#(and i mean literally because its the fucking film basically)

[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist 

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you. 

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance. 

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic. 

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within. 

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home. 

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes. 

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties. 

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life. 

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you. 

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind. 

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders. 

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head. 

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid. 

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened. 

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence. 

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again. 

How inspiring. 

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home. 

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?” 

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather. 

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. 

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect. 

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly. 

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.” 

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man. 

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road. 

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward. 

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same. 

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness. 

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.” 

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire. 

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…” 

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin. 

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.” 

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most. 

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again. 

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard. 

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.” 

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue. 

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good. 

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze. 

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots. 

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely. 

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck. 

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.” 

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan. 

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.” 

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest. 

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life. 

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?” 

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.” 

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed. 

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating. 

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough. 

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch. 

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.” 

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it. 

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.” 

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?” 

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death. 

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.” 

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message. 

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?” 

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.” 

Fuck. 

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness. 

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans. 

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible. 

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you. 

With words, this time. 

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.” 

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.” 

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain. 

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it. 

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh. 

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that. 

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries. 

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there. 

And you would—had he not buckled you in place. 

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody. 

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him. 

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.” 

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts. 

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?” 

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers. 

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning. 

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.” 

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level. 

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way. 

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing. 

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder. 

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.” 

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible. 

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again. 

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether. 

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone. 

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.” 

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by. 

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.” 

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length. 

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal. 

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.” 

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?” 

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.” 

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?” 

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.  

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now. 

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.” 

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date. 

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him. 

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum. 

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand. 

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight. 

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago. 

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it. 

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside. 

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” 

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you. 

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper. 

“Swallow it, baby.” 

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after. 

“Good girl.” 

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.” 

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?” 

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed. 

“You do, baby.” 

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once. 

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray. 

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit. 

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy. 

He’s Father. 

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands. 

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil. 

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum. 

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering. 

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with. 

Sunny side up it is. 

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it. 

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs. 

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?” 

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten. 

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him. 

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it. 

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away. 

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon. 

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems. 

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers. 

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees. 

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month. 

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days. 

You’re not letting go of him. 

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner. 

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck. 

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around. 

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest. 

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him. 

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them. 

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again. 

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?” 

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him. 

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay. 

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry. 

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it. 

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue. 

And you do. 

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper. 

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso. 

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before. 

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?” 

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.” 

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand. 

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?” 

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.” 

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro. 

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?” 

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is. 

It’s what propels you to get on your knees. 

“Baby.” 

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder. 

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.” 

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat. 

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?” 

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time. 

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

“Down the hall. First door to the right.” 

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is. 

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own. 

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling. 

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before. 

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too. 

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face. 

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.” 

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves. 

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face. 

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?” 

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t. 

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura. 

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking. 

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.” 

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond. 

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.” 

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore. 

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back. 

You come and you don’t stop. 

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer. 

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.” 

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.” 

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises. 

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?” 

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.” 

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.” 

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say. 

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing. 

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do. 

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in. 

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way. 

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed. 

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.” 

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.” 

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you. 

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him. 

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do. 

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out. 

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake. 

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created. 

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again. 

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet. 

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?” 

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him. 

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.” 

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat. 

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?” 

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him. 

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.” 

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations. 

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.” 

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?” 

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently. 

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?” 

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle. 

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek. 

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves. 

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk. 

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?” 

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins. 

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.” 

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane. 

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do. 

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes. 

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

[thewhizzyhead]

how genderbending the warriors (2024) is done not for the sole sake of "bad-assery"

okay here we go feminist ramble time for our newest chick on the block: warriors. now i'll be honest, prior to listening to the album, when i first heard that the warriors main girls were originally dudes in the movie and the novel, i thought that the decision for the genderbending, in lmm's perspective, were from the following: 1.) girl power move in like a very basic meaning of the word "bad-ass" 2.) simply a twist on a cult movie about big gang bros loved by the film bros, and 3.) a way to have the schuyler sisters back together gjfkdfldf

but when i read more about warriors and its development and how lmm took inspiration from the gamergate controversies of 2014-2015 aka among the peak of gamerbro misogyny campaigns, that's when i realized that Oh Shit Is Serious - because adapting a story about a group being framed and targeted and harassed for something they are accused of doing without any substantial proof other than a man screaming "THE WARRIORS SHOT CYYYYRUUS" with 21st century misogyny campaigns in mind makes the theme of fighting back a lot more complicated and a lot more resonant, going beyond just marketing a cast you can call "badass"

take the hurricanes' quiet girls, for example. the hurricanes (concept album version) is the only gang that lets the warriors off the hook and with a stern warning: quiet girls don't make it home. here, the hurricanes berate the warriors for not saying shit or attempting to defend themselves from accusations they know well aren't true. THIS MESSAGE IN PARTICULAR is what stays and influences ajax, fox, and swan til the very end of their stories.

literally one song after this does ajax show how easily she resonated with the hurricanes' lesson by finally sticking with her gut and actually choosing to fight back against both the baseball furies AND against the sleazy undercover cop. the latter encounter is one of the instances that really solidifies the recontextualization of the story because in the OG movie, ajax (a dude) WAS the sleazy fuck up harassing a woman in a park - and now with the literal character switch, ajax goes from being just a rebellious gangbro dude bro into someone whose want to fight is warranted. such a want to fight is seen in fox seeing as fox is the first to comment on the quiet girls scene and that, in the concept album, she is the one that instigates the rumble against the police in union square - saying that she is sick of being afraid of them and their 'fuckin powder blue' colors (also notice how she is the only warrior that really does say fuck the cops i think that's cool BUT I'LL TALK ABOUT FOX MORE NEXT TIME)

to a less obvious extent, swan also gets the receiving end of this recurring theme - by the album's finale, the usually violence-averse caution-first interim leader becomes a lot fiercer in protecting her crew. but perhaps among what i consider to be the biggest recontextualized change in the feminist sense is MERCY and her motivations to join the warriors in the first place. according to the wiki, her attraction to swan and the warriors and um seeing the orphans as wimps is what led her to switch sides BUT IN THE CONCEPT ALBUM, mercy's motivation to become a warrior is deepened, rooted in admiration rather than attraction - wanting to be like those women who hold their head up high. and again, we see this in Sick of Runnin' when she takes part in the rumble, finding her bravery within their ranks as they fight back. here, mercy becomes less of a swan tagalong and more of someone that wants what the warriors have: pride.

of course now that i type this out i realize that warriors is not based solely on the feminist rhetoric as with their theme of hope amidst adversity, the story is more intersectional and rooted in community struggle and wanting for more than that. but nonetheless, i genuinely believe that the twt filmbros arguments on why the genders should not have been changed in the first place just for "woke" points is kinda like,,,very shortsighted because not only does the narrative of women narrowly escaping unwarranted accusations actually fucking fit, but the act of learning to fight back amidst all odds - be it that of disbelieving, predatory men or the power of oppressive pigs - stays resonant for women yesterday, today, and the days to come.

ultimately, warriors (2024) is not solely a tale of female badassery - rather, it is a tale of the need for such "female badassery" in the face of past and present realities, which is why it somehow fucking worked.

[your-ne1ghbor]

Asha's Animal Side Kick

Now presenting...

the one...

the only...

BONSAI !!!!!!!!!

It was either between a possum, ferret, or a great eared nightjar/type of bird, but either way, I had to go with the possum.

I liked the light brown possum a lot personally since I thought it was really cute yk??

It was also based off of this possum:

OKOK, you may be wondering why I changed Valentino, or Bonsai into a possum.

There are 2 reasons:

Numero Uno:

VALENTINO IS FUCKING UGLY

I think my friend @sewerpalette said it best here:

Nothing can convince me otherwise. His design is just SO ugly to look at. It is not pleasing.

