#The asphyx

[weirdlookindog]

The Asphyx (1972)

[thelastfinalgirl]

Hellraiser. Directed by David Bruckner (2022)

[moviesandmania]

THE ASPHYX (1972) Reviews and free to watch online

‘Would you sacrifice your wife… your children for immortality?’ The Asphyx is a 1972 British science fiction horror film directed by Peter Newbrook (producer of Corruption; cinematographer of Crucible of Terror; The Black Torment) from a screenplay by Brian Comport (The Fiend; Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny & Girly), based on a story by Christina Beers and Laurence Beers. The Glendale production…

[cultfaction]

Cult Faction Podcast Ep. 102: The Asphyx

Directed by Peter Newbrook, The Asphyx (aka Spirit of the Dead, and The Horror of Death) goes under the spotlight this week. Released in 1972, this once perennial of late night tv schedules is now a forgotten example of British gothic horror at its pompous best. It stars Robert Powell and Robert Stevens and mixes M.R. James style morality with a nod to Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. All that plus…

[weirdlookindog]

Robert Stephens in The Asphyx (1972)

[ervona]

also lmao are people doing nu metal discourse in the notes of that poll... oh that's not metal. it's for people who don't like metal. you truly sound like a weirdo if you specifically close in on a subgenre of metal with rap influences idk what else to tell you

[astaldis]

That will fill you with horror

Chapter 4/5 of “You’d be wise to beware”

Prompts: Asphyxiation, Surgery, Allergic reaction, Short of breath, Loss of consciousness, Vomiting, Field medicine, Wicked wings, Vicious venom, Puncture wound

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier, Cahir

Rating: Mature

“Geralt!” Jaskier and Cahir shout almost simultaneously, shocked to see their friend go down. The huge, winged beast must have got him somehow. They both run toward him as fast as they can. Hopefully, it is nothing serious, nothing a Witcher potion and perhaps the one or other bandage cannot fix.

Cahir is first to reach him. Lying supine, Geralt looks ghastly pale underneath all the blood, but his eyes are open and he is breathing. Good. Cahir kneels down by his comrade’s side.

“Geralt, what’s wrong?" he asks, scanning his friend’s body for visible injuries that might have caused his collapse. However, with all the monster blood on him, it is difficult to tell if he is injured and bleeding himself. As far as he can see, there are no obvious tears in his shirt or pants, or gaping wounds.

“Got me with its tail, left shoulder,” Geralt grunts through gritted teeth.

“Venom?”

Geralt grunts again. It sounds like a yes. Fuck. Cahir has a closer look at the beast. It is huge. Definitely bigger than the wyvern he killed just a few days ago. At first glance it looks quite similar to the black ornithosaur. A wide open, menacing maw full of sharp white, conical teeth in a narrow, triangular head, the purplish forked tongue lolling onto the blood-covered stone. It also has a long, snake-like neck and enormous, bat-like wings. But the wings’ membrane as well as the beast’s scales are of a very light, slate blue colour, not so much different from the surrounding rocks. They reflect the sunlight so strongly, the creature's contours are blurry and it is hardly possible to look at it for longer than a few moments without feeling blinded. Cahir blinks. The tail, what does its tail look like? He forces himself to glance at the dead monster again, squinting and shading his eyes with one hand. The tail does not end in the wyvern-typical trident but bears one single, stiletto-like sting protruding from a bulbous structure. A venom bladder? Like in the tail of a scorpion? Cahir has never seen anything like it in the books about dragons and other draconids. Is it something new that has arrived to the continent via the monoliths? Damn it. Hopefully, it is not lethal, at least not for a Witcher.

“Which potions do you need?” he asks Geralt. Of course, it is better to ingest the elixirs before a fight, but many can also be used as healing potions in case of an injury.

"Golden Oriole," the Witcher pants, "and Lion's Mane. In the holster."

Cahir has not studied Witcher potions as much as monsters since he is not a real Witcher and would die if he took any of them, but from what he knows about the requested potions, they make sense. Lion's Mane works as a general pain killer while Golden Oriole is an elixir used by Witchers and mages to both prevent and treat poisoning from many sources, such as corpse-venom from a graveir, common snake and spider venoms, the venom of wyverns, basilisks and of numerous other monsters. He scans through the several potions vials strapped to Geralt's thigh. The flask with the Golden Oriole is easy to recognise by the potion's golden colour. Another one filled with a whitish liquid sports a lion's head on the stopper. Must be the Lion's Mane. Cahir takes both vials out of the black leather holster and, while Jaskier supports Geralt's head, holds them to the Witcher's pale lips, one after the other. Grimacing, Geralt downs the content of the Lion's Mane and half of the Golden Oriole. Then he lies back down with a groan.

"I'll have a look at your shoulder now," Cahir warns and carefully turns his friend over a little. "Jaskier, hold him like this."

