#chaotic hedonist scans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaotichedonist · 3 years

Text

Tharunka (Kensington, NSW : 1953 - 2010)

Wednesday 9 June 1976, page 14

Some funny moments to tease you into reading:

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams.

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art.

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves.

back at the hotel sleazy

For all those fans who were misled by the media, Queen did not spend a couple of days-relaxing on sunny Perth beaches - it rained the whole bloody time they were there. (In Melbourne the hotel was 'besiged' by fans, who to quote Pete Brown — Queen's personal manager — seemed to be emerging from the wood work). Not to be put off however, by the Australian conditions Freddie Mercury (lead vocals and keyboards) attended the press conference in white pants and a simply sumptuous summer synthetic top with delicate butterfly sleeves curling gently over his shoulders. He was even more beautiful than Sophia Loren.

They were all quite chatty only Roger (Meadows-Taylor, the drummer) would keep interjecting, usually over John Deacon (bass) who said not an audible word.

Press: Would you describe your music as mock opera?

Freddie: They call it cock-opera back home.

Roger: I suppose because the vocals are in the 'grand style'.

Press: When is your next album coming out?

Freddie: We'll have a rest and think about it..

Roger: We just don't bung'em together.

Brian: We don't sort of write sitting in hotel rooms you know.

Freddie: We gather influences.

Press: Your music has been described as snob rock. What do you think?

Freddie: I couldn't describe our music as anything. We certainly don't put across that this it intelligent music that is on a completely differenrt level to the people who come to it.

Roger: It's written for the people. That's what it's all about.

Press: The theme of death recurs on your albums. Why this preoccupation?

Roger: Freddie's morbid mind.

Press to Freddie: Do you consider yourself a sex-symbol?

Freddie: You're joking dear. I'm just a singer, dear.

Press to Roger: Do you consider yourself a superstar?

Roger: As meaningless, (blows kisses).

Roger on the media - absurd for a magazine combine rock and politics.

Press: Roger, you're noted for your amazing screams.

Freddie: It's a controlled scream. I'd rather call it art.

Undauted by the fearless Australians they continued talking about their lyrics and the esoteric implication.

Roger: Freddie just loves the word 'Beelzebub'.

Freddie: Yes, well, Brian's got a taste for unusual words.

Roger: You talking about dandling on your knee and things?

All four of them write songs and each has at least one song on 'A Night At The Opera'.

Brian: It's very difficult to talk about our songs as a group because we all have different ideas of what the songs are about.

Roger: No we don't.

Freddie: Roger's the sensitive one. 'I'm in love with my car' is the most sensitive song on the album (Night At The Opera).

Roger did tend to sit there pouting at the bows on his pink lame gym-boots. One hardly noticed the dark roots in this gold angelic hair. We did ask, but unfortunately Roger didn't have a pic of himself in the gymboots. Roger was later accosted by David Essex fans in the foyer of the hotel, who wished to know if he was a popstar, girls now have Roger's autograph. Back to the lyrics..

Freddie: Every song is written by one of us and means something special to each one of us. Certain songs have a very literal meaning and can be understood straight away. Then there are some songs that can be taken on a lot of different levels.

He describes a lot of his songs as fantasies. 'We want to consciously lose ourselves. There are certain things we want to escape from in our lives or whatever.' He feels that people should create their own private fantasies from the images in his songs and so doesn't like to talk about what they mean to him. 'I'd hate to shatter someone's illusion. If I listen to somebody's songs I conjure up a fantasy of what its about and I like to keep it that way.'

He elaborated further.. 'Lyrically it is helpful to use certain words. You see it depends.. sometimes I want to use words that are phonetically useful. In the beginning they're surface words but you entwine them into the meaning of a song. That's what I mean about different levels.'

Brian May has a different approach to his songs, 'There's usually something serious behind them, but I feel a big responsibility not to over-indulge in idealogies. In 'White Queen' I was very interested in the significance of Queens and White Ladies in English folk lore. The song started off as a personal experience, the frustration of not being able to communicate, I was thinking about Robert Graves' ' White Goddess' and that became involved in the song.'

Roger: Romantic slush.

