violent hell

Easily one of the most interesting Faustus interps I’ve seen recently was a local college production where the demons DIDNT just immediately, violently drag Faust to hell in the last scene.

Instead, as the clock was approaching midnight, soft music started playing ((Non Je Ne Regrette Rein by Edith Piaf)), and a spotlight fell on Mephistopheles, who had been standing downstage for most of the scene, hidden in darkness.

He walked across the stage, where the actor playing Faust was. He was kneeling, face in hands, openly weeping, and Mephistopheles helped him to his feet. And then they started to slow dance.

Mephistopheles was clearly leading, and Faust was just kinda slumped over on him, with his face buried in his neck, not really moving as much. And it’s all like, really genuinely tender? You get the impression that Mephistopheles is trying to make Faust’s last moments at least somewhat peaceful.

And then, as the song is getting to the last part, you see this circular red outline appear under them. It starts out really dim, but as the song draws to a close, it gets brighter and brighter. And then, during the last lines of the song, Mephistopheles let’s go of Faustus and steps out of the circle. And THAT is when Faust gets dragged to hell. The red circle starts to lower down into the stage, and you see all these hands begin to reach up and grab at Faust and at the edges of the circle. And Mephistopheles just watches. Calmly.

The stage closed back up. Faust is gone. Mephistopheles just kinda saunters over to Fausts bed and sits down on it. Then after a few seconds, the scholars come in and give their whole shpeal. However, when they go to leave, Mephistopheles gets up and follows them. Just as the Second Scholar is about to exit, Mephistopheles whispers something seductively in his ear. The scholar pauses for a moment, shakes his head, and leaves.

Chorus. End. That’s it.

The entire thing was an odd mix of tender and spooky, and it’s almost hard to get a read on what the director was going for. But I still thought it was incredibly cool.

Lilith signs 😇or 😈?

Lilith is that wild, untamed, ‘I’ve been hurt and I’m here for revenge’ type of energy. It represents the deepest, darkest facets of our sexuality and the traits we know exist within ourselves but keep hidden for the sake of peace and civility.
Aries Lilith-I wanna say these are the really aggressive, dominatrix types that really intimidate the shit out of you. They hate being perceived as weak and truly love challenges and become violent as hell when pushed to that point. Really sexually dominant and rough, bring the knee pads dude..
Taurus Lilith- oh here we got the sugar babies, the types that lust after sugar daddies and money. Their darkest traits can be found within their desire for 💰💰. They may be involved in numerous scandals and can become greedy as hell. Sexually, they are very seductive and attractive.
Gemini Lilith- I imagine these types love mind games, they like to get inside your head to assist them with whatever scandalous thing they’re after. Sexually very open and experimental, can talk you right out of your pants too.
Cancer Lilith-looks so innocent but oh so naughty. These are the types that come off as pure and innocent. They exploit others’ vulnerabilities to gain something. Sexually are pretty damn submissive.
Leo Lilith-Aren’t you miss Hollywood?? If you imagine a glamorous, charismatic, Hollywood diva with a spike of scandal then you have yourself a Leo Lilith. These types crave attention and may do terrible things to get it. Their darkest traits arise and then they are seen as vain, manipulative, power-hungry and an attention whore. Very confident but selfish in bed, nonetheless sexy.
Virgo lilith-I actually have a thing for these types, as they are pretty damn kinky. They have that Sappho kind of energy to me. Smart but sexy as hell. Modest and refined but dirty just for you..shy and kind in the streets but a freak in the sheets😉
Libra lilith- these people become very fake and vain when wronged. They may out of a facade of kindness and happiness but may be waiting on your downfall. They are very elegant with their sexuality though and are so charming.
Scorpio liltih-the darkest of them all. Prone to all kinds of manipulation and scandal. These are the femme fatales and you don’t want to ever hurt them because they will tear your world to pieces and all by hiking up their dress and showing a little leg. These types get anything they want by using their sexuality. Very revengeful and promiscuous at times. Take sexy to a very dark level..
Sagittarius liltih- I feel like these kinds don’t give a fuck about who they hurt because they’re so damn out there and when they truly want to hurt you, they will, then they’ll move on without a second thought. Very sexually promiscuous and adventurous.
Capricorn lilith- “I fucked my way to the top” will use sex as a means of climbing the corporate ladder. The type to low-key be fucking their boss. So dangerously ambitious and very ferocious when they want to get ahead in their achievements.
Aquarius lilith-these people are so kinky. They experiment everything and probably have some weird ass kinks. Very open and rebellious in their sexual nature.
Pisces lilith- a very addictive personality. I have this and I know how we can get addicted to just about anything when we are hurt and how we log to escape out pain. We use any method of escape, and sexually are submissive and kinda let others walk all over us, sexually or not. Might love having sex in water. Shower sex anyone?

anonymous asked:

Dramatic end-of-season 12 predictions: Crowley dies. Cas is thrown out of heaven and made human (either by choice or by force, not sure yet), Mary dies again (probably in a noble way.. but maybe not?), Sam and Dean lose the bunker (the MoL kick them out, empty the place and burn it to the ground as a compromised location). Season 13 sees TFW broken down, human and on the road a lot. No home base anymore & no back-up (all parents gone, no connections to heaven, hell, the MoL.. nothing.) #bleakAF

Or how about not? Let’s go with not. instead, let me offer a counter dramatic finale, yes?

Here we go: You are correct, Mary does go back to Heaven, but in this instance because she asked to be taken back, and the angels have no reason to deny her, so with a fond fare well, she’s returned back “home”, and the boys handle it okay, because they literally get to see her walk away and leave, like going from one place to another, and that’s way better than how they lost their mother before, and certainly better than how they could have lost her again, and they’re at peace with it, because her place was never on Earth with them to begin with since she’d been gone so long.

Dean and Sam find out on of the Princes of Hell is actually leading the BMOL, and along with Mick Davis, end up killing most of the heavy players in the BMOL- Mick having learned not every creature is, in fact, a monster- and some of them need saving. With the BMOL brought to it’s knees, the entrust it to Mick- who had defected to their side already and was working as a double-agent for the Winchesters.

