Another one

You think high school biology is gonna make me cry

That I'm bawlin' 'bout the grass that could've been?

Look around ya, Al! I've been thriving this whole time

I've got a leaf, I've got a wreath, and all I'm gonna do is diiiiig! [laugh]

You're in my jar with my twig in my dirt where I dig

And worse, you're at my mercy, forced to watch my gravel roll

You've been sealed up, your moss fried, your substrate has run dry

At last your ass is trapped, I'd laugh at how you're now so small

Don't you forget, you're on my twig

You can try to squirm and struggle but you'll still be on a sprig

Don't you forget—

You're so obsessed with me! I knew you'd need me here to be

Your unwilling specimen while you study entomology

You're huffing dirt if you think I won't leave this jar a ruler

I'm just like you except I'm hotter and my twig is cooler!

So I'll keep your bug ass alive to-

To prove you're not a loser?

Do you ever shut up?

Don't you forgeeeeet (Oh, here he goes)

You're someone's peeeeet! (Aw, how sad)

You're still being fed scraps from a lawn—!

So cute you think I care! [laugh]

Now I'm the master, and you're my bottomest bug

No more Al the high and mighty now you're trapped in a jug

Though the fruits have gone to rot you know the twig must grow on

A. You’re never fully dressed without our finest wool worsted silk suit, handcrafted by our master tailors. With its six-button vest, high shoulder jacket, cuffed slacks and neat stripes, you’ll cut a tidy and intimidating figure!‬

B. This fleece lined Sinnerskin shirt is the perfect outerwear for less formal, messy work! The central zipper makes for speedy fastening and won’t rust no matter how much blood you get on it!

C. Keep warm on the rare colder days in Hell in this wool shaker stitch sweater coat with large shawl collar. It’s widening effect in the shoulders and narrow waist emulate the flattering effect of a well tailored jacket. Why pick between style and comfort?

D. You’ll like this Melton coat which features an all around belt with metal buckle and peak lapels for added gravitas. Just what young men are looking for!

E. This double breasted sports jacket features a stylish new diamond weave design, perfect for the snappy young man! Make your wardrobe stretch further in extreme good taste! (Almost as tasty as sinner flesh!)

Vox had sworn up and down that he wasn't sensitive there, his voice dripping with that cocky confidence as he lounged back against the pillows, screen glowing with smug pixels.

"They're just hardware, doll. Antennas. Purely for the aesthetic," he lied through his razor-sharp grin, the digital edges of his mouth twitching like he was already fighting a glitch at the thought of your fingers inching closer. But you knew better. His body betrayed him every time, the subtle static hum in the air thickening with unspoken need.

You swung a leg over his hips, straddling him, your thighs clamping down on either side of his slim frame. The heat of your pussy pressed against the rigid line of his pants, already soaking through your own thin panties as you leaned in, breath hot against his screen. Your nails slowly, agonizingly, dragged lightly up the sleek length of one antenna, tracing the sensitive wiring from base to tip with feather-light scratches that made the metal thrum under your touch.

His whole screen spasmed violently, bursts of chaotic static exploding across his face like corrupted fireworks, blood-red and cyan blue pixels fracturing in wild patterns. A choked gasp ripped from his speakers, his body arching off the bed in a rigid bow, hips jerking up to grind his hardening cock against your core. The audio feedback stuttered out in a garbled mess: half a guttural moan, half a digitized whine that echoed through the room, looping faintly before cutting off.

"F-fuck—wait—wait a goddamn second—" he stammered, his voice glitching mid-syllable, synthetic edges cracking like overclocked circuits. His clawed hands fisted the sheets as cyan blue pixels flared at the corners of his screen, warning lights of overload. But you didn't stop. Another slow, torturous stroke up the thin, hypersensitive base of the antenna, your thumb circling the joint where it met the top of his head, and his entire frame trembled, thighs quivering beneath you as if electricity were surging straight to his core.

You hadn't even grazed his cock yet, that thick, throbbing length straining against his slacks, untouched and already leaking pre-cum in sticky beads that soaked through the fabric, leaving a dark wet spot against your belly when you shifted forward.

