#i also really like the blood spattered bride

[horrorlesbians]

who are your favourite f/f couples in media? asking out of curiosity since you have such cool taste in film!

margot verger and alana bloom supremacy 🫡

[pursuitseternal]

“Antics of the Newly Ascended:” ✨🩸What it must have been like right after the Rite for… everyone…

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.4K of “Ascension Puberty” and Smut

Summary: “I can’t yet speak its language…” Astarion doesn’t know all his powers, despite the title of Vampire Ascendant, despite having a Bride at his side. Suppose these manifest themselves surprisingly, even awkwardly… a bit of comedy and smut.

CW: awkward campmates, Vampires stuck on the ceiling, peacock-preening Ascendant Lords, Bride/Spawn Tav also learning what it means to be a vampire, and the hot smut that always delivers (oral sex, hand job, anal fingering, blood kink, dom and sub!Astarion)

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

The First Day…

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A/N: Mostly, I consider this Astarion’s Ascension puberty, that awkward time he’s getting to know his “changing” body… and how it might surprise him sometimes. In my own play-thru, it strikes me that after the Rite, it’s just life as usual for everyone. I like to think there are some lingering feelings and learning curves… so here is some comedy and smut (a gift to @marimosalad because the double stimulation towards the end was her amazing idea 😘)

Not quite “The Rogue You Were” maybe a prequel

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You had heard he had demanded his own room now at the Elfsong. Wyll had told you, his one good eye rolling in its socket with ire. “His Lordship demanded a separate chamber for him and his.. consort,” he had spat the word out with disgust in your direction, “one that befits his new status and power of Vampire Ascendant.” Wyll sneered, put out, jilted. That forever part of him that was a monster hunter and hero still unable to wrap his mind around what you did for love. “You best not keep him waiting, Consort.”

Someday, the Blade of Frontiers might understand. But not today, not one day into Astarion’s reign as Ascendant and your new immortal life at his side.

Now you creep outside his door, just one room over. The same he had stolen you away to last night… when you became his, when you died to be reborn his consort. He had pointedly refused to really call you spawn. And while the memories of that night were hazy, aside from the most glorious sex of your existence, you knew whatever was done was done.

You waited, your hearing even sharper now, heightened as vampire. From behind the door you hear groaning, grunts of effort, and sighs of exertion.

And you frown. Could he really be… taking care of himself… after everything you had done with him last night? Even now this evening, with you merely a wall away? Like you wouldn’t come running for pleasure if he called for you, with or without compelling?

You knock on the door. Hard. Furious. If your heart still beat, it would be racing in rage.

“Leave me,” he barks back.

“Astarion,” you hiss. And then you knock harder. “Let me in.”

Inside, you hear scrambling, boots scraping on wood. A messy hurry of activity punctuated by curses.

If you hadn’t been there yesterday, hadn’t felt the lives of so many flow into your beloved, hadn’t been spattered by Cazador’s blood yourself as the same Infernal ruins were carved in his flesh… you would scoff at the suggestion Astarion was at all changed.

You finally hear the door handle unlock, and riding the swell of your self-righteous anger, you burst in.

“After all I have done for you… all I did to get you that Ascension, all the times I spread my legs, you insist on…”

You freeze. The door behind you shuts by magic. And looking up beside you, you see why. “Astarion,” you begin, much quieter, trying to stifle a laugh, if only from the pure irritation that seethes on his sharp face, “why are you on the ceiling?”

He hangs upside down, that mess of silver curls near standing on their ends. His face is flushing, that newly reborn heart letting all that magnificent, ascendant blood rush to his head. He folds his arms and spreads his legs. As if he could be intimidating while being inverted.

“I told you this morning, my treasure, it will take some time to become acquainted with my new self.”

You scan the room, skin tingling at the memories of pleasure not one day ago. And yet, here he was being more ridiculous than ever before. “So… the private room isn’t just for mind-blowing sex now that you and I are joined for eternity…” you fight the smirk on your lips as his upside down glower deepens. “It’s so you have some privacy as you… practice.”

“Don’t you dare… tell the others,” he growls, pure irritation and annoyance seething in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love,” you chuckle, extending your arm above your head as you walk beneath him. “Need a hand, my beloved vampiric master?”

He pouts, grumbling, but reluctantly reaches to grab you. His fingers wrap into yours, that warm touch of his still shocking and foreign. You pull with all your might, feeling his body release from the ceiling, floating as you tug him down until his feet rest beside yours.

He’s fuming, chest rising and falling beneath that elegantly embroidered tunic he has taken to wearing.

You grin, reaching to stroke his cheek as his parlor resumes that pale luster you know and love. Cleaning your throat, you purr, “And this is where you say…”

“Take off your clothes, my beloved consort,” he smirks and sneers at once, jutting his face into yours until you feel his warm breath on your lips.

“Not until you say…” you pause, arching your brows.

You wait. His lips fluttering, eyes boring into yours with almost glowing red intensity.

“….thank you,” he finally grumbles. Barely audible.

You turn your head, cocking your ear in his direction. “I’m sorry, what was that, my lord?”

“Thank you,” he replies louder through gritted teeth.

You can’t help but have another giggle tickle your throat. “I have no doubts you’ll master your powers in time, and until then, I’ll be here for you, my love, to lend you a hand.”

He gives an annoyed sigh. “By the hells, if the others find out…” he hisses, mad at himself rather than you.

“I think I can keep my mouth shut around them, and busy doing other things around you…” you close the distance between you, small as it might be, raising on your toes to press your lips against his, despite the disdainful pout.

“Hmmm tempting, but I do find myself rather famished…” he pats you on the cheek.

You grin, tilting your neck and sweeping your hair, an offering to sate him as you always have. You hold your breath, his lips hovering over that favorite vein of his. But he merely plants a small pecking kiss. “Delicious as you are, I think I’m in need of something more… filling.”

“Food?” you balk, jaw dropping as he catches your hand and opens the door.

“All of man’s appetites and desires are mine again, and after two-hundred years of food like ash and wine like vinegar, it’s time I started tasting all life has to offer.”

He turns, his face grins in power, but there is something in his eyes. Giddy, almost childish in excitement, like waking to presents on your birthday. It lasts a flickering second before he turns his head. You follow, hand held in his warm grip, led back into the common rooms. The scent of roast pork and vegetables fills the air. He lets your hand drop, making quick strides to the serving table before carving himself a huge hunk of meat off the carcass and ladling a pile of potatoes on the side of his dish.

“Well,” Wyll comments as the vampire settles down in a seat, “never thought I’d see the day when a vampire joins the feast with more than a goblet of blood.”

“First time for everything Wyll,” he croons in reply, taking a hearty bite just for emphasis. He doesn’t even wait to swallow completely before he continues. “First time a vampire ascendant has feasted, or existed, at all, don’t you forget.”

“I doubt you’ll let us,” Karlach teases before taking a sip of ale as ripples of laughter break out.

A bit nervously.

You look at the food, your stomach more than hungry, but… You recall as you lick your lips and catch your new fang on your tongue by accident, it’s not just food you crave.

You hear your name from the group, Karlach again breaking the chatter, “Hurry up, dish yourself a plate and get moving soldier. It’s not the same without you!”

You pick up the knife and begin to carve, but nagging thoughts won’t shut up. Can you even eat this? Can you ever feel full again? Can it ever be the same again, now that you’ve binded yourself to immortality?

A hand rests on yours, Astarion moving your hand in his to finish cutting a slice of pork for your dish, spooning out a helping on the side of the rest. “Eat, my treasure,” he orders softly with that sly smile. “Things won’t be all that different for you now.” You look into his eyes. Sincerity, pride, a flicker of concern. “Things will be different for you than when I was a spawn. You are mine, your veins hold my blood, ascendant blood. And besides, if this doesn’t fill you to bursting, my dearest pet, I suppose I’ll just have to offer you something else in the privacy of our room later.”

You arch a brow, stomach growling at the promise. “I hope you mean more than your cock, Astarion.”

He just grins wider. Feral and sly. Then he places a hand at your back and brings you to the rest of your party. You can sense the relief among everyone else once you sit down on the little couch, Astarion settling so close beside you, your arms rub with every movement. But that is nothing new.

Everyone falls right back into that perfected camaraderie, the only thing missing in the inn is a campfire. The banter and the toasting and the storytelling of the day's events to those who remained behind.

Tonight was no different… and yet, everything was.

Your ears seem to hear every word in the room, more sensitive, more overwhelming. Your stomach gnaws on itself, the plate of food on your lap untouched yet. And then, there is the utterly unfamiliar sound beside you, the gnashing of Astarion’s teeth as he bites into his food with abandon. You watch from the corner of your eye. He can’t seem to shovel it in fast enough… like a man who hasn’t had a morsel to eat in two-hundred years. It’s so… strange. Watching his jaw work furiously, watching the juice of his meal trickle from the corner of his mouth.

Not unlike when he has fed on you, you laugh inwardly. You reach your thumb to clean it for him, and it makes him turn, cheeks full of food, eyes smiling. He takes your thumb in his hand, pressing the juice to your own lips. A silent command to suck. You close your eyes, savoring the brush of his warm touch, hiding your sight from having to observe the others watching you.

You part your lips and suck… stomach rolling in hunger, appetite thoroughly whet with just that drop on your tongue.

You feel his face press against your ear to whisper, “Different for you than it was for me, my treasure…”

You shake him off, too hungry for sensuality, digging into your meal and joining the banter slowly.

Astarion remains mostly silent, laughing to himself here and there. Other than him eating and drinking, he is right however, it isn’t all that different now, you observe. Not yet anyway.

Not until he has you alone in your rooms once more. Hands gripped hard into your hair, cock thrusting down your throat as you kneel before him. You gag and sputter, sucking greedily. Indulging him. Letting him feel that power he’s gained in his life for once. His wild smile as he watches you taking him in so well makes you practically drip on the floor from between your legs. He pants relentlessly, growling praises over you, his little love, his good girl, his greedy consort.

New words, new titles, same obsession.

Same fingers caressing your jaw as it works eagerly, same touch clawing into the back of your head.

Only now his cock pulses with his heart, his skin flushed, his cum warm when it inevitably trickles down the back of your throat.

You swallow, pursing your lips around his cock so he feels every little ripple of your cheeks, your throat. Astarion pants above you, and you can count every one of his heart beats through his shaft in your mouth. “Glorious little love,” he manages to speak, swallowing to wet his throat. “Claiming a kingdom is nothing compared to the sight of claiming you on your knees, darling…”

Two fingers slip under your chin, pressing firmly to release his cock from the wet of your mouth. “On your feet, my love,” he smirks. “Time to give your master all his tribute.”

“You are enjoying this far too much, Astarion,” you purse your lips, smiling faintly and tauntingly as you do stand. “I think you should allow me to choose how you receive your… what did you call it?” You plant your hands on the expanse of his shoulders, feeling the muscles moving under your touch as he reaches to grip into the swell of your ass.

“Tribute,” he purrs, squeezing that fullness commandingly in his palms.

“Oh yes, that,” you tease, devious twists to your lips as you give him a firm shove. But he holds tight, sending you both backwards into the bed. His chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath you. “Why doesn’t my lord make himself… comfortable,” you whisper into his pointed ear, watching it twitch as you run your tongue up its long edge.

“What do you have in mind to please me, my treasure?”

You press him down, clambering on his sprawled, flawless body beneath you, your hands closing around his wrists. His smile says it all as he lets you pin him, arms bent around his mess of silver locks. “You’re so… hot,” you moan, sliding yourself over his erection, feeling it jolting as your body slathers it in arousal.

“I know,” he tilts his head, flashing his fangs and grinding into your folds.

“No, I mean…” His eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion. “Yes,” you correct with a giggle. “You are heartbreakingly handsome, devastatingly beautiful, ruinous…”

“Better,” he preens with a feral grin. “But you meant my body, my skin, my newly beating heart…”

“It is… different,” you hum, nuzzling into his neck, caressing those two little circular scars that made him what he is. His pulse beats against you, a steady drumming that still startles you.

“Almost as different as the way you make me even harder, darling, now that the mere sight of you demands instant arousal…” His hips buck through your folds again, just to demonstrate. “Now… about your adulation and homage that’s long overdue to your lord and master…”

“Shh,” you press a finger to his thick, wicked, smirking lips. Slinking down, a toss of your hair over one shoulder, and you meet his crimson eyes, dilated wide and glazed with his lust. Gently, you sweep both your hands over the sinews of his thighs, bending his knees for him.

Or, at least he lets you…

He nestles into the bed, languorous, luxuriating atop the thick covers. You let him. You can feel the difference in his being—not the power, the beat of his heart or the tingle of untamed magic that dances erratically in his touch from time to time.

He’s free. Not a care in the world. No fear, no anxiety, not even a trace of suspicion that he might be caught and forced back into hell under Cazador. He has everything now. Even you. Especially you.

You hover there, arms propped up over his hips, the tip of his cock wavering against your breasts as you just observe him. His lips twitch into a smile. “It’s rude to keep your lover waiting, you know…” he purrs. You chuckle. That veneer of power, that rasp and roll in his voice, a performance to sway you.

Not that you need it.

But it will be fun cracking that veneer all the same. You let your hands roam his body, massaging and caressing the powerful muscles of his legs. Their every definition you know by heart now, the glide of his skin on yours a nightly comfort and pleasure for you both.