And it doesn't help that I wanna punch his stupid fucking face like it is so punch-able

OKAY SURE, the concept versions of Valentino is cute...but ever but I didn't like how I drew goats in my style. It could be just that I'm not good at drawing them, but I also didn't like my color pallet I did for him, which was a lot like what Bonsai has color pallet wise, and it fitted Bonsai more than Valentino.

Numero Dos:

ESMERALDA HAS A GOAT SIDE KICK.

OR BETTER YET, WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN IT.

It is basically a repeat of what we have already seen, which I didn't like.

Just because you aged down a goat does not make it ORIGINAL.

Its okay to have Asha have a pet goat in the other rewrites though I don't MIND AT ALL. ITS YOUR AU U DO WHAT EVER, IM JUST MAINLY TALKING ABOUT MY ICK WITH THE MAIN FILM. IT JUST REMINDS ME OF SOMETHING ELSE.

What I'm trying to say is that Valentino feels like a refrence to Huntch Back of Notre Dom, which this movie has a thing with adding stuck out refrences instead of making it subtle. I mean I know it was a 100 year aniversary, just make it more subtle though so people can rewatch it and find refrences they didn't notice first time watching.

Anyways....

Some fun Facts about Bonsai:

Bonsai is actually a little dwarf, and the runt of his family. Asha adopted him when she found out Amaya told Charo (Charo is a lynx btw) to get rid of them all since she thought they were rats (even though they are fucking HUGE) (PLUS IT IS TO EMPATHESE ON THE FACT THAT THEY ARE MISTAKEN FOR RODENTS WHEN THEY AREN'T, THEY ARE APART OF THE MARSUPIALS FAMILY AND THEY GET RID OF RODENTS/EAT THEM)😭

(I might actually make him slightly bigger than how I drew Bonsai, but who knows yk?)

So Asha took the responsibility of taking care of the little Possum, since she didn't want the possum to grow up alone, and so that she can have some company.

IT TOOK A LONG WHILE for Bonsai to warm up and trust Asha, but in the end, he saw her good nature and swore to protect Asha like how Asha protected him from getting eaten from Charo. Which is why he dislikes Star Boy A LOT (mainly because he doesn't trust how this creature can literally transform into anything and doesn't want him to end up being something like Charo 😭)

He is just a little guy that wants to make sure his friend doesn't get hurt by a celestial force.

This is basically how I imagine how they both would meet:

(Just wait till he finds out Asha likes him. He is going to be so judgemental)

To get this part out of the way, if I end up having Bonsai speak, it would sound like a child, since I DREADED when the goat started...TALKING LIKE A GROWN ASS MAN LIKE NO PLEASE NO. And it would be more adorable yk?? :3

Lastly, here is the first doodle I did of him.

(JUST IMAGINE HIM TALKING LIKE A CRAZY 7 YEAR OLD LIKE THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY)

@oh-shtars @annymation @signed-sapphire @chillwildwave @spectator-zee @uva124 @rascalentertainments @tumblingdownthefoxden

I might also go with a different color pallet for Bonsai but idk yet

[ctrlchar]

Charlie Walker NSFW alphabet

A/N: I need Rory Culkin so bad it’s not even funny

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Whether he be on top or bottom he will always want you to tell him how good he did .

But you come before anything.He will always make sure you are okay and will clean you up before doing anything else.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself he likes his arms/hands the most. He loves how easily he can kill someone with them but also touch and feel you with them at the same time

On you his favorite part has got to be your tits. He loved how soft they are and how it feels to rest his chest on them while he lays down. Not to mention just how pretty they look.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It doesn’t take a lot to make Charlie cum but when he does he cums a LOT

But his favorite place is definitely on your face he just thinks you look so pretty with his cum all over you. If you ever hear a camera shutter click while he’s “getting something to wipe your face off” no you didn’t

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Although he loves you and would never do anything to hurt you just the thought of fucking you in his ghostface outfit has gotten him off many times

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has never had any sort of sexual experiences despite from a few kisses here and there. But not at all does that mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a film geek and that doesn’t stop at just regular movies,he’s seen his fair share of adult films to know what he’s doing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Although its pretty simple missionary is his all time favorite. It’s perfect to him,he gets to see your facial expressions as he fucks you into oblivion.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

If he’s on bottom then he will not make a single joke,not because he doesn’t want to but he can’t even think of a joke to make due to all the pleasure he’s feeling. But if there’s not really a top or bottom then by all means he will crack a joke here and there

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps his hair relatively short but not completely shaven. The opposite goes for his happy trail,he would never even think about touching his hair there,he thinks his happy trail makes him look sexy but will never admit he thinks this

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He takes your pleasure just as serious as his and will do whatever it takes to please you

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He gets himself off regularly even after the two of you started dating,his favorite way to get himself off is definitely with your underwear that he stole from your room

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise-He loves praising you ALMOST as much as he likes to get praised. He’s a whore for the words “pretty boy” and same goes with “good boy”

Hairpulling-He goes feral when you pull his hair but will not do the same to you unless you ask him to. He hates the thought of hurting you,it reminds him too much of what he does as ghostface

Begging-He will cum instantly if you get on your knees and beg for his cock

Cameras-Although just a camera alone isn’t a kink he’s always had a thing for recording during sex. He would never do anything with the video except for use it to get himself off when you’re not there

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His all time favorite is the bedroom since that’s where he can give and revive the best orgasms but desperate times call for desperate measures so if he has to fuck you in a empty class room or even the cinema club room he will

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally everything.

Since he’s inexperienced the lightest touch will have him creaming his pants. Hell seeing you in a tight fitting shirt will have him cumming

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As said above he will never ever do anything to hurt you nor will he every share you with anyone,not that you’d need anyone else to please you

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh my god he will give you the best head of your life,I’m talking eyes rolling into the back of your head good. He makes sure to look up at you to see your facial expressions which is what makes him so good.

Although he prefers giving more the receiving he loves when you give him head and will whimper the whole time

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

When he’s on top he’s usually pretty fast and rough but when you’re ontop he doesn’t have a preference

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his favorite but when needed he’ll get you alone and fuck the shit out of you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Despite not wanting to hurt you he’s fine with trying anything once and will not hesitate to tell you what he likes and doesn’t like.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Due to his part time job as ghostface he’s built up a pretty high stamina,so I’d say he can go about 4 rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Nothing more then a blindfold and maybe a pair of handcuffs. He prefers to watch you come undone due to him rather then a piece or silicone or plastic

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t really tease you much,he prefers to get straight to the point rather then tease you

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He literally won’t shut up during sex, whether hes begging for you,telling you how good your doing or simply just moaning the only way to shut him up is to gag him

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Long before the two of you had even gotten together you were the source of all of his wet dreams and sexual fantasies and he’d even stolen a pair or two of your lacy panties but if he had you didn’t notice

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s about 5 and a half inches but is definitely more girthy then he is lengthy

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Due to being a virgin for the first 17-18 years of his life ever since you two started dating he can’t keep his hands off you so I’d say he had a pretty high sex drive

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

He unsurprisingly doesn’t go to sleep after sex,but if you do that’s also fine with him he’s content with just laying down while you sleep beside or ontop of him

[fand0mswithbunny]

this is so different from the other posts i do but fuck it. descendants 4: rise of red review, spoilers ofc, we still boycott disney's ass, pirate this movie like uma and her crew ate the intro of this movie instead of watching this from disney+

keep reading if youve seen it or dont care about spoilers but tldr: if you havent seen it and see this as a spin off movie instead of a 4th installment, i say go watch it. its basically how i feel about the 2024 mean girls movie, im just here for certain characters, dynamics and songs, and a bit of the actual plot, its fun but definitely not for everyone, i liked parts of the movie/plots tho

okay honestly overall, despite the fucking terrible rushed ass ending, i still honestly enjoyed a lot of aspects of this movie.

