#stalker jack

[winter-angst]

[DMs]

Jack: if you ever feel safe just remember I’m out there

Brock: wtf does that mean

Brock, two hours later: WTF DOES THAT MEAN??

[berktoburgess]

The next belated chapter is up, guys. So sorry for the wait. Xx

P.S: THIS MAJESTY EXISTS.

[stalkerjack]

"Vacant Hunger"

( So I got bored and wanted to try and replicate some of the creepy shit SJ does with his eyes. :'D 

These areictures I took way back in April. I don't own contacts, and my eyes are kind of Greeny. Bluey. Grey. So each of these photos has a light blue tint. Also the first is before make up. )

[stalkerjack]

"Hey. Hey. Hey, Sugarplum," the darkling's smile is genuine and he drapes his arms around his twin's neck from behind, burying his face into the snowy white hair and drawing in a deep breath. "I miss you.~"

There was no mistake in the way that his doppelganger’s chest slotted in against the curve of his spine.

“DJ…?”

An automatic hand reached behind him blindly to push sooty fingertips up into the rise of the Darkling’s inky crown from the nape of his neck. Its brother wound back to seek purchase on something, and eventually rested on the highest point of his twin’s hip.

The inhale and subsequent sigh against the back of his head made the paler boy shiver with an odd tremble of delight. The fingers threaded in DJ’s hair slid out again and traced the linked arm that rested over his shoulders. Heaving a blissful sigh, the little ghost’s smile could hardly be contained.

“You came to visit me!” Grinned SJ, turning his head to try and look at his twin. DJ’s lips skimmed the back of that silvery mess, and eventually a faintly lilac cheek. A frothy croon rose from SJ’s chest and he eventually swiveled around in that hold to nuzzle at the other. The hip was released, but those palms eventually found new homes against the Dark boy’s waist, and resulted in a tight embrace that temporarily lifted DJ off the ground.

"It’s been forever: I thought I was starting to go crazy!”

[berktoburgess]

Did somebody say....?

Dark Jackcest

Yes.... Vivi and I have a rich RP history with our muses, DJ and SJ.

(They met under horrible circumstances but now love each other to bits. RP does not have to make sense.

I thought it needed some sketchy goodness to demonstrate my love for this ship.)

Ask DJ Blog (By Vivi)

Ask Stalker Jack Blog (By Me)

[stalkerjack]

The wind whistles a desolate tune, with a heart as painfully barren as the dry ground. Withered brown-gray leaves crackle as they skitter over the ground, rolling and tumbling. There is no one there.

There is no one there.

No one but a bedraggled apparition of a vagabond youth, who notes the subdued transition of scorching Summer to refreshing Autumn with a sigh of gratitude, a harmony to the wailing breeze.

Deeply set eyes observe the overcast sky for a spell, and then flit to the parched leaves that cling to their boughs as a final, desperate vestige to the previous season.

Their lack of lushness is an appropriate mirror to the specter’s own state: A weakened, pale imitation of what he used to be, skinny as a birch… Skin papery and sallow as the withered foliage. The garments he sported were just as frayed and worn as the crackling edges of russet maple leaves that spiraled to the earth, akin to how the weightless teenager did now. He landed without a sound, dusty toes buried in the carpet of debris as if he didn’t exist.

In the eyes of most -or approximately all-, Jack Frost did not, in fact, exist. In stories and poems, even the occasional song, his name had crept into popular lore, but in the end everyone wrote him off as a feverish (or not so much, as his name sake might imply) figment of imagination. 

There was always hope that people beyond those who had known him for a winter and forgotten by the next, that they might cast him a true glance, one that didn’t focus on the surface he stood before. 

In the woods, however, there was no living soul, and vacant hands fisted and idly wrung within a loose pocket at the front of his tattered hoodie. A clump of leaves collected by a heady of wind against the trunk was kicked in unnameable frustration that manifested itself in a shimmering smog that leaked from between bared teeth, the source a simple but potent bout of isolation.

There is no one there… At least nobody that occupied your conscious thoughts.

[stalkerjack]

Anyone here?

The whip of a skirt was caught his attention at first: The wiry form stiffened as the flutter of fabric fluttered in the breeze. Then came the voice, the one that had bid the lonely boy a returned greeting that one day. The acorns creaked in the phantom youth’s dusky fingers as he stopped arranging them, and chanced a glance over his shimmering shoulder, into the light filled gash between two ashes.

There she stood, a smartly dressed girl in a dark skirt that lofted at the hem in the alpine breeze. Her pretty shoes were caked with a fine layer of mud around the toe and heel, and SJ couldn’t help but feel a quaver of misplaced guilt in his chest at the sight. The girl often dressed like this, and it was interesting to see what she would pull together next each time he kept an eye on her. The nights where the girl had walked home late in the bitter cold were the ones where he paid most attention, but now it was bright out, so the white of her skirt piping petticoats, the silver in his own hair and pallid skin were tinted a leafy green hue under the dense canopy of sun drenched trees. He remained in lengthy shadows, watching as the one he’d never actually learned the name of glanced about with wide, inquisitive eyes.

