#i love the character designs and the meaning behind the song

[thechibilitwick]

i’ve been so obsessed with this song lately someone save me

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[iamespecter]

TADC OCs: "The Die Quartet"!

"Oh but Ziku, who are these very handsome die?"

Well I'm glad nobody asked, because that would ruin the joke!

The Die Quartet are OCs of mine that I created for TADC, and for what purpose? Well, they're the minds behind show's music!

Hidden just behind a corner or two, or four, These obliviously mischievous and enthusiastic quartet play whatever music they can, one that certainly matches the current "mood" of what the cast is going through. Meet Cuba, Dodeca, Tetra, and Octa, The Amazing Musical Performers, for The Amazing Digital Circus!

LORE AND BOUNDARIES UNDERNEATH THE CUT!

When the Circus was initially created, it was feeling too barren for a place that's meant to be "lively". And so, Caine went and copy-pasted himself four times, while replacing the heads with some die props he found on the floor, retexturing and adjusting their bodies, to fit their new roles.

A little bit of a code rewrite to make them able of producing any sounds all on their own to be musically intertwined, and the quartet was basically ready to go: but there's only one problem.

Caine completely forgot to remove the admin privileges from their code.

So once the four spawned, they immediately began floating around, dancing and creating the main theme for the circus, and did it all perfectly. So Caine decided that as long as they don't interfere with anything major in the circus and did their job as the musical minds behind the show/game's soundtracks, he doesn't really care about fixing this error and would rather let these four run rampant to create more songs.

Ever since then, the Die Quartet has been messing with every circus members, most of the time playing obnoxious music that fits the "current mood". You'll even see their canes dance to the tempo they've set, like some backup dancers.

Think of it like: You now have x4 Caines with dice heads, flying and snooping around, so that they can "improve the mood" with their music! Ain't that swell??

(But really, all they do is just annoy the Circus members just like Caine does, for the better or the worse. Probably the latter.)

Fun facts about the Die Quartet!

Even though they've all been created at the same time and share the features of a die, they do not consider themselves as "brothers", and only see one another as colleagues instead.

Their names are related to the type of their die: Tetra (yellow), Dodeca (purple), Cuba (red), and Octa (green).

Despite being reused assets of Caine himself, they have distinct personalities that separate them from each other: Tetra is more joyful and playful, Dodeca is a more dramatic/theatric and over the top, Cuba is the natural lead and more stern than anybody, and Octa is the more closed off of the gang but willing to provide his best.

Yet, they all still lack awareness of personal space and boundaries just like Caine, and WILL be intrusive towards anyone they set their sights on, with the intent of predicting their mood and setting the current situation perfectly in musical form. (ex. if a character is sneaking, all four will follow "cautiously" behind while one imitates/pulls out a tiny piano playing to the theme of "tip-toeing". You know, like a cartoon gag.)

Although they can perfectly imitate ANY sound or instrument imaginable, They'll still pull out a "physical" instrument if the gag calls for it.

BOUNDARIES!

You can pretty much draw fanart of them! In fact I would REALLY love to see it and I encourage it! Really, just don't claim them as your own, or steal their designs.

NSFW of them is accepted, but please keep in mind that I have an SFW blog. Which means THERE ARE MINORS. Show them to me privately instead, I'd still love to see it <3

While NSFW is accepted (privately), please make it a morally decent one, because I don't really wanna see some disgusting stuff. This pretty much includes: non-con, scat, etc.

Aside from that though, I hope you all enjoyed these four! I really love how they turned out, and would love to draw them more. I was initially hesitant on showing my TADC OCs because I don't think people would like 'em, but fuck it.

My boys, they deserve to be seen even if just by a few people on the internet.

[ode2rin]

can you see right through me?

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. fluffy fluff | pro-athlete!reo | established relationship | reo spoiling you (i mean it’s reo) | a light angst if you squint hard !! 

warnings. 2.1k wc | characters are aged up ! | reader wears a dress | mentions of insecurity | inspired from a taylor swift song (ik i’m sorry i’m crazy abt her) | proofreading? nah we don't know her | (lmk if i missed any?? i suck at making these)

in which: you see more behind reo’s gift-giving love language

“hey, love! look what i got!” reo called out, as soon as he entered the apartment.

no “i’m home” in a sing-song voice or “baby, where are you?” in a needy whine, like he usually does. instead, he was grinning - full on beaming, actually. it was evident how his voice sounded so excited, like he was dying to show you whatever he brought home.

you peered out from the kitchen to look at your beaming boyfriend. and literally, you felt your jaw drop from the sight of your lover carrying what seemed like a hundred amount of shopping bags in his toned arms. you bet it was heavy, as the veins in his arms were slightly popping. 

reo had said he was going out to pick up a “few things” on the way home. these are totally not a few things. you knew reo had a habit of going overboard when it came to shopping. but this one, this one was an extreme shopping spree. he was practically bouncing with excitement as he showed you everything.

he began to rummage through the bags, pulling out various items with each sentence he spoke. you could see the excitement in his eyes, as he showed off his purchases. he held up a beautiful dress, admiring its design, “look at this, baby! the shop attendant said this one just came in and only two people have this in japan, can you believe that? well, i got the third one! i thought how good it would look on you then got it -” he paused for a moment, looking at you with an impish grin, “- i mean, i got it for you, my love.”

reo then pulled out a box of skincare products, “and look at these! i remembered you were running out of these last night, so i got a few for you. the salesperson said they're the only stocks they've got, so i had to get them all!”

reo then held up a pair of shoes, “oh, and these! i saw them and thought, ‘that’s the perfect pair for my love!’” he twirled them around. “and this one’s my favorite!” he exclaimed, holding up a beautiful necklace, “the color of the gems complement your skin so good! maybe let’s go out tomorrow, and try if you’ll like this? what do you think, love?”

he was rambling on and on, his excitement infectious. you couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as you struggled to process everything he was saying. clothes, jewelry, shoes, skincare, and are those freaking boxes of limited edition nespresso capsules?

before you could even answer, reo's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something else he had to show you. “oh! and i got us tickets to the premiere showing of the movie you told me about! i was hoping we could go? to make up for the movie night i missed.”

ah. now, you have an idea what this is all about.

reo and you have a weekly movie night, it started when you first moved in with him. it’s a tradition that you both cherish, a small but meaningful way to unwind and connect amidst the chaos of daily life. a tradition in your relationship that you both look forward to as it’s your sweet escape from the grueling responsibilities that comes with adulthood. it was nothing grand, it’s just you and reo, getting cozy on the couch of your shared abode, surrounded by pillows and blankets. sometimes he’ll pick out the movie, most of the time, he gives you the power to it.  regardless of who picks the movie, you both lose yourselves in the story, laughing and crying and feeling all the emotions that the characters are experiencing. you share thoughts and opinions, discussing the plot twists and character arcs, and sometimes even acting out your favorite scenes together. 

it’s a simple tradition, but it’s one that brings you both so much joy. and that’s why, when reo missed movie night 2 nights ago because of practice running late, he felt like he had let you down. 

when he came home later that night, it was well past midnight and you had long since fallen asleep on the couch, the remnants of your popcorn and half-finished drinks still on the coffee table. but as he tiptoed in, trying not to wake you, he couldn't help but notice the soggy popcorn and feel a pang of guilt for missing your movie night. the morning after, he woke up early and was all over you, showering you with kisses and apologies for being late. you held him through it, playing with his hair and telling him that it was no big deal, that you understood how important his career was to him.

looking at it now, perhaps the assurance you gave was a bit insufficient to ease reo’s guilt to say the least. determined to lift off what he might be feeling, you turned off the stove and went to where your boyfriend was. he looked at you curiously as you cupped his face in your hands.

