#the smell of a cheap aftershave . ( aesthetics . )

[scumscuttlers]

General

Name: Inezra Thamus Age: 19 (?) Sweeps / 41 Years Species: "Troll" Gender: Female Pronouns: Usually referred to by She/Her in narration. Not picky. Location: Alternia

First Impressions

Build: Inezra is 6'7" with a strongman-esque build. Undefined but functional muscles, a bit of a stomach, and broad shoulders.

Style: Gravitates towards leather, chains, and spikes for both protection and aesthetic reasons. Clothes are usually generic (the kinds of things you'd be able to buy in bulk from a retail store) and some degree of stained, worn, or ripped. The only exception to this are the jackets Inezra wears, which are usually the most well-kept items in her wardrobe.

Sounds & Scents: Has a bit of a drawl and tends to speak in a lower register. Gravelly voice, quieter than one would initially assume. Typically smells like cigarette smoke, copper, sweat, and wet, disturbed soil on bad nights. Good nights are more tolerable; fresh linen, cheap antibacterial soap, aftershave.

Notable Characteristics: Black irises, multiple facial piercings. Scarring on visible parts of the body; throat, forearms, and hands.

Social

Status: Semi-public (information wise) marriage to Sefoni Peixes.

Personality: Generally unpleasant both in online and offline spaces. Gruff, not particularly talkative, and quick to anger. Is either apathetic to most attempts to interact or holding fast to an extreme degree of antagonism and vitriol.

Occupation: Works several miscellaneous jobs. Primarily physical labor, contract work as an A/V technician, and some under the table work.

Hobbies: Telling people to kill themselves online, fighting, making music, following local sports.

Setting and Background

This character isn't affiliated with any greater community or universe.

No SBURB / SGRUB AU.

My current running theory is that the Church of the Mirthful Messiahs worship an elder god. The clown cult is basically in charge. Sort of. Ish. The usual.

The Summoner's rebellion was squashed / didn't happen. Adults are still on planet.

Trollkind tampering with Elder Gods is part of why they're hyperviolent and somewhat crazy. More details on that later maybe.

Alternia is a true intergalactic empire with all the issues that come with it. Imperialism is a hot topic.

GUIDELINES

The higher up a character is in the list, the more recent the relationship.

Information presented here may change as my character interacts with others.

I recommend reading my meta notes on Inezra’s personality if you’re unsure where your character stands with her or why.

Some of Inezra’s opinions and feelings come from the type of content other characters reblog and their personal posts. She’s always judging you.

CLOSE CONNECTIONS

Notice how this section is empty.

CONNECTIONS

Adjaxi Cavalo: TBD.

Advoca Netrak: You’re not really here for the constant romantic posting, the tags, or any of that shit, but she doesn’t exactly get on your nerves either. Now that you've had a chance to actually talk to her you're not sure she's trustworthy.  She's lived a while, and usually there's only a handful of reasons for that.

Damithal Diabolus, From Hell: Who knew demons had OnlyFans?

Mara Sov, Alien Ruler: Making fun of her race before you had context that she ruled over an entire people was kind of your bad, but you would absolutely do it again. At least she took it in stride.

(fuckingshutup) Jasper: TBD.

(therealslimstrider) Dirk Strider, Dirk: This Dirk is related to the only Dave you can tell apart from the others. Despite being related, whatever that is, they don’t seem very much alike. You would classify Dirk as “cool” for lack of other descriptors. He's a little melodramatic for your tastes, but your interests align in such a way you don't see a reason to fuck with him on the regular.

(0empty0eyes0) Aradia "ee" Megido, ee: You don’t know anything about her except the fact she’s supposedly dead or something. So far nobody has provided you any concrete proof that ee is dead, you're not going out of your way to find out, and somehow your refusal to acknowledge ghosts has turned into a recurringing argument with Alex. ee on the other hand is (as far as you can tell) increasingly not fond of you. It would be funny if you cared a little more.

(yifftwiceplz) Dave Strider, Dave Human: There's something to be said about this dude. He's kind of “your” Dave, insofar as any of the humans in Sefoni’s extended social circle are yours. You don't have an equivalent for him, but he's tamer in comparison to other Daves cropping up on your radar. Still irritating and unfunny on occasion, but sometimes he does you a favor by reblogging a genuinely funny post.

(feeling-horsey) Equius Zahhak, Zahhak #2: Between the muscle posting and his general, unbearably earnest nature, you kind of don't like this guy. It's probably a plus to some people that he's pretty much what you see is what you get, but you don't like what he has to give.

(absylphe) Kanaya Maryam, Busybody: She has a subtle sense of humor you’re still picking up on, and for some reason also seems keen to ask you questions you’re not interested in answering. She also glows. Legitimately. If anything you're the one that should be asking questions.

Alex Miller:  You’re still figuring them out. They’re funny in an awkward sort of way, and messing with them is proving to be enjoyable. The more you learn about them the more unsure you are about their humanity, and have slotted that into the list of things you'll worry about later.

Sollux Peixes, Lux: You really don’t want to get started on this one. Lux exists in that weird in-between space where you’re both amused and annoyed by him. You wish she would actually do something with herself, but not because you care about her. Watching other people suffer gets boring after a while. Watching people continually fumble the bag on every opportunity given to them gets your blood boiling. Watching Lux is like a mixed bag of shitty entertainment with a payoff that could be so good but the writers will never fucking do it.

Lanota Nimtue: You can appreciate a troll that bites back. On paper, you’re similar. In reality there’s so much that sets you apart you don’t really feel like thinking about it right now. Now you're kind of toeing the line between platonic hatred and whatever passes for complicated acquaintanceship leading into friendship. None of this was your first choice—you definitely don't like it—but there's fuck all you can do about it now except get your fingers smashed in a car door.

Aressa Alkmin, Cardboard Cutout: You’ve met some vapid trolls in your life. You’ve even pretended not to know shit for the hell of it, but you’ve never met someone so good at saying absolutely nothing in conversation while thinking they’re an excellent socialite. What is it with this generation?

Sefoni Peixes, Wife: She said she wouldn't let you die until she wanted you to. What more could you ask for?

Talula Zahzii, Ex-Partner: She's kind of a wreck but so are you. You dated for a while and it lasted as long as your other relationships did, but it was nice.

Dialus Bolrik, Ex-Partner: This ship sailed so many sweeps ago you're not going to give yourself a headache diving into your feelings. You're hoping you can catch up sometime soon, seeing as you're back in orbit and everything. 

BACKSTORY

These are my other characters. Maybe you’ve heard of them.

Kikass Wosley, Nuisance: A nosy detective who you're going to dismember if they get too close to your personal life.

Aonarm Vurzic, Sobriety Buddy: You know them through Maerig. They don't drink anymore which limits about 80% of the fun you can have to standing around and talking. They are, at the very least, chill and non-judgemental. You wouldn't go sobbing about your problems to them though.

Maerig Gwayna, Open Tap: Somebody you owe a couple of favors for putting up with you over the sweeps. You're far from close, and yeah you might exchange some words on serious topics every now and then, but you're not friends.

Glynne Cacein, Ex-Bandmate: A "percussionist" rather than a "drummer." You refused to acknowledge the difference then and you're going to refuse to acknowledge the difference between "best-selling book" and "best-selling author" now. You actually spoke recently and it wasn't terrible. It took a load off you if anything. Not enough to reach out to your other ex-bandmates. But enough.

Biuret Reagan, Ex-Bandmate: They used to do vocals for your band back in college. You don't know what the fuck they do now and you most certainly do not care. Except you actually care, just a little bit, because now you're interested in doing something more worthwhile in your life. Maybe it's time to dust off some old connections.

Juelie Yseone, Ex-Bandmate: Played guitar, yadda yadda. Used to be all into weird piercing combinations and some other junk you didn't really care about. Of course they're doing whatever the fuck with bodies and playing detective with damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't Wosley of all trolls. More power to them. They're as tall as you remember but a hair more quiet. You guess that girl of theirs finally took out their tongue.

[potentempath]

forget  me  not,  my  dear,  my  darling.  forget  me  not,  my  love. 

will graham & garret jacob hobbs  —  @shrikehunt​. 

[avengerscompound]

The Ritual

The Ritual: A Captain America Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2026

Rating:  E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ - Shaving Kink

Warnings:  Smut (MF vaginal sex, shaving kink I guess)

Synopsis: When Steve gets home from a mission, he has a ritual to help him feel more like himself.  The two of you get a little more out of it than just him getting clean.

The Ritual

The sound of the door opening startled you.  You hadn’t expected Steve home so soon and as he came through the door you jumped up and ran to him, throwing yourself into his arms.  He let out a soft huff as you crashed into him and laughed softly as he closed his arms around you.

