#a diabolic waltz

[thesimpinquestion]

Some yummy art @rottennssoldier and I cooked up! They drew and own Sherman (Right) and I drew Topher (Left) who is mine <3 

I colored, shaded and made the background for the piece because I loved the sketch we did so so much!

(Original White Board sketch below the cut!!)

#pib oc #collab art #puss in boots oc #puss in boots the last wish #thinkin bout this while listening to diabolic waltz #my art

[stuck1nthelimbo]

im so normal about them — 📌 post | masterlist | ko-fi

6 》Masturbation - Squirting - Dacryphilia ― Truth or Fuck [Fushiguro Toji x f!reader]

Everyone knows about the 'Truth or Dare' game, right? How about the adult version?

TAGS!!! 2.1k, age gap, toji fucks son's friend (20s), masturbation, squirting, rough-ish, creampie, no beta

With the perfect freezing weather and knee-deep snow, a small group of friends has gathered at Fushiguro’s cottage. We were greeted by the host’s father, Fushiguro Toji. I became smitten with him when I met him months ago and after gathering the courage to admit it to my friends…

“I dare you…” Yuji pretends to come up with a dare, yet I’m aware of what he’s about to say. I roll my eyes and blow lip bubbles. Nobara hides behind him, giggling at my upcoming disgrace, “I dare you to go and kiss Mr. Fushiguro, on the lips,” the audible gasp slips Megumi and he nudges his friend, who’s impatiently squirming. My friend points at the vodka shot, which can negate the dare, however, I’m conflicted: between being unaware of what the diabolical trio has in plan and the fact that I don’t want to miss the opportunity.

“I’ll get back to you,” I flick Yuji’s forehead as I walk by him, trudging to the kitchen. Peeking in, my eyes discover broad shoulders and a muscular back with a skintight black t-shirt. For a moment, I envy his ex-wife, who enjoyed all these and bore his child. Well, let’s focus more on the conception of said child and less on rest. “Um, Mr. Fushiguro?” He turns head while fiddling with something in the fridge, then twists on his feet, squinting at me.

“You kids involvin’ me now?” he blatantly mocks the group, puffing air through the nose.

“They dared me to kiss you,” shuffling on the spot, I mutter, and he scoffs. His head drops to the side, crossing arms over the puffed-out chest. That shirt is holding on its dear life.

“What are you, twelve? You’re older than those punks,” Toji’s peeved, yet leans forward and sticks his cheek out. I shake my head and point at my lips with an index finger. The scoff’s louder now, gives me a peck on the lips, and dismisses me with a hand gesture.

Not enough. So I’ll make sure I end up with another opportunity. The second time doesn’t quench my thirst either. Maybe the third time’s a charm? Now with the gust in my stroll, I prance in the kitchen and heartily grin at the eldest. The sudden aggression alarms me: large palm grabs my face and his lips crash onto mine, tongue slithering into my mouth. This grown-up kiss leaves me breathless.

“The fourth time you’ll wobble out of here,” he’s so fine when his eyes gleam with malice and a sly smirk contorts his face.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much. Now I’m tiptoeing down the stairs for water while fixing an oversized shirt. Caught a glimpse of the clock on my way, it’s around two in the morning. Everybody’s asleep, it’s dead silent until I step foot on the first floor and hear the faint sound of the TV. I waltz into the kitchen, grab a water bottle, and plop on an empty sofa, sipping.

“Hey,” the low disembodied voice startles me, I jump, almost spilling the liquid. Something huge slouches beside me. Now shirtless Fushiguro Toji glances at me. A sculpted chest and abdomen and the gray sweatpants leave so little to the imagination, “Someone dared you to kiss me at midnight? You’re a tad late.”

“Come on, Mr. Fushiguro, give me a break. They dared me, I didn’t have a choice,” I lie through my teeth, averting gaze from him to the TV. He looks back at the screen, his hand tampering with the remote.

“First,” the index finger raises, the rest hold the remote, “You didn’t drink, shots were untouched. And second,” the middle finger flicks up, “stop calling me Mr. Fushiguro, Toji’s fine,” he mutters. The silence lingers between us, the low volume of the movie relieves the awkwardness.

“Hey, wanna play ‘Truth or Dare’?” I break the silence and he glances at me with an embarrassed smile.

“And you’re gonna ask me who’s my crush? Pass, kiddo,” he brushes off the idea without considering.

“Come on,” I straighten between the cushions, my digits tap on his veiny forearm, “truth or dare?” his eyes bounce to my dimly shadowed face, and a sigh of defeat escapes him.

“Truth.”

“Have you ever…” I wander off, sweeping the room with my eyes before they land back on him, “had sex outside the bedroom?” Toji shoots me a dumbfounded look, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. The shock shifts to a flirtatious smirk.

“Oh, you meant with a twist,” his lips pucker, eyes tag along the flickering TV, “alright,” he clears throat, “almost always. I don’t remember the last time I had sex in bed,” chewing on the inside of my cheek, I anticipate the question, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” half-lidded, verdant eyes stare at me.

“Have you ever hooked up with a man twice your age?” He knows the answer, the stuck-up grin plastered on his scarred lips. I audibly swallow and shake my head. He faintly nods, proud of himself.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you prefer slow and romantic sex or rough fucking?” He chortles, air eagerly puffs out of his nose, and his eyes glance at the TV. In a moment, his head turns back to me and drops a bit, staring from under the lashes.

“I prefer to hold down brats and turn them into incoherent, blabbering messes. I like leaving a mark,” his husky voice reverberates in my ears, and my tailbone tingles. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I maintain the eye contact, holding my breath in. He’s pleasantly surprised. His tongue glides across the teeth.

“You should kiss the player in front of you,” he’s so casual, and his eyes trail down to my lips. I lean forward, supporting my weight on open palms pressing down the cushions. Poising face near his, he mumbles, “for thirty seconds,” I barely register the statement before his large hand clasps the back of my head and pulls me in a sloppy kiss. His teeth nibble, fleshy tongues lap, fingers on my nape claw along the hair, steamy breath spills over me and half a minute runs out with the spiderweb-thin threads of saliva spreading between us. Glazed eyes gawk at me, stirred breathing heats my throat, and he skulks toward me, tossing the remote on the floor.

“Truth or dare?” I somehow utter the sentence and hear him click his tongue and mouth the word ‘Dare’ without halting the predatory movement. “Just touc–,” Toji’s low chuckle prickles my skin with goosebumps and I’m unable to finish. His teeth ready to feast on my delicate neck freeze midway, his hand crams between the flimsy underwear and soft pussy, index and middle fingers plunging in my sopping cunt without an ounce of resistance. I mewl at the intrusive sensation and glance at the older male. He’s dead absorbed in the sounds and the texture my gummy walls exude with each knuckle-deep thrust, occasionally the thumb flits across the clit, and I twinge with each brush.

The other hand lurks under the shirt, feeling around before grabbing onto my breast, kneading it with his fingers, possessing the softness of the flesh. Buried digits quicken the pace, the forceful thumb rubs against the bud, drawing few quiet whimpers out of me. The prominent squelchs of my wetness echo. Something pleasant swirls in the depth of my stomach, coils several times and pours downward, between the thighs. His long fingers meticulously slip the soaked underwear to the side, before pulling out and relentlessly sinking back in.

"Wait, Toji," I protest, yet he positions himself between my legs, spreading them further apart; I feel something coming, the unfamiliar sensation and without the proper amount of time, the ecstatic pleasure swallows me, my legs tremble and I gush all over him. Literally. Under the heavy eyelids, I notice how half his body glints, as if splashed with water, "oh, my God," the audible whisper under the heavy breathing snaps his attention. He straightens and I see droplets of transparent liquid on his torso, guiding down the chiseled figure.

"First time squirting?" the cynical tone annoys me, but I'm still under the influence of soft, gentle waves of post-orgasmic bliss and prop myself up, "Clean up," now the tone has changed into demanding, irritating me further. Reaching hand for the paper towels next to the sofa, his palm seizes my wrist, "no, not that," the sharpness makes me tingle again; I push my tongue out, and after his validating smile, I press it flat on his damp chest. The skin feels smooth under my muscle as it glides around the muscular chest, under the collarbone and finishes close the crevice of the neck. I can feel the vibration of his throaty laugh and I pull back, searching for his eyes, before being pinned down on the sofa by a strong hand around my throat.

With one hand, fingers tightly envelope under my jaw, the other yanks his sweatpants down, and even in the dimmed TV light, I make out the silhouette of his fat veiny cock, bouncing out of the boxers. His fingers pull my underwear aside, straining the fabric and harshly grazing his manhood against my drenched pussy. I whine and buck my hips, but he pulls back in time. Brushing the tip of his cock against the swollen clit, he pity smiles the following childish pouts from me. The index and middle fingers press down on his cock, firmly nudging the head of his cock on my sopping cunt until I fling legs around in frustration.

"Truth or dare?" Both of his hands wrap around my thighs, hooking his girth at the entrance of my cunt, teasing. I ignore the question, but the nails digging into my skin bring me back to his expression.

"Uhhh," I reluctantly mutter, "truth," he leans forward, leveling his face with mine, and one of my hands tug on the strands of hair on his nape, closing the distance between us, Toji’s shaky breath seeps under my nostrils. The stillness agitates me, until he bucks his hips, bottoming out inside. My mouth gapes, but before any sound escapes, his palm blankets over my trembling lips, and the pillow under my neck dampens his grunts.

“Everything you wanted?” the ‘truth or dare’ question flies over my head, my brain short-circuited and drunk on the smell of sweat beading on the male’s temples. He hasn’t moved since he bottomed out, forcefully stretching my cunt around his thickness. Each spasm around him runs a shiver up my spine. The pain is buried deep between the ecstasy that radiates from the depths of my stomach. The nails I've dug in his hair nearly break the skin. The other hand weakly pushes against his flat stomach, to which his response is pushing himself inside to the hilt, grinding his groin against my sensitive clit. I swiftly shut my eyes and he, in a painstakingly slow manner, thrusts. Moving back and forth, reminding me with each thrust how enormous he is. He quickly picks up the pace, chipping away at my sanity with each hit. The room's filled with the quiet buzzing of TV and short, sharp grunts his throat echoes, alongside the wet sounds that emit between us.

With each passing second, another round of pleasurable waves swirl in the depth of my stomach. The hand over my mouth tightens as his hips stutter with each forceful thrust. The stuttering turns into hips bucking erratically, teeth grinding, sinking into my flesh, and throaty grunts, soon replaced by barely audible moans, as I feel something fill each nook and cranny of my gummy walls up. The grip on my face loosens while my hips shake following a stomach-churning, body-rippling orgasm.

