#did something unhinged and had all the coloring on a single layer

[elzorton]

Soldier, Poet, Prince

[jae-bummer]

Good Hair Day

Request: For your request prompts, would you please do a Soulmate AU with Hoshi from Seventeen? I don’t find very many fluffy, happy Hoshi stories. That man has such beautiful eyes and I LOVE when he has plushy cheeks! It makes me want to give him a kiss and a cuddle. I was also very impressed with his humble attitude and manners when he was on Suga’s Suchwita episode. Sorry for rambling and thanks in advance. 😋

Prompt:

11) Soulmate AU

If you dye your hair, your soulmate's hair color changes as well.

Pairing: Seventeen Hoshi x Reader

Genre: Fluff

.

It was only 6 AM when Hoshi was forced to roll out of bed for his schedule. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he eased himself from his warm blankets and made his way toward the bathroom.

"Nice hair," Coups laughed, emerging into the hallway at the same time Hoshi stepped from his room.

Headed in the opposite direction, Hoshi stumbled into the older member and grumbled a sleepy "shut up."

So what if his morning hair was a nightmare? That was the case for almost every single one of the guys in this group (Seungcheol included). All he had to do was throw on a hoodie and patiently wait for his turn in the stylist's chair.

Shouldering his way into the bathroom, Hoshi stood before the sink and groaned.

Not again.

Blinking hazily at his own reflection, he plopped his forehead against the cool surface. Out of all days, why did his soulmate pick TODAY to go cotton candy pink?

..

"Seize the day!" you cackled, smoothing on another layer of hair dye.

"You are unhinged," your best friend, Ash, laughed from her spot on the toilet lid. "And I kind of like it."

"This person," you continued slowly. "Has been dying their hair nearly every other month since I've known them."

"Well, you don't know them," Ash interrupted. "But go on."

"Oh, I know them alright," you muttered.

For what had been the better part of the last ten years, your hair color had changed as often as the weather. You were responsible for approximately two of those changes, and they were both out of necessity. Job interviews were a mandatory life occasion, and your soulmate would have to get over having brown hair for a few months. Mint green would not be getting either of you hired anytime soon.

Which made you wonder, what exactly did your soulmate do for a living? How did they get away with having such vibrant fashion colors in everyday life? Why did your soulmate seem to have the biggest commitment issues with something as simple as hair?

"I'm only giving them a taste of their own medicine," you sighed, finally setting down the tinting brush. Examining your work, you nodded in satisfaction. "Let's see how their boss reacts to this when they wake up tomorrow."

"Maybe they're a hairdresser?" Ash theorized as she watched your slow decent into madness. "Oooh, or maybe a clown for children's parties?"

"A clown?" you cringed. "I like your enthusiasm, but could we go for something more..."

"Aspirational?" she laughed. "Sure, Y/N. Maybe they're a famous musician and after you meet them, you won't have to worry about anything besides ugly hair colors ever again."

"If they were famous, I would have clocked them by now," you grumbled. "I haven't seen Harry Styles walking around with fire engine red hair."

"You haven't seen Harry Styles walking around in general," Ash laughed. "Give yourself, and your soulmate, the benefit of the doubt."

...

"I need an adult!" Hoshi screeched across the dorm. The sun had hardly risen, and he was already launching into panic mode. "Like an adultier adult! Someone who has a much better handle on adult life and adult problems!"

"It doesn't take much," Jeonghan croaked. Collapsing onto the couch, he rubbed at his eyes before glancing up at the pacing Hoshi. "Holy shit, have you ever seen the Trolls movie? Because your head-"

Hoshi stopped his pacing and pointed an accusatory finger at his member. "I am very sensitive right now. Choose your words carefully."

Jeonghan leveled a stare in his direction. "Fine. If I don't have something nice to say, I won't say anything at all."

"Well, we both know that's a lie," Hoshi muttered as he went back to pacing. "What do I do? How do I fix this?"

"Alright first, I need you to calm down," Jeonghan nodded. "Second, I'd like you to make me a cup of coffee."

Throwing a dirty look over his shoulder, Hoshi continued to stomp back and forth.

"Fine," Jeonghan groaned. "Get me my wallet."

"Why am I going to get your wallet?" Hoshi argued. "What is your wallet going to do for the disaster on my head? We have a shoot today and the concept is going to be ruined and it's going to be all my-"

"If you stopped to take a breath," Jeonghan interrupted. "I would tell you that I have a business card inside said wallet. On that business card is the information for a very talented hairdresser who takes hair emergencies very seriously."

Dropping to his knees, Hoshi clasped his hands together. "You are not the hero I deserve, but a hero nonetheless."

"I'm pretty sure that's not how the quote goes, and I'm mildly offended for some reason?" Jeonghan said, narrowing his eyes.

Already up and rummaging through Jeonghan's wallet, Hoshi yanked out the business card. "I owe you one."

"I'll take that one and use it for a coffee," Jeonghan nodded. "The hair can wait."

....

Strolling down the street, you felt a new sense of freedom wash over you. Your hair had been nearly every color under the rainbow (including the pink you were currently rocking) but nothing had ever felt as good as this. It wasn't as if you had something against your soulmate, it was quite the opposite. You were excited to meet them, whoever they were, but you also wanted them to be surprised by you for once.

Humming to yourself, you decided at the last minute to veer toward a cafe you spotted across the road. For such an adventurous new day, you deserved a little treat.

Just as you began to step off the sidewalk, someone walking in the opposite direction slammed into you.

"Hey!" you yelled, tumbling away from your assailant.

"Shit!" the stranger gasped, immediately leaning down to help you up from the sidewalk. "I was so distracted; I didn't see you coming. I'm so-"

Furrowing your brows, you looked up at the man who was now leaning over you. He was extremely handsome, albeit dressed oddly for the warm spring weather. He wore a black hoodie with the drawstrings pulled as tightly as possible around his angular face. You studied his features for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what was familiar about him.

As your eyes met, he paused and had suddenly gone still. No longer focused on helping you up, it looked as if his mind had gone somewhere a million miles away.

"Uh, hello?" you asked, waving your hand in front of his face. "Random stranger? Helping me off the ground? Did you glitch?"

"Your hair," he chirped. "When did you dye it?"

You could only blink in response as his question sank into you.

"Look man," you said, finally finding your voice. With a few grumbles, you pushed yourself to your feet again and stared down the man who was acting much too odd for your liking. "I'm not sure what your problem is, but-"

Wordlessly, he continued to stare at you as he pulled down the tightened hood of his jacket.

Pink. So pink.

"I'm Hoshi," he said dumbly, a nervous smile playing across his lips. "And I think I need to sit down because I might pass out."

After a short discussion verifying when you had actually dyed your hair and a longer discussion based around your hair history, it was pretty much confirmed. It had taken a decade, but you had finally found each other.

"I never thought this day would happen," you admitted. You felt lightheaded and damn near giddy. It didn't matter if the two of you looked like bright pink idiots in the middle of the street. You had each other now.

"Me either," Hoshi breathed with equal amounts of shock. Seeming to come a bit more to his senses, a little crease formed between his brows. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Uh," you croaked, looking up at him in dismay. You still didn't really know him and didn't necessarily like how open ended his question was.

Shaking his head as if to correct himself, he smiled. "To the hairdresser. Do you want to come with me to the hairdresser?"

"The pink just not doing it for you?" you grinned.

Reaching up, Hoshi tugged playfully at one of your strands. "While I like the color," he nodded. "Very much. Like so much-"

"You don't have to explain!" you laughed. "I get it."

"No really, I love it. If I could be this color pink for the rest of my life-"

"Hoshi," you laughed, placing your hand in the air between the two of you.

"Okay, I have a semi-important work thing today and I need black hair," he smiled sheepishly. "Would you...maybe want to come with me?"

You pretended to think for a moment before nodding. "Of course I would."

"Great! I mean, totally, yeah," Hoshi stumbled awkwardly. "It's only a few blocks away, if you don't mind."

Watching Hoshi be so pleasantly overwhelmed warmed something inside of you. Nodding confidently to himself, he slid his palm into yours and laced your fingers together. "I'm holding my soulmate's hand."

"As am I," you confirmed, trying to ignore the heat rising up your neck.

"And now I'm walking with my soulmate to change OUR hair," he grinned. Glancing at you from his periphery, you could tell how your happiness egged him on. "Did you catch that, Y/N? We're going together to change our hair."

"I caught it, Hoshi," you laughed.

"And we get to do this forever," he said quietly, chancing a look your way. "Isn't that the coolest?"

"I honestly could not think of anything cooler."

[capsensislagamoprh]

What’s this? No one asked for it? Suck it up, buttercup. The Paper Army (5/?)

Golden Star was a bustling metropolis with a reputation for trade. The cold realities of business could break, or make, a fortune. It was a brutal bet with the city the second it was in sight. Dhampir knew the risks when he stepped through the Mountain Gate. What he did not expect was to be accosted on his way to Cheapside, and by a misfired teleportation spell, no less.

Sorcha didn't know where she was. She barely remembered landing on the pale man. Her insides felt unhinged, reality swaying in pops of colored lights as her brain tried to make sense of her senses. "That's not real, is it?" she murmured, eying bright red hair as she removed herself from a strong grip.

"What isn't?" Dhampir grunted, pulling his hood back in place.

"Your hair. It's, like, clown red."

He stared at the woman, looking for any flaw upon which he could base a scathing retort. There was none. Her hair shimmered with golden highlights. Her eyes were bottle green, skin smooth. He watched as she shoved her foot against a wall, tying her thick boots. Shapely legs. Was there nothing he could use against her?

"Hey!" Shaking out her skirts, Sorcha slapped his shoulder. "Are you listening? Where am I?"

"Terribly sorry. Your appearance was quite startling," he said, pulling himself together. "This is Cheapside in Golden Star."

"No, it isn't. I've been there before. This is not it. Where are the lights? The bars? The clubs?"

"The clubs? I do not know what association you are looking for, however I am sure it is easily found."

Sorcha stared. Then she began to take in details. The awnings in colorful layers, the way this stranger was dressed, the faint sound of horse-drawn carts. A dim glow caught the edge of her dragon's sight. Focusing on it, she gathered her thoughts. The glow was imitating from a simple garnet, set in hammered gold, about the man's thin wrist. A bonded item. So he was a wizard. A wizard? Realization wept over her, filling every bone with dread. There were no practicing wizards in Cheapside. They all got whisked off to schools where they would be taught to use their gifts for cooperations... as it had been for thousands of years. "What time is it?" she said with a facade of calm.

Dhampir turned to view the shadow cast at the edge of a building, holding up his first finger and thumb.

"No! No," clamored Sorcha, the beginnings of panic starting to set in. "I mean, what time is it? What year?"

"Four thousand seven hundred three, A. A."

Her jaw fell. "You've got to be shitting me. Four thousands? Like, not even double digits?" He looked unfazed. "You're not, are you? You're not kidding. This is the four thousands. I got ducking sent back to the Four Thousands?! Why? Why Murry! What did I ever do to you?!" she raged towards the empty sky.

"It is obvious you are confused, out of time."

"You think?!" she growled, running sharp red nails through her hair, tangling them in the chignon. Freeing the knot with a yank, the locks running down her back in metallic waves, she began to pace, muttering several curses Dhampir didn't understand. Kicking the wall, Sorcha dammed it, and everything nearby. When her tongue slipped into Draconic Dhampir intervened.

"You're dangerously close to summoning something. The authorities, a demon, who knows." Leveling a fiery stare on him, Sorcha punched the wall with immediate regret. Shaking her stinging hand, she stomped in frustration, with whimpered growls. Moving forward, Dhampir carefully dwarfed her golden palm in the cool cage of his spidery digits, noting how she stilled, alert and warry. As he reached under his cloak, pulling a small phial filled with shimmering blue liquid, he quietly spoke. "This is a healing potion of some small ability." Catching her gaze he asked, "Will you allow?"

She nodded, fascinated by the careful motions. It was as if he knew a single misstep could burn his soul. Drop by drop, the liquid spilled onto her abused knuckles. Blood coagulated, scabs formed, became scars that faded, until it was almost as if the wounds had not happened at all. It burned like an ice wind on wet skin.

"Most people don't walk around with healing potions on them," she said quietly, flexing the taut skin of her hand.

"Most people do not plan to walk into danger."

"You do?"

"If I have to," Dhampir answered, corking the vial before tucking the precious liquid away. Sorcha caught a glimpse of the heavy book on thick chain, anchored to the back of his belt. More confirmation.

"You're a wizard."

"Yes. I graduated from the Arcane Academy in Taliax."

"Oh. You're oddly nice for a demon."

"I am not a demon," he said with rigidity. "I am human. Not all Taliaxians are possessed or involved in dark pacts."

"I just - " She stopped short, motioning to her eyes while indicating his own pink orbs. Her hands dropped lamely to her side. "Well, never mind. Hey! Thanks for fixing my hand."

"You're welcome." Dhampir watched her embarrassment combat pride and took pity on her. "I am Dhampir N'Re-" Stopping himself, he shook his head. Better to not let his name flow freely. He put on his most diplomatic smile.  "Just Dhampir. And who might you be, sorceress?"