songs, generally i liked. yeah its all pop-y but yk, none of them were unbearable, i loop red, whats my name (red vers.) and love aint it what about it

the editing was. a choice at times. like it will cut at the most random moments and when red was being transported and fell from that. pipe. thing in the castle it was so. disney channel editing core LIKE OKAY I KNOWW OFC IT IS but grahhhhhHH

the cg was good, direction was. also a choice at times. idk how to explain it but it felt like every scene was being directed like a music video and not like a MOVIE esp the lighting oh my god idk what it is but its so GLOWY AND WEIRDD

the characters themselves, i love the main cast, red, chloe, ella, bridget, etc. were all cool. IM A FIRM RED/CHLOE SHIPPER THEY ARE GIRLFRIENDS IDC and i also liked the dynamic they have with their past moms it was nice

oh yeah i dont mind how they wrote mal, evie, jay, and ben outta the story, i mean they gotta explain their absence yk. and i loved the carlos tribute, you can tell china was genuinely not acting in that tribute scene.

the vks were. okay. i dont mind that literally every villain/princess/disney protag goes to high school. this whole series basically feature length fanfiction anyway, idc personally about that. its weird URSULAS SISTER was the main antagonist. like i get having a completely new villain aside from the vks parents or something but. ursulas. sister??? besides you could tell me shes ursula and ill believe you.

its nice seeing filipino prince charming thats it thats all i gotta say RAHHH PHILIPPINES BABYYY 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 MY MANS GOT THAT 'PINO RIZZ OKAYYY

the plot was actually fun, but yeah I WISH WE COULDVE SEEN CASTLECOMING WE WERE ROBBED OF THAT i knew when red and chloe got the book there was like 10 minutes left in the film but cmonn we couldve had Morgie, I DONT KNOW somehow freeing the rest of the vks and them STEALING THE POCKETWATCH AND RED AND CHLOE HAVING TO GET IT BACK, GET ANOTHER 30 MINUTES IN THE FILM MAYBE, ANOTHER ACTION SEQUENCE, CASTLECOMING. but its finee im sure theres a fanfiction in the works somewhere that has that exact premise because thats what fanfic is for babyyyy

imagine. during the dance chloe and red are scrambling to find the watch, they see the vks, they find bridget crying because her best friend isnt there, she thinks ella bailed on her, they have to find the watch but, they gotta make her feel better right? red comforts her while chloe chases after them to find the watch, ella comes to the dance late after deciding, fuck my stepmom, get your hands dirty parallels, something something, the four of them all stopping the vks together, THEN they travel back.

i should just write a fix it fic for this movie at this point damnn i impressed myself

but yeah the ending does leave a lot of plot holes, if bridget didnt change from the past WHO DID, if Red even CONSIDERED a VK in this timeline? if not then WHO IS IT?? IS IT CHLOE?? its hella rushed, its ass, but i guess we'll find out in the 5th movie ig

also i thought they were totally setting it up for Ella to be the one that humiliated Bridget in the past, like the "I saw through her" in Love Ain't It we NEVER GOT ANY CLOSURE FROM THAT WHAT HAPPENED?? sighhh its okay its fine

i see this movie as a spin off movie rather than a 4th installment of the universe because it pretty much is, like its basically its OWN universe with the lack of the og cast and new characters. i unofficially coin it as the "Descendants: Redverse" because it just makes more sense

so many questions, mainly WHY, but yeah, still liked it, would rewatch. certain. parts of it. but honestly? a 7/10. leaning towards a 7.5

is this a recommendation? not sure, depending on who you are you could totally love this film or hate it, i say give it a chance and completely ignore the busted ass ending <3

anyways KENDRICKKK FANFIC WRITERSSSSSS- DROP SOME MORE CHARMINGHEARTS FANFICS/D4 FIX IT FICSSS. AND MY LIFE, IS YOURRSSSS

[kelvintimeline]

It's insane to me that people are arguing that EEAAO is just like... not at all intellectually engaging. And I really think it's kind of just really bizarre to argue that just because something is positive, it must be... stupid? Or at least lacking in intellectual stimulation.

Like... EEAAO is a deeply philosophical film, even if people aren't waxing poetic about it in the dialogue. Like, we have the basics of the LITERAL philosophies its invoking like yin and yang (and more from philosophies and religions I'm not informed enough on to talk about any length, I'll admit that here), nihilism, and, yes, the existence of a multiverse and what it means to have multiple "selves" which is a metaphysical topic... you're just used to it being diluted by comic book franchises whcih want to have an excuse to reuse the same characters five times and avoid narrative consequence.

And even beyond the like direct philosophical narrative... this film is dealing with extremely deep and... traumatic topics?

Intergenerational trauma and indeed the cyclical nature of suffering isn't a shallow topic just because it's end thesis is that healing is possible and connections can be reformed. It's a film obviously aware of race but also gender, class, and sexuality and doesn't just use those as like "Look, we're diverse, give us points!" fodder. It's dealing with adult issues (including fucking TAXES) with room to be silly.

If you're blinded by hot dog fingers and assuming that means this film is intellectually void, I think... you might be the vapid one. Like, I'm not going to argue this film is genius tier stuff but it is ABSOLUTELY intellectually engaging, narratively and philosphically rich, and has compelling, human stories that exist beyond the surface level. If you are getting lost in the silly veneer, that's absolutely an indictment of YOUR character, not the film itself.

This has the same energy as people calling Nope an empty film. Might not be my place to call it out but it kinda just feels like a knee jerk racist reaction and in inability to parse narratives that aren't exploring "relatable" (ie white) stories. Because like... EEAAO is begging you to engage with its narrative on multiple levels the entire way through, if you aren't doing that... on some level you are just CHOOSING to not do that

[thetimelordbatgirl]

I found this on the Descendants subreddit:

What do you think?I dunno I feel about this.

For starting orders, are these from the Descendants guide book??? Because if so, I didn't know that was potentially out yet...unless these are preview pages??? If so, kinda weird Red or Chloe didn't get their pages previewed...unless they contain spoilers and can't be shown unlike Mal's and Uma's and the page on transformations... Not gonna lie though, these preview pages are kinda making me wanna buy it...soley to see how the fuck Descendants explains ANYTHING in its universe at this fucking point.

But to answer the question: let's get transformations page out of the way first, because uh, I find it the most meh lol- its just basic knowledge about transformations and Maleficent, Mal and Uma being the only characters so far to have that ability...though confusing how its surprising to Auradon, since they a fairy tale kingdom, transformations shouldn't be a surprise really... Though they really gave a list of shit Mal did with her dragon but then said 'oh and Uma can transform too I guess' like they really did not care to go into Uma much there, though curious why they saying its only via necklace she can do that as I assumed it was Ursula's magic/DNA in general that allowed Uma to go octopus form... Plus lemme just add: 'battled Uma' last I checked all Mal did was fly around and blow FIRE at WATER and that's it, Ben handled that shit more then Mal did really.

