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lovesupernova25 · 3 years ago

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Broken Glass

a Quackity Oneshot

warnings: torture (non-explicit), blood, insanity, brief alcohol

i sat down at my computer, blacked out, looked up at 3 am and this was here. please enjoy. (idea from this one comment on this one tiktok that suggested that quackity uses the shape shifting powers some people hc him to have to torment dream. i’ll see if i can find the tiktok!)

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Quackity knew what broken glass felt like. He knew how it felt slicing up his hands, his face, being kissed into his skin. But this was the first time he knew what it felt like in his soul. Yeah- that's what this feeling was.

Broken glass.

Quackity didn’t turn around when he heard footsteps getting closer. He knew who it was already. No one else would be in this wasteland he’d built, anyways. No one was ever here.

“Q?” The rumble of Sam’s voice was concerned, almost hesitant. Quackity grabbed a bottle from the rack. “Quackity- you said it was urgent. What’s going on?” He turned, and the liquor slammed onto the counter. He might’ve relished the way Sam startled, on a better day. Quackity’s hands found the shot glasses, twisted the cap of the bottle. The neon blue that sloshed from the cup reflected the thunder in his gaze.

“Quackity, it’s still early-” But he tipped his head, knocked back the burning liquor. This time, Sam didn’t jump when the glass crashed down next to his hand. Quackity splayed his palms on the cool granite and leaned across to level his gaze with Sam’s.

“I need to visit the prison, Sam.”

Sam had the good sense to nod.

Maybe this was the wrong way to deal with things. Maybe strapping on armor and sharpening his knives wasn’t a healthy way to process his ex-fiances showing up trying to- what? Apologize? Make things ‘how they used to be’? If that was the case, they really were just mocking him. Nothing would ever be the way it used to.

It ended in a fight, of course. It ended in his already cracking heart fully giving out, splintering into a thousand shards like shattered fvcking glass. It ended in him envying Schlatt, because at least when his heart broke down he got to leave.

Quackity’s stuck here, with this void in his chest that keeps him floating oddly outside his body as Pandora swallows him whole.

They don’t even bother signing the waivers anymore. It would be ridiculous, at this point, especially since Quackity’s fully decked out in armor and tools. He guesses Sam’s just realized Quackity won’t be the reason Dream gets out of the hell they’ve so carefully crafted for him.

Levers, keys. The threshold to the heart of the prison is as claustrophobic as ever, but Quackity embraces the suffocating heat. There’s not much for his mind to wander on, here. There is the wall of lava, and there is the rasp of his boots on obsidian, and there is the rough leather pommel of his sword. There is, on the other side of the fire, a sacrificial lamb. Quackity grins and it hurts as the lava simmers down.

Sam says nothing.

“Dream…” He leans on the butt of his axe, looming, and his ears are still ringing with screams. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to give me what I want?” He kneels next to the ragged lump of man on the ground and grabs his chin, forces it up. “C’mon… I would leave you alone then, right? I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t have to hurt you- you would get so much peace and quiet… you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quackity makes his voice honey, his hand gentle. Gods, he thinks he even sees Dream lean into the touch. It’s pitiful, what the admin has become. One of Dream’s acid-green eyes is bloodied and purple, swollen shut, and a cut on his face oozes crimson. His mouth is positively dripping with the stuff, courtesy of Quackity’s pliers and some molars that were just begging to be yanked. He can hear the ragged, wheezing breaths of the man in front of him and Quackity has never felt so sickeningly alive.

“Heh…” Dream flicks his working eye up to hold Quackity’s gaze. “No-” He coughs violently, wheezing and convulsing. The hacking subsides and he forces out; “No peace in death, Big Q. You’ll know that s-soon.”

Quackity’s lip curls. He stands abruptly, taking little satisfaction in the way Dream’s chin cracks against the obsidian.

“You’re pitiful.” This was supposed to help. He thought it did- when he funneled all the glass inside of him into the swing of his axe, the cut of his knife. When the voices in his head were drowned out by the screaming. But Dream was on the ground, bleeding and broken and still acting like he had the upper fvcking hand, and it turned out the glass had grown only sharper.

This isn’t working.

He paces to the back of the cell and yanks a tattered book off the lectern, flipping through it with a scowl. He’s about to chuck the thing in the lava--just to see if it’ll get a reaction out of its’ author--when a name catches his eye. Gingerly, he thumbs back to the page it was written on. Quackity feels so sick he grins when he finds it.

It’s not just one name. It’s hundreds. Some he doesn’t recognize, but most from this server. In fact- it looks like everyone who’s ever stepped foot in Dream’s land has been scrawled on the black-bleeding page. Quackity even thinks he sees his own name in there somewhere. They cover the page almost entirely in ink, written and rewritten and scribbled over each other.

George, Sapnap, Karl, Tommy. Tommy seems to be in there a lot.

Dream must have sat here for hours, scribbling the names of people he would never see again, alone in his personal hell. It’s sick. And something in the back of Quackity’s mind sparks.

“Dream,” He says, as the start of an idea appears. “How would you like to see your friends again?” He sees the confusion in the prisoner’s eyes and has to fight to keep from grinning. “Or… your old friends, I suppose. But I bet they still care about you, don’t you think?” He sets the book down, pacing towards the heap of blood-streaked orange jumpsuit with mock sincerity plastered over his face. His mouth twitches at the look in Dream’s eyes. There’s fear, suspicion, pain… but also, delightfully, hope. He can see Dream trying to crush it, but it’s there. Gods, Quackity could get drunk on that look. Maybe he already is.

“How do you think,” He leans over Dream, hands folded behind his back. “They would feel about you if they saw you now?”

Quackity really is grinning now. The axe wasn’t working, the knives weren’t working, the pliers only made Dream more determined. It was time for a new tactic. He feels that spark in the back of his mind and fans it, turning away from Dream as it grows. He hasn’t dipped into this ability for a long time--people don’t much like his kind--but the only person to see him now is barely human himself. Quackity closes his eyes as the fire washes over him.

When he turns around, he almost breaks character at the shock in Dream’s eyes.

“George?”

There’s so much raw hurt in his voice- gods, why didn’t he think of this sooner?

“Dream…” Quackity says in George’s voice. “Gods… what happened to you?”

“No… how- George-”

“I mean, everybody says you deserved it.” Quackity makes sure the revulsion is clear on his--George’s--face as he steps closer. “I guess you did… Still, though… this is a new low for you.” Dream is actually trying to push himself up now, trembling on wounded arms. “I mean, don’t you remember how things used to be? When we were all together? And now you’re… this. Not to be rude, Dream, but it’s kind of no wonder no one’s broken you out.”

“Stop, you’re… you’re not even real, I…” Dream screws his eyes shut, chest heaving. Aw. It looks like he’s starting to catch on.

“We were all happy, before.” He continues, letting the glass, the anger, slip back into his voice. “Like a family. And then you ruined it. All you’ve ever been is a parasite- it’s just amazing we didn’t notice sooner.” Quackity snarls with George’s face and he knows Dream can’t separate the illusion from reality. “You know what everyone says? They say good fvcking riddance.” Quackity--George--takes a step toward Dream with every word, until he’s sneering directly down at him. “I used to defend you. Down to the very end, I’d defend everything you did- all the wars, all the hurt, broken promises and broken hearts. I was loyal to you.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Not anymore. Now, I say good riddance with the rest of them.”

Quackity doesn’t know much about George and Dream’s history, but he knew they were close. And Dream, for all his boasting about cutting ties, has never truly let go. “I loved you, Dream. And look where it got us. You’re bleeding out in a cell, alone and powerless, and I…” Quackity turns. It’s a damn good thing he’s an amazing actor, or the look on Dream’s face might just make him lose it. It’s the same look he’s seen on just three people’s faces before; three people with worthless rings and broken promises to tie them together.

(“Didn’t you ever love us?”)

But Dream was right about one thing. Attachments are dangerous. And Quackity can wield them like a sword.

“I’m leaving. I don’t need you, Dream. And neither does anyone else.” His lip curls. “You’re worthless, Clay. I hope you rot.”

And the curtain falls.

Dream has pushed himself against a chest by now, heaving and trembling.

“Stop. Stop this, you’re not him, you’re not-” Another coughing fit seizes him and he hacks up blood.

“Wasn’t it a good performance, though? I think I was spot on, Clay.” Quackity leers, in his own voice now. Gods, that was exhilarating.

Dream rests his forehead against the chest, face contorted. “What do you want?” It sounds almost like a sob. Quackity’s smile drops.

“Oh, you know exactly what I want, Dream. You know exactly why I’m still here, and why you can barely stand.” He cocks his head, lip twitching up into a smile. There are a thousand names scrawled into that book, all of them knives sharpened to cut. Quackity’s just gotten started. “Let's see if someone else could encourage you more.”

Dream barely has time to look afraid before the fire has washed over Quackity again.

Lights, camera, action.

“...You always wanted to be remembered, huh.” Sapnap’s voice says. Dream closes his eyes, breath hitching. “You’d always play the hero, when we were kids. Make George and I be the villains every time.” His eyes have been on the ground, but he lifts them now, stares down the figure in the corner. “Look where that fvcking got us.” And this hurts both of them, Quackity knows- because he knows Sapnap’s voice, his mannerisms, the way he sounds when he’s devastated and the way he sounds when he wants to burn the world with rage. Slipping into his skin is as easy as breathing and feels like suffocating all at once.

“You promised me- you promised me this would be our world. That we’d stay together, that we’d finally be happy.” And it is too easy to let that heartbreak bleed into his voice, sprinkle it with the rage and hate of wasted memories.

(“You promised me we’d be happy together.”)

He paces towards Dream with a glare like wildfire. “Well guess what, Dream. I am happy now. This whole server is happier now.” Quackity yanks the man in the orange jumpsuit up by the collar and snarls at his whimper of pain. “Without you. Without your sick fvcking games, without your wars, without your broken promises!” He’s shouting now, and he can see the whites of Dream’s eyes, like a horse near a fire. Quackity drops him with Sapnap’s hands like a rat he’d been holding by the tail. “Do you remember the promises you’d make, Dream?”

And now Quackity feels himself shifting again, almost involuntarily. His voice pitches higher and demonic horns scrape the obsidian above them. “You promised me peace.” Quackity says in BBH’s voice. “You said we’d be safe, that we’d win the wars!” It’s almost sickening to take the form of someone whose mind he knows is long gone. Worth it, though, to watch Dream squirm. “Is this what peace looks like to you, Dream? I can’t even remember what your face looks like!” There’s desperation in his voice, though Quackity doesn’t even know if what he’s saying is true. For all he knows it could be. “I can’t remember,” He takes a step towards Dream, glowing eyes wide with horror “What my own face looks like.”

“Bad-” Dream’s voice is almost pleading. He doesn’t want to hear this.

Good.

"Every time I look in the mirror-” Quackity’s breath hitches, just for dramatic effect. “All I see is red. Crimson. I’m poisoned, Dream. Because that’s what this place does to people.” The fire is back, transforming him. Quackity doesn’t even try to control it this time.

“That’s what you do to people.” Ponk’s voice rings throughout the cell.

“You poison them.” Alyssa.

“You tear them down.” Fundy.

“You think you’re so powerful,” Punz.

“But in reality-” Skeppy.

“You’re. Just. A. Parasite.” Karl hisses at the god on the floor who bleeds red regret instead of ichor.

Quackity doesn’t know where the words are coming from, now.

(“This country- it’s like a parasite, Q!”)

His breaths come ragged. When the fire sweeps through him again, Quackity nearly burns away himself.

Sapnap’s voice is tired when he speaks with it.

“You were never the hero, Dream. Turns out, you were never even part of the story.”

And Dream is left a crumpled mess of grief and blood at his feet as the fire dies to ashes.

Quackity’s tired when he leaves the cell that evening. It’s the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from more than lack of sleep, and it drags at his limbs. Sam does not look at him, and Quackity wonders if he knows what horrors were used in that cell today. He somehow can’t bring himself to care.

It was cruel, he knows. He slipped into their skin and cut Dream to shreds with the broken glass at his fingertips, ripped open his soul instead of his flesh and took pleasure in just tearing something down. It was cruel, but so is (was) Dream, and so is the world he created. Everyone gets cut and everyone bleeds, and the only thing to do is hope that your weapon is sharper than theirs. He’s had that lesson seared into his mind and cut into his skin too many times. So today when Quackity leaves a trembling mess behind the wall of fire, he cannot see Sam’s eyes- but if he could, he thinks they would hold something like fear.

So he steps out into the night, and he smiles, sharp and painful as broken glass.

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sanstropfremir · 3 years ago

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Thank you so much for your blog - you manage to explain to me a lot of the feelings I have bubbling up these days when I watch kpop so I can finally understand why I do/don’t like something. It’s really nice to have some deeper perspective!

Since you’ve given a lot of your kpop pros and cons, a scenario: someone tomorrow magically puts you in charge of making a new kpop group. What type of people do you look for for the group? What sort of music/dance would you pick? Obviously also what type of fashion would go with it? I’m curious what your theoretical ideal is!

here anon take my whole heart i'm <333333333 sincerely i'm glad that i'm helping people to better articulate and understand how they engage with art!

ok first thing's first, my actual ideal job would be creative director for two midsize sibling groups to do a paired concept. like shinee's view and f(x)'s 4 walls. basically i would like to be min heejin. doesn't have to be two opposite gender groups, it can be two of the same; oneus and onewe could be doing some REAL dope shit, especially because they have actual twins hello rbw do something with them and/or hire me please!! second ideal actual job is to creative direct for a male soloist, someone like taemin, key, or woodz; someone who has good creative instincts and understanding of character and confident sense of self.

ok so ideally, in this fake scenario, i don't think i'd want to design a debut. i'd instead go for a boy group with minimum five-six years of experience and average age of the group is 24-25+. not because young kids aren't springy and spritely, but because they've all settled into their bodies and also have settled into their confidence. i also just don't have the feel for 'youthful' type content, i didn't ever feel young even when i was young so it's always been out of my wheelhouse. gimme a bunch of adults please and thanks.