Castiel, for his part, tells Joshua that while he will always be angel and one of their siblings, and while he does care for them, he does not love his angelic brethren, and they are not a family. And Cas basically states he’s stepping away and done with them. Don’t call me for help. Don’t come to me for any reason. Heaven can deal with its own issues, because I’m out. I’m done with this “family” that uses us until they kill us. Because, and Cas doesn’t say it, but they both know; Cas has a family he loves. Cas has a family that loves him. Dean loves him. And when he turns away, Joshua asks, “What is so special about them that you would turn you’re back on Heaven?” And Cas glances at him over his shoulder with a small smile and says, “They’re home.”

We see him step back through the door way to where Dean and Sam are waiting anxiously by the Impala, both of them visibly relaxing at the sight of him. And later, in his newly appointed room, Castiel removes his own grace and stores is away in a vial. Camera shift to where we can now see Dean leaning against the door frame watching.

“You sure about this?”

“The only family I need is here.” Turning to look at Dean. “The family I love is here.”

Dean smiles and nods to the glowing vial. “And that? Is it safe to just store?”

Cas regards it. “I thought I might use it to plant a garden like the one that sprung up when Anna’s grace fell to Earth. All of me belongs to be here and free.”

And then you’ve got Crowley, indisputable King of Hell viciously and violently kicking hell into some actual order and getting rid of the sniveling backstabbers who would dare disrespect him. It is a business- and an army- but it is run with ruthless efficiency, and Hell keeps to it’s own dealings. And final shot is of Crowley on his throne, with Hell literally and figuratively under his thumb, and to his right side, dressed in uniform appropriate to his title, is Lucifer: Knight of Hell and the King’s Hound.

World saved and False Kings and kingdoms fallen, you have Team Free Will in the Bunker War Room, and a general since of loitering from Sam until Dean and Cas walk in- Castiel now donning his own set of human clothing that’s not quite what they would wear, but suits Castiel.

“Well?” Sam asks. “World saved. Again. What now?”

Dean sucks in a breath and lets it out, scratching his head at a loss. When he opens his mouth again, he’s interrupted when a flat screen on the wall not really noticeable before lights up and we see Mick on the screen.

“Hello, Gentlemen. Everyone home and settled?”

They all kinda smile at each other, because yeah. Yeah they are.

Mick claps his hands and leans forward excitedly. “Excellent! If you wouldn’t mind, as a gesture of thanks and our new found partnership: I would like to give you gift.”

“What kind of gift?” asks Sam, brows furrowing.

Mick smirks. “What would you say to giving your bunker a technological upgrade?” They all look at each other, and then back to a grinning Mick who winks. “There are so many lives to be saved, after all.”

Pan out, fade to black, credits! Booyaka!

S13 is leading into making the MOL an actual academy to train and organize hunters, which ties into the spinoff “Wayward Daughters”, and there are constantly x-over episodes between the two.

YOU. ARE. WELCOME.

(Ask Box Open)

Don’t Look Back (ACOTAR AU) - Part 7

This is 3000 words. Enjoy. (Also there are major parallels to ACOMAF in this one, can you guess what it is ;) )

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18Part 19


The letter that Cassian held in his hand was small. The handwriting was long and elegant, the stamp unrecognizable. He traced his fingers over his name and address. The return address was not there. Without even opening it, he knew the contents. It was nearing his 18th birthday, and soon, he would be able to legally enquire on who his biological parents were. Ines knew very little too, after taking him from foster care at 5 years old. His blood mother and father were so foreign to him. He didn’t even know whether they were both alive, considering the contents of this letter could be sent by anyone.

Rhys knocked on the door to his room, “Dude, do you want to go or not? We need to get on the shots soon.”

Cassian quickly hid the letter beneath his pillow, running his hand through his hair and spraying a final mist of cologne on.

He opened the door, threw his arm round his younger brother and said, “Let’s get this party started.”

***

Feyre ignored Tamlin’s texts. She had been ignoring him for over a day now ever since he slammed the door to her house. Lucien told her to talk to him in person, but Feyre didn’t even want to do that. But to get out of this relationship, she did need to break off in person. An over year long relationship cannot be ended via a single text, Tamlin probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

After only just finishing her shift at the Café, she quickly swiped her god knows how long old mascara on her eyelashes, then applied one of her sisters old lipstick’s that she had stolen when she was 13. God, she wished she was actually at least half decent at makeup. Her sister, Nesta, was perfect at it - never left the house without an Instagram worthy face of makeup on.

Her phone buzzed to announce Lucien’s arrival and she took one last look in the mirror. Basically wearing the same denim skirt and vans she did yesterday, she decided to spice it up with a pink shimmery halter neck crop top. She steeled herself and went to meet Lucien outside after kissing her father on the cheek in goodbye as he watched TV with a glass of wine in hand.

“Aw, you look adorable,” Lucien said as she slid into the passenger seat, he reached out to pinch her cheek but she slapped his hand away while he laughed.

“Are you going to piss me off all night?” she asked. Lucien shook his head with a completely unconvincing grin as he drove off back to where he lived, as Clare Beddor’s house was only a street away.

Even as Lucien parked on his drive, Feyre could already hear the pounding music down the next street.

The September air was becoming chilly, so Lucien put his arm round her shoulder as they walked. Her heart was beginning to pound, the all familiar anxiety built in Feyre’s chest as they approached the mass amount of people pouring into and out of the house. She needed alcohol - quickly.

Lucien pulled her through the crowds of people that littered the giant hallway of the house, already seeing the destination of the kitchen. As they got there, there were less people, and Feyre downed the drink – vodka shot – that Lucien handed to her. They did two more shots together, Feyre coughing uncontrollable on the third as Lucien laughed at her expense.

“Careful now, that’s strong vodka,” said Tarquin, as he sidled up next to them.

“Hey! How’s the swimming going?” asked Feyre, the alcohol already seeping through her body. Tarquin had left high school early after being offered a swimming scholarship, Feyre had been quite friendly with him until Tamlin told him to back off.

“Will be in the next Olympics, so you can guess that it’s going pretty well,” he looked between them, “Are you two…you know.”

