#and once he’s a vampire it’s as if he’s become a man (independent and penetrative)

[breha]

anne rice lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling inventing regressive transgenderisms

[fandom-collective-writers]

A Taste of Envy (Le Comte de Saint Germain X MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Comte de Saint Germain x MC (Female)

Warning: NSFW and there are spoilers featuring Comte’s real name.

Requested by: Anonymous

Written by: @voltage-vixen​

“Come closer to me,” Comte murmured, encircling his arms around MC’s body. Enclosing her between the muscles that defined the cuts of his thighs, water rippled around them as her body swayed into his. He felt the contractions of her chest as she reconciled into his embrace, eliciting a serene sigh from the vampire. The slight distance between them had become more than his tolerance allowed him to bear, and her touch was the only cure to settle the fray of nerves still rattled from the encounter earlier.  

Previously that evening the couple had attended a ball being hosted by an acquaintance of the pure blood to celebrate the night of Hallow’s Eve. Whilst his partner’s natural charm enchanted the attenders of the party, a green-eyed monster nearly engulfed all sense of the pride endured when one of the guests was acting too familiar after succumbing to a substantial amount of liquor. Undeterred by the stranger’s advances, there was no hesitation in Comte’s actions when he whisked her away back to the safety of his own mansion. Resolved in wanting to cleanse her pureness from the sins that were cast upon MC from the man’s lecherous behavior prior, Comte was pleased when she conceded on with his invitation to join him for a bath to unwind. 

“Your angelic face is flushed, ma cherie,” the husk of Comte’s voice purred into MC’s ear. “Perhaps the bath water too warm for your liking this evening?” The sense of rationality that was embodied into the foundation in the whims of his beliefs, was cloaked by his desires of his envy. The shine of the full moon illuminated through the colossal window in the bathroom, and her beauty went beyond what words were capable of portraying as she basked in the moonlight.

He wanted-no! Not wanted but needed. He needed her. And he needed MC to understand he was the only one worthy vying for her affections. His fingers traveled and roamed the length of her body, delivering tantalizing caresses as he kneaded away at the softness of her delicate skin. She shivered when the back of his hand grazed across the side of her wet neck, to sweep the damp curls of her hair to the side of her flushed neck.

“You know exactly why already, Abel,” she whimpered, as his lips grazed against the bareness of her clammy shoulder. The occurrence was rare when MC referred to the man by his real name, but when the words rolled from the tip of her tongue when his touch left her undone was enough to awaken the carnal craving within him. His cock twitched in greed, evoking a gasp of bewilderment when MC felt him suddenly press against her lower back.

A sensuous moan escaped MC when the distraction of Comte’s protruding fangs pressed against the smoothness of her skin, dragging them closer to the sweet spot on her neck the vampire acquainted as one of the woman’s acclaimed erogenous zones. The tips of his fangs provocatively pointed into MC’s skin, yet not enough to pierce the barrier keeping Comte from ravaging her. His foreplay was delightful, but the sensation of his erection so close to her heat, combined with the vampire’s fangs close to penetration was driving her mad in a lasciviousness fit. Her hips wiggled in impatience hoping that Comte would finally release MC from his tormentous teasing, yet instead he simply chuckled and only carried on in his mission to provoke her further. Overtaken by horniness, MC knew she no longer accommodate Comte in his game of cat and mouse.

“Now,” she mewled, attempting to grind herself against the friction of his thick arousal that was more than ready to take her. “Do more now. Anything more. I need to feel more of you. Please, my love.”

Rather than submit to her indulgences, Comte reached around to the front of her body, until his palms were cupping the mounds of her breasts. Gently squeezing the sensitive flesh, MC’s head arched back when his fingers toyed with the perkiness of her nipples. His massaging sparked joys of bliss, inducing a tickle between the opening of her thighs.

“I admire how independent of a woman you are, ma cherie,” he sensually crooned into her ear. “However, I’m also infatuated with the way you melt when I’m pleasuring you.”