- as far as makeup of the group: five members, generally all with good dance skills but it's not a must, at least three vocals and one of them HAS to be a baritone. actually, since this is my ideal group you know what? fuck it; three tenors (countertenor optional), baritone, bass. music? either classic rock/opera inspired (something like bad love, maniac, fever, valkyrie (rock version) OR go real crunchy and horrible and americana with it. i'm talking iron smashed together with l'enfer with devil with the beast with idea with jungle with eat raw meat = blood drool with impressionable. we're gonna get real dirty with it. the bside they also promote is gonna be a combo of hypnotized/love on the floor/sugar. there's also solo bsides for each of the members and the main dancer does a blend contemp/urban choreo routine to so handsome hello.

ok styling. this one could go a lot of different ways depending on song and lyrics and theme and truly i don't think there's actually a specific type of styling that i need to see, because my personal methodology is always to come up with something that fits those themes, not necessarily all the things i want to see ever in a styling. but let's do some brainstorming:

- IF classic rock route: since i'm imagining the theme of this as a very aggressive critique of celebrity + fan culture, we're talking a second crack at the fake reality concept and we are doing it RIGHT this time. think that combined with the maniac set design combined with papaoutai combined with this 2019 paper magazine shoot:

yes including the doll makeup. thom browne suiting x the new 2022 moschino:

big boots and square toed shoes, transformative references/silhouettes/shapes/colours from the late 50s/60s thru to the early 70s, plus throwing in some references to to surrealist photography + filmmakers like dora maar and maya deren. honestly maniac got really close to what i was thinking but personally i wouldn't have taken it in the pop culture/horror film direction because that isn't where my brain goes first.

- IF crunchy americana route: this one is a little harder to illustrate because the type of clothing i'm thinking about would be custom handmade builds for each of the performers, but here's some of the vibes i'm thinking about. this would likely be along similar theme lines of a critique of the fan + celebrity relationship, but with a stronger emphasis on the violence inflicted on the celebrity, whether it be from external forces or from internal ones:

yep. would love to do some choreographic/mise en scene stuff with mirrors and the idea of mirroring/things that seem the same but are different. also thorn imagery. lots of thorn imagery.

#is my ideal group shinee or a.c.e or cix? who's to say #am i describing an ideal bf formerly known as boyfriend comeback because they have actual identical twins? who's to say #OR am i talking about xenex our ultimate flop kings? WHO'S TO SAY #@ woodkid @ stromae would you be interested in producing for a kpop group please im begging #kpop questions #i don't even know what else to tag this as lmao #general design questions #maybe?#hi welcome to how my brain works it's a mess in here #i've had this in my drafts for a while and i cannot believe changmin came so close to nailing two of what my ideal comebacks would be #hey changmin if you're reading this hire me please and thanks #text #answers #someone sent me an ask yesterday about who i would pick as my idol muses which is like. slightly different than this question #but i figured i would get this one out first so i have something to reference when i publish that one tomorrow #fave posts

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lostsoulaltair · 4 years ago

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OnS Chapter 99 - Deep analysis - Love

Hello everyone, I hope you’ve been well; remember to take care of yourself everyone!

The new chapter is out, and of course,analysis and theories will come but, there’s something I want to talk about which was discussed with two friends from discord.

Therefore, let’s begin!

One of the things this chapter carried was “Love”. And many might say or state it’s the cliché of undeveloped romance but, the issue is, that’s not the central point of the story, how can I say this?

In one of the Afterwards Kagami released that sadly it’s not translated and I asked my friend which translated the raw chapters each time they were released to translate it; Kagami states the value of family and love, but for that, let’s talk about it on how that applies towards the story.

First of all, Kagami Takaya stated long ago that Romance wasn’t the main theme of the story; which so far has been true until the doubt that was born during the current chapter. But there’s a huge issue everyone dismisses, what could it be?

The issue is, love takes many forms, it’s not only romantic love or yearning for another person; how can I say this?

Within each chapter, we’ve seen love countless times among humans; and this isn’t romantic wise; it goes to the small shape of caring for another, it goes to worrying for the well being of another:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 20

It might seem like it’s a common panel with comedy but actually, that’s the first time Shiho Kimizuki shows love and affection in the shape of caring twards a friend, towards family; towards someone who supported and encouraged him to take a decision in way more early chapters.

It’s true the squad is young, it’s true they’eve spent at least 5 months together due to how the story began; but yet, they slowly started to take care of each other in their own ways without stating it clearly.

Another proof of such emotion is this:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 23

Another view of this is back in chapter 23 when Shinoa was going to tell Yu about the incident that happened when he became a seraph for the first time; but before that, the squad wanted to make a peaceful dialogue first and for that, they started to do it like a family would; Shinoa and Mitsuba aimed to cook for the guys that technically are the strength of the squad when it comes to defense; but of course, both ladies don’t know how to cook and this ended up depending on Shiho Kimizuki to cook a breakfast for the whole squad, therefore, what’s the point to this?

Correct. Love isn’t romance alone; love is caring for each other, making sure to deliver an appropiate notice to someone you care and that’s what the squad did together; they worry about Yu and true, they might not express it towards words but they can do it through actions:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 35

Yoichi used something Yu repeated to them and that goes to what Mika taught him back when they were in the vampire capital; they became family, they took care of each other’s back and this applied to Mikaela as well not due to him being an important person to Yu but rather because they care about Yu’s happiness and well being; they care for a person that means a lot to someone within the squad and it’s reflected a lot on Mikaela when he showed distrust towards Yu’s friends.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 56

Another form of love despite the picture uploaded is the fact that Guren loves deeply his friends and specially Shinya, does this mean it’s romantic?

No. Shinya was the very first friend Guren had, a friend that supported his idea to destroy the Hiragi Family so they could be free from their graps ever since the events before the Catastrophe; they trusted each other in order to find out what they Family planned along what Mahiru aimed; both were partners in arms to check each other’s back and eventually, those two started to find more friends which later on became Mito, Goshi, Sayuri and Shigure; and the reason for Sayuri and Shigure to be friends was because they’ve been loyal to Guren; they were supporting pillars but they saw themselves as followers from the Ichinose household until that slowly changed; they saw each other as equals and friends as well.

Even when the world was going to end, they raced towards it bravely even if it meant dying in the process, but of course,Guren couldn’t withstand such event which lead to the Resurrection.

Is there any other form of love?

Of course there is:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 58

While it’s true the scene displays Kureto struggling agaisnt Shikama Doji and relies on kissing Aoi; it’s true that Kureto does harbor feelings towards Aoi but the fact that the shadow of his father, the shadow of the whole Hiragi Family was casted on each member; this only made that Kureto couldn’t express such feelings at ease, but such emotion of love could be seen back in the last volume of the LNs of the Catastrophe.

After the fight Kureto had with Mahiru; Kureto dialed his father to ask if this was also aware of everything to which Tenri replied that it was; that everything was proceeding according to certain plan.

And of course, during this conversation, Aoi Sangu became Tenri’s hostage since he ordered to shot Aoi; Kureto of course worried about her and made Aoi use her cursed gear to heal herself; and you might wonder, where’s the love within this?

The love in there as it’s pure form is the fact that Kureto does care about Aoi’s well being despite her being the least enjoyable character to see within the story by what the fandom has expressed so far and. Kureto despite having a cold demanor cares a lot about Aoi and it’s well seen in the fight against Tenri, when he goes and protects her.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 5

Another form of love is the one that displayed Mikaela Hyakuya towards Yuichiro Hyakuya, a selfless love that was born from the very bottom of his heart:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 90

Correct. Mikaela told Yu he loved him; such form of love it’s the purest because Yu meant the world to Mikaela; Yu became his light to fight all the things his heart endured, Mikaela wanted to see Yu happy, he wanted to see him safe after the events of Ferid killing their family in front of them without mercy.

Yu and Mika have had a strong bond with all the time they’ve spent together; they knew what bothered them along when to scold each other whenever was uneasiness.

The love Mika displays towards Yu is a sincere form of love, the one that aims or seeks to see the well being of an important person; a love that aims the total security of said person but within this, it does not only focus on that; Mikaela despite being a vampire was able to keep lingering emotions since his reason to live was still alive; he was aware of Yu’s nature and yet, he did his best to ensure his safety despite adversity; but within this, he was aware Yu was in good hands, he had a family that cared about him, and of course, may might say chapter 95 was the opposite of it but, chapter 99 really striked down on such beliefs:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 99

Shiho and Yoichi were the first ones to get triggered by Yu’s easy emotions of just hearing Mikaela will be saved.

They doubted Guren for his actions and how it delivered to Mikaela’s death. They’re young, they don’t know how to express the form of love that goes by embracing someone or giving support words but one thing they do display is through actions; they care about Yu and care about what Mika held dear as well; they’ve lost their important ones in the process and they’re not willing to lose more.

And lastly, the love that confessed Shinoa Hiragi to Shikama Doji; while it’s considered quite surprising and even as something manipulated; in fact, that’s not really the case; Shinoa wanted to have a normal life, being a normal girl but she was aware she wouldn’t be one from the beginning and specially after remembering the events on which Mahiru ended sealing her emotions:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 99

I understand very well that this might be unpleasant to some, or joyful for others; as the writer of this analysis, I don’t find it joyful nor unpleasant; everything is held within a neutral point of view; and what it’s displayed in said chapter is actually Shinoa accepting what her heart feels. She’s aware her heart does beat fast when she’s close to Yu but it doesn’t mean she’s obsessed with him nor means she lusts for him; but rather, just like Mikaela; she wants to see him happy, that for once he manages to have a happy life, that he is safe just like the squad does too.

The main focus of the story asides from defeating the First Progenitor isn’t about creating romance; but rather to show that love takes shapes, love is built with time, it can go for appreciation, respect, careness, happiness for the wellbeing of someone that changed a life.

P.S: Analysis are held within a neutral view, they don’t support ships nor anything. The choice of shipping goes only to each respective reader.

The purpose of this analysis is not to justify or say Kagami is enforcing romance but rather, he is aiming to show that adminst catastrophic events, “love” is the key to keep standing, to keep fighting even if the reasons to live may be silly.

And just like my favorite lore story which is Honkai Impact 3rd, they always state: “Fight for all that’s beautiful in the World.”

That is applied within this chapter as well. A fight against a being that has a God complex.

What do you think dear readers? Do you agree love takes different forms? Let me know.

GIF belongs to hopeymchope

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hoodoo12 · 3 years ago

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The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 2/?

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @werwulfy @mel-time @rainingpaint @heresathreebee @infptarius @turtlepated @sweetcat-666 @fireflower1015 @go-whovian-universe @genderless-cryptid @monsterlovinghours @strange-n-unbluusual @love-pony13-blog

Pate never did fall back asleep properly, but she was content to doze lightly in Beetlejuice’s arms for a few more hours. It wasn’t deep enough to dream, but in between snoozes she did her best to commit what she had seen in the nightmare to memory. The better to understand it, she hoped.

Even Lillian was of two minds as to whether or not the dreams meant anything at all but Pate couldn’t shake the notion that they meant something important. Maybe they were warnings. Her first thought was Rigel, trying to claw his way back into their lives. Just the thought was enough to make her shudder and Beetlejuice’s arms tightened around her, sensing her unease.

They spent the weekend in, lazing together on the couch and rewatching The Mandalorian. Pate felt bad that she was really too tired these days to take him out to do anything, but he never seemed to mind. She recorded her dreams in the journal to take to Lillian’s for the next session, slept fitfully Saturday and Sunday night, and all too soon it was Monday again.

Showering woke her up a bit more, chasing away the last of the feelings of dread from her nightmares and she readied herself for work. As he usually did, Beej saw her off at the door. Pate wound her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, pecking him on the nose before departing.

⁂

Pate always seemed to get better rest closer to dawn. He hated that she had to then be woken just when she was comfortable; Mondays really did suck. Beetlejuice hoisted himself up on the sink in the bathroom while she showered, wishing he could join her under the spray like he’d done in Las Vegas, but she was already behind schedule and a distraction wasn’t going to be appreciated.

He stayed out of her way even though he followed her around through the apartment as she made to leave. Promising to be good but knowing there was no way for her to possibly think of every single thing that could be construed as “bad��, he pressed against her to steal some of her body heat and then watched her leave. He went to the front window to look down at her as she made it to her car, and blew a kiss when she saw him in the window. He watched till she was gone out of the parking lot.

Another day alone in the apartment. At least he had the freedom to smoke inside with Pate gone, so he lit a cigarette and stared forlornly at the empty room. Pate had suggested he take up a hobby to fill the time, but put her foot down when he believed raising a baby Sandworm would be a good idea.

“Whatever a “Sandworm” is,” she’d included at the end of the conversation.

She didn’t leave her dream journal behind; her mentor had told her to keep it with her so she could jot things down if they came to her, but Beej had read through it when she was dozing beside him. That wasn’t invading her privacy, not really, he justified, because she just left it right beside the bed--

--Lillian Borden.

He could go visit Lillian Borden and talk to her about Pate’s progress or lack thereof.

The thought sprung on him so quickly the cigarette fell out of his mouth. He crushed it into the carpet, vowing to himself he’d clean it up before Pate got back and saw it, and stepped into the ether to visit the antique shop Pate spent so much time in.

⁂

The store was closed, of course. It was early in the morning for the antique crowd. But Pate had mentioned the old woman lived above the store, so he simply spirited through the door. Good thing he wasn’t a vampire, he chuckled to himself.

Making his way through the aisles towards the staircase he could see, a few of the items he passed had some tendrils of energy that either moved towards him like he was a magnet, or away from him like they were repelled. All of them were wispy and easily avoided. On a wall hung a old, ratty taxidermied deer head that slowly turned to look at him, but he was pretty sure whatever that was wouldn’t be able to move any further. Its glass eyes lit with inner fire and if there was some way to make friends with that thing, it would make a very creepy Halloween decoration.

Beetlejuice made a mental note to talk to it later.

Reaching the stairs, there was a slight resistance as he put his foot on the first step. Bulling his way through it, it popped like he’d broken bubblewrap and he skipped the rest of the way up. If it was a ward, there was no sense in knocking on the door at the top, so he simply opened it and went inside.

There, he found a small, clean apartment. Plants surrounded the windows, and old tin type photographs and decorative mirrors were hung on the walls. Someone was in the kitchen.

Straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair--which did nothing to tame it--Beetlejuice walked to the door separating the living space from the kitchen and found the older woman standing at her stove, stirring something in a pot. A tea kettle was also on, with steam rising from the spout. She was muttering something half under her breath.

“Hi!” he said, without preamble. “You’re Lillian Borden, right? Pate’s been coming to see you, and I want to talk.”

He could never remember that people needed some warning when he appeared and started talking. Typically he was met with screams.

This woman didn’t scream. She turned towards him, eyes narrowed, with a knife in her hand he hadn’t noticed on her far side. There was more of that strange repellent energy wafting from the knife, and he held his hands up even though his natural instinct was to meet force with force.

“I just want to talk, lady--”

She didn’t look like she wanted to talk, really.

⁂

In all her years, Lillian had never expected to find herself with a pupil.

But then this young woman had come into her shop one day, and it was like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer when she got closer. Lillian had met others in her time with… gifts, but none like this girl. Whatever she had, it was potent, close to the surface, and raw as wet clay just waiting to be shaped. She must have sensed something about Lillian because in no time she was showing up regularly, asking for Lillian to teach her, to show her how to handle this power inside her.

