#john carpenter's vampires

[laundressing-the-compartment]

[terrence-silver]

I thought for Halloween spooky scariness it might be fun to ask a broad question that could apply to pretty much any of TIG's characters:

"What would a nightmare starring [insert name of TIG character here] look like?"

Is it a dark noncon? A hunt through the woods? Pure unadulterated stalking? YOU DECIDE... if you want to that is!

(my top characters of love to read about are, predictably, Cash, CK Terry and Valek, but any and all you feel like writing for would be amazing!)

---

― For Jan Valek, you dream of what seems like a distant funeral pyre. Or perhaps a burning stake. You don't quite see or deduce who's tied to it and set aflame amidst the silent crowd of hoods and robes but the shape seems eerily familiar, speaking to you with a voice you know. Almost seductive. Almost lulling. Beckoning. So tender. Like an old yet loving friend's re-assuring, inviting caress. You walk past the spectators on the foggy cobblestone square the and unto the burning, blackened wood stacked up high into a colossal, looming pile without blinking or even feeling any pain. Any sensations. Whoever's there in the center of the red inferno of crackling embers embraces you with both arms as the church bells on the forum strike noon. You feel strangely at home swallowed by the flames. Maybe this isn't such a nightmare after all?

― You're buried alive. You know you are. You're awake for it. Alive, when you rightfully shouldn't. You can breathe. Experience every sensation. Every vestige of claustrophobia. The fear. You realize your muffled cries will never be heard by anyone and that you'll undoubtedly die down here, choking due to lack of air. You even realize scratching the surface of your coffin is futile. That you're not getting out of here, from the oppressive, strangulating pitch blackness. Kicking, screaming and fighting it will get you nowhere, the same way when you feel a calm, focused hand reach out from beside you a grasp your fingers, you're fully aware they're Jack's. Jack Blaylock, Timothy Calloway is in there with you. You're in here together. Trapped for all eternity. You figure, that's exactly the way he'd like it too. Wouldn't surprise you if he personally orchestrated this himself.

― With Gus Travis, you live in a house floating on the cold sea. And it's much like any other suburban, family house, really. It has a fridge, and a kitchen, a living room, a bed, carpets, decorative throw pillows on the couch and all the mundane knick knacks, commonplace any family apartment should have, making you realize nothing's amiss --- nothing at all --- as you explore the winding corridors of your abode floating on the waves, your neighbor nobody in particular but the vast expanse of water, grey, not unlike the winter coastline before the stormy tempest. You hand your husband his slippers and a beer. Maybe set him up with lunch. You wash the dishes. Clean, polish and organize them, ever so diligent. This place, it has just about everything, except a front door and a way out, you realize too late as he's fucking you up against the wall.

― Cash? Well, there's eyes in your walls and they're everywhere. In every crack. Every corner. Every hidden nook and cranny. Like an infestation of bees nesting in the skeletal scaffolding of a cellar or a basement. They don't ever blink and they're blue. The light, icy cerulean type in shade. You know they're his eyes. How could you not? They're unmistakable. You're well acquainted with them by now because they don't never go away. You also know they belong to a face and not merely floating in the abyss, but it's not a visage you ever see, hidden behind layers of concrete and bricks he's observing behind of, like a veneer. He's always there, of course. Never closes his lids to rest or take a break. Watches you dress, undress, eat, sleep, shit, piss. Your world is a quiet world. A dark world. Never disturbed. Never shaken. But, you're never alone and that frightens you.

― Oh, a nightmare starring Terry McCain is positively Kafkaesque because the world is black and white --- entirely monochromatic --- like in an old detective movie and you realize the absurdity of it all even as it unfolds and as you're being effectively questioned in what's a stereotype of every interrogation room you've ever seen. Sharp light overhead, handcuffs around your wrists, a metal table, you and the Detective asking the questions. You don't know why or when, but a fellow uniformed colleague of his comes forth carrying an entree of meals even though you've never asked for anything and he has the mannerisms of a waiter in spite of his badge and nametag. The desk of your cross examination is littered with dishes and plates and a hand lights a candle between you and McCain. Someone pours you wine. What's happening?

― You're General Taligaro's bride but that part hardly constitutes the nightmare; it's the notion your matrimonial gown of ceremony consists of all the trinkets of his conquests --- your cape is made of the sown together scalps of all the virgins of the realm, your necklace human teeth, ears hang attached off of the belt that adorned the waistline of your dress like so many pearls, your bodice a boney ribcage held together with golden string and jewels; the spoils of so many wars --- you're a gruesome sight to behold as you're led to him to complete the ritual of union and you feel just as gruesome --- demonic --- all stickiness, blood, gore, stench and carnage. The picture of all of the backstabbing, machinations and kinslaying on display as he lifts up your veil adoringly, looking at you like you're the most beautiful, ravishing creature in all the kingdoms.

