#// One day I will write the absolutely fucked body horror transformation they got to go through

[sanguine-salvation]

Ow.

Well, 'ow' was perhaps an understatement, but that about the only word they could think of in this much pain. They were not the most... graceful flyer yet, and they would not be for a while yet if this kept up. A throb ran through the bone of their left wing, and no amount of biting their cheek, or clenching their fists, or digging their claws into their tail to distract them could take all the edge off that.

Fine, if their body was going to be stubborn, so would they. They unfurled themself from the too-tight donut curl they'd forced themself into alleyway, taking a sharp bracing breath before reaching their hand up and taking the bulk of meat, bone, and feather into their hand, trying to feel for a break.

This. Was. A bad idea.

"Hrnghh!!!" The noise echoed off the alleyway, and they just barely managed to shove their other arm against their mouth to stifle it. But they knew that had been loud. Ow. Ow. Ow. Well, that was unpleasant. With a sharp suck of air through their teeth, they peeled their arm from their mouth and groaned into their shoulder instead. "Isten bassza meg..."

If only they had something to wrap it up in, sling it up somehow. But no, they didn't even have any clothes to rip up seeing as most clothes did not fit wing and a tail. So they just lashed their tail at the ground and hissed. Yes, at their own wing, it's not like there was anything else to hiss at! Ugh, they were the one to do it! It was just curiosity, and their stupid brain could not figure out how to make them do anything but fold and unfold!

How appropriate that Viktor Zsasz have just the luck to be... cursed or something, shuffled into this baffling fucking fate of monstrous hunger, an inhuman body, heightened senses that made the world unbearably intense. To become this and not even have the luck to have the instruction manual built in.

But it didn't... feel broken. Just sore. Very, very sore. Maybe they'd just... climb up somewhere high, sheltered, curl up like a donut again, and and try to sleep through it...

Open Starter (mutuals)

[androgynousblackbox]

The horror of our love. 1 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

Luci

"By all accounts, it looked to be a normal notebook. It weighted like one, it felt like one. You could even opened it and go through the pages as you would with any other. On the page immediately after the cover there was a seal reading "This journal belong to" with the name Alastor Abaddon first written on the dotted line, then scratched to put instead Alastor Magne.

The actual difference started once you wrote on any of them. If one wanted, they could use any utensils for it, but the words were better received when using a quill and ink. The letters dissapeared in a matter of seconds and soon enough a response would appear right underneath. It didn't had to be a question either. You could write something on the most horrid grammar possible and the words written would mercilessly tell correct you, usually with some insult throw in the mix. If the offending bad grammar continued, the notebook would close by itself and anyone opening it up again would be greeted with another sarcastic remark about the clear lack of literacy going on.

But that would only happen if someone was just fucking around with it, testing it like a new toy and wasting everyone's time, wouldn't it? Absolutely not the thing someone should be doing with something like this. So instead it's mostly used to answer questions. It can't answer everything, and some questions it doesn't want to answer even though probably knows it, but a good deal it can.

Some of those inquiries are easy.

Did you really belonged to person whose name is written on the front?

Yes.

What can you tell me about him?

Anything.

Anything like what?

Sometimes it's not letters that emerges from the pages. Sometimes there are some scribbles. Mainly faces with sharp teeth and smiles that extend far beyond what any real face would allow. That was the answer to the last question. Point taken: you have to be a little more especific than that. It doesn't like it when you are too vague.

The first time that we got it and we realized what it was, after the initial surprise, it asked us who we were. So I wrote it. We were students of professor Magne that went to Hogwarts before it closed. The journal took a while to write back.

A professor?

When those words vanished, others came underneath.

What happened at the school?

I should have throw away that thing the moment that came out. Now is that I see that. The whole point of this is to find out what happened that night, the one right before any student came back to start a new year. There was no witnesses left. All the other teachers, the headmaster, everyone gone. There was so much blood everywhere.

I don't really need to go into too much details about it, do I? It was all over the papers. People still remembered it on each anniversary. People keep making theories about what happened to this day, because that is the thing. Nobody knows what happened. The only thing we do know for sure is that professor Magne was not among the deceased. They found a body that looked like him, chopped into pieces and half eaten like everyone else, but that only lasted as far as the effect of the potion wore off. I had to ask a few favors in order to find that out. No, to make sure that it was exactly what I was thinking of. I am not proud of it. This is exactly the kind of shit we are going to keep off the records if we do decide to go public about this.

Grave digging is not my kind of hobby.

If that motherfucker really did all I know he did, then fuck it. I will do what it takes. If he is dead, then good, I was wrong and I don't have to think about this any more. But if the body that is buried under the headstone with his name doesn't match, then he better be preparing his ass because I am coming for it.

The body that was buried there was too short. The suit that they have put on him for what was supposed to be his resting place was sagging all over it, and not because it had been years since it happened. I remember professor Magne towering all over us even in our final year. That wasn't him. I don't know who that is. Some homeless person, maybe? There was no report of any person missing nearby, none that matched that matched with what we… I found.

That is how all of this started.

He is still out there. Probably doing the same shit he did to all of those people right as I speak. The same shit that he was doing at school even before that night. There was never any other monster who just got hungry and escaped. It's not about proof, not that alone. He needs to be stopped. If there is anything that can help us towards that goal, I will do it. I should have done something when I had my suspicions, because I always knew something wrong with that guy, but I was just some dumb kid back then who had no resources, no connections, nothing. I might still be dumb, but ain't no kid no more. I can move some strings of my own now.

The notebooks was the first one of the pieces that we discovered. When they cleaned up the whole castle, it was discovered among the books in one of the libraries. Everyone just assumed that it was the diary of one of the tragically deceased victims, so they send it to the last relative that professor Magne. Problem is, he didn't had any relative left so it kinda got lost in the system. That gave us a good headache for a while until we found it on a second hand store. The lady that sold it to us said she received it from a friend on the Ministery that needed to get rid of a bunch of old stuf that was just occupying space. She had no idea what it was. She never tried to write on it.

We did. We could have burn it, turn it into ashes, and hope that fucker, wherever he is, can feel every second of those pages being consumed. See if he likes it when he is the one being devoured for once. I still haven't fully rule it out, once we can squeeze anything useful out of it. For now, this is the closest we have to talking to him.

The notebook writes like a well educated kid would have. A kid made it after all. That thought alone is so wrong. Knowing how these things are made makes it so much more messed up. But if I keep concentrating on every single disgusting, horrible, questionable shit I find out about him, then this is just never going to end. More people are going to die and I am just going to be here, hoping my next hangover at least make it easy to forget. So powerthrough this is all I have.

I write that "a monster ate everyone at school one night."

That is the official version at least. It writes back.

A monster? What kind of monster?

I don't know. Nobody saw it. It had to be big though.

After a while, the next words appear.

Do you know Luci?

No. Who is Luci?

It takes a whole minute for it to respond.

Luci is my best friend. If you know where they are, take me with them.

The words vanished just as easy as they came. Of course we researched that. There was no kid whose name could be shortened as Luci on the generation when professor Magne was a student at Hogwarts. Not on his, not on any of the other years, not in the entire school. There were Elizabeths, three Lucious because that name was popular apparently and even one Luz that was two years ahead of him. I couldn't find any immediate evidence that he was close with any of them. I didn't miss either the fact it wasn't telling me any gender.

So I ask it to tell me more about this Luci. I can't really take him to this friend if I don't know the first thing about who they are or what they look like, can I? If he told me that, then maybe we can find them and give them the notebook like Alastor, or this version of Alastor at least, would have wanted.

I could tell you everything, but I don't know if you would like it, appeared on the page. Some people tend to find it upsetting.

I don't mind upsetting, I write back. Sometimes I read horror novels for fun. I have a strong stomach.

You do?

Something about those two simple words makes me read them with the voice of the professor in my head. Using that same gleeful tone he had just before he dropped something horrible onto all of us during class, when neither of us could escape it. I can almost see the gleeful anticipation on his brown eyes as he waits the perfect moment for it.

Yes, I write, because I will take anything I can get. Anthony is reading above my shoulder and my mouth is a bit dry as the quill moves with my hand. Do you have a story for me?

A smiley face is my answer before the notebook closes by itself. Then it opens again, running up to the first page, that ironically we never used when communication with it. We just use whichever we happened to land on. As we see them, entire parragraph start appearing in front of our eyes, as if this thing had all the words at the ready.

I still can hear the voice of that fucker on them."

"Then allow me to start from the beginning, as many stories do. Please, sit back, relax and let me tell you all about how I met the love of my life.

[bozepomagaj]

i was 15 when i watched made in abyss as well, finished the 1st season and promptly never touched it again because of what i learned about the author. From what ive seen from koreans they say that the version shown on korean tv is censored (which sounds plausible) which could mean that the weird parts that we skip may be cut out entirely(?dont quote me on that idk) soobin is on thin ice cause the 2nd season is worse and taeyong is in deep shit because i dont think there is any reason why someone should own the manga😟

I'mma preface this by saying I completely get everyone who couldn't stomach this series. It contains a lot of disturbing topics and at the end of the day, it's a horror series, of course not everyone is gonna be able to handle that, and again that's fine. But I can also say that this arc was surprisingly handled with a lot of care, wasn't fetishized nor glorified just... disturbing. Think of Outlast 2 or the ending of Amnesia:Rebirth.

TLDR:

Second season is way more disturbing but not as sexual in nature and Soobin most likely was talking about the fight scenes when saying how cool it was. And if he wasn't then who knows what he was yapping about, don't know him personally so I can't put words into his mouth unless he says something. As for Taeyong, can't defend him at ALL but calling him a p3d0 would still be a bit too much for me.

AND I wanna add after further investigation, Mingi said he didn't even watch it and instead dropped it because it was too much for him, so there's that.

For a more in depth explanation, here you go:

I'm gonna have to explain the lore in order for you all to understand this FULLY, so heres a summary:

The arc introduces us to Vueko, a victim of trafficking who was thrown into the Abyss with the rest of the now villagers because she wasn't deemed as someone useful. So obviously, when she meets Irumyuui, who has been exiled from her village for not being able to give birth at the age of 8, she immediately takes her in. As a victim, she understands her, and the author explains how, through helping Irumyuui, Vueko is able to heal her own trauma and heal Irumyuui as well. It's extremely well written, and as a fellow victim, there was something so sweet about seeing someone heal with the help of another. Especially when that someone acted like a mother figure. But of course, this is the Abyss. The point of the Abyss is that despite you thinking there's some light at the end of the tunnel, there isn't. Wazukyan takes that away, and Irumyuuis wish backfires (think of it like the wishes in Madoka, you get what you want but at a cost), and she gets turned into a horrible monster. But despite everything, she's happy because to her, she's fulfilled her purpose.

This is the part that I could discuss for hours because to me, it was commentary on how young girls even nowadayas are convinced by others that 'they have to find a man one day' and how having no kids is looked down upon. Especially in 3rd world countries. I could write an entire essay, but we're not here to do that.

I can tell you immediately that none of this was fetishized nor glorified in an yway, it's just supposed to make you feel absolutely empty because again, author is really trying to push that "oh you think you got the good end of the stick? Think again!" The manga if FILLED with situations like this, from Rico's origins to Nanachis arc, the subplot of this entire manga is 'how far are you willing to go to survive?'. Think of it like Fire Punch. Disturbing? Yeah, I mean, even I had to drop it once they began talking about trafficking women. Once again, I am comparing it to Madoka Magica but far more gruesome. Nothing explicit was shown, Irumyuui's private parts were never exposed, and her giving birth was also never shown. Her transformation WAS shown, but it's your basic body horror, like in most Junji Ito works.

SO, obviously if you're not a fan of the horror/seinen genre this is deeply disturbing and fucked but after seeing games like Outlast 2 and Amnesia: Rebirth, I wasn't as disturbed PERSONALLY. Again, recommending this publicly might've not been the smartest idea because you really do have to be into the horror genre to be able to handle topics like that. Even I just had to sit in silence for a couple hours after reading that backstory cuz damn, it hits you right in the feels. And most of the manga past that part just has badass fight scenes and when people praise it, they usually talk about that. From what I saw it was well animated and lots of clips were shared on tiktok, twitter etc. So there's a big chance he was talking about that.

(Examples of why people were hyping it up, even non-fans who had no idea about the series were going crazy because of this fight scene)

Now as for Taeyong... see now the reason I didn't mention him in the original post is because of that specific thing. I love the series and have come across physical copies of the manga but I know damn well I'm not buying cuz I don't wanna be seen supporting the author, purely out of spite. And saying 'oh well maybe he didn't know what the author is like'. Unlike some sites, physical copies DO include the extra chapters which contain stuff like this:

Totally unnecessary, not relevant to the plot and while some say it was added as a "haha funny joke" c'mon now. Let's use our brains. Now, would I call him a p3d0? Absolutely not. Would he be weird for this? To me, yeah. For anyone reading this, it's up for you to decide. I'm only here to answer questions about the series because I see people saying random stuff and making it seem FAR more worse just cuz they saw a couple tags.

[decepti-thots]

favorite arcs of any tf media?

Ooooh. This is a really interesting thing to think about across the whole franchise actually, because what makes a good arc in a serial cartoon for kids is VERY different that what makes a good arc in a comic for adults, for example. And how you consider what counts as an 'arc' is also variable, isn't it...

In no particular order:

The Wreckers saga as a whole, yes, but also specifically Verity and Springer's arcs which intertwine and hold the entire project together. I have a post somewhere in my drafts I might dig up some day about why I love Verity's conclusion in Wrequiem, hmm. It's especially interesting how well that holds together when originally, LSotW was very much a one-off, and large swathes of SotW were introduced into very late drafts. A+ stuff.

Remain in Light in MTMTE. It's absolutely not the best arc in that series IMO! That award goes to Elegant Chaos. But it's my favourite. Because a) it's you know, The Minimus Arc, and has the best Minimus writing in the run IMO, and b) it's actually much more than that. It's an excellent ensemble piece that has a TON of moving parts which interlock very well, it ties into the overall themes and builds on the lore in ways that make sense and are satisfying, and it progresses the overall comic in meaningful ways. Just a really well constructed 'season finale' for a comic like that.

The Quintesson arc in Cyberverse is like. It's perfect for the show it's in IMO. I said when it was airing it was like... the perfect first introduction to certain kinds of sci-fi etc for its target age group? Some kid is gonna grow up remembering that arc as the point they got obsessed with body horror or dystopian fiction or something IMO. It's such a clever reimagining of the Quintessons, which basically all media post-G1 struggles with, it's weird and funny and throws strange sets of characters together to see what happens. (Clobber and Hot Rod! Dead End and Perceptor! Soundwave!) It has some of the best art design in all of TFC, too, they really made that tiny budget GO places. I fucking love that series, it's delightful.

TFA's first season with Megatron slowly working to get himself back together. It's just a GREAT example of how the TFA team hit it right on the head when they reconsidered how to structure a Transformers show with TFA, namely, how they were totally correct about how well it works to have them mostly face off against non-Decepticon and especially non-Megs bad guys. It works so much better when he doesn't have to get defeated nearly every week! And it gives the smaller cast so much more room to interact in lower stakes cirumstances with each other and Sari, which makes them such vibrant characters compared to most prior TF media. Just great stuff.

[hiccanna-tidbits]

Jackunzel Month

Day 15 - Red Riding Hood

***

AKXNBAUDOV I’M SO HYPED FOR THIS PROMPT Y’ALL YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW

So Amanda freaking Seyfried, also known as the epitome of live-action Rapunzel casting options, was IN a Red Riding Hood movie adaptation in like 2011, and the main couple in that movie like??? Highkey has Jackunzel energy??? That uhhhh maybe definitely inspired this angstfic I wrote in large part XD

Also I couldn’t NOT include a picture of Amanda Seyfried from the movie in the moodboard because COME ON

Well anyways, I started writing this fanfic, and halfway through was like “oh this is kinda dark and fucked up” and then. Kept writing anyways XD Y’ALL C’MERE FOR ALL YOUR JACKUNZEL ANGST NEEDS, I GOTCHU

One-shot preview is under the cut! Go read the rest on my fanfiction.net, Infrared-Ultraviolet! I’m very proud of this absolutely shamelessly edgy angstfest :’) Uhhhhh slight CW for body horror and gore in the later parts, though. I kinda went ham on the dark shit ^^; There’s a happy ending though, I promise!!! My children have suffered enough in canon.

Moodboard pic credits available upon request!

***

“Rapunzel, I need to ask a favor.”

A shadow flitted over the pages of Rapunzel’s book, temporarily blocking the light streaming in the bay window. She looked up to see her mother, the woman’s expression troubled.

As Arianna settled down into the sunny, cushioned reading nook, Rapunzel heaved a sigh. She slipped in a small bookmark and pushed the book aside. “What is it, Mother?”

“I’m sorry.” Arianna bit her lip, not quite meeting her daughter’s eyes. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t, really,” Rapunzel lied. Although she would just as soon have finished her story than have to deal with whatever this was, she always made time to help her mother. Arianna worked so hard for her, and Rapunzel had always felt she needed to honor it.

“I—I need you to deliver something, sweetie.”

Rapunzel raised her eyebrows, wondering why this was phrased like such a grave undertaking.

She ran errands for Arianna all the time. She was always more than happy to go into town and shop for clothes or books, or pick up fresh food and trimmed flowers at the nearest market. Of course, she rarely delivered things, but it didn’t seem like too difficult a task.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Who to?”

“Mother Gothel, on the path through the woods.”

Oh. Rapunzel stiffened.

“Mother Gothel? The wi—”

“Don’t call her that.” Arianna cut her off, eyes hardening. “She’s not—she doesn’t do dark magic. She’s just a little eccentric is all.”

Rapunzel had heard the rumors about Mother Gothel, holed away in a dilapidated little cottage in one of the darker parts of the forest. Her home was at the end of a long, overgrown trail that rarely got a full dose of sunlight. It was anyone’s guess why she chose to isolate herself from the rest of the town, or why she didn’t try to move out of such a dangerous spot. The woods were unforgiving enough that Rapunzel had trouble imagining anyone braving the heart of it without some kind of self-defense magic.

The forest had a reputation. Go too deep in, and you’d be claimed as a part of it…in the most brutal and visceral way possible, no less. There were plenty of records of villagers disappearing over the years, wandering into the tall pines and never coming back out.

It would be easy to dismiss as the work of particularly aggressive bears and mountain lions, if not for the stories of grimy, harried townsfolk coming out of the forest with their clothes in shreds. They often stumbled into town on moonlit nights, raving on and on about wolf attacks. They claimed they saw friends and family and lovers bitten by hideous, lupine creatures, transforming into monsters right before their very eyes.

She shuddered. The tales were common enough that the forest had become known for its…lycanthrope problem, to put it lightly.  Rapunzel and her parents lived near the village edge themselves, but the long shadows of trees only loomed over their roof from one side.

As for Mother Gothel, Rapunzel had seen her in town a few times. The old woman seemed normal enough—friendly, charismatic, a tad overdramatic and loud, but nothing Rapunzel would give a second glance.

Mother Gothel had a strange aura about her, though. When she chatted up Rapunzel, something always seemed off. Maybe it was that she was a little condescending, phrasing things like Rapunzel was stupid when asking about her family, her home, her friends. Not that the conversations ever went on more than a few minutes.

She also tended to reach out and touch Rapunzel’s hair when she was taking to her, always marveling at how beautiful it was. Rapunzel wasn’t sure she liked that.

Regardless of all that, Arianna’s request was still odd.

Rapunzel pressed her back into a throw pillow. “Why do we need to deliver her something, Mother?”

“It’s complicated.” Arianna wouldn’t meet her eyes again, and Rapunzel’s frown deepened.

“What’s going on?”

“Long story.”

“Tell me, then. If you want me to go on some long trek through the woods, then I at least want to know why.” Rapunzel crossed her arms and pouted defiantly.

“Okay.” Arianna pulled her knees up onto the bay window cushion, hugging them to her chest. She smiled wanly. “Well…did you know your father and I used to be Gothel’s neighbors?”

“What, really?” Rapunzel’s eyes widened in surprise. “So she didn’t always live in that run-down cottage?”

Arianna laughed. “No, no. She was next door to us for a number of years. Your father and I were—well, not friends with her, I suppose, but we were cordial enough. She intimidated us, to be honest. She always had the most lush, beautiful gardens. Frederick and I used to joke she must enchant her flowers for them to grow that high.”

Rapunzel raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you were intimidated by?”

“Quality horticulture isn’t easy, you know!” Arianna reached out and swatted her arm, and Rapunzel laughed.

Her mother’s expression grew serious as she continued. “The truth is that our family owes her a debt. Because of something that happened a long time ago.”

“Really?” Rapunzel couldn’t imagine what a creepy lady who lived in the middle of the woods could possibly be holding over her parents, but her past apparently had as many plot twists as the book she put down earlier.

Arianna heaved a heavy sigh. “When I was pregnant with you, I got sick. Your father and I weren’t sure what the illness was, or what to do about it. The doctor was perplexed. All I know for sure is that I felt awful, and for whatever reason, my cravings were worse than usual.” She laughed dryly.

“I remember I kept wanting…vegetables. Strange choice, I know, when something like cookies would make more sense, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t get enough salad.”

Rapunzel couldn’t help but chuckle, imagining a rotund Arianna Corona cramming kale and spinach into her mouth with reckless abandon. It was an odd thing to yearn for, Rapunzel would admit.

“Anyhow, one morning I woke up wanting lettuce more than anything. It was—well, it felt like so far to the market, and Gothel was out, and her lettuce patch was overflowing—there was no way she could have eaten all of it. Not to mention she also had way too many of this one type of yellow lily as well, and Frederick heard you can make a truly incredible stew with the roots.”

Rapunzel’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. “So you stole some.”

Her mother’s eyes swam with guilt. “I know it was wrong. We thought she wouldn’t miss one flower and one head of lettuce. Frederick made a soup from it, and it was the best I’ve ever had. But then…”

Arianna paused, fingers working in the fabric of a cushion. “Gothel came knocking the next day. Turned out she kept better track of her produce than we thought. She was furious. Said we owed her a favor. Frederick tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t have it. I remember she moved about a month later and plucked the garden dry before she left.”

“What happened with the sickness?” Rapunzel asked.

Arianna smiled mysteriously. “I felt better after drinking that strange soup. Maybe there was some magic in it after all. I gave birth to you not long after, powers and all.”

Arianna ruffled her daughter’s golden hair affectionately. Blushing, Rapunzel looked away.

Not many knew about her gift. She kept it a secret from the other townspeople, worrying they would look at her like a freak—or worse, an asset to be used. Her parents were some of the few who knew she had magic.

And Jackson Overland had, too.

Jackson Overland had been a grubby sort of boy, always running through the mud and swinging around trees with his shepherd’s crook and getting them both into all sorts of trouble. He wasn’t the sort of company her parents particularly approved of. Nonetheless, he had been her best friend, and one of the few people she would trust with anything.

Before he…

Rapunzel’s heart clenched with grief.

Both Jack and his little sister Emma had been lost to the ice the previous winter. They were skating on a pond in the forest when it unexpectedly caved, plunging them into frigid water. Rapunzel still remembered how loud she screamed when she went looking for them and found a gaping hole in the ice, piecing together what had happened.

From what she heard, their bodies were never found—not even when the pond thawed in the spring. In all honesty, she preferred it that way.

She shuddered, imagining Jack’s frozen, lifeless face peeking up through the water, brown eyes staring emptily at nothing.

“Sweetie?”

Rapunzel returned to the present, shoving away the image. “So we owe Mother Gothel a favor?”

“Yes.” Arianna leaned back against a pillow in the windowsill, sighing again. “I ran into her in the marketplace the other day, and she asked if you could deliver her some vegetables. She wanted the same ones we took from her, all those years ago. To make it even, I suppose.”

Something in Rapunzel’s skin began to crawl. “Mother…why does she want me to deliver the vegetables?”

Arianna gave her an apologetic look. “She’s an odd woman. It’s possible that since my pregnancy cravings were what brought about the whole issue, she figures it’s only fair that the um…result of all that return what was originally hers. Strange line of thinking, I know. But that’s what she requested.”

Rapunzel’s fingers dug into the cushion, sudden annoyance gripping her. “That’s not fair! I didn’t ask you and Father to steal from her! Why should I have to be the one to make it up to her?”

Arianna winced at her harsh tone, and Rapunzel felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t normally speak so sharply, but she couldn’t push down the bubbling fear rising in her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You know I’m usually happy to help when I can. I just—I’m afraid, Mother. I’ve never gone that deep into the woods before. I mean, Jack and I used to go exploring, but never that far. And now I’ll be alone. What if I run into…” She trailed off, stomach clenching.

“Ah.” Arianna’s tone softened. “You’re worried about werewolves.”

Rapunzel nodded.

“I have just the thing for that.” Arianna stood up, giving Rapunzel’s shoulder a friendly pat. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the front room.

The roiling in Rapunzel’s stomach didn’t cease. Whatever her mother was fetching, she doubted it would shake the anxiety of a pointy-eared, bushy-tailed shape trailing her in the shadows, saliva dripping from its great jaw.

Arianna returned a few minutes later with a wicker basket in one hand and a long, bright red cloak in the other.

“Wear this,” Arianna said, handing her the cape. “It signifies you’re under the protection of the Axers.”

Rapunzel frowned. “The Axers?”

“Werewolf hunters. They roam the forest collecting firewood for the town and protecting travelers and explorers from wolf attacks. The cloak is supposed to be a warning sign—a lycanthrope sees that shade of red, and they know they can’t hurt you without risking a hatchet in the chest. I suspect the color is striking enough that they still remember what it meant from when they were human: Stay away.”

Rapunzel shivered again. It was an unsettling thought, imagining the vicious wolves who prowled beneath the dark trees as once having been people. Just like her, just like Arianna.

She took the bright cloak, running her fingers across the silky, blood-red fabric. “So if I wear this…I’ll be safe?”

Arianna nodded emphatically. “Yes. I promise.”

Rapunzel relaxed. That was one thing she had unquestionably gotten from her mother—they both kept their promises.

Perhaps she’d be all right.

“What about Mother Gothel?” she asked uneasily. “Do I have to do anything when I get to her place?”

Arianna shook her head. “Just knock on her door, let her see it’s you, hand off the basket, and be on your way. You don’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want.”

The blonde girl considered. Maybe if she speed-walked, she could be done with the whole affair in less than a morning.

“Please, Rapunzel?” As she hesitated, her mother gazed at her with pleading in her big green eyes—the eyes that reflected her own in a way too close for comfort.

“Fine. Fine, Mother.” Like she could ever say no to that face. “I’ll go.”

***

Rapunzel’s boots crunched against the dirt, hands tightly gripping the basket’s handle. It was only just past midday, but the shadows of tall trees slicing across the path were still a little too dark for her tastes.

She hadn’t strayed from the path. She’d kept an eye on the summer sky, ever a crystal-clear blue. She wasn’t about to lose focus and get lost in the forest, and not notice before deep green leaves completely blocked out the sun.