Brian: Our 'Now I'm Here' song is really about our first American tour. A big experience for anybody. It's a conglomeration of all the experiences we had on that tour. We had a great time with Mott the Hoople. I suppose they taught us to be a touring band.

We're very critical about each other and very cynical. We don't get deeply into meanings because you're living with it all the time. You have to be a bit light-hearted about it.

With four individual writers the albums were not done with a specific concept in mind. The 'White Queen' was written four years before the 'Black Queen'.

Brian: I don’t think that Freddie’s 'Black Queen' was a reaction to the 'White Queen'. We just discovered that we had these songs and the rest of the album seemed to fit around it.

Freddie: It probably subconsciously coheres.

Similarly ‘A night At The Opera’ has no overall concept though the name of the album is related to Freddie’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

As Brian puts it ‘We are four very different people with four very different directions, but there is a musical development that does make some kind of sense. Queen is very much an independent thing. We are always bouncing ideas off each other. We are very aware that we need each other.’

The rapport between them onstage bears out this statement. They work off each other in a carefully intergrated show thatt creates an atmosphere of spontaneity for the audience.

At the opening of their set there is a flash of fire and smoke as Queen emerge on stage. While music winds up they launch into ‘Orge Battle’. Like a Greek God or a simister Mephistopheles Freddie's powerful vocals cut through the smoke and flames.

With the stage show the band is doing something different to stimulating their records. Brian: "You don't get up there and behave like you do in the street. You go up there to entertain people and give them some kind of excitement". They have rearranged some of their songs especially for stage performance, including a medley of 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Killer Queen', 'Black Queen' and 'Leyroy Brown', which grinds down into 'March of the Black Queen' and then skips out on a lighter note which features Brian on genuine Japanese ukalele.

The brilliant solo Brian performs in 'Brighton Rock', with sweet high Paginini frills and harmonies, stimulating two or three guitars on stage, is in a style he has evolved himself. He got the idea the first time he was in a recording studio. Says Brian: "It was my first experience of doing multi-tracking. It happened to be in the cannon-things which repeat themselves. You play one, then you play the same over the top of it after a time interval. Later we started to do those things on stage but there was the problem of how to do it. We started having a single delay and then another one over the top of it. Then afterwards you do another repeat on the second. You can then do three part harmonies with yourself. We started to base it all on ten second solos and it grew and grew. There's a lot of other people doing it now and I'm glad because it’s a thing you can play around with.'

In the stage arrangement of "Prophet's Song' Freddie uses a similar echo feedback system which multiplies his voice into a celestial choir. His voice floats as a vision - "Listen to the madman' - while Brian plays some beautiful guitar.

encore amore

Brian describes their encore performance as the time when the band really unwinds. "It's nice at the encore to just completely unbend and make a fool of yourself. It gets rid of the tension between the band and the audience. I used to get a kick out of going to concerts to see rock groups like the 'Who' and feeling involved, like the group knew you were there. WE go by the kinds of things we think people would like at an encore. It's at a very basic level really, an energy level, a physical level. Rock and Roll is kind of a body music. I get as much satisfaction out of basic rock'n'roll like Status Quo as the most sophisticated music I know.'

The audience certainly enjoyed it and really let loose their energy. Roger (who claimed the most female screams) in rainbow mop-wig opened the encore with slow heavy rock-beat as Freddie did a dramatic entrance in a silk kimino. As he eased into 'Big Spender', he peeled off to striped hot pants for an outrageous version of 'Jailhouse Rock' - simple hard-driving rock'n'roll that had everybody out of their sets.

gettin' feelin' thru th' transistors

Brian was rather upset that the Australian Press should braiid them as a manufactured band. If 'Bohmeian ,hapsody' can be seen as incorporating the spectrum of s talent - mood changes, heavy stuff, the soft ballad - it is not because they (men of letters from universities) have developed a magic 'X' formula. Rather the song can be seen as a musical progression, a reworking of motifs off their other albums.

Brian can only say that, 'They obviously didn't see us in the earlier days. I can understand why they'd say that over here. Big impact. Overnight success. It must have been all calculated. If you’d seen the way it happened in England, you wouldn’t think that. I’ve had years playing pubs in England where people were drinking beer and discussing what other people were doing and not listening to the music. I want to build up this thing where people do want to go to a concert. While it begins to look like the commercial side, it;s what it’s all about. I want knock it because I want people to come and hear what we do.