Sorcha was taken aback. He'd figured out what she was and didn't seem phased by - or inclined to be uncomfortably pushy about - it. This human was clearly perceptive. And understood keeping secrets. "Sorcha. Sorcha Windsong," she offered. "Look. I'm sorry about falling on you. I wasn't expecting to travel today. Now I'm here, and I don't know what to do."

Dhampir watched her, felt the energies that gathered to her golden skin, seeming to settle in the crook of her eyes. Another outburst of panic could cause great damage. Sorcerers of all sorts were wild beings. "You may accompany me if you wish," he said soothingly. "I am headed to an Inn. I will not be there long, but it will give you a place to start."

A sharply brilliant smile kissed her lips as she looped her arm through his and grinned. "Lead the way."

[gabrieldrawsstuff]

weirdly specific modern day au headcanons that i can't be assed to draw-

eren: tried setting an orphanage on fire once. showers twice a month and owns one pair of sweatpants. definitely ate toothpaste as a kid. doesn't wash his rice and eats it plain. has never been chill and never will. the only thing that keeps him functional is pure spite. does not trim his beard. burns his hands on a stove weekly

mikasa: once did a backflip off of a 4 story building. got banned from local taco bell for psychically maiming a cashier because they were rude to eren. probably goes to sleep with shoes on. voted most unhinged in highschool just because eren already had the most likely to go to jail title.

armin: i can see him getting hit by a car weekly. actually goes to a gym but unfortunately gains no muscle mass since his metabolism is faster than a goddamn jet. doxxes people on Twitter if they annoy him enough. if he feels an emotion he'll die. sleeps in a bathtub at the parties. he actually gets invited to every single one because it's impossible to not like him.

jean: probably into 80s fashion. did a super important presentation about ethical issues in a fashion industry and then added vine boom and fnaf ambience sound effects. constantly made to buy others alcohol because he looks over 21. develops carpal tunnel every so often.

connie: threw a toilet down a cliff. did cinnamon challenge in middle school and then had to go to a hospital. definitely owns a scooter that breaks his ankles whenever he rides it. has never given a fuck in his life unless something involves his mom and is not ashamed by it.

sasha: worked once for the mafia and only realized that two months after she was let go. havent touched make up in her life because her dad told her it would make her acne worse. threw a brick at a nazi. possibly did so twice. possibly did so near a cop and had to book it.

marco: pro police at some point in his life for sure. volunteered at a hospital despite the fact that all the children he took care of seemed to fucking despise him. is a designated driver even tho he cant drive. cartoonishly bad luck. has everyone's blood type memorized

reiner: says hi, goodnight and thank you to the bus driver. gets hurt often enough for nurses at the hospital to know his full name and address. definitely lifts with a suicide grip with some sad rapper songs blasting in his earphones at the gym. his apartment is invested with rats but he's chill with that

bertholdt: wears at least 4 layers of clothing at all times. once was made to read out his poetry in front of the whole class in elementary school and he still thinks about it at night. gets locked in collage library so often it gave him a key to the emergency exit. realized he's allergic to peanuts at 24 because he thought they were supposed to hurt his mouth like that.

annie: the girl with a knee brace at school. gets questioned by the police way too often for a person who never done anything illegal. used dish soap in the shower for solid 4 years of collage yet her hair was never greasy. doesn't have a favorite ice cream flavor but she pretends it's eggnog because armin thinks so. pirates every single movie she watches.

ymir: smells like an old lady's cat. has also tried setting an orphanage on fire once, but it was by an accident and in her defense the childern loved the fireworks. uses ridiculously bad fake ids yet never gets caught. shoplifts at target if she gets hungry, not because she doesn't have money but because she has a personal vendetta against target

historia: the most pathetic wet rag of a woman youve ever seen. uses colorful markers to decorate her notes at school. the only two emotions she has ever felt were rage and rage but slightly to the left. has a ridiculously famous shitpost account on twitter

pieck: gets like 2 hours of sleep a week. makes yeager bombs at 4 am yet never appears drunk. will and can do anything. there's nothing you can do to stop her. could probably kill the president of united states if she wanted and got a nap. she likes to take photos of clouds and has an entire folder for them in her phone

porco: really angry everytime he has to be responsible. makes funny faces at crying children in a bus yet he only makes them cry harder. can only speak one language, but learnt how to curse in at least 20. gets into IKEA bed displays. worked in food delivery at least once.

marcel: got stabbed in elementary school with a pen and still has a piece of it in his tigh. can move his ears and loves freaking out people with it. is lactose intolerant but drinks a gallon of milk a day and doesnt regret a thing. there's a rumor in the school he went to that he died for no reason.

zeke: would be friends with levi ngl they have the exact same dry humor. for some reason can do a flip. can play piano but in a way a person who was forced by their parents at a very young age to perfect an instrument can play.

levi: replies to texts by only typing ok or sending a thumbs up. have never send an email and never will. once felt a human emotion while stargazing with his friends and never recovered. appeared in a local cryptid sighting instagram page twice.

hange: gives themselves ivs if hangover. has glasses held together by a scotch tape and hot glue. missing at least two fingers due to accidents at work. jogs at night. probably got almost kidnapped as a child.

erwin: wakes up like a middle aged dad. gives himself pep talks in the mornings. once discovered a dead body in a public restroom and called the authorities only after he pissed. actually likes mcdonalds sprite. has never felt a touch of a woman and yes his mom counts too.

gabi: she would be way cooler if she had an internet access as a child. bit a homeless man unprovoked as a toddler and still tells this story as if it's something to be proud of. ate an entire stick of glue and was somehow fine.

falco: he's really sweet but talks about dinosaurs too much. when he grows up he drives over speed bumps as if he has extra lives. cries if a teacher is mean to him. is really good at table tennis to the point of concern and maybe even fear of his family and friends.

[missgeniality]

A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonna​for hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again.  Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids. 

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.” 

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want. 

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink. 

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’ 

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand. 

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it. 

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all. 

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in. 

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation. 

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek. 

“Sooo I was watching Filter…” 

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through. 

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away. 

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces. 

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way. 

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come. 

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe. 

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup. 

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly. 

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast. 

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions. 

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance. 

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge. 

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs. 

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word. 

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time. 

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him. 

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up. 

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in. 

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks. 

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!” 

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.” 

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him. 

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line. 

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up. 

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either. 

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed. 

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition. 

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost. 

But you’re not done being an idiot. 

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient. 

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!” 

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one. 

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral. 

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go. 

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night. 

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow. 

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams. 

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder. 

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now. 

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone. 

So there is no reason for you to be able to move. 

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too. 

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known. 

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise. 

You were a sucker for the whole man. 

But the sucking will probably have to wait. 

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.” 

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this. 

“You know my favorite part?” 

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body. 

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream. 

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward. 

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm. 

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general. 

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work. 

Well, you must get to work. 

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties. 

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard.  Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack! 

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness. 

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes. 

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him. 

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips. 

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.” 

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down. 

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result. 

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth. 

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines. 

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering. 

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs. 

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away. 

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you. 

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him. 

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you. 

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now. 

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you. 

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion. 

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside. 

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue. 

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want. 

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon. 

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.” 

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech. 

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish. 

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole. 

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans. 

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well. 

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours. 

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot. 

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable. 

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping. 

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down. 

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do. 

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

[gojology]

Job Benefits (Part Three)

broken routines - chapter three.

you can find part two here : 

part two : undesirable pairing : ceo! gojo x female reader warnings : cursing wordcount : 1442 a/n : im highly disappointed with this but im very hyped abt writing part 4 and uh i need to change my writing style sooner or later wtf is this mess LOL

     If there’s one thing Gojo knows more then his own body, it’s routines.       It’s what he grew up around, coming from such a bustling family. Since he learned how to walk, he had attended many interviews, gone to parties, all in one day. Of course, it was commonplace in his already hectic life. He saw routine in everything.      Imagine his shock when you came into the office in an outfit that differed so greatly from your regular one that his jaw might unhinge and fall off.      He can’t wrap his head around why, but he’s utterly confused as to why you changed this up. Was it permanent, and why the change? He had many questions going through his head. This is one of the many negative traits Gojo Satoru has; he thinks his input is important, even though the majority of time it is... Maybe it was somewhat justified. But he doesn’t realize how unnecessary it comes out to be when no one asked.      No one had ever told him no, of course they hadn’t, he was ranked nationally as an important kid due to his wit and charismatic personality, essential for entering the business industry.     When he opened his mouth to speak, even at 8 years old at his parent’s conferences, the old professionals would all look at him, keenly waiting for his orders, or perhaps his opinion. This was what he grew up having; so naturally he didn’t know any boundaries, nor did he know when to close his mouth.      But that’s besides the point, he thoroughly enjoyed the look on you.     He takes his normal trip down the hallway into your office, humming a tune, a messy stack of papers in one hand, a custom ceramic mug in the other; made personally just for him. He expects to see you in your regular outfit, a pencil skirt, white t-shirt, the short clicky heels, and the black blazer. It certainly made for an excellent example of casual, formal attire.      Unexpectedly, you’re not. You’re calling someone, phone perched delicately on your shoulder almost as if it’s supposed to slip out, your hair framing your face. Lips parting as you start responding to whatever is on the opposite side, and he notices an evident gloss, your lips are a different color too.      You glance up at him and gesture to your phone, and his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, taking this extra time to examine you up and down. White turtleneck, layered alongside a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt with a crisp warm toned brown trench coat. Not too long, not too short.       Simple gold jewelry adorned your neck, and his eyes caught onto the gold bracelet that jingled on your arm as you swayed it around; he kinda found it cute how even when the person you were talking to wasn’t in front of you, you were still so animated.      Gojo can’t see your pants nor your shoes, but he’s about to enter cardiac arrest because truthfully he didn’t expect that you knew how to dress.     “What?” you say, words dripping with venom and menace, putting the phone back down. He’s taken aback, what’s with the tone?      “What do you mean, what, (Y/N)?” giving you a shit eating grin, he takes a step closer to your table.     “Answer my question, I asked first.” you shot back, now crossing your legs, you hope you look bored just to add more insult to injury. The guy deserved it for thinking the world revolved around him.      He doesn’t answer, instead staring at you, setting his cup of coffee onto the already crowded tabletop, slightly hunched over. You feel your heart drop. Fuck, maybe seeking some sort of symbolic revenge against your boss wasn’t the best of ideas.    Actually, none of your ideas were the best last night. Naturally you’d only think up disasters when you were under distress.     “What’s with the new outfit? Buy a new fashion sense on Amazon?” he finally inquires, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, brushing your... Rude words aside.      You shrug, pulling out your planner from the drawer and mumbling, biting your pen before writing inside, they’re mindless words. You hope your acting is good, because you want to cry again even at the slight sound of those words. “I don’t know, I felt like I would try something different.” Fuck, were was the sass? Why did you answer nervously? Why did you feel so scared?      There was obviously something that you wanted to do rather then chit chat with him, and Gojo’s now unoccupied hand rubs his neck, this was suddenly so awkward, even for someone as lively as him.     “Hm. Right. Anyways, these were in the printer.” he slaps the freshly printed lukewarm pages onto your desk. “Figured these were yours, still had your name on them.”      “Ah. Thanks.” you say before yawning, covering your mouth before sliding the papers back into the drawer behind you- as if you had no care for them. Actually, you didn’t. This was apart of your master plan that you had crafted at 1 AM last night, too exhilarated to rest. You would print papers out in Gojo’s printer, which you had used once in a while prior so it wouldn’t be too suspicious, and since Gojo never left the dang office he’d hear the sounds and return them to you.       Both of you were silent again, and he’s debating between hitting you up with a topic of conversation, perhaps a joke, but you seem so uninterested he’s not sure if it’s the right moment.      “Just to let you know- your lunch break is in 10 minutes.” he adds, whistling to try to appear careless, but he could feel his heart sinking. You were acting unusually cold, no dramatic tantrums from you that he usually loved. In fact, that was the whole reason why he liked coming to your office. That, and the cute stationary.     “Ah! Really?” you make sure to act like you just got a ticket to heaven, just as a petty way of saying, “Hey. You’re boring. I want to get out.” and Gojo’s pretty sure that all the contents of his heart was shattered now.       Hmph. Whatever, if you continued this behavior he’d swear he’d fire you, but even he knows that’s not true. He had grown fond about you over the small amount of time that you had worked as his secretary, besides, what was a good work life if you didn’t have a good relationship with your very own secretary? He’s sure his banter doesn’t affect you.     “Yeah.” he says, now quiet. He turns his back on you, pausing for a quick moment before walking out, not before he bangs the top of his forehead against the door frame, which earned a slight groan out of him, and just like that he left. You still hear the faint clicking against the tile floor from his shoes.       You exhaled a sigh you didn’t know you were holding, twirling your office chair to look at the large window pane behind your desk. This was something you admired about the architecture of the building you worked out. Every single office had a large window facing Tokyo, so late working hours would always involve beautiful city lights and the bustling of night life.       The sun and sky was bright and cheery, and it comforted your frazzled body. Today wasn’t as bad as yesterday, but it still felt strange from not having your daily ridiculous conversation with Gojo- and strangely you missed it.       Instilled with energy and motivation, you stand up, pulling your bento out of your bag, determined to go through with the rest of your plan. You knew Gojo had a good friend that worked here, Keto Sugareu or something like that. You’d have lunch with him, work your feminine charms, and that was that.       It wasn’t like you wanted to, but a part of you so desperately wanted to prove to Gojo that you could be smart, witty, yet sexy at the same time. You weren’t a prude- just someone not as exposed to these lifestyles.     But you didn’t really eat your lunch in the break room, rather, you were almost always in your very own office. If you weren’t found in there, it’d either be the bathroom or conspiring to steal Gojo’s luxury coffee machine at your house. Infact, you’re not even quite sure if you remember how it looks like.    “Whatever.” you mumble to yourself, before scooping up your utensils and napkins and heading out for the break room.      You shouldn’t have ever stepped foot into that cursed hellish room that day.

nice to see u down here, u want chapt 4? too bad. just kidding! here, have at it.  chapter four : conspiring     

[justaghostingon]

Superhero Au Chapter 3: Gyrus

One hundred and eighty two days until space. Gyrus marked his calendar like he did every morning. That was exactly six months. Just six months and he would be out in space, ready to face the unknown. His heart did a giddy flip at the thought.