She wasn’t scared. Being scared was for little girls, not independent and self-reliant 17-year-olds. She was, however, beginning to get the slightest bit annoyed. This whole excursion was taking significantly longer than she planned, and her book back home wasn’t going to read itself. She was also, perhaps, growing a little tense. Not afraid, but tense.

The darkness stretching away under the trees and the anticipation of having to face Gothel in all of her unnerving strangeness was certainly not helping.

Rapunzel cracked open the lid of the basket and glanced down, hoping the smell of the fresh-baked cookies on top would relax her. She made them as a means of placating Gothel, if needed—a way to suck up to the woman long enough to cause a distraction, allowing Rapunzel to quietly take her leave.

Admittedly she had snuck a couple cookies on her trek. Only to keep her energy up, she kept telling herself.

“Hey, you.”

Rapunzel looked up and started.

While she was preoccupied with her baked goods, a massive white wolf had slithered out of the forest. He now sat on the path in front of her, blocking the way.

Her hands trembled as she put two and two together.

He had to be the one who spoke to her. There was no one else around.

Werewolf.

She hadn’t imagined a beast known for its untamed ferociousness would still be capable of human speech, but today was full of surprises, apparently.

Swallowing, she took a step back. “Hi.”

“Where are you off to?” The wolf took a couple paces forward, cocking his head to the side.

“Um…making a delivery to Mother Gothel,” Rapunzel said nervously. “At the end of the path.”

The creature stepped forward, studying her with a pair of striking, icy-blue eyes. He raised his snout, sniffing the air a few times. Rapunzel stiffened.

“Something smells good,” he said. “You make cookies?”

An odd feeling stirred in her as the wolf stepped closer. His voice was rough and gravelly, more canine growl than words, and yet…

Something about it sounded eerily familiar. There was an odd twinkle in those icy eyes, too—one that Rapunzel could swear she’d seen somewhere before.

Creepy.

Not something to mull over, she told herself. She was face-to-face with one of the most infamous terrors of the forest. Not getting eaten should probably take priority over getting to the bottom of why it made her stomach tighten when the wolf tipped his head again and raised his tail up almost…playfully.

It was a strange sensation. Almost a sort of yearning, but for what she couldn’t tell.

No matter. No reason to let her guard down.

“Yes, I have cookies,” she said carefully.

“Magical? They smell too good to be regular cookies.”

Despite herself, Rapunzel laughed. “No, nothing magical in here. I did just bake them this morning, though. You want one?”

Maybe a sweet snack would appease the beast, and she could be on her way.

The wolf sat, wrinkling his nose in what looked like amusement. “Can’t eat chocolate.”

“They’re sugar, actually,” she offered.

His eyes brightened. “Oh, yeah, then that would be great.” 

She reached into the basket, pulling out a pink-dusted cookie and tossing it at the wolf. He leaped gleefully into the air, quickly snapping up the baked good in his massive jaws.

Rapunzel started walking again, skirting around the munching wolf. To her dismay, the creature followed her down the path, keeping perfect pace as he chewed. 

She grabbed a handful of red cloak, squeezing it so hard her knuckle turned white.

“Don’t try anything,” she said, making her voice as steely as she could. “I’m sure there are Axers nearby.”

“What, you think I want to maul you or something?” The wolf asked around a mouthful of cookie.

Rapunzel didn’t answer, avoiding his bright blue stare. He swallowed and let out a snort.

“I’m not an idiot. I don���t want to get sliced in half. It’s just that I don’t see a lot of travelers on this path. Maybe a guy gets lonely out here, and wouldn’t mind a little company from time to time.”

She stopped, giving him a confused look. “Aren’t there other werewolves?”

“Sure, but it’s not the same.” The wolf looked like he tried to shrug, and wasn’t quite successful with his non-human shoulders. “Sometimes you want to see a little of what’s going on back in the human world.”

They studied each other, both seeming to not quite know what to make of the situation.

The wolf certainly didn’t seem like a brutish, bloodthirsty beast to Rapunzel. They were having a civil enough conversation.

“Isn’t the human world—well, aren’t they your prey now?” Rapunzel asked suspiciously. “The townspeople always warned me about werewolves. Said they only care about filling their bellies.”

Something flashed through the wolf’s eyes. Almost…sadness.

“And you trust them?” 

Rapunzel nodded. “They’re my neighbors. My friends. Of course I do.”

“Sometimes people say that kind of thing to make you scared of whatever you don’t understand. I’m sure some of them mean well, but a lot of your villager friends don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.”

Rapunzel scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You can get meals out of people thinking like that.”

She thought she saw the wolf wince, but she could have imagined it. He bounded up in front of her, turning to look right into her eyes.

“This…Gothel. Do you trust her?”

Rapunzel shrugged. “Mother sent me to see her alone, and she wouldn’t if she believed Gothel was dangerous. If my mother trusts her, so do I.”

The wolf sighed. “You really should be more careful who you put your trust in. People often aren’t what they seem.”

“Yeah…like you.” Rapunzel took a step back, frowning. “I think I’m already telling you too much. Why are you so concerned with me, anyway?”

She wanted to slap herself. Familiarity be damned, it had been stupid to trust a wolf.

“Just giving some friendly advice,” he replied evenly. He started to back away toward the treeline, keeping his blue gaze fixed on her. “Naiveté is kind of a sad way to go. You have to watch your back out here. There’s plenty of monsters who’d just as soon use you for their own ends, Rapunzel. Sometimes when you’re that eager to see the best in everyone, you don’t realize how knee-deep in a mess you are until it’s too late.”

“Wait.” Rapunzel froze, the full weight of the wolf’s words dropping on her. “How do you know my name?”

He gave her one last sorrowful look. “I know a lot of things about you, Zellie. It’s—it’s all safe with me, but it won’t be with everyone. You take care of yourself out there.”

The wolf turned, and the last of the fluffy white tail vanished into the shadows of the trees. Rapunzel was left staring after him for several moments, feeling hollow.

[louiseleblancdiggory]

hey, once in twitter we talk about how much we love Castle, so i was thinking if you could write a rowaelin scene based on caskett ♥️

OI GIO!!!!!! Ok so I had so much fun writing this. I decided to start from the very beginning so everyone (even those who didn’t watch it) know what’s going on. If you never watched Castle, you MUST!!! Also, fyi, the warnings are NOT about Ro or Aelin, they are absolutely fine in here. No sad shit, I promise

Warnings: mentions of graphic death

Gone death

--

Aelin winked at the red headed man in front of her, a grin plastered on her lips.

She handed him back the book, waving off his thank you as he scrunched away to enjoy the rest of the party. She looked around, half paying attention to the hundreds of people who had come to the release of her latest book.

Since Aelin was a seven, she had had a deep fascination with mystery and horror. Thankfully, she was also a fucking amazing writer, which allowed her to transform that fascination into her job. Now, twenty six years later, Aelin was the bestseller author of several stand alone as well as a series of eight books, all of them following the same two main characters while they investigated a series of gruesome murders. She had loved the series, had started writing them at fifteen and published the first one at twenty five. She thought she could write about Sam and Lyria forever.

Until she realized she couldn’t.

Aelin felt a hand gripping her elbow, and had to hold in her sigh as she turned around to stare at her ex husband.

One of Aelin’s biggest regrets in life was marrying so early. Chaol had been her college boyfriend, and they got married few months after they started dating. Looking back now, Aelin could see how stupid she had been, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. They got a divorce less than a year later, and Aelin would have been happy in never looking at him again. Unfortunately, he worked with her publishing team, and if she added that to their past together, she could almost understand why Chaol always felt so entitled to know and control everything in her life.

It was fucking distressing and annoying.

“If it’s not my money sucking ex husband. What did I do this time?”

He had a fake smile on his lips, looking at her as if he didn’t dislike her. “You killed your golden goose, Galathynius. You fucking killed your main characters.”

Aelin shrugged, taking a sip of her white wine. “It was time.” She started walking away, and had to hide her scowl when she realized Chaol was following her.

Some people couldn’t get the fucking hint, could they?

“Why would you do that? Sam and Lyria were making you filthy rich, and everyone loved them.”

“They got boring, that’s why.” Aelin stopped in her tracks, turning back to Chaol. She crossed her arms, raising her chin. “Writing The Guild used to be fun, used to be exciting. Writing Sam used to be interesting, but since the seventh book it has just been work. I don’t write for money, Chaol. I write because I love it. When I stopped loving it, I decided it was time to move on from them.”

“Wow, and God forbid you ever have to actually work like an adult, right?”

“It. Was. Time. Besides, Sam and Lyria are not the golden goose, I am.”

She said the words loud and clear, ignoring the frown on his face. Aelin always knew that Chaol saw her writing more as a job than as a passion, and it pissed her off endlessly. She turned around again, walking to the bar where her cousin and son were sitting. Her heels clinked against the marble floor, and the sound was almost loud enough to hide the fact that Chaol was following her. Again.

She sighed loudly as he began speaking. “You could have made them retire, could have made them get married and leave the force. Hell, you could have made them join the goddamn circus. But no, Aelin Galathynius must be dramatic and put two bullets on her main characters’ heads.” When she ignored him, he just kept talking. “What the hell are you going to do now, Aelin? You permanently ended The Guild with your stupidity, and we both know you don’t have any other ideas.”

At that, Aelin spun on her heels, clenching her fists to stop herself from physically attacking Chaol. The photographers would love seeing her getting into a brawl, and most of the rest of the party would probably find it immensely entertaining. Lysandra, however, wouldn’t find it so amusing. Her PR and best friend loved some mischief, but she also worked hard enough to make sure Aelin’s public image was a good one, so Aelin wouldn’t mess that up by fighting her ex.

“Who says that?”

Chaol snorted. “The nine week delay to publish the eighth book should be indication enough.”

“Can’t rush talent.” Aelin said, a nasty smile on her lips.

“I won’t say you’re not talented, Aelin, but you are out of ideas. You weren’t bored, you had a writer’s block and freaked out.” Chaol said, oblivious to Aelin’s rising temper. He looked at her, giving an infuriating shrug. “You have a month to hand me the new idea. A full and useable idea. The first manuscript, preferably. You’re famous, write any shit and people will eat it up.”

“Fuck off.” Aelin said through clenched teeth.

Chaol merely smiled as he walked away. “A month, Aelin.”

Aelin wanted to go after him and smack his face against one of the piles of books in the room. Fortunately for him, Aelin was stopped by several people who wanted her autograph in the newest and last book of The Guild. It probably took her an hour to get through everyone— talking and giving every single person her full attention— until she finally managed to make her way to the bar.

She spotted Aedion’s head first, his broad figure standing up against the bar and talking to a pitch-black haired boy, Nino, sitting down near him.

“Who does homework at a party?” She heard Aedion asking.

“I have a test next week.”

“So do I. It’s called dealing with your mom while she contemplates hitting her head against a wall to force an idea to come out.”

Nino laughed, looking at his uncle. “She’ll come up with something, she always does.”

Aelin smiled at her son, his words warming her. She had had Nino extremely young— had only been seventeen at the time— and he became her friend along with being her son. She approached her cousin from behind, listening to him ask for a glass of champagne.

“Make that two, please.” Aelin said and Aedion’s eyes immediately snapped to her as she approached the boy sitting down and passed an arm through his shoulders. She kissed him on the cheek. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, mom.”

Aedion grinned, raising his glass and gesturing around. “Built yourself an empire, Aeae.”

Aelin smiled in return, winking at her cousin. “Always said I would. But tell me, Aedion…”

“Uh-oh.” The boy Aelin was half hugging said, a humorous smirk on his face. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Cut it, genius.” Aedion snapped, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “What’s up, Ae?”

“Did you tell Chaol I was having trouble writing?” Aelin smiled sweetly, even though she wanted to strangle her cousin right now. The look on his face was enough to give her the answer.

“I told him nothing of the sort.” Aedion replied quickly, defending himself. Aelin only raised an eyebrow at him. “Ok, I— I might have let slip that for the past nine weeks you have been walking around the apartment with either a cup of coffee or a bottle of wine while you curse the Gods for lack of creativity.”

“I am going to kill you.” Aelin said, a smile still plastered on her face as she noticed some cameras pointed at her. It was always like this whenever she went out with Nino.

“Ae, that’s ok. You’re an artist, that sort of thing is expected.”

“I can’t believe it, Aedion! The deal for you to live with us was plain and simple.”

“No meddling on her work.” Nino reminded Aedion, the boy looking immensely pleased at his uncle’s doom. “And no Chaol.”

“You know how things are with Chaol. No. Talking. About. My. Work.“ Aelin said, temper rising once more.

“What is there to talk about anyways?”

“Uncle!” Nino said exasperatedly.

“Whatever there is or isn’t to talk about,” Aelin was saying, jaw clenched. “I would appreciate if you didn’t share it with my ex husband.”

“Oh, I think I hear Lysandra calling me.” Aedion interrupted, absolutely ignoring Aelin. She narrowed her eyes, knowing damn well that Lysandra would never be calling Aedion judging by the brunette’s deep dislike of her best friend’s cousin. Aelin tried to stop him, but he just started walking away faster, shouting that they could talk at home.

It was just a fancy way of saying they wouldn’t discuss at all.

She turned around, looking at Nino. He had a smirk on his face as he looked down his physics book, a pen on his left hand.

“You should have stopped me.” Aelin grumbled.

“Letting uncle Aed move in?” Nino asked, looking up at his mom. “Nah, I think it’s sweet. Besides, I like him.”

Aelin only grumbled more, taking the two glasses the barista had put in front of her. She smiled in thanks, holding one of the glasses and placing the other in front of Nino. He smiled humorously, raising an eyebrow. “You know I’m only sixteen, right?”

“You’re an old soul.”

“Well me and my old soul can wait until I’m twenty-one.”

Aelin smiled at her son, all anger and tightness leaving her body. Nino had always been her steadying rock, since he was a baby his presence had always been enough to calm her down. Differently from her, however, Nino was extremely serious and responsible, always following the rules, studying and making sure everything was right.

Most times Aelin found it immensely funny to see how different from her he had turned out.

“When I was your age—“ She was saying, a grin on her face. She immediately stopped, frowning. “Can’t tell you that story. Too inappropriate for your innocent ears.”

Nino snickered, pushing the champagne glass away.

“Don’t laugh, boy, this is exactly my point. Don’t you want to have wild, law-breaking, inappropriate stories that you can’t tell your kids one day?” She rested her elbows at the counter, a smile on her lips.

“You’ve lived enough of those for both of us now, mom.”

Aelin snorted, taking a sip of her champagne. “You’re studying physics at a party. At your age I would have been drinking.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You were pregnant.” Nino said slowly, a winning smirk at his face.

“Damn it.” Aelin muttered, earning a laugh from Nino. Despite her crazy stories, Nino knew very well how responsible she had been during her pregnancy with him. Nino, since before birth, had been the one thing capable of making her act like a serious adult. “You want to know why I killed Sam and Lyria?”

Nino raised his brows at the change in the topic, but nodded just the same.

“Because life should be an adventure, sweetheart. It should be full of unexpected turns and plot twists. It should be full of funny stories, embarrassing stories, inappropriate stories.” Her smile became soft, and she grabbed one of his hands. “I had to kill them because it wasn’t an adventure anymore, it wasn’t surprising. I knew exactly where they would always go, what they would always do. If my own characters weren’t surprising me, how could I hope they would surprise anyone else?”

“Mom…”

“I’m not telling you to be like I was when I was younger, it’s definitely not your type. I just want to make sure that you know you can make mistakes every now and then. That I don’t expect you to be like me, but I also don’t expect you to be perfect.”

He matched her soft smile, squeezing her hand slightly. “I know, mom.”

“Good.” She straightened, taking her champagne glass and looking around. “You know what else is boring? These parties. After having sixteen of these, the seventeenth seems rather dull.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Yeah, people praising you seems awfully boring, mom.”

Aelin grinned, resting her hips against the counter as she turned fully to him. “It’s always the same thing. ‘Oh my god, I’m such a big fan’, or maybe the ‘Where’d you get your ideas?’.

“Let’s not forget the fully adult men asking you to sign their chest.” Nino’s face crumbled in disgust.

Aelin laughed out loud, drinking from her glass. “I don’t mind that one very much.”

“Well, I do, if you’re interested in knowing.”

She snorted, putting the now empty glass down. “I don’t know, Nino. I just wanted for someone to surprise me once. I want something new to give me inspiration, to be my new muse. For the past eight years I have been hearing the same thing over and over again. I just want someone to catch me by surprise, to say something so shocking I won’t have a reaction, so surprising that I will—“

“Ms. Galathynius.” She was interrupted by a brisk tap on her shoulder. Nino raised his eyebrows at the person standing behind her, trying to get her attention in such impolite manner.

She forced a polite smile on her face, taking a pen from her bra. She turned around, raising the pen. “Where do I sign?”

A broad shouldered man was now standing in front of her, and even in heels Aelin had to tip her head back to stare at him. His arms her hanging by his side, his clothes extremely casual for him to be part of the party. His white button down and leather jacket hugged his arms and torso, and if his face wasn’t so enthralling, Aelin would probably have had a hard time not staring at the rest of him.

His features looked somewhat tense. His hair— probably blond, but looked so light that it could only be described as silver— a mess, almost as if he had ran his hands too many times through it. There was a crease between his eyebrows, and his pine green eyes were stuck on her face with such intensity that Aelin felt her face heating.

“Detective Whitethorn, OPD.” He said, voice grave and words rolling out of his tongue with a lovely Scottish accent. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight.”

Aelin registered his words, but didn’t have any reaction. She just stared at the man, her eyes looking quickly at the Orynth Police Department badge he was holding.

Nino laughed quietly, reaching over his mom to take the pen out of her hand. “Well, this is new.”

Only then she turned slightly to her son, a scowl at her face. “No shit, Sherlock.”

—----- 

Aelin had always written about this, but she never thought that she would herself be like one of the characters from her story.

Honestly, she wasn’t nervous at all, just curious.

Hundreds of people had seen her all afternoon and night at the party, and she knew that she hadn’t killed anybody, so fear was off the table. Now, why the police thought she had any knowledge about the crime at all was what made her so damn curious.

Upon arriving at the precinct, detective Whitethorn had left her at the care of two identical men. Both had the exact same face, but where one seemed to radiate light, the other one seemed to suck it. As they took her to wait in the interrogation room, she thought that they would make great main characters.

“Whitethorn will be back shortly, ma’am.” The serious twin said, walking out of the room as she sat down. The other twin, however, lingered.

He was staring at her, his head cocked to the side just like a wolf seizing his prey. Aelin stared right back, raising one eyebrow at him. Despite knowing she hadn’t killed anybody, something inside of her was tensing at his staring. Did they think that her involvement with the murder was more serious than she had initially thought?

“You killed your main characters.” He said, and the air rushed out of Aelin’s lungs. She scowled, suddenly pissed that he had made her so tense and it was actually just about a goddamn book.

“Yep. Bullet right through the head.” She made a finger gun and put it against her forehead. “Disappointed?”

He shrugged, resting against the threshold. “It was brilliant, but I adored Sam and Lyria. After eight years following the series, seeing your favorite characters being killed makes you want to kill the author.”

Aelin smiled when he winked at her. “Pardon. If it makes you feel better, I have already been scolded by my ex husband. Said it would have been better if I had just made Sam and Lyria join the circus.”

“Sam would have been a shit clown.”

Aelin nodded. “You’re right. Should have told that to my ex.”

The detective laughed, but was immediately interrupted when Whitethorn’s voice sounded from behind him. “Fenrys.”

“Sorry, Rowan.” Fenrys grimaced exaggeratedly, and Aelin grinned. “See you later, blondie.”

Aelin just nodded, her eyes immediately on Whitethorn when his figure approached the door.

“Ms. Galathynius.”

“Detective Whitethorn.” She eyed the manila folders he was holding. Some papers and photos were sticking out, but Aelin couldn’t really tell what they were.

He sat in front of her after closing the door, opening one of the folders. His eyebrows rose as he read, and he eyed Aelin quickly before sighing and putting the open folder at the table. “You have quite the history with the law for a best selling author, Ms. Galathynius. Public disturbance, disorderly conduct, resisting arrest…”

Aelin shrugged, a small smile on her lips. “Living all your adventures through paper seem a little too nerdish for me.”

Detective Whitethorn rested his forearms on the table, inclining himself forward. Aelin did the same, and his eyes narrowed at her.

“You stole a police horse once.”

“Borrowed.” Her smile widened. Detective Whitethorn, on the other hand, didn’t seem to find it funny in the slightest.

“And you were,” he looked down at the folder before looking at her again. “Nude.”

Aelin shrugged once more. “It was springtime.”

“And every time the charges were dropped.” He drew back, resting against his chair. “Care to explain?”

“The mayor enjoys reading The Guild.” Aelin sighed dramatically, propping on her elbows and resting her face against her hand. “You know how people love to bond over mutual interests. And he loves my son, there’s that too. But that’s besides the point.”

“Oh, is it?” For the first time, the detective seemed entertained.

“Yes. I don’t think you’re here to talk about my college prank of a decade ago, detective.” She half smiled. “So why don’t you make your murder questions so I can go home and convince my son to stop studying so his eyes won’t fall out?”

“Ms. Galathynius.” He said, smirking at her. Aelin didn’t think it was a good smirk, though. “I fully believe that the cocky, irreverent, hot girl slash genius act makes people eat out of the palm of your hand in your glamorous world, but I work for a living, so why don’t you cut the bullshit because in my world, you can be only two things.”

“You think I’m hot, detective?”

Whitethorn’s smirk didn’t waver. “You can be the person who makes my life easier and goes home quickly, or the person who makes my life harder and stays handcuffed here until you decide to be the first option.”

“I could make so many inappropriate jokes right now, you have no idea.” Aelin said, and she could swear his smirk turned more playful. She smirked back, crossing her arms. “I supposed I shouldn’t want to be the one making your life harder.”

He didn’t answer, just let go of the manila folder containing her information and opened the other one. He took out the picture of a brunette woman. Dark hair, brown skin and big black eyes, the girl couldn’t be older than twenty five.

Aelin grabbed the picture, analyzing it. “Hum, pretty.”

“And dead.”

“Gods, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

He didn’t reply, just took another picture out. This time it was a man, probably at the same age, but instead of bright and soft features the girl possessed, his skin was pale and blue eyes glassy.

“Recognize them?”

Aelin shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She sighed, letting go of the pictures. “I’ve been to dozens of signings, events and parties, detective Whitethorn. I can’t possibly recall every face.”

“Not what I meant. Do you recognize their features?” He asked, tapping the pictures.

Aelin looked back down once more, looking at those faces until something hit her fully. “Sam and Lyria. They look like my characters Sam and Lyria.”

Detective Whitethorn seemed satisfied with her answer, because he took other two pictures and placed in front of her. One of them showed the girl, her body dressed in a series of white cloths, wild flowers surrounding her whole body. Where her eyes should be, two big daisies laid, and looking more carefully, Aelin could also see daisies stuffed in her mouth and nostrils.

The other picture showed the boy, his body laying inside a casket, instead of white cloths hugging his body, his were blood red. The floor around the casket showed a series of markings drawn in white chalk.

“Holy fuck.” She breathed.

Detective Whitethorn was eyeing her carefully. “Her name was Mandy, his was Felix. He was found dead two weeks ago, but we only made the connection after we found her today. The deaths look exactly like the ones described in chapter six and twenty two of your book Gone Death.”

“A fan?” Aelin asked, a humorous smile on her lips.

“Yes, a really deranged fan.”

“Oh, you don’t seem deranged.”

He looked up from the pictures, frowning. “I’m sorry?”

“Detective Whitethorn, I am a best selling author and yet I can count on my fingers the amount of people who even know that Gone Death exists.” She smiled when he rolled his eyes. “It’s ok, I always thought it was a terribly underrated book. Only hardcore groupies ever read that one, though.”

He cleared his throat. “Do you enjoy constantly praising yourself, ma’am?”

“Oh, you have no idea, sir.”

He snorted, crossing his arms. “Does any of these groupies ever write you fan mail?” She just stared at him blankly. “Disturbing ones.”

Aelin shuddered, and this time it wasn’t for show. “Oh, try being a murder mystery writer. Every fan mail I receive is disturbing. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“It’s because sometimes, in cases like this, we find that—“

“The killer attempts to contact the image of his obsession, yes.” Aelin completed his sentence, earning a questioning look back.

She looked back at him, and curiosity beyond this case sparkled inside of her. She could feel an idea brewing, and the more he talked, the more interesting he got.

“I write murders for a living. I’m well versed in psychopathic methodologies and the process of murder. Another occupational hazard, I guess.” She inclined herself forward. “And has anyone ever said you have pretty eyes?”

He stared at her, mouth open as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He finally rolled his eyes, pulling the pictures back to him. “And so I assume you won’t have any problems with us going over you mail, Ms. Galathynius.”

“Be my guest. I have thrown some out, however.” When he looked at her, she just shrugged. “My son lives in that house, detective. And as much as I’m not a strict mom in the slightest, there are things I will not allow my son to be near. Middle aged man sending naked pictures and blood vials is one example.”

He nodded, getting up. Aelin looked up at him, jerking her chin in the direction of the manila folders.

“Can I get a copy of that?”

“A copy?” He asked dumbfounded.

“Yeah. I have poker night with other best selling authors and you have no idea how jealous this would make them.”

He hesitated for a moment before slowly asking. “Jealous?”

“In my world, detective, having a copycat is like wining the fucking Nobel.” She said, half surprised at the complete incredulity on his face. “So?”

He threw the folders at the table, placing his hands down and bringing his face inches away from hers. “People are dying, Ms. Galathynius.”

“I’m not asking for the bodies.”

He rolled his eyes, drawing back. He took the folders from the table, walking to the door. “I think we’re done here.”

Aelin stared at his back, seeing him leave the room. Once he was out of sight, she took her phone out, looking through her contacts until she found the one.

“Good night, Rolfe.” She greeted the current mayor of Orynth. “You have a direct say in the OPD business, don’t you? Because as you know, The Guild just ended but…”

Aelin looked at the door once more, and even though he wasn’t there, she smiled.

“…but I think I just found my new inspiration for a new series.”

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[dipplie]

Temporary list of my stories and OC’s until one day I make a comprehensive and well made list:

Blinded:

Polli: My oldest OC and fun fact was my persona till she become edgy and I wasn’t 12 anymore. Everyone’s favorite yes yes I’m aware. Yellow, energetic, eats dirt and bugs, I can’t tell if she’s evil because of a wisp possession or just crazy. Breaks the 4th wall. Is she a Mary Sue???????? Who knows.

Melody: NOT Polli’s girlfriend despite Polli’s delousions. Has an abusive mom :(. Only has one eye and then no eyes and then robot eyes or smthn idk she becomes a badass when she gets older. But otherwise trembling in her shoes all the time.

Melodys Mom/Sharren: Bitch. Okay well all I’ll say is she’s old and grumpy and probably smells bad.