Leaning down, you twisted gently at the tip of the antenna, rolling it between your fingers like you were tuning a dial to his breaking point. His voice shattered—literally—splitting into dual audio tracks, one layer a desperate plea, the other a warped echo of static-laced pleasure. "I—nghh—s-stop, I can't—fuck, doll, you're killing me—"

He was lying through every glitched pixel. So fucking lying. His hips bucked wildly now, uncontrolled thrusts that smeared his dripping cock against your skin, the slick pre-cum trailing hot and messy across your stomach. You could feel the pulse of it through his pants, the shaft twitching with every scrape of your nails, begging for friction it wasn't getting.

Grinning wickedly, you captured both antennas in your hands, gripping them like lewd handles, tilting his head back to expose the vulnerable glow of his screen. He melted under the pull, a full-body shudder ripping through him, his thighs tensing as his cock wept more pre-cum, the fabric barrier doing nothing to hide the obscene throb. "Oh god, yes—shit, just like that," he gasped, the words tumbling out in a frantic loop, his screen flickering to a flushed cyan hue, overheating from the inside out, vents whirring audibly as his systems strained.

"Please," he glitched, the syllable repeating in a desperate echo—"Please, please—don't you dare fucking stop, doll. Touch me—make me break—"

His pleas dissolved into a raw, broken moan as the overstimulation hit its peak. 

Untouched, his cock erupted in his pants, hot ropes of cum pulsing out in thick spurts that soaked through the material, drenching your skin in sticky warmth. His body convulsed beneath you, screen fracturing into a kaleidoscope of colours, audio warping into a symphony of moans and whines that filled the room. 

Embarrassed heat radiated from him even as he begged, hips grinding sloppily against you, chasing the aftershocks while his antennae twitched in your grasp...sensitive, spent...

... and utterly yours.

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"Come here, this room. There's something I want you to see."

Vincent opened a door you'd hardly noticed, as it blended in with the rest of the aquarium's black wall, but it had a cutout of a jellyfish on it. He motioned you inside, and naturally, you followed.

It was only a small, circular room, but half of the wall was pure glass, revealing a glowing blue aquarium filled to the gills with bobbing, floating jellyfish. You stared up to the high wall in awe, the blue light reflecting in your wondrous eyes. "I feel like I've been here quite a few times…" you noted, gently pressing your fingertips to the cool glass. "How have I never seen this room be—?"

You turned to look at Vincent where you expected his eye level to be, but instead had to gaze downward, where he had gotten down on one knee, fumbling for something in his pocket.

Oh, fuck.

The classic symbol of marriage proposal, practically every American knew it. It wasn't that you didn't want him to propose — quite the opposite, it was what you had wanted most — something just seemed… off. Where were the flashing cameras? The hordes of people clamouring with questions? Goddammit, you were even starting to think like him now. That was embarrassing. But there was no time to hesitate, if you were going to say what you wanted to say, you had to do it fast.

"Darling…" Vincent began, looking at you with hopeful eyes, "we've been together for some time now, a little over a year. And yet, never before in my life have I felt so understood. I know nobody else will make me feel this way, not the way you do. So—!"

"Wait."

Your finger pressed to his lips as his whole body seemed to deflate, his face looking similar to that of a kicked puppy. You bit your lip in guilt, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I have a thought. But just so you don't get the wrong idea… yes, I'd love to marry you."

With that, the balloon that was Vincent's body inflated again, rising to pull you into a tight, possessive hug. "Oh, thank you, Sweetheart, I promise you won't regret this, I—!"

"Wait, wait!" you giggled again, putting a hand to his cheek. "It's just… you were saying that nobody's understood you as well as I do. Well, here's my chance to prove it."

One of your perfectly manicured hands crept down to his back pocket, hovering over the ring box. "I don't want to see the ring, not yet. I'd rather you leave it a surprise… for when you propose on the Valentine's Day special of our show."

Vincent pulled away slightly to meet your gaze, scanning your face for any hint of foolery. "My god, Baby, I… you would do that? Publicize our special moment like that?"

You couldn't help but smirk knowingly. "Well, my book sales are starting to dip… I think this would give it another big push. You know, Maryland's talk show sweethearts getting to showcase their love on the small screen? Everyone will want to read up on how we came to be. It's the perfect ratings trap, truly."