Lucien and Feyre looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I’m taking that as a no,” he said draining the rest of his drink. “I will see you guys later, I’m going to watch Helion and Rhys destroy the shit out of Bron and Hart at beer pong.”

***

Rhys was high fiving every hand in sight at the end of the beer pong tournament. He hugged Helion with tears in his eyes, “Reigning champions yet again my friend.”

Helion clasped him on the back before pulling away, holding the tiny plastic trophy between them. “I will place this in our trophy cabinet,” Helion slurred. Cassian approached with three shots in hand, and the three of them toasted to their victory.

After burning their throats with Sambuca, Cassian leaned into his little brother and whispered, “6 o clock, Feyre’s here and she’s looking hot.”

Rhys turned to see Feyre in the lounge with Lucien, they were talking deeply about something. He could bet money that their discussion was orientated around Tamlin, considering he just arrived with his football friends. Fuckboy friends more like. Rhys’ attention was brought back to Helion as he told them that he was going to pursue a potential threesome, he unbuttoned more buttons on his shirt – he might as well be shirtless – and stalked off to a guy and girl in the corner of the hallway.

Maybe it was the alcohol that was flowing through his veins that made him begin walking towards Feyre and Lucien despite the small protest from Cassian or maybe it was – no it was definitely the alcohol that was giving him the courage to do this right now. Feyre turned to see him approach and damn yep, Cassian was right, she did look hot. Her collar bones were peaking out under her top and he had the strange desire to lick them – yes, Rhys was slightly intoxicated.

“Feyre darling,” he said in greeting throwing an arm around her shoulder and kissing her forehead. Jesus he needed to tone it down. Lucien shot him daggers and Rhys couldn’t help the sharp grin that made its way onto his face.

“Christ, you two, can you not have a pissing contest right here,” Feyre said, removing herself from under his arm and placing it to his now cold and empty side.

Rhys winked at Lucien and his right eye twitched in what seemed to be anger. He felt Feyre tense even though he wasn’t touching her and he followed her line of sight towards Tamlin moving towards them looking sober and ready to throw a punch.

Shit.

***

Feyre was already moving towards her boyfriend, pressing her hands to his chest. The alcohol had made things slow down a bit, but she managed to bring him to a halt before reaching Rhys and Lucien.

“Why don’t you grab a drink for both of us?” she asked, trying to ease the tension radiating from his body. Surprisingly, he did what she asked, shooting Rhysand a venomous glare before heading to the kitchen.

She heard Rhys whistle in surprise, “Wow, so he does listen to what you say.”

“Fuck off Rhys,” she spat.

He tapped her nose, “Now that wasn’t nice.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here Rhysand, but you’re making things worse,” said Lucien, who no longer looked angry, just resigned and tired.

Rhys sighed, “I’ve been told that a lot.” He looked to Feyre, but she wouldn’t look back. Not while Tamlin was here. “I’ll be off then, see you later, darling.”

He retreated back into the crowd of people, she saw Mor’s golden hair bouncing through the crowd to meet him.

Lucien brought his hand to her shoulder, “I’m going to find Tam, I can’t see him in the kitchen. You coming?”

Feyre looked around for someone to talk to since finding Tamlin was something she didn’t want to do. Tonight, she wanted to avoid him at all costs. Spotting Azriel standing alone, blending in with the wall of the dining room, she said, “No, I’ll be alright. See you later.”

She walked away, trying to squeeze her way through grinding bodies and people almost having sex on couches. Parties were quite disgusting. As she neared Azriel, he noticed her with a tiny smile and a small nod.

“Not drinking?” she asked in greeting.

“No, I’m the driver.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not really, sometimes it’s amusing watching others do stupid drunk stuff,” he pointed out the window, and Feyre saw a group of people trying to do a human pyramid. He then pointed towards the hallway where someone was attempting to a backflip. They both winced as they heard the thud of a body fallen on wooden floors. “See?”

She leaned against the wall next to him, observing the party around them. Her vision was still a bit slow and delayed. Only a few moments later did Cassian turn up, almost tripping over a chair then apologising to it before slumping on the wall next to Feyre.

He handed her his cup, and she took a swig before handing it back to him, coughing violently.

“Fucking hell Cassian, what is in that?”

He brought it to his mouth and drank, “Fuck, I have no idea, tastes like whiskey mixed with peach schnapps and something else…” He shuddered but took another gulp.

“Feyre Archeron,” he mused. Feyre looked at him saying, “What?” as Azriel shook his head in warning.

He started to well up, tears forming in his eyes, “It’s just…he…the love he has…” He cut himself off before pulling Feyre into a bone crushing hug.

“Cassian, you’re squeezing me.”

“That’s the point of a hug, Feyre Archeron. That’s the point of a hug,” he slurred.

“…Cass, can’t breathe right now.” He let go, wiping his eyes before picking up his cup and wandering off, high fiving random people on the way.

“That was…strange,” she said turning back to Azriel.

“He’s an emotional drunk,” said Az.

***

Mor was trying to convince Rhys that challenging Tamlin to a dance off was not a good way to win Feyre’s favour.

“I have six years of ballet under my belt,” said Rhys, “I would love to see a shitty football player face moi.”

She patted her cousin on the shoulder in sympathy. He was looking longingly across the house to where Feyre was standing with Azriel.

“Why does it seem that she hates me, but not you or Az or Cass or even Amren,” he sighed, taking another sip out of his concoction.

“She doesn’t hate you Rhys.”

“Maybe I should ask her.” He started towards her and Mor caught hold of his arm, a warning look in her eyes. She hadn’t drank much, only enough to keep her buzzed, and so she was the voice of reason to Rhys’ drunk one at the moment.

“Morrigan, should you not release me, I will drag you along with me.” And with that he started to move, Mor trying to hold him back but he was unstoppable. Fine, you bastard, embarrass yourself.

She gave Azriel a worried look as they neared, and Rhys made a casual attempt to stand by Feyre.

“Do you hate me Feyre Archeron?” he asked nonchalantly.

Mor could tell Feyre was quite drunk in that moment as she grabbed Rhys’ drink and downed the rest of it before saying, “No Rhys, I hate that you wear fancy ass jeans every day. I hate that you call me darling. I hate that you bump your elbow into mine when we’re writing purely to get my attention. But I don’t hate you, you prick.” She coughed abruptly, “And dear God, I hated what was in that drink.”