Louise: Total hotty, rich kid, FtM, got bullied as a kid for his weight. Had a squad of fans basically in high school. Lived with his mom after his parents got a divorce but his mom was semi abusive, projected her femininity onto him, and wouldn’t have been supportive of his transition, so between middle and high school he went to live with his dad and got his sex change and testosterone. His best friend in elementary and middle school stopped talking to him after his transition, and became his competition for the most attractive and sought after boy in school (except Louise is a sweetheart while his friend Tommy is a dick and really gross) His dad runs a company that specializes in technology, and after meeting and falling in love with Melody (even after all her abusive trauma and losing both her eyes) he has his dad and some of the developers create a way to get her vision back and I mean honestly I love him how could you not love him he’s so perfect.

Watching:

Fick: Big nerd boy with thick glasses. I feel like he’d use Reddit but don’t quote me on that. Big crush on Vivinya. Boy don’t wander into the woods- oh look dead body with a curse on it don’t touch it- aaaand now he has a wisp that makes him kill people, way to go kid. Panic attack central.

Vivinya: True crime girl, yucky yucky. Probably had a knife collection. “uwu I’m insane” except she actually is and starts using Fick to kill people for her and treats him like her “Yandere boyfriend” or something cringe and gross oh god. She deserves jail. JAIL. Needs to learn guys need to give consent too. Just overall sucks 1/10.

Tommy: I mentioned him early to be Louises ex best friend and rival. He used to have a crush on Louise actually but that don’t excuse being a BITCH!!!! Also needs to learn people gotta give consent he is just as gross as Vivinya. Cheats on all the girls he gets with because he’s again, a bitch. Idk if he deserved to get murdered though I mean he was still a teenager but it’s fine. Thinks of the song Seventeen from Heathers actually this story does feel a tad reminiscent of heathers with vivinya being a crazy and wanting to off a bunch of students. Huh.

Suzannie: Tommy’s older sister who’s a detective. What a coincidence. Monotone and depressed. Probably because her little brother got murdered. Gets real awkward when she’s talking about her brothers murder(s) to Fick and Vivinya like “when I find who did this to him they’ll regret being born”. Kind of really pretty actually.

Adolescents (there isn’t actually a story here yet but don’t worry about it shhhh):

Nelson: HIMBO HIMBO H- Jock stupid idiot big dork god he’s so awkward and his main personality trait is having a crush on Naomi and being a dork when talking to her. Probably could benchpress you.

Naomi: Gamer or something and a nerd geek. Her main personality trait is having a crush on Nelson and also being a dork when talking to him. Probably a weeb and fandom dweller. Can’t draw but she commissions artists to draw. She does write copious amounts of fanfiction though.

Andrés: Ohhh the school bad boy babyyyy. Baseball bat with nails in it or something. There’s like... A thing between him in Charlotte and he wants to be a thing but she’s being difficult and makes it hard to talk to her or about her and ugh.

Charlotte: Princess, high school princess. She’s actually pretty nice when you get to know her- but she’s a diva. Ballerina after school. Best friends with Naomi and doesn’t know what she’s talking about when she mentions ships or OTPs but she listens anyways because she’s a good friend. There’s like... A thing between her and Andrés but she doesn’t know if she’s super into him but geez he’s really hot but she gets such mixed responses when she asks her friends about it and what if it doesn’t work outttt.

Marlon: They/Them but they’re okay with either pronouns they aren’t sure yet, he or she is okay... Box boy box boy. Autism... He doesn’t want to admit He’s attracted to men but he’s totally attracted to men. He lives alone which is probably illegal for his age but somehow he manages. Everyone thinks he’s “the quiet kid” and he’s really sad about it no don’t make jokes like that please guys ahh-

Sing for Me:

Kat: The color pink, addahadda(adhd), angry and loud and short. For being only like 10 and being an adorable little lesbian dressing in sparkly pink dresses she actually likes screaming a lot and would totally sing heavy metal if her producers let her. Loud and mad but gets so soft around her girlfriend. “If anything happens to Brie I’m killing everyone in this room and then myself”.

Brie: French... Birds and stuff. Loves her girlfriend even though she is so loud. So fast. So much. Likes to write pretty things. Is only like an inch taller than Kat. Filled with so much love for everything.

Elliot: The girls manager. Lots of coffee. Stressed out of his MIND please help this man. Probably gay. Seems like a smug dick but he is just a tall and lanky dork that loves puppies and wants nothing more than for Kat and Brie to be happy. Accidentally brands them as sisters and then Kat kisses Brie and- oh fuck oh shit oh no what has he done. Hides the fan and non fan responses from them. Poor guy.

Horror Hosts:

Ichabod: Hot demon who’s the son of the current ruler of hell or something. I mean he’s hot, smart, and royalty, what more do you want. I very specifically hear the dub voice of Kyoya Ootori from OHHC as his voice don’t @ me. Goat legs????? Yeah??? Don’t be rude.

Barnabie: Ohhhhhhhhh big orc teddy bear I’m crying I love him????? He puts up a more confident ploy and the given stereotypical personality orcs supposedly have but he’s just a shy boy that wants to give girls flowers and call boys pretty. Help him.

Garrison: Gary Burger. Fat hairy gay man. I mean werewolf. Wouldn’t it be funny if I made the whole werewolf thing backwards and made him transform into a HUMAN only on the full moon??? Party animal, pun absolutely intended. LOUD AND FUNNY he’s a dork. Bites. Horny on main Garrison please you’re supposed pamper and flirt with the guests but not quite that much.

Vincenzo: Token Vampire but he’s Italian because I felt like it. Talk and lanky of course. Bitch face. Blood coffee? Yeah lots of coffee. Tired. Let him sleep in Ichabod. Steps on people. Can summon and reanimate corpses but has a bitter attitude towards them because they get annoyed with him as much as he gets annoyed with- everyone else. He does have a soft spot but idk where it is. When he’s talking to guests he’s more suave and sexy though.

Kai: Genderfluid haha get it because slime fluid-... I’ll stop. Probably objectively the hottest because they can look anyway they want and shift their vocals to sound like almost anything, also probably objectively the best in bed (if you’re okay with the texture of Jell-o) and honestly come on save some for the rest of us it’s not fair. This boy can SING oh my god seranade me and whisper in my ear baby. Spunky and sassy.

Hallvor: BABY OCTOPOD BOY OHHHHH I LOVE HIM HE’S SO SWEET AND IS AN ANGEL DARLING BOY SO EMBARRASSED SO SHY SOFTEST VOICE OHHH- ohhh nooo he’s got a knife ohhhhh Hallvor baby don’t be like that ohhhh... Used to work in hentai actually (I wonder why) but quit because of immoral practices and good for him we love that. Okay he’s not actually a yandere or whatever but he DEFINITELY wants to squeeze you a little too hard and has those crazy eyes.

Carla: Main character of this OHHC monster clone. She sucks I don’t like her because listen listen she kills monsters as a living and when she tries to kill our boys here, Ichabod catches her and goes “no” but then the rest (not knowing her murderous intent) fall in love with her and Ichabod is like: “shoot well I’ll keep you alive and around but I’m watching you” and blah blah romance and feelings and character development and wow she seems like she’s grown to care about them... So Ichabod removes a curse he put to prevent her from harming them or leaving... AND THEN SHE STABS THEM ALL IN THE BACK IM CRYING. I mean she might have an extra reason for needing to kill them but I haven’t decided if I want to actually put it in the story yet so.

Fingertips:

Maria/Marianna: Was this goth angry chick and the head of these losers but after a failed heist, fire, and being betrayed and dropped from a window on a 3rd or 4th story down into flames, and going to the hospital and changing her name, she changed totally and become a soft pretty girl... And then the next three boys went “HEY BOSS WE FOUND YOU” and she went “oh no” and now she’s just an anxious wreck like “no no no no no I don’t shoot people in the face anymore no no no no no” And has a fear of hands. Also was Diamontés best friend in primary school and yes all these characters went to the K-12 school all the other characters do/did. Pretty voice. The story is mostly about her being anxious around all the other characters because who was it that betrayed her and dropped her into the flames below? Find out next week on th-

Nikki: He’s that character that you see and immediately go “oh he’s gross and is angry and is a bitch” and you’re right he is and has a cockney accent and screams a lot and probably swings a knife around a lot, but he’s got a sweet interior (somewhere in there... somewhere) Screamo heavy metal. Him and the rest of these character briefly talked about having a band and then they didn’t and then at the end of the story they do and although he plays guitar mostly, if he does do lead vocals he screams a lot. Bitch.

Anthony: Pretty boy but like the “was in the army” pretty boy vibe. Probably played football in highschool. Pyromaniac. Punches Nikki a lot. Almost gives himbo vibes sometimes, almost. Kind of likes the old timey cozy aesthetic. Plays the piano sometimes but “oh I’m not very good at it” Plays extremely well

Diamonté: TALL. Purple goth boy aesthetic hellll yeahhhh. CRAZY EYES AND THEY SPEAK VOLUMES WATCH OUT. Drums. The scary kind of quiet because he just smiles at you. Crowbar. Okay but he’s actually really sweet though. Secretly loves watching Anthony and Nikki get into fights so that’s why he rarely puts a stop to it. I think he’s a sadist. Can be a gentle giant, but can also be a not so gentle giant. The only time he’s really talkative is after copious amounts of booze.

Unnamed/Undesigned 1: Literally a pimp and he’s pretty gross. Blonde hair and pink and white clothes.

Unnamed/Undesigned 2: Chick that likes to throw knives and be angry and threatens Marianna a lot but in a quiet and monotone way, Marianna is pretty scared and hopes that these are just shallow threats uhhhhh.

Unnamed/Undesigned 3: Sells guns (without a lisence of course) and wears a bandana over his face a lot. Tired. Grumpy.

Unnamed/Undesigned 4: Like Marianna, was cold hearted and cool but then got caught in the fire and got all soft. He only has one eyes but how sweet his eyepatch is a heart. Recoved along side Marianna and they are good friends good friends tha- wait Marianna are you going back with them oh god you can’t do that oh dear oh no oh-

(I don’t have a story or name for these two but they’re my comfort ship OC’s and my current hyper fixaction right now):

Rodriquéz: I literally designed him with almost all the traits I find attractive in a guy other than freckles so as you can imagine I find him super HOT. I also designed his personality on what I find attractive from a guy so as you can imagine I find him super GREAT. But anyways he’s grumpy and closed off and monotone and smug. I really could go on for hours about how I want him to step on me I’m so sorry guys. Both him and Samantha give the “21 and having immature fun” vibes. They’re a thing but they like going to bars together and splitting off and doing their own thing (or doing someone else’s thing if you get what I mean haHhahHhahGahGhaha-) But so help them if anyone doesn’t oblige by the “no” from one of these two, someone’s gonna get beat up.

Samantha: (She literally just my personality shhhhh don’t tell anyone it’s a secret) Bubbly, energetic, a little shy by extroverted, bombshell blonde or something? It took me way too much time and effort to design her but I’m really happy with how I finally designed her, I love her outfit. She could kick me in the face and I’d say thank you. Girly drinks at the bar. Got that trauma and anxiety™️ secretly though. Skips and jumps a lot. As I’m typing this I keep looking up at the drawing of her and more and more I would want her to also step on me.

(Space Story I don’t have a nice title for):

Unnamed/Undesigned 1: So... Funny story this story originally was with me and uh... My ex I guess... So I gotta replace the MC’s... Whoops ahaha... Awkward. But anyways the MC is a robot and a girl and is a slight tsundere or smthn.

Unamed/Undesigned 2: Has a space ship, works for this organization in space that protects the galaxy. Is cocky, lazy, sly, oblivious, and an idiot. The love interest- obviously. Probably accidentally committing space crimes. (Like space pirating hAHAHA-) Kind of cool when he wants to be.

Dandelion/Dandy: CAT. WITH A JET PACK. Kind of an asshole. Fun fact used to be Polli’s cat but then when the Second MC crash landed on earth she was like “fuck this noise I’m going with space boy laterz” (okay she can’t talk but she thought it).

Zizii: Lesbian alien? Yeah???? Okay but I mean her main character trait is being a dorky back alley doctor and engineer obsessed with the MC because they’re a sentient robot with emotions and a lazer arm and rocket boots WOW!!!!!!!!

Story I want to revive:

So I had a story I started writing a long time ago about this tech theatre kid that had a crush on this other theatre kid character, but in a play that other character has to kiss another person for the show, and as the story progresses the MC convinces themselves that it isn’t just a play and that their crush actually loves and is kissing that other kid. And in the play, that other character is supposed to die. Show night comes along and they die, but like actually, and by the hands of the MC (Idk maybe like a light falls on em or smthn). So it’s a grotesque scene the audience sees as just an act. (Mutters I dunno I think my idea’s cool...) So I’ve been wanting to design these characters and work more on the story but I’m busy being obsessed with Rodriquez and Samantha so. (And the Horror Host Club too I love them too still).

Other Characters that either don’t have a specific story or are kind of like background characters:

Jacqueiliquinne Merril: Sara Berry vibes from 35mm (go look up The Ballad of Sara Berry, maybe like an animatic idk the first one that comes up is nice) But otherwise rich, pretty, popular, bitch. Tries to like, steal Louise from his squad and it’s like bro that’s unnecessary who hurt you that’s so rude. She gives Nui from Kill La Kill Vibes too. Oh she knows her name is long and annoying but you have to say the whole thing.

Brianna: Jaqueiliquinne’s sister. Big titty goth gf??? She’s pretty popular too and kind of a bitch too but to a much lesser degree. Her and he sister throw hands a lot when no one is around, you know, “THEY GIRLS ARE FIGHTINNGGGG”.

The Louise Fan Club: 4 characters I haven’t named yet. One writes fanfiction of Louise and shares it with the others and with him sometimes and although he thinks it’s a bit weird he also finds it a tad endearing and supports her. One is an aspiring photographer and is constantly asking Louise to model for him. One is an artist and draws Louise all the time. And one is an aspiring musician who writes songs based of Louise’s relationships which again he finds a little weird but endearing and supports her.

The Jacquiliquinne Merril Fan Club: Genderbent-ish (I say ish because one of the characters is a little bit less defined gender wise) versions of the Louise Fan Club. Yes I’m lazy, and no they don’t get along with them, infact they hate each others club with a passion. 

Unnamed/Undesigned: I wanna make some hacker kid just because I wanna have one.

Unnamed/Undesigned: I also really wanna have a super cutesy magical girl and then a really super duper generic boring character probably like star vs the forces of evil idk I never watched that show but it looks cute.

Me: I exist in the universe fukc you I can do what I want it’s my story and I get to chose the who also if you wanna be in the mess of a universe go ahead draw yourself with my OC’s I allow and encourage and appreciate it. I literally made the Horror Host Club as a sort of Harem story and you are absolutely allowed to make out with them if you’re a monster fucker DO it GO ahead it’s canon.

and that is ALL I have FOR now Knowing me I’ll make like 12 more characters by July, and I mean I need more characters for the high school anyways so...

[ratingtheframe]

Everything wrong with... Ep 3 - Pretty Woman

*sigh* *big sigh*.  I’m back here giving you another politically charged review of a film I like to call a femmeçade:

Femmeçade /fɛm//fəˈsɑːd/ noun noun: femmeçade; plural noun: femmeçades; 1. A genre of films directed by men that forefront yet misinterpret the female narrative and representation on screen. "Pretty Woman is the worst femmeçade of them all in the way it depicts women as the lesser gender"  (definition by yours truly).

I have to say, I have never felt more compelled, more angry in my entire life to write such a review and tear this film down until there is nothing left but the underlining, prominent misogynistic aspects of this film. I am talking about the 1990s classic, Pretty Woman starring Richard Gere and Julia Roberts. Now a musical, the film has survived three waves of feminism (if you count MeToo), and yet is still available to access for our entertainment. Even though censorship is less common in the Western World, the only good thing about watching Pretty Woman would be to see how vile and unacceptable it is in the eyes of our modern and ever changing society. It truly brought tears of anger to my eyes to watch such a film and see how its lead was shoved into the spotlight for a round or two of humiliation and prodding by the fingers and eyes of the male gaze. There is A LOT to go through here, so grab a snack and buckle in as I put Pretty Woman to shame.

Let's just start with the title itself Pretty Woman, a pretty lazy title for a film if you ask me. I understand it does what it says on the tin, like any title should, however the irksome thing about the film and title is what it’s selling. The lust and beauty of Julia Roberts as opposed to her character or story for that matter. Stood alongside Richard Gere in thigh high boots with her legs for days, months and years on show. We get it, Julia Roberts is a beauty, but why does a film have to focus on that sole part of her? By doing this it creates the idea that it’s her only asset and BOY does this film do a good job at reminding us just that. They’ve got the man’s vote and supposedly the woman’s seeing as the story is about them or who they’d like to be. WRONG, seeing as the crew behind Pretty Women were mostly men themselves. The writers, cinematographer, director, producers, best boys and gaffers, you name it. So who was this film for if it wasn’t to satisfy at least it's mostly male crew members?

Male satisfaction are the appropriate words to use when we are introduced to our leading lady in close up shots of her bra and knickers. Vivian is played by the highly talented and ordained Julia Roberts. Ever since seeing Erin Brodkovich which bagged her an Oscar in 2001, I’ve been in love with her spirit and confidence on screen. As we all know she is certainly one of Hollywood’s shiniest stars, up there with the elites like Meryl Streep, Viola Davis and Angelina Jolie. Why she decided to sign onto such a film, I would hate to speculate seeing as Feminism was more of a dirty secret than a positive movement back in the 1990s. Many (mostly men, though women too, especially those in the film business) would accuse the movement of threatening the comfortability and fun out of life’s pleasures, like women wearing makeup, dresses and being groped at office parties (sarcasm). However, as we now know, feminism isn’t the demon that the 1990s tried to make it out to be and I hope that Julia Roberts was unaware of feminism back then rather than being a strong opposer of it. 

Vivian Ward is a hooker living and working on the streets of LA, the city of dreams as some may brandish it. She lives with her roommate Kit (Laura San Giacomo) and between them they spend their nights trying to scrape enough money for their rent. I’m glad that sex work isn’t as scrutinised as it was back then and another arresting aspect of Pretty Woman is the way it depicts the so called “atrocities” of being a sex worker. The propriety and haughtiness of those who laid eyes upon Kit or Vivian was degrading and dehumanising, simply because they choose to lead a different lifestyle to those around them. It seemed so archaic, almost Victorian like the way people ogled and gazed upon Vivian at the hotel where she was taken in by her male counterpart. Pretty Woman again proves itself to be an anti-feminsit horror show for shaming women on choosing what to do with their own bodies and how they dress. We need to cut this BS out of society ASAP that women dress in certain ways to attract the attention of the opposite sex. Clothes are a form of expression and 9 times out of 10, that expression hasn’t anything to do with wanting to be leered at in public. Enough with the victim shaming as well; asking women what they wore when they were sexually assaulted. Instead let's ask what the attackers were THINKING when they decided to prey on an innocent victim....

One night whilst Vivan is looking for clients, she meets the so called delectable and mouth droppingly handsome male lead that is Edward Lewis, played by Richard Gere. I didn’t get the hype at all as I felt Vivan to have enough personality and lust for life to fill both of her and Richard Gere’s character. Edward Lewis was wooden, stern and boring, and despite this, Vivian seems to see more in him beyond her usual hookups. That’s another irritating thing about Pretty Woman. Edward Lewis didn’t have to do FUCK ALL to prove his love or worthiness in the life of Vivian. 

He didn’t have to (nor did) change one thing about himself throughout the entire film and that’s not only extremely sexist, but shit filmmaking. Did the writer of completely forget or give up on Edward Lewis’ character arc whilst he was too busy making drooling over Vivian? All Edward Lewis had to do was wave his card around and POOF Vivian was at his knees. No wonder the 1990s shamed feminists because this is the exact sort of crap they were trying to prevent from happening on screen. It may seem like fun and games when Edward Lewis tells Vivian to go shopping, buy herself a new dress for dinner, but in reality this is just a fresh case of misogyny, served up with a side of degradation and bigotry for dessert. 

Edward Lewis goes as far to hire Vivian for the week as his...escort? His actual motive isn’t known and we are left as an audience to conclude that it’s because she’s pretty. Again, selling the film title through and through and deminishing the worth of women with each scene. Vivian is never actually asked what she wants, nor do we get to know her seeing as Edward’s inflated ego and wallet covers up most of the screen time whilst watching this film. If you didn’t think this film could get any more horrific is the age gap between Julia Roberts and Richard Gere at the time of filming, to which Roberts was 22 and Gere, 40.

One moment in particular that proved this film to have zero substance to it, is when Vivian eventually gets down on Edward and to my absolute horror, her bra strap is INCREDIBLY and shockingly inauthentically loose. Like falling off loose. Not one woman in the world who chooses to wear a bra; not in China, India, Pakistan, the U.S, Ukraine, Hooker, doctor, astronaut, teacher, hairdresser or not would ever EVER wear their bra strap so loose. An impractical and uncomfortable choice, this tiny infinitesimal yet significant part of this film showed that this film doesn’t care or know how to show accurate female representation on screen and goes against any sense of providing women with strong characters they can use as role models. And all from one bra strap. 

The shopping and transformation part to this film had to be the big red thumb that stood out the most from the eternity of this film as AGAIN for the fifteenth time this film has proved itself to be in favour of entertaining those who like to ogle at Vivian as opposed to getting to know her. Edward thrusts his card at her once again (without giving her much choice, a common behavioural pattern associated with sociopaths and abusers) and she goes to Rodeo Drive to essentially pretty herself up for him so that Edward isn’t judged by those he introduces Vivian to. 

When Vivian had attempted to go shopping alone on Rodeo Drive in her casual attire, the female employees of one of the stores behaved abominably towards her, classing her as someone who didn’t have the means or appearance to shop in such a place. This film just got even worse as not only do we have the opposite gender dictating the appearance of women, we’re having our own sisters do the same whilst investing in the patriarchal narrative of the way women should be seen in public. At this point you may think I’m going crazy and repeating myself, of which I am doing both, however once you’ve fully taken the time to wake up and smell the patriarchy’s cup of coffee, there’s no turning back. These details become smoke signals that turn into epiphanies and realisations that have you questioning is this really okay? And a Pretty Woman is NOT okay.

Once Vivian has had her transformation (so kindly afforded by the dominant Edward Lewis) she seemingly begins to enjoy her new life as a piece on the side, until she is presented with Edward’s lawyer, Philip Stuckley.

So here’s what we have so far on our checklist of misogyny and anti-feminsit motifs to Pretty Women

A poster and title created in the eye of the male gaze CHECK

A female character whose worth is based on her desirability and propriety CHECK

A mediocre white man who doesn’t progress and gets his way through charm, money and power CHECK

Women who take unkindly to other women because they don’t fit the normalised standards of the patriarchy CHECK

Shaming women for their dress sense and career choices CHECK

Lack of women in general, most of which don’t speak throughout the film CHECK

The list could go on but another motif to add to the list from this film that acts as big shiny wrecking ball that smashes up feminism and leaves its values in the dust is sexual assault. Or attempted sexual assault at that, as when we see Phillip Stuckley’s first interaction with Vivian he says right out that he knows she’s a hooker, whilst running the edge of his sunglasses down Vivian’s arm and suggesting they get together after Edward’s demise back to wherever he came from. EW, this was one of the many moments of the film where I had to swallow my vomit. Phillip attempts to rape Vivian back at Edward’s penthouse suite, when luckily Edward comes in to stop it happening, which was the most decent thing he did the entire film. Edward’s lawyer represented a hoard of men that existed back then and now who feel entitled to a woman’s body, hooker or not. Even though Pretty Woman had dug itself a big enough hole, by the time I got to this part of the film I had been sold on the idea that this film is completely out of line with women’s liberation and empowerment. It’s just one big game to prod and poke at women, seeing how far they can go, which in itself is a metaphor for sexual assault. 

I’ll wrap up on the lack of diversity in Pretty Women. Because the world affords white men and women more luxuries and privileges than people of colour, they were at the forefront of this story whilst black and asian minorities were put in the background as butlers, maids and chauffeurs. It makes me so angry that on top of being a whirlwind of misogyny and sexism that such a film would have the audacity to misrepresent minorities entirely and highlight their so called use as servicing white people. IT. IS. GETTING. OLD.

Hopefully you’ve made it to the end of this “review” (kinda) and seen the damaging implications such a film has on our society. On reading Feminists Don’t Wear Pink and Other Lies curated by Scareltt Curtis, I read that “Books and things reflect what’s happening in the world, Hollywood movies DICTATE IT and MOULD what people think”. 

You may think movies don’t matter or a film of the 1990s doesn’t matter, but if we are to learn from our mistakes and progress our movements, we must unpick the past and see it for how it was. Movies are our culture, our representation of what we’ve learnt or seen in the world. I don’t want to see women as sexual objects without their permission. I don’t want to see them being moulded by the patriarchy or by women who support it. I don't want to see women only good enough to be hookers, wives or mistresses. I want women to be the strongest versions of themselves and for films to buckle up and show that shit on screen.

Pretty Woman can kiss my ass and if it’s a film you like in  unlike it. Pronto.

[desdemonafictional]

2020 Fanfic Year End Summary

Hey ho let’s go

Nev does these every year and I think they’re interesting, so for the first time I’m gonna give it a go too. I feel like this has been the longest fucking year--the Zine feels like it was two years ago and last January feels like it was ten years ago.

I’m gonna answer some questions and do a little reflection on the year 

This year I technically finished Icarus with 2k words of a 36k story, and after that I went on to produce 197k words not even COUNTING the stuff from GPAU which I do not know how to divide up for 2020. 

That’s 23 fics in one year, 8 of which were cowriting projects. This year has been, objectively, insane. By comparison, in 2019 I produced 17 fics and at the time I thought THAT was doing pretty impressive work. Now it’s not my best year by sheer number of titles--2018 was an oil boom while I was into JTHM and I actually put out 25 fics that year, some of which were short oneshots and some of which were two- or three-shots. But in terms of words? 2020 knocked them all out of the park. Which is absolutely something I owe to my amazing friends who let me ride around in their brains like the parasite I am.

In 2018 I started cowriting with Chokopopo, in 2019 I started cowriting with Neveralarch, and in 2020 I just did a fucking ton more of that with no looking back. It’s so incredibly motivating to have someone to show your progress to! And to have someone to hand the project over to when you’re stuck. If I hadn’t had Nev to bounce off of, most of this fic wouldn’t have been thought up at all, let alone finished. And don’t even get me started on GPAU! Choko and Zephyr and me have done such amazing things with “Welcome! Everything is fine”, and I can’t wait to be able to wrap that up and leave it for posterity.

I switched job positions around July of this year, and it’s changed the way I produce fic. Not sure if it’s good yet or not. I was never actually under a stay at home order this year because I work for a state agency, so to a degree I’ve missed out on the ways that quarantine affected other writers. I think I was fortunate?

Best Title 

Ahhh this is tough, I put a lot of effort into my titles this year--I promised myself in 2019 I was going to stop using song lyrics for fic titles because they make songs loop in my brain and it’s self inflicted torment, which is a promise I... mostly kept. “Dress Your Idol in Gold and Ashes” is the one I put most effort into probably, because I kept toying around with it trying to find something that was evocative of the right pagan imagery, and also the idea that got me started on the fic was a passage in a text book about the daily dressing of an idol statue in ancient Egypt.

