#hugo the masked man

[ceragondubs]

Wizardess Heart Smash or Pass

[weirdlookindog]

Tony Robert-Fleury (1837–1911) - Alix apparaissant au masque (Alix appearing to the Mask), 1890-91

illustration for Victor Hugo's unfinished play 'Les Jumeaux'

[isthatrightkiki]

Some more sketches of ideas for my DC au thingy.

[host-club-hq]

ok so you guys know me... i'm always getting into new hyperfixations before I can continue the one my page is about....

listen ok it's been a wild school year

... how would this community feel about V for Vendetta?

ok i KNOWWW it's about as old as Ouran but I was reading it for a class and absolutely fell in love, watched the movie with hugo weaving (😮‍💨) and fell in love EVEN MORE

i wanna write for him. so bad. i am so attached to him.

just wanted to put this out there to see if anyone was on the same page as me LOL

[latenightdaydreams]

The Chair (fem)

Poll story!

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, mentions of cheating, p in v, oral, cucking, dirty talk

3.3k word count

🪑

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After three years of marriage, you found out that your husband, Hugo, has been having an affair for the last two years. He completely broke your heart. Trust was something you struggled to build, and he just completely shattered yours. After only three months of therapy, Hugo comes to you with the idea of making things ‘even’ between the two of you; allowing you to cuck him.

Hugo only made you even angrier when he said this to you. You’ve never thought about having sex with another man before. For one, your self-esteem was so low now. You love Hugo, you’ll never see another man in the same way as you see Hugo- so you thought.

It’s Saturday; you’re dressed in a simple white dress that clung to your shape. Hugo was invited to his best friend’s brother’s homecoming and took you with him. He quickly left your side at the party to go mingle with his friends, making you feel rejected. You make your way to the kitchen where it’s quiet, leaning back against the counter and looking out the window.

König sees you by yourself, so he approaches you. The way your dress clings to you catches his eyes immediately. He walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge, grabbing two beers. With one hand stretched out handing you a beer, his mask hides his expression.

“Hallo, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” His Austrian accent piques your interest.

“Oh, thank you.” You grab the beer. “I’m y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m König.”

Your eyes go wide and you smile as you realize this is who everyone is waiting for. “Oh, everyone is outside waiting for you.”

“I know, I’m avoiding the crowd for as long as I can.” He chuckles as his eyes openly trail down your body. “Who are you here with?”

“Hugo—”

“Jakobs friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Who would have thought little Hugo could pull someone like you?”

A smile pulls across your lips as you let out a soft giggle. König stands at 6’10 while Hugo stands at 5’8. He chuckles with you as he steps closer to you. Just then, the sliding back doors open. It’s Hugo with Jakob.

“König!” Jakob excitedly rushes to his brother.

Hugo’s smile slowly fades away as he eyes you and König, seeing how close you two were just standing. You gazed up at him with bright eyes, the same as you used to look at Hugo with. His heart skins to his stomach.

König turns to see Hugo, his eyes dead as he glares at him. König wants his wife. Craved his wife. He’s going to have her.

A few weeks pass. König has added you on all social media. Today, while at the gym, he sent you a gym selfie. He’s shirtless and flexing. His body is riddled with scars, sculpted like a piece of art. König’s blonde hair covers part of his face, your eyes glued to the dark blonde hair that trails from his belly button down.

As you inspect the photo, you close your legs and press them together. Hugo see’s your movement and recognizes it as you being aroused. He smirks.

“What are you reading?” He stands and walks to you, assuming that you’re reading smut. As he gets closer, he sees you quickly close what looked like a man’s photo.

“Nothing.” You stand and walk away to the bedroom.

While there was a feeling nagging at him, he let it go. The sex life between the both of you is basically nonexistent since the affair came to light. He figured it was simply porn. The conversation that comes next, he wasn’t expecting.

You both sat at the dinner table, pushing your food around with your fork as you contemplated your next words. Hugo notices that you’re lost in thought. He clears his throat and sits up.

“Um, are you okay babe?”

“Hm? Yeah.” You place the fork down on your plate. “I want to talk.”

“Okay.” Hugo can feel his heart beginning to sink.

“Do you remember when you offered me the option to have sex with someone else? Cucking?”

Swallowing hard, Hugo nods with a look of dread on his face. Please don’t let it be König.

“I want to take you up on that offer.” You look up, making direct eye contact with him.

Hugo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know who?” He picks up his glass of water, taking a big gulp.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Who?”

“König.”

Hugo leans back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face as he lets out a deep breath. “König?” He leans forward, arms coming down hard on the table. “What makes you think he would even like you?”

His insecurities begin to show through his words and body language. He holds himself like an injured boy. As if the simple mention of König killed his ego.

“He’s told me.” You look at him with a new found confidence.

“He told you? When?”

“We’ve been talking.”

“How?” Hugo’s eyes widened.

“Social media and texting.”

Hugo stands, combing his fingers through his hair. This can’t be happening. Not with König. “For how long?”

“Since the party.” You watch him pace back and forth.

“Have you seen him?” He stops and looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Only for lunch.” You admit.

“Only for lunch.” He repeats, shaking his head, dropping it to look at the floor.

“He said he’s free Friday night.”

Hugo slowly looks back up at you in disbelief.

.

.

Friday night, you have fresh sheets on your bed, a bottle of wine, three wine glasses, and a chair in front of the bed. You’re dressed in a short silk negligee, the deep blue color complimenting your skin tone perfectly.

Hugo looks at you. He never thought he’d be sharing you with someone. Then he thinks about the pain he causes you over the past two years. The doorbell ringing pulls him out of his thoughts. He walks forward towards the door and opens it to see König without his mask on. His face is covered in scars, but he’s still a handsome man. Hugo always felt inferior to König, being over a foot shorter than him.

“Hallo, Hugo.” König smiles and walks past him into your home.

König’s eyes fall on you, the way your little negligee hugs your body; it’s like you’re a gift for him to open.

“Hallo, Liebling.” He walks to you and hugs your body tightly. “You look magnificent.”

“Thank you.” There is a cheerful giggle in your voice. It sickens Hugo. Your small hand slips into König’s. “Follow me.”

Hugo watched you lead König upstairs towards your shared bedroom. He followed reluctantly. He knows you’re going up with or without him.

You enter the bedroom with König. As you go to open the wine bottle, König gently swoops in and takes the bottle from you.

“I’ve got this.” He opens the bottle for you, his muscles flexing under his tight black shirt as he does so.

König pours wine into each glass, a little extra into the third. He hands you one, then turns to Hugo and hands him the fuller one. A little smirk on his lips as he looks down on Hugo. “Here go, a little extra for you to relax.”

You take a large drink of your wine and place it on the bedside table. König’s eyes travel up your legs to your plump ass, the way it sways as you move. He places his glass down alongside yours. His large hands wrap around your waist and hold you in a firm grasp.

König leans his body down, his lips pressing into yours passionately. You quickly reciprocate, your lips parting slightly to lick his lips, causing König to chuckle, “Eager little one, aren’t you?” He grabs you by your thighs and lifts you in his arms.

“You may want to take a seat now.” König turns to Hugo as he holds you in his arms.

Hugo looks at you in König’s arms as he holds you. You look like Aphrodite in Ares's arms. He saunters to the seat in front of the bed and sits, wine in hand. There is nothing else to do but to watch you with him.

König gently lays you down on the bed, his lips clashing against yours as your tongue twirls around one another’s. Slowly his lips leave yours and trail down your neck, drawing small sighs of pleasure from your mouth. One hand comes up and squeezes your breast gently, his fingers coming around your nipple and lightly pinching. A small moan leaves your lips, followed by a nervous giggle.

He backs up to see you with a warm smile, leaning down to kiss your lips again. Hugo sat, watching the chemistry shared between the two of you, and it makes him feel sick. This is suppose to be a fuck, not…whatever this is.

König stands upright and undresses. He pulls his shirt off to expose the body you’ve only ever seen in photos, in person. Your eyes roam up and down his body. He is stunning. The black shirt he had on is tossed to the edge of the bed. His hands undo his belt buckle. You sit up to help him, your lips pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

A deep sigh leaves König’s lips as he combs his fingers through your hair, your gentle kisses sending a chill throughout his body. Once his pants are undone, he pulls his pants down, kicking them off to the side. His enormous erection is pressing up against the fabric of his boxer briefs, his cock so big his tip sticks out the waistband of his underwear.

Hugo’s eyes travel up and down König’s body. He feels his anxiety spike, taking a big drink of his wine. The way you touch him, it’s as if you’ve been thinking about this for a while. You’re enjoying his body. His eyes follow your hand, go to his cock and grasp it through his underwear. König’s hands on your jaw, holding your face to him as he kisses you passionately.

You grab König’s hands and move them, kissing down his chest again until your lips reach the bit of cock sticking out. Your tongue licks over the tip, scooping up a dab of pre-cum that has come to the surface. König looks down at you as you pull down his boxer briefs, your warm wet mouth slowly wrapping around his cock.