Of course it also meant he had six months to finish his final project and pass all his classes, but Gyrus tried not to think about it that way. He was an optimist after all.

He ambled over to the fridge, and decided to have some leftover Mandu to celebrate. The Mandu was missing. That can’t be right. He’d only gotten it yesterday...he pushed food around in his fridge but couldn’t find it. Had he accidentally thrown it out? He would never do that, right? He glanced in the trash but there was no Mandu to be seen. It had well and truely vanished.

Gyrus allowed himself a brief period of mourning as the cool of the fridge washed over him.

Then he shook his head and grabbed an apple. ‘It’s a healthier snack,’ he told himself. ‘Better to keep in shape.’ His stomach whined in disagreement.

He walked over to the couch. Everything seemed...slightly off. Like someone had moved all the furniture to the left. The throw blanket was neatly folded over the back, when he’d left it folded over the armrest...hadn’t he? The remote was on top of his school books, and he never put there unless he watched tv later in the day...

Gyrus marched over to the door, the wild thought of Mandu thieves racing through his head. The lock was secure and unharmed. There were no scratch marks on the wall or floor as signs of forced entry. He checked both the knob and the key hole. Nothing. The only way someone had gotten in here was with a key. But Gyrus had them both, one in his wallet and one hidden in his locker at the lab. The only other person was...

No, no. That was rediculous. Don had not come back from his trip purely to break into his tenants’ homes and eat their Mandu. He was just being paranoid.

He flipped on the tv to the morning news. The mayor was making a speech again...something about reporters being more careful of danger, blah blah, Simple...Gyrus sat up with a jolt. The news anchors were talking about Simple, while a clip of him yelling at the reporters played. How had he missed this? It must have happened after he went to bed.

He opened his phone to a site called Simple Watch, and scrolled up. Looks like a late night diner had been attacked by jellies. Simple had fought them off single handed, until the police had shown up and tried to assist. Not that Simple had been to happy with that, as they had nearly hit him too. Gyrus frowned.

“...All I’m saying is that people need to be more causious.” The voice from the tv filtered through to Gyrus’s ears. “We know nothing about him save for how dangerous he is. He has powers no one can explain, can inexplicably kill creatures our police can’t, and he’s clearly not from here.” Bile rose in Gyrus’s throat as the news anchor continued talking, “And now with how he’s threatening the press... he’s obviously unhinged.”

Gyrus turned the tv off with a click, a foul taste in his mouth. He tried to take another bite of the apple but found it didn’t help. He chucked the apple at the trashcan. “Stupid apple,” he muttered to himself. “Stupid news, stupid racist reporters.” He shoved his books into his bag and relished the loud thud they made as they collided. “What does he know anyway?” He twisted the key in his lock with extra force to make it shriek. “I bet he’s never even met Simple.”

He’d never met him, that had to be it. He wouldn’t be so paranoid if he had. Sure, Simple tended to come off as rude and angry...and he really didn’t seem good with people...but he was still putting himself in danger to try and fight monsters that no one else could. He didn’t have to, but he did.

In his mind’s eye, Gyrus saw the great purple jelly looming above him, its six great eyes fixed on him as it opened it vacumous maw full of sharp teeth. He’d kicked out desperately, but it did nothing to stop the beast. All at once he’d known he would die here, eaten whole by a monster straight out of a video game.

Then all at once something sharp and blue had cut through it, bisecting the monster and embedding itself in the wall behind Gyrus. Sticky goo had rained down on him, but Gyrus hadn’t cared, to thrilled to be alive.

He’d looked up, and for the first time realized the blue thing was actually two blue things: a sword, and a man. The man was tall, far taller than Gyrus even as he stood half bent over from the momentum of the kill. Their eyes met.

In all the books he’d read, people had always romanticised how they felt when they saw there rescuer. How noble and brave they’d looked. But Gyrus didn’t see any of that. To him, Simple had only looked scared. Scared and confused and so, so tired.

The mayor had come up behind him, and spoke, startling Simple, who had instantly put himself between Gyrus and the sound, fists ready even if his sword was still stuck in the wall. ‘So this is what the hero of the game looks like,’ Gyrus had thought. ‘Scared and tired and still ready to fight.’

Mayor and Simple were still in discussion, and other people were crowding around. But Simple still glanced back at him, anxious and concerned, and Gyrus felt something warm bubble up in his stomach.

Everyone had clapped when Simple introduced himself. But Gyrus made sure he was loudest.

A ping from his phone jolted him out of his thoughts. He glanced down to see a new post from Simple Watch. It had a photo encaptioned: Simple eats breakfast, and clearly shot out someone’s top story window. Simple sat on the roof of an apartment complex, eating something round and soft... Gyrus squinted st the grainy photo...was that Mandu?

Simple liked Mandu. The corner of Gyrus’s mouth twitched. Looks like things were looking up.

———————————————————————

The lab was dark when Gyrus arrived. Not that he minded. He was used to being the first one in. He absently flipped on the lights as he walked down the hall. The lights flickered as they turned on, dimmer then usual, washing out all the color in the room.

Gyrus shivered. It seemed...colder down here. Maybe he’d need to ask the professor about fixing heating later. His footsteps echoed down the hall, the only sound in the stillness. Combined with the dim and the cold, it seemed...eerie.

And as he walked down he got the strangest sensation that he was not alone. That was preposterous of course, and even as he swung around to see nothing did he know he was being foolish. Bur he couldn’t help it. Because everytime he turned back around he could swear he saw something flicker in the shadows just out of his sight.

Gyrus quickly ducked into the locker room and shut the door. The warm glow seeped into the corners and relaxed him. Nothing in here. He changed in to protective gear absently, noting his house key still tucked away inside.

He paused at the door leading out to the labs. The handle was frozen. Metal icy to the touch as the water in the air had condenced to ice. That wasn’t a good sign. Not good at all.

Gyrus mentally ran through all of the projects inside as he hurriedly stuffed himself in one of the biohazard suits from the rack. ‘Mary’s was mechanic...Philmon’s involved nitrogen he he was way to careful to let it out like this...and of course his had nothing to do with ice at all...’

‘The professor,’ Gyrus thought to himself as he screwed on his helmet. ‘It must be the professor’s secret project. The one he won’t show us yet.’

Gyrus threw open the door and barged in, ready to save whatever he could. The inside was far, far colder than the hall had been. It felt like stepping in to a freezer. Gyrus held his flashlight high and looked around wildly.

The room was much like how he’d left it. Seperate stations all set up, each with their own equitment and inventions casting a maze of strange shadows on the floor. But something was off, he realized. Papers were scattered at odd positons on the floor. Valuable equitment was knocked haphazardly on the desks. Someone had been in here.

Or Something.

Gyrus began to move forward slowly, swinging his flashlight in every direction as he walked. Nothing moved. The air sat unnaturally still, amplifying each quiet step Gyrus took, each slight shuffle of his biohazard suit rubbing against itself as he raised the flashlight to peak around corners.

The mess seemed to leave a trail, with the worst of the damage leading down to the left wall, where the professor kept his secret project. Gyrus crept towards the strange contraption, its shiny black form almost indistinguishable in the darkness, but for the curve of its spherical head jutting out. A sharp, jagged grey line crossed the black in what Gyrus knew was just an entry point, but in the dark it leered like the maw of a monster. Above it the red glowing ports glared like eyes into the stillness.

Gyrus reached out a trembling, gloved hand, half expecting to feel the give of a jelly monster or the rough matting of fur. But the object beneath his fingers is firm. He slides it along, admiring for a second how smooth it must be, and stops. For the feeling seeping through the layers of the biosuit is not coldness, but warmth. Its hot to the touch, like a fire or a blanket, he’s to wrapped up in protective gesr to tell. But then what...

A cold shiver runs down his spine. He turns flashlight raised high to see a figure across the room, looming over his desk. He screams and the figure turns, its empty red eyes fixated on him. It gives an inhuman screech and Gyrus is terrified, so scared he fears he may never move again.

Then he sees what lies below the creatures skeletal, shadowy hands.

An anger fills Gyrus like he’s never known before at the sight of his final project in the monster’s grip. With fury and terror of someone who knows there future was about to be wripped away, he threw the nearest object at the monster’s head. “That’s mine!” He snarls.

The object, his flashlight, passes harmlessly through thr creature’s head. But Gyrus doen’t stop moving. He yanks a wrench out an throws it too, throwing anything he could reach. He stalks forward and even though it should be pitch black he can still see from the light of the green glowing...something.

The creature simply looks at him, and then it is gone. No fleeing or charging, it was simply there one second and gone the next.

All at once Gyrus feels tired, tired like he’s never felt before. He takes one more staggering step to his desk, before he collapses against it. His last though before he slips into unconsciousness is a silent plea to see the top of his desk, to see his project...

The professor finds him, passed out in a biosuit in the ruined lab. He is pressing with his questions, but accepts what Gyrus says at face value, something wrong in the lab, an intruder...

Gyrus leaves out the part about the monster with red eyes, not sure if it was real, or what his mind infused over a simple ski mask and goggles in his fear.

They are lucky, the police tell them when they arrive. Aside from the mess not much seems to be broken or stolen. Considering what happened, it could have been a lot worse.

‘Lucky huh,’ Gyrus thought dully as he sat wrapped in a shock blanket. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice.’

Only one thing in the whole lab was missing, and no matter how they search it could not be found. It was a small object, plane and boring. But it meant more to Gyrus than anything in the world.

His final project: the black box.

[haledamage]

OC Interview: Liv Ramsey

a slightly more different interview with Liv XD @captainofthefallen​ open tagged and I didn’t need any much encouragement, so here you go. Gonna put most of it under a cut because it got really long. 

I want to do this with Kira, too, but I couldn’t decide which romance route, and since some of the answers would obviously be different depending, I decided not to. (if someone wants to reply to this and tell me which Bravo Boy you want to see Kira awkwardly pretend she isn’t attracted to, I’ll do this for her as well :))

Rules:

1. Choose an OC.

2. Answer as that OC.

3. Tag 5 people to do the same  I was gonna say I’m not tagging anyone, but I’m gonna actually tag @queen-scribbles​ for one of her Wayhaven Detectives because I love them :3

1. What is your name?

“Raphael.” She grins playfully, as sharp and bright as a blade. She’s fidgeting restlessly with what looks to be a 9mm bullet. You’re unsure if it’s meant to be a threat or if she just needs something to do with her hands. “Okay, not really. I’m Liv. Olivia Ramsey. Charmed, I’m sure.”

2. Do you know why are you named that?

“I don’t know for a fact that I am named that. It’s just what they called me, and I decided to keep it.” She slips the bullet into some hidden pocket in the simple, well-tailored black suit she’s wearing and leans back, picking absently at her chipped blood-red nail polish. “As for Raphael, that’s my rank. Like a callsign, you could say. Or a nickname. I’ve got pretty attached to it in the last month or so.”

3. Are you single or taken?

She scowls. “I never liked to phrase it that way. ‘Taken,’ like I’ve been kidnapped or somethin’.” She pauses, studying your face like she’s trying to figure out how much to tell you. “But I assume you’re askin’ if I’m in a relationship, and I guess I am. Sorta. I’m pretty sure.” 

She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh. “I am in love with a man who is also in love with me and that I sometimes share a bed with. That I share a lot of things with. He’s also technically my boss, and if anyone knew about it, they’d try to use me to get to him. I’d be tortured and killed and that’s if I’m lucky. So it’s, y’know, a bit complicated.”

She leans forward in her chair suddenly, all the kindness draining from her face. “This stays between us, right, sweetheart? I’m not gonna let you put Gabriel in any danger over this.” She sits back and just like that her smile is back. “And before you ask, no. I haven’t seen his face. Everyone always asks me that. It’s not safe yet. No tellin’ who else might be watching.” Her smile softens into something fond, almost sweet. “I can wait. He’s worth it.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“I’m a good sweet-talker. Good at gettin’ people to tell me things or makin’ ‘em listen. I prefer to do it with a smile, but,” she pauses, a shadow of something very dangerous in her pale eyes, “well, sometimes people are stubborn. I got other ways to make ‘em talk, too.”

