song inspiration: young and beautiful → lana del rey.
roasted leaves rested on the earth, branches bare from their departure. you had awoken on this cold morning, expecting the day to continue like it usually would. beacon hills housed some of the most chaotic creatures, the current topic is the ageless nogitsune that settled itself into stiles stilinski’s figure.
tonight was halloween, your favourite season. lydia was hosting a party at her lake house, you had decided to attend as a bloody nurse. it was a classic but you still rocked the clothing nonetheless. fake blood would be stained across your white dress and you decided that your hair would be in loose curls.
the night dawned over and you had arrived to lydia’s lake house with one of your close friends. people flooded the hallways and bumped into one another as you tried to fight your way through the crowds.
you stumbled into the kitchen before pouring a drink, the burning liquor poured down your throat as you grimaced at the strength. the small particles of your drink rose to the top of the glass as you placed it down onto the marble counter.
people complimented your outfit and you were the most best dressed at the party. you had some angel white contact lenses in that added to the awesomeness. you leaned against the counter as stiles walked in, he didn’t seem to add any effort into tonight’s seasonal events but it didn’t bother you.
stiles’ eyes were unlighted and he looked light–toned. he looked as though he hadn’t slept in years, despite the little endeavour he added to his costume. your crush on stiles seemed to heighten as he looked attractive in this moment.
“c–can you do me a favour?” stiles leaned closer towards you as his darkened eyes bored into yours. his thumbs lightly brushed your cheeks as you shuddered at the coldness of his hands.
“sure, what is it?” you catechized as you glanced at his cold, lavender coloured lips. they were chapped as he whispers delicately in your ear.
“I need you to kiss me, sweetheart.” he growls as it sent chills down your spine. stiles had a melancholic vibe that made you feel slightly uncomfortable. but you had a crush on him, so the attention was overwhelming.
music was pulsating in your head as you glanced at stiles who raised his eyebrows, awaiting for you to heed to his demands.
“are you sure?” you dithered as storms accumulated in his brown orbs. he tilted his head as you sucked in a harsh breath, understanding that he was one–hundred percent sure with his commands.
“alright.” you forbade as he briskly became more impatient as each second passed, he gripped onto your waist and crashed his fractured lips against yours.
your fingers tousled his dark brown locks, the moment prodigious. you couldn’t process what was happening right this second. you were indulging in an intense make out session with the guy you had a crush on.
as you caught your breath, he had a devilish smirk plastered on his pale complexion. in this moment, you realised that you weren’t kissing stiles.
scott rushed into the kitchen as his eyes widened, stiles’ expression hardened as he grips onto you.
“stiles, let go of me.” you struggled to escape his tight hold as he chuckled, scott’s face was full of concern and panic as he tries to pull you away from stiles.
“that’s not stiles.” you gasped as scott manages to drag you out of stiles’ reach. “he’s not stiles.” you repeated as the duplicate of stiles smirked in achievement.
“congratulations, you’re one of the last people to work that one out.” he snarled, you backed up against the counter as scott becomes face to face with the heartless monster that held stiles’ mind hostage.
“don’t touch her.” scott says harshly. in reality, void stiles didn’t want to hurt you. in fact, he wanted you for himself.
stiles’ memories were full of you, he had liked you all this time and void stiles seemed to of developed the same affection that stiles held for you. all the times that stiles would tell you about his nightmares, you wouldn’t listen to him.
you’d tell him that everyone has nightmares, but these ones that stiles were having involved you in lots of them. but again, you didn’t listen to his worries. stiles had devils in his head, they’d manipulate him and drive him insane.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I fucking want you, I want you all for myself.” void’s jaw clenched tightly as his knuckles turned white from exertion.
everything made sense now, the nightmares, the sleepwalking and the panic attacks. you felt terrible, neglecting stiles’ needs and words.
he was possessed, every second that you spent with him was slowly morphing into someone who wasn’t him.
this entity that’s allowed itself into his lanky figure has taken over his life. there wasn’t anything you could do.
void stiles wanted you, and he wouldn’t give up unless he had you…
I absolutely love this. I’m unsure about the quality but the idea - I’m in love. I can imagine this boy with his colours and his grin so clearly and he’s already managed to tug at my heart over the few days I’ve been writing it. I truly and deeply hope you enjoy it. Please enjoy.