“thank you for being so thoughtful and buying me these, reo. i appreciate all of this baby, i do. but i know you. so spill my love, what is this all about, hmm?” you asked, staring at him, with a small smile as you let out a hum.

from then and there, reo felt like you’d seen right through him. 

you’re right. reo, missing the movie night, lingered through his thoughts far longer than it should be. you said it was fine, so it should be fine for reo. except that it’s not. 

a few moons ago, reo’s life was all easy they come, easy they go. it was the upside of being born into privilege. but when he chose to chart his own course, everything changed. nothing came easy anymore. he had to prove his existence to earn the things that mattered most. the soccer career that made him a star, and the love of his life - you, who brought him a happiness he never knew existed - he could only live this life because he proved himself worthy. 

but what they don’t tell you about constantly proving your worth is how restless you grow at the slightest possibility of losing everything you've worked for. 

reo felt that he had to make it up to you because he fears the notion that his one mistake could be the beginning of a pattern, a repetition of his rich yet absent parents' reckless lifestyle filled with empty apologies and unfulfilled promises. the weight of this realization petrified him, leaving him with a burning desire to make it up to you. so he did, in the only way he knew best - shower you with gifts.

and that basically sums up how reo went to an all out shopping spree. in his defense, he was only supposed to buy the skincare you ran out of. grab then leave, that was the plan. but things at the mall definitely escalated as reo passed by a designer boutique. before he knew it, he was walking out with shopping bags overflowing with designer clothes, shoes, and accessories.

apparently, your perceptive eyes caught on to this. at first, you thought it was just another day of reo being him, with his fondness of giving you gifts. but at the mention of the movie tickets, his scheme gave him away. and now he’s here, standing before you, face held by your soft hands.

reo couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes, so he focused on the marbled floor beneath his feet. “i...i wanted to make it up to you for missing movie night,” he stammered. “i know you said it was okay, but it wasn't okay for me. i feel like i let you down.” he struggled to articulate the knot of insecurity that had been building inside him since he missed the date. he struggled to tell you how it felt like a crack in the foundation of your relationship, and how terrified he was that it would widen into an irreparable chasm. “i’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just wanted to show you how determined i am to make it up to you.”

your eyes softened as you took in his words. your hands instinctively reached up to gently brush away the hair covering his eyes. his big purple eyes that you love so much. it was one of the many few things that made you fall in love with him. you couldn't help but be drawn in by the deep purple hue of his eyes, so full of confidence and power when he was on the field, yet so tender and vulnerable in your presence. 

“i must have been a superhero in my past life to be loved by someone like you, my sweet reo..” you chuckled at the cheesiest of the thought. he smiled at the sound of your laughter.

it was true though. he was charming, attentive, thoughtful, a gentleman through and through. he was everything and more. so to say that you were lucky to have him was the understatement of the century. it was as if having the moon and the stars align just for you, as if fate smiled at your direction. to be loved by someone like reo mikage was like being wrapped in a warm blanket of security, knowing that even the slightest misstep could cause him to worry about losing you. but it was that very worry that proved just how much he cherished your love, like a precious treasure that he held in the palm of his hand. who could ever leave someone like that? a fool, that’s who.

you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your hand still caressing his cheek. then you pressed a kiss to his left cheek, on to his right, and finally to his lips.  as you leaned in and brushed your lips against each of his features, a softness washed over you, the warmth of your affection for him filling every inch of your being. “i know that you felt bad, love. but you do know that i love you, right?” you murmured against his lips, “and missing our movie night doesn’t change a thing about that, baby. i love you for who you are, reo. not for what you do.”

as your words sunk in, reo felt like you had seen right through him. for so long, he had believed that his worth was tied to what he could offer, but you had shown him that he could be loved simply for being himself. the weight of that realization lifted from his shoulders, and he felt a rush of warmth spread through his body.

“how could you say things like that and expect me not to do everything for you?” he whispered, the love in his heart for you growing even stronger.

but you just smiled at him, your eyes filled with a tenderness that made his heart skip a beat. “i don't expect anything from you, my love,” you said softly. “just come home to me, and we'll figure everything out together.”

“that, i can promise to do everyday.” 

in this home, he could just be reo, no longer compelled to prove his worth or live in fear of losing everything he had worked for. with you, he was enough.

“i’m sure you do.”

who could ever leave someone like reo mikage? a fool, that’s who. but who could stay? without a doubt, you could. 

as you both settled into your evening skincare routine later that night, with no traces of any heaviness from what happened earlier, reo turned towards your side of the sink and asked, "can we still go to that premiere, love?" his eyes twinkled with excitement.

“only if you promise that you won’t do this again. baby, this is a lot! and that moisturizer, you brought enough to last me for months! what were you thinking?!” you exclaim, holding up the said moisturizer.

reo chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "i guess i got a little carried away."

“you definitely did. the amount of paper bags i had to fold was insane. if you’re hiding more, i would really smack you. i swear, reo mikage.”

reo gives you a mischievous grin, his eyes shining with amusement. "oh, i wouldn't dream of hiding anything from you, love." but he can't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he remembers the other bags he left in the car. no need to mention it now though. he'll just have to sneak out later and grab them when you're fast asleep.

note. PURE WORD VOMIT I AM: SORRY came up with this because i’m convinced mikage reo is an “archer”  just like me fr ;) so this is my interpretation of the song esp the “do you see right through me?” !!

[c0smiclatt3]

university!gepard headcanons

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ TAGS: fluff, sfw, gn reader, university au

another migrated piece from my main blog... enjoy the headcanons! maybe i should turn this into a cai bot...

Criminal justice major, with a minor in history

Prefers pen and paper for his notes (also chews on his pencil when he’s particularly deep in thought and thinks nobodys looking)

He doesn’t necessarily seek out new music, he just kinda osmosis-es whatever song Serval’s band’s been playing a lot of lately

Early bird! This is probably the only man in university with a proper reasonable sleeping schedule.

He’s your dorm RA, and he’s weirdly serious about it too. Not that you’re complaining - thanks to him everyone on your floor feels welcome, is familiar with each other, and he really goes out of his way to attend to the needs of everyone on the floor. You really admired him for that, especially when you know he’s got his classwork on the side. You try your best not to cause any extra trouble for him.

That being said, you really wish you could extend a hand to him for those advertising posters he makes for building events. Things got better when he learned to use Canva, but graphic design is clearly not his strong suit.

(Somebody needs to tell this man that screenshotting a png with the transparency squares in the background means you still see the transparency square in the background)

You swear you see a few pots of plants on his windowsill - you’ve never been in his room but whenever you try to bring it up to him in passing he quickly changes the subject.

One day he starts getting weirdly involved in how often you’re bringing friends over. He never seems to have an issue with anyone else - so why is he all up in your business? One time after seeing your friend off you hear a “Who was that?” from behind you. “Just my friend.” “They seem to come around quite often. You two must be quite close.” You weren’t quite sure what he was getting at, and before you could answer he had shut the door to his room.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask him if you were in some sort of trouble or if you broke some kind of rule, he shook his head and said “No, not at all.” “Then why do you keep asking? You never give anyone else a hard time.” And for the first time he seemed at a loss for words. You swear you must have seen his face flush red before he turned away from you and curtly said “it’s getting late. You should rest for the day. Goodnight.”

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ AN: ah, gepard... my first favorite hsr character... fell in love with him since the og beta leaks...

[fifarts]

“it’s nice to know you work alone” 🪐⚡️

(click for better quality, more info and alt text below cut)

another jupeter piece and some recommended songs from my jupeter playlist!