Your new eyes can count every beat of his heart in his veins, your ears can almost hear that rush of blood pumping, making him achingly hard for you. And it makes you lick your lips. You lap inside his left thigh, bringing a giggle to his throat. “Don’t think I’ll leave you hungry, my pet, but pleasure first.”

“Say please,” you taunt, grazing your new fangs over his skin. As he has done to you a thousand times before.

“What?” he drolls, raising his head a little, your hand flying to the hard planes of his belly to hold him down.

“Say… please… my lord,” you smirk into his thigh, laughing to yourself as you mix submission into your demand.

“Eager to test your new powers as well? Can’t say I’m surprised…” he feigns a dramatic huff. “Alright pet, just this once. Give me my pleasure first…” he places a hand at the back of your neck, drawing you back between his legs, “…please.”

“Good boy,” you rasp before running your tongue up his shaft. You dip your lips over that seeping head of his, his groan of pleasure reverberating in his chest. Your hand, your mouth take him in deeply again, resuming a more delicate pressure, a gentler pace than he demanded of you before. It relaxes him, slowing his pleasure as you feel his skin heating all the more.

And you take full advantage of his ease.

You press a thumb over the tight little pursing of his ass. Instantly making him shake and groan. Both your hands play in tandem, drawing louder and louder hisses from his slack mouth as you beat his cock and circle that hole.

He squirms at the unexpected contact. A pant of need sounds from his mouth. You run your hand through your folds, covering your hand in your own slick, and he laughs knowing full well what you’re doing.

But that laughter melts once you sneak a finger and then two inside him, the delicious sound of his whimpers replacing any giggles. “Gods,” he mewls, “don’t you dare stop.” He manages to speak between the grunts you pull from his throat. Thrusting your fingers deeper inside him crooking and thrusting to make him catch his breath in pleasure. You feel his cock leaking seed down your fingers already, a whine escaping his clamped lips as you find that spot inside him. Cock jolting in your touch as you thrust into him again and again.

You lose no focus on that pulsing cock as well, your hand around his shaft sliding through the lingering spit and slick you’ve left dripping on his cock. His whole body shakes, and you can’t take your eyes off the way he’s coming undone. You’ve given up sucking him, your lips sore at any rate.

Instead, your hands work a magic on him, sweat beading on brow, fangs biting his own lips until they bleed. He clutches the bedding in his fists, and you watch as every vein in his arms strain to the surface with the exertion.

Hips buck in time with your fist around his cock, ass sinking back down on your fingers as he plummets back down each time. “More. I’d like more,” he groans hard, head wagging back and forth. You feel his muscles clenching around your fingers, and you slink another one inside, a louder whimper of approval is your praise. Words have failed him as he can do nothing now but ride the growing wave of pleasure you have sent washing over his oh-so-mighty and ascended form.

His balls tighten, cock shuddering in your fist as he struggles for breath. Every muscle, inside and out, goes rigid and spasms, your fingers covered as spurt after spurt of his cum erupts everywhere.

A hand flies to his face, palm over his mouth to hide the little pants he’s making as you squeeze out the last of his seed and slide your fingers out from inside.

“Is my lord… so… very… pleased?” you taunt, crawling to watch as he tries to regain composure, to salvage that dominating veneer of power.

Handsome face twitching, he can barely put two words together. “Obviously,” he manages to eke the word out. “That was…” he pauses to pant, body still shaking beneath you with the last tremors of his climax, “…amazing.” His arm comes to pull you into his chest, to press your supple, if cold to the touch, body into his embrace.

You hear it, the racing of his heart as you rest your head on his chest beside it. A slice of envy, of uncertainty, slices into your heart and twists your gut. And from the way his hand paws through your hair and down your back, you’re sure he’s readying himself for another round.

You swallow, hesitant, your thighs clenching as his hand begins to snake between them. He senses it, your unwitting reluctance. That familiar yet unfamiliar warm touch ghosting higher on your leg. “Darling,” he purrs into the top of your head, “something the matter?”

You shake your head even as your words scramble their own way out. “Last night,” you whisper almost inaudibly, “you said you would miss my warm flesh…”

“And…?” He lets the question hang in the air. Lets you speak the rest of it on your own tongue.

“Do you?” you mutter, unable to look into his face, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Not if it means I can plunder you for all your riches for all eternity, my treasure,” he croons, slowly rolling you on your back. Crushing you with his wiry frame until you wriggle against his every inch. “But, if you’re truly worried about how delicious you’ll feel…” he holds his wrist up to your mouth, “why don’t you break in those virgin fangs, my pet?”

“You mean?” you finally look up, the hunger in his eyes, the pride to see you licking your own new-formed sharpened teeth.

“I do indeed, my dark consort,” he smirks so wickedly, your own hunger for his blood and his body flames to life. It blinds you as you look into his eyes. “You’ll only need a taste,” he grins with a rakish tilt of his head, “I swear it.”

He presses the inside of his wrist to your lips, that warm skin brushing you with its softness. You can hear it, even in that small span of his wrist. Thump… thump… it makes your stomach flare, an empty pit, hungrier than you ever were for food.

And just for him.

You press your fangs into his skin. Hesitant.

A firm grip snakes behind the back of your neck, his laughter in your ear as he shoves you into his flesh harder.

Hard enough to pierce him, to let his blood flow on your tongue and tingle your mouth with its power. Rich and delicious, sweet and tanged with just the same flavor as his scent. You suck, greedily, a vague feeling you’ve tasted it before.

His other hand rubs up the back of your head, lacing his commanding touch through your hair, cradling you, keeping you feeding. His eyes flicker shut, tongue licking his lips before his mouth goes slack in his own pleasure.

He likes the way it feels, having you feast on him, drinking down his ascendant blood to pool in your belly.

“Can you feel it?” he murmurs, “my power flowing in your veins… my heart beating in your breast.” His hand ghosts down over your shoulder to cup firmly around that breast. “Your skin is flushing, your folds will swell even fuller the more you take me inside you…”

You release your mouth, a moan slithering from your sticky throat as his fingers pluck and play with your nipple.

“There is no one more worthy of this than you, my little love,” he slides his wrist from your lapping tongue, fingers clawing loosely around your throat to lift you against his own hungering lips. “You need not fear anything, I told you, not even the worry that your immortal flesh would ever repel me, my darling.”

You curl into his arms, letting his warmth seep through you, inside and out. His kiss dances slowly with your lips, his tongue licking all his blood from your fangs and lips. A hum of satisfaction rumbling in his throat, “Mmm… You taste… divine…”

“You mean… you taste divine, my love,” you laugh into his kiss. You place your hand against his neck, softly pushing him off of you.

“I do indeed,” he purrs, his knee shoving your thigh to the side, spreading you wider. “As do you, if I may?” His silver brow arches, wry and mischievous. You tilt your head, your neck already sore from last night, from where he sucked you dry. You hiss, delicious pain slicing through you, his fangs in your neck burying the same moment his cock sheaths into your folds.

Hip undulating slowly, he drinks noisily behind your ear. And you do feel on fire, burning as hot as him, the friction of his thrusts, the trickle of your blood down your neck… they scald you.

They make you feel alive in his arms, alive with him fucking between your thighs.

It’s enough to shatter you in a matter of moments, his lips barely off your bleeding neck before you clench and spam around his pulsing cock. Your voice tears from your throat in a scream. So much fuller and hotter than ever he felt inside your walls. Thicker. Heating you from within. The pressure drives you wild, your climax more intense than ever as you writhe beneath him, as stars cover your vision and pleasure steals your breath.

He laughs again, that tickled giggle to watch you panting to catch your breath, barely able to make a sound more than a whimper yourself. “That’s right, my pet, let them all hear you through these flimsy walls….”

You laugh, breathy and quick, wrapping your thighs tightly around his waist. “So quick to forget what I managed to reduce you to?” You steal a hand back to his clenching ass, returning your touch to that tight little hole.

He gasps, biting his lips as if to keep himself from crying out again. “Don’t you ever tell them,” he growls, smiling with that predacious gleam in the crimson of his eyes.

“I don’t need to,” you can’t help but laugh, letting the words already in your mind already make you smile. Even if they are his own… even if he just might make you pay deliciously for them for the rest of the night, “given the noise you made, I’m sure they already know…”

[shapelytimber]

A Taste of Faith

[PRINT] - [COMMISSIONS]

Ok so the concept for this piece was : historical gay nuns, and 70s lesbian vampire movies meets tes (don't ask me why- I just had a vision at 3 am)

Because I think Serana should have been meaner<3 I love women's wrongs and when vampires do the suck <3

Btw of you want to see more gay Serana art, go check out @gay-of-waterdeep, their art is wonderful, and I can't say this was not a bit inspired by what they do :))

Process (and me rambling about some of my favorite 70s lesbian vampire movies (because I have a problem)) below vvv

Additional details about this drawing ! 1) I used the same Mara design than the one from my tarot deck :)) and 2) the other woman is one of the priestess in the temple in Riften lglggigkglgl her name is *check wiki* Dinya Balu

And now......... Some movies I enjoy because my house my rules, you came this far so why not hear about niche european movies :))))))

Disclaimer for a majority of the films in this genre : the male gaze is very fucking obvious in these movies... they were made by men for men, and the message is often "lesbianism is a dangerous temptation for women". It's a glairing flaw nearly all of them share and that sucks (and frankly it's a flaw Serana's writting kinda has in my opinion, minus the lesbianism part, but let's not dwell on that)- so if you can't get past it, it's completly understandable, be on your way and have a nice day <3

- Daughters of Darkness ! A toxic man is returning to london with his newly wed wife, but they get stuck in Belgium and are forced to stay in a luxurious hotel. Don't worry about the 10/10 smokeshow countess seducing his wife :). Completely unrelated, this movie has, in my opinion, the most beautiful lesbian kiss I've ever seen- but I might not be very objective because Delphine Seyrig is there lglglflflllglm The best one in the list ! So if you want to whatch one, whatch this one <3

- The blood spattered bride ! This is more of... an aquired taste let's say- but I really like it ! A quite effective horror movie, with goofy ass scenes (shoutout to the vampire lady buried in the sand naked with only a diving mask that is not the screenshot because tits), and emasculation being a recuring theme <3 (but if you want to watch it, please check the content warnings beforehand, it has a lot of very shocking and frontal scenes, and it's the 70s so it's not done very tactfully. Also pretty intense flashing lights)

- The vampire lovers ! Ok so this one is a lot less fun compared to the other two because it's made by the Hammer BUT... 1) Ingrid Pitt hello and 2) it's such a intriging thing to see a very christian/conservative studio make a film like that. I know a lot of people don't like the Hammer movies from the 70s, because the studio had a lot less money, and were making wild decisions. But I love them, because they tend to be much more fun bloody and sexy ! I'm a simple woman mjllkklhkhlhlho case in point with the vampire lovers (although if you want a fun vampire hammer movie from the 70s, Dracula ad 1972 is way better). And Peter Cushing is there (i love this man so much-) !

And now I shall resume my quest to find Vampire Lesbos by Jésus Franco and have a probably mid experience watching it xoxo

[from-beyond]

Just watched Desert Hearts, based on that gifset you reblogged and really liked it. Vivian and Cay's dynamic was very sweet and usually I'm really annoyed by Hollywood romances.

Was wondering if you had any other lesbian movie recs!

YESSSSSS we got another one!!! So glad you enjoyed it! That movie put a string of lights around my heart. I love the romance but I also love the sisterhood and female friendships in it. It’s just so warm.

I definitely have some more lesbians recs for you! There’s the obvious ones like Carol, But I’m A Cheerleader, The Handmaiden, which you may have already seen. I also really liked The Miseducation of Cameron Post.

For lesser known films, I’d recommend You Can Live Forever (warning it’s devastating) and Porcupine Lake (focuses on two young girls and their intense friendship they don’t understand)

If you fancy a miniseries, not a film, I really like the two Sarah Waters adaptations BBC made: The Fingersmith and Tipping The Velvet (the latter plays with gender and kink, which is fun)

Also I’m a huge fan of the lesbian vampire subgenre. The Hunger, The Blood Spattered Bride, and The Living Dead Girl are all great.

Thanks for asking, m’dear!

[party-gilmore]

I just really love how right at THIS VERY MINUTE it is the POLAR opposite of the Becky Wedding as everyone is getting ready for the event.

Instead of Dean freaking out he's being FUCKING annoyingly zen and imparting Soulfully Deep Secrets Of Marriage Wisdom even though he's only been married a fucking month, and instead of being chill Sam is FREAKING OUT for all the usual funny groomsmen reasons but also but he and Cas did the "braincells cancel each other out" at the bachelor party thing last night and the limo the happy couple was supposed to ride away in is stashed half-burnt out behind a barn three states over, his tux is stuffed full of crisp $$$ that he doesn't know how it got there, and they still can't find Garth.

Meanwhile the girl's lounge looks like a romantic classical painting, everyone is in similar lavender and mint gossamy gowns draped over cushiony loveseats and chaises and ottoman, relaxing and gossiping as they recline in the hazy pink of a gentle morning, aside from Eileen in her white. Even Claire, who had previously mentioned wearing a tux, is in the lovely sheer wrapping fabric.

In fact, everyone had different outfits planned, save the bride. However, that morning at about 5am as they were arriving to get ready well ahead of time, Eileen had discovered vamp nest hiding out in secret prohibition tunnels connected to the old churches basement, lead her bridal party on a highly effective and expertly run hunt, clearing out the full nest with flashfire quickness - the only loss being that of their wedding outfits becoming spattered with blood.