König lets out a loud groan as he gazes down at you. He looks over to Hugo with a smile before wrapping some of your hair around his head and guiding your mouth down the shaft of his cock. You eagerly accept his cock, taking in as much as you can as you suck.

Hugo shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Even if he turns away, it doesn’t help. The sound of his cock fucking your mouth consumes the room. You gaze over at Hugo shifting uncomfortably and it made you feel happy to see. Slowly pulling your head off his cock, eyes gazing up at him.

“Let’s take this off of you.” König whispers as he moves back slightly to pull your negligee off. You lift your hands above your head and to assist him. He steps back more to see your bare breasts and the small blue thong that covers your precious little cunt.

Hugo feels sick watching König look at your body. He looks at you the same way a dog would look at a piece of meat. He’s hungry for you like Hugo has never been.

“Look at this body…you look like a work of art, Liebling.” König grabs your body and pulls you back onto the bed more.

Your head rests on your pillow as König crawls over your body. His lips meet yours as one hand explores. One caresses your cheeks, the other plays with your nipples between his fingers before moving down more to your pussy, his fingers rubbing the thin fabric. He can feel how wet you are for him and it drives him wild.

His fingers hook into the fabric of your thong and pull it down slowly. Your creamy pussy comes into view as he sees the mess you made in your underwear. “Beautiful.” He whispers to himself. Without looking back, he tosses your thong behind him. It lands on Hugo’s lap, causing him to just look at it before looking back up at you.

Hugo watches as König spreads your legs with his knees, getting his body comfortable between your legs. König’s cock rubbing up and down along your folds, relishing the wet heat. The view Hugo has, he watches as he slips his cock into your pussy. Your legs instantly tensing around König’s body. A loud moan leaves your lips as he sees König’s balls press against your ass, burying himself deep inside of your cunt.

König pulls his hips back before slamming them down into you again, watching as you jerk forward and your eyes flutter. Your fingernails are digging into his forearms as you try to hold on to him.

“Please…” You whimper.

“Please?” König teases, licking from your chin to your lips.

“Fuck me…”

König looks to his side and grabs a pillow, tossing it on the side of the bed. Without withdrawing his cock, he lifts your body and turns you. “So, Hugo can get a better view of that beautiful face with I make you cum.”

Hugo has no reaction but to glare at König. In that moment his mind begins to flash back to all the moment’s he has ever spent with König. He never thought he would be in this situation with him.

König lifts one of your legs to be over his shoulder, the other he pushes off the bed. Your foot falling on Hugo’s lap. König pulls out slightly as there are streaks of your creamy arousal up and down his cock.

“Look at that, your wife has a beautiful pussy.” König makes eye contact with Hugo before looking down at you. He grasps your breast as he fucks you.  His hips roll into you desperate to bury himself deeply into you.

Hugo can’t help but to get an erection as he watches König stretch you beyond anything he could imagine. Your face contorted into a pleasurable high, you don’t even look in his direction; as if he wasn’t even there.

“Oh my god König…” You mewl, lifting your head to look at your vagina and watch him fuck you.

“Your pussy is fucking…heavenly.” König growls.

“I love your cock.”

Hugo feels his heart drop and a pang of jealousy flare deep within. Especially when König begins to taunt him. He pulls his cock out, grabbing your effortlessly as if you were a doll. He moves the pillow too, placing you over it, lifting your ass to him.

You are now face to face with Hugo, König begins bullying his cock back into you. He grabs your waist and holds you, watching your ass bounce off of his hips as he bucks forward into you. Intertwining a handful of your hair between his fingers, he pulls your head back and makes you look at Hugo.

“Say it again, Liebling.”

“Please…” You whimper pathetically needing him to fuck you harder.

“Nein, the other thing.”

“I love your cock, König.” You moan out as you look into Hugo’s eyes. You can see the discomfort and pain he feels; you can truly careless. “Please fuck me!”

“Such a good girl!” He slaps your ass, continuing to hold your head up as he fucks you harder.

Your mouth drops open as you forget words and just babble sounds of pleasure. Hugo watches as your eyes flutter back. Reaction’s he’s never gotten out of you before. “König please!”

“Look at your husband and beg.” He growls pulling your hair harder.

“Please make me cum! Please!”

“More. Beg for another man’s cock!”

“Please! I want to cum on your cock!”

You look Hugo right in the eyes as you tremble on König’s cock. “Fuck…”

König pulls his cock out quickly and drops to his stomach between your legs. His tongue presses flat against your folds and licks up, tasting your cunt finally. His tongue lapping at your clit, causing your legs to twitch with every pass.

“I don’t know how you don’t eat this pussy every day.” König makes the comment to Hugo. “Maybe I should come over and do it for you.”

You moan and run your fingers through his hair, looking down at his pink tongue parting your folds to drink you in. If you could have König over everyday for this, you really would.

“Too bad you ship out again soon.” Hugo says in a snarky tone, reminding you both of the temporary bliss.

“Watch it, I can bring a spouse to base with me.” König makes eye contact with you as his wet lips kiss your pussy’s fat mound, biting it gently. You caress his face; he moves up to kiss your lips. Your tongue pushes out to taste yourself along his hips. König lets out a small moan; trailing his hands up and down your body, grabbing your waist and kissing you lustfully.

For a moment, you both forgot Hugo was even there. König pulls away from the kiss, letting his hand trail down your body before grabbing you and sitting you on his lap. Your back is on his chest as he drapes your legs over his muscular long legs. He scoots the edge of the bed, uncomfortably close for Hugo’s liking.

Hugo adjusts himself in his pants as he watches König grab his cock and slowly thrust up, showing it into you. He watches as your lips spread and wrap tightly around him. König wraps his arms under each of your knees and pins his hands back behind your head, holding you in the Full Nelson position.

You’re folded in half as König uses you as a flesh light. Ramming his cock rapidly into your messy wet cunt. König’s muscular legs flex with every thrust.

“Whose cock is better?” König’s voice is a low growl as he speaks.

Eye’s locked with Hugos, “Your cock König.”

Hugo looks away, still forced to hear you repeat over and over that you love König’s cock better. König’s humongous 10-inch cock over Hugo’s average 5.5-inch cock. Of course you liked his better. The way you look like you’re in a different world with every thrust, he already knew.

König can’t hold back any longer. Your little cunt is the first he’s had in four years and he’s done his best to not cum too fast. The sounds of your beautiful moans, the feel of your lovely pussy…he can’t.

“Beg for my cum, Liebling.”

“Please cum in my tight pussy.”

Hugo sits at the edge of his seat, about to speak up. You both agreed to not let him cum in you. He’s not supposed to risk getting you pregnant. It’s bad enough he’s fucking you completely raw, which you said you wouldn’t let happen.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.” König pants.

“Yes!”

Hugo watches König’s heavy balls tighten as they drain deep inside of his wife’s pussy. His cock throbs as soft moans leave his lips.

König lifts you up, letting his cock pop out of your pussy. His white cum drips out of your stretched hold. Hugo just sits and watches it drip out.

“Want to taste it?” You rub your clit teasing Hugo.

He just looks into your eyes with a serious look, a look of pain. “No.” His voice cracks slightly.

.

.

The next morning, you wake up with a pep in your step. Your skin is glowing and a wide smile is spread across your lips. As you pour yourself a cup of coffee Hugo sits at the kitchen table, watching you. He feels sick, but at least the ‘payback’ is over, he thinks.

You sit and sip your coffee, looking at your phone. König snaps you a photo of his hard cock with the text saying, “I dreamt of you all night.”

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

“When does Hugo leave for work?”

“Come over in an hour.”

[chainsawmanicure]

if batman had instagram

9+ direct mesaages

joker: Say Batsy, have U heard of Hawk-Tuah? HAHAHAHAHA! -J❤️

poison ivy: I NEED cocaine.

hugo strange: I NEED cocaine.

catwoman: Hey, handsome. Just checking in… 😏🐱❤️

mr freeze: I NEED my wife.

killer croc: Throwing a BBQ this Sat. DONT MISS IT, B-Man.

solomon grundy: gnwqioqjsmsmjdoo

harley quinn: my wife NEEDS cocaine.

scarecrow: Are you SCARED of Cocaine, Batman? HROOAAA…

riddler: solve my puzzles

penguin: Try as you might, Bat-Freak… you will NOT stop me from getting my COCAINE! -Oz☂️

mad hatter: Hello, Batman. I hate to ask you this but… would you mind reading me a bedtime story? I know it’s a stupid question, but… ah, whatever. Forget I asked…

nightwing: do u even watch the reels i send you. you say LOL but not all of them are funny

clayface: Wicked is playing in Gotham again. PLEASE let me out of Arkham. PLEASE LET ME OUT

manbat: Soz about that last message, was in batmode when I sent it. LMAO

black mask (idk anything about black mask): Im big and gay batman. Whats up

bane: hey are you going to croc’s bbq? i was gonna bring your favorite… deviled eggs… you like those rihgt?

calendar man: dont even try bro ill get u. Tomorrow’s Monday

[fanfic-obsessed]

Failing to Thrive then Thriving in failure

I just had the funniest notion. Time travel comedy, but the twist is that Palpatine is the one to go back in time. 