I have synesthesia which means my brain associates certain audio and music with different colors and shapes, so I worked a lot with the colors on this piece and especially the background to kind of translate some of the visualizations I get when I listen to these songs together! If you read the lyrics of both you’ll see why I heavily associate them with juno and peter!

I have another piece that I’ll hopefully post circa S3 that goes along with There’s No Secrets This Year (the most jupeter song ever) and a comic for Waltz in E-Major, Op. 15 “Moon Waltz” by Cojum Dip that I really want to work on soon! My playlist is still a work in progress and I’m currently in the process of moving my spotify accounts around but as of right now the full playlist link is here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6SP3sUjzSTBCPhouCe4xXY?si=277Hd2pqTGmRzPLcSx6dvQ

I organized it partially by season so hopefully it’s easier to understand the character connections of the songs. (The first song of the playlist is an instrumental guitar piece that my dad’s guitarist is doing as a side project which is super cool and you should definitely check out his stuff (and also please send some streams his way) If you love vocal-like sexy guitar riffs and weird time signatures and video game-esque music, Vision Swords is for you lol)

Alt Text:

A lineless digital art painting of Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev from the Penumbra Podcast. Juno's face is visible in a profile view as he holds his blaster in his outstretched hand. Juno is a short Black and South Asian person with dark brown skin, a scar across his nose bridge, and black hair that is lit with purple lighting. Juno has short locs and a high undercut with a star design shaved in. He is wearing a tan trenchcoat, a white button up, and black tie. He is also wearing a cochlear implant, hot pink star earrings, and hot pink acrylic nails. Peter stands behind him with his face partially obscured. He is a tall South Asian man with medium brown skin and dark shoulder length brown hair. He is pointing his blaster and wearing a black suit jacket with gold details. The background of the painting is hot pink, neon purple, and bright blue. The background colors mix in with one another in a perspective blur from the center of the painting. [end alt text]

Thank you so much for the support while I’ve been on hiatus! I’m going to college this fall for Robotics Engineering and I’ve been dealing with some pretty big health problems as well (I literally just got out of surgery today lol) which has left little time for art (fanart or otherwise) 😅 Love ya!

[hiraeth-sonder]

Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even. 

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters. 

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years. 

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise. 

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart. 

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so. 

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you. 

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction. 

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light. 

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood. 

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content. 

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?  

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else. 

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment. 

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance 

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery. 

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind. 

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips. 

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman. 

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush. 

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family. 

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome. 

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken. 

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one. 

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image. 

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious. 

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough. 

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state. 

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes. 

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed. 

He nods. 

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news. 

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him. 

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings. 

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever. 

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath. 

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand. 

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you. 

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart. 

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

[aliciagemsilica]

Diasomnia Boy gift s/o an evening gown to attend the NRC & RSA ball tgt Headcanon

Following from my dress sketch design if you haven’t seen it here . They are base from Glorious Masquerade & Playful land events. Basically a sequence I imagine while drawing the dresses XD I also want to mention that when it’s finish 🥺 you can draw it on your oc and even tweak a bit detail to fit your Yuu or OC. It’s meant to be share with everyone, not just my Yuu.

⚠️ Bad English……. I have no idea what is grammar . 😂

╭══• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •══╮

Imagine a ball between NRC and RSA happening maybe sometime after chapter 7. All students are invited but you are troubling since you have no dress to wear. And for the love of the great seven. Your beloved head master, Crowley just allowed you to join in your NRC uniform……….. great! So much for your kindness!!

Guess who will be the photographer and a background character on this event…..hahaha………

Well maybe you whine too much in front of the wishing well. Someone comes up with a plan. A plan that would make you believe in a fairytale once again!

╰══• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •══╯

𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔲𝔰 🐉

You had to be blind to not suspect anything……

Lately Mal is a bit touchy. Not that he isn’t normally but this is different. Sometimes he holds your wrist while mumbles something while going on a night stroll. Sometimes he stares at you and gets lost in his thoughts. He even stands just in front of you and tries to lift you up once.

You are so confused and a bit embarrassed when he asks about your height so you call for support. The Diasomnia’s family counselor aka. Lilia Vanrouge. You went all the way to Diasomnia dorm without telling anyone and sneak in to see Lilia.

But

…….

…..

…………

Is he………….

Is he dancing with a dress just now??

Surprisingly you just witness your dragon boyfriend practicing a dance with a beautiful dress. He hummed ‘that song’ while spinning with the dress. What a beautiful princess gown with dark green silk. It looks so shiny and smooth, something that would delicately touch her skin while being held in that big palm. Imagine how soft that hand craft lace feels when on your chest. He did not spare any piece of jewellery from his procession. He keep bring in dazzling earrings and necklaces to test it with the gown. He would have use the heart of his collection to craft a piece of accessories for you if he doesn’t want to save it for something later in the year. You can see a magical golden thread and needle weaving delicate patterns on the skirt as he continues the dance. Every angle……Every turn………..Malleus is creating a masterpiece. He did it………..for you…….for his princess.

Your face is burning from the love of this dragon fae. Why does he have to put so much effort into it.

Oh no………now you a mess

You open the Pandora box too early and now you have to live with it while pretending not to know a thing until the day. You bit your lip as Mal smoothly tug a strain of hair behind your ears. You can now understand what he mumbles about……rose gold? Sunshine gold? May be one of his grandma’s jewellery set?? (Oh god no…….that’s tooo far for the first gown Mal lol)

Your heart beat so fast until the evening of the event. Malleus play cool by teasing you and being a nice partner who prepare a gift for you.

Boom! You are now in a matching dress. So those Raven feathers on the hip are supposed to match his shoulder then ah………..you are about to take off the veil since it looks like a bride. Before Malleus could turn grumpy…..Sebek yell and lecturing you about how talented Wakasama are! You human dare to question his sense of fashion? Outrageous! Just because he love you doesn’t mean you can ruin his days of afford to perfect this dress

Woops………tongue slip

Well it’s not like you never know anyway. Just pretend to be surprise so Sebek won’t get a lightning strike okay?

Bonus : she doesn’t want to point out that when she accidentally saw Malleus weaving that dress……. his tail wagging. It’s a secret she gonna take to her grave though

Bonus 2 : Lilia does notice that and brag about how adorable Malleus is. How Malleus has grown to fit in the society in front of the other dorm leader………..Oopsie

Bonus 3 : Malleus learn the hard way not to miss the meeting

𝕷𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖆 🦇

Have you heard of the story of the fairy godmother in Cinderella? Well he won’t just roll out and sing bib bi di bub bi di bo and bang! A nice new dress for you. The old man planned while cuddling you in bed……in sofa…..in the gaming chair(?)

He pretends to be busy with something and hasn't listened to you. Even play dumb and say you look cute in the school uniform. Well it’s not totally a lie since he thinks it’s adorable. Why would he poke on your cheek and nibble your neck while you are in your uniform if it’s not because you are so cute to him.

The truth is, this old bat is as excited as you. He lived through the war time and never got a chance to enjoy a leisure party before. Well it’s just a joint event of 2 schools. It can't compare with how grand the royal ball of the Briar valley held a ball but this is the first time he is going to have his lover join him. He doesn’t have to be alert from enemies. Doesn’t have to command his subordinates to search all the parties involved in this event. Just lay back enjoy the day with you.

He had been trying to recreate that dress in his memories just for you. It was around……..hundred? Two hundred?? Year ago??? He walked past this girl on the street and was stunned by her attire. It’s an elegant dress with black velvet and green emerald. Soft flare neckline covered the black corset. Enough skin to show your radiant but not too much.