It’s been a struggle, because in the beginning nobody knew what we were doing. We were the only people who believed in ourselves. We started playing because we had some kind of vision that we thought was worthwhile. For over a year and a half we were playing to ourselves. Gradually you gather people around who believe and that’s the way it happened.

Nobody is going to tell us to play what is commercial. What we play comes from us. We’re very lucky really in that we have a kind of audience who are attentive to whatever direction we choose to follow. One of us will come up with a song and we'll say, 'Yeah, it needs that kind of treatment and maybe that turns out to be something you call heavy and sometimes something which is light.'

To get back to the charge that they are a manufactured band, while he doesn't like it, he can only take it as a compliment that they think the band is so good. He doesn't consider himself a technician "technically I've stayed the same for the last six or seven years. Progress is what you feel and what you are putting across. That's what playing is about for us.'

Freddie: There's a lot of music there too.

Roger: A bit of music, yeah.

low key queen

By Anne Finnegan

Wednesday 9 June 1976

If you save, do not forget to leave a link to this, coz i kinda found it by myself and made and transcipt. Thanks :)

44 notes · View notes

emilyrosebass · 3 years

Text

Meet Moral Crema: A Fluid Collective for Weirdo Artist-Visionaries

The Art World™️’s inherent lack is more obvious than ever. Institutions house bored classics in empty halls; sanitized paintings and sculptures sit unviewed, accessible to only the privileged with enough funds and free time to freely folic during a pandemic. Now more than ever, it’s the alternative and underground creators that rise above, not just filling in the gaps left by the megarich, but setting a new standard entirely.

Moral Crema—a fluid collective of artists loosely based in Boston—is all these institutions leave longing: A breath of fresh air. Or, a burst of smoke, a glittering dark cloud, the sun setting to reveal the wonders of the night. Moral Crema’s kinda gothy, sometimes nasty, always visceral—Weird shit, in the best way.

The collective was founded in December 2019 by Luc Miglin (@sparklingspit) and Kristine Brown (@bigtractorguy), interdisciplinary conceptual artists who met while studying at MassArt. The two were inspired to highlight “grimy, unconventional, ever-changing” work outside the norm. “We want to share work that is overlooked,” they say, “We want to create the kind of community that we want to be a part of that we do not see in the art or culture worlds right now.”

And that they did. The platform they’ve created is indefinable, uncategorizable, connected by a shared sensibility and way of seeing the world—One that evokes a sense of decadence and hedonism (crema) but also a philosophical skepticism (moral dilemma). The artists of Moral Crema venture, question, and experiment: in dark glamour, in drag, in performance, in house music, grunge, and hyper-digital beats, in photography, poetry, and illustration.

For the most immersive Moral Crema experience, head over to the collective’s Bandcamp and pick one of the artist-members’ albums to stream before diving into the magazine: I recommend Le Snake’s *we made this in an hour and a half: a chaotically distorted and hilariously poignant portrait of pop culture, filled with gems like WE HATE HULU AND LOVE ISLAND (“I’ve never watched that show”) and I STOLE THIS SAMPLE. Or Boston-based DJ Froglycerine’s dark erotic electronica album Bog Bitch, whose samples feel eerily familiar, like some line from a coming of age movie you can’t place or a viral video, twisted into a new uncanny mix.

Moral Crema’s quarterly magazine, inspired by cabaret literary journals, is the collective’s real piece de resistance. In the October 2020 issue, perhaps most curious are Gaby Schaab’s Xerox scans documenting food as cultural artifacts: a Salvation Mountain-lookalike birthday cake made by a friend, potluck leftovers, remnants of an easter dinner. “Food is often the catalyst for idea transmission,” she writes, “What brings us to the table.” Her images are both preservative and transformative: Food taken from its original context, no longer able to be eaten, instead becoming everlasting symbols of community, culture, and care frozen in time.

