#... that's reprehensible little man Affectionate. but still

[cozylittleartblog]

swatchvember: 90′s, rainy day, sleeping

cramming some of these prompts together to be silly <3 they spent a lot of time back then keeping some rich up-and-coming little salesman entertained, he’s one of their best customers. maybe you’ve heard of him...

[bihanapologist]

✮ noob saibot harassing his wife into joining him in death out of twisted love and care for them (feminine terms used but no gendered pronouns for reader)

w/c = 1.7k

cw = slight suicide ideation, noob calls reader "little bird" if that pet name is too cringe then please don't read!

a/n = the reader has a chronic illness and is the physical embodiment of spring simply because it parallels bi-han

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were instructed to hide. Your clan was supposed to protect you. But they’re gone.

Dead.

Your only option is to run. Return to that reprehensible faction. Find your brother-in-law — the only person you trust. Despite knowing that embarking on this treacherous journey would be unkind to your sickly body, you have to try.

Your body condemns your choice. You’re wheezing and hacking up blood as arrows whizz past your face. Your legs throb, begging you to end this excruciating torture. At last, your knees finally give up on you, sending you pummelling into the dirt. You lie there as footsteps grow closer and closer. Debilitated, parched and miles away from Articka, you close your eyes and resign yourself to your fate.

Loud, heavy thuds follow pained squawks. Your eyes snap open. You push through the bursts of pain to turn, to face your unexpected hero…or future killer. A man cloaked in black stands within the shadows — not under, no, he isn’t just shrouded under the shadows; he is one with them — a bloodied sickle in hand.

"Who are you?"

"Your saviour," the man replies with a rasp, his voice soft yet menacing. "Don’t you recognise me, little bird?"

Your blood freezes.

“You can't..."

"Can't what, (Name)?" he asks, a subtle amusement in his gravelly voice.

No, this couldn’t be him. But the only one who called you by that pet name was your ex-husband. Your dead ex-husband.

Years ago, you were wedded to the elder Sub-Zero — Bi-han. Although the union was solely for diplomatic reasons, it was a blissful marriage. Despite your illness and weak body, he never viewed you as a burden. At times, you would sing to cheer him up after a particularly tiring mission. In turn, he affectionately called you ‘oriole’ after the golden songbird. Your former husband — the one who cut you fruits and watched over your feverish form when you were bedridden — couldn’t possibly be the same man as the one in front of you.

His shrouded body ripples like ink, chalky pupilless eyes probing into your soul. His sickle glistens, beads of scarlet dripping down the polished metal only adding to the macabre image. The only word you would describe what you could behold is grim. Grim. Yes, his garb is akin to that of a grim reaper.

If this is Bi-Han, he is nothing but a shadow of himself.

"It's been too long, little bird.”

"You're not Bi-Han," you mutter, holding your breath as you take in his haunting silhouette. "My husband is dead."

"Dead, alive, it makes no difference to me. I am merely the tool of my master's will. But I do remember you."

Every step is slow. Every step is deliberate. Every step echoes through the vacuous forest as he treads past the lifeless bodies. Those same men that butchered your entire clan like they were cattle. The same men that chased you across China and were mere seconds away from claiming your life. All dead in the blink of an eye, slain by ghostly hands. He makes his way closer and closer to you, his presence alone instilling fear and dread as you slowly back away.

"I remember your beauty and kindness, but most of all, I remember your fragility,” he remarks, towering over your fallen form. "You are still so delicate. But you have more resolve than I give you credit for."

"Who resurrected you?”

"The Sorcerer Quan Chi, of course. He perfected me, gave me the power and body I deserve."

He straightens himself, the moonlight casting upon his umbrous form, beckoning you to bask in it. Your eyes only reflect fear and pity. This isn't the man you married.

"Perfect? Bi-Han, you've become a shell of the man you were!" you protest.

The mask covers his perpetually emotionless face, making him impossible to read. Bi-Han watches you in silence as you are overtaken by grief and anguish at the sight of him. You couldn’t even recognise him. You have heard of the horrors of the Netherrealm and creations that Quan Chi constructs but this is beyond anything you have ever seen. He doesn’t have his voice, he doesn’t speak like him, he barely looks like himself, can you truly call this your Bi-Han?

"You have no idea what I am," Bi-Han sneers. "I have become darkness incarnate. I am more powerful than you can possibly imagine, (Name). This perfected body allows me to do things I could never have done as the human Bi-Han. I have been reborn, reforged now by the darkness. And soon, the realms will know my terror.”

"Oh, Bi-Han," you croak, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. "How far you have fallen."

"I have not fallen. I have ascended with the darkness, and the shadows are where I belong."

"You belong with your family, Bi-Han!" you protest, voice breaking. "You belong with Kuai Liang and—"

"A dead man needs no family," Bi-Han states in that unfeeling, inhumane voice. "I am what I should have always been — but you will come to understand, once you join me."

Your eyes widen. "Join you?"

He takes another step closer, his silhouette blocking the moonlight and looming over your cowering form. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, feeling like a cornered animal in his presence.

"Yes, join me.” He extends a gloved hand. "Join me in the Netherrealm and be reborn."

"Why would I want to die?!" you bawl, backing away.

His gloved hand remains outstretched despite your blatant show of horror, his sickle in his other hand hanging by his side. There is a bleak, void-like darkness radiating from him, white pupils glowing in the night.

"For the same reason I did," he replies, his voice low and quiet. So that you can live."

"That doesn't make sense," you object, furrowing your eyebrows. "I am alive. My powers are of spring and rebirth. I'm the physical manifestation of life."

Bi-Han doesn't answer right away. Instead, he stares at you with those unfeeling eyes, his mouth hidden beneath the mask. You stiffen at the sound of laughter. It's the first instance where has shown emotion in this encounter.

"You call this living?" the wraith challenges you. "This existence where you are forced to live like a caged bird, hidden from others, tied to a bed, a slave to medicine. Can you honestly call that living?"

Your mouth goes dry. Your gaze is fixed to the ground, trying to form the words. He retracts his hand and he folds his arms. There is something ominous in the calmness of his movements, in the wisps of shadows emanating from him.

"What's wrong? Nothing to say?" He closes the distance once again, but this time, you don’t back away. "Do you know what it's like to truly live? I do. Being reborn as the shadow, the darkness — it is true freedom. Freedom you can only dream of.”

You bite your lip. "Bi-Han, look at what you've become—"

"I am more than I ever was,” he boasts. “The darkness has freed me, just as it will free you. You know better than anyone, oriole. This flesh you wear, it is weak. You could live without it, without those constraints. Be reborn, (Name). Let the darkness save you from the fragility you have always possessed, the weakness you have tried to hide."

“I can't bear to see you like this…”

"I offer you immortality, little bird. I am offering you the means to escape this fragile existence. There will be no more pain. Only life. Eternal life."

Tears flood your vision. Your head hurts. Your bones hurt, your body hurts. It’s cold and an airy breeze blows past your face, sending goosebumps up your skin. For years, you cried for your late husband. For years, you wish that someday, in another place and time, you could be reunited with him. Not like this. Your husband, your Bi-Han…how could he?

You freeze at the feeling of cold metal against your throat. You swallow, blinking away your tears as you gaze up at the wraith.

"My little bird," Bi-Han whispers, "I would do anything to protect you. Join me, and I will save you. I am the embodiment of death. And you are the personification of life. Let us dance in death together, under the moonlight."

…Living is a burden.

You never chose to live. You never chose to be born with this illness or to be hunted for your powers that you couldn’t even awaken. Is a normal, peaceful life too much to ask for? You had a glimpse of it when you were with Bi-Han. If you squint, you can still taste the sweetness of peaches swirling on your tongue. He always fed you when you were too tired to lift up your arms. He was so good to you.

You miss him.

You open your mouth to answer. But the feeling of hot ichor dripping off his sickle and puddling on your clothes causes the words to vanish in an instant. You stiffen when you catch the glint of the blade in the moonlight. Dread makes its home in the pit of your belly.

You don’t want to die.

A flash of ice hits the wraith square in the chest, toppling him off his feet and sending him colliding into a tree. He lays there motionless, his form sprawled over the ground. For a moment, you think he is dead until he lets out a groan and rises to his feet. His eyes glint under the shadows of his hood and he looks towards the source of the ice.

Lucidity clicks back into place and you let out a sigh of relief as you shake your head. "You arrived in time, Kuai Liang."

"(Name)!" Bi-Han’s younger brother runs over to you and helps you up. "Forgive me, I didn't arrive fast enough."

The wraith’s expression remains emotionless despite being hurled by the ice blast. Yet, you could tell that isn’t the case by the way his grip tightens around the sickle’s handle.

He snarls as the shadows covering his silhouette begin to gather, the darkness swirling around him like a cloak. He grips the sickle tightly in his hand as the shadows rise above him, shrouding his form in a blanket of darkness. The shadow shroud ripples in the night, and then dissipates, leaving nothing but emptiness. The forest is quiet once more.

“Was that really Bi-Han?” you croak, vision blurry from tears.

“Unfortunately so,” Kuai Liang answers. “We can talk later. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

divider by @/cafekitsune

[bakuliwrites]

Ooh I'd love to hear about Dark Star! 👀

I would be delighted to talk about it! Thank you so much for asking!

WIP Ask Game here

So, Dark Star is my BG3 fanfic about my Sorlock Tav, Orlando. More detailed info about her here and Chapter One here. She is a Deep Sea Tiefling who grew up in a family of Warlocks who all worshipped a Fathomless being they simply call The Deep Abyss. Orlando managed to escape her family with her mother and brother, but through a series of events, wound up trapped in the House of Hope as a child, where she met a young Enver Gortash. Some things I'm exploring in Dark Star:

Gortash's backstory and his time in the House of Hope. It is here that Orlando and Gortash begin their romance, which started as a childhood crush and bloomed into more as they aged. I wanted to write a story for a Tav with a history with Gortash, rather than a Durge story (though I do enjoy Durgetash).

I don't have any intention of doing a redemption arc for Gortash, but I do want to show his internal conflict when it comes to pleasing Orlando (she wants him to do the right thing) and providing a stable future for the both of them (which, for Gortash, means making questionable if not morally reprehensible decisions). Their relationship has, over the years, become more toxic, but there is a lot of deep love there, still. (If you're curious, I have a little standalone story about them in their younger years here and some letters exchanged between them here)

Lots of eldritch themes in this. Orlando has her own patron that I came up with (a baby Fathomless she rescued!), but her family has the Deep Abyss. She wants to sever her ties from this particular Fathomless, but is struggling to do so. Similar to Raphael, Orlando has an Ascended form, but it is directly related to the Deep Abyss (I'm going to draw up a design for this at some point haha).

Orlando has her own questline, so depending on which ending you get, she'll end up with Gortash, ruling over Faerûn together. Or she will end up with Astarion and Karlach :) I like poly romances and wish you could romance them both in game! I plan to have a ton of wholesome moments between them throughout each chapter.

And finally, here's a little excerpt that I haven't yet posted :) This fic has WAY more Gortash content than I initially intended. My obsession with that man hit me like a train haha. This occurs right in the beginning of act 3, during Gortash’s coronation. Orlando and Enver haven’t seen each other in a few years, but have been corresponding via letters to one another.

Orlando glides up to the dais, the hem of her white dress like silken snow pooling around her feet. She lays her hand softly over Enver’s, a touch so deeply familiar, it could knock him off his feet. For a moment, the throne room in Wyrm’s Rock is still, as if the very building itself is holding its breath. Enver has half a mind to scoop Orlando into his arms, to lay kiss after long awaited kiss to her lips, to make up for the years they’ve been apart. But in the company of others, tadpoled or otherwise, he opts to merely intertwine their fingers, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. 

Enver is grateful for her discretion. A grand display of adoration would hardly be appropriate for his coronation ceremony. And he does not yet know where Orlando’s allegiance lies. Will she remain faithful to him? To the plan? Or will she deliberately work against him? With the killing of Ketheric Thorm, he cannot be sure anymore. Orlando is more lethal than she realizes, but that is not why Enver is interested in allying with her. No, it is her determination, her softness that will win the hearts of those in Baldur’s Gate. Enver Gortash, the iron fist of Bane, and Orlando, his gentle wife.

“I thought you dead,” he murmurs to his beloved, allowing himself a moment to rest his forehead against hers, to let his eyes flutter shut while he basks in her calm aura. How long has it been since he has felt this at peace? Her thoughts gently nudge his. 

“Your mind is open to me, Enver,” Orlando whispers in his head, a tender voice in the cacophonous din, “You are fraught with worry. What troubles you?” 

He lets her in, lets her wade past the wrathful, shadowy thoughts that have eclipsed his mind. He is controlled, calculated, and pulled together in front of this gathering of nobles and smarmy politicians. But there is a tiny corner of Enver’s psyche that is reeling, chaotic. Orlando is a reminder of softer days, hours spent idling with one another in the dark corners of the House of Hope. Secret meetings, stolen kisses, furtive glances. 

