#house of wax review

[hannahwatcheshorror]

HOUSE OF WAX (1953)

This classic horror has more of a cohesive story that is incredibly strong from start to finish than its 2005 remake of the same name. A very captivating story with really rather stunning wax sculptures (again, especially compared to the 2005 remake by the same name). The acting is lovely, the music is grand, and I found myself pleasantly surprised by the twist (I gasped out loud, alone). Truly a fun and compelling watch!

⭐⭐⭐⭐.5

The wax figures in this movie are top notch, I mean, hotdog! I’m looking at these and I’m not sitting here thinking that the prop guys just coated a mannequin in wax, they actually did the damn thing and made ART. I feel like I can usually tell in horror movies when they use a body double instead of just the actor pretending to be dead but these wax figures pretending to be the dead bodies pretending to be wax sculptures… I’m getting ahead of myself, we aren’t there yet. Right now, they are just wax sculptures. Or are they? Yes they are. (For now.)

We find out our resident artist Jarrod von Mustache is not very well liked by his financier (which, if you don’t like art, don’t fund art), so even after Jarrod and his Mustache show how passionate they are about the sculptures, moneybags burns down the studio and all the wax folk. My heart ACHED when everything was burning (That and I will never understand risking someone's life for money). When Jarrod said he would rather die than say goodbye to his art (or his mustache) he meant it, or at least that someone would die, because big boss took a trip down an elevator shaft.

Suddenly a man with a suspiciously burn-scarred face is running around murdering folks (and these folks just happen to disappear from the morgue, but who cares, right?) but it’s not Jarrod because he still has his mustache and is crippled now. Mystery! Sue is our brunette babe who Jarrod sees a muse in (yikes) so thus begins the hunt. Sue spots the murderer and deftly avoids him twice! Even realizes that her friend with the annoying laugh is in the House of Wax as Joan of Arc. Sue is smart! She also knocks off Jarrod's incredibly realistic mask of his own face to reveal the burn scars! (Phantom of the Opera vibes like crazy but not as romantic.)

It was Jarrod all along! He had help from his little art henchmen, but he had a super realistic wax mask on. What a clever twist. I gasped so loudly when she shattered his mask off. I really had no idea it was him after they had shown his face being untouched previously! Now one of the little art henchmen begs the cops to stop Jarrod in a scene that I think really shows off how much alcoholism is a disease but I digress. Next is lots of fighting and the police are actually really helpful. I feel like if the movie happened in any other time period the police would sit around and not be that helpful because of protocol but these guys just rushed right in which is what Sue needed at that exact moment or else she was going to become a candle.

[againstdying]

If the movie, In a Violent Nature, blew chunks, what movie would you recommend people watch instead? Horror movie wise.

hiii im not a horror expert or anything but i have a couple recs :)

i loveddd braindead (1992) for awesome nasty gory grossness and its fun and exciting and silly. definitely recommend watching with friends if you can

thanksgiving (2023) has a really stupid plot but it's a good slasher and successfully grossed me out a couple times so extra points for that

christmas evil (1980) (starring fiona apple's dad, of all people) surprised me with how much i liked it, it's not super gory if i remember right but it's definitely entertaining

barbarian (2022) if you haven't seen it it's best to go in blind but its so good and really funny at times but it's also genuinely unsettling

house of wax (2004) is also really fun even though it has terrible reviews there are some really cool effects (though i watched it a couple years ago and dont remember it too well)

[markhoffmans-leftboob]

Oh look a normal movie surely this won't become a hyper fixation or anything......

Nevermind.......

I like how can ya see when I just stopped caring enough t' make actual reviews and just let my inner simp take over

[angeltannis]

So my brother and I celebrated Christmas by watching House of Wax (1953)! My thoughts are thus:

CONFLICT OF INTEREST DISCLOSURE: Author of this post is into wax torture, which may have disproportionately affected her enjoyment of certain versions of this film over others 🤷

I really liked it! The only thing is that me having started out with the 2005 version of this movie, which is by FAR the most insane and extreme version out of the 3 House of Wax films, really kinda makes the older ones pale in comparison horror-wise, lol. The whole time watching the older ones I’m like but they’re already dead?? That’s not hot scary at all 😒

Objectively tho, it IS super creepy, and I love that this version of the film (vs 1933) really dialed up the horror aspect, with the extended scenes of the wax figures melting, more scenes of Jarrod’s facial scarring/burns, etc. Makes sense I guess, since 1933 was apparently billed as more of a mystery/crime thriller than a horror film.