The trees smile down protectively over the shrubbery and dirt, they block out the sun to the best of their ability but the sun manages to glare through the branches every once in a while.
It’s peaceful, which is why I enjoy spending time hidden and surrounded by nature, miles from any human contact. I sit between to gigantic roots, my flask balancing on top of the left one like a first-rate acrobat and my backpack resting at my feet.
I’m a tiny fraction of the forest. I barely makes one whole percent, and the idea of it fills me with contentment, along with a dash of curiosity. Wondering just how far out the trees have taken over and made the land their own, I’m left to scan my surroundings.
It’s murky in every direction, but the darkness doesn’t take over until much further away, as though there’s something in the far distance that someone doesn’t want me to see, so they result in blacking it out, erasing it from my vision.
The odd bird will chirp high up in the trees and - in the opposite direction - another will attempt to imitate it. This happens so often that I become used to it and its effect weakens so that I’m no longer startled by it as I was to begin with.
I’m content as I sit under the tree, feeling its hard bark pressing into my back, and I take a sip of the hot chocolate that stays heated and creamy within my flask. The sweet smell of chocolate would probably be feeling my senses if it wasn’t for the dirt and wood having such an effect.
There’s a slight gush of wind and it causes the bushes nearby to dance against it. I try to tell myself that a chill runs down my back because of the sudden wind, not because of fear creeping into my stomach.
The time ticks by and the air gets colder with each minute that passes, although I hardly notice because I become so involved with the words of Stephen King, they’re printed beautifully across the pages but they turn into one whole blur as my eyes swing from left to right.
There’s another shaking of leaves ahead of me, but my mind and my body know not to be afraid at this point so I don’t move.
Wendy and Danny Torrance are shopping for Christmas presents in the world within my book, and I find myself adoring Jack Torrance, despite knowing things are taking their time to go down the steep hill. My heart drops into my stomach and my neck cracks from the force of lifting it so suddenly when I hear the snapping of twigs ahead of me.
The darkness is a curtain, stopping me from seeing more than fifty feet in front of me. It only heightens the panic that I thought was nonexistent. Cautiously, I close my book and rest it on the tree trunk beside me. I watch the darkness and wait.
My heart is alive and angry. It’s threatening to slide up my throat and in my mouth. I swallow and get the feeling I’m going to throw up, I rub my hands together slowly as a stupid attempt to distract myself.
Whether it’s my imagination - with my panic having a say in it also - or my ears telling me the truth, I’m not sure, but I hear a low growl coming from the black. A gasp betrays my secret vow to keep as quiet as possible and leaves my lips.
Before I can do anything, (not that I had any smart plan in mind) there’s a movement too clear to have been a trick of the light, or my imagination. A set of black boots appear out of the shadows; they’re layered with dried mud splatters and the laces - maybe once as yellow as the sun - are now frayed and a mix of dark green and a light brown. While my eyes are inspecting them, they move closer to me.
The black boots are followed by black jeans that seem to fit securely around the legs. There’s rips and tears that don’t look like the usual you see on teenagers; I don’t think these ones are voluntary. The skin beneath them looks unusual but I decide it’s likely to be because of the darkness clouding my vision.
I’ve been too busy collecting tiny bits of insignificant features that I didn’t realise the pressure that seems to be increasing on my back. I’ve been leaning back so much that the bark of the tree is digging into the skin between my shoulder blades, I assume it’ll leave marks for a few hours.
I chance a glance at the figure once more and see a set of eyes staring at me, burning into my entire being. They looked as though they were glowing.
It’s silent for some time, although I can hear my heart thumping violently inside of me skull and my ears are starting to ring. The figure is getting closer.
I want to scream and run as fast as my legs can carry me, I want to cry out for help, but all I manage to do is part my lips, expecting some coherent sentence to come out.
“What are you doing here?” the figures asks and a shiver - that is definitely not caused by the wind this time - shocks my spine.
The moonlight decides to help me by casting a soft light on the figure. I can see the top of their head shines a caramel colour and the hair swipes back with a messy look. I’m not able to keep my gaze on their hair because almost instantly, something else catches my eye.
