brown-shadow

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1910s

Irma Vep in Les Vampires (1915-6)

[Image Description: Photo of me dressed up and posed as Irma Vep (Musidora) from Les Vampires (1915-6). I’m wearing black from head to toe standing with a defiant posture in front a wall with floral wallpaper.]

The Movie

Louis Feuillade’s Les Vampires (1915-6) serials were made at a time when the cinematic forms of genres were crystallizing into the conventions we know all too well today. Les Vampires is a macabre crime-drama serial, often retroactively labeled horror.

The film follows Philippe, a newspaper reporter, as he investigates a shadowy gang of criminals called The Vampires. Starting with a decapitated police inspector, each successive episode sees Philippe get closer to unraveling the labyrinthine world of The Vampires while alliances shift and the body count rises. Irma Vep (Musidora) is a member of the gang who moonlights as a cabaret singer. Over the course of the series, Irma emerges as the true lead, though she never repents or renounces her life of crime; a quintessential vamp.

Derided by contemporary critics, but beloved by audiences, Les Vampires is classic pulp. One film critic expressed his feelings toward Les Vampire thusly in a 1916 issue of Hebdo-Film:

“That a man of talent, an artist, as the director of most of the great films which have been the success and glory of Gaumont, starts again to deal with this unhealthy genre, obsolete and condemned by all people of taste, remains for me a real problem.”

It’s understandably divisive that Feuillade ignores accepted filmmaking “rules” here and there. But the reading that Feuillade’s rule-breaking is strategic is certainly valid. The viewing experience is destabilized to create tension but not in ways that sacrifice narrative clarity. Feuillade will subtly skirt the rules by making unexpected cuts or switch within a scene from sequences that follow (what would later be termed) “invisible editing” standards to flat tableaus. Taken together, the audience is unsettled without necessarily knowing why. (Yes, 1915 audiences were already accustomed to these standards of visual storytelling!) It’s a great companion to the macabre events depicted in the films. A century later, The Witch: A New England Folktale (2015), directed by Robert Eggers, employs some of the same strategies.

I know seven hours of silent-film viewing might seem daunting but, unlike other serials from the era, Les Vampires’ installments are fairly self-contained stories. (My favorite is the fifth episode “Dead Man’s Escape.”) 


The Look

Musidora’s Irma Vep (yes, that is an anagram for vampire) is an archetypal vamp, in characterization and in aesthetic. Irma’s a master of disguise who can assume practically any role to further the aims of The Vampires and her loyalties change almost as often as her costumes.

The Clothes

The iconic Irma Vep look is her black catsuit, which is even referenced in a ballet about The Vampires within the film. Irma is a clear predecessor of Catwoman (not the only inspiration Batman pulls from Feuillade’s crime serials btw). 

For the closet-cosplay (or work-appropriate version), I went for an all black outfit with lace-up dress shoes.

I don’t own a black catsuit, so I made do with black tights and a black turtleneck top. Planning ahead for the costume, black hoods are easily found on amazon. I, however, don’t have a hood in my closet, so I put another pair of (clean) black tights on my head and simply wrapped the legs around my neck and tucked the ends into the back of my sweater. Voila!

The Makeup

Musidora’s Irma makeup is only occasionally as dramatic as other film vamps. When Irma’s not performing on stage, her makeup is more muted, a great basis for a wearable closet-cosplay makeup look.

For the base, I applied an even layer of powder a shade slightly lighter than my skin tone and concealed under my eyes. (Obviously Musidora would’ve been wearing more face makeup and you can too! I stuck with powder to stay true to the era. ) I didn’t bother with blush or contouring since I didn’t find it necessary.

The eye makeup is dramatic and emphasizes the shape her eyes. Since this is meant to be a more wearable look, I used brown shadow create an elongated smoky eye, (1.) blending a light layer from the lashline to just below my eyebrows and smudging what’s left on the brush all along my lower lid. (2.) Then I built up the shading around the lashline by using a wet brush in the same shadow. (3.) Then I added a little extra darker brown shadow very close to the lashline. Since this look isn’t much about the lashes, I just painted on a layer of black mascara. 

If you think this makes your eyes look too small, run liner in your lower waterline that’s either white (more striking) or a bit lighter than your skin-tone (more subtle).

Her eyebrows are slightly rounded without much of an arch, roughly mirroring the shape of her eyes. I used a brown pencil to get the shape and softened it a bit with a cooler brown powder.

