He heaves a massive sigh, eyeing the now-purring cat in her arms.

“... Fiiiiine,” he groans. “But only until you find someone else.”

The way she beams at him is totally non-permissible. She should not be giving him positive reinforcement for harboring a fugitive.

“Wanna hold her?” Maka smiles, extending the cat out like she’s presenting Simba to his lowly subjects.

Soul grimaces and reaches out, but as soon as it seems to get settled, it lets out another yowl and jumps out of his arms, prancing away with its tail in the air.

“She likes you,” Maka declares in response to his scowl. “I can tell.”

---

He doesn’t like it at all.

It’s always there, in the apartment, staring at nothing, or licking itself, or thundering down the hallway at two in the morning like it’s chasing ghosts. Or even worse, staring at him. Which it does. Frequently. And when he shuts the bathroom door, it comes for him, claws slithering beneath the door, pawing at him like a toilet-peeping thief in the night.

It all sounds a little like paranoia; he knows this, and yet he can’t stop himself from keeping tabs on this cat. Fear for his own life is one thing, but he also finds himself making sure it hasn’t gotten itself into the grocery bags, or the coat closet, or crushed by the vacuum, or in the vacuum--

Not that he’d care. It’s not like he worries about its well-being or anything.

It does give him heart attacks every second day, though. One night, he’d been halfway through his routine midnight snack of two percent when yellow eyes had flashed out of the corner of his eye. A demon, he’s sure. Freshly summoned from the underworld to expunge his fridge of dairy.

“Yikes,” he’d said flatly, ignoring his heart hammering against his ribs. “Little witch.”

She’d let out a mewl and tried to rub against his leg, which had left him paralyzed in the kitchen at one in the morning, victim to her infernal whims.

She probably just wants milk, he could imagine Maka saying. In any case, his plaid pajama pants are no longer safe.

Maka had decided to name it Blair, after that character from Gossip Girl, because she’s supposedly classy and refined, or something. The ‘picture of down-to-earth glamour,’ Maka had said, as Blair had hacked up a hairball on the bed.

All Soul can think of is the Blair Witch Project, which he finds infinitely more fitting.

---

“Maka!”

The next day, his strangled yelp echoes through the apartment, and he hopes that the sound of pure desperation can properly rouse her.

“...What?” comes a drowsy response from behind her bedroom door.

She’s not grasping the urgency of the situation, so he expedites the process: “She’s trying to get in my pants!”

It’s very effective. The door flies open, followed by three heavy steps as Maka bounds into the room, fists clenched, ready to fight. “Who the h-- … oh.”

She stares at Soul for a moment, and then lets out a little laugh as she sinks onto his bed, watching Blair knead at the spot where Soul’s hip joins his leg.

“Nothing is funny about this,” he squawks, knuckles white against the backboard, which only makes her snort.

“Have… you never seen a cat do this?” She scoots up close to him, seeming to relish seeing him immobilized by cat affection.

“I have,” he says, grimacing. “But not to me.” When the cat jumps up onto his leg and settles herself in the crook of his thigh, however, he gives up the fight, scowling at Maka instead.

“She likes you,” she says again, reaching up and lying across the bed as she scratches the top of Blair’s head, and suddenly, this image, the two of them stretched across the bed with a cat nestled between them, sets his heart thumping again, though in a different way than before.

No. He will not fall victim to the allures of domesticity. He’s not ready to be a father, okay? Especially not to a creature that may or may not be consorting with the devil.

He is further convinced of this the next day, when all hell breaks loose.

“Surprise inspection!”

Sid is perky, as he normally is when he comes around for inspections. Soul suspects that this is because secretly, their landlord loves the stress that he induces in his tenants via his little check-ins. Much like the zombie apocalypse, no one can ever know when he’s coming. For many years, however, Soul had found it hard to be phased by this routine, since they never had anything to hide.

Until now.

“Uuuuhhhhh, just a second!” Maka calls out cheerfully as she jumps up, knocking over the cereal box in her haste. Her eyebrows knit in worry and she starts to sweep it up, but Soul’s got other priorities.

“Leave the Mini Wheats, what are we gonna do with it?” Soul hisses.

“Agh! Yeah. Okay. ” Maka jumps up and the two of them sweep the house, de-catifying the apartment which is, unfortunately, a process that normally requires more than thirty seconds.

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” Maka soothes as she quite literally stuffs Blair into a backpack, holding her down as Soul deftly pulls the zipper over Blair’s face. Under normal circumstances this would’ve given him an immense amount of satisfaction, but for the moment, he is made only of panic. Blair echoes his sentiments, screeching her displeasure as Maka carries her through the living room.

Maka places her gently on the porch, sliding the door shut against a chorus of yowls. Cat toys are quickly amassed and stuffed into a bag in the closet. After finding no other suitable hiding places, Soul simply chucks the litter box out the window, the top of the tupperware enclosing Blair’s… business inside. Maka glares at him, unimpressed at this decision, but time forces her into complacency, so she grabs the Lysol and makes it rain all over the bathroom.

With their tracks appropriately covered, the two of them run for the door, shooting each other a wide-eyed glance before they tug it open, faces ashen.

“Gooood morning!” Not waiting for a response, Sid struts in, chest out, almost giddy in the way he strolls through the apartment. He looks down at the spilled cereal and glances up at them.

“Heh. Yeah,” Maka says, pulling at a pigtail. “I’ll just--”

“No worries,” Sid says as she leans forward to start cleaning it up. “I’m sure this’ll be a quick visit, anyway.”

The two of them laugh, and Soul wonders if Sid can hear how forced it is. Soul crosses back into the living room as Sid and Maka make their way through the kitchen, and his feet still when a very obvious yowl carries in from outside. He peeks through the curtains to see Maka’s backpack rolling around the porch in a little circle, moving forward by little jolts and accompanied by Blair’s screechy commentary.

“Christ,” he mutters and, with Sid in the other room, he abandons his normal cool-shuffle for a full-on bound towards the record player, slapping on the nearest record without even looking at which one it is, eager to mask the sounds of screaming cat.

It turns out to be the soundtrack from Psycho - a present from Wes for his birthday - and he takes a moment to appreciate his love for Angry Violins, which happen to sound... not that different from Angry Captive Cats in Backpacks.

His relief is short-lived when, accompanied by the Psycho violins ringing his in ears, he hears something truly horrific from the kitchen:

“...Why is there cat food in your fridge?”

Maka’s stunned silence feels louder than the music, and since he won’t let her face that question alone, he doesn’t think before he hears the words coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, uh -- that’s mine.” (He’s going to kill this cat.)

He walks into the kitchen, trying to keep his face as impassive as possible - which Maka is certainly not doing, her mouth falling open as Sid turns to face him in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s got uh… good health benefits, okay?” He can tell Sid still doesn’t believe him, and he can see Maka’s eyes growing wide with fear from behind him, and he knows, deep in his heart, what must be done.

“See?” he says, grabbing a fork and popping a bite in his mouth. “Good for digestion.” It tastes like salty, fishy refried beans, but the worst part is… it’s not even that bad.

“Plus--” Maka says, eyes sparkling with amusement at this point, because they can both see that Sid is beginning to accept that he may just have really weird, if catless, tenants. “It’s free range.”

“From Uruguay,” Soul adds, pointing to the label.

Sid heaves another sigh at this, and just as Soul is about to stuff another bite in his mouth to really bring home the charade, Sid simply shuts the refrigerator door and mutters, "Can't believe I already gave back your damage deposit."

The soothing sounds of Psycho continue to spill from the living room as they enter, which probably doesn't do much to improve their newly decreasing reputability with their landlord, but at least this particular room is devoid of potential cat giveaways.

With one exception, of course.

