#its not even that gore-ish but alas

[creatureesque]

long sigh. why am i obsessed with higgs now

[running-with-kn1ves]

could you write a follow up to seth the cannibal?

Absolutely! for new readers here’s the original story. I enjoyed writing it, even though I'm rusty at gore (and cough it didn't get much traction cough cough.) Fun fact, I took great inspiration of Seth's character from Julian Smith's Eat Randy. Its just a super fuckin weird but good video. I came across it once and just went-- what if it was a yandere scenario? I can genuinely say I stole quite a bit from that weird concept.

TW: Slight gore, yandere/cannibalistic behaviors, gaslighting, suicidal-ish? thoughts, toxic behaviors, kidnap scenario, torture/medical procedures described.

To say it was another night was... An understatement. It was another night, in this hellhole. No longer “another night” where you went home to flop on the couch and listen to bad sitcoms before dozing off. No, this was another agonizing night where the window far too high for you to even reach with legs, showed glittering stars and a crescent moon. That window was the only thing occupying your mind for the past several hours. 

What else could you do? You couldn’t even stomach the thought of your captor coming back to keep you company. Literally. Your stomach had been removed, organs being torn and tied together to form a makeshift body that allowed you to live. You were still recovering from that surgery; after all it wasn’t like you’d been given any pain medication or healing ointments to help. Seth didn’t bother treating your suffering-- he enjoyed it; relished in it. He saw no reason to let you feel ease if he felt so much pleasure.

 You were starting to think maybe your nerves would finally betray you, and eventually you’d die from the shock of such pain. It was a blissful thought, something you desperately prayed for. 

Anything. Any death, any release. As long as it didn’t have to do with Seth or his torture devices, you’d be thankful for that sweet freedom. 

But alas, your desperate pleas fell upon deaf ears, fate shunning itself from your endless misery. You groaned, wet face still in a damp cold. The basement wasn’t a friendly place to stay in;  such areas never were, but especially not when you were trapped in a cage directly underneath the air conditioning. The cages’ frozen bars didn’t offer much warmth for your shivering self, nor did your lack of limbs. You couldn’t even look down-- lest if you did you’d have the urge to vomit again. You could hardly comprehend what he did to you, let alone look at it. 

The swinging doors from above the basement hardly brought fear anymore; they had swung and given you more horrors than you expected; but the fright became numb quickly due to their constant sound. 

After Seth’s third procedure in removing your spleen, your exhaustion had gone full speed ahead. As if you weren’t worn from the last few grotesque procedures, his third stitching left you unconscious for days. Every time you awoke during that period, he’d always be there, watching you sleep. You didn’t even have the energy to scream or cry as he tucked you back into the shallow bed, feeding you small spoonful's of soup. 

 Seth would go on and on about your body and your taste, with you having the urge to choke him. Even when you begged and pleaded, offering any kind of service in return for him letting you go, Seth never let up. 

The amused and psychotic look on his face as you fell on the ground in pain and desperation was haunting. When clinging to his feet and beseeching for any sympathy, you had never felt more humiliation. Seth didn’t want you to leave, or want you for anything else really; that’s what you couldn’t comprehend. The only thing you knew at this point was that Seth was a sick monster. 

You could have accepted your death easily if he had just killed you immediately. Instead, you lied here on the floor, legs and stomach bundled in gaws and stitches, determined to kill yourself if Seth didn’t do it by his own hands. You got the urge to look down at your lack of legs once more, but quickly forced yourself to look up at the window instead to avoid any kind of negative reaction. The wounds were a constant reminder of the situation; you couldn’t even daydream long enough about a scenario outside of this dungeon, before the wounds came back to make themselves known. Your crying was far from over, but it was slightly peaceful when alone-- sniffling up at the moon, shivering in pain, imagining your life outside of Seth’s grasp. 

Another slamming of an upstairs door made the basement shutter. Seth’s acts of rage and quick mood shifts were something you were still not used to. The doors’ loud closes were a terrifying and wonderful reminder of your awaiting fate. Maybe this surgery would finally kill you? It was the best thought you’ve had in weeks. 

“Oh hand-some!” You heard a voice call loudly. 

A metal object clanged on the beaten down basement walls, signaling that Seth was dragging it closer. 

“Are you ready for our next lil’ operation?” He called out in a sing-song tone.

Reaching your cell, Seth banged on the metal bars with his instrument--the new torture device making an appreance for today. You laid on the floor, drooling for dramatic effect. 

“Awe, playing dead are we? Now we can’t have that.” Seth struck the metal bars once more, this time closer to your head. The ringing noise and closeness of his weapon made you shake. The object was not metal like you feared it would be; no, it was steel, a far worse material. Threateningly, Seth held the bone saw above your head from behind the bars. 

Turning over, you moved to face the wall, shrinking in figure. Curling into yourself was a full time job, the pain increasing tenfold when you moved inward. 

Seth could see your shivering from the way your back moved. He pulled on his gloves, sighing.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being this way?” He asked with a bit of exhaustion. 

You didn’t respond, deciding to keep up your silent treatment. Though really it was childish calling it the silent treatment; Seth genuinely didn’t deserve to be talking to you in the first place, he should be locked away, but you had no decision in that at the moment. Though, it was better to ignore him than start a fight. He was insane-- any time you tried to make conversation, he would spin it in a different direction. 

Seth grunted with frustration, annoyed at your lack of communication. 

“Well hand-some, I guess we should get started,”

You clenched at his words, your body physically tightening up. 

“Do you like the nickname? I guess after today I can’t use that anymore huh.. It didn’t really fit anyway.” 

It took you a second to grasp his words, but as soon as Seth began to unlock the doors to the cage, you moaned in fear. Backing away as far as you could, you found yourself shoved up against the small cage. Even though you wished this treatment to be over, you were still terrified and traumatized from the torture awaiting you. 

“Oh come on now-” Seth mumbled under his breath, pulling your amputated leg closer to him. You shrieked, feeling immediate pain in the unhealed wound. The bandages covering it went red, the color soon patterning Seth’s gloves. You struggled to hold onto the bars to stay inside the cage, but eventually let go as Seth tugged onto your legs and abdomen. 