Rhys smiled dreamily, “Marry me.”

“Woah-kay,” said Mor, at the same time Feyre slurred, “Maybe.”

Mor didn’t even notice the presence of Lucien Vanserra, who reached between Azriel and herself to grab Feyre by the forearm.

“Jesus, Fey, now is not the time to cuddle up to Rhys Spera.”

She looked towards the kitchen, where Tamlin stood with his friends and the look on his face actually made her fear for Feyre. Azriel noticed it too and they shared a look as Lucien guided Feyre back to her boyfriend.

Suddenly, Azriel grasped Rhys by the chest in attempt to pin him to the wall to stop him from falling. “And that’s enough for you tonight, Rhys,” soothed Azriel.

Clare Beddor approached with a cup of water in hand, “He’s going to need this.”

Mor thanked her as Clare went off to hand out more cups of water for her drunken guests. Poor Clare, it’s supposed to be her party. Azriel ended up gently sitting Rhys against the wall. At least he was conscious.

As Mor gave him the cup, Rhys downed it in a few gulps before saying, “Shit, I nearly pailed.”

“And you just asked Feyre to marry you,” said Azriel, sitting beside him.

Rhys smiled again, “She said maybe.”

Mor looked back to the kitchen to now see Feyre, Lucien and Tamlin gone.

***

“We need to talk, don’t we Feyre?” Tamlin brought his arm around Feyre’s shoulders.

Lucien stopped in front of them, “I’ll come with you.” Tamlin grasped Lucien on the shoulder, in what seemed to be a friendly manner, but she could see his fingers tightening. She didn’t hear the words they exchanged, the noise of the party was growing more deafening.

Tamlin propelled her forward, the hand on her waist was firm as he brought her up the stairs of the Beddor household. The panic rising in Feyre’s chest alone was enough to sober Feyre up a little bit.

“Tamlin, can we not do this now?”

He held her tighter, guiding her to the furthest end of the corridor, “We are doing this now whether you like it or not, Feyre.”

The room they walked into must have been a guest room, as it was untouched apart from few ornaments , a desk and chair and an ensuite on the opposite side. Tamlin let go, closing the door behind him as Feyre retreated from him slowly.

Thankfully, Tamlin stayed where he was, his face was cool but his eyes betrayed him.

“Tell me why you were flirting with a fuck ton of guys tonight, Feyre.”

Feyre’s palms began to sweat as she scoffed in disgust, “Flirting? Jesus Tamlin, I can have male friends.”

“Bron said he saw you getting close with that bastard Cassian.”

Bron said,” she shook her head, “Cassian hugged me, in a completely platonic way, get over yourself.”

He took a step closer, “You seemed awfully cosy with Rhysand Spera,” he spat his name like it was sour on his tongue.

“He’s my friend.”

“And I’m your boyfriend. You’re going to stop talking to him, looking at him, fucking him, whatever the fuck you’re doing with him.” He was dangerously close now, and Feyre hadn’t realised she was moving backwards until she hit the chest of draws on the opposite side of the room to her only exit.

You’re powerful, said Mor. She replayed it like a mantra in her head. “I’m not fucking him, Tamlin. He was assigned to me to help me.”

“Then you will get reassigned,” his arms braced against the chest of draws, locking her in. It was becoming harder to breathe now.

“This is over. You cannot control me, Tamlin,” she said shakily, “I’m going to return back downstairs now. And you can’t do anything because you’re no longer my boyfriend. So let me go.”

He leaned in closer, and she could see the wildfire in his green eyes, his pupils so dilated his eyes looked black. “I think I’m the one who decides when this relationship ends. You’re not re-joining the party. You’re coming home with me.”

Feyre felt fire flood her veins. Her panic was overwhelmed by this burning rage. “No,” she spat, “I’m not. I’m not your girlfriend. So I can talk to, flirt with and fuck any guy I want and you’re not going to do anything about it because you’re-“

A sharp pain burst through Feyre’s back as she was shoved into the draws. She couldn’t dwell on it for very long as hands wrapped around her arms and she was being dragged sideways. The next moment she collided with a solid cold wall - no a bath. She fell to the floor, her back aching in pain. The black and white tiles beneath her were icy cold and kept her grounded to reality as she registered what just happened. There was a slam and the realisation hit her hard as she raced to the door, her back protesting, and shook the handle to open it but it wouldn’t – like it was blocked on the otherside.

“Tamlin,” she choked out. She couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol that was clouding her vision or the panic or the tears. Her hand slammed on the door. “Tamlin, let me out!”

Her body was shaking and her mind was racing and oh god she couldn’t breathe why couldn’t she breathe? “Tamlin,” she almost screamed, his name burned like fire in her throat. There was a sudden movement beyond the door. She could barely hear him over her own sobs.

“I love you. But I don’t trust you,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Tamlin, please.”

“This is for the best. If you’re in here, I won’t get angry, understand?”

“I can’t breathe, Tamlin, I can’t breathe.”

“I’ve got your phone, I will keep it safe, don’t worry.” She heard his footsteps retreating, and she starting pounding frantically on the door. Her hands were slick with sweat and she felt sick – like she was going to throw up –

Feyre emptied the contents of her stomach in the sink, her breathing was ragged. She slumped to the floor, crawling to the door as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. She hadn’t even realised that the bathroom was dark save from the sliver of light from the small window and she grasped the wall for a light to regain some sanity. But it wasn’t there, it must have been on the outside so Feyre slumped back to the floor, her ragged sobs breaking the silence of the room.


ummmmmmmmm yeah ur gonna have to wait until wednesday

Lotta love <3 (rlly excited to see ur comments on this one LOL)

@ronniesquirrel @shesells136seashells @highladyofthedark @tiny1hallie @dreams-of-feysand @dreamingofradescapes @rowanismybae @my-parabatai-is-a-herondale

@marabarrow (it seems like tagging doesnt work on mobile, because this app is trash. As soon as the next chapter is up when I get back from holiday you will be properly tagged <3 )

3

The Woodchipper Murder

Beautiful Helle Crafts was a thirty-nine-year old flight attendant when she mysteriously vanished from her home in Newton, Connecticut, on November 19 1986. Her husband, Richard, told her friends and employers that she had travelled back to her native Denmark, and didn’t know when she would return.