His weight pulls away, and straightens in his seat: strands of damp hair glue to his forehead and cheeks, mouth hanging, Toji regains his steady breathing. I struggle to close my legs, the strained muscles ache with the smallest movement. The hot, viscous fluid leaks onto the sofa cushions from the apex of my thighs and the elder man groans in frustration, yet does nothing. With difficulties, rises off the sofa, trudging to the kitchen. I reach for the water bottle, almost spilling the contents of it all over my sore, tired body. My pussy stings and I know, this will be hell in the morning. But oh, well. He won this round of ‘Truth or Fu– Dare’.

© stuck1nthelimbo; do not redistribute, repost, modify, or use in any way, form, and/or shape. re-translation by asking for permission first.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #toji x reader #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut fanfic #jjk fanfic #smut #limbo’s domain

[lavenderrmidnightss]

Safe and Sound - Billy the Kid

Billy the Kid (tom blyth) x fem!reader 

Summary: While walking home one evening from the inn, a man comes across you and attempts to attack you. You are saved by Billy and he begins to grow very protective over you, right from the start.

Warnings: Attempted SA (not successful), cursing

Word Count: 1.9k

PART 2 IS HERE

The walk home felt like a near impossible task despite the reality of it being less than a mile walk. Working at the local inn was not lightwork as some may think. Taking care of others can be exhausting when you have so little to pour out of your cup. The sky’s hues were transitioning from its cerulean blue into shades of purples and pinks. Your eyes were trained on the varying colors that dared to come out as the day shifted into evening. The sunset resembled a masterpiece brushed on a canvas by a renowned artist. With each step, your eyes never failed to tear away from the beauty above you. Each step you took filled the air with echoes of crunching due to the diminutive pieces of gravel hidden in the dirt. Hard to see, but easy to feel through the sole of your shoe. Your commute home seemed to be working as a medium of decompressing until sudden movement out of your peripheral vision stole your attention. You caught a glimpse of a man stumbling towards you. Your instinct to move quickly kicked in, but you knew better. Acting afraid would only entice the man more. ‘Just keep your eyes forward. Just make it home,’ you thought to yourself. 

“Where’s a pretty lady like yourself headed?” a coarse voice entered the atmosphere, demanding your focus. You looked over my shoulder, looking at him. Just a couple inches above your own height, he held a gaze on you to imply his superiority. 

“And that’s your business, how?” you inquire, daring to stop in your tracks and face him. His complexion smeared with ash and hair slicked with sweat, your wonderings of who he was and why he was approaching you intensified. 

The man’s eyebrow’s furrowed, accentuating dense lines and creases in his forehead. He made his way up to you, closing you in. “Well ya sure do got a lot of nerve, don’t ya?” He diabolically chuckled. You began to internally squirm as he noticeably began to eye you.

 “Look at you. Exhausted. Looks like you’ve been on your feet for quite some time, haven’t ya?” He interrogated, allowing himself to continue looking you over. You could only imagine what he was envisioning as his eyes fixated on your chest.

 “Look like a hardworkin’ woman. I admire that. Ya know, everybody has to earn their keep in these parts..” his voice trailed off just as his body began waltzing closer to yours, entrapping you. Your back soon crashed against a raggedy, abandoned building you weren’t even aware you were passing. It’s astonishing how much your mind evaporates when your main focus is survival. You knew where this was leading. You’ve seen so many women be taken, raped. Even some of your own friends. Men don’t view women as a treasure, but rather an accessory designed to bring them pleasure. It had become an intrusive thought; when would it happen to you? Looks like reality finally caught up with your nightmares.

His calloused hand toyed with the hem of your dress before slipping under. The rough texture of his skin clashed with the silkiness of your own. You were frozen in fear. His face now hovered in front of yours. “Bet you could be a real good worker for me, couldn’t ya?” A condescending smirk decorated his face. 

Your stomach churned. “Get off of me. Right now.” The short demands came out urgently. Your hands moved to defend yourself, preparing to shove his stocky body off yours. However, you underestimated his strength and build. He grabbed your wrists and shoved your arms above your head, pinning them there. 

“Fiesty too? They say that manifests well in the bed,” his growl echoed in your ear, his face grazing yours. “Mm, you’ll fit right in. Just be good for me, would ya? Listen to what I say and do as you're told, and you’ll be treated well.”

“Fuck off,” you spat in his face, jabbing your knee up to jolt his gut. He stumbled back, releasing you. You took the opportunity to sprint away. The world moved in slow motion. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough. Time resumed when you felt two hands snatching your waist, slamming you to the ground. The husky body which entrapped you before immediately went for it again, but this time, pinning you into the dirt and gravel mixture where your feet once stood. The pain you once felt radiating from the sole of your shoe, walking on the road, now pierced deeply into your back. You squirmed, trying to loosen yourself from him. It was no use. 

“Gonna be a bitch? Then I’ll take you right here for free, show you what you’re missing,” he grumbled, beginning to unbuckle his pants. Continuously trying to make your way out, no amount of thrashing would free you. Looking around you, you tried to decide if screaming for help was even worth it. Who would hear you? You were alone with this man. Your eyes darted up to the sky only to find the pastel colors which once delicately danced above you had descended into darkness. 

“P-Please, no, I’ll go with you. I’ll listen. Just, please don’t. Not here, I-” you were a stuttering mess, hoping your pleads would be enough to convince him to get off you. You squeezed your eyes shut. If you didn’t see it, maybe it would be quick and over with? Maybe it would sting less? As soon as your eyes shut, the weight of his body completely lifted off of you. You thought you were dreaming it, that it wasn’t reality. However, the sound of a heavy thud crashing to the ground, along with groaning and pounding, you were assured you were safe. 

You open your eyes to find a significantly taller man had swept in. His messy, brunette ringlets dangled in front of his sculpted face as his feet consistently and harshly came in contact with the enemy’s stomach. You weren’t one for violence, but you admitted that seeing this mystery lifesaver relentlessly pounding into this bastard was a joy. You sat up, finding a pair of sapphire eyes lighting the darkness, striking you. 

“What’re you waiting for? Go, run,” he called out to you, before putting all his attention back on the attacker. You stumbled to your feet, backing up to guard your body behind a railing. However, your eyes stayed on the match. Really, just the one who swept in to save the day. You studied him closely. 

The stocky man who had attempted to pull at the one hovering over him. You were taken aback when in quick response, zero wait time, blue eyes drew out a gun, aiming it at him. “Try that again, and it’ll be the last damn thing you do,” he growled, cocking the gun. The man on the ground shrunk by tenfold. You watched as fear washed over him, the metal rim dangling in his face. Holy shit. 

“Get up,” blue eyes demanded him, watching as he slowly stood. The demand in his voice was filled with such hatred. The man who was once so confident now trembled in fear for his life, his hands going in the air. Blue eyes kept his aim on the man before him. “Get out of this town. Far away. Let me so far as see a glimpse of you around these parts, and you’re a dead man. Got it?” The trembling man nodded shakily and quickly, sprinting off without another word.

 Suddenly, the world got quiet. Finally. You emerged from your temporary hiding place just as the man who saved your life turned to face you. “Thank you,” you managed to get out. “I-I don’t know what I would’ve done, what would’ve happened if-” A drawn out, thick accent cut you off. 

“I’m sure of what would’ve happened, and it would’ve been awful. What’re you doin’ anyway, walking around here this time of evenin’ all by yourself?” He secured his gun into its holster as he made his way over to me. His demeanor was entirely different. He radiated protection, genuinity. Minutes prior, you were trying to escape a nightmare. Now, you were being drawn in by a stranger’s kind act and handsome features. You felt safe. How refreshing. 

“I was just heading home from the inn. What’s your name?” you asked, desperate to know the name of the one who guarded you. 

“Name’s Billy. And you?” Billy. His name etched into your mind, knowing it would now hold a priority in the forefront of your thoughts. You told him your name, to which he nodded. “How about I get you home?”

With that, Billy guided you on the path back home. The gravel didn’t seem so daunting against your soles now. Under the pitch black sky adorned with stars, you had Billy to protect you. The walk to your place wasn’t filled with much conversation, but when it was, you were fascinated by his thoughts and the sound of his voice. 

Once he had successfully guided you to your destination, you noted that his eyes scanned over the place almost as if he were attempting to memorize its design and build. Billy didn’t want to leave you. He couldn’t invite himself in, couldn’t insist you to leave with him. Not after what he had just saved you from. He knew if there was a shot in hell he was going to gain your trust, he had to demonstrate he was worthy of it. 

“He didn’t hurt you, right, darlin’?” Billy’s tone was now hushed, almost as if it solidified his authenticity. Billy’s eyes were a shade you had never seen before, but a shade you would quickly find filling your dreams. Your heart admittedly flipped at the sound of the pet name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly. 

“No, he didn’t. You got there just in time. Thank you, Billy. Again. Don’t know how I could ever return the favor for what you’ve done for me.” Billy’s smile lit up the night sky, melting you from head to toe. He shook his head, shrugging. 

“No greater pleasure than protecting ya. Now, get in and get some rest.” Billy watched you disappear into your house, the screen door creaking behind you. It felt wrong to leave you so abruptly. Never before had he felt a desire to stay up long hours of the night getting to know another before, but for you, he ached to. Billy couldn’t leave you. As you went in and laid down, wondering where Billy was headed off to and if you would ever even see him again, Billy sat down on the steps of your porch. Adjusting himself, his back aligned with the post. Leaning his head back, he pushed the strands of hair out of his face. He basked in the breeze of the night, listening to the harmony of varying late night insects. He also intently listened for any potential danger, looking to protect you at all costs. Maybe it was the innocence in your voice that enticed him. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed down, the way you were unafraid to fight that enthralled him. Regardless of how it happened, Billy had an instantaneous desire to keep you out of harm’s way, no matter what it cost. As you laid in bed, you thought of Billy. As he leaned against your porch that night, he knew he was doing his job. He was keeping you safe and sound.

______________________________________________________________

#tom blyth #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #fanfic #protective #billy the kid x fem!reader

[jessamine-rose]

◈ Housecat — Author’s Note ◈

ଘ(˶╹̆ ▿╹̆˵)੭່ﾟ Read Housecat here!!

(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ Read Alea Iacta Est here!!