So the Claire snagged the wedding drapery strung across the first hall ("the only decorations that really matter are the one's in the main room or whatever, right? Make as well make use of what was put up for the wedding anyway.") and Rowena shows Mary how to drape them according to a lovely old style she remembers from ancient greece while Donna helps remove and flip inside out the top layer of Eileen's blood spattered white skirts. Jody sees the one little splash of blood that got on the top half and snagged a fresh red rose from a nearby arrangement, neatly pinning it over the red droplets.

All in about four hours, with a half hour to relax after.

Later, at the reception, Dean complements Eileen on how she "managed to find bridesmaid dresses that match the decorations so perfectly! Hell, you even managed to get Claire in one!"

Eileen just smiles furtively, dodging the compliment by asking the new Mr. Leahy to dance.

[welcometophu]

Not Your Guardian Angel: Chapter 5

Marked Book 3: Not Your Guardian Angel

Chapter 5

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Cheyenne sits cross-legged on Pels’s bed, facing her. There are three towels spread out to keep the bed clean, and they already look blood-spattered by drops of spaghetti sauce from when Cheyenne gestured with her fork while eating.

They’d delivered a big bowl of pasta to Mom, then retreated to Pels’s room with their own second attempt at dinner, the door shut behind them. They’ll know when Peter comes home, and honestly, Pels hopes to be asleep before his SUV pulls back into the driveway.

For a little while, it’s been easy. Pels can eat quietly and forget about everything else, while Cheyenne fills the empty spaces with chatter about school, Adric, and gymnastics. It’s great, until dinner is done, and they put the bowls aside on Pels’s bureau, and Cheyenne pulls the spattered towels off the bed, bundling them up.

“Can I stay in your bed tonight, or do I need to sleep on the floor?” Cheyenne asks quietly.

Pels remembers the first time Cheyenne crawled into bed with her. Pels was seven, and Cheyenne was two. Cheyenne had just figured out how to climb out of her crib, over the rail, and had toddled down the hall to climb in with Pels during a thunderstorm. When that meant that Cheyenne got upgraded to a “big girl bed” by taking Pels’s bed, Mom had given Pels a big double bed to sprawl in. Pels is small enough that she hasn’t cared when Cheyenne has continued to climb in, whenever she’s scared, ever since.

Pels snorts softly. “When have I ever made you sleep on the floor?”

Cheyenne grins and throws her pillow on the bed, then stretches out, her legs longer than Pels’s, feet reaching further down the bed as they lie next to each other. “Okay. So. What next?” she whispers.

“You know what you need to do,” Dad says. He’s standing by the bureau, looking down at the bowls and idly poking at one of the forks.

“Dad, it’s creepy when you hang out at night,” Pels says plainly.

“And you’re ignoring my point.”

“I don’t mind if he’s here.” Cheyenne waves at the air. “I mean, he’s always here, right? Like. He’s been here since I was a baby. I’m pretty sure I can’t care. He’s not my dad, but he’s your dad, so he’s like my Peter. Only dead.”

And nicer. But Pels isn’t going to say that out loud. After all, Dad has his issues and can be manipulative at times, so while he’s definitely not Peter, he also isn’t perfect. Besides, Cheyenne doesn’t need to be reminded just how bad Peter can be. “Okay then.” There really isn’t much she can do about him anyway. If he wants to stay, he’s going to stay. “We need a plan.”

“Where can you go?”

It’s a reasonable question, and Pels has been thinking about it while they ate. If it were Cheyenne, maybe it’d be easy. She has friends everywhere. “I only really have friends at PHU,” she admits. “And most of them have gone home for Spring Break.”

Cheyenne rolls over on her elbow. “Did anyone stay? Or maybe do you know anyone else who lives in Pennsylvania? Or somewhere you could get to on the bus?”

Pels reaches for her phone, but the list of phone numbers in her contacts is small. She may have made friends, but she hasn’t exactly tried her hardest to connect with them.

She opens the group text with Shane and Jess. There have been more pictures since she last talked to them. The latest shows three large cats sleeping in a pile on top of Ángel.

“Oh my God, that’s so cute!” Cheyenne snatches the phone from Pels’s hands, squealing as she opens the photo stream for the chat and scrolls through the pictures. “Are they mountain lions? They’re adorable! Why are your friends hanging out with mountain lions?”

Pels grabs the phone back and uses pictures to explain. “The cats are Talented. The word for their Talent looks kind of like lynx, and they look like lynxes, so I’m going to go with that, because I’m not sure how it’s pronounced. That’s Ángel, and his boyfriend Tony, and those two are Tanner and Luca and that’s Hayley. Here’s a picture where they all look normal. And these are Jess and Shane.”

Cheyenne takes the phone back when Pels offers it, magnifying the pictures to get a closer look. “Jess is really pretty. She’s tall and like, totally solid. I love her hair and her freckles. Shane looks cute. Does he have a cane?”

“He broke his leg last January and it hasn’t really healed quite right.” Pels chews at her lip, not reaching out to take the phone back. “They are also pretty much literally the only people I think I can call.”

“Just call them,” Dad says. He plucks the phone from Cheyenne’s fingertips and drops it on Pels’s lap.

Cheyenne blinks. “I am guessing your Dad has opinions.”

“He usually does.” Pels picks up the phone as she lies back again, holding it above their heads. She presses the button to call Jess, and arranges the phone so the camera gets both her and Cheyenne lying side by side.

“Pels, hi!” Jess sounds surprised, and Pels can’t really blame her. She wouldn’t expect herself to call, either.

When the video comes on, it wobbles and shifts around until it’s set against something and is pointing at a bed in a dorm room where Ángel and Tony are sitting against the wall, and Shane’s on the floor. Jess flops on the floor next to Shane and waves. “Tanner borrowed Tony’s truck and he and Luca and Hayley went out to pick up pizza.”

“We will starve before they return,” Shane says dryly. “It’s already been an hour.”

“Why?” Cheyenne asks.

Pels is pretty sure she can guess the reason and it doesn’t have anything to do with the pizza. Her cheeks go hot when everyone else laughs. “It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure. I just—” She cuts off, not quite sure how to get started.

“It’s cool that you called,” Jess says easily. “Is that your little sister? Hey, Cheyenne, I’m Jess. Pels talks about you in our group chat.”

“Pels showed me pictures, but it’s really cool to meet you. Is it true that—ow.” Cheyenne rubs her side where Pels elbowed her. “Quit it.”

Ángel turns towards Tony, then leans closer to him as Tony murmurs something. Tony’s expression when he looks back at the camera is far more gentle than his rough looks would make Pels guess. For a moment, they both get very large in the screen as they climb over Jess and Shane to get off the bed, then they disappear from view. “Good to see you,” Ángel says from off-screen. “We’re going to go take a walk. Let Tony stretch his furry legs.”

There’s a low rumble, and a strangled laugh, and the door in the background bangs open as Jess and Shane both watch the action. Jess is laughing when she looks back at Pels. “Tony just bride-carried him out. Which is better than a fireman’s carry, but still, the look on Ángel’s face was priceless.”

Shane leans forward, picking up the phone and moving it closer, presumably on his lap so it’s looking up at him and Jess. “So, hey, Pels,” he says, his voice low and careful. “What’s up?”

“I’m supposed to get to know you.” She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to just say she needs help, but it is. It’s really hard to get the words out.

“And that’s why you’re calling with your little sister on the call?” Shane looks doubtful.

“Is everything okay?” Jess asks.

“No,” Cheyenne says firmly. “It’s not. Pels needs to go back to PHU right now.”

Jesus.

“Not right this second, Cheyenne. But yes, soon,” Pels admits. “Things are—it’s just not good here right now.”

There’s a loud car on the street, and for just a moment she thinks it might be Peter coming home. She drops the phone, scrambling to the window to look out, but a pickup truck rolls by, passing the driveway and continuing on.

“So, my dad and Pels got in a fight,” Cheyenne says, the phone in her hands now as she looks up at it. “He’s my dad, but not Pels’s dad—you should ask her about her dad sometime. Anyway, her and my dad don’t get along, and he doesn’t approve of her tattoo.” When Cheyenne says the words, Pels can almost hear the quotations around “tattoo” as if she’s trying to get them to talk about the soul marks. “Then things started rattling and when stuff like that happens—”

“I always get blamed.” Pels gets back on the bed and into view of the camera quickly. “It’s usually my fault. Kind of.”

“This time it wasn’t, but my dad doesn’t know that.”

“And in order to keep everything from getting out of hand, he’s pissed off enough that we think everything would go back to status quo if I weren’t here making it worse,” Pels says quickly. She knows they need to talk about it more, but she doesn’t want Mom to overhear them talking about Cheyenne’s Talent. It’s obvious that Mom isn’t ready for it, and there’s no point in taking the risk.

“I don’t have friends here,” Pels adds, when Jess and Shane are strangely silent. They glance at each other, and she wonders if they can have silent conversations. They’re best friends; maybe they’ve developed that almost telepathy some friends have. “We moved into this house right before I started at PHU. If I didn’t have GPS, I’d be constantly lost, especially since Mom has me driving Cheyenne around. The only person outside of this house whose name I actually know is Lonnie, the guy at the Coffee Shack.”

“I wonder if they’d be jealous if you told them he was flirting with you?” Dad muses.

“Shut up, Dad,” Pels snaps.

Cheyenne giggles.

Jess’s mouth is slightly open, staring at the phone. Shane looks as if he’s trying to see around the edges of the image. “Do you have someone else there?” Shane asks.

Pels puts a hand over Cheyenne’s mouth. “It is a long and complicated story. Just remember, if I say Dad, it’s—not an awful thing. If Cheyenne says Dad, she means Peter, and he’s the one who doesn’t like me.”

“Noted,” Jess says.

Cheyenne shoves Pels’s hand away. “Short version is Pels needs you guys to rescue her. So can she come home and stay with you?”

Jess makes the funny little fish face again, her mouth opening and closing while her cheeks go red under the freckles. Shane says something to her that’s too quiet for the microphone, and Jess shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m just going to grab a water bottle. I’ll be right back. You want one? Of course you want one. Shane. Not Pels. I can’t exactly give you a water bottle through the phone line.” She disappears from view quickly.

Shane’s expression goes soft and amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

A water bottle lands on the bed next to him. “Shut up,” Jess says from off-screen.

Cheyenne still has the phone in her hands, so she sits up, cradling it in her lap to look down. “The pictures of the cats were really cool,” she says. “Pels said they’re lynxes.”

“Lince,” Shane says, and Pels is relieved she didn’t try to pronounce it because it sounds more like linn-chay than lynx. “They’re a type of shapeshifter with only one form, and don’t call them Clan; Tony growls every time it comes up. It’s the only type of Talent I’ve ever seen where one person can call it out of someone else, which is why Tanner’s now a cat.”

Pels is sure there’s a story there, and she is equally sure that Cheyenne is going to get Shane to tell it. By the time she tries to decide whether it’s worth rerouting the conversation back to the rescue mission, Shane’s already deep into a discussion of how there was a twenty-two hour truck ride that ended with one of them becoming a cat.

There are pieces left out. There have to be, because it doesn’t fully make sense.

That doesn’t seem to matter to Cheyenne, who simply nods along with all of it. “So Tony and Ángel are soulmates and who else is?” she asks.

“Ángel and Hayley are the ones who did the original ritual,” Shane explains. “They thought they were going to be soulmates, but then everything went a little wrong. Ángel still brought Hayley home for winter break, though, and she met his best friend Tanner and they turned out to be soulmates, and now Luca’s their boyfriend. And Ángel ended up finding out Tony’s his soulmate, and really, it’s all far better matchups.”

Jess flops back on the bed, a bottle of water in hand that’s already half gone. Her cheeks are still faintly flushed, and her ponytail’s been pulled loose so her auburn hair is in dark waves around her face. “They make each other more stable,” she says. “Ángel and Hayley were like the same person sometimes. But Tony’s got a serious side that helps keep Ángel rooted in reality. And Tanner and Hayley balance well, too, and they make an anchor for Luca.”

“But the spell made them fall in love?” Cheyenne asks. “I mean, isn’t that kind of—”

“Popular misconception, but no.” Shane meets Pels’s gaze through the screen. “Magic can’t make you fall in love. All it can do is point out that someone might be a perfect match, but all the rest of it is up to you.”

Pels makes a noise rather than saying anything in reply. She rubs at her wrist, still uncertain, because this just seems messed up. “Aren’t soulmates supposed to be two people,” she mutters, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“Ángel’s abuela has two marks,” Jess says. “She didn’t actually get together with both, but she loved both. Soulmates are different for different people. Like Rory’s mark is huge, trying to encapsulate Kit, and they balance each other perfectly. Then there’s Tanner and Hayley, and they’ve got Luca, and there’s no mark for him, but he’s part of their life, and Luca called Tanner’s cat.”

“So no, it’s not weird to have multiple soulmates,” Shane says, his tone very careful. “What happened with my mark is definitely different, but apparently magic likes to do things its own way.”

“Especially around Shane.” Jess knocks into him with her shoulder. “Since his innate ability is Chaos.”

“And if you had a Talent, your innate ability would be stable math,” Shane counters.

“It sounds like you two should totally be soulmates, if balance matters that much,” Cheyenne says with a soft laugh.

