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Halloween Costume: Jason Voorhees

Something's wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight And they aren't of Snow White Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragons' fire And of things that will bite, yeah

#mirror #event.halloween #thanks kenyer

rajxambrosio:

He glanced at his friend once more, and the idea of mandatory costumes only solidified his decision. But when Aksel looked disappointed, it was hard to keep his resolve not to go. “Mandatory…right.” He rubbed his jaw now, looking at the sad pumpkins in front of him. “Okay, okay. Well…is there free alcohol?” That would at least give Raja something to do other than sleep, which seemed like a good enough reason to go. He didn’t need more fuel for his nightmares, however. “You really want me to go? What would I even be?”

Raj was always a good sport, though it was painfully obvious that the man did not wish to be. “You do this for me and then I’ll do whatever seasonally appropriate thing you deem necessary in December. Fair?” Aksel questioned, though he was certain he’d live to regret the offer. “We’ll put a sheet over your head and poke some holes in it, you’ll be a ghost.” Aksel offered, if neither of them wanted to go then that would make them quite the pair.

#raj

healerswanford:

There is a certain finality to full moons. A certain fear that followed no matter the place or the company or the duty. Isabella had died on a night like this one, exhaled her final breath under the watchful gaze of the full moon, only to be awaken as a vampire and find herself in peril every time the full moon rose high in the sky. It had taken her years to be able to step outside freely under the full moon, training by the hands of older vampires on how to hunt their natural enemy, countless hours talking to Ayla. It had been an effort unlike any other, but an effort that was, and always will be, well worth it.

Now, she patrols the streets under the full moon, the undercurrent of fear eclipsed by the threads of duty that keep her rooted on her role as a marshal. Above all, Isabella is a healer, but sometimes, in order to heal the broken, the threats have to be neutralized first. As a marshal, that is her job. To ensure the laws are followed and that the wounds of thoughtless supernaturals do not remain open and bleeding as people ignore the damage.

It is not the first time she is paired with Aksel, and likely not the last in the witch’s life time. They had fallen into a routine that is almost easy, after they had reached a mutual understanding and begun their friendship. A sort of knowing ran between the two, and understanding of when should each of them strike or hold back.

The fight against the lycans that had broken the law had been swift, each of them falling back into their usual fighting patterns when patrolling together and ensuring the job was done swiftly and with as minimal damage as possible to avoid attention.

“Soon as in the next hour, or soon as just before sunrise?” She asks, reclining against one of the alleyway walls, an watchful eye kept in the lycans in case of any surprises. “Because we both know that measurement varies depending on who is on shift.”

The next comment passes through her swiftly, and she tilts her head to the right in consideration as she meets one of the wolves glare without fear.

“Not every lycan in Rome belongs to a pack,” she comments, eyes shifting from wolf to wolf, finding no feature she recognizes from Tiber’s pack, one never knows with Arno, though. She wants to comment on what she knows, but she is also aware of her position as Ayla’s hands. She cannot reveal too much of her thoughts in the political realm, not even her disdain for the slow erosion of rights and respect afforded to the packs. “But I agree, there should be a bigger effort to corral all the lycans to pack grounds during full moon to prevent casualties. I shall mention it to Enzo.”

Aksel had spoken with Serkan already but that business was his own, a private affair between witches that he’d either dealt with, or would have to deal with later on. Isabella’s remark on their present wait time drew a hard smile to the corner of his near-stoic expression. A soft sigh as he came to the conclusion that she was right and they could end up waiting here all night filled the spaces between his lips as Aksel let his head roll back. “Wonderful.” Aksel commented dryly, though when he tilted his head his gaze met hers and offered an easy smile. At least the company was good.

“Pack or no, this lot will be judged by the alphas.” There was a worried thought in the back of his mind that the wolves were growing out of control. “You haven’t noticed the rise in their numbers?” Aksel asked as he quirked a brow at the other marshal, it was clear that one or both of the packs were breaking the senate’s laws, what they lacked now was any real proof. The witch could invade the mind’s of these lycans but doing so under a full moon was dangerous and would leave him vulnerable. By the time they were taken into custody, however, they’d be beyond his reach and the problem of the very men who were at the root of the cause.