At first Lillian had been reluctant to go poking around something so volatile, but eventually she conceded that the younger woman was in need of guidance. What with the strange, terrible dreams that disturbed her sleep and the almost miasmic aura that seemed to accompany her. It didn’t emanate from her, it just hung around her like a cloud of smoke from a cigarette. There was something haunting her, something Lillian urged her to purge as quickly as possible.

For whatever reason, Lillian could tell that Pate hadn’t done it, that she actively lied about it when asked. Why she should want some dark spectral energy floating around her all the time was beyond Lillian’s ability to comprehend, but she felt sure that it had something to do with the girl’s nightmares, or even her abilities themselves.

It was Monday, not quite time to open up the shop, so she muddled about in the kitchen. Lillian didn’t consider herself a witch or a Wiccan or any such thing, but there were certain practices that she had found beneficial in her particular way of life. The tea was almost ready to come off the stove, the talismanic elixir she’d been preparing nearly finished when she felt it: the ward on her stairs dissipated like a puff of breath on a frigid day.

She paused momentarily in what she was doing, opening the drawer by the stove and withdrawing a black-handled athame from it’s sheath, keeping it concealed by her body as she continued to putter around the stove, mumbling a protective charm against whatever was entering her apartment.

He greeted her genially enough, mentioning Pate by name and Lillian knew at once that who or whatever this garishly bedecked man with his green hair and striped suit and mischievous aura was, it was the entity she sensed around her student.

Turning toward him, gripping the athame tightly and feeling the thrum of energy in the instrument, Lillian maintained her cool despite the intrusion.

“Don’t imagine you and I would have much to talk about,” she said not impolitely.

⁂

“Well, Pate’s a common denominator,” Beej replied snappishly, despite trying to keep his voice in more the pleasant range. He wasn’t exactly sure what his hair was doing color-wise at the moment; that knife in her hand put him on edge.

He moved towards her to help her understand his sincerity about the situation, although he dispensed with pleasantries.

“I watch what’s been happening to her. I see the nightmares she has. She came to you for help and it isn’t getting any better, so you and me, we’re gonna talk--”

⁂

The tea kettle’s shrill whistle sounded behind her as the thing that looked like a man but wasn’t a man stepped closer. Without pausing another moment Lillian pointed the athame at his chest and traced a sigil in the air, murmuring in rapid Latin as she repeated the movements of the consecrated instrument again and again.

She reached down within herself, feeling for the well of power that resided inside and tapped into it, pouring her will and intent into the drawing of the sigil and the recitation of the incantation. He froze in place as if his shoes were stuck to the scuffed hardwood floor, looking first down at his own feet and then back up at her as she continued to chant and trace with the athame. His form began to blur and then to disintegrate around the edges, spreading inward as a stiff breeze from nowhere blew his coat and tie and hair around until they were no more.

Lillian didn’t relax even when she was once again alone in the kitchen, nothing remaining of the entity that had stood before her. Keeping a tight hold on the athame, she strode slowly but purposefully towards the decorative mirrors hanging on her living room wall. Inside the glass she saw, not her own reflection, but the man who had broken her ward and entered her home uninvited.

After verifying that her temporal displacement had succeeded, only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

“There,” she said in a grim, satisfied tone. “That ought to hold you. And keep you away from that girl.”

The figure in the glass raised both fists, hammering against the surface of the mirror but made no sound. Turning away, Lillian returned to her kitchen and took the kettle off the stove.

⁂

Coming at him with that dark-handled knife wasn’t good. Beetlejuice bit off his own sentence and raised his hands to show he was no threat, but whatever this old lady was doing he felt a combination of bound and dizzy. She was going to stab him, and he most definitely did not want that to happen; instinctively he knew that blade meant bad news.

But she didn’t stab him, only the air in an intricate design. Her Latin was whispered and hurried, and he only caught some of it, “Entrapment . . . reflection . . .” as an unearthly breeze caught him. Glancing at his feet, they seemed to fly away as if dust on the wind. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel like anything, but he didn’t like it and opened his mouth to protest, to say they got off on the wrong foot. Before any words could leave his mouth he was no longer in her kitchen.

Now he was looking out at her living room from an odd angle. He didn’t know what had happened, and defensively black tentacles erupted around him, but there was nothing here to fight against. Just a white endless plain, except for the window he was looking out of. Beetlejuice willed his tentacles away.

A movement in his periphery caught his eye and he leaned forward to see it better. His forehead hit something. Brow furrowed, he raised his hands and they were stopped by something unseen as well.

Lillian came into full view in front of him, peering at him like a bug under a magnifying glass. When she stepped closer, what he could see of her changed--only her shoulders and head were visible. He tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

He had no problem hearing her and her proclamation that he’d be ‘held’, and kept away from Pate.

Beetlejuice pounded on the glass, shouting that there was a mistake, that she better let him out, he was going to rain terror down on her the likes of which she’d never imagined--

Lillian smiled sweetly and walked away, back out of his range of vision. The kettle stopped whistling.

The whole thing had only taken three minutes, tops.

⁂

It took him some time to figure out where she’d imprisoned him. He hadn’t paid much attention to her living room since he had immediately heard her in the kitchen, but after some thought--because what else was there to do in an endless white space of nothingness?--and her returning, giving him a smile, and sitting down to watch TV (it was some Hallmark movie that was possibly more torturous than being wherever he was), he realized he could only see the windows opposite the wall that separated the kitchen and living room. That, and where she was sitting he could only see the top of Lillian’s head.

She’d put him in one of her mirrors.

“FUCK,” Beej shrieked into the void. There was no echo, which was creepy.

This old woman was going to keep him down in her antique store of horrors! He wondered how many of the presences he felt walking through the first floor of the place were people like him--misunderstood, just wanting to talk, and she was like some self-appointed Pinkerton agent, cleaning up potential problems.

Beetlejuice slammed the back of his head, hard, on the glass. Lillian didn’t react. He let the tentacles come out again, and used their strength to attack it. Nothing. Brute force wasn’t the way out. Cleverness was.

If he sat with his back below the glass, he was fairly sure he was unseen. Maybe she had some fancy-schmancy wards on the glass, but maybe there was another way out. He let his tentacles explore the space. There wasn’t much, just endless white. There was no way for him to call for help. No way to let Pate know what had happened. He’d be stuck here for an undetermined amount of time--

--a tentacle found a seam.

Not a seam per se, but some break. Crack. He didn’t know what, because it was white too. Scooting over to it, Beetlejuice couldn’t even see it, but he could feel it beneath his fingertips. He dug a nail under it, not caring that it became ragged, only wanting to widen it and see what might be beyond. When it was more than just a crack, a tentacle snaked in and broke it open more. Pieces fell away like plaster, and shoving his face against the hole he could see another window.

Another mirror!

Tenaciously, Beetlejuice tore apart the crack until he could squeeze through. He had no idea how much a maze it might be, with nothing to guide him. He’d just keep going until he could find Pate’s bathroom mirror, as long as it took.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties that bind

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putseraphinaonthaphone · 4 years ago

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She Said 'I love you' and My Dick Got Hard | Group Chat AU HCs

cw// high sex, soft sex, love confessions, d/s and poly dynamics, creampies, cuddles

Shinsou

waits until Dabi and Shouto have their time with you before whispering in your ear one morning when you wake up in his arms "Sleepy Sunday?"

you nod and turn so you can nuzzle his throat, and even though you're sore from the insatiable appetites of your other three boyfriends you find yourself pushing closer and closer to him

"aren't you going to ask me?" you mumble against his skin as your kiss his pulse point

"if you have something to tell me, then tell me. I'm not going hold your hand through this baby. Not this time. You have to be a big girl use your words and look me in the eye."

he doesn't rush you, but when you push him back and straddle him feeling his morning hard on beneath you as you start to grind over him he looks surprised but.. pleased

"I love you, Shinsou. I want to be yours, and wake up to you for the rest of my life," after doing this three times it was easier to say the vulnerable words and you never stopped grinding down onto him, knowing he won't mind if your confession is a little breathless the more you get turned on by the intensity of his eyes on yours

"You're so fucking stuck with me now," was his only reply as he flips you over so he can push you panties to the side and with a quick push of his sweats down his hips he's inside you, groaning into your ear "again, tell me fuck again"

"Daddy! Love you, love you so much," you cry out as he starts fucking you with more intensity than he ever has, and you're overwhelmed in the best way when his hands clamp down on your hips and he growls

"no running, ever. not when you're finally, truly mine. good little girls don't run from daddy's love," and you're nodding even when you're cumming until you cry

and your pussy is a mess of your slick because Shinsou is still fucking you

he's biting and sucking hickies onto your neck and savoring every breathless plea for a break, that it's too much, and simply shushing you by murmuring "this is how daddy wants to love you, you love me don't you? then take it"

and you think after he fills your pussy with his cum once you're done, but suddenly your boyfriend who claims he has as much energy as a rock is the energizer bunny, and when he pushes you into a mating press before rutting into you once more you realize you're well and truly fucked

Dabi

Is first one to start pounding on the door the next morning, anxious to get his hands on you and spank you raw for pulling this shit and making him wait

Bakugou opens the door with just his jeans on and a glare, but Dabi is just as pissed and you sigh at having to be the reasonable one this early in the morning

"Kat, fair's fair." You call out softly as you sit up and rub your eyes clutching the sheet to your chest halfassedly, and fuck if that doesn't make Dabi want to fuck you right now so you stay soft and pliant for him

"Fine. I love you baby, text me okay?" The blond relents after a moment, coming to kiss your temple before giving one last dirty look to Dabi on his way out, closing the door behind him

Then Dabi's on you and your smile is like looking at the sun because he's stunned, and instead of the usual urge to fuck you until you cry, he just want to make you feel so good you can't hide your feelings

"Dabi.." your voice saying his nickname makes him smirk, but he leans in close and whispers in your ear, "Touya. My name.. is Touya. I want you to say my name when we're alone okay?" you nod and watch him with so much love in your eyes

He was like an older brother to Shouto because Sho's dad mentored him as their next door neighbor who exhibited a lot of raw talent, and you knew it went horribly wrong- to the point that it usually triggered him to hear his real name after Sho's dad spit it at him while beating him up for not controlling his quirk enough

So to have this trust placed in you made it a little easier for you to try and start, "Touya.."

But you were cut off by his mouth on yours, because in the end, he didn't need the words. He read every emotion in your eyes like he always did

And he hoped you knew he felt the same, so deep it felt like loving you was in his bones

So you were the first person besides Sho to see Touya be gentle

He stretched you on his fingers while he made you cum with his pierced tongue, and to your surprise (and to your pussy's delight) he praised you, "perfect little pussy from my perfect little girl, couldn't have asked for a better 'I love you gift'"

And you were gasping because it was the first time he said the words out loud, and fine, if you liked the words that much he'd give them to you

"I love you doll, from your smart ass mouth to your tight ass pussy.. and your pretty little ass," he pressed a teasing kiss to your tight rosebud (and if Katsuki hadn't ignored your embarrassed squeaks when he personally cleaned you out in the en-suite bathroom so he could fuck every hole full of his cum, you know, to mark you as completely his 'little fuck toy' as he grumbled in his sexy ass deep voice of his) you would have tried harder to get away, or at the very least not moan out

"fuck me there, Touya, please.." which was basically asking him to toss gentleness out the window, but damnit you loved him with all his rough edges, and you knew he loved you too even if he fucked you like a whore

"You let that fucking-" his jaw clenched and instead of continuing he simply barked out the order, "face down, ass up."

You didn't need to be told twice, and you spread your knees wide so he could see your ass and how wet he made you without obstruction

the sound of him spitting registered with you a second before the nasty wetness of it his your asshole, and you jerked at the filthiness of it even as you bit your lip to keep from moaning

but you couldn't keep quiet when his hand connected with your ass with a resounding CRACK!

"you're going to have to make this up to me you know," he said with a eerily steady voice, and you whimpered - nodding against the sheets and wiggling your ass in apology (even though you couldn't regret the way Kat had made you cum with his cock in your ass his his skilled fingers on your clit with a few slaps to your pussy thrown in the mix)

"anything" you looked at Touya over your shoulder and even though your eyes fluttered closed for a minute when two of his fingers pushed his spit into your ass at once with a stinging stretch, you did your best to keep your eyes on him as you did you best to make it up to him

"even since, hhng, ever since you took me there the first time, I can't help but like it so- so much, love it- love you-" you confessed as he stretched you hastily, because he wanted it to hurt a bit as he taught your ass once more who its master was by branding the shape of him into your guts

"is that so? I turned you into an anal slut 'cause you love me?" he teased even though his hand was flying over his fist as he watched you fuck your tight ass back onto his fingers while telling him how much you loved him

maybe if you didn't sound so sincere while you were looking like a whore he could resisted the urge to fuck you into a wheelchair

but you did, you were genuinely in love with him like he only dreamed because who could love someone like him? so to see you looking him in the eye even as your bottom lip trembled and tears clung to your lashes while his thick fingers stretched you ruthlessly for his cock, and trying to smile as you called him Touya and told him you loved him made him lose it a bit

so you were left crying out his name loud enough for the whole house to hear as he fucked your tight ass open on his pierced cock, and fuck you thought you could cum just from this

"you will, you're going to remember why I'm the one that made you love it in your slutty, perfect fucking ass." Touya groaned and you could've laughed deliriously at the thought that he fucked the honesty out of you

but all you did was nod and try to keep your voice steady while he railed your ass as you answered sweetly, "I will, love you! I'll be g-good,"

and everytime he thought you'd safeword, because he really was pounding you too hard for you to like it right? but you just moaned like a fucking whore when his balls slapped against your empty pussy and he pulled you onto his dick with his inescapable grip on your hips, you just sobbed out a "love you!" instead

you squirted so hard when you came you had to change the sheets

Shouto

not exactly sure where to begin, so he's grateful when you just kiss his cheek and suggest a wake and bake when you wake up to him instead of Touya in bed with you (he'd left a blunt and a text that he expected you to keep in touch for the next time you want to get soft on him)

you cuddle up to him, starting to feel like you'd be permanently sore between your legs, and after a few rotations he has to ask, "you meant it?"

"every word, I love you Sho," you answered honestly, because he looked so vulnerable and unsure that you had to let him know you were his without hesitation

"but-"

"no buts, just, believe me. I love you." you murmur firmly and you press your chest into him, knowing how much he likes them

"I will do anything," you stressed the word with a pause to lick your lips teasingly, "to make you believe me. Anything, Sho. Because I'm yours like you're mine."

Why did it make him hard that you were always so willing to let him use your body in every perverted way he every dreamed of?