“Broke My Last Glass Jaw” gets special mention because I named it after an essay that I wrote in undergrad for my African American Lit course, in which I broke down themes of the spoiled american dream via the lens of 90′s rap.

Worst Title

“Take one for the Team” is definitely my laziest title. It’s just super self indulgent kink fic, no character arc or anything, so I couldn’t find a good image or phrase to bring in for the title. Also I remember I really wanted to post it quickly, since it was a response to some art I was looking at, and I wanted the artist to see. I’m sure I could have done better with the title.

I did end up titling “Fear and Delight” after a song but I forgive myself because I literally only wrote the fic because the song existed first.

Best Summary

Some of these summaries I wrote and a some I did not, but of the ones that I wrote I think.... “ I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is the best one. It launches you directly into the action, while preserving the surprise reveal at the end of chapter 1. I actually wrote chapter one with this summary in mind, so it was baked in there from the start.

Jazz turned in his seat, cube at his lips, just in time to spot the white pursuit vehicle steaming and panting in the doorway. “Jazz of Staniz,” the enforcer shouted, “surrender the matrix and come quietly!”

Jazz knocked back his drink. “Well!” he said to the open-mouthed bartender, “time to split!”

Worst Summary

I mean, summaries are hard for everyone, right? That’s the thing we all universally struggle with, I think? I usually end up liking mine, and this year I was less afraid to just let a section of the story speak for itself. Anyway the worst one is “ Broke My Last Glass Jaw” by virtue of the fact that I had to come back months later and add another line because I wasn’t satisfied with how it was reaching audiences.

After the war, Impactor is at loose ends.

(They were friends once, weren't they? After all this time, Impactor wonders if Megatron hasn't managed to forget.)

I really wanted that one line to say it all, but honestly it requires a lot of trust in me as the author and most of the people who pass by the fic in the archive aren’t gonna know me from adam. The second line clarifies what kind of story it’s going to be in terms of tone and theme.

Best First Line

I’m pretty ambivalent about most of my first lines. Since Nev already pointed out the first line in “ Apotheosis”, I have to admit, it is pretty good. It gets off to a real jaunty start.

“Excuse me,” Starscream said, striding down the steps of the senate chambers with his cape flaring out behind him, “get your cowcatcher out of his face, you tin-plated amateur despot, he’s with me.”

I also like the audacity of a run on sentence that is the opening to “ Desecrate You”

Ratchet clicks the video because it was auto-recommended, and because First Aid is always dropping hopeful hints that he wants her to watch his show when he’s supposed to be grading papers, and because something about the title (“This is Definitely a Hoax! None of this is Real! Short Cut Footage Episode”) makes her wonder why the hell someone who runs a Ghost Hunting youtube channel would bill their own hard work as a hoax right out of the bag.

Worst First Line

Definitely the least interesting is from “Tantric Sex, and Other Mysteries of the Divine”. I guess it’s another fic where I was really eager to get to the meat of the fic, and so I just went back after I was done with the fic and wrote a paragraph of bare bones setting context so we could move on already.

It’s game night at Swerve’s, and Nightbeat is out in the thick of the crew for once, getting the lay of the land.

I have the same problem in a few fics, which probably arises from the fact that when I read a fic, I often skim the first paragraph or so to see if I really want to commit to the read. So I sometimes write like I’m expecting the audience to do that too. I probably need to work on that. Man, I even did it in Sexy Staycation.

Best Last Line

I like endings! I usually have a good gut instinct for where stories should end, and how to pace that, and what image I want to close the fic on. Often times I’ll be writing a story and feeling really lukewarm about it, and then the ending will come to me, and I’ll feel totally won over by it. That happened with my Suicide Squad fic years ago. So this is for the most part me picking the best of the things I already like. “Broke My Last Glass Jaw” has a good pithy one; I like how it isolates this moment as a moment of choice, and how it’s also ambiguous whether he will change because of this or whether he’s doomed to go back to his predetermined pattern.

And despite the unguarded door and the empty inviting streets beyond, where no one wants or expects anything of him but his feterless bitter trog onward into the next waiting prison cell, Impactor lays down, and Impactor does.

Special mention goes to “ The Sky Dark in its Eclipse : Orange Light Remix”, because the ending section is one of the big changes I brought to the remix, and I’m really happy with how it alters the shape of the narrative and also how it changes the focus of Rung’s arc. Most of the actual words in this fic were written by Choko in 2018, so this is like a collab in slow motion--I changed loadstone moments mostly, some of the framing, all of the backstory, and updated the setting for Cybertron. But the ending is all me.

On the morning of Intro to Psych finals, while Hot Rod hums and taps and scrolls back and forth through his test on the front row of the testing hall, Rung will sit behind his desk and brush the dust from the rotors of his fateful archetype, and start the long process of putting the pieces together once and for all.

Worst Last Line

Again, I like my endings, so this is really the worst of the best. The original ending line I wrote for “ All Our Urgent Restless Sighing” was:

Deadlock’s finials twitched. “...I am a reasonable amount of interested,” he said, “in this topic.”

And in the beta process, Nev came back in and added the line about Ratchet and cuddling, which was a big hit with the readers it seems like. So clearly I benefitted from some help there haha!

Looking back, did you write more or less than you thought you would this year?

you know what, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. I didn’t see “Don’t Sing Me No More Blues” coming at all, and that was once a month for most of the year. I was hoping that I would be able to write a few things outside of Transformers, because I always worry that my long spans of hyperfixation are driving away my longtime readers... and I did manage to get one hxh thing written that was good, and one hxh thing started that is mediocre so far. So I guess I’ll call that good enough.

 What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, just your favorite.

hmm I’m really proud of the Pharma chapter me and Choko put together for GPAU--the body horror, the tragedy, the lotus eater machine plot. But even though that felt like a whole ass story of its own, I guess it’s only a chapter at the end of the day. So my favorite story would be “Apotheosis”. It’s just SO much, and we had SO many things we wanted to do, and somehow we managed to do them ALL. Corpses! Children! God! It’s got everything! The only thing it doesn’t have is the idea that literally started us plotting out the fic. And that was “ritual public sex with Starscream and Rung”. Oh well. Maybe someday. Probably not.

Okay, Now your most popular story

Ha! I tend to view the success of a fic more based on its bookmark ratio than its hit count, but by the numbers, unsurprisingly, “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” is my most popular fic of the year at a whopping 3k hits and 113 bookmarks. Well, it is jazz/prowl which means it has a built in audience of considerable size, and it also updated seven times this year which increases its net range, so no surprise. But I think people also just really vibed with it--it’s very much a product of the times we are living in, and I don’t think it could have been written in any year except for 2020. 

“Dress Your Idol” has 58 bookmarks, by the way. I’m extremely proud of that fic for having such a high bookmark to view ratio. I guess the people who did read it liked it a lot.

Story most underappreciated in its Time.

Okay nothing is as under-exposed as the stuff I produced in JTHM, so I’m definitely not complaining. It’s hard to think about leaving TF because TF is such an enthusiastic community. That said, “ Neggnog Cozy” did not get eyeballs. I’m not surprised, it’s short and it’s gen, and Thundercracker doesn’t have the built in audience of say Starscream. Still, I thought it was really funny and cute and I would have liked it if more people would have given it a chance.

Story that could have been better

Oh, “ Melusine Among the Tombs” for sure. I went into that with only the first chapter planned and immediately after realized that I had no idea where the fic was going and also I had lost my grip on canon characterization after a couple years going rusty in other fandoms. I plan to finish it eventually, but I need a better plan than “wing it???” first.

Sexiest Story

I wrote SO much weird kink this year. Like. Shout out to past me for writing some pretty spicy JTHM fic, but this year I really leaned into how weird you can plausibly get with an all robot all alien cast. 

“ The Sensual Machine” is the most unabashedly horny because it was written specifically for a weird kink themed zine that I was an editor on. “Desecrate You” is also quite horny but I almost exclusively wrote the frame device for that, so I don’t get sexy credit lmao. “Fear and Delight” was a big hit with all the hxh readers and I think it has an element of sexiness more so than pure horniness--its has a kind of glamour and style to it.

Most fun story

“Starscream's Sexy Staycation” is by far the most unabashedly comic and sexy and silly and low stakes. It has one of my favorite kinks, a beautiful stupid moment of Ratchet suffering, and Rung calling safeword which is something new and fresh and I want a lot more of it in the world.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

“ Lacunae” was given to me as a yule gift prompt with the express intention of explaining who the fuck Carmilla’s mother was, and what the deal is with Carmilla as well. This would have forced me to reevaluate my understanding of the novel except for the TEENSY insignificant fact that I realized I had never finished reading Carmilla, somehow, and ended up reading it for the first time in December in preparation for yule. So uh. Hmm.

I think “ Don't Sing Me No More Blues” made me think about Prowl in a different way. I wasn’t really expecting him to be this hard-edged idealist when I started out on the fic. He was originally going to be much more like the autistic coded Prowl of “The Cop and the Cryptid,” one of my favorite fics ever. Also, I started writing the fic about a month before the riots and police protest kicked off in America this year, and it really caused me to zero in on how Prowl being part of a system like that affects his relationship to the world and other characters.

Hardest Story to Write

“ Elegy for Actaeon of the Hounds” took me a total of six months to write from start to finish. I don’t know why. Well, It’s partly because there are three involved sex scenes and sex scenes are actually very difficult and time consuming for me to write. It’s also partly because I kept wanting it to have a character arc, and I kept getting stumped on how to handle that. Beauty and the Beast plot lift? Have Rodimus be a rabbit? Eventually I settled on the version that kept the cast tightly cinched down around Megatron and Rung, and I’m happy with the result.

Easiest Story to Write

When we were writing “Apotheosis” it felt like we were on FIRE, we were so productive and we started three other projects between us while it was in motion. But “Take One For the Team” was absolutely the most fun to write, it basically wrote itself

Most Overdue Story

“Champagne in the Final Days of Rome” was based off a conversation I had with Nev pretty early on in our friendship--Discord says it was June 2019, so that’s uhhh ten months between discussion to actual writing? And it still didn’t turn out to be the fic we were originally outlining, haha.

Oh god you know what was really the most overdue? The last chapter of “Icarus; or, Look Who's Digging His Own Grave”. It was literally a year, January to January, between chapter 12 and 13. For a while I thought maybe I was just going to have to leave it there, without resolving the time loop problem at all.

Did you take writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing for the zine was a big risk. I remember Nev had to reassure me at least twice that what I was writing wasn’t too weird or off-topic or embarrassing to be part of the project. Now, of course, I’m very happy with it. But my god I was nervous to post something that was like.... straight up actually bimboification applied to one of the most popular toy characters of all time.

What I learned from this is that people love horny shit, are READY to take a chance on a weird fic when its in the right wrapping paper, and when in doubt you CAN sell people on a kink they’re not really into by making the kink actually a reflection of a character arc. Are you writing this down?

Do you have any goals for writing in the new year?

Finish GPAU!!!!!!

I’d like to FINALLY sit down and do some hard work on my original fiction. I’ve been kind of waiting for the tf hyperfixation to wane so I could move forward, and I think that process is in motion now. But who knows. If Rung shows up in the new comics I might get nerfed again.

Other than that I’d like to write at least one fanfic that isn’t TF, and I would like to get this really crunchy Rung/Pharma fic off the ground so I can make some people CRY

[revchainsaw]

Demon Wind (1990)

Demon Wind (1990)

Greetings and blessings upon you my flock! Welcome to the Cult of Cult. I am your pastor and priest of pop culture, ordained minister of genre films, the good reverend Chainsaw McGraw. You may just call me Reverend Chainsaw. Come and accept our sacrament upon the altar of online internet reviews. Our first holy offering is an absolute treasure, 1990′s Demon Wind. An offering ripped from the blood inked pages of the Evil Dead’s Necronomicon Ex Mortis, Demon Wind is not quite an unofficial entry into the world of Ash and the Deadites, but if you have exhausted the Catalogue of Sam Raimi Horror flicks (and let’s be honest, if you’re reading a Tumblr review of Demon Wind, you probably have), then Demon Wind will scratch that itch for sure.

The Message

Our anointed offering opens upon a boarded up farm house owned by simple country occultists George and Regina Carter. There’s a Mean Girls reference to be made here. George and Regina are defending their homestead from an unseen force (A Demon Wind some might say) through a Christian/Witchcraft combination of gospel music, a set of holy daggers, and a diary full of Regina’s spells. Unfortunately it’s not very effective, and George is possessed. George kills Regina, drops a snow globe, and for some inexplicable reason the farmhouse explodes bringing the films epilogue to a close. 

With that we are brought to the year 1990 where our rag tag group of heroes converge upon the supernaturally supercharged Carter farm with one mission in mind, helping a homie sort out his shit. What a great group of friends; I can barely get the crew together for a game night but our protagonist Cory has a group of friends so tight they are willing to drop everything and drive untold miles to nowhere in particular just because he had a bad dream. Speaking of “tight” friends, of our doomed party, no friends are so tight as Chuck and Stacey, but we’ll get to that, in short order. Let us meet the fellowship of ding dongs who will battle the blustery bogeys of Demon Wind.

Cory is the star of the show. A fairly blasé everyman who’s so caught up in his chosen one journey that he can’t even bother to be slightly interesting. He is the grandchild of the oh so fetch (see I got to it) Regina/George pairing from earlier in the film. Cory is haunted by mysterious dreams, and a tragic reunion with his demented father, which draw him to the Carter farm. There is however more to meets the eye, you see Cory is from the planet Namek. Watch the movie, you’ll catch my drift. 

Elaine is Cory's girlfriend and wants nothing more than to pull her pants down in public to bring a smile to his face. 

Dell is Cory’s friend? Bully? Enemy? it’s not entirely clear. It seems Dells role in this story is to be an unabashed asshole and chauvinist to every character that interacts with him. He is also perhaps Elaine’s brother, or someone's brother. Listen, you’d have to pay wayyyy more attention than this movie warrants to parse out all the relationship dynamics in this flick. Let’s just say, Dell is here, and despite how he acts, the other characters seem to be ok with that fact.

Terri is Dell’s girlfriend and a good friend of Elaine. Despite being on the arm of a typical 80s teen flick bad guy, Terri seems to be the most eligible bachelorette on the Carter farm. Or so it may seem, but as I’ll explain later I think there is a truer love than can be expressed that really keeps Terri from leaving Dell.

Jack is a Big Ol’ Nerd. He speaks like the writers were convinced using a thesaurus was enough to convince us that the guy is existentially unfuckable. The guy is basically just Billy from Power Rangers, but instead of piloting a badass Triceratops Zord he just kids very mildly bummed when the love of his life is transformed into a very judgmental spontaneously combusting doll.

Speaking of spontaneously combusting dolls, the victim of that very unfair end is Bonnie. Bonnie clearly had way more confidence in the love of her bookish beaux than she should have. The betrayal is immense, not that Jack couldn’t save her, but just in the fact that when she meets her demise (despite the fact that he promised he’d protect her) he is not at all distraught. Poor Bonnie, she is by far the most human feeling of the cardboard cut out female protagonists in this film and she deserved better. Let’s be honest, Jack was looking for an out, and Bonnie was just too real for this movie.

And Now, without further ado, I’d like to introduce the greatest power couple in the history of B Movie Horror Cinema: Chuck and Stacy. If you think my introduction is a bit much, I promise that the film goes much further. Demon Wind begins it’s love affair with this bromance in delightfully extravagant style. There’s magic, explosions, opera, karate, beer and bunnies and a big ol middle finger to fucking Dell. Chuck had at once been romantically involved with Terri, but things went south somehow and he claims that he still holds a flame for her. Despite this continued insistence I think it’s plain to see that Chuck found comfort, magic, and a ride or die hunk in the arms of Stacey. Stacey is a suave, sharp, smooth talking guy, whose only desire in life seems to be whatever keeps Chuck around, and that seems to mean a lot of stage magic and martial arts! I could write about Chuck and Stacey all day, so I’ll move on from here.

The cast of this film is wild and honestly even the weak ones are fun to watch. There is no character on the roster who is easy to mistake for another. That is why it is so fun to watch them meet their demise and even more fun to see them return under the possession of the demon wind as oopy goopy caricatures of their human selves. And this does go on for quite awhile. Unfortunately even Chuck and Stacey are not enough to protect the surreal landscape in which they find themselves. At one point in the film a second set of friends drop by to add 2 more bodies to the massacre. Willy and Reena, a gangly set of clothing accessories who are given legs, but hey Ear Ring and Beret, I mean Willy and Reena are still fun to see torn to shreds.

The movie ultimately reveals that the madness was sparked by the fact that a cult worshipping a Demon God named Delos had actually built the homestead and the cursed ground they stand upon is the stage for the cult leader, a preacher named Anders to finally become the host of said Demon God. As interesting as that lore may sound on paper, it’s not particularly well executed, and Cory’s role to play in all of this is even more vague. All in all the 3rd act of this film feels a bit anti-climatic even if it does feature a demon superhero fight. 

All that said I’d like to move on to the next phase of our sacred liturgy. The sacred and profane, the highs and lows of this movie.

Benediction

Best Feature: What the What?

The best feature of Demon Wind has to be how bizarre it is. It throws everything it can think of at the audience. Burning Skeletons leap from Crosses, eggs that hatch into piles of worms, EXPLODING BABY DOLLS, Cow skulls with long sticky tongues made of human intestines! They certainly sacrificed logic in order to insure they provided the audience with something they haven’t seen before.

Best Kill/ effect: A Cowmen Album Cover!

The best effect in Demon Wind is also it’s best kill. while investigating a barn on the Carter property, which is full of occult symbols, animal remains, and fun Texas Chainsaw Massacre style crafts. One of the crafts catches the eye of Beret, I mean Reena. You know by her hat that she knows a thing or to about fine art. This particular piece of barn décor is a human skeleton with a cow’s skull. As she is inspecting this “beautiful” piece, what appears to be a human intestine, flies from the mouth of the cow skull and wraps around Reena like a chameleons tongue. The intestine begins to retreat into the jaw of the skull bringing Reena’s head along with it. The skull chomps down into Reena, we get a satisfyingly bloody show, and Reena’s body winds up hanging limp from its mouth. 

Second place belongs to Bonnie, but we’ve already spoken to that bizarre spectacle.

Best Scene: I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Stacey!

Chuck and Stacey enter the scene. I know I’m inconsistent in how I spell Stacey/Stacy. This scene was mentioned above and you just have to see it. Watch until Cory intervenes.

Best Character(s): Stacey Cassidy and the Sundance Chuck

Stacey is the best character in this film, but as I’m sure he wouldn’t accept this honor alone I have to make it a tie. Chuck and Stacey are just so good. Every moment they are on screen is a treasure. The introduction of these two just received the honor of best scene, but they shine as Demons and in an even longer sequence leading to their demise. They take the watch at the Carter home and from the fog emerges a t!ddy ghost, my congregants will be familiar with this sort of creature, who attempts to lure them outside. Stacey puffs up Chucks confidence calling him “John Wayne”, Chuck proposes they go on a Tahitian vacation, but Stacey wisely wary of voodoo suggests Vegas. And there you have it, these two pure good boys are surviving this flick and they are getting married in Vegas. Unfortunately, they decide to speed things up a bit, and decide that although they are not tempted by the t!ddy ghost, that they can use their karate magic to defeat the demonic hordes. They march out into the woods, but we can add the power of love to the list of things that are no use against the Demon Wind. Our best boys meet their fates together like two old west heroes, guns blazing! Oh, oh, but they come back as demons and they eat Dell, so thank God for that. 

Worst feature: I ordered these Deadites from Wish

 The villains are not particularly interesting. It’s boring, goopy, bad mouth piece demons that have appeared in hundreds of demon flicks already by this point, and it really makes you want to go back to the unexplained paranormal happenings from earlier in the movie rather than fighting these dollar store Deadites. The fact that the film leans into this in it’s third act really makes the film feel incredibly front loaded. 

Worst scene: Cory in the House

Pretty much any scene that focuses on Cory is a bit weak. He’s just not fun. He gets to transform into an anime character in the end of the film and he’s still melodramatic and boring. This is often a problem with main characters in films, the writers don’t want them to be unlikeable or too quirky so the fun parts are always the supporting cast. 

Worst Character: Dude, you’re NOT getting a Dell!

 Don’t get me wrong, I hate Dell. But Dell is a big dumb goon who is just so fun to watch suffer and act like an utter meathead, and being hateable is not the worst thing a character can be. For this reason I have to give the worst character award to Cory; for many of the reasons I spoke about above.

Summary:

How fitting that a B movie gets a B. But that’s really a great place for this movie to be. So many big Hollywood productions don’t deserve that spot. Though Demon Wind may drag in the middle, and the characters and effects may be quite corny, it is certainly not boring. Demon Wind is eye candy even though it looks so ugly. It has some of the most loveable murder lambs in the genre and one of my favorite bromances in all of cinema, If you are a fan of Gonzo Horror then Demon Wind is a must see. If you are not all that into that sort of thing I promise you’ll have a good time. I highly recommend it. 

Overall Grade: B

[paganinpurple]

Be Careful What You Wish For - Ch 7

Will Write For Coffee

Adrien and Nino find themselves in an alternate timeline where Hawkmoth never attacked and so the Miraculous heroes were never chosen. Discovering they have doubles in this universe, and that something strange is going on with the alternate Adrien has lead to an investigation. Things didn’t go to plan when Chat laid eyes on his long lost mother...

AO3

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7

When she’d suddenly lost contact with Chat, the phone screen going black and the speaker frustrating silent, Marinette’s first instinct had been to get to him as quickly as she possibly could. The Agreste mansion was frustratingly far enough from her apartment that she couldn’t expect to get there safely on foot, and it’s not like there was any public transport running during the night, so she’d called a cab and grabbed for her bank card – dwindling money be damned. When they had arrived, the driver had asked three times if she wanted him to wait before finally departing, clearly not expecting the pyjama-clad young woman to be given entry to the famous family’s home at 4:32 on a Saturday morning. Given that she had no idea what sort of welcome she might be offered, or who might be the one to let her in (if she got in at all), she insisted he leave to avoid any more suspicious eyes catching sight of the heroes.

Steeling herself and preparing to scale the ominous-looking walls if she needed to, Marinette pressed the entry buzzer repeatedly, even jamming it down until she realised that it wasn’t designed to continue sounding that way and resorted to tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for some kind of response.

“Hello?” a tired and nervous sounding woman said from the intercom speaker.

“I want to see Chat,” Marinette demanded, hands wringing behind her back in an effort to release some of her nervous energy without giving away her fear to the camera pointed at her.

“Chat?” the voice asked before another voice sounded in the background, though not loud enough for her to discern words or even the gender of the speaker. “She is?” the woman quietly answered them before returning her attention to Marinette herself, “Please, come in. Quickly.”

There was a loud buzz as the gate in front of her swung inwards slightly, barely enough for a body to fit through, and it quickly swung back again the moment Marinette had slipped through the opening, causing her to jump. She quickly dashed to the front door, only jumping for a brief second when a hulking figure of a man opened it inward and gestured for her to come inside with a short jerk of his head.

She followed his silent instruction and found herself in the hallway of the most impressive home she had ever seen, her spike of panic simmering down to a mere discomfort when she spotted a transformed Master Fu gesturing to her from a nearby doorway.

Racing inside, she came across the most surreal scene she had ever set eyes on in her admittedly uninteresting life.

There was a strange sort of sitting area, descended into the floor of what she recognised as the atelier Chat Noir had been standing in when she had lost contact with him. And thereupon the pristine seating was Adrien, Carapace sitting beside him with a hand placed comfortingly on his shoulder as the man rested his face in his cupped palms, elbows leaning against his knees. Opposite him was Gabriel and Emilie Agreste, both looking nervous, but not frightened and both suddenly staring at her with shocked confusion.

Tearing her eyes from them, she looked at the dejected man lifting his face to see the new person who had entered. He was so utterly distraught that Marinette didn’t even need to think at all about whether or not it was really her place as she dashed down to meet him, both throwing their arms around one another tightly.

***

Adrien had no idea why she had been so willing to throw herself into potential danger to check on him, or why she was humouring his need for comfort now. Although, he was willing to admit the tight hug was welcome. More than welcome in fact, it was still a new step up from their recent level of closeness. He was confused but intensely thankful for her lack of issue with their newfound intimacy as he sobbed into the juncture between her neck and shoulder, his tears dripping down to drench her thin pyjama top.

As the worst of his sobs tapered off and awareness of the situation returned fully, he tensed a little. Marinette’s hand was still softly running through his hair, petting at the nape of his neck at times and the side of her face nuzzled into him ever so softly –but she was seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was doing this in front of everyone. The alternate versions of his parents were sitting opposite him and he was sure the two turtle-men and his alternate bodyguard were nearby. A suspicion quickly confirmed as he pulled back and looked around the room.

“Can someone get Marinette a robe or something, please?” he choked out, swiftly averting his eyes from her chest as the woman herself seemed to remember just how thin her sleepwear actually was and clamped her arms around herself in a mixture of embarrassment and the chill.

“Oh! Of course,” his alternate mother said in apparent horror at her sudden lack of hosting skills for such an insane situation, “Come with me, dear. I’ll get you one of mine.”

“Actually, I’d rather stay here with Adrien,” Marinette said with just a hint of awkwardness, “In case he needs me.”

Adrien felt his face warm with fierce adoration for the young woman who both was and wasn’t his wife. He eyed the lower lip she was chewing at awkwardly and fought down the desire to kiss her so that she wouldn’t be able to continue to mar the soft flesh. “Here,” he said suddenly, shrugging off the blue hoodie he was wearing and wrapping it around her shoulders, “you can wear this until mo- Mrs Agreste can find you something else.” He cleared his throat loudly in the hopes no one would notice his slip up.

“Thanks, but this’ll do – as long as you don’t mind.” He watched as she slipped her arms into the soft material, zipping up the front and sinking her shoulders down into the warmth he’d left behind. She smiled shyly at him and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before tugging the hood over her head for extra heat.

“The gentlemen were just explaining the –frankly insane– situation to us before you arrived,” Gabriel interjected as if from nowhere, causing Marinette and Adrien to jump in surprise, “And as much as I would love to not believe them, I’ve seen some of their abilities now.”

“Not to mention, you’re the exact double of my son,” said Emilie.

“Of course, he is!” came a sudden shrill voice, “my dumb tomcat here may be many things, but he’s not a liar!”

“Hello, Plagg,” said Marinette sweetly, holding out a hand for him to land on.

Instead, he dropped himself onto her shoulder on the inside of the hoodie, his voice dropping low conspiratorially as he whispered in her ear, “Thank everything you’re here. I’m no good at this comforting bullshit. He’s an absolute mess and he needs you.”

“Be that as it may,” Gabriel continued, “it’s an incredibly difficult story to believe. I mean, superheroes? Villains?”

“Adrien actually getting to be his own person?”

“Plagg!” Adrien snapped.