Well, He was allowed to give you some hickeys before the day of the ball. It got enough fabric to cover all his naughtiness. Wink*

However he was troubled with the skirt since he only remembered just part of it flowing past him. He argued if it’s short or long skirt. He was going back and forth and even tried to summon multiple dresses to compare them…….Then before the final day. He just uses his sense of style to bring it together. Of cause ! Who do you think he is, if not the cutest boy in NRC ? (Self proclaimed……)

He smiles so proudly with your flushed cheek as he teases you. As you put on a golden belt with a bat and thorn on. This is the perfect dress for you. His baby bat. He should had prepare a ring for this big day but well…….there are plenty time for that

Bonus : He pick a perfume for you today and as you dance with him on the floor. It’s totally Lilia’s scent///

This is very long………..more than I expected

I’ll continue Silver & Sebek in part 2 then 😂 sorry I’m so into it with my oshi! I’ll try pack in other dorm in one post! Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy!!

[crumb]

i love how benson is, on the surface, this devil-may-care kind of character, going around shooting people, dragging randy around to fix his life and scaring the hoes in the process—but at the same time there are these little details that show how much he does care. I mean the big obvious one is his motivation for wanting to fix randy, fix randy and help him not turn out like benson and the rest of the people in the small town, we all know this and have gone over these themes. but the smaller details, unintentional or not, those are really nice. Benson being the only one at Burger Burgers Burgers who has his sleeves cuffed and his shirt tucked in. This is one of many details that shows Benson does care, he cares about how he looks and how he's perceived to some extent. because let's be honest, it does set his character apart from the stereotypical 'redneck working at a fast food joint'. Which then gives an added weight to when he walks outside for his cigarette and untucks his shirt. he's releasing himself from this more restrained version he's presented himself as up until that point. Which then ALSO makes Chris saying "Benson, why do you fucking care?" even funnier. because like... Benson basically responds by killing him which in a way is him saying "hey, you're right, why do I fucking care?" lmaoooo Benson is also the only one, other than Randy (and I guess hardy?) who is wearing BBB uniform trousers. Chris is wearing cargo joggers and Jess is wearing a mini skirt with fishnets. If benson really didn't care about that job, or how he looked at that job, would he be wearing 100% of the uniform, well fitted, cuffed, tucked, cleaned, and ironed? And then when changing outfits at his house he puts on a fuzzy yellow/green cardigan and graphic ringer tee, the choices of which feel very intentional and like they're his favorite pieces of clothing. Which I think must be true if you think about him knowing this is his swan song, he wants to go out looking good. But what he doesn't change? His trousers. You'd think after killing three people at a job you probably don't particularly like and dragging their bodies around, changing out of the uniform would be a relief, other than wanting to just get out of clothes that are recognizable to the restaurant. Which makes me think his BBB uniform trousers are the best/most well-fitting trousers he owns which in itself is interesting. I mean look at the clothes he gives randy, they're not that much different in body size so even on benson those jeans would've been oversized as hell. This somewhat cleaned up version of himself that he presents, especially pre-killing spree, juxtaposed to his home life and his car is, I think, a great representation of Benson as a person. His home life, the clutter, his Ma in the front room, the clothes he gives randy, the junk strewn around his car—versus his cleaned and cuffed and tucked uniform and his stylish cardigan and graphic tee (idc what you say i love the cardigan)—I think it shows someone who is struggling but putting on a brave front, trying to come off as put together, as someone who knows himself and doesn't care about other people's perceptions, but at the same time so desperately does care and hates that he cares, and hates that he can't seem to change things. he can only dress them up a little to look presentable to passersby. and maybe it's one of those "the walls are just blue because they're blue!!" type situations and the wardobe dept or kyle or carter or the art director and whoever else, maybe it's just simply style/design decisions by one or several of them and there's no subtextual meaning behind it all—but even if so, I love that, to me at least, it's developed this deeper meaning within the context of the film and the character.

Don't even get me started on the Kurt Cobain cardigan and Benson having a shotgun in his trunk.

[bones4thecats]

Their S/O Is One of Blitzø's Many Exes

Characters: Verosika Mayday, Striker, and Fizzarolli Inspired By: Apology Tour and the Anti-Blitzø Party A/N: This was so much fun to write for these three. Just imagining them with one of Blitzø's exes is hilarious in my opinion. Anyways, hope you Helluva Boss enjoyers love this! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Season 1, Episode 3 - Season 1, Episode 5 - Season 1, Episode 7 - Season 2, Episode 9 / Swearing, mentions of cheating, being abandoned, toxic relationships, and assassin stuff ⚠️

Disclaimer: Fizz! S/O Song; 10 Things I Hate About You - Leah Kate

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Verosika Mayday ═════════════════════════╝

🎤 Verosika hated your shared ex with a burning passion. She got vulnerable for one of the rare times in her life and he just got up and ditched her in a painful way

🎤 You were left in a similar way. You and Blitzø had dated for nearly a year when, on your anniversary, you had told him you loved him. He froze, didn't even apologize, and left. You were left there alone with the bill and with a broken heart

🎤 Verosika and you eventually met at one of her Anti-Blitzø Parties. You attended because it just sounded like something you could have at least some fun at since he dumped you, and seeing how many others he left in his shadow, you felt horrible for them all

🎤 But your disdain for the imp grew on

🎤 As a fairly cool-headed individual, you were hired by Verosika early on in your friendship to be a traveling Album Cover Designer, Backup Singer, and Sound Technician. Your hands were full, but thankfully you were born and raised in the Greed Ring, so you knew how much work you could and could not handle

🎤 It took a while for you and the pop-star to bond like anything other than friends, but when you did begin your relationship, it was amazing. You two adored one another with a passion. And since you had almost the same experience with your ex, you knew how to talk to one another about it

🎤 When you guys came across Blitzø again, she smirked when he tried calling your name after Verosika walked off. You just looked back at him over your shoulder and rolled your eyes, but when he tried saying he was sorry, you snapped

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"We were fine! I was just having a rough night! I didn't mean to hurt you like that!"

"But you did! That's the fucking thing! You never actually think about your actions!" You screamed, pupils shrinking as you slowly became more and more like a large spider. "Honestly, Blitzo, grab some fucking maturity! If you can afford to pay them," you pointed at the rest of I.M.P., "then you can that!"

"Y/N, dear."

🎤 Calming down when you felt Verosika's hand in your top right one, you just blinked blankly at the group, who were all in shock at your outburst and scoffed, walking away. Leaving the imp and your past behind you for your new one

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Striker ════════════════════════════════╝

🗡️ After you and Blitzø's fall out, you had moved away from the Pride Ring and back to your home in the Wrath Ring. Your father was happy to see his child come back, but your mother was curious on what went wrong with you and your boyfriend

🗡️ Your father would've went up to the Pride Ring and killed the imp himself if it wasn't for your two older brothers holding him back from it. They sighed and calmed your dad down before helping you move back into your room

"Hey, Y/N. Isn't that- uh, Blitz guy an assassin?"

"Wannabe assassin." You corrected.

"Yeah! You come from a family of assassins. Why don't you spite him back by beating him to every punch?"

🗡️ So you did. You had taken one of his old journals, which held many of his few client's requests. Thankfully, you had an Asmodean-Crystal from a past client you killed for, so getting to the human world would be a piece of cake

🗡️ It was when you were traveling to another ring for a new hellborn-client that you met Striker. And you were happy you did. Despite knowing it was difficult to be in a relationship as an assassin, at least working as one, you and Striker did start your own shared life after around three years of knowing one another

🗡️ Striker had informed you of his plan to kill Stolas Goetia at the Harvest Moon Festival. Your family had planned on going there for a couple missions themselves, and while they finished up, you stayed with your boyfriend to finish his job

🗡️ Your ex was shocked to see you standing alongside the hybrid-imp. And honestly it kinda hurt him a little bit. He didn't have any feelings towards you anymore. He has the many after you to prove that, but it hurt seeing you working alongside another to kill him

"After everything I did for you? This is how you repay me, you bitch!"