As for lips, you may be tempted to go for a purple-y wine shade, but based on how contemporary cameras captured such detail around her lips, I’d wager Musidora used a medium shade. Just dark enough to create a definitive shape. Musidora’s lips are on the smaller side so, think underlining instead of overlining to make straight, sharp lines on both upper & lower lips. I carved out the lip shape with cream concealer then used a deep pink lipstick shade.

Shifting to the FULL COSTUME, you can follow the same basic steps but switch to dark gray and black for the eye makeup. I went into the waterline with black liner but, as with the daytime look, if you think it’s shrinks your eyes too much, line the waterline with white or a neutral shade just a bit lighter than your skin tone. Block the eyebrows out with a more solid line rather than keeping them natural. For the lips, I also went darker to match the high-contrast effect of the eye makeup.


Hope this inspires you all in putting together your costumes this year! 

The 1920s | The 1930s | The 1940s | The 1950s | The 1960s | The 1970s | The 1980s | The 1990s | The 2000s

anonymous asked:

I feel like Grim looks different every time you post a picture of her. Are you sure you don't actually have like, 12 different tabbies that are never in the same room, at the same time?

here’s a secret reason I don’t post as many pics of Grim: her fur is STUNNING, all ticked & rich, but it goes dull blah brown when in shadow?? like here’s my Grim resplendent in the sunlight:

& here’s my good good girl in the shade. she goes from jaguar to warm potato:

anonymous asked:

Wow how do you pick color schemes for your art? They're so amazing

It’s a lot of trial and error and practice but I’ll give some tips!

remember, these are guidelines. I’ve broken all of these on purpose at some point or another. it’s important to just have a good reason and to be aware of it!

  • look up color theory, there’s lots of tutorials and explanations

edit!! I’ll also tack on what @thorsens recommended! 

I would suggest for people to check out Josef Albers “Interaction of Color”. It gives a good understanding of how colors work in relation to each other which is very helpful in general. - Thor

  • I go for two contrasting *enough* colors (they don’t have to be exact opposites, but I try to give at least one color of change difference, so like red and yellow can work, but not red and orange or red and purple.)

pink and blue aren’t nessiciarly complete opposites, but there’s not a lot of purple in the piece. There’s enough contrast between the greenish-blue and the bright pink and magenta.

colors close to each other still work, but observe how it changes the mood of the piece!

the peach and yellow and purple work together, but create a softer, calmer tone. This is partially because the colors aren’t as bright, but also because they’re near in both value and color. It make the piece feel cohesive, which was important in this piece as I was highlighting how they interacted and found meaning to the place they were in!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

After the finale tonight can I prompt: exhaustion, cool drinks, warm skin, comfort and heavy/tired muscles?

as they walked down the hallway of magnus’s building, the soft hum of the city, the murmur of voices and distant music providing muffled background noise, magnus was smiling and he felt warm in a way he couldn’t describe. the decision to walk back had been unspoken. there was no need for a portal, not when they could walk the streets of new york, lost in conversation as they made their way back to the loft. with each step, magnus had watched the lights catch on alec’s face, watched his eyes crinkle as he laughed and his heart felt full. they pressed close, hands on each other’s backs and magnus could tell they were both lost in the feeling of finally having this again.

he hadn’t been able to help the way his mind crawled back to the last time they had walked back like this. that night as they walked back from their date, they hadn’t touched the whole time, trudging silently with their hands in their pockets. magnus had been able to feel the weight of alec’s thoughts weighing on him that night without knowing any of what he was thinking. now? it was different, impossibly beautifully different. they’d been through so much and their relationship had changed entirely. this day had embedded the weight of exhaustion in magnus’s bones, but walking with alec felt light. it felt soft and bubbly and euphoric, it felt like getting lost in a soft warmth magnus had been missing. he didn’t regret the decisions he’d made and he wouldn’t apologize for them, but he knew he didn’t have to. he didn’t have to lose this either.

and as they leaned against each other in the elevator, alec’s head resting against his cheek, magnus already felt like he was at home. the soft thud of alec’s heartbeat so close to his own, the knowledge that tonight he’d fall asleep with his chest pressed to alec’s back and his arm wrapped around his waist, that felt good. that felt like something that eased every overworked muscle and bled out the exhaustion weighing down his bones.

Keep reading

A Century of Glamour Ghouls: 1930s

The Countess Marya Zaleska in Dracula’s Daughter (1936)

The Movie

Dracula’s Daughter (1936) gives you that weird feeling, apparently. Use of the term horror to describe these weird films had finally caught on by 1936, just in time for Universal to have producer turnover and stop making them. So Dracula’s Daughter would be Universal’s last (for a few years anyway) and a fitting intermezzo for the genre in America.