“Okay, dudes! Maybe we should focus a bit?” Carapace said in an awkward attempt to keep the peace. Turning to the couple still dressed in nightclothes and robes he said, “So, we’ve told you our side. Don’t you think we ought to hear you tell us why your Adrien has a kwami flying round his head every night?”

The two looked at each other in some kind of silent discussion for a brief moment, Emilie’s eyebrows pulling together in a concerned manner, while Gabriel’s expression remained stern and unwavering. As several minutes passed, it was almost like she was trying to telepathically wear him down over something until finally, his face relaxed in defeat.

“Fine,” he said as his wife smiled warmly, “But first I need to make some calls. I have a feeling I’m not going to get any work done for the next few days now. And I need to find a task to distract Adrien from this – our Adrien, that is.”

“You could always, you know, tell him?” Adrien said with a frown. He felt as Marinette reached out and gripped his hand tightly, intertwining their fingers in a show of support. “He deserves to know about things going on in his own life as much as anyone else does.”

He was drastically unprepared for the look of victory that danced across his mother’s face as she glanced at his father. ���Gabriel and I often have this exact argument,” she said.

“He wouldn’t understand,” he said back to her.

“As Adrien himself, I feel I have to tell you that it’s a miserable fucking existence when your father keeps you in the dark on things,” he snapped.

“And if you don’t tell him we will!”

Adrien raised his eyes to look at the woman beside him, hand still gripped tightly in his as she stood, towering over his seated father as if she was the powerhouse in the room and not the world-famous fashion designer she was raising her voice at.

“What the fuck?!”

As one unit every face in the room turned to the doorway, light from the risen sun pouring in through from the hallway and casting a dark shadow on the floor before the sudden intruder.

A sleep-tousled Adrien Agreste stood in the doorway gaping at them all.

Will Write For Coffee

[princesshalfdemon]

i feel like when discussing the current state of Corpse Party its actually important to talk about Dolls Fall specifically because despite that absolute bullshit to tie it into the universe this really is not a Corpse Party work so its by comparing this work to post Blood Drive Corpse Party we can actually really see why the love has really evaporated for Corpse Party

this story really didn’t have a bad premise. it was a good premise for a no-holds-barred gorn horror manga. Lizzie Borden was an evil witch lady whose will ensured her work would keep going on in another region of the world. and now in the modern day these children of this all-girls orphanage has to survive being trapped here. they have to survive an evil headmistress lady who brutally murders any “troublemaker” for her black magic. so a group of pre-teen and young teenagers have to survive their hellish situation against this lady and her evil maids who will kill them without a moment’s hesitation and maybe also assisted by the ghost of Lizzie Borden bc why not. if they fuck up they die horribly.

that premise can feel reminiscent to the original Corpse Party. in Corpse Party a couple of teenagers and one 14 year old is trapped in a ghost school and have to play their cards right or they die violently. BloodCovered and it’s PSP remake enhanced this with more characters. also Seiko Shinohara is there. this remake benefits tremendously form a greatly enhanced cast and more tragic writing, creating a horrific but also incredibly genuinely saddening game with the last scene being Naomi just breaking down and screaming for Seiko over and over and then credits roll

the point is it worked. it was just a survival horror game about evil child ghosts that murder you. it was simple and it worked! it made a really good game! a depressing one but a good one! it knew what to do and did it right!

then Blood Drive happened and Kedouin transformed his story from survival horror to cosmic horror and like, ramped up all the stakes by 10000000x with so much weird magic occult bullshit and also introducing like 20 new characters that are all parts of black magic groups and its like, what the fuck

and it ended up being an incredibly derisive and, from what i’ve seen, mostly... kind of disliked game. it just kept... upping these stakes until it was a convoluted mess. it wasn’t really Corpse Party anymore.

and this is the exact same problem that Dolls Fall has

Kedouin could not help himself and kept including stupid shit. some of the girls actually gain magic powers called Possessions? the main character can manipulate fire, one girl can fuck around with plants, another can learn your thoughts and memories by licking your body fluids (ew), one girl got a magic gun and revealed it after killing a girl she was having lesbian sex with who got one cool scene at the end and that was it. and then this shit with the headmistress being like a hundred years old and wanting to obtain godhood and its like

holy fucking hell dude you’re not good at these kind of stories dial it back and write survival horror please

literally everything that went wrong in Dolls Fall is more or less what went wrong in Blood Drive, basically!

[androgynousblackbox]

The Horror of our Love. 3 [Radioapple, Appleradio]

Rosie

"Well, that was a lot. Probably a lot more than I ever wanted to know about, but it did answer a few questions at least.

The thing that killed everyone at the castle was this Lucifer monster. Professor Magne found a way to make it so they could leave the school, but before that felt like having a little massacre because why the hell not. I guess he just felt bored or wanted to commemorate the occasion. With that guy, it could have been either.

I always suspected that he was one fucked up man. Any wizard who is so dedicated to teaching Defense Against Dark Arts is not well in the head, I don't care what anyone says. Always way too comfortable telling us about the absolute worst that could happen if we weren't careful enough, if we didn't listen to him, with as much details as he could cram in. As if he was just waiting for the chance for us to fail only so he could laugh about it. Everyone always told me I was just paranoid because I didn't like the class, that I was too harsh for no reason, that Professor Magne had never harmed a fly. When he got that little naga he always kept in a cage next to his desk, people would even say that it was cute because he obviously took good care of that thing. Never believed that act, not for one second.

And yet, somehow, I never saw this one coming. The murdering people already while he was a student did take me by surprise, but not as much as the obsession with a cursed wizard whose only purpose was to kill people from the girl's bathroom. How does that even happen? We never heard about anything like it while we were there. You would think something like would trickle down, even if it's just a legend, but there was nothing like it.

Anyway, that is not important. First things first, we had to corroborate each of those deaths.

A janitor had disappeared around the same time when Professor Magne was in the year the journal told us about. One day he just wasn't there anymore. The theory back then is that he got drunk and drowned in the lake, where the sirens devoured his body. Apparently he just never liked the merfolk so he was happy to yell insults at them and... pee on the lake. I guess because they couldn't get out the water that made him feel strong or something. Fuck if I know. They only found one of his feet floating on the water. There were clear teeth marks on them so, case was closed. It's not like everyone was going to lose sleep wondering what happened to the guy. Definitely not family or friends that could demand a more thorough investigation. One less lone bastard in the world is hardly worth more than one article in a newspaper.

The professor that mishandled the creatures under his care was only slightly different. Official story is that he disappeared on an excursion to try to get some eggs of some creature whose name I can't even pronounce. He left a note behind and everything. That makes no sense, doesn't it? If that guy brought him down promising something else, at what moment did he write that note? One that conveniently was giving him an alibi? Unless someone could forge his same lettering and make that up to cover his absence, that is. No body was ever found. Nobody cried too much for him in the newspapers, his search wasn't a huge priority. Headmaster Sera had some words of comfort about how dedicated that asshole was to his job and that was it. She couldn't pretend to care more than that. Not that I blame her either. Fuck that guy, he sounded like a piece of work. Case closed.

The journal confirmed for us both their names. He didn't thought they were relevant for his story because, and I quote, "takes away some of the mystery away" with a fucking smiley face in the end. As if we need the fucking help of the messed up soul of a teenager for that one.

Speaking of the journal, Anthony is back to messing with it. He... he keeps asking the same kind of fucking questions and never getting satisfied with the response. At first the journal was more or less direct, but I think it caught on what Anthony wanted and just goes in completely different tangents that are irrelevant to the question. I guess it recognizes our ways of writing by now. With me is still pretty straight forward, but Anthony is only messing around. He could be inquiring about what was Professor Magne's favorite part at school and the thing is going to wax poetic about how gorgeous the scales of Luci were under the fire, to keep edging him on.

No, I am not going to repeat what Anthony wants to know. I don't know why he wants to know that of all things and, in my opinion, I can go happily to my grave without ever having that cleared for me. I am already aware that this guy is a violent murderer and a total nutjob, that he is a danger for anyone who stays around him for long. I don't need to add anything else to the list, especially not something as gross as if he fucked the snake or not.

I would rather Avada Kedavra myself before hearing a single thing about the sex life of this man. Did you hear that, Anthony? Pout all you want, this is too much even for you, and I am not helping you with that bullshit. How is that supposed to help us here?

He is grabbing the journal again. Literally why. Don't blame me when that thing keeps fucking with you.

Anyway, where was I?

Yes, speaking about what we learned because of that long ass story he told us. Finding out the name of that little girl he had was a piece of cake.

Rosie, or Rosetta, Clara Barkin. The professor we had for Care of Magical Creatures. Anthony says that she was always cool to talk to. The girls and some of the boys especially adored her because she sometimes invited students to tea parties in her cabin near the school. Giving them advice for their little dramas and romantic endeavors. Apparently nobody had a single bad thing to say about her while she was there. I don't know what to tell you, so take his word for it. I only ever dated two people while I was a student, one of them is still here with me, and did it completely on my own, so I guess I never really needed those off school meetings from her. I only saw her during our classes. She was good at explaining things, I suppose? That is the most I could tell you about my experience with her. I had way shittier professors I could talk more about.

Although... If she knew all this was what was happening underneath the school or helped that piece of shit in any way, I might be inclined to think otherwise. She definitely knew about the giant snake. She knew about the murder of that professor, even encouraged it. The only saving grace she has is that she never actually did a killing herself. That we know of, for now. We are talking about 20 years of difference since that journal was created until now. A woman that is that gleeful about feeding the fingers of a dead man to her cat could do a lot of things in that time, and I can't imagine that all of them are going to be good.

Anthony told me that she was always kinda creepy, so he is not exactly surprised either. Creepy but nice is what he said.

She was close to Professor Magne, that I remember clearly. Always sitting next to each other on the table for every meal, always gossiping between each other as they laughed. No doubt talking shit about everyone else. She was the only professor I ever saw him giving a hug to as well as receiving it without glaring at them. The one I know of was not only allowed to enter his office whenever she wanted, whether he was there or not, but also to hold the baby naga he had outside of her cage. One time the school nurse asked him to and professor Magne just flat out said no before telling the man to go. Smiling as usual on that freaky I am done with you way that he had every time his patience was running thin. The fact that professor Barking and him knew each other since they were children is the least surprising fun fact to come out of this.

She wasn't there the night of the massacre. She had quit her job right after the final day of class to go live on a reservation meant for the care of dragons. As far anyone at school knew, she was comfortably living in South America with her wife. Then, just three years back, she and her wife both died from exposure to venom that wasn't treated fast enough. That is what the newspaper's obituary said. I think I had to use a translator. I barely know a few Italian words because of Anthony and I am pretty sure most of them are insults.

Naturally, our next task was to see if she had actually died. Considering what we found out last time, I believe my doubt was more than warranted. She was a respected member of the community of dragon handlers in the area, so it didn't take much for us to find her and her wife's grave. One plaque, two different names. We were digging out two for the price of one this time. Great.

Luckily for us, they were on the burial site of professor Barkin's muggle side of the family. There were no special protections to go through. Setting up an illusion spell in order for the guard to not notice a thing was a piece of cake. The only piece of cake we were allowed to have. You try to take out two heavy caskets from the same hole in the middle of the night. Even with magic, that was such a pain in the ass.

But it was worth it. You know why? Because there was fucking nothing inside of any of them. Just rocks. They didn't even bother putting on a fake body. No poor schmuck died for this. So, wherever professor Barkin and her wife are, I am running with the theory right now that they are with him or working with him. Doing who knows what.

I tried to investigate if there has been an uptake on mysterious deaths ever since professor Barkin was there, but I couldn't find shit. One handler that was accused of selling dragon eggs to the black market was found dead on his bed. He worked in the same location as her. They believe a heart attack during sleep. That was it. Unless her main victims were muggles, in which case I am even more limited than before. For muggles she was just the owner of a butcher shop that people liked. There is not a single mention of her from that side beyond that. A business woman who wasn't around a lot, but when she was nobody had a fucking bad thing to say about her. Of course.

We returned everything to how it was and came back home. I don't rule out either that professor Barkin wasn't there the night of the massacre, we just didn't know about it. I didn't want to believe that woman could be just as fucked up as Magne, but something is fishy, no doubt about it.

Speaking of Magne... would you be surprised to know that wasn't his original last name? When I saw the name scratched out in the journal, I immediately thought that was the maiden name of his mom. His father sounded like a piece of shit for the looks of it. Mine wasn't a ray of sunshine either, so I can't say I don't understand the impulse of putting as much distance as you can to not be associated with them.

Thank goodness I actually went to check it out. Just to have all the facts straight, you know? Didn't expect much from it. That is how I found out that her mom's maiden name was Moraine. So where the fuck does Magne come from, right? It could have been just a better sounding name than Abbadon that he chose as a kid and stuck with the rest of his life. But it wasn't.

You see, that was the last thing we had to look into because I knew it was going to involve a lot of fucking reading. When you go so far back on any family tree, you have to ask permission from libraries and documents and ask questions and bla bla bla. Digging graves is not nice, but it's something that you can just do and be done with it. To start researching this kind of stuff I have to sit down and I just feel like doing homework again.

The fact that the snake told the professor that they were distant relatives immediately picked my interest. It took a little bit of work, but I finally found the connection. There was a Magne family tree line connected to the Abbadons. One that included a single lone branch with the name Lucifer. The seven kids on his same line were there with their own portraits, but he had been burned away, eliminated, as if every document was cursed to never contain his image. They probably were. Old families would have stupid bullshit like that whenever one of their members sneezed the wrong way. My dad told me that his great great grandpa was treated the same for knocking up some muggle girl and marrying her.

Unfortunately, the bad part about your family trying so hard to forget you exist is that they make it hard for outsiders to know why it happened. The thing with my great great grandpa was kept all under wraps, a family secret that would have been a scandal back then. Everyone else was told that he was studying abroad until they stopped talking about him altogether.

I found out that the Magnes used to live in a rural area close to a muggle's town and then they didn't because the muggles kicked them out. Not a single mention about Lucifer being the responsible for it or any mention about him at all. Literally just a name under a burn out image, while the rest of his brothers kept reproducing and continuing the family line. Sending their own children to become the little tyrants of their own uncle as a treat while they were at school. I am not even sure if they knew that. According to the journal, it took a considerable amount of time for the snake to ever say any of that to professor Magne. Maybe he was too ashamed of his punishment to say anything. Or he might have even tried to and they just didn't care, not as long he did what was told. I don't know which one is worse.

All of that is legitimately so fucked up. Don't get me wrong, fuck professor Magne all the way for thinking he can just hurt people because he wants to, but if that snake was truly Lucifer Magne and he had a wife and a kid on the way and his own family treated him like that... Well, I am not made of stone either. What can I say, I feel bad for the guy. It's one thing to choose to be a monster. Another one is when you are forced into it. Professor Magne always had an option, but Lucifer did not from everything I can see. Even now. If he is still with professor Magne, and that assumes he didn't just eat the guy already, then he is still just being controlled the same way in a different way.

If you spend that much time alone and abandoned by everyone you know, you learn to take whatever you can take even if you don't really want it. Including annoying kids with a fucking obssession over you. That is something, right? At least you are not forgotten anymore. I don't know how much blame to put on Lucifer here, as a person, I mean. The journal is adamant in saying that its creation was for him, to help Lucifer, but, and maybe this is my own reading, I don't really get the sense that Lucifer would have chosen a tiny psychopath as his savior if he could.

But at this point I might be just imagining things. We are talking about multiple generations back, many fucking years in the past. The man that legitimately only wanted to help people with his magic could have died a long time ago. Leaving behind only a beast that is tied down by a member of the same family that cursed him, doing his betting, still being used. Not the kind of ending I would wish for a lot of people. It's just sad to think about. I would have rather died than keep living that humiliation, if there was anything mine left inside.

That kid in the journal can talk about love all day and night. I think he just saw what he wanted to see, a killing machine that he could control to his every whim. With some weird kink in the middle that I am not going to get into because fuck that shit. A man like that I don't think knows shit what love is. He might like someone, but that is about it.

If he really wanted to help Lucifer, he could have told the faculty staff. He could have gathered other wizards to find some way to break the curse, instead of just keeping him as a secret. So many things could have gone differently here without ever needing to kill anyone.

As a little kid I get it, you don't think about those things. It's just fun to have something for yourself. Having a place that nobody else knows and a buddy that only gets to play with you. It makes you feel special. But then he became an adult, our professor, and still chose to keep him in the dark. Why? Because if he actually went to get help for Lucifer, real help, that would mean more eyes on him that wouldn't take so kindly to all the blood and eating dead bodies freshly killed. On top of giving the poor guy an option to actually leave and have a life of his own. That would cut professor Magne's fun. And we wouldn't want that, don't we? You need to eliminate the bodies you take some way, after all.

The more I learn about the guy, the less I like it.

In any case, it's too late to worry about that now. Maybe the snake already killed him. Maybe he killed the snake. Maybe they have some fucked up stockholm kind of dynamic where Lucifer doesn't have anything else, so might as well take this. Either way, not my problem for now.

What is my problem is the info that one of my sources passed to me. I received the letter a week ago while me and Anthony were away, looking into the family stuff. There is a lead that could take us somewhere.

You see, I don't believe that the journal was the only time that professor Magne did something like that. Divide his soul to put it somewhere else. If it was he would haven't have let it go so easily, right? A guy like that wouldn't commit such an obvious mistake, unless he had others to concern himself with. That way, someone can destroy the journal and it won't matter much for him.

I don't know how many others there are. Literally none of the research I have been doing tells me to what limit there could be on a soul to do something like that. Nobody ever needed to answer that particular question before, I imagine. But it's not an infinite resource either, so he must have just stopped doing it at some point. We could be talking about 10, 20 or even just 5. The journal just said that he was still thinking it over when he made the first one. As if killing and slowly cutting away one's humanity was just some experiment to carry on to see what happens. The more pieces we manage to collect, the closer we are to knowing what happened to him.

I had some people looking around in places where we could find another one. Old antique shops, second hand stores, cursed items, enchanted ones. It could be anything at all, but we know at least that is an object and, if we are lucky, he won't be paying any more attention to it than it did with the notebook. We have that as an advantage.

A few days ago there were reports of an old radio that was donated to some old ladie's store. The radio itself looked to be in pretty conditions for what it was, although heavier than other radios. It doesn't have a cable to connect to anything nor batteries inside, but the old lady thinks the thing is haunted because at night, just when she is about to close the store, she swears over her life that the radio turns on. Sometimes it is just a nice melody, other times it's something whistling the melody, but on some rare occasions there is a voice speaking.

The voice of a man that speaks longingly about someone called Luci.

All that is fine and good, if it weren't for the little detail that this woman was just a muggle lady that was getting scared out of her mind. She called an exorcist, for fuck's sake. Made quite a bit of noise in her neighborhood talking about the weird haunted radio that she was donated to like it was any other, without any previous warning of what it was. That is how my own sources came to hear about it. The Luci portion was something they could gather only after speaking with the priest that tried to clean the old radio. Apparently they dumped a bunch of holy water on top and the radio just laughed at them. Laughed for 5 entire minutes. They counted them.

Even if the name hasn't come out, I feel like that alone would have been a certain give away. He would find it very funny to be the cause of muggle's superstitious fears. I will go look for the thing and then we can see what it can tell us."

[aion-rsa]

How Ginger Snaps Explored the Subversive Horror of Womanhood

https://ift.tt/30jSLcc

In 2000 Mission: Impossible 2 topped the box office, Gladiator triumphed at the Oscars, and the first X-Men movie ushered in a new era of superhero movies. Meanwhile in Canada, while no one was watching, a new hero was emerging. Her name was Ginger, she was a 16-year-old girl, and ok, she might have turned into a monster and killed a few people but, wow, was she a ferocious figurehead for females everywhere. 

“That’s what she’s about. She’s about fuck you, fuck the patriarchy, fuck the standard, fuck society, fuck the norm. And to me, that’s a hero,” says Katharine Isabelle, speaking with Den of Geek via Zoom from her home in Vancouver, 20 years after the film’s debut. Isabelle was just 17 when she stepped into Ginger’s very cool boots and she had no idea it would become a massive cult hit.

“When it first came out, no one fucking watched it. It did well with some critics at a few festivals, but no one cared. No one went to see it,” she recalls. “It wasn’t until it hit the VHS circuit in small town Canada that people were like, ‘Oh, Ginger!.’ Emily [Perkins, who plays Ginger’s sister Brigitte] and I thought we’d be the only people that liked it because we were weird and dark. We had no idea that through the generations it would continue to have an effect on people.”

Watching 20 years on and Ginger Snaps absolutely holds up. More than that, in fact, it looks positively progressive and even transgressive in a year where we were onto our third Scream, our second Urban Legend, and our first Final Destination. Glossy teen slashers were the thing, which didn’t often make for great parts. 

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“In the ’90s, as a 17-year-old girl it was ‘be hot, get murdered’,” says Isabelle. “There weren’t a lot of really interesting characters coming out of that, especially in my small Vancouver, Canada acting world. So to see this and be like, ‘Holy shit, this really speaks to me, I am this dark, insecure, troubled, deep, dark humored girl who feels outcast and misunderstood by everybody,’ I was just like, ‘Yes. 100%.’”

Written by Karen Walton who would go on to write for Queer as Folk and Orphan Black, and directed by John Fawcett (one of Orphan Black’s co-creators), Ginger Snaps was a fresh take on the werewolf subgenre and a brand new slant on teen horror. This was about girls for a start – sisters Ginger and Brigitte who are weird outsiders fascinated with death. Though there’s sex in the movie it’s really a love story between the two females while the only male character who we have any sympathy for is a drug dealer who has no sexual interest in either. There are dog maulings along the way, and as we head towards the climax with Ginger becoming more and more monstrous, there’s plenty of gore.

But the most scandalous splash of blood is Ginger’s own first period.

Period piece

“You never see that. The visual of bloody panties is so shocking,” says Isabelle. 

“It’s what, 2020 and we’re just seeing feminine hygiene products using red dye instead of this fucking blue shit? We’re always so mortified by this human experience that half of the people on the planet go through. And you know what? At the same time you should be, because being female is a fairly horrific fucking experience in itself. So guess what? Why don’t you fucking look at it once in a while? For it to be labeled as shocking is just so boring to me.”

It would be bold even in 2020. That color matching company Pantone only last month released a new shade of red inspired by periods as part of a campaign to end menstruation stigma shows it very much still exists. So to be this open in discussing it in 2000 in a horror movie – traditionally assumed to be the playground of young men – was a brave move.

“I remember a friend of mine, his older brother had taken his friends to see it and he was like, [Isabelle does impression of bro-tastic young man] ‘Oh yeah, we were all screaming and throwing shit at the fucking screen and then we walked out. All this fucking women shit.’ I was like, ‘Cool. Thanks, buddy. Awesome.’ Fuck you! They thought they were going to see hot girl tits and werewolf stuff and they weren’t prepared for an actual look into what the female experience is like. And they couldn’t handle it. Pussies.”

Suddenly it’s like I’m talking to wolf-Ginger, fierce, articulate, full of fire, the Ginger that punches the mean girl in the face for hurting her sister, the Ginger that isn’t going to stand for any of your shit any longer, the Ginger that could tear the flesh from your bones if she wanted to. 

The metaphor of werewolf transformation and puberty is a no brainer to Isabelle.

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“You’re going along your life perfectly fine, something happens to you, boom. In one day, you have all these strange urges, you have all these weird thoughts. Your body is completely abandoning you and morphing into something else that you are not comfortable with,” she says. “It’s a complete betrayal of everything you know and how you feel. And it creates this monster in you that you have to reckon with and deal with. It’s a brilliant allegory.”

Ginger Snaps is body horror. It’s a movie about a woman’s own body destroying her from the inside out. Before she knows what’s really going on Ginger is bleeding, weak, crippled with cramps. Weird hair starts sprouting – a shaving scene really hammers home the horror of teenagers taking razors to their legs.

But with this pain comes power. Ginger is suddenly confident, beautiful, strong, the boys at the school all desire her and she knows it. She will take who she wants and do what she wants – there’s some serious wish fulfillment going on at the same time as the trauma of her transformation.

Being Ginger

It’s not really surprising that Isabelle is so like this iconic character. She says she had an immediate affinity to Ginger – both sides of Ginger, the troubled outsider as well as the she-wolf.

“At that time, I wasn’t a good enough actor to have acted it. I just had to be myself,” she laughs, “They showed a pieced-together trailer halfway through to the cast and crew and I had a complete panic attack. It was my first panic attack, and I was like, ‘I’m fucking this up.’ This is the best character in the best movie and I clearly have no idea what I’m doing. I’m obviously the worst, this is terrible. I’m ruining this, I should just die. So all of the insecurity and the manicness…”

This just in: it’s shit being a teenage girl. Even more so when you’re 17, on location without your mother for the first time and working 18 hour days. 

“I nearly fucking died!” she says. “Towards the end, it’s like a seven hour prosthetic piece when I’m full blown werewolf. I was living off of Oreos, McCain Deep Delicious Chocolate Cake, cigarettes, and Coca Cola. It was not good. And honestly, I wasn’t a good actor. So everything in that was just me being manic and sleep deprived and upset and insecure.”

Whatever was driving it Isabelle is excellent, flitting from difficult outsider with an undercurrent of fury to a whirlwind of teenage angst, sex, hunger, and violence that feels absolutely authentic.

Becoming the wolf

The effects are practical rather than CGI, which helps Ginger Snaps not to look dated on a rewatch. Ginger transforms gradually from woman to full blown wolf over days – she’s not a traditional werewolf who only becomes a wolf during the night of a full moon, instead once she turns fully she’s not coming back. Her different looks in the movie are cool and iconic – unsurprisingly Ginger Snaps cosplay is a ‘thing’ – which pleases Isabelle. The prosthetics procedure was somewhat less pleasing, however.

“I didn’t understand what the process was,” she says. “You see it in your head like you do when you read a book or whatever, or how the movie is going to be. You don’t think of the six hours on top of your 18 hour shooting day that you’re going to be inhaling alcohol-based paint until you’re high out of your fucking mind.”

The transformation came with other obstacles too.

“The process of losing my senses was a first for me. By the time I’m in the very late stage werewolf with the hair, the contacts and the claws, I can’t see anything, I can’t hear anything, I can’t smell anything, I can’t talk. I have fangs. I had to ADR most of the movie when I have fangs in. Because I had a lisp, so I’d be like, ‘Ask Tham. He’th the exthpert.’” She says, mimicking a line from the movie. 

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“It’s just terrible. I couldn’t touch anything and there is blood all over me, and it’s drying and I was trapped in my own body nightmare. You don’t really realize that when you go into it. So now when I read scripts, ever since then, I’m very like, ‘What does that exactly mean for the physical torture I will be experiencing through the duration of this?’ Let’s take a step back and just really look at this more closely,” she laughs. 