"Why you-"

"Blitzo," You said emphasizing the o at the end of his name, "I believed that you did everything you wanted for me back then. But when I look back on us, I don't see shit coming out of you. Besides, I have met your ex before me. You only fucked me because I appealed to your demographic; desperate and easy to fuck-over."

"What the fuck are you on about?! I never thought that about you!"

"Then why did you leave me on my motherfucking birthday, jack-off!"

🗡️ Striker smirked as his opponent lightly shifted in thought, you merely scoffed and pulled out your own angelic weapon, that being a spear, and readied it for battle

"Let's just get this shit-show over with. Me and my boyfriend have a owlish-prince to end."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Fizzarolli ══════════════════════════════╝

🪷 Fizzarolli has a complicated relationship with your ex. He believes that he left him in the dust, leaving him alone to be in so much mental and physical pain just because he was jealous. And you just felt like a sack of naive shit when he abandoned you

🪷 You met him just a few days after your breakup. He wasn't surprised that you were one of Blitzø's exes. He's had many, and Fizzarolli was pretty sure it was up in the 50s at that point

🪷 He asked you why he broke up with you, as you were quite the looker, being from the Lust Ring and all. You just shrugged and laughed lightly before getting upset and throwing an empty liquor bottle at the nearest demon, causing him to pass out

"Who fucking know? Probably got so damn terrified of the feelings I confessed. Pussy."

"I'll agree with you on the third swear." He laughed out, making you smile.

"I'm Y/N L/N, professional animal tamer for the Mammon Circus. You?"

"Fizzarolli! Entertainer extraordinaire!"

🪷 You both bonded a lot more than you initially thought. Fizzarolli was quite the funny-guy, it made sense why he was an clown, his jokes were just top-shelf!

🪷 Fizz eventually introduced you to Asmodeus when Mammon was being a dick and fired you for someone else's mistake. You were happy when the Lust Ring's ruler accepted you onto his team, specifically to help out with any animals coming into the mix

🪷 After a while of getting closer, you were surprised when Blitzø came out of nowhere and was on a seeming date with Prince Stolas of the Goetia Royal Family

🪷 Your boyfriend saw you next to the stage and pulled you up into his number, allowing you to add your own turn into the scene so you could get your side of the story out

"I caught you cheating. You had the nerve to say you're sleeping. Just not with her, but tell your friends. That I'll be lost without you." You sang, looking at the imp's shocked face. "And I'll admit it, sometimes I miss when we were in it. So I made a list so I never forget all the things I hate about you. Ten, you're selfish, nine, you're jaded, eight, the dumbest guy I dated, seven, talk a big game 'til you're naked, only six seconds, and I had to fake it. Five, you're toxic, four, can't trust you, three, you still got daddy issues, two years of your bullshit I can't undo, one, I hate the fact that you made me love you."

🪷 As you sang, Fizzarolli admired you. His eyes tracing your form as you danced around the imp, using your abilities as a way to show everything he did to you. From his embarrassing intellect to the many problems you faced in your relationship

🪷 It was nice to dance around freely, especially when you handed the song over to Verosika, whom you grown close to over time of going to her Anti-Blitzø Parties. When you finished, you went over to Fizz and allowed him to pick you up and dance with you as he and Asmodeus finished of the song

🪷 When Blitzø and Stolas left with their imp friends, you looked back at Fizzarolli, smiling before walking away with him while Asmodeus handled some other things. You two eventually made it to his dressing room and kissed, separating only for air and to look in one another's eyes calmly

"You did amazing, cupcake."

"So didn't you, smiles."

[phefics]

This just came to my mind while I was studying for my psychology exam - but what do you think THG would be like if they were dating a reader who is a theatre performer? Like them picking the reader up from rehearsals that ran overtime, watching their performances and listening to them talk about their crazy (and sometimes kinda weird) rehearsal memories?

I hope this makes sense because I am not too great with explaining things

this is so cute, not weird at all!! you didn't specify the guys so i'm gonna do all the characters i write for. hope you like!! xo

coryo is supportive, mostly because he likes the idea of dating someone who could be famous one day. he brags about your talents to people at school/work, and comes to every show, sits in the front row, and brings you roses. he admires your dedication, even when it means staying late to run scenes or crazy rehearsal stories.

finnick loves to watch you perform. he's been caught trying to sneak into your rehearsals before, and given you a sheepish grin as he's escorted out of the theater. he's just so captivated by you. as someone who has spent a lot of his life performing against his will, he loves to watch you flourish doing something you love. he loves hearing about cast drama, like straight up will make popcorn to listen to the gossip.

gale isn't super into theater but will be supportive! he likes that you have a hobby you're so passionate about, even if he doesn't understand. he tries to make every show when he isn't busy with work, and has terrible theater ettiquette the first time and keeps cheering every time you're on stage, so you have to explain that he can't do that, lol. he also picks you up from rehearsals because he won't let you walk home late at night, ever.

haymitch isn't very into the arts, in general - he's just never had an urge to consume it or have a hobby of his own. but seeing you feel so passionate about it and have so much fun opens him up to the idea a lot, and i can see him definitely going to your shows and finding the beauty in live theater.

johanna would be a stage crew girly, so i think she would participate in your theatre stuff (if it was local/small, i don't think she would pursue it as a career) and she does the lights or sound. definitely ignores directions so she can put the spotlight on you even when you aren't talking in a scene.

katniss is very supportive, but i don't see her being into theatre at all - she'll go to your shows but doesn't really vibe with it, so she's there to support you but wouldn't go if you weren't involved. if you are in a musical production, though, she will get the songs stuck in her head and whistle/sing them around the house.

lucy gray is probably also involved in theatre!! or, she at least totally understands your passion as well as your workload. if you do musical theatre, she helps you practice your songs and learns them on guitar so she can play them for you. she is always cheering so loud in the audience - she is so supportive and loving.

peeta would probably get involved in your production behind the scenes, painting sets. he is so supportive and i could even see him joining the show if you convinced him he'd be good - he's clearly a very charming actor and would probably find it fun. if he doesn't join you, though, he is in the front row of every single performance with flowers.

sejanus is the most supportive boyfriend ever, i swear. he will singlehandeldly fund your local theatre just so you can participate. he takes time off of work to go to every single show, and has flowers sent to you backstage. he helps you rehearse at home, always being a bit goofy and over-the-top when he reads the lines.

tigris would probably be involved as well, designing and altering costumes!! she loves to design and sew and having that outlet that benefits the community as well as her partner would make her really happy.

[akkivee]

hello vee.

@/twogallonhats on twitter made this iceberg, and now i am subjecting you to this. Explain to the best of your knowledge, good luck.