What Richard didn’t tell people was that Helle had filed divorce proceedings against him due to his numerous affairs and violent temper. Helle had confided in her friends that ‘if she disappeared it wouldn’t be accidental’, and after weeks passed with no sign of her, they called the police.

When the police searched Richard’s home he shared with Helle they found a number of disquieting objects - strips of stained carpet, a blood-smeared bed post, and receipts for a rented chainsaw and outdoor woodchipper. There was no sign of Helle anywhere. Convinced Richard was lying about her whereabouts, the police decided to investigate all the tips and callers who had claimed to see anything unusual in the weeks following her disappearance.

The tactic worked. A snow plow driver had called the police just a day after Helle was last seen to report a man using a woodchipper by Lake Zoar during a heavy snowstorm. The description the driver gave of the man perfectly matched Richard Crafts. Police were immediately dispatched to the lake, where they made a horrific discovery.

In a small pile by a bank of snow investigators found three-pounds of human tissue, four toes with pink polish, a single tooth, hundreds of bone chips, and masses of bloody blonde hair. The tissue was soon confirmed to be be of human origin, and the tooth was conclusively matched to Helle Crafts. After he murdered her, Richard had stored Helle’s body in a freezer before dismembering her corpse with a chainsaw and feeding it through a woodchipper.

Richard Crafts was promptly arrested and put on trial, but it resulted in a hung jury. A second trial found Richard guilty of murder, and in 1989 he was sentenced to fifty years in prison for killing his wife. He will be eligible for parole in 2021.

Doing “Justice”: Randyll Tarly Is Not Fair

Let’s put aside for a second the abominable abuse he inflicted upon Sam, and the misogyny with which he treats Brienne. Let’s just look at how Randyll Tarly makes his in-person entrance in AFFC, and examine a short part of Brienne III.

They found Lord Tarly in the fishmarket, doing justice.

Keep reading

Moth & Rust Part II

Warnings: Talk that is particularly dirty, blatant lack of mercy, very sweaty sheets

Word Count: 3,540

Thank you to anon, whose request pushed me to finish this piece that I was procrastinating on. Please let me know what you think and send me love, it keeps me young and wrinkle-free. Happy sinning!

Tommy’s reflection carefully disassembled its tuxedo in the mirror of your vanity, your eyes watching him carefully as you took off your earrings and let down your curls. He was collected - too collected - the clink of the cuff-links you gave him two Christmases ago the only sound as he dropped them on his dresser.

Tonight had gone poorly, to say the least. The benefit dinner full of toffs that you two had already been dreading became unbearably worse when an old sweetheart of yours coincidentally appeared, too drunk and too nostalgic once he saw you. Richard had been a fling at the end of a hot summer from years past, years before Tommy, your love having ended as soon as the cicadas had died out.

But too much brandy and the bitterness of seeing you on Tommy’s arm had inspired Richard to drive you into a corner, talking of second chances while begging for you sloppily with reaching hands. Just as you were about to kick Richard in between his legs yourself, Tommy had emerged from a business discussion just in time to furiously break Richard’s nose in front of a social circle that would be talking of nothing else but that until something more scandalous occurred.

Tommy’s cool silence began immediately after he deciphered that you were alright, the ride home as awkward for your driver as it was for you. Although you knew he wasn’t angry at you, the collected reserve in his icy eyes made you worry, his face blank except for faint signs of the thoughts churning within. He undid the buttons of his shirt smoothly, his knuckles barely swollen as if the bone they’d smashed was nothing, child’s play.

“Tommy?”

“Mm,” he answered.

You turned around on your stool, his mere reflection no longer enough. “Are you alright?”

Tommy’s eyes met yours in his mirror. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Yes, I know that,” you replied, crossing the room so he could unzip your dress, the habit of your routine wordless as he obliged, the tip of his finger intentionally dragging down your spine as the fabric spread to reveal your skin. “But are you alright?”

“I am now,” he grumbled, pushing your dress from your shoulders, brushing your hair to the side so he could kiss the place where your necklace closed.

Sure in his movements, Tommy peeled your dress off and pushed it past your hips, the silk piling gracefully on the floor. The fabric of your bra whispered as he untied it, tossing it away carelessly as he began to suck on your neck. You sighed and laid your head back against his chest, his cologne and his lips making your eyes flutter shut.

Tommy tilted your head to him so he could kiss your lips, firmly gripping your breast. His other hand drifted to your hip, tracing the line of your underwear that drew itself across your stomach, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Slipping his hand behind you to cup your ass, he slowly curled the fabric into his fist, clenching and unclenching as he toyed with it.

“Don’t rip it Tommy, I like this one” You murmured breathily, distracted by his teeth on your earlobe, realizing your mistake after the window to correct it had already closed.

Tommy abandoned your now-hardened nipple to slide his hand up your neck to cover your mouth, squeezing it and rocking you gently in his grip. His whisper was a velvet razor in your ear, “Do you give the orders, little bird? I don’t think you do.”

The shredding of the expensive satin and lace made you groan into his hand as Tommy tore it from you with ease, a pearly button flying and hitting the windows behind your bed.

“Much better,” Tommy mused, pulling the last scrap of satin from your ass as he left a lovebite on your neck. “Get on the couch.”

Tommy released you and pushed you forward gently, watching you lithely climb onto the couch in your bedroom that you used for little else but fucking. Kneeling on the seats and resting your head on the cushions, your hair spilled over the back of the couch, your legs spread as you waited patiently.

The skin of your ass was mottled with bruises, some old and some new, from both Tommy’s hands and his belt. Your breath hitched as he ran his palm over them, unsure if you could take any new additions. Reading your nervous mind, Tommy shushed you gently as he rubbed the discolored skin, sinking to his knees behind you.

Surprise made you gasp when his lips were suddenly hot on your clit, his tongue flicking you lightly. Gripping your ass, kneading your bruises so they ached just enough to make you wet, he kissed you wherever he pleased, pausing only to leave teeth marks on the inside of your thighs.