Directly connected to the Universal horror films of its own decade, Dracula’s Daughter also operates as a spiritual predecessor of Val Lewton’s horror films in the 1940s. Dracula’s Daughter is atmospheric and wistful, driven more by character psychology and internal conflict than Universal’s previous monster movies.

Dracula’s Daughter picks up directly after Dracula (1931). Police officers have arrived to cart Von Helsing away for murder (the sudden name change has never been explained). Quick to the scene is the Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden), who uses her vampiric wiles to retrieve her father’s body. Zaleska intends to destroy her father once and for all in an effort free herself from vampirism. This doesn’t quite do the trick and Zaleska is left hopeless and depressed until she meets a psychologist, Dr. Garth, who believes he can cure any obsessive behavioral trait. When this also doesn’t work as quickly or easily as she expects, Zaleska plans her revenge.

From the very start Zaleska is a character at odds with herself. She’s not alive and not dead. She’s an ancient monster who carouses in polite high society. She’s an (awfully British) Eastern European immigrant trying to operate within English culture. Her thinly veiled queerness adds another layer to these conflicts of identity and informs the film’s narrative closely. The primary tension of the film comes from her interlacing identity crises and the self-loathing that follows. The film is driven by the suspense of when or if she will snap under the weight of it all.

If the last film I covered was written about too much, Dracula’s Daughter hasn’t been written about enough. The primary focus of most writing is on the film’s lesbian subtext, but honestly more bi people need to write about it. I’ll give it a whack at a later date.


The Look

The Countess Marya Zaleska isn’t just a vampire, she’s a Dracula and her costuming shows it. She’s primarily costumed in gowns (what would a daytime wardrobe even mean for a vampire?); regal with an artistic bent and painfully fashionable throughout the film.

The Clothes

I decided for the daytime look to put together a more casual version of one of her gowns, but sticking to a 1930s silhouette.

For the hair, I wound a few dark colored ribbons together to wear as a headband because my hair is on the shorter side. If you have longer hair, this simple milk-maid braid tutorial by Rachel Maksy would be perfect.

For the full costume I honestly donned a dark bedsheet as a cape. If you have a long black cape at your disposal, you’re more goth than I. Congratulations. I also took a large glass bead from the dollar store, glued some tin foil to the backside of it and then glued the whole thing to a plain ring to create something like the ring Zaleska uses in her hypnotism.

The Makeup

First I had to tackle brows. While I already have the ends of my eyebrows shaved off, the heads are thicker than Holden’s. Very thin brows were en vogue in the 1930s. So, to demonstrate two methods for you, I used a glue stick for one eyebrow and just a cream concealer for the other. In the photo below, the glue has dried and I laid down my base, using a foundation with a semi-matte finish.

Contour time. Gloria Holden has very strong features that I wanted to emphasize, but this is still a daytime look, so I used a light hand and a warm gray powder. (1.) This is where I put the lines of my contour to make the shape of my nose more sloping at the upper bridge and a little sharper at the tip. I also brought my cheekbone contour quite far forward and rounded it out. (2.) To illustrate the shapes I’m going for a bit better, I mapped out the highlight and contour with a little dodge & burn. (3.) And here it is blended. It’s subtle, but with contour it’s better to go subtle and add than to try and neutralize too much shadow. (Sorry for the lighting change, I was doing this in the middle of a storm.)

Using a taupe gray shadow, (1.) I focused in on the crease and blended both upward and outward. With what was left on the brush for each eye, I ran the shadow all along my lower lashline. Because the eyebrow and eyeshadow shape compliment each other in this look, (2.) I drew out the long, rounded eyebrow shape next with a little flip up at the ends. For daytime eyeliner, (3.) I started with a kitten flick (a small upward angled triangle) then drew it out across my upper lashline using a dark brown shadow. (If your skin is considerably deeper than mine, black is better.) (4.) I then applied a few coats of black mascara, touched up the brows and eyeshadow to make sure they were still deep enough and added some highlight to the browbone.

Last, but not least, are lips. Holden’s upper lip is fuller and extends further at the corners than her bottom lip, so (1.) I used concealer to make my lower lip smaller. I blended the concealer down to make my chin look more prominent as well. (2.) I then drew out the shape of the lips with liner. I rounded out the shape of my upper lip and sharpened the cupid’s bow. (3.) I chose a medium-dark pink to fill in the lips, but you could use any color for this look since the eyes are so neutral. Be sure not to smoosh your lips together to spread the color with this look, you’ll ruin the line you created.