While one of his hands traipsed over to cover her eyes, the other sauntered down deeper into the water. Deeper and deeper until he brushed the swell of her clit. Wanting to push her further beyond the brink of coherency, Comte’s finger glided beyond her velvet folds and plunged into the heat of her slit. The intrusion was wonderous, and MC’s walls instantaneously clenched around him. With her vision currently blinded by the vampire’s hand, her senses were heightened, and she was tightening around him much sooner than she normally did during one of their traditional lovemaking sessions.  

“Please, don’t make me wait any longer,” MC cried out. “You hold my heart, my soul, and my body. Everything I have, I offer to you. There could never be another.”

There they were. There were the words that set Comte free. Oh, how precious this sweet woman was. Little did MC realize that she underestimated how crazy she drove him. Ignoring her objections when he pro tempore freed her from his released, Comte hastily latched his grip on the curves of MC’s waist. He lifted her up by the hips and lowered her down onto the heat of his arousal. MC chewed the bottom of her lip to keep the screams from pouring out while the solid cock of her lover stretched her walls from behind.

“Don’t hold back,” Comte coaxed, knowingly mindful of her attempts to remain quiet. “Let me hear your stunning voice, ma cherie.” While maintaining the rhythm of her bouncing, Comte wasted not a moment’s notice assaulting that special spot on the side of her neck. The slight pain from the insert of his fangs was instantly infused with jolts of pleasure. Her toes curled, and MC’s whines grew louder as her lower belly began to flutter.

She was so close. And Comte was aware. There was no other in the world out there that understood her better than he. Ready to send the woman to heaven, Comte took pause and adjusted himself underneath her. With a powerful snap of his hips, MC screamed out in joy at the welcomed assault. Each thrust became more desperate as he wanted her to remember that only he could instill this blissful feeling upon her. Comte pushed her further and further, resounding in the sounds of her harmonious moans, until at last MC’s body trembled. Uttering a gratifying cry, she collapsed back into the comfort of his toned chest.

“Ah, ma cherie,” Comte groaned, reaching his own climax behind her. He hugged MC closer to him, panting loudly while together they finished coming back down from the high of nirvana they were finding themselves lost in.

“You were lovely as always,” Comte murmured once his breath was regained. She hummed in response, and he nuzzled his chin down to rest on the top of her head. MC joined her hand with his that was encompassed her waist and entwined their fingers.

“Abel?” she softly spoke, breaking the comfortable silence lingering in the air. “Were you…...Were you jealous?”

One of Comte’s worst fears had come to light-MC was bearing witness to one of his weaknesses. A rare shade of crimson stained his cheeks, and he let out an awkward cough before replying.

“I-I suppose my actions were the result of one what may classify as envy,” he murmured, embarrassed she had put the two and two together. His head dropped and Comte tried to turn away in shame, but MC’s elated squeals halted him.

“Abel, you have no idea how happy that makes me,” MC assured, wiping away at a stray tear dripping from her eyelash. “I accept every side of you, but it’s nice to see that even your self-control can waiver at times. You never have to worry about holding yourself back in front of me.”

Turning around to face him, MC clasped the sides of his face. Both leaning in, their lips united, exchanging small and delicate kisses. Small was no longer enough, and their breaths hitched with the escalation of each kiss. Their frantic hands explored each other, refusing to cease until they were tangled up in the locks of the others hair. The water splashing around them had long grew cold, but the heat from their bodies made such a minute detail unnoticeable.

The twinkling moon outside remained high in the sky, continued to shine down on the couple. Lost in their enrapture with each other, Comte and MC forgot about the mansion and the world they lived in. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, spending a countless amount of times reaffirming their love into the late hours of the night.

[obscurehistoricalinterests]

Repossessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in “Carmilla” and “Dracula” (IV)

By Elizabeth Signorotti (1996)

Part I - Part II - Part III

Thesis: Carmilla is a story of female empowerment, and Dracula is a patriarchal response to it.

Repossessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in “Carmilla” and “Dracula” (part IV)

Stoker’s familiarity with Le Fanu’s vampire tale is certain. Farson claims that Stoker was “absorbed in the vampirism in ‘Carmilla,’ published two years after he left Trinity” but more convincing evidence is found in the original first chapter of Dracula, which Stoker deleted when his publisher requested that he shorten the book to reduce printing costs. In this section, he alludes to “Carmilla.” At the opening of this chapter, Jonathan Harker loses his way as he sets out for Castle Dracula on Walpurgis Nacht, a night “when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked, when all evil things of earth and air and water held revel.” A shaft of moonlight reveals he is in an overgrown graveyard with a great, snowy-white marble tomb before him.

Impelled by some sort of fascination, I approached the sepulchre to see what it was, and why such a thing stood alone in such a place. I walked around it, and read, over the Doric door, in German:

Countess Dolingen of Gratz

In Styria

Sought and Found Death 

1801

On the top of the tomb, seemingly driven through the solid marble - for the structure was composed of a few vast blocks of stone - was a great iron spike or stake. On going to the back, I saw, graven in great Russian letters: ‘The dead travel fast.’

The reference to Styria recalls the Austrian setting of “Carmilla” and invites comparison between the two vampire tales. Whereas “Carmilla” abolishes male rights over women, Dracula reasserts those rights. This is indeed the key distinction between Dracula and “Carmilla,” one that Stoker apparently had in mind from the opening -albeit deleted- chapter of this book.

Stoker’s overriding concern in Dracula is the threat of rampant female sexual desire. Senf rightly points out that this ancient, aristocratic vampire who prays on the wives and fiancees of England’s working class reveals, among other things, the “power that negative social values from the past often have over the present.” As Troy Boone further concludes, the novel suggests that “a new understanding of sexuality and decay is necessary for any attempt to attain social order and growth” and that “for all its apparent ‘reification’ of dominant political beliefs, [Stoker’s text] exposes the dangers of failing to challenge their authority.” Both Senf and Boone present valid arguments, but, like other readings in Dracula’s critical legacy, theirs fail to emphasize the degree to which Stoker responds to the threat of female sexuality in Dracula. In Stoker’s text Dracula - and Dracula’s sense of sexuality- actually dominates very few of the scenes, whereas the sexually-charged female vampires - those at Castle Dracula, Lucy and Mina- receive most of Stoker’s attention. 

For his first “experiment” in Dracula, Stoker presents the problem of Lucy’s sexual aggressiveness, a problem to which he ultimately provides a violent solution. Although Lucy’s sexuality does not become rabid until her vampiric possession, Stoker presents her from the beginning as exhibiting personality traits potentially dangerous in women. In a letter to Mina, Lucy asks, “why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her?” Her wishing for the right to have more than one sexual partner -a reality for males such as Stoker himself- makes her a threat to established gender roles. Stoker feels obliged to inform the reader that her wishes were unseemly when, in the same passage, she again asks Mina, “why are men so noble when we women are so little worthy of them?” Lucy serves as Stoker’s paradigm of woman-gone-wrong and predictably suffers from it.

In his attempt to redress Carmilla’s defiant behavior, Stoker imbues Lucy with Carmillaesque qualities. Her sleepwalking, which indicates a propensity towards vampirism in Dracula, first occurs in her childhood, just as Carmilla first visits and “infects: Laura during her childhood. In both works, the tendency towards socially aberrant behavior arises in early childhood, but while Carmilla’s and Laura’s behavior remains unrestrained, Lucy’s is eventually checked. Stoker also suggests that Lucy has lesbian tendencies. In a letter to Mina she says, “I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all.” Lucy’s wish to share her secrets while undressing suggests her desire to reveal “what is more properly concealed,” something she knows is “wrong.” The men in the text can control Lucy and Mina’s homosocial relationship as long as they both remain accessible; they cannot, however, control what Lucy presumably has in mind.