Sndksnsajaja thank you so much to everyone who read my work!! Your feedback means the world to me and I hope you all suffered from enjoyed my yandere version of the Regrator

This post is just me sharing my Yandere! Pantalone headcanons, my characterization of his darling, the creative details in both fics, and bonus content from the rough drafts. I hope you all don’t mind this behind-the-scenes look into my work :>

“Your entire life has been a gilded cage. The gods refuse to grant your greatest wish, and so you have resigned yourself to the will of destiny. But what happens when the red string of fate is severed and replaced with the silver chains of the Regrator?” (AO3 Summary)

⬩Introduction⬩

♡ First of all, I must give credit to @bye-bye-sunbird and @ddarker-dreams for inspiring me with these posts from their blogs!! I rlly liked the idea of Pantalone pursuing a darling who grew up with everything he wanted but couldn’t have. By claiming her, he achieves what was previously unattainable to him and gains control over the divine ψ(｀∇´)ψ

♡ I was originally going to write a single fic from the darling’s perspective, but the word count for i. scarlet quartz convinced me to split the story into two fics. Which, in turn, enabled me to incorporate Pantalone’s POV and more facets of his character!! While Housecat focuses on his charming manipulative side, Alea Iacta Est reveals the full extent of his ambition and cruelty :>

♡ Before I continue rambling, I want to say a big thank you again to @diodellet for another peer review!! Aside from providing feedback, she motivated me with her brainrot <3

⬩Pantalone⬩

♡ My version of Pantalone is a possessive and manipulative yandere. He likes to refer to his darling by “my [nickname]” and dress her up in his choice of clothing and jewelry. He is extremely cruel and ambitious in pursuit of his desires, so he will stop at nothing to own his Kitty darling completely.

♡ Wealth and authority aside, he mainly utilizes his intelligence, social skills, and friendly facade to manipulate how others perceive him. In taking note of his target’s wants and weaknesses, he presents himself as someone who can fulfill those wishes.

♡ This is the reason why Pantalone gives Kitty quality time and words of affirmation more often than material gifts. He knows that she wants something which wealth and prestige cannot buy, so he adjusts his love languages accordingly. He also consistently includes her in conversations, stands up for her, and makes time for her unlike Kitty’s other relationships.

♡ Given his character design and backstory, I think Pantalone indulges in his newfound wealth but remains mentally affected by poverty. The easiest way to set him off is to express ingratitude towards his luxurious gifts as shown in ii. fool’s gold. I wanted to depict his wealth as “different” from that of high society, in the sense that his extravagance is only limited to his preferences. He doesn’t follow trends or feel the need to prove himself to aristocracy, because he is already confident and superior in terms of authoritative power.

♡ Askdnkdendkw I hope you all liked his soft moments in vi. noctilucous jade and vi. diabolic waltz. I hc that he dislikes being seen without his material riches or “perfect” appearance, so when he is forced to be genuine and vulnerable around his darling?? It was a nice break from his deception and cruelty (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

⬩Kitty Darling⬩

♡ Once again, in order to feed my love for docile darlings and twisted happy endings, I put myself through the pain of giving Darling her own detailed personality and backstory. To start, I made her a cat-hybrid for the housecat/ stray cat theme and because it was cute to write about her feline features. That is all  ^•ﻌ•^

♡ Kitty grew up with the privileges of high society, but it is that same upbringing which makes her lonely, insecure, codependent, and resigned to her fate. I chose fashion and dance as her aristocratic interests, since they align with her desire for attention and participation. Given her internal conflict, it is inevitable that she falls for Pantalone before his proposal.

♡ My own name and appearance for Kitty &lt;3

⬩Other Characters⬩

♡ 赖 Lài family – Hahaha so here is the source of Darling’s issues!! Because of work and favoritism, she grew up ignored and babied by her parents. They did the bare minimum in raising her and only recognized her potential as a link to other important families. As a result, her sister also looks down on Kitty and is bitter about her lack of productivity. Their surname ironically means “depend on; trust in; rely on."

♡ Chairman 金 Jin – I wrote him to be someone whom Pantalone would view as a worthy challenge given their opposite upbringings. Symbolism-wise, his surname means “gold” to contrast with Pantalone’s silver accessories. His Dendro Vision foreshadows how his downfall is caused by his association to Kitty (Pyro Vision).

♡ Kitty’s brother and friends – These characters do care about her, but they can’t prioritize Kitty over their own responsibilities. This enables Pantalone to take full advantage over her loneliness and self-esteem, because he is the only person who actively seeks her company and sets aside his work for her.

⬩Literary Motifs⬩

♡ Housecat/ stray cat – At this point, the parallels don’t need to be explained. Kitty is the housecat, a pampered child who doesn’t know any practical skills beyond what is expected of her in high society. On the other hand, Pantalone is the stray cat whose destitute past made him cunning and self-sufficient.

♡ Red string of fate – Given his view of the gods, Pantalone probably scoffs at beliefs pertaining to destined/ forbidden love. Even if his darling or destiny refuses him, he will get what he wants through his own ambition. I'm also simply fond of that motif :>

♡ Fire – Sooo Kitty’s Pyro Vision was chosen to represent her codependence on others. Her Vision is her only source of self-esteem, being the only object which she was able to attain on her own. Alas, its warmth and light cannot compare to what Pantalone provides for her~ On that note, I’ll point out a narrative detail repeated in i. scarlet quartz, v. shivada jade, and v. the die is cast:: When Pantalone opens the door, he brings “warm light” into Kitty’s dark world.

♡ Love and contracts – Yeahh so Pantalone and Kitty are both cynical towards the concept of love. Similar to the former, Kitty views love as a give-and-take contract and refuses to use that word. So her “I love you” in the ending marks her complete descent into Stockholm Syndrome </3

⬩Chapter Titles⬩

♡ Jewels – For the most part, I referred to Genshin lore and irl symbolism. The jewels chosen with the most consideration were Smaragdus Jadeite, Shivada Jade, and Electro Crystal due to their lore, symbolism, and function respectively.

♡ Figures of speech – I didn’t know what else to use for Pantalone’s section dividers, so I just name-dropped a bunch of motifs or phrases lol. The last title vi. diabolic waltz is the title of the Kuroshitsuji ost which I described as the orchestral music for the dance scenes.

⬩Deleted Scenes⬩

♡ Fun fact, Kitty’s old life used to be angstier!! Originally, the distance with her friends was because Yinji was Chairman Lai’s mistress. (Cue a more dramatic reveal during the wedding) I scrapped that idea for the “too busy to hang out” tension in order to put more focus on Pantalone and worsen Kitty’s anxieties over being “more of a pet than a wife.”

♡ Pantalone adopts the stray cat from Yujing Terrace. I didn’t find the time to write that, sadly, plus I didn’t want to risk a “Pantalone dislikes cats” from Genshin canon lol. But yeahhh for now, the cat currently lives a comfortable life in the Regrator’s Liyue estate.

♡ I entertained the thought of writing a crossover with my Yandere! Capitano fic Herbarium, but I scrapped that idea because it didn’t contribute much to the story. Additionally, an interaction between Kitty and Damsel felt forced, given their conflicting personalities and the latter’s asocial nature.

⬩My Favorite Scenes⬩

First Kiss, Wedding Night, and “Stress Relief”

♡ Ansksnajaajahw I DIED writing those scenes. Compared to Capitano’s chivalry and comfort in Herbarium, Pantalone is more greedy and passionate with his physical affection. He strikes me as the type to take pride in tainting and overwhelming his darling during intimacy~ Honestly, I was just rlly thirsty for him and I think it shows in the sexual tension throughout Housecat  (〃▽〃)

Aftercare Scene ft. Hand-holding

♡ I’m quite happy with this scene!! I wanted to cool down from the wedding night with fluff aaand it became a rare glimpse into Pantalone’s vulnerable side. Yes, it was necessary for me to add that final dash of dark spice~ That bitey ending was inspired by a scene from the manga “The Villainess and the Demon Knight.”

Pantalone Says No to Baby Trapping

♡ Honestly, this scene was quite self-indulgent. Aside from the Fatui’s ongoing mission, I tried to rationalize my Pantalone’s “I don’t want kids yet” speech with the fact that Kitty actually wants children due to her lack of wifely responsibilities. Hopefully, the scene played out well?? I was afraid that it would turn off some readers, but I hope it provided some dark wholesomeness and reverse-psychology-esque manipulation. And hahaha Pantalone’s greedy last line—

Diabolic Waltz: Reprise

♡ *sobs* Pantalone being vulnerable with his darling again……realizing that she has truly given herself up to him……comfortable enough to let his hair down and have fun dancing, because there is no crowd of partygoers to judge them…….just the stars watching them……Pantalone allowing himself to be genuine and to say “I love you” for realsies skdwkfwewnkww

♡ But yeahhh I’m rlly happy with how I ended the fic. Aside from the last waltz being a direct contrast to the beginning of Housecat, I wanted to show how Kitty isn’t the only one who is acting “differently” in this scene. I just wanted to see Pantalone all happy and victorious. And so they lived happily ever after ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

⬩Pantalone x Kitty Playlist⬩

Songs which motivated me throughout the writing process. Istg why are these so perfect for Pantalone and Kitty’s story  ˭̡̞(◞˃ᆺ˂)◞

♡ Diabolic Waltz — Kuroshitsuji ost

♡ Tricologe by Niru Kajitsu ft. flower

♡ il by Anna Evans golden folks

♡ Gensou no Kyrie — Dance with Devils song

♡ The Slightly Chipped Full Moon — Kuroshitsuji II ost cover by Lollia

♡

Aajsndjedj but yeahh that’s all for the twisted tale of the Regrator and his darling!! I was concerned about cramming too many ideas into this fic, but aahh I rlly wanted to exhaust all of my brainrot. And so we ended up with 15.8k words of my blood and tears~

I hope that more readers will enjoy Housecat and Alea Iacta Est. Do share your reactions and feedback with me—it truly warms my heart when you compliment my work!! Same goes for brainrot bc your keysmashes and suffering are a delight to read ლ(｀∀´ლ)

#pantalone #yandere pantalone #yandere pantalone x reader #pantalone x reader #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #fatui x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #tw: yandere #fem reader #jessamine-writing

[anxresi]

*Sees S6 ‘leaks’ on Reddit, checks them out*

First Up: ‘Chloe retrieves the Miraculous of the Raven from the Native American box, becoming the superhero, Silver Feather...’

HURRAY! See, give her a chance,  and I KNEW our girl wouldn’t let us down! ...Wait, there’s more...

‘...And later becoming the supervillain, Steel Feather.’