Screeching and clawing the floor, you felt yourself dragged against the cold cement. Easily, Seth flung you over his shoulder, your lack of lower limbs making your struggle against him futile.

Instead of screaming any longer, you could only muster loud whimpering as tears fell. Your head harshly slammed against the metal table, putting you in a daze.

“Oh I’m sorry dear-” Seth apologized frantically, stroking your head with his gloved hands. His soft touch was drastically different than anything you’d ever experienced from him. You stopped groaning momentarily, the wind still being knocked out of you. 

“Oh goodness I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, are you alright?” Seth asked. 

You couldn’t reply, only trying to take deep breaths as panic filled you to the core. Beginning to struggle again, Seth ‘tsked’ at you, buckling the restraints around your abdomen and spread arms. 

Shushing you, he took your singular free hand and pressed it up to his lips. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. I’ll stay here until you calm down.” His reassuring voice was both terrifyingly confusing and comforting. Your breathing began to slow; staring up at the bright and warm lamp that used to blind you, now brought solace. 

“Now, now..”

Hushing once more, Seth stroked your arm, drawing small patterns onto the flesh. 

“I know it’s scary, but you’ve been so good…” He whispered in the quiet room, as if he was afraid any loud noises would bring back your hysterics. 

“You’ve been so good for me… Can you do it once more?” 

You began to cry again, unable to hold in the fear. You really didn’t want to die, no matter how much you convinced yourself that it would be better than this, the thought was still terrifying. And you knew, Seth would be the one to kill you. He’d make it so painfully enjoyable for himself, you’d scream and never be let go from his clutches until he willed it. 

“Don’t struggle, okay? It’ll mess up the cutting process.” Seth spoke with the same soft tone while forcing down your writhing hand. He buckled up the leather strap, and grabbed the infamous rag you hated. 

“Scream good for me okay? You already know our rule about the neighbors, though I do wish I could hear you freely. ” He said with a smile, forcing the white rag in your mouth. 

You pushed against the straps, feeling your abdomen and the stumps that were left for legs cry out in pain. You had no doubt that the stitches holding your skin together would need to be resewn, but at this point you had no care for the previous wounds-- you just wanted out and off the table. 

Seth held the small knife above your shaking wrist. Unlike your legs, you couldn’t look away as the scalpel came down. Seth Slowly cut the skin, your screams easily making way into the rag. You bit into it, unable to hide such anguish. Kicking with what was left of your lower body, you twitched every which way in torment and fear. 

The cannibal licked the open wound, blood spilling from your wrist. He was completely prepared to continue, unlike yourself. 

Looking up at the window in the wall, you realized how far away outside really was. Your dream to even get out of this basement and see the sky for real again was impossible. Seth would take away anything and everything. You’d soon be left with nothing able to understand the sky with. You’d soon be left with nothing at all. 

[wonderwomanfantasy]

the hunt of the heart

awooga werewolf boys. 

Todoroki x reader 

Warnings: gore? werewolf shenanigans, swearing,

word count:  1,000 (ish)

Summary: Todoroki thinks what he’s doing is romantic, he’s sweetie at heart, but you can’t help but be a little scared.

You knew Todoroki, everyone in town did, he was the wealthiest man for miles, and like a lot of people, you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Apparently, he had been outcasted from his own family he was such a sweet man, quiet and maybe a little awkward but kind. You knew Todoroki, you just didn’t know what he was. 

Shoto had never been allowed to be too close to humans before he’d left his pack behind. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing but he seemed to be doing alright just following his instincts. And his instincts told him to chase after you. You were sweet and pretty, you would make a perfect mate and his wolf wanted you. 

If you were a werewolf like him he’d take you running with him in the woods and he’d hunt for you, ripping the heart out of an animal and presenting it for you. Then you’d eat it, accepting him as your mate. But as he’d heard humans couldn’t digest raw flesh not to mention your flat teeth couldn’t tear through the course muscle. 

But he could still hunt for you, right? You Certainly couldn’t hunt for yourself, and didn’t humans look for mates that were strong and could provide for them? So he hunted for you. He tried to find out what you liked and found that for you, wild bores, onions, garlic, sheep. Anything for you really. He was too afraid of rejection to give you his prizes in person so in the dark of the night he left them for you on your doorstep for you to find in the morning. 

You were more than a little terrified to find the corpses turning up at your front door. At first, you thought it was a warning from someone else in town but the moody footprints leading to your door made it clear that it was an animal doing this. Sometimes it was muddy clumps of weeds, but those were the good days. You looked down at the pink stones in front of your homes, stained with blood so deeply you couldn’t wash them. You couldn’t take it anymore. That night you stayed up to try and catch whatever animal was doing this. 

You peered out of your window straining your eyes to see through the darkness. Then you saw it, a large white wolf trotting to your door with deer in its mouth, you flung open the door and pointed your gun at the wolf, cocking the rifle only hesitating because of the size of the beast, it was bigger than you were expecting, bigger than any wolf you’d seen before, you weren’t sure if one built could kill it. 

The wold paused and dropped the buck nosing it towards you and sitting back on its haunches almost proudly. “This is for me?” you asked disbelievingly. It wasn’t a threat or a mistake but a gift? The wolf cocked its head to the side as if it was obvious. 

“I don’t want it,” you said you felt a little silly talking to a dog like this but he seemed to understand you. “You don’t have to hunt for me,” you whispered. The wolf almost seemed hurt, its ears drooping and he whined sadly. You felt like you had just kicked a puppy

“I’m sorry, I know- or at least I think you’re doing this to be nice,” you said, reaching out and stroking its head before you could realize what you were doing. He didn’t snap at you or even flinch away from your touch. Instead, he let you pet him. What a strange wolf this was. As you looked at him you realized he was only half white, the other half was a much darker color although you couldn’t make it out in the night. 

