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blackpensils · 1 year ago

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Hi! I saw your post about possible prompts and the struggle of creating, and the urge to let out everything about that au yet stuck(?) in a block. I would like to say that I so incredibly love your Hereafter AU! And I am always happy to see art and concept connected to that! I love the kids so much, each of them! (I am just a silent admirer, but I am here. ^^) Your works always make me smile when I see them, and I'd always be open and all 'ears' (read: eyes in this case) to learning more about them. So as a so-called prompt, what about telling/showing a typical day of them? Character(s) is your choice. It can be a Friday or a Saturday, just them hanging out, having their 'usual' (or not so usual) day. With or without their family member or being with just friends, the details are totally up to you. - Alice

You have no idea how happy reading this made me. And it is perfectly fine to be a silent admirer. Not everyone has to be vocal about their admiration for someone else's work and that is okay. Just knowing that people enjoy my art and au is more than enough for me to be inspired to continue with it.

Now buckle up, this gets long.

Now, I'm not sure which of the kids people enjoy seeing the most of or which they want to see more of, but for your prompt I think I'm going to go with Jax. I don't do enough with his character, and he is, in my opinion, a very interesting character.

I've mentioned before that Jax is very unenthusiastic about pretty much everything. He is lazy and he would rather play games or tinker with some invention or code than anything else. He has little interest in ghost hunting or even using his powers, even though he has already decided to join the family business when he grows up (mostly so he doesn't have to put any real effort into school).

But your average day for Jax usually starts with a frozen alarm clock. He usually waits until the very last minute to get out of bed on a school day, and on the weekends you can very much expect him to sleep till noon. He is not a morning person whatsoever and you can not have a intelligent conversation with him until he's had at least a can of coffee. He doesn't even have the energy to walk down the stairs in the mornings, usually teleporting down into the kitchen and scaring his family in the process when he appears out of nowhere.

In school he is very passive. He will not be an active participant in class, and if he's called upon to answer a question he will say he doesn't know it or just shrug his shoulders. Even when he does know the answer. He also doesn't pay much attention in class, either. He will often be found doddling in his notebooks and even corrections in his textbooks on areas where he finds errors. He has sticky notes inside of his textbooks where he's written additions and such to the text. His teacher saw this once and tried to push him to show his true intellect. It didn't work.

He doesn't have many friends in or outside of school. This is intentional though since he finds most people exhausting. Most of the time he spends it with Misty or with Aeleigh. Misty being his sister it's obvious that they'd be close, but Aeleigh is his best friend. When Misty isn't present or is away spending time with her friends or with Lennie, Jax is most likely with Aeleigh. They spend lunch together and spend their recess together. Even though Aeleigh doesn't understand it most of the time, Jax will talk about code and inventions and stuff like it with her. She will often draw what he's talking about and he will point out corrections to the design. He often use them as reference when he's building and inventing stuff.

He will often be seen with his switch in hand. It is more of a miniature computer than it is a gaming concole. He's tweaked it. He can use it to hack and has done so before. Like said, he's increadibly smart and has been naturally giften when it comes to machinery and digital coding. Think Jazz brain and Jack and Maddie's technological smarts put into together, and then amp it up a bit.

Jax doesn't really have any extracurricular activites like Lennie, who does gymanstics, or Misty, who's made it a personal mission to learn as many instruments as she possibly can before graduation. Instead he'll spend his days in his room or down in the fenton lab. Down there he'll be found tinkering with inventions or coding something. Upgrading Aeleigh's ghost gauntlets perhaphs? Who knows, really.

If he's not in the lab, you'll find him in his room. While he does have a toolbox and metal scraps and half-finished inventions (an alarm clock that's being upgraded, a computer that's being tweaked, etcetera), he usually spends his time up there watching tv shows or movies. He prefers cartoons. In his opinion they follow a formula, which makes them easy. He's a brony. He has very strong opinions when it comes to cartoons and he can talk about them for hours if you give him the chance. It's the one area where he's extremelly passionate.

Some days after school, he and Misty have ghost training. Meaning that they have training sessions at the Ghost Hunting Academy to learn how to use their powers. Danny and Valerie started it when Ghost's became a more videspread problem and didn't their kids to have it as rough as they did when they were teens.

Whereas Misty is a natural in her ghost form (being born a ghost, after all), Jax is less than enthused about it. He doesn't really care much for his ghost half and he doesn't transform if he has to. Even during training you'll find him being human unil he absolutely has to transform to use his full abilities.

Now, here's the thing about the twins. Misty is naturally a ghost, right? Jax is human and if he could choose, he would pick being human. But if they were put against each other and they had to fight seriously, it wouldn't be as easy to say who'd win the fight. You'd assume Misty since she's a natural fighter, but Jax is a better strategist. And he knows his sister well. And he knows how she fights. Where Misty has the brute strength, Jax has the brains. You could say they anchor each other.

And, of course, the end of the day would be a family dinner and then it would be off to bed. The kids would retreat to their rooms and be your average anti-social teen.

But that's how a normal day for Jax is. That's pretty much what a usual day is like. They do sometimes spend time together after school, like hanging out at someone's house or at the park. They might go see a movie or something like it, but Jax isn't very sociable. He needs his personal space and time for himself. And this is what that would look like.

___

Throwing in some Lennie facts as well. Mostly because she has the more interesting family dynamic. See, she has two younger half-brothers on Paulina's side (Justin, 11, and Adrian, 5), as well as an older half-brother (Ryan, about 18) on Dash's side. Not to mention that Paulina's married to a very wealthy and well-known fashion designer. Her typical day can be a bit... interesting depending on which day we're talking about.

But she spends a lot of her freetime doing gymnastics. She's good at it because she's done it for so long now, but at this point it's not something that she's passionate about anymore.

It used to be.

She started it because she loved it. Then she started to compete and Paulina got very competitive about her winning. But it was never her fault that she lost, it was always the judge or one of the other moms, etcetera. But it made Lennie feel bad and then it just turned into something she does because she's been doing it for so long.

But at school Lennie spends most times with her friends. And not always Misty, Jax and Aeleigh. Since she didn't become friends with Misty until later on in the school year, she already have a friend group at school. She does spend time with Misty during school hours as well, but she does often times eat lunch with her other friends.

At home she spends a lot of time with her little brother Adrian. She often babysits him when the other adults don't have time. Paulina is busy with her job as a model and with her make up brand, so she's often caught up in meetings and other stuff that Lennie just doesn't care for.

Now, Adrian does have a nanny, but Lennie likes to spend time with him. And Adrian often goes to her when he's sad. He's so comfortable with her that he often goes to her rom when he can't sleep instead of going to his parents room.

Lennie is a natural when it comes to kids. She's good with them. Patient and calm and knows how to play with them and match their speeds.

That's about it for now. But seriously, this was so fun to do! I absolutley loved this ask! Rambling really helped get some of the blockaged to go away. I should really think about writing a fic about these kids someday. I feel like I could probably pull some one-shots off sometime in the future.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #danny x sam #phandom #phanart #danny phantom oc #danny phantom next gen #next gen #hereafter au #jackson fenton #jax fenton #misty fenton #aeleigh foley #lennie baxter #madeleine baxter sanchez

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temtoni · 7 months ago

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pt.5

KAI KAI KAI!

so the main lineup of my doomed AU is done YAY

if there is anything you’d like to hear about tell me bc i don’t have any idea as to what to continue with…

Timelineee:

So first of all I might get this completely wrong since I haven’t watched crystallized in a while but i will try

-Obviously the start of crystallized already has some major changes with Nya never turning into a human again

-Therefore they also never become the public enemies nr. 1

-In the meantime it’s mostly the new ninja that figure out all the crystal king stuff and boast it all around Ninjago

-Lloyd seeing everything still pretty rational at least compared to Kai (who to be fair just lost his sister and his brothers)so he decides to check this whole crystal thing out he infiltrates the council gets recognized and so on

-Kai after a while realizes that Lloyd hasn’t been checking in as he normally would so he decides to head out to find him

-Kai finds Lloyd yada yada everything as it is in canon

-The big fight starts but the other elemental masters are already there because otherwise they wouldn’t have a chance

-Lloyd and Garmadon go on to fight the Overlord while Kai pretty much leads everyone on the ground

-More and more people show up fighting on their side, people from prime empire, the ocean even some ghosts :)

-But even with all this support the fight seems to be a stalemate until the crystal army start pushing even further

-Kai watching allies and friends alike die in front of him is able to unlock the dragon form and turn the table in their favor

-Lloyd is also successful and wins his fight

-The citizens have a big celebration through the entirety of Ninjago in honor of the Ninja and their great victory

-Sadly ever since the big battle Kai has been growing incredibly tired to the point where he can’t stand for longer than 15 minutes

-At first Wu and Misako believed that it had to do with the dragon form but then decided that it couldn’t be the cause because Lloyd also unlocked his Oni form and while being a little shaken he is completely fine

-So they decide to set of to try and figure out what exactly is happening to Kai

-What they didn’t account for was that Lloyd had Oni blood in him which allowed him to use his Oni form

-Kai on the other hand is fully human and the dragon form that he took back then wants back the control of his body

-Slowly but surely he is transforming into a dragon and not the kind in the finale of crystallized but into an actual dragon

-Things start changing his hands growing bigger, horn breaking through his skull, his pupils changing shape and color…

-And while all this is happening all Lloyd could do was watch, watch as the last brother of his slowly looses hisself

—————————————————————————

Kai even once transformed into a full dragon (the lil sketch in the top left corner) never leaves Lloyds side. Heck, he seems even more protective now or at least more threatening with his fire mane, glowing eyes and black to red scales. Lloyd believes that Kai thinks that he is his clan especially since he has dragon blood in him. But he also thinks it’s weird that whenever Misako, Wu or anyone really tries to get to the monastery without him inviting them in, Kai will either pick them up and fly them to the bottom of the mountain or just throw them off it.

—————————————————————————

Angsty enough?

Just wait till dragons rising starts and people start hunting Kai :D

If you’re wondering why Nya and Kai aren’t digitally drawn but only traditionally… digital art is hard and exhausting

I’m not sure if I’ll do dragons rising but if the interest is there I might

I mean just imagine Aryn having the wildest theories about where the Og’s went and Lloyd just standing there trying not to destroy this little boys entire world view (like he would be pretending that kai isn’t kai and so on)

Or Zane actually being able to get to Lloyd now since the realms have merged

OH the possibilities

#ninjago #ninjago fanart #lego ninjago #ninjago au #ninjago kai #kai smith #ninjago kai fanart

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thewollfgang · 1 year ago

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G'day, BG Anon returns! I was going to update you yesterday on my progress but, as you know, the patch came out and I was like WHOOOOAAA LEMME SEE (commence the grabby hands) and time went brr so here I am today. Incredible of Larian to keep us fed like this. Ain't no one doing it better than them. 💅

Truthfully, I haven't really progressed much. I've been perusing Astarion fanart a lot recently and it made me want to try my own hand at drawing his ✨magnificence✨. Granted, I am not the best at drawing people, much less faces, so it's been a process but I won't falter. I've been going back and forth between practicing digitally and traditionally, and have even toyed with the idea of doing a painting once I manage to get him just right. I'd like to think I'm getting there. (Bit ironic that Astarion is keeping me from playing. XD)

Anyway, I had a bit of a poke around Moonrise finally. Lann the merchant kinda pissed me off, I can't wait to kill him, honestly. Good inventory though. Well, until I sold him all the junk I could find. Good luck getting anymore customers. MUAHAHAHAHA! >:)

I have never wanted to pimp slap a bunch of pixels more than when I talked to Araj. How dare she treat bae like this?! My Tav, cradling Astarion: "Don't talk to me or my fiancé ever again. 😤" If it didn't put the whole tower on alert, I would have killed her... well, technically, I did before I had to reload. What I wouldn't do for an Assassin's Creed stealth kill and the standard random wagon/pile of hay to hide the body in. I did rob her blind though. Little victories and all.

yaaaaas the new patch GIVETH!!! BG3 just keeps getting better. God bless Larian. I've watched a few of the epilogues but I'm trying to be good and wait till i get there.