OH, I’d be remiss not to mention 1953’s gimmicky 3D LOL. Was NOT expecting that in a 50s movie. The part where the guy paddleballs at the screen for like a whole 5 minute scene?? Wild. Totally took me out of the moment. Kinda loved the sheer blatantness of it

Unfortunately, the leading lady in this version can’t hold a candle to Florence (Glenda Farrell) from 1933. Florence was by FAR the best of the three movies’ Final Girls (sorry Carly, I do like you, too 😞). She was fucking hysterical, her line delivery was off the shits and her energy carried the whole movie imo. The woman from 1953 (Sue I think?? I can’t even remember hhh) was so forgettable, good lord.

Of course, Vincent Price was incredible. I’m not sure if I could say who made the “better” villain between him and Brian Van Holt as Bo+Vincent, they served such different roles and both turned in excellent performances. I do think that watching the first 2 versions of the movie makes the decision to turn the third version into a hicksploitation teen slasher hilariously baffling. Still a fave of mine, tho 💕

Overall 8/10.

Now when are we getting another remake?? Because I have some ideas…….

[emeto-film-critic]

House Of Wax - 2005

NOT SAFE - A,V,M•

Approx. 1:28:40 - 1:28:44 - Bo pulls an arrow out of his chest in the kitchen and v*. Full audio and visual.

•A,V• A few times in the beginning of the movie, characters can be seen covering their mouths/nose and coughing/mild g* due to a rancid smell. After they reach a town, it is not mentioned again.

•M• Mention of t*u*.

***Gore, coughing, spitting and blood on and around mouth can be seen and heard throughout movie.***

[roseshavethoughts]

House of Wax (2005)

31 Days of Horror My ★★★ review of House of Wax (2005) #FilmReview

[musicalthought]

album review; insane clown posse's house of wax (2014)

♡ fav song: the zipper

♡ least fave song: zen of love

♡ overall: 6.6/10

♡ i love a good concept album! too bad this one kinda sucks!

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | House of Wax (Collet-Serra, 2005)

Watching this in 2023, this feels very much like a blast from a the past, a snapshot of what the horror genre was like in the mid-2000s. At the time, you started to get the remakes of beloved classics, with the Platinum Dunes Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead having come out before this one. (I hated the former when I saw it years ago but consider the latter one of the better horror movies of the decade and an interesting Bush era document to boot.) I haven't seen the original House of Wax (but probably should as it stars Vincent Price) or Mystery of the Wax Museum which I understand originates some of the story ideas here (but probably should as it's directed by Michael Curtiz) and doubt this one has too much in common with the earlier films, but I suppose the name is a cheap enough way for the studio to milk more money out of an existing IP.

You also had the found footage boom more or less kicked off by The Blair Witch Project. This is not a found footage movie, but it does have sequences shot on camcorders, which are supposed to capture the characters having a good time, but have the effect of a last known photo, especially with the lo-fi image. There is also imagery here, like a hot wax needle contraption that a character gets strapped to, and the forcible restraining of a child to a rusty chair, that brings to mind the torture porn wave, but the movie is generally indebted to the resurgence in "mean" horror, with the work of Rob Zombie and Eli Roth and some of the more violent entries in the remake wave. For whatever reason I'd mistakenly assumed that this was rated PG-13, and was caught off guard by the gnarlier acts of violence: slashed tendon, lopped off finger, impaled head. And while I likely wouldn't have appreciated it at the time, I did find the jaundiced texture of the movie, which is probably easier to pull off when shooting on film with its tactility than with digital smoothness. And the wax figures that populate the movie lend to the atmosphere of decay and allow things to get nice and goopy when things start melting in the climax, although I should note that the wax figures of colour bear an unfortunate resemblance to C. Thomas Howell's character in Soul Man but that the wax figures of Caucasian descent sadly do not resemble Eddie Murphy in "White Like Me".

Anyway, I doubt this is anybody's favourite movie from the era, but I had a pretty good time. On top of the gruesome violence and the atmosphere, there are some pretty suspenseful sequences, particularly one where the heroine tries to evade detection in a theatre playing Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? I watched this the same night as Cabin Fever, and while both movies play on anxieties about backwoods folk in a very Bush era way, I appreciated how much more tolerable the characters were in this, even if the cast members all look like they're from a CW show. Elisha Cuthbert I'd known at the time as the girl from Popular Mechanics for Kids, and she's a perfectly capable horror heroine here. The guy from Supernatural (not the guy everybody likes, the other guy) is fine too. Maybe Chad Michael Murray is a bit bland, but not offensively so. Apparently he's doing geezer teasers now? If he's playing the geezers, he's likely grown his range.