For the full costume look, I went back over my brows with black eyeshadow. For the eyes, I deepened the eyeshadow a bit with a deep purple (not historically accurate but hey). I extended and thickened the liner across my entire lashline in black and added a trimmed set of lashes. (This was the most useful false lash tutorial for me.) I deepened the contour a bit as well and changed the lip color to red.

And that’s the look! I think The Countess is a great costume choice and I hope this help guides your look this Halloween. The 1940s are just around the corner!


The 1910s | The 1920s | The 1940s | The 1950s | The 1960s | The 1970s | The 1980s | The 1990s | The 2000s

Bilquis is a dark skinned black woman who is the goddess of love. She devours men and women with her vagina and feeds on the devotion they give her. Laura Moon is an unapologetic asshole who is most likely depressed. Yes, Laura os is complex and well written. But to treat her like she’s the height of female representation is some white nonsense™ .

Bilquis is revolutionary because dark skinned black women are not allowed nor be sexual or are shamed for being sexual. And because she’s a woman that’s doing whatever the hell she wants with her body. And she’s embracing her sexuality.

And also, stop defending Laura. She’s horrible for a reason. You can like her but defending her and justifying her actions is unnecessary.

Lumberjack Fantasies

AN: there are nights when I lay awake wondering what I’m doing with my life. This will be one of those nights. Here just. Just take it.