ALSO GOOD GOD BG IF YOU DONT SHOW ME YOUR ART I WILL BE SO SAD

like for real, even if you don't feel comfy coming off anon (which is totally fine) i will literally turn on my submissions or whatever settings need to be changed for me to see it. Or send me a link or SOMETHING i wanna seeeeeeeeee. Also i feel your pain about drawing faces. I did nothing but draw faces for five years to get better at them (and i can draw them well on paper! less so digitally and paints are right out lol)

Ugh Araj is the WORSt. I also robbed her lmaooooo i had Astarion do it like, you deserve a treat baby, go take her stuff. XD

I actually managed to play for an hour or so a few days ago and progress a little further into Act 3. I found Orin and I know she has a few doppelganger options (one of them being the nymph(?) that tests you and your romanced companion's love). So I'm LITERALLY hunting for the other Orin options, because once you see her a few times, the other options become normal NPCs and I cannot bear to reveal Astarion's vulnerability to someone who is secretly Orin in disguise. (I am TOTALLY normal about this).

I haven't decided how honest I'm going to be for the love test cause on one hand, my character wants him to know he sees Astarion and understands, but on the other… :/ well. Perhaps I will just apology smooch him after. That will make it all better!

#bg3 #bg anon #asks #anonymous #also bg i am now imagining you are Australian

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alice-angel12x · 3 years ago

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Into our world

Inspired by @im-back-with-pink, and @the-caffeine-dumbass

Summary: A sickly reader (baker) has nothing better to do and is stuck at home. So why not waste time and play some games till the date of your next health check-up.

You sat in their bed as they scrolled through social media while texting friends. Suffering from rheumatic fever is the worst. It greatly weakened your heart and lungs, and the random but painful burst of pain in your joints has left you stuck at home. Luckily your family is very well off and you were waited on by many maids, leaving you little to no reason to leave your room.

Which got boring really fast. Your read every novel and manga series in your bedroom twice, draw an entires books worth of random art, sketches, and blueprints of complex crafts you wanted to do. But sadly, crafts work is not allowed in your room, you had a studio dedicated for that next door. Sadly rheumatic fever has you locked in your room, so no crafts, or in-person interactions with friends either. Though your kitty, Mittens was decent company.

But as her friends texted, they suggested that you play video games to pass the time. And to also get you hooked on games like them.

‘Alright, what game do you guys suggest?’ You text your friend.

‘ you should try this game called “Cookie run: Kingdom” its fun, cute, and you can decorate a kingdom. It also has a lot of cute characters’ your friend texted.

‘Are you talking about the game everyone is crazy about? And lots of cookie simping?’ You asked.

‘ you will b simping too soon’ your friend responds.

You sighed as they slowly opened their app store and downloaded the game, and down the rabbit hole, they fell. As You collected Cookies, decorated their Kingdom, and took care of each cookie they had, blissfully unaware of the hearts you capture from behind the screen.

--------------------------

The cookies behind the screen, the cookies grew fond of their player, or the baker they called them. They so wished to be by their baker’s side, so when the phone was off, they worked tirelessly to find a way to escape the digital world of their game.

“Come on! Is it Done Yet?!” A young cookie whined.

“Patients strawberry crepe cookie, this is a very dangerous spell,” Espresso Cookie sighed.

“Just a little longer everyone,” A calm and regal-looking Cookie said.

All the Cookies you collected stood in excitement as the time is finally close at hand.

-----------------------------

As You and Mittens sleep, your phone began to shine brilliantly as all the cookies began to pour out from the screen. The cookies were awed at the sights, and just how large the new world was around them as compared to their world.

When Suddenly the lights turned on, and the cookies turn to see their beloved Baker had awakened. As You woke up and took a sip of water, you heard a bounce of cheering on your left. Tuning to see a bunch of cookies smiling and calling out to you.

“Baker! Baker!” they called out as You just stared in complete confusion.

“Was my medicine switched up?” You groaned as they looked at their medicine bottle.

“Baker!” The cookies cheered as they began to climb onto the bed.

“Beloved baker it is so good to finally meet you,” Pure Vanilla cookie smiled as he stepped forward.

“Pure...Vanilla Cookie?” You yawned as you stare down at the cookie.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, baker,” Pv smiled.

You slowly reached out to touch the illusion, only to find that there was indeed a cookie in front of you. But sadly you were still too tired to stay awake as their eyes began to close and their mind drifted off.

------------------------------------------------

CRASH!!

You gasp awake at the sound of something breaking, as you jump awake. Looking around you see a broken flowerpot and standing at the scene of the crime was Custard Cookie, Pancake Cookie, and Chili pepper cookie. The three noticed that their baker has spotted them, and quickly try to hide from view. Know with a clearer mind, You only stared in shock that the actual cookie run characters are currently causing havoc in their room. Suddenly you felt something squishy in their hands, quickly looking down. There curled up in the palm of their hands was Squid Ink Cookie.

“I… Annoy?” the tiny octopus cookie asked shyly.

“Um no, you’re fine. Just surprised,” You smile softly, causing the squishy cookie to push into your palms more.

You smiled gently as you looked around your room and noticed all the cookies roaming around their room. You can only sit and wonder what are you going to do with all these cookies?

_____________

Continue?

MasterList

#crk self aware #pure vanilla cookie #self aware crk #crk #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom self-aware #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader

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fbfh · 3 years ago

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dave strider crushing on you hcs

So I shifted to homestuck recently and scared the shit out of everyone by cliff diving, their reactions were hilarious. Also dave kabedon-ed me and it was the best thing ever.

Anyway

This is the song I was listening to and it fits rlly well lol

Let's get into it

Dave with a crush is… something else

We already know

In spite of how much he tries to hide it

How smart and dedicated and creative he is

Due to his

Unique

Sense of humor

A lot of this is displayed through shitposts and crackheadery

The thing is once he realizes he likes you unironically???

All bets are off baby

The most obvious sign is that he stares at you pretty much all the time

He’ll just

Not in like, a creepy way or anything

But he’ll watch you while you’re hanging out

You could be staring at a wall and he’d find you interesting

I feel like his music is on a spectrum between 100gecs and atlas

Most of his music is on the former end of the spectrum

But once and a while he’ll drop a song that’s actually really sweet

His followers love to see his softer songs and always hype him up even though they’re very few and far between

He drops like four songs back to back and they’re like

Oh shit bro

You got it bad

And he does

He’s got it very bad

His bro gave him some sage wisdom

Which is “if you write a song for a babe you’re falling for, don’t show them till you’ve got your head straight cause it probably won’t be as good as you think. Except for my beats, which are all fire, always, no exceptions.”

The harder he falls for you, the harder it is to follow that advice

He likes being around you, too

If either of you leave for any reason he’ll either volunteer to go with you or offer you to come with him

Beverage runs, side quests, walking Jade’s dog for gods sake

Any excuse to be near you is one he’ll take

He’ll also just kinda stand or sit near you too

Being close to you physically is more intense than looking at you, so he does that a little less

Just because it’s a lot, yk

Oh god don’t get me started on the showing off and clowning for your attention

Even John is like wow bro you’re kind of doing a lot right now even for you are you good

The answer is no

Because he has not made you laugh enough yet

In spite of what he posts on sweet bro and hella jeff he’s actually a pretty good artist

Mostly digital because he favors intense color pallets

But he usually does make the drawings and edits for the covers of his songs and eps from scratch

He’ll notice some cute trait of yours

Or several

And they start getting incorporated into his album art on soundcloud

He’s fallen so hard his followers start to call him out on it

“Is this the same angel from the last song”

“Bro you gotta talk to them”

“SIMP”

Yeah he’s got it really bad

He keeps hoping that John or someone will casually mention his soundcloud so you’ll listen to all the sappy jams inspired by you

If you really can’t tell how bad he has it for you at this point

He playfully has you wear his sunglasses

Like how some people will jokingly steal their crushes baseball cap or beanie or w/e

He does the opposite

Everyone is painfully aware of how into you he is

Probably everyone but you at this point

He’s liked you from the moment he saw you so you probably think he’s just like this

When it gets to the point that his bro catches him slumped over his turntables, beet red from thinking about you, staring into space because he’s so flustered that he can’t even put his feels into bars anymore

That’s how he knows it’s for real

Bro probably gives him some pointers on how to confess

And it’s only then that he realizes that he can confess to you

And that you might even reciprocate these feels

It’s like a pleasant slap to the face

He’s so consumed by this crush that he hadn’t even thought it could go further

Or that shooting his shot was a possibility

And now that’s all he’s thinking about

How to confess to you

And he realizes instantly

Make you a mixtape

He goes through his soundcloud and picks out his favorite songs he wrote about you

And writes some more to fill it out

He writes “for angel” in red sharpie on the front

He wants to give it to you immediately but it also takes him like, two days to work up the nerve

And now he has to get through the most agonizing part

He has to wait

And see what you think

And he likes you so much he feels like he’s about to combust

But that’s normal for a crush, right??

#dave strider #dave strider x reader #homestuck x reader #homestuck fic #dave x reader #if y'all want more shifting stories just uh #ask ig #i mostly do waking shifts cause it's easiest but ik i'll do more full sleeping shifts as I practice more lol

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missgeniality · 4 years ago

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A Work Of Art (m)

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

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was waiting for you.”

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

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

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

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

You will have the upper hand.

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

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

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

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

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

Today isn’t a normal day at all.

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

You stand on the side, drinking him in.

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

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

“Sooo I was watching Filter…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“Uhmf-yufh!”

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not done being an idiot.

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” you carped out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man was a sucker for your praise.

You were a sucker for the whole man.

But the sucking will probably have to wait.

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

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

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

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

“You know my favorite part?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Namaneul damabwa.”

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

That, and in life in general.

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

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

Well, you must get to work.

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ass up for me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

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

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

#bangtansorciere #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bangtanuniversity

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mellowshipsu · 3 years ago

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Hello I’d like to be shipped with someone from twisted wonderland!

I’m masc presenting (he/they) and bisexual

When socially interacting with others I get tired in big groups but overall I’m honestly pretty sociable. I love physical affection ! And I feel like I always care a little bit too much about what others are feeling, especially if they’re people I care about. I either get very focused on something and finish it in one sitting or it’s never getting done. I like fashion and I own and make my own accessories, I also enjoy a lot of other creative mediums like digital art. I’m usually willing to try new things but I do get a lot of anxiety about it, but I at least try new things at least once. Motivation is hard for me to find a lot of the time but when I am motivated to do something then I do tons in a short amount of time while only focusing on that thing. I’m very opinionated and open minded to basically everything (which tends to make me overthink a lot of the time) I like rambling to others and explaining my interests but I’d also like to think I’m a good listener.

An artist shows the beauty of the beholder.

Ignoring the world around them, sometimes with a cold shoulder.

Your beautiful skills caught the eye of someone new.