Now onto Mal's....first: United States of Auradon...okay nice to know I guess Beyond The Isle Of The Lost definitely ain't gonna be connected to the film at this rate because there they called it United Kingdom of Auradon, but now we back to the film title here, aka United States of Auradon. But heyyyy! We can celebrate that they actually resisted the urge to blame Ben for Mal's problems for once! ...It's sad I consider that an absolute win, really, but its Descendants so... "Confident and natural leader"...wait is that meant to be serious or...because I kinda laughed there given how much of a 'confident' and 'natural leader' she was in D2 and D3... "Particularly because she felt guilty about the VK's she'd left behind" Yeah, she felt so guilty in fact that she literally showed zero fucking concern in D2 about the VKs when treating the Isle like a get away place, let alone showed zero concern when Evie did on the Isle about the VK's and in D3 basically went, "Fuck those kids, my happily ever after is more important-", when choosing WITHOUT HESTIATION to close the barrier and punish the VKs for crimes they didn't do and still intended to do this even during the lies revealed scene...so clearly guilty about leaving the VKs behind, guys. "Eventually, she helped convince the Auradon citizens to accept all VKs into Auradon Prep." And by that, I mean likely everyone else did the work but Mal's being given credit because main character and Descendants wants you to believe she actually gave a crap about the VKs after that council meeting scene lmao. "Mal is talented in a lot of areas, both in artistic endeavors and in spells and magic"...wait we NOW remember shes into art???? Because D2-3 did not fucking remember that detail well before making her into generic main character for personality and shit- but also where's being a bully and getting away with it and other crimes like love spelling someone and lying in those talents? She's very oddly good at those, even after she's meant to be good. "mess with other students" Well, that's a brutally honest description of what Mal was like with magic in Auradon Prep lmao. "the queen she was always meant to be" I...Do I need to point out saying Mal was always meant to have a form of power over people isn't great, given what she's like, or...? Like, taking someone who had a form of power on the Isle and used it to be a bully and shit and giving them power over a kingdom when they haven't even changed much isn't great, but Descendants seems to think Mal's the greatest so no wonder they acting like it was simply destiny she was always meant to be queen... Also I guess Mal still has the ember and didn't donate it to the museum so uh, there's that...also why does Hades' image look the most awkward lmao???? Did they not have a stock character image of Hades like Maleficent and Ben or...

I...really don't have much to say about Uma's page lmao- not because its meh or bad, its just not giving me much to complain about as it didn't at least villainize her like Descendants normally loves too...though interesting choice to say Uma only wanted to go to Auradon because she was envious of Mal and not because she wanted to free the villain kids...but I guess we can't let someone else care about the villain kids when we pretending like Mal gave a shit about them suddenly! But uh, guess this is confirmation that Fairy Godmother fully retired??? She and Ben's parents really do just like to ditch their jobs at the nearest chance and hand it off to the nearest young person- though I still really don't get why Uma would want to be a head mistress of a school, like I know she'd want to help villain kids and such, but like, she can do that outside of being head mistress technically, it just feels random for her character. Also niece of Uliana...are they actually gonna address this fully in the film or...we know Uma captured by Queen of Hearts so like....sigh, Uma suffering more in plot bullshit, first it was Mal's plot bullshit, now its Queen of Hearts bullshit, she cannot catch a fucking break. And one last question: when did the Isle of the Lost become a KINGDOM??? It was called a prison last I checked, why does it count as a home kingdom now??? If I was a villain kid and asked my home kingdom, I wouldn't say the Isle of the Lost, because that's a prison I was stuck on for existing basically.

[scrunckled-idiot]

news for next year and my new years resolutions! (THAT IM GOING TO BRUTE FORCE MYSELF TO MAKE HAPPEN! I NEED TO PULL MYSELF TOGETHER YOU HAVE NO IDEA)

to start making more complex scene builds in sfm. things like making pockets bedroom, or more forest scene builds like i did in my "the game" comic since it was really fun to put in little details and make it look full and lived in/untouched.

now that i know i have a software that i KNOW i can use to make decent quality animations and have somewhere to post them, im planning to do more animatics and AM GOING TO teach myself to animate. things i WILL BE MAKING are demo reels for my film and characters, an "im gonna win" animatic segment for pocket, "pockets big date!" visual novel comic on my youtube, more shitposts using sfm, things like that.

IM GOING TO GET ONTO THE FANFIC. im going to do it i promise, its just harder to do when you lose motivation and move onto other projects. if it took valve 7 years to make the last instalment of the tf2 comics, then its ok for me to take a few years on the first chapter.

im thinking about setting up a kofi or SOMETHING to earn money on for here. im thinking about charging money for animated commissions only. eg: £5 for a short animation, £10 for a one minuet clip, and £15 for a 3 minuet+ clip. im thinking its a good start and fairly priced for the amount of effort i put into it. still thinking about it though. these can be things like silly little memes or eeeven some spicer content eheheh (gotta reveal to my foster mama that i have a tumblr first. also when you inevitably read this, hiiii i love you! sorry for keeping this a secret for so long i was really scared that you'd be mad :( )

im planning to do more comics like i did with "the game" since @rainderthesomeone is no longer continuing theirs and will be continuing the last one they were doing, which was actually an old plot i wrote down in 2020.

im thinking of dropping out of collage tbh cus its not doing anything for me. i've been told im defiantly worthy of working at level 2, but im stuck in level one learning EVERYTHING I ALREADY KNOW like how to use acrylic paints and water colour paints and fucking- BASIC SHIT YOU DO IN HIGHSCHOOL YEAR 7! and im only stuck in level one because i failed my maths n' English which I DONT NEED UNLESS IM DOING ARCITECHTURE OR INFASTRUCTURE or some shit like that! its not worth wasting my time over so I'm gonna try and like y'know... NOT GO.

if i cant do rusted iron helmets, i might start indulging in some pocket X soldier fics because god they make me sick and at this point pocket is literally just my self insert. making them go on stupid adventured together and mutually pining for each other except one doesn't know they're pining and the other is clawing at the walls thinking about the other.

im going to start working more on building up my animation studio, or at least prepare for it. and by that i mean looking for any high paying jobs and working on what's gonna be my first debut film. i gotta commit to this NOW or else i'll NEVER do it. i wanna be able to save animated films and set a new example.

[kdinjenzen]

Now I'm curious WRT how 'Barbie' didn't hit for you.

I’ll say this first. If you liked the movie, I’m happy for you and I’m not here to tell you to hate the movie. I’m glad you enjoyed it and hope you continue to enjoy it.

That said… this movie was NOT for me and I did not enjoy its story at all. I loved the set design, costume design, the performances, the music, the dedication to creating the world, all that stuff was great.

The plot itself. It felt circular without actually purposefully dealing with the issues it tried to talk about.

The fact that Doctor Barbie, who is trans, is the one who is told to “go seduce Ken by telling him you feel don’t feel pretty” - as if this isn’t something that leads to violence toward trans women in the real world and also why her to be the one who doesn’t feel pretty? Wtf?

The Kens of Barbieland are basically all losers, are grossly incompetent compared to Barbie, treated poorly, and our main Ken (aka Beach Ken) has severe self worth issues… so naturally all the Kens become the villains and are able to overthrow all of Barbieland later on in the movie by doing …. they never explain how. Somehow a world full of, and built by, the most capable women ever are overthrown by like 20 dudes who they treated poorly and who aren’t very smart. Beach Ken’s root problems are only barely resolved and none of it feels meaningful.

Gloria and Sasha, the human characters who work with Barbie to fix Barbieland, are just as much caricatures and tropes as Barbie herself. Sasha, the daughter, is a mean Gen Z who just openly lashes out at Barbie (a stranger), and everyone else who is actually nice to her, for no reason. Gloria is “a sad mom who pretends to be happy” but they never explain why at all, it’s assumed that it’s because “she lives in a patriarchy”, but the only person who’s directly mean to her in the film is… her daughter.

Gloria gives a speech to each Barbie, individually, to snap them out of the Ken’s brainwashing (which like AGAIN how did that happen? It makes no sense at all and just confuses me) - the speeches are not empowering at all, they’re just about how women in the real world suffer a double standard on how to exist and SOMEHOW with all those depressing revelations thrown at them it… restores their self-confidence/self-worth and undoes the brainwashing?

Weird Barbie, whom everyone says is ugly and gross and they have violent “EW!!!” reactions to her face, is played by Kate FUCKING McKinnon. Meanwhile Stereotypical Barbie, while having an ugly cry breakdown about (again) not being pretty anymore, is played by Margot FUCKING Robbie. A fact that the movie points out as “the wrong casting choice to have this scene and cast Margot Robbie as Barbie saying she’s ugly.”

I heard so much about how it was a “queer positive movie” but there’s nothing queer about nor really in the movie. So it got to cling to the rainbow and scream “allyship” and everyone praised it for essentially doing nothing.