It wasn’t common knowledge that Serkan and Aksel were cousins, the alpha born into a family without any magic that was akin to a rotted branch. Tragedy had defined the man’s past, for that Serkan had Aksel’s sympathy - but the alpha was no leader. He’d earned his rank through force of blood, that didn’t make him someone to be respected, just one that was feared enough to momentarily retain his position within the city. “Between our issues with the fey and the rising number of lycans, there is reason to be concerned.” He didn’t know how this related to the missing witches but it seemed most of the city had moved on already, not by choice, but because their problems were stacking up.

#isabella

marcellabelanades:

“You don’t…” Looking up, hands still gently scratching behind the dog’s ears, Marcella’s brows furrow. He is familiar and yet not enough that she sees it right away and she finds herself squinting. She lived in a kind of weird limbo where she wasn’t quite local but she wasn’t quite a stranger to the other witches of Rome. But the last time she’d been around, Marcella had been a teenager desperately trying to seem grown up and in a way, she didn’t think she’d quite shaken that, not internally at least. On the outside she wasn’t entirely the frizzy haired barefoot girl trying on her aunt’s dresses and going out to eat gelato, but she very much still felt like that person. “Aksel?” She’s still unsure as she rises to her feet, a hand moving from the dog’s ear to his scruff just to keep him from running off. Yes it’s definitely him and she remembers the disaster that had been her as a teenager sitting in a nice restaurant across from him. Severely under dressed and under prepared, she’d bought a dress for the occasion that she knew now had been out of place. It’d been one of her first few official dates and it hadn’t even mattered that he’d ordered her a very nice dessert, she’d been mortified by the whole experience. “You grew your hair out.”

“Been a few years now.” Aksel said simply as he ran his hand purposefully through his tussles, there weren’t many soft spots left in him these days - as a marshal he was ruthless, as demonstrated in his patrols with his fellows - and as a man he was withdrawn. Long nights spent in meaningless relationships with people he’d never see again, vapid airheads without a thought to spare. Marcella was different, she had some sense to her. At least, as far as he remembered she could hold a conversation. With most people these days it was like trying to converse with a log. “I didn’t expect to see you back here.” Aksel furthered as he studied the woman for a moment, “You always struck me as the never look back sort.”

#marcella

vincenzodives:

“Right.” Vincenzo couldn’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable under the gaze of the other witch. He felt like he was being judged on his appearance. Normally, he wouldn’t mind, but there was something about this Aksel that made him think there was something wrong with him. Or not? He wasn’t sure what impression he was getting from this in the slightest. Best not to dwell on it since this would probably be their only time speaking to each other. Rome was a big place. “You wanted to talk to me? I gave the impression I wanted to be talked to?” Vinny hadn’t particularly meant it in a bad way. He had just never had people willingly come up and talk to him. Just to talk to him. “I wasn’t aware that was super Italian-American. Then again, I guess I wouldn’t even know the difference. Or I didn’t before I came over here.” A sigh left his lips. “Sure. What is it?”

“I suppose, I try to make it my business to familiarize myself with the witches of the city, even the ones living in the nineties grunge era. Maybe especially.” Aksel mused easily as he dragged the other witch playfully, Vincenzo didn’t look particularly strong, but with their kind looks could be deceiving. Then again, a witch with no coven had a ceiling and unless Vincenzo was lying to him it could be assumed that he’d only really come to excel in one or two of the schools. Even then Aksel imagined the man’s magic clunked and chugged like a rusted old engine. “Do you plan on staying in the city long?”

#vincenzo #we can either keep this going until you do that thing or squeeze in another thread somehow

rajxambrosio:

Raja rolled his eyes, though he handed more pumpkins to Aksel anyway, determined to get them all set up on the windowsill. Some of them had faces and others didn’t, but they were some of the human’s favorite decorations. “A costume? No, no. I don’t like Halloween,” he admitted, shrugging once more. He liked the cute pumpkins and the smell of pumpkin spice, but he’d be happier skipping to Christmas and winter. “The senate thing…right,” he, again, wasn’t privy to politics in Rome, knowing that the most heated debate he’d ever gotten in was whether or not Roma FC was going to take the Champion’s League title. Italy would win the World Cup and he wouldn’t have to worry about fighting anyone. “Can’t you just say you don’t want to go?”