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh okay sure

idk why rhyme anima is listed tbh it’s just a zany anime version of hypmic but that very well may be the reason lol like it gave us a man by the name of tom whisper weathercock lol

there’s always a prolific push for your fav to win the drb lol. iirc during the championship round in the 1st drb there was a fan?? fans??? who gave money to some guy with a following to post a video of him asking everyone to vote for mtc lol. jp fans for the second got together and made eng/kor/ch instructions on how to vote in the vr battles it’s a time can’t wait for that to kick off next year 😬

arb is technically not canon and therefore ooc lol

idk what hypmic tictok sounds mean. i can tell you of a few times hypmic was trending on tiktok tho lol

idk if they were even a soundcloud rapper, but some soundcloud rapper fell in love with hypmic and decided to make ichiro his oc/persona and put himself on a team with jyushi and samatoki and they were california division lol

back in 2018???? hypmic posted a christmas video except it was just champagne gold and base hifumi.png in a santa hat slid across the screen truly graphic design is hypmic’s passion lol

i mean there was a brief time there were rp accounts on twt so ig that’s what it

kimura loves black people so much and wants to be black so bad he felt the need to bl@ckface for one of his album drops. fandom asked he take down the posts, he didn’t, fans called him out on it, he blocked them

around the time when there was rumblings that gbr was exiting uhhhhh the eu i think, a dice cosplayer had a video of themselves popping mentos in a coke bottle go viral. someone in british politics used it as a metaphor for whatever stance they had on brexit lol

lol i’m lumping hypstage and hypnama together since i don’t think there’s a real reason they’re listed other than occasionally being points of discussion

hifumi was the original tbh creature

asmr tubers vibe with hypmic characters being their yandere bfs

idk if it’s more than memeing on hitoya but that hitoya card in the pic was clowned on so hard LOL

i couldn’t tell you a specific instance of it but hypmic jank includes frequent misspellings lol

lol i also don’t know if there’s actual controversy behind oridivis besides them getting thanos snapped

*rio voice* curry friday and the mtc seiyuu used to celebrate it lol

there was a collab with some instant curry company (probably called curry meshi lol) and they had the leaders rap a song for it. the songs’ are fun and what’s even funnier is that the song has the leaders sharing this curry and kuukou technically didn’t eat the curry bc it was all gone by the time the cup reached him (and jakurai ate most of it LOL)

i have no fcking clue what weenor busujima is lol

the fact hyprice is a thing is a damn good reason to be here lol. ogs know a hypmic series producer made the joke in 2018 during a hypnama that spawned the concept years later lmao

there was a typo on kuukou’s introductory bio that said he was 68cm LOL

akuma no hana is indeed a song about sex idk what else to tell ya lol

throwback to the hypmic bathtubs they had a live for crazy ass hypmic merch moments lol

the hangout streams are located in this building called mixalive. instead tagging that building’s twt for one of their events, hypnosis flava iirc, they mistakenly tagged a porn twt lol

there was an art trend a few years ago where artists drew their bde faves (and even real people got in on the trend) balancing a shampoo bottle on their big 🍆. ichiro was unfortunately the face of the trend

stage hitoya went viral for that pic used in the iceberg and i had to see randos calling him a two face ass character ONLY HYPMICS ARE ALLOWED TO BULLY HITOYA DAMN YOU

the seiyuu are always getting up to shit backstage lmao tradition is ishiya-san and amasaki-san prowling up on the mtc seiyuu menacingly lmao

if there’s drama or anything of relevance outside of yes stream discords exist, ion know about it lol

a few songs are inspired by/interpolate from other songs. this a normal thing in the music industry (let’s get physical by olivia newton john and physical by dua lipa comes to mind) but hypmic caught a lot of flack for ‘stealing’ from black artists. shinogi dead pools is kendrick lamar’s drank swimming pools bar for bar lol but again, it’s very normal lol the whole kendrick vs drake rap battle that happened this year literally was them using each other’s sound to diss them

some european(?) indie film had an actor wearing ichiro’s jacket

there was a brief trend in jp where they made snow sculptures of their characters as means of attractions and hypmic jumped in on it. it produced the ugliest kuukou known to man he was so unflatteringly scrunckly i loved him LOL

????? bat seiyuu family???? i’m sure what i have in mind is not what they have in mind lol but i mean yeah it’s a running joke that the bat seiyuu consider each other family lol shoutout to sakakihara-san randomly calling hayama-san his ‘onii-chan’ and both hayama-san and sakakihara-san bullying tf outta takeuchi-san by calling him ‘papa’ lol

ariana grande is based about samatoki and there’s proof lol

hypmic vs crsm rap battle was REAL and fumiya wanted to EAT THEM

kamio-san has taken to slapping kuroda-san’s ass and kuroda-san has taken to trying to murder him for it 😌

quite recently lol mtr’s album art was leaked ahead of the hangout stream in a post meant to advertise the fan meeting lol

british dice was a theory i didn’t pay attention to bc i kinda thought just the concept was dumb *wheeze* i think it had something to do with a mistranslation about dice’s father

the rest of that tier i have no fcking clue about lol

in a camera transition during the 9th live, someone’s desktop background was on screen instead of the yknow, livestreaming concert lmao

they got some ddb members to make choreography to move your body til you die!!! i tried i didn’t think it was too bad but the pace of the dance needed to be slowed down eventually lol

if this isn’t poking fun at sensei saying men should automatically know how to rap idk what that is lol

if there’s a trip the mtc seiyuu have taken that stands out from the others, i don’t know about it lol

the hypmic cafe that’s going on rn have these stickers??? standees??? for sale and someone stole all of samatoki’s LOL

[hotwaterandmilk]

I'm seeing "Wedding Peach was unsuccessful" trotted out on Twitter again and it's honestly kind of funny to me. You can dislike the series, but you're rewriting history if you suggest it was a massive commercial flop/astronomical failure — it simply wasn't.

The Wedding Peach TV series maintained viewership throughout its run which is why it aired an entire year's worth of episodes (the full length it was intended to run) and didn't get cancelled like Nurse Angel Ririka SOS, for example.

I'm not going to pretend it did Sailor Moon numbers, dear god, it absolutely didn't get close hence why it wrapped as it did. I would suggest looking back now, that it was the definition of a mid-performing title for the time period. It sold toys decently but not outrageously, it got viewers but not an outstanding number, and it garnered a small but dedicated fanbase of male otaku. All of which is par for the course when it comes to a mid title in 1995.

Wedding Peach DX was produced because the TV series LD sales were decent enough to warrant it. Children were not buying LD box sets at this time, adult fans were and it was this interest that justified the creation of the four DX episodes as direct-to-video releases. If a series doesn't sell well they don't make more episodes, let alone higher quality deluxe episodes specifically for the home video market (and thus for older audiences with spending power).

It is very important to point out that Wedding Peach DX had NO INVOLVEMENT from the original creative team. Tomita Sukehiro and Yazawa Nao did not contribute to its creation, Tadano Kazuko didn't provide designs. Yuyama Kunihiko was the driving force behind the production of the DX episodes and he served as both director and writer for all four episodes (bringing on Wedding Peach animator and soon-to-be frequent Pokémon collaborator, Ichiishi Sayuri to serve as character designer).

What inspired these to be fanservice dreck to the level they ended up being is honestly beyond me. I mean the otaku market definitely wanted more episodes featuring the characters (and more songs featuring the seiyuu, if you want to see how keen otaku were for FURIL please see this post) but part of what they liked about the characters at the time was their (barfbarfbarf) perceived purity and innocence. The DX including panty shots and swimsuits kind of threw them for a loop. Even now, if you look at discussions about the DX among otaku there's a bit of a divide in opinion.

The DX episode sales were (as far as I can tell based on magazines from the time) also mid, but enough to cover four episodes. Three and four don't seem to have sold as well as one and two, but again the stats from the time aren't comprehensive. I think the fact that there weren't any after episode four says it all, honestly. OVA episodes are expensive to produce and it was extremely common for them to stop immediately if the sales weren't there. DX didn't justify its existence beyond those four episodes and Yuyama moved onto a far more successful project in Pokémon.

On that topic, I think it's important to note that Wedding Peach was OLM's first television series (albeit a coproduction with KSS). If it and the studio's adaptation of Mojacko hadn't made some level of profit it would have been quite difficult for them to adapt Pokémon. Neither Mojacko nor Wedding Peach set records with their viewership or sales numbers, but they both did "OK". It was in Pokémon however, that that OLM truly found a successful property with the series still running today. Sometimes you've got to have a few runs at producing things before you find success. Wedding Peach was one of these early runs, a project where a lot of people cut their teeth but one that didn't justify its own continuation beyond a certain point. Just a very standard media mix from the mid-90s, in other words.