“Besides that, I move fast, I can be real quiet when I need to… or real loud, if that’s what’s called for instead. Pretty good at patching up wounds. Less good at causing them, but hey, no one’s perfect.” She shrugs one shoulder.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

She laughs, loud and joyful and maybe a little unhinged. “Oh, I fuckin’ wish. You know what’d I’d do if I had super powers and shit?” Her laughter quiets, but she keeps chuckling. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t.”

6. What’s your eye color?

“Blue. Not much to say about it, really. Lotsa people have blue eyes.”

7. How about your hair color?

She tugs on a strand of her long hair, currently falling loosely around her shoulders and down her back. “It’s red, right now. I change it sometimes, when the mood strikes, but I like red. I think only Mouse and Gabriel know my natural hair color, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.” She taps her index finger on her thigh, thinking. "Maybe Michael knows. I dunno how much Gabriel tells him. I don't think he'd really care about somethin’ like that. Bigger fish to fry and all."

8. Have any family members?

“I mean, I’ve got the Archangels. Beyond them, no. Don’t need anyone else.”

9. Oh? How about pets? 

She brightens suddenly. “I have a kitten! Her name’s Ruby. Here, I think I have a picture.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls through it for a moment before holding it out to you. On the screen is a picture of a kitten, about three or four months old, with fluffy gray fur and curious blue eyes. It seems to be laying on what looks like a black hockey mask. “Raquel’s probably still a little pissed at me for keeping her, but… well, it did kinda save her life.”

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now, tell me something you don’t like?

“I don’t like being shot at,” she says dryly, then she smirks. “I don’t like when people threaten my friends. If I had a dime for every time someone threatened to hurt Mouse in order to get me to talk, I could retire somewhere tropical.” She laughs to herself, one quick, amused ‘ha!’. “I’d like to see them try. He may be little, and quiet, but I don’t recommend underestimating him. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.” 

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“I’m an artist. You’ve probably seen some of my work, if you’ve ever been to Manhattan. A couple of them were even done legally.” Her smile is warm, and there’s still laughter in her eyes. “I’m a painter. I mean, when I have time. I got lots of sketchbooks I fill up when I don’t have the time to put things on canvas or concrete. I’m also a pretty good chess player.” Her smile turns a little wicked. “Ask Rook how good I am at it. I wonder if he’s still sore about losin’ to me. I don’t think Bishop’s ever gonna let him live it down.”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“Are you kidding me?” She laughs. “I have hurt people in any way you can imagine and several ways you probably can’t. I don’t like to do it… well, just between you and me, sometimes I do like it.” She straightens the light blue tie she wears. “But either way, it’s part of the job. And I'm very good at my job.”

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

“Oh yeah. Plenty of them.” She shrugs, like she’s not bothered at all by it, but she won’t quite meet your eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, they were bad people. Probably. Most of them were, at least.” She smiles warmly at you, the tension in her expression gone like it was never there. “Don’t worry, we don’t kill innocents or civilians. Even nosy ones.”

14. What kind of animal are you?

“I dunno. Probably like a coyote or somethin’. One of those animals that can survive in almost any environment. The ones that stubbornly refuse to die.”

15. Name your worst habits?

“I run off at the mouth, especially if I’m scared or hurt or nervous. Not, like--” she pauses, as if looking for the right words “I don’t give away information or anything like that. I’m not a snitch. I just… I’m a bit of a smartass, and a bit of a flirt, and in situations where I should probably not be talking, I’m doin’ one of those instead. Michael says it’ll get me killed one day. Sometimes he says he’ll be the one to do it.” She grins. “He doesn’t mean it. He adores me. Don’t let him tell you different.”

She slouches back in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee. “Besides that, I can’t sit still worth shit and I always forget to do the dishes. Also, don’t hand me any important paperwork because I will draw on it.”

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“Nope. Never really had anyone to look up to. Well, maybe…” she pauses, her eyes distant. “Maybe Kaidan. Never had anyone take a chance on me before he did. He’s the reason I’m here now. The reason I’m an Archangel. He’s kinda my… mentor, in a way.” She smiles to herself. “Him and Gabriel. But I can’t exactly say I look up to Gabriel, y’know? That gets into weird territories, when you consider my relationship with him.” 

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

“Are those my only choices? ‘Cause those are not the only sexual orientations out there, sweetheart. I’m pansexual.” She spreads her arms out in an inviting way. “I’m an equal opportunity gal.” 

18. Did you attend school?

“Sure. New York public schools. I even graduated. For Mouse, more than for myself. If I dropped out, he woulda done so too, and I didn’t want to drag him down with me.” She looks down, sadness in her eyes for a moment. “Guess I did anyway. Some best friend I turned out to be.” 

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“I don’t really care one way or the other about marriage, but if I ever have kids they’ll be adopted. I wanna give some kid the kind of home, the kind of family, that I never got to have. Unconditional and all that shit.”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

“Obviously.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder dramatically, then laughs. “Nah. If people know who I am, I’m not doin’ my job right, and if people are out there bein’ fans of the Archangels, then it’s Michael and Gabriel they’re swooning over, not Raphael.”

21. What are you most afraid of? 

Her face goes abruptly blank and cold. “Being abandoned. Being alone. I’ve been there before… before Mouse, before the Archangels. I’ll burn this whole fuckin’ city to the ground if that’s what it takes to keep them safe. I’m not ever going back to that. Not ever.”

22. What do you usually wear?

“Usually?” She looks down at herself. “Oh, you’re askin’ about the suit! It’s standard Archangel uniform. Black suit, blue tie, mask.” She pulls a hockey mask out of the inside pocket of her suit jacket. It’s black and has what appears to be a cascade of red roses down the right side of it. “You like it? I designed it myself.”

She puts the mask back away. “When I’m not working, I like layers. Tank tops and flannel shirts and leather jackets. Skinny jeans or leggings or skirts and tights. Dresses short enough to stop traffic. Red and pink and yellow and black. A bit of Archangel blue sometimes, too, these days.” She tugs on her light blue tie again. “Rook told me I looked like a ‘punk rock supermodel’ once. Nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“Gabriel bakes the best fuckin’ cookies you will ever eat. There is a small chance I fell for those cookies before I fell for him.”

24. Am I annoying you?

She waves a dismissive hand. “Nah. I’ll take any excuse to talk about myself.”

25. Well, it’s still not over!

She smiles that knife-sharp grin again and runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “So when do I get to ask you questions, sweetheart? I’ll make it worth your time.” 

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

She tilts her head to one side thoughtfully. “Y’know, I have no fuckin’ idea. I live in a pretty swanky apartment right now, but I don’t own it. I have a decent amount of money squirreled away, but most of it’s stolen. All of the above, I guess. I’m a homeless kid who lives in the penthouse suite.”

27. How many friends do you have?

She stops to think for a second. “Fourteen.” She looks surprised and clearly is counting them again in her head. “Wow. Fourteen. Huh. You know, two months ago the answer to that question was ‘one.’ Even if we’re just talking close friends, the answer’s still eight. I’m not… I got no idea what to say to that.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“I prefer cake, but I don’t mind pie either. Just don’t ask me to bake one. And if I do, I don’t recommend you eat it.”

29. Favorite drink?

“Tea with milk and sugar. Pretty sure it’s Mouse’s fault. That’s how it works, right? Blame your tea-drinking habits on your British friends.” She laughs lightly. “I’ve got too many fuckin’ British friends.”

30. What’s your favorite place?

“I like Father Murdock’s. I like the juxtaposition of it all. Church upstairs, black market downstairs. Nuns carrying AKs. It’s just ridiculous enough that it almost doesn’t seem real.” She sighs and her smile slips a little. “Favorite place used to be the Mill, but I guess we can’t go back there now. Gotta find a new base of operations.”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Why, you hopin' you got a shot?” She looks you over slowly, a playful smirk spreading across her face. “I mean, you've already asked me if I was 'taken'. Since I am, it obviously means I'm interested in someone. Or are you asking if I'm interested in someone else?” 

She stops to really think about it. “These days, I'm surrounded by a lot of gorgeous, interesting people. People that, in a different situation, I’d probably be real interested in. But if Gabriel's in the room, the rest of the world may as well not exist. He’s magnetic. It doesn’t make sense for a man to be so goddamn attractive when the only part of him not covered is his eyes and even that’s only sometimes, but I know I’m not the only one drawn to him. I’m just the lucky one.” She chuckles, and that fond smile is back, the same one she wore last time she spoke about Gabriel. “I always thought that 'I only have eyes for you' thing was a bit sappy, but damn if it isn't true.”

32. That was a stupid question…

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” She waves it off like she’s already forgotten about it, then smirks at you again. “If you’re actually interested, though, I got a few friends I could introduce you to. We can talk about it later.”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Ugh. I hate swimming. I’m not really a, uh, outdoorsy type.” She taps a fingernail against her bottom lip, thinking. “I guess a lake, if I had to choose. Less sharks and shit.”

34. What’s your type?

“You sure are askin’ a lot of questions about my love life, sweetheart. I guess it’s lucky for you that you caught me at a time I actually have one.” She chuckles and sits back in her chair, staring at the ceiling while she thinks. 

She’s quiet for a long moment, then leans forward suddenly, her pale blue eyes intense. “You know what’s the most attractive thing a person can have, regardless of gender? Competence. There is nothing sexier than someone who knows their shit and does it well. That confidence someone has when they’re really good at something and they know it.”

She sits back again, some of that intensity draining away. “I’ve never had anything specific physically that draws my attention. Lucky for Gabriel, I guess, since I was already long in love with him before I really saw any of him. He’s got real good shoulders, though, y’know? Broad. Strong. Stubborn.” She laughs at the last one.

35. Any fetishes?

“Dunno. Most of my sexual experience has been pretty vanilla so far. Might be fun to find out.”

36. Camping or outdoors?

“No thanks. I did enough sleepin’ outside when I was homeless for a few months. No way in hell I'm sleeping outside on purpose. I’d prefer a roof over my head, if it’s all the same to you.”

She waits for you to ask another question, but when you don’t she just nods. “All right, good talk. This was fun.” She stands from her chair and straightens out her suit, then offers you a hand to shake. Her handshake is strong and confident, her skin warm. “You need to find me again, go see Father Murdock. Tell Greg you’re lookin’ for Raphael. He knows how to get in touch.” She walks away, steps fast and purposeful and almost silent, and you follow her outside.

She pulls a black ski mask out of her pocket and puts it on, covering her face except for her eyes and mouth and tucking her hair underneath it, then pulls that hockey mask out again and puts it on over it. She takes out a pair of black leather gloves and pulls them on too. When she looks back at you, there’s no sign of the woman underneath except for the pale blue eyes; if you hadn’t just been talking with her, you’re not sure you’d even know she was a woman, the suit and masks erasing any signs of personality or identity.

She waves jovially. “If I were you, I’d find someplace to lay low for a little while,” she says, and even her voice is different: colder, harder, her slight New York accent gone like it had never been there. “It’s not safe around here at this time of day. All kinds of dangerous people around.”

As if on cue, a black SUV pulls up nearby. The passenger-side front window rolls down and the back door opens. Inside, there are four other people wearing the same black suit and blue tie, their faces all covered by hockey masks. There seems to be no theme or color scheme among the masks. You wonder if any of them are the Gabriel that she spoke so highly of.

“Heya, boss,” a friendly, Welsh-accented voice calls from the front passenger seat. “You get what ya needed?”

Liv doesn’t reply, instead just pulling herself smoothly into the open seat in the back next to one very large man in body armor with a shotgun in his lap and one very small man with an open laptop in his. They both nod at her as she sits down, and she puts a friendly hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. He must be Mouse, you assume.

The driver calls out to you, and he also has a Welsh accent. “Might be best to forget you ever saw us.”

“And ya best hope you never see us again,” says the front passenger. Her accent and cadence of speaking are so similar to the driver’s you’re pretty sure they’re related.

Liv nods to you once more, then closes her door. You see the large man hand her what you’re pretty sure is some type of submachine gun. The driver gives you a jaunty salute and then they drive away. 

You stare into the space where the SUV had been for a long moment. You should probably ask your boss for a raise; there’s no way you’re getting paid enough to interview Archangels.

[idkhow-you-found-me-writing]

Snack Time

Just Ted “Theodore” Logan and Marko Thelostboy having fun bonding time, 1k words long ff under the cut or you can read it on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923459

 Nowadays, there was a rumor involving vampires and naturally sparkling in the sun as if their skin was covered in glitter. Sprought out of nowhere, instantly becoming as popular as it was baffling.

 It was also, of course, completely unfounded in reality.

 Well, maybe not completely. There was this one vampire who fitted that description better than any other. Their exposed skin shone in thousands of colors, creating a resplendent mosaic of abstract shapes and forms. It wasn’t only their flesh either, his whole outfit was decorated in this glow.

 “My newest of companions, were you bathing in glitter or something?” Ted asked, dudes head tilting in genuine curiosity. Dude was in no way an expert on ancient vampire customs. Or anything ancient if to go by dudes history grades, when Ted was still attending school. However, now with this creature of the night as a friend, one of these things could change. It was too late to get any score in a test, most fortunately. Dude didn’t miss those days at all.

 Marko laughed loudly, just on the verge of sounding a bit maniac. It didn’t serve much as clarification for Ted so dude decided to wait for one more moment. After the laughter eventually died down, they looked at the person in front of them intensely. They both stared at each other for a few seconds. Marko’s sharp eyes were calculating, whereas Ted’s were clouded by confusion. Then, he dropped the act and finally gave his reply.