While the bard keeps Geralt in position, Cahir draws a dagger from his belt and cuts open his friend's blood-soaked shirt at the back of the left shoulder. There is a small puncture wound in the muscle directly below the glenohumeral joint. The tissue around it is puffy and irritated, however, besides this, the injury looks pretty harmless. Too bad it obviously is not, otherwise Geralt would not have dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Cahir pours the rest of the Golden Oriole over the wound. There is a sizzling sound and a yellowish vapour rises from the injured spot. Geralt moans, biting his lips. After only a minute, the wound looks much improved, though. It does not even need a bandage as the ugly hole in the skin has closed up almost completely. Gently, Jaskier lets Geralt slide back onto the rocky ground, breathing a sigh of relief. The potions seem to help. Not only has the wound healed surprisingly fast and nicely, but Geralt does not appear to be in as much pain as before. His jaws and fists are not clenched in agony anymore like when they found him. Still, something must be wrong. The white-haired Witcher is becoming increasingly short of breath and does not make any move to stand up. Not good.

“What else do we do?” Jaskier asks worriedly and takes his friend’s hand in his. It feels awfully cold and clammy. Fuck. Geralt does not look good at all despite the potions.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt rasps softly, struggling for air. He closes his eyes. “Should have - listened to you.”

“What are you talking about? Geralt?” Jaskier’s shakes his friend’s shoulder when he fails to react to the bard's question. “Geralt!” With effort, the Witcher opens his eyes again.

“Seems they do exist. Your monsters,” he gasps. “The flying drake—”

That will fill you with horror. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47067388/chapters/118846387

@mediwhumpmay​ 

@whumpay​ 

@witchermonstermayhem​

[fictionkinfessions]

Hey, Tassiter.

Not a day goes by where I don't regret strangling you as late as I did into knowing you.

Should have done it the first second I had the goddamn chance.

Love, Handsome Jack <3

📦

[weirdlookindog]

The Asphyx (1972)

[gravitypictureshow]

Roy/Reader Snippet

Hello! I've been working on a Roy/reader piece, and I wanted to post a small snippet of it here to see if there would be any interest in it. There isn't much content out there for him which makes me sad, so I figured I'd do it myself >:). It is a bit suggestive, and there probably will be nsfw when it's done, so just a heads up. Please let me know if you'd be interested in seeing the finished product!

Content warnings: Asphyxiation, verbal threats, physical violence (non graphic), being stepped on, Roy being Roy

“Awwwwww…”

The sound was a low drawl, dripping with venom and mockery. You squeezed your arms up against your body as if that would provide you some protection against the humiliation that seeped into every inch of your body with his voice. Slowly, the figure emerged from the shadows, narrow eyes gleaming in the little light visible from the screen of the machine in front of you.

“Yoouuuu pooooooorrrrr thing… you actually thought I was going to let you…gooooo?”

Words, any words, tried desperately to fight their way up your throat, but were pushed down by an invisible barrier. You wanted to yell at him, or say anything, or do anything, any act of defiance against your inevitable fate. But fear had paralyzed you.

He slinked closer to you. One, scruffy felt tube of an arm looped on it’s way up to your face, and he brushed a hair out of your face. Your eyes darted away. You didn’t want to look directly at him. You though you heard a small sound from under his breath, almost a cackle. Within half a second you felt your skull slamming into the tile beneath you, sending a sharp pain reverberating through it. You felt a firm pressure on your neck, just beneath your chin. The force is enough to make your breaths grow heavier, your lungs desperately trying to suck in whatever air they can through your trapped throat. As your vision finally settles, as your mind finally gets a grip on what’s happening, you see your captor, firmly pressing his foot against your windpipe. You give a reflexive gulp. Red floods to your cheeks, the rush of adrenaline seems to wake up every part of your stiff body. Your pulse quickens. All the thoughts in your mind scramble.

Roy sneers “You should learn you can’t get out from under me that easily… I take my deals rather seriously, you know…”

Your eyes do their best to dart away, but without being able to turn your head you can’t get him out of your frame of sight. The rush from when he slammed you down hasn’t dissipated, your breath is picking up… all you can do is stare in horror, in awe, and the man who has you right under his foot. You’re truly trapped.

Roy’s expression suddenly shrinks back to his usual, blank stare. He cocks his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. They reminded you of a camera lens, zooming in and out on its object of focus, trying to commit every detail to memory so it can later be analyzed. You suddenly felt as if you were a little bug on a slide, under the eye of a great microscope picking out things even you weren’t able to see about yourself.

“Wait…” Suddenly, that smile crawled back across your captor’s face. He leaned in close, so close, that the tip of his nose almost touched your own. His foot remained planted on your throat, the pressure increased slightly. It seemed his stretchy frame had no limits, as the bodies of other puppets did. “From that look…plassstered on your pooooooor facccccceeee… I’d almossssttt think… you were enjoying thiiisssssss…”

The hunger in his eyes was apparent as he fixed them on yours. You felt his foot lift off slightly, just enough to allow you to speak. Sadly, only stutters, gasps and broken words find their way between your lips. “I-I…I don’t kn– I just– I–” 

Roy’s eyes narrow as he slams his foot back down on your throat, sending another wave of sparks through your mind. “I assssskkkked you for aaaannnn awnsssser… don’t tell me you plan to deprave me of thhhhhaaatt tooooooo?” His eyes twinkle like those of a cat batting a lizard between its paws as he moves his foot around a little.

You try to force out words. Roy lets up on the pressure again, apparently feeling merciful enough to give you a second chance.

“I–I didn’t think I’d…I mean yes…” You force the answer out. If you dared lie, he would probably snap your neck right then and there. Better to be embarrassed and slightly disgusted with yourself then dead.

“Yessssss?” Roy asked, the mockery in his tone practically soaking your mind.