Everyone is like… mean? Everything feels so mean and mean spirited. It’s supposed to be very tongue in cheek, very snappy and quick, and everyone has a comeback for every situation but… it just really feels like everyone is just being mean for the sake of being mean and it makes moments where you’re supposed to feel sympathy for any character just drop immediately when they say the rudest shit ever for literally no reason.

They talk about Midge, aka the pregnant woman in the Barbie line, and then say “no don’t look at her anymore, she’s weird and creepy” … which AGAIN feels like that statement undercuts the point of women empowerment that the movie wants you to take away from watching the film?

It tries to balance jokes and seriousness in a way that undercuts the message of “society is kind fucked up and broken” that they’re trying to talk about. The “good guys” are also constantly mistreating other people, the “Barbieland bad guys” became bad by going to the real world and leaning “patriarchy”, the “Real world bad guys” literally do nothing except take up movie time for random gags and really don’t service the plot at all, and as much as it’s like “TAKE THAT MAJOR CORPORATION” at every turn… the movie was fully approved by Warner Bros Discovery AND Mattel… so it’s never actually going to say anything worthwhile about corporate greed and corruption without putting on kiddie gloves to do so.

The only person who I felt true sympathy for, understood their reasoning, and felt they deserved a happy ending was ALLAN, aka Ken’s Best Friend, who is treated equally like shit by basically everyone in the film. Allan points out that Barbieland and the Real World both kinda suck, how life is only just slightly more miserable there after the Ken’s took over, and how he just “wants to run away” and when given the chance does so, only to defend Sasha and Gloria from a bunch of Ken’s single handedly and telling them to “get out while they can”… and then is subsequently brought back to Barbieland by Sasha and Gloria to fix everything and… AGAIN none of this pays off because Allan’s purpose is dropped immediately when they get back to Barbieland. And Allan is played by MICHEAL CERA. I feel like I’m losing my mind at this point.

It feels like the movie wants to talk about the issues women face in all walks of life, but is never able to punch hard enough to make that message matter nor stick. It talks around gender issues, self worth issues, and problems in society without actually saying something real about them. The meanness of all the dialogue makes me really not care about pretty much anyone in the movie because… man I’m just so fucking tired of everything and everyone having to be “mean” in movies to prove a point.

The movie ends with a gynecologist appointment.

I dunno what to tell you. The plot is “not for me” and I didn’t really connect with anything.

The movie just made me sad and disconnected because of how much everyone praised it, saying it “made me proud to be a woman” or “it’s inventive, immaculately crafted and surprising mainstream films in recent memory - a testament to what can be achieved within even the deepest bowels of capitalism.”

And it didn’t feel like that for me at all.

Maybe it’s because of all the “that’s womanhood” talk throughout the movie. Because I’ve had so many women in power give me that speech after I came out as trans only to be abused directly by them in the same way that they said men abused them all while I was still ALSO being abused by the same men who abused them too. So like YIPPEE this fucking SUCKS and it was kinda trauma triggering!!

Maybe it’s because I’ve worked in the entertainment industry for 17+ years and know how stuff like this gets made and how many corporate approvals you need for it to make the “take THAT major corporations and CEOs!” jokes land like a dead fish on the floor. The people they are directly calling out said “yes, this level of joke at the expense of our richness and power is okay” and that’s the ONLY reason any of those moments are in the movie. So it doesn’t even really fucking matter, it’s all manufactured, it’s all there to make you feel like it’s doing something when the people with all the power just allowed it to happen. It’s not a “win” or a “heavy blow to their ego”, they literally don’t care.

So I DUNNO, this movie kinda just made me feel depressed and made me remember how badly I had been treated by people after coming out regardless of that person’s gender. The movie felt mean in a way that was too “on the nose” and real for me but then praised most of the characters for their mean actions or words.

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2025-01-06

Damn that last Monday of the week really barely got in under the wire.

Listening: Among other things kind of going through a bunch of popular songs and albums from the past year to see like. What I missed, which has included me introducing my partner to Guess from Brat by Charli xcx.

Brat is a good album, despite Brat Summer not actually being a real thing.

Watching: Ended up going to Nosferatu (2024) with the partner and a friend after their other movie companion bailed. Damn they really did file the serial numbers off Dracula with this thing huh. I have never seen Original Nosferatu.

This is a very good looking movie, and it manages to mostly retain some of my favourite bits of Dracula-ness like the protagonists generally getting along remarkably well given the situation. Friedrich is a little antsy for much of it but it's for a good reason and it pays off well with his Mina situation.

The shots in this movie are all... weirdly smooth. Every single shot feels like it's on an ultra-filtered dolly-crane move. It turns out it was shot on film so I guess it probably was, no one wants to handhold a film camera. It lends it a slightly strange air, lots of big long dramatic camera moves but also in situations where you'd really expect a shaky handheld shot it holds rock solid, to the point that I genuinely burst out laughing at a perfectly stable shot of knock-off Jonathan hoofing it down a street.

The steady camera doesn't do the composited backgrounds and effects any favours, some of the backgrounds are really obviously painted in. Weird choice! Some interesting BTS stories about shooting though. And it was shot around Prague, so that's fun.

It's good! You should check it out. Very different opinions on how sexy Nosferatu is from me and my friend. I would fuck that old man (bill skarsgard in so so so much makeup and a huge moustache).

Playing: Nothing really! Been busy unpacking and [REDACTED]

Reading: Finished The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen by @nostalgebraist which is one of those things that gets its hooks into you. I think it makes its case well, which is basically "even if GenAI is going to take over the world, that might actually be great for the abstract moral state of the universe". I love an extremely disconnected look at humanity.

I do adore Miriam's chapters. She's meant to be this everyman narrator with no personality but she's so weird.

I gotta go read The Northern Caves and Almost Nowhere. I read Floornight a while ago and then just. forgot I guess.

the On Raven chapter intro to Herschel really heavily informs how I saw him for the rest of the book. He's kind of someone who thinks anything should be possible because anything else would be too sad to imagine. You can kind of take this two ways I think, one more literal that is explored more heavily in the story, and another as sort of. I guess the feeling of what it must be like to be a noise diffusion algorithm. You start out with this infinite possibility of random noise and it is slowly hacked up into likely meaning.

It's on AO3! Go read it!

Making: Nothing really! See Playing.

Tools and Equipment: Do Not Fucking Use CentOS Stream In Applications Where You Very Clearly Want RedHat Compatiblity, For The Love Of God.

[beanghostprincess]

What are you most controversial/unpopular OP opinions??? Sorry if it was answered before

You want me to get canceled so bad-- If I speak-- But idk, I guess I'll say the controversial opinions I can say publicly without a bunch of people coming at me!

Zo$an is a bit... Overrated? And by overrated I mean extremely/annoyingly overrated. I like the ship and its canon dynamic but I think at least 80% of the fandom portrays them in a very mischaracterized way. Not to say that... The ship is literally everywhere and the shippers always look for every little thing to prove they're canon, even if the "proof" has literally nothing to do with them. It's not that I don't enjoy the ship (although I must admit I prefer other dynamics a lot more) I just can't stand shippers that go to extremes. It's funny because I think Zo$an's dynamic is way more interesting and romantic in canon than it will ever be in the fandom. It's a bit sad, ngl. I liked them a lot at first but it got so tiring and now I am pretty exhausted from seeing it everywhere. The people force it to be more than it is when the canon is already pretty fucking great.

Adding to the Zo$san thing. I think that relationship would only work if Luffy is there somehow but it wouldn't last a day without him in the relationship. Unless there's like, a ton of character development most of these people don't make them go through.

One Piece Film Z is my worst enemy. It's such a boring movie. The only good thing is the soundtrack and maybe the suits but God watching that was torture.