The lovely feeling of vice came to visit as Tommy teased you with his tongue, the rawness of it washing over your skin and making your toes curl; it wrung your mind of any thoughts but his mouth between your legs.

Tommy was feeling gracious tonight, balancing out the dull pain he was massaging into your bruises with the waves of bliss that rushed through your body from his tongue. Whimpers turned to moans as he pushed a finger inside of you, your pussy tightening as he hooked it to rub your g-spot until your back arched.

“Good girl,” his praise mumbled with lips still on your clit. “You like that don’t you?”

You just gasped in response, Tommy’s finger working you up faster than usual, sliding over your sweetest spot with a delicious pressure.

“Tommy, I’m going to cum-” you whined, your words trailing off weakly when he removed his tongue from your clit only to rub it how you liked, still fucking you with his finger.

“Yes, little bird,” he said matter-of-factly in a low voice, but slightly amused, as if he knew something you didn’t, pressing his lips to the cheek of your ass. “Yes you are.”

And so you did, hard and senseless, Tommy’s dirty murmurs and the velvet of the couch beneath you the only signs you were still on earth. Tommy left wet kisses on the bruises of his handprints, his fingers slowing in their rubbing and fucking.

Coming down slowly, you breathed heavily on the couch. Tommy stood and made his way back to you, holding your head as he rubbed his finger wet with your cum over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth. You gazed up at him and bobbed your head as you sucked it clean, savoring your sweetness and humming gratefully.

Tommy was silent as he watched you, still as cool and collected as he had been since you had left your catastrophic dinner together. Confusion made you uneasy; Tommy wasn’t one to forget another man’s hands on you and you found it hard to believe that a single crunching bone had been enough to sate his anger. Tommy’s ire was something to be feared, palpable when provoked, violent and hell-bred, whispered about in the streets.

After the boys would be out fighting - back when it occurred far more often than it ever did now - Tommy would come looking for you afterwards, fucking you raw on the first surface he could find. His furious energy needed an outlet before it destroyed him. But tonight he was eerily calm, looking at you with a smoldering possession that didn’t need to be spoken, brushing your cheekbone with his knuckles as he pulled his finger from your lips.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

Soft thumps echoed in your brain as you heard Tommy remove the blankets and pillows from your bed, tossing them to the floor. You resisted the urge to look, your ass throbbing in a plea for you to obey for its own sake; you knew any more than three spanks of punishment would most likely bring tears.

Tommy’s footsteps came up behind you, his preparations complete, and he slid a finger inside you before carefully pulling you off the couch. He held you still by your hair and smiled at you devilishly as he moved in and out of your pussy, watching your anxious face unwind under his touch.

“I hope you don’t think I’m angry at you,” he said, kissing you quickly before smoothly picking you up to toss you on the bed, your body bouncing softly.

“Because actually,” he continued, grabbing one of your ankles and kissing your calf before placing it near the corner of the bed you shared, opening your legs. “It’s quite the opposite.”

Automatically obedient, you pointed your limbs towards their corresponding corners, your body a limber x. Tommy slid a finger up and down your pussy in reward, making you whine as he circled your clit. “Good girl. Do you know why I’m not angry tonight?”

Shaking your head, you watched him walk around the mattress slowly, your nerve endings tense as you waited for an answer.

There were times when Tommy’s binds were fast: knotting his tie around you in haste, wrapping your own stockings around your ankles before you could react. But tonight he took his time, leisurely making his way around to each wrist and each ankle, fastening them tightly to their corresponding corners with the black ribbons you kept tucked stealthily under the bed.

Tommy made his way back around, pulling gently on each of your ties to make sure he was satisfied. Leaning over you, he ran his lips up your neck and grazed his teeth on your jaw before squeezing your cheeks with his hand, watching you as he hissed in your ear.

“I’m not angry because you’re mine,” his voice like venom as he began to rub your clit, “And no one can do to you what I can, isn’t that right little bird?”

Moaning appreciatively, agreements spilled from your lips over and over as Tommy rubbed your clit gently, smirking as he listened to you whimper for him. Brushing your cheekbone, he pressed a kiss there before crawling onto the bed, kissing his way down your body and pulling gasps from you.

The arctic fire of his eyes seared you as you refused to look away from his expanding pupils, your back arching as Tommy gave both of your breasts generous attention, the hand between your legs getting wetter as he continued to play with you.

Panting, you blushed at yourself when you felt an orgasm creeping closer, again. You knew Tommy could feel it, his lips telltale as they twitched upwards, your pussy tightening around his fingers. He didn’t make a sound, dipping his head to flick his tongue over your clit, beckoning you to the brink.

“Tommy,” you breathed, “I’m gonna cum. Please, Tommy, please.”

“Mm,” he hummed on your clit, the vibration from his throat nearly making you scream before he pulled away, leaving a hollow ache in your pussy, “Not yet, you’re missing something.”

Agile with purpose, Tommy was across the room and back in seconds, kissing you deeply, his hand in your hair. You sighed, your pussy throbbing and nerves aching as he ran his tongue around yours, tasting like whiskey.

“Open your mouth,” he said, working his fingers out of your curls to flex them around your throat, a quiet growl rolling in his chest when your jaw fell open compliantly.

Tommy shushed your squeak of surprise as he pushed the satin of your destroyed lingerie into your mouth, muffling your whimpers indefinitely as the fabric stifled you quiet. Your restraints creaked as you flexed, Tommy’s suppression nearly making you cum all on its own, your smothered mewls clouding his eyes with a dark need.

Letting you writhe without reproach, Tommy left another lovebite on your neck, marking you covetously with his teeth, rubbing your clit and humming in amusement at your desperate moans.

Tommy brought you to the edge again, pressing his forehead to yours as he watched your brows furrow in effort, your hips rolling helplessly into his hand. You mumbled a plea into your lingerie but he ignored it, giving you nothing but a look of sympathy, mocking you.

Unanswered was your begging, Tommy remaining silent as he rubbed you until you came, forcing you over the edge, permission never granted because he didn’t care if you asked. Your blood pounded and your eyes closed as you moaned, your teeth sinking into the undergarments that filled your mouth.