He noticed how your social circle grew and grew.

Say what you will.

Your handsome self caught the eyes of---

Vil!

(Image by: twisted-rubbish-bin)

Is it odd that Night Raven College even has an art curriculum? A college that concentrates on magic does appreciate the arts, just not a lot of people participate in it.

You sat in an empty classroom with your drawing tablet, but you didn't have motivation to draw. You sighed to yourself and sipped some ice coffee, in hopes the caffeine helps crank your brain a bit, but nothing. If only there was something that could inspire you.

Then a miracle happened. Vil Schoenheit walked in with all his beauty in the classroom. He was surprised to see that you were the only person there and claimed he wanted to see if there were interesting artists. You just shook your head, "No, just me." How bold of you to say you weren't an interesting artist. He then walked towards you and sat, he asked if he could see your progress but you answered no, there was no progress for you had no motivation.

"Well perhaps I can offer you some motivation?"

What? You looked at him confused as he handed you a flashdrive. He explained that he made a new album but needed cover art. So he asked you to listen to his music and see if you could draw something for him. He will pay of course. He wrote an estimate of the first payment to you on a peice of paper.

Of course he will accept!

You smiled and thanked him for the opportunity. Vil smiled back and said that you were welcome to observe him also. Which you did.

Days passed and you observed Vil a bit and took pictures of him. You watched him jog with Jack, do yogi in Pomefiore, and dance in the studio. But not much inspiration came to you. Till one day he permitted you into his room to ask about your progress, you lied and told him you were doing well. He said good and he couldn't wait to see your work. He then took off his makeup and brushed his hair. Your eyes widened, he was so beautiful. And you took a picture. This was the inspiration you needed! You quickly got up and excused yourself, you then headed to your dorm to start drawing.

After a few days, you finally mustered up the courage to finally show your drawing to Vil. You waited till he was alone and showed him your work. He took your tablet and was silent.

You drew Vil with his hair down, in comfy clothes, staring longfully out a window on a cloudy day. Sad and sorrowful you saw him. A beautiful caged bird in your eyes.

The silence he omitted discouraged you. You guessed he didn't like it at all. You failed your assignment. You failed him...

Then you noticed one tear roll down his face and he quickly wiped it away. He thanked you and said he loved it.

Really?

"Why did you draw me like this?" He asked.

"Because that's how I see you." You answered.

Silence filled the room again. Till Rook came in and interrupted. Vil was needed. Vil excused himself. You went back to your dorm and haven't heard from him in days. But you kept getting deliveries of little fancy chocolates, watches, CDs, clothes from him. Why?

He then approached you one day and explained that he was going to use your art for his album. Cool. And he couldn't stop thinking about the art and you. What?

Vil wanted to learn about you, more than just the artist. He then gave you tickets to an art exibition.

"Would you honor me with a date?"

You were quiet before nodding. He smiled and took your hand.

Vil was glad to have found you.

"Do you mind if I commission you again? Even better, you'll be my personal artist from now on, how's that sound? ... Why? Because you're the only one who sees the real me."

#twst #mellowshipsu #mellowshipsyou #mellowshipsyuu #twisted wonderland #twisted oc #oc x canon #vil schoenheit #vil x yuu #vil x y/n #vil x mc #smashjewels #smashjewels x vil

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kittyspring-creates · 2 years ago

Text

Stranger things au cause why not, modern day au

*steve working at like the dmv with nancy, nancy is good at her job but steve well hes good till you ask him an unscripted question then his brain factory resets, nancy jokes about it all the time but really shes worried hes never gonna get it.

*nancy is in college and trying to be come a reporter for the news paper or actual news station. She runs a blog showcasing her personal reports and standings on social issues

*Robin joined theater at the collage, wanting to persue a career in stage preforming but she mostly gets stuck with sewing the costumes. Shes thinking of leaving

*she and steve live together in a basment apartment with their cat, the group calls it the queer dome or the lonely hearts club as they are the only two that really struggle with the dating world and are both queer coded. Also its calles the queer house cause will likes to hang out there when he needs to get away from his sister and brother

*will wants to get into a digital art program once graduates. He already has his school picked out hes just waiting

*beacuase of wills insperation el wants to learn how to write and be a screen writer or a novalist. Max on the other hand stillwants to be like tony hawk, the two joke about it all the time but max knows itll never happen, el still believes though.

*dustin and the dnd four all share a tiktok, its how him and suzie see whats going on in the others life. Through tik tok they found a dnd group to join on discord

*it grew strong for a bit but after awhile half the people left and they scrounched around to find others to play. Regrudingly adding erica who ended up spilling all of lucas and dustins secrets. It was not a great time for those two and now will teasea them relentlessly.

*mike has his own corner in the server for his el spill and the teens relationship problems as eddie didnt want the drama flooding the regulare chat

*one day while hanging out at the lonely hearta club dustin was showing his favorite tiktok videos to steve while the man made dinner for everyone visiting, something he did alot cause none of the kids liked being home expecially dustin with his overcaring mom

*one of the videos he showed was of eddies cursed song mash ups of coirse steve fallows him after that and develops a tik tok crush

#stranger things #steddie #might add more later

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brooklynmuseum · 4 years ago

Photo

Closing out National Poetry Month, our Spring Interns paired some of their favorite poems with works from our collection. We hope you enjoy!

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas

Image: Suzuki Harunobu (Japanese, 1724-1770). Page From Haru no Nishiki, 1771. Color woodblock print on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peter P. Pessutti, 83.190.1

from Citizen: “Some years there exists a wanting to escape...” [Excerpt] By Claudia Rankine

I they he she we you turn only to discover the encounter

to be alien to this place.

Wait.

The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.

The opening, between you and you, occupied, zoned for an encounter,

given the histories of you and you—

And always, who is this you?

The start of you, each day, a presence already—

Hey you—

— Halle Smith, Digital Collections Intern Catherine Green (American, born 1952). [Untitled] (West Indian Day Parade), 1991. Chromogenic photograph, sheet. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 1991.58.2. © artist or artist's estate

Ode to Enchanted Light by Pablo Neruda

Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light like a green latticework of branches, shining on every leaf, drifting down like clean white sand.

A cicada sends its sawing song high into the empty air.

The world is a glass overflowing with water.

Consuelo Kanaga’s black and white photograph captures a dazzling, yet fleeting moment from everyday life. Three textured glasses cast shadows whose patterns are almost kaleidoscopic in effect. We can imagine Kanaga passing by her kitchen table, as she is brought to a halt to take a closer look at, and ultimately to photograph, the simple beauty generated by the play of light and everyday objects. The close-up scale of this image emulates the singularizing framing techniques deployed by Surrealist photographers, who also took parts of everyday life and blew them up in the photographic frame, thereby encouraging their viewers to look at life around us from a different angle. It is a way of saying: Here, take a closer look. Viewing the world with wonder, along with the joy that this act brings, are encapsulated in Pablo Neruda’s poem Ode to Enchanted Light. The speaker observes the way light passes through trees and creates enchanting patterns. He not only observes, but feels the beauty in the simple details of life, from the way light falls from the sky, to the sheen of leaves, to the buzzing of cicadas. Approaching life through such a hopeful lens evokes a glass-half-full perspective. In fact, the speaker is so hopeful that he believes “The world is/a glass overflowing/with water.” I think Kanaga would have felt the same way.

— Kirk Testa, Curatorial Intern, Photography Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). [Untitled] (Glasses and Reflections). Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.25

Easter Wings By George Herbert

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With thee

O let me rise

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne

And still with sicknesses and shame.

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With thee

Let me combine,

And feel thy victorie:

For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Easter Wings by George Herbet and Martin Bach’s flower vase from the Brooklyn Museum’s Decorative Arts collection reveal the interrelationship between form and function. In Easter Wings, Herbert strategically varies the line length to create an image that enhances the meaning of the poem; when you turn the poem on its side, it resembles the wings of a bird, of which are symbolic of the atonement of Jesus Christ. In doing so, the author is not only telling us his message, but he is showing it visually as well. Similarly, the vase takes the visual form of its function. Its floral design amplifies the meaning of the object, as the vase is meant to hold flowers. In both instances, we see how aesthetic properties of a work echo the meaning and function of the work itself.

— Amy Zavecz Martin Bach (American, 1862-1921). Vase, ca. 1905. Opalescent glass. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mrs. Alfred Zoebisch, 59.143.16. Creative Commons-BY

I am the Earth (Watashi wa chikyu) [Excerpt] by Kiyoko Nagase, Translated by Takako Lento

I am warm, moist soil I am a single supple stalk I draw my life all the way up into corollas of wild berries on the roadside

I am amazed at a breast of water welling to flow into the inlet of a muddy rice paddy I am amazed at myself being hot steam blowing fire and sulfur up from the bottom of the great ocean, deep indigo. I am amazed at the crimson blood flow covering the earth’s surface in human shape; I am amazed that it swells as the tides ebb and flow, and gushes out monthly under distant invisible gravity … I am the earth. I live there, and I am the very same earth.

In the four billionth year I have come to know the eternal cold moon, my other self, my hetero being, then, for the first time, I am amazed that I am warm mud.

The vivid imagery conjured up by Kiyoko Nagase’s poem is beautifully visualized by Emmi Whitehorse’s painting. The emphasis on deep Earth tones and abstract corporeality in both the poem and the painting really creates an intense metaphysical link between the environment and the self.

— Amanda Raquel Dorval, Archives Intern Emmi Whitehorse (Navajo, born 1957). Fire Weed, 1998. Chalk, graphite, pastel and oil on paper mounted on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Hinrich Peiper and Dorothee Peiper-Riegraf in honor of Emmi Whitehorse, 2006.49. © artist or artist's estate

Seventh Circle of Earth by Ocean Vuong

On April 27, 2011, a gay couple, Michael Humphrey and Clayton Capshaw, was murdered by immolation in their home in Dallas, Texas.

Dallas Voice

________________________________________________________

As if my finger, / tracing your collarbone / behind closed doors, / was enough / to erase myself. To forget / we built this house knowing / it won’t last. How / does anyone stop / regret / without cutting / off his hands? / Another torch

streams through / the kitchen window, / another errant dove. / It’s funny. I always knew / I’d be warmest beside / my man. / But don’t laugh. Understand me / when I say I burn best / when crowned / with your scent: that earth-sweat / & Old Spice I seek out each night / the days

refuse me. / Our faces blackening / in the photographs along the wall. / Don’t laugh. Just tell me the story / again, / of the sparrows who flew from falling Rome, / their blazed wings. / How ruin nested inside each thimbled throat / & made it sing

until the notes threaded to this / smoke rising / from your nostrils. Speak— / until your voice is nothing / but the crackle / of charred

bones. But don’t laugh / when these walls collapse / & only sparks / not sparrows / fly out. / When they come / to sift through these cinders—& pluck my tongue, / this fisted rose, / charcoaled & choked / from your gone

mouth. / Each black petal / blasted / with what’s left / of our laughter. / Laughter ashed / to air / to honey to baby / darling, / look. Look how happy we are / to be no one / & still

American.