Yet, she is also a reminder of sorrowful, difficult days. Days of punishment for Enver’s insolence. His disobedience. Days of separation, because a note exchanged between the two of them was discovered, and they were no longer allowed to be alone with one another. Notes that contained plans of escape. Plans for a life lived beyond the confines of the House of Hope. Dreams crushed to dust by the cruelty of a world built on lies and false hope.

“Meet me in my office after the ceremony,” Enver breathes, before pulling away and cloaking himself in bravado once more.

[tonberry-yoda]

YOO, i saw one punch man x reader and i immediately got my ass here, I've been looking for a opm matchup since ages.

Romantic matchup for OPM (obv)

I don't have a preference, but both is fine if possible. He/they

What i want out of a relationship:

is well something simple. A nice relationship, one where i can spoil my partner a lot, since i genuinely love doing that. I like giving headpats so yeah I'm just an overly affectionate person in a relationship, i will respect their boundaries if they do not like pda, i would mostly like one where my partner is like me in someway, as in like same type of personality or the polar opposite either way I'll still give them affection! However if they something like "don't" and actually mean "do it" I'll be in a lost cause so i end up just... Not giving affection. I'm quite oblivious and dumb as it is.

Personality:

I am very crabby, moody and hotheaded. I spend a lot of my time insulting and ranting about shit i find hilarious or interesting, often times rambling or complaining. I'm extremely short-tempered and will become enraged with anything although sometimes i can be comical and childish at random times.

I am one foul mouthed motherfucker, i have a habit of cursing, either regular swear words or the most absurd sounding swear words come out of my mouth. (E.G. : “you blithering feculent shithole” “primitive fuckjam” “putrid shitsmoking cretins” “you dickreeking undulating fuckass” “fucksquatting pain in the waste chute” “heinous ravaging trash" “reprehensible sanctimonious jitterfuckery.”) I am completely incapable of uttering a single word without fucking cursing.

I also tend to be very loud, i have a hard time being aware of my volume and adjusting it. I also go on heavy romcom binges, my favorite one to binge is 50 First Dates.

I am often screaming, pounding my fists against inanimate objects out of sheer fucking anger, or generally raging when talking to anyone. I'm not particularly patient when explaining myself, most of my advices seem to be just a massive wave of random insults along with sarcasm and heavy emphasis on it.

Despite my nubby asshat demeanor, i care deeply for my friends' well being, i will genuinely cry if something happened to them. I do litsen to their problems and comfort them in my own way and attempt to keep everyone safe. And despite my rash behavior, i do have a sense of morality and will occasionally do the right thing any normal person would do.

I also have a knightly persona despite my constant use of profanity, any chance i get to act like a knight I'll take it. In a relationship i would literally just obey my partners orders like an actual knight to his queen/king. I would also kiss their knuckles while kneeling down, i study arachnology and carcinology.

I'm also a huge fan of Shakespeare, I'll occasionally use it in a comical sense or when acting as a knight.

Myself fashion-wise: straight up metalhead fashion, i dress intimidatingly and also to add the fact that I'm tall (like 6'5) except i have no makeup or piercings, and instead wear glasses. I for my look i keep my hair messy or well try to, since my hair is curly and already looks about as messy as a fucking bird nest built by a living tumor.

My type: i don't know yet, all i can tell you right now is that i like men and women.

MUSIC TASTE: It honestly varies. Mostly deathcore or black metal, or just sad break up songs. Then there's songs in my native language. Angsty songs about inferiority complex, corny romantic songs and UHM... CupcakKe, Sabrina Claudio and Ginuwine... 😭💀 i am on the ace/asexual spectrum but i just find their music interesting, Pony and All into You slaps tbh i litsen to them at like any time of the day, my playlist varies from angry metal to sad to angst to brazilian music to straight up horny music. It's basically a mess.

Love language: all the motherfucking affection, cuddling (I'm the little spoon btw) words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service and affectionate teasing; with this i basically talk to my partner like how cat owners talk to their cats in that exact same baby voice saying the stupidest but yet endearing bullshit. Basically complimenting with teasing.

- god this is probably so long, and i apologize for that. - 🗡️ anon

I HAVE THE PERFECT PERSON FOR YOU! i read through this- oh also, real fast welcome to the party 🗡️ anon! it's super nice to meet you! :) ANYWAY BACK TO BUSINESS! I read through this and one person popped in my mind, who I adore and I hope you adore as well!

the person I chose for you is...

KING!

like in my head, y'all would literally be PERFECT together

you both have this metal head vibe, but softies deep down and AHH IM OBSESSED

he is big enough to hold you while cuddling and he would literally bury his face in the crook of your neck and it is so cute

he gets all flustered when you spoil him lol

he is just as affectionate as you, so yall are again, literally perfect

he definitely has the same music taste, like i just see it

Y'ALL LOOK SO INTIMIDATING OUT IN PUBLIC LMAOOO

like even if he is hugging onto your arm and giving you a ton of love, you guys will walk into a building and no one I MEAN NO ONE will mess with you

and seriously, you guys have so much in common

if you hear that something happened to him and it breaks your heart you will listen and cry, and he will do the exact same for you

LIKE THIS IS SO PERFECT! (look at me go lol)

he loves you to death and get's flustered when you show that love back because he's a cutie

also, if you're down, he'll play video games with you for hours and if not, you'll listen to music while he's just playin in the background

"I love you so much, King." You squished both of King's bright red cheeks and talked to him in a baby voice.

"N-No I'm not!" He got all flustered and tried to pull away from you, but immediately melted to your touch as you moved your fingers to his head, massaging his scalp.

"Yes you are." You smiled and pulled him close, pressed a kiss onto his lips. "I love you."

He opened one of his eyes and giggled. "I love you too." He pulled you into his giant arms and slammed the two of you on the couch. It quickly became a game of who could cuddle who, but eventually he won, making the two of you fall asleep softly, you pressed against his big chest and one of his large hands on your back.

[relaxxattack]

as a c!dream enjoyer™ (not an apologist!!!), I just . Do Not take any of the dream apologist stuff seriously. like idk if it's because I was a long time on kpop stan twt and learnt that people are simply just not worth my nerves sometimes (lmao), but every time I see a Hot Take how he did nothing wrong I just point and laugh bc hehe clowns! and then i hit the block button.

like dream is a fascinating character and such a good villain in how utterly reprehensible and horrible he is, and how well cc!dream crafted him (like, nobody can deny how cool it is when he could literally make ppl have goosebumps by simply logging on) (i think it's similar to how people enjoy horror media?), also as a person with too much emphathy (it's a trauma thing I think, at least that's what I was told by doctors lmao) it's also very interesting to me how i can still feel bad for an obviously irredeemable villain (the sapnap visit when he went into the water with him?? broke my heart. the scream when quackity first began his girlbossing? wow), like, it's fun to see him win (bc he's just a cool character for me) but it's also VERY fun to see him lose, he's just so hateable! absolutely horrible, I love the it

also I have a weakness for the blob design bc it's simply cute for me 😔 liddol evil blob man. why don't they simply trap him in a little box? oh wait-

so basically it's like, evil horrible green blob boy pissbaby (derogatory) (derogatory) (derogatory) (derogatory) (affectionate)

(this is all meant in a light-hearted manner and is absolutely not meant to undermine the seriousness of c!dream's actions in canon btw, it's just how I personally consume c!dream content jdbfjfn)

i agree with all of this!! cc!dream is so talented at writing horror, and i genuinely enjoy c!dream because of it. i dont talk about it a lot, but i enjoy the (mild) horror genre and dream is SO good at it.

like, because this is mainly an analysis blog about characters thoughts and motives i dont talk about dream much, since we don’t have his pov and i dont feel comfortable speculating why he might choose to do the absolutely gross things he does.

BUT. when im sitting and watching and just being a fan. HOLY COW is dream great. he’s scary, and he makes you wonder. i am SO excited to see dreams pov when we get it because i think cc!dream knows what he’s doing and will give us something great.

c!dream is absolutely vile and i love it. of course i would prefer he never be within 100 ft of tommy tubbo of ranboo again, but that’s a different matter >:]

[lysmune]

midnight sun

a presence as permanent as the rising moon.

Kibutsuji Muzan/Reader

Dubcon. Forced ‘relationship’. Emotional abuse. Smut. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. 

Morbid one-shot because let’s face it, Muzan’s just a morally reprehensible dude. 

    Wrought in silver, he enters without invitation, without question, without retaliation. There is nothing that keeps him away, and you do nothing to keep him away. Wisterias are never hung, nor worn, and you utter nothing to anyone, and sunlight has long since existed within your room, the faint brilliance of the moon in its stead. All this in exchange for such a petty life like yours.

    You wear his colours, a sunset of blood red and bone white, and swirling black, skin painted with blooms, with bruises, with scars that he leaves as he drags you to the very depths of hell. A slender finger caresses your cheek. You’re unable to look away from this creature above you, unblemished and perfect, and unsettlingly beautiful as he unravels you.

    He peels the layers of your clothes back, lets them gather at the sash around your waist, what bare skin he touches left cold, and you dare not breathe, dare not move. Against the night, you still when he stretches close, the smell of incense burning dark, of anise and lacquer cloying, masking the slivering rot that slips through as he rests his head upon the crook of your neck. He threatens you with your pulse clenched between fanged teeth, a quiet reminder that your life is so very insignificant to him and to the ever-moving world, so fragile and weak, and so easy to disassemble.

    A heart, a brain, a set of lungs, two kidneys, a liver and 206 bones that he crushes in his palm; he knows this by experience.

    Crimson is all you see. Don’t take your eyes off me.

    Hungrily, slowly, he ravishes you, factitiously gentle and affectionate despite the emptiness of it all, taunting you. You say his name in reverence, as though he is god incarnate, and he smiles when you untie his sash, shrugging off what little he wears. A god, and you want to weep at the thought of it, at the way you bow to this demon when he trespasses your home, your body, your very existence.

    (Maybe he is a god, for what god asks for permission?)

    He descends upon you, his hands tracing your clavicle, the rib underneath your right breast, the jut of your hip, as he suckles and bites your nipple until it bruises. You heave a name, the name of a god, and you hear him laugh when he rips into your side, the scent of iron mingling with your suppressed scream.

    “What god can save you now?” he asks; you don’t answer. He hums, pleased in your silence, and you watch this blood-stained monster steal what little you have once again. He devours the heat between your legs with tongue and teeth, and you betray yourself every time you moan, every time you feel yourself inching closer for more, every time you’re left begging as he spreads you apart wider. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you look down at him, whose stare transfixes yours, and you burn with hate and shame, and disgust for yourself.

     Inside you, he writhes, a coiling snake that hisses and claws at you from the inside out, offering little reprieve as he thrusts into you with enough strength to snap you in half. Among the dim, you watch the flame of your candlelight flicker, rimming your twining figures in a sensual glow that sickens you; lovelessly, intimately, he takes you as his. A noble man, a charming smile, a ruby gaze - you arch your back into the comfort of the night in a reckless escape, and he, half amused, half annoyed, pins you down with all that he is, bruising your neck with a bite that makes you howl.

     Sweat slicked skin scorched to your marrow, wrangled in bed sheets and rasping gasps, he turns you around and pushes you onto your knees, your face buried into the pillow; out of the corner of your eye, the flame burns stronger. Your hands ball into fists as he grunts, as he heaves and falters, but he never stops and he spills his seed into you soundlessly, in some twisted, sick display of his superiority and, as though snuffed out by the wind, the fire fades into wisps of smoke, wick whittled into burnt cinder.

      Something within the confines of your womb whispers, shudders.

     Lips brushing against your ear, he thanks you, sickly sweet anise and polished lacquer, and honeyed words. He leaves, silent as he came, traceless if not for the ichor that bubbles down your thighs and the faint promise of a return, and the wretched stranglings of an awakening being within you.

     A third this week.

     It consumes you, this poison, sharp pain splintering across your body, feverish and frozen all at once, bile rising at the back of your throat as black-speckled vermillion flowers through the white sheets; they are his colours.

     A sunset of blood red and bone white, and swirling black.

     It isn’t enough to root him out.

     It will never be enough. No amount of retching, or sobbing, or hoping will wash this stain of yours. He has taken you apart and made you in his own image, made you his, and you want to laugh at how foolish you’d been for trusting him when he said he’d spare you all those years ago.

     What even is left of you?

     In ritual, in routine, you pray to the gods for some semblance of an end, some sort of karmic retribution, a salvation, but you’re met with the pregnant hush of a full moon risen. It stares at you in victory, in mocking, in an unending night.

     What god can save you now?

     You pray again, this time to the demon named Kibutsuji Muzan, this time with your heart as an offering.