On the other end of the spectrum, designer, drag performer, and DJ Soo Intoit bursts with energy and life: Stunning in every sense of the word. Whether through her experimental makeup, outfit, or set, Soo Intoit embodies the disciplinary mindset of Moral Crema: She is her art, her body the medium. “It’s so important that I listen to music while I get ready,” she explains, “I feel like I am becoming the music as I change my appearance. The songs make me look the way I do, and then it’s almost like they play themselves.” Influenced by everything from cybergoth and centipedes to McQueen and Mugler, Soo Intoit effortlessly blends the most unsettling and inspiring aspects of pop and high culture, creating a new aesthetic so multifarious it can’t even be explained, just felt.

With her liberated dark glamour burlesque, Fermelda Hyde (aka Abby Holgerson, @ominousabby) simultaneously appropriates and critiques the aesthetics of the rich and hedonistic. Drawing inspiration from 18th century vampire fashion, she often dons lace collars and powdered wigs, embodying Marie Antoinette or a gothic nun. In to perform, her video collaboration with Luc featured on Moral Crema’s website for Halloween, Fermelda Hyde applies bloodied makeup and dances to a soundtrack of samples stating “I like to feel good, especially when I pretend I’m someone else” and “I’m going to live forever”—a provocative and somewhat horrifying commentary on the performance and (im?)permanence of the projected internet persona.

It’s hard to imagine what Moral Crema can’t, or won’t, do next. In addition to the magazine and Bandcamp, Luc and Kristine also plan to host digital and in-person events in the future (Rumor has it a socio-political parody of a maid cafe is in the works).

To stay up to date on Moral Crema’s manifold projects, check out moralcrema.com and @moralcrema on Instagram!

21 notes · View notes

futureofclubs · 3 years

Text

Future of Clubbing

Nightlife:

Market Size: £1bn business Number of Businesses: 8,238 Industry Employment: 74,694

Clubbing is an important part UK's economy, culture and entertainment. The UK's economy during the day is growing 2% - while the economy at night is growing 2.2%. For a lot of people clubs were for a long time a source of lifetime of music, best friends, memories or even meeting their partner. We can trace many examples of the way nightclubs have nurtured communities away from the mainstream, most importantly in the history of gay clubbing. Despite the reputation of the British being reserved, there are long traditions of hedonism in this country, citizens living for the weekend. Life after dark can be chaotic, something of a secret, a lost time when in our actions what's normal doesn't apply, a chance for some casual flirting, to seek pleasures, to be different, to look different, to be lost in music.

In the last 3 years, the club industry has seen a big decline despite its importance. Young people seem to seek less hedonistic ways of entertainment while their financial instability cannot allow them to spend an extreme ammount of money on a night out. This as well as the DJ fees that club owners say keep increasing especially for middle tier DJs, has contributed to the closure of many venues, most importantly indiependent. The nail in the coffin for clubbing was of course coronavirus that closed the lucky ones temporarily, but many permanently. This is the biggest challenge the industry has faced.

Like any other industry, nightclubs had to adapt. Clubs in Europe hosted social distancing nights where costumers could attend as normal, wearing masks but only dance within a square drawn on the floor. Other ideas they tried were drive thru parties and open air social distancing parties. All above options have not been viable as attendance was forced to be limited due to regulations and the experience was not the same since clubs are built around skin to skin contact. The only one that worked were the virtual parties. Virtual parties were the talk of the lockdown. Club Quarantine is a big virtual club created and catering mostly to the LGBT+ community. the founders note that most lgbtq people have found the restrictions too hard since they spend too much time alone and many have no families to turn to. Others found the virtual clubs good to promote their own business, particularly those involved in fetish communities.

Ultimately, VR parties are here to stay and many physical clubs have tried adapting to that. Talking to Sub Club's owners and promoters who are hosting Live performances through facebook since May, they keep it up to maintain engagement. Sub Club has loyal costumers and in times like this, it is important to keep them happy and involved. At this time, the club utilises facebook to promote their events and an external website to host the live performance.

Are costumers satisfied? A lot of people have tried various forms of virtual parties, the less adventurous ones, through zoom but also raves through SecondLife, a video game, or Volt VR, a platform that allowed VR users to party in their living room. The one with the most dedicated costumers and attendance is the Volt, a platform pre-existing to covid that catered for people who couldn't attend an actual venue, like people with health issues. The director says that the platform had some traction before but the engagement since the lockdown began, has accelerated. People now have a more positive experience because they meet new people every time they log in.