Orgasm barely having ebbed, you craned your neck to the side to watch Tommy as he moved down your body, pushing two fingers inside your dripping tightness. Widening your eyes at him you whined in confusion, your pussy painfully sensitive. Tommy smirked.

And that smirk would be his only answer, giving your clit nothing but a moment before running his tongue over it lightly, making your hips twist. Slowly you begin to understand, a groan slipping from your lips when the thought settled in your mind with a sinful disgrace: Tommy wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon.  

Teasing was one thing to endure, being mercilessly forced to cum was another.

Tommy smiled against your wetness before pulling on your clit with his lips, sucking until you cried out, your sensitivity of no concern to him as he proceeded to remind you who you belonged to, even though he knew you never wanted to forget.

A sixth orgasm tore through you. Your muscles were wracked, the bed now soaked with your wetness. You loved it and you knew it, your hair damp with sweat as you moaned into your lingerie, breathing in the taste of yourself, expensive fabric, and perfume. Tommy showed no signs of tiring as he fucked you with his fingers relentlessly, his mouth now on your nipple, rolling it in his teeth.

Having no idea how much time was passing, or if Tommy was ever going to stop, you laid there, helpless to his torture. Reveling in how depraved you felt, lustfully ashamed of your own wantonness, you squirmed on the bed as you came once more, your cries unheard in your satin-filled mouth.

“Such a slut for me, aren’t you?” Tommy cooed, slowing his fingers only for a few moments to let you catch your senses. “That was number seven, do you think we should keep going? Do you think you can keep cumming, little bird?”

As if you had a choice.

Tommy’s finger began to circle your clit again and distracted you from answering his seemingly rhetorical question, your hips jerking as he flicked your nerves, burning with stimulation.

Pain turned your blood hot as Tommy’s hand fell in quick slaps on the inside of your thighs, the last one landing right in between your legs, making you cry out.

“I asked you a question,” Tommy said, his voice deep and sharp with order.

“I don’t know,” you cried in answer, your voice breaking as he smacked your pussy again, harder this time, singeing your clit before filling you up with two of his fingers to soothe you.

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned gently, beginning to fuck you with his fingers in tantalizing strokes. “Do you remember what happens when you lie to me?”

The belt-shaped bruises on your ass pulsed, you whimpered, “Yes, I can keep cumming.”

“That’s much better,” Tommy hummed, pressing his lips to your forehead firmly before he moved down your body to bury his face between your legs.

Each orgasm wracked you more than the last - a delicious pain that made your toes curl and your moans turn to pleas. Although his eyes were devilish and unsympathetic, you knew he worshipped you; each time you came a shiver ran up his spine, his teeth baring as he praised you.

Tonight had riled a jealousy in him that was hungry, your orgasms the only thing it craved. Tommy turned you into a licentious mess as you begged for his cock over and over, not caring that your mouth was full of your used lingerie or that your cum was soaking the mattress.

But Tommy was getting ravenous, his hands gripping you hard on your ribcage, his kisses to your clit roughening as he grew impatient.

“Who do you belong to, little bird?” Tommy hissed, his face an inch from your pussy as he fucked you with a single finger, torturing you.

The words got lost in your throat as you came again, crying out as your body begged for mercy. Tommy took your orgasm as an answer, murmuring onto your clit, “Good girl.”

Suddenly and without a word, Tommy reached behind him to nimbly untie your ankles before moving to do the same to your wrists. Roughly flipping you onto your stomach he re-tied your wrists but not your ankles, keeping your thighs apart.

Groaning quietly, he lined his cock up with your entrance, working his way into you as he held your face to the mattress. You nearly came from just the feeling of his size inching in and out, stretching your tightness more each time as he came close to filling you at last.

Once he did he paused, reaching under himself to slowly close your legs, locking him into you. Mewling, your eyes rolled back as your tightness became impossibly tighter, Tommy’s knees on either side of your legs, holding your cum-soaked thighs together.

Held snugly by your tightness, you could feel Tommy throbbing inside you, each pulse making you want to roll your hips. But he had you pinned with his cock, and your body’s weakened muscles were useless against his strength. He laid on his forearms, his chest on your back, his breath hot in your ear as he pulled the gag of satin from your mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking his time to slide in and out of your pussy as he worked your lingerie out of your mouth. “Do you want to be fucked like the little slut that you are?”

You nodded, a hollow yes coming from your throat as Tommy held your mouth open, squeezing your jaw tightly.

Tommy fucked you hard, his anger finally showing as he drove his cock into you so deeply that it flirted with the idea of being painful. You certainly didn’t mind, moaning loudly as Tommy’s size fucked you senseless. Raw anger bled from him as he held you by the throat, whispering savage things to you as you tightened even more, your orgasm coming for you.

“Tommy,” you panted, feeling like you were going to faint from lusty exhaustion, “I’m gonna cum.”

It came out as more of a complaint than an announcement, Tommy slowing the strokes of his hips as he growled into your ear, “You don’t sound very happy. Aren’t you my good little slut?”

You managed a nod as Tommy pushed himself up and off of your back, pulling your hips up with him, your ass in the air, chest on the bed.

“Then you’re going to cum until I decide to stop making you.”

A whimper got caught in your chest as he kneeled behind you, pushing your legs apart and rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. Tommy swore under his breath, gripping your ass and squeezing as he slid over your pussy, so wet you could hear it.

“Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped, the smooth heat of his cock on your clit pulling your orgasm closer.

Musing quietly, Tommy continued to rub himself against you, “And to think you weren’t sure if you could cum again.”

Tommy pushed inside you with a rough thrust, filling you to the brink, your cry loud as you pulled your restraints in desperation, feeling the satin cut into your wrists. If the maids hadn’t been awake before, they were now.

Mercy was something you did not receive as Tommy fucked you through two more orgasms, praising you as you came all over his cock. Tiring was not on his agenda, and your body was slack with a defeated submission as Tommy held you by the hips, driving his cock into you again and again, using your pussy for himself.

Only after another orgasm pulsed through you destructively did Tommy start to get close himself, his breath heavy as his fingers dug into your hipbones. Growling your name, Tommy swore as he spilled his cum into you, pulling out to let some of it flow onto your ass.