As if to temper her questionable behavior, Stoker denies Lucy her inheritance rights and places her firmly within the male-governed kinship system. Lucy’s mother, who controls the Westenra estate after her husband’s death, dies shortly before Lucy’s marriage to Arthur Holmwood. Mrs. Westenra, Dr. Seward tells us, “had for some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs in absolute order... with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy’s father which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood.” Separating Lucy from her inheritance fictionally and historically positions her in a “long tradition in which women do not inherit.” Even before Lucy’s wedding, Mrs. Westenra (whose role is the “corrected” equivalent of Carmilla’s subversive mother) ensures Lucy’s total dependence on her future husband. If her daughter had any wild ideas about being financially independent in marriage, she has permanently disabled her.  

Once Dracula kisses Lucy into sudden sexuality, she grows “voluptuous,” “savage,” “wanton,” and “diabolically sweet.” Dracula’s “authorizing kiss... triggers the release of the latent power and excites in [Lucy] a sexuality so mobile, so aggressive, that it thoroughly disrupts... [compartmentalized conceptions] of gender” (Craft 228). Dracula’s kiss enables women to become sexual penetrators. Using their sharp teeth to penetrate men, they reverse traditional gender roles and place men in the passive position customarily reserved for women. In “Carmilla” the penetration of female vampires - in effect, the female appropriation of the phallus - is seen as an act of empowerment; in Dracula, however, Lucy’s unmanageable sexual penetration is presented as inherently evil because it threatens fixed gender distinctions. In an attempt to cure Lucy of her reckless sexuality, Van Helsing and his crew of “brave men” perform massive blood transfusions on her. By having her drained blood replaced with a “brave man”s blood,” Lucy might survive. The act of transfusing blood, of penetrating Lucy’s body with the phallic needle and enabling the men to deposit their own fluids in her, conjures up images of gang rape. As Rubin stresses, “women [in some societies] are frequently kept in their place by gang rape when the ordinary mechanisms of masculine intimidation prove insufficient.” Ironically, Lucy’s wish to marry “as many [men] as want her” violently comes true. Each transfusion symbolizes a kind of ghastly marriage and prompts Van Helsing to fret that “this so sweet maid is a polyandrist.” Stoker gives Lucy what she wants and teaches her a lesson at the same time.

But the gang transfusions fail to cure Lucy’s sexual recalcitrance, prompting Van Helsing’s crew to attempt to mask her sexuality by surrounding her with pungent garlic flowers. While garlic plays a symbolic role in traditional vampire folklore, in Dracula its role is dual. More than just a traditional means of discouraging Dracula’s visits, the ability of garlic to disguise odors, especially body odors, suggests, as Alain Corbin argues in The Foul and the Fragrant, “a way of denying the sexual role of the sense of smell, or at least of shifting the field of olfactory stimulation and allusion.” Van Helsing and Dr. Seward saturate Lucy’s body and environs with garlic flowers not only to keep Dracula at bay but possibly to disguise the sexual odors her newly excited body exudes.

Lucy’s unresponsiveness to ordinary mechanisms of masculine intimidation while alive permits Van Helsing and company, after her death and resurrection as an Undead, to resort to the most violent means of correction available to them. Cora Kaplan argues that traditional fictional “punishment for female sexual transgressions... [is] the immediate loss of social status.” For Stoker, though, the traditional punishment is not severe enough to rectify Lucy’s transgressions. Instead, he employs vampire lore’s extreme phallic corrective: staking and beheading Lucy. In this scene, Stoker’s gang of brave, noble men carry candles dripping “sperm” (D 197) into Lucy’s tomb. Even more sexually alive in the coffin, Lucy’s “body shook and quivered and twisted in violent contortions.” But before she can perform any other sexually suggestive gyrations, Arthur, shining with “high duty” drove “deeper and deeper the mercy bearing stake” into her chest (D 216). This act of transfixation “cures: Lucy and returns her to the accepted role of sexually passive female. Arthur and his companions have repossessed the body, permanently fixing her in the “stabili[zed] distinctions of gender” (Craft 224) and the male system of alliance. Lucy’s sexuality is “corrected.”

Part V will be posted soon...

[little-sundays]

Crinkles

Vampire!AU. (Halloween special). Takada Kenta.