Ocean Vuong’s “Seventh Circle of Earth” has persisted as one of the great, affective moments of poetry in my life since I first heard Pádraig Ó Toama’s gorgeous reading and discussion of it on his podcast, Poetry Unbound. I decided to pair Vuong’s poem with Mary Coble’s Untitled 2 (from Note To Self) because both works are urgently immersive into the violence and experience of LGBTQ people in the U.S., and for how each work uses text and physicality to address presence, pain, and erasure. Vuong’s poem is actually footnoted to a quote from a news article about a gay couple murdered in Texas. The page is thus blank, absent of text. The reader has to sink below the main stage, the accepted space of word and story, to find the voices of this couple and the depth of their story’s tenderness, eroticism, and utter devastation. Coble’s piece foils the structure and effect of Seventh Circle of Earth by taking what was subverted by Vuong—text and the narrative of violence—wholly to the surface. Her photograph captures her own legs tattooed without ink with the names of LGBTQ individuals victimized by hate crimes. I cannot help but think of Franz Kafka’s short story “In the Penal Colony,” in which prisoners’ “sentences'' are inscribed by the needle of a “punishment apparatus” directly onto their bodies. I was struck by how the curator’s note for this photograph describes Coble’s artistic endeavor here as “harrowing.” The needle in Kafka’s short story is indeed called “The Harrow”. The noun harrow is an agricultural tool that combs plowed soil to break up clumps of earth and uproot weeds and clear imperfections. The verb to harrow means to plague, and in the story’s original German the verb for “harrow”, eggen, is also translated as “to torment”. Kafka and Coble conflate these definitions of “the harrow” in their respective works: they use a needled device, like the true noun definition, as an instrument of torment because of someone else’s idea of punishment and justice. Here, violence is brought to the surface, intimate in as much as we are brought right up to the artist’s skin and into the presence of her and her community’s pain. Together, one can see how each creator physicalizes their respective artistic space to tell the stories of LGBTQ people, of what is tender and harrowing, below the surface and written into the skin.

— Talia Abrahams, Provenance Intern, IHCPP Mary Coble (American, born 1978). Untitled 2 (from Note to Self), 2005. Inkjet print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 2008.10. © artist or artist's estate

To my daughter Kakuya by Assata Shakur

I have shabby dreams for you of some vague freedom I have never known. Baby I don't want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold. and I don't want the frost to kill your fruit before it ripens. I can see a sunny place Life exploding green. I can see your bright, bronze skin at ease with all the flowers and the centipedes. I can hear laughter, not grown from ridicule And words not prompted by ego or greed or jealousy. I see a world where hatred has been replaced by love. and ME replaced by WE And I can see a world replaced where you, building and exploring, strong and fulfilled, will understand. And go beyond my little shabby dreams.

This poem is featured in Assata Shakur’s memoir, Assata: An Autobiography. It details her hope for a better world that her daughter can grow up in. This poem is positioned in the book when Shakur is facing increasing prosecution as a result of her activism and affiliations with the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation army. Being written more than 30 years after this picture was taken, the poem summons me to think about the trauma that many Black women face and how much of that trauma gets passed down to their children. The black and white photo of a mother and daughter provides a nice visual to the poem. “The image of a Black mother and child sitting on their luggage reflects the little-discussed history of segregated transportation in the northern United States. Through the 1940s, Penn Station officials assigned Black travelers seats in Jim Crow cars on southbound trains” (Brooklyn Museum). The photograph of train passengers waiting outside of Manhattan’s Pennsylvania Station especially echoes the verse “I don’t want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold.” The overall optimistic tone of Shakur’s poem alters our relationship to the image as we imagine the mother pictured above hoping for the exact same things

— Zaria W, Teen Programs intern Ruth Orkin (American, 1921-1985). Mother and Daughter at Penn Station, NYC, 1948. Gelatin silver photograph, sheet: 13 15/16 × 11 in. (35.4 × 27.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mary Engel, 2011.22.3. © artist or artist's estate

Crunch. By Kailyn Gibson

I retch as a mass of sinew lies between my lips. The sensation is unbearable. Fortunately, the jar of flies has gone missing again.

Slowly, surely, and yet never sure at all, the quiet of buzzing rings through the in-between.

It is a symphony wrought from blood and bone.

Saliva drips from bleeding, hungry gums, And the crunch of glass echoes the grinding of molars.

If I proffered a sanguine smile, would masticated shards look like teeth? Would they gleam just as prettily?

The flies ring, and the rot calls.

— Kailyn Gibson Edgar Degas (French, 1834-1917). Portrait of a Man (Portrait d'homme), ca. 1866. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Collection Fund, 21.112

Excerpt from Autobiography of Red A novel in verse by Anne Carson

7. If Helen’s reasons arose out of some remark Stesichoros made either it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) or it was not.

8. If it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) either this remark was a lie or it was not.

9. If it was not a lie either we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way we are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros or we are not.

10. If we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros either we will go along without incident or we will meet Stesichoros on our way back.

11. If we meet Stesichoros on our way back either we will keep quiet or we will look him in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen.

12. If we look Stesichoros in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen either he will tell the truth or he will lie.

13. If Stesichoros lies either we will know at once that he is lying or we will be fooled because now that we are in reverse the whole landscape looks inside out.

This excerpt comes from Appendix C of Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red, a novel in verse. A translator and classicist herself, Carson mixes fact with fiction in her unconventional retelling of the myth of Geryon and Hercules, beginning with a roundabout introduction to the poet Stesichoros. Autobiography presents a captivating example of recent Queer projects that take up Classical material as their basis. A fascination with the Classical past has pervaded our modern conception of sexual identity politics, down to the very etymology of the word “lesbian.” In this fascination, I see the same desire to capture Classical imagery as cultural heritage which has also pervaded American museums, albeit with significantly different aims. The fresco pictured above comes to mind, which passed through many collectors and was even purchased by the museum before anyone pegged it as a modern piece—not an original Roman fresco. John D. Cooney, a 20th century curator of our Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art collection, wrote that “the unclad and somewhat winsome charms of the lady [probably] diverted objective glances.” Both in the case of the fresco and Carson’s novel, the “unclad and somewhat winsome charms” of the Classical past shape and reshape our understanding of history.

— Kira Houston, Curatorial Intern, Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art Modern, in the style of the Roman Period. Part of a Fresco, early 19th century C.E. Clay, paint. Brooklyn Museum, Ella C. Woodward Memorial Fund, 11.30.

Late Fragment by Raymond Carver From A New Path to the Waterfall, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

— Shori Diedrick Brackens (American, born 1989). when no softness came, 2019. Cotton and acrylic yarn. Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by The LIFEWTR Fund at Frieze New York 2019, 2019.12. © artist or artist's estate

Jaguar By Francisco X. Alarcón

some say dicen que ahora I'm now almost estoy casi extinto extinct in this park por este parque but the people pero la gente who say this que dice esto don't know no sabe that by smelling que al oler the orchids las orquídeas in the trees en los árboles they're sensing están percibiendo the fragrance la fragancia of my chops de mis fauces that by hearing que al oír the rumblingc el retumbo of the waterfalls de los saltos

they're listening están escuchando to my ancestors' el gran rugido great roar de mis ancestros

that by observing que al observar the constellations las constelanciones of the night sky del firmamento

they're gazing están mirando at the star spots las motas de estrellas on my fur marcadas en mi piel that I am and que yo soy always will be y siempre seré the wild el indomable

untamed espíritu silvestre living spirit vivo de esta of this jungle jungla

While the author of the poem speaks about animals, their words can also speak on behalf of the erasure of indigenous peoples in South America. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions and culture are very important to life in South America. Despite their marginalization, Indigenous peoples throughout the Andes used coca leaves to help with the altitude. The use and cultivation of coca are criminalized throughout most of South America despite it being essential to indigenous cultures. This vessel was used to contain lime which would activate the coca leaves. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions are also faced with endangerment despite being woven into the fabric that is Latin America. Through the opposite man and woman figures, the vessel shows the duality that is important to the Quimbaya people which is still relevant to Colombians today.

Aunque el autor del poema habla sobre los animales, sus palabras también comunican el sentimiento común de la supresión de los indígenas en Suramérica. Con la mención del jaguar, se puede entender en el poema que la cultura y las tradiciones de las personas que son indígenas son sumamente importantes para la vida en Sudamérica. A pesar de su marginación, los indígenas en Los Andes utilizan la hoja de coca para ayudar en la altura de las montañas. El uso y el cultivo de la hoja de coca fue criminalizado (penalizado) a través de Sudamérica, aunque su uso para los indígenas era vital y esencial para su cultura. Este recipiente que se utiliza contiene limón lo que activa la hoja de la coca. Similarmente al jaguar, las tradiciones de los indígenas siempre estaban en peligro aunque estuvieran entrelazadas en las telas de lo que sería Latinoamérica. A través del hombre opuesto y las figuras de mujeres, el recipiente muestra la dualidad de lo que es importante para las personas que son Quimbaya, algo que todavía hoy es relevante para los Colombianos.

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas Quimbaya. Poporo (Lime Container), 1-600 C.E. Tumbaga. Brooklyn Museum, Alfred W. Jenkins Fund, 35.507. Creative Commons-BY

#national poetry month #poetry #art #poems #art history #brooklyn museum #bkminterns

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

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How ‘bout Jealous Soap x reader?

Hello Earthisdonut 🌍 🍩

I saw your ask while I was at work and I can't stop thinking about how the story goes... I had a lot of ideas but as I wrote, it kept on swinging on the other direction. Maybe it's my feelings being resonated into the words or an entire force telling me to go this way. Anyways here you go...

A jealous soap x reader fic.

Take me home

You take a deep breath and closed your eyes, clearing away the mixed sounds of random chatter, loud tv commentary and the all the yelling. 'Friday evening shifts are the worst' you thought to yourself as you make your way back to your station, wearing a smile on your face.

"Hey miss!" a customer whistled from the far end of the counter. You hastily walked to him and smiled.

"What can I get you?" you asked with sincerity in your voice. You've worked long enough to master the art of faking a smile when in fact you are tired, but this job is all you have and the tips kept the bills afloat.

"Two beers and roasted nuts, please." He ordered, you were impressed at how kind he was, unlike the other new customers who reeked of rudeness and bad manners.

"Coming right up, Sir!" you winked as you tend to his order, mentally noting his tab for later. You hand him over the beer, placed on a circular chip that served as a coaster, followed by a heaping bowl of roasted nuts.

This kind of scene continued throughout the night, just with different kinds of people with different combinations of orders. You feel tired but you tend to forget it when you look at the tip jar, the thing that kept you moving forward. It's also the thing that's holding you back from life, you remembered when your best friend told you that you should unwind sometimes instead of rendering overtime during your day offs, to which you replied : "Soon enough", and that was well over a year ago.

As you wiped off the recently left spot by the counter, a well built man immediately took the spot and sat down, you tilted you head upward as the action surprised you. There he was, you couldn't miss his look, he stood out on the crowd because of his haircut, a perfectly cut mohawk and a scar on his left eye. He grinned at you, his blue eyes looked excited as soon as it met yours.

"John? I didn't know you'd be home!" You gasped as soon as you realized he's actually there, quickly putting a shot glass and pouring his favorite drink.

"Hey Y/N! I knew I'd find you here!" his hand gestured for a shake but he quickly dismissed it as soon as he realized he couldn't do it while you're at work.

"Yeah, working as always." you replied, trying to sound contented. He smiled at you as he raised his glass and downed the drink. You couldn't help but look at the way his Adam's apple moved as he consumed the drink.

His face turned into something incomprehensible as he let the taste of the strong alcohol set in, making you chuckle a little. His eyes turned to you as he heard you laugh.

"What's funny?" he asked. You simple shook you head and poured another pint on his shot glass.

"I'll be back in a few. I have to serve drinks for these wild crowd." You informed him, but as soon as you were about to step out, you hear him stand up.