Boa hate is uhhhh weird. I mean, I get why the joke about her being in love with Luffy might be annoying, but I think most of you need to learn to understand that Oda's sense of humor is sometimes a bit too exaggerated (and not funny) and it has basically nothing to do with the actual canon dynamics between characters. Boa likes Luffy because he's one of the first men who has ever treated her right, so of course she confuses that feeling with love. And of course, yeah, it isn't canon. Whatever. Just read between the lines, maybe? And also, stop using words like "pedo" to describe her because using that term so lightly about 1) a fictional character and 2) somebody who's clearly not a pedo is fucked up. Lmao. Do you even know what that word means???

Once again complaining about Pudding hate and saying that it's stupid. I won't overanalyze because I always do it with her, but the only reason people hate her is for misogynistic reasons and because they're babying Sanji. Evil male characters are okay and hot and very traumatized but the second it's a woman she's the most evilest person ever! Because God forbid they make mistakes! Suddenly their character development isn't valid because they hurt their babygirl!

Now that we're talking about my dearest Pudding. Not tagging anybody of course, but I saw this post with so many interactions of people agreeing about Sanji considering violence as a sign of love which??? Doesn't make sense at all?? OP said it was because he couldn't tell the difference between love/abuse because of his family, but that's just... Not accurate. That could only happen if they had manipulated him into thinking abuse is a type of love, but he had healthy love growing up. Even when he was with the Vinsmokes (Sora and Reiju, I love you). And yet OP said Sanji considered Pudding's behavior flirting (wrong) and that's why he let her attack him (nope) and that it was proof of Zo$an. And okay, it's not a hugely popular theory, but a lot of people agreed with it and it bothered me a lot because it's both out of character and also using Pudding (complex female character) once again to try and prove the canon of a ship (that doesn't have anything to do with WCI either???). It just bothers me. People can perceive the story however they want but... Y'know.

OPLA isn't that good. Or good at all? I only like it because I like the cast and it's funny seeing my blorbos irl. But the script is simple and dull and just stupid most of the time. The characters are either simplified, mischaracterized, or forgotten. And tbh most of the shots are very awful and could be a lot better. The directing is also nonexistent. It's 6/10 and 3 of those points are because both the Zolu and the cast.

Apparently this is a very common theory about Nami's origins, but, uh, I don't think we need to know? What else do you need to know about her? People say she's a lost princess or something like that as if we didn't have a lost princess already (Sanji ily). Repeating the same plot would be boring and underwhelming, but also? It'd be extremely useless for the plot and it'd go against everything about Nami's story and the way Luffy reacts to it.

Luffy isn't canon aroace. In fact, the reasoning people use for him being "coded" is the same Oda uses for Zoro too and Zoro is almost never portrayed as the "idiot who doesn't know what sex is" the way Luffy often is. If you're calling Luffy canon aroace for what Oda said about him being focused on adventures, the same goes for Zoro being focused on his dream. They could be coded arospec but there's nothing confirmed and the constant discourse about it is stupid. Attacking others because of their ships just because you don't agree with them and saying it's wrong using our identity to do it is very fucked up. Especially since most of the time people complaining aren't even aroace. The only reason people do it (attacking others saying they can't ship Luffy and that it's "weird" and "wrong") is that they infantilize Luffy/Don't want him getting in between their ships (<- aroace person writing this) (also, it's very ableist since people agree on Luffy also being neurodivergent coded and treating him like a kid bc of that but this isn't about that now).

Somehow this is very common. Some fucking how. I can't believe I have to say this. I'm tired of people blaming Usopp for what happened in Water 7. Or in general hating Usopp. Actually, he's one of the best-written characters in the whole show and he's so underappreciated it's so frustrating.

Sanji's perv jokes are annoying af and we all know that, but people who hate the character and consider him a red flag for that are missing the point completely. The point being "Oda exaggerates jokes to an annoying extent and most of the time they don't even reflect the character". I understand they can make you uncomfortable (same here tbh) but reducing Sanji to only those jokes is a waste of his character. You need to take jokes less seriously.

If I see one of these "red flag OP boys" TikToks adding Law/Ace/Zoro/Sanji next to fucking Doffy I will riot. Also, stop adding Crocodile there. He's a mafioso, there's NO way he won't be a sweetheart to his lover.

Baron Omatsuri's artstyle and animation is amazing and it fits the plot and aesthetic of the movie perfectly and people saying it's ugly will forever bother me.

"Usopp is suddenly hot after timeskip!" He has always been hot what the fuck are you talking about.

People reduce Nami to her "mean"/"sarcastic" personality a lot when she's quite literally one of the most kind-hearted characters of all. That being said, morally speaking she's probably one of the worst. I could explain how that works but I don't want to do it now, the point is-- Let the girl be sweet instead of making her mean all the time. And also, let her be mean and selfish without making it her entire personality. There's something called "balance".

Film Red was kind of bad. Like, the songs are amazing (thanks, Ado) but the ending is awful and the plot is very meh. I'm only here for Uta and Shanks but the rest of the characters are just useless. I do appreciate Sanji's hair in the movie, though.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

not really enjoying tumblrs trend of comparing Thomas Andrews to Stockton Rush 😒Could you share how the two differ despite the fact they died by their own creations?

ive been trying to figure out how to tackle this ask for a few days now because theres so much to disentangle, but disentangle i will.

see, this comparison relies on common misinformation and misconceptions about titanic. its a ship thats been romanticised and mythologised for decades, and every portrayal of it from william randolph hearts yellow newspaper coverage to robin gardiners conspiracy theory to jim camerons film.

what im gonna list to disentangle this whole thing is by no means an exhaustive list of titanic misconceptions, only those relevant to this topic

-titanic was a cruise ship - titanic was an ocean liner not a cruise ship (ive detailed the differences in a different ask here)

-titanic was a brand new unique ship never seen before - not true, ocean liners had existed for decades. theres debate about which was the first, but many agree that its the ss great western which launched in 1843. titanic wasnt even the first launched in her class; that honour goes to the rms olympic.

-it was built with substandard materials and cut corners - this is one of those where theres potentially some truth, but its been misrepresented. theres some evidence that the rivets werent the best made, but the board of trade cleared the ship and she was built with the same materials and basically the same design as her sister ship, rms olympic which sailed for 24 years under the nickname "old reliable" and literally rammed a u-boat during ww1 when she was requisitioned as a troop ship. ultimately, the builders were not blamed in the wreck inquiry and the materials used were not substandard.

-it was built as said above due to the choices of j bruce ismay - yeah so this one obviously ties into the above. theres a lot of unreliable sources who seem to believe ismay oversaw the entire design and every cut corner was due to money. this simply isnt true and isnt how this sort of thing worked. white star had a contract with harland and wolff wherein they would build the ship agreed upon and when it was finished, it would be presented to white star and undergo sea trials, and during that time, white star could reject the ship if they considered it substandard. this is what happened to the ss city of rome. unles. the design itself was to be changed a la britannic after titanic sank (improving safety measures), white star could not interfere. ismay could not force them to use different materials.

-it was all ismays fault - okay, i could go on about this for a long time, but this ask isnt about ismay. the gist of it is that history has blamed ismay due to the influence of william randolph hearst (yeah, the guy from newsies and supported hitler) who hated ismay and blamed him entirely. actual evidence shows ismay helped a lot of people during the sinking itself.

-titanic was badly designed - ive kinda gone over this a little already, but again, titanic was not badly built. she was practically identical to olympic which was a fantastic ship. in the design, no risks were taken. most of the designs were enlarged versions of parts of previous successful ships. she was considered the safest ship on the sea. four of her water-tight compartments could be breached without her sinking which was a big fucking deal.

-thomas andrews was the sole designer - there was actually a team of designers that included andrews. he didnt even draw up the original plans; that was alexander carlisle.

-titanic sinking was a unique situation - yeah nah, boats sank a lot around that time. literally two years after, there was a similar disaster with the rms empress of ireland which goes entirely forgotten nowadays. in the same decade, you also had the sinking of lusitania in 1915, principe de asturias in 1916, volturno in 1913 and even thrown in princess sophia in 1918.