So we start just after Kenobi, Palpatine has been emperor for about a decade, he succeeded. The Sith plan is complete, he has everything he had dreamed of and worked toward for a decade…and he is so bored. He never realized that 90% of his joy actually came from pretending to be a benevolent Chancellor and the intrigue of fooling people.  Now he has shown his true colors and could not go back to pretending (it simply would not work). Being the Sith in charge is not as fun as he thought it would be. Even getting to openly torture people has lost its appeal after 10 years.

It’s ok for Vader. For one Vader was never interested in those intrigues in the first place. For two 45% of Vader brain is taken up by trying to resurrect Padme Amidala, 50% is taken up by Obi Wan Kenobi (Palpatine is not sure if Vader wants to kill Kenobi, Kriff Kenobi, make Kenobi tuck Vader in every night and tell him is it going to be alright, Force Kenobi to help Vader resurrected Padme, or make sure Kenobi is eating, taking care of himself, and has a good enough blanket), leaving only 5% for everything else.  

Frankly if this is what Kenobi had to deal with before the war, Palpatine is somewhat impressed he got anything done.

Vader isn’t bored. Palpatine’s assorted lesser minions are not bored, they are living the dream of being as bigoted as their little fascist hearts desire. But Palpatine just could not find joy any longer. 

I do want it clear. Palpatine is not repentant. He does not regret the deaths that he caused, the genocide, the enslavement, any of it. He’s just bored. 

One day Palpatine finds a book, or maybe an artifact, or possibly a scrap of paper with an archaic formula. The title roughly translates to ‘Sith Master Time Travel’ (Listen The Son was also very bored, and being outside of Space Time meant He wanted to see what would happen). Palpatine is able to time travel, but only as far back as when he became a Sith Master. It was also a one time deal, he would not be able to use the method again AND it would destroy his origin timeline (not that that actually factored into Palpatine’s decision at all).  Not to mention he would essentially be possessing and killing his previous, alternate timeline self. 

Of course Palpatine time travels. He goes all the way back to the moment he became the Sith Master (it turns out the Sith titles are not just titles), looking at the still warm corpse of Hugo Damask, just as the Naboo crisis is wrapping up. 

Now Palpatine had already decided to do some things differently.  At first he was still working outward the Grand Sith Plan, if trying to keep his ‘Kindly Politician’ mask a bit longer, however he has decided that instead of Vader (or possibly in addition to Vader, if things get boring again) he will get Obi Wan Kenobi as his apprentice, figuring that there must have been a reason that every Sith Apprentice for 20 years ends up obsessed with the man (also because he thinks it would be funny to corrupt the Jedi’s ‘Guiding Light’). Dooku and all the pieces needed to start the Clone wars are already mostly in place. It is just a matter of maintaining until the clones are the right age.  So he does what he needs to to maintain the Empire building plans and decides to focus on corrupting Obi Wan. 

He fails, utterly. He fails so fully that Obi Wan did not even notice his attempts at corruption. Like he knew it would take time to corrupt a Jedi, he had done before after all, but he still expected at least a little change within the first year. There was nothing. 

And it was not a case of Obi Wan not trusting Palpatine. This is still a decade before the war. Obi Wan is a grieving, freshly knighted,  trying to keep up with a nine year old with somewhat unique trauma. Palpatine knows how to get Obi Wan to feel comfortable and trust him (Palpatine probably knows too well how to get Obi wan to feel comfortable and trust him, between Dooku and Vader). Obi Wan is just, for a given value, incorruptible. 

Now Palpatine’s obsession switch has been flipped. He went into it thinking that corrupting Obi Wan would be a fun side project, a way to pass the time.  He was wrong.  He knows from the previous timeline that torture would not be effective (Listen if the torture mask specifically built to corrupt lightsiders did not make a dent after a month it is pretty well proven that torture will not cause Kenobi to fall, Palpatine knows this) nor would killing Kenobi’s loved work (again, if it didn’t last time we have some pretty concrete proof). 

So now we have Palpatine trying every method he can think of to seduce Kenobi the darkside, always just shy of admitting to being a Sith or being creepy. To the point that he has actually forgotten the Empire building he was doing. He kind of even forgets to be Sidious.  He almost ghosts Dooku, before he remembers that Dooku is Kenobi’s grandfather(that is not the correct term, Dooku tries to correct Palpatine an even dozen times before giving up) and gets Dooku involved in the corruption that is STILL. GOING. NOWHERE.

Dooku basically becomes Grandpa Dooku to both Obi Wan and Anakin, and falls back into the Light while trying unsuccessfully to corrupt Obi Wan to the Dark. Due to darkside vow complications (also because I think it would be really funny) Dooku is not able to say, imply, or otherwise do anything to make the Jedi suspicious that Palaptine is a Sith. Also, to a certain extent he thinks that as long as Palpatine is focused on corrupting his incorruptible grandson, the other Sith is not thinking about galactic domination (To be fair he is correct).  

Palpatine spends most of his time trying to corrupt Obi Wan, while keeping up the act used to maintain Obi Wan’s trust. The thing is Palpatine is fully aware that Anakin in the original timeline was about observant as a particularly dense brick wall and would not have realized that the persona of ‘My friend Palaptine’ did not match the reality of ‘My pal Friendpatine’. Obi Wan would realize if his act was not consistent. 

So Palpatine decided to keep the act up 24/7.  And everyone knows that your actions become your habits become your personality. 

Somewhere in year 8 Palpatine forgets how to Sith. 

Technically he is still a darksider but not the extra layer of fucked up that comes from being an actual Sith. And he still has not even made a dent in Obi Wan’s light. He has also, almost single handedly, derailed the war that had been brewing and fixed about 40% of the corruption in the Senate.  All without killing a single senator.

Palpatine spends most of his time very confused. 

Palpatine lets his term as Chancellor end, having gone down in history as one of the most beloved Chancellors in history.  The Clones are found and mostly are inducted as an arm of the Jedi Order. Jango Fett is given a metric ton of therapy, which helps him see that the Jedi were not actually at fault for Galidraan (Jango had, in fact, been the person to escalate things to violence) before he is allowed to take Boba back into the galaxy. By that point the Clones want little to do with him. 

For the rest of his life Palpatine tries, unsuccessfully, to corrupt Obi Wan (who never noticed). At this point he is genuinely friends with a number of Jedi (He and Mace Windu have a surprising amount in common, including a love of the theater and a mild exasperation for Anakin Skywalker's antics). He is an honored guest at both the CodyWan and the Anidala Weddings (including a Jedi based wedding ceremony).

Honestly he is having the most fun of his life. 

He is also never caught as a darksider. He never figures out how that is possible either.

[kabr0ztrousers]

I saw your challenge on your latest work (amazing btw) and I have the answer if the bounty is still active. Clan Hecata, formally Clan Giovanni, formerly Clan Cappadocian. Exact bloodline is more unknown since there're 4 Italian bloodlines, and you can only knock out one maybe (Not all Cappadocians wear masks).

As for my request, moving away from Kindred let's go with werewolves (or Garou if you want to stay in the World of Darkness).

Specifically a werewolf's first heat with a girlfriend/wife who is very willing to help her poor puppy out. Breeding/primal play would be appreciated but not necessary as long as there's a lot of fluff

Kabr0z Writes episode 55: Young Lovers

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Academia mention; receiving cunnilingus and giving fellatio; contraceptive failure; implied impregnation; heat/rut cycles; knotting; enthusiastic consent

A/N: This fine fellow wound up going 3 for 3 on vampire clans, which is gratifying that people like my stuff enough to engage in the little contest! Thankfully they got the answer for episode 40 in another guess, so if you can get a correct guess (and request) in before I post it tomorrow, you'll get to skip the queue as well!

If you don't want to make a guess, you can still request near enough anything, but you might as well take a stab, that queue is getting long 😅

###################################

The July air was hot and dry. The start of a heatwave bearing down on you as you queued for your A-level results. You'd already seen you got into your reserve choice of university, even if your first choice rejected you. Not ideal, but not terrible. You weren't going until September either way, you had all summer to spend with Hugo.

You left the college, Hugo was waiting for you on the quad. As usual, he was laying shirtless on the ground, eyes closed and tail gently swishing. You used the bustle of the crowd outside the building to reach him undetected, before burying both hands into the fur of his belly. His foot started drumming on the ground as he opened his eyes and looked at you "Did well, have you?"