"What time will you be off?" He asked.

"Two more hours." You replied without looking back. You could feel your cheeks warm up and an uncontrollable smile plastered on your face.

"Okay. I'll be here till then." he yelled as you entered the door to the employee's area.

'Shit Shit shit shit.' you whispered to yourself as you regain composure. He felt way off. He didn't act like this toward you before. You could feel something odd between you two, and you're very distracted about it.

You made your way to your manager's office to request a five minute break. You knew he'd approve a breather from you because he was a accommodating to you since day one. You believed it's because you always give it your all in every shift.

You softly knock on his office door and pushed it slightly ajar, peeking your head through it as you saw him on his desk, doing some paperwork.

"Ah, Y/N. You need anything, love?" he greeted in his usual tone. His endearment didn't matter you as he calls every female "love".

"Can I take a five? Just needed to breathe." you huffed. He nodded in approval and stood up.

"Let's puff it out, yeah?" he smiled as he offered a stick of cigarette.

The cold breeze of the Saturday evening wrapped around your work uniform. The noise from the bar was muffled but occasional screams would echo across the street. You exhaled a long stream of cigarette smoke through your mouth as the relaxing feel of nicotine coursed through your system. Smoking was your go-to activity whenever you feel extreme unexplained emotions, such as seeing John MacTavish after a long time.

"Tough crowd?" Your manager turned his head to you as you casually leaned on the cold metal railing.

"Not really. I just saw someone I least expected to see." You retorted, pressing your lips against the cigarette butt as you closed your eyes and inhaled the vice.

"Someone you hate?" He queried.

"Not necessarily. But at one point of my life, maybe... It's just... it's complicated." You complained, sighing at the thought of him once again. You mentally fought against yourself whether to reminisce or not, reminding yourself that the reason you went out here was to clear your head, not to fill it with memories of summer 4 years ago.

You fixed your posture and flicked off the cigarette butt to the ashtray. Your boss followed, escorting you back to the office.

"Thanks for the company. I needed it." You thanked him as you crossed the street. He hummed in acknowledgement as he opened the door for you. You couldn't help but scan the room quickly for a mohawk, but he wasn't around. Maybe he went to the bathroom, you thought to yourself as you get back to your station.

9:59 pm. Your eyes trailed to the huge digital clock by the door, rapidly moving across the crowd still no mohawk in sight. This actually made you sad, he wasn't the kind of guy who dissappoints, you always saw him as a man of his word. You did confirm that he already paid for his tab about an hour and a half ago, just after your short break.

Guess you're going home alone. So much for ' I'll be here till then' you mentally argued, frowning as you wiped off the last glass in the tray.

10:00 pm. You sighed and lazily grabbed your time card and let the huge metal clock record your departure. You felt your energy quickly deplete due to the dissappointment that is John MacTavish.

"See you on Monday!" you waved goodbye to your coworkers who seemed to notice your sudden loss of energy. You push the back door slowly and stepped outside. It was getting cold and you weren't prepared for it.

"Hey." A low scottish accent muttered just beside you, making you yelp in surprise.

"Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!" you angrily punched his strong arm, hurting yourself in the process.

"I'm sorry." he spoke lazily, almost tired or drunk. You couldn't exactly tell, but it was far from his tone earlier.

"Pretty chilly, eh?" you asked him, imitating his accent. Something that you always considered a major turn on when it comes to him.

"A little bit. And your impression is way off, I don't say it like that." he retorted nonchalantly making you worry if something happened while he was waiting.

"You seem a little off, what's the problem?" you asked, playfully bumping him while you walked the empty streets on your way home.

"It's just... uh.. Nevermind." he trailed off, his secrecy was making you impatient and you stopped on your tracks. He continued walking, looking down at the ground until he noticed you're no longer beside him.

He turned back. "You forgot something?"

"I don't get you." you raised your voice. He slowly walked back to you until he's just inches away from your face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just asked..."

"Asked what? You told me you'd stay here till my shift is over and then you're gone like that?" you complained, the tone of your voice was demanding and you could see him flinch when words hurt.

"I didn't want to raise suspicion."

"Who would be suspicious of you?!"

"Shortly after you left, I took a smoke. But I didn't do it by the smoking area. I was way up here, enjoying the breeze." he said, turning to the smoking area which was very visible from up here. Was he sad because he saw you and your manager by the smoking area? What kind of eyes did he have? You didn't want to assume things so you started to supply him with questions to fill in the blanks.

"And? Was the area too sad for you to be all emo like that all of a sudden?" you complained, soing your best impression of an angry person, but you know deep inside that you couldn't get angry at this man.

"Yeah. You could say that." he chuckled. He couldn't even look at you anymore.

"Bullshit." you retorted. He slowly tilted his head and smiled as soon as your eyes met. The view was so gorgeous you almost felt like the world was in slow motion.

"You don't have to believe me if you want. Why are you walking with me home anyway. You could've said no. I bet he has some nice fancy car to drive you home." he blurted, fog started to huff out of his mouth as the snow started to fall from the sky.

"Where are you going with this, John?" you spat, letting the emotions get the best of you. If only he was clear enough then this wouldn't have happened.

"I saw the two of you smiling while talking, I thought to myself. Yeah, she's happy with that bloke huh, I wish I knew that before I invited her earlier." he breathed out. You almost felt guilty, but it wasn't your fault. He easily assumed things that weren't even true.

"What made you think we're together? Just because we're smoking together doesn't mean we're in a relationship. Is that what you thought?" you replied, fighting back helping him on his way to the truth.

He paused, it's as if his whole thought process was shattered when your words stung him.

"I got jealous. To be fair, I was gone for 4 years... I always thought you already found someone else within that time." he frowned. It was not usual of him to feel this vulnerable.

"Look-" you tried to explain but you suddenly felt his warm embrace wrapped around you.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. The same words he said before leaving 4 years ago. The same words that hurt you back then and the same words that's going to hurt you at this moment. He was the one that got away, he was the one whom you shared your most magical moments with, but not the one who's going to be there until the end. He'll have to leave anytime soon, as his job requires him to save the world. You told him he could settle for less risky world saving endeavors but he insisted that this was his purpose. And you were not willing to let him choose again.

"You know... you're not supposed to feel jealousy." you consoled, rubbing his well sculpted back.

"I know... I couldn't help it." he whispered.

"Let's get you home, John." you whisper to him as he pulls away from you, his face pouted like a baby whose candy got stolen.

"Why are you here anyway?" you added.

"I'm getting reassigned to a new task force. I figured I could say goodbye to someone I hold dear." he smirked, he felt normal, but then again you couldn't help but feel that this would be the last time you'll be seeing him. You we're thinking he won't be able to travel freely back here anymore or worse, he'll be the hero the world wanted him to be.

#earthisadonut asks for a fic #horRAYfic #no spoilers in the tags #but aaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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waywardimpalawriter · 4 years ago

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Cake Thief (Marcus Pike x F!Reader)

Cake thief

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Fluff, tooth rottening fluff, a little spice

Word count: 2,023

Summary: You’d been thinking about that last piece all day especially how crappy of a day it’s been.

Notes: Inspired by a favorite cupcake show that’s in my area and because Marcus Pike is just the sweetest.

Shit show that’s what you’d call it. The whole damn day from missing the morning goodbye kiss from Marcus to someone stealing your lunch and now soaked to the bone from an early evening downpour. Sure you could’ve waited the storm out in your car. But all you wanted now is a nice hot shower, fluffy pajama’s, Marcus’s arms wrapped around you and the last piece of decadent red velvet cake from your favorite place.

Shuffling through the door dropping purse and keys on the end table behind the couch, carefully shrugging out of your soaked jacket to not soak the carpet and carrying it towards the small laundry space. Kicking your kitten heels off while adding to the jacket your black dress trousers, and burgundy wrap tunic blouse a favorite that you wanted off to show Marcus. But that’ll have to wait for another time as a shiver runs down your spine rain drops cooling your skin when the air conditioning kicks on. Cursing the rotten luck you’ve managed to acquire today while bending to scoop up your heels and head towards the bedroom. Nice hot shower calling your name only pausing long enough to grab up one of Marcus’s dress shirt’s and a pair of panties before heading towards the bathroom.

Getting the water to the perfect temperature before stripping your under garments off and stepping under the warm spray. Soft moan leaving your lips the steam enveloping you in a welcoming hug. Heating your chilled skin and chasing away the shivers, hot water soothing out the tightness in your shoulders from your crappy day. Wishing and not for the first time that Marcus would’ve beating you home.

Foolish though you know since most nights he’s always late given the importance of his job with the FBI. Remembering your best, scratch that ex best friend snorting at you when in great detail you explained Marcus’s job. Never feeling so much anger in your life towards another human being. Sure at the time it’d been only three months into the relationship and Marcus brought his work home some nights. What hurt the most were snide little comments she’d make on how he didn’t have a real job at the FBI. Just played with art the whole time, wanna be artist she’d called him. Most of all when she started to question his true intent, that he’s damaged goods, divorced and coming out of another failed relationship. If there’s one thing you learned about DC it��s that gossip floats around like yesterdays trash.

Finding out through the gossip channel that Matty boosted about how she’s just a couple more pushes away from getting her hands on Marcus. Alluding to the fact she felt you weren’t his type, not thin enough and in her opinion not pretty enough to keep a man like Marcus Pike interested. Needless to say one snowy afternoon your iced caramel macchiato happen to find itself poured down the front of Matty’s body. To this day two years later the memory still made you giggle more than it should.

Soaping up the loofa and starting to wash your soft curves remembering the shock in those sinful brown eyes of Marcus’s when you explained what happened. How he spent the rest of the night reassuring you and maybe even himself that your the woman he wanted. Those thoughts cause a delicious shiver of a different kind to slide down your spine. Rushing through the rest of your shower hoping by the time you’ve dried off and dressed Marcus would’ve come home.

Lost in your thoughts, shower covering most of the sounds coming from the living room as the man in question drops his keys besides yours. Relieved sigh leaving his lips at finally getting home. First real smile tugs at the corner of his mouth hearing the shower run. Sure it’s only been ten hours since he saw you last but it didn’t stop the need to hold you from stealing over him. Normally going to join but he hears the water shut off signally you’ll be joining him soon. Instead he heads towards the kitchen to pull fixings for dinner out. Spying the last slice of red velvet cake he debates with himself for the better part of five minutes before pulling the piece from the cold confines of the refrigerator. Slowly licking his lips while opening the plastic container, fragrant sweet cream cheese frosting hitting his taste buds before a single morsel.

He wastes no time grabbing a fork to dig in moaning around the fluffy red velvet cake and metal tines of the fork. Back pressing against the counter now, eyes having closed in bliss. Not knowing you’ve come from the bathroom, his dark blue dress shirt covering your plush body. Steps halting when you find him enjoying your last slice. Part of you wanting to snatch it from his hands scolding him for taking what’s yours. However, you’ve learned to share after all and Marcus did deserve to have a sweet treat. With those thoughts combined with a very erotic idea, you glance down unbuttoning a few more to expose your cleavage.

Hands coming to rest on your wide hips one jutting out and clearing your throat trying to hide the smirk when Marcus jumps. His eyes fly open and wide to stare at you. “Whatch ya eaten there Marcus?” Brow lifting, watching as he licks those sinful lips, Adams apple bobbing with a hard swallow. Itching to run your mouth over the tanned skin take in his scent, drowning in those warm chocolate pools still shocked wide.