And I remember this being heavily marketed on the basis of Paris Hilton's role, and people playing up how bad she's supposed to be. Maybe because I avoided engaging with anything she was in at the time (which sounds like it could have been hard given how popular her show was, but one should not underestimate how good I was at putting in zero effort to keep up with current pop culture, something which still holds for anything outside cinema) and thus bear little contempt toward her, but I thought she was perfectly adequate, and I appreciate that both she and the movie treat each other with a baseline of seriousness. There could have been much more obnoxious versions of the movie, where either she phones it in or the movie uses her as a punchline. Anyway, I think Ebert describes her performance best: "The early reviewers have been harsh with Miss Hilton ('so bad she steals the show,' says The Hollywood Reporter), but actually she is no better or worse than the typical Dead Post-Teenager, and does exactly what she is required to do in a movie like this, with all the skill, admittedly finite, that is required."

[ticketmastersince2k4]

Just the Ticket #163: Houses Of Wax

Welcome, Ticketholders!

Step right up and click your way into a journey through time as Just the Ticket presents a study in wax of what it truly means to "age poorly," and how the underlying messages of generations gone by can feel more contemporary than ever before!

It's a Double-Feature for the decades, starring Vincent Price and the faces of your youth in House Of Wax!

Enjoy!

[quiveringdeer]

OOOOO connecting this with the other one is perfect!!! Gosh I really have missed these boys.

Sweet sweet Vinny.

Also, not me having to reread the part about the bloody bite marks on the neck so many times before understanding. Nat's train of thought: /bloody bite marks, huh, did they get a dog, wait those marks would probs be more like gaping lacerations and most definitely fatal and death inducing so like ....-rereads- bloody bite marks...human? hmm why would Bo have blood on his teeth tho, fuckin weirdo....-rereads- bloody bite marks... ... ...OH!!!! cause bo bit her during the graping process!!!! aaah totes makes sense now, damn I'm slow today wow...okay but like damn he really had to bite that hard multiple times? fuckin barbarian lol

and last but not least, that last sentence, -chills- SO FUCKIN GOOD

Some Fluff with Vincent maybe? Bathtime, many candles... something like that? =)

Ayyeee and I’m back! Sorry, this one turned out a lot darker than you probably wanted 😬

Dark fluff? Is that a thing?

Female reader. Warnings: Hints of noncon, torture

Your eyes flutter open when you feel yourself rocking back and forth. You hang, limp, over the mechanic’s shoulder as he strides down a dark hallway, only illuminated by a few candles here and there. The air grows warmer, more humid the further you go.

Metal tables littered with instruments come into view and you let your tired eyes slip shut. You wonder what fresh hell Bo has in store for you now. They quickly snap back open when you’re seized around the waist and tossed onto the ground.

You hit the hard floor with a heavy thud, a pained grunt passing your bloody, chapped lips. Bo rolls you over with the toe of his boot and chuckles when you blink dumbly up at him.

“Got the last one fer ya’, Vince. She’s a sweetheart, a’intcha, baby girl?” Bo winks at you and you turn your head away, tears slipping down your bruised cheeks.

You flinch when a shadow moves from the corner. A man emerges from the darkness. Deliriously, you wonder how he can stand to wear a sweater in this heat. You can’t exactly tell, your vision blurred with tears, the flickering candlelight not enough to illuminate, but his face looks strange, uncanny.

Bo turns and stomps back down the hall without a backward glance. The other man, Vince, kneels next to you, a long curtain of dark hair falling in front of his face. This close, you realize he’s wearing a mask.

You wince when soft fingers graze your cheek. Gently, he grips your jaw and slowly turns your head to the side, then back again. Your breath hitches when his hand falls to your neck and prods at the bloody bite marks dotting your skin.

“V-Vince...is that s-short for Vincent?” you rasp, your parched tongue feeling like a thick, foreign thing in your mouth. The man’s gaze snaps back to your face when you speak. He doesn’t reply at first and, for a moment, you think about asking another question, but then he slowly nods.

“That’s...that’s a strong name. My-my g-grandad was named V-Vincent.” You swallow thickly, wondering why you’re speaking to this man at all. No doubt he’s going to finish you off now that Bo is done with you.

You keep speaking anyway, desperate to fill the silence broken only by the hiss of pipes and crackling of a fire. You tell him your name, tell him how soft his hands feel. Your vision blurs again and you can tell you’re on the verge of passing out once more.

Vincent brushes your hair out of your eye and, weakly, you smile and thank him.

“That was...d-driving me...crazy....”

Then nothing.

*

Pleasantly warm water laps at your shoulders. You groan, peeling your eyes open. Slowly, your vision focuses on the flickering candles perched at the far edge of the tub. You blink a few times, wondering how you got into a bathtub, but movment to your left makes you jerk.

The man from earlier, Vincent, kneels at the edge of the tub. He grips your forearm reassuringly before slipping an arm behind you and sitting you up so he can dab at the bloody lacerations criss-crossed down your back. You grit your teeth against the sting and heave a heavy sigh when he gently lowers you back against the chilly porcelain.