“Except for the fact that I am very much a lesbian, and apparently the equation includes Pels,” Jess replies.

Pels can feel the warmth rising in her face again. She’s pretty sure she’s supposed to respond somehow here. Either she should be encouraging, or discouraging, or something in between but there are no words that feel right on her tongue.

“You could just go with it,” Dad points out, and Pels turns to glare over her shoulder at him.

“So,” Cheyenne says, a little too loudly. “We need to figure out how we’re going to get Pels back to PHU.”

“And where I’m going to stay when I get there. Because I didn’t sign up to say I’d be there over break, so I’m locked out of the dorm until Saturday. It’s only Wednesday,” Pels points out. If money weren’t an issue, the travel would be easy. It’s sleeping space that’s hard.

Shane and Jess look at each other. “Sleeping space is slightly complicated because of all the cats,” Jess says slowly. “But we’ll work something out, we promise. You won’t be stuck sleeping on a park bench in the winter.”

“I’ve actually napped on those benches on the Quad,” Shane muses. “But it was a lot warmer. There was this one senior—my RA last year—who used to tell stories about camping out under the bushes. Apparently there’s a place where you can get under this ring of hemlocks—I’m not even sure where he’s talking about on campus. But it’s like a pine fort, and he’d go sleep outside there. On the other hand, he’s Clan, so I’m not sure he really cared about the weather or being outside in it.”

Jess elbows him. “We will find a place indoors, with heat and a bed, for Pels to stay,” she says firmly. “What about getting here?”

“I took the bus home, and can take it back, but my ticket isn’t until Saturday.” Pels goes to her bag and digs through it, pulling out the information before returning to the bed and in view of the camera. “It looks like there’s a fee to change it, and I can’t exactly ask Mom to change the booking.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Shane offers. “Just text me the information, and I’ll get it changed.”

“If she can go tomorrow morning while I’m at school, I can totally play dumb about it,” Cheyenne says. “Pels, you need the car to get to the bus station, don’t you?”

Pels nods. “Which means the car will be stuck at the station, and Mom and Peter will be pissed off about it. Do you think you can get Mom to the station to pick it up somehow without Peter getting involved? I don’t want there to be any backlash on you.”

Cheyenne pats her hand. “I can cry on demand, and you’ll be abandoning me. I will absolutely play dumb for you. Besides, I think Mom might be more on your side than you think.”

Pels thinks back over every time Mom’s forced her to wear the right clothes, act the right way, and hasn’t believed her when she’s talked about Talent. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“I think she’s right,” Dad says quietly. “Your mother was different when we were together. I’m sure that person is still in there.”

That’s a rabbit hole Pels wants to slide down, asking Dad about the past. But he never lets her dig into the details, and she has to be satisfied with the tiny random nuggets he drops like that one. So she shrugs, and grabs the phone from Cheyenne, using it to send the details of how to change it to the group text with Shane and Jess.

There’s a bang in the background of a door slamming open. “Hey there!” a voice calls cheerfully, and Pels thinks it might be Hayley. “We’re back with pizza. Where did Tony and Ángel go?”

“I think they’re on the phone.” A quieter voice, then murmuring in the background.

Jess wiggles her fingers in invitation, and three people enter the view. “Wave at Pels and her little sister, Cheyenne,” Jess orders. “This is Tanner, and Luca. You know Hayley.”

Barely. And she recognizes the other two from pictures. Luca’s taller than Tanner, and has one arm slung across his shoulder, leaning in like he has to touch him. Tanner’s hair sticks up every which way, but he’s also carrying four boxes of pizza, and a bag that Pels figures has wings in it.

“We should let you go,” Pels says quickly. “Just… text me when everything’s all set. We’ll figure out what to do on our side. Bye.”

“Is everything okay?”

Pels touches the button to disconnect the call while Hayley’s still speaking, then tosses her phone onto the charger so it’ll be ready to go in the morning. “I should pack.”

Cheyenne pulls her feet up as she sits up, arms around her legs, hunching over with her chin on her knees. “I’m going to miss you,” she says quietly. “Peter’s going to be okay, though. I mean. I think he’ll—”

“He’ll be glad that I’m gone.” Pels finishes the sentence for her. “I know, and I wouldn’t be leaving like this if I didn’t think that. Mom will think she’s failed, and it’s kind of a failure of the whole nuclear family unit thing, but he also can’t stand me, and he hates when I’m weird and different and act like I’ve got the devil in me. Which… I guess I do, but I also have a guardian angel, and well. He’s never going to understand.”

She grabs her dirty laundry from the last few days, shoving it into her laundry bag on one side of her bag. She looks at the few clothes she’d brought home, and the new dresses mom gave her with the leggings. Which were actually kind of comfortable, and a halfway decent compromise. Mom was trying.

Pels packs everything she can except for her toiletries, then lays out one of the soft dresses and a pair of leggings, along with her boots for tomorrow. She has to keep up the illusion, otherwise Mom will know something is up in the morning.

“I like them,” Cheyenne says. “I think you should go for it.” Because of course she’s still thinking about Shane and Jess.

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is that easy,” Dad counters. “All you have to do is reach out and try.”

Pels glares angrily at him. “No, Dad, it’s not that easy. I meant what I said. I don’t know how. I don’t make friends easily, and part of that is your fault. It’s really hard to make friends when I’m always moving, and always having things go haywire, and sometimes I look like I’m drunk because you’re trying to push me to do something. Literally. Although that time you made the annoying bird fly away wasn’t bad. I mean. There are times when you help. Yes. That’s good. But still. It’s not easy.”

Cheyenne’s eyebrows are high. “I take it your dad agrees with me?”

“Shocking to say, but yes, now I have two of you bugging me.” Pels flops down on the bed, curling up and pulling her pillow over her head. “Maybe it’s easy for you, but that’s not me. I don’t know how to make friends. It’s so—vulnerable. It could go wrong. I could suddenly have to leave when Peter decides he’s not paying for PHU anymore. Everything could change tomorrow.”

“I died,” Dad says flatly. “And that didn’t stop me from falling in love.”

“You didn’t know you were going to die when you fell in love with her,” Pels yells, her voice muffled by the pillow. “God. Both of you. Just. Let me do it on my own time. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I like boys. Or if I like girls. Or if I like those two people in particular. Or even one of them. I don’t even know them. I don’t know anything.”

“In order to find out, you’re going to have to try,” Cheyenne says. “If you want to cry on my shoulder, I’ll be here. I may be young, but I’m a good listener.” She pats Pels’s shoulder gently, then lies down next to her. “You always take care of me. I can take care of you, too, now. I’m old enough. I know how scary it is to like someone.”

As if her fledgling crush on Adric is anywhere near the same scope as Pels suddenly having soulmates and a permanent marking telling the world about them. Pels sucks in a breath, letting it shudder out as she exhales.

“I’ll always listen, too,” Dad says quietly. She feels his hand on her forehead, light and careful, somehow touching her through the pillow. Well. Ghost. Of course he can do that. “I’ll be with you as long as you need me.”

That implies that there might be a time when she won’t need him anymore, or when he thinks she doesn’t, and he leaves. And for all that she rails against him all the time, that’s a chilling thought.

“I’ll think about it,” she mutters into the blankets. Seriously. That’s all they can ask of her and they’re going to have to be satisfied. She’s not doing this at anyone’s pace but her own.

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[chelsfic]

Chapter 2 - The Sacrificial Bride - Dracula x Agatha Fanfic

Part One

A/N: The long awaited follow up to my (dare-I-say-popular?) Arranged Marriage request response featuring Drac x Agatha! I was very surprised at the initial response I got to that little drabble so I hope you guys like this follow up. I’m not intending to make this fic super long--like maybe six parts total? Just because I am also working on another multi-part fic that is meant to be really long and I can’t keep up two at once. Uh, sorry for this diary entry of an Author’s Note. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, just let me know! Thanks!!

One Month Later

“Oh, Agatha, not this again, surely?” Dracula whined as he descended the grand staircase, his brilliant black cape sweeping behind him.

Agatha was sitting in the window seat staring out at the front courtyard. Her posture curled in on itself, her face was slack and despondent. She was in one of her despairing moods. Dracula rolled his eyes as he entered the room.

He’d made this little parlor quite cheery for her, importing luxurious furs and plush cushioned furniture for her comfort. It was as if he was trying to win her over--which was utter nonsense. What was there to win? Dracula owned her as surely as he owned the furs and couches in this room. But what Agatha had discovered in a month of living with this creature is that he desired more than just her body. He wanted her soul as well.

Well, he could not have it.

When she first arrived at the castle she spent several days without sleep. The Count retired each morning and only emerged again at nightfall, but she found that she could not rest for fear that he might come upon her the moment she closed her eyes. So, she stayed up for three whole days, clutching the wooden stake she’d secreted in her skirt pocket and praying fiercely for her Lord’s protection. Her Lord did not answer. But on the third day Dracula came to her room and stood in the doorway watching her with a look of bemused pity. 

“Agatha, you’re exhausted!” he’d exclaimed. “You need to sleep. What can I do to reassure you?”

She tightened her fingers around the stake and brandished it toward him, “Nothing you say could reassure me, Count Dracula. You’re a spawn of the Devil. Lies are your native tongue.”

Dracula actually chuckled at this and raised his brows at her.

“So dramatic!” he admonished under his breath. “Alright, nothing I say will reassure you. How about something I do? Hmm? What shall I do to make you feel safe here in your new home?”

Agatha sat up straighter in her bed and raised her chin in defiance, “You can let me go at once.”

Dracula shook his head and sauntered further into the room, coming over to the side of the bed and leaning in to her space. He walked right up to the tip of the stake and pressed forward, letting it dig into his chest a bit.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, capturing her in his bottomless, black gaze. “Try it. I won’t hurt you. I want to show you something.”

Agatha’s eyes flashed with doubt. He was giving her the chance? It had to be some kind of trick. But Agatha, ever confident and brave, wouldn’t let the moment pass. She grit her teeth, tightened her grip and plunged the stake forward.

The stake met nothing but thin air. Agatha whipped her head around, frantically searching the room. Dracula leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the room, his arms crossed casually over his chest and a smug grin on his lips. 

“H-how did you…?”

“Vampire, darling, remember?” he said condescendingly. “Agatha, I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to show you. I can do anything I want to you and you….you can’t stop me. But I haven’t! And I won’t. I don’t want to force my advances on you. I want you to come to me...I want you to beg me. And believe me, sweet Agatha. By the end of all this you will beg me.”

Agatha narrowed her gaze at him and scoffed, “Very reassuring, Count Dracula. Thank you.”

But...in the end she had slept. She kept the stake tucked under her pillow but she was able to sleep. After all, his point made sense. He had not tried anything. Not a touch, not a kiss, nothing. If he was telling the truth, if he was truly waiting for her consent...then all she had to do was not give it.

In the beginning it had seemed like a simple battle between the two of them. But then...then the Count’s dinner guests began arriving. 

Most of the time Agatha could ignore her captor-husband’s proclivities because she did not see the evidence. Dracula left the castle to hunt in the early evening and would return back to “sup” with her before long. She never saw so much as a blood spatter on his perfectly tailored suits. But about once a week the Count’s creature, Renfield, would acquire a meal for his master to enjoy at home. And these were the true tests of Agatha’s fortitude. 

He forced her to sit and watch as he poured drinks and offered his victims seconds and thirds. She watched as they grew sleepy from wine and rich foods and the influence of her husband’s hypnotic stare, no doubt. Then, when they were silly and vulnerable, he struck. His eyes clouded red with blood lust and his fangs grew before her eyes. He always, always locked eyes with her before plunging down to savage the poor unfortunate’s neck. 

It was bloody and gruesome and appalling. Agatha watched him cradle them in his arms as he would a lover, cooing and shushing their pleas, tenderly stroking their hair. It turned her stomach and she said so...often. 

On her good days. 

On her bad days, like this one, she was almost catatonic. She missed her mama. She missed her research. She missed her God, who could not hear her in this place. On these days she simply sat and stared and time was nothing to her. Dracula preferred her feisty. 

“No, no, not this again, Agatha,” he whispered as he pressed in next to her on the window seat. “What’s the matter, my little nun?”

She curled her lip at him as she murmured, “Not a nun. Thanks to you…”

Dracula’s gaze lit up, “There she is! Now, who knows? You could be a nun yet. Oh, Agatha, just think of it. A vampire nun? Isn’t it delicious?”

She pulled away from him violently and moved to sit in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. She hadn’t met his gaze since he came down the stairs.

Dracula tilted his head and regarded her as she stared into the flames.

“No?” he asked in a mocking little voice. “Well...I’ve been thinking, Agatha. And I think it might help you to have something to look forward to on the horizon. It might help to bring you out of your sadness on days like today. A little...contest?”

Agatha didn’t bother looking up, but he could hear the hint of interest in her voice as she answered, “A contest?”

He latched onto that interest, standing up and coming forward to kneel on the hearth in front of her--a mockery of a man going down on one knee before his lover.

“Yes, a contest. And I think you’ll find the terms are very fair. Now, if after one year of… ‘marriage’...you don’t wish to stay here with me then I will release you and you may go on to your little convent. How does that sound?”

Agatha finally lifted her chin and met his eyes. He saw the flare of hope in them, quickly snuffed by suspicion. 

“What is the catch?” she asked, accusation in her tone.

“None!” Dracula put a hand to his chest as if she’d wounded him.