“You know,” he said as he lifted you off your feet and carried you inside.  “If you make coming home so good, I’ll just end up going away a lot more regularly.”

“No, that’s not how it’s supposed to work,” you said, nuzzling at his neck.

He was a little worse for wear.  Not beaten up exactly.  He’d come home in pretty bad shape on occasion.  Bruised or broken ribs were a pretty common injury.  As were gashes that required a few stitches.  Often on his head.  More than once you’d been called into the medbay because he’d been knocked unconscious.  So for Steve, it wasn’t so bad.  Mostly he was dirty and he looked exhausted.  You assumed he probably hadn’t slept or showered much or even at all since he left.  He had at least a week's worth of beard grow in.  Not really enough to say it was a beard, but it was more than just a shadow of facial hair.

He set you back down on your feet and leaned in and kissed you deeply.  His scruff scratched your skin making your lips tingle and feel a little numb.  He had that pungent caustic smell of sweat and dirt and you pulled back and wrinkled your nose.

“Honey…” you hummed, running your hands down his sweat-stained compression shirt.

He knew what you wanted right away.  Not that it was going to be an unreasonable request.  This little almost-ritual you’d developed had started because it was always the first thing he wanted to do when he got home and you had just injected yourself into it.

He chuckled and turned you around.  “Yes, you can.  I’ll shower first though,” he said.  “You go get the towel and chair while I’m in there.”

You clapped your hands and skipped off to the kitchen to boil some water.  By the time you’d steamed a towel, dragged a chair into the bathroom and set up everything, Steve was stepping out of the shower.

The room was full of steam because Steve always showered hot, and he dripped water on the floor as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist.  It sat low on his narrow hips so that the defined lines of his Adonis’ belt drew your eyes down, leaving only your memory of what was under the white cotton.

He drew you close to him as he still dripped with water and left a wet handprint in the middle of your back to balance the entirety of the front of your clothes as he pressed you against his unyielding form.

“You smell good,” you hummed as you breathed him in.  It was soap and sandalwood and salt.  He kissed your neck just under your ear and grazed his teeth over your skin.

“You taste good,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Steve,” you moaned his name like it was the lyric of a song and pushed him back towards the chair.  “Not yet.”

Steve sat and looked up at you and you grabbed the hot towel and wrapped it around his face.  He hummed and leaned his head back, his muscles visibly relaxing.

You pulled your straight razor and began stropping it along the leather strap you’d attached to the chair.

Steve liked a clean shave.  He always had and despite how much you might like the feel of his facial hair against the soft skin on the insides of your thighs, he hated growing it in.  When you met him he always shaved with the shitty disposable razors you could buy at gas stations and dollar stores - ten to a pack.  You would sit on the vanity and watch as it methodically removed any trace of hair from his face trying to reason with him that he could maybe let it grow in a little.

There was something about watching the razor slide over his skin though.  The deadly sharp blade dragging over such exposed areas, again and again, was sexual in its own way.  One day you'd asked if he'd let you do it and he'd agreed.  And despite the fact, you'd nicked him in four different spots and you'd run the razor in the wrong direction he seemed to quite enjoy it.

You'd really enjoyed it.  The intimacy of it.  The trust involved.  The sound of the blades cutting the hair.  Even the smell of the shaving cream.  It had this strange level of eroticism you had not expected and after you'd wiped the last of the cream from his face, you'd ended up fucking him right there on the bathroom counter.

After that, you'd gotten really into shaving.  You'd looked up tutorials and bought books about it.  You'd invested in equipment.  And if using one of the cheap plastic razors had turned you on it was nothing compared to how it felt to use a straight razor.

You put the blade back in its holster and unwrapped the towel on Steve’s face.  He looked up at you with a sleepy content expression and you grabbed your cup of shaving cream and the brush and began applying the cream to his face.  It had a strong astringent scent, but there was an undertone of lemon and cedar to it too.

When there was a thick lather on his face you took out the razor and began to shave.  You started with the tricky little spots.  Under his nose and near his ear.  You then began to shave his cheeks.  The blade slid smoothly over Steve’s skin making a soft scratching sound as it sliced through the coarse facial hair.  There was such an odd and specific mixture of things at work that blended together to be such a turn-on for you.  The blade itself and the way it was used was incredibly sexy.  From the thick leather stop that you used to realign the edge.  To the shape of the razor, the shine of the blade.  No one would argue that the aesthetics weren’t appealing.

The cut of the razor was incredibly sexy too.  There was a reason why a straight razor was used as a murder weapon in so many films.  It was deadly sharp as well as aesthetically pleasing.  When you ran the blade down his skin it cut the hair so close there wasn’t even the shadow of it showing.

The main thing that got to you - the thing that went right to your core - was how he trusted you.  You tilted his head back and ran the blade down his throat.  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and his towel tented at his waist.  He trusted you.  He trusted you to not intentionally hurt him, which was good in itself.  Steve had a lot of reasons not to trust people.  If you were some kind of sleeper agent you were in the perfect position right now to take out Captain America.  It wasn’t just that though.  He also trusted in your skill.  He knew you weren’t going to accidentally hurt him either.  That you handled that razor like an expert.  That… that’s what really did it for you.  This was something that Steve thought was important and he knew you were the best person to do it.  Not only that, but your competence turned him on.

By the time you were running the blade down the last patch of skin, Steve was rock hard and you were dripping for him.  You cleaned up the stray areas you might have missed and wiped the little spots of shaving cream from his face.  He opened his eyes and looked up at you as you grabbed the aftershave balm.  The usual light blue of his eyes was blown out completely.  You began to massage the thick, honey-scented balm onto his skin, soothing it.  He hummed contentedly and reached up, cradling your jaw as he looked up at you.  You smiled down at him and grazed your teeth over your bottom lip.  “Feel like you again?”  You asked.

“Mmm… nearly,” he said and guided you down to kiss him.

It was tender and loving but there was a heat to it.  His tongue teased your lips apart and you flicked yours out to meet it, dancing them together.  You moved around him without really breaking the kiss, just repositioning your lips in small increments until you were in front of him, straddling his lap and bracing your hands on his shoulders.

He pulled you down into his lap and ground his erection up into you.  You rolled your hips against it.  Your panties soaked through with your arousal as the two of you kissed and moved against each other.

Steve pulled back slowly, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip and he looked up into your eyes.  “I missed you,” he said in a breathy growl.  He picked up the straight razor and flicked it open again.

Your tongue flicked out, brushing over your bottom lip.  “I missed you too,” you breathed as he collected the fabric of your dress in his hand.  He pulled it out away from your body and then used the razor to cut the fabric right down the middle.

You gasped and your cunt clenched as a shiver ran through you.  “Steve,” you said, the sound somewhere between a moan and scolding.  “You’ve ruined my dress and my razor.”

He chuckled and carefully put the razor away again.  You nuzzled at his neck and ran your hands over the hills and valleys of his muscular form.  When the razor was safely in its holster he ran his hands down your back and over your ass.  You hummed and kissed him, letting your lips graze over his.  He tilted his head and deepened it.  It became frantic and hungry and you rutted your hips in his lap wanting nothing more than his cock inside you.

Without any warning, he lifted you and slammed you into the wall.  You braced your feet against the cold tiles as his hips rutted into you.

“Please, Steve,” you mewled, your fingers digging into the thick muscles in his shoulders.  “Give it to me.”

He reached a hand between you and tore the crotch out of your underwear and with a snap of his hips he was inside of you, his cock stretching you and filling you completely.  You adjusted to him quickly.  Your bodies used to each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces.  He felt like home.

He began to thrust his hips, rolling them with every forward movement, pushing you into the wall and swirling his cock inside you.  You kissed hungrily, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen, and your lips going numb and tingling against his.  Your body responded to his.  Ached for it.  You fell apart with each movement he made.

He broke the kiss and bowed his head.  You thrust your chest out and he pulled a nipple into his mouth as he slipped a hand between the two of you and began to rub your clit.

It was too much.  A hot current tore straight through your core and all your muscles clenched at once, your fingers clawing at his back.  With a loud cry, you threw your head back and came hard.  Your body seizing up and clenching around Steve’s cock.

He grunted and picked up his pace, fucking your through your orgasm, dragging it out so that it was all you were.  You buried your face in his neck and whimpered as you cunt fluttered and squeezed his shaft, milking him.

He grunted and released inside you, moaning and pushing you hard against the wall.  “Fuck,” you gasped, tugging on his hair.

He hummed and pressed his lips against your neck, slowly slipping from within you and setting you back on your feet.  You kissed your way down his neck and over his collarbone.  “Feel like you now?”

Steve smiled and wrapped his arms around you, holding you closely against him.  “Yes.  Now I feel like me.”