...Okay, who’s responsible for this?! I WANT NAMES!! Maybe the episodes synopsises will provide further information... *Scrolls a LONG way down to find Chloe being mentioned*

618_VESPERIA

Written by: Thomas Astruc - Mélanie Duval - Frédéric/que Engel Lenoir - Chloé Paye - Sebastién Thibaudeau. Andre and Zoe go to New York to sign a contract with their new movie producer. They are accompanied by Adrien, who wants to deliver a letter for Nathalie’s relative by himself. As expected, the confrontation between both – now separated – Bourgeois families, went to extreme level. Akuma in New York? Cat Noir comes to the rescue!

a) Thomas “Hater’ Astruc still helping to write the show, even though he said he was quitting after S5? I KNEW it was too good to be true, but at least this explains the diabolical Chloe ‘Hope Spot’ above. God forbid there be any wealthy teenage blondes in his upcoming reboot of Astroboy...

b) Let me guess... The episode ends with Chloe humiliated (again) Audrey shouting at Chloe for perceived failures in letting down the family name (even though the defeat will be all Audrey’s fault) and Andre with Zoe waltzing off into the sunset together to become a World Famous Director/Actor duo, with all the Karmic Jackpot from the writers you can possess for the pure attribute of disliking Chloe.

c) Of course, all these ‘leaks’ could be complete nonsense invented by some imaginative geek with WAY too much time on their hands, and I reserve the right to delete this post at any time if/when this turns out to be the case to preserve my own reputation/ego/sanity. (My main reason for skepticism? In the above episode, Chat has his moment in the limelight instead of giving Ladybug all the glory and demoting him to ‘flirtatious goofball’ when they’re apparently ‘equals’. Yeah, right.) 

I mean, if you read the rest of the plot descriptions, it DOES sort of read like bad fanfiction... but then I think of what S5 is basically like... and I reckon, ‘there might be something to this’. Whatever the truth is, only time will tell... but not for me, because I won’t be watching in any event. Ciao! x

#ml leaks #ml spoilers #chloe bourgeois #chloe #miraculous #ladybug #miraculous ladybug #zoe lee #chat noir #adrien agreste

[darlingsomeone]

Re-listening to Danse Macabre, an old fashioned waltz — bits and pieces from a good omens fan.

Et vive la mort et l’égalité!

My take: something has been lost when looking at this lovely tone poem if all we get is awfulness or despair. This dance is the embodiment of seizing the day (or night in this case) even past death.

First though, if you’re into this kind of thing, is some analysis of how it is constructed.

Everything is meant. “The piece begins with twelve repeated notes from the harp, signifying a clock striking midnight. The violin scratches out a series of imperfect fifths that do not resolve as they should in well-mannered tonal music. The devil is warming up to play a diabolical dance in a fast waltz time. The waltz had only lately become respectable.”

The original song-poem lyrics with English translation can be found here. More thoughts under the cut:

It’s hard to hope that links speak for themselves if someone is skimming a goofy post like this. The lyrics, then, French and English:

“Danse macabre

Zig et zig et zig, la mort cri en cadence

Frappant une tombe avec son talon,

La mort à minuit joue un air de danse,

Zig et zig et zag, sur son violon.

Le vent d’hiver souffle, et la nuit est sombre,

Des gémissements sortent des tilleuls;

Les squelettes blancs vont à travers l’ombre

Courant et sautant sous leurs grands linceuls,

Zig et zig et zig, chacun se trémousse,

On entend claquer les os des danseurs,

Un couple lascif s’asseoit sur la mousse

Comme pour goûter d’anciennes douceurs.

Zig et zig et zag, la mort continue

De racler sans fin son aigre instrument.

Un voile est tombé! La danseuse est nue!

Son danseur la serre amoureusement.

La dame est, dit-on, marquise ou baronne.

Et le vert galant un pauvre charron—

Horreur! Et voilà qu’elle s’abandonne

Comme si le rustre était un baron!

Zig et zig et zig, quelle sarabande!

Quels cercles de morts se donnant la main!

Zig et zig et zag, on voit dans la bande

Le roi gambader auprès du vilain!

Mais psit! tout à coup on quitte la ronde,

On se pousse, on fuit, le coq a chanté…

Oh! La belle nuit pour le pauvre monde!

Et vive la mort et l’égalité!

*

Tap, tap, tap—Death rhythmically (1997) English translation © Richard Stokes

Tap, tap, tap—Death rhythmically,

Taps a tomb with his heel,

Death at midnight plays a gigue,

Tap, tap, tap, on his violin.

The Winter wind blows, the night is dark,

The lime-trees groan aloud;

White skeletons flit across the gloom,

Running and leaping beneath their huge shrouds

Tap, tap, tap, everyone’s astir,

You hear the bones of the dancers knock,

A lustful couple sits down on the moss,

As if to savour past delights.

Tap, tap, tap, Death continues,

Endlessly scraping his shrill violin

A veil has slipped! The dancer’s naked!

Her partner clasps her amorously.

They say she’s a baroness or marchioness,

And the callow gallant a poor cartwright.

Good God! And now she’s giving herself,

As though the bumpkin were a baron!

Tap, tap, tap, what a saraband!

Circles of corpses all holding hands!

Tap, tap, tap, in the throng you can see

King and peasant dancing together!

But shh! Suddenly the dance is ended,

They jostle and take flight—the cock has crowed…

Ah! Nocturnal beauty shines on the poor!

And long live death and equality!”

Look, these words and the instrument choices speak of equality in the state of death. Possibly a bit the way Crowley would.

Death wasn’t and couldn’t be hidden politely during those days. The arts featured the dance of the dead, just as we still see Memento Mori in media today. The balance of return from oblivion to celebrate outside of hierarchies was not new. Even the dead could still seize the night. Joy does not die.

Remember Crowley saying that people will be equally dead whether they are killed by Heaven or Hell up in that graphic? If anything, this little note from the domesticated Bentley might be a little rebellion, if not overkill. Maybe it’s A Clue to Aziraphale that they might celebrate a little late if he insists on this trip while ignoring Crowley, just as the Bentley’s musical gift to Crowley of the Nightingale reprise in season two.

Look at what the lyrics said.

The dance was already a part of folk custom or lore, and the xylophone was a country instrument. Saint Saëns was well aware of this, and used both the barely acceptable waltz as the dance and coarse instrument of country-folk. This was done deliberately.

This conservative, restrained composer made choices throughout the work. A dance which had been scandalous not so long ago and an instrument ‘of the people’ so to speak. Composed to fit the exacting pattern of “the devil’s interval”which you can read about here, too (yes it can matter). I’m a geek for this kind of thing so here’s that link again.

The idea of the dance already existed, what he did was to elevate it to something so moving and strong that it endures today, despite its original reception by his contemporaries.

The message of the lyrics is lost in the final product, which is a pity for Good Omens fans, but the delight in the dance remains. There is a freedom, celebration and again, an equality among the freed dancers. (Crepes, anyone?) They take their joy where they can, even if the devil plays the tune.

Like Orff’s Carmina Burana, another work celebrating earthly delights and perils, (Ox rib anyone?) O Fortuna being the most recognizable of this work, Danse Macabre is often used to enhance or promote something only in fragments, very specifically omitting the resolved and therefore to me, ‘peaceful’ end to both works.

I seldom hear the resolution of the frantic dance in the promotion of a scary movie or even as used in Hush, an episode of Buffy (yes, the one with The Gentlemen, on one of the links). This does Danse Macabre a great disservice. The point and the peace are cut off abruptly, leaving the listener waiting for the music to knit itself up at dawn. For this listener, the omission is a constant irritant, but I am perhaps an odd duck. I do have ears though, and they know the difference between resolved and not.

It’s oddly like a cliffhanger, really, when only part of the work is played.

While some people say that this piece is “suffocating” or “overwhelming” I can only wonder at the variety of human experience. There is so much unencumbered joy in Danse Macabre, so much literal freedom of the souls to have this time to celebrate.

Young children are routinely introduced to classical music with this piece. If it were so utterly fearsome, it would be a poor choice indeed for such a task.

What it is, without a doubt, is a composition in old fashioned waltz time that goes far from the norm while following a form.

What else could the Bentley give Aziraphale but that truly intimate dance, a waltz, to the tune of equals and a taste of brimstone?

After all, he has standards.

#good omens #danse macabre #not really done #earthly delights #ox ribs #carpe diem #memento mori #i am not an expert #I just like stuff #image description on alt text #image description in alt #music in good omens 2

[waytray]

Kuroshitsuji OST 1 ~ 22. a Diabolic Waltz

#black butler #music #nostalgia #kuroshitsuji #the animes

[21secondsofchristoph]

This is probably the longest interview I've ever read.

"Why do you have to be happy all the time?"

Photo: Peter Rigaud/laif

Oscar winner Christoph Waltz in a long interview - about gold and dirt in Hollywood, careful filming, his role as a management consultant in "The Consultant", and the question of what Lufthansa did with his new Rimowa suitcase.

Interview by Alexander Gorkov

February 24, 2023

A long afternoon with coffee, cognac and cake. Christoph Waltz, visiting Berlin from Los Angeles, is always excited and attentive – he pauses between sentences and then always continues to formulate it ready for publication.

SZ : Management consultant Regus Patoff ostentatiously smells the young people who will report to him in the series “The Consultant” upon his arrival. He cuts his fingernails and nose hair in the office, he calls his people at three in the morning, monitors them...

Christoph Waltz: The fact that the young employees line up and I memorize their respective smells is a scene that immediately made sense to me when reading the pilot episode.

SZ: Which made reading fun?

CW: That's the thing about joy. Some things are fun, which then turn out to be rubbish. No, obvious, in the sense of light rising. Incidentally, at first I only knew the script for the pilot episode.

SZ: The books for the eight episodes weren't ready when it started?

CW: No, just the pilot. Then, after the whole production was okay, Tony Basgallop sat down and continued writing. Always in increments of two episodes. So when we were filming episode three, we didn't know what episode six was going to be like.

SZ: What about the Writers' Room, 20 authors, you imagine that would be more complex for a US production with an Oscar winner?

CW: That's already there. But that was not the case with the “Consultant”.

SZ: How much of it was created while shooting, i.e. spontaneously, also with regard to the character Regus Pattof?

CW: I can't say any more. Afterwards it might not matter anyway.

SZ: Jennifer Coolidge recently said she worked with the crew to develop this somnambulist of her character in "White Lotus" while we were shooting. Could these be signals that a certain desire for spontaneity and creativity is returning after rather bleak years in films and series?

CW: It would be nice anyway. Maybe word would slowly get around again that the fixation on algorithms and pie charts, i.e. on this alleged readability of the swarm behavior of viewers, does not tell any stories that could be worth experiencing for the viewer. So if there were no swarm at all. That filmed stories should be produced by film companies, not tech companies. With the unavoidable risks and side effects that always have an effect anyway.