“Oh, spare me, Dracula! You’ve never let any of the others go. Why am I different?”

“Because, dear Agatha,” he murmured, taking her hands forcibly in his own, “I’ve learned something after all this time. It never worked with any of the other brides and I could never tell why. I chose all different types of girls, tried feeding them from my own veins first...took varying amounts of blood from them...it never worked. What I was missing was...consent. To have a true bride she must be a woman who chooses to join me in the darkness. Do you see?”

Agatha rolled her eyes at him, “You mean to tell me you’re a hundred year old vampire who is just learning that a successful marriage is based on two consenting parties and not one?”

Dracula shrugged and laughed, “I’m a slow learner.”

She sat back and looked down her nose at him, pulling her hands from his grip, “And yet here I am...against my will.”

Dracula smirked back at her, “But just for one year, darling. And...like I said...you’ll be begging me before the end.”

Tag List (Message me if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@the-life-and-times-of-a-nerd​ (you seemed to like the first part so much I decided to tag you--let me know if you’d prefer I don’t!)

@chrsitophwaltz​

[squidproquoclarice]

Really, really pleased for have gotten to write for @rdrsecretcupid2020.  I was asked to write for @my-funky-little-cowboy​, who requested some soft Sadithur.  For Valentine’s Day I decided to go for a super soft UA (despite where it starts, heh) where the worst traumas of 1899 didn’t come to pass, and so most people lived.  Hope you enjoy!  Soft Sadithur with some Tillier and Abijohn, and maybe a nod towards potential future Charen, which she also requested. ~~~~~~~~~~ March, 1901 White Deer Crossing, Minnesota For the second time in her life, Sadie Griffith was getting married.  That fact carried with it both love and a particular sobering reality, given she’d said I do once before less than five years before, and she’d meant it with all her heart then too.  Hadn’t truly thought about the weight of till death do us part until she’d sat there in that cabin in Ambarino, holding Jake’s hand as the pneumonia won the fight.  There one moment, gone the next.  She’d had the rest of that whole winter to rage and grieve and rail against God, to be numb, to cry herself to sleep.  But at least she’d been there, at least he’d been able to say goodbye.  Far too soon, but a good death, compared to some. She’d buried him in the spring when the ground thawed, packed the wagon, and drove away, knowing she’d never return.  She couldn’t run that farm alone, so far from everyone else, but she could have let the livestock and the few crops go and become some kind of hermit, surviving by her hunting and trapping, living as alone as she’d been through those endless snowy days and nights. But she couldn’t live with the gaping wound of Jake’s absence everywhere she turned.  So she’d headed south.  Run into a gang of toughs calling themselves O’Driscoll Boys who’d shot Betsy, and seen a lone woman and her few belongings as easy pickings.  She could have given in, but that part of her that felt frozen since Jake took sick three days after falling through the ice, not only thawed, it exploded.  If she was going to die, she was damn well going to fight as much as Jake had, and she wasn’t going to be pushed by some swaggering bastards who viewed a widow and saw only prey.  Especially since Jake had ridden that route to avoid bandits in the hills, and gone hunting to replace the provisions they stole, as far as she was concerned, they had as good as killed him themselves. The next wagon by found her standing there over four corpses, blood spattered.  Rifle still in hand, pointed at the driver as he hopped down, ready to make it five.  Ragged, feral, furious, taking out some of that anguished scream that had lived inside her for months.  He’d looked at her, looked at the dead men and the dead horse still in the wagon traces, nodded slightly, and said, voice almost nonchalant despite the horrible sight she must have made, “Seems you can hold your own, ma’am.  But as you got no horse now, and being as there are more of their kind roaming about,” he gestured towards the bodies, “I wouldn’t recommend camping alone.  So if you’d like to travel with us a bit, you’d be welcome.”  Seeing curious faces poking out from wagons further back in their caravan, she’d relaxed a bit, seeing women there with them. Not the most auspicious first meeting, perhaps, but looking back, all she could see was that Arthur had been kind to someone with nothing left to lose.  But that was the way of things.  They all had stories about how they’d been alone, desperate, scared, lost.  How this ragtag band had taken them in and forged them into family.  Their leader had died, but Dutch Van Der Linde was still spoken of with a sort of hushed reverence like some kind of hero or god.  Secretly, she much preferred Hosea, warm and approachable and so human, with his roguish twinkle and his jokes about how all he wanted in his dotage was to sit around and dandle some more grandchildren on his knee. Children--a hope she and Arthur had both had to put away, and now taken down again, dusting it off with care.  They’d traveled for a long time, and somewhere along the way she’d become fully one of them, an outlaw wandering and hunting and killing and scamming alike.  But that didn’t matter.  They were family.  This was what they’d all wanted in the end: home.  A good place, peaceful and happy, where this bunch of orphans and outcasts could believe that finally life might be gentle and kind, that something fine could grow from settled roots.

Though Tilly and Javier would provide Jack’s first baby cousin, and she expected Swanson would have another wedding to perform soon enough. She slipped down the hall to Arthur’s room, though like her, he would have packed all his things to move it to the cabin they’d built for some privacy, like John and Abigail’s.  Knocking, she heard him answer, tone distracted, “Yeah?” She didn’t reply, just opened the door and stepped in.  He stood at the window, looking out over the preparations in the yard, looking pensive, or nervous, or both.  They’d talked so much, starting in those long hours out hunting together, about Jake, about Eliza and Isaac, and the sadness in him made sense.  He’d had part of his soul ripped from him too, and something about that drew them to each other.  Paradoxical that in sharing sadness, it also made her more able to joke and laugh with him, but perhaps that feeling of kinship and trust and comfort stood behind it all and made it so easy to be that free with him in both joy and sorrow. He turned to see her.  That smile, that glow in his eyes, a man who’d learned the feel of hope all over again, still caught her heart with a fierce tug.  He was a pleasant looking man to begin, but God, seeing him alight with happiness and wonder and hope made him beautiful.  She only hoped that fate would be kind, and she’d get to grow old with him. Crossing to the window, she peeked out at the bustle going on.  “That is--quite the commotion, ain’t it?” “Too late to elope, I suppose?” he asked her, and she sensed he was only half-joking. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, glad for the reassurance of it.  “They’re our family.  You’d be sorry if they didn’t get to be a part of it.” “Sure.” “Besides,” she couldn’t help but tease him, “we’re gonna get plenty of time just to ourselves, I promise you that.” “Well, we’re gonna get teased like hell whenever we come out of that cabin, so I’d say let’s make it a few days at least before we take a chance and emerge.”  There was a blush alongside that lopsided grin, but that gleam in his eyes told her that he was more than eager to keep making up for all those lonely, loveless years.     They watched for a few more minutes, standing there together without a need to say anything.  She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come to see him one last time before meeting him before Swanson and taking his hand as he changed into her husband.  He was her friend, like Jake had been, and he’d be her friend before anything else, no matter what.  But it comforted her all the same.“I didn’t ever think…” She knew what he’d started to say.  He hadn’t ever expected a day like this, a future like this. Neither had she.  After Mary, after Eliza, after Jake.  After becoming a killer and an outlaw.  There was no way to turn back the hands of time.  She could never be that Sadie again, and he would never be Jake, and she could never be Mary or Eliza for him either.  But they didn’t need to be.  This would be a different happiness than she’d had before, but not a lesser one.  Maybe this peace and this second chance meant even more so for its coming after such darkness. “We ain’t young, no, and we ain’t innocent no more.”  She heard the husky edge to her voice, fighting against the swell of emotion.  “But Arthur, that don’t mean we won’t be happy.  That we shouldn’t be happy.”  She had to believe that they could.  They’d been damaged, torn, broken, but they had chosen to be good people all the same.  Both of them helped people where they could, chose kindness rather than hatred, and that soothed something.His hand tightened around hers.   “Sadie?”

“Yeah?”  She turned away from the window, towards him. “Thank you.”  She understood he meant it for far more than a few words.  He looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he smiled, touched her cheek with his other hand.  “Guess I’ll save all that for later.” Just then, Mary-Beth burst in, asking, “Arthur, Sean wants to know if you’ve seen--”  She gave a little cry of alarm, looking at the two of them.  “Arthur Morgan, you know you ain’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding, it’s bad luck!” “She came to my room, how is this my fault?” “Just go talk to him, you know how he gets when he gets a notion in his head, and I don’t want him ruining a lovely wedding!”  Ushered out by Mary-Beth back towards her own room, she let herself be shepherded, trying to not laugh.  Tilly, Abigail, Jenny, Karen, and Susan already waited there. “Well, Mrs. Morgan,” Susan said, giving her a smile, “should we get you ready?”  She gestured to the dress laid out on the bed.  A widow couldn’t wear white, not for a second wedding.  She had to reflect with some amusement it wasn’t as though any of them in that room, though none of them was technically a wife, could claim virginal purity regardless.  But in truth, Sadie would rather not wear white, even if it had been an option.  She’d seen more than enough of icy, pristine white.   The rich yellow called to mind the glow of light and fire, the vivid burst of spring flowers, and that was what she needed, a dream of life and warmth.  They’d all helped her make the dress after Arthur finally mustered the courage to ask her to marry him at Christmas.  There were long hours of loving labor in every stitch, every pintuck, every bit of embroidery.   She looked at all of them: Mary-Beth with her love of romance, practically vibrating with glee.  Tilly, and the slight curve beneath her skirt, with her own hopes and dreams.  Abigail, still hoping John would marry her in truth, but eyes shining with happiness as she clipped a few last threads on the dress.  Jenny, shy and sweet, deftly twisting flowers into a circlet for her.  Karen, briskly polishing Sadie’s boots to a high shine, and she wondered if she could prod Charles to finally ask Karen to dance.  Susan, who’d loved and lost, more than once, and sometimes she was still as prickly as anything, but in the end, she loved them all and fought for them like a she-wolf.  In a way, this was their day too, their celebration. Caroline was in Oregon, and their rift as sisters might never be mended.  Her mother was long gone, dead shortly before she and Jake finally gave up on their family’s farms in Tumbleweed and ran off to Blackwater to marry, and from there to Ambarino.  So she’d been alone that day, and so had Jake. She was getting married again today, but this time, it wouldn’t be alone.  She’d have family around her today, and for the future, the kind of love from a large and boisterous family that she’d never known before.  After struggling so long either alone or with only Jake to help her, that thought of belonging, of the support of being woven into something strong and sturdy with so many threads from other people, made her smile.  She threw up her hands in mock resignation.  “All right, all right, I put myself in the capable hands of you gals.” ~~~~~~~~~~ “It’ll be fine, Arthur, you’ll see.” Hosea said, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  “You’re as jumpy as a cat.” He glanced over at Hosea.  “And I suppose your wedding day went smooth as silk?” Hosea let out a laugh that barely skirted turning into a cough, but he waved off John’s offered arm, sitting down on Arthur’s bed unaided. “No, I spent the whole morning pacing a trench into the floor, threw up an hour before the ceremony, and then the thought of kissing poor Bessie at the altar after that about threw me into a panic.” “Sounds like a poor start to things,” John remarked, leaning back against the chest of drawers, crossing his arms. “Well, I talked the preacher into getting me some whiskey.  Wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to make myself a stiff drink or clean my mouth out, but it seemed it’d suffice for either.  I chose the latter, in the end.” “Why’s that?” “Cause tense as I was, I wanted to see her on that day as clear as I ever had.”  Hosea glanced over at John first, then at Arthur, giving one of his self-deprecating smiles.  “Though I still wasn’t quite sure she wouldn’t come to her senses and leave me at the altar, mind.” “Hosea, please…”  The last thing he needed right now was that worry.  Even now he could feel it trying to take root.  Sadie would see sense, and say that there was no way she could tie herself to the likes of him.  There had been two women in his life who’d seen something in him fit to refuse to be his wife, and for good reason, so why should this time be any different? Because this was Sadie.  Because ever since he’d seen her, terrifying and magnificent on the roadside, dead O’Driscolls and a dead horse, things had simply worked.  With Mary it was all back and forth, giddy dreams or ferocious fights, and nowhere solid to build, just castles in the air.  With Eliza, he’d started so far back, feeling like he must be a shame in her life she didn’t quite know what to do with--the outlaw and the drunken fool who’d gotten her pregnant.  With Sadie, it had always been possible to just be, and she saw fit to accept that, and somehow, even love him for all that he both was and wasn’t. “She won’t run,” Hosea said, voice going soft.  “She knows you.  She’s family.  Been with us long enough to understand who we are and what we all come from.  She’s that rare type--the ones who can stand right by your side as a partner, who make you want to be better without making you feel like the lowest fool in God’s creation.” She was just like that, and he supposed that was the difference.  She was his friend, his partner in so many things, and that made it easier more often than not.  Though he’d still agonized plenty before asking her to marry him, and suspected he’d made a hash of it all the same in his anxiousness.   Arthur heard the bittersweet note in Hosea’s voice, and sensed he knew precisely where that longing ache stemmed from, because how could it not?  “I wish Bessie had met her.  That she was here today.” Hosea managed a wistful smile.  “Me too.  But however long you’re given, it’s worth it.” Sadie had said much the same.  It hadn’t been an easy thing for her to risk this again, after such a short time with Jake.  Just like opening himself up to the possibility of children, of being a father for real this time, terrified him even as much as he hungered for it.  They were going into this with their share of scars and fears, but they would be there for each other through it.  That was what made it bearable, and what made him able to cautiously step out onto that bridge they’d built together back from that wilderness of pain where they’d been so lost, trusting that it could hold his weight.  The other side of it was still a mystery, because he wasn’t sure he could truthfully say he’d ever been fully happy for more than moments, but he looked forward to seeing where that road led.   They’d gotten a good start on it, all of them, by settling down here on this land where the woods met the prairie, living a quiet and simple life.  Dutch had died two and a half years ago now, dead in some senseless brawl across the western Grizzlies.  At first Arthur had blamed himself for not being there, which was stupid since they’d all understood that Dutch justifiably hadn’t wanted company while going to town to scratch a particular itch at the saloon.  Then he’d felt lost as anything, as had all of them, bereft of that father-leader who’d drawn them all together with that magnetic charisma and the sense that Dutch had some magnificent bigger plan behind it all.  What were they now?  A bunch of vagabond nobodies, bandits and whores and scamsters that no place wanted.  And yet, they were each other’s still--they were family. They’d hunkered down that winter near Strawberry, paralyzed by that loss, and hit the road in spring as much out of habit as anything.  It was the woman and her dead horse and those dead O’Driscolls that snapped them out of things.  She needed a place, she needed people, and they’d given her that, without Dutch there to lead them to it.  They could stand for the best of Dutch’s notions without all that high-flown shit from Evelyn Miller that frankly most of them hadn’t cared about all that much, and which lately had seen them seem to stray so far from those ideals anyway, becoming more violent, more selfish.  The system was too big and vast to fight, and they were too tired, needing something simpler and surer than to be on some visionary quest.  They wandered the land, and things boiled down to a simple, pure code they agreed they could and should live by: we’ll help those who need it where we can, and stand against those who hurt others where we can.