“Please take this away,” you asked, softly but firmly. The wolf almost sadly dragged the dear away from your door. What a strange night, you would have thought you were dreaming if it hadn’t been for the paw prints outside your house the next morning. 

Todoroki was crushed. He wanted to spend the whole day inside of bed morning his rejection. You just didn’t want him, you didn’t like his gifts and asked him to stop. But alas he’d spent so much time hunting for you he hadn’t had enough time to get for himself, and had to go into the market today, he only hoped he wouldn't run into you and relive his shame. 

“Good Morning Todoroki! Are you alright you look upset,” you greeted him with a bright smile that only faded when you noticed the look on his face, Most people thought he was stoic but you could tell he was upset. 

“Good morning (y/n), and I’m fine It’s just, I got rejected and feel a little distressed,” he admitted. You frowned, you had to admit you were a little upset you weren’t the one he was chasing but he was so desirable you weren’t surprised. 

“Oh no really? If you don’t mind me asking what happened?” you asked. 

“I tried giving her gifts but last night she asked me to stop, so I don’t think she likes me,” he sighed. Something about that scenario seemed familiar. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you reassured him. “She might not have realized they were supposed to be romantic, try confessing to her directly and see what she thinks,” you advised him. You looked at him closely, the wolf from last night could have been half white and half red. You’d heard stories of werewolves, men who could transform from a human shape to one of a large dog, but you’d thought it was just a myth. 

“Perhaps they didn’t know the gifts were meant to be romantic, try asking her out directly and see if she likes you,” you said encouragingly. He perked up. 

“Thank you, (y/n) I’ll try that,” he said before parting ways. Now all you had to do was wait, if Todoroki confessed to you then you’d have to investigate further to see if he really was a werewolf, or he’d confess to someone else, and you’d have to find another explanation for your wolf problem.

[theplumsoldier]

THE SZÉKELY [1]

title: fox in the henhouse

summary: count dracula visits your family home in greece and takes a special interest in you (set sometime 1800-ish) also this is just the first part:)

pairing: dracula x reader

word count: 3864

warnings: none

IT WAS THE FIRST time the Count had paid Greece a visit and he was just as enlivened as a shark with the scent of fresh nourishment. The voyage was long, exasperating, really, and it was one on which he would have to meet the requirements of an actual Count, rather than conform to those few obligations keeping a castle himself went hand-in-hand with.

It was a family by the name of Galani who had offered him shelter. They had, in fact, been burdened with the task through the Master’s (that is Basil) vocation, and had figured that given this man was a Count, he came of great wealth. Who would they be to deny expanding the company network and seeing as this man appeared to have taken a lot of interest in the firm late times, he was indeed one to impress.

And it was no secret the Galani’s kept a great manor. With their maids galore and the ever-suspicious butler, Abas, their abode was the most pompous, imperious one on the block and they were the proud inhabitants.

Towering pillars made out the front of the manor, marked with great iron-wrought detail and nearly no wear or the years affected them as they regularly were cleaned to its birth-look. Marble tiles and high ceiling, golden details on the spiral staircase, staff racing to take one's coat before you even could shrug it off. At least that was the case for the Count. He adored the rustic semblance.

To the right looked to be a gallery, some closed doors that no wonder hid a kitchen or perhaps scullery, something that looked like a parlor, and to the left, he was already met with a baroque set-up of a dining area. Howbeit, it was not one to eat at, only for the single display of the vase with yellow tulips that stood upon it. Someone was in a cheerful, daring mood, thought he.

Heavy steps suddenly sounded and pausing his inspection, Dracula turned to the thumping sound until his gaze met that of a man. Stout and tall, almost hovering the Count when they came to shake on greeting, and Dracula would suppose he was around his own age, but that would be laughable. He certainly was in his late fifties and as he bellowed in a fit of laughter of elevation, his Adam’s apple jumped in his throat.

“Count Dracula! What a great pleasure it is to host, may I just say that!”

The Count snickered and wrung the man’s hand tightly. It was clammy. “You may. And what a beautiful home. It’s rare I get to enjoy such grandeur.”

Bar his own house of glory and gore, of course.

“Come! Meet my family!”

And so he did. Two girls—or rather women, were lined up side by side. One with her hair tugged strictly from her face, embracing those features proudly that frankly, Count Dracula could not seem to find much beauty in. The daughter, however, you, now—wow! thought he. He could not keep his eyes off of you and you noticed this, blushing as he came to kiss your hand.

It was sad, you thought. How you were in your late teens and had never before been kissed, not even on the hand, until now. For a moment you thought of whatever silly boy that had snuck into your all-girls private school you had formed somewhat of a crush on just last week. Disregarding those imbeciles, you realized you had just gotten your first kiss from a real man.

“It’s a pleasure finally making your acquaintance,” spoke he and your heart hitched just then. Polite, as well.

“And you as well, sir, my father speaks highly of you. One would think you two were close.”

Count Dracula tilted his head toward Basil, your father, and he nodded proudly, flushing beneath his wrinkled eyes. The Count chuckled and looked back to you, sighing as if though he stood on a stage performing a drama. If you were not there to watch him, you would have pictured him swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as well.

“Alas, I regret to say we are not. I live all the way over in Transylvania. But, I suspect your father and I will bond just fine!”

They did, actually. Albeit it seemed Basil was more into the topics than the Count, who was otherwise preoccupied, sending you flickering – almost naughty if you did not know any better – glances. Your parents appeared to be either unbothered by the sir’s amorous yet wavering examining or simply heedless to the situation. To you that seemed out of the question, considering, right at that moment, your whole world revolved around his lingering, inviting gaze.

It was one of the rare occasions in which you were allowed a glass of wine as well. You could not possibly say no to just one glass, you would not want to come off as a little girl. But when you had your glass it was disclosed that the count did not drink a drop of liquor, or any other liquid (you later found out, over supper) so instead, you watched your fantasies vaporize in a cloud as you sipped the bitter-warm red wine.

Count Dracula confessed just before the main course, that he was guilty of having renourished a while before his arrival and already was satiated. He would not be so rude to retire to his sleeping quarters just yet, so he sat through supper, making conversation.