I know you, was what he wanted to say, but the little sprite was wary of how his words could sound. However, she had searched him out, and was standing to the left, just beyond the pair of trees he nestled behind. SJ dropped the seeds and drew a lifeless lip between his tombstone teeth as he uncoiled from his kneeling position.  

Gingerly, the wary ghost snaked a frostbitten hand around the bark and glanced out as the bark glistened under his touch. Out stepped the lanky, disheveled teenager, face streaked with dust as he drew up to his height and regarded her with a tiny flash of teeth and a moist, round gaze.

"… I am.”

[stalkerjack]

Reaction to hiccup having broken his arm?

Hiccup could only be grateful that it was the right one. The sharp, hot pain that almost certainly indicated a fracture of some kind radiated from his elbow, throbbing in sporadic bursts even within its sling.

The heat was short lived however, when the boy saw his breath ghost before him, clouding the air he exhaled.  The sight made his blood literally run cold. Before any kind of announcement, the Spirit slipped in through the window that Hiccup barely even bothered to try and lock anymore. 

He was silent as always, easing himself effortlessly across the sill, forever greeted by that immaculate smile that stirred in him equal parts confusion and intrigue. Of course, when Jack spotted the white casing on his only companion’s forearm, the ever present gleam of excitement actually fled from his moist eyes. 

“Uh, Hi Ja-”

“What happened?” 

The tone was positively icy. If anything, the freckled teenager was surprised that his follower didn’t already know. However, there had been a rash of snowstorms in the surrounding area over the last couple of days, so Jack’s visits had been a little less frequent recently, providing a much needed respite… But also allowing the window of opportunity for this incident to occur.

Now, there was only silence as the pale boy reached out and grazed his fingers across the starchy bandage, cornflower blue darkening to a steely hue.

“Who did this?”

“No one-”

“Was it Snotlout?”

“No, Jack, honestly, we were just playing football and I got caught in the…” The panic in the younger teen’s hazel eyes betrayed him though, under the unwavering gaze of his forceful guest. 

“…Fray. Which he kinda- headed. But he really didn’t mean to hurt me badly. It was all just a bit of-”

”-Fun?” 

The loaded Question was much sharper and colder than any icicle Jack could have conjured, and it made Hiccup wince. The Ghostly youth was deathly still, and the anger that surely tinged his words was absent. Not a tremble or twitch to break that unnerving statuesque state. Hiccup was about ready to answer, to try and smooth things over when Jack grasped his arm (the left one) and held fast, face awash with hatred.

“Where does he live?”

“Jack, it’s fine. Leave it alone.” The boy’s heart thudded in is ears, the glacial prickle of goose flesh rising on his neck as his brow creased in alarm. The hand on his arm was tight, almost too much so.

"Where does he live, Hic." 

"Stop it, Jack. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

He certainly wasn’t. How could anyone lay a hand on Hiccup like this? The boy was his responsibility, it was his fault that Snotlout had wailed on him, due to his absence… and it was his responsibility to set things right.

"I’m not telling you.”

There was a silence that hung in the air, appealing as sulfur, and the singular beating heart in the room threatened to burst out of its cage. Defiance was something that came naturally to Hiccup, but something that he’d had to avoid as often as possible during his bizarre relationship with Jack, but now…. Now someone aside from Hiccup himself could suffer for no good reason. Snotlout did deserve a punishment, but not at the hands of Jack Frost. No one deserved that. At last, a small pink tongue moistened purple lips, and the vice like grip relinquished the bony arm it had held captive.

“…It’s all right. I can smell him out.”

Without another word, Jack bent in close, inhaled and lingered for a moment, as Hiccup leaned as far back in his chair as physically possible. The tell tale dew of sweat on his temple indicated that he sill wasn’t used to his companion’s lack of respect for personal boundaries. 

After a moment, the luminous blue eyes lidded at half mast, and he withdrew (with a subtle sigh of relief from the auburn boy.)

“I’ll be back later, OK Kiddo?”

But before Hiccup could answer, the Specter was gone, a trail of snow flakes and an icy wind in his wake. The helpless boy didn’t have snotlouts number. After ten minutes exhausting his contacts and finally attaining the digits, the phone would ring until the answer machine picked up the call. A message wouldn’t be left.

The next seven days would pass, and Snotlout would be out of class, having dealt with personal circumstances that were never disclosed to the class, but rumours started, especially with the abundance of grazes and marks that hadn’t quite faded by the time he had returned.

Some theorized that the oafish boy had suffered a miniature break down and locked himself in a broken refrigerator overnight, apparently to hide from something that seemed to threaten his life. The air had been deadly cold inside the unit, unnaturally so for the time of year, and the fact that it hadn’t been connected to the mains. When he escaped, he refused to talk about why or how he had gotten there, but the next time he met Hiccup’s gaze, an uncontrollable tremble took him, and he had twisting on his heel, almost running in the opposite direction with stumbling, panic stricken steps.