 “Ted, do I look like I bathe in anything?”

 That. That was a totally reasonable question to ask, dude supposed. As a vampire, they suffered the most inconvenient fate of not being able to see their own reflection. They truly could have no idea what they even looked like. This, and the fact that Marko absolutely did not look like a person who bathes in anything at all. Maybe, sometimes an abrupt rain caught him by surprise and cleaned the freashes layer of dirt, Ted wondered briefly. It was a long time ago when any kind of rain visited this place.

 “I did spill it all over myself, tho.” Marko chuckled lightly. He did that a lot, Ted couldn’t help but notice. In fact, dude was totally in awe of his ability to find something funny. Ted dudeself carried a rather positive attitude, however it was nowhere near their level.

 Next thing Marko did was much less predictable.

 He raised his hand, and then, without giving it any thought, he licked it like some would spoon after making a whipped cream for dessert. Mindlessness of this action made it clear that it shouldn’t be seen as anything to be astounded about.

 And yet, Ted found dudeself in a state of total astonishment. Dude was able to feel all dudes pillar belfies suddenly crumbling down. Just like dude stated before, Ted was aware that dude definitely had a lot to learn about peculiar customs of vampires. However, dude was more than sure that they were supposed to be more like fruit bats than catboys. One could learn so much in just one day.

 “What? You don’t eat glitter?” Ted had a hard time figuring out if their tone was sarcastic or not. Just as dude had a hard time figuring out if the information that Marko wasn’t a catboy afterall made dude feel disappointed or not. Perhaps a little bit of all options presented were true. “You should try it.” Not even a brief snicker followed that sentence. Ah, so he was serious then. This surprised Ted more than the actual advice.

 “Dude, you’re totally right.” Dude was the cook of this household and that meant being open to every culinary experience. Or at very least, that was what Ted always told Bill when he invariably found dude eating peanuts with their shells. Again. Missy tried to gently guide dude to stop doing that, but Bill knew that the most cherished partner of his was simply a lost cause here. He hoped it worked like hens eating stones for health related reasons. He really did. “Just let me grab peanut shells. We could use glitter as the most excellent seasoning.”

 “You’re so funny.” Marko said, not necessary as a compliment but more of a statement that needed to be said. Then, he laughed as the confirmation. Ted was the most appreciative of this gesture. “And a fucking genius,” -Marko continued with a huge grin on his face- “let’s do it.”

 This time, Ted returned the smile. It totally was a genius idea and it felt the most stellar to find a person with similarly odd food preferences. It wasn’t an easy job at all. Even dudes Bill prefered to eat peanuts inside, instead of schells. Although it was tough to accept as the final truth, Ted eventually managed to do just that. Bill leaving all these shells for dude undoubtedly helped.

 So they both went to the kitchen. Putting said shells with glitter from Marko’s jacket to the only clean bowl into the whole apartament felt weirdly magical. Well, colorful dust collected from blood sucking monster certainly sounded much more wizardly. After everything was thoroughly mixed together, it came the time for tasting this most unusual appetizer.

 Ted glanced at his fellow cook. Marko glanced right back. The question of who should be the one to try it first just appeared on their minds. Something previously so unimportant that it didn’t deserve a single thought from either of them, now had a change to become a huge dilemma. Thankfully, Marko decided to speak up before that managed to occur.

 “The honor’s yours.” He giggled in a somewhat unhinged way because how could he not. Maybe a question about laughing gas wouldn’t be too out of place. “It was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

 That was right so Ted had no reason left to prolong the moment. Dude put the shining shell into dudes mouth. The tension in the room only grew.

 “Dude, I’m never eating unseasoned peanuts from now on.”

[turqrambles]

I watched all 26 episodes of an obscure Australian cartoon in one week and I’m not okay - My journey with Wicked! (2001) PART 2 - The Actual Review

Hello again! I just checked my watch and I noticed that it was time to talk about the cartoon with the apple-headed guy some more!

When I last talked about this delightful piece of obscure media, I went over the origin story of how the show was created, introduced the cast of characters, and then talked about the main draw of the cartoon that makes it unique of other cartoons of its quality.

And then, at the end of the blog post, I mentioned that I think that the cartoon is merely “Okay” rather than anything Amazing. It has a great idea but ultimately, it really is just an alright show.

So now, after introducing this beautiful cartoon and explaining to everyone just what the hell is going on, it’s time to break this whole thing down.

The Good, The Bad, and The Apple-Flavored

Wicked! is a weird show to grade. The animation itself fluctuates in quality and there’s some very obvious cut corners from how frequently animation is recycled in some of the episodes, scenes can have weird editing or continuity errors, and sometimes they’ll even recycle sound bytes like insults that Dawn and Rory shout at each other or Gramps reminding everyone about Normandy. I feel like I heard The Appleman mention that something was “100% real nightmare” like five times while watching this whole thing in quick succession.

Information for this cartoon is practically nonexistent, but my theory is that this happened because the animation was all produced in a single in-house Australian studio rather than shipping bits of it overseas to get tightened up. Again, I could be wrong, and if anyone has any better information, please send me an ask, but a lot of the techniques that Wicked! use reminded me of Filmation, which also famously kept everything in one studio.

Just be warned, similar to when someone watches He-Man and go “oh hey, I recognize that talking animation from the second episode”, there are shots that get reused often to save time. Get used to that one scene where Appleman is laughing and running across the steel walkway suspending over the refinery vats, it’s used a ton.

That being said, when they give them the budget to add a little polish to the show, they do a pretty good job!

Don’t be fooled by my talk of He-Man - this show actually looks pretty great. Most of the time the animation is pretty fluid and the decision to constantly use shadows to wrap around the characters really works in its favor and gives it an extra layer of moodiness.

It just reuses animation on top of that.

I think that, in many ways, Wicked! is carried more by the strength of its ideas over its actual execution. Even if this show gets super goofy at times (this is a show where the Appleman literally infects the Internet by taking a piper and dropping glowing green goo on a CD-ROM), there is a definite horror undertone to the show that gets carried through its entire season.

Dare I say it, the show actually gets a little scary at times. That scene where the kids discover that their pets are nothing but empty skins with all the organs and bones sucked out in the first episode actually sets the mood really well and feels extremely faithful to the original books.

Plus the concept of The Appleman being able to tinker around with a living virus and create something that can mutate literally anything is a fun as hell idea, even if it doesn’t make sense most of the time and seems like a weird mutation (hah) of the conflict from the books. It’s just fun that this guy can create literally anything out of thin air as a weapon just so long as he goes to his lab and makes something that allows him to do so.

The Pros

*The Appleman. Yeah, there’s a very good reason why the only thing people remember about this show is The Appleman. He’s just a fun character and a fun villain. His design does takes a bit to get used to on account of how uncanny he can be, and there are times when they draw him off-model and make him look just horrendous, but once you see how far they go with the apple-theming, you kinda start to vibe with the apple headed monster.

Sure, he’s basically your run-of-the-mill cartoon villain but with a bonus tragic backstory, but his vocal performance by Bill Conn really sells the whole package. You can tell that he’s greatly unhinged and that he’s not exactly playing with a full deck. It’s only until the last episode that they flat-out say that he’s being controlled by the same virus that he’s been using to infect other creatures, but I’m pretty sure your average cartoon-watching kid is able to guess that just from the small hints that they drop.

Also all of his vehicles are apple-colored and I love a villain that takes the time to make sure he has a proper theme.

(The “starting out with an island with apple trees on Animal Crossing: New Horizons” moodboard)

*The Family. I liked that, since this show is about terrorizing one particular dysfunctional Australian family, all five family members of this show get enough character development that the mom and dad feel like they’re more than “the mom and dad character”. Save for that one episode where Gramps was constantly bragging about how back in his day, he didn’t need electricity, he was a fun, lovable grandpa, and I like that the kids get someone to talk to about mutant frogs and such.

They’re definitely dysfunctional and, as I mentioned in the previous post, Rory and Dawn constantly insulting each other in every single episode can be grating at times, but I like that their level of dysfunction is not because of the mom and the dad having an emotionally abusive relationship. If anything, the mom and the dad have the most stable relationship in the whole show! Eileen and Jack love each other and I hate that I’m at a point where I see this husband and wife genuinely enjoying each other’s company and I go “Yes, this is something refreshing”.

Also, gotta give the show points for having the family be two single parents from past relationships finding each other and getting married and for having Eileen be totally cool with her new in-law Gramps. 

*The Slobberers. Expanded from the first creatures from the books, I like that the apple-headed monster has giant worms for pets (again, gotta aggressively keep to the apple theming) and, while there’s a couple episodes where they’re just something to give The Appleman something to talk to, their designs are fun. Gives the animators an excuse to draw slime.

In a later episode, he mentions that he considers them his only friends and boy...that’s rough, buddy. 

*There’s an episode where characters travel into the Internet and fight a buff video game avatar of The Appleman in a late 90′s dungeon crawler computer game. I looooove late 90′s Internet imagery in cartoons, what can I say. You even see the dial-up pop window and a clunky late 90′s webcam!

*This is a show where a divorced man keeps bugging his own son and ex-wife while sometimes trying to kill his ex-wife’s new husband - all while keeping to a strict apple and virus theme - and honestly, this is a pro on its own. The Appleman is such a petty bitch at times and I love it.

*The Appleman is allergic to medicine. Minor touch, but I like that, since he’s a virus-themed bad guy, they apply “Revive Kills Zombie” logic on this guy and he literally can’t take painkillers because it’ll only cause him more pain and agony. This comes up in an episode where he’s screaming in pain and wishes he could make the pain go away but just can’t.

*The Title Cards. This is one of those shows that freezes on eye-catching artwork for each episode title before they continue with the rest of the episode and they’re really nice.

*The Accents. Forgot to mention this anywhere else, but since this is an Australian produced cartoon that aired primarily in Australia, everyone is rocking a very noticeable Australian accent and say things like “Oi, you two! Come and get a wriggle on!”. It’s fantastic.

They were definitely at the level where, if this show ever did make it to the states, they would’ve dubbed it to sound more American. And probably flip the animation so that the characters are driving on the opposite side of the road.  

The Cons

*The Reused animation and sound clips. This is unfortunately the show’s biggest strike against it. Once your brain picks out which scenes get reused and which voice clips get reused, you’ll notice that some of the episodes have a noticeably smaller polish than others. The episode “Decayed” in particular felt like 50% footage from previous episodes and boy, did it stick out like a sour thumb because of it.

That being said, I didn’t mind too much (watching a lot of B-list anime and Filmation shows will do that to you) and I feel like you would’ve noticed this a lot less if you weren’t blazing through all 26 episodes in a short period of time like I was. But it is definitely a bummer that they had to cut corners like this because again, when they don’t cut corners, this show looks utterly fantastic.

I guess the lesson here is that the animators of this show didn’t get paid enough, but really, you can say that about literally every animated project in existence.

*Weird continuity inconsistencies. This goes into a weird nitpicking “you probably only noticed this because you’re an adult with too much free time/boy I sure hope someone got fired for THAT blunder!” territory, but sometimes this cartoon does a thing where something minor is established and then the cartoon subtly retcons it.

Mostly I’m using this space to complain about how Dawn explicitly mentions that they don’t own a cat, but then in the “character shrinks to the size of an ant” episode, they have a pet cat! They have a pet cat that lasts a grand total of one episode and no one says anything!

What happened to the cat, Rory? What happened to the cat?!

(my theory is, like his father, it ran away from this family)

*Some episodes use stock cartoon plots. There is an episode where the main characters shrink to the size of an ant. There is a camping episode. There is a school dance episode. There is a Halloween episode. There is an episode focused on teeth. There is an episode that talks about the dangers of too much fast food.

Like the reused animation issue, depending on the episode, you end up not minding too much about this on account of how utterly bonkers The Appleman is when he’s concocting his evil schemes. The “characters teleport into the Internet” episode ended up being one of my favorites, as did the school dance episode.

But at the same time, two of my least favorite episodes are the stock episode plot episodes, so it’s definitely a mixed bag.

*They use real photographs in background shots and it bugs me. Come on, guys. Just have the blank wall or scribble in some posters. Anything will look better than this cartoon character standing right next to a still image from Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, especially when you clearly had the time to draw that cartoon skull on the door.

*The three plot-heavy episodes unfortunately have weaker animation. This just seems like weird planning on their parts, but Episode 1, Episode 4, and Episode 26 are all episodes that deal with backstory of The Appleman and this wacky dysfunctional family and, for some reason, they didn’t bring their A game in regards to actually animating these episodes.

I feel like if you’re dealing with heavy backstory, you need to make the episode look good, because that’s going to be the stuff that the audience remembers. You need to have the flashback of The Appleman’s horrific transformation while he was working at the old refinery look amazing, but instead it just....doesn’t.

(picture unfortunately related)

Just to make a note, the episodes with the most fluid animation are the following: The one with the mutant plants, the one with the mutant sheep, the Halloween episode, the episode with the dinosaur bones, and the episode where The Appleman learns how to make clones. None of these episodes are important to the overarching plot. 

*One of the episodes is unfortunately popular because it depicts animation that caters to the inflation fetish. Just...noting this for posterity. It makes google image searches of this cartoon a bit awkward. I’m not going to elaborate much further.