Along the skin, red marks glow like a fire in full force. The patterns don’t see to have any specific form but instead, random and unsystematic across every inch of visible skin.
The breath hitches in my throat as though someone has reached down into me and stopped me from being able to do anything but stare with panic. My feet feel glued to the dirt layering the ground.
“I-I, I wasn’t doing anything-“
“You shouldn’t be here. These aren’t your parts. You’re mundane, a normal.”
To this, I can’t help but frown. The boy didn’t seem to attempt to ease his disgust at the words ‘mundane’ and ‘normal’ to avoid offended me. Despite this, I’m too terrified by the whole situation to bring it up.
The boy - whose age seems to show the closer he gets, I can see the darkness under his eyes and the frown set onto his forehead, but his skin looked smooth and ironed out - watched me closely with dark eyes. They were dangerously close to being completely black.
“What’s your name?” he asks, and when his pink lips part, I can see his canines are sharp and glistening white. A silent gasp travels up my dry throat.
“I was taught not to talk to strangers, never mind going around and telling them my name willy-nilly.” I surprise myself with the amount of strength behind my words.
“You’ve already shown you’re incapable of following rules; you’ve spoken to me plenty a time already.”
I ignore his remark and catch another glimpse of his arms. The marks infesting his arms were no longer just red, but yellow and black also. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed them previously.
“What did you mean by ‘mundane’ and ‘normal’?” I take the risk of asking, and in response, I see the boy’s unlighted eyes staring into my own.
“Well,” he starts. “The official definition is the lacking of excitement or interest- dull even, but I implied that you’re ordinary, you’re normal. Human.”
At this, I laughed. I can tell it took the boy by surprise because the scowl lifted off of his face momentarily while he raised an eyebrow. “And what are you? Some kind of abnormal being?”
“I’ve been called that before, yes, but that’s not my official title.”
I scan his face for some sign of amusement but find nothing. The level of confusion within my body sky-rockets and I’m uncertain of my strength of containing it. The atmosphere seems to change ever so slowly, and being able to see the full figure of the boy, it makes it less daunting and I’m able to stand somewhat confidently.
“What are those on your arms?”
He looks down at them as though he was only just noticing they were there. The red appears to be fading but I can’t be sure due to the dark.
“My marks,” he mutters proudly. “Pointless and a rather weak strategy, but I think they add a little something.”
“Is that how you know I’m human? Because I don’t have any of those?” I ask slowly; weirdly, not wanting to wipe the pride off this boy’s face.
He nods, “and you humans have a different scent. Yours seems to be attempting to mix with the scent of sandalwood and dirt.” He clocks the flush that rises to centre of my cheeks and the shock in my expression. “Although I assume that has to do with the fact that you’re strolling around the middle of the forest in the early evening.”
“What’s the problem? Am I not allowed to be here? Is there some kind of law that says humans aren’t supposed to mix with your - supposedly - different kind?”
“Of course not, each of us merely agreed to stay away from each other when we clashed a few hundred years ago. If you looked, there’s a high chance you’d see a sign saying ‘keep out’ in big black letters at the entrance to this place.”
After being stood in the open space for so long, the boy walks over to my spot between the two tree trunks and sits down. When he bends his leg I can see the swirling patterns through the rips in his jeans.
“So, you’re not human?” I question, taking a step forward.
“No,” he replies. “But I have no way of showing you and quite frankly, I couldn’t care less whether you’re convinced or not.”
The razor-sharp teeth and the near-black eyes and the colours of his skin, still fading and appearing and changing, they’re all doing an incredible job of convincing her that this wasn’t a dream, and he was most definitely not human.
“What are you going to do? Kill me?”
“Don’t be stupid, I don’t have any of my torture weapons with me,” he states calmly and lets his pointer finger twirl around the lid of my flask. “There’s nothing I can do. You haven’t really done anything wrong, besides trespassing.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to-“
“Forget it. You should count your lucky stars it was me who found you and not someone else, they’re not so forgiving.”
I bite my tongue and take a seat at the other side of the tree trunk. It becomes a wall between us. I grab my flask, snap the lid open and take a sip. I’m thankful to be able to feel the warm liquid seeping into my system and heating my body.