"lay on your back, I'm going to fuck your tits and you're going to stick your pretty tongue out for me okay?" you grin up at him and wink as you pull the sheets away from you and let your naked body be taken in by his heterochromatic gaze

his dick is hot between your tits, and his precume starts leaking onto your collar bones as he orders you to hold them together so he can thrust between them

you love that you can watch him fall apart, and you find yourself speaking so sweetly and encouragingly.. motherly

"that's it, love you so much baby, I'll always do whatever you like, spoil my baby huh?" and now your chest and throat are covered in his pre, and his thrusts are starting to get manic and desperate, groans turning breathless in a way that makes your cunt clench hungrily around nothing

"gonna, fuck, gonna cum on your face, show you exactly how much I love you-"

"do it Sho, I'll take it for you, just for you cause I love you so much baby-"

and then ropes of his cum hit your jaw, your cheek, your lips, and the bridge of your nose before you finished jerking his seed onto your tits before he collapsed beside you with extremely ragged breath that made you feel smug

until he got up two minutes later eager to give you more of his love, and you got fucked in your extremely sore pussy until you were crying and once more leaking cum

#dabi x reader #shinsou x reader #shouto x reader #tw: dubcon #tw: duboius consent #tw: dark content #tw: kink

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dialovers-translations · 4 years ago

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DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD OFFICIAL VISUAL FANBOOK ー Interview Vol. 3 feat. Satoi

Source: DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Official Visual Fanbook

Release date: 2013

Huge thank you to @keithvalentinex for providing the raw scans!

SECTION 1: Q&A

Q1. How did you feel when a sequel game got green light?

A: I think it is wonderful how much support this series has received. However, quite some time has passed since the franchise’s initial release and the art style has changed over time too, so I remember checking with the production staff whether or not it was okay for me to draw the visuals.

Q2. Is there anything you paid extra attention to while designing the Mukami brothers?

A: I mostly followed the instructions given to me to shape up the visuals. For the Mukami brothers, I tried to make them seem more human and approachable, just like I was directed to. The initial concept I was given for them had many similarities to the existing characters, so it was difficult to set them apart by design alone. However, by the time the CDs were completed, I thought it was amazing how all four of them turned out to be entirely different Do-S characters.

Q3. Karlheinz’ visual design makes its debut in this installment.

A: While designing the visuals for the mothers during last game’s development, I already imagined him with Reiji’s red eyes and Subaru and Christa’s white hair inside my head. I designed him while trying to add in a mature look which the brothers still lack. Since the series does not have a character with long hair so far, I decided to go for that look. He is the most grant character within the franchise, so I tried to make him fit said image.

Q4. Please tell me in which order you completed the visuals for the Mukami brothers.

A: I believe the order went like this: Yuma -> Azusa -> Kou -> Ruki. For Yuma, the first design I submitted immediately got accepted. Kou’s heterochromia was added later on, but I kind of like it.

Q5. Which character did you struggle with the most while coming up with the visuals?

A: Ruki. When I looked at the instructions, I thought he would overlap with Reiji... (lol) so I had a hard time coming up with an image for him. The final design ended up looking too ‘normal’ (for Diabolik Lovers) so I ended up asking whether it was okay for him to look like a regular guy. (lol)

Q6. Do the Mukami brothers have any features in common?

A: I gave all of the Mukami brothers prominent eyelashes. Then afterwards I distinguished between them through the shape of their eyes and eyebrows.

Q7. Please tell us what you were mindful of while designing the models for the boys’ younger versions.

A: I designed them with the intention of keeping their unique personalities but simply making them smaller. Shuu was not listless as a child, so I made him look more sharp. Looking at it now, I kind of wish I had changed his hair style as well.

Q8. Which character is the easiest for you to draw? Which is the hardest?

A: There are a lot of lines and different colors in the Diabolik Lovers art style, so these illustrations aren’t easy to draw. However, Kanato has larger features which makes him somewhat easier in comparison to the others. When I find a character hard to draw, I end up not being able to draw them at all, so I try not to think about it.

Q9. How about the underwear designs?

A: I received a lot of advice from Ito-san when drawing the underwear designs. I ended up chuckling when I received the suggestion to draw Reiji in brief bikini bottoms.

Q10. Please tell us your favorite CG, the CG you think turned out the best and the CG you struggled with the most.

A: The CG I like the most has to be the one of Kou’s Ending where he’s flying in the sky. This game doesn’t feature the characters smiling very often, so I had a lot of fun drawing that one.

Rather than thinking it turned out the best, I simply like this CG but it’s the one from Ayato’s ED where they are having their wedding ceremony. I believe I portrayed their happiness well.

I struggled with all the CGs!

Q11. Please tell us your favorite cover illustration you’ve drawn for the series so far.

A: Since they are all Do-S characters, for their CD covers, I first and foremost try to portray their sadism and how ‘sick’ they are. I’m sure you can tell which characters I personally favor, but I think I did an okay job at showing all of their unique personalities...Or so I’d like to think.

Q12. What were you going for when drawing the cover for this installment?

A: The story of ‘MORE, BLOOD’ is somewhat heartbreaking, so I decided to switch things up and make the expressions a little sorrowful as well.

Q13. Please leave a message for the fans.

A: I want to sincerely thank all of you for supporting the series for such a long time. I hope you will continue to enjoy the ‘DIABOLIK LOVERS’ characters from here on out!

SECTION 2: SATOI CHOOSES ー SITUATION-DEPENDENT CHARACTER SELECT

Who would you choose in these situations? What’s the developer’s opinion?

S1. To sleep together with?

Best: Teddy, he’s just the right size.

Worst: Yuma, not only do I imagine he’d have a bad sleeping posture, but his hair would probably prick me.

S2. To go on a trip together with?

Best: Ruki or Reiji because I think they’d be very knowledgeable on the area and its trivia.

Worst: Kanato, I feel like he would be selfish and wouldn’t want let me decide where I’d like to go.

S3. To eat together with?

Best: Kou or Laito because they’d probably make a lot of small talk which seems fun.

Worst: Reiji because I feel like he would be a little fussy about my table manners.

S4. To study with?

Best: Ruki or Reiji since they’re smart so they could probably teach me.

Worst: Ayato, I’m sure it’d be fun but I doubt I’d be able to concentrate.

S5. To go on a date with?

Best: Kou or Laito because they seem fun to hang out with.

Worst: Kanato, I’m sure he’d burst out into tears at some point.

S6. To play a video game with?

Best: Kou or Laito, they seem like good gamers.

Worst: Subaru, he might just break the gaming console.

S7. To play sports with?

Best: Ayato, I want to see him play basketball.

Worst: Shuu or Azusa because they’d barely move.

S8. To go on a drive with?

Best: Ruki, he seems like a good driver.

Worst: Subaru, he’d wreck the car.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers more blood official visual fanbook #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers interview #satoi

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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First light, last love

Summary: a lazy, fluffy morning in bed with your love, Santiago Garcia.

Author’s note: Very quick blurb in response to an ask- not my best but hope you like it! You can decide whether he means literal breakfast or “breakfast” *wink wink* at the end, depending on how you wanna be woken up.

Warnings: language, it’s Santi.

Word count: short and sweet.

Tagging: @phoenixhalliwell @lostgirlheather @justrunamok @aellynera @damerondjarin @blushingwueen @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @holybatflapexpert @himbopoes @arabellathorne @yourbucky084 @mandoplease @mylifeliterally @arkofblake @multifandomlife22 @yougottakeeponkeepinon @aisling-beatha @stardust-galaxies

GIF by @twillight

The morning sun is the first caress on your skin, gently easing you awake. Santi’s hands are the second, pulling you from the warm embrace of slumber and into the warm embrace of him.

As you stir, you feel the sturdiness and familiar shape of Santi’s body pressed firmly to your back as he forms a big spoon around you. You absorb the texture of bare skin on skin as his nose nuzzles into the back of your neck, and his hand languidly wanders over your belly and your thighs. His fingertips trace symbols on to your flesh, which only those fluent in the language of love might hope to ever decipher, easing your consciousness into the waking world and to a place where you feel completely safe and content and held; in his arms.

You hum softly to signal to him you’re awake, and a blissed out smile eases over your lips, the joy that comes from waking up next to your love and enjoying this closeness spilling visibly out of you.

“Morning, Princesa,” he breathes, hot air and the deep rumble of his voice fanning over your neck. Santi presses a gentle kiss to your neck, propping himself up onto his elbow to allow his kisses to journey along your jawline, and you turn your head to greet his lips with yours, giggling into the kiss.

Every time you kiss him it feels like arriving home. Each moment with him holding you feels like breaking dawn. Warm, fresh yet familiar, and an inconceivable blessing.

You peel your eyelids open, failing to quell the happy smile which beams out of you as soon as your gaze greets his, those warm, coffee eyes the only wake-up call you need.

You love waking up slow with him like this. No alarms; no place to be, except beside each other.

“Morning, handsome,” you say softly, as his broad hand comes to gently cup your cheek.

Those hands of his. You love them so. Those hands which were trained to be lethal, but which felt like they were made to love you. When they feel so good against you, what other purpose could they possibly have?

Instead of craning your neck, you swivel until you are flat on your back, Santi’s prone body still tesselated neatly into your side. He smiles back at you, his eyes skimming over your face and hair as if he is seeing you afresh with the start of the new day; even though he has looked at you so often, you sometimes question how he could possibly still wonder at the sight of you. Even when you’re like this, still shaking off the dregs of sleep, face and hair still fresh from the pillow, Santi’s eyes are glowing with adoration.

Santi runs his hand over your contours, fingertips guiding his gaze and sweeping languidly over your chest and stomach and legs. The callouses of him rub against the smoothness of your skin as he cups handfuls of your soft parts in his palms as if you are his daily bread. As if he might bring you to his lips to sustain him. After all, how could he live without you?

As you enjoy his touch, light filters intermittently through the curtains, hazy and half-cocked, ocassionally finding its aim on your face or throwing bars of gold daybreak over Santi’s chest, sun glinting off his dog tags.

“Holy shit, baby,” Santi breathes as he studies you. “Once again you’re even more beautiful to me than yesterday, and less beautiful to me than you will be tomorrow.” Santi’s lips quirk up playfully, as his fingertips continue to wander the planes of you. He’s never lost when he’s touching you. He’s never lost, like he has been so often in dense jungle, tunred around and scared for his life. His fingers always know their path. His lips always know thier route to your lips, even in the dark. And yet, although he knows you so well, he never tires of you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you say, rubbing your eyes and adjusting to the light, feeling out your limbs and emerging gradually from the heaviness of sleep. “Just when I think you’ve run out of ways to charm me, you come out with something like that. Before you’ve even had coffee.”

You turn your body towards him and Santi lowers himself back to the pillow. You shuffle until you lie nose to nose with each other, shimmying the blankets down until they rest across your hips and tangling your thighs with the meat of his.

“I fuckin’ hope I never run out of ways to charm you, preciosa,” Santi says in earnest.

A lazy grin inches over his face, and you enjoy the creases which form around his eyes and mouth. Then, muffling his confession, Santi dips his head forward to nuzzle kisses into your neck. “Plus... alright, I confess to raiding the greeting card aisle yesterday while I was waiting for ‘Fish to checkout the beers.”

Your fingers filter into his grizzled curls as a soft chuckle shakes your chest up against him, and you absorb all the textures of him possible as his stubble grazes pleasantly along your collarbone and your breasts, soothed by lazy caresses of his lips and tongue. “That one made me think of you, cariño,” he whispers, his voice entirely earnest again as he tips his chin to look up at you from beneath his lashes and heavy brows with sincere eyes.

You snicker softly as you nose into his curls, planting a loving kiss to the top of his head and lingering there to inhale the unique scent of him. Wrapping your arms around him more tightly, you tug him into your chest, and Santi hums contentedly, thoroughly dissolving into your embrace as you bring him closer and tangle limbs with him.

You feel so happy you might float to the ceiling, if you weren’t tethered by the blankets and by his embrace.

You both tug in a deep, steadying breath and exhale it together, enjoying nothing but the silence and the presence of each other for a few, extended moments.

“How is it-” Santi eventually begins to wonder idly as your arms encase him “-that I spend most of my time surrounded by a trained squad of killers, but I never feel safer than when you hold me like this?”

“Hmm. You didn’t get that from a Hallmark card, did you?” you tease, deflecting some of the raw emotion in his tone with humour, as it almost feels too overwhelming to handle, sometimes, Santi’s love. “That one was all you, you charmer?”

His words have a happiness blooming right from the core of you, and, you hope, suffusing back into him as you share this moment of loving each other, transmitting love back and forth through every touch and brush of lips and fingers and skin.

It is moments and mornings like this which you love the most. Not the grand gestures of love. Not the greeting card moments or the surprises or the special ocassions. The mundaness of love is everything to you. The simple, small joys with Santi are the ones you treasure the most.

“Yeah,” he jokes. “The rest said: everyone knows not to fuck with you, mi Reina, because they saw you tear Will a new one when he was a dick at our housewarming, and now cartels and drug lords cower in fear. Happy Thanksgiving.”

You laugh, a lilting sound which draws Santi’s eyes back to your lips, and you flop back on to the mattress, your arms raised above you on the pillow. Santi takes the opportunity to roll on top of you, craving even more contact. He boxes you in securely with his arms, and nudges your knees apart so he can lie in between your legs, hips pressing up against you. The weight of him against you, the feel of the solid mass of him on top of you is such a comfort, grounding you entirely when only moments ago you were lost to your dreams; still, moments like this with your love seem beyond your wildest dreams.

The chain of Santi’s dog tags jangle and pool on to your chest as he settles over you, the cool metal a pleasing contrast against your warm skin and the body heat emanating off of him. You regard them warily, ever since that time they chipped your tooth during a particularly vigorous embrace, but you have grown to love the familiar extension of him, and the reminder that although he is lethal, he is nothing but soft for you.

You follow the bobbles of the chain up and over his smooth chest, corded neck. To his face. God, he’s handsome. All over and at all times, but especially in the mornings like this, when he’s in nothing but his boxers and his watch and that chain. When his skin is bare and warm against you except for these shocks of cool metal. When he is still slightly grogged and unguarded, fresh from sleep. You love seeing his mussed mop of curls and the overnight sprouting of his stubble. Love having him all to yourself.

Santi swoops his soft lips down to kiss you again, and as he pulls back up you admire the happy glow in his heavy-lidded eyes. Admire the flexed muscles in his shoulders as he holds himself above you, and the soft curve of his belly pressing against yours. You drink him in, and you know he’s doing the same with you.

While enjoying this moment, the like of which seems so rare these days, it suddenly strikes you how long you have gone uninterrupted.

“Santi, the house is quiet. What did you do to the boys?”