*There’s a minor transphobic joke in one of the episodes. In the episode “Decayed”, The Appleman dresses up like a nurse, tries to adopt a more feminine voice, and puts on makeup and fake eyelashes. Thankfully, this only happens for like three seconds and is never mentioned again.

The rest of the show otherwise passes the “can this still fly in 2020″ test. I’m just making a note here because it is pretty shitty. 

Closing Thoughts

Wicked! is not the best show in the world, and I struggle to call it “great”, but it is a solid and enjoyable one and honestly, the things that it has going for it are unique enough that I recommend giving it a shot despite its shortcomings.

If anything, my main takeaway from watching this whole show is that this show does not deserve to be as obscure as it is. At the very least, the concepts and characters introduced here are strong ones - the villain is a bitter divorced man transformed by a hate-feeding virus after all - and I feel that, in a more fair world, this show got the small but dedicated fanbase it so woefully needs. It doesn’t deserve a huge following of fans, but I say it definitely deserves a Fanfiction.net tag with 200 fanfics total and a lot more fanart than what it does.

While I’m not sure I could recommend it as one of the great obscure cartoons that everyone missed, I think it’s definitely worth checking out for anyone looking for a fun time. It’s definitely a hidden gem, even if the hidden gem has a few imperfections. If anything, this show is a definite wild ride and I think it’s time for everyone to give this cartoon a shot.

Anyway I got to see The Appleman playing Second Life and moving the muscle slider all the way to the right, so I obviously had a blast.

Next time, I talk about the actual episodes!

[lubdubsworld]

The Perfect Husband ( Jung Kook/Oc)

Chapter 2

"It looks like I'm going to have to cut it just a little shorter, to make it even. " The lady at the small salon near the college dorms gave me an apologetic smile and I swallowed in misery. Shorter? It barely brushed my shoulder blades as it was. But she didn't hack it off and was very careful not to reduce the length more than necessary. In the end she also talked me into getting some lowlights.

"You look very pretty ." She said very cheerfully. I stared at my face. I didn't look pretty . I looked like every other woman Jung Kook took to his bed. Slutty. Whorish. Begging for attention.

I wanted to sob . I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to die, really.

Instead, I finished paying and made my way to the bus stand only to be greeted by the sight of Jeon Jung Kook leaning against the wall outside the salon, kissing his girlfriend. Or , to be more accurate, dry humping her. The moment he saw me, he pulled off and smiled, lips still slick with spit and swollen red. His teeth sunk into his lush lower lip and he stuck his tongue out lewdly, looking me up and down.

"There she is. My better half." he drawled and I ignored him, walking right by. Of course he wouldn't let me go that easy. Fingers curled around my arm and yanked me so hard, i was pretty sure my shoulder came unhinged. But I wasn't giving in that easy. I yanked right back and he loosened his hold, enough for me to hit him with my backpack, right in the side of his head.

He swore and stumbled a bit.

"You little bitch..."

I didn't wait for him to come after me, quickly jumping on the bus that pulled over, not even bothering to see where it was headed. Sitting on the hard seats, I finally let the tears fall. It seemed my life was truly over, I thought blankly, staring out the window. I couldn't imagine what he would do once he actually started having twenty four hours unrestricted access to me.

Why did he hate me though?

it made no sense.

I didn't want to trouble him. If he allowed me to, I'd never even appear in front of his face again.

There was something very mysteriously wrong with Jeon Jung Kook and no matter how much I hated him, I would have to find out what it was,  if for no other reason than to keep myself safe.

