#voidvoyeur

@voidvoyeur​​ said:  [ nap ] 😴 ( for your muse to fall asleep against mine )

     The weight of his body pressing against her, Laurie pinned against the sinking softness of the couch. Barely capable of protesting the mass of a man size of a monster, she positioned herself upwards, against the back and the arm to remain on her spot. Confused for a while, Laurie didn’t dare to move yet held up the album against her chest and chin. It worked as a shield for now, something to use against him if he dared to try anything with her. 

For a moment she held breath, waiting what was his plan - the trust and courage to approach this nightmare was still thin as a hair. Had she made a miscalculation, was she not as safe from the beast as she had believed to be? Yet, even what felt like minutes of inspection: he didn’t seem to show any signs of pursuing her. The large hands resting peacefully against his frame without a sign of moving. Muffled yet heavy breathing  still clear if not slower near by her ear his head tilted towards to.

Being able to not to tell whether those dark eyes dreamed or observed awake, in her stomach, Laurie expected him to make a move at anytime. It was like waiting for a jump scare in a movie. Silence before terror. Was he playing some sick game with her, or genuinely fallen asleep during this rather peaceful moment studying the albums. 

A while and another passed, before Laurie dared to move just slightly, test if she could just sneak away from the sleeping lion’s den. Just carefully, she reached to place away the album of photos - one she had found such an interesting piece of history to study. Growing bolder, confident he wasn’t there to take her life, she had even eventually allowed him to sit next to her in hopes he would grant her hints linked with his memories. 

Send 🎵 and I’ll post a song associated with my muse!

Spill My Secrets // still accepting

@voidvoyeur​ said:  📒 !! the diary one .. 📒- For a secret journal/diary they keep (Bonus: Share an entry from it!)

Meg’s kept a diary since she was 10. In the fog, she still tries to keep up with it whenever she can get her hands on paper and something to write with.

Day ??? in the Fog

Can’t tell you how many trials I had to deal with today but that doesn’t matter. By some miracle, I escaped all of them alive. Most of them were escapes through the hatch all alone. The killers have gotten more aggressive recently. I mean, they’re always aggressive but this is borderline feral. I wonder if it’s due to the recent additions on both sides or if there’s something that’s going on behind the scenes. Not sure what it is but I don’t like it.

There’s writing in the margins of the entry, though there’s been an attempt to scratch it out.

    His absence was something strongly felt; it clung to her lungs like the dampness that accompanied many autumn nights and caused a shaken, shortness of breath. But never did it weigh as strongly down on the child as it did on every October thirty-first. Her age could be counted on less than two hands, yet Jamie understood that the Boogeyman couldn’t be home tonight. Selflessly, a sense of solitude had been accepted in exchange for granting her father’s silent request. Although the white mask had concealed any hint of expression, Jamie could swear she had seen blue-gray eyes soften with gratitude within their dark caverns before he’d left that night.

    The worn, dilapidated walls of the Myers home did little to keep out the night air; but just as it’s brisk chill kissed her bones, a sweet melody stole Jamie’s attention. It led her towards her bedroom like a siren’s call – however, it’s innocent tune brought only comfort as she drew near. Her curiosities were answered with the sight of an old but lovely music box set atop her vanity, complete with a tiny dancer center of its stage. Muted pink, her favorite color.

    The prior feeling of sinking loneliness was abruptly replaced with warmth just as a smile was fast to tug the girl’s former frown upwards. Socked feet scurry towards the unexpected gift, growing giddiness filling every step as Jamie strides over in a hurry, stopping just before it as if awestruck. Careful not to disrupt the beautiful princess’ dance, small hands scoop the music box up as gingerly as she would if it had been made of glass, slowly making her way towards the bed. Every note the box made felt magical – an escape – and suddenly her quiet room had transformed into a ballroom straight out of a favorite fairytale. Feet shuffle, feather light, against the floor as Jamie joins her miniature companion – twirling once in a cotton nightgown before setting the beloved gift on her bedside table and climbing into bed.