[anghraine]

I see plenty of (correct) criticisms of Mr Bennet, but what I see less often is ... well, to me, there’s something really depressing about Elizabeth’s relationship to him.

This is Elizabeth’s take on Mr Bennet right before the first proposal:

“Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities which Mr Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never reach.”

Later, however:

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.

Still later:

“he [Wickham] might imagine, from my father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do.”

Mr Bennet’s treatment of Mrs Bennet and the younger girls is certainly very bad, but also, Elizabeth has to actively work to not think of what a shitty husband and father he is out of gratitude that he treats her well and because she respects his intelligence (though, ultimately, his intelligence only creates a further indictment of him). That is an incredibly dubious situation! By the time he’s telling her that she needs to marry a man she’ll look up to as superior, it’s not even surprising.

In a way, it’s all the more “...” because Elizabeth herself, for all her criticisms, retains considerable respect and affection for him, and he faces no consequences beyond her eagerness to leave his house to marry someone much better than he is. I don’t think it’s #problematic—it’s just messy in a very realistic way. But pretty depressing, yes.

[sweetsickcherry]

For some reason I continued this?

CW: age difference; infidelity; dom/sub undertones; Robert being hot but also a bit manipulative and mean; Tom being an innocent lamb.

Tom thought that would be the last he'd see Robert on this trip, on their secret sojourn in the Hollywood hills. Robert had spent the afternoon taking dumb pictures of them and pushing Tom around, first playfully and then with purpose. He’d stumbled back that night with sand in his hair and down his shorts; red-faced from the sun and all the dirty things Robert had licked against his ear.

But here they are again, squirreled away backstage at the Disney Expo in an empty dressing room reserved for the MCU stars. It's minutes until Robert's about to be called on stage to accept an award but instead of getting ready he’s shoved himself between Tom's thighs like he owns that narrow space, swallowing all of Tom's panicked whispers about being caught with the fierce press of his mouth.

"Fuck, wish you were naked right now," Robert drawls, nipping at Tom's throat. "Wanna see all that pretty white skin get pink for me again. Thought you were going to get fucking sun stroke yesterday you were so red. But that was just from me touching you, wasn't it, baby. You can't handle my hands on you."

Tom whines in the back of his mouth, loud, and Robert quickly claps his hand over Tom’s throat to muffle the sound.

“Why don’t you shut up a bit, huh, baby? You really want everyone to come in here and see you like this? See what a greedy little thing you are?”

Robert's mouth runs wild when he's horny and Tom bites his bottom lip hard, blushing. He never knows what to say back, just whimpers ngh and ughh when Robert calls him sweet boy, sweet thing and, sometimes, the word that makes him go cross-eyed with want, slut, breathed into his skin.

Thinking about that word makes Tom shiver against Robert’s mouth, spreading his legs as wide as they can where he's sitting on the make-up counter to rut up against him. He had him all day yesterday, but it’s not enough, never enough. It's wanton, how much he grinds against the older man, need bubbling up inside him like champagne.

Tom has to break the kiss when he feels Robert’s hands go to grip his hair.

"Don't touch the hair,” he pants, pulling his head away. “It's just been gelled and the make-up guy will kill me if he sees I've messed it up."

"Okay, princess,” Robert huffs, and the way his eyes crinkle makes Tom’s heart beat like a rabbit caught in a trap. Makes him bury his face into the older man's neck to hide his red-hot, blushing face. Robert presses his lips to the pale shell of Tom’s ear. “Not the hair, I got it," he chuckles.

He doesn't let Tom hide for long, tugging his face up to kiss him again. Robert should look ridiculous right now, wearing tinted glasses and some flowery t-shirt like the total goofball he is, but he's so sexy Tom feels like he could die. And it hits Tom like a punch to the stomach. He's making out with Robert Downey Jr. He's been pressed and touched and fucked by him. Just the thought of it makes him feel crazy.

Robert rubs the pad of his thumb against Tom's nipple, smirking as Tom keens.

"So fucking loud. Do I have to gag you with something?"

Tom shakes his head, but Robert's crowding into his space, eyes pinning Tom against the mirror as much as his hands.

“See me tomorrow.”

It’s a request, but it sounds like a command, and Tom’s mouth falls open.

"You want to see me again?"

"Of course I do. Need to make the most of you, don’t I? What if I come to your place? I can't do tonight because I've got the kids but tomorrow, around 4?"

A small part of Tom, the part he knows is his self-respect, pipes up. He can’t cancel all his plans just because Robert wants to see him again. There are other people he wants to see, things he has to do while he’s here. It's not all about Robert.

But there’s a larger part that whispers into his ear. Seeing Robert means they can kiss again, can wrestle and laugh at his stupid jokes. It means - and his eyes clench shut as he pictures it - Robert might fuck him again. And he can't deny how much he wants that. How much he wants Robert to push into that spot between his legs, the one still aching from yesterday. He'd traced his fingers against it this morning, where it hurt like the deepest bruise, and he'd wanted Robert again so bad he came within seconds.

The memory is enough to obliterate his doubts and he says, "Yes okay, we can, come over," before Robert can change his mind.

Robert smiles at that, a soft, affectionate quirk of his lips. And this time it’s Tom pulling him back in for a kiss. Because after months after not seeing each other, Robert's the one who asks to see him. Robert, the cool, wise-cracking, aloof idiot. He does that thing that Robert loves, sucks on his tongue like it’s candy, and pets between his jacket, looking for the solid thunk of his ribs with roving fingers.

A hand suddenly raps against the door, making them fly apart.

“Mr Downey? We need you in ten?”

“Shit, I’ve got to go, sweetheart, I’m sorry." Robert breaks away, eyes blown and shirt crumpled. "Gotta go out there and tell everyone about how I was arrested at Disneyland for smoking pot in a gondola.”

“Wait, you did WHAT?”

Robert smirks, pressing a soft kiss to his sulky mouth.

“Yeah, I know, me being a reprehensible bad boy gets you wet.”

Tom rolls his eyes but doesn't deny it.

Robert tries to pull away then, and Tom can’t handle the sudden sliver of space that breaks between them. Tom wants so bad to prolong the moment. It’s the kind of want that makes him bold, makes him grip Robert through his trousers.

“Whoa, tiger, you’re really gonna go out there with this?” he asks as Robert quirks an eyebrow.

That's how he ends up on his knees with Robert fucking his throat, telling him he's got three minutes to make him cum and he better swallow all of it. Robert braces a hand against the wall as his hips stutter against Tom’s stretched mouth, groaning.

“God, sweetheart, how’d you get so good at this all of a sudden?” Robert asks, arching his head back as Tom takes him all in. He’s hot and heavy, and the weight and taste of him has Tom achingly hard.

Tom pulls off his cock for a moment, his eyes watering.

“I’ve been practicing,” he says, voice hoarse from dick.

Robert’s eyes go dark, and suddenly he’s gripping Tom’s hair like he’d told him not to. Tom doesn’t get a chance to complain before Robert’s pulling his hair back to look into his face. A twinge of pain shoots through him.

“What the fuck? Practicing on who?”

Tom flushes again, averting his eyes.

“Erm, carrots and stuff.”

For a split second Robert looks shocked, and then he starts to laugh. It melts into another moan as Tom sucks him down again. He tries his best to deep throat him, Robert using the grip on his hair to fuck his face. When it gets too much, he pulls off and sucks on his balls while jerking him off. All things he’s watched in gay porn and clumsily tried to master.

Two minutes later and Robert’s coming down his throat. So deep that Tom swallows all of it All of Robert’s hot, thick, salt honey, just like he was told to. He trembles as Robert shoves his dick in as far as it’ll go before slowly pulling out, getting one last strand of cum caught on his bottom lip.

“Good boy, fuck, you’re perfect,” Robert groans, trying to catch his breath as he cards his fingers through Tom’s hair.

Tom blushes. He knows Robert’s been with a lot of people. How could he ever compare?

“I’ve gotta go, baby, see you tomorrow. I’ll call you, yeah?” He pulls him up and kisses him hard one last time, but before Tom can pull at him again, he’s gone, leaving Tom there, hard, flushed, wanting.

He can still tastes Robert’s cum on his tongue as he watches him walk on stage a minute later; the throbbing between his legs a sweet, unrelenting ache.

[nagdabbit]

A HANDY DANDY GUIDE TO WRASSLIN

For the lovely, the wonderful, the incomparable @gideongrace​ , may I present: Daggs’ Guide to the Wild Ass World of Professional Wrestling! (and it’s goin’ behind a cut because It Got LONG!)

So, here is the things. Wrestling is STUPID. And great? And fun as hell! And the most carny sport to ever exist. But, also SUPER inside baseball a lot of the time just because it’s got such a long goddamn history that it can seem daunting to get into. Like I’ve only been back into it the last four or so years, so there’s a lot of history that I’ve missed! There’s also a whole lot of gate keeping, just like comics or video games. There’s also the bitter truth that a lot of people in the industry are absolute shitheels that should have been fired long ago (and I’ll only be vague about a lot of that). So, yeah. A WHOLE LOT.

First things first: HISTORY. There’s just so much. But, conveniently? You don’t need it. It can be fun if you end up really like wrestling, but contrary to what a bunch of middle-aged, racist, misogynist and WILDLY homophobic, White American Men will tell you, you don’t actually need it to enjoy yourself. If you DO want history, might I suggest the How2Wrestling podcast! It is a cheerful, lovely show hosted by two goddamn delightful humans, Kefin and Jo (who are also just wonderful people to interact with in general)! There is also the Comic Book Story of Professional Wrestling by Aubrey Sitterson and Chris Moreno, which is a great read! Wrestlesplania is another good show for history of the sport and the wrestlers! They’re definitely, uh, hornier, but v fun!

Secondly: On the subject of inside baseball, wrestling jargon is a whole thing. The ONLY part of wrestling history that is 100% important: it is a carny sport. Like, some side-show, vaudeville ass shit, yo. And it has never evolved from that, so there are a whole lot of terms used that are very specific to like... early 1900′s carnival culture. Here is a wikipedia article, but there’s also a wonderful How2Wrestling episode about it all! I’ll try not to use much!

Thirdly: We can’t talk about wrestling podcasts without mentioning Colt Cabana’s The Art of Wrestling. A lot of the archives are behind a paywall now, but the show is great. If you DO get into wrestling and start to find wrestlers you enjoy, I highly highly suggest checking to see if they’ve done an episode. Colt is a goddamn delight of a human, deserving of support and a great interviewer on top of it. Even if you just bookmark eps you’d wanna listen to and then start a free trial to marathon them all. (See also: the Colt Cabana & CM Punk lawsuit(s), in which Colt got royally fucked over.)

Fourthly: Nobodies Watching Wrestling. Drag Queens watching wrestling. That’s all you need to know. Even out of context, they’re goddamn delightful humans. Might I recommend this episode with EFFY, because I sometimes just watch it when I’m having a bad day.

Fifthly: Tights & Fights is a great weekly wrestling pod, and is how I keep up on a lot of things that I might not be watching. PLUS, diverse group of (wonderful) hosts: Hal Lublin, Daniel Radford, Lindsey Kelk, Open Mike Eagle, and producer Julien Burrell. They’re just great. And horny, at times, but in a charming and respectful way.

Now... The boring part. I’m just gonna get some of the popular company introductions out of the way, and then the fun part of So Many Match Suggestions at the bottom. But, business first! (The Big difference between Larger Companies and Independent Companies is that the big guys have a contracted roster of people who sometimes can work with other companies [unless they’re the WWE, who have exclusive contracts and still call their employees Independent Contractors so they don’t have to offer health insurance or a union], and indie guys contract people usually show-by-show. ALSO, there is intergender wrestling [men vs women, which does bother a lot of people. I do side with support of it, but I do totally get how it can be hard to watch] in indie shows, whereas there is NOT in 90% of the big companies.)

(And, honestly, if you wanna skip this part, you can, but if I don’t do it first, I’ll forget..)

AN OVERVIEW OF THE BIG PLAYERS

WWE - Here’s the thing. The WWE kinda... is a terrible capitalist bastard of a company, run by a morally bankrupt, egomaniacal, shitstain, roid-rage cryptkeeper of a man. And, if you want my personal opinion, RAW and Smackdown are both (currently) TERRIBLE shows, despite having some truly phenomenal talent. BUT, but. NXT (and NXT UK) is probably the best, like, weekly wrestling show (on TV, at least, but we’ll get there). The talent is INCREDIBLE, the storylines are less bad bananas, and they’ve adopted a LOT of the best indie talent lately (because they want to directly compete with AEW, but that’s a whole other thing). WWE programming is also the easiest to get a hold of because they are the longest running and basically Disney, so there are some full matches on YouTube, and Raw and NXT are available on Hulu. They are also releasing a lot of free stuff on the WWE Network that you can watch without signing up for a paid account, but there is a lot of stuff behind a pay wall.