What is the future of clubbing? One of the main reasons the lockdown restrictions were broken, were house parties. People will always want to party like they are used to. The future of clubs would combine the physical venues and the VR parties.

The target audience for clubbing are individuals between the ages 18-35 with 20s leading the way. Men reflect the 60% of the club-goers. the VR experience of clubbing has expanded the target audience and the crowd became a lot more inclusive. The future marketing of clubbing will target digital consumers. Digital consumers are impatient, knowledgeable, easily distracted and not loyal. They are a difficult crowd that needs to be offered innovation. This will happen by offering them a new clubbing experience, through their VR head set or by controlling the lighting set up in their living room through AI. They will offer them international DJs in affordable prices that would otherwise pay hundreds to see. They will be offered communication with the people attending the gig through break-out rooms or dating apps.

Covid-19 has given the industry an opportunity to restart business on a clean slate. Nightclubs will reopen with minimal staff while vending machines and automated mixer/spirit machines will be introduced. Staff will be there to assist with operating the machines but the costs of staff on shifts will decrease dramatically. Majority of exchages will happen through QR codes whether that is entrance to the venue or paying for a drink.

The way digital and physical clubbing will interact are various. The DJ set will be streamed live in a selection of platforms that would include Volt VR and SecondLife as special events, a broadcast though live streaming service and all of these options will allow people to interact. By scanning you QR code on entry, you will be connected with all people that attend the event in person or digitally. This way, all attendees have the opportunity to chat and meet. A big motivator to go to the club is finding a date; a dating add-on will be introduced that will allow all attendees that are looking for a date to connect. Another big change UK is facing is Brexit and the difficulties artists and agents will face from now on. While touring the UK can be very difficult for European artists that play a huge part in UK's nightlife, by 4D video technology, DJs can play a set in a studio and live stream it in clubs. This way, DJs that were otherwise unaffordable, could now have a live night in various venues for a fraction of the usual price.

What these proposed changes aim to achieve are increased inclusivity by catering to people that want to attend the club and people who don't without taking anything off the experience. Increasing revenue by digitising their presence and their way of operation within the club. Also by offering various ways of attending and close monitoring of their attendees, there will be less chance of a new lockdown.

All these changes will be looked at closely and the industry will adapt accordingly. Leading and lagging metrics will be used for that reason. Online and physical attendance will be looked at closely as well as the cost of the new model of operation. Growth in net income and income also. Another factor would be the potential decrease of crime related to clubs; by having people logged in through QR codes, attendance will be a lot more transparent.

A lot of news outlets are talking about the death of clubbing and that the industry is on its knees. Truth is, people have shown their need to party and how eager they are for something new. This is not the end, but will be a new beginning.

1 note · View note

livin-la-vitale-loca · 5 years

Text

Another One Bites The Dust

Dante x Reader

In the aftermath of an apocalyptic party, you have a chaotic yet cute moment with the coarse and unpredictable leader of Devil May Cry.

Short-ish. Sweet? Based on a dream I had. Notes at the end. No readmores cos I’m slumming it on mobile. Dante is a trash man that likes garbage, deal with it.

Language and bein sick warning, but otherwise no outstanding adult content.

Let’s rock this bitch.

—————————————————————

Mission Success Parties in the run down headquarters of Devil May Cry were the stuff of legend. Pizza, loose women, handsome men, and more booze than you could shake a cursed sword at flowed through the doors of the office like rain washing over a desert. Dante rarely had money, and lamented its absence sorely, but when those sweet, sweet big ticket checks dropped, he was no longer a grubby demon hunter, instead suddenly transforming into something more like a hedonistic nobleman from an age gone by.

Your last memory of this particular party was being spun around on Dante’s overstuffed office chair by a woman wearing nothing but a long, green wig; drink in your hand and delirious laughter bubbling from your chest— But the room just seemed to keep spinning, faster and faster and increasingly blurry after you slid off the chair and onto some broad flat surface, wincing as you caught the first light of dawn through the windows.

All too suddenly, you were yanked into the next day by the sharp yet far off sound of breaking glass.