Wedding Peach is a problematic title with indifference through to outright objection to representing love outside of heterosexual romance. Looking back now it feels like an absolute dinosaur on so many levels. Between the anime's fatphobic episode and Momoko dropping some gender essentialism, I'm not surprised people want to relegate it to the dustbin of history.

However, I think it is very telling that Tomita Sukehiro, when presented with the opportunity to tell a similar story in the modern day, chose to represent not just queer love, but platonic and familial love in Wedding Apple. While he can't undo the regressive and cringy elements of the original series, as a creator he has progressed and I'd like to think we can all continue to improve our outlooks and output as we grow.

Disliking Wedding Peach in the modern day is completely understandable. I'm not going to pretend anyone should watch it in 2024 without knowing that it is a camp, cheaply made relic of a time when heterosexuality was considered magic. However, just because it pandered to all the worst things trending at the time doesn't mean it didn't sell enough products or hold enough viewers to justify its production. It did, it just wasn't a strong enough property to go beyond that and that's representative of mediocrity rather than mind blowing commercial failure imho.

[potentialheartofdarkness]

Eddie heard Steve singing completely on accident. He’d been sitting up in bed, the bed Steve so graciously let him stay in after they got too high to go anywhere, waiting for Steve to shower when he heard it.

The angelic voice he’d never once heard before from Steve of all people.

Now don’t get him wrong, Eddie was and had been for a while; head over heels in love with Steve. They’d become friends after Vecna, bonded by trauma or whatever Dustin kept calling it, and had slowly developed into this weird in between stage. Eddie was trying not to overdo it and scare Steve away, and it seemed like Steve was doing the same. Every tiny roll of Steve’s eyes as he ducked his head to hide a smile or blush at Eddie’s words, felt like a huge win.

He’d seen a lot of Steve lately, learnt a lot about him. They dropped any pretence of sleeping in separate rooms after the nightmares, waking in a pile of tangled limbs and hurriedly pulling apart with muttered apologies. They didn’t address the fact that their apologies felt hollow. He’d learnt that Steve wasn’t sure what his favourites of anything was, always forced to go with the flow of his friends. He’d recently discovered some music he enjoyed and who was Eddie to deny the sparkling eyes of Steve begging him to listen to it with him. He was good with the kids, listening intently and keeping note of their current interests. He’d joined a few hellfire nights, drawing their characters for them. He’d discovered he had a real talent for that and Eddie had to see more of it. He convinced Steve to help draw characters and enemies for dnd nights, and design posters for Corroded Coffin gigs. He’d help Steve along, find some things he liked and helped him explore who he was as a person. Robin did too, the pair of them endlessly recommending things for him to try. Things for him to wear, possible hobbies he could do like baking and even crocheting.

Steve loved it.

But Eddie had never heard him sing before. Not until now. His voice was good, he could keep a tune, he had some natural talent. Not too high, not too low, just scratchy enough to hit the singers sweet spot. Before he knew it he was on his feet and throwing open the bathroom door.

“Stop screaming, Stevie, it’s just me.” He said and Steve peaked his head around the curtain.

“Jesus Ed’s, scared the shit out of me.” His fear melted into mild annoyance and confusion. “Why are you here?”

“You didn’t tell me you can sing!” Eddie accused and Steve flushed, pulling his head back behind the curtain. Eddie heard him start rinsing his hair and immediately went red when he realized their position.

“I didn’t realize that warranted busting down the door when I’m mid shower.” Steve grumbled before he sighed, apparently finished with the water and he shut the tap off. “I’m stepping out.” He warned.

“Steve Harrington, fresh out of a shower and completely nude? My heart won’t stand the sight.” Eddie tried to go for flirtatious to hide his embarrassment but it didn’t quite hit. “I’ll wait outside.” He shut the door behind him. Less than a minute later Steve was opening the door, towel wrapped around his waist and hair still dripping wet. Eddie’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Steve shirtless, what with the Lovers Lake incident and then countless days spent in his swimming pool during the summer. But it always left Eddie sort of breathless, words caught in his throat, heart pounding in his chest.

“Cat got your tongue?” Steve asked, smirk tugging at his lips, as Eddie realized he’d been staring a little too long to be subtle.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing! And I mean really sing, Stevie, like you’re good.” Eddie followed him back to the bedroom and Steve laughed lightly.

“Yeah, church choir and all that when I was little.” He replied, searching his drawers for some sweatpants and one of his yellow sweaters. “I don’t usually sing much anymore, my parents hated it and I didn’t have any songs I liked.” He shrugged and Eddie spun to face the wall when Steve started to drop his towel. He looked at the roof and prayed to any god that could hear him that his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Well I like it.” Eddie’s voice was quiet and with his back to Steve he didn’t see the way his hands fumbled the sweater before pulling it over his head. “And, it’s the perfect kind of voice for some background vocals we’re looking for.” Steve tapped him on the shoulder and he turned back around to face him.

“Background vocals?” Steve perched himself on the edge of his bed as Eddie started pacing, talking with his hands as he tried to explain.

“Okay so, we have this gig coming up and they’re going to let us record an album, like an actual professional album, and we need some background vocals on the tracks.” He stopped and pointed at Steve. “And you, sweet beautiful amazing you, Steve Harrington, have the best fucking vocals for the background track that I have been looking for for months!” Steve stared at him, his face was unreadable and Eddie felt a bit of anxiety pool in his stomach.

“You think I’m beautiful?” Steve asked, and Eddie groaned, running his fingers across his face.

“That’s not the point Steve, I’m asking if you’d do the background vocals.” Eddie took two steps forwards and poked Steve in the forehead and Steve swatted his hand away.

“No lets go back to that. You think I’m beautiful.” Eddie’s face went red and he looked away towards the window.

“It was a slip of the tongue.” He protested before attempting to change the subject. “Look all I’m saying is that, you’re perfect.” Steve’s face broke out into a grin and he rushed to continue his sentence. “I mean for the track! Your voice! It’s perfect! God, whatever. We don’t even have to put your name on it, and if you want to do even more than background vocals maybe we could do that too.” He grumbled, burying his face in his hands to hide the vibrant red screaming off his cheeks.

“So you think I’m perfect, and beautiful.” Eddie dropped his hands to give Steve the most incredulous look, only to be met with a shit eating grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck you.” He went to take a step away but Steve caught him by the wrist.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Eddie spun back around. “You will?”

“Yeah why not, maybe it will be fun.” Steve shrugged, aiming for nonchalant but Eddie could see a pleased grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes sparkled with interest and oh god, Eddie was so far gone.

“Steve Harrington I could kiss you right now, holy shit.” Eddie breathed, filled with excitement and anticipation.

“Okay.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said okay.” Steve met Eddie’s eyes again, a little bit of hope and fear stirring underneath the brown irises and well, Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

(They recorded the album a week later, and Steve even had a side part in a song Eddie had written about him, though he didn’t know it was about him until a few weeks later when Dustin mentioned it.)