Each muscle in your body hummed with its own individual exhaustion, your skin was shiny with sweat, your pussy swollen and throbbing. Tommy laid over you and untied your wrists, brushing your hair from your face and kissing you gently as he murmured to you tenderly, his heart pounding. Exhaustion finally caught up with you, your body begging for sleep as Tommy wrapped you in a blanket, picking you up carefully.

Tommy carried you down the hall to one of the guest rooms, pouring you gently into bed before he joined you, holding you close to his chest as he whispered you to sleep, his kisses on your hairline the last thing you remember before the two of you fell into the deepest sleep you’d had in months.

why poi? 

i’d heard there were artificial intelligences and lesbians and cyberpunk aesthetics and yea it had all of that (!!!!)

but everyone failed to mention how much fucking fun this show has existing in a hyper violent new york city where people don’t have bones (warning: car crash / car crashing)

DreamCatcher

Words: 13k (oops) 

Genre: Fluff & Angst

Summary: When your dreams are more or less nightmares, monsters inside your head that eat you alive, it seems like the only person who can help you is Min Yoongi, professional dream chaser. 

Originally posted by yoohngs

The monsters are always there.

Ever since you were little, you’ve been chased by nightmares. The monsters that lived inside your head, distorted memories that were fixed to be outright horrifying. They fed on your fears and shoved them to you, like unwanted Christmas presents wrapped in pretty bows and ugly patterns. They evolved as you grew older and their persistent never stopped no matter how hard you tried to run, like a tail attached to you. When you blinked, eyelids closed and darkness flooding your vision, they’d come back. And even when you opened your eyes again, they were still there. They’re always there.

Keep reading

Well, was that a main event or what? Even though RAW and SmackDown had women’s main events, Nikki vs. Asuka absolutely smoked them. The powerbomb into the steel chair pile, the insane suplex off the ladder through the announce table, all of it was nuts. Violent as hell, which is how this match type should be.

based on dante’s inferno, what circle of hell do you think eric and dylan would be in?

Those in the know are probably already aware, but for anyone not plugged in or from the St Louis area:

Tonight after a peaceful protest downtown, I watched as a police vehicle sped backward through a crowd of demonstrators, very nearly hitting and running over them.

When the inevitable angry response happened, police deployed as if there had been violence and unrest.

This is the tactic I have seen utilized again and again for years now. Police instigate a situation, which escalates, then use it as a pretext to attack. The local and national press dutifully follows along, painting the protestors as violent and hell bent on confronting police.

I know some of you may be skeptical, and I understand that, but I struggle to find the patience to convince the doubters when it’s plain to anyone who’s dealt with police at demonstrations in St. Louis.

Today we saw again that even at the most well organized, peaceful gatherings, the police are apt to engage in dangerous and unprofessional stunts, and to bait demonstrators.

As an addendum, I have seen the official remarks released by the PD about this incident. They are GROSSLY misleading. The claim that the driver was blocked off and had only one way to escape the hordes of rock throwing protestors is utter trash. Olive street was open westward for blocks before any obstruction. I struggle to believe the driver, who was in reverse, couldn’t have angled left. That’s insulting.

Isn’t It Funny - A No, It’s Bucky Deleted Scene

Originally posted by chrisandchips

Summary: It is days after graduation and Steve has discovered a very interesting thing.

Pairing: Bucky x female Reader

Word Count: 528

A/N: Well here it is! The first (of many) deleted scenes from “No, It’s Bucky”. A lot of you asked for H/S stories so I might start with that. Who knows.

Hope you guys like it and more will be added in soon

NO, IT’S BUCKY - MASTERLIST



Steve sat patiently in the diner waiting for Bucky to arrive. Ever since ‘the incident’ at graduation, Bucky had been doing everything he could to make sure Steve was nowhere near (Y/N). This obviously had left Steve in an awkward position, does he hang out with Buck to keep him happy and  risk upsetting (Y/N), or does he hang out with (Y/N) so she is happy which will just make Bucky angry?

Either way he was torn.

Sighing, Steve rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands till little white stars clouded his vision. He didn’t even know what actually happened at Graduation. One minute Steve is talking to the Principal about the college he got into and his plans for the future and the next minute Bucky is walking over to him, clutching his bloody nose as a very angry looking (Y/N) glares at him from across the hall. All he could get out of Bucky was that there was a misunderstanding and every time he brought up what happened with (Y/N), she changed the subject and threatened to hit him with a pillow if he brought it up again. Hopefully one of them would tell him soon because this was just getting ridiculous

The door to the diner chimed as it opens and in walked Bucky, his arm around his new girl of the week. This was also something that Bucky has been doing lately, a new girl on his arm constantly.

The three fell into comfortable conversation for a while till Steve’s phone beeped, a message popping up from a certain female he isn’t allowed to talk about inviting him out for dinner.

Bucky’s date is… fine? There was just something weird about the last few girls Bucky had been bringing around.

It’s only when Bucky’s date excuses herself to go to the restroom that he notices something. With a shake of his head he dismisses the crazy thought until she turns back one last time and gives a tiny wave to Bucky that he sees it. He sees the similarities ALL of Bucky’s pasts dates have. Literally every single one.

“She’s hot, isn’t she?” Bucky smirks at Steve before taking a drink of his coffee.

With a sigh, Steve shakes his head.

Wow.

He didn’t realise.

Actually, this could make this whole situation better.

Steve absentmindedly played with his cup as he held back his grin. “She’s okay, (Y/N) is cuter though.”

Almost choking on his coffee, Bucky coughed violently. “What the hell does SHE have to do with this?”

“Dude, they look alike. They could be sisters.” Looking over to the far side of the diner, Steve motioned to the girl now walking back from the restroom. “You have a type, man.” And it was with a simple laugh that made Bucky stiffen with anticipation that Steve dropped the bomb “(Y/N) is your type.”

With a scoff, Bucky stands and throws some cash on the table “Bullshit.” Storming off, Bucky’s date stands there confused as she watches Bucky storm out.

An awkward silence followed before Steve cleared his throat and stood up. “Uh, did you want me to drive you home?”



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