With a start you came to, slowly realising where you were. Your sore body was draped unceremoniously over Dante’s large wooden desk in the main front office. The chair had been pushed over, and the mystery woman’s green wig lay forgotten over its arm. You reached out to touch it and frowned. There was a near-full handle of mid-tier scotch haphazardly duct taped to your hand.

You groaned and shut your eyes as you turned away. The sound of heavy feet and bass guitar brought you back, urging you to tune back in and crack your eyes open to take stock of the state of your body and the room around you. Sunlight filtered through the dusty high windows to assault your squinting eyes. A sense of disgusted pride passed through your mind. It looked like the apocalypse had come and gone in fevered decadence, right here in this office. You rubbed your forehead with your free hand and glanced down: Your pants were gone and Hell knows where, leaving you clad only in a black thong— with one breast peeking over the collar of an unfamiliar white tank top that was definitely not yours— one of your legs sporting a single, ripped thigh-high fishnet stocking. Vague memories of strip poker came lazily back into your vision, but you grimaced and banished them with a small shake of your head.

Your arms moved sloppily in an attempt to push you into sitting up, scattering papers and knocking the ornate telephone over. A letter with screaming red words threatening PAST DUE, NOTICE OF IMPENDING FINE stuck to your face, either by the moisture from your sleepy drooling or spilled alcohol, you couldn’t tell.

You cast your eyes groggily around the main office, scanning the slumped remaining figures and the empty pizza boxes and beers littered about the floor. A vintage neon jukebox pulsed it’s lights to the beat of a song you had yet to properly identify. You turned to the back of the room, where the source of the crash himself was sauntering down the stairs.

Dante Sparda, in naught but his skin, a pair of faded burgundy boxer-briefs, and a single dirty leather glove. You should have known.

He still seemed pleasantly intoxicated as he stomped noisily down the creaking stairs, kicking cigarette butts and other bits of party debris out of his way with his bare feet. In time with the music, he picked up beer and liquor bottles from where they crowded the banisters, lazily shaking them and emptying them of any drinkable contents before throwing them, with excessive drunken force, into a large aluminum curbside trash can. He shifted the admittedly not-so-filthy metal bin underneath his arm casually, his inhuman strength unfazed by the burden. Dante shook his shoulders and hips and shot finger guns to both you and the the jukebox in the corner behind you, his raspy voice calling out with the music. Queen, Another One Bites The Dust. Of course it was.

You scrunched up your face with a lopsided smile.

Dante had absolutely zero talent for singing, and obviously didn’t know all the lyrics to this song. He elected to mutter and hum, mumbling the occasional word, and when that famous note hit, he just screamed into the can under his arm while gyrating his hips. The legendary devil hunter Dante, screaming like a parrot as he basically air humped a trash can; you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. He saw you looking and winked, settling the can back under his arm and doing a small leap from the bottom step.

You turned back around and rolled your eyes, peeling the notice off of your face and letting your head slump back down. You hummed into the leather of the desk cover and pounded your free hand on the smooth wood to the sound of the beat.

Dante sidled past and slapped your ass lazily, giving a chuckle when your otherwise engaged hand shot up to flip him off from around the scotch bottle. You saw in the reflection of some forgotten highball glass that your face had FINE splashed backwards across your cheek, stained into your skin from the letter you passed out on.

You sat up and saluted him with the bottle of liquor still attached to your hand. This proved to be a terrible idea and the room immediately swam around your head in protest, the smell of booze hitting your nose like a train. Your self preservation belatedly kicked in as a wave of nausea crashed over you.

You closed your eyes and half slid, half fell off of the desk.

The office floor seemed to rock beneath your feet as you ran to the downstairs bathroom, tripping blindly over discarded boots and what you suspected was a sleeping body. Thankfully the door was open and you crashed in, only to groan loudly. An unconscious party-goer was passed out on the floor, cuddling the rim of the toilet seat. You cursed frustratedly, peeking your head back out the door. Your panic grew like the approaching bile in your stomach and your hazy mind attempted to gauge the distance from where you stood to the gutter outside.