You laughed and let him kiss you, his arms wrapping around you, yours buried in the fur of his bare back. "I didn't get Birmingham, but Bangor said yes"

He shrugged, taking your hands in his as you released each other "Good thing I have wheels now, huh, I bet it's a nightmare to get to by train"

"Yeah" you leant on him "But that's months away, term starts at the end of September"

He pulled you into another hug "You know I don't like being apart from you. Maybe Bangor could use another mechanic"

You smiled. Given half the chance, you knew he'd move to the middle of nowhere to be with you. "Maybe, but for now let's just go home, I'm hungry"

You went back to his car, then back to your terraced house, empty but for you two. You sat on the sofa, cuddling in front of the TV. He always looked so... Statuesque. Amber eyes sparkling from his black-furred face. His fur was so thick you could bury your hands up to the wrist in it, and even when you did and his tongue came lolling out as you rubbed him he was still the most handsome man you'd ever seen. Sure, your parents were a little surprised at you falling for a lupine, but once they'd satisfied themselves that it wasn't just you lusting after a knotting, they were very welcoming to him. They sure hadn't bought any of your exes Christmas presents, but he sure managed to get one.

You smelled the air, something was funky. Not bad, but it caught your attention. A warm smell that made your mouth water. You felt hungry, but didn't want to eat

"Is it me or is it hot in here?" Hugo broke the comfortable silence

"A little, you want to open a window?"

He got up. As he moved the smell got more intense. Your chest felt tight, you couldn't tear your eyes away from his ass as he walked from the couch to the window. When he turned back, oh god when he turned back, your gaze was fixed on the bulge in the front of his jeans.

He sat back down next to you, putting an arm around you as he turned his attention back to the TV. You grabbed his muzzle, turning his head towards you as you kissed him.

He was panting. You didn't notice before, but his breath was heavy and laboured.

"You feeling it too?" One hand was on his face, the other fumbling with his fly

"Yeah... Can you smell it?" He had a hand on your thigh already

"Finally getting your rut?" You'd learned about this in sex ed, apparently it means you're probably ovulating. You remembered your teachers saying you need to be extra careful during a rut cycle... Lucky you know where Hugo keeps a condom. You pulled the wallet out of his jeans, extracting the wrapped prophylactic "Wanna do something about it?"

He tossed you onto your back. One hand shot up your sundress.

"No underwear? What a slut"

You giggled, holding his arm, keeping that paw on your pussy "A girl can hope" you weren't going to admit you'd been using a period tracker and planned ahead. At least, not until later.

His face was under your skirt next. Lupine tongues are so wide and rough in all the right ways.

He'd barely started on you before you were a whining mess, legs wrapped around his head, your cunt leaking all over the tongue working so hard to make you ready for him.

"You like that?"

"Yeah" you squeaked

"Gonna cum for me?"

"Yeah" you were

"Cum for me"

You did. Your hands joined your ankles holding that muzzle to your cunt. You felt his sharp teeth around your crotch as his tongue pressed against you, almost enough to penetrate.

The orgasm died down. You knew he was ready for you, but you wanted to taste him first.

He'd already wriggled out of his jeans. The musky smell got stronger as you tugged down his boxers, revealing the sheath. The end of his cock was peeking out, slick with precum already. You licked it, smiling as he groaned. His pre tasted so good, sweet and sticky like honey. You eased the sheath down, taking more of the shaft in your mouth. Your heart fluttered as it pulsed, sending jets of hot liquid onto your tongue.

You'd always wanted to try this. You opened the condom, putting it into your mouth. Carefully, you pinched the bubble at the end with your tongue. The bobbing of your head rolled it down his cock, coating it in protective latex. His knot wasn't inflated yet, but you knew where it would be, you knew his cock well enough by now.

You lay back on the couch, your legs open and skirt pulled up for him. You could feel yourself dripping on your dress, your cunt leaking wetness, so eager to take him.

He slid in, the lubrication on the condom adding to the spit and wetness between your legs. He filled you perfectly. You remember when he was too big for you, having to be careful and not bottom out, but you've been together for months now, and it never hurt any more. You lay there, arms around his muscular neck as he rapidly fucked into you. The force of his thrusts and the speed with which he gave them made your eyes cross. You couldn't speak but to urge him on, begging for his knot.

The fur rubbing against your clit brought you to your next release. You screwed your eyes shut and let your moans of pleasure out, pleading with your lover to just get you pregnant already.

He buried himself in you. His knot starting to inflate. You felt him twitching and pulsing. Warmth was spreading inside you, filling you up. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew: the condom had broken.

It was much too late to worry about that now. Pump after pump, barely adult werewolf seed was getting into every crevice of you. The scent of his fur, that intoxicating musk, your head was emptying as your womb filled. His snarls and growls filling your head as he let his instincts take over. You held him down, close to you. He licked your face, a dopey look coming over him when you tensed your cunt around his sensitive knotty cock.

You pulled him towards you "I wonder if you've knocked me up"

"Would that be so bad?" He growled next to your ear

You stroked the fur of his head, scratching behind one pointed ear "No, no it wouldn't"

####################################

Hope you liked it, Hekate Anon!

I know I didn't go for a Garou, but fluffy cuddle-fucking doesn't really vibe with a ball of unstoppable rage, teeth and fur the size and speed of a Honda civic.

Not that fucking an unstoppable ball of fur, teeth and rage isn't now on the list of things to write about. Damn, I need to read Werewolf 20th ed

Tomorrow's episode is the winning guess for episode 40, though correct guesses will still get priority on the queue until it's published, so get them in 😁

PPS: for my American readers, the reader would be about 18 on A-level results day as long as she wasn't one of the youngest of her academic year.

[hhanxue]

"I made my entrance into that darkness which you call society."

Gwynplaine, sinner number 3. The source of inspiration is the "The Man Who Laughs" novel by Victor Hugo.

The heir of an obscenely wealthy Family from District 20, Gwynplaine was kidnapped as a child by the enigmatic Morphos Syndicate—fanatics who believe human flesh should be ‘sculpted’ into art. His memories of his origins were deliberately warped.

They never finished their ‘masterpiece’. Left with grotesque, smile-like scars carved into his face, he escaped alongside another test subject. The two were taken in by an eccentric Bloodfiend, who raised them in the Backstreets, where they survived by performing street theater.

