On Horror, Queerness, Mirrors, and Dracula
Your wish is my command (you may or may not regret this).
Here’s the thing - I love horror, and I love patterns, and I think the best horror is always in some sense symmetrical. It might not be obvious, but what’s the point of staring into an abyss if you can’t see your own face reflected back? The symmetry itself comes in any number of different twists, whether it is familial, communal, erotic, or individual, and most of these apply to Bram Stoker’s Dracula.
The centre of our novel rests on the Harkers. So, starting with Jonathan - his experience in Transylvania is a twisted version of his life back home. Dracula is reserved but eloquent, seemingly caring and occasionally affectionate, he reads train schedules and they spend hours upon hours in conversation; which is a dark mirror to Jonathan’s train schedule-loving, passionate but serious Mina. It may even be said that the Count is re-enacting a caricature of traditional heteronormative domesticity - he maintains the household, waits on his guest himself, and blows him kisses from the stairs. His possessiveness of Jonathan is the only way a vampire like Dracula is capable of understanding the bond Jonathan shares with Mina. The Count states that he, too, feels love; but he is written by a closeted gay man in the late 19th century, so his imitation of married life is both a lie and a tragedy. He is a shorthand for forbidden, wrong, and corrupting desires.
At the same time, Mina herself also has a same-sex connection in the beginning of the story, and her relationship with Lucy mirrors the relationship between Jonathan and Dracula. They cling to each other, in a sense; despite being excited about the prospect of their impending marriages, there is some trepidation associated with this new stage in life. A common part of a dowry used to be a shroud, simply due to the frequency at which Victorian wives died in childbirth soon after the wedding; and even provided a survival, the transition to married life was still a loss of innocence. As such, Lucy’s affection for Mina is the last expression of her girlhood, and she herself is the personification of Mina’s. Lucy is, therefore, the direct antithesis of the Count; her death and subsequent rising change Mina the same way that Dracula does Jonathan, establishing a firm duality between the Harkers and their respective vampires.
The other characters are reflections of each other, as well; the suitors defend while the brides terrify, Van Helsing wants to preserve life while Renfield wishes to consume it - and even further, the old Hungarian lady cares enough about a stranger to give Jonathan a cross for protection, while Lucy’s own mother lets Dracula into the house herself, selfishly ignorant of her daughter’s needs and the doctor’s orders. Another parallel is drawn again between Jonathan and Renfield, who represents directly what he could have been, had he not escaped from Dracula’s grasp; which makes Renfield’s vehement, last-ditch attempt to protect Mina perhaps all the more poignant. In him, she sees the resilience of Jonathan’s humanity; while he gets to see exactly what she could become after her turning - in Dracula himself. These dualities are integral to the story’s thematic structure, and therefore inextricable from each character’s development.
There is really too much to say about each individual dynamic to fit into one rant, but for the current purposes, I can forgo the details. They all converge as it is on Jonathan and Mina, and thus, the central theme of this story is devotion. If Jonathan had truly broken, like Renfield, Mina would have stayed by his side; and if she had fully turned, like Dracula, he would have adored whatever shred of her still remained. In madness and in death, in happiness and sorrow, in sickness and in health - until the echoes start to sound like wedding vows.
@stripedshirtgay
@bluberimufim
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I saw that you did nsfw things with the SP characters, and I had something in my mind for a huge while and I was like-
DAMN nobody's going to write this because no nsfw requests 😭
But then... I found your blog, so I'm just gonna let this slip here... 👀
Randy Marsh with a fem!dom reader who likes to overstim him?
(no pegging just the clasical "milk him dry")
PLEASE IGNORE THIS REQUEST IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE IM SUCH A HORNY MESS SORRY 😭 😭 😭
HEHEHEHEHEHEH NSFW UNDER THE CUT 🤭
and thanks to @okchijt for the help on this y'all should follow her 😌
i feel like no matter how many times he's had sex, he still acts like a clueless virgin. he definitely says those cheesy ass porn-esque lines when he tops. like how a middle schooler imagines sex lmfao. except he's like 45...
anyways,, considers himself a "traditional man" so i feel like he'd be a bit hesitant to let you dom him at first,, but after a few drinks he's more than ready 💀
hes still a cocky piece of shit though so expect him to try and tell you what to do. how fast to go, hands or mouth, shit like that. not the type to just lay back and let you take complete control,,, at first,,,, at least not when he's sober 🥱
takes him a round or two to kinda give up his ego and let you take control, but when he does i feel like he'd be super whiny
i don't see him as a moaner 😭 he definitely groans a lot though. arches his back like a girl though LMAO
he's definitely squirmy 😭😭
he starts acting like a whiny ass brat once he starts getting overstimulated. like after a couple rounds he starts sluring his words
and once you're done he's falls asleep right away
that brattiness stays well into the next day because his ego is torn to shreds
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Danny has an Ice Core.
He isn't aware of it, but this does, in fact, greatly influence how his ghost form looks as he grows up.