[tearlessrain]

I was tagged by @mercurypilgrim and fully support this attempt to turn “describe what your OCs smell like” into a tag meme, because this is a really fun question actually.

I’ve never been one to use scent in like. a conceptual aesthetic sort of way, but I do end up writing from the perspective of characters who rely more heavily on sense of smell than humans quite a lot, so I’m just approaching the whole thing pretty literally.

Khatte: he’ll occasionally wear a subtle, musky cologne if the situation’s appropriate, but otherwise he generally just smells mildly like soap, and probably leather (incidentally, part of the reason he's so married to his leather jacket is because he likes the smell). He’s extremely meticulous about cleanliness and hygiene, but refuses to spend either the time or the credits on anything he considers extravagant, which is pretty much anything other than the least expensive generic soap he can get that won’t completely destroy his fur.

Jial-ro: the minimum of five different styling/conditioning products that he puts in his fur/mane on a daily basis, sometimes he’ll also find some perfume or cologne he really likes and wear that until he runs out, but because he has a strong sense of smell he’s picky about his scents and how they go together, so the result is usually pleasant, if sometimes a little overwhelming if you get up in his space.

Valdrynn: he always smells a little like electricity/ozone, though it’s very faint unless he’s actively using the Force or getting dangerously emotional about something. Otherwise he smells like aftershave and the product he uses to keep his hair mostly under control, and favors warm, spicy, not-quite-sweet type scents.

Kalarros: idk he strikes me as an amber/sandalwood kind of dude (or, y’know, whatever the space equivalent is), but always the highest possible quality, he would never touch anything cheap or artificial with a ten foot pole. He also goes out of his way to personally maintain his own gear even when it’s not strictly necessary (and he’s... not had an abundance of practice at it), so he may also smell a bit like whatever oil/polish/etc he’s most recently been using and probably gotten all over his hands.

Riska: he smells like an engine room constantly. He will do nothing about this, it’s just what you’re getting.

tagging: @sith-nb @raemanzu @nyriad @weirderwest @vampiraptor, and anyone else who wants to do it just say I tagged you!

they don’t have to be star wars related just whichever OCs you’ve got that you feel like talking about

[stagekiller]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by.  repost & tag away!

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

The anticipation before walking on stage, a tingle at the very edges of your fingertips.

Palpitating heart, breathlessness, the brief flash of content exertion between each panting breath.

Basking in the spotlight’s warmth, arms outstretched, feeling unhinged.

The tickle of a rush before doing something naughty.

Expecting a satisfaction that never comes.

Hopelessly craving something you know you can’t have.

Frustration, following an anti-climactic disappointment.

Clinging onto the promise of relief; a flare, the excitement after coming up with something new.

GREETINGS:

Tip of the hat, fingers delicately pinching its rim

A knowing, sharp glance in your direction

A single nod of acknowledgment

Stepping back into a bow

Offering an ominous handshake

Brushing past you in a public area, accidentally nudging

Announcing his presence with a honk

Announcing his presence with a gunshot

COLORS:

red velvet ( heavy, thick, as theater curtains )

golden garlands

cheap silver decorating threads

holographic glitter

chipped, worn off blue paint

cream coated caramel cake

rainbow sprinkles

SCENTS:

Spicy aftershave

Heavy perfume

Sandalwood

Naphthalene

Talc / Baby powder

Smoke

Gasoline

Hairspray

Grease & popcorn ( also known as carnival stench )

CLOTHING:

Heavy, textured tailcoats

High waist pants

Suspenders

Collars and garters

Colorful blazer suits

Clown shoes

White boots

White cloth gloves

Frilly bow ties

OBJECTS:

Butterfly knife

Painting brushes

Empty cigarette packs

Revolvers

An empty can of silly string

Buzz ring

VICES / BAD HABITS:

The stench of smoke oozing through tar-stained teeth.

A short-lived drug-induced high.

Trying to find some sleep in the air pockets of an empty Xanax tab.

overwhelming your taste-buds with a sickly sweet syrup

the overbearing fullness that comes after a binge

subjecting oneself to pain

depriving oneself of happiness, being unnerved by peace

BODY LANGUAGE:

grand gestures; a presence that fills up the room

stiff, calculated moves

staying completely still, looking as if you’re not breathing

shoulders lightly hunched, a villainous cartoon

a firm grip on your bicep or a hand on your waist, guiding you assertively

a bow

arms outstretched, basking in imaginary spotlight

half-lidded eyes, glistening with mischief

a toothy grin, sinister in nature

hands folded over his lower back, standing upright

AESTHETICS:

The smell of theater stage wooden planks

A cheering crowd

The smell of perfume, sweat, dirt, animals and snacks in the circus ring

Muffled noises coming from the backstage and disrupting the quiet of a dressing room

Long hallways that reek of disinfectant and hospital stench

Quiet interrupted by a scream

Police sirens

Cop cars stuck in traffic jams

Televisions being smashed with a sledgehammer

Red splatter on walls

Running through a busy street

Crocodile watching in still waters

SONGS:

Viva Discordia — The Handsome Devil

Animal Impulses — IAMX

Is that all there is? — Peggy Lee

Laughing on the Outside — Bernadette Carroll

Tagged by: @legacyof-deathandmadness { Thanks :D }

Tagging: @eloquentyrant { I know you’ve been tagged on Miah but I personally am a Mr. Oswald fan, here is 10$ pls do it } , @babydxhl​ , @theednygma​, @justonebadspray​ , @feltcalling​ , @mythsxndlegends​ {  for whoever you feel up to doing it for }, @goblintouched​ , @loverslanetm​ { for Gabriel ? }, @alxnetxgether​ , and whoever else wants to do this ofc, feel free to tag me as the one who referred you :D

[cats-coffee-castiel]

City Dean aesthetic vs country Dean aesthetic and GO

Country Dean - Made of old, worn leather and battered Carhartts, flannel and wool socks, smells like smoke and whiskey and sweat. Words that may be funny or harsh but never untrue. Old guns with handmade bullets and dirty fingernails. You are a wild animal, close to the earth, untamed, with blood on your hands. But you belong to a pack of other wild animals and are at least not alone in the feral country. Community amongst the other runaways and misfits and people that don’t quite belong - we are all broken pieces that fit together to make a whole. Work hard, play hard, kill hard, die hard.

City Dean - cheap suits that don’t quite fit, meals eaten in a thousand identical parking lots, shiny shoes that won’t break in. Smells like free hotel soap and starch and grocery store aftershave. Speaking in lies and half-truths, fake names and fake faces, anything but yourself. Being uncomfortable in your own skin. Someone else is supposed to have you but you don’t even have yourself. You talk to a hundred people every day but still feel alone, drinking an overpriced cocktail in a hollow corner of a seedy bar. Waiting for a cell phone to ring but it never does. You always have a headache and your back hurts but you smile at the waitress anyway.

[dawnstruck]

i think i’m entitled to your body

Yoonbum’s eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo’s madness back at him.

[Read on AO3] Rated Explicit. Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Iconography.

Sangwoo, in essence, is a creature of habit.

He doesn't have OCD or anything stupid like that, but he believes in maintaining a certain order. So he keeps his apartment clean and his clothes nicely folded and put away. His aftershave and hair gel bottle stand by the sink with their label facing forward. He goes shopping every Thursday afternoon, and once a months he drops by the library to return his books and check out some new ones.

He generally also has a strict routine when it comes to his victims, mostly just for efficiency's sake.

First he charms them, then he wines and dines them, then he fucks them, then he chains them, tortures them, kills them. He makes them enjoy his presence first, makes them cum and quiver and hungrily lick their lips at him. That's half of the thrill for him, to turn things around like that, to confuse them, to watch the sudden whiplash realization in their eyes as they begin to understand that this is happening.

With Bum, things are different. This is one of the reasons he is even still alive. Because he is something new, something unprecedented, something aberrant.

Girls moan Sangwoo's name when he's got his tongue on their clits and his fingers up their cunts, but they start screeching as soon as they see the knives. Yoonbum stares up at Sangwoo and his baseball bat like a pious man whose prayers have just been answered by a capricious god and he says I fell in love with you.

Still Life.

The thing with people is that they are quite boring when they are dead. There's that short surge of adrenaline when he kills them, of course, but that only lasts so long.

Bum, he decides, is more entertaining when left to live.

Aesthetic.

The radio is idly playing old love songs and Sangwoo sits at the kitchen table while he watches Bum scrub the floor.

Bum is wearing his old outfit, the one the CEO's daughter had worn. It's one of Sangwoo's favorites, just because it's such a familiar sight. The crop top rides up every time Bum leans forward, exposing his white spine, vertebra by vertebra, before sliding back down again. The folds of the skirt are splayed around him and his ankles peek out from under it. His knees are perpetually blue with bruises, but his broken legs seem healed now, at least superficially. The soles of his naked feet face towards the ceiling. They are slightly dirty, which is why Sangwoo told him to clean to fucking floor in the first place.