Years later, Gwynplaine stumbled upon his family’s corpses on a rain-gray street. Now, his rage simmers beneath the surface, a quiet storm masked by theatrics—but revenge remains his unspoken creed. Particulars: Strong sense of justice, Thoughtful [A hardworking and diligent sinner, generally compliant but prone to impulsive reactions when witnessing the suffering of others (a frequent sight in the City). In such moments, calm reasoning is the most effective approach. While he tolerates remarks about his appearance and past as a street performer, it is strongly advised not to provoke him excessively—his restraint has limits, and the consequences are… theatrical.] E.G.O: Everlasting Jest ("May the abyss not close over the head of mine...") Sin Affinity: Wrath Facts: - Knows countless conjuring and card tricks. - His manner of speech is somewhat theatrical. - His loathing towards the Wings runs deeper than he cares to admit.

~~~ And just a little funny thing lol Grenouille's never seen even the simplest tricks, so he's very impressed~

[gothic-cepho]

Lethica Nightborne as a character is driving me insane.

She’s a Priestess of Shar, her deadly sin is Pride, she was a recruiter for her sect, her face is always covered in a white porcelain mask with no notable features, she spat on the floor when Selunê was mentioned, she’s deals cutting insults with little repentance, she willing gave up her memories to her God

but she asks Jericho to sing for them when they’re travelling, she called dibs on the bathroom that almost drowned them in sweat to make Yorgrim laugh, she lost all the bones in her left arm and immediately tried to high-five Briggsy, she laughs and jokes easily with Farryn, she healed/comforted Hugo without hesitation knowing what he’d done, she gave food and water to a dying man in a dungeon despite protests

everything about Lethica is designed to be mysterious and sinister when people encounter her - she’s always saying cryptic shit about Shar! Her domain is Trickery!!

but Lethica isn’t what you’d expect from a Sharran Cleric - she’s always making silly jokes! and her first instinct is to show kindness to those around her! Lethica chooses to lean in and she reassures and she took note of what Marius ate for breakfast so she could make him a little meal when the rest of them ate without him so he wouldn’t be hungry!

It’s a fascinating character dichotomy, because it’d be so easy to lean into a Proud Drow cleric of a NE Goddess as someone who was callous or manipulative whilst still maintaining that surface level charm…

but Derek chooses to do the opposite. He makes Lethica kind just to be kind, and always a little surprised when she’s rewarded for it. And her devotion to Shar doesn’t waver in the face of it. Lethica isn’t kind despite being a Sharran, she’s just a kind Sharran

Lethica Nightborne…. what a woman

[wanderingmind867]

I mentioned Wikipedia's list of batman's most iconic and enduring villains, but I never shared the list with anyone on here. So let me share their list:

Bane

Black Mask

Catwoman

Clayface

Deadshot

Firefly

Harley Quinn

Hugo Strange

Hush

Joker

Killer Croc

Killer Moth

Mad Hatter

Man-Bat

Mr. Freeze

Penguin

Poison Ivy

Ra's al Ghul

Riddler

Scarecrow

Two-Face

The Ventriloquist and Scarface

Victor Zsasz

So there's wikipedia's list of batman's 23 most iconic villains. Personally, I want to add Anarky and Talia al Ghul to the list, if only so we get a neat set of 25. Otherwise, this feels like a pretty accurate list. Hush and Victor Zsasz are the newest mainstream villains, and they're both really dark. Still, I kind of want to see them in an animated piece of media. I want to see how you can fix Zsasz to not give kids nightmares. Because i think it can be done. It'd be hard, but I don't think it's impossible.

Now...Marvel's most iconic rogues gallery belongs to spider man. Mostly because spider man gets nearly as many shows as Batman. I wonder if wikipedia has a list like this for spiderman's villains, too. I might have to check that out later. But for now, I think wikipedia gave us a good list of bstman's most famous rogues.

[bitterkarella]

COVER REVEAL!!!!

It's MOONFLOW, the debut squelchcore splatterpunk horror novel by me, Bitter Karella!

Moonflow arrives September 2025 from @orbitbooks_us and @orbitbooks_uk !! ⁣ Moonflow is three-time Hugo Award nominee Bitter Karella’s debut horror novel—a gloriously queer and irreverent psychedelic trip into the heart of an eldritch wood and the horrors of sisterhood. Answer the call of the forest, if you dare.⁣ ⁣ I see something out there, in the woods. It does not have a face. ⁣ ⁣ They call it the King’s Breakfast. One bite and you can understand the full scope of the universe; one bite and you can commune with forgotten gods beyond human comprehension. And it only grows deep in the Pamogo forest, where the trees crowd so tight that the forest floor is pitch black day and night, where rumors of disappearing hikers and strange cults that worship the divine feminine abound.⁣ ⁣ Sarah makes her living growing mushrooms. When a bad harvest leaves her in a desperate fix, the lure of the King’s Breakfast has her journeying into those vast uncharted woods. Her only guide is the most annoying man in the world, and he’s convinced there’s no danger. But as they descend deeper, they realize they’re not alone. Something is luring them into the heart of the forest, and they must answer its call.⁣

GET THE BOOK WITH 🍄eldritch fungus gods 🤪psychedelic trances 💉drug trips 🐴horse piss 🏳️‍⚧️trans feels 🌲haunted forests 🧙‍♀️weird rituals 💀blowjob murders 👺masks ☮️lesbian hippies 👮monster cops 🩻skeletons!!! 🚗muscle cars 🫦fat sex 👀gigantic gahongawongas 🏳️‍🌈problematic queer rep 🩸gore! 🦝raccoons

I am told that you can preorder it now, which you should all do if you enjoy quality books!!!

[scarletwritesshit]

🦇Hugo x Belle🦇Something About Sentimental Value

Clearly, Wise was asleep. As if she couldn’t assume from the current time, she could hear him snoring from the shop floor, thanks to the thin walls and apparently there being such thing as soundproofing in this building. At least he was a rather heavy sleeper. He wasn’t one to be disturbed by the vigorous computer work that Belle occasionally did during absurd hours, or the occasional nighttime stray that happened to wander into Random Play.

Not often did someone come through the doors at one in the morning seeking a movie to rent. Those who did often rented the more... questionable types of content, usually tapes intended to be watched in solitude. The look on their face when a tired young lady would come to the counter to check them out was quite often priceless, but Belle couldn’t care less what they were seeking out. She knew damn well the secrets kept within the store’s inventory. She was most certainly aware that such tapes were within their possession. And all she honestly cared about was getting paid.

The opportunity for these few and far in between transactions was why she left the doors unlocked at night, when many would assume they were closed. Open arms for the desperate to earn a few extra Dennies never hurt anyone. And in the position that their savings were in, those few extra Dennies were something that Wise and Belle could very well use.

A few weirdos walked through those doors, on occasion. Nothing she wasn’t already used to, though, given her eccentric dealings in the past.

For once, as a break away from the screen, Belle had temporarily retired the Bangboo for the night and was manning the front counter herself. All of this computer nonsense that she wished that she could pass off to Wise yet remained, but she was wide awake and it was better to use her time to get something done than to try and count on him to do something to some degree of success in the morning. Knowing him, he was probably going to nab some of the store’s stock and proceed to watch it for himself. Maybe she should start charging him a rental fee…

As she was skimming through a magazine out of complete and boredom, Belle heard the door bells ring as a customer walked into the shop. She peered over her magazine to get a glimpse of who had come seeking a tape at this hour, but she noticed that this visitor was most unusual. His profession, if one could call it that, wasn’t exactly that of someone you’d find so openly crawling around the store.

Being all too familiar with his slimy nature, there was no chance that he could be up to any good prowling around Random Play. Belle narrowed her eyes, and kept a sharp watch as the blonde-haired beast glanced over the shelves. He didn’t exactly seem to be browsing the tape selection with much intent; it was more as if he was standing by, idly waiting for something.  An opportunity, perhaps.

“…Can I help you find something?” Belle asked.

He turned to look at Belle with an eerily delighted gaze, as if he were seeking her attention more than a suitable tape for the night. She couldn’t help but stare into his silver and red eyes, though he made her tremble internally despite the brave mask she donned. Their meetings were, thankfully, few and far in between, but she knew him well enough to call him by name. And she knew more than enough about him to realize that he was up to no good.

“My dear, what do you think I’m here for?” he said, slipping a silver coin into his pocket.

Belle rolled her eyes. “Hugo, I swear if you start asking me for ‘no ordinary treasures,’ I’m going to see you out myself personally.”

“You know me all too well,” Hugo said, with his fangs protruding from his grin. “Way too well.”

“It’s kinda obvious,” Belle said, putting down her magazine. “You know, you aren’t really going to find much in Random Play. Just a bunch of videos that Wise only suggested we carry so he could watch himself.”

“Ah, but I find that rather hard to believe. This building also serves as your residence, does it not?”

“What gave that away? The freight train snoring upstairs?”

How she wished that she could be Wise right now, blissfully sleeping the night away fully unaware of Hugo’s presence. But no, she just had to be downstairs alone with him, along with some Bangboo, but they really didn’t count as company, especially when they were charging for the time being.

“Hence why I find it hard to believe that there is nothing of value here,” he said, resting his arms on the desk.

It was evident that he wasn’t exactly willing to leave empty handed with the way he was eyeing up Belle. He knew from pure intuition alone that behind the shelves and stacks of cheap movies for rental lied a goldmine of memories shared between Belle and Wise. Old miscellaneous souvenirs, remnants of projects that they had worked on together, and many other relics of their past had so little physical value, yet they meant a great deal to them in terms of sentimental value.

Unfortunately, those were precisely the type of “relics” that Hugo was seeking out.

“Do you really want some of our old crappy notebooks? Or maybe the wrapper that has been lodged in the couch cushion for maybe six years now?”

“There is no doubt that the memories your brother has shared with you are quite precious,” he said, gently lifting up her chin. “It’s almost enough to satisfy my cravings for a good, long while.”

“O-our notebooks? Enough for you? Do we truly matter that much in some underground market where our old nonsensical scribbles hold so much value?”

“Oh, dear, I believe you completely misunderstand me.”

He stroked the side of her face with his bare thumb, then slid his hand down the side of her neck.