Santi grins down at you like the handsome devil he is and greedily kisses almost every inch of your face, bit by bit. “Sent the boys off to lake. Wanted you all to myself today.”

You smile broadly and gratefully at your thoughtful, adoring man. You were really enjoying the week out at the lake with the squad, but the boys could be a lot, and you did agree; you wanted Santi all to yourself for a little bit too. Ok, a lot.

“Thought we could have a lazy morning then take a picnic up to the coast? Found a good place you can do some reading while I lie in your lap and gaze longingly at you?”

You look at him adoringly and Santi takes the opportunity to swipe his tongue languidly along your lower lip, humming into the cave of your mouth as you grant him access and slowly mingle your lips and tongue with his like you have all the time in the world.

You wind your arms lovingly around his neck, and pucker your lips to plant a delicate kiss to the tip of his strong, perfect nose. “You’re a genius, Santi. In fact, you know what? I love you more than I did yesterday, and less than I will tomorrow.”

Santi doesn’t smile at your words, despite the playful grin on your own face. He simply looks at you in wonderment again. As if he’s seeing you fresh. Like every moment with you is a breaking dawn. “Fuck, Princesa. Who’s the charmer now?” Santi looks at you as though he’s the luckiest man in the world, and that never fails to floor you.

Yes, these were without doubt your favourite kind of mornings. You treasure these small moments together, where you have all the time in the world to adore each other. And you did; you do. You adore each other more and more every single day.

Sometimes, perhaps, waking is a sweeter dream than slumber, when your love makes every moment like a new day. Makes each feeling cheesy enough to write in a greeting card.

You smile conspiratorially, fluttering your eyelashes at Santi. Pushing your luck, even though you’re already the luckiest woman in the world. “Have I charmed you enough for you to make breakfast, my love?”

“Breakfast, mi Reina?” Santi purrs, pumping his eyebrows. “You just lie back and I’ll take care of breakfast. I’ll take care of you, ‘cause, fuck, do I love you too.”

Yes, this is it. This is definitely what dreams are made of.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #santi fluff #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years ago

Text

Himmeløyne [29/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: none

A/N: Another chapter babes!!!!

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please

~Y/N

You woke up lightly. Sound of birds near the windows. Breeze against half-open curtains, lace and light projecting patterns onto the walls. There was a mysticism to how light and airy the world felt against your body. The burdens of living—of breathing, of knowing, of yearning—though constant, were far away in this moment, barely shadows in the distance, and the scar on your chest was forgotten, so too were the memories sutured into your flesh.

You turned towards the warmth on the opposite side of your bed. Loki slept with a smile on his face. Wisps of hair delicately touching closed eyelids. The sheen on his hair was healthy, magnificent. You couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair. It was soft, softer than the silk of your pillow.

Loki stirred, your touch acting like magnetism. His fingers found the soft spot of your waist, the rasp of his voice washed over you in waves, making you shiver.

“I’m very new to this whole handfasting thing, but I’m pretty sure sleeping in is one of the rules.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m not entirely convinced this isn’t a dream.” he drew in closer, your bodies pressed together.

You tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, leaning over to whisper, “If I told you it wasn’t, would you believe me?”

His smile grew deeper, “Probably not. But dream or no dream, I don’t care, it’s perfect. This is still the best thing to happen to me in a long, long while.”

“How would you know if your eyes are still closed?” you traced the shape of Loki’s mouth with your finger. A shudder ran through his body.

“Because,” he leaned closer, eyes still closed, a deep breath making his chest larger and harder against your own. You gasped in surprise, unprepared for what Loki did. With a pleasant laziness to it, the pull returned. Your magics interweaved together, sensations of the previous night exciting skin and muscle and body in phantom touches, phantom kisses and very real, very raw passion. You settled into the sensations, gave them a home to lay roots and spread. It was intoxicating, being together, consuming. The tip of Loki’s finger arched your chin higher, angled your face perfectly for the lazy kiss he gave you. Then he opened his eyes, looked into yours, offered reflections of the world beyond your bedroom window in the darker parts. “I can feel it in my bones, you’re where I belong. And anywhere you are is perfect, because anywhere you are is home to me.”

Like the weather taking a turn for the worse on a beautiful spring day, something in you shifted, changed. You couldn’t reason as to why, but Loki’s sincerity, and the way in which he said those words—without blinking or stuttering—it made you feel anxious.

There was no mystery to uncover anymore. No prince to save. No king to be saved from. Only the very fragile peace of your union and nothing else.

For the first time, the horizon before you was bare, empty. No obstacles to climb. No path to follow. You were walking blind, in a sense—you wouldn’t be able to notice the edge of the cliff until you walked off it and fell into the unknowable.

He had called you his home, and you should have been overjoyed, but all you could think about was the fact everything could change.

Everything would change. Baldrick, your mother’s Valkyrie armour locked in the palace armoury and the existence of the mirror world were proof enough.

“Something’s bothering you,” Loki said. It wasn’t a question but an observation. His thumb brushed your cheek as he rested his chin on your forehead. “I must say, my pride is the slightest bit wounded. That wasn’t the response I imagined after giving such a perfect, unrehearsed confession. I pictured a little more swooning. A lot less gloomy.”

“Is it too late for cold feet?” you retorted.

“What’s the matter, love?”

You tore yourself away from him, focused on the lace patterns projected the ceiling, “I once called the hut in my village home. Thought it would outlive me even. I imaged I’d have children, teach them tradition—” you traced your finger around the singed flesh where your brand had been “—pass on. Now, none of that will come to pass.”

Loki eyed you seriously, his brows furrowed. “Are you afraid my feelings will change?”

“Maybe not your feelings, but things do change. Just a moment ago, you spoke your mind, were open with your feelings. That’s different.” You sighed, reliving the memory of the village massacre. “I know that homes burn. I’ve seen them turn to ash.”

“Being honest about our feelings was in our vows, I’m just staying faithful.” he took your hand in his. “And a home can be rebuilt, even from ashes.”

“Would you still love it the same way, if you knew it was different?”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“I told you about Verdenspeil and how the mirror world was created for Baldrick.”

“I remember.”

“But I left something out. I know who put Baldrick in the mirror world.”

Loki sat up, the haze of sleepiness wearing off. “Who?”

“I did,” you said softly. If Loki had been a god of adjudication, he would have found you guilty from the sound of your voice alone. “…or, at least, I will create it. Something to do with time magic. I don’t understand it myself, but now that I’ve had time to think, distance, I know that world was built on the foundations of something powerful. An emotion, perhaps. One I’ve never felt before. I’ve felt anguish and pain and hate. I’ve mourned my mother, mourned never having had a father, friends. I’ve yearned for you when we were apart. Verdenspeil was different, built on something frightening. What if something terrible happens in the future? What if we—”

Loki’s lips were on yours. Through the kiss you could feel the corners of his lips pull into a smile. You blinked several times in confusion. Heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” you stammered when Loki broke the kiss.

“I did.”

“And you’re not the slightest bit scared?”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Because you just proved there’s something to be happier for.”

“What is there to be happier about in an unknowable future?”

Loki shook his head, “The fact you have one.” He let out a small chuckle, as if a victor of some secret battle. “My mother once suggested sending you back, to Midgard. She suspected, as I did, that despite your Asgardian heritage, your mortal half would hold the strongest influence. She feared you’d age as mortals do. Die as they do. And I feared I’d have to accept that…somehow. But, now, Baldrick’s existence proves that we have time. Time to love each other, grow bored of each other, despise each other and then love each other all over again.”

“You never mentioned this to me before.”

Loki flinched, a shadow of regret toying with his face. “It happened during that night, before the throne room...”

“Oh…”

“Lets dwell on the positive, shall we?” Loki shifted his weight so he was positioned on top of you, thighs pressed against your sides, his knees trapping you under him. “This also means that we have a long, fortuitous and amorous handfasting union.”

You arched a brow, “Amorous?”

“Hmmm,” he kissed along your collarbone, dipping lower to brush the scar tissue on your chest with his lips. “I can be quite the generous lover.” His kisses trailed even lower.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What did your mother say while we were being handfasted?”

Loki rolled his eyes playfully, “My mother is the last person I want to be thinking of right now.”

“I want to know what made you go red behind the ears.”

He smirked, “In the old tongue, you mean? It’s a blessing, I suppose. It means ‘May your ties be filled with joyousness, and may your union be without discord. Bound by magic older than our own, by the seed and the fruit, under the Great Tree, may your joining bring harmony.’”

“Joining? Is that a tame way of saying all-the-things-we-did-last-night?” you smirked, tracing along the ridges of his rib cage.

He stopped your hand from going too low, brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them chastely. “Joining can mean many things. Not all unions are between lovers. Some are alliances. Others, diversions. I suppose we fall in the latter, but it’s a good thing we were compatible beforehand. Speaking of compatible,” his expression went dark with a twinkle of mischief. “I can think of a hundred other things we have yet to do, together, alone. Maybe we should consider a more secluded corner of the castle, a whole wing to ourselves.”

You could picture it now. Lazy days spent beneath covers. Mornings together. Simple pleasures of early love. The quiet of peace, finally. “How about a cottage instead. By the edge. I can grow flowers. You can read those large tomes of yours under a tree.”

“Sounds utterly boring, and something I’d love to endure…for you.” He dipped his head, captured your lips in his, made you dizzy with bliss.

As easy as breathing, the two of you descended into that carnal pleasure you’d only just discovered, the one Loki could finally explore and see come to true. Your worries became fleeting, a moment of doubt deftly quelled by the comfort of a lover's touch. You still had questions, doubts, but for now, you were content in believing them gone.

Exploration was what you loved best about being a pair. Discovering each other’s softness, working through the harder edges, savouring the rise and fall of desire, only to chase the rise again. Euphoria was new to you. Something so purely hedonistic you felt yourself becoming selfish with it. Coveting it. Losing yourself with no reservations because you were safe.

You were in love.

Getting dressed took forever; between the constant need to be close to one another and Loki’s playful antics, the two of you were inseparable.

As you bent down to pick up your discarded clothing, you noticed dark smudges on the foot of the bed. It had been a while since you’d slept in your own bed, and you remembered how soothing it felt to soak in the bath before the feast last night. It may have been a common thing to feel clean and smell of soap and lavender, but after days spent hopping between realms and stars, common commodities meant something richer than gold to you. Which is why you found it strange that your feet were blackened at the sole.

Loki noticed you staring at your feet, perplexed.

“You were restless last night. After everything we went through, I’d have thought you’d be exhausted. For many reasons. I much rather prefer the bed with you in it. Where’d you run off to?” he said, a small pout giving him a childish look.

“I don’t remember getting out of bed.”

Loki pointed to a spot near the window. “A trail of evidence says otherwise.”

Faint footprints led out and then back into the room, a few were arranged in a circle by the window—pacing? You hovered one foot above an imprint and it matched perfectly. “You’re right, but for the life of me I can’t seem to remember leaving this room…”

Loki absentmindedly did up his buttons, staring at the pillow on your side of the bed, less sunken than his. “Somnambulism is common among mortals. Especially those who’ve been through quite the ordeal as you have.”

Something twisted in your gut, an uncomfortable feeling that reminded you of your earlier days, those spent coming to terms with your magic. Again, your body was changing, betraying your mind. Or maybe it was the other way around.

“I can do a little more research on it. Breezy reading. I think I’d like that distraction very mu—” Loki flinched like a reflexive muscle.

You wondered how much of your emotions he’d picked up on. You muted your magic, imagined locking it away for a while. A rustic wooden box, no symbols or identifying markings, just twine twisted and roped into the knot you used to tie kindling together. There you’d keep it safe and quiet.

The room seemed to sigh, grow lighter. Emotions between you became ambiguous, without definitive form.

“Hmm…” he murmured.

A simple thought came to you as you walked over to Loki, helped him button his shirt, “Follow me next time.”

“Promise,” he held you close. The smell of him was like the ocean. You would gladly drown in the presence of him if you could.

~Loki

The library didn’t present itself as a mausoleum anymore; a monument to a time before the fight in the throne room. The room appeared different to the last time he’d stepped foot in it. More orderly. Many of the books had been reshelved. The few he always found himself drawn back to were opened on their bookmarked pages. A rush of emotions hit him, but none as strongly as guilt.

So far, guilt had been the hardest burden to shake. Wine took some of the sting away, made him numb enough to believe he was truly okay, but it was barely noon, and drinking wouldn’t have been appropriate.

Instead, Loki perused the shelves for books on sleepwalking and other issues he found worth exploring; time magic, mirroring worlds, newer ways of eliciting pleasure, how to tend to flowers.

He’d read up on several tea remedies. The most intriguing one was for a white petalled flower that bloomed in spring. The flower’s scent was described as sweet and fresh, and the tea was used to treat restlessness.

Next, he read up on what little myth and lore he could find on mirroring worlds. Most were different from what Y/N described. Some were inverted. Others, backward. But none seemed to be made of memory or shifting light and mist. The tome he’d sealed his mother within was one such artefact, but, for all his knowledge, Loki understood very little of the physics of the world or the source of its magic.

He remembered a story linked to the book, one told by an old scholar that had brought it as an offering for Frigga. Loki had barely outgrown his childish figure then; lanky, a little taller than Thor, brooding. At that age, like most children, he’d hated his tutoring, desired, instead, to acquire forbidden knowledge. The tome was said to have been a creation that predated the Great Wars. He’d spent hours trying to understand it, his only reward was gaining the ability to cast a mirage of himself. The book itself was a feat of madness, the machinations of an inter-dimensional being that resided within a dark dimension. A being referred to only once in the entire Asgardian library. The Cosmic Conqueror.

Loki stretched out his hand, calling for the book with his magic, expecting it to cross the divide and land in his grip. Except, it didn’t. A few more seconds passed till he stood from his chair and went over to the bookcase with an empty space where the tome had been.

Loki filled a shallow bronze basin with water and hailed a bookkeeper in the middle of his scribing duties. It was the same bookkeeper he’d spoken to last time.

“Bookkeeper,” Loki said, the sound of his voice made ripples in the reflecting pool which turned into waves as the bookkeeper spilt ink all over his parchment, a small yelp following.

“S-sire?” the bookkeeper asked, looking around, unable to see Loki’s form, only able to hear his disembodied voice.

“I require a book that was stored in the library. Old. Red, leather cover. Was used to trap my mother inside of it.” Loki watched with amusement as the bookkeeper squirrelled about, fidgeting with his cloak as his eyes darted about.

“I—I believe, t-that particular volume was moved to the East Wing.”

Loki raked his hand through his hair, biting back the impulse to curse. “Under whose orders?”

The bookkeeper motion to stand, but then decided it best to sit. Then went through the motions again before he settled on doing neither. His arms were on the chair, keeping him upright, and allowing him to stay off the chair without shaking. “It was the Queenmother’s wish to have it housed with the rest of the artefacts in the Hall of Antiquities.”