He makes Bum shave his legs now, too, because the hair is kinda off-putting. Bum ends up accidentally cutting himself more often than not, but the droplets of blood welling up and the smooth expanse of skin make it worth it.

Bum's fringe swishes across his forehead and he pushes it back with a careless forearm.

He's almost pretty this way, dressed like a girl and working like a woman. He really deserves a reward.

“Hey, Bum,” Sangwoo says and sets his feet down on the still wet floor, “Let's go out tonight.”

Pastiche.

He enjoys dressing Bum, using his miscellaneous collection of trophies. The shoes and coat are what Bum wore when he first broke into the house. The skinny jeans Sangwoo bought for him on their last shopping trip, from the girls' section no less, because Bum was too tiny for anything else. The shirt is a leftover from Sangwoo's high school days, from before his military service had made him buff up, but it still hangs off Bum's narrow frame like a flag of surrender. The many wrinkles, however, just barely disguise the outline of the old bra Bum is wearing underneath, the off-white one Sangwoo had found in his trashy apartment. His favorite, though, are the deep red panties, the ones that looked quite nice on the girl from two weeks ago, but that are rather too snug around Bum's front, making him wriggle in discomfort.

It's like a little secret that only he and Sangwoo know about.

“Try to look more alive tonight,” Sangwoo tells him, “Last time, the others thought you were demented. They thought I had been roped into babysitting my dumb little cousin or something. I had to explain that we are friends and that I actually like you. Embarrassing as hell, let me tell you.”

Bum ducks his head but gives a quick nod.

“Just smile a little,” Sangwoo says and ruffles his hair, “I'm sure they'll like you.”

Fauves.

The bar his friends choose is a nice one. Sangwoo has been here before, but not in a while. He frequents other establishments when he is actively hunting, not wanting to risk that someone might remember his face and connect it to the disappearance of whatever girl he took home that night.

The lights here are dimmed, the music loud enough that you have to raise your voice a little to be heard all the way across the table. They are a rambunctious group, so it's no problem, really.

Bum is by his side, crammed into the corner of the bench, drowning in his heavy coat. Sangwoo casually leans back, putting his arm up onto the backrest. He doesn't touch him, but Bum shrinks anyway. Sangwoo smirks into his drink.

On the other side of the table, the guys are teasing Jun about something and it takes Sangwoo a while to catch on. Apparently, they caught her looking at edited pictures of some k-pop band and, hah, she is one of those girls who is into gay guys. Everyone's laughing now and her face is red, but she does not even deny it.

“It's just wrong,” Seong-Ho says, carelessly flapping a hand, “What kinda guy would do that?”

“A gay one, Seong-Ho,” Nari says with a roll her eyes, “That's kind of the point.”

“Still,” Seong-Ho insists. He's always too loud, to direct. He wouldn't know subtlety if jumped into his face and bit him. Though subtlety probably wouldn't do that.

“What about you, Sangwoo?” Hwan asks in that moment, leaning across the table, “Would you kiss a guy?”

“Ah,” Sangwoo makes a show of thinking about it, lifting a finger to his mouth, “If he were really cute, I guess.”

There's surprised laughter and Seong-Ho yells, “No way!”

“I would, I would,” Sangwoo insists playfully and then, just for the hell of it, proves it.

The back of Bum's head feels fragile in his cupped palm, like the skull of a newborn, like an overripe peach that will bruise too easily. Amid the music spilling out of the speakers overhead, Bum's breath is little more than a wheeze.

There's laughter all around them. Bum quivers, a rabbit in a snare. Move and you'll suffocate. Don't move and eventually just stave. His lips are cool and bloodless. Sangwoo angles his head and pushes his tongue in.

He makes it dirty, revels in the jeering and giggling of his friends. They are so easily entertained by such ordinary things. It's just a kiss but all they see is depravity. Sangwoo wants to show them what it's like to cut a heart open.

Well, he thinks when he pulls back and Bum's mouth is wet with saliva, maybe he had shown them that anyway.

“And this,” Nari says, “Is why Jun likes that kinda stuff.”

“What, what?” Seong-Ho says, “I still don't get it.”

“Because that was hot,” Nari insists, “Two guys making out is hot.”

“It's not,” Seong-Ho groans, “They're just... C'mon, girls are much better.” “Double standards,” Nari complains and elbows Jun in the side as though asking for backup, but the blush is still high in Jun's cheeks and she seems incapable of speech.

Bum is red, too, but it's a different kind, embarrassed, yes, but sort of sick and feverish.

Just a kiss, Sangwoo thinks. Just a kiss does that to him.

And he'd never thought of fucking a guy before, but lately the idea has taken root in him like a cancer, changing his very being to the core. It's too late to purge it now; he's let it fester for too long.

Palimpsest.

Yoonbum is a great many things, has been a great many things, always depending on what Sangwoo wants him to be. A little monkey kept for entertainment. An obedient lapdog. A child that needs to be taught how to play by the rules. A victim. His mother. A comrade. His lover.

Sangwoo barely lets the paint dry before he starts on another work of art right on top of it.

Grotesque.

There used to be that slightly sick smell about Bum, like a dying animal. He's almost bizarrely  underweight, but lately he's been filling out a little. Sangwoo has been feeding him well. He's still not much to look at, but Sangwoo likes the way his bones make the shadows bow on his skin.

He spreads his hand across Bum's concave belly, runs it up to his chest, so his thumb is on the right nipple and the tip of his little finger on the left. He grins. Bum is so small, childlike and feminine and just this side of morbid.

Bum sucks in a shallow breath and turns onto his front, presenting Sangwoo with his ass, so Sangwoo hooks a finger into the waistband of Bum's panties and pulls them down a little.

There's still hair there, on the pale cheeks and running along the crack, and Sangwoo grimaces in distaste. It's not too bad, he guesses, but for next time he'll have to figure out a way to get rid of that.

“Huh,” he says, pressing a thumb to the hole, surprised by how velvety soft it is. He's never done anal before, since most girls don't exactly offer on the first night, and it's not like Sangwoo ever gives them a chance for a second.

He closes a hand around Bum's upper arm and turns him onto his back, before leaning over to fish for the plastic bag from the drug store he went to a couple of days ago.

“I bought lube,” he explains, weighing the bottle in his hand and popping the lid open. The smell is neutral. He doesn't like any of the scented, self-warming shit, so this is just some random cheap brand.

When he scoots back, Bum has turned back onto his stomach. Sangwoo frowns.

“Turn around,” he says, pushing at Bum's shoulder, and Bum obeys, if reluctantly.

“I looked this up online,” Sangwoo explains, squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, “Sleeping with guys is a little more complicated. But I guess if you're used to taking that huge dildo, I don't have to be too careful.”

Bum lets out a shuddering breath, but pushes the panties down all the way, shimmying out of them until they are tangled around his ankles. His dick is still limp, but Sangwoo doesn't care about that for now.

He lets his lube-covered finger circle around the clenched hole a couple of time, waiting for Yoonbum to at least marginally relax into the touch. Then he dips in, just the tip, shallowly thrusting. It's unlike what he expected.

It's not like a girl, not like a girl at all. But while girls are hot and tight, Yoonbum is even hotter and tighter. It seems impossible that Sangwoo could actually fuck him, but he had seen the dildo and that was bigger after all. Still, he feels himself getting excited at the thought of actually pushing his dick into that heat.

He'd been vaguely curious before but now he has made up his mind. With a quick hand he adjusts himself in his pants, while the other lets his middle finger push deeper into Yoonbum.

He adds another finger soon, starts out gradually again, but then crooks his fingers like the online articles had instructed him to, and – there.

Bum's breath hitches and he bucks his hips. His eyes are wide and when a whimper escapes him he presses his hands over his mouth, as though surprised by the sensation.

Sangwoo, however, is distracted by how Yoonbum is clenching down around him, even as he repeatedly scissors his fingers. It's pure muscle down there and Sangwoo can't wait to actually fuck him.

Patience, though. Patience.

He takes his time, more or less, properly opening Yoonbum up, until he is subtly writhing against the sheets, but then he reminds himself that Bum has done this before, in a way, that he should be able to handle it.

With his free hand he shakes the pack of condoms from the plastic bag, wrestles it open and pulls out a condom. He carefully tears the wrapper with his teeth and then he pushes down his underwear to get at his dick. He has to pull his fingers free from Yoonbum to properly roll the rubber down; it barely takes a few seconds but as soon as he is done, Bum has rolled over again.

“What the hell, are you really that much into doggy?” Sangwoo snorts, “C'mon, it's no fun if I can't see your face.”

