closer

walk out of the air, into my grave.

[evocatum-blog]

horror aesthetics: jung soohyuk. once upon a midnight dreary.

GOTHIC HORROR gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. libraries. rosaries. grandfather clocks.

CLASSIC HORROR black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras. creaking floorboards.

SLASHERS bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances. bodies in the lake.

PARANORMAL HORROR malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR aliens. blinding light. dark woods. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. bodies in the basement. quiet conversation. chases on foot. hiding in the bathroom. the power cutting off. locked doors. muffled arguments. loaded glances. bodies in the walls. yellow-green lighting. blue-grey lighting.

[fuckyeahleetaemin]

[evocatum-blog]

crosspath

rotting things that we are, burning for ashes. @antemortis

the first day of school lands on a monday, because it fits the bad reputation. at three in the afternoon, soohyuk is sitting on the second to last row in a generally empty classroom, his only class for the day. the lucky draw. something about the way he looks is distinctly miserable, and there certainly is a lot to pick from -- the hair shrunk from the rain water, frizzing up on odd spots under the humidity, the bruise coloring his cheekbone in half healed deep reds and purples, the wet sweater clung to his shoulders, blending with cotton shirt underneath. bad day to wear white.

he slumps down in his seat with a yawn, stacking his feet on the metal rest of the chair in front of him, pushing the slick bangs off his eyes. it’ll take him another minute to realize he left his laptop behind, and then three seconds for an annoyed twitch to curl his upper lip.

saying he’s over school is an understatement. this is just a thing he has to do -- a thing he has to be put through. getting the degree is never the point for people like him, they have it under a guarantee, faceless names wired to nameless accounts out of the country will get you just about anywhere in the right circles. this is about the poise, the narrative. the redemption arc, hard rain before sweet sun.

the rain is gentle, nearly hesitant. it sprinkles soft onto the windows, splattering in hundreds of infinitesimal droplets that clung to glass, staying put until enough of them gather and grow heavy enough to roll down. it’s slow and pointless, clouds spread so thin they seem like scratches off the dirty coat of blue beyond the frames on the wall. it’s just an annoyance, lifting the heat off the earth and succumbing to it, fading into steam.

soohyuk turns to one of the few other people in the classroom when impatience kicks in, worried he might have misread his schedule and showed up early for lecture. wouldn’t that be a tragedy.

“this is classics ii.” he expects a confirmation, eyebrows raising as he lets a second drag before he continues. no smiles, no pleasantries. who would bother? “what time is that supposed to start?”

[evocatum-blog]

meet cute

[evocatum-blog]

antemortis‌:

“you just have to figure out what.”

a slow nod is all he offers in response to her contained expression of sentiment, because it catches him off guard.  the coffee cup is still steaming. he brushes a knuckle around the edge in testing, but it’s still too hot to touch. he lets it sit and cool until it’s ready for him.

the words jumble around in his head, replaying until they can be assembled into coherence, and he wonders how he would take them if he cared. not a single stitch of hope, if feigned, to sink your fingers into. just free fall into the abyss. he wonders what a person saying them for comfort has in their mind. what they have seen.

she ignores the ontology of bedside flowers, coming across as more of an essentialist herself -- essentially, to live is not to agonize. hers is a world of ghosts.

he doesn’t have to wonder how they moan into her ear at night.

“doesn’t the value of a favor work into that equation?” he smiles. her frame shrivels up into itself, bony even under the layers of clothing. even her skin seems to stick to skeleton. it looks like she hadn’t had a meal in days, but maybe it’s just the air the hospital puts out. everything seems fatal. “a favor has its worth.”

while she stresses out 50 cents worth for a joke that has run out of energy before it’s even out of his mouth, his ears pique at the of the sentence. of something. that’s all it takes, isn’t it? something. she wouldn’t realize it in her torpor, strength fully employed in looking soft while speaking daggers, in being conscious with a cup in her hand, but she had just conceded him power.

it’s very simple.

50 cents worth of something > nothing.

“hey, i can figure it out alright.” his head tips, checking on the coffee until it’s ready for him. “i’ll let you know when i do.”

that’s all it takes.