She looked around for the first time until the person holding her spoke, “Ambrosia.”

You pointed the sword at the male’s back in a steady manner. Your movements didn’t falter when he turned to you with amusement evident in his expression. The male’s lips turned into a smirk once he noticed you focus your gaze on him.

“How was Hell, knight?” He questioned, thus moved the blade farther from his face. Consequently, you moved the sword towards his neck. You then said, “Bullshit.”

You added, “The only person who should’ve went to Hell was you, Taehyung.”

“Isn’t that subjective,” he said, “my father would be disappointed in you, love.”

You forced a laugh without averting your gaze from him. The intensity of your stare scarred him—he was frightened of how every part of you turned into war itself. You said solemnly, “You don’t deserve to live. In fact, it’s the truth, because I was taught to never lie.”

“Lies are only for the cowards, one whose failures lead to a destructive persona; just like you.” You pointed sharply, bringing the blade closer to his skin. You added, “Like you, war isn’t so distant from love—like you, I swore until death that I’ll kill you if you create chaos in this world once again like the last you did.”

“You don’t have any evidence, love,” Taehyung said, unconsciously clenching his fist behind his back. You replied with finality, “That’s where we aren’t like. You know nothing about me, son of Ares.”

The male was about to attack you when you pressed the sharp edge to his skin, and even the slightest bit of movement could cut through the flesh. You believed too soon that this was his downfall, his only objective. If the prophecy was true, it’ll all be over soon and eventually you’ll perish with him.

He smirked as he grew enraged by your bravery. He loathed it. He grabbed the blade in a tight grasp, he didn’t flinch at the contact nor did the blood dripping down his palm mattered to him. He was going to kill you first before you get to him. He’ll eventually forgive both himself and you since he wasn't raised completely by his own father and somehow he wondered why he bothered to impress him.

You turned the hilt of the sword before pulling it out of his grasp and swinging it towards him, only for him to move farther from you. There was no sign of grief in your eyes, just a firm and focused gaze on the male.

Taehyung moved towards you to throw you to the ground, but someone else blocked his way. He was familiar, a face he has long forgotten. The boy he used to call a friend and now a rival. He tilted his head in dismay when the vampire shielded the body of the elf. He was Takada Kenta, Taehyung remembered—a traitor.

“The world doesn’t become a safer place after sins have been removed,” Taehyung explained, “even after you kill me and my father.”

You ordered, “Move.”

The male ignored your order, and instead dragged you away when Taehyung grabbed a spear from the weaponries before throwing it towards you. Kenta held your arm as you were about to move forward, he said firmly, “No.”

“If the prophecy is true, you’ll die.” Kenta stated whilst watching the next move of the other male. You replied, “And if it isn’t real, we’ll all die.”

Taehyung said, “Don’t you want this world to collapse? Watch all the pitiful people obliterate for their boastful, greedy and selfish acts towards the Gods.”

“They deserve to die,” he ended.

Sternly, you said, “And watch your mother die.”

Taehyung’s gaze wavered to you, it was pure rage. You didn’t miss the way his hands tensed and when his jaw tightened, but they only meant little to you. Kenta took a glimpse of your uncanny stature and realized how much influence the male had on you; you were lost in your own anger.

Taehyung noticed the silent stare of Kenta, thus he muttered, “That’s the same look I gave her.”

The male then turned to him without a response, rather he pulled you to him and left Taehyung alone before you ended up killing both of yourselves. He should’ve stopped you before until you became the rogue knight despite being an elf. Kenta had been so sure that you’d restore peace, but that idea seemed to be distant. He was wrong, you were the personification of war—the creation of the son of Ares—a murderer.

The prophecy had to be right—it had to be true—that if the only rogue knight killed Ares’s blood, both will die. Ambrosia would cease to exist, and the courts would cut all bonds with the demons.

He could never blame you, Taehyung had manipulated you years ago.