“What do you think of Greece so far? I’m certain you have had time to catch conversation among us Scots, have you not, Count?”

And the count chuckled as a memory of something bitter-sweet passed his recollection faintly.

“I have indeed. All I can say is your people are very, what’s the word, delectable,” decided he and it went quiet for a moment.

“Delectable” here meaning five-star rated blood but that the Galani’s need not know. And they did not, at least not Basil for he soon cackled a laugh and threw his hand on the table, eyeing the Count generously.

“Delectable indeed! Certainly our women have a great reputation, too!”

The comment made his wife, Evadne, scoff, her face contorting out of shape while you merely kept quiet over your greek cuisine. While the food indeed was delectable, your father revolted you deeply.

To be candid, and he always was, Dracula missed your involvement in the topic which fell Basil in taste. He wanted to hear your voice, so he better could imagine the sound you made when he was looped around your throat—if, no! Now he could not, he would hate to be the one to make a mess of such a pretty young lady. He was supposed to the good guest from afar with great elevating stories of Transylvania, not some brooding vampire in a b-grade meant-to-be-thrilling gothic novel.

When you suddenly did invade a pregnant pause you had his undivided attention.

“How is Transylvania anyway?”

“One big forest, really,” said Count Dracula, skimming a finger along the rim of his water glass which he had not yet drunk a drop of. “But I suppose I’m the wrong person to ask, I don’t often stretch my legs beyond my own pasture.”

“Oh, but you have to tell me something!” pleaded you, putting on a sullen frown. One he could not possibly deny even from across the oak table and he was inclined to believe you be well aware. “I have never been anywhere but little Greece. They say “it takes a lifetime for someone to discover Greece, but it only takes an instant to fall in love with her”, but I swear to you, she’s really not that great.”

“Y/N!” scolded your father, cross of your lowly talk. “Be proud of your country. It is sublime and the history that comes to our ancestry is a tale to be told.”

So he did, of course. Basil would not dare meet a stranger to whom he would not spill his entire life story to as well as the stories of his ancestors. Meanwhile, as Basil got lost in a journey some-hundred years ago, Count Dracula turned to face you, a mock smile splayed clear across his features. Your upbringing and good manners averted you from rolling your eyes at the guest.

The hours rushed by like seconds and the Count retired to his chambers before anyone else. The long trip had worn him out, he said. You thought it strikingly odd how he had all that luggage with him – well really it was only a large body-sized box filled with dirt – when he only was meant to stay with you for a few days before his return to Transylvania.

You were on your second glass of wine and already beginning to feel light-headed, merry even, had it not been for your fatigued body. Your every limp felt heavy while you were ready to throw a ball, it did not quite match up but so it appeared human anatomy was not made to make sense to the average joe.

In the late evening, when supposedly everyone had gone to bed, Count Dracula made his rounds to locate each room, or should he encounter a soul throughout his inspection, “appreciate the architecture”.

He was surprised to see the door to the hosts’ sleeping chambers ajar. What kind of people would sleep with the door wide open when occupying strangers in their own house? Though, he supposed, it makes little difference to leave a door open as opposed to shutting when they already had let evil in.

A few steps later, and he was inside, making out the center of the room.

His eyes look about him. Count Dracula felt like a muzzled fox in a henhouse, for all these treats were on display, neatly lined up. Their necks were displayed, veins pumping blood and after all, blood is lives. He bristled, shivering because he could have none and he knew that, so he brisked up his hunt and shut the door fully.

Next, he was caught mid-transit, the chary butler halting in his tracks. They both ought to be in their beds by this time, so neither could deliver very convincing defends to account for their whereabouts.

As they bid their goodnights, Dracula warily trod down the corridors until he finally heard a humming sound.

The door was barely squeezed open by a centimeter, but little light shone from inside the room and it and your sing-song hailed the Count in.

Carefully, he slid the door open by a few more inches. To his surprise you were not yet in your bed, he knew that for it was the first thing which his eyes caught. His lip twitched up, for he thought it funny, the bed, that is. All that comfort he had noticed humans seemed never to get enough of. Where he lied in a coffin filled with dirt from the Carpathian Mountains. They were complete luxury animals and it was comical to Dracula for natheless of their opulence desires, they always seemed to settle for less.

Next, his eyes landed on your figure. You stood still dressed in your gown, brushing your hair and humming to a tune which felt to your taste. He did not recognize it as a piece he knew, but just then your voice sounded so soft, so angelic and it brought him to wonder if your blood tasted the same. He had no plans of ruining your life with his thirst, he still was quenched from the early morning, but he had a code to always live spontaneously. Never say never, and his smile grew bigger as you brushed your hair from your neck, displaying yourself perfectly for him.

He was both drooling and getting hard at just the sight.

You sat before your vanity table and a few bottles were displayed before you along with the glass of wine from earlier. It was now empty, nearly licked clean and Dracula smiled even bigger, musing over the many ways he could take advantage of the situation.

“Count,” gasped you suddenly, catching him off guard while he thought of the various ways he could take you. Having you against your vanity was one particular he would not mind in the slightest.

“Oh apologies, Miss,” excused he and made the effort to step forward, into the dim lighting. “I was just retreating to my room when I heard a wonderful tune. I hope I am not intruding.”

“No, no–not at all,” slurred you, standing up to make yourself presentable. What he did not know was that you had spent your late drunk hours, making a play of him entering your room with any excuse. You would not have believed it had anyone told you that you would, in fact, receive a personal visit. “I was merely fooling about for a bit, I was going to get ready for bed. Should you not do the same?”

“Yes—” he sunk his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Yes, I should, only I figured I would postpone the act for a while. I don’t sleep well away from my home.”

You smiled and put the sand-colored brush down before you waded a tad closer to him.

“They say home is where the heart is,” said you lovingly, offering him a kind smile and he thought if you too would smile in bliss when he sunk his teeth into you.

He hummed and put his head on tilt. “Do they now?”

Nodding, a small pause ensued.