After clearing this room, Sid opens the curtains to look out onto the porch, and Soul's heart jumps into this throat as he cranes his neck, trying to see what Sid sees and hoping desperately that Sid isn’t watching a strangely mobile backpack. Somehow, though - miraculously - he doesn't seem to find anything of note, and he continues down the hallway. It takes everything in Soul to not race to the window and make sure that their cat is still breathing, but he holds himself back for the final ten seconds of Sid's inspection.

"Everything's fine, as usual,” Sid says, and Soul tries not to let out an audible breath. “But," he adds with a small laugh, "lay off the kibble, would ya? I don't wanna have to call Poison Control on my weirdest tenants."

He pulls the door shut, his chortling echoing down the hallway and leaving Soul and Maka staring at the peephole in the door.

The things he does for her.

Well, he's not living this one down for awhile, but for the moment he's more concerned about the great escape that his cat seems to have pulled off from the porch.

But no, the porch door slides open to reveal her purring and curled up in the bottom of the bag, pressed against the door. As soon as they bring her back inside, she hops out of the bag and runs over to the table the record player sits on, rubbing against its legs.

"Huh," Maka says, glancing at Soul and smiling.

"What?" He's still grouchy about Sid thinking he subsists on a cat food diet.

"I think... she likes the music."

Startled, he looks down at Blair again, who is happily curled up at the base of the table, head bopping along slightly to the music.

"'Course she does," he says with a shrug, turning to finally clean up the cereal. "We already knew she was psycho."

---

"You're leaving me alone with her?!"

"It's only for a week." Maka's eye roll is extremely unnecessary, he decides, especially since his concerns are extremely legitimate.

The cat won't leave him alone. She still hasn't stopped watching him when he drinks his midnight milk; if anything, she's gotten bolder, meowing at him in the kitchen, even standing on two legs and pawing at his knee, eyes wide and unblinking like she's trying to bewitch him into handing over his precious carton cargo.

“You’re just a wolf in cat’s clothing, aren’t you?” he’d said to her on one of these nights, and as she’d finally stalked away, leaving him to finish his milk in peace, he swore he saw her wink in the light of the fridge.

“She’s a cat, Soul,” Maka says, bringing him back to the present. “The worst she can do is fall asleep on your face.”

“Uh, yeah, which would suffocate me. That’s murder.”

Maka hoists her bag over her shoulder, dropping her keys into his begrudgingly outstretched palm. She’s the Responsible One, after all, keeper of the sole keys to the mailbox and the recycling room. Normally he’d be quietly happy about accepting this responsibility, but now... at what cost?

“You’ll be fine. She trusts you.”

It’s not whether the cat trusts him that’s the problem, he muses, but he catches the keys anyway. As she walks to the door, he staunchly ignores the fact that he misses her already.

That night, he puts on the Blair Witch Project to properly educate his fugitive feline about her namesake. She watches it with the same wide-eyed attention that she gives him when she’s after his milk which, yes, he does find terribly unnerving.

“You like horror movies, don’t you?” It’s the most riveting discovery he’s made in months, mostly because it makes so much sense. She meows back at him from her perch on his lap.

(It’s not like he likes her sitting there, or anything. He’s just too lazy to move her.)

They finish the movie in silence, Blair purring against his stomach. And even if his cat is a horror movie-loving, crazy violin superfan who is probably a demon, he has to admit… it’s sort of nice to have her there.

---

The rest of the week passes much like this. Blair invades his space at every opportunity, and Soul fends off her advances. He’s taken to pacing around the kitchen to avoid her begging during midnight milk, which is only moderately successful. She - like Maka - is aggravatingly persistent, and although he will only ever claim to be supremely annoyed about this, there’s a part of him that does find it endearing.

Currently, Blair is on a quest to grab a bite of his dinner, jumping onto the table every few seconds and swiping at his chicken. He imagines Sid saying well, if you’re so interested in her food, she should get a crack at yours! and crabbily wolfs down another bite. In response, he picks her up like a baby (which cats are supposed to hate, but she, for some infuriating reason, loves it) and tosses her on the bed, shutting the door so he can finish his dinner in peace.

Minutes later he finds himself creaking open the door to find that Blair has nestled completely into his laundry pile. Only her face is exposed, eyes half-closed in Tide-scented bliss.

“Tch,” he says, feigning disgust, but even as he says it, he’s taking his phone out, snapping a photo to send to Maka.

It’s after midnight, so he doesn’t expect a text back, and when the screen lights up in his hands, he almost jumps.

[[ see? she likes you. :) ]]

He rolls his eyes, but he bites down on his lip to keep from smiling. Aloof stoicism is his brand, and Maka, with her ruthless optimism, will not break him.

[[ likes being up in my business, maybe ]]

[[ well, I do that too, sometimes. and I still like you. ;) ]]

The smile is gone, replaced by a dull heat that fills up his face and then recedes, though the familiar gnawing in his gut sticks around.

“I wonder if she could,” he says to Blair. She blinks at him from inside her laundry cave. “Ever like me,” he explains. “Like that.”

At this, Blair stretches, sending socks rolling down the sides of the pile, and then plops back onto his lap, belly exposed.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” He tries to sound grouchy, but he’s smiling again, and it’s awful. “I don’t speak cat,” he adds, but as he sees her lying there, giving him nothing but love despite all his surliness, she reminds him of someone.

He looks down at his phone and starts to type.

[[ yea, ur not so bad urself ]]

Soul realizes that he should have seen his very peaceful week as a bad omen, because at this moment, he feels like Blair is making up for lost time.

This is what he gets for trying to be responsible. Clearly the possession of two forbidden keys had driven him mad with power, and since great power is the inevitable precursor to great responsibility, he’d decided to give Blair a bath - a cat’s public enemy #1 - in order to surprise Maka when she came home.

And when Maka walks into the bathroom to find litter all over the floor, and Soul and Blair drenched in a corner of the bathtub, she is certainly surprised. In fact, she walks in at the worst possible time, to angry hissing coming from more than one source.

“Ugh, Blair, quit it --”

“W-What are you doing?!” She raises a hand to stifle her laugh as Soul stares absolute daggers at her.

“I was trying to get her clea-- oh- oh god- stop wiggling--”

But Blair is, unfortunately, a master wiggler. In her haste, she leaps over the lip of the bathtub and out into the hallway. As Soul lunges for her, his face slams into the side of the tub with a sickening clunk.

“...Ugh.” He rises from the depths and pinches his nose as Maka runs over to him. “Is it bleeding?”

She carefully lifts his hand off his face to reveal that yes, it is, and even in the daze that he’s in, his eyes flicker to her hand, gentle against his.

“Let’s… clean this up?” she asks. All he can muster in response is a glum nod.

“I dob’t know,” he huffs a few minutes later, two tissues stuffed up his nose as he crosses his arms. “I tought maybe she’b like bads!”

“Maybe she’ll grow into them,” Maka shrugs as she dries his hair with a towel.

“Yeah, okay.” He settles into letting himself be taken care of, because his head is pounding and because yes, after a week, having Maka’s face this close to his is kind of nice, or whatever.

He has mostly forgiven Blair (for precisely this reason, if he’s honest). She’d come back in to the bathroom after sufficiently drying herself - he suspects the floor vent in his bedroom is to blame, as she’s fluffier than usual - and has now endeavored to wind between his and Maka’s legs.

“Well, anyway. All done.” Maka tosses the towel on his face and heads into the hallway to put away her things, his hair apparently dry enough.

From inside the bathroom, he catches her saying something else as she walks away, something that he wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear: “It was still really sweet.”

Blair, at this moment, bounds into the hallway after Maka, stopping just for a moment to look at him again.

Before she turns to go, he swears he sees her wink again.