It was on the 17th of May when you were wandering around the forest. The faeries and demons were admiring you that evening. That evening when Taehyung manipulated you to burn the forest where the faeries hid. He witnessed it before he heard another cry from afar, it was the cry of Ambrosia—the only Salamander faerie of their kind. The man, Bae Jinyoung, killed her without any hesitations. He blamed her for the deaths of his brothers and sisters. Kenta saw the tears of Jinyoung as he pounded the ground with his fist as the only person he loved died in his hands. However, Jinyoung died along with her and Kenta wasn’t able to save both of them.

Kenta finally stopped in his tracks to face you and grip your wrist. He glared into yours as yours couldn’t reflect back an expression of grief nor disbelief. He watched you shrug out his grasp, but it only made him tighten his grip on you. He blurted, “You’re not a knight.”

“I don’t believe I am after what you’ve done to stop me from killing a man who was ready to see the whole world crumble under his feet. I could’ve saved more lives!” You burst, the male watched you jab a finger into his chest. He questioned, “Would you sacrifice your life?”

“I made a vow, a promise to the Gods, to my friends, my only family in the camp and forest,” you added, “I vowed until death to Ambrosia that I will create balance to the world if that meant killing myself.”

“You cannot create balance by killing Ares and Taehyung, it doesn’t end there.” Kenta pleaded.

You pointed your sword directly at him and said, “What else is there, but sacrifice. This is my purpose, my duty.”

“Kenta, there’s not much time. You know exactly what Taehyung is capable of and I don’t intend on letting it loose. You’ve seen what I’ve done, I saw you,” you continued slightly feeling the heavy beating in your chest, “I need you to trust me.”

You were irrefutable, because he knew what you were to him. He was observant of you, he noticed the slight vulnerability dancing in your eyes. This was you, loyal and independent—the you the Gods trusted the most.

“I always do.” He said as he watched you leave him in the woods.

It was a finality to him that you were ready to die and never have you ever been so sure about your own decisions. Kenta hated himself for not stopping you another time, but he’d give himself to you for a long time.

Kenta took a few turns until he heard voices talking. It had unfolded in front of him.

“Ambrosia,” the nephilim said as the other female looked at her surroundings for the first time. There were tears streaming down her face, it was a cry for Jinyoung.

Kenta took a few steps forward making the group turn to him, he pleaded, “Save her, Ambrosia. She’s going to kill herself.”

But before he could take another step towards the faerie, his heart stopped beating. He cried silently as the last beat weakened. Kenta had a secret, he was connected to you in more than one way.

You fell to the ground as the metal penetrated through your heart. Maybe the prophecy was true, if you had only listened to him, you wouldn’t be crawling to the man you thought you knew. If you had listened, Kenta would have been alive. You could feel the rapid beating in his chest and it pained you to feel it.

“Kenta!” Daniel and Jihoon cried as they rushed towards him.

The Dryad held onto Ambrosia as she imagined your pain. Minhyun stared at the lifeless body on the ground, he didn’t have much to say but he could feel so much sorrow running through him.

Ambrosia muttered as her own tears fell, “I’ll end this.”

[waddupwill-blog1]

The Art Of Darkness - Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket

"War is damnation," the prosaism broadcasts, yet it is by all accounts engaging hellfire. Alongside other horrendous subjects, for example, murder and vampirism, war positions among the most famous and ordinarily utilized topic of recorded excitement, and no war has yielded more or preferable movies over the one in Vietnam in the vicinity of 1955 and 1975. Regardless of whether itemizing the impacts of the war by concentrate its result or getting directly into the core of the fights, the Vietnam War has ended up being a wellspring of unlimited enthusiasm for producers and moviegoers alike. Maybe it is the ethical equivocalness of Vietnam that makes it the most fascinating war for film adjustments, and no movies delineate this vagueness superior to anything Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now (1979) and Stanley Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket (1987).