By last summer, the notion of a hearthfire rather than a campfire called to all of them.  They belonged to each other, but having somewhere to call home, a place to belong, mattered.  If the world wouldn’t give them that place, they would damn well make it themselves, and so they had.  They’d bought this land and built on it, and they’d make this their home.  Civilization was civilization, and chances were it would follow them, and they’d have to deal with that in the end, but it meant neighbors and friends, not just the horrors of the big city. Another knock on the door, and he couldn’t help hoping it was Sadie again.  But it was Tilly who came in.  “Hosea, Pearson’s about ready to murder Bill.” Hosea sighed, shaking his head.  “I’ll handle it, sure.”  His was a quieter, less thunder-and-lightning leadership than Dutch’s, but it proved what they needed.  They needed to be a family, not a rebellious cause, and having Susan and Hosea in charge marked that shift.  In the end, it had been strangely easy to just stop fighting an impossible cause, and to cherish the things they already had. Tilly turned to go, but Hosea held up a hand.  “Stay a minute, before I go deal with it.”  He chuckled lowly.  “Though I suppose you don’t need a murder on your wedding day.” “Don’t make for a good omen, I imagine,” he agreed dryly.  He yielded the chair to Tilly, gesturing for her to sit. Hosea looked at the three of them, and smiled.  “Well.  Look at you.”  That smile flickered into nervousness.  “I told myself I’d do better saying the things I need to say before I…”  He cleared his throat.  “Any luck, I’ve got a few years left in me anyhow.”   “Aw, Hosea, don’t be talking that kind of crap.” “John, don’t.  I’ve had a good run, and it’s a better end, when it comes, than I ever would have thought.  I love all our dear miscreants, but you three, you’ve always been something special.  You’re the children I never--you’re my children, all right?” He understood that, looking at John and Tilly.  He’d been fourteen, John twelve, and Tilly fourteen when they’d been taken in.  They were something different than the others.  They were the ones who’d still been children, who Dutch and Hosea and Susan, and Bessie when she was alive, had helped finish raising.  The ones that Hosea had taught to read and write, whose nightmares he’d heard.  His brother and his sister in the truest kind of way.  “Arthur’s getting married today.  Tilly, I expect that’ll happen soon.” “Javier asked,” Tilly said softly.  “We just ain’t said anything yet.”  She gave Arthur one of those cheeky smiles of hers.  “We didn’t want to steal the thunder.  You waited long enough for this, I figured.” He gave her a smile in return.  “Thanks.” “John’s already provided me with one delightful grandson, but I do hope you plan to do right by Abigail, being as we’re now honest folk ourselves.” “I asked after Arthur asked Sadie,” John protested.  “But Abigail said just the same as Tilly, all right?” “All right, John.  I expect young Lenny and Jenny might be next.  But anyway, seeing all of you settled, comfortable...it does me good.”  His eyes brightened, and his smile was genuine, guileless.  “Thank you.  For making an old man’s last years so happy.  Now, I expect you’d best tend to the bride, Tilly, and John, you should check that boy of yours ain’t got into any mischief.  Arthur, why don’t you help me prevent whatever Bill-based mayhem we got?” Following Hosea down towards the stairs, hearing the raucous female laughter from Sadie’s room as Tilly slipped in the door again, he said, “You know you’re enough to cow Bill all by yourself, Hosea.” Hosea paused on the stairwell.  “Smart boy.”  He looked Arthur in the eyes for a long moment.  “I do love all of them.  But you’re my oldest, and the one most like me, and we all know how they rely on you.  So they’ll look to you, and Sadie too, when I’m gone.”  He put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.  “You went and became a man.   And I don’t mean by marrying.  Got nothing to do with that.  But you finally came into your own these last few years, and I’ve watched it happen.  You’ll be OK without me.  You’re a better man than me, Arthur.  You always were a good son, but now you’re a man a father can be proud of.” Oh, Goddamn, was a groom allowed to cry on his wedding day?  He held it back only with effort, but he couldn’t help reaching out to give Hosea a hug for those words that felt like they meant everything.  “Thank you.” “Of course.  You need a bottle of whiskey?”  His tone was light and teasing. “No, no, I’ll be fine.”  He’d drunk far too much in the past to try to not feel things, to numb the guilt and sorrow and crushing self-loathing.  Like Hosea said, today he wanted to see everything, to feel everything, to remember everything.  It came down to simple belief: Sadie wouldn’t feel compelled to abandon him, and he wouldn’t fail her.  They would work together, be happy together, because the love and trust and friendship was there.  He’d seen it in Hosea and Bessie for all those years.   The rest?  It would work itself out.  He was here, surrounded by family, surrounded by love, with a home.  Things looked pretty good. Hosea smiled, giving him one last pat on the shoulder, then letting go.  “Damn right you will.  Now you head back up to your room, I’ll get the boys together to get you ready, and let’s get you hitched.” 

[marzipanandminutiae]

How many adoptions/versions of Carmilla are there/how much content is there for the Carmilla web series?

Oh boy. I’ll try to go down the list as best I can.

The original novella as serialized in The Dark Blue (magazine) during the winter of 1870-71

The original novella as published in LeFanu’s anthology In A Glass, Darkly in 1872, with some minor alterations to the text (notably for web series fans, removing the name Matska but not the character Mattie is based on) and a new frame narrative in the foreword to the stories

At least one stage adaptation sometime later in the 19th century that didn’t get good reviews or run a long time but did stir up a bit of moral outrage because gay, even if the gayest character is a villain who gets killed off at the end

Probably a few other stage adaptations here and there in the early 20th century? But like smaller ones?

Vampyr (1932), a Danish film that adapts five stories from In A Glass, Darkly but omits any lesbian content from Carmilla. Not really sure what that leaves, but apparently they did it.

A radio adaptation in 1940 that moved the story to “present day” New York. Not really sure how one does that when car crashes happen all the time in New York and there are plenty of hotels around, but sure.

Blood and Roses (1960), a French film that takes character names from the original story but straightwashes the hell out of it. In this version, Carmilla is in love with her male cousin, gets possessed by the spirit of a vampire, and preys on the woman he loves so she can have him for herself. Or get revenge, or something like that. It’s supposed to be pretty good, but I just can’t bring myself to watch a straight version of such a quintessentially gay story.

Terror In the Crypt (1963), an Italian adaptation featuring Christopher Lee.

A chamber opera by LaMama in 1970 that was pretty successful, possibly despite the fact that the whole thing was just Laura and Carmilla sitting on a couch and the other characters framed as “faces” that are actually knots in the woodwork. The original Carmilla actress had just had knee surgery and needed to be seated the whole time, so they went with…that (I don’t get it either; you can buy the cast recording on vinyl online if you want to). This was revived in 1986 and again in 2007

The Vampire Lovers (1970), Hammer Studios’ take on the story. This version is gay and fairly faithful to the events of the book, though it still does certain things I strongly dislike. The addition of a male love interest for both Bertha (now called Laura) and Laura (now called Emma, because why not, I guess), the change in Laura’s character from a strong, intelligent, thoughtful, rational girl into a simpering ninny, and the generally atrocious costuming. Notably one of the few adaptations that sets the story in the vaguely Regency setting LeFanu seems to have been going for. First movie in the Karnstein Trilogy, the first two of which are semi-related to the original tale and the third of which isn’t.

The Blood-Spattered Bride (1972), a Spanish horror film that seems to be quite popular. This one also left the gay in.

A few TV adaptations, notably one from Poland and one from America that resets the story to the south pre-American Civil War.

Some more stage adaptations at various times, mostly regional or community productions

A couple more radio shows

We don’t talk about Lesbian Vampire Hunters (2009). We just don’t.

The Moth Diaries (2011) is not a direct adaptation, but it was heavily inspired by Carmilla and references the book several times.

The Unwanted (2014), another one set in the American south but modern this time.

The Curse of Styria (2014) also messes around with the story a bit in a manner similar to Blood and Roses, it seems to me, but they left the gay in so it’s stil on my to-watch list. A lot of people seem to like taking the ~but Carmilla might NOT be a vampire!~ route nowadays, which is fine if not my personal favorite thing ever.

Carmilla (2014-2016), a web series adaptation that took the basic premise of the story (intelligent but naive human Laura meets mysterious, sexy, gay vampire Carmilla) and some character names and shoutouts to the book and ran with them to modern, epic, less homophobic and misogynistic places. Has amassed a huge fanbase, and deservedly so in my opinion. Notably the first adaptation with openly queer actresses playing Carmilla and Laura and the first to give them a happy ending, including the original novella.

In 2015 I heard about a musical that was being workshopped to maybe come to Broadway, but they gave Laura a male love interest so I stopped checking for news about it.

The Carmilla Movie (2017), a film sequel to the web series.

Hopefully someday this novel I’m trying to write.

The character Carmilla, or even just her name, has appeared in a number of other media, but I don’t count those as adaptations per se. I’m sure I’ve missed some things, but those are the big ones.

As for the web series, there are three seasons of the series itself, a rather divisive prequel season (Season Zero) that some fans consider canon and some don’t, the movie, some tie-in U By Kotex promos, and the Christmas Special. There are also canon social media accounts on Tumblr ( @heycarmilla and @laura2theletter) and Twitter (for Laura, Carmilla, and LaFontaine) that follow the characters through season 3. That’s not counting behind-the-scenes content, which…I’m not even sure how much of that there is. A lot. I definitely haven’t seen all of it.

Hope this helps!

[madaboutasoiaf]

He sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped much. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of Pentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.

Dany really did try to reach out to Viserys.

While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.

Perhaps he would forgive her? She did nothing wrong, and yet she wants to mend things and have him be her brother.

“I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

She says in ADWD, when he’s hallucinating, that she loved him once. He deserved that love once, but now he’s just her abuser and she can’t get back the man who was her brother, who took care of her when they had nothing. Pretty much every exchange they have has her in fear of “waking the dragon” or Viserys being violent towards her.

His fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again, quailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the first thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze medallions. She swung it with all her strength.

It caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the edge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,” Dany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now, before I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”

“for an instant Dany felt like a child again.” Dany still is a child. She’s only fourteen and pregnant.

Viserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day, slut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.

Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft cloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats.

“Your supper is ready, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui announced.

“I’m not hungry,” Dany said sadly. She was suddenly very tired. “Share the food among yourselves, and send some to Ser Jorah, if you would.” After a moment she added, “Please, bring me one of the dragon’s eggs.”

She tried so hard to reach Viserys, and couldn’t. No wonder she’s sad. All that anticipation of him liking the gifts, forgiving her, being her brother and he’s hurt her and had to be told to leave.

Irri fetched the egg with the deep green shell, bronze flecks shining amid its scales as she turned it in her small hands. Dany curled up on her side, pulling the sandsilk cloak across her and cradling the egg in the hollow between her swollen belly and small, tender breasts. She liked to hold them. They were so beautiful, and sometimes just being close to them made her feel stronger, braver, as if somehow she were drawing strength from the stone dragons locked inside.

She clings to the dragon eggs for comfort. They were the only thing to give her comfort after she first wed Drogo, the eggs and her silver. Dany uses her  identity as the blood of the dragon as another source of strength and courage, and the eggs are closely related to that, both as a representation of her sigil, and for what they will become (as signaled in her visions from the very beginning of the book).

“He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.” For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs... but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want... they’re only stones...” “The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess... and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.” Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother... and my true king.”

Viserys tries to take the eggs, and even though they are Daenerys’ source of strength and bravery, she would have given them to him, because he is her brother. Jorah doesn’t understand, and Daenerys tries to explain.

“My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.”

Viserys is her only family, and she is still trying to hang onto the boy he once was, the person she loved. He abuses her, but he’s family. He kept her safe, and looked after her, and she struggles to reconcile those memories with the man who now hurts her. Viserys and her unborn baby are Dany’s only blood ties, and Dany desperately wants a home and a family.

Viserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city... but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel. Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.

I’ll never understand why people judge Dany in this scene. Viserys threatens her unborn baby, he threatens Dany. He’s holding a sword against her belly. History has taught Dany that Viserys is capable of being very violent. She is terrified for her baby, and this terrible threat is what shows her that Viserys is no longer the brother she loved, that the boy who helped raise her isn’t there anymore.

Drogo needs the translation of what Viserys said, his threats, so Dany translates. That is all she does. She doesn’t give any order, she’s not complicit, and what happens afterwards is not anything she wished for.

“What did he say?” the man who had been her brother asked her, flinching. It had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair, chiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper shadows. Daenerys had gone cold all over. “He says you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.” Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward... the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.”

She had gone cold all over. This whole scene is trauma upon trauma for Dany. That sensation, that feeling of cold, is her knowing it’s going to end badly, and it shows that she isn’t in on it. It’s out of her hands now. It was out of her hands the moment Viserys drew the sword and broke the taboo.

When the sun of her life reached her, Dany slid an arm around his waist.

Drogo is her protector in this scene. Yes she reaches for him, but think about what just happened, not what is about to happen. Viserys held a sword on Dany and her unborn child, her child with Drogo. The point of it pressed close enough to prick at her skin, and only Drogo’s actions ended the threat. Drogo represents safety for Dany and her baby, even though he also represents doom for the man who was once her brother.

Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.” “No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively. At the last, Viserys looked at her. “Sister, please... Dany, tell them... make them... sweet sister...”

Two things here. First, Dany has her arms folded protectively over her belly, thinking of the child Viserys was going to kill. The sequence of events would have her in shock. Second, Dany would not have been able to successfully intervene, even if she overlooked the threat to kill her and her child. Dany tried to stop it, before it went too far. She offered him her dragon eggs, and begged him to put down the sword, and instead he wielded it against her, a khaleesi of the Dothraki, and the Dothraki will never overlook that.

Varys said as much earlier in AGOT.

“By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.”

Dany had done everything she could for Viserys. She’s his victim here, and he’s no longer the brother she loved, but her abuser who hurt her again and again, and escalated it to an attempt to hurt not just her, but to harm her child. Dany has nothing to apologise for with Viserys, and she never did.

[waywardimpalawriter]

First tear

First tear

Summary: Nights are the worse when the dreams come and destroy everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Setting: Season 6, 7

Word count: 2,123 (with lyrics)

Warnings: Nightmares, anger, angst,

Notes: Notes: written for the Album Challenge by @mrs-squirrel-chesterI chose Rascal Flatts Unstoppable.�� The song is Here comes goodbye. Also this is a part one of three that will be worked into with this challenge.

  Forever:

@winters-buck

@angryschnauzer

@marvel-lucy

@feelmyroarrrr

Supernatural:

@smoothdogsgirl

@aquabrie

@spnfanficpond

@aprofoundbondwithdean

Pulling into the drive, exhausted from a long day’s work, resting his head on the steering wheel, Dean lets out a deep breath. There’s parts of him which miss being out there hunting monsters, saving people doing what his family has been for generations. However, coming home to a warm house, never having to guess if something’s on his trail, but most important Lisa and Ben.

Those thoughts make a smile appear on his face, while raising his head to glance at the house, dark with windows closed, making his senses hit red alert. It’s a foolish thought surely… yet as Dean gets out of his truck reaching for the glock under his seat. Checking the chamber, before flicking the safety and starting a slow walk, eyes searching every step he took. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, front door still locked, now opened with the keys from his pocket. Light steps into the entryway, still searching, wanting to call out but reframing from doing so just in case someone other than Lisa and Ben are home.

Even in the dim light, dark blots of crimson are noticeable, making his heart tighten within his chest. Surely it’s just a scratch nothing more. Yet, with every step the drops become puddles, till his eyes land on Lisa’s prone form chocolate orbs open, unseeing, throat cut, arms and legs at odd angles. Wanting to take his sight from the scene but can’t as he lays the glock on a table close by to squat carefully to keep from getting any blood on him. Checking, though he knew all too well, she’s pale, too broke to be alive. Though he still checks, sorrow filling his heart, fingers falling to a pulse that isn’t there, only to draw up her blood spatter cheeks to close those expression eyes he loved so.

Head bowed, hands hanging between parted knees, trying to regain some strength to raise. Knowing he needed to check, hope the only thing he’s hanging on to after giving Lisa one last look. Before raising on wobbly bowed legs, gun redrawn and in hand. Searching for any signs, ears picking up the manic laughter from down the hall. Feet taking him towards the living room, as he rounds the last corner Dean’s unprepared for what his eyes are met with.

“Ben,” voice soft, heartbroken as he puts his gun in the waist band of his pants at the small of his back. “Put the knife down son.”

Sneering, the voice sounding like Ben but, “Oh Deano that’s not gonna happen. This meat suit,” the demon inside running a hand down the boy’s side. “Doesn’t have much longer to breathe and the kick,” he points the knife at Dean. “It’s all your fault,” before raising the sharp blade to Ben’s throat and slice deeply, cleanly through blood squirting, dripping down his faded black shirt.

Twisted smile, right before his mouth opens and thick black smoke is expelled, dancing away, out the door. “BEN,” his name coming out in a shout. Rushing, catching his lifeless body right before hitting the ground, Ben in his arms. Silent tears falling from red rimmed eyes, while rocking the boy slowly.

I can hear the truck tires coming up the gravel road And its not like her to drive that slow, nothings on the radio Footsteps on the front porch, I hear my doorbell She usually comes right in, now I can tell           

Bolting upright in bed, sweat pouring from his face, chest heaving, Ben’s name ripped from his lips. Dean searches wildly, thinking his nightmares real, till a pair of soft slightly callused hands, smaller than his own rub his left shoulder.

“Just a dream Dean it’s okay,” voice a whisper trying to keep Sam, who’s bunked on the pull out couch, from waking up.

Glancing over, he notices the dark circles under your eyes, the sleep rumpled hair, the worry. “I’m fine.”

Nodding, but still rubbing his shoulder and back soothingly. “I know doesn’t mean I believe you.”

“What’s not to believe sweetheart?”

The endearment slices another piece of your heart as you know he only means it as a friend nothing more. No his heart and thoughts belong to someone long gone. “Cause I know you Winchester,” turning away you move to go back to the bed next to his. “Go back to sleep Dean, we have an early morning.”

Watching you, a frown marring his features a small part of him realizes he misses your touch, the warmth it brought and the calm restored. However, he pushed that thought aside, rolling over, giving you his back and trying to snuggle back down to sleep. Except it didn’t come and he stayed awake for most of the early morning listening to both of you sleep.

What he didn’t know is that you hadn’t really slept all that much neither. Being that most of your life you’ve been a light sleeper anyway even more so now with Dean having nightmares most nights. Sure all three of you had them, some nights worse than others. Yet you always found yourself trying to sooth Dean back to sleep. It started not long after he’d left Lisa and Ben. Dreams of them dying by demon hands or other monster kind you hunted. It hadn’t been an easy feet getting him to talk about those dreams and you’d thought that by him expelling the bad thoughts, sleep would come easier. It didn’t that’s why most nights you slept with one ear open ready to help.

Here comes goodbye, here comes the last time Here comes the start of every sleepless night The first of every tear I'm gonna cry Here comes the pain, here comes me wishing things had never changed And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye

 Tonight, he’d planned it out perfectly, streaks marinated in the fridge, potatoes in the oven, salad chillin, having picked up a pecan pie for dessert later. One hand reached down to fiddle with the small velvet box in his pocket. A few times he’s debated with himself if he’s doing the right thing. Given the fact that he still felt the urges to pick up a case, to hunter. Yet, Dean always pushes it away, keeps working for the apple pie life his parents nor Sam got to have. Thinking he’d live that life for them and for once be at peace. That’s why he choose tonight, requested time off, fixed everything up just right.

Hearing the front door open, but confusion set in as he hears two sets of footsteps and giggling. A couple of long strides, Dean rounds the corner shock invading his body, making it stand ramrod stiff. “Lisa?” the name breathed out little louder than a whisper.

Turning quickly her male companion at her back, smile whipped from her face at seeing Dean standing there. “What’re you doing home Dean?” tone demanding, harsh.

Running a quick hand through his hair, making it stand on end, “Wanted to surprise you. Instead it looks like I’m the one who gets the prize,” motioning to the man behind her. “Who’s the douche bag?”

Rolling her eyes, “Stay here love this won’t take long,” then headed towards Dean. “Kitchen,” icy much like her steps and posture.

Entering, “Answer me Lisa who’s the loser?”

“Loser?” she snorts rounding on him, eyes blazing. “That’s rich coming from the king of the losers.”

Taking a step back as if he’s been struck, “At least I’m the king baby,” he returned crossing his arms. “I’ll ask again who’s the high school drop out?”

“The reason you’ll be leaving tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

“You deaf in your old age Dean,” she sneered face contorting in a harsh look, arms crossing to mirror him. “Did you really think I’d keep someone like you around? Worthless, no a count, good for nothing loser, who can’t even protect his own family? Please I found someone who could. You,” she steps forward patting his shoulder like he’s five. “We're just a good lay from time to time that’s all.”

Anger, hot and heavy roared through his veins yet he tramped that down as the greater emotion flowed much stronger, pain. Her words hitting home harder than any bullet or punch. She knew which vein to lay bare and destroy. “Good to know where I stand, you know before I step in that shit. Have a good one Lisa. Tell Ben goodbye for me,” turning to head up stairs.

“As if, he doesn’t care about you any more than I did Dean he’ll be glad you’re gone,” gleeful expression sliding over her once beloved features.

I can hear her say I love you like it was yesterday And I can see it written on her face that she had never felt this way One day I thought I’d see her with her daddy by her side And violins would play here comes the bride

            He doesn’t bolt upright in bed this time, to many dreams like this has made it were Dean doesn’t react much. Just a simple flinch, a barely let out groan of discomfort. However, this time something’s different, a warmth envelops him one that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

            Slowly emerald eyes open to stare at a sweatpants covered lap, fingers lightly threating through his brown hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Coming to the realization that he’s not in bed, but the couch at Rufus’s old cabin and the lap he’s currently using as a pillow belongs to you. It’s your fingers that start to lull him back into a dozing state.

            “I didn’t mean to wake you,” soft voice speaks from above him chasing out the cobwebs.

            Shaking his head, “You didn’t Y/N.”

            “No the nightmare did, didn’t it?” not accusing, just stating the facts, fingers still carding through his hair with one hand while reading a slim volume of lore with the other.

“Doesn’t matter,” raising, giving you his back, not knowing that you’d dropped both hands to your lap, book closed now.

Glancing around, noticing Sam fast asleep in the chair opposite, Bobby having run out for supplies about an hour ago, you place one hand on his shoulder, “It matters Dean.” You’ve been wanting to ask, to understand what the nightmares he’s having meant. Guessing they included not only Sam but Lisa and Ben as well having heard those names muttered from his lips a few times.

“Finding Dick Roman that’s what matters,” he barked quietly quickly standing from the couch and moving away from you.

Sighing, eyes coming up to watch him pace. Knowing from all the years of hunting with the Winchester brothers that arguing with Dean wouldn’t get you anywhere, not now nor ever. You only hoped with time he’d come around and talk to you about what’s eating away at his soul.

Standing, you move into his path way, resting a hand on his shoulder, looking up into those soulful eyes that you could drown in. “When you’re ready I’ll be here to listen Dean. I don’t plan on going anywhere.” Patting said shoulder, you step around him to head towards the kitchen area bent on starting something for dinner.

Here comes goodbye, here comes the last time Here comes the start of every sleepless night The first of every tear I'm gonna cry Here comes the pain, here comes me wishing things had never changed And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye

Why does it have to go from good to gone? Before the lights turn on, yeah and you're left alone All alone, but here comes goodbye

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Here comes goodbye, here comes the last time Here comes the start of every sleepless night The first of every tear I'm gonna cry Here comes the pain, here comes me wishing things had never changed And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye

 Not that he’d ever admit it, but Dean knew how over the last six months you’d taken care of him after each and every nightmare. Standing silently beside him through this mess with the Leviathan and Dick Roman. Sure you’d put your two cent in when needed to balance out an argument, or put his sorry ass in its place. In that time somethings changed between you something though he’d not yet willing to speak of in the light of day. Maybe one day, though Dean’s not sure if it’ll come at all. Till your soft voice started to hum out Hey Jude by the Beetles and his heart gets a kick start from that simple melody.  

[horrorlesbians]

Included below is a list of (almost) every film I watched in February and March, 2022 and my thoughts about said film. Not included are films I rewatched and any short films I watched. Potential spoilers for all films shown in header

February 1st- The Blood Spattered Bride (1972)

I really liked The Blood Spattered Bride, I’m personally developing a soft spot for what I call the “homoerotic homophobic” horror movies, I find more interesting than modern day gay horror. But besides that I really liked it, the plot is interesting and I liked watching this dysfunctional relationship crumble and the wife fall for a lesbian vampire. I could have done without some of the sexual assault elements, even though thematically I understand why they are there and what they represent within the story. I don’t have much to say about this one besides I like it and it’s powerful lesbian eroticism. 