Pain and gain

Isabelle is funny – like Ginger, she has a dark sense of humor and though we genuinely get the sense that the shoot was traumatic (“We were all fucking ill and we were shooting nights for about three weeks in a row, so you do not see daylight. You lose your mind. It wasn’t quite Apocalypse Now, but it felt like that to me when I was 17.”), she’s got great stories. Like the time she gave herself a concussion… 

“There’s a scene where I slam my head on a desk and I was like, ‘Ginger probably really slammed her head on the desk.’ So I really did it a bunch of times and then woke up the next day with a fucking full on concussion headache. They had a doctor come in because I was fucked. He gave me Tylenol T3s and I took them on an empty stomach. I’m vomiting on set and they’re holding the roll, and I’ve got a bucket I’m puking into. And then immediately I had to do the slow motion walk down the hall scene. I was so fucked they had to put tape on the floor. I couldn’t walk in a straight line. I’m so mad every time I see that. I’m like ‘Fuck, you only get so many slow motion walking down the hallway looking cool and hot in your whole career, and you really fucked this one.’” 

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Of course, it doesn’t play that way on screen. It’s a key moment in the movie and even 20 years on, Ginger’s look still stands out. Costume designer Lea Carlson put together her outfits from thrift stores to create a kind of indie/goth cool with spot on accessories for an aesthetic that matched Ginger’s newly awakened give-no-fucks vibe.

“When that infection hits and she’s got that fucking attitude, it’s like, don’t we all wish we could just walk around with that attitude like a hero?” says Isabelle.

She says she can watch the movie now and enjoy it, though she couldn’t for a while.

”I haven’t seen it in 15 years because I tend to not revisit my most awkward moments on film as a teenager,” she laughs. But she now speaks fondly of this “wonderful sisterly love story.” 

Ginger and B

She and co-star Perkins had known each other “forever” before filming began, having even been born in the same hospital and gone to the same elementary school so they auditioned for Ginger Snaps together. Perkins as the younger Brigitte (even though Isabelle is actually four years younger than Perkins) is sympathetic, awkward, vulnerable, and eventually heroic and there’s an obvious chemistry between the two. Isabelle recalls how between one of the auditions and the first time director John Fawcett came out to meet them Emily had shaved her head.

”I was like, ‘What are you doing? You’ve fucked this for us!’, I didn’t even recognize her in the room. And then thank God, we got the part. And that’s why she’s wearing this wig, this very offensive wig throughout the film…”

Why did she shave her head during casting for this movie? We can’t not ask…

“I don’t know. I don’t know. She was having a moment. She’s a very smart, progressive woman, and she was feeling her oats,” Isabelle laughs.

Despite the traumas of the prosthetics and the shoot, Isabelle has clear affection for the movie and a character who rings incredibly true even 20 years later, largely because of her authentic performance  “It connects still to this day with people who weren’t even born when it came out. And that’s always shocking to me,” she says.

So what would today’s Katharine Isabelle tell her 17 year old self, 20 years ago?

“Oh, God. Fucking suck it up, you whiny bitch.” she says, all wolf-Ginger before swapping back to pre-transformation Ginger. “No, I would be like, ‘Yo, this is good, and you’re going to be okay. You’re gonna be good, and you’re not going to hate yourself as much as you think you do. And eventually, in 17 years, you’ll be able to watch this without having a total meltdown about how obviously terrible and insecure you are.”

She pauses.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“Isn’t that what everyone says to themselves 20 years ago? ‘You’ll be okay, don’t be so insecure, believe in yourself, you got this?’ I think that’s what everyone would say to their younger self. Also, ask for more money.”

The post How Ginger Snaps Explored the Subversive Horror of Womanhood appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2ENE6yo

[crimefightingspiderguy]

it’s my party, i’ll cry if i want to

Summary: “Well I would like to request a birthday with the Avengers and with my bday being Jan 11, it is just in time! Would you be able to also add Tony throwing a huge party, also, the reader is dating him!!!❤️” (REQUESTED BY @beckastark )

Warnings: some swearing

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Word count: 2,844

A/N: This is my first writing for Tony, so hopefully this doesn’t suck. Also, I know I didn’t follow the request exactly, but I hope it’s still good for you! Happy birthday, sweetie, hope you had a good one!

     You wake up with the sun shining brightly through the crack between the curtains. Scrunching your face, trying to get it out of your eyes so you could maybe go back to bed, but when that didn’t work you sighed and rolled over. Opening your eyes, expecting to see your boyfriend, but he was nowhere in sight. You sat up to look around the room for him, but he’s not there. Stretching you make your way out to the hallway and go on a hunt for some breakfast and your boyfriend. “Good morning “(Y/N)” Clint said from the stove where he was cooking something that smelt absolutely amazing. “‘Morning Clint, what’cha making?” You hum, hoping you might persuade him to make you some of whatever it was. “Bacon, eggs, and hash-browns.” Clint smiled your way. “You know Clint… It just so happens to be my birthday today. I never made a gift wishlist but if I did, some of that food would definitely be on it.” You smirk at him, hoping it worked. He chuckled at your not-so-subtle hint that you wanted in on the food, “I actually did know it was your birthday, and that’s why I’m making this food.”. Your face lit up, making him laugh again. “Oh Clint, you’re such a doll!” You say as you walk around the island counter to hug him. He quickly hugs you, then hands you a plate of food. “Oh, also, do you happen to know where Tony is? He wasn’t in the room this morning when I woke up.” You ask, taking a seat, digging into your food. He just shrugged and continued to cook. “You do know, but you’re not supposed to tell me.”  You accuse him, reading his mind. “Get out of my head (Y/N), we have a deal.” Clint turns around giving you a stern look. After his mind-control incident with Loki, Clint made you swear to never use your mind-reading powers on him. You innocently raise your hands, “I didn’t even have to. I know Tony, and I took your silence and shrug as an “I know but I need to pretend like I don’t”. If I had read your mind, I would already know what he was up to.”. Clint gives you a suspicious look, not quite sure if he should believe you. “I wouldn’t break our agreement man. I like my body the way it is, free of arrows.”, He chuckles and turns back to the food, trusting you. “I’ll just let Tony do what Tony does I guess.” You shrug, letting it go.

     After your breakfast with Clint, you made your way back to your bedroom so you could change into some workout clothes. You were stopped by Bucky, standing in your doorway. “Ahh, (Y/N), just the girl I was looking for!” He smiled when you arrived to him. You crossed your arms and smirked at him, “Oh is that so Buck? I couldn’t tell you were looking for me. It’s not like you’re blocking my room.”. Bucky rolled his eyes at your sass, “Listen doll, you can’t go in there. Tony’s orders.”. “Oh so now you and Tony are best friends and you just do whatever he wants.” You asked, giving him some more sass. “No, but he promised me he would stop putting random magnets in things so I’d stick to them. So here we are.” He shrugged. You laughed, “Well if I’m not allowed in my room, how am I going to change into something that isn’t my p.j.s?”. Bucky’s face fell, Stark hadn’t thought about that. “You can wear something of mine.” Bucky offered. “No offense Buck but I do believe that I would literally drown in your clothing. You’re quite large.” You say poking his bicep. He laughed, “None taken… I’m sure you can borrow something from Nat or Wanda.” “What if I don’t wanna borrow their underwear?” You point out. Bucky aggressively sighs and grabs your arm, pulling you to his room. He locked the door and walked over to his clothes picking out some things that shouldn’t be too big on you. “You know I could just… unlock the door right?” You say pointing at the door. “Ha, Ha, very funny. Yes, I know that. I don’t want anyone walking in here seeing you changing and assuming the worst.” Bucky said, throwing the clothes at you. “You’re going to stay in here?” You asked. He rolled his eyes, turning around and putting his hands over his eyes. You laugh at how dramatic he was being. You change into the sweats, pulling the drawstring to make them fit you. He gave you a t-shirt that he no longer wore because it was now two sizes too small for him, but it was from before his transformation, so he kept it around for sentimental reasons. “Buck, I can’t wear this shirt. It’s one of the only things you have from… What if I ruin it?”. He shook his head, “Nonsense, I trust you to wear a shirt for a couple of hours and give it back to me.”. You throw it on and surprisingly it fits you pretty well, “You can look now.”. He turns around and smiles at the shirt. “Fit’s you well. So, I’m in charge of you for the day. What do you wanna do birthday girl?”. “First, I wanna know why Tony chose you to keep me occupied? Does he think that I couldn’t get past you?” You chuckle, knowing you could take Bucky in a fight easily. “Oh, he KNOWS you couldn’t get past me.” Bucky challenged. “Wanna bet Barnes?” You raise your eyebrow, knowing that you were going to win this. “Bring it on (Y/L/N)”, He said, not backing down from an honest challenge. “Let’s go to the ring, and see just how easily I could get past you.” You offer, “Unless you’re too scared I’ll actually beat you.” You egg him on. He just scoffed, opening the door for you, “You’re on.”

     You got to the gym and was greeted by Sam and Steve who were spotting each other on the bench press. “Happy birthday (Y/N)!” They say almost in unison, making you laugh. “Thanks, guys. Hey, who do you think would win in a fight, me or Barnes?” You ask, walking over to them. “You, for sure,” Sam says almost immediately, making you stick your tongue out at Bucky. “I don’t know man, Bucky’s pretty strong.” Steve countered. “(Y/N) can literally read minds, I think she could easily take him.” Sam defended you. “Well, we’re gonna go to the ring if you guys wanna watch.” You shrug, making sure to push Bucky a little when you turned to make your way to the ring. “You guys can’t be serious? It’s your birthday (Y/N). What if you get hurt? Not to mention, Bucky, Tony would kill you.” Steve tried being the voice of reason, but there was no stopping you once your mind was set. You bend under the rope to get in, Bucky following you. “Look, we’ll make some rules so Tony doesn’t even know. No face, no bone breaking. Anything else?” You ask Bucky. “No groin, please.” He gives you a desperate look. You nod, “No groin. Now, what do we want to wager?”. Bucky thought for a moment, “If I win… You have to… say “The strongest Avenger” after anyone says my name for a month.” You rolled your eyes, “Fine, if that’ll stroke your ego. But, If I win… You have to…” You thought for a moment, then a wicked thought crossed your mind. “You have to run through the entire complex 5 times.” Bucky’s scoff cut you off, “Easy.” You wagged your finger, “I’m not finished. You have to run through the entire complex 5 times, completely nude. And it CAN’T be on a day when everyone is gone on a mission.” You challenge, making Bucky stiffen. “Do we have a deal?” You stick out your hand, Bucky hesitated, but slowly he extended his hand to meet yours. “Deal”. “Then let the fun begin.” You grin a wicked grin and back up to your corner, grabbing the tape that was there so you could wrap your hands. Hiding the potential splitting of your knuckles, giving yourself away quickly to Tony. Once you were done you looked over at Sam and Steve, “One of you wanna officiate us?” “I do!” Sam excitedly jumped into the ring and got between the two of you. “Alright, I want a good clean fight. No face. No bone breaking. No groins. Now shake hands.” Sam said, stepping back and out of the cage. You laugh at how official he was trying to be. You shake Bucky’s hand, then step back to begin the fight.

     You quickly enter Bucky’s head to find out what he’s planning as he circles you like prey. Instead of finding anything useful, you find him singing “Love is an open door” from Frozen. You pause and laugh a little, knowing what he was doing. “Frozen, really?” He laughed and nodded his head. “I’m a trained assassin (Y/N), you really think I don’t know what you’re looking for in my head?” Bucky pointed out. “Fair point, but I do a little bit more than mind-read.” You say, taking the chance to put an image in his head of Tony naked, catching him completely off guard. You took this chance to run up the wall of the ring and jump onto his shoulders, flipping yourself and bringing him to the ground. You sat on his chest, pinning his arms above his head. Sam hit the ground as he counted to ten. Bucky struggled under you, trying to wiggle his way out. When Sam got closer to ten, you began to loosen your grip and Bucky took advantage of that, flipping you over so he was on top of you instead. “Well played Barnes.” You smirk as you hear Sam start his counting over. You put another image of Tony naked, tied up to the bedposts and gagged, into Bucky’s head. When his face went pale, you took your chance and flip his body over your head and stood up. You wanted to mess with him just a little. You tapped your elbow and planned on jumping down and elbowing him in the stomach like they do in WWE, but Bucky snapped out of his horror trance and rolled out of the way just in time. “Fuck” You yell in pain as your body slams to the hard ground instead of Bucky. “Stop getting in my head!” Bucky yelled. You get up and brush yourself off, grinning at him. “What? You don’t like what you see?” You say wiggling your eyebrows at him. “Obviously!” He yells, running at you in anger, but you easily dodged him, making him run into the wall. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” You then throw an image in his head of Sam naked. “Oh good God (Y/N), how do you even…” Before he could finish his question to roundhouse kicked him in the neck, sending him to the ground. Bucky was gagging from the hit to his throat and struggled to get back up. Sam began his counting and seemed to be really enjoying whatever game you were playing with Bucky. Bucky was trying to claw his way back off the ground by pulling himself up with the rope. “Oh Buck, just give up…. I have an ENDLESS supply of images for you.” You winked at him, making him drop his grip of the rope and willingly slide to the floor. Sam got to ten and declare you the winner. Bucky got up when he could finally breathe, wagging a finger at you, “You dirty, little cheat.”. You shrugged innocently at him, it’s not my fault that once I enter someone's mind, ANYTHING I think of goes into their mind.”. Sam and Steve looked at Bucky curiously as he avoided eye contact with Sam at all costs. He angrily stormed out of the room, not even caring about his promise to Stark. “What’d you show him?” Steve asked you. “First, Tony naked. Second, Tony naked, but bound to a bed and gagged. Then, lastly, the home-run, Sam naked.” Sam’s head snapped to you at the last part, but Steve just burst out into laughter. “How do you…” You waved him off, “I walked past your room once when you were checking yourself out in the mirror or something and I happened to catch your thoughts. It honestly happens more than you’d think.” Sam became flustered, making Steve laugh even more. Suddenly, FRIDAY’s voice boomed over the sound of Steve laughing and Sam slapping him. “(Y/N), Mr. Stark would like to see you in your bedroom.” “Thank you FRIDAY,” You say, heading out of the room.

     You get to your door and softly knock before slowly opening the door. “Tony?” You question as you peak your head into the door. You gasp when you look around the room. From floor to ceiling, it was all covered in pictures of you and Tony from the past 10 years that you’ve known each other. The ground was crowded with candles and rose petals. In the middle of it all, where your bed normally was but was now gone, stood Tony in a suit and tie. You smile at him, shut the door behind you and walk over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck and he snakes his around your waist. “What is all this?” You smile at him, giving him a kiss of the lips. “Well, I knew that you probably didn’t want another party after the incident last year…” Tony started. You give him a sarcastic surprised look, “No! Really? You thought that I wouldn’t want another party after a drunk Thor almost struck me with lightning. That’s ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes, “Anyway, I had a better idea of what I should do.” Tony shrugged, pulling away from you, “And here it is.”. He got down on one knee and grabbed your hand. “(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), you have been with me through it all. Literally, you were there when I got kidnapped, when I almost exploded in space, when I created Ultron, everything. No matter how many times I fucked up, you were always by my side encouraging me to get back up and try again. You’ve been the highlight of my day every day for the past ten years and I’d like to keep it that way. Would you make me the happiest guy in the entire world…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box and popped it open revealing a ring that was almost as arrogant as the man holding it. “And be my wife?” He finished as he offered the ring out to you. Your face quickly broke out into a large grin, “Of course I will!” You allow him to slide the ring on and you jump onto him, falling to the ground, you on top of him. You smiled down at the man you loved so dearly, tears welling up in your eyes, and spilling over as you leaned down to kiss him. When you pulled away, Tony reached up to wipe away the tears, “Don’t cry, it’s your birthday. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you cry on your birthday?” Tony smirked. “It’s my birthday, I’ll cry if I want to.” You laugh. Your moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Go away!” Tony yelled, hoping they would listen. “(Y/N), you’re gonna wanna see this!” Steve yelled, instead of listening to Tony. Your eyes went wide, knowing what Steve was talking about when you looked into his mind. “What is it?” Tony asked. “You’re gonna wanna see this too.” You laughed, standing up and pulling him up after you. The two of you walk out of the room and are met with Steve. “What’s so important that you couldn’t wait, Steve?” Tony asked, annoyed. “That. That’s what is important.” Steve points ahead of him, where you and Tony can see a naked Bucky running wildly throughout the compound. You burst out in laughter, “What lap is he on?” you ask Steve, Tony giving you a wildly confused look. “He just started.” Steve shook his head as Bucky ran off to the stairwell to make it to the next floor. “What’s going on?” Tony asked, “I’ll explain it to you later, but for now… I believe we were in the middle of something.” You nod towards your room and Tony grins at you, pulling you back inside. “Steve, make sure he does all 5 laps, will you?” You sweetly ask. “You got it doll. Oh, and congrats.” He winks at you as you grin and close the door behind you.

Find more of my work here.

My work is exclusively posted on Tumblr by me, on this blog. If you see my work posted elsewhere, please reach out to me.

Thank you, xx.

[sugaxjpg]

danse macabre; m

⤷ As a newborn vampire, you still have a lot to learn ― fortunately, someone is very happy to teach.

“Step number one: pick your prey.”

✓ Couple: Taehyung x Reader | Vampire!AU

✓ Filed under: light angst and horror; smut

✓ Look out for: gore, violence, mentions of death, blood play

✓ Words: 13,702

Author’s Note: Adapted from my old persona, and switched to second person. If you say that this entire fic was an excuse for me to write blood play, you are absolutely right. Have fun. 

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, the raven sky of dawn crawled away slowly, giving its place to a kind morning semblance, a pale shade of pink that originated in the horizon. The streets found themselves in the transitory state between the ebullient sibilation of night encounters and the gradual awakening of a mundane day, utterly relinquished beneath the consolidated ashen clouds.

Despite all that, not every aspect of that stationary instant was permeated by peace. Somewhere amidst the grey buildings and endless traces of monochromatic asphalt, a reticent scream was muffled in trepidation and fear; eyes blown wide in absolute panic. The man’s fingers were already faithlessly gripping to the asperous brick wall behind him, clothes bathed in the deepest of cardinal as he merely watched, impassive and hopeless, as his life was drained from him, dripping down his figure and accumulating in deep, ruby puddles around his trembling feet.

You could hear a strong, booming pulse around you, a frantic heartbeat that fought to keep living on as it echoed inside your skull, reverberating in your chaotic thoughts and sending waves of heat through your ecstatic body. It was not your own, and you had no idea who it belonged to. In fact, there was no reasonable facts within you that could call you back to the perceptions of reality, for, in that dark alley, you were absolutely overtook by an unknown euphoria, moved by the most absolute carnality of your existence. The amative, enticing aroma of blood involved your very personality in an embrace of sadism, engendering you to carve your canines even deeper inside the stranger’s bloody flesh.

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, you could feel everything.

The man’s knees fell limp and his body sluggishly drifted away from your grip, dragging down the brick wall as another call for mercy cut his tight throat. Groaning, you allowed for it to meet the floor and, after a mere second, you were already moving on top of it, sinking your sharp teeth once again into his colorless, numb skin. The phlegmatic human was cold underneath your touch, the iciness of his figure reaching for an overwhelming crescendo of necrosis. Nevertheless, you could not care for it. Hunger was finally being satiated, striking your senses and sending your rampageous mind into absolute overdrive. You were feeding, and could no longer stop yourself.

With a compediary grunt, you swallowed all you could, savoring on the metallic palatableness of such delighting scarlet hue. Rationality and sanity long forgotten, the blood being dove into your most primal impulses, the concept of consciousness scattered around your hysteria. Your brain got dangerously vertiginous, unfocused; fingers losing their force around the stranger’s shoulders — was there something wrong?

You did not care.

It was gradual, almost unnoticeable; but the delectation of the meal was transforming into a slight feeling of confusion, accompanied by an odd numbness at the region of your stomach. Almost as if your body was warning that some aspect was out of place, you felt your fangs retrieving back to the gums; causing for a frustrated groan to vehemently echo on that deserted alleyway, both grievous and filled by fury.

Even though your limbs grew weaker, you could not move away. The taste of blood was less delightful, but yet far too craved to be ignored so rapidly. Lackadaisical, you forced yourself to continue savoring the human being under you, even though all signs pointed that it was better to choose otherwise. You were starving, drowning in the famine those excruciating weeks had concentrated—

There was an impact. So unforeseen you could not react as it gripped the back of your dress, so vigorous that it sent you flying across the narrow alleyway the very next second. An anguishing scream of pain perished in your chest as your back collided against the humid brick wall, a dim crack rupturing your shock and warning your bespattered mind that the sharp pinch on your lower body was mostly caused by a couple broken ribs. More of surprise than of agony, a spasmodic whimper fell from your wet lips, eyes fighting to stay focused after the abrupt attack.

Now, there was no doubt that something was wrong — you could not get up.

The silhouette of a man was atramentous as onyx, surrounded by the hypnotic lines of falling raindrops. For an instant of diffused images, all that echoed inside your mind was the sounds of his shoes against the wet concrete ground, his silky voice sounding as strangled as if you were miles and miles underneath the seven seas. Wrapped in a long, dark raincoat, he moved instantaneously in your direction, stepping over the decaying victim’s body as if it was nothing above a meaningless doll.

You coughed twice, droplets of blood hitting the floor and painting the accumulated water in pale pink, “Who—”

Before your sentence could meets its ending, the figure moved as fast as a lightning bolt; standing in front of you in mere seconds. A dumbfounded exclamation was captured in your esophagus as his slender fingers curled around your neck, pulling your body upwards against the cold surface. You could only perceive a vague flickering of his profound eyes as they were painted by detestation, ears ringing in a distant call for your to wither into unconsciousness.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he venomously spat. The stranger’s voice was rusty, low; barely a furious groan beneath the merciless rain. In a desperate attempt, you opened your blood-painted lips, impulsing your body forwards: no avail. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

All forces had ran like the translucent drops of water in between your fingers, body left completely helpless. You were going to faint, “I-I ca—”

“—You newborns are always so damn ignorant,” the stranger cursed, taking a step closer. With his chest pressed up against your own, he increased his force around your neck, and you were sure he could tear it in half if he truly wanted to. “You cannot drink from them when they’re dead.”

Those were the last words that reached your ears, the terminal warning that echoed amidst the pandemonium of your thoughts as you began to lose consciousness. Befuddled, you could merely behold the movement of his lips as he said something else; alarmed tone intermingling with the incessant, roaring mourning of the storm above their heads.

Under the heavy raindrops of a decaying city, your universe was absorbed by caliginosity.

The vague aroma of vanilla and wine was the primordial fragment that reached your senses, gingerly curling around on the placidity of the warm indoor air while your blinking lids battled against the need to dive into unconsciousness anew. Lightheaded and discombobulated, you fought to open your eyes, reality slowly painting the world around your as you did so.

Scarlet bathed the dimly lit accommodation, mingling with the flickering of candles as the incandescence of fire embraced the atmosphere in a surreal, almost sepulchral aura. The long alabastrine curtains were closed; utterly immobile as they contrasted with the gloominess of the unfamiliar location. In progression, as your vision started to regain focus, you could define the outline of a bed enveloped in red silky sheets, in which a slim figure sat, its gaze locked on you.

A suppressed groan left your mouth as you attempted to move, but, with the unmistakable ringing of metal, you soon found out your arms were handcuffed together. Placed behind your back, the chains passed through a silvery metal ring that was drilled to the wall, making it almost impossible for you to remove them anytime soon.

In consternation and anger, you turned your fulminating eyes back to the unrecognizable man, knowing without a doubt that it was the same person from the alleyway, “Where am I?” you firmly questioned, inducing for the man’s eyebrows to elevate in sheer interest.

“My house,” he answered promptly, tone much more euphonious than aforetime. Now that you were a bit more tranquil, it was possible to contemplate the way his caramel-colored hair fell over his cardinal eyes, delineating his features with undeniable winsomeness. You knew, as his gaze burned in the purest of amber, that he was the same beast as you — however, the cognizance did not feel as alleviating as once envisioned, for you felt much more vulnerable than ever before. “More specifically, the guest bedroom. Hope you appreciate the decoration.”

You neglected his unfitting comment, the tingling of moving cuffs impregnating the quiet room as you formulated your next inquiry, unsure for a second if a response was, in fact, wanted. “Who are you?”

“That is not important for now,” the stranger murmured, leaning forwards on the bed and crossing his legs. He took one hand to his lap, and you observed the dim silver glimmering of a small key sprouting from in between his slender, cadaverous fingertips. “I’m more curious to know who you are.”

“Tell me why I’m chained up,” your timbre came out in a middle ground, pending more towards a bargain than a cold command.

“For your own good,” he remarked promptly, talking with so much fluidity and peacefulness that you questioned the mundane aspect of those circumstances for him. “Don’t worry, it won’t be for long. I simply want to talk to you, and you would never allow me to hold a conversation otherwise.”

“Let me go and we can talk,” you said within a heartbeat. As your usual collected thoughts returned to your mind, the hunger once felt now lingered right beyond your perception, ready to crash once again. Calamity would ensue once again if you allowed for your barbaric impulses to tyrannize you, and the very last thing you wished for was to go against that unknown beast. “I promise I will behave, I won’t try anything.”

He chuckled, finding entertainment within your masked distress, “Oh no, love, you cannot give the orders here,” he spoke, raising the small object in front of his face to prove his point. It scintillated under the anemic lights, causing for a breath to get stuck in your parched throat. “I’m the one with the key.”

After reflecting on his words for a breviloquent moment, you spoke again, yanking at the chains. “I'll just let myself out, then.”

The man simply watched as you attempted to get free from the silver ties, pulling and forcing on the chains. Both knew that, under different conditions, such objects would have been quite easy to break for a species like yours — but, as you looked up at him from the corner of his gloomy bedroom, there was a mutual knowledge that you were far away from the most powerful position at that instance.

“You are far too weak for that, aren't you?” he examined, but held no bad intentions in his tone.

“Hell,” you cursed, giving up on your futile fight. Just by that simple effort, your arms had already grown sore, trembling.  “What do you want from me?”

One second passed by as he took in the susceptibility of such situation, delighting on the way his prisoner's features were so gracefully embraced by the ruby radiance of his crepuscular room. There was something within your harsh, malevolent gaze that tempted him into voicing his curiosity, “I want to know who bit you.” he verbalized.

His question lingered around the air for a thick instant before an answer came, “What?” you blurted out.

“You heard me,” he pressed on, running one hand through his silky locks. Now with his hair pushed back, his gaze burned even more, so piercing that you felt as if you were shrinking underneath his gargantuan presence. “Who did it?”

“I don’t…” you shook your head, both trying to find an answer and pushing those dreadful images away from your perception. Regardless, nothing emerged within your brain. “I don’t remember.”

It was dubious, nebulous within the corners of your mind, but a lost fragment of such recalling remained there, ruptured into incomprehensible bits of information — the sharp pain in your throbbing neck, the cadaveric, cold grip around your still-human shoulders. You remembered the pale glow of the stars above you, the rapid beating of your own heart as you battled against the faceless beast, but could not draw the features of the one who caused your so much torment. Nor did you wish to.