“Last piece of cake,” knowing it useless to lie. Recovering himself, trailing his eyes over your body slowly, voice deep with barely hidden arousal at seeing you in his shirt. Normally not a possessive man but there’s something about seeing you in his shirt which brings out a feral need in him. “Want a bite?”

Capturing your bottom witnessing the heat flaring to life while trying to keep the smirk from becoming full blown. You take a step closer, “You know that’s my last piece Marcus I’d been looking forward to it all day long. Especially after the shit show of a day I had.”

Warm smile slides over the very kissable lips, not matching the desire swimming just beneath his veins. “I’m sorry sweetheart had no idea your day sucked.” Scooping up another bite and holding it towards you, “You know I’ll always share.”

“How sweet of you,” closing the distance between you. Mouth opening to wrap your lips around the fork while keeping eye contact with Marcus. Slowly pulling back, taking the moist cake and sweet frosting into the heated cavern of your mouth. Soft moan sounding from deep within your chest as you savor each decadent flavor bursting on your tongue. Licking your lips to catch the smallest of crumbs, “Mind if I have another bite?”

Swallowing harshly, struck mute for a moment. “Of course baby…” swallowing his tongue on the last word with a swipe of your finger through the cream cheese frosting. Watching with peaked interest as that single digit makes its way towards your mouth. Pink tongue coming out to lick a good portion off eyes closing to savor the sweetness. Wrapping your lips around the tip to suck off what’s left. Watching transfixed by the erotic sight your presenting him. Room in those normally loose dress pants becoming a high commodity with each moan vibrating through your chest.

“Hmm not bad,” full blown smirk gracing your lips passion filled eyes opening to stare at him. “But it’s missing something.”

“That would be?” Intrigued by your words, Marcus reacts first. Container placed on the table beside you, reaching to wrap an arm around your waist. Pulling you flush against his chest white dress shirt wrinkling with you pressed together so intimately. “Before you answer that, have I told you how beautiful you look in my clothes?”

Shaking your head one hand comes up to draw patterns on his tie before wrapping it around your hand to give a little tug. “No you’ve never said,” looking up through your lashes. Admiring the way his chocolate browns deepen to almost pitch with every tug on his tie. Only broken when you feel cool sticky fingers brush over your throat head tipping back to give him access. Soft lips following the sweet trail he’s painted on your skin eliciting whimpers from you throat. “Is…” swallowing hard trying to form words to speak. “Is this what you mean by sharing, Cake Thief?”

“Cake Thief huh?” Drawing his nose up the column of your throat to that little spot just behind your ear. Nibbling softly smirk tugging at his lips hearing another whimper sound from your mouth.

Nodding trying to keep from giving yourself away, “Yup you stole my last piece of cake.” With much difficulty you pull back from his questing lips that threaten to draw another moan from your willing body. Eyes locking then diverting when his hand comes up with another bite held carefully between thumb and forefinger.

“Ah but how can you call me a thief when I’m sharing?” Bringing his fingers to your mouth, opening enough so he can place the divine morsel on your tongue.

Lips closing around his forefinger to suck the last bit of frosting off. Swallowing the bite before nibbling, laving your tongue over the rough pad then sucking gently. Watching him gulp down a breath of air when you let go with a wet pop. “Hmm you have me there love but you’ll have to make it up to me somehow. Especially since someone forgot our goodbye kiss this morning.”

Wrapping his free hand around the back of your neck, fingers gently massaging your skin, “That I will apology for and correct right now.” Slanting his mouth over yours stealing your breath with the tender kiss. Teasing the seam of your mouth till you part your lips, inviting his tongue in to tangle with yours.

Tasting the sweet cream cheese from the warm cavern of your mouth making a deep groan ramble from his chest. Tightening the arm around your plush waist to pull you closer, counters edge bitting into his back but he could care less with you in his arms. Devouring your mouth, expertly dragging another whimper out, biting your bottom lip too sooth with the flat of his tongue causing a gasp to exist. Taking advantage and thrusting his tongue against yours. Drinking from your mouth as a thirsty man searching for water. Wanting to draw out more sounds that never fail to drive him crazy with desire.

Your own hands shooting up to card through those soft locks. Tugging to angle his head just right taking in a bit of air, noses bumping as you take over the kiss. Returning the nip to his tongue getting a hiss in response and a tightening of his grip on your thick waist. Knowing those nimble fingers leave behind bruises only heightens your arousal and want for this man. Air or lack there of becomes needed and you pull away, resting foreheads together as you both gasp to fill your burning lungs.

“Apology accepted,” mumbling the words against his skin. Occupying your lips with tasting his jawline, nibbling a path down to the collars edge. Brushing your nose against his ear, “There’s a way you can make it up to me for stealing my cake.”

Hands drop down to cup your plush ass, giving a squeeze to hear you moan in his ear. Vibrating through his whole body, “And that would be?”

“Be my canvas and let me paint you with the last of the frosting?” Biting the lobe before pulling back to stare at him. “What do ya say Cake Thief?” Mischief making your eyes dance while watching him.

Smirking sliding over his lips, “You’ve got twenty seconds to grab the cake and run sweetheart. Because,” seeing you arch a brow at his words, higher when he pauses to ghost his lips over yours. “If I catch you I’ll be eating you instead of that cake.”

#Marcus Pike x F!Reader #Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader #pedro pascal character's #Pedro Pascal Character's fiction

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dilly-oh · 4 years ago

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Haircare no Jutsu

He’s wearing the red hair-tie today, Kakashi noted with satisfaction, walking down the hallway behind Iruka. An excellent choice. It perfectly accentuated the subtle reddish tones in his hair, highlighting them to perfection. His ponytail bounced with every step, the strands gleaming in the sun-rays cast through the nearby window.

Kakashi had been obsessed with Iruka’s hair for longer than he cared to admit. But hey, everyone had their quirks, especially Jounin. At least his didn’t involve green spandex and dazzling teeth. He was practically normal compared to the others.

He daydreamed about Iruka’s hair constantly, imagining running his fingers through the silken strands, pressing his face against them to smell their subtle scent. He imagined pulling Iruka's hair free from that cruel hair tie, brushing it till it gleamed, then separating it into three portions and twisting them into a thick braid. No, wait, a French one? He couldn’t decide. Still lost in internal debate, he walked closely behind Iruka, eyes glued to his hair.

Which is why he failed to see the loose tile jutting out of the floor in front of him.

Now, the Copy-nin of Konoha, feared by countless enemies and Missing-Nin alike, did not trip.

He merely attacked the loose tile with his toe, lurched forward for a better stance, wind-milled his arms about wildly to ward off any incoming attacks from enemies, and face-planted into the nearest object.

Which happened to be Iruka’s ponytail.

One time, while on an A-rank mission to Suna, Kakashi, half-dead from chakra exhaustion, had accidentally fallen into a patch of prickly cactuses.

This was worse than that.

Iruka’s ponytail was not soft and silky, fragrant and luxurious as he’d dared to dream. It was like a briar patch, bristly as hell, the strands broken and split and dry as a bone. Kakashi counted himself lucky his hitai-ate was covering one eye already so he only had to worry about losing the other one. This close, he could see the horrible split ends and flakes of dandruff with awful detail.

“Yeeeoooowch!!”

The cry echoed through the hallway, reverberating off the walls. Several heads poked out of doors to stare curiously, caught sight of Iruka’s face, and retreated.

“That’s my line,” Iruka grumbled, turning to confront him while rubbing the back of his head gingerly. “What the hell was that about?” Kakashi just gaped at him for a long moment, aghast, his hopes and dreams crumbling before him.

“Good God! Is my face bleeding?!” he blurted aloud.

“It’s about to be if you don’t start explaining yourself,” Iruka snapped back irritably, crossing his arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“It felt like I fell on a wad of steel wool!” Kakashi cried. “What the hell kind of hair product do you use?! Bar soap?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Iruka huffed at him. Kakashi felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life. “I use my three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body-wash.” The glimmer of hope promptly whimpered, curled up, and died.

“Alright. That’s it. I’m confiscating this,” Kakashi said, twirling the red hair-band around his pinky finger. Iruka’s hair immediately flopped down around his face, sticking out in all directions like an unkempt bird’s nest and further destroying every one of Kakashi’s secret fantasies.

“Hey!” Iruka cried in outrage, shoving his hair aside. “Give that back!”

“You’ll get it back when you learn to treat your hair better.”

“Whatever, I have like three more,” Iruka snorted, rolling his eyes. He reached into his pockets, searching for a few moments, then frowned in confusion. “What the…?” He looked up to see Kakashi twiddling his fingers at him, each digit encircled by a colored band. “When- how did you- give those back!”

“Oh, I will,” Kakashi assured him, “but I have some…demands.”

“You’re holding my hair-ties ransom. You’re unbelievable.”

“Firstly, you-”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“-let me wash your hair,” Kakashi finished.

“Ew. Why?” Iruka made a face. “That’s just an excuse to get me naked, you creep.” Kakashi huffed impatiently.

“You don’t have to get naked, just take your shirt off-”

“And then I’m already halfway there. Forget it.”

“-and then I’ll bend you over the bathroom sink and-”

“I SAID FORGET IT!” Iruka exploded, his face flushing a near-match of his hair-tie. “I have two jobs! I spend all day at the Academy babysitting children who are trying to kill each other, and then all night at the Mission Desk babysitting Jounin trying to kill each other. I don’t have time for stupid things like treating my hair with the ninja art of deep conditioning.”

“Then you’re not getting your hair-ties back,” Kakashi said with finality, squaring his shoulders.

“You know what? Keep them.” Iruka turned away in a huff. “I’ll just go buy more.” And with that, he stormed away. Kakashi narrowed his eyes.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, hands flashing quickly in a series of signs. Several clones puffed into existence and with a short word, dispersed on their newest mission.

---

“The HELL do you mean, out of stock?!” Iruka shouted at the store clerk in outrage. The man flinched back in fear, cowering behind the counter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ninja, sir, but someone came in not five minutes ago and bought the whole lot of hair-ties,” he babbled. “Every single one! We won’t be getting more in another shipment until-”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Iruka cut him off, mind working furiously. “I’ll take… rubber bands. String. I don’t care, I’ll buy it.”

The clerk simply stared at him in mute horror, eyes wide. Iruka sighed.

“…They bought all of those, too, didn’t they?”

“…Yes, yes they did.”

Iruka paused, a sudden suspicion dawning on him.

“This person didn’t happen to have ridiculous silver hair and a mask, did they?”

The eyes went even wider, threatening to pop out. “Please don’t kill me,” the clerk whispered.

“Calm down, it’s not your fault. I’ll just…” Iruka chewed on his lip, mentally mapping out Konoha and his other prospects. “I’ll try elsewhere. Thank you.”

But it was the same story at every shop in Konoha.

So Iruka changed tactics. Not that it made any difference.

It didn’t matter who he begged one off of (Anko, Ino, even Shikamaru, who rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if he wasn’t embarrassed enough already), within five minutes it had either magically disappeared or snapped for no reason and his hair flopped back down over his eyes, prickly and annoying- not that Kakashi had a point or anything.

Even his own home wasn’t safe. Iruka didn’t know how, but someone had snuck in and removed everything that could even potentially serve as a hair tie, even rags and bandages. Iruka suspected Kakashi had won over Naruto with promises of all-you-can-eat ramen. He had half a mind to bring his complaint to the Hokage herself, before realizing she would probably find it hilarious and cackle like a loon for hours. So, no. Better to just deal with it himself.