SZ: The character of Regus Patoff, as diabolical as it is, is sometimes reminiscent of the characters of great comedians of yesteryear, whom one could, so to speak, watch while thinking...

CW: Thanks... Is the comparison possibly a bit bold?

SZ: There is a scene in "Sons of the Desert" in which Stan Laurel bites into an apple which he steals from what appears to be a fruit bowl - but it is not a real apple, but a decorative apple made of wax. And he thinks, and you can see it: Oops. So without making a grimace.

CW: Well...he doesn't think, "Oops!" He draws the viewer into his complication of recognition. He doesn't demonstrate clumsily how B follows A because that's what the script says. Rather, he involves himself and the viewer in an extremely complex process.

SZ: Namely?

CW: He bites into what he must think is a real apple because it looks like a real apple. Any normal prankster would now make a number out of the sudden recognition - spit out, suffocate, disgust, whatever the repertoire has to offer. But Stan Laurel sticks to the process: put to use as a real apple, the assumed reality now intensifies. He keeps chewing!

He calmly bites off more pieces, chews, swallows.

Under explainable difficulties. Which he still wonders about.Especially since he always secretly takes the apple from the fruit plate and puts it down again after biting into it. He doesn't want to get caught. And so he gets more and more involved and can't find out anymore. He has to eat the wax apple whether he wants to or not, even though the truth seems to be dawning on him.

SZ: You go nuts while watching...

CW: It's awesome. And to play that, this knowledge behind the lack of understanding - that requires very deep understanding, very deep knowledge. An insane intelligence too. But we're not just talking about a comedian here.

SZ: Rather?

CW: Genius...? Can one know?

SZ: Are we talking about the funniest two minutes in movie history?

CW: What would then be the second funniest and the least fun? I definitely want to avoid ranking, especially with a phenomenon like Stan Laurel. This perpetual ranking...blunt quantification. We thereby lose the ability to discuss the qualities.

SZ: Basically?

CW: Basically, of course. It takes constant attention, practice, and refinement, and it's tedious and tedious at times... I don't give a damn what rhetorical platitude any self-proclaimed expert can squeeze onto the internet about whatever.

SZ: But back to the faint hope of spontaneity and creativity...

CW: All I can say is that filming The Consultant was, of course, also an industrial process as a whole, which, however, miraculously relied largely on the non-industrial contribution of the individual. In this respect, this shooting differed significantly from what the series is about. Talented adults of different ages make their constructive contribution to the whole to the best of their knowledge and ability. It doesn't get much better than that... It's very different than, for example, checking in a suitcase at Lufthansa with childlike trust!

SZ: With the result?

CW: That I'll never see him again. And at Lufthansa, trying to get your suitcase back is a completely depersonalized and utterly industrial process.

SZ: Happens?

Happens.

SZ: Los Angeles – Frankfurt?

CW: Not at all! Munich – Berlin. I checked in the suitcase on December 16, 2022 – in the meantime, in the literal sense, in the box. I never saw the suitcase again. Not until today. A brand new Rimowa with nice things you've come to love inside.

SZ: How is the complaint made?

CW: Industrial. According to quantifiable measures. There has been a Property Irregularity Report, reference number BER-LH-33385, for more than two months. The Rimowa was originally supposed to be delivered to Berlin from Munich on December 30, 2022 with flight LH1934. I know all the numbers by heart. Some of the advisers at Lufthansa's complaints center also look familiar to me.

SZ: At least there's that.

CW: Yes, they are all very friendly, I have to say. They chat very understandingly, are diligent, give advice, and so one slips unnoticed into a labyrinth. You mutate into a process.

SZ: After all, one is a process. Isn't that a form of recognition?

CW: But on the contrary! You are fed into a digital metabolism and digested by the algorithm. The metabolic consequences do not deserve credit.

SZ: It is reminiscent of Kafka's trial. This is also possibly because the suitcase hasn't turned up again for two months.

CW: One is isolated, waiting, wandering around, lost in a digital labyrinth. For weeks, for months you think: where is my suitcase? I checked it in at a modern German airport with a leading airline on December 16th, 2022 to be returned to me at another modern German airport about an hour and a half later the same day.

SZ: With the result?

CW: Why result? It wasn't any of the two. Neither modern nor handed over.

SZ: Part of the fascination here is certainly that you ask yourself: What could be the reason for the apparently complete disappearance of the suitcase?

CW: For example, someone from Lufthansa recently told me that the weather was bad on December 16th. In the winter? In Munich? Snow and ice? For real?! That's why the train that my wife and I had originally booked was already cancelled... So did the suitcase fall out of the plane? It's a kind of conjecture industry, depending on which of the always friendly people at Lufthansa I'm talking to. Everyone suspects something different.

SZ: It may have been stolen.

CW: Even very likely - after all, a very personal and analogous twist of the story. Or it just got lost. Also analogue. If it were a medical emergency, I would have been dead weeks ago.

SZ: How about appearing as a sadist to Lufthansa and becoming unpleasant?

CW: I've thought about it. But nobody cares anyway. Because the friendly Lufthansa people are the biological extensions of the algorithm. It's definitely in the contract of employment.

SZ: Is Regus Patoff a sadist in The Consultant?

CW: I see it more as an attempt at correction. Or an excommunicated Archangel. A Knight of the Grail. He also does a job.

SZ: Which?

CW: He appears in the gaming company "CompWare" and confronts the young programmers with the ruthlessness of his methods with, how to put it...

SZ: ... oneself?

CW: Yourself and each other, yes. You then ask yourself a few essential questions: Am I still capable of making qualitative distinctions or only quantitative ones? So am I doing things for their quality or for their usability? By fixating on the short-term, quantitative usability of my work, am I anticipating obedience, an obedience that no political dictatorship forces me to? Do I still use my brain, which was made for the most complex tasks, or will I become a kind of task-specific artificial intelligence and will therefore soon be replaced by one? So in the end do I subordinate everything to this one and supposedly essential condition – usability, short-term economization?

SZ: A series about conformity?

CW: A hopefully entertaining series about conformity. Our business is entertainment. And yes: about conformity and what it takes to question it.

SZ: What does it take, courage?

CW: Courage is a jargon word. Everyone has courage - or thinks they have it, no? Even the heavily subsidized think they have guts. I can't really hear the talk of courage anymore.

SZ: So what does it require?

CW: Rather, does it require... effort, effort? It requires a brain, an on-going one. Our brain can distinguish between quality and quantity, it doesn't take any courage to do that. The brain can do it just like that - if it is reasonably well fed.

SZ: On the other hand, when since 1968 were some young people noticeably less conform than they are today? They demonstrate for climate protection, are language-sensitive, gender-sensitive, against racism, against ...

CW: So so ...

SZ: Yes, yes.

CW: Yes, yes, yes.

SZ: No?

CW: But. Naturally. And rightly so.However, I cannot understand that these sensibilities would be new apart from their preparation and the jargon. People haven't always thrown mush at paintings and blamed Vincent van Gogh to feed the networks spectacle, that's true. Since the Club of Rome report in the early 1970s, however, people have been demonstrating against environmental destruction, in Wackersdorf they did it in the mid 1980s, since the 1970s at the latest it has been about the rights of gays and lesbians, in the 1980s against discrimination against people infected with HIV , in the early 1980s half a million people ran through Bonn against the retrofitting – in the lead the Greens party, which is particularly active in this context today. Apropos - few figures in Germany fascinate me more than the Panzergrenadier from the Greens ...

SZ: Anton Hofreiter?

CW: Excellent material for a comedy. A transport expert does not become Minister of Agriculture after the election. So he stiffens, turns tomato red with anger – and is an expert on armament issues. boom.

SZ: At the same time, speaking of conformity, young people today are more likely to ask themselves the question of work-life balance, i.e. quality of life rather than pure income quantity .

CW: Can you balance yourself prophylactically? Even before it really starts to wobble? I don't know... In France, 17-year-olds are demonstrating against pension reform, right?

SZ: Well, a man from a leading management consultancy in Munich recently told me that highly qualified people have recently been telling him more often during job interviews: They are more interested in a four-day week than in more money, the competition is offering them that.

CW: This is initially understandable from the point of view of the consumer. The producer certainly has a different perspective because he might sooner or later lose the consumers, right? Which then makes the four-day week absolutely necessary. But then it is no longer a profit. So who is balancing what then? Or who? And could these job interviews be more of a European phenomenon?

SZ: Aren't the mindfulness consultants in the greater California area eager to proclaim this inner pendulum?

CW: Yes, maybe... And why? Voluntarily? The American person has to constantly make money, so does the mindfulness consultant with her web shop. The American man defines himself economically. In my area, with actors for example, especially those who have big plans, is it about work-life balance? They need follow-up contracts, they want to be part of a possible second season, the health insurance has to be paid for, school, kindergarten have to be paid for, life has to be paid for – not to forget the entertainment, i.e. the distraction from all of that also has to be paid for become. Not glamorous. Both parents work, not for reasons of social progress, but like crazy, and because there is no other way. Withoutwork no life , so work is better then – that would be the balance .

SZ: What's wrong with not getting gutted?

CW: Nothing! On the contrary. It is important not to be left out. Among other things, "The Consultant" is about. Of being literally gutted behind that mindful facade of colorful booths and walking around barefoot to feel yourself, and all that horrific, humiliating gibberish. About how the so-called creative people in particular completely subordinate themselves to economic success. And also from letting yourself be gutted. With what I am saying, I am only describing reality as I perceive it: economic success is the quality that constitutes the collective subconscious of the United States par excellence. Ranking makes this measurable. And tangible. I'm not saying that in a haughty manner, but up to a certain point as an equal among equals. In my first 35 years as an actor, I usually said, when someone came up with an offer: “Work? I'll do it! shit work? I do too!“

SZ: So shit movies.

CW: Why shit movies?

SZ: So the movies that...

CW: No! That was my life, with all due respect. Should everything that was good just be dropped now? There was some very good stuff there, thank you very much.

SZ: Forgive me.

CW: Clearly this was also training. Everything is always training. This is where the brain comes into play again. If it's allowed: mine. I always kind of knew why something was "shit". This is an immeasurable treasure, a treasure called experience.

SZ: Tempi passati.

CW: I am deeply grateful that my circumstances have largely changed over the past 15 years. But it doesn't change the fact.

SZ: Especially since one is usually wiser afterwards...

CW: Of course: You don't look forward to it while you're still in it. But you don't spend your life with gold alone. Nobody does that. I've actually worked on stupid films with the greatest colleagues from time to time. Here as there. But it is also about participating in life by doing. And with what? With good reason! For example, because you have a family and earn money, a very, very honorable process.

SZ: But this work does not really make you happy at the time of its creation.