[evocatum-blog]

meet cute

[evocatum-blog]

antemortis‌:

when she takes a sip, the coffee burns her tongue in a very pleasant way.

the sick sleep, but they never seem serene. there’s no wondrous peace in their yellowed skin, pasty with ointment, tubes eating and pissing and breathing for them. they are not at rest, they are interrupted. dead, if not for the prayers wished upon their beds, the embracing loved ones hoping for their return, the flowers lending color to the room washed out in white.

they are interrupted. what makes them alive if there are no flowers left for them?

he pushes the espresso button without bothering to measure his options, feeding the rest of his coins into the machine. he knows what he likes, and he doesn’t plan on changing that any time soon.

“i guess something like that,” raewon repeats, smile ending on his eyes, nonchalant.

legally, you’re alive for as long as you are not dead. like that’s not fucking vague, like it’s not all a useless games of word play old men continue to play to ascribe any meaning to their golden watches and ruby rings. he laughed during lecture, soft little chuckles behind a loose fist, weird glances over shoulders. life is said to be a state in which energy of function is ever resisting decay and dissolution. a rotting museum of a human being wrote that down in a ruling, therefore it is true.

the academic notion of morality is only useful for comedic purposes. he wrote that down on page 194 of the library book he had borrowed, therefore it is true.

“car crash, very sudden,” he says conversationally, like it is good chatter fodder. he’d been told maybe anything is, in his tone of voice. he speaks like every word out of his mouth smiles. you need to, when you’re begging. “i don’t know him that well, but it’s nice to pay a visit.”

hot coffee pours into the cup abruptly. it’s almost violent, sloshing its way up to the rim, a puff of steam fading just as quickly as it forms. the machine goes quiet, waiting for him to pick up his order. he doesn’t.

“i’ll hold you to it, anyway.” he shakes his head as if to brush away the grim talk, because he doesn’t really care. she looks soft in her roughness when he eyes her again. withering roses are still roses, he supposes. maybe the books can be right, sometimes. “you owe me one, i’ll remember that.”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Sweet, punish me.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, from The Collected Poems; “A Drama of Exile,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[evocatum-blog]

meet cute

[evocatum-blog]

antemortis‌:

“must’ve left my wallet back at the doc’s office.”

there’s a short beat before his lips stretch in a smile, the faintest hint of a chuckle escaping his nose. he glances away from her and to the coins, little metal disks seeming so small in his hand, and bites his lip. someone like him would know a thing or two about begging, and the way she flirts through a sleep-deprived face, eye sockets nothing but blown pupils, tells him she isn’t a stranger to that either.

this is a scene he has played out before, it’s the role he’s yet to become accustomed with.

he runs a lip over his lower lip.

“it’s no problem,” he says and reaches out to let her pick her sum. on a second thought, coming when he notes the print of fabric on her cheek, fresh from an untimely nap, and the way her smile pulls tight at her chapped lips, he closes his fist. “let’s see.” one second and he’s next to her, shoulder to shoulder, pushing the demanded amount flashing in red on the screen into the slit.

an approving beep sounds softly, followed by the wheezing of machinery lolling into work.

he eyes her again if hesitantly, the closed distance between them feeling as sudden and awkward as the social code of conduct would deem it. she feels warm, faintly.

“visting?”

he supposes he would seem condescending if he weren’t so unassuming. that used to upset him. he once wanted to be taken as arrogant, wanted to be somewhere he could talk down from. he once knew much less than what he knows now. but this is idle chatter between strangers, and he has one of those faces that just blend into the crowd.

he can pretend not to notice the swelling under the sleeve of her backwards shirt. pretending is not a problem for him.