Cons: Real Talk, run by a bunch of terrible people. Responsible for covering up a lot of truly reprehensible crimes for which no one was held accountable, despite being well documented. A blatant disregard for the (physical and mental) safety and/or financial security of a lot of their roster--specifically the people you don’t see on TV. (If you want some history, you can look through the past tweets of the New York 64 Tournament, but a lot of it turned my stomach, so I would not suggest, but it’s there if you have the same morbid curiosity that I did)

Pros: The company might be run by terrible people, but their roster is good. A lot of my top wrestlers do work for the WWE, sure, but they do hire a lot of decent humans that I sometimes feel bad about not supporting. Also, it is the dream of a lot of people to join WWE simply because of the prestige, the massive audience, and job security. I might hate Vince but I can’t begrudge any wrestler currently working for them.

NXT Pros: On the subject of rosters, NXT is LIT. But they have also stolen some of the best indie wrestlers recently: Mercedes Martinez and Jake Atlas, two of my All Time Favs. Both of whom deserve the world, because being openly gay in the wrestling industry is the pits.

All Elite Wrestling - AEW is a very new company, and they are my favourite of the big promotions. They are a company run by wrestlers, rather than a millionaire with a writing staff. I like the wrestling style(s) better, I was a huge fan of a lot of their roster before they hit TV last October, and I like not giving the McMahons money. The storylines are better, if only because they don’t have a writer’s room dictating scripts and such, and the characters are more fun (for me at least).

Easiest ways to watch for free: Their YouTube channel! There you can find a lot of highlights, behind the scenes, AEW Dark (the “dark” matches, or the non-televised matches from TV tapings), PPV pre-shows and a lot of stupid stuff.

Cons: A bit of an issue offering equal match time to the women’s roster the way they SAID they would at the start. A bit more violent of a style as a lot of the wrestlers came up death match style wrestling, or are from Japan/wrestled in Japan and typically wrestle “strong style” (wrestling style with less theatrics and known for Real Real Strikes that Hurt A Lot), which some people can find off-putting. Also, they hired Jake Hager, who is a real piece of shit.

Pros: Have a wonderfully diverse roster. Orange Cassidy. Sonny Kiss. Good storytelling. Jake The Snake Roberts doing Hella Promos. The Dark Order, who we affectionately refer to as the Spooky Perverts. Chris Jericho yelling at a Drone, and Matt Hardy being a wizard. A bunch of wrestlers who are married to other wrestlers who work for WWE, and good jokes are made.

BUT THE BIGGEST PRO-AEW THING I CAN PROVIDE: NYLA FUCKING ROSE. They didn’t make her the first women’s champion like they should have, but they put her in the first championship match on the FIRST episode of the weekly show, Dynamite, and she is now the CURRENT women’s champion. I don’t wanna make a big deal, only it is a BIG DEAL, because Nyla Fucking Rose is the first openly transgender wrestler signed to a major promotion, and if you think I didn’t fucking CRY LIKE A CHILD when she won, you’re wrong. So, yeah, a NATIONALLY TELEVISED WRESTLING PROGRAM’S CURRENT WOMEN’S CHAMPION IS A TRANSGENDER, FIRST NATIONS WOMAN. NYLA. FUCKING. ROSE.

As of right now, AEW seems to be done filming, which is both Very Smart and also heartbreaking, but you can find all the ways to watch over here on their site if it looks like fun!

WOW Women of Wrestling - Have you seen GLOW? This is a show created by the IRL creator of GLOW (the promotion the show is based on, not the show)! And it is? Incredible? The characters are fun and portrayed as superheroes, the stories are CAMP af, and the wrestling is GOOD. They’re a non-traditional show, which is fun. Their roster is made up of wrestlers playing different wrestlers. Wrestling is a bunch of super talented people playing characters while doing acrobatics. WOW gives us people playing characters, playing other characters, while also doing acrobatics.

Cons: All male announce team? On an all women’s show? Excuse? And also: Tessa Blanchard who is, it turns out, a great big racist. Also a little harder to get full episodes it seems.

Pros: Literally everything else.

Ring of Honor - For awhile ROH was handily competing with WWE. And then they weren’t. And then they got better. And then they got worse. And now, currently, they are a company that I hate supporting.

Cons: Run by assholes who don’t care about worker safety, and don’t put anything into the women’s division.

Pros: Sometimes they partner with New Japan Pro Wrestling. They’ve recently released a lot of goooood old matches including some Kevin Steen (currently WWE’s Kevin Owens) vs El Generico (definitely, 100% not at all, no way, no how, of course NOT WWE’s Sami Zayn [he is, this is another inside baseball joke that I’m just obligated to make every time I mention El Generico]) matches which are BRUTAL. Oh, and Dalton Castle:

Impact! - It’s back! I don’t watch it, but they DO have Rich Swann, so they can’t be bad. There is an entire history to Impact that is BANANAS. Like AEW, a bit more rough and tumble, scrappy death match folks, and I like a lot of the roster, like Taya Valkyrie, Jessika Havok and Sami Callihan. Not a bad show, but the full show weekly doesn’t hold my attention.

Cons: Tessa Blanchard, mostly. She is an incredible wrestler, her matches are good, but.

Pros: Pretty easy to watch, actually? I believe they’re still on Twitch, and they have an entire channel on Pluto TV.

New Japan Pro Wrestling - NJPW is GREAT. Definitely not everyone’s cup of tea. The shows are long, and strong style just... hurts. Like, a lot of wincing on my end. But the wrestling. Oh, lordy, the wrestling is incredible. But it is brutal. Strong Style wrestling is much different than the typical American style that you see in WWE, and a lot more grounded than high flying lucha styles. (Though a lot of wrestlers do travel to Mexico and train in lucha style wrestling (which I am the least familiar with), so currently there is a lot of the very high flying flippty dos and the absolutely brutal strikes that you see in strong style wrestling.)

Cons: Show/match length is typically long and there is A Lot to See. The only way I know to watch full shows is through their streaming service.

Pros: Just the whole thing, really. They release a free match on YouTube every Monday. Also, Toru Yano, the best wrestler in the world.

Indie Promotions that I know less about because I can afford only so many streaming services

Firstly, here is a Wiki list of wrestling streaming services. I’m gonna name a couple below, but the wiki page has a handy list of costs of the bigger ones because capitalism knows how to get you. (Personally, I only use IWTV at the moment. They’re a good company run by good people, and a lot of indie promotions would have died out without partnering with/support from them)

Beyond Wrestling - Beyond is My Favourite Promotion To Watch, Bar None. Their weekly show (when in season), Uncharted Territory, is fantastic. Diverse talent, diverse styles. They do have a lot of death matches, which can suck to watch if you aren’t into that sort of thing. I am, it turns out, into that sort of thing. But listening to interviews with a lot of death match wrestlers, specifically Jimmy Havoc, can help understand the w h y of it all! Available on IWTV.

Chikara - Chikara is So Fun! They are a (mostly) family friendly promotion and training school. Their shows are filled with young/newbie wrestlers as they learn the tricks. Run by Mike Quackenbush, who is a delightful person, BRILLIANT wrestler/trainer, and someone who is willing to take the safety of his people into account. He’s good people, who trains good people, and supports good people, and gives them a safe, open place to learn. It’s also very fun! A lot of comedy matches. Watch on: CHIKARAtopia or some of their archive is on IWTV.

EVE - An all-women promotion, providing a safe working and training environment for women and girls. They have put their foot in it on occasion, but they seem to still be good people. (I would recommend the Tights & Fights episode with founders Emily and Dann Read for a little backstory on the company, but not needed.) Ways to watch.

RIPTIDE - YO, RIPTIDE IS DOING THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SHIT. Cinematic wrestling, and it is great. The matches are good, the promos are good, the people are good. But the way they film it oh my god holy shit. When everything is a little less hectic, they are people I am definitely gonna support as much as I can. Watch here.

A Matter of Pride - Here’s the thing. They have put on some very good, inclusive shows. However, some serious allegations have come out about Rick Cataldo, who is involved with the company, and I think it’s important to mention. They have done a lot of good in the world of prowrestling and they put on good shows and they have given a platform to people who might otherwise have been pushed aside, however bad things have still happened there. Watchable on YouTube.

OTHER NOTABLE INDIE COMPANIES

GCW (IWTV, Fite TV & Smartmark) * Black Label Pro (IWTV) * Prime Time Pro Wrestling (IWTV) * Uncanny Attractions * RISE (IWTV) * Bar Wrestling * PWG * Stardom * Bizarro Lucha (IWTV) * OTT

There is also NWA Power that is a good show on YouTube, however, they immediately hired (and now fired for being racist) Jim Cornette who is... just an absolute jackass. But I do feel I should mention them.

Is that over? Yes? Well..

NOW THE FUN PART. THIS IS MY MOMENT. THIS IS THE ONLY PART THAT REALLY MATTERS.

So. The thing is. Wrestling is A Lot. SO, I’m gonna give you as wide a variety as I can! I’ll point out some fun people, some fun gimmicks and HOPEFULLY won’t completely turn you off! If you enjoy any of these, then the dumb stuff up above is useful!

First! The most important wrestling match of All Time. Invisible Man vs Invisible Stan. This is everything you need to know about the beats of good wrestling, but also why wrestling is fun. There are two people in this match: Referee Bryce Remsburg and the audience. And that’s it. This is literally just a referee (but it’s Bryce, so the referee) miming a wrestling match, and an audience buying into the kayfabe wholeheartedly. (Inside baseball: Bad Boy Vision - “Bad Boy” Joey Janela’s [another wrestler] sunglasses)

One of my favourite matches in recent memory, AND one of the best matches sort of just in general! David Starr vs Jordan Devlin at OTT. Quintessential wrestling, fantastic storytelling, and one of the best promo packages I’ve ever seen. BONUS: David Starr is a GREAT human fighting day and night to unionize the wrestling industry. He’s the Bernie Sanders of professional wrestling.

I thought about putting an actual death match on the list, but the closest I will get is this Nick Gage vs Josh Briggs fans bring the weapons match. I chose this match because my very best friend does not like this style of wrestling at all, but he did enjoy this match. It’s a lot, obviously. But it’s not as bad as it could be, but there’s also no shame if it isn’t your thing. Hell, I don’t even know why it’s my thing! I don’t even like bloody horror movies! I will say that Nick Fuckin’ Gage is one of the most prolific death match guys still working today, and also one of the nicest, kindest, most beloved guys there is and I would die to protect him. MDK!

Okay, this is the single most beautiful match to exist. Cara Noir vs PAC (fka WWE’s Neville). This isn’t wrestling, this is art. Great story, no commentary, gorgeous camerawork. Bonus: Cara Noir has the most fantastic and well rounded gimmick (character) in the business. Have you seen Black Swan? That’s it. That’s his character. And it’s great. Nailed. It.

Oh, did you know David Arquette is a wrestler? HE IS! Here’s he and RJ City.

On the subject of WWE and NXT, this Halftime Heat match of Aleister Black, Ricochet & Velveteen Dream vs Johnny Gargano, Adam Cole & Tommaso Ciampa. These are six of the best wrestlers work, and definitely TOPS in the WWE system. SEE ALSO: Black & Dream put on a HELL of a program together at NXT, but it’s been boiled down to this highlight vid that gives me feelings. Gargano vs Andrade Cien Almas is one of THE BEST matches of all time and here is a shitty highlight reel, but it’s still good. Adam Cole is 1) incredible and 2) the prettiest possum in the Denny’s dumpster, have a Cole vs Finn Balor highlight reel. God, I wish it were easier to find WWE stuff on YouTube.. All these matches should be on Hulu, tho.

NEXT! Kris Statlander vs Davienne for Beyond. Kris Statlander is A Legend, despite being real new to the business. Currently wrestling for AEW, former stuntwoman and, most importantly, she’s an alien.

FREE FOR ALL TIME. Solo Darling vs Penelope Ford vs Veda Scott vs Ashley Vox. They didn’t have to go that hard, but they did.

SPEAKING OF. Kylie Rae, Penelope Ford, Kimber Lee & Skylar vs. Shotzi Blackheart, Harlow &Twisted Sisterz. I just? I love? All of them?

And not to mention Kris Statlander vs Priscilla Kelly. I mean, I mean. I cannot sing the praises of both of these women enough.

Okay, so I am really only passingly familiar with a lot of Japanese wrestling. Mostly got into it last summer, actually. I get it, I love it, but I’m not as well versed in the people involved. Two badasses I do know? Meiko Satomura vs Kana (WWE’s Asuka). Fucking legends, both of them. Hard hitters, too, jesus.

If you do get into NXT at all, Keith Lee and Donovan Dijak put on one fuck of a program together, but the story started long before they ever entered the WWE! Please enjoy this absolute hoss fight from a couple years back.

NOW, some intergender matches! If you think they aren’t your thing, feel free to skip!