This time, it's more difficult to maneuver Bum around. His hands are clenched in the bedroll and Sangwoo has to knock his knees aside to get at him.

Bum is full-on shaking now, one of his arms thrown across his eyes as though to hide himself. His hesitant erection is wilting again. Sangwoo wrinkles his nose, annoyed by the pathetic display.

“Geez, I'm not going to rape you,” he sighs, before grabbing Yoonbum by the hips and then pulling him forward so that his ass is snug against Sangwoo's hard cock.

Yoonbum whimpers but does not move again. His breath is shallow and rapid. Sangwoo frowns.

So far, Bum had always wanted all of this. He had wanted to kiss Sangwoo, to jerk him off, too suck him off, to kiss his feet and massage his shoulders and wash his hair. He's supposed to be begging for this, too.

In the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, Sangwoo can see the shiny scar tissue crisscrossing along the blue pulse of Yoonbum's wrist.

Dick in hand, Sangwoo takes a moment and thinks about what little he knows. Bum has never exactly been forthcoming about the details of his life, clamping up whenever the subject arose, even though Sangwoo had told him about his own past the moment they really met. He had thought that Bum was just a loser who didn't have any hobbies beside stalking, that he was embarrassed about how no one wanted to keep him around. But maybe there is more to it than that.

Slowly, he connects the dots.

“Your uncle, huh?” he says dispassionately, watching as Yoonbum flinches violently, and that's enough confirmation. It's really too much of a cliché, but Sangwoo mainly finds himself disappointed by the fact that Bum is not a virgin anymore.

He's glad he bought the condoms, though. He doesn't watch to catch anything.

“Hey,” Sangwoo reaches out, prying Yoonbum's arm away and revealing his face. Bum is crying now, the sobs raking his body, and it's really a quite pitiful sight.

Sangwoo bites the inside of his cheek.

“Stop crying, it's annoying,” he says, though it does little good. Yoonbum merely presses his other hand over his mouth, feebly trying to silence himself. His tears should be ugly and they are, but there is something about them, too. Something innocent.

Distantly, Sangwoo finds himself wondering when the abuse might have started, whether Bum had been a still a kid, whether anyone ever noticed or cared. He wonders if Yoonbum actually tried to kill himself over it or whether the cuts on his wrists were just cry for attention. He wonders whether Bum always knew he was gay or whether that realization only hit him when he came for the first time with his uncle's dick up his ass.

“Bum,” he Sangwoo says, bowing down to nuzzle his face against Yoonbum's neck, “This is our first time. I want to enjoy this with you. Don't you wanna make me enjoy it?”

His tone his persuasive, saccharine sweet. It's the voice he always uses to take Yoonbum hostage with, the one that made him understand that chains were no longer needed between them. All Yoonbum wants is to be loved and Sangwoo's words can paint such a pretty picture.

And really, a few moments later, Yoonbum's milk pale arms twine around Sangwoo's neck like the tendrils of a young plant and Sangwoo presses a sweet kiss to his tear-stained lips.

“There you go,” he whispers, “Thank you, Bum. Thank you.”

He reaches between them then to take himself in hand and guide himself in. Yoonbum is still tense, still shivering, but he hides his face against Sangwoo's chest this time and lets it happen.

The size difference between the two of them is really rather ridiculous, and Sangwoo wonders whether he could crush him just with his body weight alone. Instead, he presses farther in, until Bum's back arches, his head falls back and his mouth forms a perfect little o-shape.

Sangwoo gives a smug little smirk. That first time he'd allowed Bum to jerk him off, Bum had been blushed at how big he was, but now he was feeling the full extent of it.

Yoonbum's ass, in turn, feels incredible. It's definitely different than take a girl, the angle is a bit off, and it's even tighter than expected. Sangwoo groans lowly.

“That's it,” he praises into Yoonbum's starving ear, “You're doing so well.”

Bum lets out a stuttering breath, forcing himself to relax; then he presses back.

“Yes,” Sangwoo says, pulling out and immediately fucking back in, “You've wanted this for a long time, right?”

He thinks of Yoonbum in his shitty little apartment, splayed on the equally naked mattress and furiously fucking the dildo into himself, like an animal wanting to be mounted. A surge of arousal hits Sangwoo and sits up again, pulls Bum into his lap instead and keeps thrusting up.

Bum's crooked legs try to find purchase on the sheets but he whimpers in pain, hoists his upper body up instead, his thin arms quivering under his own weight and the force of Sangwoo's thrusts.

Soon, his hair sticks to his forehead and, when Sangwoo looks closely, he can see sweat like dewdrops collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Sangwooo grunts again, digging his thumbs into the grove of Bum's hipbones as he keeps him in place. And a criminal should not be leaving fingerprints, but this is more a question of an artist claiming his masterpiece.

Yoonbum, it turns out, sounds quite lovely when he comes.

Diptych.

Afterwards, Sangwoo pulls him close, so that Yoonbum's head rests against his chest. Their naked bodies are still entangled with each other, half-wrapped in the sheets. It would not work any other way. Remove one and the scene is destroyed, the meaning lost.

They belong together, juxtaposed like this. This is how it was meant to be.

Surrealism.

Yoonbum is full of surprises. Yoonbum doesn't make sense. Yoonbum does not stab him, but tries to feed him rat poison. Yoonbum begs to suck his dick, but flinches when Sangwoo brushes a strand of hair from his face. Yoonbum tries to escape but hides from the nosy police officer.

Since Yoonbum showed up, it's as though Sangwoo's world has been titled, bit by bit. At first he didn't notice, but one day he looked up and everything was off and he couldn't quite recall how things had been before.

He's not sure what to make of it. It should feel like a loss of control but instead he merely finds himself intrigued.

So he waits. And he waits. One day, he is bound to find an answer.

Impressionism.

It's a Sunday and Sangwoo does not feel like studying. His professors are always lenient with him, even when he hands in his homework late, so he's not too worried about lazing about.

They are lying on the sofa together, with some dumb action movie playing on the TV. Sangwoo's eyes are on the screen, but he isn't really watching.

He's got Bum pulled into his lap instead so that Bum lies cradled against his chest, but if he glances down along the bridge of his nose he can see the tension coiled in Bum's shoulders, in the line of his neck.

Sangwoo bought some cheap chocolates at the corner store and he's been dropping single ones into his mouth at irregular intervals.

“Hey, Bum,” he says now, chewing on another praliné, “Want a taste?”

He tilts Bum's chin up to kiss him, to push the remnants of sweetness into his mouth. The mixture of molten chocolate and saliva is honestly somewhat gross, but there is always something intimate about sharing bodily fluids with someone. Maybe Sangwoo will do him bareback after all one day. It's a nice thought for the future.

“Okay, this sucks,” he says a few minutes later when he has finally given up on the movie and is reaching for the remote control. He hesitates.

“You wanna keep watching?” he asks with a sideways glance at Bum.

Bum, fingers curled into Sangwoo's shirt, quickly shakes his head.

“Alright,” Sangwoo says and presses the off-button. The screen goes black. “Next time, you get to pick.”

He leans his head back against the armrest then, looking up at the wood-paneled ceiling. His hand comes up to settle between Bum's protruding shoulder blades.

A few minutes later, Yoonbum has fallen asleep.

Self-portrait.

It's quite strange to think that Yoonbum's life seems to be the inverse of Sangwoo's. Sangwoo killed his parents to escape them, but when Yoonbum was orphaned he ended up in the hands of his uncle. Yoonbum stalks people to get them to like him but keeps getting caught while Sangwoo kills the people who trust him too easily and no one suspects anything. Yoonbum, a really sweet gentle guy if you get down to it, but easily written off as a creep, and Sangwoo, who is constantly underestimated, misinterpreted, just because he has a nice smile.

They really are made for each other, in a macabre sort of way. Their jagged edges fit where previously Yoonbum had cut his wrists with them and Sangwoo had sliced through people. They fit and they match and someday, maybe, they will even merge and become one, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe it's already started.

“I love you,” Sangwoo says and the words quietly echo off the steamed up bathroom walls. He brushes the wet hair out of Bum's face, laying him bare, even though they are both already naked.

“I love you,” he repeats and Yoonbum's eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo's madness back at him.

Abstract.

Yoonbum's gaze is liquid, his voice gossamer. He's a whore who learns to ride Sangwoo's cock with little prompting. He still cries sometimes, lachrymose as he is, though most days he is more demure than deceitful. He kisses like he smiles, with panic crouching at its edges, but he is always there when Sangwoo returns after vagrant hours, and usually that is enough.

He's a parasite who has dug his roots into Sangwoo's flesh, or maybe its a symbiosis, or maybe they are not living things at all.