“I had this whole dream life envisioned when I was little,” spoke you suddenly.

Little, he sucked in his cheek to avoid chuckling. You are little, he thought to himself.

“Tell me about it.”

“First I would get the hell out of here,” said you decisively and his eyebrows bounced at your profanity. The sign of the cross on your neck derided you from speaking in such a manner surely, that much he was certain of escorted your doctrine. He also could understand from your dialogue earlier on that your father was not necessarily a big fan of you leaving the nest. “But I could never do that. I’m destined for nothing greater than this.”

“You do that quite a lot, don’t you? Doubt yourself.”

You shrugged lightly, absorbed in thought.

Your brood was tangible to Dracula and his legs slowly carried himself a bit closer. As if he could only near you but never lay a hand on you, and that repentance showed in his dark eyes, for the sign in the center of your collarbone shunned him.

Dracula made a show of circling around you like a vulture, much like one would when descending on its dead prey. The thought, that you were his prey, struck you and you shuddered.

You took a deep breath like you were preparing yourself to hold your breath, and to your dismay, you dug your grave deeper as you fell deeper for the man. Even his cologne was to die for, its main accords aromatic, fresh, citrus and something you could not quite put your finger on, but whatever the scent, you suddenly grew hot.

“Take off your necklace.”

Bewildered as to why you stilled. Unsure but keenly interested as to what he had in mind, you did as per request and walked to your bed. You hung it from the knob of your closet and turned back to face him.

You had this wild and utterly insane fantasy of where this would go, but that was fantasy and frankly, fantasy cannot be a reality, certainly not yours. Still, with the thought of him kissing you again, this time on your lips, you did not dare look him in the eye.

The Count’s prying gaze could be felt from his several feet away and you grew anxious, trepidation clear in your feet. When your eyes flickered about, you were surprised to see him suddenly turn his back on you.

Had he grown tired of you already?

“Have you heard what they are saying about the heavens?”

Furrowing your brows, you slowly made your way to the bed, taking a seat and keeping one hand on the footboard.

“What are they saying?” asked you, inquisitive.

He stood by the window, watching the night sky as if he could arbitrate all its mysteries right then and there.

“That we are in a system of thousands and thousands of stars—planets. Gas and dust all make up for the galaxy. There could be planets out there, just like ours.”

Now you wondered if he had drunk a bottle all to himself in secrecy.

You grinned softly, feeling the weariness of the day’s adventures take over you. He gave you a funny look and you shook your head, still smiling and looking at the ground like a fool in love. In a way you were, still, it was odd to think you only had known this man for a single day. It suddenly was very hard to think of a time where he was not there. Gosh! You are a fool falling!

The Count pulled the drapes, shunning out the moonlight as the last source of lighting bar the few candles that did put a soft amber-gold light to your room. You gulped and looked down. It suddenly felt a lot smaller, your room.

“That’s absurd,” annunciated you.

His tongue clicked, and you could hear his smirk.

“No, you’re being bigoted, Y/N.”

“I’m being realistic,” corrected you, finding your small voice.

Next, you knew he stood right before you, his shoes toe-to-toe with your bare feet. The lump in your throat was back.

Surely regrettably you forced yourself to finally lookup. And you guessed it. He gazed right back at you.

He brushed your hair aside, exposing your neck to his touch.

“Heavens, you look seraphic.”

You snorted, suddenly feeling bold. As if you had not heard that before. Sometimes it was difficult telling when his bravado came to a halt, and when it was his actual self began.

“Don’t you mean “delectable”?”

He grinned, and you marveled for a moment at his burst of awe.

Earlier on, you had examined hisself and made certain he brandished no wedding band, lest making yourself uncomfortable when you, later on, would imagine him hovering over you. It was odd to think a man of his nobility was without matrimony, but he had admitted to “waiting for the right one” over dinner. Until he stepped into your room, you had thought you would fantasize about him in your dreams but that seemed unlikely as you could not even look him in the eye without blushing.

“Would you kiss me again?”

Pause.

Then he laughed, wandering a few steps back, only to circle himself, then return to meet your front.

“Would you like me to kiss you, dear?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling very little before this grand man. While he indeed could appear intimidating, he had this warm aura about him which made you want nothing but to throw yourself at him.

“Is that it? On your hand again?”

You stood up, your chest heaving heavily.

“On my lips.”

The Count smiled bigger, his pearly white teeth on perfect display, catching the glimpse of the light and you suddenly became bothered by the tension. He could not put his hands on you quick enough.

“Please,” pleaded you and he tsked entertained, his hand snaking down your side.

“When you ask like that who would I be to deny the missus?”

He watched with hardly hidden delight as your blood pumped hard in your head. His focus lingered on your lips now. Delicately he pressed his lips down on your, pulling you close as possible with a large hand on the back of your neck.

Then he pulled back. While you attempted your best at maintaining normal breathing, the shock wore off. It was not that it was unexpected, simply that it, in fact, had been a wish you had not imagined he would grant you. His gaze trailed along your neck, the curve of your figure in the corset, how your breasts were pressed tight.

You were close enough to feel the warmth roll off his body, his hair so elegantly pushed back like a dark crown, now a single stray string falling unto his forehead and the air was knocked right out of you again.

Your lip wobbled, unsure of what to say as you breathed heavily, a groan escaping your lips as his idle finger dexterously trailed along with the cut of your throat.

You fell back to sit on the bed again, coy eyes lingering at his. He leaned over you and you eagerly pulled his lips back down on your own, feeling the swell of the covers you were supposed to be sleeping under around you.

The Count sucked on your bottom lip, his teeth lightly chafing your lip and you moaned into his mouth, carefully greeting him with your tongue. He could not help but grow harder, needier of your exquisitely luscious moans.

Encouraging you to lie on your back, he pulled your leg up about him and even through the many layers of your exorbitant dress you could feel his hard against you. It was a feeling you had only ever imagined, one you would never have thought you would feel and with a stranger, not to mention, a count.

You shivered and cried into his mouth, gasping at the feel and he could already smell you. Goodness, it was difficult to control himself in your presence. Not that he was doing much to hold back, but it took everything in him not to taste you right on the spot.