-the sinking was actually caused by a coal bunker fire - this is simply horseshit and im sure im gonna end up having to explain and debunk that one too

-the crew were taking unnecessary risks to win the blue riband - this myth is widespread because of the movie, but titanic was not trying to beat the record of the fastest ship from southampton to new york (thats what the blue riband) is; she physically couldnt. it was held by mauretania at that point with a record of 26.06 knots/48.26 km/hr. titanics top speed was 23 knots. white star as a line never focussed on speed and ismay never told the captain to speed up.

-she was "unsinkable" - this is a little harder to disentangle. the claim itself was "practically unsinkable", but the context of that was to do with how safe titanic was as mentioned above. also, the idea of an unsinkable ship was not quite to white star or harland and wolff; most of the shipping industry believed it.

-almost everything youve heard about the life boats - okay so here you need to throw out your preconceptions of what a life boat is because our modern conception does not match that from the early 1900s. to not get into all the details of life boat philosophy at the time (if you do wanna know, just send me an ask lmao), the main purpose of life boats at this time was ferrying passengers to a rescue ship. that was it. this attitude was informed by both the wrecks of the ss valencia and ss clallam, as well as the miraculous rescue of the rms republic. titanic did not have enough life boats for everyone because it was never expected for the passengers to be alone in the life boats for hours; it was not a design flaw, it was a feature.

-that fucking stupid ship swap myth and the idea that the crew were trying to sink the ship - i dont even want to get into why this is bullshit, plus ive also debunked it in another ask

i highlight all of the above to emphasise the fact that titanic was not a badly built ship. she was designed well, built well and sailed well. many experts agree that the way that she hit the iceberg was the only way she could have sank.

this is not the case with titan and stockton rush. in a previous post, ive gone over the design of the titan, the flaws in it and what experts in the field believe, so im not gonna go over it again, but rest assured, the titan imploded because of rush's actions and decisions.

titanic did not sink because of thomas andrews. its due to his design that anyone survived the titanic because she stayed afloat for over two hours which allowed the crew to launch all the life boats. thomas andrews himself helped many survivors during the sinking and evacuation.

he also was not a rich man using a gravesite as tourism; nepotism was certainly involved in his career but he spent ten years working his way up in the company, helping with the design of countless ships. he was mostly regarded as a good man who worked hard and recognised the hard work of others.

its honestly ludicrous to compare them because the disasters themselves are simply not comparable. the titanic did not sink because of the folly of rich men cutting corners; titan did.

thomas andrews, for any faults he had, knew what he was doing and built a good ship that was unlucky. almost every other ship he helped design didnt sink or if they did, most of them were due to ww1.

its just such a ridiculous comparison, and thats all it is. without the misconceptions and misinformation about titanic, the comparison simply falls apart. its built on a foundation that fundamentally misunderstands the titanic disaster.

if you want to talk about shipwrecks caused by stupid decisions made by rich men, go look up the last incarnation of hms captain or the gunilda or the fucking vasa if you want, you can literally go see that one. but dont besmirch the memory of a guy who, by all acounts, died a hero helping other survive.

[real-total-drama-takes]

First time doing this so I hope I'm going about it right

Ok ok my topic I'm going to talk about is going to be continuing on why I think it makes sense for all of these contestants to rationally do the things they did on this show.

OK,,, so first up, again, they were all ***16***

These are ***kids*** who were exploited for drama and ratings on a (in universe) reality TV show for a prize pool of (originally 100k) a million dollars.

Even before it went up this is a life changing amount of money.

Better yet- we don't know the full picture of like any of these kids backgrounds.

We don't know how they grew up, or what kinda shit they grew up with. Things could've been stressful for them, they could just be on the show for fun, whatever.

But another good point I'm about to bring up is that they were LIED TO about alot of what went on in the show!!!

These kids are all smack dab in the middle of teenage hormones and bullshit and probably the most stressful period of their childhoods

Like as a 16 year old myself I can attest to that, this shit is ROUGH.

And at the same time these kids are at risk of dying in literally next to every single episode they filmed for this show.

And that's not even starting on the toxic waste and shit in ROTI.

You have to keep ALL OF THAT in mind when it comes to how they're acting while on this show.

This shit is stressful. Like total drama is the kind of thing that would probably linger with these teens for the rest of their lives. Not even just because of the danger- because this show is well known and these kids will NEVER just be normal teens again.

Weighing on that last bit a little more- these kids, like first arriving to total drama is their basically last shot of being just normal fucking kids again. And even then they're not going to initially acknowledge that right away because they are going to be focused on the game and trying to win.

So here they are- 22 teenagers all in forced proximity of each other- initially with a bunch of strangers, and even as they get to know each other they do NOT all like each other- all competing for a literally life changing amount of money. That only one of them can win.

It makes PERFECT FUCKING SENSE for some competitors to be as ruthless as Heather and Alejandro were!!! They were trying to win!! The best way they knew how!!

Kindness can win this show, something we learned with Owen, but so can playing the game like Heather and Alejandro did, perfect example being them in the final two of World Tour.

Not even to mention,,, these kids are stuck in this contract legally in this show-

I mean, normally, contracts signed by minors are not legally binding but that doesn't work the same way in total drama if these kids are continually forced into coming back for more seasons with the threat of legal action being taken on them.

On them AND THEIR FAMILIES.

Literally add this all together and it just reiterates back to what I said above- this is their LAST chance to be normal teenagers- both because they could die and because when this show gets popular internationally they are GOING to get a decently sized fanbase, if not even bigger.

So like tie that, and the thing I said about hormones in with stuff like the Duncan Gwen and Courtney love triangle? IT MAKES SENSE!!!

With all these added factors plus the fact they are kids PLUS the fact they are going to make mistakes- BAD DECISIONS ARE MADE!!! BUT ITS COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDABLE IF YOU THINK RATIONALLY ABOUT WHY THEY HAD TO ACT OUT LIKE THEY DID.

Whether it be morally dubiously (if not even,,,) going about winning the competition, cheating on your girlfriend, literally doing ANYTHING these kids did- IT MAKES COMPLETE SENSE TO SEE WHY THEY ACTED LIKE THEY DID RATIONALLY.

And that is my td take. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[weebsinstash]

y'all gettin fancy with all this y/n story stuff. personally i'd just be happy to have miguel chase me down through some seedy city alleys, corner me in an abandoned building, rough me up a little, and finally pin me down and bite the back of my neck to keep me still while he's Busy. ya know, standard stuff

But like, as much as I need to practice cranking out more fics that just kind of jump into it, I also like DETAILS. I like my drama to have some MEAT on its bones.

Is he chasing you like, the day you meet? Is it an ON SIGHT kind of attraction? Is he yandere or just a possessive boyfriend? Has he known you for some time and you've finally got him all figured out and are scared of him and trying to get away? Has he been stalking you for a while and you have no idea who he is? Are you a Spider? Are you even aware of him or is he haunting you like a ghost? How crazy is this man? Does he just want sex or does he want a wife? Or are you just a pretty thing with a nice scent and like he's basically got weird side effects of his nanomachine whatevers that make him go into heat or that's Just A Spider Thing or it's ABO, who really gives a fuck idk.