“What I want is something that is so important, so valuable to your brother. Something of his that cannot even come close to the value of anything within this store. Something, or someone, who is irreplaceable to him…”

His hand was resting on the side of her neck. The way he rubbed his thumb across her skin was so eerily soothing, despite his claws being mere centimeters away from the major arteries in her neck. Belle couldn’t manage to pull herself, even with the knowledge that Hugo’s soft touch was greatly contradicted by the pain she knew that he could inflict upon her.

“D-do you want me? Do you want to take me back to your shady hideout, or whatever?” she asked.

“I couldn’t bear to cause such distress to a beautiful lady,” he said, taking hold of her hand and giving it a gentle kiss. “But it still must be known one way or another that I lay claim to you.”

He glared up at her and sank his fangs into the top of her hand. Belle’s jaw clenched tightly, rendering her unable to call for help. She couldn’t understand why she felt so reluctant to cry out, but perhaps it was simply the habit of not causing too much of a ruckus to those resting in the building. Hugo released her hand and she pulled back it, watching a small amount of blood trickle down her hand.

Some dripped onto the counter. It was something that she would have to remember to clean up before Wise made his way down the steps in the morning.

The pensiveness and anxiety in her eyes seemed to be entertaining Hugo greatly, and the sight of the crimson red staining her hands only drove him even more feral. With a fresh, open wound on her hand, Belle was practically presenting herself as a slab of steak to a rabid predator driven mad by hunger.

With her hand still trembling from the sting, she attempted to use her other hand to wipe off the blood, but could hardly manage as she winced in pain. The palm of her other hand became stained as well, creating an even greater mess than the one she started out with.

“Darling, your hands don’t deserve to be sullied with blood, whether it be yours or mine,” he said, once more offering his hand. “Allow me to…offer my assistance and clean you up.”

Belle, still holding her sore hand, wasn’t sure the best course of action to take. He clearly was on the hunt, and not for treasure, but Belle feared the consequences should she excuse herself from such a customer of hers. Reluctantly, she placed the palm of her hand into his, and as promised, he licked the blood clean from her hand. The only trace of injury now where the two fang marks.

“So sweet,” he said, holding back the temptation to bite once more. “So, so sweet, fitting for such a sweet lady…”

Belle was stunned into silence, having her hand gently held by this unfortunately attractive man and having her thoughts swayed by this quite literal sweet talking. It was all around a weird situation, for someone harboring such a strong desire to feast on her blood specifically. Given her history of cooperating with Thirens, the strange foes she had faced, and so on it certainly wasn’t the most unusual thing she had encountered.

“Just…say you’re starving, or something,” Belle finally muttered.

“That is quite the animalistic way to put it, is it not?”

“The sides of your mouth are already stained with blood. You’ve done more than plenty to make yourself look like a beast.”

“Ah…how…improper of me,” he said, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Hugo placed her hand gently down onto the table, surprisingly considerate of the fact that it was rather sore. “But you just taste… far, far too good.”

Wise continued snoring loudly from the upstairs. From the sound of things, there was absolutely no chance of him waking up to such a deplorable sight should Belle agree to relieve some of Hugo’s cravings. She looked back and forth between her pricked hand and Hugo’s pleading eyes, as if she was debating her answer to his silent pleas to indulge himself.

All hell would break loose, should he cause Belle to die. Surely, he had to be smart enough to leave her in a somewhat stable condition. Belle clenched her fist and looked away from him, shamefully charmed. He had such gentle eyes for a predator…for someone that could bite her throat out if she made one wrong move.

“Oh, dear,” Hugo said, walking behind the counter. “No need to be so shy.”

Belle looked up to see him looming behind her. He placed his hand on her neck, gently pulling aside the collar of her shirt to further expose the bare skin of her neck and shoulder. The contrast of his warm fingers and cold rings sent a tinge through her body with every inch he stroked. She tried to relax, taking deep breaths and attempting to calm her heart rate so she wouldn’t be drained as rapidly. But Hugo’s touch was teasing the entirety of her body and she almost wanted to pull him down into her neck just to get it over with.

Belle looked down to the side, allowing her hair to fall out of the way for easier access to her neck. She didn’t utter a single word, but with her flesh exposed in such a way, Hugo took it as an invitation to feast on her blood. She tried to keep her hands steady on the desk and repress any signs of nervousness, but it was rather hard when her palms were becoming uncomfortably sweaty.

She could still see his shadow looming over her as he leaned down into her neck. Belle wanted to close her eyes and brace herself for the pain, but she just couldn’t. Her entire body felt frozen stiff with the force of Hugo pinning her against the desk, rendering her immobile with her weight if not with her nerves.

Hugo nuzzled further into the side of her neck, then licked it slowly. Belle’s whole body cringed from the feeling of his cold saliva, but she held herself tense in place. Should she attempt to instinctively back up, she would only find herself further pressed against his body.

Not like she had the option of going anywhere anyways. Hugo had her hands pinned to the counter, further stinging the one he had nibbled on prior. Belle had come to hardly notice this pain as she was blinded by the surge of adrenaline. His hold was firm, yet he was taking this as a prime opportunity to indulge in the sensation of her fingers for himself.

“Such a beautiful lady,” he whispered. “I almost feel guilty for doing this to you.”

Giving no time for Belle to counteract, he sunk his fangs into the side of her neck. She bit her tongue and tensed up her hand, but the growing tension in her body only made it feel worse. Belle would have to relax if she still had the goal of surviving this encounter. She tried taking a deep breath, but she felt that if she inhaled too much, her windpipe would, in turn, be punctured by Hugo’s fangs.

Belle was very rapidly becoming lightheaded. She was losing strength in her legs and she felt like she could collapse at any moment. Just how much was he planning to take from her? Belle was starting to wish that she had suggested him feasting off of her brother, but Hugo seemed especially insistent on her being his prey for the evening.

The tension in her body eased as her body lost the willpower to resist. Belle was becoming tired, and combined with her exhaustion from being up into the late hours of the night, she was doomed to pass out sooner than later. At least she wouldn’t collapse face forward into the counter, as Hugo kept a firm grip on her body preventing her from falling. If only she could muster up the strength to tell him that her body wasn’t as abundant with blood as he hoped so.

Tired. So…very tired.

Belle’s eyes became heavy, and she hardly had the strength left to fight to keep them open.

After a few minutes that felt like grueling hours passing by Hugo finally released his fangs from her neck and loosened his grip on her body. Despite this, Belle still couldn’t quite move with muscles still stiff from anxiety yet weak from hemorrhaging, but she at least could muster a deep breath.

“Such a good girl for your first time, dear,” he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the neck where her wounds were.

As if that would make it any better.

Well maybe it did, but just by a little.

Belle slowly turned her head around to see him with a considerable amount of blood on his face. Not the least bit surprising, but still a shocking contrast to the gentleman who was serenading her moments prior.

“You uh, have a little something on your face,” she managed to mutter.

“Ah, apologies for my lack of manners. Worry not about me, as I believe that it is best that your concerns lie within yourself,” he said. “Rest your weary body and allow me to carry you to your quarters.”

Hugo was being surprisingly considerate for someone who had just welcomed himself to feast on her like that. Belle was quite lightheaded and his offer was quite tempting, but she still had greater concerns and a shred of dignity left.

“But what about the shop? I still need to lock it up.”

“Do not concern yourself one bit,” he said with a wink. “A thief knows his way around locks quite well.”

Belle was too tired to be concerned with his methods and motives, so she allowed him to carry her up the stairs into the bed. Wise was still fast asleep as he had been throughout the entirety of the night, completely ignorant of his sister becoming a meal just moments prior. Hugo nudged her door open gently and laid Belle down on her bed with a surprising amount of care. He carefully rested her head on her pillow and pulled her blanket over her body before closing the door and silently making his departure.

The following morning, Belle slept in for quite a long time. Much longer than Wise, which was almost unheard of. She awoke with her neck feeling quite sore, and so she made her way to the bathroom to observe the damage. The wound was surprisingly clean; he must’ve taken it upon himself to clean her of blood. Despite this, the presence of the bite wound was still rather obvious.

Belle wrapped it in some gauze and pulled her shirt up further, hoping that Wise wouldn’t look too hard or care enough to mention. She held onto the banister tightly as she walked down the stairs as she was still feeling lightheaded and rather dizzy.

“Belle,” Wise said as soon as he caught a glimpse of her, “did something happen last night?”

What did he mean something? What could he have possibly heard?

“W-What do you mean?”

“There’s a little bit of blood on the counter. I was worried that you had gotten hurt.”

Crap. She had completely forgotten about the wound on her hand. The blood staining the counter, the sheer obviousness of its location, everything about it altogether. And when she realized this, she once more became conscious of the stinging that lingered in her hand.

“Uh, nothing!” she said, covering her hands as best as she could with her sleeves. “Nothing at all. Just got a nasty papercut digging through some old crap. Nothing bad. I promise.”

Wise looked at her as if he didn’t believe her story one bit.

She didn’t believe herself, either. Not with the pain as a result of that handsome devil feasting on her last night.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hey, I'd love to request Jason x big brother reader, before Bruce adopted Jason he had a big brother who took care of him, but one day the reader kinda vanished and money just randomly appeared near Jason. The reader made some sketchy deal with someone in exchange for Jason to be taken care of. The reader was an experiment and got turned into some sort of monster (still a human silhouette but just a bit different, memories wiped, can't speak etc.) and years later, when Jason is red hood and on a mission with the batfam, they encounter the reader. Jason remembers the reader through some jewelry he gifted them, and he tries and helps the reader remember who they are.