“You’re drunk,” whispered he suddenly.

You looked puzzled up to him, wondering why he had stopped.

He then began to scramble to get off of you and you sat right back up, breathing loudly.

“What? No, sir. If you think of my judgment, I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.”

“Oh, I know you are,” responded he. He simply could not handle it any longer. He feared he might lose control, drain you just then and he would hate to ruin something, someone as precious as yourself. “But I ought to return to my own sleeping chambers now. Your parents are just down the hall, dear.”

He was already making his exit.

“I can be quiet!”

Your voice was desperate for more, and he turned, the slyest of all smiles writing itself across his face.

In two long strides, Dracula stood before you in a split second and you gulped down, for his expression was blank. But as he sighed and took your face in his hands, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

He forced you to look him in the eyes.

“Sleep well, my love.”

And so he left, leaving you with nothing but a lesson on high hopes and wet undergarments.

[abitterlifethroughcinema]

THE SITGES 2020 FilmFest ‘COVID19 IN REALISM’ REVIEW & REPORT, VOL. I by Lucas Avram Cavazos

How does one even begin to describe Europe's famed and favourite horror & fantasy film festival during a time when the very nature of a pandemic is like a theme for one of the films being screened? The dark irony was certainly not lost on me over the last two weeks, and as I traversed quieter Sitges streets this year, there was a sense of longing mixed with trepidation and goodwill that could best be summed up as everyone doing all they could do in order to muster and try to still have a-ahem- killer good time. Gone were the copious amounts of vendors and 'frikis' selling wares, gone was the lauded Zombie Walk, and gone were the annoyingly long lines and chipped shoulders as reality did its job. That job, for me any way, this year was to make a few decent contacts (score!), interview actress and Sitges Queen MC Melina Matthews (done...watch that fab interview here: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=824908928247997 ) and screen a helluva lot of movies (20 and counting so far...thank you Online Vampire Press Pass 2020 AND Five Eye countries' pre-releases already screening!) As it stands, the cinema industry is reeling from its worst economic and setback labor annum in its history. Undoubtedly, film distributors and companies are, at best, besotted by that gnawing, iffy feeling that things may remain stagnant. Release dates are on hold and cinemas have been mostly closed for months and perhaps more to come.

The films to be reviewed here would normally be scheduled for release between their premiere at Sitges Film Fest and the new year but with the aforementioned industry stagnancy, it's most likely that many are destined for a later release date or, even more likely yet, a release on streaming sites that have taken over the entertainment world over the past half decade. On with the movies! 

2020′s Best Film winner Possessor Uncut marked Brandon Cronenberg's (yes, his daddy is David Cronenberg, so go figure) triumphant return to Sitges FF after winning the Noves Visions award eight years ago. I personally felt a wee bit underwhelmed with the sci-fi/ horror genre mix's rich take on elite assassins and a future where probes and dials may actually control our emotional wellbeing. You see, 'possessors' are assassins who have their consciousness implanted into others and then thereby are programmed to carry out whatever hits or rub-outs are needed. The film starts with a bloody bang and it cannot be understated that the intensity of the action sequences, the studious eye of Cronenberg (like his poppa) and the visuals he lays out for us are top notch and are a testament that filmmaking runs deep in his roots. Sure to find rapid international distribution, I was none too surprised by the film's win...nepotism has its favours after all! #### A Perfect Enemy (Cosmetica del Enemigo) is an oddly intense, wannabe mind-fuck of a film and the well-played annoyance of main actress Athena Strates takes centre stage, even despite a collective audience desire to slap the ish out of her. Or was that just me? Like any post-drunken, young, cute floozy of a girl, her character Texel Textor aids in the missing of not only her own flight but that of the unsuspecting architect shmuck Jeremiasz Angust (how apropos his surname is), who picks her up on the way to the Tokyo airport, one of his own designs. What ensues is a forced conversation that ends up delving into a story that must be followed to be believed. Based upon the novel 'Cosmetique de l'ennemi' by Amelie Nothomb, this latest work by Spanish director Kike Maillo is gripping and tense if a tad fastidious. ###-1/2 Mandibules skirts the genre of fantasy/comedy so well that when the film's main co-actors Gregoire Ludig and David Marsais won Best Actor(s) at this year's Sitges Festival Palmares ceremony, I was not surprised and immediately started laughing and clapping, because they stole the bloody show. Mandibules tells the story of two losers out to finish a heist so as to come into some much needed money, but what these two eerily engaging twits embroil themselves into is an absurdist fest. Stealing a car after a busted trial and error move, they discover that a huge, nearly meter long fly is stashed and thirsty in the boot of the stolen Mercedes! They end up foiling plans, destroying property and plotting a course that eventually leads to a bit of money and a lot of hilarious hijinks drama along the way! ###-1/2 There have been so many screenings done from the comfort of my own home so when I got to screen the new instalment sequel to Train to Busan, I was stoked. Not only was that original piece one of the finest celluloid tellings of zombie horror, but it breathed a wave of fresh eyes onto South Korean cinema. This new film is called Peninsula, and that's where they should have left it. Having seemingly little to do with the emotional original, this piece of experimental non-originality follows the aftermath  four years after the intense zombie apocalypse and takes place over in Hong Kong now. A guy ( a tad funny to be sure) named Jung-Seok joins a mission to return to a quarantined peninsula to salvage $20 million dollars left in a deserted food truck. What befalls is, you guessed it, another zombie attack followed by an ambush, resulting in another bloodbath but for what? I honestly don't see why, though... There is a joining of forces with a rag-tag team of ambush zombie assassins that plays some relief for Jung, but the lack of real human condition story, the addition of guilt actions mixed with dark humour and gore should be enough to placate the hungriest of pandemic-stricken horror lovers...but it’s not. Alas, for me, this was a Sitges FF letdown though the film is racking up the bucks in open cinemas worldwide. ##-1/2

So much more to come throughout the next week, as these films all start trickling bit by bit to open cinemas and streaming sites...STAY TUNED, luvs!