Raja handed him more pumpkins and Aksel set more of them down, refusing to take any more as he held up his hands. An easy grin on his face before he begrudgingly grabbed yet another and set it on the windowsill. Parties weren’t really for him but he understood why the citizens of Rome would want an escape, unfortunately they didn’t have a great track record with parties, but maybe their fortune was changing. “Costumes are mandatory.” The witch reminded, he’d found his at Party City, was scary enough at least. “If only it were that simple-” Aksel said with a sigh, he’d have preferred a bottle of wine at home but that wasn’t going to happen. “Does this mean you’re not coming with me?”

#raj

vincenzodives:

“I don’t know if that’s the same, but sure.” The difference was the fact that Vincenzo felt like he didn’t have anyone. So much so that he was willing to bring someone back from the dead that he didn’t even know. Granted it was his father, but still. This Aksel had an entire coven to go to if he so much as broke a damn nail. To Vinny, they were not the same. Plus, the other witch was a marshal. Vincenzo still had no idea what the hell any of the politics of the Senate meant and he was not trying to figure it out. If he was able to bring his father back, Rome would be the last place he would think they could stay. It would only end with them both suffering the same fate his father had the first time. “Marshal and a watcher. Is that the reason for the questions then? I promise I’m not up to anything,” he said as he held his hands up. A short laugh fell from his lips at the question. “Now that you say that, I’m curious what Italian-American names come to mind for you.” He shook his head. “Actually, never mind. It’s Vincenzo. Or Vinny is what any of my friends call me.”

They were from two different worlds, it didn’t take a genius to see as much. Where Aksel didn’t wear anything beneath a certain thread count, the man sitting next to him looked like he was still stuck in the nineties grunge era. The witch would admit though, Vinny had potential. “They’re my excuses, anyways.” Aksel offered, “I guess I just wanted to talk to you.” Position within the senate aside, loneliness notwithstanding, if Aksel had a type the other witch didn’t really fit the brief. “Vincenzo is quite literally the first name I might have guessed.” Aksel quipped easily enough, a smirk on his lips as he remembered when the cast of Jersey Shore filmed a season in Italy. “Can I ask you something else?”

#vincenzo

vincenzodives:

Lonely. Well, that was something that Vincenzo knew all too well. He had spent most of his life by himself, it seemed. Since his mother had kept him separated from his witch side, it was something that he knew better than he should have. If the woman had not kept it so secret, things would have been different. Now here he was trying to perform necromancy on a man he never knew so that he could know exactly who he was. Would it change anything? More than likely not, but he was still going to try. By himself. Alone. “I don’t see a problem with loneliness.” Probably sounded sad, but it was the truth. Vinny didn’t want to talk to people simply because he didn’t want any new friends. He had a small group that was quite enough for him. “Very funny,” was all he said in response to the comment. He was fluent in the language only because of his mother and had spent most of his life speaking it. Even though it was his secondary language. There was probably just a bit of a New York twang to it. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tell though. “Something like that, yeah.” An eyebrow rose. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“I think we have that in common.” Aksel admitted, “I’ve an entire coven at my back and I still prefer to live alone.” The truth was he’d grown away from them, not in the sense that he wouldn’t look out for them, but he was no longer certain he could relate to them. Or anyone, for that matter. When he was a boy he’d set his sights on becoming the coven’s sovereign, in a few years, that was entirely possible, but this achievement felt hollow so long as the people responsible for his wife’s death still walked free. “I’m a marshal,” Aksel admitted, “a watcher for the Amaranthus.” It was something the witch was proud of, though he could tell already that it wasn’t a status or title that the other would care anything about. Aksel had no reason to suspect the man at present, but just the same he wanted to keep talking to him. “I saw a witch sat here alone and couldn’t help myself, I guess. Now, were you going to tell me your name or should I start listing the first Italian-American names that come to mind?”

#vincenzo

vincenzodives:

“Yeah, I can. Been doin’ it all my life. I don’t exactly need to change things now.” Being without a coven was like breathing for him. Vincenzo had learned everything he knew damn near on his own. His mother had suppressed that side of her and he could only figure things out by learning them through other means. Thankfully, he had run into the right people. Or, if his mother had anything to say about it, the wrong people. Vinny always thought about what it would be like though. Nevertheless, it was too late for that now. He had his own agenda for why he was in Rome. Joining a coven was certainly not one of them. “Was it the accent that gave it away?” It was as much of a joke as he could muster and it was barely one at that. “My mother is from here though.”