So they fall asleep next to each other and there's something cathartic about the sunrise now, something almost sanguine.

Sangwoo thinks of slaughter and of the steel he keeps in his basement. Yoonbum mumbles in his sleep, rolls over to bury his nose in Sangwoo's side of the pillow.

Death, Sangwoo knows, would really be too easy.

[hazelwilliamsblog]

Grooming Kings: The Right Skincare Brand For Every Type of Man

Skincare has a lot in common with wine. No, really. Bear with us. In the supermarket, you can find both a £5 bottle of plonk and similarly priced face lube in a tube – neither may be fancy, but they will do the job. However, if you visit a wine merchant you’ll come across a £50 bottle that tastes more refined and might be softer on the hangover. Likewise, in a department store you can pick up a £50 moisturiser which smells good, looks nice and keeps your skin happier for longer. For the money-is-no-object brigade, £500+ bottles of wine also exist. As do luxury skin creams with eye-watering price tags.

Where are we going with all this? Well, we’re saying there’s likely a greater improvement between the £5 and £50 bottle, than the £50 and £500 one. This conclusion might annoy some people (sommeliers for example), but most of us don’t have the palette (or wallet) to really observe the difference. The same goes for skincare. A £500 cream might impress a certain type of person, but – we hate to break it to you – there’s no such thing as a face lift in a jar. Some brands might make bold claims, but in reality sun exposure, lifestyle and genes make the biggest difference to how we age. Beyond a certain point you are simply paying for packaging, branding, marketing and status.

So, no matter how much you have to spend, or your individual needs, here’s where you should put your money.

The Botanical Brand: Aēsop

Aēsop brought much-needed aesthetics to the world of grooming; from its eco stylish store fits to the strong, recognisable packaging. For a skincare brand, their best-selling product is actually hand wash. Cult hand wash no less; you wouldn’t Instagram your bathroom without it, would you? Clean hands aside, Aesop make really good things for your face, using mostly natural ingredients.

Skin Heroes: Fabulous Face Oil (£39), B Triple C Facial Balancing Gel (£81), Parsley Seed Facial Cleanser (£27)

The Cult Brand: Buly 1803

The brain child of Ramdane Touhani and Victoire de Taillac, Buly 1803 is like a globetrotter’s apothecary cabinet. The antique styling belies modern formulations that have roots in ancestral grooming methods and natural remedies from different cultures around the world.

Skin Heroes: Pommade Concrète Hand and Foot cream (£38), Pommade Virginale Face Moisturiser (£42), Vide Poche Eye Serum (£26)

The Luxury Brand: Sisley Paris

  A Sisley addiction is an expensive habit to have. It’s a family run skincare company that hasn’t been bought up by one of the major luxury houses, so they tend to launch when they feel they have something new to bring to market and not for the sake of it. They have one dedicated (excellent) moisturiser and aftershave balm for guys, so if you’re comfortable using products that don’t have “for men” emblazoned all over them then it’s well worth exploring the rest of the range; the quality here is top notch.

Skin Heroes: Eye Contour Mask (£90), Sisleyüm for Men Global Revitalizer (£187), Black Rose Cream Mask (£111)

The Designer Brand: Tom Ford For Men

When Tom Ford was looking to launch a skincare brand, he knew the experts at Estée Lauder could deliver his vision. He understands that men want to look their best, but in an easy, natural way, so his skin-enhancing products are basically fool-proof.

Skin Heroes: Intensive Purifying Mud Mask (£48), Bronzing Gel (£21), Oil-Free Daily Moisturiser (£78)

The Holistic Brand: ilāpothecary

Denise Leicester, founder of ilāpothecary, is a healer who wants to treat everybody. She launched her spa and beauty line, ilā, in 2007 and has a background in complimentary medicine, aromatherapy and massage and uses Ayurvedic principles. The ilāpothecary products work like mini spa treatments: they’ll leave you feeling less stressed and your skin in balance.

Skin Heroes: Beardy Balm (£29), Fresh Faced Mud Cleanser (£28), Warming Anti-Breakout Face Mask (£27)

The Affordable Brand: Bulldog

There’s a buzz around sustainability at the moment and a lot of “green wash” too: some brands talk about being good to the environment, while other brands make real changes to lessen their impact. We’ve always liked Bulldog for its affordable, effective products – now we love them because they don’t cost the earth either. They’ve switched to sugar cane derived plastic packaging, offer bulk sizes for economy and brought out the first bamboo razor handle.

Skin Heroes: Sensitive Face Wash (£4.50), Original Moisturiser (£6), Age Defence Eye Roll-On (£10)

The Performance Brand: Lab Series

Trend hunting Lab Series has given us great skin over the years. They’re not “free-from” or conscious but they research what works and know what we’re looking to achieve. Lab Series are on a mission to bring us better skin and in doing so brought out the first BB tinted cream for men and one of the first moisturisers to use skin perfecting blurring technology.

Skin Heroes: Day Rescue Defense Lotion SPF 35 (£31), Multi Action Face Wash (£21), BB Tinted Moisturiser Broad Spectrum SPF 35 (£38)

The Dermatologist Brand: Ole Henriksen

As a dermatologist to Hollywood’s A-List, Ole Henriksen regularly preps men for the scrutiny of the red carpet. He knows a thing or two about getting the best out of our skin and just relaunched his signature line in Boots. It’s a broad range that’s split into four categories for easy navigation: Truth, Transform, Balance and Nurture offer targeted products for anti-ageing, brightening, oil control and dry/sensitive skin, respectively.

Skin Heroes: Banana Bright Eye Crème (£30), Truth Serum (£42), Balancing Force Oil Control Toner (£20)

The Natural Brand: Dr Hauschka

Like skincare that’s made from 100% organic, bio-dynamic ingredients and comes in plastic-free glass and metal packaging? Look to Dr Hauschka, it’s one of the original “free-from” brands. The clarifying range is great for spotty, breakout prone, congested skin – and it’s gentle too.

Skin Heroes: Clarifying Steam Bath (£25.50), Clarifying Clay Mask (£25), Eye Balm (£35.50)

The Spa Brand: Aman Skincare

Top of our bucket list? A trip to an Aman resort: probably Utah’s jaw dropping Amangiri or the ultimate paradise, Amanpulo in the Palawan Islands. This exclusive global chain of tropical hideaways and urban sanctuaries has a set of super fans known as “Aman junkies”. It’s Kim Jones’ default destination for a post Dior fashion show recharge. These aren’t cheap places to visit, so the closest we can get to the Aman experience for now is in our bathroom, using the signature bath and skin line.

Skin Heroes: Grounding Face Mist (£110), Purifying Marine Face Wash (£50), Purifying Hyaluronic Facial Hydrator (£75)

The Barbershop Brand: Baxter of California

Based out of Los Angeles, Baxter of California has been around since 1965. Baxter Finley started his line with the relaunched Super Shape moisturiser and the rest is well-groomed history. Check out the body and cleansing bars if you want to go plastic-free.

Skin Heroes: Daily Face Wash (£19), Facial Scrub (£19), Oil Free Moisturiser (£24)

The post Grooming Kings: The Right Skincare Brand For Every Type of Man appeared first on Ape to Gentleman.

Grooming Kings: The Right Skincare Brand For Every Type of Man syndicated from https://manscapedshop.wordpress.com/

[thievesgambit-a]

fun little character game! fill in the below categories with 3 — 5 things that your character can be identified by.

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 / 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂.

entertained | remy’s almost permanent mood. if something is not entertaining him or interesting him in the moment, he will either abandon the moment or influence it so he is having fun within it. the man almost never takes anything seriously, and finds a way to make light of a situation in the most inappropriate of ways and times. he considers life a game, after all. if you’re not having fun, neither is the game. 

pissed | i could’ve chosen a more delicate word, but that doesn’t really fit remy, does it? when remy is annoyed, he makes no attempt to pretend he isn’t. his comments are scathing, his expression is that of scorn, and he’s not afraid of shoving, pointing, jabbing, or otherwise getting physical if it suits him. most of the time, he stalks off alone rather than dealing with the other person or situation. if required or if he feels like it, he’ll abandon the person and the situation entirely without regard for their comfort or convenience. 

𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚁𝚂.