A fun match of (current IRL romantic partners) Keith Lee vs Mia Yim from before either of them debuted at NXT. I believe they weren’t dating at this point, so the next part will really hit, cuz it’s romantic as shit... This was not the booked ending. Keith Lee didn’t kick out on purpose. (Which, I mean, is literally all wrestling endings, but.) Mia was booked to lose (at least they told her that), and he purposefully took the L and went out on his back, to surprise her and give her a MASSIVE push.

Leyla Hirsch vs David Starr. I just. I goddamn love Leyla Hirsch. A very young wrestler, very new to the industry and I just love her so much?

Two great, intense matches of Joey Janela, the patron saint of bad decisions. Versus Kris Statlander (I can’t get enough of her) and versus Jordynne Grace.

Orange Cassidy and Penelope Ford vs Shockwave and Veda Scott. Shockwave is a robot and Orange Cassidy is Paul Rudd in Wet Hot American Summer. I can give no other explanation.

COMEDY TIME, YO. Comedy wrestling is The Best. There’s a name, Orange Cassidy. Yeah, he’s very funny, and also the most divisive person in wrestling rn. He’s Paul Rudd. He knows he’s a wrestler. He’s lazy. And there’s one match that we need to get out of the way first...

Orange Cassidy vs David Starr. The thing is. Orange Cassidy can fucking wrestle. His gimmick might be that he doesn’t want to, but he can. And It. Is. Great.

Now we can get on with the funnies.

Orange Cassidy vs Colt Cabana. Not story needed. Just two dudes at a food festival. Oh, yeah, there’s also a Swamp Monster. We love Swampy.

Colt Cabana vs Toru Yano. It’s just. So. FUN.

You might know the name Joey Ryan as The Dick Flip Wrestler, or The King of Dong Style. His dick has magical powers, it’s a thing. Here’s he and Orange Cassidy.

Johnny Cockstrong is the opposite of Joey Ryan. Literally. Here’s him also vs Orange Cassidy.

Did you want to see a Dick Test of Strength between them? Well, it happened.

Back to RIPTIDE for (another intergender, kinda) Pete Dunne, Tyler Bate & Trent Seven vs Joey Ryan, Candice LeRae (the World’s Cutest Tag Team) & Colt Cabana.

Kinda almost but not really comedy but very funny and also full of good wrasslin’, here is EFFY vs Orange Cassidy. Pirated, technically, and in real low quality, but I Love It. EFFY is Daddy.

Now, you’ll notice not a lot of women in the comedy section. Real talk, women still tend to get treated as a joke by the wrestling industry at large, so they don’t get the luxury of being as funny as they want. But one woman out there doing the lord’s work is Session Moth Martina. Legend. Love her. Admittedly, another intergender match, but it makes me happy. Martina & Orange Cassidy vs Joey Janela & Penelope Ford (Janelope).

One of my All Time Favourite Matches to date, EFFY and Danhausen (Gaytanic Panic) vs Chris Dickinson and Pinkie Sanchez (Team Pazuzu). Yes, this is a Halloween show. Yes, the Ref IS dressed as Chris Dickinson. There are teeth, Jesus resurrects someone, Danhausen is in fishnets and Effy is in face paint. It’s great. Love that Danhausen.

And there we have it! A whole lot of information and a bunch of matches and some stuff. It’s real dumb, and sometimes the industry is dark, but there’s a lot of hella good people doing dumb things. I hope this was helpful?? And Fun! (But my feeling won’t be hurt if it wasn’t fun, I promise!)

I leave you with this, RJ City making coffee in his underwear with Danhausen. Completely out of context. Because I love it.

[samesongxox]

Savior: Chapter 5 (There’s Something about Phyrra)

Summary: (Hellboy 2019) AKA Turning a New Leaf AKA Good Samaritans Need Love Too. The B.P.R.D is tasked to infiltrate a black market creature trafficking ring led by a powerful warlock. Hellboy rescues Phyrra who is found being held hostage, a slave for her magic. He must protect her as she is hunted by her master and his gang of monsters. (AU where Broom isn’t dead/Abe wasn’t found)

It will be rated M, it will include violence, swearing, smuttiness, all the good things in life.

Disclaimer: Hellboy belongs to Dark Horse Comics/Mike Mignola, I don’t own anything except the AU and my OC’s.

Phyrra sat cross-legged on the bed, enraptured as Binx animatedly retold her side of the story: how Phyrra had sent her away during her dealings with Elias, then the shock of the pixie being accosted by some woman on her way back to Phyrra’s room. Returning to a wild, bewildered Phyrra acting as if that Hellboy was the only one she wanted around her. Binx used her usual scathing descriptions of how she saw things.

“You were scandalous with him Phyrra! Not at all yourself! I had not seen you like that in many moons! I tried to get him away, but you would not allow it!”

Binx had spent decades protecting Phyrra from the men around: that nasty warlock being the bain of her existence. At least the beast’s attention towards Phyrra had not held any contempt or lascivious intentions, Binx couldn’t say the same for this demon. 

Sure he had strode in and took Phyrra away from the wicked man that had held her friend, and by extension herself, for so many years. But the pixie had the unusual talent of reading things unsaid clearly, and she sensed great darkness in this Hellboy. Perhaps Binx was biased in her opinion, she owed everything to Phyrra. It didn’t stop the light that ever emanated from the elven girl.  

No creature on earth would ever be worthy of Phyrra, in Binx’s eyes at least.    

“But...He saved me Binx, saved us.”

“Yes, yes what a white knight he is.” Phyrra, her mind unwillingly placing a picture of Hellboy in her mind, she felt her face burn.

She was struck with the remembrance that in the last moments before her blankness, she had been in a towel, readying for a bath. 

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She was in a robe now. Someone had changed her. Maybe it had been this woman? At Phyrra’s urgent question, Binx could only glance away, further prove of what Phyrra feared. “I will concede he was at least a gentleman about it all. Also at least stopped you from further harming that human.”

“Binx,” Phyrra desperate urging in her voice frightening the pixie. “I’m all fuzzy. I cannot remember much. It’s all coming in flashes.”  

 “What of our time before…” Binx hesitated, the reminder of her friend’s loss of memories stunning her. “What do you remember of your family?”

“Nothing, it’s all blank.” Binx, normally the fire-cracker, looked more fearful than Phyrra ever seen. Binx choked on her reply. She just couldn’t do it. Selfish as it was, Binx had no desire to open the old wounds of Phyrra’s past.

“It is not my place Phyrra. You must recall it yourself.” Phyrra looked at her friend with great confusion, Binx had the answers, but was refusing to give them. It was preposterous. 

“Excuse me? Don’t be ridiculous Binx! Tell me!” Binx’s expression was hearty with gloom. Phyrra was already in a fragile state, Binx did not want to be the one to break her. Maybe in a week’s time, if all goes well. Binx rationalized to herself. On the outside, she smiled with great sadness towards Phyrra.  

“I...I simply cannot.” 

“You are really annoying me dilthen nad (little one).” Phyrra snapped, scooping the miniscule creature up into her hands. Holding her with the intent of not letting go until Binx gave her the justification for this unnecessary behaviour.   

Binx decided the conversation was over, dictated by a burst of fire in Phyrra’s palms. 

Letting her friend go, she scurried away on translucent wings. Figure it out herself? Phyrra was baffled. At the back of her mind, she could hear the Professor talking about the texts regarding all matters of subjects. Well, if she was to be responsible for returning her memories, that seemed to be the best place to start.

“Fine, have it your way Binx. We are taking a trip to that library,” Binx returned back to her companion, hesitant but firm in her Phyrra’s strength to see through this. Goddess knew the elf had spent many lonely nights of hard survival before Binx found her.

Using her internal clock, Phyrra had to have been talking to Binx for an hour or so. She was brought here last night, Hellboy had slept the whole night by her side. Now it was mid-morning.

Phyrra felt herself unthinkingly pondering over him. Perhaps she should go talk to him first? She needed to know what had happened, and what he had seen from her. He disconcerted her in a way Phyrra has never experienced, she hoped his answers to her questions would aleve that. 

“Hey, brought you the clothes. I also ran into someone in the hallway.” Phyrra was halted in her determination as Sorah walked in with a hulking human male, dressed in a fine black suit. Phyrra only had to shift her gaze to the awful purple mottling along the male’s neck to know who this was. The man she had mauled. Had held in her grasp with intent to hurt, maybe even kill. 

“Jason Hurse, ma’am.” He was smiling at her with quiet reserve, much too kind of a greeting for what she deserved.

“Call me Phyrra.” She felt her eyes sting, she was a monster. An absolute brute. He should he furious with her, too disgusted to even be here.

“It’s a pleasure, Phyrra.” Jason approached her bedside with ease, completely unafraid of her despite what had occured between them. 

“Words can’t describe my guilt. I feel…. Ghastly.”

“Don’t. Hey, you were strapped onto this gurney in this new environment, you did what you had to do. Trust me this kind of danger comes with this job, and I’ve been through worse. I fully understand your reaction to that situation.”

Phyrra was astonished. This human was unbelievable in his humbleness. There was something Phyrra could obviously do to make up for it. 

“You are a gracious man. Please, allow me to heal you.”

“Well I’m not gonna argue. It would save me trying to explain this to the missus,” Hurse said good-naturedly. Jason gave his consent as Phyrra requesting to touch the bruise. Both him and Sorah watched in awe as the tattoos on the elf’s body began to glow, the patterns floating off her skin onto Jason’s. After a few quiet moments, Phyrra removed her hand to Hurse’s usual pale toned neck, the injury was gone.

“Phyrra...That was amazing!” The elf shrugged under Sorah’s watch. She was used to being praised for her magic, although it had always been Elias. It left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Woah.” Hurse stood up and shook his arms. “Weird. I feel like I have so much energy.” Taking stock of how his body felt rejuvenated, he glanced at his watch. Cursing at the time, he explained that he was supposed to be meeting with S.W.A.T Team Two right now to discuss the Yeti den findings.   

“Thank you Phyrra. I gotta get back to work, but it was great to meet you again, seriously. See you around!” The man bolted out of the room, already late. Sorah and Phyrra regarded each other laughing softly. 

“Sorah, would it be possible for me to go to the library?”

“Of course! Your just gonna go to the elevator and hit the button that says 5C. In fact, I’ll walk you over there. It gets a little crazy around her at this time.”

There was much action happening around her when Sorah loaded Phyrra into the contraption: nurses dressed wounds and speaking with patients or each other. Phyrra thanked whoever was listening that no one seemed to pay her much mind, and as always having Binx by her side gave her strength. 

Either they had been warned about her presence, or were still wary of her because of what she did to Jason… She would have to seek forgiveness from them all.

The elevator jerked to a stop. Phyrra looked up at the glowing red ‘4B’. Not her floor. The door slid open to reveal a young woman who looked in appearance around the same age, she was dressed very casually with a floppy hat and baggy pants. Her placid expression lit up at the surprising sight of Phyrra.

“Hey! Great to see you up and about. Back to normal yeah?” Phyrra was snapped out of her wallowing thoughts by the bright voice. The woman walked into the elevator and went to press the same button Sorah had not three minutes ago. Phyrra remained suspiciously silent, left so by this girl’s affectionate greeting.  

“Right. Sorry. Forgot you woke up not remembering everyone,” The female extended her hand, “Alice, nice to meet ya’.”

“This is the girl that stopped me back at Elias’s. She reeks of death but is perfectly healthy. Quite a strange thing.” Shushing Binx’s harsh words, even though the taller girl could not understand the words, Phyrra accepted her hand.  

“You are the one that found Binx?”

“Your little glowly friend? Yup that was me. Hey again.” 

“She wasn’t rough with me, and is quite charming.” Binx couldn’t stop the humour entering her voice. If they were to be in contact with these mortal’s for now, she would try and find her amusement where she can. 

“I must go around to you all and apologize for my actions, they are reprehensible.” 

“Aw, not to worry! All is right as rain, as my mum used to say.” Phyrra found herself smiling at the easygoing, playful way Alice held herself.

“Okay Phyrra. I gave you your chastization, but please try and not beat yourself up too hard old girl.” The elf nodded at the pixie. She understood, at this moment she was going through a great change. Phyrra was in a place she didn’t have to watch what she said and could make her own decisions. The idea was daunting.  

“Is she mad at us for bringing you here or something?”

“Of course not, Binx wants what is best for me,” Smiling at Alice, this cordial girl, Phyrra felt the burdens surrounding her ease. 

“I believe this is what is best for me at the moment. Would you mind showing me around the library?”

Alice agreed wholeheartedly, even going as far as linking her arm with Phyrra in a show of camaraderie.

The door’s dinged open.

Phyrra could do this. Right now she was with good company, people she could trust. She felt she had a purpose, one that didn’t involve being someone’s pet. And once she recovered fully, she could decide if this ‘being a team member’ would work out.

_

A few hours later…..