It didn’t matter how much beer any of you could drink. Weight-lifting comparisons, sorority girl count, all the dick-measuring and machismo went out the window when the hulking axe-wielding figure stalked from the darkness and scattered your little club. And now you were alone in the woods, and you could hear terrified screams, triumphant roars, and the thumping of heavy feet crunching underbrush as they chased you.
A loud, deranged, bellowing laugh echoes through the trees.
Ahead you see a warm, flickering flame. You push yourself further than any basketball game or track event, harder, longer. It’s a house. A little rustic log cabin– how very stereotypical. You run right up to the door, throw it open, and almost fall inside. With a frantic lunge, you yank the door shut.
And then, you sink to your knees, exhausted and drained and too fatigued to be afraid anymore. You fall to your side and curl up right there on the hardwood flooring. You can hear a crackling fire nearby. It’s warm, nice, so nice…
*********************
When you wake up, you’re on a bed, not the floor. You wonder about this as your brain functions chug back on like a motor in need of maintenance. Somebody moved you. Someone who lives here. And they even covered you with a blanket. How nice.
Golden sunlight bathes half of the bed in warm squares. You get up. You’re still in your jeans and t-shirt, but your light windbreaker has been draped over a chair by the bed. Small footsteps approach and you see your host carrying a steaming mug.
“Hey there,” he says with a toothy smile. “Glad to see you’re awake.”
“Where am I?” you ask, mostly for propriety’s sake. Might as well get all the horror-movie cliches out of the way.
“Well buddy, when I got home last night you just sorta showed up here, so I put you to bed and figured I’d just crash by the fire.” He passes you the mug. Hot chocolate. Beautiful.
You take it and put your lips to the rim to take a tiny sip. You study the owner of the house. He looks nothing like the sort of man you’d expect to be living in a log cabin in the deep woods. In fact he doesn’t really look much like a man at all. He’s at least six inches shorter than you and has to be between thirty and fifty pounds lighter. His sleek and slender build is capped by a bright, boyish, baby-faced countenance and he’s even got the same short, spiky brown hair you’d expect to see in any skinny lil smooth-skinned white-boy freshman rushing your frat. The thin sleeveless undershirt and track pants he’s wearing only accentuate how slight he is.
Somehow, obviously, he managed to get you over to the bed no worse for the wear. So he must be stronger than he looks.
“Uh. Sooo… those things in the woods last night.”
“They don’t come in here,” he says, his confident smile even wider than before. “I know how to keep ‘em out. What’s your name?”
You tell him.
“Ah. Welp. I’m Hunter.” He shakes your hand. “Pleased to meetcha.”
“Thanks, y'know, for not throwing me out. I was scared shitless. Did any other people show up?” you ask, worrying about your friends and frat brothers.
“Nope. Just you.” Hunter smirks. “Hungry?”
Over a heavy, filling breakfast of bacon-blueberry pancakes drowning in maple syrup, Hunter reaches an agreement with you. In exchange for his continued hospitality– and yes, despite his youthful looks, he DOES own the house and the land it’s sitting on– you’ll help him with some of his usual chores. There’s no way you can finish all the food he made, so you eat until you’re pleasantly stuffed and watch in awe as he finishes the rest without even looking the slightest bit bloated when he’s done. And you get right to work after breakfast, doing what else? Splitting logs for firewood.
You’ve never done it before. In fact you’re not used to much manual labor at all, and Hunter has to show you the ropes a few times and correct you quite a bit. Eventually you’re too tired to go on, so you rest up a moment. With power and endurance you’d never expect to see from someone who looks like a sixteen-year-old city boy, Hunter creates a stack of firewood that dwarfs what you’ve managed to do by a factor of four.
You then follow him through the woods, marvelling at the beauty of nature and at his hidden physical might, as he shows you how to gather pure maple syrup from his tapped trees. He even lets you try a little. It’s the same stuff that was on your breakfast, and you wonder if this isn’t how he makes his living, selling the world’s most amazing syrup.
There are a few other tasks to do– checking traps for animals, skinning and cleaning said animals (you barely hold breakfast down), and tending a small garden he has growing behind his cabin. The entire time, you can’t stop wondering who the hell this kid is and how did he come to live out here in the wilderness, homesteading all by himself?
That evening, when the woods are dark as they were the night before, you stretch out in one of his chairs by the fireplace. You’re ready to go to bed, honestly, but you’re also hoping to get some answers out of him. Gently he plays an aimless, eerie melody on an acoustic guitar.
“So you just… live out here, all by yourself?” you ask him.
He gives you a thoughtful look for a moment, then finishes the measure of music he was playing and sets the guitar aside. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Just…” you shrug. “I’ve never met anyone so young who can do the shit you can. But then again. I’m like… I guess you’d call me a city boy.”
“I head into town for stuff, every so often. There’s an old-school trading post in the tourist district that I sell to. I’m pretty comfortable out here though, in case you couldn’t tell.” The fire’s orange glow casts him in quivering shadows.
“Do you walk?”
“Yep.” He grins. “Keeps me in shape.”
You head for bed a short while later, checking your phone in vain once more. There’s not even a single bar of service, and there really hasn’t been for you or any of your friends ever since you all got to the campsite. And then of course, you all realized that the campsite had been rented so cheaply for a very good reason, that being the mad axe-murderer haunting the woods…
You sleep soundly and even happily until you hear a pained moaning. You lay still, keeping your breathing even. The memories of bolting through the treacherous forest for your life are still raw. Hunter sounds like he’s got indigestion or diarrhea, the way he’s groaning and growling. You can even hear a sort of gurgling, roiling sound. The cabin’s not that big, about the size of a one-bedroom apartment without the bedroom. So he’s close. You open one eye, just a crack, and look around the main room of the house.