I remembered his girlfriend, Kim ji Ah, wasn’t that her name? How did she feel about this whole thing? She seemed perfectly content to suck his face despite the fact that he was engaged. That spoke volumes really. 

~~~~~~~

"We'll announce the betrothal next week.  And then you can move in with us for the twelve weeks before your marriage." My mother in law smiled and I felt my oxygen get cut off.

"What? I.. i don't want to move in.." My mother kicked me under the table and i stopped.

"she means that she'll start packing at once. We'll send her over in a couple of days. I understand that it's important for the kids to learn to be comfortable with each other."

"I'm plenty comfortable with him strangling me and dragging me around by my hair all the time. It makes me giddy with comfort. " I said under my breath.

"What's that?! Speak up, Ah reum !! "

I managed a weak smile.

"nothing Mrs. Jeon. I'm looking forward to be a part of your family." I said bleakly.

"Good, there are certain things you must learn before marriage. Proper etiquette. How to address all your elders. How to behave at official parties. Dining etiquette. You will be accompanying my son on major deals and dinners. You cannot embarrass us in any way. Meanwhile I have a schedule for all the things that need to be done before the wedding. You'll have to take Jung kook along for it all and I would appreciate if you keep him happy all the time. He's not yet warmed up to you and I expect you to change that. " She said loftily.

I considered the words, sinking deeper into depression. The only way to warm up Jeon jung Kook would be to toss him in a furnace. I volunteer, honestly. 

I then spent an inordinate time on fansites dedicated to Jeon Jung Kook, trying to gather some information about the guy. There were disturbingly large number of these filled mostly with selcas and photos that were vaguely stalkerish in nature. I also noticed that any female who managed to get too close to him was summarily threatened, and cowed into staying away by some very royal ' fans' who were all on a mission to protect ' oppa'. I swallowed with renewed terror. I did not want to be the next on their list.

When i told Soyou she laughed outright .

“They’re just girls on the internet, Ah Reum. You’re going to be his wife. i think you have the upper hand here. “ 

And that was that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Less than a week later , I ended up at the Jeon mansion, all my things packed and sent and I waited in the foyer of the obscenely huge house, every breath erratic.

Jung Kook appreared like a frog disguised as a prince, hair styled, wearing a white silk shirt and perfectly tailored slacks. Even the knowledge that his personality was worse than pond slime did not stop me from grudgingly realizing that he was incredibly attractive. 

"You actually came here. Wow, I was sure you'd run away from the country."

I gritted my teeth , absently reaching out to touch my hair and his eyes followed the movement , a pleased smile curving his features as he stepped up to me.

"You look better now. Kim Ah Reum." He drawled my name out. " They named you 'beautiful' ? Seems rather ironic, doesn't it?" He said with a confused tilt of his head.

I stared right at him.

"Is this your kink? Torturing innocent people? " I said finally.

His smile faltered.

"You're not innocent. You're just like the rest of them, trying to take advantage of my position in society. Well, guess what ? I'm no one's plaything. I'll be damned if i let you do that to me. " He said scornfully.

I felt my heart skip a couple of beats at that. It seemed a bit excessive, considering I really hadn't done anything of the sort.

"So, what do you want from me?" I said finally when he didn't say anything else.

He made a show of giving it some serious thought.

"I want you to stop pretending like you don't want to marry me. I want you to admit that you, like everyone else want me for my money, my status, the power of being Jeon Jung Kook's wife. "

"Fine. I want to be your wife because your rich, smart and powerful. It's hardly something to be ashamed of." I said with a shrug." In return, why don't you admit that you're just a fucking bully, who takes advantage of my lack of strength, just because you're too much of a coward to treat me like an equal!!"

I hadn't meant to spit it all out at him like that.

But my nerves were frayed beyond bearing and I'd spent a good forty eight hours, just wondering how far he was going to go, trying to hurt me.

If i was going to marry him, I deserved to know what made him want to hurt me, when he didn't do it with anyone else.

"Look at you, acting all tough. Missing the feel of my hand across your cheek?" He said softly, eyes narrowed in warning and I stood firm, refusing to be cowed.

"You're the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. Whether you like it or not, I'm the woman you're stuck with. Tell me what's wrong...Tell me what went wrong to turn you this way and i swear to God, I'll help you out. Anyway you want. if you want me a friend, I'll be that for you. if you want me to stay away from me , I'll do that. I swear, i don't want to hurt you or take advantage of you. I don't know what kind of people you've been with but that is not who I am, okay? Jung kook we can be friends..... " My tone came out very gentle and he actually swallowed.

"Get the fuck out of my face." He said very quietly.

"Jung Kook..."

"I SAID GET OUT!!!!"

Sighing I picked up my backpack and moved to the side hallway where one of the house maids stood waiting to lead me to my room. No one could say I hadn't tried.

When I glanced back to see him , he was already gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn't see him again for the rest of the evening. When I moved to change out of my clothes, opening the elaborately carved, white closets, I got my first shock.

All my pyjalmas were gone. Instead , all i could find were lacy negligees and satin shorts that would likely cover the bare minimum. All my jeans and shirts had been replaced by silk blouses and flowy skirts in floral prints. Wool dresses , silky summer dresses and gowns in all possible colors were arranged in neat stacks. The more expensive ones hung in rows from an iron rod. 

I stared at the hideous clothes and tried not to scream. I'd known this would happen , hadn't I? Being a Jeon daughter in law would mean this. To completely peel of every single layer of my personality, everything that made me , me and replace it with society's idea of the perfect trophy wife, starting with the hair and now the clothes. Tomorrow i would likely be forced to wear five inch heels and walk like a lady.

Fighting nausea , I sat on the bed, stunned.

I was hungry. i hadn't had lunch and now it was a little past eight. The maid had told me that since it was my first day, I could have dinner in bed. I rang the small bell in the corner of the wall and about ten minutes later the girl arrived with a tray that contained nothing but a small bowl of soup. I stared at it in disbelief.

"What on earth... I wanted dinner." I said softly.

"This is dinner, mistress. Lady Jeon said that you were trying to lose weight for the wedding so you'd be on a special soup-only diet." She smiled cheerfully.

I laughed in disbelief and watched the girl as she placed the bowl down and left. But i was hungry and I quickly gulped it down. It felt like I'd just drunk a glass of salted water. I stood in front of the mirror staring at myself. No one in their right mind would call me fat. I wasn't fashionably thin sure, but I'd never felt fat. Until now.

Hurt, lonely and insulted I curled myself into a ball on the bed, trying to ignore the pangs of hunger wracking my body. I thought of the week ahead. No doubt when the betrothal was announced, every female within a twelve km radius would be out for my blood.

Someone knocked on the door, probably the maid to get the dinner tray and I moved to open it.

"Hi there...." Jeon Jung Kook drawled , lightly pushing my shoulder till i stumbled back. I barely got my bearings before he was locking the door and stepping in  and I shrieked, scrabbling backwards to get away from him.

"Get out..." I shouted but he calmly shrugged out  ofthe suit jacket he was wearing, tossing it on the nearest chair before turning to me  and flexing his shoulders.

"Is that any way to talk to your friend? Whatever happened to the girl who wanted to start a nice , cozy marriage with me , just a few hours back?? "

I hesitated, trying to gage his words. He had a challenging glint in his eye that made me pause before answering.

"I wasn't lying. i meant what I said. I want this marriage to work. If you tell me what you want...." I said calmly and he laughed.

"I want to fuck you into that mattress right now. Is that part of the package you're offering, Ah Reum ssi.. ?? " He started unbuttoning his shirt and I felt annoyance well up inside me. I was seeing a pattern here. Anytime i tried to talk to him about us, he resorted to abusive language and violence.

"Jung Kook...This isn't funny..." I began .

"You told me you wanted to make this marriage work.. If you really want our marriage to work, you have to prove it to me. Sleep with me, I'll believe that you're serious about wanting to be my friend. "

He shrugged out of the shirt and I fell back on my butt because... Wow.

Okay, he was gorgeous.

I felt my mouth go dry and my heart started beating double-time, trying not to stare at all that satin smooth skin, the washboard abs and the damn near perfect physique. My face flooded with blood and I knew I was probably the exact same shade of a tomato.

"Like what you see?" He sounded amused.

I could feel an insane urge to smile rising up inside me and Good god, was I that shallow? Did the sight of his naked chest really turn me into a simpering idiot??

The answer was a humiliating yes.

I clamped a hand on my mouth to stop him from seeing the grin that had materialized there. But the look on his face told me he already knew and he snickered.

"Alright. Now return the favor." He said casually.

i stared at him stupidly.

“what?”

“Return the favor. An eye for an eye. A shirt for a shirt.” 

It took me  a second to realize that he wanted me to take off my shirt.

"What?! No!" I screamed, stunned. He rolled his eyes and stepped right up to me grabbed the hem of my shirt and yanked it up, so hard that three buttons popped and the fabric tore, leaving me semi naked .

I kicked out furiously and he laughed catching both my ankles and pinning me down before climbing on top of me. He sat down on my thighs and I choked out in disbelief before going cross eyed because...abs... in my face...

I reached out to push him away but the moment my palms touched his chest I pulled back, embarrassed and flustered. His skin felt scorching hot underneath my fingers. Maybe it was the effect of all the selcas I'd been seeing in the fancafe, but he looked way too handsome  up close  , his sharp jawline and silky hair hitting me like a punch to the gut.

Jeon Jung Kook was a class A bastard .

But he was also a breathtakingly beautiful bastard.

"Take your hands off." He said sternly and I yelped when he grabbed both my wrists in one hand and yanked my arms up over my head, pinning them against the headboard. He used his free hand to lightly thread through my hair. But his hands stayed there, not venturing even an inch lower.

"Like this... with your hair mussed and your shirt off, you do a bit of justice to your name." He said thoughtfully. I thrashed my hips trying to dislodge him but he only pressed down harder, his hip bones digging into my waist, as he pushed down into me.

"I'm not your plaything either, you hypocrite. You can't accuse me of taking advantage of you when you're doing the exact same thing right now.” I snarled. 

He glared and then moved off me , long legs struggling to disentangle from mine.

"I can't even fuck you because your smart mouth is literally the world's biggest turn off. " He snapped letting go of my wrists and plopping back on the bed. I just lay there, stunned.

"Get out of my room, you freak." I muttered and he rolled his eyes.

"This happens to be my room as well. My parents want us to cohabit." He rolled his eyes and shimmied out of his skin tight jeans while I hastily looked away.

"why are you so shameless? at least have the decency to change elsewhere." I shrieked. He laughed at that.

"I'm not ashamed of my body, sweetheart. unlike you, I don't have a stick for a body frame" He shrugged.

I stared at him, momentarily thrown. It was actually the second time he'd called me thin. I really wasn't , and there was no sarcasm in his voice either. It struck me that he actually really considered me thin.

"Stop gawking like an idiot and turn off the lights. I want to sleep." He burrowed under the comforter and I stared in disbelief.

Surreal.

There really was no other word to describe Jeon Jung Kook.

He was surreal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You look bad. Are you okay?" Soyou looked worried as I stumbled a bit trying to focus on the stairs I was climbing. I was wearing a ridiculously feminine dress, with floral prints and lace edges and a pair of pumps that cut off my blood circulation.

It had been about a week since I'd moved in with Jung Kook and today would be the official announcement of the betrothal. I had been half tempted to stay home and hide under my bed but apparently , I would have to go up on stage with Jung Kook and explain that this wasn't just a business deal. That we were in fact in ' love' with each other. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had been getting a lot of flak for forcing their young son into a marriage he didn't like and they were very determined to keep their reputation intact. Hence this little publicity stunt.

I could only hope that I didn't vomit on the podium, trying to pretend to be in love with Jeon Jung Kook.

"i'm tired..." i said honestly.

And starving.

My mother in law had taken her role very seriously. I wasn't given anything except broth and soup and the occasional chicken breast, unseasoned. I had no energy left in my body. But I'd lost a good five pounds, so she counted it a success.

"You should lay low for a week after the announcement." She said worriedly and I nodded.

While most of the students were already gathered in the assembly hall, Jung Kook was nowhere to be found.

"Ah Reum.. Come on up here. Your in laws are here..." One of my professors looked flustered as she ushered me over to the side room. i bowed politely to Mr and Mrs Jeon finally spotting Jung Kook next to his father, looking surly and handsome in a perfect black tux.

"We decided to do this here because it would be good for all the kids to understand that your relationship is serious. " Mrs. Jeon said firmly and I nodded, feeling out of place . I hadn't been raised like Jung kook. My parents were strict but very friendly nonetheless. Jung Kook's mother looked like she'd never hugged her son in his entire life.

Jung Kook gave me a surly stare , looking me up and down with distaste. I didn't blame him. On the good looks scale he was a perfect ten while I hung somewhere between a five and a six on my best days. It struck me that this was probably the reason people thought he was being forced into the marriage. Because no way would a guy like Jeon Jung Kook willingly want to marry a girl like me.

Tears stung without warning and i blinked, surprised. It wasn't like me to cry over stuff like this.

When the announcement came there was a collective moan of disappointment and rushed voices. Mr. Jeon spoke about how marriage would be the first step to Jung Kook becoming an adult and how he would go on to take over Jeon inc., and make it bigger than ever . When Jung Kook took the mike he looked blank and completely emotionless.

In a few crisp words, he reiterated that he loved his fiancee, Kim ah Reum very much. She was an attractive, intelligent young woman who would no doubt support him in all his endeavors and stand by him while he works hard to do his best for Jeon inc., If everyone would support him it would be great.

Polite applause greeted his words. And then we posed for some pictures and answered a few generic questions about how we'd met. I'd had strict orders not to say a word and Jung Kook said some cliched stuff about meeting me at the library, asking me out to coffee and enjoying my ' very charming smile and casual way of talking ' .

I couldn't keep still and said that I loved that he 'treated me like a gentleman and always took very gentle care of me'.

It was beyond ridiculous.

After it was all over and done , I moved to go to the restroom just to get my head together. I would have walked right past the door if my name hadn't come floating through. Curious, I pressed my ears to the classroom door.

"Never heard of her,."

"Must be something special if Jeon Jung Kook actually agreed to marry her. "

"I've seen her a bunch of times. Not much of a face but the body is definitely A plus. Nice and curvy. Luscious breasts man. " Some gruff voice said and I grimaced.

 Perverts.

I decided to move away when the next sentence caught my attention.

"How about we pay her a visit tonight? "

I stopped short.

What the hell??

"She's staying with Jeon right now. And you know how he is. Like a fucking territorial dog. He’s going to keep a firm leash on his bitch so, I’m not sure we can get to her..."

"No, but she leaves the college at six right? I've seen her take the bus. I think we can get her if we hang about there for a while. "

I stumbled back, too shocked to be scared. What on earth was wrong with these people?? Was nothing sacred anymore. Throat dry, I slowly backed away. 

 I had to find another way to get home, I thought .

It wasn't as easy as I thought. My parents told me they had a bunch of interviews to give themselves and all the cars were already occupied. Catch a cab they told me , but cabs weren't allowed inside the campus. I would still have to walk out, past the bus stop.

In the end I ended up in front of Jeon Jung Kook.

"Give me a ride home." I said softly and he raised an eyebrow,

"No. " He said at once.

God.

"Please...  just for today..." I begged.

He rolled his eyes.

"I said no. Go annoy someone else. "

“Jung Kook , please...”

“Look , begging doesn’t appeal to me outside the bedroom, so get out before I do something we both regret.” He growled. 

What else could I say?

In the end I begged Soyou to come with me, through the back gate and she agreed to meet me there at five.

I'd just finished clearing out my locker when a palm came around my mouth, cutting off my breath and making me scream.

"Hey baby..." I recognized the voice from the classroom and panicked. Oh shit...

" Let's not waste time guys..." I recognized two of them. Bang Yong Guk and Kim Him Chan who were both rich , spoiled brats . I jumped when he really lost no time, reaching out and unbuttoning the back of my dress in quick deft movements that suddenly made the entire situation frighteneingly real and scary. He gripped my hair, hard enough for it to burn and I felt my eyes water from the pain of it.

I thrashed about so wildly that I lost my breath but I was still exhausted from not having eaten anything in a while. they held me down so easily , I felt like a doll.

"Did you fuck, Jung kook? Was he any good? He must be... seeing as every female wants to get in his pants... but then...if he actually agreed to marry you, you must be really good at what you do, babe.. Why not show me..."

He pushed me down to my knees and quickly indid his pants. I screamed soundlessly into the palm over my mouth . He wouldn't...!!!

Would he??

I wanted to vomit...

Sudeenly the palm over my mouth went away, reaching down to grip my jaw brusingly, keeping my mouth open and making it impossible for me to clamp my jaw shut. Yong Guk pulled his erection out of his briefs and pushed it into my mouth, just as the door behind us slammed open.

I gagged on the thick length inside my mouth and a second later he was being pulled off of me while I vomitted all over the floor. it was mostly bile, I hadn't had solid food in such a long time. I crawled away piteously, while my rescuers beat the pulp out the three of them. I reached the corner of the class room and finally focussed on the scene in front.

Jeon Jung Kook had a knife to Yong Guk's neck.

"I'm going to slit your throat..." He snarled and My heart jumped to my throat .

"Jung Kook...No!!" I screamed, terrified.

He ignored me.

"Get on your knees. On your knees. and Apologize to her.. Right now before I fuck you up!!" He shouted.

Yong Guk wasn't going to argue with a guy who had a knife to his pulse point. He kneeled in front of me but smirked venomously.

"Sorry we got interrupted..." He said , earning himself a nice kick to his back. I flinched, my heart pounding so hard I was sure i was going to faint.

"You're pushing it Yongguk. Do you want to die..." Jung kook growled and Yong Guk smirked again.

"sorry, princess. " Hesaid and Jung Kook dragged him up and tossed him out of the class, while Min Yoongi pushed the other two out.

"Are you okay?" Jung Kook looked honestly worried as he dropped to his knees in front of me. I swallowed nervously, still in shock.

"I'm okay.... he didn't.. do anything..." I said vaguely and Jung Kook sighed in defeat.

"I shouldn't have let you go alone. Fuck, I didn't think he'd actually have the nerve to come after you. I'm going to kill him for sure..."

"Jung Kook you should probably get her home. She looks like she's going to pass out." Yoongi muttered and I flinched.

My body had apparently shut down and now my legs wouldn't function. I tried again to pull myself up but apparently my bones had given up on me.

"It's OK. I got you, come on."