Genuine, heartfelt tears pooled in Vincent's eyes. God… you really were perfect for him. Not only were you thinking of him and his desires, but you had also managed to word it in such a way that your own greed and hunger for more had slipped through. He was enamoured.

His lips pressed to yours hungrily, strong hands on either side of your face to hold you in position as he practically began to consume you. Even before he began to speak again, you could already tell his mind was racing with a million thoughts. "You want everyone watching to know? To see my pretty ring placed on your finger on live television, a reminder that you belong to me? You want me to claim you on the goddamn world stage?"

"You've already claimed me in every other way, I'm surprised you didn't think this up yourself!" you chuckled, wrapping your own arms around him. "We'll get them to broadcast the whole wedding ceremony, too. The damsel and her shining knight, together at last… ratings will skyrocket, Vincent."

A pang of guilt caught in your chest… you were tempting him. You knew you were. In some dark, twisted way, you wanted to say just the right words to turn him into that squirming, inconsolable creature from when you caught him masturbating in the bathroom that night. You missed the ache when your vagina would clench around nothing in the brief moments he wasn't rutting into you. The feeling of his cock trying to impale you through the throat in sheer desperation to get as deep into you as possible. You needed his neediness, as awful as it felt to admit, and you knew all the talk of sales, ratings and tune-ins was just what would do him in.

"You're fucking perfect…" Vincent murmured, his voice choked as he wrapped one arm around you, using the other to reach down and grip your ass. "Nobody else would care like this, nobody but you… by the time we're done, nobody will even remember those disappearances, just the brave girl who rose from the ashes. My girl, my wicked fucking girl…"

And, in the instant you closed your eyes to kiss him again, you'd been whisked off somewhere that smelled vaguely of dirty mop water and lemon. "Vincent, wha—?" you began to say before you were cut off by his lips crashing into yours, and his hands groping your tits.

"It's the janitor's closet. I've watched his schedule for a long time now, he shouldn't be in for another hour and nobody comes in this room as is. I need you, Darling. Need you now." His voice came hot and heavy, though you could barely make him out in the pitch black room, only able to feel his hands and hot breath. His left reached down to lift your skirt, invading your panties like the Visigoths entering Rome as two fingers circled your clit.

"Fuck, you're so wet already… you'll really just take it from me anywhere, huh? Our dressing room was one thing, but this… this is getting ridiculous."

"You're the one who pulled me in here, lest we forget," you huffed hotly, pretending to reject him. Of course, that only got him even more riled up, pushing your face into the door before he began to grind against your ass. Just as expected, you could already feel the prominent tent of his cock protruding against you, ready and willing.

"Oh, but I still know this is what you wanted, Sweetheart…" He was up against your ear, then, his voice reduced to a whispering grumble. "Saying all those things that would get me excited, knowing what that fucking does to me… God you're evil. Maybe that pretty mouth oughta stop writing cheques her ass won't cash."

"No, I… I will…" you insisted, gulping down the growing lump in your throat. You could practically hear the grin stretch across Vincent's face as he pulled your panties down, lifting your skirt. You heard his knees hit the concrete floor as his pants rustled, presumably to pull his cock out as his tongue and nose got to work on your pussy.

Oh, how desperately you wanted to moan, cry out his name that you knew he loved hearing so goddamn much, but you had to stop yourself, covering your own mouth with your hand. He worked achingly slow, his face pressed so far into your folds that you were practically fucking yourself on the prominent cartilage of his nose as the tip of his tongue flicked back and forth on your clit, hardly making contact.

"O-Oh… Oh my god…" you could barely get out, your own voice breathy and meek. You thought you could almost come right then and there from the sheer lewdness of it all, forced to drip all over the floor of the janitor's closet and find some way to clean up your own mess. Though, he stopped before you could finish, standing up to kiss you from behind.

"You taste so fucking good…" he purred between kisses, "it's only fair you get a taste… we're sharing everything now, aren't we?"

Sharing everything… the thought rang around in your head for a while, pounding off the sides of your skull as his tongue intertwined with yours. And yes, you did notice the difference in taste. It was then that you felt two eager fingers sneak down and push their way inside of you, though his other hand was more than happy to clap over your mouth.