Hunter’s facing the fireplace, hunched over slightly, his face in his hands. He lets out a whimper that makes him sound like a little boy. His voice is just as teenage-seeming as the rest of him. He turns and heads for the front door, staggering like his legs don’t want to work properly. There’s a loud click, and then he turns back to face the rest of the house. He falls back against the door for a minute.
From what you can see, something looks darker about him. His face?
You decide to inquire about his health. You sit up and rub your eyes like you were just waking up, then look over at him. “Hey. You ok bro?”
And your eyes go wide as you realize that somehow in the short period of time you’ve been asleep… he’s grown a manly brown five-o-click shadow. “…Hunter??” you mutter. “The fuck…”
He growls deep in his throat like a territorial animal, then lurches away from the door and doubles over for a moment.
You see his back widen, his torso broaden, his white muscle shirt become a good deal tighter over his smooth skin.
He stands back up straight and you stare. And he stares right back. His shoulders roll and shiver as they suddenly bulge with bigger, rounded muscles. First one side, then the other side of his chest also develops large, powerful pectorals.
You’re awestruck, standing in front of him. “Hunter. Dude. What… the fuck.”
“Heh… heheh…” he chuckles. His voice is getting deeper. He’s sounding less like a teenage boy and more like a pro-wrestler, which would be in-line with the way his body is bulking up all over. “Uh. Welp… I should probably tell you something.” He shivers slightly.
He’s getting taller. You were looking down at him a moment ago. But your eyes follow his upwards as he steadily gains in height. Soon he’s looking down at you instead, your eyes level with his nose.
Incredibly– as if the entire spectacle wasn’t unbelievable enough– you watch as his white undershirt turns red and flannel-patterned, forming buttons and sleeves that roll over his arms. His track pants undergo a transformation of their own, into thick, warm-looking blue-jeans.
And all the while Hunter’s body is getting bigger and bigger. He grins, growling and groaning and giggling together as he undergoes another growth spurt. “Hehehehhh…” he chuckles again, grinning down at you. Just like that, he’s over a head taller, and now your eyes are at his shoulders, and you have a perfect view of his massive pectorals growing his upper body big enough to stretch and split his new flannel shirt down the middle. The top two buttons pop open one after the other and you recoil back as a thick bush of chest hair bursts into view out of nowhere.
When you look back up at him, you see his stubble thickening into a fuller, bushier beard, and even his spiky brown hair seems to be getting spikier and browner. That beatific “come hither” grin never leaves his face.
In a small squeak of a voice, you murmur “so uh. What were you gonna tell me?”
“Welp,” he rumbles in his booming, manly baritone, “when I was still a LITTLE thing… like you…” and he claps a hand down on your shoulder. “I was gonna tell you. That you should probably run.”
In his other hand, you see a vast, tree-terrorizing axe materialize from the aether. You freeze like a deer staring down an oncoming train.
“But now that… heheh. Now that I’m HUGE, again…” Hunter’s gigantic callused hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your neck. “I should probably just tell you. How… pregnant. I’m going to make you.”
Your stomach churns. “Ppp.. uh. Excuse me. Pregnant?”
He looks down at the axe in his hand, then tosses it aside. “Ugh. Don’t really need this right now.” He smiles warmly at you and slowly wraps his massive arms around your body, reeling you in like an inevitable fish on a line. “And yes. Pregnant. Quite pregnant. How else do you think us lumberjacks reproduce, anyway?”
“LUMBERJACKS??” you hiss.
And then the futility of your situation makes you snap into action, jerking and struggling away from him as best you can.
It really doesn’t work. With his hulking new body, Hunter simply clamps you to his hairy new chest and lifts you up and plops you down on the bed. “Ohh yeah. These woods are full of great, big, strong lumberjacks. Like me. Nobody bothers us much,” he smirks, holding you down with one hand planted on your chest. With his other hand, he tugs your pants off. “We’re just… dudes who chop wood. But y'know, little buddy. We have needs. Like… the need to breed.”
He leans down and cuddles you a moment. He’s very warm. He’s heavy and thick and covers you completely. “And I haven’t bred in sooo long. I’ve got LOTS of cum for you. I’ve been saving up.” He pulls your shirt off. There’s no resisting his enormous power, those huge hands, those bulging arms. He unbuttons the rest of his shirt as he straddles you, then tugs his own pants down.
He’s wearing a set of maroon thermal underwear. Long johns. They must’ve been part of the transformation too.
Whimpering in terror, you look to the left, and to the right, looking for anything that could help you get out of this situation. You see a fresh bottle of syrup sitting near the bed. You’re so desperate that you lash out and grab it without thinking.
“Oh that’s right, I almost forgot! What a great idea.” He snatches the bottle from your hands and flicks the lid off. “You’ll need some lube, definitely.” Hunter dumps a copious amount of syrup on his hand and then sets the bottle down on the table next to the bed. With his non-syruped hand, he pulls his long johns down and a very scary boner bounces out to point in your direction. He slathers himself in syrup and then grabs your right leg and lifts it high into the air, exposing your rear end.
You jerk and jump towards the headboard when you feel that sticky goo being smeared up in your buttcrack. “Hold still lil’ buddy,” Hunter grumbles, grinning up at you. “This’s for your own good.”
“Please don’t!” you collapse back on the bed. You feel like you’ve got no pride or dignity left. “Please…? Can’t you just… don’t you have a WIFE for this or something??”
“Ohh we lumberjacks don’t really take wives,” Hunter shrugs. He lines himself up with you, spreading your legs open like a slut. “Women tend to not like living so far from the luxuries of modern-day life, so we don’t really bother. ‘Course, if a fertile young missy was to happen upon my homestead here and seem willing enough… but again. Today’s modern women…” he shakes his head and you feel his tip probing at you. “They’re softies. If there ain’t a cappucino shop and a mall selling yoga pants half-off within five minutes driving distance… but that’s ok.”
He leans over you and ruffles your hair, then pats your flat stomach. “I can still put at least one baby in here.” Hunter rises up for a moment, rubbing his chin. His beard rasps noisily under his fingers. “Might take a lot more cum than usual though.”