And then, without any warning, he slipped a hand underneath my knees and lifted me up till I was cradled against his chest.

I was too tired to process this and just gave up trying to make sense of his hot and cold behaviour.

To my surprise he didn't let go of me even in the car. Once we reached the house I felt firm enough to walk by myself and stared at him as he handed over my books.

" Thanks for coming back for me." I said sincerely.

”Don't go around alone hereafter.” he snapped.

For some reason , I remembered thinking that he'd looked like he'd never been hugged.

So that's what I did.

I hugged him.

He went stiff as a board and said, " What the fuck ?"

But he didn't push me away.

When I finally pulled back his face was unreadable.

" Thanks." I said again.

He didn't come to my room again for the rest of the week.

[albumtalks]

Review: Bearpark - What Goes On In Our Souffles

Artist: Bearpark Album: What Goes On In Our Souffles Release: Jul 14, 2017 (UK) / Jul 17, 2017 (International) Label: Independent Genre: Garage/Indie Rock Length: 42:20 Track Listing:

Household Appliances Are Of Poor Quality (2:19)

What Goes On (Inside Our Souffles) (5:20)

Various Colored Threads (3:15)

Choke Them Out With Virtues (2:21)

Helpin' My Uncle Like a Bastard (6:01)

Clever Librarian (feat. Tupac) (4:47)

Looking For Snacks (0:43)

NATO - No Action, Talk Only (8:26)

Exclamation of Disappointed Surprise (4:10)

Outbreak of Salmonella Every Five Minutes (6:08)

When talking about the new renaissance of Garage Rock-inspired Indie Pop, pioneer trio Bearpark is always one of the first names on anyone's lips, and that's why it shouldn't be surprising that their first full-length album in nearly 16 years has been a hot topic lately. After their constant streams of EPs and singles stopped in 2005 they hadn't been heard from, aside from a brief stint touring with Florence + The Machine and Garbage in 2013. Yet suddenly, fans got a tantalizing social media post announcing a tentative "July 2017" release date, it quickly hit "Trending Worldwide" on Twitter and was the talk of music media for weeks. But without a single word of update from the band or label fan enthusiasm quickly turned to confusion. Was the long-awaited new Bearpark album some kind of bizarre prank? Well, sixteen long months of waiting later, and we finally have an answer. But the question still hanging in the air is a big one: Is it worth the wait?

The answer is a resounding "ehh" sound, and utter befuddlement. Bearpark have chosen to eschew all labels and make something so vastly unlike their previous material that it's hard to even feel right calling it a Bearpark album at all. Especially confusing is how all the elements are present in spades (in particular the raspy, desperate yells of lead singer Brian Humphreys and the unhinged solos of guitarist Reynolds Johansson) but somehow it sounds like another band altogether composed these songs and Bearpark is simply covering them.

Household Appliances kicks the album off with a promising garage-rock riff that sounds like an outtake from Bearpark's debut album, and a vocal line that kicks off almost immediately with a direct delivery reminiscent of They Might Be Giants. But in its short 2-minute runtime it doesn't express much of an idea and sputters to a stop before going anywhere interesting, leading directly into the fast-paced drums that open title track What Goes On. Of course by now this song (and album's only single to date) has seen its fair share of radio play, and it isn't a bit surprising considering the generally infectious rhythm and some of the most coherent and memorable lyrics of the band's catalogue. The deviation from the band's less radio-friendly roots is actually welcome, although the addition of an (uncredited) keyboardist feels entirely forced.

The album lumbers on after that with three completely forgettable songs, the mid-tempo rocker Various Colored Threads and the slow, sappy acoustic duo of Choke Them Out With Virtues and Helpin' My Uncle Like a Bastard, which are so unnecessarily similar in tempo and composition that I was, on first listen, completely unaware they weren't a single, overlong track. Luckily the last minute of Helpin' picks up the tempo and adds some layered synths to liven things up, but it's much too little too late, not to mention completely out of place.

Clever Librarian (feat. Tupac) comes plodding in after as a solid example of the cover-band sound the band has taken for this album, with a composition that weaves back and forth between sounding like a folksy new Mumford & Sons track and a swaggering-but-forgettable Rolling Stones B-side. It's not a bad track but you'll probably find yourself reaching for a copy of Sticky Fingers to play instead. Showing the band's bizarre sense of humor, rapper Tupac is entirely absent from the track despite its name, but short interlude/skit Looking For Snacks makes a note of this discrepancy as the track features the sound of drummer Phil Veer seemingly rummaging through a refrigerator while talking to his agent on the phone, asking "Can we get Tupac to guest on the album?" before learning, to his dismay, that the artist in question is long dead.

The first and only genuinely guitar-driven track on the album, NATO - No Action, Talk Only, launches into gear immediately with a rare instance of the band utilizing multiple guitars as guest axeman Tommy Filbilt (from sister band Wisconsin & Southern and Post-Grunge supergroup Bottom Rock) starts the track by rampaging a searing solo atop a beating drum line and driving arena-rock riff. It could be either a lost Scorpions or KISS classic for the first 45 seconds but NATO instead slows into a middle-fast-paced rhythm and starts to take on more of that depression-laden Bearpark sound just in time for the vocals to kick in. The song doesn't let a traditional structure hold it down, instead ditching “verse-chorus-repeat” in favor of a campfire-story-esque lyrical structure as Humphreys aggressively belts out a tale of a soldier's love that blossoms and tragically withers. A true highlight of the album, but its extended length sometimes feels unnecessary as Johansson and Filbilt's dueling guitar interplay drags on solely for the sake of time without leaving behind any memorable moments. NATO winds up being a high point for the album that could really shine with a producer who knows when to cut a track to size.

The last two tracks of the album immediately put the brakes on any hopes you might have had about the band's return to their rock-heavy style, however, as they instead present a muddy synth-heavy sound that strays much farther from the Bearpark we know than ever before. Instrumental track Exclamation of Disappointed Surprise starts with a heartbeat sound that maintains to the finish, gradually being smothered under increasingly dense electronic orchestration and a winding guitar line that doesn't seem to know where it wants to go. Under other circumstances this might be a fascinating experimental jam session but it leads seamlessly into the overly-synthetic Outbreak of Salmonella Every Five Minutes, which adds auto-tune (yikes) and a drum machine to the mix to fully push the album out of a rock mindset.

If you came into the album looking for a sequel Bearpark's last few albums you'll probably be disappointed, but for new fans or a music aficionado looking for something unique it might just scratch an itch. Unfortunately it just couldn't capture me the way their older music did, and I see myself skipping all of Souffles the next time I spin their discography.

~Richard M.

[effects-of-growing-up]

One Night Show

Here is a short story I write as a request from another tumblr user. I’m not very good at writing scary, so it isn’t really spooky, but it’s a short story detailing a strange night at a strange circus.

Rain dripped down the tent, dropping coolly into the faces of guests entering. The familiar tones of the circus music twisted and groaned at an unfamiliarity slow pace. It sent shivers of uncertainty down into the guts of those entering, but something continued to pull them.

“Come in, come in,” came the raspy voice. A man stepped into the center ring, dressed in a long black cloak. His dark eyes glistened in the light and many swore they saw flashes of red when he blinked. “Don’t be shy. Take a seat and prepare for a show like no other.”

The audience filed in, sitting down on the bleachers. They creaked and swayed, almost threatening to collapse under the weight. Skittering could be heard underneath, little creatures moving quickly to fix it up and keep it standing.

As the final guest entered, the door gently fell shut. Darkness took over and the music stopped. For a moment, no one breathed and nothing happened. Then suddenly with a crack, the lights shot to the three rings where the circus master stood. Tall and daunting, his dark clothing seemed taken from a gothic novel. He spun his cane as he spoke to the crowd.

“Welcome, welcome, to the freakishly fun, freakishly real Circus of Horrors! We have an evening that will awe you, entrance you, entranse your mind, and leave you with much to consider about the world. Let us begin!”

With that, he slammed his cane down and smoke erupted. As it faded, the man was gone, and in his place stood a single man. Hairier than a normal man, he stood slightly hunched, mouth salivating with larger canines pointing out from his misshapen lips. His golden eyes moved over the crowd as he brought a small whistle to his lips, releasing a sound no one could hear.

No time seemed to pass before music began again and a hoard of young dogs flew from the back of the tent, barking and attacking one another. They looked normal enough at first, but the moment the man raised his hand and they halted in front him, reality set in.

They weren’t small dogs, they were wolf-child hybrids. Many looked ravenous and ready to attack. The man produced a hoop from the round, snapping. It lit and the show began.

Act after act brought more curiosity, more fear, into the audience. They couldn’t leave. A child sobbed, terrified of the lizard people juggling large rats and catching them in their mouth, slurping them up like candy.

Many wanted to cover their eyes, to not see the naga as it swung from ropes and hoops far above the ground with no net. Her only source of hold came from her long, slender tail. She fell twice, twisting and writhing in the air. Each time she hit the ground with a grimacing splat before slithering back to action with a bow, like the fall was scripted to scare the audience.

The crowd clapped after every act, hands forced together in reverberation. They moved without will, their minds numb from begging for freedom. They watched on as the circus master appeared again and again to introduce each new act, laughing with glee at the fear in many members eyes.

    As another act ended, the crowds applause slowly died down as the lights came on and music began to play, loudly and out of tune, from an ancient looking record player. The horn reflecting the colors of bubbles that were slowly floating up and out of a large tank that had been placed in the center ring. The circus master balanced easily on the thin glass edge, walking like he was on a tightrope.

    “And now for one of our more popular acts, put your hands together for Eilee!” The audience clapped, unable to stop themselves yet again, as the water rippled and something flung out. The woman did a flip, her dark black tail smooth until the fins, where they morphed into sharp and barbed. Her beautiful smile was tainted by the daggered teeth that laid behind her lips. As she reached the peek of her jump, she placed a pipe between her lips. A bubble grew from it, shimmering green and sickly. Instead of floating up, it swiftly moved down. The siren slipped into it with ease.

    “Eilee is our resident siren, as dangerous as she is beautiful, fear her lilted words. She’s not afraid to take a bite. Her bubbles, colorful and unique, offer a special touch to the show as she wills them to do as she pleases.” The master hopped off the glass, disappearing with a woosh before his feet hit the ground.

    The siren rose higher and higher, swimming inside her bubble. It grew and grew, forming the shape of her tank far before. As she reached the top of the tent, it popped, sending her free falling down.

    Someone gasped as she dove. Fear filled some of the audience, fear and uncertainty of how she could survive. She hit the water with a large smack, slipping beneath it as if nothing had happened. She swam a lap, blowing into her pipe.

    Bubbles broke the surface, one popping and filling the top layer with a shiny liquid. The next pushed through it all before erupting in crimson flames, taking off as the substance over the water ignited it into white hot fury. The siren swam before flipping out of the fire and diving back in, bubbles following her movements and floating away. As she hit the water again, they popped, sending a melodic array of music from their sticky prison.

    Members of the audience stood, eyes glazing over. The siren swam to the front, placing her hands against the glass. Her eyes begged them to come forward as more bubbles broke the surface and popped, continuing her call.

    Men and women alike stepped out of the bleachers, walking towards her tank at the center of the tent. Many guests watched in fear while others watched in amusement.

    They stepped ever closer and soon were mere inches away. The siren’s smile twisted and she flew to the top of the water, shooting out with speed. As she breached the water, her music ended and a shrill shriek escaped her mouth as it grew larger and larger. Her once pretty pout quickly became a large trap of teeth and anger.

    The audience members broke from their spell, the closest barely falling back before the siren’s clawed fingers caught his throat. They screamed, stumbling back in fear as they scrambled back to the stands.

    The siren laughed as she fell back, the flames disappearing. A drumroll began and the lights all faded from the tank, following a ladder leading up higher and higher, far into the peak of the tent. The lights shown as a man stepped to the edge. His eyes were blindfolded, the red of the fabric sharp against his pale skin. He stepped closer and closer to the edge, his toes dangling off.

    The drum beat faster until suddenly the man stepped off, plummeting down towards the water he couldn’t see below. The siren swam circles, her eyes never leaving him. He continued to fall, feet first, towards her.

    Seconds passed of nothing but his fall before a shriek pierced the air again and the siren flew from her watery home. Her jaw seemed to unhinge as she neared the falling man, her teeth glistening with saliva. Someone screamed but it was too late.

    With an easy movement of her jaw and a deep swallow, the man was taken in and gone. The siren fell into the water again, pipe back in her lips as bubbles blew out, twisting into shapes and popping and releasing the tones of the circus song. She swam up to the edge of the tank, pushing her torso out. She raised her arms in the air and bowed, her dark hair slinking out around her and falling against the tank.

    Cheers erupted from dry throats, hands begging for control clapping. No one was in control but those performing.

    Darkness fell again as the sounds of scuttling filled the audience's ears. The master returned as a single light flickered on and shone on him.

    “I hope you’ve all enjoyed our fun show,” he said, smiling largely. Fangs popped from his lips. “I know we have. We always feel so welcome in these small towns when folks like you fill our stands to the brim. We work to bring the very best of horrific fun.”

    He clapped his hands and the lights turned on to reveal the next act. Mannequins stood in a line in all three rings, plastic dull faces staring blankly at the crowd. Their arms bent oddly and many had heads stuck bent to the side. Some were dressed in rags, some were naked, revealing the chipped paint of their bodies.

    Silence filled the air as the mannequins continued to stare, watching the audience waveringly. Then a creak took over, like a door that had been closed too long. It got louder and louder as each mannequin began to adjust their arms, jerking and shaking. They began to move, limping and dragging towards the terrified audience.

    People gasped and tried to move, but they were glued to their seats. Fear flashed in everyone’s face as the mannequins reached the first row of onlookers.

    “Now, now, don’t be afraid,” a cackling voice said, piercing the silence. “They just want to play.”

    A man floated down from the darkness above, balanced gently on a broom. His long white hair was braided tight down his back his crooked nose was all that could be seen of his face beneath a large top hat.

    He snapped his fingers and blue sparks shot from them like lightning. All eyes were on him until a woman let out a scream.

    The mannequins were moving again, grabbing on to helpless audience members and dragging them into their rings.

    “Thank you for volunteering! I promise, few get injured from our manic juggling act!” Another snap and all mannequins jerked back into line, standing tall except for those with bent necks.

    Music began to play again, the sound almost similar to that of a jack-in-a-box. The tones rang harsh against everyone’s ears as the mannequins stood, waiting for their sign to jump.

The warlock flew above their heads, stopping at each human and casting a spell. One by one they were touched by blue sparks and one by one they went tense as a board. When he was done, he gave a loud clap that echoed through the tent.

Upon the sound, the mannequins came to life again, grabbing the humans. One ring formed a circle, another formed a star, and the final form a heart. With another loud clap, they threw the humans high into the air, their screams stuck in their tense throats.

Every mannequin moved to the right, keeping their shape and barely sliding into place before a human. They were caught thrown back up, far into an arch, to another mannequin sliding into its new spot.

One by one the mannequins shifted, throwing humans up like they were nothing but bowling pins. When one man came close to the ground, they simply flung him higher.

The audience watched in dazed awe, fear still rolling their stomachs.

As the song wound to an end, the notes inching towards the final climactic ending, the warlock gave a final loud clap and the lights fell. Creaking ceased and gentle thuds shook the rickety stands.

The lights flashed on again, the circus master stood at the center again. A large grin filled his face as he clapped. “What a show this has been and what an amazing audience we’ve had tonight! We are almost through and as amazing as this dreary evening has been, we must go. But don’t fret, we still have one more act to show.”

He stepped aside without a sound as a child ran into the ring. Her gaunt face and graying skin hid her age, but it was clear she was meant to be long dead. Her long locks of filthy hair drug on the ground behind her as she walked and a puff of smoke escaped her lips from a cigar, floating up high into the tent. All of this paired with her frilled antique black dress created a strange anomaly for the audience to see.

She gave a gentle bow, her limbs almost too loose as her head rolled and her knee almost snapped beneath her. Goggles glittered on her dirty forehead.

A light flashed onto the third ring to reveal a sleek black canon. Leaning against it was a woman who practically glowed underneath the light. Her translucent skin looked as thin as paper and her long black hair fell into waves. She placed a hand on the canon, raising the other in the air. Her thin fingers held a glowing cigarette in it’s holder. The tip burned an unnatural bright red.

“Thank you for coming, but don’t leave yet!” The little girl said, her voice thick with a French accent and rough for a child. “Watch as I, the daring and undying Zenas, shoot from a canon into the sky!”

She bounded over to the last circle where the woman took her hand and swung her up. She slid inside, almost disappearing, only the tip of her head and the long strings of hair left for the audience to see.

The woman sauntered over to the end, adjusting the canon to aim up. Just in the shadows above, something could be seen scuttling. A moment later, the tent opened and the figure shifted away quickly.

Rain poured inside, adding a touch of unease to the already strange happenings.

“What now as ma jolie fille blasts from the canon into the night,” the woman said, her accent the same as her daughters. Her own voice held a gentle slur as she spoke around glistening, needle sharp fangs.

She took a puff of her cigarette before lazily dropping her hand down to light the fuse with the tip. It sizzled away, sparking as it entered the canons chamber. A moment of silence fell before a deafening crack blasted from the canon and the girl was shot out at terrifying speeds.

Her laughter filled the ears of the audience as the tent went black and all they could do was watch as she disappeared into the sky, shooting far from sight.

A woman began sobbing as she feared for the girl’s life.

“Do come again,” the voice of the circus master purred, the sound coming from all around.

A crack of lightning shattered the sky and the tent illuminated again. All the rings were gone, no circus master was in sight. For a moment all the audience could do was sit tensely in fear. Then finally the spell wore off.

Many slumped into their seats, others screamed and ran, and a few even had smiles on their face.

When all had left the tent, it shot into the sky alongside the stands, leaving no trace of what had happened that night.