Hellboy tossed the beer can into the growing pile detected.

He was a stranger to her now. Hellboy wished, no matter how he told himself not to, for the Phyrra he found to come back. She would wake up and once again only want him around.

Absently strumming his guitar, the memory of their time together haunted him: her first waking up, pinning him with her gaze, the choice she made to stay in his arms, mending his wounds, trusting him so explicitly. Now all he could think about was the disdain and fear she emitted as he tried to touch her. He reached for her fucking hand. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The last couple hours he spent asking the same mundane question to creature after creature: Where are you from? How were you abducted by Elias? How can we help you find your way home? At least it had made it so his mind was occupied. Now in the comfort of his room, he had nothing else but to wallow in his misery.  

He knew she was one of the good ones. He was glad to find out her reactions had been some sort of animalistic sense of survival she had turned to. 

Hellboy, during one of his breaks, had snuck into the security rooms, finding the feed of Phyrra’s room. He found the logs in which his father spoke with her. He knew he was being a coward, a worm. His finger hovered over the play button. Father had told him nothing but perfunctory information when he stopped by after talking with Phyrra: She was another prisoner of Elias’s, and seemed to be suffering from amnesia. 

Hellboy wanted to hear it from her. 

In the end, fate had answered the dilemma for him. Ben arrived on the scene, having been told where the cambion had slipped away; Hellboy whipped around with guilt like a teenage boy caught playing with himself. Ben was holding two sandwiches from the mess hall, wearing a smug grin.

“There you are, come on Hellboy.” The Major threw the wrapped one at Hellboy, forcing him to catch it. “I even asked them to cut the crust off for you.” 

There was also the matter of Hurse. 

On their way back, Hellboy heard his name being called. Turning around, he was met with the running form of Hurse, the man wasn’t winded when he reached them.

“Hey Hellboy, I just wanted to tell you. I met Phyrra, again.” Happily, he displayed his neck sans bruise. Hellboy knew he wasn’t doing it with any malice, just wanted to be a man showing good will. Hellboy knew Hurse to be happily married for 15 years. It didn’t stop the envy at the idea of Phyrra just healing anyone willy-nilly.

He knew first hand the penetrating, all consuming feeling when she used her ability. 

“No hard feelings, she’s a real sweet kid.” 

“Shit.” Hellboy realized he was playing the chords to ‘More Than Words’ and stopped immediately. He had to get a hold of himself for Christ sakes.  

So he agreed with the fact she didn’t attack intentionally, obviously he knew he couldn’t be with enamoured with an evil being, Nimue crushed that idea. He did want her back to that way incidentally, if only to not have to be so foolish around her. He was getting very frustrated with the conflicted feelings surrounding her. He wasn’t a dealing with feelings kinda guy, he needed to go out, do some target practice, get into some trouble. 

Maybe start a fight.

Hellboy stood up too fast, letting out a slurred ‘Woah!’ before balancing himself sloppily on his dresser. That was the first time he had risen in 30 minutes, those beers were hitting him. 

Clumsy as shit, Hellboy stumbled about his room, until the telltale sound of light knocking reached him. Who the fuck was bothering him right now? It was the middle of the fucking night.

Hellboy lumbered over to the door, retching it open. A curse ready on his tongue. 

It was Phyrra. Looking at him expectantly. Sorah had found her clothes, Hellboy thought belated. She was dressed in a black t shirt depicting the B.P.R.D logo, and pajama pants. It was quite a different sight from the robes that bundled her, or the slight towel she was draped in when he first saw her..

He was way too drunk for this.

What he wanted to say was, “Hey Phyrra. What brings you out here at this late hour?” Instead, what he got out was:

“Oh.”

 Phyrra was taken aback by the stilted greeting, but only for a moment. It was quite a late hour, she cleared her throat and pressed on.

“Hello again, I could not stop thinking. At least not until I came to make amends.” Phyrra felt herself strangely nervous around him, sweat collected at the back of her neck but she felt chilled anyways. 

After spending the last while in the library with Alice, finding comfort in the woman’s help and presence, Phyrra had found nothing to jog her memory. Phyrra could see the way Alice was struggling to keep her eyes open, she made the decision to call it a night, thanking the woman for her company and asking where Hellboy was. She was met with a wide grin from Alice with prompt directions to his room, before she flounced away in a girlish manner betraying her age. 

Phyrra liked the B.P.R.D. It wasn’t hard to find these lodgings much more satisfactory than under Elias’s care, but it wasn’t just that. There was life in the B.P.R.D, agents and various government workers passing her in the hallway with kind looks, sometimes a ‘Hello,” Phyrra wasn’t used to most interactions, especially with mortals. They were quite an interesting kind of people. Her new friend’s Sorah and Alice molding her opinion. 

She thought about all this on the way to Hellboy’s domain, now that she was here. Her tongue was undoubtedly tied in knots, she wanted an answer from him, but forcing herself to look up to continue eye contact, she was thoroughly intimidated.   

“Thank you is not sufficient to extend my gratitude. I am forever indebted to you for-”

“Stop!” Both of them flinched at his sudden loud interruption.   

“Sorry, I mean, you don’t need to do all this.” Hellboy scratched the back of his neck, bumbling the whole thing rather expertly. “I was just doing my job.” 

“Okay, but still. I was told of the way I…. Behaved towards everyone here, and how you were there to stop me. That still requires my recognition.”

Fuck, she was so beautiful. There was no doubt about it, he couldn’t feel shame for thinking something so evident. She was like one of those paintings he saw the time werewolves got loose in the Met. 

During the midst of the fight, Hellboy had stopped, strangely drawn to a specific one hung on the wall. Hellboy wasn’t some fine art connoisseur, that kind of frou-frou shit was more dad’s style, but he had to admit this was kinda cool. It was a young girl, tangled in what looked to him to be bandages or rope or something. The background had been dark colours made to look like some sort of forest. She was fighting against the binds, hands curled into fists and muscles flexed in tension, her face displaying the strain it was to break free. 

She was a cutie, by 17th century standards, but it was her eyes that caught him most of all. They were a curious sort of calm, as if she knew without doubt that eventually she would succeed in her struggle. He could of stood there analyzing that painting the whole night, if he hadn’t of been tackled away from it by some smelly dog. 

That girl in the painting reminded him of Phyrra. Many layers made her up. Fierce and wild at times, vulnerable and distant at others. This elf girl was an enigma. One that was currently looking at him with confusion.      

He hadn’t said anything in response to her.

He had just been staring down at her like a creep.

“Well, good night then...” Phyrra scurried away from the entrance to his bedroom; well that did not go the way she wanted it to. She would first apologize, he would accept and she would get the chance to ask him what happened while they were alone. 

Now away in her thoughts, she couldn’t just blame her own blundering. What had greeted her at his door had halted her, something was off about Hellboy. What was once full of nervous energy, was slothish and bumbling. He could barely get his words out.

No matter, she had cleared her conscience and now could leave him alone, he obviously didn’t care nor desire her apology. 

Whatever happened between them could be completely forgotten about. Reliving what had just transpired on repeat as she escaped, Phyrra knew that was an utter lie.  

Hellboy watched stunned as she walked away.  

“Night…..Hey wait!” Hellboy took a step through the threshold, only to step on the tail-end of his jacket, spilling himself to the floor in quite a hilarious spectacular if anyone were around to witness it. 

“Shit.”

[joel-furniss-blog]

True Crime and Serial Killer Art

Speaking on social taboos, the subject of death and surrounding issues regarding it remain one of the most prominent today. In multiple different societies there have been traditions to avoid omens relating to death or the deceased. The indigenous Shuswap people of Canada treat widows and widowers as unlucky to hunters and seclude them from the tribe. Among the Agutainos of the Philippines, widows may not leave their huts for seven days after a death, and it is said whoever looks upon her perishes suddenly. Although we have eased on the idea through the centuries and built a much more sound understanding of it, it still remains a subject that we don’t talk about on a regular basis, despite its presence and inevitability within our own lives. More than half of Britons are unaware of their partner’s end-of-life wishes and I’m assuming some don’t even know their own.

The reason is we don’t want to die. It’s simply in our nature to survive for as long as possible. But there remains an interesting case about dying that both intrigues and disgusts us. Murder.

In 2015, Making a Murderer was uploaded to Netflix, an episodic documentary detailing the story of Steven Avery, a man convicted for the murder of Teresa Halbach and the case surrounding it with the overarching question on whether Avery’s conviction and imprisonment was wrongful. The series received around 19.3 million viewers in the US alone, all watching the evidence unfold on whether Avery was wrongfully convicted or not, a real person in real life. The series was basically reality television at its logical peak, directly dealing with life and death. It’s interesting, we understand these subjects as demanding respect and reverence, but can’t help but gawk. Despite being a taboo, death fascinates us to no end, especially the subjects of these crimes or murder cases which breed intrigue into the reasoning on why we would kill our fellow humans.

This fascination is manifested within the True Crime genre, a non-fiction literary and film category in which actual criminal activities and details are analysed and recorded for entertainment. The genre appears in many forms, literary work such as the Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter detailing the Manson murders, television such as the previously mentioned Making a Murderer, films like the dramatized Zodiac by David Fincher retelling the Zodiac Killer’s crimes, or podcasts like the popular Serial which narrated the real life murder of Hae Min Lee. In other words the genre has spread itself over all media and has become virtually inescapable to most media-watching people and we can’t help but continue to watch due to a shared sense of morbid curiosity or perhaps an infatuation with these characters.

Nowadays the documentary works account more sensationalist crimes and focus more on the profile of the committer rather than the crimes and victims themselves. The serial killers or mass shooters are displayed as psychologically layered and charismatic characters rather than morally reprehensible killers. People like Ted Bundy, Jeffry Dahmer, and John Wayne Gacy are seen as pop culture figures subject to their own biopics and documentaries exploring their every move as if they were celebrities. Some murders even went on to inspire popular movie franchises such as Ed Gein, whose grisly habit or creating trophies from his victim’s skin and slight oedipal relationship with his deceased mother inspired famous movie villains Leatherface, Buffalo Bill, and Norman Bates. We’re infatuated with these people and their crimes, the idea of them taking the life of someone else and defacing their corpses is so alien to us as regular minded individuals that we can’t help but stop, stare, and shake our heads. But some people take it further than simply looking at a distance.

Hybristophilia (also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome) is which one feels arousal and facilitation for someone who has committed a serious crime such as armed robbery, rape, and murder. The paraphilia can be experienced in either passive or aggressive ways, with passive hybristophiliacs often writing romantic or sexual fan mail to notorious criminals, sometimes even developing a romantic relationship with them resulting in marriages behind bars. Most hybristophiliacs have delusions about their idols, rationalising their crimes, believing they would never harm them, thinking they can change their lovers for the better, or actively putting themselves into positions in which they can be seduced or manipulated. Aggressive hybristophiliacs are different as they are willing to help their lovers with their criminal agenda via luring victims, hiding evidence, or even helping commit the crimes. They are attracted to their partners due to their psychotic actions and are unable to understand that they are often being manipulated or abused as well. Psychologist know little about this paraphilia but hypothesise that the hybristophiliacs are submissive victims, narcissistic enablers, or vicarious thrill-seekers. Some believe it’s the natural pinnacle of the ‘caveman’ mentality, where traditionally masculine and aggressive figures are seen as more attractive than others.

In this age it’s much easier to see examples of this paraphilia. On blogging site Tumblr there is a fandom of often teenage girls who obsess over Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, the perpetrators of the Columbine high school massacre, and create video and photographic montages and tributes to the deranged teenagers they saw as outcasts and underdogs, even affectionately referring to themselves as ‘Columbiners’. Other internet communities such as ‘Incels’, a group of sexually frustrated men, herald Elliot Rodgers, a misogynistic mass shooter responsible for the 2014 Isla Vista killings as a saint figure due to him sharing some of their views. This is the case for many murderers online. You can type in the name of a famous serial killer into Tumblr and find blogs and posts dedicated to him, even sexual fanfictions between them and a non-descript self-insert character designed to represent the reader. Some of this worship is either ironic, for humours effect, or simply just to be edgy, (which is why I found interest within this) but many of them do see a small piece of themselves within these people, a cut of self-loathing outcast and edgy passion they can identify with. Because often the idols they herald are youthful and full of hate, and this overly emotional position can lead them to creative outlets.

For example, the previously mentioned Columbine shooters often expressed themselves through their uncommon fashion choices, enjoyment of alternate music, radical political opinions, and a series of videos for a school project entitled Hitmen for Hire in which the two swore and yelled violent statements at the camera in between acting out shootings on students in the school’s hallways. The video is embarrassing to watch and is reminiscent of many people’s cringeworthy teenage years when they thought rebelling against the norm was the coolest and a completely new idea, when in reality it always comes off as lame and a massive blunder in the future. The same goes for Isla Vista killer who wrote a 107,000-word manifesto entitled My Twisted World: The Story of Elliot Rodger, in which Rodger’s discusses key events in his life that led him to his delusional and psychopathic state. I haven’t read the entire document as I don’t have the ten hours it takes to read, but from the experts and snippets I have seen the document reads horribly and in explaining himself and trying to spur sympathy or profess his superiority, Rodgers comes across as a whiny, unaccepted 14-year-old too big for his britches rather than a twenty-two-year-old adult.