Disappointed, Loki waved his hand over the water basin. The reflective pool that allowed him to see into the bookkeepers' offices offered only the reflection of his face now. He wasn’t in the mood to enter the East Wing. It was his parent’s domain. Close to the throne room. Close to the chance of running into his father. And uncomfortably close to those bitter memories he didn’t want to chase.

Feeling frustrated with his lack of results, and the effects of an oncoming headache, Loki shifted his focus to a different school of research to preserve his sanity. Time, however, had been the opaquest starting point. It was linked to every mythology, and many had their own interpretations. Time magic was rare, most books on its practices simply forewarned of the consequences of dabbling in such arts. Still, it was a welcome distraction.

He had been so engrossed with his research, he hadn’t noticed the time fly, nor did he notice Thor on the far side of the table until thunderous laughter bounced off the walls.

“In all the Nine!” Loki sighed, placing his book on the table. It was an uncommon thing for Thor to catch him unawares. Loki refused to let his surprise show. “Try announcing yourself louder next time, don’t think our grandfather’s ghost heard you.”

“Why, brother, you’re certainly bolder than I give you credit for! How much did you get up to in one night?” Thor’s smile practically ran from ear to ear. “I must say, I’ve never tried this position myself. She must be very nimble. Good for you, brother. Good. For. You.”

“What are you—?” Loki’s mind went blank as soon as he saw which book was in Thor’s hands, the lewd illustrations of man and woman only just visible from where he sat. In a flash, Loki waved his hand, sending the small, fabric-bound book flying from Thor’s hands. With another hand gesture, he used his magic to send the book somewhere Thor would never find it.

“Oh, don’t be a prude!” Thor teased.

“Only if you stop being so boarish,” Loki began restacking the books, if only to seem busy and not at all embarrassed. “Shouldn’t you be out swinging your hammer at things? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you step foot in a library of your own volition. What, lose a bet to Sif again? Or did you forget the rules of Fates?”

“Only you enjoy such games. I have no desire to take part in games of chance. I much prefer games of strength.”

Loki grabbed the Asgardian Botany Catalogue from a stack of scrolls. “Yes, well, it’s no surprise you would.”

“I heard that,” Thor glowered.

“Did I stutter?”

Thor grumbled under his breath.

Loki stepped off the foot ladder and made his way back to the table. “What is it Thor, really?”

“Do I need a reason to see my brother?”

Loki removed the fabric bow from the scroll and unfurled the paper on the table, securing it with something weighted. “I suppose not, but there’s usually one attached.”

“I spent many hours in this library while you were…” Thor’s eyes trailed to the ceiling, up in the direction of the healing tower Loki had been kept in for the last couple of months. “It was a mess, at first. So was I. Mother disappeared. Father wouldn’t talk to me. Then Y/N and the others left, too. I understand why they didn’t take me with them. Not much use for a God of Thunder that can’t stand up straight. So, when I was alone, and sick with worry, this library was the only place that didn’t seem…empty. Cleaning it up became my way of being close to you. And without magic—” Thor whistled “—it was no small endeavour.”

Loki leaned against the table, scroll momentarily forgotten, “You sorted the library?”

“And it wasn’t without severe strain to my back, I’ll tell you that!” Thor worked his back muscles until they let out a satisfying pop.

Loki was at a loss for words. Bickering and childish retorts had been their form of brotherly affection for the longest time. Now Loki understood why Y/N’s countenance shifted after he’d earnestly declared her his home. Words were a powerful thing when there was nothing to dilute from their sincerity. This library became Thor’s earnest truth, and his words, though said with a light-hearted cadence, were a heavy declaration. The care and thought Thor had put into restoring the library made Loki feel strange. Not raw or uncomfortable, simply strange.

Loki walked over to Thor and placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, brother.”

“See,” Thor grabbed a book and shook it as if he wanted the words to spill out. “Not all brawn after all.”

Loki huffed humorously, “I’m beginning to see that.”

“It’s good to see you back here. The library is finally a library again,” Thor glanced at the opened books and scattered papers with a fondness. Then, dastardly, he wiggled his eyebrows towards one of the shelves, “Now about that book…”

“There you are!” Hogun shouted from down the hall, taking swift strides into the library. He was unusually peppy, a large smile lighting up his eyes.

“Thank the stars,” Loki sighed in relief. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, tell me you’ve come to whisk my brother away on urgent business.”

“Aww, and I was just beginning to have some fun,” Thor protested.

“Far, far away business,” Loki pleaded.

Hogun backhanded Thor’s chest, eager to garner his friend's attention. “Sif has a bone to pick with you.”

“Ah, so you did lose a bet,” Loki said. "Thought as much."

“And we’re all eager for you to see it through,” Hogun ushered Thor out of the room, laughing under his breath as the God of Thunder begrudgingly kicked his feet. Over his shoulder, Hogun said, “Come to the tavern later. It’ll be a momentous occasion. Ah! Did Y/N find her way back okay?”

Loki perked up like a wolf to a whistle. “Her way back? Did you see where she went last night?”

“Not where she went exactly, but I caught wind of her as I was walking past the East Wing.”

“Did she seem like herself?”

“I didn’t stop to chat, she didn’t seem to be in an inviting mood, but…” Hogun hummed, scratching at chin in thought. “Mostly. Colder, maybe. Distant. But that’s probably because she was walking barefoot, on palace marble, past midnight, in nothing but her shift.”

“Did you and Y/N have a lover’s spat already?” Thor asked, his surprise coming off a pitch higher than usual. “You should keep a closer eye on your bride, Loki. I never knew you to be one to let things run away from you.”

“Stop delaying the inevitable. Don’t you have your own problems to worry over?” Loki waved them off dismissingly, his mind too busy to entertain small, superfluous conversation. He’d come to the library with clear goals and yet the only clarity he’d been afforded was on the ancient art of tea brewing practices to relieve stress. “Maybe I need that cup of tea.”

Loki strolled the botanical gardens in search of the white flower used for brewing sleeping tea. The aromas of each flower mixed together to form a thick layer in the air, subtle hints of petrichor and compost—not the decomposing kind, but the kind that marked the start of autumn.

A bed of white flowers swayed with the breeze, their yellow bulbs almost as rich as gold. Loki thought of Y/N’s golden eye, how it was both strange and very much suited to her features. If her people could see what she’d become, she’d be a spectacle worthy of a goddess.

He bent down to pick a handful of the white flowers, making sure not to pull at the root or bend the stems. The action was calming. Simplistic. Maybe he’d enjoy gardening after all. Planting seeds and watching them grow. Cutting sprouts to put in a vase for Y/N in the mornings. Filling their home with different sweet, earthy smells.

“I remember when you used to pick flowers for me,” his mother’s voice came sweeping in from across the flower bed. The white fabric of her dress was enveloped by the rows of white petals. She looked like a forest spirit, joined at the hip with nature as it bloomed.

“You flatter me, but we both know that most of them were weeds,” he said, a fond smile creeping over his face.

“They were still beautiful,” she bowed close to a pink flower and inhaled its scent before eyeing his lean bouquet. “Flowers for your bride? Kamille, interesting choice.”

“She’s sleepwalking,” he plucked a few more stems before righting himself. “They’re supposed to ease restlessness.”

“Be sure to pluck some for yourself, you look tense.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t. In the bedroom, earlier, the reality of being awake and facing the consequences of his actions was merely a suggestion. Something to do after he got dressed and left Y/N’s room. Even with layers of clothes on, he felt naked. Exposed like a fresh wound. It would take a while before normal felt like normal again.

“Has father said anything?” he asked, taking in the magnificence of his mother’s garden.

Frigga nodded and Loki steeled himself for what she would say next. “He says many things. Depends on the day really. He wasn’t a fan of the fish we had for dinner. The sauce didn’t agree with him. Complained all night.”

He sighed, almost grateful. “That’s not what I meant.”

His mother laughed as she rounded a corner and took his free arm, “I know, child. Your father’s pride will temper. It always does.”

He didn’t find her words reassuring, “What happens if it doesn’t temper after the year is up?”

Frigga took a second glance at his bouquet and frowned, “You’re missing something.” She walked over to a basket filled with ribbons and plucked one from the sea of colours. It was yellow. Warm. She tied it around his bouquet with a delicate bow. Smiling with pride as she trimmed the edges with the gardening scissors she kept in her dress pocket. “There, all done.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” he pointed out the obvious.

“An artform you perfected as a child,” she reminded him. “Do not concern yourself with the weight of what is to come. Go, spend time with your bride. Be happy.”

With a lifted brow and a wry smile, Loki saw an opportunity to capitalise on his mother’s words, “Then, in the interest of happiness, I have a favour to ask.”

To be continued...

#loki #loki x y/n #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki disney+#himmeløyne

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

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Let’s talk: Blue & Grey - analysis?

by Admin 1 & 2

From anon: I know it sounds like Delulu, so I write anonymously because I’m ashamed. The “blue & gray” lyrics sound like something Tae writes about Jimin to me. The words “my angel” (Jimin is an angel), “someone save me” (we saved each other many times), someone will call in the evening (after work in the evening we meet face to face) “I am blue and gray” (when I’m blue, Jimin’s smile is enough). To me it sounds a bit like lovesick ??? “I want to be happy” (Tae is happiest when he’s with me)

This is an interesting ask, and I don’t necessarily think it’s delulu of you to think this way, even if there are some who would claim otherwise. We know what Blue & Grey is about thanks to everything Tae, as well as some of the other members, said about it at the BE press con as well as Tae’s BE Weverse comeback interview, that it’s lyrics and music born out of Tae’s own feeling of burnout, of being blue and grey, and also is meant as this song to bring comfort to those who might currently be feeling the same way. It’s a song that feels authentic in its sincerity, especially because it was written with a raw honestly and introspective by someone who knows that feeling, as well as additional lyrics added to it to make it OT7 by others who have gone through/felt similar things as well.

We know Yoongi felt it, since we read his lyrics for his tracks on Agust D; we know Namjoon felt it, since that’s the feeling out of which mono. was born; we know Seokjin felt it, because that’s how Abyss came to be; and we know Hoseok felt it, because the members have mentioned how he used to be blue & grey before their debut since he’d been a trainee for so long and felt helpless/hopeless at times, like they would never debut; we also know that Jungkook felt it, since it was brought up in connection to the year that almost had them disband, Seokjin mentioning how Jungkook had retreated into himself, barely spoke about his feelings and thoughts, if at all, and they weren’t sure how to reach him; and I’m sure Jimin felt it as well.

So, since we know the backstory of Blue & Grey you might argue there isn’t really anything there to analyze, and in a way, I agree, but just because we know the main point/theme of the song, that doesn’t necessarily meant there can’t be more to it, especially when you consider how originally Blue & Grey was intended for Tae’s mixtape, and how the lyrics used to not only be different than the ones we have on the album, but they also used to be completely in English. In a way you could argue that while the basis of the song was always the same—a song about Tae’s feeling of being blue and grey—the underlying meaning/connections might’ve changed, or simply been modified to fit OT7 more instead of just him.

Before we get into it, one thing I’d like to say is that I’m in no way trying to twist this to say that the only reason for Tae to write songs is to make them about Jimin, I’m not that kind of person and I think his artistry has far more to it and holds so much deep meaning, but looking at the lyrics and things Tae has said about Jimin over the years, it isn’t that farfetched of a connection to make. It can just as well be complete nonsense, of course, but I see no harm in considering the possibility. I respect Tae and his music tremendously and I’d never want to belittle it in any kind of way, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s written a song with Jimin in mind or referencing things that connect to him, so let’s just entertain the possibility, maybe even put our delulu hats on if that’ll make us feel a bit better, and treat this as something fun and not to be taken so extremely seriously or as facts, yes? Okay. Let’s go below the cut.

First let’s have a look at the original lyrics we first heard for Blue & Grey during In the SOOP, the version that was intended for Tae’s mixtape:

Where's my angel I'm sick and tired of everything Someone come and save myself Cause I can't take it anymore Everywhere I go, everywhere I see Can you look at me cause I'm going free Every time I cry, every time I smile Can you look at me cause I'm blue and grey I just wanna be happier Baby don't let me go.

Even just based on that it’s easy to see how much they have changed between this and the BE OT7 version. For reference, this is how the album version starts, more specifically Tae’s opening verse:

Where is my angel 하루의 끝을 드리운 At the end of the day, casting its shadow Someone come and save me, please 지친 하루의 한숨뿐 is only the sigh of the exhausting day

Like anon pointed out angel could be a reference to Jimin, or literal angels since we know that while Tae isn’t religious (as far as I’m aware) he does believe in angels and calls upon them to help him. But, as recently as his April 2020 vlive where he spoke about Friends, or rather the dumpling incident, he said that afterward when he and Jimin made up and Jimin told him he wants to support him and be his source of strength/energy Tae thought “my gosh, Jimin is such an angel like this. How could I have been in a fight with him?” (though I could swear the subs used to be a little different from this, that he said “how could I fight with an angel like Jiminie?” or something to that effect, (or that maybe our wonderful translators worded it differently during their live translations and I’m just getting confused), but that would mean for some reason at some point the vlive subs were changed thus raises the question why?). But even in previous years there were moments in which Tae called Jimin an angel.

In his letter to Jimin during BV2 in Hawaii, Tae spoke about how whenever he’s in the bathroom to cry, Jimin would cry with him (we also know that Jimin is the only one who truly knew why Tae cried when reading the letter, as well as that during BV3 the staff specifically called for Jimin when they noticed that Tae was crying), or laugh with him, is there for him. That could fit with “Every time I cry, every time I smile” and also make sense in connection with the next line “Can you look at me cause I'm blue and grey” since, in a moment where you feel blue and grey and yet find the strength to look for someone to help you, to reach out to, you’d want a person who’s very close to you to be the one to look at you/approach you, and he said it himself, in his Hawaii letter, how Jimin is his dearest friend, as well as during FESTA 2019, that Jimin is his one and only true best friend. So, what better person to seek solace with than him?

Furthermore, Tae also once said this (notice the mention of feeling blue):

Then the line “I just wanna be happier”, though I can’t really find a specific connection to Jimin in it, it does still fit with something Tae said last year after the release of Dynamite when they were guests on the radio. In it Tae mentioned how he is happy these days (he played the original version of Blue & Grey during ITS recorded some time end of May beginning of June 2020 while the MBC radio appearance was mid-September 2020, so 3-4 months later), how it took him a lot of time to achieve it since he always worried about things, but that he focused on finding happiness and it seems like he did manage to find it. When comparing Tae in the first half of 2020 to Tae in the second half, I think we can all agree that he seemed much, much happier in the second half, so his efforts paid off.