His appearance starts getting more rugged, eyes a paler, more piercing green, hair a bit more uncontrollable and wild.
He packs muscle easily, even in human form.
When in ghost form, he has an aura of something patient and dangerous, and that sense only grows the older he gets.
Basically, our boy starts to look like a viking.
No matter how goofy and bumbling he really is, his first impression is always a horrifying moment for whoever is meeting him.
And as his ghost form grows with his human form, he outgrows his hazmat outfit. Frostbite and the Far Frozen fashion him some new clothes-which only compliment and play off of the viking aesthetic he's got going on.
And with the height he inherited from his father?
Our man is a very, very intimidating figure to look at. More so than Dan; because while Dan was dangerous and scary, he was all energy and lightning and rage.
Adult Danny comes across as lethal and terrifying, all ice and persistence and that final, terrible silence before you realize you've already died.
Dan felt like the warrior in front of you. Danny feels like the wilderness in winter, vast and unforgiving.
Anyways, when a summoning for Klarion goes horribly wrong and Danny gets called instead, the Justice League has a moment where they're convinced they've summoned something much, much worse than Klarion.
And Danny, standing there completely confused, is not helping by remaining silent and still while staring John Constantine in the eye.
Good news, the bad guys are also very concerned about the weird ghost viking and are actually moving to stand side by side with the Justice League on this.
Bad news, who the fuck is this guy?
"...Fuck," is all Constantine whispers, backing away slowly.
@simplestoryteller
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Okay but *gulp* soap with his dick slipping out and accidentally pressing into the wrong hole. Doesn’t stop him from continuing tho
listen LISTEN listen - yeah!! soap is 100% the kind of asshole to do this!!
1.7k soap x f!reader "wrong hole" drabble 🫶 (cw: pwp smut, noncon anal sex between partners (also unrealistic anal sex), pussy drunk johnny)
You arch further into Johnny, slick skin sliding along slick skin as your mouth drops open on a moan.
“Jo-Johnny,” you pant, gripping tightly to his broad shoulders. “Feels ssooo- so good.”
“Yeah?” He grunts from above you, mohawk messy and dripping sweat. “Bet it- bet it feels big, huh?”
You whine, pushing your hips closer to him as he slams home inside of you. “So big,” you agree, your mind draining from you slowly as he pulls nearly the entire way out on every thrust, leaving you almost empty before filling you to the brim. “God, you’re so good, Johnny.”
“Fuck, yes,” he pants, arms wrapping around your back and squeezing you tight to him. Your hips are pushed a little further up, a little closer to him. You wrap both your legs around his waist, hold him as tight as he does you. He only manages to keep up his rhythm through pure strength, easily able to overpower your grip.
“So good,” he mimics, eyes squeezed shut. You can’t look away from him - the sweat dripping down the side of his tanned face, the wrinkles and scars decorating his skin, the way he looks like he’s either in agony or euphoria. “Feel so perfect, so tight. Fuck, missed you so much, lass, missed your perfect cunt.”
Your eyes nearly roll back in your head when he hits the perfect spot inside of you, body limp in his arms. You feel almost like a doll, like a toy for him to fuck, but he’s so good at it that you can’t even begin to care.
The both of you devolve into moans, occasionally trying to speak and choking on your words. You might feel embarrassed of what a mess Johnny’s made of you, if he weren’t in the same condition.
He pulls out completely on several thrusts in a row, both of you gasping at the sensation - you, because it’s a shock to go from nothing to everything completely and him, because every thrust inside of you when he’s pulled all the way out feels like the first. You dig your nails into his muscles, pushing your chest against his for all the physical contact you can manage.
It happens too quickly for you to even really notice. One second Johnny is rearranging your guts, giving you the best dick of your life, and the next you feel like you’re being torn in two.
You nearly scream, eyes flying open and nails dragging down his back, peeling skin off. Johnny’s loud groan drowns you out almost entirely, and he doesn’t seem to notice what he’s done.
You notice. Your unstretched ass feels like it’s on fire, and after your first sound of shock you can’t get enough breath in to try and say it hurts.
Johnny can’t thrust the whole way in, like he had in your pussy. Your body gives him too much resistance, which is what finally makes him realize.
You’re nearly blinded by the tears filling your eyes when he finally blinks open, staring down at you.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, and you can feel his heart racing against your chest. “Did I-? Am I in your-?”
“Pull out,” you gasp, tapping at his back desperately. “Oh my god, Johnny, pull out, I can’t- fuck, you’re too big.”
That’s the wrong thing to say - instead of pulling out, he groans, dropping his forehead to yours and letting his eyes fall shut again. You let out a long, high whine when his hips push forward, slowly spearing you further and further on his cock.
You’re made mute by the pain, left only with your nails as defense as you try and tear his back to shreds. You should know better, though - Johnny’s a masochist, and pain you inflict only drives him more insane.