He washes the rest of the blood, grime, and cum off your skin with the same tender meticulousness. Then, he turns his attention to your hair, tipping your head back and carefully pouring water across your locks before massaging sweet smelling shampoo into your scalp. Silently, you let him work, wondering what the end game will be. Why is he bothering if he’s just going to kill you?

Except he doesn’t kill you. Effortlessly, he lifts your weak body from the tub, setting you in his lap and carefully drying you as your head rests on his shoulder. He dresses you in a thick sweater, one you can only assume is his. He slowly gives you sips of water, and little bites of food. Then, he carries you back to his candlelit basement room and lays you on a cot, covering you with a blanket.

There he leaves you, moving to a corner of the room and hunching down over a wax sculpture posed as if it were dancing. As your heavy eyes slip shut, you think the sculpture looks familiar. Familiar, like a friend.

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: JOVM Mainstay DFNSE Teams Up With Mae Rojas on an Uplifting House Banger

New Audio: JOVM Mainstay DFNSE Teams Up With Mae Rojas on an Uplifting House Banger @dfnsemusic @heygroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron

Rising Paris-based electronic music producer DFNSE specializes in a sound and approach that sees him seamlessly meshing elements of French touch, funk and pop. Before releasing his debut EP, 2015’s Pandorium, an effort inspired by the SoundCloud Future House scene, he participated in a number of attention grabbing producer battles alongside emerging artists like BlackDoe, Ikaz Boi, and Varnish…

[hannahwatcheshorror]

HOUSE OF WAX (2005)

A movie about some very rude teens being absolute dicks featuring Paris Hilton as a bad actor. An hour in is where things get interesting. Smart protagonist. Tough protagonist. Brother sister team! And a small twist! Really great film, only taking a star off because of the drawn out beginning and useless sex scene. Great concept for a movie. Love how the female protagonist treats the one antagonist, she talks to him like a human which is amazing for someone to do and it always feels like the thing a person thrown into that sort of situation would do. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Chad Michael Murray decides that Jared Padalecki is a good boyfriend (for his sister to date) but it's way too late for him. Some youngsters go to a creepy town made entirely of wax, (even the dogs? In the pet shop?) the people are dead people covered in wax. It's insane (and they cranked out Jared so fast!) but yeah, everyone dies except the brother and sister, the sister tries to reason with the one brother which was actually so human of her. Turns out there are 3 brothers… Twist. Good draw in for the creepy death pit dude.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Love Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your fiance suggests incorporating roleplay in the bedroom to keep the spark alive, but playing pretend turns out to be all too real.

Characters: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I did this because I could.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'You ready?' 

A tingle accompanies the text. Your stomach tosses and turns at the thought. You think you're ready. As ready as you can be. It's all so new to you. 

You hover your finger over the automated reply suggested by the OS. You tap on 'yes', too shaky to type it yourself. You're not scared, just nervous. 

When Andy first brought up the idea, you laughed. It was so absurd. Silly really. 

You remember how the look he gave you was like hands on your throat. The hurt with an edge of agitation strangled away your laughter. You apologised and asked him if you heard him right. Then he explained and it made sense. Kind of. 

'If we're going to get married, we need to keep the flame alive,' your fiance said as you stirred the contents of a pan with a spatula. 'Trust me, I know. A dead bedroom can kill everything else.' 

You frown at the memory. You hate when he mentions his first wife. He's engaged to you now. You're not her. Besides, things are pretty good. That's why you laughed. There was nothing bland to spice up. At least, you hadn't thought so. 

'You know the plan?' He texts. Always thorough, if not persistent. 

'I think' you type as you squeeze your phone tighter then think better of the reply. You backspace. Remember the plan. 'Yes, sir.' 

You blow out between your lip and put the phone on the counter. You look in the mirror and pick up the bottle of moisturizer, smearing it over your face. Half the day you've spent prepping yourself. Everything has to be perfect. Andy is always certain of that. 

You snap the cap shut and peruse the rest of the basket. He thought of everything. New soaps, wax, perfume, and all sorts of goodies. You didn't need it all but he insisted. 

Everything about Andy Barber is pristine and tidy. His house not least of his carefully curated existence. So it is that you often feel as if you don't quite fit it, even when he tells you the opposite. 

Your phone vibes and you look down at the screen as the notification flashes, 'good girl.' 

Your lashes bat and you giggle thinly. You've never done anything like this. You struggle to get a precise grip on the tweezers and have to still your hand with the other. This is wild! 

You rub your thighs together and strike hotter the flame of your anticipation. As much as the whole thing has you uncertain, it has you alight. You steady yourself and lean into the mirror, just a few stray hairs. It shouldn't matter, it'll be dark, right? 

Your phone goes again. You pull back and glance down. You trade the tweezers for the cell and press your lips together. 

'Did you find your surprise?' 

You look up and search your expression. Surprise? You lower your brow and peer around the bathroom. There's more? 