― There's a telegram you couldn't open for a week now and it frustrates you to no end. It sits there on the table like a silent yet harrowing obligation you can't shake off and no matter how much you may try, the envelope refuses to rip open, it refuses to be cut, scissors are like butter against its paper yielding no result and even gnawing on it with your own teeth like an animal doesn't help. Attempting to burn it is a useless endeavor too, almost like the damn thing's fireproof. You know these are news of Terry from overseas. You can tell by the official stamping and by who's delivered it to your doorstep. You know something bad has happened. You can feel it. But, your inability to do the laughably miniscule task of actually opening it, almost as if your hands had no strength in them whatsoever kills you.

― It's the 80's and you can tell by the front row of unhinged bleached perms and sharp shoulder pads lining the perimeters. It's a bidding. An auction. The subject of interest being a live human heart on display. You. You have no body. No arms. No legs. No head. Just a heart --- a beating, fully conscious organ on a pedestal in front of a crowd of hundreds on stage. Terry Silver's right there. Of course he is. Dressed to the nines, fully in his element, like he doesn't seem to be bothered at all you lack your basic physical attributes. Even in your nightmare, you think this is a very on the nose metaphor but it doesn't make your helpless predicament any more terrifying as the auction host slams his wooden gavel against the cathedra. Going once, going twice, sold --- somehow, perhaps unsurprisingly, Terry outbid the King of Burma for you, because of course he did. You're handed over lovingly to him like something he owns. He bites into you like an d'oeuvre.

― With old man Terry, you're attending an awkward party. Everyone's artificial, everyone's putting up a front and everything's an act. The social tension is hardly the worst of it, of course. Somewhere mid-mingling, you accompany him back inside of the manor away from the gaggle of the chipper crowd and into the nearest bedroom featuring a closet of immaculately organized suits that would put a high-end catalogue to shame. For some reason, he's decided to change his attire. In watching him undress and a firm lipped, stony faced assistant helping him into a new suit you also watch him peel off his own skin and throw it aside like a fleshy, useless rag promptly collected by a manservant until your Terry's nothing but red, gaping flesh and nerve endings. He walks out like that, practically flayed with you underarm and everyone smiles. They complement the host's wonderful finger food.

[deviousdevilx]

baby girl

[kata-loging]

Thomas Ian Griffith as Jan Valek in John Carpenter's Vampires (1998)

[karatekels]

not a question, but: it’s super cool that you wanna go into teaching on the ELA side of things! i wanna teach high school/college mathematics so i’m with you on the fact that teaching others is such a fun calling — captaining my high school mathlete kiddos has been so fun and i’m glad to see others enjoy teaching too :-)

(also, i’m gonna TRY and watch vampires this week. it is halloween after all!)

Thank you so much! Learning depends so much on your teacher, and having one that cares is so important (even if it does lead to some stress on my part). WE WILL SHAPE THE MINDS OF THE YOUTH! 😤

...omg let us know what you think! I would schedule a group rewatch but the only day that works for me is Halloween itself and I presume other people have more of a life than I do.

He's so wonderful and (as always) criminally underused in that movie 😍

[beyworld101]

This is a heads up to anybody that has Netflix and has been watching John Carpenter’s Vampires for the past five months

It’s your last chance to watch it before it leaves on or after Saturday August 31st.

After that, you’re on your own to find another way to watch it. Via if you have a disc or have it on a another streaming platform

[burningexeter]

All of these I can see being in the same crazy ass universe.

[justsomeguycore]

how it started how it's going etc

[schlock-luster-video]

On March 19, 1999, John Carpenter's Vampires debuted in Turkey.

Here's some new Thomas Ian Griffith art!

[terrence-silver]

--- Sunwalker. x

[silurisanguine]

Like how Sheryl Lee's character is turned in John Carpenter's Vampires you mean.... 😏😉

vampire sucking blood from the inner thigh can be something so erotic and more vampire media needs to get on this train

look at this post with your eyes if you agree

[sarah1228]

number 206 🎃🎃🎃👻👻👻

[kata-loging]

Thomas Ian Griffith as Jan Valek in John Carpenter's Vampires (1998)

[karatekels]

So I know most people here are following me for smutty Terry Silver content and requests, but I think I have a pretty cool idea for a longer fic with Jan Valek that I'm thinking about writing. It won't be AS focused on smut, but does involve romance between Valek and an original female character (read: self-insert for reader).

Would anyone read this if I posted it here (dw, it won't come at the expense of me working on your requests!)

[vampires-and-dhampirs]

i'm watching John Carpenter's Vampires from 1988, it tries extremely hard to be cool and edgy. Also there is a lot of violence to the female lead who is a victim in the plot. Considering that vampires are usually very sexual in context, it's just.... very weird. The subtext is basically, a woman gets SA'd, then is bullied and abused by the male leads for their needs. It's a lot to explain if you haven't seen the movie. Not his best if I'm to be honest with y'all.

[schlock-luster-video]

On April 15, 1998, John Carpenter's, Vampires debuted in France.