“God, you’re fuckin’ stranglin’ me,” he pants, pulling out just enough to force himself a few inches deeper. “Thought your cunt was tight, but it’s nothin’ compared to this.”
“Johnny- please.”
“So fucking warm.” He looks nearly delirious above you, pupils blown so wide you can barely see his iris even as close as you are. “Tight.”
“Johnny,” you whine, even as the slide becomes a little bit easier from all the slick dripping from your cunt. “Hurts, please, you gotta… gotta stop.”
He makes a sound that’s somewhere between soothing and a snarl, a low sound that makes you instinctually arch further towards him and then yelp when that gives him more leverage.
“You’re fine,” he comforts - well, the words should be a comfort but his tone is almost dismissive. “You’re wet, I can feel it.”
“Not enough,” you cry, half choking on a sob when you feel him finally bottom out inside of you. “Ok, ok, please pull- pull out, Johnny.”
“But you feel so good,” he purrs, butting his nose against your temple. “Fuckin’ hot little ass, huh lass? You’re squeezin’ me so good, you sure you want me to pull out?”
“Yes!”
You feel the sharp smile pressed against your temple and hiccup a sob, shifting your legs so that instead of wrapping around him you’re trying to push him away. But he’s too strong for you to make him move, and he only shoves himself even further inside of you by leaning his weight forward.
“I think you’re lying,” he almost sings, grinding his hips deep inside of you. He shifts briefly, holding himself above you on one arm and sneaking the other between your bodies and down to your pussy.
You cry out when his fingers work quickly at your clit, tight fast circle that have you shaking and moaning. It’s almost enough to drown out the pain of having your back hole stretched so ruthlessly - almost.
“Here,” he says, dipping his hand down a little further to almost scoop the slick dripping from you, smearing it around your plugged hole like he’s trying to make up for the lack of lube in the first place. He pulls out about halfway, thrusting back in and moaning when you cry out. “Th-there, how’s that feel?”
“Still hurts,” you manage to get out through your sobs, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
Johnny’s panting like a dog above you as he starts to fuck you again, his pace sharper and uncaring about your sensitivity. You can’t help but clench down, your inner muscles squeezing tight in an attempt to push him out that only drags him further in.
You can’t do anything but lay there and take it - as he moans repeatedly into your ear - while he fucks you. The pain eases after a bit, your own wetness making the path at least slightly easier, but the sharp sting never fully dissipates. Your tears don’t dry up, and you’re nowhere close to the orgasm that had been building before.
Johnny’s your complete opposite - he’s lost in his own pleasure, and your desperate scratches down his back only make things better for him. If you’d thought he was euphoric before, he looks like he’s found Nirvana now. You’re not sure if he’s so wrapped up in his own pleasure that he can’t hear your pain, or if your pain is what’s driving him more and more insane with pleasure.
For your own sake, you pray it’s the first.
He doesn’t last long - thank God - and only a few minutes later his thrusts get choppier and choppier, jerking in and out of you without any rhythm at all.
“Gonna make me come, bonnie, fuck.”
You can only stare wide-eyed at the ceiling as Johnny buries his face in the crook of your neck and comes deep inside of your ass, the hot spurt of his come a distant sensation with the stretch of his cock still at the front of your mind.
“Alright, alright, pull… pull out now, Johnny, please,” you beg again, too shell-shocked to even flinch at the embarrassing crack in your voice.
He obeys wordlessly, pulling his limp cock out slowly enough to make you whine when he finally leaves you empty.
“Hush, hush,” he quiets you, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone and brushing over your spread hole with his fingers. You jolt and whine, turning to press your face into his sweat-soaked mohawk. “You’re alright, didn’t even tear.”
“You-you sure?” You sniffle.
He chuckles a little, the sound vibrating through your chests. “Yeah, you’re alright, lass. Didn’t think I would really hurt you, did’ya?”
You can only whine.
His fingers dip inside your back hole just long enough to drag out some of his come, moving up to shove it inside of your pussy.
“There ya go,” he soothes, repeating the process again and again. “Still got a nice load in your guts, you're alright." His fingers lift to your clit, rubbing in perfect circles to make you arch and gasp, squirming for more pleasure despite the growing ache in your other hole.
He brings you to a slow orgasm, one that has the last of your tears dripping down your cheeks and clinging to his shoulders like a life raft. Your breaths are uneven, heartbeat quick in your chest, and you feel fuzzy around the edges.
Unlike usual, Johnny stops at one orgasm. You almost expect him to keep going like he always does, never satisfied with less than three for you and two for him, but he pulls his hand away after your first pained whines start again.
He doesn’t get off of you, letting his weight push you deeper and deeper into the couch cushions. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close to you and breathing in his musk. It takes a while to get your breathing even again, though Johnny’s levels out in moments.
You only let your eyes close once his snores start up, loud in your ear. The rumbling of his chest is a comfort, and you float into sleep with Johnny’s sweaty body pressed firmly against every part of yours, and the ache in your ass only growing more noticeable with every breath.
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