'Bedroom' his next message comes bluntly. 

You chew your lip and leave the mirror behind. You go down to the main bedroom and ease through the door. The room still smells of his cologne. The whole place is drenched in him, meanwhile most people wouldn't guess at a glance that you lived there too. 

You see it on the bed. White silk and lace. The lingerie is sheer enough that you may as well forego it. You near and touch the scalloped hem. You know it must be expensive, funny how so little fabric can be worth so much. 

You step back and take a picture. You send it to Andy and wait, your thumb between your teeth. He replies. 

'Put it on.' 

His blunt orders add to the thrum coursing through you already. It seems he's already in character. You need to get yourself together and do your part. 

'Yes, sir.' 

You set the phone on the corner of the mattress and trade your bathroom for the lingerie. The thong, while high-waisted has you on full display. Not ass, no crotch, just lace straps that trim your thighs and bottom. The top is an open teddy with cups that do nothing to censor your pert nipples. Just wearing it sends a thrill through you. 

You take the phone and return to the bathroom. You use the full-length mirror to frame your reflection with the lens. You snap a few pics and sift through for the best one. You hesitate before you tap the little arrow. You're a mess of paranoia and lust; you shouldn't send photos like this and yet you can't help yourself. 

You wait for his reply. Wait and wait and wait. You have to stop yourself from staring at the phone, knowing that your hyperfocus will only slow time. You cross to the counter and place the phone near the edge. 

Your attention is drawn to the sheer fabric acrosd your chest. You can't suppress the moan that leaks from you. You can feel how excited you already are but your eagerness might just get in the way of the whole thing. 

You sigh and the buzz draws you back from your anxiety. You read the message, almost disappointed. 

'Midnight.' 

That's it. That's all he has to say. Was the pic not good enough? Is this part of the roleplay? You don't know. 

As ever, Andy has you guessing at what he really wants. Hopefully this time, you get it right. 

💕

10:47pm. You’re wired. You’re trying to settle down. You have freshly laundered bedding and a glass of wine; all the perfect ingredients to lull you to sleep. That’s all you need to do. Fall asleep. 

Yet knowing what’s coming won’t let your mind stop. Ugh, your heart is racing again. You need to finish the wine. You push yourself up and have another gulp. You lay in the glow of your phone, a Get Ready With Me playing on low volume. Usually this all works. 

Not tonight. You’re too buzzy. Too frazzled. Too eager! 

You empty the glass and lay back down. You were generous, filling the wide body of the glass to the halfway point. At least two regular glasses worth.  

Your head meets the pillow and you start to feel it. The acidic burn spreads through your veins and you sink into the soft sheets. You turn your head to watch the small screen of your phone, vision slowly hazing as the contoured woman applies her lip liner expertly. 

Your eyelids cling and start to itch. Your heady is swishy, your tummy too, and your limbs weaken. It’s working. You try not to think too much about it, not wanting to counteract the alcohol with your self-awareness. 

You roll onto your side and drift into a half-conscious daze. Your brain swirls and your blood burns hot. Your breathing slows and piques only when your rouse, glancing at your phone as a new video plays. The time stamps into your vision; 11:25. 

You curl your shoulders inward, more tired than anxious now, and slip back into your tipsy stupour. The screen is just a glow on the other side of your eyelids and the audio a scratch in your ears. It fades beneath the even ebb and flow of your quiet snores. 

As the light fades out and the sound dwindles to nothing but the still of night, you wake again. Your eyes open to the darkness. You’re alone. Confused. 

You feel around on the bed for your phone. It must have timed out or the battery died. You don’t find it. Instead, your wrist is trapped in a strong grip and dragged away from the duvet. You gasp and remember what’s going on. It’s starting. He’s there. 

“Ah, ah,” comes the grizzled tut as your other arm is seized and your hands are brought together above your head. 

Andy’s shadowy figure straddles you, pinning you to the mattress as you squirm. You let out a squeak and he hushes you. You still and arch your back, trying to push your chest up. 

“Please, who are you?” You whine, doing your best to play into the scenario. “Please, my husband will be home soon--” 

He shushes you again, holding your wrists together as he leans back to reach behind him. You can hardly see through the dark and your foggy tipsiness. The curtains have been drawn, obscuring the room to fuzzy lines and pulsing shadows. 

He hooks something around your arm; a leather cuff, then secures your other wrist. He keeps your arms up and reaches behind the mattress. He attaches the wring between the cuffs to some unseen hook. Where did that come from? 

You writhe as he stares down at you. You squint back at him, trying to see through the dim. Something feels off. He’s so quiet and forceful. It must be part of the roleplay but it just doesn’t feel like him. He feels like a stranger. 

He backs off of you, peeling back the duvet to drop it on the floor. He prowls along the foot of the bed and you kick your feet, whimpering as you strain against the cuffs. You keep forgetting it’s a game. You have to play your part too. 