---

It’s midnight and - world’s biggest plot twist - Blair is here.

Because of course she is, this infuriating, adorable, sweetheart of a cat that he can’t really bring himself to scoff at anymore. She might be Blair, Beseecher of Midnight Milk, Bringer of Nosebleeds in Bathtubs, Probably A Witch But Definitely Also A Cat, but she also might sort of be… family.

She’s a nuisance, but she’s their nuisance, and it’s the way that things are supposed to be.

“Alright, fine, little witch,” he mutters, going to the cupboard and grabbing a small bowl. “I think you tried to do some matchmaking yesterday. So here. I owe you one.”

Into the bowl goes a modest helping of two percent, and Blair meows her gratitude as she laps up her earnings.

Down the hall, in her bedroom, Maka smiles at the two of them, at the grunty-meowy conversation that she can’t quite make out.

As she lies there in bed, she pulls out her phone, and with a small sigh, she rereads a conversation from a few days before, replaying it in her head as she tries to figure out what it means, if anything.

[[ yea, ur not so bad urself ]]

She rolls over, letting the screen fade to black and watching her reflection in the glass.

… Who knows. Maybe Blair can help her figure it out.

#my writing #soul eater fanfiction #soulxmaka #soul&maka #family feels #roommates #cat chaos #se february 2018 prompt challenge

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clummykiddo · 8 years ago

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cheater cheater (l.h.)

I looked over my appearance once more, not quite as satisfied as I could have been with myself, but figuring it was just Calum and he had seen me at my absolute worst.

I had on an over sized white Blink-182 shirt, considering all we had planned was a movie day in, maybe even a few of the boys might stop by, so I didn't feel the need to get dressed up or anything. Leggings clung to my legs as I struggle to squeeze my vans onto my feet in attempt to avoid retying the shoelaces.

My phone buzzed next to me on my bed just as I had finally gotten myself recomposed, from Calum.

Cal: Hey (Y/N), the doors open for when you arrive :)

Alright thanks, I'm on my way now.

I responded, quickly tapping my fingers on the screen and sending it, then shrugging my small backpack over my shoulder, containing movies and other necessities for the day. My feet carried me out of the house, shouting an abrupt goodbye to my family who must have been around the house somewhere. Grabbing the keys out of the small bowl next to the door, I stepped down to the front porch, shutting the door behind me.

I stumbled over my feet slightly as I finally managed to kick my shoes off, wondering why I didn't just wear flip flops instead.

"You alright love?" Calum chuckled from behind me, causing me to jump since I didn't even know he was there, seeing as I had just walked in.

"Jesus, you scared me." I exasperated, grabbing at my now pounding chest. He smiled, encircling me in his arms and holding me close by my waist.

"Sorry, it was an accident." His words were smug, but he seemed more happy to see me than anything. I rested my hands on his chest, leaning up on my toes to reach his lips and connect them with mine.

There was a sudden loud "ahem," from the corner of the slightly dim room, causing me to pull away immediately in a gasp. "Fucking hell, tell me how many people are here before I have a heart attack." I exasperated as I tried to find the source of the cough. Who ever it was must have been in the kitchen, the next room over from the living room that Calum and I were stood in.

Calum had a deep laugh, as did the other person. "You scare so easily, how are we gonna watch the horror films?" He asked in mock, not answering my question.

"I'm here," An arm leaned out of the kitchen, Luke's head bobbing out through the doorway just enough for me to identify him. I waved grandly, nearly hitting Calum as we exchanged the ridiculous greeting, erupting giggles from us both.

"It's just us three for now, I think Ash said he might be coming over later too but I'm not sure." Calum summarized as he stepped away, causing me to immediately feel the loss of warmth he was providing and realize just how cold it was in his house.

I rubbed my hands over my shoulders, walking past Calum and the TV where he was putting a DVD in and to the kitchen. Luke was pouring chips into one bowl, pretzels into another and popcorn into the third.

"One per person, huh?" I asked as I opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long sip. Luke raised an eyebrow, "This is just my share," He smirked. I laughed, nudging his side with my elbow. "Right, of course, sorry. I seriously call some of those pretzels though," I said, reaching over and grabbing a few in the palm of my hand.

He looked at me wide eyed with a mock look of disgrace. "I can't believe you just did that. I'm personally offended." Luke pulled a very upset look, pouting his lips, the black ring around the bottom half poking out. I stuck out my tongue, munching on the newly acquired snack.

"Oh, why is it so cold in here? It's just the beginning of spring and it's still colder in here than outside," I said, shivering slightly. "Ah, yes, the A/C is broken and going rogue, that's why I layered up. That's what being prepared is all about, (Y/N)." Luke teased, snagging the bowl of pretzels out of my reach before I could get another few. I rubbed my arms again, trying to create enough friction to warm myself up slightly.

Luke seemed to notice, a concerned look on his face. "Damn, you're actually shaking. Here," He said, shrugging off his black jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders from behind, rubbing his large hands over my now clothed arms. I stuck my hands through the arm holes of the overly sized jacket on me, turned around and smiled thankfully at him. "Thanks, I thought I was gonna freeze to death." I joked, enjoying the heated up cover I now had on, inhaling the strong smell that seemed to accompany it, but I quite liked it.

We stood in the kitchen just smiling at each other for a while until we finally snapped back into reality. I cleared my throat, "Aren't you gonna get cold?" I asked, suddenly feeling guilty for stealing his warmth. He shook his head and turned around, leaning against the counter on his arms. "Nah, I'll be fine. Let's uh, bring these out now. The movie's probably starting already." I agreed and grabbed the bowl of pretzels that Luke graciously gave me, heading into the living room.

"You guys take forever, it's really not that hard to pour a few bowls of snacks," Calum joked as we emerged from the kitchen. I grinned, taking a seat next to him and plopping the bowl in his lap. Luke sat on the other end of me, but a bit further distanced.

"This Luke's?" Calum asked as he tugged on the black material, stretching his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer. I felt bad, I didn't really want to get too coupley since Luke was here, it might have made him feel uncomfortable or awkward. I sat up slightly, pulling away in just the slightest bit.

"Yeah, she was pretty cold so I just lent it to her." Luke responded for me before I could. Calum nodded cooly, turning his focus back to the movie.

"So what are we watching first?" I asked.

"Blair Witch Project."

"Oh God."

We were quite a few movies in, although during most of the first one I had to distract myself so I wouldn't get scared by having mini-food-wars with Luke and grabbing a couple beers, all the while Calum hushed us as we giggled. By now, we were on my favorite movie since the guys picked the last few. I was feeling slightly sleepy since the time was falling into the late hours of the night. When I looked over, Calum had already fallen asleep, probably because of my "boring movie choice," as he so lovingly put it. To my right Luke sat, wide awake and watching the movie intently. My lips curved into a small smile, glad that at least he enjoyed my movie taste. I got to the point where my head was unable to balance on my neck, and I was gradually leaning further and further into Luke's torso to rest my head.

I groaned when Luke poked my neck, causing him to chuckle lightly. I opened my eyes as much as I could in my drowsy state, finding he was staring down at me. I poked him back on the cheek, resting back into my comfortable position.

"Hey," Luke persisted quietly, intent on getting me to wake up, "This is the best scene of the whole movie." His voice was full of amusement as I glared at him.

"Ugh," I sighed, sitting up and resting my elbows on my knees as I leaned forward. "You alright?" Luke asked, setting a warm hand on my back. I nodded, standing up and stretching as I yawned. "Just tired."

Looking back I noticed the huge mess we had made, immediately feeling guilty. "I'm gonna clean some of this up, can you stand?" I asked, referring to the pieces of chips and popcorn that had littered Calum's couch. Luke nodded and started helping as well, grabbing the empty bottles as I wiped the couch off and skillfully pushed the crumbs into an empty bowl.