CW: Why do you have to be happy all the time? Who invented the compulsion to be lucky? Everyone must always be happy... No wonder no one is happy. Except for the happiness industry.

SZ: The right to happiness - "the pursuit of happiness" - is one of the "inalienable human rights" in the USA! Since 1776!

CW: But not the right to be happy . The Right to Pursue Happiness ! pursuit ! Logically, this means, especially when it comes to forming a society, that I also allow others to strive for happiness to the same extent, not that I only try to enforce mine by force of arms.

SZ: Like I said, an American...

CW: The right to be happy only exists according to the mindfulness coaches just quoted, and those from 2023, not 1776. Those who make money by looking happy on Instagram. happiness industry. It's gotten tough in America. Hard and unforgiving. Europe is still a bit shy in this regard, but it will catch up.

SZ: Also in Hollywood, does that also affect the film industry there?

CW: yes sure, maybe not? But like I said, one can hope. I at least hope that something is changing for the better right now. If I'm not an optimist, at least I'm naive! But in terms of the years I've been living there now: the fixation on quantity, the fixation on the measurable, on pie charts, tools for reading users - it's not obvious that the parts of the brain where creative people used to be their Quality awareness suspected, meanwhile dry up?

SZ: That means you make everything ready for the user, so to speak?

CW: Do you have users or readers at the Süddeutsche ? If you still have readers: never consider them users... my non-authoritative advice. The technical means of spreading nonsense have never been available on this scale, and a repulsive figure like Donald Trump could only become President of the United States of America because there was fire from all channels, both digital and analog: He won't, will he? Will he?

SZ: Well, he ran for the post. Should you ignore that?

CW: Why should one ignore him - but hysterize for months? Because it sells? Trump as a repulsive figure was very old hat long before his presidency became more likely. He has been an obnoxious, vile phenomenon for decades. That was impossible to miss. But Trump, Brexit, all these dystopias from 2016 and after, they exist because they were spread , no longer communicated, and it's being disseminated for commercial reasons, while not conveying that each and every individual could care to expose Trump as a lie or to expose Brexit as a lie. We can all take a good look at our own noses here, with what we write, send, spread or help spread ... No feuilleton, for example, has to deal with Prince Harry.

SZ: Oh...

CW: Because it clicks? But does it make sense beyond that ? The sensitivities of a prince, apparently not the brightest candle on the candlestick, who publishes a tearful, post-pubertal commissioned work? Because daddy is always so mean? And why is he publishing it? Because you can make a lot of money with it and with a supposed "documentary". And the feuilleton sacrifices its integrity?

SZ: It also depends on how you reflect it.

CW: Reflecting does something quickly. Especially the so-called reflection is always extremely useful commercially and socially. Never looks bad either. The supply creates the demand.

SZ: Often there is also a demand that first ...

CW: Forgiveness! In the meantime, it often has features of self-incapacitation! And from the side of those who should know better! The lesson, by no means only in Hollywood, from the last few years: the so-called people are possibly much smarter than those in the know would like to give them credit for, and people have a flair for jargon and stupidity. They want to be entertained, of course, but not fooled. They often even want to be challenged, but not fooled. You smell the intention and you may not be upset right away, but you're always upset. The intention is always perceptible. For anyone who wants to take a look.

SZ: From this point of view, a fascinating, coherent but long scene like the beginning of “Inglourious Basterds”, in which an Austrian named Christoph Waltz, who was relatively unknown in the USA at the time, drinks milk as SS man Hans Landa and fills a meerschaum pipe, would hardly be seen today more possible, right?

CW: It might not even be attempted by most. Although, of course, there are still a select few who make great attempts. I now embrace every sincere eccentric I meet.

SZ: The scene lasts 20 minutes, an eternity by today's standards.

CW: 18 minutes ... It's all a matter of consciousness, the '68ers were right about that. And if my consciousness as a so-called creative person is solely geared towards the mercantile advantage, then this is communicated unmistakably. Basically, "The Consultant" tells from the guts here. anticipatory obedience,Timothy Snyder taught the right lesson: If you value our values, in a democracy, under no circumstances be hasty obedience. It's by no means all dirt that can be streamed or, rarely enough, seen in the cinema - but the sheer mass of what is produced may have reached a tipping point. The unconditional subordination to economic expectations is perceptible as such. Since the mouse bites from no thread. But is that really reason enough to watch the whole thing?

SZ: The thousand tiles of the streaming services, predictable plots and trigger points everywhere?

CW: And jargon instead of content! Everyone has been busy throwing themselves on the audience's laps over the years. Whatever you want: we do it, it will be delivered - in the desired jargon. Like the drug dealers and pornographers. But it's an unfounded claim. The intention is clear and therefore also clearly recognizable.

SZ: Ten years ago, after “Breaking Bad” and other fantastic, complexly told series, we were still talking about the golden age of television.

CW: And then streaming completely turned the entire film industry inside out. Everyone wants to do the business or at least not leave the business to the competitor alone.

SZ: Why didn't you continue to make series with complex narratives?

CW: Because industry has always embraced the avant-garde and then turned the tide. You then no longer trust the idea, certainly not the eccentric idea or even an intention that goes beyond the economic. But the stitch that you knit from it. This is how the mainstream has evolved for centuries. Today the algorithm works. The core business of the streaming service is the share price. Ergo: The decisive factor is the number of subscribers. But the subscription is not a single film. They are all films that can be squeezed into the offer. Ergo: the algorithm. The algorithm feeds only on the density of the mass. This mass of information only arises if the audience simply gets everythingcan be thrown to the table, the gold like the shit. The carpet bomb principle. Most bombs don't hit, the duds don't matter anyway, and some hit is bound to be there. It has to do enough damage to justify the whole rug though.

SZ: To the chagrin of those involved. So not just the viewer.

CW: Writers, directors, actors, many great people, not just young people with great ideas. And with fantastically functioning brains. Used to make the background look populated - quality swallowed up by quantity.

SZ: A black hole. How do you escape this?

CW: I'm not at the higher decision-making level, I'm just an actor, so I'm offered what's out there and what I'm eligible for...

SZ: ... at least in Hollywood.

CW: After all, why in Hollywood? It's the same everywhere. And certainly not only in film and television. All right, Hollywood, if that sounds better. I always want to go beyond this binary yes or no decision with an inquiry; So is the idea and possible design of a film or a series the rub or the dog buried? Is the idea worthwhile in qualitative, narrative terms, for example to spend a year or two of my life on? Who are the people to spend these two years with?

SZ: What is the reaction then?

CW: I often hear: "We are very interested in your input!" ... a shameless lie.

SZ: Fun.

CW: It's going ok. Little is discussed, little discussed or, God forbid, criticized. For speculating and calculating.

SZ: Movies have always cost money, have they not?

CW: Of course, it's nothing new that film costs money. The director John Boorman wrote a wonderful book about it a number of years ago, which is perhaps more relevant than ever: "Money into Light". No money, no film.

SZ: Which isn't bad per se.

CW: Yes,why? You don't even have to wish for anything else. But should the discussion in advance, when it doesn't cost anything and can be endless fun, only revolve around quantities and not at all about whether it's worth it from a qualitative point of view, i.e. literary, cinematic, artistic? Is there only one single intention? Money without Light ? One does not exclude the other! I don't want to understand how you can miss the really exciting, rewarding part of it all. Well, unfortunately I already understand. Everything is delegated somewhere intangible, where no one needs to answer questions.

SZ: As in the complaint case "Rimowa" and Lufthansa.

CW: In the film industry, when you have an idea, you say: “We could get that done .” Or: “I can’t get that done. That's actually mostly true, especially in the negative case. The result is films or series full of inauthentic stories, inauthentic speech, inauthentic images, underlaid with soapy, inauthentic music. They are films that are made because they are made.

SZ: Plus test screenings?

CW: Depends. I've seen a very, very ugly producer come close to flawless beauty after a successful test screening, simply because he was so happy. Why? Because 98 percent of test-watchers had ticked that they had just seen the best movie of their lives... this test-screening hit turned out to be a flop of historic proportions.

SZ: Now that's funny.

CW: Yes, yes.

SZ: Of course, our curious readers are curious to know which film it is. Will they find out?

CW: No.

SZ: And should we see an apple tree towards the end...

CW: Not necessary at all! Like I said, maybe something is changing. Perhaps the business model is reaching its limits in these excesses. Something has to change in order for it to continue. Streaming was a revolution, for sure, but the revolution can't eat its grandchildren.

SZ: Is Los Angeles still the right place then?

CW: I really, really like living in Los Angeles. Just in case it didn't sound Californian enough by now.

SZ: It wasn't always like this, was it?

CW: Not to that extent, no. But I love living there now more than ever. It's a unique collection of people, ideas, opportunities. Plus this beauty of nature. I don't want to miss that anymore. Incidentally, neither do the manners. I'm from Vienna, I like it when people follow the rules to some extent, even if it's just for reasons of a clearly distanced politeness that makes our everyday life a little easier. I'd rather be politely lied to.

SZ: Certainly interesting to come to Berlin in between.

CW: It's not interesting. It's horrible. Especially in winter.

SZ: Oddly enough, this fixation on making money goes hand in hand with great sensibilities, doesn't it? Fear of assault, wrong choice of words, all of that. Is it true that you have to take part in mandatory seminars before you start shooting?

CW: Yes. I don't do that.

SZ: Can you evade that?

CW: I don't know.I withdraw.

SZ: How?

CW: I don't need coaching to behave properly. I lead by example as I follow good example. I was brought up in such a way that I behave much better towards minorities and, by the way, also majorities, than the consciousness of the seminar leader is even able to assess. I could teach the seminar leader good manners .

SZ: Well, a privileged attitude, because of course, keyword economy, you won't do without Christoph Waltz in the end, does he attend the damn training course or not...

CW: In this sense: heartfelt thanks.