---

Iruka was a hard man to break, Kakashi would give him that. After a whole week of this charade and no sign of the sensei’s resolve weakening, he’d earned his respect. But it couldn’t last forever. He had to give up at some point. Everyone had their limit. Kakashi smirked, raising a hand to study the red band still wrapped around his pinky. Yes, any minute now…

“I’m not going to break, so piss off!” Iruka shouted from inside his apartment. Kakashi, who’d been sitting on the roof, jumped. The man was more perceptive than he’d thought. His respect went up another notch.

“You sure about that?” he asked, popping his head in through the window. It was Iruka’s turn to jump. Then he swore, grabbed him by the vest, and hauled him inside the apartment, which was just as messy and unkempt as his hair. Because, you know, two jobs or whatever. Kakashi caught sight of a pair of pink boxers splayed on the couch before Iruka spun him around to glare point-blank in his face.

“What the hell do you even care if my hair isn’t perfect? Life is not a fucking shampoo commercial,” he demanded. Kakashi shrugged.

“I had expectations. Dreams. How dare you break my fragile, innocent heart.” He swooned and clutched his chest dramatically.

“I’m gonna break something else of yours in a minute.” Iruka scowled at him, stewing in fury. “It’s none of your business, anyway. My hair, my choice. Deal with it.”

“I refuse.” Kakashi glared right back, refusing to stand down. “It’s a matter of honor.”

“Oh, please! Like yours is any better!” Iruka burst out, stepping forward to plunge his hands into Kakashi’s thick mane. “You’re always out on a mission, don’t tell me you have the time to- merciful God it’s like I’m petting one of those fluffy Inazuka dogs.” Iruka stared at him in shock. “How the hell do you get it so soft and silky? Haircare no Jutsu?”

“Don’t be silly,” Kakashi scoffed. Iruka just gave him a flat stare. “…Alright, yes, I infuse my shampoo with a little chakra for extra volume. Sue me.”

“I’m considering it, after all the harassment,” Iruka muttered darkly, his hands still in Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi had to fight back a shudder of pleasure as his fingertips scraped across a particularly sensitive area. Finally Iruka removed his hands (Kakashi stifling a disappointed whimper) and frowned in consternation. “…I just have to let you wash my hair once?”

“Sure,” Kakashi answered with a nod. “…And then you are legally obligated to follow a strict hair-care routine dictated by me-”

“ONCE.” Iruka held up a finger, expression firm. “That’s it. That’s the deal. Then you leave me alone.”

Kakashi weighed his options. He could keep running around Konoha, using up his chakra on clones and buying up every bit of material that could serve as a hair-tie, following Iruka around till he was old and even grayer and broke.

…Or he could just wash his hair right now and be done with it.

“Alright, fine,” he agreed. “Let me wash your hair and we’re good.” Rather than look triumphant like he expected, Iruka hesitated, biting his lip uneasily and dropping his gaze to the floor.

“…Promise you won’t take advantage of me,” he said, voice quiet and serious for once.

Kakashi solemnly placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

And then Iruka took his shirt off and Kakashi had never regretted making a promise more in his LIFE. He truly was that tan all over, with white scars scattered here and there like constellations, accentuating the toned muscles and hard flesh.

“Oh, wait,” Iruka said, “what am I thinking? You probably need to go to your place and get-” Kakashi wordlessly held up his shampoo and conditioner bottles. Iruka blinked. “…Of fucking course.”

---

Iruka’s bathroom was just as untidy as the rest of the apartment, half-empty three-in-one shampoo bottles and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. For some reason, the fact that he was a complete slob did nothing to detract from Kakashi’s burgeoning attraction to the man.

“If you please,” Kakashi said politely, rolling up his sleeves and nodding towards the sink.

“I am not tipping,” Iruka sniffed haughtily as he stepped forward. His eyes lingered on Kakashi’s bared hands and arms for a moment before jerking away. He leaned over the sink, which, thankfully, seemed large enough to accommodate an impromptu hair-washing. Kakashi turned the tap on, careful to adjust the water temperature to a pleasant degree, then eased Iruka forward into the spray with a gentle hand. The other man grumbled, but kept still as Kakashi thoroughly wetted his hair, careful to get every bit. When he was satisfied, he pulled out his shampoo and poured a dollop into one hand, paused, then poured some more. Might as well make it count.

“Hurry up, I’m getting water up my nose,” Iruka muttered, head still under the spray. “And water all over the rest of me, too.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Kakashi forced himself to concentrate on washing Iruka’s hair and not his glistening, muscled back. He sank his fingers deep into the dry, bristly hair and scrubbed gently, lathering up the soap, making sure to pay special attention to the scalp and roots.

The shampoo was his own special recipe, imbued with his own personal chakra for extra strength and luster. He rinsed it out after several minutes, then applied the conditioner. After one more rinse, he was done, and he stepped back, allowing Iruka to straighten. Kakashi turned away to find a towel, snatched the cleanest-looking one from a shelf, and turned back.

I’ve made a horrible mistake, Kakashi realized immediately. I can’t let others see him like this. He’s too beautiful.

Iruka on a bad day was a knockout. Iruka, gloriously shirtless and gleaming, with his wet hair pooling like ink around his face and shoulders, was a vision fit for the Gods. Kakashi stood frozen, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Unaware of the other man’s dilemma, Iruka raked a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands off his face. Kakashi gulped, his throat suddenly dry and tight. A long, tense pause drew out between the two of them like a taut bow-string.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

“…Huh?” Kakashi stared at him, blinking.

“Make a move already, you idiot.” Iruka stood there in his shirtless glory, arms crossed over his tanned chest, wet, glistening hair framing his face. “You’ve already got me half-naked and everything.”

Kakashi sputtered incoherently for a few seconds, shaking his head.

“I...I can't, I promised-” he choked out.

“Oh my God come here.” Iruka grabbed Kakashi by the front of his shirt and reeled him in like a prize catch. Kakashi did his part, gaping at him like a fish, wide-eyed in shock. Iruka scoffed, then leaned in close enough for their lips to brush teasingly. “I never promised not to take advantage of you, dumbass.”

Kakashi was not about to argue.

---

Years later, he still kept the red band around his pinky, right next to the wedding ring that winked in the sunlight.

-End-

Months ago, I was chosen to be a pinch-hitter for the Kakairuzine (I would step in if someone had to leave), so I completed two fics in case they were needed. Since they aren’t, I might as well upload them here. This is the second and final fic. Enjoy!

#kakairu #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #fanfic #red thread of fate #red string of fate #haircare

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Blacksad: Somewhere In the Shadows Review

Hello you beautiful people! I have a WEIRD relationship with Noir. It’s weird because i’ve never really dived into the films of type, though I really should, But as a kid I absolutely LOVED the tracer bullet arcs in Calvin and Hobbes, where everyone’s favorite hyperactive and imaginative six year old would plant himself as the hero in a noir pastiche.. ironically like myself Bill Watterson was also not a huge noir buff and just relied on Cliches but hey, it worked.

Still love these. So from fourth grade on it imprinted a lifelong love of a good bit of detective noir. Not enough to you know, get me to read any traditional noir books or watch any noir tv shows or detective procedurals but I still love a good mystery from time to time and some of my favorite comics such as Howard the Duck by Chip Zdarksy and Peter David’s second run on x-factor run on the genre while having fun with it’s cliches.

I also love anthropormphic animal stories. Dunno why, I just do, so once I found out about Blacksad, a comic that combines disney quality art from a former disney animator with gripping, adult noir that rips your heart out... I couldn’t resisit trying it. Telling the tale of John Blacksad, a cynical private detective and the cases he steps into via gorgeous, straight out of a disney storyboard art, the series is by Juan Díaz Canales (writer) and Juanjo Guarnido (artist), the latter a former Disney artist who worked on several Disney films, meeting in the 90′s while working on licensed works and hitting it off, leading to this series. That’s.. really all I could find about the making of the series in English. The only other fact is the series is designed for first release in France, which has a huge comics market, hence the various volumes being called “Albums”, with them later being released in Spain and then english, currently in the latter through Dark Horse Comics, who last year collected the current 5 albums and some side stories into one big volume. And with Dark Horse having infrequent sales including Blacksad on comixology it’s easy enough to pick up all 5 volumes in one complete package on digital for 9 bucks, as it is right now. Seriously I’m not trying to shill for Comixology or Dark Horse, I just love these comics and suggest picking them up. The creators DO intend on new volumes... it’s just both have been busy with other work so they’ve been stuck in development hell since 2013. However given there have always been, if much smaller, the biggest being 5 years, gaps between the Albums, I don’t think the series is dead quite yet and with Dark Horse fully backing it, taking the series from only two volumes getting translated to both translating the first four AND translating the fifth within a year of it’s release, we’ll undoubtly get the next one quickly. The series has also spawned a game, Under the Skin, which i’ll probably also cover some day as i’m dying to play it, but i’m waiting for a sale because it’s around 30 bucks and I can wait. It’s also been nominated for an Eisner three times to no suprise and has had fans in Stan Lee, Jim Steranko, Tim Sale and Will freaking Eisner. Yes the GUY the awards were named after liked the series. So yeah, I love this series and highly support it, but the thought of covering it hadn’t occrued to me.. in part because I already had three comic retrsopectives going, my looks at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, Scott Pilgrim and New X-Men, and simply because I just hadn’t thought of it till Kevin, frequent patron and comissioner of the blog whose paid for tons of reivews, suggested covering the second Album, Arctic Nation, which has our hero searching for a missing little girl he feels has been taken by the titular white supramacist movement.. and if your wondering “Wait how the fuck does that work their animals”, John is black coded due to his black fur, while the white suprmacists are all Arctic Animals.. a touch I really like as I’d honestly never thought of that as a metaphor but it fits like a glove, especially given that most white furred arctic mamals are pretty agressive looking. So yeah I’ll be covering that one next month for Black History Month, among many other things, but I felt I wanted to cover the series in order and since again, it’s only the second of five and I had a free space on the schedule. So without further adew, join me somewhere in the shadows and under the cut as we enter the world of one John Blacksad.

We open as you’d expect for a Noir with a heady narration and a murder. John was brought in by Smirnov, the chief of police and an old aquantice who serves as his Commissioner Gordon. Since the victim is John’s ex, he was brought in to see if he knows anything and as you’d expect warned not to look into it further, as John dosen’t buy this was a simple robbery. His response is exactly what you’d expect.

I mean.. what did you expect? You called him out of bed to see his former lovers corpse, KNOWING he’s one hell of detective, dosen’t give up on things easy, and would probably be curious. For him to say “Cool gonna go smoke some reefer and take in a looney tunes short at the theater, call me when you find the murderer?” Also this series takes place in the 50s. Because of course it does.

So John goes back to his office to brood, reflecting that the office feels like the remains of an ancient civlization because “It seems to be all that remains of the civlized person I used to be”. Hell of a line.

We then get his backstory with the victim, Natalia. She’s a famous actress, who John first as a younger man when hired to investgate some death threats she’d received with a boquet of flowers. John shows off just how good he is at his job in just a few panels.

IT not only shows in just a few panels just how ferocious our hero can be when needed and how good he is at his job, easily having tracked down the man responsible and scared him shitless without breaking as sweat, but how fucking gorgeous the art is. I meant it when I brought up the old disney comparison, as Steranko even mentioned in his introduction to the collection of the first three volumes how it looks like animation cels on the page. IT’s utterly breathtaking and ONLY gets even more lush and beautiful as the series goes on and perfectly fits the noir stylings with it’s realisim, making it’s animal characters feel utterly human and real while still keeping their animal traits in perfect detail.