We retreaded to the kitchen where the bottles were put under the sink, crumbs were thrown away, bowls were rinsed.

"You know, this really is Calum's job," Luke said as he dried off one of the dishes. I giggled, too tired to come up with a reason why he shouldn't be cleaning up his own house.

I wiped my face on my sleeve, realizing I was still wearing Luke's jacket when his scent returned to my nose. "Oh, sorry I'm still wearing this," I mumbled preparing to take it off until he shook his head, repeating the action he did a few hours ago as he rubbed my arms. "It's alright, looks better on you anyway," He smiled, his face turning a light pink when he realized what he had said.

I giggled, reaching up to cup his cheek, "No worries, it's cute." My words were sincere as his face seemed to become more relaxed into my hand. We stood like that for a while until I finally took my touch away, turning around and drinking from my now nearly empty bottle of beer.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked when I returned my gaze, and his fell to the floor.

"Yeah, of course."

"Have you ever..." Luke trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

I nudged him slightly, moving forward more. "Have I ever what?" I asked, waking up a bit now.

"Never mind, it's nothing." He denied, chuckling a little as he shook his head.

"Come on, please? Just tell me, I wont think it's stupid, I promise." I pushed.

He smiled at me, "Nah, forget it."

"No, just tell me!" I whined amusingly, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

He kept denying it, shaking his head.

"Luke, come on. You can tell me anything, I promise. Don't worry about it," I said with a small smile playing on my lips, but my tone was a serious as I could pull.

Luke's expression was dead serious, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at me almost deep in thought.

Suddenly, the hand I had been holding pulled me closer and wrapped around my waist, his other hand curling around the back of neck as he leaned down, pressing his lips against mine in a quick blur.

My mind had no time to think as he pulled me as close as possible, my arms wrapping around his shoulders with a slight delay. I didn't even know what I was doing, but my body just felt right wrapped up in his. My hands slid around his shoulders to his chest, lips moving in sync with his as he pulled me as close as possible and dominated the kiss with his hands holding me firmly in place.

All at once, reality hit me like a truck, and I had to pull away. We remained in the same position, but I couldn't look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just..." Luke stuttered out, bringing his hands down from my torso, but still holding mine in his.

Finally I came up with the only explanation I could. "I think... I think we're just drunk."

He looked confused, "I only had a couple beers... Are you drunk?"

I thought for a moment, I had one beer. "No."

He took this as my permission, his hands then reaching behind me to the counter and backing us up until I was pressed between the cool marble and Luke's body.

His head leaned down once again, giving me the feeling I needed most.

"What the fuck?"

I jumped, shoving Luke's chest out of instinct as I turned to find an angry Calum stood in the doorway. Luke looked like a deer caught in headlights, backing away from me slightly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He stormed over, but seemed to disregard my presence completely as he shoved Luke, hard, against the wall behind him.

Oh shit.

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings 5sos #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos blurb #5sos smut #luke hemmings fanfic #5sos fanfic #calum hood #ashton irwin #michael clifford #luke 5sos #lh #my work

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regina-cordium · 8 years ago

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Okay what about something Blair-Witch inspired, but like set in the far north

Okay, I hate scary movies bc i’m a giant baby, but i love the idea of found-footage movies, and i love tv shows that parody them (My fave supernatural episode is the found-footage-esque episode with the girl finding out she’s a werewolf)

also i’ve never seen blair-witch so that’s probably gonna be the only similarity lmao

“That’s seriously the only camera they had?” Kyle asks, eyeing the beat up plastic in Ellie’s hands.

“It was a thrift store, Kyle, not a Wal-Mart,” Ellie reminds him. “This is all there was. Besides, we don’t need anything fancy. How often are we gonna pick this thing up after this project, anyway?”

Kyle concedes the point, but Jesus the thing’s so beat up he’s worried about it actually working.

“I’m just saying, if this thing falls apart on us before we’re done, that’s like 30 bucks down the tube, and we’re not gonna finish on time.”

“It’s fine. Once the battery charged, it turned on and I recorded something short, and it all worked.” Ellie flips to the saved files and shows Kyle the short video of her walking around her backyard. “See?”

Kyle, of course, gets distracted by the “1/20″ in the corner. “Are there other things saved on this thing?”

“Yeah,” Ellie says, flipping over to a picture of trees. “Looks like hiking pictures. I hope they saved them before selling off the camera.”

“Did you look at all of them?”

“No, because I a) do not care and b) am not a stalker,” Ellie says, giving her friend a look. “I just flipped through the first five or so. I was gonna delete them, but my mom was ready to leave.”

“Lemme see,” Kyle says, pulling the camera out of her hand. “Maybe they’ll be artsy enough to edit.”

“I think that’s considered plagiarism,” Ellie tells him, but hooks her chin over his shoulder to watch. There’s the five pictures she saw, of more trees and three or four people hanging out, Vogueing at the camera in increasingly hilarious poses. It’s not until the tenth or so file that they get to a video.

“Is stealing someone’s video diary frowned upon?” Kyle asks, only half serious, as he presses play. Ellie doesn’t bother answering as the video starts.

At first it’s just like the pictures, two of the group – a dark-skinned girl with gold beads in her braids and a gangly white boy wearing an ugly beanie – are making faces at the camera and narrating their walk like they’re filming a nature documentary. It’s boring, honestly, and Ellie is about to skip it when there’s the sound of a branch breaking.

“What was that?” the girl on the camera asks, looking over her shoulder. Her friend grabs the camera from her and turns it away from their faces, scanning the trees. The other two people – a buff Asian boy and a small red-headed girl – look around too before shrugging.

“Keiichi, go check it out,” the camera man says.

“What the fuck, why me?” the other boy demands.

“You’re ripped as fuck, dude! You’ll scare off whatever it is with your huge muscles.”

“No, Kei, stay close,” the red-head says. “Splitting the party is the worst idea.”

“Let’s just keep walking,” the camera guy suggests, before the video ends.

Kyle and Ellie stare at the camera for a moment before looking at each other.

“I have a really bad feeling,” Ellie says quietly. Kyle nods mutely.

They skip ahead to file 20 and press play.

It’s a close up of the dark-skinned girl, eyes wide in terror. There’s a cut on her forehead that wasn’t there before. Ellie doesn’t realize she’s grabbed Kyle’s hand until he squeezes it.

“I don’t know where the others are,” the girl says. She’s obviously trying to keep her voice down, but a sob rips out of her. She slaps her free hand over her mouth, eyes frantically scanning around her. After a moment, she drops her hand and whispers, “We all ran in different directions. I have no idea where they went, or where that thing is.”

She takes a deep shaky breath. She looks like she’s about to say something else when there’s a rumbling sound. The girl whips around and screams. There’s a confusing moment where the camera’s falling; a blurry shot of the girl falling onto her ass while something huge – bigger than the frame – slowly creeps towards her. The girl scrambles backwards a few inches before she manages to get to her feet and taking off. The thing leaps after her, their foot prints echoing before slowly, slowly tapering off.

The camera sits for two minutes and eight seconds, two minutes and eight seconds where neither Ellie or Kyle breathe. Then something picks it up. After another dizzying moment, it rights itself onto the face of Ugly Beanie Kid. He looks like hell; he’s scratched up, blood crusting under his nose, lip split, covered in dirt. But his eyes are what make Ellie yelp. They’re….the only word that comes to mind is dead. Like he’s asleep, or zoning out during class. They’re open but there’s no focus. Like he’s not even aware.