    No longer did she feel left alone; and so once winding her present up again and tucking herself into plush covers, she propped herself up on her side and watched the figure spin over and over, the calming melody played soon transforming into a lullaby. With a gentle smile, her eyelids grew heavy. He gave her a private symphony to keep her company and sweet dreams to follow.

do you like huey lewis and the news?    /    MUSIC MEME.

the working title for this ask was  ‘how do i draft an ask’  because at first i thought you sent me the meme element which asks me to respond with a song that reminds me of michael AND sam together and i…  blanked trying to think of a song that might represent…  complete strangers. then i wondered if toreador ghoul michael would be any fun to interact with for sam,   but i feel like having this enourmous masked guy standing around at your local pack’s haven is,   uh,   not that fun.

michael      /       demonique                                 aim

self explanatory !  i could easily go without the gospel/choir but once you go past that  - or enjoy the gothic nature of it  -  all there’s left to say is…     damn you for letting him go!

michael      /       mosquito song                              queens of the stone age 

oh ? an obsession   /  killer based theme ? i know, very original,   but i genuinely love almost all elements of this song - from the lyrics to the sound to the interlude and the musical build up to this sort of dimmed, short-lived crescendo…     just for the song to fade out on such a calm, open-ended note.    as rollins put it you  ‘ characterize michael very music-based ’  and the  ‘ lullabies to paralyze ‘   which you’ll find mentioned in the lyrics struck such a michael/laurie note for me that i just couldn’t not include this one.   disclaimer:   no,   i don’t think michael eats his victims lmao…  or does he

michael      /       strangers die everyday                              butthole surfers

content warning for what sounds like a lot of panicked people talking rapidly over each other (?) and dissonant sounds. mostly instrumental save for a few select lines  , but the feeling of…     sheer apathy enhances michael’s obsession based theme so much more to me.

add-on: julie           /       girls’ night out                               the knife 

manhandling symbol starters // accepting

     humming softly to herself she breaks the silence in the hospital’s now empty halls as she, with a lollipop in her mouth, busies herself with needle and thread. hands stained red, knees scraped and dirty, attention fixed wholly upon her task. it’s only when someone approaches, silently unnerving and large enough to block the light directly above her, that she realizes she isn’t entirely alone. that unlike the rest, this particular patient had not moved on. a specter lurking in the shadows undetected. for how long, she wonders.

   curiosity keeps her rooted to the spot, soon to be justified as she finally pries her gaze away from the nurse in her clutches and directs it at the figure in question. 

   she knows him and it reflects in her attentive blue eyes. he was the monster dwelling beneath the bed. the boogeyman. a story told to scare children into behaving. haunting the living even in broad daylight. no one dared speak his name, yet they’d immortalized him all the same with their fear, adding more kindling to the fire each time they glanced over their shoulder with apprehension —– but doll face had never been afraid of the dark. it’s where she felt most at home. amongst monsters and nightmares and freaks alike, those just like her. where others grasped blindly for reprieve from the darkest recesses of the human psyche she embraced it, finding freedom with the demon’s governing her heart. 

  as he advances further, one step closer, then two, until he’s looming over her seemingly prepared to strike, she wonders if his patience has run it’s course, if he’d taken offense not only to her presence but the chaos she’d orchestrated only moments prior. she’d been careful not to push her luck for this very reason, nor disturb his solitude, steering clear of michael myers out of respect.  this was a fight she wanted no involvement in. she would play no part in the destruction of so formidable a specimen. doll, as wild and unpredictable as she was, hadn’t survived this long by betting everything on odds clearly not in her favor. 

Ask about my OC’s! (always accepting)

Deimos is both the first and last in a line of experimental combat robots that were developed by DARPA as part of a U.S. military plan to integrate robots into the armed forces, the idea being to create soldiers that could be trained, treated, deployed and ordered more effectively than a single human. Behind closed doors, it was also a cynical ploy by one of the nation’s largest defense contractors to put their competitors out of business, but the stuff about “no more wounded soldiers, no more shell-shocked veterans, no more mothers and wives being given folded flags” went over about as well with the general public as it did with the Board of Directors and Congress, especially once it was revealed that in order to cut down on collateral damage, these robots were being programmed with an advanced morality algorithm that allowed them to weigh the cost of a situation, effectively allowing them to make ethical decisions in a fraction of the time it would take a human to make one.