Also, if you remember, Jimin once (or more times) mentioned how Tae is happiest when he’s with Jimin (he could’ve just meant it in a teasing way, of course, but it could’ve also been just played off as such while being true anyway). So, if he’s happiest with Jimin, supposedly, it would make sense to look for him, mention him even if only through references people may or may not pick up on, and in a way it could also work with this line “Baby don't let me go.” because, once you found someone that can help you, that makes you happy and (among other things) keeps the blue and grey away, you’d want them to stay, right?

We don’t really have any details of what helped Tae finding that happiness, be it working on BE and getting to be the visual director, be it working on his mixtape and being able to put all these emotions he hasn’t shared before into his music and finding catharsis through that, or be it something in some shape or form connected to Jimin, all I can really do is speculate, and really, that isn’t really the point, is it? What matters is that he did find his happiness in the end, and found his way out of his blue and grey feeling.

So, we can say that at least the original version of the lyrics did potentially have some connections to Jimin, especially because I’m unwilling to think it’s all just a coincidence since with something as meaningful and personal as a song like this, there are no coincidences. Also, when comparing the ITS version and the BE version, the former seems to be directed at someone, a specific someone, like the latter more toward themselves, an introspective look (thanks to Admin 2 and romanticdrift for pointing that out). It’d be interesting to know how the rest of the song went, how the lyrics continued, and surely that would help a lot in seeing if there were more connections or not, but I guess we’ll simply never know. While the main point/theme of the song was and is, indeed, that blue and grey feeling and basically verbalizing it through lyrics, it isn’t too out there of an idea to think that Tae made those connection to Jimin deliberately as a way of perhaps pointing out a person or something that he looked for while he felt blue and grey, a person/things that helped him or he thought could do so. Though, again, that’s just speculations and theories, not facts, and I could totally be wrong.

One last thing I’d like to mention, and maybe I’m seeing a connection where there isn’t actually one and reading way too much into it, but I’ll share it anyway. In the BE version of Blue & Grey Jimin and Tae sing the following lines together:

괜찮다고 하지 마 Don’t say you’re okay 괜찮지 않으니까 because you aren’t 제발 혼자 두지 말아 줘 너무 아파 Please don’t leave yourself alone, it hurts so much

This, for me, is quite significant, even if doolset interpreted it as them talking to themselves and not someone else/each other, it still reminded me of the following lines from Jimin’s Promise:

아무렇지 않은데 “I’m alright” 그렇게 말하는데 Though I say so, 사실은 내가 그게 아닌가봐 maybe the truth is that I’m not

And I delulu and reading too much into it? I don’t know, but it was one of the first things I thought of when I read the translation of that particular moment in Blue & Grey.

#BE Blue & Grey #Taehyung #Jimin #vmin #an analysis but not really maybe kinda #song commentary #Blue & Grey commentary #is all of this complete nonsense #possible but who knows #answered ask

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manychocolatefactories · 4 years ago

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CatCF Ruby Chocolate: Part 1, Kids and characters

This version is the last of the "four main versions". It is named after the new, fourth type of chocolate discovered in 2004 but only publically released in 2017. It is a modern version, supposed to take place in the 2010s. In this version, there are six Golden Tickets released in the world.

First Winner: Augustus Gloop

(Based on: Augustus Gloop)

This version of Augustus was inspired by the 2013 musical, more specifically by the idea of a cute little boy that eats "pigs limbs from limbs", and also swallows whole little dogs. So, something quite dark.

Augustus has a very cute face. A chubby, angelic face, like the puttis of the Renaissance paintings: blond curls, puppy eyes, a radiant smile. If he wants, he can make your heart melt like the video of a little kitten purring.

But Augustus is hungry. All of the time. He eats and snacks all day long. He dreams of food. He sleep-walks to eat. And while he adores candies and chocolate, there is one thing he loves more than anything else: meat. Meat and blood. He is a true carnivore, for him every meal rhymes with "meat". And if you leave him unattended, he will try to get meat by himself. For exemple, by attacking a living pig and devouring it on the spot. Or by biting off the fingers of a plump woman. But, of course, all of that with a cute smile and while saying sorry in the most adorable way.

Nowadays, if your cute you must be innocent, and thus forgien.

Augustus' body is not as cute as his face. It is said to be a "bloated mass of pink flesh", actually very similar to the body of a pig. His fatness is described as "ill-fitting", as if it was "forced" onto his body. His overweightness is not natural. It is puffy, flabby, bloated, but doesn't feel "natural".

Augustus also always wear ill-fitting clothes and suits.

Mrs. Gloop is a tiny woman, usually wearing a pale pink skirt suit, with her hair arranged in a crown of braids. She might be tiny, but she is bold, energetic, and speaks both clearly and loudly. She has so much presence, she often intimidates people. She keeps reminding others of how cute her son, and how eating makes him grow strong. She insists that she is a good mother who makes sure her son eats of everything (to have a balanced diet), eats well (by giving him only the finest and best-quality products (such as the Wonka bars and not their cheap rivals knock-offs), and of course, she only feeds her son because he "needs nourishment".

And don't dare criticize her, or she will scream so much, so hard and so high your ears will bleed. Just like the "original" Mrs. Gloop, this one keeps pointing out the "hooligans", saying it is better to stay at home eating food than being a violent thug on the street. My iteration sincerely believes that violence and criminality is due to poverty, hunger and lack of food, and if everyone was well-fed the world ould be at peace.

(For her, think of Mrs. Gloop the original, mixed with Bernadette from the Big Bang Theory )

Mr. Gloop (full name, Gordon Gloop, parody of Gordon Ramsey) is the son of a butcher, and the grandson of a slaughterhouse worker. He was always knee-deep in blood, and as a result grew accustomed to killing animals and cooking them (in fact the sight of blood makes him peckish). He is a tall and strong man, but suffers from a bad sleep due to his wife's horribly loud snoring.

He tried to teach his son the refinment of haute cuisine, for Mr. Gloop is a world-renowned cook, but to his disappointment Augustus only cares for raw meat and drinking blood-dipped candies. Mr. Gloop is so obsessed with having good dishes and best-quality ingredients, he keeps at the back of his house a little barnyard full of cattle (if he ever has to serve some steak or ribs to his guests). Trouble is, Augustus keeps sneaking into said barnyard to devour the poor animals.

Second Winner: Elvira Entwhistle

(Based on: Veruca Salt)

Veruca Salt being a pretty solid and complete archetype in herself (the girl who wants it all and has her parents buy her all), it is quite hard to reimagine her. So, I tried thinking about "why" she wants things - given the actions are settled and confirmed, it is the goals that are important, the motivation. And , in our time of modernity, what makes people want things? Trends, fashions, what is "in".

This reinterpretation of Veruca, named Elvira Entwhistle (after one of the old drafts names), is a mix between Chanel Oberlin from Scream Queens and Esmé Squalor from a Series of Unfortunate Events. She is a girl living for trends, for fashions, buying and acquiring all of the latest things "in", only to discard them as soon as they are "out" or not trendy anymore. Spending her time on social media, following models and influencers, she keeps going to luxury shops with her "personal assistant" (a nice name for what is a modern slave) to buy accessories, jewels, clothes, pets and whatever corresponds to the current trend.

Spoiled, impatient, self-centered and short-tempered, she needs to have the latest fashion NOW or she will get insanely angry. She also doesn't hesitate to change her personal appearance to fit all the new trends (for exemple her hair changes color and shape every week). Of course, she got her Golden Ticket because it was the current trend. Everyone was searching for it, so she had to get a Ticket to be the most "in" person around.

Third Winner: Mike Teavee

(Based on: Mike Teavee)

For this version of Mike Teavee, I wanted to get away from the usual hyperactive and hyper-violent kid. I wanted to take back this common idea that television makes you stupid and sluggish, by making Mike the perfect embodiment of a couch potato (even though he was designed to look at the same time like a mushroom and a zombie).

Mr. and Mrs. Teavee are hard-working people, who spend their entire week working and only come back at home for very brief periods of times (usually in the week-end) before going right back at work. As a result, Mike barely knows his parents. He doesn't even know what kind of work they do. To "babysit" their son, the Teavees bought an enormous, high-definition television with a 666 channels pack, and kept telling him to not go outside due to the outside world being "dangerous" and filled with crushing bikes, killing cars, kidnappers and the like. This is how Mike began his life as a shut-in.

Spending his days looking at the television, never going outside, he ended up closing all shutters because light bothered him. Living in the dark, barely lifting his body from the couch, he only survives on candies, snacks, television-plates and microwaved/defrosted food (and the Teavee family can afford to buy a lot of it, because they are really, really rich - Mike has accounts in three different banks).

The result? A chalk-white boy. A bloated ans shapeless body. A full-moon face covered in craters and scars due to a bad case of acne. Two dead, sunken, small eyes. Speakin slowly, and often pronouncing only half of the words, Mike refuses to answer or talk to anyone while television is on : he only speaks during "uninteresting advertisements". The only thing muscular in his body are his fingers, that got a lot of muscle mass due to twitching frenetically all day long on the remote to channel-hop.

Mike is actually a very intelligent boy, but all his cleverness and intellectual gifts are buried and wasted by the brain-washing of his shut-in life and his television obsession. He got his Golden Ticket because his parents often buy him Wonka bars as "television snacks". Even though, in his own words, he prefers food that "tastes like plastic".

Fourth Winner: Violet Beauregarde

(Based on: Volet Beauregarde)

What is Violet, originally? She is a girl that seeks fame and attention, that is snarky, that is nasty towards people, and that does stupid records. What reflects that perfectly in our day and age? Reality television shows!

Violet Beauregarde was strongly inspired by the most brainless and "sassy/nasty" stars of reality television and the Internet. She is a teenage girl wearing clothes of such bright, flashy and clashing colors it often hurts people's eyes. Her face is covered in makeup, her hair is covered in extensions and her hands are covered with fake fingernails.

She thinks she can be as rude and horrible as she wants, as long as she calls it "sassy". But on the other side, she considers "rude" anyone or anything that doesn't please her, or that is too "ugly" or "dirty" for her. She is the kind of girl that keeps screaming loudly "YAAAAAAASSS, bitches!" and "DAAAMMMNNNN", that calls herself "the queen", that chews ferociously on her gum all day long, and that says "Why are you touching me? See, you're touching me again!" while she is the one hitting people. She hates everything "old" and "boring". She keeps publishing musical albums that nobody actually buys, because she sings badly mere words (her singles being titled "Lalalala" and "Heyheyheyhey" - she never understood a song needed to have lyrics). Finally, her biggest dream is to be part of a TV-reality show.

Her father, Mr. Beauregarde, feeds his daughter's "bitchy diva" attitude and her delusions of grandeur by acting as his agent (just like in the 2013 musical). He is also the "ringleader" of Violet's circus (because Violet, with her clothes of ridiculous colors, and her enormous amount of makeup, has a clown subtext). As a result, Mr. Beauregarde is like a ringleader in acircus, a showrunner in a freak show, and also an agent. He "sells" his daughter, he organizes her interviews, he has people pay money for "extra time" with Violet, he shows her around, and finally he uses his whip (yes, he has a whip) to attack all those that try to "touch the product".

He is a short, flabby and balding man, that smokes very long and thick cigars, wears enormous rings and clothes that are garrish and clownish - his over-the-top and ridiculous fashion sense is clearly a compensation for what he lacks in height, hair and health.

Fifth Winner: Marvin Prune

(Based on: Marvin Prune)

In the original drafts of Roald Dahl, Marvin Prune was a Mr. Know-it-All, a too-perfect schoolboy obsessed with studies, an arrogant bookworm, a haughty teacher's pet, you named it. In this version, i decided to keep the idea of Marvin being a "know-it-all", but instead of using school, books and the like, he rather uses modern technology and the Internet.

Marvin is a tech-obsessed boy. He lives for, with and through technology, to the point of neglecting to live in the real world. He thinks his over-use of technology, and all the knowledge it can provide him, make him an "intelligent" and "superior" boy (when in fact it does not).

He thinks he can claim to have been everywhere in the world because he visited virtually all the most important landmarks of the world. He claims he can speak all the languages in the world, but in fact he uses translation websites. He keeps tracks of all his bodily functions thanks to health monitors (heartbeats, blood pressure, cholesterole...) but not because he is concerned for his health, merely for the sake of knowing more things. For him, Googling something is the best solution to all your troubles, and as a result he is a self-centered and pompous boy.

Due to his technology dependance, Marvin is actually quite a weak boy. Since he doesn't do any sport or physical activity, and since he rarely leaves his house (due to always ordering things online, having classes online and visiting places virtually), he is a quite thin and frail boy, if not emaciated - at least, a good chunk of his muscle mass has melted away.

The original parents of Marvin Prune were, in Dahl's works, teachers and school principals. I decided here to go with the opposite of a teacher : Mrs. Prune never does anything herself, and always blame it on others. There are problems in the world? For her people should fix it, but they are too lazy to do it - while she herself does nothing about it. Her son acts rude? "Someone should teach him good manners" she says. She loses all of her money? "That's because the people in charge of the economy are all incompetent!"

Mrs. Prune thinks of everything and everyone as stupid because it allows her to blame all of her problems and flaws on other people. But ultimately she never takes any kind of action herself. If someone should teach her son good manners, it is "those lazy teachers at school", certainly not her! She also dislikes things that are "foreign".

Marvin found the Golden Ticket when he ordered by mistake a chocolate bar in France : in truth, he wanted to buy a "tablet" (in French a tablet is tablette, and a chocolate bar is also a tablette de chocolat).

Marvin will also be incredibly frustrated inside Wonka's factory, because in there numeric devices mess up, stop weirdly or disfunction totally (the same way UFOs tend to mess up phones, radios, computers and the like). As a result, he becomes powerless and helpless.

Sixth Winner: Charlie Bucket

(Based on: Charkie Bucket)

Here, I decided to really twist things up. To have a Charlie Bucket that isn't thin or malnourished, but fat! Yes, here's Chubby Charlie! (No, not Fat Charlie, this one is copyrighted)

Charlie's story is deeply linked to the story of the Wonka factory. The town Charlie lives in was built around the Wonka Factory a bit before the 20th century - it was a "worker town", created to allow the workers of the factory to live with their family next to their place of work. For more than fifty years the Factory was the only occupation and work of the town. But somewhere in the 1950s or 1960s, all the workers had to take an early retirement. They were kicked out, and the Factory closed to the public. The Factory was still working, but not hiring anyone anymore. This was an enormous blow to both the town's economy and moral. There was an economic crisis and poverty (since people were trained only to work in a candy factory).