"Need you quiet, Sweetheart," Vincent reminded, though he was asking a shockingly large task with how quick his fingers were moving. "I think you've done quite enough talking for now. Maybe a little too much. You know how much pain being like this puts me in, and you're fucking contributing… sadistic bitch…"

Slick coursed down your legs with each word, mainly because you knew he was right. Well within his right to take it out on you. You whined when his fingers slowly pulled out, though they were quickly replaced by his cock burrowing into you in their place, causing you to moan loudly into his hand.

"W-Wait—!" you began to say around his hand, but that only made it clasp down harder.

"N-No, can't wait anymore, Baby, you know that," Vincent groaned, that familiar whine returning to his voice. His thrusts started slow, yet hard. "Been too long without being inside of you, I can't fucking take it… gotta come, need to come…"

Your eyes rolled back in your head a little with each thrust, burying himself so deep you could swear he was going to start pushing into your stomach. wet plaps echoed through the tiny room, giving you away to anyone who decided to stop by the all but forgotten room of the aquarium.

"I am going to wreck this goddamn pussy…" The statement came almost as a whine, then, like he was trying to reassure himself more than you. "I can't take it, can't take the waiting… can't take what you do to me… you really are going to be the perfect Mrs. Whittman, you're as fucking insufferable as I am…"

"Mhm! Mhm!" You could only moan hopelessly against his hand, nodding with intense vigour as the tip of his cock rammed into your g-spot time and time again.

"Is this what you wanted?" Vincent asked again, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust. "Taking every inch of my cock among this filth like the dirty fucking girl you are… You remember our first time, don't you? How I had to be gentle? What ever happened to her, hmm?"

"V-Vincent, fuck, please…" you murmured, pulling his hand away slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just—!"

"It's too fucking late for 'sorry', I'm in too deep now…" His other hand was carving tiny red crescents into your thigh from how hard he was squeezing. "You're going to take my cock until I'm fucking satisfied. Teasing me with ratings, numbers, viewership… knowing I'll get worked up until I'm sick just to have me do this…. oh, fuck you, fuuuuuuck you…"

The arm gripping you then wrapped around your lower abdomen, lifting your feet off the air and letting them dangle as he tried to force himself impossibly deeper, so deep you could feel his pubic hair brush against your ass. "C-Coming… coming, Vincent, coming…"

"I know, Babygirl, I know. Do it. Come for me."

He didn't have to tell you twice; your legs squeezed meekly together, and with only a pathetic little cry, you felt yourself make a mess all over his crotch as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock giving a few twitches as he came into his condom. You assumed that would be where it ended, leaving you both in the blissful afterglow to take in each other's presence… until he resumed bucking against you.

"Hey! What are you—?!" You couldn't even get the question out before his large hand squeezed your cheeks, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he picked up speed. You didn't even know how that was physically possible.

"I said you were taking me until I'm satisfied. I'm not done."

And there it was, what you had been searching for. That feral, clingy beast of a man to show you just how badly he needed you, your two bodies mingled as one. Your minds, your names, your everything… they would be bound for eternity, and you simply couldn't be happier.

"Well, maybe I'm… not satisfied… either," you panted through ragged breath, the words coming out a little awkwardly from your squished cheeks. Vincent began to nip at your ear before his teeth pulled back, and you both heard it; the sound of a wheeled mop bucket rolling down the hall.

"…It would seem the janitor changed his schedule."

"Vincent!"

Studies of human Vox’s hair. His general shape is square but his hair is actually very swoopy

Side partings, short sides and waves were the general trends of 1950’s men’s hairstyling. Actors and rebels could be more dramatic with their styling than the typical professional. I think these three (Gregory Peck, Errol Flynn and Laurence Olivier) have the most Vincent-like hair.

Hair studies of young weatherman Vincent. To me, young Vincent looks like he has more volume in his hair, like a pompadour or greaser haircut. The pompadour was popular with the young, the rebellious and the working class. Businessmen kept them short, but longer ones were favoured by performers and the young (like Vincent..?).

Let’s look at trend setting Elvis Presley. See how his hair is slicked back at the sides, has a soft side parting and is swept up over the head into a soft, voluminous pompadour.