There was an expiration on that sort of attitude, at least from Aksel’s experience. Witches who went at everything alone either stayed or alone, or ended up dead. He’d take an interest in this one, at least for now. “Sounds lonely” Aksel commented, he wasn’t really in the nature of asking strangers personal questions, but he was curious and keeping the conversation going a while longer didn’t feel like the worst idea in the world. Aksel had had everything once, now what remained was a relic. A ghost going through the motions of living. “Very New York Italian.” Aksel commented, trying his best to simulate the American affectations in the other’s voice when he spoke. He leaned in a bit, “Aksel. You’re what, tracing your roots?”

#Vincenzo

alphaserkan:

If he could roll his eyes more than he already had, he was sure that would have been the case after every point ticked off on Aksel’s list. His cousin was the complete opposite of him. The witch would never understand anything he had gone through. In another world, the two of them would be the same. Both witches. Now Serkan couldn’t imagine being anything but a lycan. Looking back on his life before, there was nothing being a witch could have helped him with. But tearing those people that shit on him his entire life limb from limb? That was a euphoric feeling he would never be able to repeat if given the chance again. “Ah, so there it is. The real reason you’re here. I knew you wouldn’t come over here just to say hello.” He leaned back and eyed Aksel. “Who’s the culprit? I’ll handle it.”

“You’re not wrong,” Aksel commented dryly, “I make it my business not to come this far out unless absolutely necessary.” This, as it happened, was something the witch had deemed necessary. “The blonde. The one that likes to wear sunglasses at night.” Aksel didn’t really know them by name, but he made it his business to know which packs the wolves belonged to. Though the Arno had been making that difficult lately. With a gesture the image of Loren’s gleaming stare glowered from above, plucked from the mind’s eye of Ezekiel the night of the attack. Just as quickly as it had been conjured, it was gone. “One of yours, like I said.”

#serkan

rajxambrosio:

“You mean you can come down to my level and bring one of your wines?” One of Aksel’s fancy bottles probably cost more than a month of Raja’s rent, but he wasn’t going to complain if his friend wanted to bring one over. They were a strange combination anyway, but Raj had never thought of himself as any less, and Aksel had never treated him like it either. “Christmas debt? You buy people too much stuff,” he teased, handing a little pumpkin to his friend now, “Draw a happy face on it.”

“Call it a donation, I’m very charitable.” Aksel offered as he scrutinized the small pumpkin that Raj offered him before the witch opted to put it down on the nearest shelf. He’d stopped prescribing to holiday decorum years ago. As it happened there was to be a party this year, normally exclusive to the vampire population but senator Amala had opened it to everyone. “Did you pick a costume yet? Apparently it’s mandatory.” Aksel confirmed, “For the senate’s - thing - I think I have to go.” Make sure nobody died this time.

#raj

arastirmacii:

It was impossible, to live in this world without losing someone to a supernatural creature. For Sanem, it was continuous, endless. Time and time again, she was struck by how easily a friend or family member, or even an acquaintance, was plucked from their human standing. Those that were fortunate passed on to whatever came next. For the less fortunate…well, they ended up on her radar. And that was not somewhere anyone wanted to be.

“I’d like to believe there is somewhere peaceful,” she murmured, thinking of her own lost love. Of the man that had pulled her from the books she’d continued to press her nose into. Sanem knew the grief that Aksel was going through, which is precisely why she had ventured to the winery. Why she continued to come and check up on him, time and time again.

But in the end, Sanem knew what happened to the souls lost on this realm. She knew of the levels of Hell and the demons that crawled their way out; she knew of the spirits and terrors that crept through the shadows, donning faces of those lost. She could only hope that a fate such as that had not befallen Genora. Or Brooks.

Though any trace of Genora’s spirit had been banished, Aksel could swear that he still felt her. In moments like this when the three of them used to drink and look at the stars, when the winery was a place that he wanted to celebrate - an achievement for them both. Now it was hard to feel anything but hollow, a carved relic that was eager to be put to the side. Rome, the city, his coven, these were the things that remained for him but with Sanem it was too easy to get caught up in the past.