[paradife-loft]

alright, here we go.... did anybody want a write-up on my (initial/current/main) Fallen Hero protagonist? because I sure have got one, and an obsessive need to talk about this game!! :’D

they’re actually more intentionally a self-insert than most characters I play, since I didn’t really have any pre-game time in which I was considering what sort of person to play and what their name/background would be. eyyyyyy impulsivity!

anyway, on with it. some facts, as they were, about one Ishvah Bakker, formerly known as Sidestep...

Basics

Probably mixed race of some sort, or otherwise on the liminal edge of (not?) white - other people’s perceptions are crucial, and more defining than they’d like, for as long as they can remember. (Good thing they’re a telepath!)

Nonbinary and genderless and generally salty about it. (Dysphoria makes every other body-related trauma response even more fun!)

Long-ish dark brown hair, which they usually wear down or in a simple ponytail. Better than needing to think about styling it, anyways...

Aromantic bisexual. Full of angst. (Aren’t we all.)

Supervillain codename: Iconoclast

Says fuck! :D

Psych profile

Generally quiet and watchful and cautious - a thinker, a planner, a tactician, at least as far as their comfort zone goes. Curious (sometimes morbidly curious) as all hell, in a “killed the cat” sort of way. Alas, not much satisfaction has been had. More just worry about what it says about them that their curiosity can “override” alleged basic human reactions like “empathy” or “getting freaked out by gore”.

Despite the control-freak tendencies, the more a situation slips away from, or otherwise can’t be planned and controlled, the more they do Impulsive Shit. Reckless, adrenaline-junkie, can’t-sit-still-because-then-the-anxiety-will-know-where-you-live, self-endangering impulsive shit. Anything to get the situation back under their immediate influence, if not control.

Speaking of which, attitudes toward bodies? They’ve got a callous disregard for physical sensations like pain, & the (temporary) structural integrity of bodies, especially once that aren't theirs.

They’re very dissociated from bodies in general really, their own included; thinking of them as tools, and willing to let them get fucked up in the service of "more important" goals.

(Shoutout to when they had to perform surgery on themself! :D Totally not fucked up or anything. Especially that they hated seeing themself naked, especially through “another’s” eyes, more than they hated having to actually do the surgery. Nothing to see here folks, just a normal person.)

When needing to improvise interpersonally, they try to head for whatever reveals the least about who they actually are & what they're capable of - using others' preconceptions and biases to fill in blanks with whatever they're expecting. They’ll use appearing weak, tired, unassuming as a shield, but it... grates. Still, feels less dangerous and attention-grabbing than being confident.

Relatedly, they do hate losing their telepathy - the lack of sensory overload is nice, but that doesn't outweigh how... naked they feel, exposed and cut off and unsure if they can trust what they see. (Only what they see.) It’s easier in their puppet’s body, Alex, since everyone else just sees an obvious young white man and there’s no need to manage those expectations, but even so, a loss of information never feels good. (Objectively useful to learn how to manage without, but not their emotional preference.)

Yeah, even if their puppet body goes around in a binary gender, they still prefer to have a name that’s genderless to their own ears at least. Alex is common and unassuming. (And leaning into the private supervillain grandiosity in-joke with themself as far as other notable Alex(ander)s is.... entertaining. Hush, it doesn’t mean they need a life.)

They tend toward being perpetually un(der) satisfied by accomplishments as soon as they’ve just come out of the oven, as it were - a restless mind always moving onto the next step, the next thing that needs to happen. They didn’t used to be like this, did they? But it’s better like this now, considering all that’s happened. 

(Perhaps because of that, perhaps in contrast, their personal apartment is done up in a surprisingly cozy way. Soft carpet and dark encompassing furniture, fabric on the walls, understated lamps and indoor string lights, and only a small window in each room. It’s one of the few things they can find calming, especially when it comes with some coffee.)

(Delicious self-medication with minor stimulants~)

And hey, the coziness is probably also nice because of how disgustingly touch-starved they are. Starved and averse all at once, really, which is just the best. (And uh, also sexually frustrated.... not that they let themselves think about that, hahahaha....... Moving on.)

The lack of sleep involved in maintaining two lives? Is absolutely getting to them, even if they don’t realise it. Sure, they think their body is getting all the rest it needs while they're in Alex's, but their brain is still active in maintaining the telepathic link such that the sleep isn't quite as restful and rejuvenating as it otherwise could be. (Well, assuming they didn’t constantly have nightmares.) Hence some of the increasing emotional instability & inability to hide their feelings when confronted with actual stressful situations.

Background

LA was the first place they ever tried to make a home, really. Or multiple different home iterations. They feel tied to the city, not least because of how the change in the place and its name feels like a macrocosm of what they’ve done switching sides themself.

Because this is a self-insert (and I do what I want, Thor), and to provide some justification for their first name, I’m thinking about their first (failed, aborted) attempt at being A Person (after getting out of whatever X-23 situation is getting teased for their origin story?) and joining any sort of community, being with a local shul. Perhaps after being helped out by people involved in a community service program? There’s a fair bit that resonate(d) with them, or at least felt good - the idea of being wanted and cared for and responsible for each other, of improving the world and doing positive deeds, of having a fucking family... They probably poked some feet into the idea of converting...

But that definitely crashed and burned. Half of it was coming to realise just how much self they’d have to put into the community to become a part of it - and they either had no self to speak of, or couldn’t risk, couldn’t feel comfortable, revealing what bits they did have. Peace was hard to come by. Comfort with uncertainty, with simultaneous opposite-seeming truths, never coalesced, and in fact felt actively threatening - as did the idea of being able to achieve any sort of relational parity with a higher power of some sort. It’s in the name, after all - a higher power is something you’ll never be able to live freely under with respect. So as that all came to a head, all the paranoia and feelings of inadequacy, they just... left. Don’t really think about it much now, don’t like to think about it, because it felt perhaps even more naive than trying to play masked hero, but... the name stuck.