[evocatum-blog]

meet cute

everyone loves surprises. @antemortis

no one likes hospitals.

the only people in line for the coffee machine are raewon and an older man holding a little girl by the hand. the man seems tired and distant, the glaze over his eyes placing him miles away from where he stands. the girl holds onto the golden ring on his finger and peers up at raewon with her little index finger pressed to the corner of her mouth, not biting, just poking, and eyes big enough to intimidate most people with anything to hide. he smiles at her.

when the machine clears, raewon steps aside to let the family have their turn instead. the father mumbles a coarse thank you, and the little girl peels her eyes away from him to ask for a cup of hot chocolate.

he leans back against a pillar painted in a thick coat of beige, looking at the doors lined up down the corridor through half-closed lids, lashes adding to the haze. the finely polished floor becomes almost fluorescent, colors all liquid under the movement of bodies and lights above. the frames of walking people blur and double, triple, turning shapeless and rid of all shadow until everything is replaced with white fog, pale amorphousness attaching itself to every figure pacing between the elongated walls, souls clinging to flesh.

he closes his eyes, brushstrokes finishing the scene in the dark canvas underneath his eyelids on their own accord. it’s quaint and predictable for the location, the thinning thread between life and death. but raewon, of all people, would appreciate the simplicity of the obvious.

raewon likes hospitals.

the family of two begins to make their way down the corridor. the girl, both hands now holding a cup to her lips, glances at raewon one last time before he is cut out of her sight by her father’s hand, protectively resting on her shoulder. raewon smiles again and gives a small wave of hand, unflinching as the two of them blur and double, embraced by a white unknown.

before he can turn back to the coffee machine, he notices a woman has swept in his turn, already pushing away at the buttons on the panel. her hair is a messy mop of dark framing the angular, exhausted face.

raewon blinks, but takes his place behind her, waits. the short strands of her hair graze her pale nape while she fumbles with her pockets, only coming up with a couple clicks of tongue and a frustrated sigh, shoulders going still for a moment. he notices she has put on her shirt backwards, the cut of the neckline digging a little too low for a backside, no traces of a tag sewn into its inner seam whatsoever.

he hums, the noise always a little too loud in his voice, low and ample. he extends his hand to count the few coins he’d been holding since he’d left the room. they glint and clink, one almost falling away before he pushes it back in place. 

“i have extra.”

[speciesbarocus]

Apelles symbolicus (1699). [x]

[evocatum-blog]

automaticly:

ft. @heatstrobe

you could say she’s a rebel without a cause.

left to her own devices, she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. the lighting feels fluorescent in the kind of manner that washes the color off everything like bleach, clinical. it rubs her off the wrong way, so she occupies her waiting hours in rearranging her pens by size, label, and when that fails to keep her attention much longer, by the tone of the ink inside. it’s just methodical enough to be properly comforting.

it’s not really hours. to be precise, it’s been sixteen minutes and thirty-one seconds. thirty-two. thirty-three. thirty-four. her mind ticks off like clockworks churning, sometimes it makes her wonder how she hasn’t yet gone mildly insane.

the way she greets her when she finally arrives gives no leeway past her carefully constructed veneer of politeness. seulgi is nothing if not a good student, head bowed, eyes stuck to on the shiny spot of her shoes before anything else. her voice still croons inside her mind like the retort static of a landline phone with bad reception, you’re so good at this, consider switching majors.

maybe she had accidentally cut off the blood flow to her brain. it feels like it’s oxidizing.

she backs down into her chair, if anything appearing absentminded as her fingers glide their way to part her notebook open. “doctor kim, thank you for having me. i understand you’ve been very busy this semester.”  maybe if she flips the pages she’ll make herself believe she knows more of what she’s doing than she really does, “i’ve been following your ethics work for a while. i’m currently working on a project regarding the differences in the information processing between humans and machines.” 

the pause is not intentional. something in her falters. “i understand that you believe there’s a possibility for the development of artificial intelligence with a conscious.” 

water drops cling to the window glass, drying into thin crescents as the sunlight peeks through the sheer curtains of clouds. a slow but certain process, interrupted only by a potential second rainfall. sunyoung blinks, cutting the glaze of her eyes. her phone rings when she looks up, out the window.

gray hovers above the cityscape, reaching as far as the sight goes.

she hisses away from the phone, hand rising to her forehead. two fingers rub into bulging veins.