“Peaceful, yeah,” he smiled at this, sometimes in his dreams he imagined that she was picking flowers - running through orchards as he chased after her. Aksel had tried to peer through the Inferno’s gates, to catch some glimpse of Genora’s fate, but there was nothing. No way for him to pass through and guarantee he could safely return. “She’d have liked this one-” Aksel commented as he lifted his glass to his lips once more, the closest he could get to trying to lighten the mood a bit. “How’s work, life, everything?”

#sanem

hcdonism:

The estate was massive. Every hallway seemed to just lead to another hallway, which led to another hallway. Remi had no idea what exactly he was doing, or what he was looking for, but he was hoping that he would eventually stumble upon something. Anything that may be useful to him, or the bastard witch that continued to breath down his neck.

Was it even worth it any more, though? Could he continue to beat around the truth, to find ways to not tell Zeke what he had done? Or what he continued to do? Lies were unable to be spoken on his tongue, but was withholding the truth any different? The thoughts plagued his mind, and perhaps that had lead to his not being overly cautious of where he was going, or who he was running into in the dimly lit halls.

“Shit,” the word slipped from his tongue in a crude manner, Remi stepping back from the witch that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Or maybe he’d been standing right there, waiting for the clearly deep in his thoughts halfblood to walk right up to him. “Uh — yeah, this place is kind of huge, you know.” It wasn’t a lie, for Remi had had no idea where he was going. And that had paid off for him in this minor moment.

The witch stood at height and measured the man before him, he was young, potentially innocent. Aksel opted to take his words at face value and not cause a scene. Once was an accident, if it happened again then it was a habit. The witch couldn’t detect any magic coming off of the other, and the idea that Ezekiel had snuck a human inside was perhaps a testament to just how stupid the boy could be. The senate had laws, bringing a human into a coven - into the Amaranthus coven - of all places was a level of foolishness that Aksel hoped the naive witch hadn’t descended into. “I’ll walk you back.” Aksel offered, not entirely convinced either way but keeping his wits sharp just in case. Their coven was something akin to a family, and Aksel wouldn’t tolerate those that threatened his own. “We can keep this between us, let Ezekiel think he got away with it.”

#remi

alphaserkan:

Being a witch had clearly never been in the cards for Serkan. It had seemed to wither away on his side as opposed to Aksel. His cousin was the only one that knew who he was before becoming Alpha. He had been a scrawny little kid, bullied at every turn. It wasn’t until he was older that his anger had taken over and he took it out on everyone. Now he was in charge and everyone who had bullied him had faced his wrath. But that didn’t get rid of that part of him that remembered everything that had happened to him every single day of his life. He would never forget it for as long as he was still breathing.

“Living in the bar? No, I have a little bit more taste than that.” Serkan didn’t own the bar, but this entire area was under his protection. Under the protection of the Arno. That meant he had been to the place plenty of times. Definitely not like All Fours that he rarely went to, that was for damn sure. “Causing problems, huh? Care to explain that to a Senator?”

His cousin’s candour was about what Aksel had expected of an unblessed line with a tragic end. Serkan had every reason to hate the Arno, to hate all that they stood for, now he led them. Ironic, really. If the man had a plan, it wasn’t one that Aksel could see. “An attack outside of Dante’s, vandalism across the city, humans, animals-” Aksel didn’t much care for any of these things, but they were punishable just the same, but they weren’t the reason for his arrival. “More lycans cropping up, your pack growing under unusual circumstances-” Aksel leaned forward, “one of yours attacked an Amaranthus witch. He’d be dead had I not arrived when I did.” The witch didn’t care for a confrontation with his cousin, here of all places where they weren’t worth so much as the expensive pair of shoes he was treading in. “I came here out of respect, I didn’t need to. Lycans should mind their own, or do I need to explain the repercussions to a senator?”