I’m unable to believe mere moments ago I was contemplating running for my life when this boy seems harmless, (I call him a boy due to the fact that I’m unsure as to what he is.)
“Would, would you like some?” I ask politely without thinking and I can feel my cheeks buzzing softly.
“What is it?”
“It was hot chocolate, but now, it’s more lukewarm chocolate.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.” He looks between the flask and my face, probably seeing my hesitant wonder. “My system wouldn’t have it. It could either have minor affects, a little bit of throwing up and spitting blood here and there, or I’d drop dead in a matter of hours. I like to think of myself as a bit of a chancer, but a hot drink doesn’t seem worth it.”
I’m given more information than I expected, and all I can do is nod, pulling the flask slowly into my lap. “So, those marks, how’d you get them?”
“Do you always ask a lot of questions?” He turns to look at me. I don’t think his facial expression has changed once yet.
I’m taken aback and I cower like an abandoned puppy. “Sorry,” I mutter.
It’s quiet for a moment and I can see the boy tracing the patterns on his skin. The yellows are burning bright now and the red seems to be being replaced with browns and greys. I’m itching to know what he’s feeling.
“I’ve had them since birth, I was born with them,” he murmurs, not looking at me.
“They’re quite pretty,” I say, biting the edge of the flask now.
He chuckles. “Thank you, human. I have to say, your skin is quite boring.” He grins and I’m able to be given front row seats to the view of his sharp teeth. I wonder how much damage they could do.
“I have to agree with you on that. You must feel artistically beautiful all the time with those things.”
“Not really, because while you’re seeing these for the first time, they’re normal for my kind so they’re not a big deal. It’s nice to have them appreciated though.”
Orange seeps onto his skin, moving from his fingertips to his elbows. I watch it happen in complete awe.
His colours radiated slightly now, and I could see pink creeping up his neck due to his cheeks flushing, not the patterns. He looks embarrassed and I can’t understand why. He folds his arms over each other. The orange and the yellow and the brown and the grey are the only colours that I can see; everything is being dominated by the darkness except his colours.
“What do the colours mean?”
He sighs and I cringe, knowing I’ve asked yet another question. “It’s difficult because colours can mean a lot of different things. For example, that orange is me being cheerful because I liked the idea of someone appreciating my marks, and that brown- it’s fading now, but that was boredom. The grey was me being uninterested, but look, now that the conversation has steered towards me, it’s fading.” The boy flashes a playful smirk and runs his slender fingers through his jungle of hair.
“And what does the yellow mean?” I ask, pointing to the colour burning bright on the back of his upper arm. He cranes his neck to find it immediately.
“Oh, that’s hunger. I’m starving.”
I remember that I have a chocolate bar in my bag and gently reach to grab it as it sits at his feet. I rummage through it but pause instantly.
“W-what do you eat?” My hand is wrapped around the chocolate bar, but I wait for him to speak.
“I love dead bird with a side dish of human fingers, and some blood for drinking.” I think he sees my body retract and my face drop because he laughs loudly. The yellow spreads and I assume that it means something different. “I’m kidding, what’d’you got?”
A big gush of relief washes over me and I pull the bar out of my bag. He takes it without another word and unwraps it. I sit back against the tree and let the silence take me under. Hugging the flask to my chest, I listen as the boy devours the chocolate bar gratefully. It’s still fairly dark in the forest, but the boy illuminates the space around us with his colours - blue, yellow, orange and a hint of red blend glimmer on their own accord.
Some of us
Have intellect, which is our danger, for we lack intelligence
And have forgotten instinct.
Progress—progress is the dirtiest word in the language—who ever told us—
And made us believe it—that to take a step forward was
necessarily, was always
A good idea?
In this unlighted cave, one step forward
That step can be the down-step into the Abyss.
me, a black metal warrior: i, the satanic god of unlight, forced to live within the ruins of this crumbled society. there is no life here, the northern forest’s calling, i can hear it. a Spirit rises before me and speaks in different aeonic tongues. it beckons me towards the winterscape, the mighty kingdom of frost and snow. i feel my nordic ancestors smiling down upon me. all glory to the father of all, who is high in Valhalla, the true god.