End of the world Now was the first and still, seemingly, the best film to happen amidst the war itself, shot not long after its closure in the mid-'70s and discharged on the precarious edge of the Reagan time in 1979. Roused by Joseph Conrad's 1899 novella Heart of Darkness, Coppola and screenwriter John Milius supplant the allegorical excursion of its focal character from 1890s Africa toward the Southeast Asian wilderness of the 1960s. Personally attached to this move in perspective is that, while Heart of Darkness' storyteller, Charlie Marlowe, starts as a rational and stable man who confronts frenzy and the inborn abhorrence of humanity as Mister Kurtz, Apocalypse Now's storyteller, Benjamin Willard (Martin Sheen), has just been driven at any rate to the skirt of franticness by his past Vietnam encounter before the start of the film. This change of point of view recommends that ethical quality and rational soundness had turned out to be significantly more conditional and equivocal in the season of the Vietnam War.

At the 1979 Cannes Film Festival debut of the film, Coppola expressed that "My film is not about Vietnam; my film is Vietnam." We are pushed into a universe of frenzy with no ethical focus, a well-suited vision of conditions in the Vietnam War. This expectation is prove not just by the disordered and vicious nature of the whole film, additionally in the choice to make the story's storyteller a crazy person, subsequently denying the watcher of an all the more customarily relatable entryway into the film's story.

Similarly as the film itself "is Vietnam" in world, three of its focal characters likewise are Vietnam in microcosm: Willard, Colonel Kurtz (Marlon Brando) and Captain Kilgore (Robert Duvall). Willard has been in the wilderness so much it has moved toward becoming his identity; in the film, he says of Vietnam: "When I was here I needed to be there. When I was there, whatever I could consider was getting over into the wilderness." Kurtz and Kilgore are two sides of a similar coin, the officer gone distraught from the franticness of war. Kilgore is the euphoric psycho who delights in fight ("I adore the possess a scent reminiscent of napalm in the morning," he says in one of the film's most well known scenes. "Scents like triumph") and has figured out how to keep a valid position in the military notwithstanding haphazardly annihilating whole towns, to the tune of Richard Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyries," for the sole motivation behind clearing a neighboring shoreline with the goal that he and his men can go surfing. Pundit Michael Wood, in his article "Blasts and Whispers" from the October 1979 New York Review of Books, attests that Kilgore ought to have been the Kurtz figure of the film, a man so colorfully crazy that he gives an unmistakable counterpoint to Sheen's Willard, yet the nearer likenesses amongst Willard and Brando's Kurtz allude to a figurative excursion of Willard into himself, into the darkest scopes of his own spirit, that echoes his strict voyage downriver to Kurtz's nest. When he finishes his task by murdering Kurtz, he has maybe quieted the infringing obscurity in his own heart.

End times Now's general vision of franticness - from Willard to Kilgore to Kurtz, alongside captivating side characters, for example, Sam Bottoms' LSD-mishandling surfer/officer and Dennis Hopper's over the top photojournalist - paints an exasperating picture of the Vietnam encounter, as well as of all humankind in a world that made the barbarities of Vietnam conceivable. As Coppola himself says in regards to the making of the film in Fax Bahr, George Hickenlooper and Eleanor Coppola's 1991 narrative Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker's Apocalypse, "We were out there with an excessive amount of gear, an excessive amount of cash and a lot of time... what's more, we as a whole went somewhat crazy," which can be viewed as a keen feedback of America's position in the war itself. At last, Apocalypse Now is more than just a war film, which might be the reason numerous commentators think of it as the best war film at any point made, and maybe even the best American film of any sort.

Full Metal Jacket has likewise been "acclaimed by commentators around the globe as the best war motion picture at any point made," as indicated by Warner Home Video Inc's. 1990 video arrival of the film. Despite the fact that it could be contended that Apocalypse Now is a more noteworthy realistic accomplishment, it is less reasonable to state that it is all the more consistent with life. End of the world Now is very adapted and subjective, while Full Metal Jacket has a particular narrative feel, regardless of its frequently shocking cinematography and utilization of elaborate gadgets, for example, moderate movement. These methodologies mirror the foundation of every chief: Kubrick started with documentaries like "Flying Padre" (1951), while Coppola got his begin at B-motion picture maker Roger Corman's American-International Pictures.