#christoph waltz #the consultant

[alradeck]

Whole comic so far found here: https://caelumsky.thecomicseries.com/

So I'm going to start assembling a Caelum Sky Narrated Series on my youtube channel here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiSg4laObGuDFeg3orfKvVw This is something I've wanted to do for a while, and folks seem to like them, so it's time to heap more onto the plate, haha. THIS POSITION IS PAID: I'm a firm believer in paying folks for their time. Also bearing in mind this is entirely funded on my own, so be reasonable. Please include your rates/hr in your email to [email protected]! You don't have to be a professional voice actor to apply! But a clear, clean voice recording (ie, decent mic, no dogs barking in the background/ noisy AC) is essential!  Must be able to record/ send files  (through audacity, what have you)   Voice lines are recorded a chapter at a time.  If you've voice acted in the past, be sure to include that on the email! CHARACTER NOTES- When you're trying out for these characters, please use the lines provided. This helps me gauge people 1:1 VOICES NEEDED: Neri - Main Character - Demon/ dinosaur - Female - Early 20's Neri is optimistic, and often sassy. Bright, energetic at times, worn down and cynical at others. Smartass preferred. Can be higher or lower, would prefer ability to growl the dinosaur lines with the same tone as the human lines a little more as inflection. More Sultry than Perky. Less Catty, none ditzy, but plenty vibrant. Sample line: " Ah, wow, cool, I'm just here minding my business, but thanks for stabbing me again" - Raziel- Main Character - Angel/ Exorcist - Male - Mid to Late 20's Raziel is tired. Worn down, unhappy, not droopy-esque though. To the point. Frustrated. Lower-ish voice, but young enough there's still a hint of energy to it. Can be lighthearted, often not. Not gruff, but not emotionally embellished in tone.  Embodies the person who's leaving work in an hour but got a task that'll take 4 hours past that. That's Raziel. 500% done with the world also works. Sample Line: "Listen, it's been a long day, I've got a busy day tomorrow of answering stupid questions, so if we could just... move on?" - Cempe - Major character- Demon/ Big Worm - Female, mid 30's. Cempe enjoys chaos, and mostly enjoys screwing around with other people. Enthusiastic. Sick of everyone's shit upon meeting. Ready to tease the big details in front of you only to pretend she's never offered them. Energetic, almost comically diabolical. Playing the game where only she holds the cards. Looking for someone to be able to growl the words a bit when in big wiggily form. Big "wine mom' energy. Sultry as heck. Sample Line: "Oh i'm so sorry! You can't just waltz in here and expect answers! That's paid for in blood." - Priest (His name is Dave) - Minorish Character - Human/ Exorcist/ Priest - Male - 60's Fatherly, a bit older. More optimistic at times, but tasked with trying to keep charge of chaos. Lighthearted at points, helpful but cautious. Is used to cleaning up messes and making sense of bad decisions. Tired. But less tired than Raziel. Sample Line: "I keep telling you, we can't keep saving every sad-eyed animal we come across. And no pet demons!" - Katherine - Minor Character - Human - Mom -Female - late 30's Weathered. Sassy. Deeper smoker's esque voice (no comical smoking voices) Level-headed, apprehensive. Has had a rough life, but exists in calm currently (somewhat) Distrustful. Hard to convince. Sample Line: "If you can just ask doggy to not, uh, rip open any more walls, I'm sure it'll work out okay" - Amber - Minor/Majorish character - Human - Female - 4 and 8 years old. I can't rightfully expect someone to be able to replicate a literal child. I'm also not gonna dabble with doing hyper baby-ish voices. Looking for a lighter voice, quiet, happy. Optimistic, Bright. Impervious to seeing the bad side of things. Excited to have a giant dinosaur as a friend. Sample Line:  "That's just fine! If you stay here at the house, then we'll never have to deal with the other monsters!"

#voiceactor #ISO #Voice #actor #job listing #caelum sky #excitingnews!

[finalmemesx]

Red, White & Royal Blue

By Casey McQuiston

“What’d you steal today?”

“Anything good this week?”

“That one is true.”

“Oh yeah, that was a wild night.”

“That can’t possibly be a real class you’re taking.”

“Whose wedding?”

“You’re going to ask them to dance, then?”

“Something is wrong with both of you.”

“Could be weirdly effective.”

“Do either of y’all know what a viscount is?”

“It’s cute how you think everything is about you.”

“It should be, honestly.”

“Do you know how to waltz?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

“I believe perhaps you should consider switching to water.”

“I want so badly for you to explain to me how this is funny.”

“Please, tell me another joke.”

“Is it too late to take the faking-my-death option?”

“Are you really not understanding how much I don’t care at all how you feel about this?” “You won’t miss anything.”

“So there’s really no way I’m getting out of this?”

“I don’t know what else to do, is the thing.”

“Shakespearean in that hopefully I’ll get stabbed to death.”

“I can’t believe I have to learn this garbage.”

“That’s because you are a nerd.”

“Everything looks like a museum.”

“Have you practiced what you’ll say tomorrow?”

“I think you’ve got the right idea.”

“Do you mind?”

“This is your fault!”

“How is this possibly my fault?”

“I cannot believe even mortal peril will not prevent you from being the way you are.”

“So you do have some fight in you.”

“I’d rather not be the little spoon.”

“Do you really want to have that conversation?”

“I didn’t realize you heard that.”

“I feel like you’re missing the point.”

“How can I be wrong about my favorite? It’s a personal truth.”

“It’s a personal truth that is wrong and bad.”

“You exhaust me.”

“I enchant you.”

“I’ll call security.”

“Fair enough.”

“Wow, I thought I could trust you.”

“It was like you were tying to set him on fire with your mind.”

“What is your point?”

“Bring them to the house.”

“Are you done? I have some actual work to do.”

“Because we all knew better than to try and stop you.”

“Just bring me my pizza.”

“It ever make you laugh to think how much this pisses assholes off?”

“You really think it’s such a bad idea?”

“You don’t think I was out of line?”

“You were in on this, weren’t you?”

“Did this man just say ‘sweat drop down my balls’?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“I’m going for a fun, and you’re coming with me.”

“You’re not surprised?”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?”

“Cool to see you’re not dead or anything.”

“Do you mind?”

“Find your way here okay?”

“You’ve been dodging me for weeks.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t like that look.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“Call it historical curiosity.”

“So you’re upset because the rumors aren’t true.”

“You are a wanker.”

“I’m going to need you to not call me that right now.”

“You’ve always backed me up until now.”

“Why don’t you say whatever it is you need to say?”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“It’s not about that. This time is different.”

“Hello, excuse me, can we get another round of these please?”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re a demon?”

“I trust you can handle yourself?”

“Bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Would you describe it as supersonic?”

“Can y’all go sit somewhere else?”

“Awesome, fuckin’ love doing things out of spite.”

“Has anyone shown you around the clubhouse yet?”

“You really are determined to get shoved out of an emergency hatch one day, huh?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Well, I hope it was fun, because if anyone ever finds out about this, we’re all fucked.”

“Yes, we can unpack the ironic symbolism later. Go.”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to spend tonight in jail.”

“Okay, I’m clearing my schedule for the afternoon.”

“I don’t believe in systems when I’m on vacation.”

“How long have you lot come out here?”

“Hope you’re ready to fuckin’ party.”

“Fuck off, five-nine is average.”

“Can’t you ever just do one thing without having to be so goddamn extra about it?”

“Do you have any idea what that means?”

“You think I don’t care as much as you?”

“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”

“I never said you were a coward.”

“Your hair in the mornings is truly a wonder to behold.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.”

“I suppose we do have to face the consequences at some point.”

“When are you going to tell us who you’re dating?”

“You gonna fight me?”

“I want you to tell me why.”

“You’re not the same.”

“How the fuck did they get these?”

“You’re giving my ulcer an ulcer.”

“But short for a stormtrooper.”

“Thank God you’re here. I was about to come get you myself.”

“I fucking love you.”

“You’re too young to understand.”

“That is the bravest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, will you all shut up for a second?”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I said, you look great, baby!”

“My life is a cosmic joke and you’re not a real person.”

“You should have tried to stop me.”

“Are you actually quitting for real?”

“How are things over there?”

“Wanted to come by to see if I could help with anything.”

“Will you please just help me pick?”

“Fire under my ass for no good goddamn reason.”

“You’re kind of hot when you get all indignant.”

#indie rp #rp #ask meme #rp ask meme

[wistfulcynic]

A World In Lilac Hues, complete.

“I don’t think anyone would mind if you cried,” murmured Darcy in her ear. “As the maid of honour surely it’s traditional.”

No doubt it was, thought Elizabeth, and she fully intended to honour that tradition with a long and luxuriant bout of weeping. Later, when she was alone. Not here, amidst this crowd of onlookers, greedy for gossip fodder.

“And what of you,” she challenged, with an arch look reminiscent of the Elizabeth of old. “As best man will you be crying?”

“Certainly not,” he replied, stiff and haughty in that classic Darcy manner, which would fool her had she not learned to spot the glint in his eye. “As best man it is my duty to clap Bingley robustly on the back, steer him down the aisle, then shake his hand in a manly fashion once the deed is done and congratulate him on his newly acquired ball and chain.”

“And have you carried out those duties?”

“Impeccably.”

“Then I believe there’s only one thing still required of you.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

She grinned. “Don’t you have to dance with the maid of honour?”

“Ah, well.” He plucked the champagne flute from her fingers and deftly laid it on the tray of a passing waiter. Smooth, thought Elizabeth. Years of practice at posh dos, no doubt. “I suppose if I must I must.”

Darcy took her hand and led her onto the dance floor—a wooden platform set up in the centre of the garden, bordered by flower garlands and torches that would be lit come nightfall—where he twirled her into his arms and the first steps of a waltz.

The music was… not conducive to waltzing. Elizabeth laughed.

“Can you dance like a normal person?” she inquired.

“This is dancing like a normal person,” he retorted. “It’s you lot with your uncontrolled writhing and gyrating like maniacs that’s weird.”

“Someday, I will get you into a nightclub.”

“The day hell freezes over.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Yes we will.”

They laughed together as he drew her closer and they danced in a manner completely inappropriate to the music, totally out of sync with everyone around them. Neither one cared. No one did, with the exception, perhaps, of Caroline Bingley, whom Elizabeth observed from the corner of her eye, watching them with a sour expression.

Darcy saw her too. “Caroline’s sussed us, I do believe,” he said. “She’s been asking me some rather pointed questions about you lately.”

“Well we did agree we’d have to tell people, now that we’re living together. Perhaps she’s the place to start. I don’t think Jane’s wedding is the ideal venue, but—”

“What if we didn’t.”

Elizabeth frowned, certain she’d misheard him. “What?”

“What if we didn’t tell them.” Darcy met her surprised look with an arch one of his own. “Or at least if we didn’t announce it like it’s some monumental thing. Jane and Bingley already know, and Gigi.”

“And Charlotte.”

“And Caroline suspects. What if we just… started doing things together, and let people draw their own conclusions.”

“Things,” repeated Elizabeth. “Things like, say, publicly waltzing to Uptown Funk?”

“Bloody hell, is that what this racket is called? But yes. Waltzing, for a start. Drop it into conversation with your parents that you’ve moved in with me.”

“Just all casual-like.”

“Exactly.”

Elizabeth considered this. “That’s diabolical,” she declared. “I love it. Mum’ll go mad.”