“Please, don’t hurt me,” you beg. 

There’s no answer. Andy continues to pace, back and forth, back and forth. He's really transformed. Where he would usually have his hands on his hips, he has them folded behind him, shoulders squared, his steps lighter. 

He stops and lets out a willowy rasp. He unzips his jacket, slipping off the sleeves slowly, deliberately. You lift your head as you try to see him clearer. Did he change? He must have dressed up too. 

Then he pulls his shirt over his head and huffs out again, a growl catching in his throat. He drops the shirt with his jacket and the duvet. Andy never leaves a garment outside the closet or hamper but this isn’t Andy, remember? This is an intruder! And you’re the helpless housewife. 

You nearly moan at the thought. Something about it is so hot even if it makes you a bit squidgy too. You tug again on your wrists as you hear his zipper slice through the din. 

“Please--” you beg. 

He kicks the footboard and the loud bang silences you. You can’t help the pathetic noise that trickles from your tongue and you swallow. He’s doing good. It feels so real. 

He continues to undress. Your heartbeat picks up as you wait for him to really start. He bends to pick something up then climbs over the footboard onto the bed. For a moment, you wince. His silhouette is slimmer. Or seems so. The difference is so minuscule it might be your wine-laced brain playing tricks. 

He catches your kicking feet and pushes your legs wide. He trails his hands up them, a piece of fabric tickling beneath his left palm, and firmly hooks them around him as he moves between them. He stops at your pelvis, his rigid length hovering over you. He stretches the black cloth across your eyes, blotting out what little sight you have. He knots the band behind your head and you gasp. 

He traces along your cheeks and your jawline, as if he can see you through the dark, as if he’s learning you by touch. His fingertips dance down your throat and across your shoulders. You feel fragile as he toys with the strap of the lingerie and feels along the flimsy cups, circling his thumbs around your nipples as they pebble beneath the sheer silk. 

He gropes you and growls. The noise is guttural and raw. It flutters into your core and has you twitching. He pushes his knees against your cunt, moving so the friction flurries in your clit. You babble and raise your chest, hungry for his touch. 

He flicks your nipples and his hands crawl onward, down your torso, doting on the soft flesh of your stomach, and framing your hips as he draws back on his knees. He snarls and bends over you, bowing as he grips you tightly. His nails dig into your skin and you whine as you feel his hot breath against your folds. 

He nuzzles along the edges of the panties, growling as he does, squeezing your harder, then at once, buries his nose in your cunt. He wiggles his head and drags the tip of his nose up over your clit and swipes his tongue up to further set you aflame. You moan and curve your back, planting your heels as you urge him on. 

He delves into you, lapping and licking, suckling and swirling. His arm reaches up and he kneads your chest, blindly pulling the lingerie under one tis. He pinches as you cry out and he rolls your clit between his teeth. You puff out shallow breaths, swept up in the sensations. 

This is so different. Unlike he’s ever been before. He’s almost feral in how he touches you, how he feels you, how it seems he wants to consume you. There’s something else different, something strange you can’t place.  

Did he shave? You can’t tell, It must be the wine. His cheeks feel bare against your thighs and yet you swear you feel that scratchy tickle against your cunt. You don’t think about it; it’s all too much to focus. 

You squeal as you cum, spasming into his face as he drinks up your orgasm. You’re heaving and hollow as he doesn’t let up. He laps at you until you’re begging him to stop. Until you’re quaking, nearly sobbing in overwrought pleasure. Until you have a second, a third, and a fourth. 

Your slickness smears over his face and across your thighs. As he parts, his breath is humid, and you can smell the sweet scent of your release. You shiver as he raises himself up and the bed jostles. He snarls and slaps your thighs, squeezing until you whimper. 

He shifts and slides a hand under your leg. He flips you onto your stomach so your arms twist and your face is buried in the pillow. You pant into the linen as he smacks your ass with both hands and growls as he fondles you. You murmur as his touch sends tendrils down your legs and up your back. 

He grips your hips once more and raises your ass. Oh my god. It’s only a few times you’ve done it like this, often Andy prefers you on your back. He says he likes to see you.  

He pulls you back against him, his length resting between your cheeks as he bends over you. He inhales the scent of your hair and snarls against your crown. He reaches down to feel between your legs, spreading your swollen cunt as he angles his hips. 

His tip slips down and he uses his fingertips to guide it to your entrance. You’re so wet he slips right in. He sounds just as surprised as he gasps. He sinks into your limit and you whine. He retracts his arm, hooking it around your neck, and thrusts. 

You squeal as he buries himself even deeper. He does it again; harder. It hurts. You croak and press your chin down into his arm. You feel a ripple of fear. His chest feels... bare. Andy has that trim of fur that you like to play with. Maybe he got rid of it? For the roleplay? 