Full Metal Jacket's more goal, reasonable viewpoint additionally mirrors the perspective of its hero and storyteller, Private Joker (Matthew Modine), who experiences Marine preparing to wind up noticeably a field journalist in Vietnam. Despite the fact that Joker is an a great deal more normal and balanced character than Willard, he too is profoundly adulterated by his experience, as he turns out to be increasingly negative all through the film. As Joker says at one point in the film, in the persona of John Wayne, "A day without blood resembles a day without daylight." This skeptical loss of purity is a firm basic topic in the film, which, similar to Apocalypse Now, is a voyage into the core of murkiness. This is set up in the opening succession, which demonstrates its different characters having their heads shaved, set to the tune of Johnny Wright's "Welcome Vietnam." Full Metal Jacket is, basically, a story about growing up - but an exceptionally merciless one - that is partitioned into two independent, yet associated, stories inside the film.

The primary story pushes the watcher into the inflexible, savage existence of Marine preparing camp and, however Joker is built up as the hero from the begin, the focal character of this first story is really Leonard Lawrence (Vincent D'Onofrio). Leonard, named "Gomer Pyle" by cruel penetrate educator Sgt. Hartman (R. Lee Ermey), is a great schoolyard spook's casualty: overweight, ease back witted to the point of mellow impediment, very defenseless and inclined to crying under pressure. Hartman, as a bore teacher, has made a profession of being a domineering jerk, and the two promptly fall into this dynamic, with Hartman more than once stifling, slapping and mortifying Leonard all through the film. This story circular segment is effectively broken into three acts: Leonard's mortification, Leonard's training, and Leonard's reprisal. Unexpectedly, the culmination of Leonard's instruction is the time when he goes distraught from the embarrassment and manhandle he has endured on account of Hartman and in addition alternate enlisted people. Leonard at long last snaps when Joker hints at his first debasement: subsequent to become a close acquaintence with Leonard and instructing him, Joker eventually participates in a ceremonial beating of Leonard after he and alternate volunteers are rebuffed for Leonard's transgressions. Now, the story moves into its third demonstration, in which Leonard renders retribution on the tormenting Sgt. Hartman, whose last words are more unrepentant tormenting: "What is your significant glitch? Did your Mommy and Daddy not give you enough love when you were youthful?" Ultimately, however, Leonard pardons Joker and extras his life before taking his own.

The title of the film originates from this first half, in a monologue Leonard gives for his rifle, which speaks to him a measure of cleanliness and request in the "realm of crap" in which he exists. This fundamentally totals up the topic of the film, which is additionally shown in its two-section structure: regardless of how taught and organized a warrior's preparation and weapons might be, the war itself is still disorder. This confusion runs uncontrolled in the second 50% of the film, in which Joker winds up amidst battle, at first as an outside spectator revealing what he sees, at the end of the day having no real option except to take an interest in the brutality surrounding him. Like Apocalypse Now's Willard, Joker is to some degree on the edges of battle, yet at the same time profoundly affected and undermined by it; while Willard is a procured executioner working outside the fundamental clash of the Vietnam War, Joker is amidst this contention be that as it may, initially at any rate, does not take an interest in any killing.

The two movies address a subject that is for the most part evaded or disregarded in war movies: that of sexuality in wartime. Between Apocalypse Now's prematurely ended Playboy Bunny visit from the get-go in the film and Full Metal Jacket's Vietnamese whores in the second half, the two movies articulately represent the statement so persuasively voiced in Chris Hedges' 2002 diary of wartime news coverage, War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, that "there is in wartime an almost general distraction with sexual contacts." The undercurrent of assault and pressure display in the two cases indicates the ethical equivocalness of this kind of sexuality, which, by augmentation, demonstrates the flawed profound quality of war itself.

This vagueness is likewise found in the trips embraced by the focal characters of each film. In Full Metal Jacket's second story, Joker is given a mission by his boss, Lt. Lockhart (John Terry), which drives him into the core of obscurity, where he confronts his very own definitive debasement heart (a microcosm for