"i had forgotten," she admits to her assistant, who sounds willfully understanding over the phone if vaguely anxious.

the girl sheepishly asks her if she should send the student who called about an interview off and reschedule. it's not like you to be late, she says. very polite, subtle aggression. i just called to be sure. student assistants tend to be so forgiving when their hours are covered by the administration.

sunyoung checks her watch, picking up the machiatto cup from the bench, lukewarm in her grip. "no, i'm on my way. can you tell her to wait just an extra five minutes?"

her heels clink resolutely as she follows the familiar trail up towards the lab. she doesn't understand why it didn't occur to her to schedule the meeting in her office.

she swings the door open, a little faster than she meant. the brightness in the room makes her squint as she walks to the desk, purse and cup discarded clumsily over the top before she walks back to dim the lights. it has a calming effect she welcomes.

the girl greets her, eyes not reaching hers. sunyoung takes her seat behind the table. her smile feels tired, skin suddenly taut and sore.

"i'm sorry for the wait, i hope i didn't hold you back from your schedule." her face leans into her hands as the girl talks before she can help herself, struggling to pick the words as they pour out in a torrent, barely a breath until she pauses. for effect, sunyoung assumes. it works, at least. she feels more grounded to give an answer.

sunyoung sits up, smile still in place, only a frown etched between her brows. "we do lead a variety of studies in the department on the subject, and i've been monitoring the majority of them for the past few years, yes. it was the work that got me the invitation to teach here." she pauses, reaching for the cup as she glances towards the girl again, studying her features with care for the first time. she’s done her research, sunyoung should do her own. "excuse me, what is your name, again?"

[automaticly]

smoke;

[evocatum-blog]

automaticly:

of course, it had never been meant to be as simple as that. she had been created with a predisposition for composure, even now back a straight arch over the bend of her seat, fingers fumbling with the magazine of her gun, safety-on, safety-off. somebody who knows what to look for would point out the lack of a watch on her wrist. it’s ok. she seems human enough from a distance.

the engine hushes, silence buzzes static around his ears. street lights cast shadows over the windshield, and he can see beyond their haze the outlines of people roaming around the sidewalk in a distance, their chatter seeping through metal and glass and rubber as a reminder of a life that exists outside briefing reports. a distraction or a motive, at this point he can't tell anymore.

he closes his eyes only feel their strain flush against his eyelids. his whole body hurts. the stiff shoulders shoot the beginning of a headache up his neck, landing somewhere behind his eyes. he frowns, rolling his blades back for some relief. pointless, but the hope never dies.

"we do a perimeter check, then?" he doesn't know why a there's a vague trail of annoyance brushing him by as she speaks. maybe it's the sleepless nights piling up. maybe it's the calculated monotone of her voice. maybe it's everything she embodies, his work taking up so much of who he is there may as well be nothing left. he's been feeling poetic lately, plenty of opportunities to stare at the moon these days.

the dry ruffle of his clothes on the seat breaks the silence as he glances back at her. he takes the cigarette out of his mouth, wincing when the moistened paper clings to his lip. the ashes miss the tray by a few inches.

she looks composed, clean. her hair frames her face with milimetrical perfection, cut in a straight line below her shoulders. must feel great to be wired so calm. he wonders what he must look like to her, what assassement she was runnning on him when she assumed he didn’t notice her stare.

funny thing the brain does, right? assuming she feels.

"don't want any surprises when you get your seven minutes in heaven with the guy, hm?" he means it to be light-hearted, but it comes out dry. good thing she wouldn't be the type to mind it. he takes another drag to enjoy the last few moments of life his smoke has left, pulling his lips into a small smile regardless. "that would spoil the fun."

when his tongue runs over his lips, they scratch back.

[evocatum-blog]

oof. so saying i went mia would be a gross understatement, but i’m back! things are considerably less hectic for me now, so i’m confident enough to get back on my toes. if anyone wants to pick up any of my previous posted plots, i’m still all for them! i’ll be considering previous offers to be dropped since, well, i did go a month under the radar (sorry), but if you’d still like to write them with me, drop me a message!