You yell and roar and squirm and writhe as Hunter begins to push his beast of a schlong inside you. He moves slowly but steadily, inexorably; one of his hands caresses your face and strokes your hair as he does. “C'mon now, lil’ bro… aren’t you a frat boy? I’m sure this is nothing new to you.”
“WE. DON’T. FUCK. EACH OTHER.”
“You lil’ liar.” Hunter chuckles and rubs your shoulders. “All frat boys get gay with each other. You think yours is the first frat to try camping out here? Fratboys always make nice, big, strong sons for us. More room in your bodies to grow, typically.” He wriggles you back and forth, loosening you up some. “C'mon there. Attaboy. Lemme in… there. THeeeere. There we go. Good boy.” He gives your chest a little rub and then leans in, his soft warm chest hair brushing against you. You can feel his beard brushing against your ear. “Now. Let’s get you nice and pregnant.”
“WHAT THE FUCK. Is this 'pregnant’ stuff??” you rasp out. “I’m a fuckin’ DUDE in case you hadn’t noticed!”
“I already told you… that doesn’t matter to me.” Hunter’s arms wrap around you and he squeezes you close as he humps you into the bed in long, sweeping motions. “You just watched. Ahem. You just watched a little shrimpy… boy… turn into this fuckin’ BEAST. In seconds. And you’re questioning what is and isn’t possible?” Hunter laughs and the rumbles of his voice vibrate your bones.
Time seems to slow for you as your brain attempts to make sense of your situation. It fails. It doesn’t help that somewhere in your lower body there seems to be a very sensitive spot that Hunter keeps touching and you’ve never felt anything like it before but holy fucking shit.
And suddenly Hunter bearhugs you to himself, crushing you against his muscular body and growls out the word “YYYEAAAHHH” and a burst of warmth blooms in your tummy like a fire igniting. And it doesn’t stop. It keeps growing, warmer and warmer, bigger, fuller. You whimper and yelp and squirm in his grip. He continues to cream you, stuffing you full.
No, literally. You actually begin to feel full, like that morning after breakfast. It starts out low, but then you can feel it, that thick heavy warmth pooling behind your bellybutton, and it rises higher. You feel your stomach pushing against Hunter’s thick, beefy waist, his slabs of abdominal muscle unrelenting. The pressure builds.
“Grrrr just a bit more… more…” Hunter pulses inside you, a booming rhythm like the footfalls of a giant. You’re so warm. The smell of maple syrup hangs in the air like fog. You feel like you ate all of your breakfast and most of his, too. You’re overstuffed. It’s like a holiday meal.
Your vision actually begins to go dark as the burgeoining ache in your heated belly reaches a zenith. You whine and Hunter’s big hand ruffles your hair again. “It’s ok. It’ll be alright. Shhhh…” he strokes your cheek. “Look how PREGNANT you’re getting.” And he rises up off you and lifts your head up so you can look down at yourself and watch your abdomen rise like a loaf of bread baking.
Hunter’s bushy brown beard splits with a white smile and he arches his back slightly, and that sensitive spot explodes with pleasure and you holler. You’ve never cum so hard in your life.
In a fuzzy daze, you flop back down for a moment, panting and covered in sweat and unable to move.
“Ahhhhh yeaaahhh,” Hunter sighs. His voice sounds a little higher than it did a moment ago. You raise up on your elbows and stare at him.
And then at yourself. At your stomach that’s so bloated you legitimately do look, well… pregnant. Like you’re halfway there.
Hunter places a big hand on your belly and rubs in gentle circles. “Wow. That’s… heh. That’s a lotta cum right there.”
His hand is getting smaller on your tight, bulging skin, you notice. You take a moment to study him once more and confirm that he’s shrinking. His beard is fading away, retracting back into his face. He’s turning back into the same happy-looking young man who brought you hot chocolate that morning. His skin smooths over once more, showing none of the thick chest hair or rippling musculature. He climbs off and pulls out of you and you watch him pick up his flannel shirt and jeans, which turn back into his undershirt and track pants.
You close your eyes and fall asleep. There are no dreams or nightmares, only an overwhelming sense of confusion so strong you can’t even think about being confused.
****************************
You wake up before the sun rises. The blanket’s a little hot atop you, so you push it off and are immediately reminded of what happened last night when your basketball-sized belly peeks out to greet you. It’s still full and heavy and positively radiating warmth. And you still smell like maple.
But now you can feel a distinct churning, gurgling in your bulging gut.
You flinch away as Hunter shows up at your side, all pretty-boy smirks and not even showing a trace of the massive mountain-man he’d morphed into the night previous. He blushes a little and looks rather embarrassed, but he sits on the bed next to you and his soft touch glides over your firm skin.
“I guess I should apologize,” he says, smiling sheepishly at you. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got breakfast cooking.”
“You fucked me.”
He giggles at himself, seeming pleased. “Heh. Yeah.” His hand rubbing your belly feels just soothing enough to keep you lying still and not punching him right in the nose. “Sometimes uh… my 'big’ side gets a little horny. Sorry. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of you until the baby comes out. I’ll take good care of you. Here, let’s get you some breakfast.” He helps you roll over and get to your feet. At some point while you slept, he tried to get your pants back on, but only succeeded with your boxers, and even those are uncomfortably tight around your swollen bump.
He guides you over to the table and you stare at the smorgasboard of delicious smelling food for a second. Then everything turns sour and you double over and Hunter’s already got a metal pail in his hand, catching your puke. He rubs your back as you finish up, then he sets the pail down and brings a washcloth over and cleans your face up.
In your gut, you feel such a pleasant warm glow. You can’t even feel mad at him. Maybe the baby’s giving you those emotions. You’ll have to ask your mom when you see her next: do babies do that shit?
Hunter looks up at you– he’s so small! How does such a young-looking… fuck, he fucking smiles and your baby swoops again and you actually smile back, just a little, and Hunter wraps his slim arms around you and squeezes and actually lifts you up off the ground. “You’re gonna be such a good mother. Father. Whatever.” His face is all rejoicing and mirth. “I promise. I’ll take such good care of you. And, uh… him. And if I can’t do it in this body,” he says as his innocent smile turns into a rather naughty smirk, “then… I’ll just have to get big again.”