He snaps his hips again, staying deep before slowly rearing back. He pauses, then bucks again. The impact of his pelvis on your ass is painful and he’s hitting your cervix. 

“Ow, Andy--” 

“Quiet,” he grits in a deep sneer and brings his other hand up to smother your mouth. 

He leans his weight on you, your neck and shoulders aching from the angle of your spine. He dips into you again, again, again. Each pause between grows shorter as he tilts into a full rut. The entire bed shakes with his motion. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and curl your fingers into your palms, the cuffs slowing your circulation. You huff into his hand as he continues his rampant fucking, skin slapping, bones aching. Harder, deeper, faster, until you’re delirious. 

“What’s your husband going to think when he comes home to his wife being fucked like a slut?” He rasps and nibbles your ear, “huh? How’s he gonna compare to this, baby? Your husband can’t fuck like me can he?”  

He taunts and you cringe. You don’t like it anymore. It’s not fun. You don’t want him to be this man. To be this rough and rude. You want him to be Andy. You try to say his name again but only taste the salt of his palm. 

“Keep your mouth shut, slut,” he sinks into his limit and stays there, his voice echoing in your head. His tone is just... off. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

[neathyingenue]

What’s been going on with Silvia?

An update ft. sticky note doodles

After hearing that her dear friend the Six-Finger’d Scrimshander was living somewhere that wasn’t a house, Silvia has installed it in the guest room of her Side-Streets flat, where they’ve been getting along swimmingly.

Her professional life is going great! Ever since she and Lord Oswald J. Emerson struck a bargain—he writes silly plays, Silvia writes silly reviews, they create public beef that sells tickets and papers—the Prodigal Plebian has practically been printing itself.

Silvia’s also made a new friend, one Youthful Naturalist! She’s been lending him a hand where she can—trying to convince him to move out of his rookery, and keeping her kitchen stocked with jellied eels should he come over, and taking him wherever he wants to go in her zee-clipper.

In the meantime, she’s been growing frustrated with her lack of progress regarding her research on the Third City. If you’ve been with Silvia for a while, you’ll recall that she has been learning Yucatec Maya and chasing leads to discover if there are any pockets of Third City inhabitants untouched by colonialism where she could convince her remaining dad to move with her. (Hm? Inherently contradictory logic? What inherently contradictory logic?)

Enter the Sixth Coil and the freed captives. Several of them are from the original Third City. Silvia follows them to Venderbight, uses her broken Yucatec Maya to explain what she’s after—

They tell her: There’s no such place as you’re describing. We hang around in Venderbight, but even now, there’s nowhere untouched by the Masters, by London.

Silvia presses them—No, there has to be, maybe you just don’t want me there? Why not? Why won’t you let me in?? I promise I’m trustworthy, I won’t tell—

And she finally realizes that she sounds like a fucking conquistador.

Welp! No better cure for a crumbling belief system and self-perception than to zail as far away from your problems as possible! She and the Youthful Naturalist fuck off for a while and that’s when the Delight gets wind of them.

Speaking of wind. The Wax-Wind catches up with Silvia’s ship. Silvia gets a bad burn across the right side of her neck and shoulders.

Not to just rehash everything that happens ever in Evolution, but, uh, shit hits the fan, Silvia gets pretty traumatized. But secretly she’d glad that she’s helping the Youthful Naturalist, proud of both of them. Her search for precolonial Atlantis failed. But here’s another basket to put some eggs in. If they crack the secret to life and death, well, no one else will have to die like Silvia’s other dad, they can have all the time in the world to create their own utopia.

And the other basket of eggs is the Marvellous. She’s been so busy she’s scarcely had time to think of it [I’ve been on the lodging grind for 3+ months ;_;]. But can’t she just win and make the Masters let go of everything, set everyone free, end imperialism, or whatever? That’s how it works, right?

Oh, by the way, no one knows she’s been doing this shit. Not her father-ish figures, not her flatmate, not her partner, not her best friend, not her newspaper employees. Just her crew, and they are pretty pissed at her right now, so she’s been avoiding them.

Around this time, Silvia gets a letter from Shaw (one such father-ish figure) explaining about Nemesis and saying he might not make it back from his final revenge quest.

ALSO around this time (or maybe right after) Silvia gets what really sounds like a last will and testament from Jones (other father-ish figure).

And ALSO also around this time, Brett (Silvia’s best friend) is recovering from learning of the death of his partner.

Then Silvia forgets to be careful, and Caoimhe (her partner) sees her burns and asks what’s going on. She doesn’t buy Silvia’s story about a cooking accident she forgot to tell Caoimhe about (Silvia never cooks), and she really doesn’t appreciate that Silvia tried to lie. Caoimhe gives Silvia the chance to come clean.

