INDIE HORROR OC | FIRST EST. IN 2014 SELECTIVE – WRITTEN BY LIZA
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INDIE HORROR OC | FIRST EST. IN 2014 SELECTIVE – WRITTEN BY LIZA
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Necrophilia Variations, Supervert
standing reindeer carcass
Art by The Unclean
[DAZED FROM BLOOD LOSS] hey not to kill the vibe completely but i think i am in love with you
by Mikhail Zagruev
*rising up from loosely packed grave soil* who the fuck buried me. This is atrocious. Do a better job next time
"she killed innocent people" ok well her eyes are literally big and brown and sad so she can do whatever
CAMELOT (2011) - 1.04
Hyman Bloom (Latvian, 1913-2009) - The Hull (1952)
making eye contact with the still timid nurse, ivory shakes her head at the latter, making it clear that although misty rucker may want coffee, she will not be mixing a stimulant and a sedative. ❝ i'm okay, thank you. ❞ the doctor assures, offering the menu back to the nurse. truth be hold, her stomach had begun churning upon finding out the detective was injured in the field. . . it is only now beginning to stop. ❝ i'm feeling a bit nauseous. ❞ she clarifies toward her companion, features once against burying against her collar.
❝ she needs medication for her nausea, ❞ misty, once again, demands. the nurse gently explains that she cannot give ivory medication and offers instead to bring her some peppermint tea and crackers. it does not please the injured woman to have her request denied, however it does placate her – and she accepts before her lover can protest. after the nurse hurries out of the room, misty tosses the blanket off of her legs and sighs. ❝ i’m hot. ❞ but she makes no effort to move.
oh. there is not a single thought left behind those big, brown eyes. misty plays a hidden hand, rendering the scholar defenceless against a cheeky retort. nonetheless, the look in the detective's eyes shows that she knows EXACTLY what she is doing, and by the time her colleague is seated across the dash, goosebumps have already risen over the scholar's pale flesh. ❝ o-okay. ❞ she hears herself stutter, putting the vehicle into drive as nails grip harshly against the gearshift. now she knows exactly how misty rucker had felt that fateful evening, it makes her mouth dry and heat radiate from the top layers of her skin. focus on the road, ivory, lest you go in the ditch. it does not matter, no matter how many times the doctor endeavours to find a suitable response, she remains dazed and visibly delirious.
to distract ivory would be to put their lives and others at risk, and misty possesses enough self-control to wait five minutes. however, within those five minutes, her hands sit slyly on the insides of her thighs, and her gaze drops periodically – envisioning the strap-on and how it would betray her intense arousal. how it would look halfway inside her lover’s mouth. she blushes. when they arrive, the detective is surprised to find that the psychologist lives in a small house on a modest piece of land. ❝ should i be expecting the same mess i see on your desk? ❞ misty teases, taking in the slightly disheveled demeanor of the doctor when she joins her in the driveway.
the princess is a natural caregiver, and though engrained with a maternal persona, she rarely gets a chance to coddle. her consideration is shown as she struggles to pull forth the bucket, unaccustomed to such awkward weight, and eventually offers the contents to her beloved. the gesture is as caring as it is pure, and she lowers back to the ground. hands cross atop her lap as she kneels with bright, doe eyes regarding her lover in hopes of validation. ❝ you're welcome. ❞ she BEAMS, grateful that the seemingly easy feat was manageable for someone so weak. ❝ all those hours in such intense heat, though that is not what impairs you. ❞
much of the dizziness, the congestive HEAT, is dispelled by the influx of water – though the back of her head still throbs from where it struck the ground. she returns to the dirt after filling her cup once more. her posture reflects the princess' poise, but she is quickly toppled from her place of composure. ❝ i– i– ❞ misty stammers. withdrawing her handkerchief, she dabs at her forehead and, in doing so, obscures some of the vermillion color in her cheeks. ❝ yes. ❞ no further acknowledgement can be made of the effect that the princess has on her, lest she be haunted by the embarrassment until the end of days.
dark hues flutter closed, relishing in the rare sensation of genuine trust. misty shatters the moment, as the scholar should have expected, though it coaxes forth a whimper which catches in the back of her throat. when the doctor meets those icy hues, her own dazed and slightly confused, she offers a nod in reassurance. ❝ i . . . don't kiss people often. ❞ she whispers, the admittance acting as a delicate piece of surrender. i don't get close to people often ; i will not give them the chance to put a knife into my back. ❝ but it isn't so bad with you. ❞
what ivory does outside of work does not interest misty – unless it involves murder. she never considered that her partner-in-crime could have an actual partner in her life, or that she might not be interested in women. but it seems like an irrelevant question at this point. they’re here, and the knowledge that the psychologist does not mind kissing her intersects with her irrationality. it twists her emotions into knots and her face into a look of trepidation. ❝ do you…do you think i need to continue practicing? ❞
the princess is never so vulgar ( though anyone with a truly obscene mind would think her tame. ) even so far outside her comfort zone, her highness feels safer than ever in the older woman's arms. nonetheless, her beloved prolongs her suffering by spotlighting such salacious admittances. as the once fierce woman grows delirious, the princess merely giggles in knowledge of her newfound power.
❝ though you no longer labour in the sun ? ❞ she teases, allowing her weight to shift from where she straddles her lover's lap. pale hands brush down the stained fabric of her dress, a bemused smirk barely notable across porcelain features as she draws the bucket from the depths of the well. all these years the young royal has been bathed in riches, though never has she felt so alive.
thoughts weave without ever forming a recognizable pattern, and so misty simply waits for the sweltering realization to pass. ivory shines as brightly as the sun; underneath her gaze, she is at her mercy. pressing both palms against the stone alleviates some of the stress while she waits for bucket to be drawn up.
the cool water disappears from her cup almost as quickly as it is filled – drunk without pause. it dribbles down her chin, running into the notch of her collar and dampening her dress. she swallows another cupful, though she pours the last of it in the palm of her hand to be smoothed across the nape of her neck. ❝ thank you. i am…already feeling much better. ❞ i am at your whim, and i fear unprepared to receive the intensity of your affection.
ivory grimes has never had a kiss that stopped her heart, and the scholar will be damned if THIS is it. nonetheless, there is something soft about their current dynamic. for so long, the killer has been nothing but sharp edges upon an uneven surface, and to feel the delicacy her counterpart can provide melts her where she sits. dark hues flutter closed as lips press against her own, her thumbs instinctively caressing the skin of her lover's wrists. god, it feels so good to be trusted. it promises all the things misty rucker provides without admittance : safety, understanding, acceptance. the doctor remains close as she pulls back for air, forehead resting against her girlfriend's as she catches the breath stolen from her lungs. ❝ y-yeah, that was good. ❞ ivory whispers. god, she's dizzy.
ivory ends the kiss first. the salt on her breath brings misty back to the present moment, wherein the lips she touched belonged to a living person. anxiety gurgles in her stomach, spewing irrational fears that catch in her throat. you enjoyed that, didn't you? but you can't enjoy it too much; something is going to go wrong. ivory will want more; she'll want this intimacy as repayment for corpses –– and what will you do then? the necrophile is not one to ask for reassurance, but the words are already halfway out before she can swallow them. ❝ it was? ❞ misty asks, withdrawing to limit the prolonged physical contact.