The reason I draw attention to these people is that I’m interested in the theme of creativity within murders and mass shooters. Many serial killers either produce drawings and paintings before or after they are incarcerated, drawings and paintings that are documented online. They range in quality and merit, with some being near photorealistic recreations, highly stylised sketches, and colourful and detailed paintings while others are the most basic of sketchbook doodles. But there always remains something interesting to each one, whether it be the execution (of the art, not the killers) or the subject matter. For example, John Wayne Gacy’s works were deeply rooted within pop culture with him painting figures such as Charles Manson, Pennywise the Clown from Stephen King’s It, the titular Seven Dwarfs from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and punk singer GG Allin. He even showed a small knowledge of the artworld with a grotesque painted recreation of Salvador Dali’s In Voluptas Mors. Another murderer who had a passion for the pencil was Danny Rolling who’s highly detailed and meticulously sketched pencil drawings show elements of surrealism, gothic and heavy metal imagery, and some running themes of popular figures such as Hitler. The drawings are disturbing yet technically impressive and stylistically interesting (some are even for sale online) and perhaps if he wasn’t a psychopath he could have found success.

There’s a particular work by a particular murderer I would like to look at. Richard Ramirez AKA the Night Stalker was an American serial killer, rapist, and burglar who operated in the Southern California area between June 1984 and August 1985 before being convicted of thirteen counts of murder, five counts of attempted murder, eleven counts of sexual assault, and fourteen accounts of burglary. Ramirez’s art was poor, mainly done on notebook paper with biro pen or coloured crayon and featured themes similar to the previously discussed killers, pop culture icons and gothic/heavy metal imagery to create unthreatening and frankly lame pieces. But one stands out from the rest by evoking an unsettling feeling within the viewer, an untitled drawing depicting Ramirez’s favourite actress Abigail Breslin. The drawing appears to be almost entirely made with black biro sans the lips which are a shade of deep crimson and scrawled with an unidentifiable material (possibly felt tip), all drawn on a piece of thin, folded, off-white paper. While the technical style of the portrait is poor and hasty, I find an infatuating quality surrounding it, one element is drawn from the style itself. It is a simple line study and form register, featuring no shading what so ever and sparse detail, for example, the ears are left blank, the natural flow of the hair is only alluded to with some scattered lines, the nose is only represented by a single line, and the eyes are totally undetailed except for a pair of pinprick pupils. Another factor is how some of the lines in the image falter before they can connect, examples found in the left shoulder line falling just short of the neck, ponytail trailing off into noting and right corner of the dress missing a connection. The most prominent feature of the drawing is the lips, almost grotesquely oversized and curled upwards in a sickeningly dead smile at the viewer, the deep red almost seeming like a bloody gash in the otherwise plain white image. The blood red slit for the mouth, the dead and unblinking eyes and the not-all-there composition make the image deeply unsettling even without the context of Ramirez’s heinous crimes and the knowledge that the subject was less the sixteen-years-old when Ramirez drew her. Paired with that knowledge it is a horrifying piece that can make the skin crawl.

While some might think that writing about and shinning a light on these deranged killers to advance my own visual art may be amoral or at least cause for concern, the idea is one I wanted to explore at the start of this project. I want to learn how one can be different, break taboos, transgress standards yet still be accepted, this is a good way to explore that. In dealing with this unspeakable yet fascinating taboo of murder and sexual assault I’m gaining key information and a creative stake in my project that will hopefully help advance it in a visual and conceptual way. Also, creating work based on serial killers is very edgy.

I would also like to stress that I do not support any act of murder, rape, or other crime done by anyone mentioned in this document.

[imspardagus]

The Worst Version of Myself

It was, on the face of it, just a hug. A long lingering hug. It started when she put her arms around me and it ended when she released me but all the while I was hoping it would never stop. I needed it. But more than that, I found myself thinking that I needed, and wanted, her.

Just two facts are needed for any romantic thoughts you are having to dissipate before a ripple of concern or a tide of disgust. She, Carrie, is 21. I am 68.

I have known Carrie for more than 5 years. She is a friend of my daughter. Like her mother, she is astonishingly lovely but I have always treated her as a second daughter and she has treated me like a second father. She has been a frequent visitor to our house, until last year staying over at least once or twice most weeks, only stopping when my daughter’s interest in a new boyfriend relegated their friendship to a more distant acquaintance. At any time since she first started coming to our home, my first and foremost concern has been that she should be safe and comfortable and I feel no different now. 

I know her family - her parents and her brother. I admire them and love them all as friends. I would be appalled to have hurt or even disappointed any of them.

So what happened that night has been preying on my mind. I know, pretty much, why it happened  - by which I mean why a simple hug  became, to me, for that moment, something more, something more dangerous, something unacceptable.  I know that it must not happen again and that it probably won’t. But I can’t let it go. Because, after all the years of making scrupulous efforts to maintain a decent standard of behaviour I became, in an instant and for a brief time, the worst version of myself.

Carrie and I both know that, even though nothing more occurred beyond an awkward hanging silence and then a few trite words, a line was crossed that night - that I crossed a line that night - and there is now a wariness between us. I see it in her and I hear it in her voice. And I feel it in myself. I cannot see her without feeling guilty and wanting to remove my hideous self from her company. However arch it may seem, I can’t forgive myself.

We have hugged before. Every time, Carrie has instigated it. There are two reasons for that.

First, it has been in the forefront of my mind, since Helen, at the age of 13, became my sole charge and began bringing her friends to visit, that I owed it to each and every one of them to behave with absolute propriety. They were lovely, naturally affectionate but quite innocent and worryingly unaware of dress malfunctions. To a number of them, coming from broken homes, I was the only stable adult male in their lives. I knew I had to hold fast the trust all this created.

So when the girls were carelessly, and occasionally testingly, uninhibited,  I trained myself to look away. Not to push them away. That would make them feel uncomfortable. There had to be awareness and quiet avoidance. And I learned the sideways hug that ensures no inappropriate body contact. And the hug had to come from them, never me.

I was their sheepdog. They were my flock. I needed to protect them from the wolf, including the one in me. And it worked. They felt safe, at ease. And they were safe.

They have all grown up now, mostly into fine young women. But I am still greeted, in my home and in the street, with an exuberant affection that leaves passers-by puzzled as to who this old man is to merit such treatment.

But I said there were two reasons. Way before I became a husband and then a father, I had had to learn to be demonstrative. Until I was in my 30s all physical contact with other humans was shut off to me by a frightening self-conscious fear of offending. For a brief period in my 30s I was at least allowed into the room of earthly pleasures and in that time I found love and something close to happiness in the form of a beautiful woman. But it was not to last. I realised it was over between us when one day I put my arms around Heather and felt her shrink back and pull away. It was a feeling so awfully, rippingly painful that I wished I had never experienced the pleasure that I had been anticipating. Joy was once again ousted from my life and fear once again replaced it.

And so it has been since then. For almost a quarter of a century, I have been celibate not from choice but from the terror of involvement and the fear that it will bring that pain again. Much as I wish I were not so alone, much as I wish for a warm and willing body to be close to and hold, the fear is greater and I cannot move for it.

I want to say something now: something that will probably not go down well in some quarters. It has become fashionable, fuelled in part by the Weinstein and Epstein scandals, to decry the very thought that older men find younger women attractive. It is a generalisation that I cannot go along with.

There have always been “dirty old men”. The seaside postcards of my childhood abounded with them. Benny Hill made a career out of leering at the pumped up chests of twenty-somethings. And there have always been men who exploit their position, wealth or power to gain access to the bodies and favours of young women. I offer no defence for such men. I find their behaviour excruciating and reprehensible. I hate that, as a man, I have to be associated with them even remotely.

But to suggest that a man is not permitted to find and acknowledge beauty in a women because of the age difference between them is arrant and oppressive nonsense. The ability to appreciate beauty is one of the greatest gifts of humanity. It is a positive thing, enriching and ennobling and it teaches us in turn to abhor the wanton defiling or destruction of beauty. To insist that we deny this reality is as futile as to deny that we exist. But it is also dangerous.

The issue is not whether an old man is entitled to find a young woman – or man – or any person or thing – beautiful. It is how we behave in response to what we see. And for that there needs to be awareness.

I am not being naïve here. There is a problem. In the brain, the appreciation of beauty is closely associated with sexual desire. Dangerously so. It is not only so in the relationships of humans. Beautiful music, beautiful images, beautiful textures, even beautiful foods and drinks can raise us to near ecstasy (just as ugliness can move us to disgust). These are feelings the arrival of which we have little control over.

But hopefully we learn to control how we express them. You do not crush a rosebud.

I learned a version of that control in a devastatingly repressive way early on in my life. I learned it from my mother’s expressed distaste for “men’s ways” and I took it to heart because I wanted so much for her to love me. And though she is now long gone, this repression has not. It dogged my marriage, made my responses stilted and uncomfortable to receive and when, because of that, Heather pulled away from me, it was my first thought: that I had transgressed by wanting her so.

But all these years of repression have never diminished my wonder at the sheer beauty of the female form. It is not, however, a salivating, leering, rapacious desire I feel. It is closer to envy.

I have never liked my body. So much so that I have always taken great pains not to expose it to what I have always assumed would be ridicule. It started very young. My parents used to joke that even as a two year old I would not take my shirt off on a beach. Growing impossibly tall and thin at an early age did nothing to rid me of my embarrassment. And once I reached puberty and that stupid pipe between my legs started making demands on me, I felt mortified. How could anyone find me anything other than hideous?

I looked at the slender girls around me, their hair, the easy grace with which they moved, their curves and shadows and I wanted to be like them.

And so it has remained. I have learned more freedom in the last ten years. I take pride in trying to dress well. But when I see a beautiful woman, it is not so much sexual desire that I feel as humble, and sometimes stupefied, appreciation. It is imbued with yearning and a renewed sense of my own heavy ugliness.

So what happened, why after all these years did a hug from Carrie send me spiralling into carnal desires that made me dizzy and frightened of myself? Why did I feel that I had to take urgent control of my hands in case they strayed, why did I have to make my neck rigid to stop from imposing my lips on hers?

I assume it was always there. That close association between beauty and sex always present, just held in check. And then, that night, the check was broken down. I had been undergoing great stress and my nights were filled with longings that the next day should not come. To numb the pain, I had increased my intake of alcohol on a daily basis. I was drinking whisky not for the pleasure of it but to get drunk enough to fall into a stupor and shut out the voices.

But alcohol is a disinhibitor. It strips away the controls that you have set on your behaviour. Sometimes that can be a good thing, when the controls have been harming you.

But sometimes, if you are not careful, you can become the worst version of yourself.

I don’t know what to do now. Poor wonderful, exceptional Jimmy Carter, probably one of only two honest and truly decent men to have achieved the Presidency of the United States, once publicly admitted “I have committed adultery in my head.” And cynical people laughed at the poor sap’s desire to confront his conscience. I too feel I have stepped over a line, even if only “in my head”, and with it I have defiled a relationship that was good and happy. And it can never be taken back.

[francisthegreat]

I eagerly await the third part of the priest Kylo drabble 😈😈😈 this has become my favorite AU in the fandom

hello darling other anon, i didn’t mean for this to get so horribly long idk why Plot happened this started as porn and now it’s an exorcism story -__-

The whole thing is on ao3 here. 

anyway, The Gang Gets Exorcised, Part 3: 

Rey took her hand off Kylo’s face and sat backso fast the chair scraped across the floor. Finn fell to his knees. Poe startedto pray feverishly in Latin.

“His…eyes,” Finn said, voice so quiet Kylowouldn’t have been able to hear if Hux hadn’t taken control of his ears too.“What is that?”

“Legion,” Rey whispered almost to herself. Herhands shook, the only outward sign of fear Kylo could see.

Finn blanched.

Despite the fact that Hux had been forciblydragged to the surface, Kylo couldn’t help but feel relieved now that Hux hadhis body. He felt safe. Powerful.

He smiled at Rey and took a deep, slow breath.

“You smell like the desert, girl.”

Even Kylo’s voice sounded like Hux, rightdown to the accent. He’d never let Hux drive like this before. He wondered ifit was even possible for Hux to have his body like this without beingforced into it.  

Rey sat up straight.

“What do I call you?” She looked over at Poe andhis eyes were screwed shut in fear. He never stopped praying. “Poe says Kylocalled you Hux.”