But like goddamn is the, choreography? For the chase scenes and swinging through the cities so fucking good in this film, it really is an art watching how frantic things can get when you've got people who are like agile with super strength and also crazy flexibility, invulnerability, etc all running around and like, parkouring off of buildings and swinging by cars and defying gravity like some Naruto Chakra control shit like. It really does open up some real pred/prey opportunities, whether you're a Spider or an unlucky civilian

But ughhhhh 😩❤️ the helplessness of being completely paralyzed, maybe only able to talk or make grunts while he explores your body and you're helpless to stop him. Having to watch as he peels off your clothes, exposing your bare flesh to him for the first time. Anything he wants to see, anywhere he wants to touch, anything he wants to do, nothing is stopping him, and he's probably gleefully purring to you as such, either to try and be sexy as a devoted "partner" or to intimidate and scare you into being a good little hole for him and not resist. Would he enjoy a little bit of a struggle because it unlocks a dominance in him, or would it pain him because he loves you and obviously you're just a little confused but 'hes gotta do what hes gotta do' 🥺

I dunno why but I was just hit with the inspiration of "youre coworkers or whatever and Miguel designs you a suit with like nanotechnology and bullshit like his own and obviously this means he can hack the 'removal/bathroom compartment' feature to just expose you and fuck you whenever he wants". I'm picturing he's literally got you up on a skyscraper or like a construction crane or you're in some crazy place and suddenly he's pinning you down and opening your suit to shove his fingers or tongue or whatever he pleases in between your legs and like, there's not exactly a risk of falling but you're flustered by like, the time and place and URGENCY of how bad he seems to need it, and especially if it's up on a building in the city you're squirming and whimpering to him that he has no idea if anyone can actually see you two or not, but he almost doesn't even care, too preoccupied (obsessed?) with taking you right then and there. Spiderwoman, more like HIS woman, Spiderman, more like, spied on by this man, Miguel, more like..... get me pregnant 😩❤️

[irelandseyeonmythology]

DIAS Black Friday Sale

Once a year, the Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies (DIAS), offers a sale for Black Friday -- DIAS is one of the major publishers for Celtic Studies, many of the best studies of medieval Irish material have come through there.

Some books that I recommend, personally:

Fergus Kelly, A Guide to Early Irish Law (26.25 Euro, normally 35) (THE introduction to law in medieval Ireland)

"", Early Irish Farming (26.25 Euro, normally 35) (Everything you wanted to know about day to day life in medieval Ireland but were afraid to ask. Literally. Everything.)

Medieval Irish Prose

Fergus Kelly, Audacht Morainn (18.75 Euro, normally 25)

Are you planning on becoming a medieval Irish king? Do you want to know what you should do to involve the total destruction of the natural order? Then this is the text for you! Now with English translation!

In all seriousness, this text is used a LOT with regards to studies of ideal kingship in medieval Ireland.

Cecile O'Rahilly, The Táin from the Book of Leinster (26.25 Euro, usually 35)

I'll be real with you, lads: I hate Cú Chulainn. I hate him. I hate his smug, misogynistic face. His creepy multi-pupiled eyes. The shitty way he treats Emer. The way that his presence is like this black hole in the study of medieval Irish literature that means that the Ulster Cycle can get a prestigious yearly conference held in its honor while the other cycles are left with either crumbs or outright dismissal. I think the Táin is boring and episodic as a piece of lit and I've never found anything overly redeeming about it over any other piece of medieval Irish literature, especially since imo other pieces of literature do women (and homoeroticism) much better and get much less praise for it.

...that being said. It's important. It IS iconic, both as a piece of medieval Irish literature and, in general, to Irish literature. Its status as The Irish Iliad means that, if you want to study medieval Irish stuff...you have to read the Táin. And this is a version of the Táin that you might not have gotten, translated and edited by a master of Old Irish, with commentary.

"", Táin Bó Cúailnge: recension I (10 Euro, normally 35)

See above.

Early Irish History and Genealogy

T.F. O'Rahilly, Early Irish History and Genealogy (30 Euro, normally 40)

So. On the record, a lot of what he says here is absolutely not currently believed in the field. Just. No. BUT. There's a reason why I always recommend him anyway, and it's because if you're serious about doing a study of Irish Mythology, whatever we take that to mean...you will not be able to avoid this man. His ideas were very popular for decades and still often are to people who don't really focus on mythology. It's better to know where these ideas come from and to identify them than not, and O'Rahilly, in his defense, had an *excellent* knowledge of his sources. It's dense, it's difficult (rather like the author himself, from the accounts I've heard), but it's necessary if you really want to attack this.

Joan Radner, Fragmentary Annals of Ireland (22.50, normally 30)

There is so much weird shit in the Fragmentary Annals. So much.

Welsh

Patrick Sims Williams, Buchedd Beuno: The Middle Welsh Life of St Beuno (22.50 Euro, normally 30)

I know what you're thinking: "Why the FUCK are they recommending this book about a random Welsh saint? Answer: Because this is how I learned Middle Welsh. The introduction to Welsh at the front of the book + the VERY good index at the back is still one of the best ways to learn Middle Welsh. Also if anyone was watching the Green Knight film and going "Why is there a lady with her head chopped off?" this answers that question.

 R. L. Thomson, Pwyll Pendeuic Dyuet: the first of the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, edited from the White Book of Rhydderch, with variants from the Red Book of Hergest (15 Euro, normally 20)

Once you've gotten enough of a hang of Middle Welsh to know the basics, it's time to dive into the classics, and what better way to do it than with the Mabinogi, starting at the very beginning, with the First Branch? Personally, I dislike a lot of Thomson's orthographic decisions, but, hey, it's the First Branch, and that's Middle Welsh orthography for you.

Ian Hughes, Math uab Mathonwy (22.50 Euro, normally 30)

The Fourth Branch, my beloved. Incest, rape, bestiality (well...pseudo bestiality, really), creating a new life while not being willing to deal with the consequences of it...it truly has it all. Not for the faint of heart, but absolutely worth the read if you can stomach it because imo it handles its themes very well and it's incredibly haunting.

And a lot more -- go in, shop around, see what's available. Even with the older books, they're often things that we're still referencing in some way into the present.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

watching the sonic ova again and it’s genuinely so impressive how throughly the people working on it get metal sonic like it’s obviously been an influence towards every portrayal of him since bc the staff there understand him on a deep conceptual level. like it’s most obvious with sonic heroes which takes heavy inspiration from the film except it portrays metal's identity issues in a much darker light but like just in general like. the ova portrayal of metal sonic is The template every other portrayal of him. like his personal identity issues his beyond monomaniacal obsession with sonic to the point it leads to him defying orders them having a much deeper personal rivalry than the other sonic robots eggman made him being severely mentally ill like. cd establishes that he’s cruel mocking and ruthless but the ova is the origin of his complexities of a character, ones that were absolutely carried over in the rare cases sega let metal sonic even have a character (like where’s his sass from cd he's as dramatic a bitch as sonic in that but they don’t even let him taunt sonic he’s lost personality he had in the sega cd games how do you DO that) like. heroes metal sonic is pretty undeniably a beyond terrible person but it’s clear that he's also had a complete mental breakdown from how inherently traumatic his existence is and mania adventures depicts him as borderline suicidally depressed again like. the ova clearly influenced both of those immensely.

and not only does it do that but then it goes delightfully off the rails and uses it’s complete understanding and establishment of its character to take him in a completely unique direction. i mean for one it’s a canon metonic soulmate AU like. they're metaphysically linked and share a soul and mind they’re literally soulmates by definition. but also it fully embraces the more complex areas of his characterisation and makes him a full on tragic villain with a redemption arc. metal sonic in the ova is undeniably a person, and one who can care for others and be good if given an opportunity (even before the final scene! like, he gave the old man owl “his”/sonic's favourite clothes, and they share memories and likes so presumably they’d be something he very much likes and would want to keep too) and the fact he's basically been programmed only for destruction and never able to live a proper life is sad. he kills himself at the end. it’s not something triumphant or even satisfying, because it’s so fucking sad that he's aware he'll never be able to live that normal life. how there can only be one sonic. and yeah, he fucking dies, so the ova (which was planned to be a full blown anime) defined metal sonic's whole everything for the next thirty years while having him as a one-shot character. they wrote the best metal sonic for a one off appearance. incredibly ballsy decision and it makes me sad it never got picked up bc if they completely defined a character who appeared in like, one episode the fucking geniuses could have done some insane shit with a full series.