After a second of ponderation, a long suspire departed from his roseate lips, “What a shame,” the stranger lamented, disappointed, “I thought that would be the case. Whoever it was, did a horrible job on it… How rude of them to leave you alone and not even bother to see if you were dead and not transformed,” at that, a dry chuckle left his plump mouth. “These kids are getting worse by the century.”

You frowned at that, “I don’t think I understand what you are talking about.”

“That is exactly my point… I cannot blame you for drinking dead man’s blood. Of course you would do something like that when you didn’t have any sort of assistance,” his shoulders fell, velvety tone getting softer as his aura subsided into a more inviting, lukewarm posture. That was all that he needed to hear, for you were not the one to punish. “You are hungry and scared, not exactly on your most rational state.”

The man remembered, even against his intention, how horrendous those first days could be. Even if his own transformation had occurred countless centuries ago, the image of his petrifying panic was still clear within his mind, playing like a broken record during moments like those. He would never admit so, but the older vampire he saw himself in you, and could not simply allow such clueless child to dive into your own demise. Not the way he did.

Your tongue felt dry as a desert, and struggled to get any words out after a second of silence, “Listen, I don’t know who you are—”

“—I’m Taehyung,” the stranger exposed his identity promptly, almost as if he was expecting your defensive posture to continue tormenting him. His name did not bring any memories back, and you were not sure if that was a good sign or not. “You?”

There was a second of hesitation before the answer distastefully left your chapped lips, “YN.”

Taehyung seemed content with what he got, for a modest smile effloresced on his scarlet lips. As much as your distrust did not allow your to fully dive into his beauty, you could perfectly acknowledge the uncharacteristic ethereality of such monstrous being; the empyrean traces of his soft features, “Well, YN, lesson number one: dead man’s blood is toxic,” he continued, voice as monotone as if he had said that countless instances before. “You would have been dead by now if I weren’t there.”

You scoffed, unamused, “Maybe that’s for the best. I would rather be dead than to be this… thing.”

“That can be arranged,” under the dim lights of his room, Taehyung’s eyes coruscated in michiviancy, and you had a glimpse at the true murderous being living within him. “Even though I’m not big on killing my own kind.”

“That’s a shame,” you pronounced, sounding as if your heart found itself somewhere amidst the skepticism and fear. Though, against what he conceived, your worries were not directed towards what he could do to you, but towards the everlasting need to savour the mouthwatering taste you longed for. “I’m not big on killing anything. But I guess there is a first time for everything.”

The man leaned back slightly so he could dive into his own paradoxical thoughts, wondering if the wisest decision would be to let your go alone or, perchance, use it as an opportunity to be the mentor he never had. A silent symphony delicately fell over the unfluctuating room, causing for your to close your eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore famine reappearing in your body.

Taehyung’s eyes fell to the rising movement of your blood-covered chest, and he noticed that, even though you did not need to, your organism still fought to breathe in mere habit. For a blood being, you held the danger of a ticking time bomb, and he was sure there were only two sides you could explode into — either would lacerate countless humans for a single drop of crimson, or would starve to death, hiding behind the fraudulent facade of mercy.

He could not simply let you go.  

“Do you want to know how it is?” Taehyung abruptly questioned, causing for your eyes to shoot open. The craving for blood was becoming so unbearable that the world had morphed into white noise, and you had almost forgotten your current position.

“Know how what is?” you asked back.

“To hunt,” he explained, pale fingers foolishly playing with the silver key. “I suppose you should at least try it before you give up entirely.”

Even though you tried otherwise, your words came out lacking the certainty you wanted to pass. “I’m not a killer.”

“Funny,” the beast smiled, finding humor in such denial. “The dead body I found you on top of says otherwise.”

You licked your lips, cursing the doubts that appeared around your once again,  “I wasn’t—”

“—Thinking straight, I know,” Taehyung completed, tone much softer than expected. The man looked like something other than a monster, you noticed. There was too much perfection within him to reflect the darkness of his identity; incalculable knowledge glistening inside his amber eyes — those were eyes of stupendous, perpetual maturity; of absolute experience; eyes of a being that had walked earth for too long now and that held the secrets only immortality could provide. “I’ve been where you are, we all have.”

“Your empathy doesn’t make me feel any better,” you debated.

“It’s not supposed to,” the man recognized, slowly getting up from his bed. Now on his feet, he stared down at your with undeniable wisdom, his tired eyes holding the very iciness of his existence. “We are all hesitant at first, it’s normal. But I can see you already noticed how things may change when you get around blood. I could teach you how to hunt, how to do it right. How to control those animal-like impulses, maybe even use them in your favor.”

At the mere mention of what you so desired, your teeth found your lower lip, biting down in a faint attempt to hide your anguish. You could feel as your gums itched, canines digging their way through flesh as the revenant of such delicious, ferruginous scent reached your nostrils once again. If your heart were still beating, its rhythm would increase in the silence promise of blood, shivers running down your spine in utter expectation.

What had you become?

“Don’t try to hide it, dear,” Taehyung chuckled, amused at your distress. The monster was now in front of you, crouching to reach your level. “I bet you’re aching to taste it, aren’t you? You don’t want to, but you can feel your limbs heating up just at the thought of it… the warmth running down your mouth, eyes blown out… It is truly delicious, I cannot blame you.”

You licked your bruised lips, chest tightening in anxiety. The stranger looked down to find that your mouth was still vaguely outlined in a pale red hue, and he found beauty within that sight. “I don’t want it.”

Taehyung chuckled, “It won’t change anything now, you know?” his aura was consuming you, now so threateningly close to your own. With darkness pulsating behind his actions, your capturer took his hands to the handcuffs. “Not drinking blood won’t turn you back to human, it will only make you starve to death… if that can be achieved again.”

“I’m not a monster,” you guaranteed as the metal clicked open, key falling to the floor as the other vampire moved back. The purple rings around your wrists did not reflect on the absence of pain, and were quick to fade away as you stared down at them. If there was something good about your kind was the rapid way your wounds healed.

“Only monsters feel the need to say that,” he rationalized, voice soft as the silky sheets on his bed. Taehyung smiled fondly, taking his fingers to hold to your chin, making your look up at him. His digits were glacial, but your skin was no different. “Come on, darling, let’s have some fun. You’ve been here for almost a day now, aren’t you hungry?”

You could observe amaranthine details of how his interminable stare were so dangerously empty, but yet could pass an enlightenment you could not even begin to comprehend. You did not know him, but was confident about how demonic Taehyung was, a master of manipulative words and fluid movements, someone who was able to read inside your very soul and take out of it the fragments he needed to bend it just the way he wanted to.

Tired, starving for energy — you could no longer withstand the utter necessity for your most carnal of desires, the hypnosis of his presence pushing your over the edges of hesitation, “Teach me,” you, at last, consented.

The man smiled and, when his eyes sparkled in eagerness, you envisioned how peculiar that night would be.

Night had once again casted its penumbra over the vicious cityscape by the time the two blood beings departed from the cloistered residency. Just before the construction melted into the horizon, you thought how it resembled a deteriorated victorian mansion, pondering how was it possible that its conserved interiors did not match such decaying, putrid facade.

Taehyung laughed when you shared such reflections with him, guaranteeing that it was never his intention to copy that specific era of architecture. Furthermore, in his words, there was no reason to adapt his house to the current times, for it was better if humans saw it as a mere deserted residency, “They come explore, I don’t even need to hunt,” the vampire smirked, “Adventurers walk directly into the lion’s open mouth. It’s almost adorable to witness.”

Downtown was flaming in phosphorescent lights once you two finally reached the outskirts of a booming club. Even from across the crowded street, your sharp senses were able to perceive the indisputable redolence of alcohol and cardice; the percussion of the electronic melody being repressed by each individual, idiosyncratic heartbeat of the mortals around. Against your best judgement, you could almost visualize the ambrosial, mouthwatering liquid as it was pumped through their bodies. Such conception was driving you towards the margins of sanity, black pupils expanding to cover up the redness of your eager irises. Your hunger was barely at its primordial state, but it was strong enough for your to feel how your canines started to puncture your gums, tongue growing drier by each frantic beating of a human heart.

You just wanted to drink from them, what was the problem with that?

Taehyung’s voice ruptured the suffocating silence between your slender figures, so abruptly that you could not camouflage your unpreparedness, “Do you remember what I said was your first lesson?” he asked.

You assented, clearing your throat. The thoughts of blood were pushed back inside your mind just enough so it would be possible to respond, but still mocked your lack of free will when it came to its denial, “Dead man’s blood is toxic,” you recited, almost robotically so.

“Correct,” the man agreed, then placed his hand on your lower back. Just as you were about to protest against the proximity, he motioned towards the side of the building with his chin. “I see you’re a fast learner, keep playing along. Let's go this way.  

Your arguments perished within the captive of your throat, exasperated eyes flickering to absorb every detail of that scene — the golden hue of streetlights, the penumbra that overtook the alleyway you two were headed towards; the effervescent mumble of oblivious citizens sounding like a serpentine hiss to your ears, “Are we breaking in?” you reluctantly asked and Taehyung merely chuckled. After he was sure you knew the path to follow, he removed his icy palm from your body. Inexplicably, you perceived its absence with certain disappointment, but soon ignored it and moved to other, more relevant inquiries. “So... what am I supposed to do?”

“Before all, don’t kill them,” he said, ignoring your translucent skepticism. Next to the two night creatures, a long line of humans seemed oblivious to your presence, raising their heads to glimpse at the entrance door in expectation. Their heads were as hollow as their hearts, you thought, “You have to drink from your prey when they are alive, stop if they faint. The problem with newborns is that you don’t have self control just yet, you are all so… eager.”

“I’m not eager,” you denied instantaneously, but were not as certain as you wished to be.

The yellow streetlights casted their aureate incandescence on the man, embracing his face in a sanctified semblance — something, to your perception, quite ironic, “We’ll see about that, love,” he purred, eyes expertly moving through the ebony-painted streets. Two more steps, and his features were immersed in shadows, “But don’t worry, I will be right behind you to help you if anything goes wrong.” he made sure to add.

“That doesn’t calm me down at all,” you informed, relieved once they finally entered the dim alley. The idea of being the same as the one he found you in crossed your mind, but it was nothing more than baseless paranoias — different part of town, different alleyway. “I’m pretty sure I’ll lose control the second I taste… it.”

Taehyung smiled at that, finding it quite adorable that you would admit such thing — that was good, he thought, that meant you were not as prideful as other newborns; not arrogant enough to believe that you would be able to battle against your most primordial, savage desires, “You can’t lose something you never had,” he uttered, his entertainment not diminishing once he felt your burning gaze, “What? Darling, control is something you earn, something you fight for. It’s not gifted to you.” he spoke further.

“Seems like I have the rest of eternity to earn it,” you ignored his claim with a sarcastic scoff, “It’s been three weeks, you know? I guess I would have earned control by now.”

He smirked, glimpsing at the humans behind you in mindless expectation. Equally as before, they made no mention to even recognize your presence, even less the form how you two had clearly walked towards the side entrance, ignoring the main line, “Not quite a justificative: you can fight for control at the first day, or ten centuries after your transformation,” he contradicted, pausing so he could ponder on an emerging inquiry, “How many times did you feed?” Taehyung voiced.

“About... four,” you replied, meeting his expression — a visage that resembled a concoction of stupefaction and skepticism, “Why the look? I told you I’m not a killer.” you said.

With a small shaking of his head, Taehyung chuckled, “It’s not a surprise you tore that poor man to pieces, then,” remarked the vampire, “You were starving yourself. No blood creature has control in a position like that.”

Acknowledging his reflections, you merely hummed in agreement — it made sense, after all. You had never felt so hungry, so malnourished, in your entire existence, “Your point?” you questioned.

Now before the doorway, the rufescent neon lights of the club dripped down Taehyung’s lineaments. Smirk embellishing his gloomy features, you swore you could die drowning in the profoundness mischiviancy of his deep ruby eyes, “I still have faith in you,” he responded, placing his hand flat against the magenta door, then opening it with facility. “Shall we?”

If not for the way a lock fell on the other end, hitting the wooden floor of a dusty room, you would have claimed it had been left unlocked. Just by that mere presentation of superhuman strength, you internally questioned if you, too, did not know your own force — if you, too, had lost all residuals of humanity. Oddly so, you did not wish to know the answer to the second inquiry.

Time did not mean much for an eternal creature, and you were comprehending that a bit faster than you prophesied. Even if you had been bitten merely three weeks ago, your previous life was now far beyond the limits of your most fabulous fantasies; the shattered spirit of a personality long departed. Humanity had been depleted from your organism, barely an eidolon of who you once was, and could never be again. Perchance, you thought, it was one of the side effects contained within your predator’s venom; for it would make a much more efficient killer the ones who did not grow attached to their previous existence.

You tried not to do it. you swore you did, but it was much tenacious than any self control you still had. The hunger was devouring your inside out, burning the cords that held your to sanity as it did so. It was scorching, barbaric; much more devastating than any other sentiment you had ever experienced. Famine made your slaughter innocent lives in an infinite seek towards a satisfaction that you shall never reach. Famine made your into the monster you so feared to become.

It was a bit sad how you could not recall your inaugural victim. Memories saturated your mind in the form of diffuse conversations and nonconcrete recollections, the face of the poor young man barely an abstract constitution within your brain. As much as you tried, you could only solely look back at the nectarous redness that ran down his neck, the suffocated screams that echoed amidst the lonely park, a final melancholic song for no one to hear. You drank from him until he passed out, but had to stop once your enhanced senses caught someone reaching closer — the man was left there, barely a faceless mannequin drowning in a pool of his own blood as his attacker vanished, mingling with the penumbra of night.

A few minutes later, you heard a scream. You did not look back.  

Indubitably, you thought that would be the end of it: you had, at last, given in to the most carnal needs of your kind, and was now free to turn away from them. To your demise, such utopian conceptions were not made reality, and the hunger you imagined would subside only came back stronger the very next day. You had tasted blood and, now, it would be so much harder — if not impossible — to stray away from it.

“—Are you listening to what I'm saying?”

Taehyung’s voice made you blink as you flickered back to substantiality, confused at the sudden awakening of your senses, “I'm sorry, what?” you inquired, lost.

In fact, the switch was so intense that you saw yourself growing vertiginous at the thundering compass of the song, the intoxicating redolence of alcohol and perspiration resembling poison being inhaled. As much as you still found it terribly strange not to breathe, you forced yourself to cease the rise and fall of your chest just enough so the smell would not bother your any further — when did you two arrive at the main floors, too? You needed to focus.

“Attention on me, dear,” the man chuckled, resting against the bar counter. Psychedelic lights danced on his raven hair, and you swore it was almost enough to cover the nefariousness radiating within his pupils. “I know this might be a bit overwhelming, but you should focus if you want to learn something from this peculiar night.”

“I'm focused” you said instantly, battling for your words to come out with conviction. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, the sweet misery of newborns,” he verbalized his amusement, shaking his head in inner skepticism. Taehyung pondered how his interaction with your was like a mirror; a vortex that took him directly to his long gone past. He could not declare that he liked it, but it was an interesting experience at the very least, “I was telling you to focus on something other than your hunger.” he repeated.

It was your turn to shake your head, traveling gaze wandering on the fuzzy, smoky landscape behind your company, “Easier said than done,” you asserted, tongue feeling nearly as arid as sand dunes. “Just keep talking. Let’s get this over with.”

Taehyung smirked at your reaction. “See? You’re eager.”

You repudiated his sarcastical claim, “I’m hungry, not eager.” you contradicted.

He scoffed, “First step is acceptance, dear.”

“Don’t test my patience,” you warned back.

“Very well. Let’s move along.” he accepted your behaviour at last, leaning with his lower back against the counter. You had perceived the manner the bartender seemed almost puzzled at your presence, but, unlike the other guests, he did not approach neither of you to question about the beverage choice. It was almost as if the stranger was supraliminal, in some downreaching level, of the inextinguishable malevolence that surrounded the two of you but, logically speaking, could not determine the foundation of his peculiar hesitation.

Now back to your usual attention, you could observe with unshakable reasoning that, in reality, the barman was not the only one to be acting like that — humans passed by the two of you as if you did not belong to the land of the carnal, your own images as transparent as the one of a poltergeist; only to explode in surprise once they finally recognized your presences as being substantial. Only then, mortals would be petrified but, at the same instant, pulled in by the magnificence of such ethereal beings.  

Analogous to quicksand, they dove in deeper every time they attempted to fight back.

“Step number one: pick your prey,” Taehyung started, incapacitated to dissimulate his crescent, impetuous enthusiasm, “See anyone you like?” he questioned further.

By mere habit, you took in a profound inhale — only to feel nauseous once the smell of alcohol and artificial smoke reached your enhanced sensations. Camouflaging your repulsion with a subdued hum, your eyes scrutinized the place that expanded before the two of you: concatenating the imaginary pathway that originated in the exhilarated dance floor to the ivory couches placed near the tall walls; then from the bar counter to the second floor, where you finally found your target.

Bordering his mid-twenties, a young man came down the stairs with a cyan drink in his hands. His exquisiteness was undeniable, and the perfection of his sharp traces caught your attention instantaneously, “Him,” you voiced, “the young man on the stairs.”

Taehyung followed your stare until he met the figure that was now entering the margins of the dance floor, soon vanishing amidst the frenzied ocean of bodies, “Adorable choice,” he praised, “and a very convenient one too. He has been eyeing you since we arrived.”

“For some reason I don’t believe in you,” you frowned, revolving to your previous conceptions. Despite the fact that you was convinced the handsome stranger did not discern you, you could not disacknowledge how truthful Taehyung appeared to be, “What now?” you pressed further.  

“Step number two,” he impassively continued, getting to his feet. Amidst your mercurial thoughts, you understood it was time for him to take a step back and merely guide your from afar if so needed. “Make your prey hunt you.”

The prospect of being alone with a human — a so called prey — was alarmingly disconsonant. You felt as if you were glaring at the barrel of a gun, watching dispassionately as you walked directly to the edges of your minimum self-control. To you, albeit you desiderated blood like nothing else, you did not want to collapse into the primitive temptation of carnality once anew.

Regardless of your internal preoccupations, you voiced an inquiry that did not match your apprehension. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“First, you should start breathing again,” he smirked, delighting in the adumbration of horror that was casted over your apprehensive features. “I am well aware of how disgusting the smell can be, my dear, but some sacrifices are necessary in times of need.”

“Very well,” you reluctantly consented, taking in breaths short enough so it would not envenom you, but also predominant so it would reflect on a false progression of a respiration. “Is there anything I should know about how to keep his attention? As far as I'm aware, I'm merely playing the seductress.”  

Diverted by your unconventional correlation, Taehyung permitted for a smile to bloom in the mists of his delicate traces, “Here's a funny little thing about mankind: they are quite fascinated by the darkness of existence,” remarked the immortal being, such words ringing to the ballad of his superotemporal wisdom. “You don't have to lure him in, he already wants you.”

You frowned at his unforeseen claims, “So I'm just supposed to stand here and wait for him to show interest?” you asked.

He took one step backwards as an imperceptible hum reverberated on his broad chest, “I think he’s quite interested already, you don't have a lot of work to do” Taehyung assured, certain of his own declaration, “Flirt a bit, but don’t give him everything just yet. Once you get him out of here, you can take him to the alley we came through, and have your so expected meal.” he advised.

At those propositions, you finally articulated your worries with an empty sigh, “It feels as if there is a huge margin for mistakes,” you admitted, hoping that your companion would prove otherwise. “I really don’t want to murder anyone else, I’m tired of losing control.”

“Don’t be nervous, my dear, I’ll be your self control for this lovely dawn,” he assured you, the enjoyment in his abysmal gaze not crumbling for one mere second. Taehyung found it strangely entertaining to see such hungry creature still holding space for empathy — or the closest your kind could ever reach. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?” you impulsively questioned, feeling as if you were nothing above a lost child.

Taehyung could not battle against the chuckle that poured from his chest, “I can't do your work for you. Just have fun, I bet you'll like it more than you think,” the man assured before, at final action, walking away.

You accompanied his silhouette as it dematerialized amidst the tides of bodies, unsure about which sentiment you should be experiencing. There was no true sense of worry now, but an hollowness almost as immeasurable as the undying gaze of your instructor. Famine was still present, however, it was sequentially gifting its position to what you could only characterize as the thrill of the hunt; the splendiferous sensation Taehyung had preached so much about.

As the stranger you were eyeing slowly made his way through the rhapsodic crowd, your gazes met the at very instant you embarked in the realization that such experience was just being born, for you never fully ruminated on your actions before taking them. No, your delectation was much more punctual, holding hands to the ephemerality of your bursts of savagery; no more than delirious combustions of satisfaction before the entire perverse circle of starvation and craving began one more time.

Monster was a word that haunted you ever since your transformation, but never once had you reflected that, perchance, you were already acting as one. By abnegating your organism from its most fundamental necessities, you had been piling up a disatisfaction that constantly crumbled down in a massacre, a seek for such needs. Monster was what you had made of yourself, but now had a chance to ameliorate it — regardless of your moral code, you needed to feed just like any other living being, so you might as well do it in a safer manner, in a way your victim would not meet death by the hand of your imprudence.

That night was one of many, you came to understand. The unfamiliar man now standing before your was solely the primordial victim of countless to come, but also the chance you had to prove you were not the barbaric creature you envisioned.

You could only compare that futile, diaphanous conversation the two of you shared to the booming thunder before a storm, the lightning that coruscated within thick clouds before cascades of rain came crashing down. As much as you had been paying attention to the stranger’s words and his explicit flirting, your interest was forever deadlocked on the pulsation of his heart and the ensorcelled rise and fall of his chest; the way his neck moved every time he swallowed dry.

He had presented your with his name at some point, but you feared it had already been forgotten amongst your roaring appetite. Young, full of life — those were the two adjectives you would apply, amidst your internal derangement, to elucidate such idiosyncratic creature; a human whose own ravenousness blinded him from the awful veracity of the blood being standing right before him, “Are you staying for long?” the nameless man questioned at some point, resting his empty cup on the perfectly polished counter. You found it whimsical how his mesmerized stare could not leave your for one sole minute, your aura enticing him closer like magnets to a piece of metal.

Hair delineated by the iridescent bar colors, abyssal gaze trapped underneath the thickness of your black eyelashes; you had your prey under the shadow of your tantalization, and you were tired of playing those futile games, “Depends,” you responded after a second chewing on your answer — he found you absolutely enthralling; even the movement of your cherry-painted lips appeared to ignite his most intense lust, “When do you want to leave?” you asked.

His gaze lit up at that, grasping the meaning behind those conventional words, “I just need to go to the bathroom before,” he mentioned, blinking twice in a faint attempt to awaken his senses from the spell you had casted upon him — no avail, “but then we’re free to go wherever you want to,” he made sure to add.

“Sounds good,” you smiled, fingers tracing indescribable patterns on the wooden surface of the bar. Even the delicate dynamism of your fingertips seemed spectral, surreal to the man, and he could not understand his desire to dive deeper into the fascination you instigated within him. “I’ll wait right here.”

Not long after the unknown man had walked away, your companion returned.

“He went to the bathroom,” you spoke with patience, not allowing yourself to look too long inside your teacher’s irises — they were dangerous, you came to understand, able to rearrange your thoughts with a mere glimpse, “Whatever you have to say, you should say it quickly.” you rushed.

Taehyung smirked at that, but perceived that the hurriedness of your voice did not match the true sentiment of your voracious eyes, “No need to rush, that was quite good for your first try,” the creature pridefully admitted. “I must say, dear, you impressed me.”

“I impressed myself too,” you confessed with an exhale, turning on your seat to better converse with the newcomer. Taehyung was both as sepulchral and breathtaking as you recalled, and that made your wonder if mortal beings perceived you equivalently. “I barely had to do anything, I suppose you were right about his interest.”  

He leaned against the counter, but made no mention he planned to seat down before you, “After being dead for so long, you could say I’m a fairly good judge of character and intentions,” the older creature remarked, running one of his hands to remove a few strands of hair from the front of his attentive eyes, “Darkness pulls them in, even if they wish otherwise. Have you ever heard of the undead being hypnotic?” he inquired.

You thought for a second, and some tales regarding such seduction came to mind, “In victorian stories for all I care,” you breathed out, overlooking such frivolous subject. You wondered if your eagerness to feed was again distinguishable through your disposition and, in the form a frown withered on Taehyung’s features, you thought that was exactly the case, “Regardless, what am I supposed to do now?” you anticipatory pressed on.

“Oh, love, now the fun part begins,” the older vampire presented your with a wicked smile, noticing how expectation  was already blazing inside your body, “and also the one you might be expecting the most since our little… adventure started.” he said further.

You suspired, “Finally,” you sounded relieved, bliss sparking in your cardinal irises. “Tell me I’ll—”

“—Step three: hunt them,” Taehyung interrupted, watching as assuagement dominated your pulchritudinous, statuesque features. He had found you beautiful before, but, as the night moved along, those thoughts creeped back to him time and time again. “And this also takes us to lesson two: the blood is not in control, you are.”

You swallowed dry, the wondrous taste of blood infiltrating your every sense — you needed to drink it again, it was consuming you, “Easy for you to say,” you declared, visibly affected. “Why did you have to remind me of it?”

Before Taehyung could give a proper response, his eyes flickered to an umbrageous silhouette beyond the bar, “He's coming back,” the vampire warned, but held to apprehension as he did so. You noticed how imperturbable and collected he was acting, as if your companion was already assertive of which outcome that night would have. “Remember, love, you cannot kill him. Dead man’s blood is poison.”

Your lips parted slightly as a sentence hung at the tip of your tongue, but it was never verbalized. The other blood being moved away from your with the fluidity and placidness of a running river, mingling with the fervent landscape beyond your reach. From behind you, a now familiar voice resounded, rupturing your germinating preoccupations, “Ready to go?” it said.

In anticipation, you swallowed the dryness of your throat before responding, “Sure thing,” you consented as you turned around to face your prey, then gladly took his hand as you got up.

You were walking the wire that divided your humanity from your intrinsic monstrosity, absolutely affrighted to look down and see which side you would fall into. The stranger’s heartbeat was overlapping every other sound that echoed in the cosmos of your temptation, replenishing your mind singularly with the hankering of such scrumptious meal. You had been thinking about blood for a prolonged period of time, your lucidness was far too fracturable, too fragile to take in its sapidity and not shatter under the avoirdupois of its elation.

Perhaps you were eager and, even worse, you might have been far too capricious when pushing such bestial reflections to the back of your nubilous awareness. Nevertheless, those disturbances did not fully pollute your mind until the frigidness of the midnight breeze enveloped your stuporous figure and perforated your consciousness with the veracity and precision of your position — as imponderous as a feather, the realization delicately landed on your perception: you were about to feed. At last, your hunger would be satiated, the phenomenal flavour of blood would once again greet your tongue with its lukewarm, metallic substantiality.

You could not hold back any longer.

Once you two crossed the obscuration of the side alley, you made your move. With serene, controlled actions, you dissimulated your inner distress as you joined your lips in a suave kiss, feeling his muscles tense up in stupefaction. Regardless, the anonymous man was soon giving in to the temptation of your mouths, the awe-inspiring waltz they performed under the cimmerian hue of dawn. You had him under your incantation, and you too was being taken over by the carnality of such caresses.