But there was one good thing: since it was the town Wonka's products were created in, they were sold at must cheaper prices than anywhere else in the world, and all the ex-workers of the Factory got in exchange for their work coupons and reductions for themselves and all of their families - reductions on the Wonka products, of course. This was seen as a chance, because the Wonka products were world-renowned candies, even luxury goods in foreign countries. It was like being able to buy haute-couture as daily clothes and eat gastronomic cuisine every week-end.

But this good wasn't so "good". Indeed, given the poverty and lack of job in town, the ex-workers and their family relied more and more on the coupons and reductions, their diets filled with candy and sugary products. As a result, from the 1970s to the 2010s, the number of people suffering from obesity, diabetes and teeth problems blew up.

[ This background is actually a mix of two different real-world fact. Real-world fact 1: the Menier Chocolate Factory in France, aka the real-life Wonka Factory, was revolutionary for creating a town for its workers, and taking care of their health, education and the like, but closed after World War II, to the deception of everyone. Real-world fact 2: Coca-Cola, Nestlé and other big food industries tend to pay their employees with extra-sugary and extra-addictive if their own products in poor areas, such as South America - resulting in sicknesses and diseases.]

As a result, in this version Charlie is fat. Because in modern days, and in developped countries, poverty and malnourishment actually leads to obesity and diabetes, due to the cheapest food being candies and junk-food.

This version of Charlie is a very nice kid, but a kid addicted to the Wonka products. He grew up on the coupons, due to his family all being ex-workers. Grandpa Joe and Grandpa George both worked at the factory, but were too old or sick after being fired to find a new job ; Mr. and Mrs. Bucket had been trained for the factory and could barely afford new studies after its closing. Mr. Bucket became a street cleaner, while Mrs. Bucket became a receptionist and secretary for a dental office (due to the rise of tooth diseases, dental offices boomed in town, but most are actually crooked or scams).

Charlie grew up in a very humble home, with two parents working really hard to have enough money to buy food for everyone. Of course, fresh or good food is too expensive. Charlie tries to help his family the best way he can with his part-time job (making people fill surveys) and by working really hard at school. But as the years go by, his weight and his health are beginning to cause problems. Due to not having any money he can't do sports, wich makes him gain weight, and the fattest he is the hardest it is to do sport, it's a vicious circle. Every year, the scale reveals he puts on more and more weight, and faster and faster - if he doesn't do something quick, he may end up obese.

And, as I mentionned before, Charlie is truly obsessed with the Wonka products, it is an addiction. He dreams of them at night. He sticks Wonka bars wrappers on the wall of his room like posters. He drools at the mere mention of a Wonka bar. He isn't spoiled, cruel or nasty, but he is too addicted for his own good. In fact, when he finds money in the stret and buy chocolate bars with it, it is a pure act of selfishness, because he doesn't have the willpower to turn away from the candy shop and go back home.

#catcf #charlie and the chocolate factory #charlie bucket #augustus gloop #veruca salt #mike teavee #violet beauregarde #marvin prune

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culturenosh · 4 years ago

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GOD IS TRANS

All my friends keep asking me ‘Are you happy?’/ Happy as a girl can be! Are you happy?

In 2017, I wrote for The Singles Jukebox that SOPHIE’s single “It’s Okay to Cry” was proudly, explicitly, beautifully artificial, and that its hyperreal video in which the artist danced topless in a synthetic rainstorm felt something like paradise. I said that its unreality didn’t matter to my emotional response. I agree with most of what I wrote, but I take back the last part. The unreality was, in fact, central to how SOPHIE’s work makes me feel.

SOPHIE’s breakout single, “Bipp,” posits, “I can make you feel better — if you want to.” Accompanying that melody, low bass tones rev and ripple, while high sounds bubble and bounce; there’s a feeling of elastic grace in its movement, like each sound is a molecule colliding into others. The adjectives critics reached for when it was released always carried that element of physicality. Patric Fallon writing for Pitchfork called it “sticky” and “rubbery”; Boomkat’s product description of the vinyl single compared it to “sugar-glazed silicon”; Killian Fox for the Guardian described the song in 2016 as “an elasticated squelching noise with a helium vocal on top.”

These themes pop up again and again in the writing around SOPHIE’s work. It’s rubbery, it’s sticky-sweet, it’s elastic, it’s mechanical, it revs, it screeches, it squeals. SOPHIE’s contemporaries, like Arca or A.G. Cook, might create music that feels alien or dreamy; SOPHIE’s music always felt like it referenced the physical world, but not in a way that you would expect music to do. SOPHIE would reference not physical instruments, but physical objects and materials.

This specific quality was integral to the work, and it was intentional. SOPHIE sculpted these sounds out of waveforms, instead of relying on samples. In an archived 2014 interview with Elektronauts, the artist talks about sound design as an exercise in defamiliarization: “The language of electronic music shouldn’t still be referencing obsolete instruments like kick drum or clap. No one’s kicking or clapping. They don’t have to!… You can just take a bassline made out of elastic and try it in metal.” In a video interview in 2018 with the German outlet Arte Tracks, the artist discusses making “sounds which cartoonize and exaggerate naturally occurring or organic sounds and phenomena, and materials that don’t exist at the moment.” One of the common adjectives used to describe SOPHIE’s work is “sculptural,” which carries the risk of casting the music as purely abstract; but it also demonstrates that SOPHIE’s sound art was also visual and tactile, while SOPHIE’s physical and visual work was purely conceived as a supplement to and a vehicle for the songs. In that same Arte Tracks interview, SOPHIE discusses the release of “It’s Okay to Cry” and the choice to show SOPHIE’s face and body for the first time in its video. Responding to the framing that this reveal was “brave,” the artist says that the intention wasn’t to create media attention by coming out, but to “use my body more as a material, as something I could express through and not fight against.”

SOPHIE married that philosophical framework to an artistic practice that prioritized movement and pleasure. The currents of kink and sexuality were central to the work — the 2014 single “Hard” opens with the lines “latex gloves, smack so hard/ PVC, I get so hard,” and in the Elektronauts interview the artist talks about synthesizing sounds for “latex, balloons, bubbles, metal, plastic, elastic,” physical materials that share a modern provenance and a fetishistic quality. On “Ponyboy,” from the artist’s 2018 studio album Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides, distorted vocals bellow “Spit on my face/ Put the pony in his place.” But SOPHIE didn’t invoke sex as an end unto itself; instead, sex was an experience that could defamiliarize the omnipresent language of gender. The bridge of “Ponyboy” goes “he is just a pony/ she is just a pony/ they is just a pony/ pony, pony boy.” “Pony Whip,” from the 2019 remix album of Oil, repeats the teasing line “so I treat him like a boy/ so I treat him like a boy/ so I treat him like a pony boy” until the meaning of the phrase bleeds out entirely. The experience of physical pleasure in SOPHIE’s work has a psychedelic dimension, like activating the body allows us to move beyond the definitions that are assigned to it; like the body itself is something we continually create.

This clearly puts SOPHIE’s work in the lineage of pop and disco, genres which use physical pleasure as a means for spiritual transcendence. In a 2017 Teen Vogue interview, SOPHIE says, “A lot of the stuff I’ve done takes the attitude of disco but tries to bring the sound world forward… I’m trying to imagine what music that’s positive, liberating, weird, dark, and real could be in the present day.” In a 2015 Rolling Stone interview with A.G. Cook, SOPHIE says, “I think all pop music should be about who can make the loudest, brightest thing. That, to me, is an interesting challenge, musically and artistically. And I think it’s a very valid challenge — just as valid as who can be the most raw emotionally. I don’t know why that is prioritized by a lot of people as something more valuable.”

Disco and pop music — electronic music in general — has long been negatively associated with artificiality, as if artificiality is in and of itself less sincere or authentic. SOPHIE’s music is proudly, directly, purposefully artificial; it is also proudly, directly, purposefully emotive. In SOPHIE’s hands, synthesized sensations and materials became the building blocks of the best dance music you ever heard. The textures of real life — car engines, rubber tires, plastic containers, metal bars — are mirrored back at us in strange, sexy new shapes.

I say that SOPHIE’s music is trans, and this is what I mean. Jessica Dunn Rovinelli’s beautiful piece on SOPHIE’s work in the Guardian explains that “SOPHIE molded raw sound to make hyperreal versions of recognizable forms…. Transgender people in particular exist through self-processing: we make a body that we can live in and a world where that body can feel safe.” Sasha Geffen tweeted that “SOPHIE’s music isn’t just ‘about’ transness, its idiom is inherently trans. It traces the process of surfacing interiority.” Transitioning is a kind of inside-out alchemy — I feel a certain way, I learn to understand it, I begin to orient my life in a way that allows me to express it, other people begin to treat me differently. From the interior work comes the exterior effects; from reorientation, new pleasure and new life. Even if the change is synthetic, in the sense that I have to make it myself with chemical supplements or medical treatments or changes in clothing or requests to change the way I’m referred to, it doesn’t mean that its effects reverberate any less.

One of my favorite SOPHIE songs goes “I don’t need anyone to be who I want to be.” You can read this as a statement of satisfied self-sufficiency, like “I can be who I want to be all by myself,” but I prefer to read it like a prognosis: “I don’t need anyone else to demonstrate how to I want to exist.” To create your own future means leaving behind those who want to dictate that future, who demand control over the terms on which you live. In SOPHIE’s alchemical work, familiar sounds become new shapes, so that old structures — the pop song, the chorus, the melody, sound itself — become vehicles for innovation. SOPHIE made that process of innovation sound like the sexiest, most joyful thing in the whole world, so much so that you wonder why anyone would settle for the old and familiar.

Photo cred @corporatebigwig

#SOPHIE

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d2myg · 4 years ago

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yoongi b-day post; this will be incredibly sappy, so read at your own discretion:

the person in the pictures is min yoongi. i took them in the london o2 arena in october 2018, when i went to a bts concert during their love yourself tour. it was unironically the best day of my life, and not just because i got to see the people i love most do what they love most. i got meet up with my friends, spend the day with them, share food, do sight-seeing, do windowshopping together - little acts of love that i now look back at with fondness. at the venue, we talked to many other people, hugged, laughed and cried, sang and screamed together. before that day, i hadn't realised just how one person - or one unit - can bring a sea of people together, people who are strangers to each other, people who are so different from each other, speak different languages, come from different backgrounds. but on that day, we all gathered together because we shared love for a group of 7 boys who make beautiful music and make us all feel a little bit less alone. on that day, even though we didn't understand the lyrics or some of their comments, we felt welcomed, safe and loved there. we could feel how much they love all of us, and how much effort they put into showing it. at the end of the concert, as the ending credits rolled down, they left a little message - a 'special thank you' to all of us, even though we have loads more to thank them for. i've heard a lot of people say that bts saved their lives. that they were in a dark place, but the hopeful messages in the songs, and the incredible friendship that bts all have with each made them feel less lonely. and i feel this way, too. they make people connect, and i've never seen anything like this with any other music artist; the bond that exists between bts and the fans is thrumming with so much affection for both sides. no matter how high they climb, bts stay humble, and make sure to always thank us for their achievements. what sets them apart from other artists for me is genuity and passion for their work, and personalisation of their music, their continuous efforts to be gentle role models for the youth.

i felt drawn to min yoongi ever since i first watched one of their music videos, back in 2015/16. i've never encountered anyone like him, and learning more things about him over the years of being a fan has been a great pleasure. i've realised that our personalities and habits are a lot alike, and it's painful when people don't see past his stage persona and think he's cold, lazy, and uncaring. he has the kindest soul, and he loves in quiet and subtle ways. he cares so much, and he always puts other people before him. his passion and love for music is unmatched, and it's really inspiring to see that he chose to pursue his dream despite his parents' disapproval or growing up poor. his creative process is very unique, and he has so much knowledge about the thing he's good at, yet he always strives to improve and is self-critical. the music he creates from scratch is stunning. that's actually not the right word - i don't know how to even begin to describe it. min yoongi is good at telling stories through his music; stories that make you sit and listen, that make you want to listen to them again, want to know how they continue. the method of delivery of these stories is through rapping. i used to not like rap at all. but by listening to min yoongi's rapping, i understood the purpose of it, and learnt what good rap is - to tell stories. min yoongi's lyrics are poems with incredibly clever wordplay, use of metaphors and anecdotes, rhetorical questions, and they ellicit emotions by simply reading them. i never knew music could be like this. even though there is a language barrier and all i have access to are lyric translations, listening to min yoongi's music doesn't require knowledge of korean at all. you understand the message through the changes in flow and speed of the words, through sharp breaths, through the rawness or quietness of his voice. you understand especially when min yoongi is telling you his stories. his stories and their delivery are heart-wrenching, shocking, eye-opening. they speak, sincerely and openly, unafraid of judgement, about his tough childhood, difficulties during debut and the first few years of being part of the group, about his mental health, his feelings, thoughts. they speak about his immense love for music, but also about his worries and anxieties as a global celebrity. they made me realise that for his dream, min yoongi has had to sacrifice a lot. he had to sacrifice living an ordinary life, which is sometimes all he wishes.

loving min yoongi can be bittersweet sometimes, when i listen to his stories, again and again and again, until i've memorised the pronunciation of every foreign word. they often make me sad and hollow, make me cry, because i think that such a lovely and selfless person doesn't deserve the things that he's had to cope with. but loving min yoongi is also good - he makes me feel so inspired, to get off my ass and work on what i'm good at and what i enjoy. it makes me want to be academically successful, even though he's very critical of the education system. his lyrics are enlightening, and i admire his ways of critiquing society and institutions even though he's part of a very strict industry. the way he thinks and shapes his thoughts into words in interviews is incredible and inspirational. his music makes me feel less alone, just as it does to millions of people around the world. i think i couldn't have picked a better role model, a better idol, a better mentor, and it was far from a conscious decision. he's just very endearing and easy to feel drawn to.

i hope he knows just how much everyone is proud of him and all that he's achieved. i love how he remains down to earth and humble, shy about his work, despite having been nominated for a grammy recently, and despite all the other highly prestigious awards of record-breaking album sales he greatly contributed to. i hope his smile never dims, because it's genuinely healing and valuable. i hope he never gets tired of making music, whether that be for the public or privately, for bts or for himself. i hope he stays healthy and recovers well from his shoulder surgery. i hope he takes good care of himself, physically and mentally. i hope he knows that out of all of his stage personas and alter-egos, 28-year old min yoongi (30-year old min yoongi in korean age, which remains confusing to me) is the one that is most important. i hope we get to meet again, even though i will just be a dot in the crowd, and he will be showing us all the music he wasn't able to show us in person last year. happy birthday, yoongi. you don't know me, but i look up to you and i love you, a lot.

#ik the pictures' quality is shitty but i wanted to use my own and i didn't manage to draw anything so #eli.txt #myg #bts #happy birthday yoongi #yoongi day

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