[evocatum-blog]

hello, here’s a few specific plots that i’d love to write! i also have more general, rough AU IDEAS available that could apply for multiple muses, if that interests you. in case anything sounds good to you, feel free to like/im so we can plot!

idol au. ( TAKEN )

any gender, both muses being at least 25, or older. former bandmates join forces again for a tv show (or any other type of collaboration) for the first time since their group’s disbandment. fans are hyped as they were the most popular members and they used to be a well known ship, but their actual relationship was turbulent during the months leading up to the disbandment. maybe they blame each other for the turn of events. they became estranged, but try to be professional. themes of aging idols (started in their teens, are currently in their mid twenties and feeling decades older than their young ages in the industry), belated coming of age, fake-it-for-the-cameras.

hospital au. ( TAKEN )

any gender, muses in their mid-to-late twenties. medical student interning in a hospital gets the hots for the beautiful, hot-headed nurse that is used to needing to protecting their ground against arrogant doctors. the nurse literally screams the student’s ear off on their first day, and they’re terrified but mostly in love.

noroi / paranormal investigation au. ( TAKEN )

any gender, slight age gap possible but not mandatory. fairly established paranormal expert is looking into their next case. their biggest lead is an untrained medium that’s been tormented by the occurences. the medium is helpless, and the situation of desperation brings the two of them together. their proximity may tamper with the investigation, or threatens the expert’s safety as they try to help the victim. i’d love to have them both be kind of hungry for affection since they both had been leading secluded lives, and it gets complicated (and spooky).

[startongues-deactivated20191025]

*. tastes like honey

[evocatum-blog]

stargather:

“come here,” it’s a loving order, a pat on the side next to her, “he just left me with it, kinda told me to do whatever i want. and i don’t know about you but i’m starving.”

hearing from jinri is the gift the keeps giving, a surprise always coming in ripples soojung is never prepared for.

she should, by now. it was a long absence while it lasted, a girl-shaped hole aching somewhere inside her, with the memory of a time that will never resurface from a distant past. but now jinri is in her life again, so close to its epicenter she fears jinri might be close enough to be her life. it should feel familiar and casual, another fact of her daily life as it is, at the end of the day.

but she still frowns after picking up the phone without checking, on her way out of a café, anticipating a distressed work call. unfolding again, the stages of jinri. first confusion, then warmth, and, last, the cold sitting oddly at the pit of her stomach.

soojung is halfway through a but when the line goes silent, lips thinning into a line as she stares at the screen of her phone as it transitions from the call ended notice to its resting slick black. her fingertips drum around the edges of the device, and it comes alive again. she considers typing out a protest and attach it at the end of their last texts, something about home errands. 

i do not function at your disposition, she wants to say. i’m stuck at work, is a less confrontational option.

she switches to uber instead, of course, because the abyss always calls and the whisper is very alluring when it hits your ears.

the final stage of jinri -- fuck it.

she paces down the endless, dim-lit hallways lightly, almost scared, as if not to make a sound. she chews on her lip, conscious of the cameras cocooned on the corners where walls meet ceiling, silent but present. when she’s inside the 402, a small sigh leaves her lips. maybe it’s relief. maybe it’s jinri, laid on fair satin, dressed in red silk, painting the scene of a crime in eden.

“cute,” is all soojung says, detached amusement masking the inquietude under her skin. she still has her coffee, or the remaining 1/4 of it, and she only realizes when she has to put the cup down on the wooden table to take off her coat and adapt to the thermostat. her eyes run across the room appreciatively as she walks towards jinri, taking a sit at the edge of the bed in what can only be taken as a coy stance. luxury is hard to ignore.

leaning forward on her hands, she studies the credit card dangling between the long fingers, and then jinri’s face, the makeup smudged, the lips curled.

“i’d never trust you with a penny, he must be terribly sweet.” she doesn’t know who he is, and that is a worry that would normally never cross her mind, but this is not normal, no matter how much jinri insists otherwise. she wonders what he looks like, the tone he uses when he talks to her. if he is nice, if there’s even such a thing as nice.

she smiles back, tucking her hair behind a ear as she pulls her legs up and under her weight, shoes tumbling quietly to the floor. “or too loaded to care, i guess.”