[qui-gg]

opinion on the bog ii 🤖🤖🤖

I’ll assume you mean bot and answer accordingly

(Drops art i havent shared and wasnt really planning to. But its appropriate for the things ill talk about yay)

Fun fact i didn’t really have a strong opinion of bots character for a while but then one day i woke up and went “I have an idea for a gjinka” and it caused me to get into their character and now its like my fav gjinka to draw

(Some fun facts about that gjinka design: their head is completely magnetic, and their “hair” is a set of completely removable accessories so their natural state is bald, they can add as much or as little as they want. Also they continue to wear a little pink because i was thinking of the “I can still like chocolate cake” line- they can still like pink too)

I LOVE BOT. Even though i have thoughts and opinions about the iffy nature they were implemented overall i love the concept of a character who was made to be someone else and theyve given me a lot to chew on which i appreciate with a character. What really fascinates me about them is how their interactions with other characters play out so id like to talk more about that⬇️

Their relationship with Cabby was what caused me to create the gjinka design in the first place, and then I found a song that made me think of them and i was like Wow. Bot and cabby’s initial impressions of one another being somewhat at odds due to miscommunication but ultimately other factors (cabby’s disability and bot’s suppression of their fake memory- wow they both have memory issues!) was something that lasted a while but then iii14 saw the end of bot’s assumptions of her being strained when they finally had the chance to actually talk with one another. Bot assumed that Cabby was obsessed with finding a way to explain their existence and identity which they very much felt didn’t need an explanation for who they were, but they realized this is only the way cabby processes the world around her they both place importance on identity both with not knowing their pasts and carving a way for their futures the way they are and they can do it together agh i love ittt

Here my gjinkas of them with an outfit styleswap

One day i kind of started placing suitcase in bots position to cabby though and i just think about their potential relationship primarily now though LMAO but thats unrelated

With fan and test tube I had stronger opinions about how the circumstances/reasons behind creating them weren’t strong enough and it caused both of their characters to backslide from where they were in ii14 but now i like to look at it and take what i can get from it because i like it when characters do bad and questionable things its interesting to analyze why they did something so selfish. In fan’s case he didnt have a strong connection with bow’s death when it happened beyond being a fan of her bc of his low empathy at the time especially he didnt process it as Death, and he believes he knows everything about bow as the number1 fan so now hes the best person for the job, and test tube coldly decides to recreate the image of a person under the idea shes now using her strengths for a good cause, but shes wrong and she has to learn shes wrong. Theyre not bot’s parents- but it’s easiest for them to describe them that way, since they created them, but that’s not quite how their relationship is at all. Bot has no real familial ties with them, and test tube created them with the sold intention of being somebody other than they are, so that’s always going to stick with them and theyre not just a blindly happy family now. Bot is also a grown adult that doesnt just go away they shouldn’t be infantilized so much. They can be friends with fan and test tube because they now recognize them as Bot but honestly theyd prefer keeping a distance when they can because they wish they were made intentionally or were just a person, but they appreciate being created. Its a pretty unique situation

What really fascinates me the most though is the concepts of how they are in relation to Bow, with the concept of being created as a replication of someone who already exists being so terrifying for both involved. In Bot’s perspective, their conscious is being repressed intentionally to continue living someone else’s life who they never even knew and doesnt identify with. And everyone is acting like its fine and okay when theyre the only one who seems to see how scary this is. They just struggle to grasp with their very existence with the only thing to guide them being a paragraph of a character description and to spew references that dont make sense. In BOWS perspective, she was a celebrity and the most popular contestant in the first season of a reality show, and even after dying on it the fans just screamed for her to “come back” though it was impossible. So her likeness kept getting replicated by both the show (doughs inclusion) and fans (bots creation) who both misrepresented her and she could do nothing but watch it play out. Her death was being denied and other people were living her life just because she was popular on a show, it’s terrifying. Terrifying and despair inducing for both of them theyd both have a disdain for one another on an existential degree, and bot finding their identity is freeing for both of them.

Lifetime achievement award made me insane abt this thanks panks

:D ive talked long enough so thanks for reading this far if you made ittt ! More art

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Behind The OC Name

Thank you @kaitaiga @alypink @welldonekhushi @revnah1406 for the tag! Let's do this!

OKAY. I'm gonna turn into a bachelor of yappology here so bear with me ☝️🤓

🌹 Charlotte 'Jade' Le Jardin 🌹

Initially, I wanted to name her 'Roxanne'. Some of you might know this, but Jade used to be my original story's main character called Louisa. BUT, Louisa's initial name was Roxanne. I didn't know why, but elementary school me liked Roxanne so much (I didn't even know that it's also a song title by The Police back then HAHAH). I wanted a very recognizable name, but I think it was a bit much, so I switched to Charlotte because of Charlotte Bronte, the writer. Also, it turns out that 'Charlotte' means 'free man', it's pretty cool since Jade's story is mainly about breaking free from MI6's influence and shackles along with her parents. Meanwhile, Le Jardin was the result of Jade's family's occupation as a florist. I mean, it's a fake last name anyway as they were making an entirely new identity after escaping from MI6.

Jade was literally just because she had a green eyes, but I felt it's too cliche so I made an entirely new black division of MI6 where each agent is named of a type of ore/jewel. Plus, Jade is just easy to pronounce and recognizable, perfect for communication purpose!

🐞 Eleanor 'Ladybug' Graham 🐞

Eleanor's name came up just out of the blue from my mind. I drew Lady's design first, and then decided to make a name for her, and it's either Eleanor or Claudia, and I thought Claudia doesn't suit her at all, so I stayed with Eleanor. Eleanor means 'Light-hearted' or 'shining light', kind of goes along with her 'take-it-easy' attitude and how she's a medic and becomes the light of hope for the wounded. The surname Graham is literally just my obsession with Will Graham from Hannibal. My 14-16 year old ahh was obsessed with NBC Hannibal, and Will held a special place in my heart LOL.

When I created Ladybug, I knew I wanted a special and a cheeky callsign for her to pair with Gaz. I never really liked bugs, but I thought back then that a ladybug's shape and pattern is so damn cute and endearingly silly. So I just went with Ladybug. AND THEN, The NFC Championship 2023 game happened between 49ers vs Lions. Brandon Aiyuk caught a pass from Brock Purdy after the ball straight up bounced from Kindle Vildor's helmet, which resulted in a touchdown in the next play. At the interview post game, Aiyuk said "a ladybug landed on my shoe." JUST THEN I KNEW THAT LADYBUG MEANS 'GOOD LUCK'. And then the gears on my brain turned, and I can connect with how Gaz is always unfortunately hanging/falling from an aircraft, be it an airplane or a helicopter. The fact that he's always came out ALIVE after those events just tell me, there's gotta be a ladybug that's always with him 24/7!

🔥 Barandos 'Bara' Tarigan 🔥

For Bara, I just KNOW that his name's gotta be Bara because there's a celebrity chef from Indonesia called Bara Patirajawane, and it's such a sick name that I just had to make it into a name of my OC HAHAH. Bara also means 'fire embers' and it's pretty cool ngl. Tarigan is a Batak tribe surname (I'm half Batak from my name), so I just wanna have that element on my OC.

⏳ Silja Freyrsdottir ⏳

For Silja, I actually had quite a hardtime to name my OC. I didn't know what her appeareance yet, her story yet, and like what her role was in the God of War Ragnarok storyline. So I started to think of what goddess she was, and I wanted it to be close to Heimdall, so the Goddess of Memory and Remembrance it was. I then searched for that kind of god in the Norse mythology, and I didn't really find anyone that came close to what I imagined, so I just started from sratch. I sketched her character, and as I draw her I make up a story in my mind. Oh, she's an adventurer, a rogue princess, hmmm from what realm, Alfheim? Let's do that cuz I love Freyr. I wanted her name to be either 'Silja' which ironically means 'blind', or Ragnhild, which means 'battlecounsel'. QUICKLY I feel that Ragnhild sounded to professional for her adventurous character. Silja sounded so right, and her name could be like a contradiction to what her ability is, which is seeing people's pasts, but blind to the present (a flaw much like Heimdall's).

Tagging YOU 🫵 Reblog this with your OC's name lore!