So it all comes out. The Marvellous. The scientific voyages. The experimental surgeries. The multiple supernatural enemies. Caoimhe is appalled that Silvia would be taking all these risks without saying a single word—she thought the most dangerous shit Silvia was involved with was printing ill-advised articles about powerful people. Caoimhe’s extraordinarily patient and supportive, but Silvia didn’t even tell her!

The breach of trust frays at their relationship and drags Silvia further into guilt and despair, especially because Silvia’s support network is spread rather thin at the moment!

So… here we are. Silvia’s standing in the crumbling ruins of her relationships and ideals. She needs to help this 20-year-old cheat death, and then she needs to beat a bat at cards, and she’s so, so sad about everything.

This is it folks! We've hit rock bottom! Even I'm not sure how she's getting out of this one :) :) If you made it this far, thanks for reading <3

[The Six-Finger'd Scrimshander - @T6FS; Lord Oswald J. Emerson - @lord-emerson; August Shaw - @zeebreezin; Robin Jones - @viric-dreams; Brett Heroux - @thedandy-detective; Caoimhe Coledoc - @the-insouciant-scientist]

[sgiandubh]

What happened with Barbour ?

Dear Barbour Anon,

My favorite kind of Anon, even if I know the question has recently been asked again and not in this corner. Never mind, I think it's time to talk about it, too.

I bought my first Barbour (entry-level, so olive) Bedale wax jacket 25 years ago, from their (long gone, now) shop on Boulevard Raspail, in Paris. It was a mandatory clothing item to own if you wanted to properly mingle with the law school crowd (it still is) and it ended up being one of my most prized possessions, possibly a part of me. I still have it somewhere, back home. Two more followed, along with a fetishist array of shirts, scarves, beanies and even one of those sturdy crossbody bags you can fit half a house in. So you can imagine my absolute thrill when I found out, very very late, that S had had a rather substantial collaboration with them, from 2016 and until 2019.

I am very bad with timelines, as you probably know and possibly even cackle about, but still: S was appointed as the company's first ever Global Brand Ambassador on July 16, 2016. His mission statement was very precisely defined by the brand and for some reason we'll analyze a bit later, this is important:

(Source, heh: https://www.astonbourne.co.uk/is-barbour-a-luxury-brand-unraveling-the-mystique-of-classic-outerwear/).

A shirt and vest signature collection followed in 2017 and 2018, with the contract being renewed. Advertisement was absolutely gorgeous and designed to shape a very positive image, both for S and the brand. Last autumn's SS Gin promo retained some of that irresistible aesthetic DNA and I discussed it at length.

See for yourself, Anon. The fandom endlessly discussed the first long clip (with the chocolate labrador), but I have no idea if these two have been seen, let alone debated. If they did, let that be my nostalgic mistake.

Spring/Summer 2018:

Fall 2018:

And then disaster stroke, with S's trip to Ha-wa-wee 1.0, in the spring of 2019. A short reel, featuring a rather agglomerated boat trip, was posted on socials. Unfortunately for S, it also featured an allegedly horrifying scene involving the 'traditional' bludgeoning to death of a tuna fish. Emotions ensued and as it often happens here, they spun out of control. Many people, including some of the most vocal S haters, tagged Barbour in their diatribes, filled with environmentalist indignation. They suggested this guy (who did not participate to the savagery and I would be even unsure he realized what was going on) was, by no reasonable means, a proper 'embodiment of the brand's identity, values and aspirations' (remember that mission statement?).

Tone deaf as ever in the midst of a serious PR crisis, S put friendship above anything else, and publicly praised the boat's owner, calling him 'the heart and soul of the island', if I remember well. I still would like to think he has no idea what the hell exactly happened. And then, when somebody finally (August 2019) asked Barbour on Insta about their collaboration with S, they got this politely dry, but clear answer:

"We don't have any plans for a collaboration with SH in the near future" means, in my book and to my understanding, "we are never going to work with this guy again". Truly, some people in here who dare to give morality lessons to others, should be proud of themselves: they did it knowingly and in a very organized way, using multiple sock accounts, to give the impression of a collective retching reflex. To cut the story short, the dread of any ad campaign on this planet.

The effort was genuine. The result of that collaboration was very good. Take, for example, this somewhat heartbreaking customer review by an American guy who has no idea who SRH is and who bought one of those jackets from a Barbour factory warehouse, in 2021, with a hefty rebate (70% off). Clearly something Barbour wanted to get rid of at all costs - what a pity and really what a SHAME on all those hypocrites who will never admit to a public assassination by the book:

This time, I am absolutely not sorry for the length, Anon. This is something that still makes me boil. Unfairness and cheap nastiness simply disgust me.

(Thank you, sweetheart, for the screenshot, always. You know who you are 😘😘😘).