My poor Jason. And the poor reader. Also, why am I writing such short pieces? What is happening with me?

Summary: (Y/N) makes sure that Jason is taken care of. But there is a catch.

Warnings: experiments, not the good kind, monsters, but not in the detail, Jason doesn't remember (Y/N).

Jason looked at a photo from his childhood. He was sitting on the bed in his apartment, looking at the photo from his childhood. It was Jason, but way before Bruce adopted. Years even.

The photo came in a brown envelope, seemingly out of nowhere. It was in his PO box, just waiting in there. At first, Jason thought that it was dangerous and that it had something like anthrax, but after closer inspection, the envelope was fine.

He didn't know who this boy was. They were happy in the photo, just the two of them. Smiles and happiness. One of the rare moments in the Todd household.

But now he wondered where this person was. Where did he vanish? Why did he vanish? When?

But Jason remembered that once the man left, he was... Taken care off? There seemed to be some extra money in the Todd household and that might have been a first. Some extra money. Huh.

But Jason remembered that thing were better for a while. It was somewhat stable and he didn't worry about being hungry or anything like that.

And then Bruce adopted him. Well, Batman was there first so technically, Batman adopted him. Bruce had to personas. Batman and Bruce Wayne.

What does he even do with this? Who sent him this? Should he talk to Bruce? Dick?

He groaned, hands going through his own hair. What to do now?

Jason sighed. There was a mission. Something about human experiments. Jason shuddered at that. And the worst of all? They were in Gotham, under a guise.

Hugo fricking Strange.

Jason never liked him. He thought he was insane and full of himself. Also, he suggested the idea of Arkham City and that, according to Jason was the dumbest idea ever. A prison in the middle of the city?

Hell no.

The facility was kind of empty, if you disregard the dead bodies of what Jason thought were failed experiments. He scowled underneath the mask, gun in his hand, just ready to strike.

This was a disaster waiting to happen. Something out of a horror movie, but Gotham was a horror movie in real life. A psychotic clown, egoistical man who is obsessed with riddles, insane mob boss, a human crocodile who is nuts-

A crash from one of the rooms made everyone jump. Batman didn't, he just walked slower. Jason pointed the gun towards the sound of the crash.

Who knows what was going to come out of the corner. Jason thought about the fact that they were going to die, because only stupid people would go to a facility where there were human experiments.

" You know everyone, I will say it. This is how white people die in horror movies. "

" What about Robin? " Nightwing asked.

" Robin would scare off the monsters. " Jason said, smirking at the TTs he got in return.

He pointed his gun towards the hall, seeing a normal human here. But it wasn't really normal. It was the man from the photo he got. But who was he?

Jason's eyes fell down onto the necklace he was wearing. Oh my God.

" (Y/N)... You are here?! " Jason screamed out, putting his gun back into the holster.

The others looked at one another. Who is (Y/N)?

" It's me, Jason. " Jason started, taking his helmet off.

" What the hell? " Tim wondered out loud.

" This is my older brother. I now know you vanished. You sold your soul, your body to protect me... Oh my God. " At this point Jason raised his hands up.

" B, we have to take him back. (Y/N), can you say something? " Jason prompted.

(Y/N) was ready to attack, but Jason was quick to jump at him and knock him out.

" I have to find out what happened. I have to... " Jason said, looking at his older brother.

" We will. Don't worry. But you need to explain to me what has happened with him. "

[silverview]

amazing bracelets @spcvarney made for me, i love them so much 😭💕💕💕 had a great time again at s/f, got to see a bunch of people from here who were all so cool & lovely, i feel so lucky!!

reece & steve DID come out to sign things this time! we were told not to ask for selfies, so i just got my s9 script book signed by both of them. i asked reece if he'd had a good time & he looked up at me, smiled, and said yes he did, and thanks for coming. 🥹💗

there was also merch for sale in the theatre, and that poster i mentioned is s/f specific, but in a way that's not obvious until you've seen the play.

some further unorganised thoughts about the show + audio links below the cut, spoilers obviously ⚠️

new recordings added here (18-01) [edit 20-01-2025: removed the link] in case you want to compare & contrast (@lapis-lazuliie!) there were a few small changes & the scene change with the video screen was much smoother. i accidentally cut off the coda to the song at the very end in my haste to get to the stage door

in the opening sketch, there’s a reference to an 80s-style production of taming of the shrew. certainly a reference to the play where reece first laid eyes on steve. theatre at the heart of their relationship from the very beginning. it really is all about them and their love story

(when you know the twist in this bit, you notice that toby leaves when steve comes onstage, and then once s & r are onstage together, s just stares at r for a moment too long)

in general, i just love the shakespeare in it. love hamlet obviously and love the range of their theatrical references. i get emo about reece on gbbo “jokingly” griping that he’ll never get to play hamlet, because you know he thinks he'd smash it, and you know he knows he never will. and that he still slightly blames his comedy career for the fact he didn’t get to. and that it's specifically a dream that dies when you get too old. (“the most devastating moment in a young man’s life…”)

goudron & hugo are doing it blake & drew style. as in, here’s a creepy guy. here’s the methods he uses to sexually abuse his female patients. now here he is doing those same things to a man. now let’s not address the subtext of that ❤️ yay ❤️ i honestly am thinking about writing self-indulgent fic about them but not till after the run at least. OH AND the set for that whole bit is turquoise, like the trolley problem. alright.

they've changed that bit slightly so that when hugo comes back in, he's already in the chair, and doesn't need to be restrained. which makes much more sense, and it's clear they should have done it that way from the beginning, except force of habit and reece's need to be strapped to a chair made them try it the other way first.

sidenote, i need goudron carnally, i’m sorry. if i’m acting more than typically horny for steve, you know that’s why. i think the drastic & abrupt shift in fuckability levels from act 1 to act 2 doesn’t help. white coat, sleeve garters, moustache, brown hair.

speaking of clothes, reece as himself at the beginning was wearing smart brown shoes + smart trousers + pale blue shirt + soft grey sweater vest. as marcus at the end he's wearing a jacket over a turtleneck, very cute. also very cute as marcus in hugo's stripy pyjamas with a big cosy cardigan over the top. hugo has curly dark hair with a grey streak, and a big curly moustache that gets a laugh when he takes off his surgical mask.

the guest this time was kevin eldon! he did the line from zanzibar and reece went fully into the hokey cokey!!! i would post the clip but it is mostly just me laughing

i mentioned this briefly in my original post, but it really is crazy that they make it so obvious how len has written his real feelings/anxieties about the relationship into the kidnappers sketch. purely because like… lads YOU are sketch writers. you are making it very clear that YOU put your real feelings/anxieties about your relationship into your work. we knew this already but it's too much too much

it's easy to not tell bf what happens in the show (we're seeing it together late feb) but it is very VERY hard to not walk around the flat constantly singing tears of laughter

on the final night at the end steve really does need to just grab reece and kiss him

[chopinski-official]

Chopin's Funeral

By Benita Eisler

Funeral at La Madeleine, 1868

On a sparkling Paris morning, Tuesday, October 30, 1849, crowds poured into the square in front of the Church of the Madeleine. The occasion was the funeral of Frédéric Chopin, and for it, the entire facade of the great neoclassical temple had been draped in swags of black velvet centred with a cartouche bearing the silver-embroidered initials FC. 

Admission was by invitation only: Between three thousand and four thousand had received the black-bordered cards. Observing the square with its crush of carriages, the liveried grooms and sleek horses, the throngs converging on the porch, Hector Berlioz reported that "the whole of artistic and aristocratic Paris was there." But another who surveyed the crowd, the music critic for the Times of London, suspected that of the four thousand who filled the pews, a large number had been admitted just before noon, strangers to the dead man, mere bystanders even, "many of whom, perhaps, had never heard of him." 

Facades of La Madeleine, 1840-70

If death is a mirror of life, Chopin's funeral reflected all the disjunctions of his brief existence. The most private of artists, his genius was mourned in a public event worthy of a head of state. Canonized as "angelic," a Shelleyan "poet of the keyboard," Chopin seemed to personify romanticism, and before he was buried, its myths had already embalmed him: a short and tragic life; an heroic role as Polish patriot and exile; doomed lover of the century's most notorious woman; and finally, his death from consumption, that killer of youth, beauty, genius, and of courtesans foolish enough to fall in love. 

Chopin's Last Chords by Józef Męcina-Krzesz

In reality, he was the least romantic of artists. While the generation that had come of age just before his own in France, including the Olympian Victor Hugo, had defined romanticism as a holy war of the "moderns" (themselves) against the "ancients" (their literary elders), setting off riots in theaters to make their point, Chopin clung to the past. His musical touchstones were Haydn, Mozart-but especially Bach. He harbored doubts about Beethoven's lapses of taste, was incurious about the music of Schubert, and generally contemptuous of his other contemporaries: Schumann, Berlioz, and Liszt, towards whom his feelings were further tangled by rivalrous friendship. In art, he preferred the marmoreal neoclassicism of Ingres and his followers to the radical inventions in color and form of his friend Delacroix. Socially and politically, he was still more conservative. 

The same aristocratic circles that had embraced Chopin the child prodigy in Warsaw were waiting to welcome the twenty-one-year-old sensation of Paris. Chopin arrived in France in 1831. One year before, revolution had replaced the Bourbon Restoration with the Orleanists swept in by Louis Philippe and his July monarchy. It was still a world of fixed hierarchies: of titles, birth, and breeding, buoyed by a flood tide of fresh money coined by the financiers and industrialists whose entertainments outshone the Sun King in splendor, if not in style. Chopin made some friends among the professional middle class-a less grand banker or diplomat, a few fellow musicians. He had a horror of "the People" as a force of upheaval or even change (which he dreaded in any form), and he was suspicious of those who championed their cause. He was appalled by that quintessentially romantic belief, whose most ardent proponent was George Sand, that art must serve the cause of social justice-or, indeed, any other cause except itself. 