As apparently did the desire to Be Good And Make Things Better, despite themself, because there they were back again with this stupid hero scheme, meeting Julia Ortega and making friends, being naive and trusting and thinking the whole damned system didn’t need to be burned down for anything to change. That other people could help protect you, that being part of a system could help protect you even if you weren’t one of the bastards at the top pulling the strings, helping nobody but themselves and their own power and pocketbooks.

Well, that sure isn’t going to happen again. This time, they’ve learned their fucking lesson.

[hopeymchope]

Don’t miss out on: Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka

I think almost everyone watching anime in Winter 2019 missed “Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka.” It garnered very little commentary or review from the community, and what minimal attention it got was mostly from people who felt it looked stupid at first glance or who didn’t care for how the anime studio interpreted the character designs.

There’s next to nothing online about the actual quality of the finished product.

So now, having watched it and realized what a huge mistake I made by ignoring it, I am here to try and convince the rest of the community. This show is so much more than it appears to be at first blush; I am now completely in love with it and rushing to read the manga for more.

Genre History Lesson: The subgenre of “Dark Magical Girls” was something that was really started by Puella Magi Madoka Magica. PMMM was a phenomenal, groundbreaking show that re-examined the “teenage girls are gifted magical powers to fight magical bad guys” tropes and transformed them into a parable about maturing into adulthood, struggling with disillusionment, battling the dark nature of the world both within and without, and coming out the other side. It focused heavily on all power coming with a price, and that the ones who share that power are unlikely to be doing so for entirely altruistic reasons.

Not only did PMMM inspire a new wave of “Dark Magical Girl” deconstructions, but more importantly, those themes I mentioned? Became the basis for EVERY SINGLE “Dark Magical Girl” MANGA/ANIME EVER SINCE. They describe lighter fare like Yuki Yuna is a Hero or the mega-dark edgelord bullshit that is Magical Girl Site. That’s not to say that there aren’t still good stories in the various manga/anime “inspired” by PMMM, but: There are always schoolgirls struggling to come to terms with adulthood. There’s always some larger power that’s making these kids pay the price as they pursue their dreams.

Why MGSOA is Special: Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka isn’t about ANY of that shit. It is the FIRST “Dark Magical Girl” story to be about totally different themes and drives. It is utterly unique.

This is a show that attempts to take the concept of Magical Girls into a “realistic” world, and then explore what that would imply.

More about forcing teenagers into combat, PTSD, awesome fights and kickass music - under the cut!

What would really happen if, per the classic anime trope, some random middle-schoolers were given magical powers, weapons, and abilities that made them the only line of defense against some magical invaders from another dimension?

WELL, the series comes to some pretty obvious conclusions:

Well... their governments wouldn’t want their main line of defense against invasion to be a handful of freelancers, of course. So that’d mean making them employees. Which would mean militarizing the girls.

By extension, the governments are going to begin trying to understand the magic. You’re going to have the military attempting to replicate this power so they can build their own “anti-magic” weaponry for standard soldiers.

Since magical girls are typically tasked with stopping/sealing/”destroying” the invaders, isn’t that just a euphemism for the fact that they’re killing things? In effect, we’re making these teenagers into killers.

To make matters even MORE interesting, the series actually picks up after the girls have already “won” the magical war against the invaders - many years after they started their new “magical girl” lives. Our lead, Asuka, is trying to return to a normal life by enrolling in a high school (despite being a bit old for it by that point). Meanwhile, some of her magical quadmates are trying to make a career in the military, having already accepted that they’re not suited for “normalcy.” Some of the girls have kept their secret identities intact thanks to magical glamours or military cover-ups, whereas others have gone public to both praise and derision. 

So pretty soon, we are taking time to explore some pretty heavy, intellectual stuff:

“Shell shock,” PTSD, neurasthenia and “moral injuries” in soldiers after a war

The lingering effects of war on displaced civilians, including how people and areas affected by the combat can serve as nests for the rise of radical groups

The impact of the use of underage soldiers on military morale, both among the higher-ups and the rank-and-file troops who have to serve “beneath” them

This is a manga/anime that actually makes use of both a military advisor (!) and extensive historical research to make for both realistic military scenes AND a basis in actual “mystical” lore from various civilizations. It’s impressive as all HECK.

And yet... don’t think for one second that this means the series is some chatty, introspective piece ala Boogiepop & Others. Not even a little bit! No, all of this is just a new, smart way of providing what people want from the genre:

utterly badass, superpowered battles!

girls having cute, funny bonding moments!

distinctive, likable characters with real flaws!

surprising plot twists!

intriguing mythology!

an absolutely rocking soundtrack with a killer OP

THAT’S what the vast majority of the show is all about.

I’m not here to sing its praises forever, mind you. I do have some gripes/issues:

One thing that isn’t really well justified/explained is that most (possibly all) of the magical girls seem to be lesbians (which is actually implied at one point to provide an innate increase to their super-powers by increasing their ‘feminine energy’ etc etc) but that’s not very well-explored at first, so it can feel like it’s just an exploitative “lol WLW is hot” angle at times.

I don’t love all of the “magical” costume designs, because MANY of the supporting players’ outfits feel very “male gaze”-y with their focus on ridiculous boobs and skin.

There is one person’s backstory that is deeply uncomfortable and feels downright “Magical Girl Site”-ish. It’s not that it’s impossibly unrealistic in its cruelty (and I usually love any series that focuses on how to battle against the cruel nature of the world)... but it does seem like it’s just a wee bit over the line.

And the anime is really just an introduction into a larger world... there’s no satisfying ending here, because the manga is still ongoing, but at least they didn’t try to make one up! It gives you a delicious taster that encourages you to dive into the deeper world and lore of the manga.

Regardless of ALL that, MGSOA proves that there’s a lot more available to “Dark magical girls” than just adjusting the angst/gore dials on the usual setup.

It opens up new possibilities and depths for the whole thing to explore. It’s easily my second-favorite “Dark Magical Girl” story now. And somehow, it still has time for slice-of-life cuteness and girl-bonding comedy in the middle of all the darkness.