Hux smiled, slow and hot. He bit Kylo’s lip withKylo’s teeth, and fuck even deep down in the abandoned well of his soulKylo could never get over the intimacy of it.

“You do not call me anything. You do notaddress me at all.” Hux grinned, voice so low and dark that even Rey seemed tolean into it a little. “Kylo likes that name,” he licked his lips slowly, soKylo could feel it, “but it’s not my Name.”

“Tell me.”

Hux cracked his neck and smiled again, and itfelt absolutely filthy on Kylo’s mouth.

“It’s a holy place, isn’t it?” Hux said,squirming slow and dirty in the bed, testing the ropes just to feel themagainst his wrists and ankles. “Your desert.”

Rey said nothing. There wasn’t a shred of fearin her expression.

Kylo could hear everything. He could hearthe frantic beating of three hearts. He could see a spider spinning a web onthe other side of the window. He could feel the hum of the air conditioner overhis skin, could feel every single fiber of the ropes around his wrists.

Fuck, the power Hux had. The power Hux hadgifted him with.

“What do you want with Kylo Ren?” Rey askedsharply, leaning in close again, and shit, she really did smell like adesert. Was that Hux, the reason he could smell that?

“Yes, darling,” Hux murmured. “You’ve a lovely nose,you know, but it’s not quite so strong as that.”

Kylo grinned, and felt it on his own face. Hefelt less fuzzy, more … present. Brighter. Stronger. He pushed up a bit, usedthe strength he felt Hux filling him up with, and felt much closer to his body.It occurred to him that he and Hux were occupying the same space.

Rey narrowed her eyes. “Who are you talking to?” 

“Just me,” Kylo said. He noted the shift in hisvoice, in his expression. In the awareness of his body. He and Hux were sharingit.

“Oh, my darling, you are strong.” Huxpurred it like it was something filthy. “Welcome back.”

Kylo bit his lip.

Rey turned around and fixed Finn and Poe with along look.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?”Poe asked, voice low.

Rey shook her head. Finn mumbled under hisbreath, “His eye color is making me dizzy.”

Rey picked up the tape recorder and her handshook.

“Subject is –” she swallowed and looked at Kylobefore turning back to Finn. “Subject appears to be…mentally present simultaneouslywith the entity.” Rey ran a hand over her face as if she was collectingherself. “They appear to be sharing his body. When the demon occupies it, thesubject’s eyes change color rapidly. There are no other immediate signs of theshift.”

Kylo tilted his head and smiled at Rey. “This isunusual, hm?”

Hux laughed and licked Kylo’s lips.  “Yes,sweetheart,” he said, voice low and affectionate. The sound of it was unlikeanything that had come out of Kylo’s mouth before. Across the room, Poeshivered visibly. “This is unusual. You are unusual.”

Rey stood abruptly. “Enough. This endsnow.”

“What, no holy water?” Kylo laughed.

Rey stood over the bed and put both hands overKylo’s chest. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, an expression of absolutecalm settling over her face. Kylo felt a prickle of apprehension at the back ofhis neck.

Rey moved her hands so that one gripped each ofKylo’s shoulders. His skin crawled under her hands, stretched too-tight. Hejerked, trying to get her off without really knowing why.

“Don’t touch me, bitch,” Kylo spat.

“It’s time to leave, now, Hux,” Rey saidquietly. Her voice was so soft and gentle that Kylo felt overwhelminglynauseated. Hux stretched out in Kylo’s body until Kylo felt unsure of his ownexistence. He shook his head and Hux’s voice came out.

“Absolutely not, girl.”

“It’s time to leave,” she said again.

“Hux,” Kylo said, something uncomfortablepricking his chest, “I don’t like this.”

“I know, darling.”

“Make it stop.”

“Leave, Hux,” said Rey, voice gentle andsoft but horrifically strong.

Hux’s voice lowered to a violent sort of snarland he said, “Do not call me that. That name is not for you.”

“Make it stop,” Kylo whispered, eyes screwingshut. Hux purred at him, soothing a black hand down Kylo’s soul like a comfort.

“Poe,” Rey’s voice rang out too sharp, too loudfor Kylo’s over-sensitive hearing. She put a soft, warm hand on the top ofKylo’s head and closed her eyes again.

Kylo screamed, though it was less out of painand more out of an inexplicable compulsion to scream.

“When the unclean spirit has gone out of aperson, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, but finds none,” Poesaid in a soft voice from the floor. Hux laughed, loud and grating. Poe lookedup, met Kylo’s eyes and all the blood drained out of his face. He looked backdown.

“Leave,” said Rey, expression painfully calm.“Leave now.”

Kylo didn’t want to feel this anymore, thisawful twisting in his stomach, in his chest. He needed Hux. He threw himselfbackwards, back inside, into the well of his soul and Hux’s anger slammed intothe room like another physical presence.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid, insolentfucking children.”

Poe was still whispering, Finn joining him onthe end of the verse.

“And when it comes, it finds the house empty,swept, and put in order. Then it goes and brings with it seven other spiritsmore evil than itself, and they enter and dwell there, and the last state ofthat person is worse than the first.”

“Hux, go out of him,” Rey said, voiceunwaveringly strong. Hux whipped his head around to look at her so fast that ifKylo had been in control of his own body he was sure his neck would havebroken. He opened his mouth and the sound that came out was so furious Kylocould feel the heat of it like a physical thing.

“Girl, if you speak that name again I will ripout your tongue and eat it.” He leveled a glare at Rey that feltbone-chilling on Kylo’s face. “My Kylo likes that name and it is not for youto use.”

Rey’s entire body shook, just the slightest bit.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, even as hereyes fixed on the way Hux was twisting Kylo’s wrists unnaturally far againstthe ropes.

Hux started laughing, unhinged and hysterical,rolling his shoulders against the bed and cracking his neck sickeningly.

“You should be.” He looked at Rey for a longtime before turning to Poe and narrowing his eyes.

“You always wanted my Kylo, didn’t you?”

Poe looked up, but didn’t answer. Just keptpraying. Hux bared his teeth, expression viciously feral. Kylo could feel itand it was so violent, so hateful that it frightened him even on his own face.

“I can see it, in his memories. I can see it in yourmemories. Did you know that, you pathetic little traitor?” Hux pulled hardat the rope tying him to the bed, so hard that Kylo’s hands turned purple andwent numb. Poe still didn’t look up, but Finn did. “I can see every lingeringtouch, every stolen look, every thought in that pretty, filthy littlehead. Every thought you had about my Kylo.”

Finn had stopped praying and was openly staringat Poe, expression – betrayed, almost.

Poe’s eyebrows furrowed and he screwed his eyesshut tighter.

“And in the synagogue there was a man who hadthe spirit of an unclean demon, and he cried out with a loud voice-”

Hux bit Kylo’s lip and rolled his hips obscenely,threw his head back and moaned in Kylo’s voice, “You’re a fucking dirtyboy, Poe Dameron.”

Rey slapped Kylo in the face.

“How dare you speak to him like that.”

It burned. It was agonizing, actually, the heather hand carried with it. Hux let a sound out of Kylo’s mouth that Kylo’s bodywasn’t physically capable of making – a horrible, feral sort of animal shriek.

“You touched his face,” Hux spat, like itwas the most reprehensible thing she could have done.

Finn stood up and put a hand on Rey’s shoulder,frantically muttering under his breath, “But Jesus rebuked him, saying, ‘Besilent and come out of him-’”

At this Finn looked viciously at Kylo for a longmoment. He took a deep breath, collecting himself, and squeezed Rey’s shoulder.“And when the demon had thrown him down in their midst, he came out of him,having done him no harm.”

Poe hadn’t moved since Hux had spoken to him inKylo’s voice. He stayed kneeling on the ground, eyes staring wide and unfocusedat the hardwood floor. His breathing was so fast and so shallow it made Kylodizzy just to hear it.

They both knew, then, where to push. The softestpart of the room.

“Daaaaamerooon,” Hux sang in Kylo’s voice. Poeflinched like he’d been physically struck. Hux bit his lip and squirmed, twistedhis body as far as the ropes would let him and whined, still in Kylo’s voice,“Please, Poe, please, make them stop hurting me like this.”

Finn said, “Poe, don’t listen -”

“You shut your mouth,” Hux snapped, voicehorribly overlaid with Hux’s and Kylo’s together, deep and mechanical and highand terrifying all at once. Finn’s hand shook on Rey’s shoulder.

Rey’s eyes stayed closed, her face calm. No fearclouded her expression. Her touch still needled at Kylo like picking at a scab.

“Leave,” she said. Kylo noticed shehadn’t called him Hux again.

Hux turned his brilliant eyes in Kylo’s face onher and smiled. “He’s mine. And you know it.” He turned back to Poe, stillstaring at the floor.

“Poe,” Hux said, voice still imitating Kylothough it was obvious that a little…extra… ran through it. “I know youhate how much you wanted me.”

Poe shook his head, mouth twitching. “Don’t,” hesaid, so softly Kylo was certain no one else heard it.

“There’s no reason to be so ashamed, darling,”Hux said, voice dropping into a purr that always made Kylo shiver andabandoning Kylo’s accent. He arched Kylo’s back and twisted his body in thesheets, wrists and ankles bruised and raw against the ropes. Poe watched him,hypnotized, like he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t you see how he looks all tiedup like this?”

Rey suddenly gripped Kylo’s face in both hands,an expression of fury on her face like she could no longer contain it. Kylofelt like his skin was searing off. He could smell it, even though it wasn’treal. It smelled good, almost. Like a grill. He thought he might be sick.

“Leave him alone, you animal.”

Hux grinned and licked his teeth, closed hiseyes and bit his lip and moaned, the filthiest sound Kylo had ever heard comeout of his mouth. He panted Poe’s name over and over again.

Poe screwed his eyes shut and started to pray soquickly Kylo could barely make it out.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thyname-”

Hux opened Kylo’s mouth, expression absolutelyobscene, and said in a voice that made Kylo himself blush, “Shit, fuck, Jesus, Dameron,you should feel him from the inside.”

Poe flinched like he’d been physically struck,something in his expression so vulnerable that he suddenly looked ten yearsyounger. Like he had when Kylo knew him.

Faintly, Kylo felt a sort of detached pity forwhat Hux was doing to Poe. Poe, his best friend in Seminary, who was always somuch smarter than him, who had brought him coffee every day, who had helped himwith his homework; Poe whose hand always lingered just an extra second, who hadcarried him from the library when he’d studied too long, who had always justlooked and looked –

A vicious, feral streak of some indefinable redemotion shot through Kylo’s chest from Hux.

Jealousy?

Hux grinned, still panting, mouth open andtongue licking wetly at his lower lip. “I don’t get jealous, Kylo.You’re mine. I know that. You know that.” He looked over at Poe. “Dameron knowsthat.”

He rolled his hips again and threw his head backand moaned so loudly his voice cracked. “Fuck, but I can feel how badlyhe wanted you. Still wants you.”

Poe shook his head, still praying the Our Fatherover and over again, and he didn’t deserve this. Kylo looked up from his darksafe place and said to Hux, you shouldn’t.

Hux turned Kylo’s head away from Poe and tiltedit.

“I shouldn’t what, darling?”

Kylo had no desire to leave his safe dark place,so he buried himself in deeper and thought distantly, Poe. The tormentHux was visiting on him. The way he was moaning and - panting like that- it was too much. Poe didn’t deserve that. Not when Kylo -

Hux suddenly paused, eyebrows pulling together,listening to something even Kylo couldn’t hear. Distantly Kylo was aware of ahorrible sort of humming sound buzzing straight into Hux’s head – just Hux’shead – but it was impossible to make out. It reminded Kylo unerringly of aswarm of locusts.

What’s happening?

Hux shook his head and snapped, “Be quiet,Kylo.”

Rey took in Hux’s expression and moved like apredator sensing weakness; put both hands over Kylo’s arms and braced herselfover him on the bed.

Kylo looked at the earnest, terrifieddetermination in her eyes and hated her with every pump of blood through hisoccupied heart. There are bigger things happening here than you, hethought. He knew it was true without really knowing why. The locust-buzzing inHux’s head was louder, urgent and impossible to ignore. It made Kylo want toscratch out his own eyes, tear out his hair -he could hardly stand to hear it.Like the thunderous beating of a million filthy wings.

Hell. It’s Hell.

Rey was speaking, saying something quiet andimpassioned and Finn prayed feverishly behind her, but Kylo heard nothing butthe locusts.

Hux suddenly gave Kylo the impression of turningaround inside him and looking at him, and it was the most dizzying,strangest sensation he’d ever felt in his life. An icy fear gripped his heart.

“I’ve got to go, my dear,” Hux said quietly.Kylo shook his head, so paralyzed with terror that words failed him. Please,please don’t leave me –

Nothing.

Just. Nothing.

Absolute silence, a distant ringing in his earsand an over-awareness of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. And crushing,freezing despair.

He was alone.