February 4th- Serial Mom (1994)

I absolutely loved this one, comedy is not one of my favorite genres or sub-genres by far but I really liked this one, I think because of how much it tapped into the black comedy aspect of the plot. This film overall is a really good depiction of how true crime gets represented within the media and how people will drastically change their opinions on things because now it is happening to them, I really liked the message and overall narrative of the film. The mother is a really compelling character and the acting really sells it. Watching a housewife kill people who, in her eyes, commit moral character sins is really fun and one I definitely recommend.

February 18th- Re-Animator (1985)

Okay yeah I get why everyone is obsessed with this. Overall really fun body horror and practical effects (my beloved), the characters are fun, the stakes are high and I love how quickly the plot falls into chaos. My only complaints is that I found the film a little too fast at times, maybe it was intended to be, but I think if there were some slower moments in the pacing it could have really added to the overall tension. I also have a huge bone to pick with the sexual assault/rape scene, this is not me saying that sexual assault as a theme is something that should never be done within film or horror, if done correctly it can really add to the overall horror of a scene, play into an overall theme (obsessive love, lack of bodily respect, possessiveness, control, etc.), and further establish a villain character. But the entire theme of Re-Animator is ‘a good doctor knows when to let a patient die’ and trying to deny death itself, so the doctor who is obsessed with the female character and in love with her doesn’t make sense theme wise with the overall plot. Because of how little it matches with the plot it makes the assault scenes seem very voyeuristic and in poor taste, out of all the films I’ve seen so far with sexual assault scenes this one felt definitely the most suspect and really makes me question why it was included. If that scene was removed it would be really close to a perfect horror movie imo.

February 25th- A Tale Of Two Sisters (2003)

I really enjoyed this one, I love a good family drama and unraveling of said family throughout the story. I honestly did not see the twist coming, which I will not spoil because I want people to watch it, normally I see those twists coming from a mile away and almost always feel cheap. The twist is used quite well within this film because the story doesn’t try to hard to hide it but also doesn’t treat the audience as stupid during the reveal, overall I think it is handled really nicely. In all transparency this may be a film I will have to watch twice to fully understand it’s plot and absorb it’s plot, which I don’t think is a bad thing in ‘twist-based’ movies because then it allows you to fully appreciate the subtle hints and build up to said twist. But due to the film being in another language and the complexity of the plot I think I will watch this again in the future. Overall I really liked it, although I wish they used the ghosts more as an element of horror, the ghost designs are really cool and I wish we saw more of them.

February 26th- Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022)

I think this is the worst movie I have watched so far this year, I don’t think I have been this angry at a horror film since Carrie 2013, which is saying so much. This film utterly shits on the legacy and everything Texas Chainsaw Massacre is and did as a film. Love or hate the film it is undeniable that it impacted the slasher genre and horror immensely. I, for one, haven’t watched the original recently but do enjoy it, visually it is probably my favorite slasher film and Bubba is probably my favorite slasher icon up there with Candyman and the Ghostface killers from Scream 1. If this film was not ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ the remake it would be a probably 2.5 or 3 star film, but because it is ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ the remake it is ranked much much lower. The film overall is not a good horror movie, the kills are really underwhelming, the characters are all stupid and not in a purposefully stupid way like some are in horror- I don’t care about any of them and I didn’t root for any of them, I actually cheered when that one girl got killed at the end that’s how pissed I was at this film. The film really expects me to side with gentrification people? The stereotypical Texas gun car shop guy was a better character than any of the young adult characters. The whole ‘school shooter survivor’ plot-line is stupid and I hate it, the whole explanation background for why Bubba is in the town is stupid and I hate it. They really stripped Bubba of every character trait that made him unique from every other slasher in the original film and made him into Michael Myers 2.0, they just made him unkillable and unkillable slashers that are humans that have no supernatural element/influence is a trope I hate so much, it has to be done extremely well with nuance for me to not hate it and there is absolutely no nuance in this film. Also- they remade a cannibalism movie and had no cannibalism. Not even one mention of cannibalism. AND they completely assassinated the character of Sally, tried to pull a 2018 Halloween with her, and then killed her in some really shitty ‘subversion of expectations’ but really all they were doing was character assassination. I am ashamed for the people that worked and had big input on this film because this is the worst thing I have seen in a really long time. 

March 4th- Possessor (2020)

I really enjoyed Possessor! The plot and universe of the film was really interesting, I especially loved the imagery and the message on bodily autonomy, privacy, and control. The only negative I have is that some of the flashing lights used within the shots were a little much, but I understood their inclusion within the scene so I don’t have a big bone to pick with them. I’m personally not really triggered by flashing lights but if people are I’d recommend maybe skipping this one. The visuals and special effects were really cool, especially within the blurring scenes. Overall, I really enjoyed this one and will definitely be one checking it out again, I really enjoyed antiviral (also by Brandon Cronenberg) so I am not surprised that I enjoyed this as much as I did. 

March 11th- Fresh (2022)

I wanted to like this, I really did. But the further the movie went on the more bored I got, both main characters are quite bland and boring. I don’t care enough about Noa to root for her, I’m not scared enough of Steve for it to be an element of horror. I really wish there was no ‘best friend side character’, after she gets kidnapped there should have been no shots of the outside world, the film needs that feeling of entrapment and isolation and it doesn’t have it. I was also waiting for the twist that the girl on the other side of the cell wall that Noa is talking to is actually Steve’s wife, pretending to be a victim to get information out of her, I thought that would have been a cool twist. I also didn’t care enough about Steve and Noa as a couple to have ‘fucked up romance’ vibes. For a horror movie it weirdly lacks horror elements, but maybe that is just me being desensitized to cannibalism as a horror theme and the final battle was just way too fast, I wish they allowed some slow shots focused on the violence and the blood. The best scenes are when Noa is first taken and is utterly horrified by him and thinking he is going to assault her and when it’s revealed that his wife is actually a previous victim, besides those there is not much else I enjoyed. I also cannot take Seb Stan as a villain seriously in this, I really cannot. Some of his dialogue is so cringey, not sure if its the writing or his delivery or both, but yeah. I wanted to like this but it really fell flat.

March 14th- Alice, Sweet Alice (1976)

I enjoyed this one! I am not up to date on my horror history but I think this film is up there for one of the earliest masked slashers (though Texas Chainsaw Massacre does predate it, Leatherface does not fit the ‘masked slasher’ trope as well as the slashers that come after Alice, Sweet Alice- like Halloween). This is peak weird girl cinema and I loved Alice as a character, she was my favorite part. The plot is pretty solid and I love the twist involving the masked slasher, which I won’t spoil. I really like the theme of this one family being attacked and them subsequently unable to protect themselves from losing more people, which creates a nice tense atmosphere. The film has interesting things to say about the Catholic church, as it is a main feature of the film and where several scenes of violence take place.

March 19th- The Other Lamb (2019)

In all honesty, I thought I was going to like this more than I did. I really liked the opening and the build up but as the film progressed it lost me. The main problem I had with the film is that due to a lot of the film being focused on their journey to find a new home the film didn’t have that oppressive, tension-filled environment that I wanted from a cult film. I also feel like that the Shepherd (the cult leader) wasn’t as scary as he maybe should have been, he never felt like a cult leader to me. Maybe that is because we are only seeing the cult long after everyone has joined so we aren’t witness to the true horrors he is capable of until the end, and even then I don’t think he ever really reaches the level of villain that I think he should have gotten. He does horrific things but I never felt convinced by him as the villain, maybe a different actor would have helped. The main compelling elements for me is the main character, Selah and the wives and sisters/daughters. The dynamic between the women within the cult community is really fascinating, how they interact with each other and the infighting that happens when they are all trying to reach the status of wife. The depictions of periods was also really interesting, a theme I really like within horror. Overall, the ending did not blow me away. I don’t mind a slower burn movie but the ending has to make up for the slowness of the plot and this ending really didn’t. I wish we got to see the daughters/sisters attack him and murder him, they should have ate him ❤️.

[simone44y573358-blog]

Articles, Tagged Along with "Parents".

The portfolio should be deliberately created in a manner that is going to deliver lasting pleasure. On top as well as base from the borders, you will additional resources definitely see a pink and also white colored floral type border. Let me offer leading 10 outstanding simple facts regarding Cinderella, therefore you can easily entertain your buddies! A quick suit jacket has constantly been a prominent choice for the mama from the bride-to-be.

Among one of the most skilled animals professional photographers in India, Rathika Ramasamy imparts, Every single time I press the shutter, that has me one action better to Mother earth! Going through an email designed for others to review, your grown kid is going to truly get a feeling from the passion and also honor his mother samples of him, her brand new baby. If your Mom really loves scrapbooking, have a look at her image albums and also see just what type of labels, stamps, markers as well as lettering she makes use of. She may additionally consider just how he alleviates her mother as well as make it possible for that to calculate exactly how she ought to be actually alleviated in a relationship. From DOCTOR Ec Sam, the good medical professional in How Are You, Mother Earth?, our company to begin with need to take into consideration the Age as well as Weight of the patient. Genuine mother follows her heart as well as appreciates her little ones (at the very least a lot of the moment) rather than building a barricade in between herself and also them. Off her pushing her little one to eat fresh, blood-spattered chicken to waking her child up during the evening due to cord hangers in the wardrobe and her steady verbal abuse, the picture of Joan Crawford in Mommie Precious (who understands if that's exactly what really occurred or the repayment of a brutal child) is the complete, many horrifying mommy in cinematic past history. This received such a wonderful response that it became my go-to anytime I decided my mother needed to cease exactly what she was carrying out as well as take notice of me. I reduced my personal hair quickly a handful of times throughout my very early youth. Despite whether or not a lady is able to have little ones, she is actually, nevertheless, a mama. Chocolate performs certainly not have to be actually a typical present, it can be unique when a little bit of thought and feelings enters this. If you are actually purchasing for a Mom in Rule or even a close friends mommy and also you are uncertain of their tastes when that comes to delicious chocolate, at that point assortment boxes would definitely still go down a surprise. I have actually likewise been that mama in the the store that observed a mother reaching her little one, the little one was not sobbing as well as she was actually definitely anxious and dispersed, instead of judging, I approached her and asked her if I can assist her whatsoever. This particular day consistently landeds on the 4th Sunday from Lent and began as a 16th century custom that folks mosted likely to visit their mom religion annually, typically meeting again mamas along with their youngsters for this set day. They absolutely think good to the touch and also make the mommy from the groom and bride appear absolutely incredible wearing them in spite of an intermediate rate.

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Recognizing Every so often, Standard Indigenous United States Wedding event Vows.

As we commemorate Father's Day, this's interesting to contrast 3 brand-new movies in which the father-son connection is actually tested due to the discovery that either the dad or his son is actually gay. Off Visual Treasury of words, our experts receive one more Charlotte nc's Internet themed vocabulary decoration task, one that is created for trainees in quality three and also above. More examination uncovers that when the visibility from a papa is actually a negative one, it is highly very likely for a young woman to seek passion" in the arms of a man, whether he is good for her or otherwise. The Moynahan family, featuring 6 folks, lived by the Amity spring in 112 Sea Pathway for over five years (Osuna online). Big checking account and large flash automobiles ought to simply reside in the things of individuals like Project in today's culture and you can easily read exactly what Work felt like in Work phase 29. The little bit of female must understand that when her father claims he is going to involve find her that he creates for that will have an effect on how she see guys eventually in her adult life. In regards to its amusement really worth, the groom's speech truly ought to fall someplace one of that coming from the new bride's dad along with the suitable man. You could find better materials and pointers on the papa of bride-to-be speeches web site. And also i know in my heart from hearts that if my father were alive, he would be proud of the man that raised his little bit of lady. Jesus possessed a distinctively special and special " partnership with God, the Daddy as well as entirely submitted his lifestyle to The lord's will definitely ... and so can easily WE! Providing a dad of the groom speech is actually becoming extra prominent, yet is still pretty uncommon. Chris Gardner may be an excellent wipers to riches tale however beyond the only thing that, he is actually another inspirational papa that was constantly there for his child. The daddy told the dispatcher he left behind the assailant wonderful as well as knocked senseless" and in a blood-spattered pool" on the flooring. For many bridegrooms, the hardest part of a wedding ceremony is actually certainly never truly cramming an extremely major item from wedding event covered in their oral cavity or kissing the bride-to-be right before her father either. Notice that these knowledgeable from Sayings specifies which is an excellent male; it does not pay attention to the label or because he is actually a biological father. Until December 17 1997, the creating of an on the internet publication lacked a details web niche market of its personal. If her father absolutely decideds not to offer her to him, he has to still pay for the bride-price for virgins. As well as the unconditional affection from Daddy God is the exact onlyyou-yourbeauty.Info reason He delivered His Boy, Jesus, to keep all humankind off devastation as well as deliver our team back to the Father making peace along with Him for our company. That's enjoyable enjoying their contentment as well as deeper in my heart I think the pain of skipping my daddy. The government grant can be used to pay for on the internet training course charges, printed materials and even internet relationship bills on some events. When that happens to selecting out wedding ceremony precious jewelry gifts, the dad of the groom can also give his kid a hand. But, there is a PAPA in heaven which said that He will definitely never leave our team neither forsake our team (Hebrews 13:5).

You might think that the attention is visiting gone on her however actually eventually in the evening you are actually going to have to due to the fact that well-known papa from the bride speech. I am honored that you are pinning my tribute to Father brown Corby on your Catholic boards.