“I very much look forward to that entirely unprecedented occurrence,” said Darcy drily.

on AO3

(i can’t believe this is finished. i’ve been writing it for two years. it’s probably the best thing i’ve ever done. if you enjoy my writing and have any interest at all in Pride and Prejudice you should read it. i have been Emotional all day. this fic means a lot to me. thank you to all who’ve read it ❤️)

#pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice fanfic #pride and prejudice ff #pride and prejudice modern au #elizabeth x darcy #a world in lilac hues #profdanglaisstuff

[ghcstchild-a]

rumor has it hanguang-jun was manipulated by the yiling laozu... that somehow he was swayed by the music of the yiling laozu's dizi and decided to support him instead of standing firm with the cultivation world... i also heard that the yiling laozu brutally murdered his shijie and jin zixuan... leaving young master jin ling without much of a family...? how horrifying! the yunmeng jiang sect was right to banish him entirely!

RUMORS — always accepting.

DARKNESS SWIRLS WITHIN, a landslide long forgotten amidst the shallow tranquility this new life offered. He's used to this by now, allowing the rumors to run their course, paint him as a villain again and again, until the very idea of him was reduced to this — a tale to scare the children with, a faceless monster so despicable, he deserved it, every last bit of it, torn flesh and broken bones, the Yiling Laozu had it coming.

( but he did, he did, they are dead because of him, shijie's broken smile would haunt him to his last and final grave — didn't she know he loved her the most? )

Oh, but where was their righteousness and pious words when his throat bled from all that screaming? When he crawled out of hell all alone, knuckles bruised and ribs broken, when he shattered, when he lost his mind? They only came to set his world on fire, until the pain of the most horrid death felt better than the cries of those they didn't spare, and he couldn't even scream anymore.

❝ Aren't you forgetting something? ❞ a hollow laugh that comes out of him is a hoarse bark, half-petrified, half-amused, eyes an open wound that never really stopped bleeding — he relishes in the blessing of forgetfulness sometimes, but the horrors, the faces come back to haunt him every night, soothed with an embrace that grounds him in this joke of a reality. Heart aching for the one swayed by the diabolic waltz of Chenqing, ready to tear itself open once more rather than stain his good name with the BLACKNESS of his own — Wei Wuxian wouldn't even dare bleed on the pristine whites of those robes, exhausted from talking to the void again, screaming into it as if it could finally learn how to listen. It wears him out. The memories of home he'll never find his way back to. The raw stench of blood and rotten flesh. It's easy to forget how feeble this body can be sometimes, how fragile. Fingers rub the bridge of his nose, weary and mindless, pointless, as he forgets the name of his accuser, indifferent as he speaks. ❝ The Yiling Laozu also bathed in virgin blood and put horrifying curses on honorable cultivators, summoned demons from beyond the grave and abducted little children. Maybe I put a spell on Hanguang-jun, bound him to my will because I liked him. Do you wish to know what happens to those I do not like? ❞

#well fuck #i said send a rumor not roast him till he breaks #love this sm tho like WOW that's raw #a bit of #gore tw #if you squint #anon. #── * HC : a ghost behind the mask.

[heroes-villains-side-blog]

🖤 WELCOME 🖤

A flower for you

Welcome to my evilly humble lair, I hope you enjoy your stay as my prisoner! >:)

Come on, did you really think you could waltz in here and not fall for one of my traps?

Darling, you don’t know who you’re messing with! I’m none other than Codex The Charming — the future greatest villain you’ll ever have the displeasure of meeting!

Charmed to meet me, I'm sure 💅

If you need a refresher on me or my villain career, because you obviously know who I am, here you go :)

Now, I have to go practice my monologues, but here’s some of my non-monologue writing to keep you company, aka real literature

Snippets ✂️- Absolute treasures of literature, by yours truly

Prompts 🏁 - Sometimes I don’t have the time, energy or mood to write what I want to read, so I have to brainwash people to write for me

Silly reblogs of other people's works 👀 - Sometimes someone else can have good ideas. It happens, but I make them better

Web weaves 🕸 - Exquisite mosaics sure to put Athena to shame

Ideas💡 - Plans that I haven’t converted into snippets or prompts yet. But I can’t deprive you of my awesomeness, however little, so here we are

Tags 📑 - Gotta be organized if I want to keep my lair blog in tip-top condition

Tag game 🧩 - Fill out this totally innocent "game" which is totally not to gather intel on you 😇

Evil library management 📚 - Library of schemes from all over the world

Other posts 💫 - Other stuff that doesn't fall into above categories

This blog is just for my favorite prompts and snippets and writing practice. I only write heroes and villains and this blog is entirely that, but... there’s a certain… civilian who writes almost as well as me. Almost. Here's a link to that civilian's masterpost.

Note:

Let me know if there's an incorrect or missing tag or anything, like if I forgot to put the author's name in the tags—I gotta know who to kidnap if I ever decide I like their writing enough to use in my own diabolical plans 😈

Also if I've missed a trigger warning—I gotta keep citizens like you happy if I want you to blindly do my bidding 😊

Go ahead and message me or send me an ask about anything you want to consult your future evil leader about :)

Long live ME!

Toodles! ✌️🕶️

...

Check out #fantasci tumblr, a new community for fantasy, sci fi, and other speculative fiction outside the superhero genre!

#my writing #evil blog management

[eeelli]

𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔅𝔲𝔱𝔩𝔢𝔯

✞

黒執事

✞

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢.

✞

世界で最も美しいものは、人々の経験的な苦しみです。

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

✞

https://instagram.com/eee.ll.i?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

#black butler #black and white #aestethic #aestheitcs #ciel phamtonhive #sebastian michaelis #gothgoth #england #london #18century #tumblrpost #japanese #yana toboso #manga news #anime aesthetic #Spotify

[cheerstotheelites-if]

if you are in the mood for a prompt how about a fun one (choose one from three) Fleur vs Eliseo:

“God I can’t stand to even look at you”

“No one will ever love a scumbag the way I did"

"I can sense my IQ lowering every time I talk with you"

Fleur vs Eliseo prompt? Well, that's a first!

=-=-=

You weren't the one who got away

You just didn't like me that much

You weren't my soulmate and I thought that must make you my nemesis

Deemed you diabolical with vicious malicious and villainous intentions

But then I realized you just didn't like me that much

- you just didn't like me that much, Leanna Firestone

=-=-=

Fighting over gods know what.

This song and dance these two know how to play.

It's a routine at this point of their relationship? Friendship? Rivalry? No one's really sure at this point, since there would be times where Fleur and Eliseo can be civil for a day, then go back to fighting the next.

It's toxic, really.

Today's song and dance is about a PE project; the class is to perform the waltz, with the pairs assigned by the PE coach himself. Unfortunately, Fleur and Eliseo were paired, much to the dislike of the duo.

"From the top," Fleur lets out a frustrated huff as she backs away and pinches the bridge of her nose, "because for the gods' sake, you can't do anything right."

A sneer is quick to form on Eliseo's face as he stuffs his hands into the jogging pants of his PE uniform. "Well, I'm sorry that I can't be as refined as you, Heartstein." Eliseo sarcastically remarks. "I'm trying my best here."

"Well, try harder." Fleur lifts her head up a bit to glare at him, before looking up at the ceiling of the gym with an inhale. The exhale leaves her when she looks back at him. She's calmer now, though there is frustration still clear in the way she approaches Eliseo again.

Fleur doesn't say anything, but gives her dance partner a look. Eliseo too doesn't say anything, and instead rolls his eyes with a huff and offers his hand. Fleur takes it and both bow before pressing up to each other. Eliseo's hand wraps around her waist, and Fleur's hand is placed on his shoulder.

With the chaos and noise of their classmates practicing at the other sections of the gym, the two move with the orchestra only they can hear. The noise fades away and it's only the two of them left. Gazes aren't locked, repelled by the other as they focus elsewhere.

Both are silent through all the twirls, dips, and spins.

"Do you think things would've been easier if we did something different?" Eliseo's voice made Fleur glance at him. His gaze is still far away, watching whatever is going on in the distance. She glances away a moment after.

"What do you mean?" Fleur asks, as she does another spin, before returning back to Eliseo.

"You know what I mean, Heartstein."

The two are silent again.

"Of course things would be different," Fleur remarks, "extremely so."

Eliseo hums. "Would you look at me if that were the case?"

He dips her, his arm keeping a firm hold on her lower back as Fleur arches back. Her head is turned to the side, eyes locked to the nearest wall.

"I don't think so." Graceful as ever, Eliseo pulls Fleur back up to her feet. "I still wouldn't stand to look at you either way."

#prompt #Eliseo #Fleur

[matrica-a-novelized-actual-play]

Chapter 15: Waltz

Silhouettes, cast by campfires, streaked across the inner fabric of Siravand’s personal tent like distorted shadow puppets. The mercenary paced back and forth, churning the dry earth beneath his feet into dust. “You favor him.” Siravand halted upon hearing the familiar voice and feeling the unnatural dread that accompanied it. With only a thin layer of canvas providing privacy, he responded in a whisper, “What of it?” “Your mind is powerful…” it answered, “but your heart is a cracked and brittle thing. It is reckless to grow fond of anyone.” It took all of Siravand’s will to suppress a diabolic snarl. “I’ve often wondered if you can perceive my thoughts. Thank you for conclusively demonstrating that you cannot,” he quietly countered. “He is a valuable asset with a unique skill set. Losing him would be inconvenient. That is what troubles me.” “There are many in your ranks who can be described as such, yet you fret less for them in similar times.” Before the mercenary could form a rebuttal, a voice spoke on the other side of the tent-flap. “Sir, Bangura is stable,” said one of the company’s medics, their silhouette sharp and focused. “He will make a full recovery once our elixirs are restocked.” A relieved exhale escaped Siravand’s lips, then upon dismissing the soldier he collapsed onto his creaking cot. Above him, the shadows condensed into the form of a thin figure with massive wings. It snarled, “Liar.”

Our heroes are celebrated throughout the city, and much to the introverted captain's chagrin, Sieger is expected to attend the gala held in their honor. Raza makes the event mildly tolerable, and some unwelcome guests considerably less so. Following a hasty retreat, Sieger finally has a proper heart-to-heart with his new/old acquaintance, Yufi.

Read it these places!

The Story on our Wiki

The Story with Comments Enabled on Google Docs

The Story on AO3

#ttrpg #dungeons and dragons #dungeons & dragons #pathfinder #dnd #dnd5e #pf2e #homebrew #play by post #actual play #rpg oc #ao3fic #archive of our own #dnd character #Sieger #magus #tiefling #matrica chapter