#ED46D7 | hot pink 

#000000 | black 

#FFFFFF | white 

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

cigarette smoke

mint toothpaste

aftershave 

𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

jewelry | including earrings, rings, necklaces, and watches. he has multiple piercings on his ears. he enjoys wearing multiple pieces of jewelry at once when he can. 

expensive tastes | the appearance of wealth just heightens his looks, as far as he’s concerned. he enjoys wearing clothes that make a clear statement of his status and where his priorities lie. 

body suit & trench coat | the body suit’s pink is more cosmetic than anything ( and a mild fuck you indicating that he can still steal things while wearing vibrant colors ). it is mildly armored while still flexible, and has thermal suppressors to lower his apparent body heat from cameras. his trench coat is both aesthetic and for keeping himself warm, as he has higher body temperature than average humans 

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂.

wedding ring | made for him and rogue by the mutant bling!, remy has his wedding ring on him or nearby at all times, including when he’s on missions or thieving. it is a representation of a love that, while tumultuous, prevailed--something that remy has rarely experienced, and would not have rather experienced it with anyone else than rogue. 

cards | remy keeps at least one deck of cards with him at all times, including during casual outings. usually, for outings, they are more for entertainment purposes than for combat. during missions or thieving, remy keeps at least four or five decks to up to ten, depending on the severity of the mission. despite being unwieldy projectiles (relatively speaking; he throws them quite well), he’s got style to think about. 

bo staff | a collapsible staff he keeps on his person for missions and thievery. he used to take it around everywhere, but has grown out of the habit after time with the x-men. 

𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴𝚂 / 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂.

vanity, pride, conceitedness, & arrogance | gambit might not be the most powerful mutant of all, but 

smoking | an obvious bad habit he has. rogue, in most recent timelines, has weaned him onto e-cigarettes and vapes. he’s mellowed out a lot in terms of frequency, but especially during his marauder years and before he met storm, remy would burn through pack a day or so. he never smokes while thieving. 

pettiness & bitterness | remy holds grudges hard, and makes it no secret when he’s done with you. it’s hard to really piss him off, but when you do, remy makes it clear how upset he is. he’s competitive, vindictive, petty, and can be extremely vengeful and apathetic, depending on the circumstance. if something leaves a bad taste in his mouth--he does not forgive, nor does he forget. 

𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂.

languid, easy, & lazy | remy’s default language is typically extremely casual and at ease. he shifts his weight onto one leg, crosses his arms, tilts his head, leans on something when he can, drapes himself across chairs and tables and couches where appropriate, and generally almost never stands up straight and proper. it’s mostly unconscious and instinctual--remy is naturally a very relaxed and careless person--but some of it is very much conscious. he enjoys drawing attention to himself and giving off a laissez-faire attitude. there are few, as far he’s concerned, that will deserve him giving his full attention. 

sharp, controlled, & calculated | a direct opposite of his default, when remy is on the job, upset, or on a mission, his movements are consciously controlled. he stands straight and at the ready, his movements are snappy and to the point without wasting time, and when required, his body can be extremely still and steady. he has, after all, been required to maneuver through some of the most delicate of security systems in the world, as well as throw playing cards at a target at the drop of hat. 

𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

in china town, there’s a hideaway restaurant shoved between a dumpster and a convenience store. squirreled away in the back, behind the shabby tables covered in cheap cloth and the beady looks of the owners, is a single dim room. in this room is a group of five men sitting around a plastic folding table and folding chairs to match. the room is quiet, but the atmosphere tenuous, as they lay down their cards to reveal their hands. wordless shuffles as real bills--not chips--are thrown into the center pot. only one man remains careless and easy, leaning back in his seat, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, mild smile on his face as he lazily looks over his cards. “what do you t’ink, amis? one more hand?” 

the night is still young, but one man has already retired for the evening. he straightens up from his crouching position on the bed, fully naked, body sweaty, hair sticking to his face, and a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. wordlessly, he throws himself into a sitting position against the pillows and lights a cigarette. its glow is the only one in the room, but even in the gloom, his silhouette can be seen: the curve of his shoulder, the cocky messiness of his hair. with abandon, he takes a long drag and throws his head back, exposing his neck, as he exhales smoke into the ceiling. the room smells of nicotine. he smiles as the glow of a phone and the flash of a camera go off. “make sure t'get my good side, chéri.” 

𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂.

Little of Your Time - Maroon 5 | please, don’t leave! stay in bed / touch my body instead / gonna make you feel it / ( can you still feel it? ) / oh my! I don’t mind being the other guy / nice try -- for these games? I do not have the time! / if you want me, call me / come and take a risk kiss / leave somewhere deep under the surface 

Desperado - Rihanna | desperado / sitting in an old monte carlo / a man whose heart is hollow / take it easy / ... / if you want / take a peek and run away! running from / and it’s out of luck / there ain’ nothing here for me anymore / but I don’t wanna be alone 

Victorious - Panic! At The Disco | I’m like a scarf trick ( it’s all up the sleeve! ) / I taste like magic; waves that swallow quick and deep! / throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water bed / fifty words for murder and I’m every one of them / my touch is black and poisonous / and nothing like my punch-drunk kiss / I know you need it! ( do you feel it? ) / drink the water -- drink the wine! 

Take A Slice - Glass Animals | one is pretty, but the other lies / chewing on a fat smoke / ( no filter, but you’re puffing ) / sucking on a slim vogue / dark fingernail polish / I’m the treasure, baby -- I’m the prize! / cut me rails of that fresh cherry pie / shitty old pistola / shot a bullet through my wallet / gonna go to pensacola / gonna fuck my way through college / ... / sitting pretty in the prime of life / I’m so tasty ( and the price is right ) / stewing in the black dope / ( I’m filthy and I love it ) 

Irresistible - Fall Out Boy | you’re second hand smoke, second hand smoke / I breathe you in but, honey / I don’t know what you’re doing to me, mon chéri! / but the truth catches up with us eventually / try to say live -- live and let live / but i’m not good at lip service / ( except when they’re yours, mi amor ) 

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈:  @fierceststorm​ ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ:  @no1asshole​, @transvcrto​, @geneborne​

[lepracant]

AESTHETIC MEME !   ——   list your muse’s aesthetic from tastes , smells , outfits  & &  scenery .  add as many subjects as you like , it can help with people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things towards your muse !  REPOST  don’t reblog .

MAD SWEENEY !

very briefly nsfw ??? very vague

TASTES  :   watered down cheap bear and the acrid and bitter way it sits on your tongue long after it’s gone, stuck to your taste buds like you’d have to force it away; that splash of alcohol strong as rubbing alcohol when it hits you just a moment before it’s gone the way it lingers like the warmth it creates, the first drag of your morning cigarette when the tip lights up cherry red in the dark, empty, before it settles into you like ashes; alcoholic cherries bright red and sparkling, syrupy sweet with the burn of whisky, the medicinal kick to the head; rich, bloody steaks, juice dripping and meat tender, torn under sharp teeth; greasy burgers over saturated like a tv with the volume up all the way

SMELLS : cheap aftershave, the sort that lingers in your nose, burns if you get too close; sharp acrid scent of liquor and the less violent smell of beer; old blood; the sweet scent of rotting meat; a whiff of stale sweat, old cigarette smoke, sharp and heady, heavy in your breaths,; the warm smell of unburnt tobacco almost sweet; the metallic scent of old metal warmed in the palm of your hand, fresh earth, warm home baked bread; the wood smoke of a well tended fire; the clean scent of morning dew;

SIGHTS :  a bill crumpled by the side of road; sun faded signs; long stretches of highway light green grass swaying in a gentle breeze; windshield glass on old street tar; decrepit broken down cars rust eaten with chipping paint; dark bars with scarred counters; thick whiskey glasses; straight razors; brown paper bags covering aluminum cans as if the stink were’t obvious enough; trailer parks, old dirt paths dust caked drives, flickering neon, dropped jewelry, tarnished gold; freckles like burnished copper; bared skin under stage lights; the warm honey brown of whiskey; the dull shine of brass knuckles; raging wildfire; rolling fog and a long shadow; bleeding gums and broken teeth, hand rolled cigarettes, a four leaf clover you always expect to be harder to find, unaware of the luck you receive everyday; bruises imbedded in skin so deep and dark they look like nebulas of flesh

OUTFITS :   beat up, dirty, half laced boots, the worn off, stepped on ends of shoe laces, cut off sleeves, plaid, hand sewn patches, denim that’s been worn through with time and wear; old sturdy leather suspenders, the sort you buy once or twice and are set for life with; endless, endless white wife beaters, faded and stained, stretched out and worn, treated with a casual careless hand; plaid boxers; stretched out over worn socks; 5 panel hats easily folded up and forgotten in the pocket of some jeans; faded ‘kiss me i’m irish’ shirts

SOUNDS :  the screech and crash of a car wreck; the overlap of voices and sounds at the county fair, screaming, laughing, yelling, talking, a cacophony of the human experience; the crackle of a log fire; the sound of metal striking metal; the lone caw of a crow that won’t stop, like the cracked laughter of a man; the smooth croon of a voice singing doo wop; the sound of a violin, one single drawn out note; boots on gravel, the slow roll of a car on the drive; the cocking of a gun; the hollow echo of gunfire; the sound of a coin dropping; the crisp sound of a turned newspaper page; a sharp whistle; an off tune hum; the sound of glass against glass; the first sharp gasp during sex; the hard slap of fist meeting flesh; breaking glass and the silence that follows it; the wind whistling in your ears so loud you can hardly hear yourself shout; the sound of chains; choked off yelling, the wet sound of a sob