Behind him looms a dark, willowy shape, indistinct beyond two red dots that must serve as eyes.

is it obvious i don’t write horror? lmao also i forgot u said “in the north” until i was done sorry

#this goes from Maybe Werewolves to Maybe Ghosts #so let's just say they're connected and not look @ it too hard okay #signed and delivered #explorerdora #my writing

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tangooftears · 4 years ago

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Hey, so I know I’m wildly mentally ill, but usually my hallucinations do more than stand in a corner staring at a wall.

@ my psyche: what is this other me doing here. Is he okay. Why is he doing some shitty Blair Witch Project bit.

#cloud blogs #{aka i just had a REALLY STUPID GLITCH HAPPEN WHILE PLAYING FF7}

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conflictandscotchblog · 5 years ago

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In a Lockdown, You Make Adjustments

Anyone who knows me, knows I do not like to work from home. My old boss used to joke “when we all lose our jobs, Al will be around to lock the door and turn off the lights”. Now the world has forced me to work at home, and it's not a pretty picture. I was not set up for this long-term departure from the norm; needed to improvise. The Ethan Allan desk I had as a boy was hauled out of the basement and put in the corner of the living room. Now I sit on this triangle shaped desk, like Bob Cratchit asking for another lump of coal, staring at the wall like the kid at the end of The Blair Witch Project. As the weeks (now months) go on, I have gotten used to it, in fact, my commute from my bedroom to the living room as been the best of my career. Amazingly, though, I sign in for work later now than when I went into the office.

Even though I don’t like it, this stay-at-home order is nothing new to me. Liquor stores and food pick-ups has been my routine. I’m not going to pull a muscle because I’ve been training for this lockdown for years.

There are many other changes to deal with now. Going to the grocery has become its own adventure. We walk around with masks on and stay six feet apart. For those of us who are single, finding a date may not be our priority, but it is always there, just out of reach. Now, with everyone’s face covered, if you did manage to meet someone, your first date would be more like a gender reveal party.

“Congratulations! It’s a boy.”

When this started back in March, I had fifteen rolls of toilet – over two months late, I still have twelve. It’s like the loaves and fishes; what was I doing before, wrapping my hand like Christmas presents each time?

With the long lines for food, we need to be resourceful. For me, I go to my ex-wife Arlene’s house and drop off a bottle of white wine. In return, she gives me enough food for a couple nights worth of dinner. It’s a delicate balance, like the Plover bird that cleans the mouth of a crocodile by picking food from between its teeth.

In this scenario, Arlene is the crocodile.

For the first time, I had an online doctor’s appointment. It didn’t really accomplish much, but I needed my prescriptions refilled. It went well, although, I felt strange when he asked me to turn my head and cough (but, you know, he’s a doctor).

Get together with friends from Old Bridge, the town I grew up in, a few times a year. Since that is now impossible, we decided to have a ZOOM meeting (before this, never heard of ZOOM, now I wish I owned stock).

Unfortunately, could not clear everyone’s calendar to find a common time (where was anyone going?). The good news it was cancelled before I took a shower. As we know, the rule during this quarantine is you can only shower once a week.

It’s a house rule, but a rule none the less.

Good news is, when this is over, we will have the answer to one question.

At some point, in the future, a generation or two down the road, our grand kids will ask their parents, “Why do grandma and grandpa get so mad when we waste toilet paper?”

When that time comes, we’ll know the answer.

#covid #2020 #lockdown #lock down #zoom

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heyyy-hey-babyyy · 7 years ago

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Creep 2, dir. by Patrick Brice (Blumhouse Productions, 2017)

Academic film review below-- May contain spoilers

Access the trailer here

Since the prequels’ beginnings in 2014, audiences have long awaited the return of Mark Duplass as Joseph (or Aaron as he is referred to in this film), the unstable protagonist of the Creep franchise. Filmed in the recognizable “found-footage” style, made famous by films such as The Blair Witch Project (1992), Creep 2provides enough tension to rival the prequel. The slasher style of Creep 2is not new, as horror audiences recognize the long stare and sinister smile Duplass perfects. What sets the sequel apart, however, is its important commentary on mental health, with its protagonist recognizing the severity of his situation, and converting a seemingly stable individual to his dangerous lifestyle.

Creep 2 follows Sara (Desiree Akhavan), a video artist with a focus on unusual Craigslist requests, and those who are behind the screen making the request. The movie begins with her answering an online advertisement from Aaron (Mark Duplass) who requests for her to come out to his remote house to video him for the day. Fans of the original film recognize this request, and go along for the ride without question.

Within the first seconds of the film audiences are witness to a similar plot from the prequel: a character appears on the screen, opening a cardboard box which contains the camera (as audiences are looking up as the character is looking down into the box), and a disk which the words “Watch Me” written on it. As the character watches he witnesses something distressing that the audience is not privy too, as all they hear is whistling. There’s a knock at the door and the character leaves to let in Duplass’ character Aaron. As the two talk, Dave, as the audience now knows him as, tells Aaron about the random packages he has received and the video of his house. Dave then leaves the room, which allows Aaron to smirk at the camera and blow it an air kiss, the audiences’ first instance of the plot line of the film. The tension continues to mount as Dave returns and Aaron admits to filming his friend saying, “You are a beautiful person and you deserve that… but I don’t know if I can do this anymore”, before graphically killing Dave. Aaron is silent for awhile before whispering, “what’s happening to me?”. After the credit roll we are introduced to Sara, star, writer, and director of the show Encountersthat she describes as “the show where I look behind the strange world of personal ads to try to uncover the humanity within”. She is frustrated with the amount of views she received on her latest video and the movie continues with her searching the Internet for the perfect personal ad. We happen upon Sara during her closing episode of Encounters, where she hopes to bring out the best in some “weridos”, when she finds an ad “looking for a videographer” in which the advertiser is looking for someone to “…go deep. Together”. She follows up with the ad poster, and agrees to meet and drives to his remote location.

Upon meeting Sara, after a very real interaction where the two hug and enjoy a smoothie, Aaron casually confesses to her that he is in fact a serial killer with a strong killing streak—however, he further confesses to losing the taste for it recently. If Sarah films him as he truly is, he promises to not harm her, but make her witness to his lifestyle. Sara is thrilled, as she has truly found her unstable requester that will give her show the online following that she desires. While interviewing Aaron, he states that he considers himself to be a “murderer” as he does not like the nomenclatural of “serial killer”, but the numbers classify him as such. Aaron’s insouciant approach to being a murderer is reminiscent of the discussion surrounding mental health, in that he identifies much like someone would identify as depressed or having anxiety. In this way, audiences are alienated from what is happening before them. Bertolt Brecht theorized the idea of Verfremdungseffekt, which is“…the technique of defamiliarizing a word, an idea, a gesture so as to enable the spectator to see or hear it afresh”. [1]This distancing effect forces the audience to become a critical viewer of whatever text is being preformed before them. Verfremdungseffektcan also be seen as having a purpose of which, “…to denaturalize and defamiliarize what ideology makes seem normal, acceptable, inescapable” (79). Audiences are made to be un-familiar by what is happening on the screen, text, and stage before them in order to question the ideology of what makes this seem obscure or confusing, as Brecht theorizes. In this way Creep 2 makes a powerful decision, allowing audiences to recognize the moves Aaron is making, but also further questioning why it isn’t normal for him to be talking about murder so carefree.

As the film continues, Sara begins to see Aaron as unstable when his plans for the documentary begin to fall apart, but also develops a connection to him, perhaps in response to Aaron freely opening up to her. This connection comes to a head, in a pivotal scene, where Sara finds Aaron in a hot tub, after he has shut himself downstairs out of frustration. She begins to push him to speak to her, and Aaron tells an unsettling story about his first murder. They have an intimate moment after, where Sara massages Aaron, and after, he tells the audience (through the camera) that he is having “feelings” for her that he never thought he would feel again, while the camera focuses on a large kitchen knife. Aaron then follows Sara to the shower where she is hiding in the corner to successfully scare him. They commence an interesting game of hide and seek and Aaron confesses to Sara that he would like to kill her, but they are having too much fun together, so he feels as if he can share his work with her.