Like many who have thrived as "exceptions," propelled by talent from modest origins to a place among the privileged, Chopin was repelled by marginality: by poor Poles, by Jews, by the ill-dressed and ill-mannered, by coarseness or slovenliness, in art or life. 

Chopin’s hand and death mask

Most likenesses of the composer suggest that he was far from handsome. He had pale, colorless hair, a thin, hooked nose, a pursey mouth, and rabbity, lashless eyes. In these images, Chopin bears only a glancing resemblance to his famous portrait by Delacroix-the portrait of romantic genius itself, with his tousled chestnut mane and burning inward gaze. Chopin's famous dandyism, then, must be understood as another labor of creation, like his music an imperious quest for perfection. The dandy enlists distinction-in dress, speech, manners-along with distance, to create a masterpiece: himself. 

What appeared to many-then and now-as the snobbery of a provincial, self-invented aristocrat and aesthete, had deeper sources. Chopin needed the reassurance that a fixed social order provides. Dependent and childlike in many ways, he clung to the security of protective institutions-the monarchy, the Church, and the family-which defined themselves proudly as patriarchal, stern but loving fathers keeping watch over children, dedicated to exalting an ideal past and to keeping present chaos at bay. 

Two years and only two public concerts after his arrival in Paris, Chopin ranked among those few artists who moved in every circle that counted. Ignoring protocol, older, established musicians called upon him. He was a fixture at the grandest houses, where, arriving in his own carriage, he was welcomed as a lionized guest who never failed to charm and amuse; if he could be prevailed upon to perform, he hypnotized every listener. The musically knowledgeable drew close to the piano to study the wizardry of his technique and his famous inventions in fingering, third finger crossing the fourth, that made his impossibly difficult compositions appear effortless. Fellow exiles heard laments for a homeland in the languorous rubato of the mazurkas, with their heart-catching drop from major to minor keys, but the mood of elegy was as often shattered by discordant salvos of unleashed rage. Even those guests whose attendance was simply an occasion to wear the new diamonds, to remark casually at the bourse that the reception last evening at Baron James's had been more than usually delightful, stayed well past midnight, straining to hear the final note, when the pianist, pale and exhausted, rose wearily to take his bow. It was uncanny how Chopin's music spoke so intimately to their most private, long-buried thoughts and memories, evoking childhood happiness and lost love; innocent, nobler selves trampled by the harsh rules of life. 

Seventeen years later, he died, destitute, in an apartment paid for by friends at the most fashionable address in the most expensive quarter of Paris.

A drawing by T. Kwiatkowski of Frederic Chopin on his deathbed, 1849

Now, at the funeral, emissaries from the world of music were outnumbered by mourners from the ranks of the rich and titled. The Polish émigré aristocracy and its French counterpart among the old noblesse were in turn outshone by new money: bankers and speculators whose wives and daughters had also been among Chopin's pupils. Certain of the fashionable, one reporter noted, appeared indecorously attired in brilliant colors, glittering with jewels. 

While the crowd filed through the portal, the closed casket was carried from the sanctuary and placed under an elaborate catafalque ("utterly pretentious," in the view of Paris's leading music critic) at the transept. Chopin's embalmed body had lain in the crypt for almost two weeks since his death on October 17, aged thirty-nine. His dying had been long and terrible, the disease that killed him still not diagnosed with certainty: tuberculosis of the larynx, cystic fibrosis, mitral stenosis, or a rare viral infection? 

Interior of La Madeleine, 1845.

With a dandy's discipline, in his final agony of slow suffocation, Chopin had planned the musical program whose principal offering was to be a performance of Mozart's Requiem. Unknown to the dying man, women were not permitted to sing in the city's parish churches; it had taken days of pleading on the part of Chopin's most powerful friends before a special dispensation was issued by the Archbishop of Paris. The decree allowed female participation provided it remained invisible; thus the women singers, including Chopin's friend Pauline Viardot among the featured soloists, were hidden from view behind a black velvet curtain. 

As the mourners took their places, the organist played the funeral march from Chopin's own Sonata in B-flat Minor. Then, the choir of the Paris Conservatory sounded the opening notes of the Requiem's Introitus, followed by the first solo — "Te decet hymnus, Deus," Viardot sang, her glorious mezzo-soprano soaring above the chorus and orchestra. Then, voices and instruments were stilled while the priest chanted the High Mass for the Dead.

Modern day interior of La Madeleine

The pallbearers emerged from their pews. Two princes, Adam and Alexandre Czartoryski, represented the community of Polish exiles. The painter Eugène Delacroix mourned the friend he had both loved and revered, calling him "the truest artist among us." From the world of music, the composer Giacomo Meyerbeer, decorations glinting against his dark mourning attire, appeared the personification of success. He had been the merest acquaintance, but Chopin, passionate for opera, had been a fan, like millions of others who had made Meyerbeer a rich man. In contrast, cellist and composer Auguste Franchomme was known to few. But the modest, scholarly professor at the Conservatory had been the inspiration for the only music Chopin would ever write for an instrument other than the piano. Franchomme was followed by a collaborator of another kind, Camille Pleyel, manufacturer of the pianos that Chopin, more than any other composer who ever lived, had made the instrument of genius. 

Shouldering the massive coffin, the six men moved up the nave to the sounds of the organ playing Chopin's Preludes in E Minor and B Minor. Many of those now leaving had heard the composer play these pieces-his favorites-in their own houses, in the salons of friends, or in Pleyel's concert rooms. The familiar notes on the somber instrument spoke of the voice they would never hear again, and they wept. 

Sick Chopin at Piano. Illustration on postcard by A. Serkowicz

Outside the church, the mourners gathered around the corbillard, the wagon hearse particular to Paris. Drawn by black plumed horses, it aroused shivers of dread, but also of excitement: Parisians loved a funeral. By this time, most of the mourners had dispersed; Chopin had forbidden any graveside ceremony. With the exception of the pallbearers, freed now of their burden, those who remained were women. They surrounded the small figure of the composer's older sister, Ludwika, summoned from Warsaw by the dying man at the end of June. "Please come, if you can," he had begged, even if she had to borrow the money, of which, he, alas, had none to advance. "Apply for a passport immediately," he urged, and lest he should sound like his familiar hypochrondriacal self, he invoked the advice of others close to him and concerned for his health who had agreed that no medicine would help him as much as the sight of his sister. At the same time, he tried to deny the urgency of his condition. "I don't know myself why I yearn to see Ludwika," he wrote, with a wan coyness, to the rest of the family. "It's like those whims of pregnant women." 

Ludwika Chopin

Chopin might have spent the last twenty years in the most emancipated company of Paris, but it was still natural to him to ask permission of his brother-in-law for Ludwika to make the journey: "A wife must obey her husband," he wrote. "Thus, I am asking you as the husband to accompany your spouse." With the intervention of the czar's ambassador to France, whose wife was Polish, the endless passport process was hastened and Ludwika, accompanied by her husband, Józef Kalasanty Jedrzejewciz, and fifteen-year-old daughter, arrived in Paris in August. But the grumpy Kalasanty returned to Poland in September; it was only Chopin's sister and his little niece Louisette who remained with him to the end. 

Another young mourner, Adolf Gutmann, thirty years old, was one of Chopin's few pupils training to be a professional musician. Others, including pianists said to be just as talented, could not have performed by virtue of birth; they were women and aristocrats of title or wealth; indeed, the most gifted of all Chopin's students was a princess, Marcelina Czartoryska, who had walked to the cemetery accompanied by Countess Delfina Potocka. Sumptuously beautiful of face and body, her golden hair as bewitching as her soprano voice, Delfina, long separated from her husband, was so prodigal with her sexual favors that she had been crowned "the Great Sinner"-no small distinction in the Paris of the July Monarchy. Chopin was rumored to have been one of her many lovers. She had rushed to Paris from her villa in Nice at the news that he was dying. With only hours to live, he had begged Delfina to play and sing for him. A piano was moved to the open door of his bedroom. But the sounds of the voice so dear to him or the music she played or sang caused spasms of choking and he motioned for her to stop. 

Death of Chopin by Félix-Joseph Barrias. Showing Potocka singing to Chopin.

Sending their carriages ahead, the Polish noblewomen walked the distance, east along the grand boulevards, skirting the slums of Paris to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Others, arriving earlier in hired cabs, stood waiting by the open grave: a brawny red-haired sculptor, Auguste Clésinger, and his young wife, Solange, daughter of George Sand. Clésinger had been summoned to the dying man's bedside to mold the death mask, but the resulting likeness-bald head, drooping eyes, mouth contorted by agonized efforts to breathe-was rejected by the horrified Ludwika. Working swiftly, the sculptor had applied another layer of wet plaster, which, after removal, he reworked, smoothing away all evidence of struggle and pain until the dead man's features were composed into an expression of Christian peace. Clésinger's reward was the commission for a funerary monument, and he now surveyed the site where his marble tribute, featuring a Muse holding a lyre, would rise above a small oval profile of the composer. 

Chopin’s Grave, All Souls’ Day.

Towering over the Clésingers, Ludwika, the priest, the Polish nobles, and the pallbearers was the angular figure of Miss Jane Stirling, a Scottish heiress, Chopin's pupil and patroness, who had supported the composer in the last year of his life. It was Stirling who had paid the bill for the funeral-five thousand pounds-of which two thousand were spent on the orchestra and chorus alone. 

In the silence ordained by the dead man, his coffin was lowered. The mourners pressed closer together for a last look. But they also seemed to close ranks, filling an empty place among them.