#serkan

vincenzodives:

This was why he didn’t go outside. Vincenzo was not a people person and stayed in his house most of the time. Well, that was how it had been with Viola at least. Now that he lived with other people, he wanted to get out of there sometimes. He could only take Alek in small doses and he barely ran into Sabina. The lycan was just quite a lot to handle. That was a whole other situation though. All he wanted to do right now was sit at the park and maybe end up falling asleep on a bench at some point. He didn’t actually want to talk to people. But he guessed that was going to be the situation now. A short chuckle fell from his lips at the assumption as he looked at the other witch. “I’ve been without a coven all my life. Ain’t gonna join one now.”

Admittedly suspicious of any witch who wandered the city without a coven, Aksel didn’t understand why someone would willingly go without the protection and education that one could afford them. The only real reason that Aksel could think of was they were either exiled from one previously, or had interests that made it so they didn’t fit the brief for one. Still, nothing about the witch screamed dangerous. “Well, I guess if you can take care of yourself.” He thought about the idiot Zeke who jumped from one perilous situation to the next, too inept to save his own skin, too stubborn to see when he was in over his head. “Let me guess, American?” The New York accent made it obvious, Aksel thought that kind of voice only existed on TV.

#Vincenzo

marcellabelanades:

Her heels click on the stone of the street only to come to an abrupt halt when the dog stops up ahead. It’d been trailing after a man and she’d been trailing after it and it appeared that the dog hadn’t just found any man. He had found an asshole. “I was following him.” It’s blunt, it’s almost rude, and Marcella thinks it’s justified considering he just likened her scent to a creature that might as well have been decaying a little on the street. She’d spotted him on her way home from the market and all she could mentally conjure was the thought of animals she’d found back home, not yet ready to be taken and given a breath of new life, even if all she could ever offer was brief. She hadn’t just been able to leave them there in the swamp and she couldn’t just leave the dog. This guy though… Ignoring him, she crouches and frowns as her hands gently scratch behind the dog’s ears. He does smell, he’s mangy, but he seems enthusiastic about the attention. “Poor guy.” She muses, unable to help feeling somewhat responsible for the creature now that she’s finally caught up to him. It’s careful, it’s quiet, the couple of little spells she mumbles as her fingers pass over little scrapes on the animal’s face. The man might be rude, but he is another witch, she can feel that much, and she highly doubts he’s going to chastise her over doing some magic just out of sight of the public when it came to the health of an innocent animal. “Maybe he’s drawn to the smell of rude people.”

Aksel remembered a girl running around with no shoes on, one who got scolded for shedding them and taking off to do her own thing. Marcella was different now, not physically, but in some other intangible way. Naturally, the watcher had heard that she was in Rome again, her aunt was loose-lipped that way, and now he speculated as to how far she’d strayed from the course. She hadn’t joined Amaranthus, arguably the most powerful coven in the city, but with a brief demonstration of discreet restoration magic it was obvious that she didn’t have the sort of ineptitude that would keep her from being accepted. Perhaps she was afraid, or maybe she was hiding something. In Aksel’s experience it was almost always the latter.

People often forget that animals were a large commitment, he wondered if this poor creature was a product of someone who grew tired of an animal that moved beyond its puppy phase. “The pound is filled with guys like him.” Aksel pointed out, he was sure that it was kinder to bring him somewhere where he was at least off the street, but a life in a cage spent getting passed over time and time again, that didn’t seem very fair either. “I didn’t think you’d have a soft spot for strays.”

#marcella

@marcellabelanades

setting: some street idk

notes: aksel finds a stray dog, and also marcella

A dog sat unattended on the street where Aksel walked, he’d made the mistake of giving the poor thing what scraps remained of his lunch and now it was following him. The witch stopped to see if maybe it had a collar, or something and crouched down before he warily allowed the dog to sniff his hand. There was a spell for this but out in public in the middle of the day wasn’t the place to be performing any magic. Humans had channels for this sort of thing-

“No tags.” Aksel sighed as he scratched the mangy dog behind his ears, idly the witch made a mental note to wash his hands as soon as he was rid of the thing - but leaving it to wander the streets alone didn’t sit well with him either. The pound was the safest place, afterall, it looked like it had been living on the streets for some time. Bits of fur were missing and if the smell was anything to go by it had just crawled out of a swamp. “This one started following me,” The witch explained as he waved his hand in front of his face and looked towards the shadow of the person who stood over him, Marcella, “is he yours? Kind of smells like you.”

#marcella #marcellastarter

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