OTHERS : the feeling you get when you’ve woken up from a nap taken out of anger; the swollen oversensitive feeling of your mouth when you prod at a hurt tooth; the warm not quite ache of a hit that’s just landed, before the pain sets in; the feeling of grit teeth and the way they almost slide; the feeling you get in the morning quiet that makes you want to stand and breath it all in; that angry , certain feeling in your chest when you feel like the world owes you something, the way your lips curl back when you say ‘do it, I dare you’; the lazy feeling on hot summer days when the A/C is broken and the windows are down, when you’re speeding down the highway eyes barely open; the way sweat soaked cloth sticks to skin; the feeling of a cool breeze on the back of your neck; that awake feeling you get when you’re whole existence is tuned in; the bite of your teeth when you run your tongue along the edges; stiff knuckles from old wounds; the old lingering ache of bruises; the throbbing ache of your fists after they’ve hit the table, the way the wood shakes when you’ve slammed your hands down; the flush of your face when you’ve had enough; the hot sense of shame that builds when you’re quieted like a child; the regret like pulling teeth that never quite leaves your mouth; not remembering the night before; waking up drunk; the cool feeling of porcelain after a night out; when you’re too drunk and too warm and everything feels like the over heated orange-rich heart of a faberge egg

[potentempath]

📜 uwu

incorrect quotes meme: accepting.

@selfdeclared said: 📜 uwu

[potentempath]

📜 / from Bev

incorrect quote meme: accepting.

@suchkindwords said: 📜 / from Bev

[potentempath]

📜 📜 eheheh

incorrect quotes meme: accepting.

@shrikelure said: 📜 📜 eheheh

[potentempath]

tag drop

[hazelwilliamsblog]

Grooming Kings: The Right Skincare Brand For Every Type of Man

Skincare has a lot in common with wine. No, really. Bear with us. In the supermarket, you can find both a £5 bottle of plonk and similarly priced face lube in a tube – neither may be fancy, but they will do the job. However, if you visit a wine merchant you’ll come across a £50 bottle that tastes more refined and might be softer on the hangover. Likewise, in a department store you can pick up a £50 moisturiser which smells good, looks nice and keeps your skin happier for longer. For the money-is-no-object brigade, £500+ bottles of wine also exist. As do luxury skin creams with eye-watering price tags.

Where are we going with all this? Well, we’re saying there’s likely a greater improvement between the £5 and £50 bottle, than the £50 and £500 one. This conclusion might annoy some people (sommeliers for example), but most of us don’t have the palette (or wallet) to really observe the difference. The same goes for skincare. A £500 cream might impress a certain type of person, but – we hate to break it to you – there’s no such thing as a face lift in a jar. Some brands might make bold claims, but in reality sun exposure, lifestyle and genes make the biggest difference to how we age. Beyond a certain point you are simply paying for packaging, branding, marketing and status.

So, no matter how much you have to spend, or your individual needs, here’s where you should put your money.

The Botanical Brand: Aēsop

Aēsop brought much-needed aesthetics to the world of grooming; from its eco stylish store fits to the strong, recognisable packaging. For a skincare brand, their best-selling product is actually hand wash. Cult hand wash no less; you wouldn’t Instagram your bathroom without it, would you? Clean hands aside, Aesop make really good things for your face, using mostly natural ingredients.

Skin Heroes: Fabulous Face Oil (£39), B Triple C Facial Balancing Gel (£81), Parsley Seed Facial Cleanser (£27)

The Cult Brand: Buly 1803

The brain child of Ramdane Touhani and Victoire de Taillac, Buly 1803 is like a globetrotter’s apothecary cabinet. The antique styling belies modern formulations that have roots in ancestral grooming methods and natural remedies from different cultures around the world.

Skin Heroes: Pommade Concrète Hand and Foot cream (£38), Pommade Virginale Face Moisturiser (£42), Vide Poche Eye Serum (£26)

The Luxury Brand: Sisley Paris

  A Sisley addiction is an expensive habit to have. It’s a family run skincare company that hasn’t been bought up by one of the major luxury houses, so they tend to launch when they feel they have something new to bring to market and not for the sake of it. They have one dedicated (excellent) moisturiser and aftershave balm for guys, so if you’re comfortable using products that don’t have “for men” emblazoned all over them then it’s well worth exploring the rest of the range; the quality here is top notch.

Skin Heroes: Eye Contour Mask (£90), Sisleyüm for Men Global Revitalizer (£187), Black Rose Cream Mask (£111)

The Designer Brand: Tom Ford For Men

When Tom Ford was looking to launch a skincare brand, he knew the experts at Estée Lauder could deliver his vision. He understands that men want to look their best, but in an easy, natural way, so his skin-enhancing products are basically fool-proof.

Skin Heroes: Intensive Purifying Mud Mask (£48), Bronzing Gel (£21), Oil-Free Daily Moisturiser (£78)

The Holistic Brand: ilāpothecary

Denise Leicester, founder of ilāpothecary, is a healer who wants to treat everybody. She launched her spa and beauty line, ilā, in 2007 and has a background in complimentary medicine, aromatherapy and massage and uses Ayurvedic principles. The ilāpothecary products work like mini spa treatments: they’ll leave you feeling less stressed and your skin in balance.

Skin Heroes: Beardy Balm (£29), Fresh Faced Mud Cleanser (£28), Warming Anti-Breakout Face Mask (£27)

The Affordable Brand: Bulldog

There’s a buzz around sustainability at the moment and a lot of “green wash” too: some brands talk about being good to the environment, while other brands make real changes to lessen their impact. We’ve always liked Bulldog for its affordable, effective products – now we love them because they don’t cost the earth either. They’ve switched to sugar cane derived plastic packaging, offer bulk sizes for economy and brought out the first bamboo razor handle.

Skin Heroes: Sensitive Face Wash (£4.50), Original Moisturiser (£6), Age Defence Eye Roll-On (£10)

The Performance Brand: Lab Series

Trend hunting Lab Series has given us great skin over the years. They’re not “free-from” or conscious but they research what works and know what we’re looking to achieve. Lab Series are on a mission to bring us better skin and in doing so brought out the first BB tinted cream for men and one of the first moisturisers to use skin perfecting blurring technology.

Skin Heroes: Day Rescue Defense Lotion SPF 35 (£31), Multi Action Face Wash (£21), BB Tinted Moisturiser Broad Spectrum SPF 35 (£38)

The Dermatologist Brand: Ole Henriksen

As a dermatologist to Hollywood’s A-List, Ole Henriksen regularly preps men for the scrutiny of the red carpet. He knows a thing or two about getting the best out of our skin and just relaunched his signature line in Boots. It’s a broad range that’s split into four categories for easy navigation: Truth, Transform, Balance and Nurture offer targeted products for anti-ageing, brightening, oil control and dry/sensitive skin, respectively.

Skin Heroes: Banana Bright Eye Crème (£30), Truth Serum (£42), Balancing Force Oil Control Toner (£20)

The Natural Brand: Dr Hauschka

Like skincare that’s made from 100% organic, bio-dynamic ingredients and comes in plastic-free glass and metal packaging? Look to Dr Hauschka, it’s one of the original “free-from” brands. The clarifying range is great for spotty, breakout prone, congested skin – and it’s gentle too.

Skin Heroes: Clarifying Steam Bath (£25.50), Clarifying Clay Mask (£25), Eye Balm (£35.50)

The Spa Brand: Aman Skincare

Top of our bucket list? A trip to an Aman resort: probably Utah’s jaw dropping Amangiri or the ultimate paradise, Amanpulo in the Palawan Islands. This exclusive global chain of tropical hideaways and urban sanctuaries has a set of super fans known as “Aman junkies”. It’s Kim Jones’ default destination for a post Dior fashion show recharge. These aren’t cheap places to visit, so the closest we can get to the Aman experience for now is in our bathroom, using the signature bath and skin line.

Skin Heroes: Grounding Face Mist (£110), Purifying Marine Face Wash (£50), Purifying Hyaluronic Facial Hydrator (£75)

The Barbershop Brand: Baxter of California

Based out of Los Angeles, Baxter of California has been around since 1965. Baxter Finley started his line with the relaunched Super Shape moisturiser and the rest is well-groomed history. Check out the body and cleansing bars if you want to go plastic-free.

Skin Heroes: Daily Face Wash (£19), Facial Scrub (£19), Oil Free Moisturiser (£24)

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