Eventually, Aaron admits to Sara that he recognizes what she is doing; buttering him up to get what she wants (as he has seen her show). Sara admits she does not think he is a serial killer and Aaron tells her that the movie he wants to make is actually a “murder film”, where Sara murders him. Sara is hesitant, but does not say no, either from a want to make a unique film, or her sanity is slipping in the presence of Aaron. The film continues with a few odd scenes where Aaron, “plots” his murder, leading to the finale of Aaron confessing he likes Sara and admits to being “not a murderer”, though the audience knows that to not be true. The movie concludes with Aaron and Sara heading into the woods, where he presents Sara with a locket, as his symbol of love for her. He spins Sara around to face a grave; he presents a knife, and stabs himself, telling Sara they could die like Romeo and Juliet. Instead, Sara turns and runs leaving Aaron. The two take off running and Aaron eventually catches Sara, stabs her and drags her in the grave—The movie concludes with Sara hitting Aaron over the head with a shovel. There is a cut scene that then shows Sara walking through a crowd with the locket still attached to her neck, and someone with a camera following her.

A major strength of Creep 2 is the focus on mental illness. Throughout the film you feel for Aaron, even as you see the horrors of his actions from the previous film. Sara begins to develop feelings for Aaron and audiences witness intimate scenes between the two that waver between honest and raw, and uncomfortable. Another underlying strength is the real-ness audiences’ witness. Opposite of the original, we as the audience see the real “Aaron”. There is no tension surrounding what he is or is not; we know him to be a serial killer. But perhaps more important, his realness allows Sara to engage in some sort of relationship with him which changes her, in an intense commentary on the human experience. Are we able to be manipulated by someone being too real?

As Alex Mclevy aptly states in a review for AVClub[2],“Given a performer who can match him in talent, Duplass has transformed his twisted killer into a flawed and charismatic soul, radiating a quiet desperation that’s far more magnetic this time around. He’s made a monster more intriguing…Not many film series can make that claim” (Mclevy). Creep 2 has done what rare other films have accomplished; made the audience relate to a serial killer. Upon completion of the film, audiences are made more aware of the fragile line between stable and unstable; mentally capable and mentally ill. How then can the horror genre further open our eyes to the truth within society? Creep 2 begins the important conversation that horror critics alike seek the answers to. As Maria H. Loh in her article, “Introduction: Early Modern Horror”, states, “…representations of horror steel us for the experience of horror in real life”[3]. Through Creep 2 we are able to recognize the unstable nature of mental health. And that recognition could be the key to discussing mental health in its entirety. Creep 2 appeals to many audiences in giving them an inside look at the potential for the instability of seemingly “normal” individuals, and provides Creep fans with familiar signposts, including the return of Peach Fuzz the terrifying wolf mask. I applaud the writer and director of Creep 2 for giving audiences a realistic look at mental health, through the eyes of Aaron, the serial killer the audience has empathy for.

[1]Diamond, Elin. “Brechtian Theory/Feminist Theory: Towards a Gestic Feminist Criticism”. Performance Analysis An Introductory Coursebook, edited by Colin Counsell and Laurie Wolf, Routeledge, 2001, 77-85.

[2]Mclevy, Alex. “Creep 2 is Smarter, Funnier, and More Engaging Than the Original”, AV Club, <https://www.avclub.com/creep-2-is-smarter-funnier-and-more-engaging-than-the-1819815646> [accessed 27 March 2018].

[3]Loh, Maria H. “Introduction: Early Modern Horror”, Oxford Art Journal, 2011, vol. 34, no. 3, pp. 321-333.

#horror #creep 2 #horror review #horror movies #movie review #indie movies #filmisnotdead #film reviews #academic horror #horror scholars #Netflix #sequel #just as good as the original #grad school

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festiveboydanielhowells · 7 years ago

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figuring things out (chapter 7)

Summary: Prince Daniel of Eithoia has been seeing Lord Philip in private for years, despite his marriage to Princess Isabella. Up until now, it was never an issue for the three to be together. No one anticipated for the Princess to have an urgent announcement, and now anticipated that it would impact Dan and Phil and their countries as much as it did.

Warnings: pregnancy, smut, mentions of violence, swearing, vomiting

Tags: fluff, (horribly written) smut, royalty AU, polyamory, pregnancy

[read on a03] [previous chapter][next chapter][masterlist]

Seventeenth of January

Steeple Palace, Kings

Dan wakes up to an alarm blaring, and he grabs his wife’s hand and pulls her to her feet. “What the fuck is happening?” She manages to say in a slurred haze, and Dan shrugs and pulls Phil to his feet as well.

“Julia,” Phil stammers out, “Get Julia.”

Dan rushes into her room and finds her hiding in the corner with her hands over her ears. Frantically, he pushes her towards the group and leads them down winding staircase until they are outside. Dan had managed to grab a coat when they were inside, but now he sees Julia shivering in the winter win, and hands her his coat.

He is grateful that they’d been so tired they hadn’t undressed. They usually sleep bare except for their underwear, but they’d all been so wiped out from yesterday’s events that they had simply fallen asleep with each other. As soon as they’re outside, a guard finds them, breathing heavily. “Car,” he says, “now. I’ll explain when we get far enough away.”

Dan nods, and follows him to the car that is waiting at the loop of the palace. Once they’re a safe distance away, the man starts to explain, “Someone—someone started a fire in four different rooms.” He manages, and Dan gasps.

“Someone fucking what?”

“It was an inside job, I’m sure of it. I’ve been given orders from your advisors to bring the four of you to a secondary location in Intora where Prince Martyn and King Nigel have been staying after the attack on their castle.” The guard stops to take a breath. “We don’t know who did it but from the things I’ve heard… it was bad. Apparently had you been any closer to the west wing, you would’ve burned alive before you’d even heard the sirens.”

“Who the fucking hell would do this?” Dan demands, and he’s fuming.

There are fire trucks, a fuck ton, rolling past them frantically. His first instinct is that someone followed Julia to the palace—but that’s practically impossible. He is well aware of the evils in the world and only allowed heavily vetted people inside of the palace.

Except for Julia.

Julia couldn’t have started the fire, could she? She was in her room when Dan rushed to find her but…

But he trusts Phil’s judgment.

He’ll just be a bit wearier of her from now on.

Isabella puts her head on her shoulder, “Who has bad blood with you?” She asks in a hushed whisper. “Besides the obvious.”

The obvious being Winston and his group of friends. “You don’t think…”

“I don’t know,” she responds, “if he did it, I wouldn’t be surprised but…”

“But?” He urges.

“Doesn’t attempting to kill you seem a bit severe?”

He thinks for a minute over James, the guards, words. The fires had all been set in the west wing, where no one slept. He’d kept the west wing closed due to superstition, there was a rumor it was cursed, and he didn’t need any evil in his life. He didn’t believe in curses, but the west wing unsettled him. It still does, even more now than usual.

“They weren’t trying to kill anyone,” he says, tentatively. “If it was an inside job, they would know that the west wing is off limits. Hardly anyone goes there, ever. Say they just wanted to scare us or—”

“Or?”

“Take money away from the bill.”

“Oh my God.”

“Holy fuck, someone… how did—”

“It’s Winston, that conniving son-of-a-bitch, I’ll rip him to pieces.” She announces.

“We don’t know that yet, but I’ll call for an investigation. For now, I want my entire advisory separated and given severely monitored contact with each other. We don’t know who’s on our side and who’s not.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she agrees. “They could be passing information to each other,” she brushes his messy curls out of his face softly, “People take advantage of your kindness.”