If contemplated, the circumstances would trace parallels the one in which Taehyung had found your aforetime: ambushed in a hurricane of a fervent kiss, your victim had his back against the icy wall, showing no concern as your hands ever so expertly navigated up his torso to sense the heartbeat beneath your fingertips. He could only concentrate on the spellbinding manner you drew him in, sucking and biting his lips as a groan resounded in his throat, “Damn, you’re so eager…” he struggled to speak out. As he leaned his head upwards, he noticed how peculiarly vacant those streets were, seeming as if the two were the only beings in a particularized macrocosmos.

Heavens, it was right underneath the edge of your tongue, throbbing against your sensitive lips. You could nearly taste your meal as it invaded your mouth and poisoned your being; gums itched as your fangs carved their way out of them, mouth salivating in sheer euphoric expectation.

Chuckling at his almost hypnotized state, you choose to neglect the man's mouth, humming in content and anticipation as you trailed the path towards his pulsating neck, “You have no idea,” you whispered against his warm skin, fingers traveling to his shoulder blades — precaution, for you knew he would attempt to fight back.

And so, in between two feather-like kisses on his neck, you dug your canines through his flesh.

If he attempted to scream, the sound did not reach your suppressed hearing. After puncturing his skin, you withdrew your teeth from the fresh laceration and suctioned so impetuously that any cry for help from his part would be instantaneously quietened. The disequilibrium that indicated his weakness and powerlessness only came as a copacetic hysteria to you, the delightful liquid filling your mouth with its magnificence and drowning your tongue in sheer pleasure.

You swallowed and swallowed, fingers unflinchingly holding the man down from any attempt of getting away from your constraint. In the depths of your delirious mind, you were aware of how carelessly you were giving into your so repulsed monstrosity yet again, permitting to have your empathy drained by the ravenousness for more — more blood, more satisfaction.

His pulse was dangerously lethargic now: you were getting carried away. You had been enchanted by the spectacular sensation of the febrile liquid burning down your throat and dripping down your chin; falling in the valley between your breasts and accumulating in small crimson puddles around your feet. You were making a mess. You had sliced his flesh and was sucking more than you should ever take away. Death was embracing his weak figure, cooling his skin right underneath your firm fingertips.

Just as you was starting to think your victim would meet his demise, a familiar voice broke the catastrophe of your euphoric mindset, inducing for your to come crashing back down on the reasoning of reality, “That’s enough, love,” Taehyung muttered from besides you, his figure eveloped by the aurelian emanation of the faint streetlights. Even in the low luminescence, the glow of the street was able to make his image border on perfection — surrounded by pale particles of dust, between the exquisiteness of the living and the utter melancholy of death. “Come on, now. Remember what I told you.”

Blood is not in control, you are.

Contradictory to every impulse that oscillated in your body, you forced yourself to pull away from the inconscient man with a throaty groan. His figure crumbled on top of the slatternly cement, harmonizing with the arrhythmic compass of his hunter’s steps as you moved backwards, utterly overtook by the ravishment of such succulent, lascivious meal.

Kaleidoscopic, exhilarated lights danced on your nubilous vision as you turned to Taehyung, hoping and wishing that his reassuring stare would be sufficient to keep your anchored down to the verisimilitude of reality. He, discordantly, merely intertwined his pale fingers in your own, muttering a hushed, “We need to leave now,” before trailing off into the tenebrosity of dawn.

The euphoria was gargantuan, annihilating your reason and turning your thoughts into a pandemonium of nonsensical conceptions. You allowed for your companion to navigate your dazed figure through back alleys and adumbral streets, his senses preventing them from finding mortals, that could be frightened by the cascade of blood weeping down your body. You felt overwhelming gratification and pleasure, the abstraction of the universe around your causing for your discernment of realism to be embellished by the fantastic, paradisiacal sensations of the fresh vital fluid you had consumed.

Blood was your poison, but it had also become your antidote.

“Taehyung,” you called at some point, slowly coming back from your high. The man followed the actions of your figure as you leaned against a dirty brick wall, finding shelter under the crepuscular shadow of a dead tree, “This is a lot, I need a second to compose myself.”

From the way he swallowed hard, you pondered if he was as affected as you by the palatable scent of blood, “Understandable, love,” he cleared his throat, but avoided to cross his gaze with your own. The redness was sickening to him, an endless provocation, “We cannot stop for long, though.” he added.

With a trembling breath, you overlooked his claims to call for his name once again, this time in a whisper, “Taehyung,” you verbalized, pausing for a second to delight on the ferruginous aftertaste that lingered in your senses. “Look at me, please.”

Reluctantly, he did as you requested. His cimmerian eyes burgeoned into sheer desire as he did so, scintillating in burning carmine as he took in the mind-bending pulchritude of your blood-bathed form. Taehyung could not censor himself from taking a subtle step closer to your immobile silhouette, absolutely overtook by the magnificence of your ensanguined countenance, “I am looking at you, love,” his stormy eyes shone under the anemic moonlight, blooming in the most vivid of ruby. The older vampire, as disciplined as he was, also had his limits when it came to being so hazardously close to the remnants of such ambrosiac meal. “You look... simply marvelous.”

You could not move as he took one of his hands to your face, slender fingers delineating the outline of your wet lips. Humming in content and satisfaction, Taehyung examined carefully the blood on his fingertips before taking it to his mouth, savoring on the succulent liquid, “Look at the mess you’ve made… you newborns are always so careless,” his voice sounded groggy as he trailed off, eyelashes fluttering shut as he pushed himself to step away, crashing back to his most logical senses. “We really should go now, my dear, we can't make a fuss.”

Bewildered and frenzied by the sudden switch of his uncharacteristic demeanour, you consented to his decision and, at last, followed him into the shadowy veils of dawn. On your skin, the ghost of his touch still lingered.

Sat on the corner of the silk-covered sofa and facing the consuming light of the fireplace, you swore you could perceive your own faint figure overlapping the conflagration of licking flames; eyes as a mirage amidst the golden refulgence, but bathed by the same burning yellow. Inside the unmoving living room, your silhouette contrasted against the outline of the scorching, phosphorescent flames, its heat never entering your cadaveric figure.

From the half open window of the perpetual, unapproachable construction, the pleasant odor of petrichor crawled inside the caliginous room, mingling with the vague symphony of a strangled violin, an old classic tune playing to the ghost of your presence. You had been in that position for what resembled hours, the concept of time a mere fluzz within your ecstatic mind; senses overtook by the euphoria of your recent meal precipitating for your to simply swirl in its magnificence — experience the satisfaction, but not present it.  

Your beauty was something Taehyung could solely designate as tragic, the kind of elegance and refinement that resembled the melancholy of damaged roman statues. He had been eyeing you ever since the two of you had arrived back in his residence, feeling as his vision melted into fuzz each time it met the germanium-colored scintillation of semi-dry blood. The older being could not tell if the allurement that pinched his insides came singularly from the presence of his craved aliment, or if it was enhanced by where it was located — down the curvature of your cheeks, around your lips, then dripping down your neck and curling between your breasts.

Taehyung’s momentary trance was broken once your vague gaze traveled upwards, rupturing the stillness of your figure. Oblivious and unfocused, you soon distinguished a portrait amidst the penumbra, a canvas that rested superior to the golden, halcyon hue of the fireplace. After your vision has grown accustomed to the change of brilliance, an interrogation left your throat, “Is that you?” you curiously voiced.

He gifted your a low hum of concurrence, taking a step closer to the object of interest, “Oh, yes, centuries ago.” Taehyung acquiesced.

“You look… alive,” you trailed off with a slightly groggy voice, squinting your deep red eyes as if some constituent of your psyche was still abnegating the reality you were presented with. Although you could contemplate the unquestionable resemblance between the two men, the rosy cheeks and lively eyes did not match with the undead that accompanied you.

“Very observant,” Taehyung sarcastically complimented, placing his pale hands inside the pockets of his ebony trousers. For the first time, you perceived how the creature made no sound as he moved towards your figure, almost as if he was not even material, “It was before my transformation. Merely a couple months, if I’m not mistaken,” he added.

Your ensanguined lips opened slightly as you chewed on your succeeding words, considering not even pronouncing them, “Who did it?” you articulated, taking an instant before completing your inquiry, “Who bit you?”

The older creature pondered, but judged to be far too personal to share with his new colleague, “It is a long story,” Taehyung stated, seating by your side in a swift lowering of his silhouette. “Let’s just say it was… a friend.”

“A friend,” you echoed, scrutinizing every faint contour of such vintage artwork. The lines were starting to get erased by the sands of time, the medieval-type attire standing out to your like bright stars in a moonless sky, “What kind of friend would do such thing?” you pressed on.

“A friend that was willing to listen,” the man implied, quicker than he could contain himself. It had occurred so many centuries ago, but Taehyung could recall faultlessly the form he had requested for such fate, “I asked him to bite me, to transform me,” he explained further.

Stupefied, you raised your eyebrows, “Why did you do that?”

Vanity, Taehyung mentally responded. One of the many sins condemned by the church during the fourteenth century; the peccability that anathematized his soul for eternity. Forasmuch as he had always acknowledged and dove into his privilege — of being born into the richest family of the local village — and ethereal looks, he feared that the damnation of the Black Plague was the last drop he needed to understand how evanescent his life was.

Taehyung had been target of countless courteous compliments when he was a young human and, after that long, soul-wrecking period of darkness and pestilence, the ephemerality of youth and beauty came crashing down on him in a thunderous epiphany: he would lose it all, just like all the dead men and women around him had lost their essence. Matter not the money nor the diversion of his adolescent years, for they all would come to a drastic, merciless ending.

Looking at his own juvenile traces so freakishly portrayed in a messy painting, he found himself below a storm of realization, the veracity of those comments bursting over his head like booming thunder. He had perceived, as his pulchritudinous face stared back at him, that all that was nothing more than mercurial semblance: for cardinal would soon vanish from his perfectly-painted lips; wrinkles would break his face, and childlike eyes would fall into the fatigue of existence. He would age, lose everything he once dwelled in.

He simply could not take such horrific thing.

“Immortality is... tempting,” he explained in simple manners, eyes losing focus as he dove into his own dreamy abstractions. From the form his speech slowed down, you could tell memories started to consume his brain, the despondency of his former times coming back to him. “Especially after you lose your entire family to the Plague. Who wouldn't want to live forever?”  

You took an instant to fully comprehend his words, then added your own point of view, “I can say with certainty it was never my dream,” you contradicted, gaze locked on the painted figure before you; malice seemed to irradiate from the mere gaze of the oil-made image. “I’m sorry about your family.” you made sure to add, even if your feelings were not so genuine.

Turning his figure towards your own, Taehyung found a more comfortable position on that couch, his gaze traveling from the nostalgic artwork to the scorching incandesce of the fireplace, “It's no bother, dear. I stopped grieving centuries back,” he truthfully assured, waving your worries away as he looked back at you — for a second, taken aback by your ethereality yet anew, “Now, we should get you cleaned up. You've made quite a mess.” the man smirked, looking down at the tinge of dahlia that oh so perfectly reflected the warmth of the fire.

“I don’t really mind,” you shamelessly confessed, irises flickering into interest as you met his ever so concupiscent stare. Taehyung looked at your as if he was about to consume your body, and you were not exactly bothered by it, “Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't seem like you truly want me to do such thing.” you dared to comment.

A low chuckle fell from his curled lips, “I must say I would not rush it,” Taehyung concurred, “Come closer,” he induced, placing one of his hands on your waist. If your heart still beated, it would have quickened at the spontaneous prospect that emerged inside your nebulous brain — Taehyung was leaning in. “Let me have a taste, love.”

Instead of what you had presupposed, his lips featherly met the delicate skin of your neck before sucking on it lightly. Taehyung first kissed his descent into the extension of your clavicles, then came back up to dwell in the sensationalistic sapidity of his so craved meal. Almost timidly, his tongue jubilated at the blood that adorned your physique, savoring its luscious taste as a low, satisfied moan dripped from his throat.

Sooner than you would like, his touch departed from your body, “Marvelous,” he complimented as he leaned back, mouth now stained by the liveliest of carmines. The spectral, greyish skin beneath his fingertips might have not exposed your allurement, but your blown out pupils did it flawlessly. Although, he was not any different, “Simply marvelous.” he repeated, hypnotized.

Parted lips hung slightly open as you fluttered your eyes shut, experiencing the sensation of his hands as they slowly contoured the droplets and lines of blood that ran down your flesh, “Thought you had more control when it came to blood,” you teased.

“I wasn’t commenting on the blood,” the man whispered underneath his breath, gaze lost in the profound ruby that contoured your features with such breathtaking impeccability; the winsomeness of his companion in coalescence with the idealism of the vital red fluid. The metallic redolence of such craved liquid had now completely overpowered his conduct, causing for him to come dangerously nearer to the petite contours of your ensanguined mouth, “Come here, my dear,” he requested once again, now with distinct intentions.

From the very instant your lips met, you were certain that his kiss was like tasting death at the tip of your tongue, the sourful honey that involved your like the melancholic melody of a solitary siren. It was an harmony that induced for your to land your palms on his broad chest, pushing him against the silky couch as you dared to move nearer — craving for more — embracing every hum and sigh that resonated in between your bodies.

The prurience that emanated from him was as atypical as that amaranthine dawn, astringent and pungent as the fantastic palatableness that lingered in your lips. With a imperceptible sigh, his hands drew around your curves as you gingerly placed your weight on top of his lap, legs straddling his thighs as the kiss deepened even further.

Taehyung grunted the very instant their tongues met, the heavenly, ambrosial taste of blood poisoning his senses and igniting his instincts into absolute ecstasy. He kissed you with the same lasciviousness you presented him, held to your hips with the force of someone who feared their beloved would disintegrate in any given second. The two of you were moved solely by a mixture of lust and hunger, lost amidst the ebullience originated by the thrill of the hunt — mortals could never understand how phenomenal it was the delirium fundamented by the magnificent, incarnadine liquid, the form it sent their minds into complete, feverish mania.

In a single act, his hands flew to your waist, pulling your body hard against his torso. The movement was saturated by sheer devotion, the famishment to savor more of such paradisiacal liquid only causing for him to move faster. Not long after, his fingers were already working their way to undo the zipper of your dress, harshly pulling the fabric down towards your hips.

Enraptured by the magnificence of your caresses, Taehyung leaned away from the messy kiss, plump lips working on the path down your cold neck — the blood was now as gelid as your skin, but still sensational to get a taste of. He hummed and groaned as he kissed, sucked, and licked your flesh; consuming all he could from the fluid, “Just take a look at you, my love,” he muttered after a particularly sharp bite on the curvature of your neck, followed by a deep grunt as you pulled your center against his clothed arousal. “Look at the mess you've made…”

You could not distinguish if his comment was in regards of the luscious fluid, or the effect your red-painted figure was having on his discipline. Your response came bordering on a whisper, timbre filled by the deepest of desire, “Seems like you're already cleaning it,” you observed, hearing the throaty moan that vibrated against your body; Taehyung’s lips zestfully working on your naked chest. “Is your self control gone as well?”

“How could it not be?” he inquired, not expecting an answer from your part. With a gentle bite, his mouth navigated around one of your breasts as the other was squeezed by his hand; the softness of your flesh causing for him to moan in complete delight, “You're driving me insane, my dear...” the man groggily spoke out.

It was the blood, he observed, the lascivious crimson that enchanted him to need to have you more than anything else. Taehyung might have been older than you, but some primordial compulsions could never subside enough for him to fully ignore: consonantly to any other member of his species, he needed to feed, was required to drink of the essence of scarlet — and now, it was bathing one of the most beautiful, sumptuous creatures he had ever seen.

He used the palm of his hand to spread the liquid down your exposed chest, using it to massage your breasts before trailing the outlines of your waist with such gorgeous carmine, “Beautiful,” Taehyung murmured, looking down at the masterpiece he had just created, the blank canvas he had painted in the purest of sanguine, “So, so beautiful…” he echoed.

Humming in delectation, you stared down at him, your desire only increasing as you found the absolute lust shimmering within his empyrean traces, “Didn't think you were one to play with your food, Taehyung,” you teased, making sure to pressure your hips against his hardened member — an action that made him grunt in an immediate response.

Taehyung opened his lips to respond, though, as soon as his hooded eyes met your own, needy ones, all the remnants of his self control shattered underneath the exquisiteness of your existence. His fingers left your waist with the same agility his other hand moved to the nape of your neck, guiding you to crash your lips against his once again. Taehyung moaned against your mouth something that resembled the fragmented syllables of your name, cursing mentally as his member made his trousers grow tighter.

You interlaced your fingers in his silky strands of hair, moaning against his mouth as you felt his hands moving downwards, hastily playing with the fabric of your dress, but never once removing it, “Don't you dare rip it,” you warned against his swollen lips.

Taehyung chuckled in diversion, “You read my mind,” he shamelessly admitted, then removed hands from the piece of clothing. Before his consequent words collapsed on the tip of his tongue, the man took his time to kiss your profoundly, groaning as blood danced in their mouths, “Take it off for me, dear,” requested your companion as he suavely pulled away from your scarlet lips.

Consenting to his request, you stood up before the couch, silhouette so magnetizing that completely overtook the luminescence of the burning fireplace behind it. The absence of your aura was smoothened by the astonishing spectacle you gifted him — the form your slender fingers curled around the piece of clothing, sliding down your legs before it met the polished wooden ground; your chest covered by the same traces of blood that accumulated at the corners of your mouth turning your image into one of the most splendiferous works of art Taehyung had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Your beauty was as overwhelming as he expected, your naked body so lascivious that the man could not hold back from removing his own trousers — eyes never leaving your figure — and delicately placing his palm above his member, only covered by the thin cotton of his underwear. Although, as soon as you removed your own intimate pieces of clothing, Taehyung moaned out in sheer delight; pressing down on his erection in a faint attempt to contain his desire.

More than the aphrodisiac sight, he could smell the saporous redolence of your dripping core, and the scent only increased in force once you sat back down on his lap. The sacchariferous aroma of your nectar was erasing all traces of his sanity, presenting him with the lusciousness of your figure yet again, “Let me feel you, love,” the man verbalized in what resembled a supplication, joyous at the manner you ever so promptly agreed to his appeal — raising your hips just enough so one of his hands could slip in the humble space between their figures.

A throaty, guttural groan resounded throughout the room as his digits dwelled in your arousal, experiencing just how ready you were for him, “Dear, you are absolutely soaked,” Taehyung purred, long fingers trailing the wet pathway from your clit to your entrance, “How do you expect me to hold back when you provoke me like this?” he inquired.

You perked up your hips as his fingertips unhurriedly entered your center, a small sigh escaping your crimson lips, “I don't,” you breathed out, leaning your head to the side to place a small peck on his bloody mouth, “I need to have you.” you confessed.

Anticipation was poisoning his perception, the absolute craving for your figure taking over his most logical senses, “You have me,” he responded in a drunken mumble, eyes falling shut as your delicate hands found the hem of his underclothing, “Love, I need to feel you before I go crazy.”

Those words, as transparent as they might have sounded, were what you necessitated to perish into your desire. Volcanically, the need to have him inside of your erupted in the form of a motion that pushed your forwards, sending your to collide your mouth against his once again; this instance moaning his name against his blood-stained lips as you leisurely rolled your lips against his rigid member.

Taehyung hissed against the kiss as you finally pulled the item of clothing away from him — a sound that soon crumbled into a long whine of desperation as your slender fingers curled around its shaft, teasing its way towards your wet center, “Love, don't make me beg for it,”  what was intended to be a warning transfigured into a weak request halfway through your figures, the hoarse voice of a man that could no longer take the prolongation of his craving, “I want you to take me.” he helplessly spoke out.

A faint, debilitated whimper exuded from his chest as you moved down on his member, his hands flying to find shelter on your hips as your walls clenched around him. Groaning in overwhelming satisfaction, his eyes fell shut as he leaned his head against the seat in the purest of felicity, “That’s right, love,” praised Taehyung, slowly thrusting upwards in a inaudible imploration for you to move, “Take all of me, just like that…” he trailed off.

You then started to move your hips against his; rolling, rising and falling. Taehyung dwelled in the symphonious rhythm of your constant sounds, those being the most melodious notes to ever grace his ears. Ecstasy took over your bodies as you moved on top of him, causing for the man to start raising his own center against yours in a faint attempt to reach even further inside your core, “You feel so perfect, love...” Taehyung gasped, fingers digging to your waist while you moved up and down in an hypnotizing pace.

You pushed him towards the boundaries of delirium, thrusts slowing down as the pleasure increased inside of him, following the progression of a bittersweet ballad. The man wanted to prologue that ravishment for as long as he possibly could, feeling the extraordinary way your walls clenched around him until he could no longer endure it; until his lungs gave out and he had lost all energy to keep moving forward.

You cried out his name, fingers digging to the skin of his shoulders as you attempted to find your relief. Taehyung felt oh so delicious, hitting all the pleasurable places and calling for your name in empty, constant worships. His touches, ever so frequent, explored the path from the bouncing of your red-painted breasts to the curves of your ensanguined hips; greedy to glorify every place at the same instant.

Taehyung thrusted up and down with absolute concupiscence, moaning and grunting next to your ear in a way that it bordered on the primal. He licked the path of blood down the curvature of your neck, biting softly on your flesh as his movements made your entire body shake in lust. His gaze fell to the movement of your chest and to the rhythm of your hips, dancing oh so palatably to the sound of your intertwined moans. From your bloody lips, resounded whines and cries, swimming in ecstasy as you felt your orgasm approaching; those sounds pulling him towards absolute hysteria.

“Dear, you'll make me go insane,” the man moaned out, delighting in the ferruginous scent that invaded his nostrils. The overwhelming sensation of your insides clenching around him made him lose his trail of thought and, with that, the remnants of his composure. “Hell, you feel j-just perfect…”

The roughness of his actions made your whine out in delectation, perking up your ass as he reached even deeper within your core. It was all becoming too much for your to follow, and the flavour of blood lingering on your bruised lips only induced for your to succumb even more into lust. The liquid felt as if it was everywhere and nowhere at all, consuming the remnants of your spirit as you moaned out in sheer pleasure, “Taehyung, please—” you cried out, fingers digging to the pale skin of his broad, tense shoulders. “Yes, please, don't stop—”

He groaned as your walls grew tight and pulsated around him, signaling your approaching release, “Are you close, dear?” Taehyung questioned, his voice barely a broken whisper next to your ear. He too was not far away from his apex, sensing it as it tingled just at the base of his spine.  

After a prolonged moan, your response came out in a air-deprived storm of pants and whimpers, “Y-Yes...” you answered, completely overtook by the heaven of his touches, the manner you felt so deliciously full of him.

“I want you to come all around me, love” the man practically commanded, his own climax starring to show its signs. God, he wished he could never stop, that he could feel that marvelous sensation through his never ending days. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes—” you whined, the pressure in your lower abdomen already unbearable. “Don't stop, please—”

A long, deep groan reverberated on his chest as Taehyung threw his head back in absolute bliss, “I won't,” he breathlessly assured. His very tone was bordering on the orgasmic, utterly filled by libidinousness, “Come for me, l-love, I want to see you.” he requested again.

And, so, you did.

The pleasure that took over your was feverish, ecstatic; pumping through your veins and you called out his name in stammering, incoherent pleas. Beneath you, Taehyung panted and groaned; his heavy breaths echoing around the heated environment as he thrusted up inside your heat, lips parted open as successive, desperate moans fell from his mouth. you felt too good to be true, far too stupendous for him to control himself. It was all too much — too euphoric — for any of you to endure.

“So... beautiful,” he acclaimed amidst fatigued breaths, holding tightly to the flesh of your hips. The man continued to thrust upwards, his member throbbing inside your heat as he slowly reached for his so craved climax, “All of you… for m-me…” Taehyung moaned out, looking at the cherubic forms of your figure as if it was all part of a spasmodic, preposterous reverie.

“T-Taehyung,” you whimpered, nails digging on his shoulder blades. Oversensibility was starting to show its signs, causing for your to flinch a bit as his harsh movements increased in speed, “It's too much—” you averted, vacillating.

He gasped, experiencing the delightful sensation of your clenching and pulsing around him, “I know, dear, I’m close—” Taehyung moaned out, interrupting his own sentence with a long whimper. Your name dripped from his lips in never incessant, languorous prayers, echoing again and again as he grew dangerously closer to his peak, “Oh, fuck—” he whined.

Soon, he too came undone.

Skin against skin, chest pressed against chest. Taehyung found his release as his swollen lips crashed anew against your on; his messy, erotic kiss muffling the honey-like moans and whimpers that dripped from his mouth. Finding support on the curvature of your waist, the man rolled up his hips a few more times in absolute ecstasy, disunited syllables fluctuating in between your faces in what resembled fragments of your name. At the same pace his stamina decreased, he decelerated his actions back into stillness, holding to your body as if it was his own version of redemption.

With a trembling sigh, Taehyung placed his forehead against your own, taking a few seconds to dwell in what had just occurred. It all seemed simply quixotic, merely a fantasious delusion he was living in, ready to wake up from once the aureate rays of the morning sun signaled the start of the new day — although, as such imagery did not come, he decided to open his eyes meet your stare, wondering if you were as overwhelmed as he was.

God, were you breathtaking. From the rise and fall of your fatigued breaths to the ethereal way your cheeks were still nebulously painted in dim vermillion, Taehyung could no longer hold himself back from smiling under the exuberance of your silhouette; submerging profoundly inside the expanse of your sagacious gaze, “My dear, we might have gotten a bit… carried away,” teased the older being, voice hoarse.

“Just a little,” you acknowledged with a small, diverted chuckle. The tenderness of his embrace was comparable to the calmness after a merciless storm; a vernal breeze amidst the icy claws of winter.  Neither of them thought too much about the unforeseen twist at the end of their night, but they could not claim they despised it, “I believe this marks the end of our lesson,” you weakly spoke out after a second of silence, causing for his experienced eyes to meet the sempiternity of your own vague stare.

Smoothly, he removed one strand of hair away from your face, using the opportunity to then place his hand at the base of your neck, “Oh no, my love,” Taehyung denied, the smoothness of his voice as predominant as ever. From below your figure, his claims waltzed in the warmth of the now motionless atmosphere, a heat that could never infiltrate your bodies again, “That was only the first class.” he contradicted.

You elevated one eyebrow in unquestionable interest, gaze crumbling to his sanguine-stained lips, “I look forward to it, then,” you verbalized your position and, in the form his eyes shone in blazing amber, you were sure he had understood the hidden meaning behind those simple words. “I believe there is still a lot left for me to learn.”

With a deep chuckle, Taehyung concurred as he took one of his palms to your cheek, caressing the place with tender fascination, “I agree,” the man purred, moving closer to your bloody lips. Now, however, it was not solely the sensation of the red liquid that invaded his mind, but the enthralling dance of your mouth against his own — the never ending possibilities only immortality could provide the two of you. “And oh, dear, how entertaining will they be.”