Okay, so Bitty is procrastinating by scrolling through Youtube and today it starts with husky puppies playing in the snow for the first time, but he ends up watching this contouring video where it starts off with this super cool music riff and shots of the mountains? It’s a really nice shot, but the voiceover sounds really familiar. Like, really familiar.

He spends the next couple seconds racking his brain until Derek Nurse’s Doppelganger’s face shows up “without makeup” and Bitty is transfixed for 6:43 minutes as Totally Not Nursey, Right puts a timer on and does a five minute face in real time. Five minute contouring. It’s mesmerizing, honestly

Then, the guy finally talks on screen and holy mother of the baby lord

So, he watches more as this guy who he’s pretty sure is Nursey combs and fills his brows and gets rid of dark circles and blemishes, uses a dark brown shadow as eyeliner and a pale pink shade in his inner socket and on the bow of his lip for an every day look. There are costume tutorials and filling in spare patches in facial hair, skin care routines, and reviews of products. Bitty’s like !!!!!! because he’s 100% sure this is Nursey but, like Nursey might not want the team to know about his tutorials and outfit videos because Bitty gets it, it’s the Hannah Montana glamour of it all and also yeah…….:/// and it might just be an open secret like his own vlog is???? 

He scrolls through Nursey’s instagram–well, his makeup instagram. It’s not the account that Bitty already follows, it’s his Youtube username, finelines, and it’s kinda…….ridiculously…popular??? It was featured on Buzzfeed apparently??? There’s those flat lays of Nursey’s outfits, lines of poetry, swatches of eye shadow and lip products and screencaps from videos, etc…. 

And while Bitty’s sure that someone in the Haus has seen his own videos, no one ever confronts him about it, so he’s just gonna let Nursey do his own thing while Bitty himself spends the rest of the afternoon watching dozens of videos in bed and maybe orders….some brow product online….like Bitty has blond brows and he would like some definition, thanks Derek

And then Nursey compliments Bitty’s brows once the product’s come in and Bitty’s had a few tries and watched a few videos and !!!! everything is goodt in the Haus

The Forest || Wonwoo || Oneshot

Originally posted by visual-17

Word Count: 1244

Genre: witch!au, fluff

Summary: Being in a dark, creepy forest that was said to have a demonic spirit was one thing you hadn’t ever wanted to do. 

Minghao // Woozi // Mingyu // Seungcheol //


There was an ominous feeling that crawled up your back as you ventured through the forest. It made your stomach churn and your skin crawl. Every time you looked up, a creature stared back at you with red eyes before scampering off, as if to tell their friends about you. You shuddered at the thought. If only you hadn’t gotten lost.

Keep reading