John impressed her, and as we see in the next page under his narration they not only had really steamy passionate sex, and why yes we do see them naked even if the bits are covered it’s still very much nsfw and we saw Natalia’s naked corpse earlier, so that ship had already sailed anyway, with Natalia taking him on both as her lover and her on staff detective and the two were much in love.. until the fame apparenlty got to her judging from the visuals, and the realtionship fell apart.

Before we move on i’d like to talk about the narration which CAN be a bit overwrought here or there and is a bit overused.. but does have it’s mometns of being utterly effective as with above, contrasting John’s statments about a sucessful job and being hired on.. with the beginnings of his and Natalia’s relationship and their passionate lovemaking. IT’s not BAD and it works for the setting, but it can be distracting, but thankfully the series levels this out as we go and they learned from it so no harm done. Just the kinda thing that happens early in a series life when the creators are getting a handle on things, so no harm done.

But naturally John isn’t going to take the love of his life, responsible for the happiest days of said life, being brutally murdered lying down and is going to find the bastard who did this. So he goes to an old friend, Jake Ositombe, a championship boxer and Nat’s former bodyguard who he recommended to her. Given we see him knock the shit out of his opponent without the slightest effort, yeah good call. Also yes we share the same name and no it’s not weird to type about another Jake, adventure time sorta.. knocked that out of me. Jake dosen’t know much since she fired him a long time ago as one of her lovers hired private security, and the last one he knew of was a guy by the name of Leon. John, naturally, easily finds the guy’s apartment, Leon Kronkski, a screenwriter.. but also rules him out as the guy lived in a humble apartment and clearly didn’t have the cash to hire his own hired goons.

He does find a clue, a matchbook for some place called the Cypher Club.. and another when the man’s sweet mouse landlady shows up, who John charms by pretending to be Leon’s friend and flashing a big smile, finding out a msyterious man with “big bulging eyes”, took him. This scene also to me is great in subtly showing off John’s skill. While the previous flashback showed how badass he is, shoving a gun down the throat of a stalking wannabe murderer with pure rage in his eyes.. here we see a lighter approach, how despite his serious and dour nature.. he easily slips into being cheery and looking like an average joe off the street. He bluffs the landlady not because the plot says so.. but because like any PI he’s just that good at slipping into whatever roll he needs to get the info he needs. He can be his dour self or a charming happy go lucky guy without missing a beat.

So with that he goes to the studio leon worked for where his boss.. is a walrus j jonah jameson?

But yeah J. Jonah Walruson wants pictures of spider-man.. moving pictures.. but he can’t film them with his star dead and his screenwriter indefintiely gone, with the same bulging eyed man having told JJ he’d be gone indefintely. Nothing suspicious about that!

So naturally John’s next plan is to find the guy.. who is already after him as you’d expect with both a knife to slash at our hero with and the fog covering him so he can hit and run. But unluckily for him .. well i’ll let john say it...

John headbutts the myserious snake, who only managed to get his coat before and tries to interogate him.. but gets a quick jab to the gut and the guy gets away.

We soon meet our big bag, who has a big speech about insects and things being usefufl.. and once they stop being useful.. they become dead and collectable, telling the snake man to back off John.. and sending his right hand man to go take care of the Snake who apparently took something from the office. Realizing his numbers up the Snake Man goes to a lizard bar, picks up a package from a friend and runs out the back, knowing he’s being followed.. and we get some hints there’s also racial tension between lizards and mammials here as the bartender, said friend, has the entire bar circle around the guy preventing him from following our mysterious bulging eyed man.

Meanwhile John goes to the Cipher Club, a wretched hive of scum and villiany. Given Nat was a glamorous movie star, it’s very clear she was here to hide from something or someone, and the bartnender, a wild pig.

No not you sweetie. The wild pig tells John leon was indeed here and a local rat, in both senses of the word, offers to take John to him.. though understandably John is supscious of the guy he just met in a seedy bar taking him anywhere except to get some heroin. Did Heroin exist yet? Questions for later. But he’s got a case so he follows. Though suprisingly the guy DOES actually come through and it’s not ENTIRELY a trap: he takes john to a tomb for Noel Krinsok.. an anagram for Leon’s name. Unsuprisingly he’s dead. And also unsuprisingly, two hired goons

Show up. As I said not ENTIRELY a trap but it’s obvious given the rat split moments before that our mysterious big bad knew where john would be headed next, and thus while giving him a clue, also set him up to get his head knocked in. And while John is badass.. these guys are a bear and a rhino, both stronger, bigger, and with suprise on their size, as well as a tombstone to knock john’s head into. They easily beat him senseless and hope he got the message, though john gives a defiant fuck you before being punched out for it. He returns home, feeling like he’s aged 20 years “But no one respects the elderly anymore”, PFFT, and heads home to his rathole, not literally this time, apartment to lay on his cot and think as he gets some rest.

And while the trail for Leon is cold. our mysterious murderer accidently tipped his hand: only someone with a LOT of money and influence could make a man disappear like this, and it tracks with what we’ve seen so far. The guy has multiple henchman and despite being a big star with plenty of clout, Natalia had to hide in a dive bar just to get away from him and even THEN clearly wasn’t so lucky given she and her new lover both wound up dead. But Blacksad has bigger problems.. he wakes up in a jail cell.

Turns out Smirnkov had him arrested.. but for his own protection as the case is getting too hot and while he was late on that front given John’s face is hamburger, it’s clear from his tone and demeanor that while he may of been harsh with John earlier.. the two are old friends, and the Chief is simply worried about him winding up dead, and John takes you know being thrown in prison in stride. Which while not a bad scene it is a BIT suspect that a black coded character was thrown in jail for nothing and it’s treated very lightly and as a simple protection between friends, though given they wouldn’t think of coding john like that till next volume, I brush it off as accidental implications in hindsight.

Smirnkov though also called John here.. because he needs his help. Since Natalia’s Murder Case is pointing very high up, so his superiors have ordered him to bury the case and as he puts it “the bastards know where to squeeze”. And given in volume 3 we learn Smirnov has a wife and children, it’s very obvious where they squoze and to the volume’s credit while we don’t know that yet it’s VERY clear from Smirnov’s body language they went after some form of family. So while he has to give it up.. John does not. So he brought him to jail to offer a proposal: John goes after this son of a bitch and nails him to the wall.. and Smirnov will FULLY protect John no matter what he has to do. Now naturally given the rightful reckoning for police that’s been going on for almost a year, this SHOULDN’T play well. You have an officer outright telling an outside party that he and his boys will cover up his crimes. But.. honestly even in that framework.. it still works. That’s because.. the system has failed here. The higher up and more corrupt cops put pressure on the honest and hardworking family man Smirnov to stop a legitimate investigation into a horrible murderer.. because the guy is rich. And even now we’ve seen time and time again how rich assholes effortlessly escape the consequences of their action: How our own president who actively asked other nations to interfere in our election escaped his first impeachment trial, but hopefully not the second, aquitted. How Jeffery Epstien took YEARS to bring down with his years of ellicit parties involving innocent women and children he fucking enslaved. How Bill Cosby got away with all kinds of sexual assault for decades. The rich are often literally above the law in this country, so having a down on his luck detective, who retroactively himself is a minority, go after him with the full support of an actually GOOD police officer who genuinely believes in these people being held accountable but is held back by his family’s safety.. it works. John isn’t able to skirt consequences BECAUSE of a corrupt system.. but because the system’s so broken and slanted in the rich’s favor, that the ONLY option an honest officer like Smirnov has is to go outside it. And when asked WHY he’s doing all of this, Smirnov merley replies

... I got chills, their multiplyin. So John plans to find the bulge eyed snake after a hot shower.. only for the guy to hold a gun to John’s head, having been waiting for him and wave the murder weapon, in a baggie around, the item he had retrieved, feeling John’s trying to replace him as number two. However before he can do anything our snake pal is shot full of holes by the rat from before, who John dispatches with his own gun.

So the Snake starts to expire.. but feels a kinship with John “We are nothing right cat? Spent so much time waiting for the right chance and when it happens it all falls to pieces”. The Snake explains his roll in things: He was one of the private security our big bad hired to guard Natalia. But being supscious he also hired the rat to follow her around, and thus found out about her affair, brutally torturing and murdering Leon and shooting Natalia in the head. And we finally get a name as our snake friend tragically expires.

The snake’s death and tragic dying moments are something I forgot about.. but damn if their not really good writing, taking a character who before was seemingly just a murderous goon.. and comparing him to our hero. Another working class joe, and one who just caught up with the wrong asshole at the wrong time. He easily could’ve been john in another life and vice vers and it’s a good parallel.

So John’s nightmares finally have name and he naturally goes to confront the guy since he has an almost literal get out of jail free card. Turns out Smirnov is the richest man in town, and has his own big tower. Huh.. sounds familiar, and John simply sneaks his way up and once Statoc’s guards from before hear him rustling about.. sneaks up on them and clocks both one at at time with a fire extinqusher.

Statoc warmly welcomes our hero inside, and has the fucking lizard balls, as he’s some sort of lizard himself, to offer John a JOB

I mean he’s clearly lost a lot of his goons and most of them were incompetent. He fails to realize that John can’t be bought, is here for vengeance and has no intention of selling his soul to some rich asshole who killed someone he loved for the creepiest and most asinine reasons imaginable. He says john’s Concisence is why he can’t pull the trigger and that he lacks “cold blood”.. before we cut to the next page, where John’s shot the fucker in the head and left a gaping hole where his lack of a brain was.

And again what makes this work is the aftermath: John is clearly shaken, having ONLY been able to pull the trigger beause of Statoc’s smug grin and clearly not taking the sight of Statoc’s dead body bleeding out well. And while Smirnov keeps his word, covers for him despite the two guards clearly providing an iron clad argument against john and knoiwng thier blatantly covering this up.. he’s not happy about it.

This is WHY the narrtive still works. Statoc stacked the law against the bad guys. .but despite this being a necessary evil.. it’s still an evil and subverting teh law at this rightly leaves him not in a great place mentally. John himself isn’t even if he plays it off as otherwise, as we get our final bit of narration and one hell of a closing line.

Final Thoughts:

Somewhere in the Shadows is a bit rough around the edges, leaning a bit too heavily into the noir pastiche and Blacksad being a harboiled detective, something the next volume would ease up on. That being said.. it’s still a masterpiece, with gorgeous art and masterful pacing. While it’s the shortest of the stories, like those after it the pacing is sublime and never feels like it has any down moments or stuff that could’ve been cut, and the mystery keeps you on edge the whole time. Having forgot a lot of the details since last read I was on the edge of my seat the entire story and loving every second of it. Somewhere in the Shadows is the perfect starter for the series, introducing an important charcter in Smirnov and the noir nature and giving us a case personal to John so we can see who he was before, what he is now.. and what he WILL be for the rest of the series. The moment that MADE him into an even harder man than the one we follows here.. when he took a life in cold blood. A masterful story, seriously check it and the other volumes out, on comixology, in stores, great stuff. Next time we look into john and as I said, he’s taking down some racists and we also meet his sidekick weekly for the first time. As for me tommorow I dive back into my Tom Luictor retrospective but hit pause on our boy for a bit to take care of some of the larger plot. Until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure.

#blacksad #john blacksad #Smirnov #noir #anthropomorphic #anthro #funny animal #somewhere within the shadows #comics #dark horse comics #france #french comics #igor statoc #Natalia Wilford

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