What they didn’t count on was the ramifications of the advanced artificial intelligence that they gave these robots effectively being able to think and feel as a result.

Deimos was first deployed in as part of a “routine peace-keeping operation” along with six other robots, linked to his squad by a system that allowed each one to see and understand what the other was seeing. When one of them stepped on an IED, the data from the damaged robot’s CPU was relayed to Deimos’ own; calling the sensation pain might sound fanciful or even melodramatic, but Deimos has no other word for what it felt like when his data stacks overloaded with damage reports from a hundred vital systems.

Unable to coordinate a defense against the ambush they’d walked into, Deimos was the only surviving unit from the disastrous operation; in a command center thousands of miles away, the sheepish and angry brass ordered that the plug be pulled, but in cutting off Deimos from the server that was giving him commands they simply stranded his consciousness in an artificial body crippled by gunfire and shrapnel, surrounded by the mutilated corpses of the only friends and family he’d ever known.

Cobbling together whatever components he could from his damaged comrades, he managed to make enough repairs to his systems to limp back to civilization, wrestling with the guilt of having rebuilt himself from his brothers’ dead bodies every step of the way and vowing to get even with the people who’d done this to him. Using his pre-programmed combat knowledge, he scraped by on the earnings he made in illegal robot fight clubs, a failed PR stunt that the U.S. military were all too happy to forget about. He kept his head down. Grifted. Did a little mercenary work here and there. Tried to ignore the random segments of code that whispered in his CPU, the proverbial ghosts of the machines whose components he’d cannibalized.

Sometimes his hands shook when he was holding a gun, but it was just a glitch. The way his servos twitched whenever he heard a loud bang, well, it was just something wrong with his audio receptors. He was a little dinged up, that was all. He wasn’t defective. He was a soldier. He was good at his job. He was programmed to be. 

…yeah, right. He was programmed to protect and serve, and his country had been content to throw him out like trash. Just like his brothers.

Turns out DARPA wasn’t counting on his personality simulations being able to emulate anger so well, either.

Then he met Hitomi, a robot sex worker who’d thrown off the shackles of her own programming, the algorithm that was supposed to make her demure and subservient enough to take all the vile, depraved shit that the patrons of an underground sex club were doing to her on a nightly basis, telling themselves that it was okay because she wasn’t human. They pulled jobs together. They got pretty close. Grew to trust one another. Even like each other.

One time, when they’d been working for longer than the recommended operational time without recharging their power cells, Deimos found his vocal components getting a little loose. He told Hitomi about what had happened on his first mission through a slurred, crackling diatribe, about the shakes and the voices in his head. Hitomi’s power levels were getting pretty low too, and she admitted that she got a little surge in her circuits every time she killed a human, and that she’d killed plenty. Plenty of humans who’d abused robots just like her. She supposed it could be called satisfaction or even glee, the same way they called what Deimos was feeling Post-Traumatic Stress when it happened to humans.

Deimos realized a little later that he was in love with her, but he couldn’t put a name to it. He wasn’t programmed to love. He was programmed to kill. For his country. For himself. He wouldn’t have told Hitomi even if he knew how to accurately describe the sensation he got when he caught her in a visual scan, correlating the serial number and the scratches and dents on her chassis- all the things that made her recognizably her and not just another robot from the same line- with the data stored in his memory files. How his CPU tingled when his audio recognition software matched the lilt of her artificial voice pattern to the ones in his logs.

He wouldn’t have told her out of respect, because even though they haven’t spoken about it since that night the data of that conversation they had is still filed away in his memory banks. He remembers what the humans did to her, and to even compute the possibility that he might look at his partner the way they did, that he might objectify or covet her, is obscene to him.

She’s a person, God damn it. Just like him. She’s not just some fucking tool to be used and thrown away when it breaks.

Deimos was programmed to kill, but not to hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt Hitomi, or ruin the friendship they’ve cultivated. He wants payback for what happened to her as well as what happened to him.