“I-I didn’t think they’d be willing to go this far.”

“What do we do?” She asks, and he sighs.

“We can’t give in. We have to live with the damage, I refuse to back down on my position and take tax money away from the people. That’s their money, we have no right on using it to repair our home,” he points out and looks over to see Izzy grimace and grab her belly. “You okay?

“Y-yea,” She breathes shakily, “I feel super uncomfortable. The babies don’t like this, at all.”

Dan puts his hand on her belly, “Hello, babies. I’m your father. While I love knowing that you’re alive and well in there, your mommy needs her sleep, yea? You keep her up all the time and she’ll not be a nice mommy when you get welcomed into the world. You don’t want her to be mean, I mean, I do, but—”

“Daniel!” She exclaims, and he laughs at her.

“What? Was the too much information?” He asks innocently, and she gives him an amused stare.

“You’re going to be a horrible father if that moment is something I can base your parenting off of,” she says, and Dan scoffs at the statement.

“Accusations, accusations,” he sings, “You say one kinky thing to your unborn children and all of the sudden you’re getting a divorce at two a.m.”

She gives him a slow kiss, “You don’t even like it when I say jokingly mean stuff to you; you just cry,” she points out, and Dan pouts at her. “What? Don’t like it when I’m mean?” She teases, and Dan sticks his tongue out in response. “Mature, Howell.”

“Oh yea? You’re a Howell, too, bitch,” he points out.

“The worst decision I ever made was standing at that alter and saying ‘I do,’” she says jokingly, but it hurts a bit. She can see it in his gaze dropping a bit before returning to hers, and she pats his back. “Hey, I’m sorry, baby. You know that wasn’t true. That was the third best day of my life.”

“What were the other two?” He asks.

“Finding out that I was pregnant with two princesses,” he wants to correct her, but he’s too in love to say anything, “and the day you got down on one knee and asked me to marry you.”

He leans in and gives her a slow kiss on the lips, before remembering that there are other people in the car with them. He pulls away and clears his throat, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, cuddling into his side. He grasps for Phil’s hand blindly in the dark, and when he finds it, he gives it a squeeze.

“Philly,” he murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dan,” Hh gazes at Isabella. “I love you, Isabella.”

“I love you, too,” She whispers back, as if there all telling secrets to each other. She whispers in Dan’s ear, “Do you know how fucking good it’s been to not have a period? I should forget my pill more often.” Dan laughs and gives her a kiss.

“We usually are safe,” He argues.

“We usually are safe,” She mocks. “Get a hold of yourself, no we aren’t.”

He gives her a kiss to her hair and thinks about the future. He vaguely wonders what their lives would’ve been like if he had run away with her and gotten eloped in Menia or something. They probably would’ve already had kids—they’d been putting it off due to the stress of everything. He wonders what their twins will looks like—if they’ll have her waves or his bunchy curls, if they’ll have green eyes that sparkle or brown eyes that turn golden in the sun. He wonders if they’ll adopt her confidence or his anxieties. Maybe they’ll gain their birth-parents looks, but Phil’s personality. Perhaps they’ll be clumsy and awkward, yet somehow still charming. He wouldn’t be opposed to that; Phil’s personality is the best personality, in Dan’s opinion.

He wonders if they’ll hate their parents for bringing them into such a horrible job.

Dan resented his father and mother for most of his childhood. They’d forced him to take up a job that he didn’t want and live a life he didn’t want to live. He’d resented his father most of all because he wasn’t allowed to be a kid when his brother was. When he was fifteen and learning about economics, his brother had been happy. When he’d gotten married at eighteen his brother was able to eat a lollipop and play with their old dog.

He wishes, internally, that he could erase all of the power that the monarchy holds and replace it with a parliament or advisory. But that would take years, decades, of work to build and he is only one ruler.

By the time he’s properly deep in his sulking and thinking, they’ve pulled up to a cabin. Two stories of wooden logs and nine guards (Dan counted, there was nine) standing at attention around the perimeter of the cabin. There are woods surrounding them, every angle is another tree, and Dan shivers with anxiety.

He’s always hated the woods—trees are the worst things ever, in his opinion. Perhaps he’s just over exaggerating due to his fear of the Blair Witch Project, but he thinks it’s justified. Now that the sun has begun to peek through the trees, though, his anxieties have eased off a bit. At least he’ll be able to see what’s around him.

They exit the car, and a guard standing by the door opens it and ushers them inside. It seems a bit silly to Dan, that they have to go through all these extra precautions, but he doesn’t argue. There isn’t another heir to the throne if he and Isabella pass, and he isn’t quite sure what would happen to Etithoia after that.

Technically, his mother would take over, but he thinks about her taking over for him and shivers a bit. His mother has had a hard life, the last thing he would want is for her to suffer in terms of her job.

Martyn and Cornelia are on a couch in the lounge, sipping coffee out of mugs. The scent is strong enough to bring Dan back to his senses, and he looks at the guard who opened the door for them. “My mother,” he chokes out, “What about her? Is she okay?” The guard nods.

“Her car is set to arrive within ten minutes. She got out later than you, but she’s perfectly fine. The only issue is that she’s had a bit of an asthma attack, nothing too severe.”

Dan sits by the door, patiently, like a lost puppy. Since his father and younger brother passed, he’s really only had his mother.

He’s a bit startled, but grateful, when Martyn takes a seat beside him and offers him coffee. “So,” he begins, “How’s the mother-to-be?”

“She’s been good,” Dan says softly, still keeping his eyes trained on the door. He allows his voice to drop to a whisper, “We’re having twins.”

“Congrats!” Martyn pats his back in a friendly manner. “Have you settled on a date for the wedding?”

Dan shakes his head. “Not quite yet,” he murmurs. “Been busy with stuff.”

“Top secret stuff?” Martyn asks, and Dan nods humorously.

“Top secret stuff. We’ve got aliens in our dungeons,” he says, straight-faced, and Martyn lets out a hearty laugh. “Turned the tables on ‘em. Now we’re the ones probing those bitches.”

“You’re funny, you know that, Howell?” Martyn leans back on his hands.

“So I’ve been told,” he responds.

“By who?”

“Your mum,” he fires back, breaking eye contact with the door to give Martyn a look. He chews on his inner lip, “Sorry, Martyn, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine, Daniel. Mum would’ve loved you, she would’ve been happy to have you be a part of the family,” Martyn assures him. Dan takes a sip of the coffee. It’s lukewarm and bitter, but he feels the caffeine moving through him and allows himself to be a bit more alert. “You’ve had a busy day.”

“I have,” Dan comments. “Why does it feel like…”

“Like what?”

“Like something’s building. Like we’re moving inevitably towards something bigger than all of us?” Dan asks.

Martyn shrugs. “It feels like that, doesn’t it? As if we’re just… counting down the days until all of these odd events make sense.”

“The fire, the man in Phil’s room, the guards that are going missing…” He mutters. “It all feels connected somehow, and I hate to be a conspiracy theorist but—”

The door swings open, and Daniel’s mother walks in with her head held high. She’s got bags, massive bags, underneath her eyes and her lips are downward. But, when she sees Dan, her demeanor changes. “Daniel!” She exclaims, pulling him into a hug. “Is Isabella safe? Are the babies okay?” He nods against her shoulder.

“Everyone’s fine, mum. We’re fine.” She gives him a kiss on his forehead, as if he was still a small child, and moves on to shaking Martyn’s hand and pulling him into a hug.

“We’re all family, Martyn.” She tells him, and he smiles at her. “Now, I am tired. That stupid fire took too much out of me, fucking morons, I’ll be upstairs in a vacant bedroom.”

She doesn’t even say goodbye, just waltzes up the steps. Dan scratches his ear, “I should probably go check on Isabella and make sure she’s doing okay.” Dan says, standing up.

“Of course, I can’t imagine the stress both of you must be under right now.” Martyn says, “Philip isn’t under the same stress, too, is he?”

“No,” Dan says, “God, no. I don’t-we don’t want him to feel as if he has to do anything. He doesn’t have to accept any responsibility except for the babies.”

“Good, good.” Martyn breathes. “Goodnight, then, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Martyn.” Dan hikes up the steps and enters a room with an open door.

Isabella and Phil are both sound asleep, wrapped up in each other and snoring lightly. Phil has his hand thrown over Izzy’s belly as if he’s going to protect her.

He strips down to his pants and crawls into bed with them, even though his clock says that it’s seven a.m.

#phan #phanfiction #phandom #phanfic

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infinitehouseofbooks · 8 years ago

Text

BLITZ - Simulation

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Genre: YA SyFy Dystopian

Simulation

Genre: YA SyFy Dystopian

Publisher: Eloquent Enraptures Publishing

Date of Publication: DECEMBER 16th, 2016

ISBN: 978-1539194675

ISBN-10: 1539194671

ASIN: B01N0QLPHH

Number of pages: 380

Word Count: 85,000

Cover Artist: M. Black

Book Description:

SIMULATION is a fictional novel and is the debut release from Dystopian Thriller author M. Black.

A YA SyFy dystopia, along the lines of City of Ember meets CW’s The 100. This story will capture your heart and still won’t let go even at the end. Written in part while listening to Outside by Ellie Goulding, this story contrasts technology to nature, rich to poor, privilege to hardship, and illusion to reality.

“No one is getting in but whom we allow, and no one is ever getting out.”

Set in 2175 in Colorado, USA, where Citigogs are the new form of cities and citizens are kept under a careful population control, we meet Ilia the Princess of our main Citigog named Iliad, and Jez a Giver. As Ilia spends more time with Jez, she finds herself drawn to the Outside and ventures out of her Citigog only to learn that everything is not what it seems.

Fans of the Divergent and Hunger Games series will revel in this story about a strong, but disillusioned heroine who must become brave as she uncovers the truth about her world.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/IO44dRFAAX0

Amazon

Excerpt:

I hardly notice my attraction, but my fingers have nudged their way onto the platform as my chin tucks over the wood, and my eyes fix on the Givers moving speedily to and fro as if I’m watching a coveted movie, though none inside of Iliad are as good as this performance. Attention is drawn to my fingers when Jez approaches from my side and taps his foot at my forefinger. “If it isn’t the Princess Thief. Have you come to take more goods?”

I almost gasp. The guards had a strict talk with him about not speaking with me, and letting me take what I want—and yet here he is. Not that I expect that I should be able to do whatever I want, but I certainly don’t expect a Giver to not follow orders.

I stumble my words. “Wha? I…I’m not here for that,” I defend poorly.

“Then why are you here? Isn’t that what you Insiders do best? Take?” Jez’s voice cracks, as if the word take weighs particularly heavy on him.

“I’m not here to take anything,” I say as my voice quivers, hands tremble, and my eyes flit around for focus.

“Then why are you here?” His brazen tone makes me uneasy.

The question stops me. I can’t be at all sure why I came, why I insisted on seeing Jez. Curiosity? Passion? I hardly know. I only know there is something about him—something mysterious— something different from all the rest of the boys of Iliad. Maybe it’s because he’s been Outside, seen the world. Maybe it’s because he must be so brave to do so.

His eyes dig deep into mine, waiting for an answer I can’t give. So, I answer a little shakily, “I just wanted to see the inner workings of the Center of Citigog Goods.”

Jez stares briefly, a smirk sliding across his face—not believing a word. Then he says snidely, “Curious how the other half lives?”

“Why do you keep attacking me?” I grit my teeth, my fingernails scratching the wood of the platform, my head fixed upward at Jez, sun glares hurting my eyes. “What have I ever done to you?” His audacity surprises me. I should be used to it by now. Every time I talk with him, he has nothing but ridicule for me. Still, I can’t wrap my brain around his disgust. No one speaks to the princess this way.

“Attacking you? You call a few words an attack?” Jez shakes his head and ruffles his fingers through his hair, releasing a loud huff of disbelief.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I press, keeping my eyes locked on his. He isn’t going to get away with it this time. Not without an explanation.

Jez pauses, his eyes searching me, and I can see questions circling his mind. “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” My brow quirks, and he draws all my attention. I wouldn’t notice now if a Citiguard stood beside me.

“Anything,” Jez remarks, and I’m not sure if he’s just being smart or if he really cares about my so-called ignorance.

“So, enlighten me, oh Giver of all.”

He squats so that we are eye to eye, and his smirk becomes more of a sadness, his color more of a pale crème, but his hair engulfs him—his square face and broad shoulders—as it falls to his chest. Then, I regret what I’ve just said. I feel I’ve hit him somewhere deep inside where even I didn’t intend.

“You live in your perfect princess castle, with three meals a day, and everyone at your beck and call. Safe from danger, and from the truth.” His head lowers, and he looks like he is about to cry, before he takes a deep breath and his head rises. “I won’t be able to enlighten you with anything but misery. I’m not a Giver. I’m a survivor.”

“Survivor of what?” I ask, not sure if he even heard me ask the question, because at that moment the dark-skinned man with the buffalo tattoo pushes beside Jez and tugs on his shoulder.

“Get going, Jez. Your tribe can’t handle another reprimand.” Jez looks at the dark man and nods before he pulls away from me and straightens up to return to the Box Carrier. As Jez walks away from me, the dark man hawk-eyes me. “You’re nothing but trouble for us. Why don’t you crawl back to your castle?” The corner of his mouth curls up as he turns back to Jez. I stand there, alone, lingering in questions. Survivor? Aren’t we all survivors of CR? What tribe? Safe from danger, the truth?

Everyone I come to for answers turns into another blockade, but I won’t let curiosities go unsatisfied this time. Jez knows something, something my aunt and mom know as well, something no one wants to tell me. I’ll watch him, and wait. He’ll lead me to what I want to know. He just has to.

About the Author:

M. Black is a pen name of Ami Blackwelder

M. Black is her dystopia and thriller line of books. Rebecca May is the pen name for her historical and contemporary line of books. Ami Blackwelder writes paranormal and sci-fi novels.

Her stories range from Tween and YA to NA (new adult), but focus primarily on YA. Growing up in Florida, she graduated UCF and in 1997 received her BA in English and additional teaching credentials. Then she packed her bags and travelled overseas to teach in Thailand, Nepal, Tibet, China and Korea. Thailand is considered her second home now. She has always loved writing and wrote poems and short stores since childhood; however, her novels began when she was in Thailand in her early thirties.

Having won the Best Fiction Award from the University of Central Florida (Yes, The Blair Witch Project University), her short fiction From Joy We Come, Unto Joy We Return was published in the on campus literary magazine Cypress Dome and remains to this day in University libraries around the USA.

Later, she achieved the semi-finals in a Laurel Hemingway contest and published a few poems in the Thailand’s Expat magazine, and an article in the Thailand’s People newspaper. Additionally, she has published poetry in Korea’s AIM magazine, the American Poetic Monthly magazine and Twisted Dreams Magazine.

http://MBlackDystoppianThrillers.blogspot.com

http://Twitter.com/AmiBlackwelder

http://AmiBlackwelder.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/amis.bookpage

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33398248-simulation

Tour giveaway

autographed print 5 bookmarks

a Rafflecopter giveaway

BLITZ – Simulation was originally published on the Wordpress version of SHANNON MUIR'S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS.

#infinite house of books #shannon muir

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