Before you could make a pantsless mad dash to the front door, Dante whistled and slid the trash can in front of you like a bartender serving the next round. You gagged again at the unwelcome image in your mind. The metal skid along the uneven floor until you stopped it with your foot, just in time to loudly empty your guts in full view of the rest of the room. Thank Satan himself that no one else appeared to be awake. Dante whistled again and turned around in a rare show of modesty, clapping along to the breakdown of song, a nearly nude parody of Spanish flamenco.

CLAP

CLAPCLAP

You grimace and spit, raking a hand down your face. Your mouth tasted like shit, but you couldn’t even begin to wonder where your bag was, and you knew you were in no shape to navigate the stairs to Dante’s room where you kept a toothbrush and a few articles of clothing. You shrugged defeatedly and backed back into the bathroom, grabbing a random pink toothbrush from a cup beside the sink, proceeding to brush your teeth and gargle with scotch straight from the bottle. You rinsed your mouth out one more time and took a swig of the liquor, biting your lip as it burned its way down your throat.

Dante came into the room behind you and reached over your shoulder, grasping the bottle still duct taped to your hand, pulling your arm over your head so he could steal a drink as he ground his hips lazily on your ass.

“Baby Doll don’t you look fresh as a daisy.”

You scoffed.

“C’mout here and help me clean up,” he drawled, “you’re missin one hell of a sho-ow.”

He dragged you out of the bathroom by your liquored hand, nudging the sleeping man’s legs to the side. He left you to lean on the wall as he ran to the jukebox and bumped it with his hip, causing the record to warp and the song to start over.

Dante smiled as he pulled you into his arms with a smirk. Your free hand locked with his gloved and you stumbled and swayed with him, mostly avoiding the unconscious bodies on the floor, trading sips from your bottle while you shouted along to the song.

A smile teased your lips. You were drunk again and howling into your liquor like it was a microphone. He gave your forehead a small bump with his own before peeling away and hefting that awful fucking trash can into his arm again.

You bent down and picked up a few empty beer bottles, tossing then to Dante, who threw them in the trash can, once again hard enough to shatter. He accompanied every bottle with a little shout between the lyrics of the song. You turned away and drunkenly bobbed your head, shaking your short hair out and losing yourself in the music. With your eyes closed, you had no idea he had set the trash can down, and picked up something entirely different and possibly infinitely more dangerous,

“Out of the door way the bullets RIP—“

A loud bang rang out with no warning, echoing off walls of the building and startling a few people awake. One woman covered her ears and gasped, another instinctively clutching her high heels and scrambling for the door. The man passed out around the toilet shot up, eyes wide, and immediately slipped and fell into the tub, knocking himself back into unconsciousness. You looked up from where you had dropped, eyes burning and mouth hanging open.

Dante was posed dramatically with a hand on his crotch and his other arm straight up in the air. In his raised hand he held a long revolver, smoke still drifting from its barrel. The drunk idiot had shot a gun. Into the ceiling. A real gun. A loaded gun. Inside the office. Beneath rooms that people could have been sleeping in. With his state of undress you were shocked, honestly, you don’t know where he even found that gun. Of all the weapons decorating the walls and shelving, you’d never seen it before in your life.

Your shock gave way to a momentary rage,

“DANTE WHAT THE ACTUAL ENTIRE FUCK?? WHY WOULD YOU DISCHARGE A FIREARM?? IN THE OFFICE. INDOORS. INSIDE?? AT TEN IN THE GOD DAMNED MORNING?!”

He smirked, lowering his arm and twirling the gun on his finger.

“Cmooooon, baby, they’re blanks!” His speech slurred slightly as he put his other hand on his hip, looking every part a smug western hero, “This little beauty’s name is Inside Voice.”

He bit his tongue and smiled wider, pleased with his inane answer that you suspected was a ridiculous on-the-spot lie.

It took you a second to register the sheer absurdity of what he was saying. Then it clicked and a laugh so loud and unexpected burst out of you with enough force to make you trip. You tried to keep the look of anger on your face but it was no use. Your mind reeled. What dumbass had a gun specifically for firing indoors? As if you even believed that. The hole in the ceiling told a different story, and try as you might to wrestle yourself back into annoyance, you couldn’t do anything but laugh. You’d never admit it, but maybe the best thing about being around him was that even after all these years, the bastard could still just up and Absolutely Shock you. Dante laughed when he saw he was forgiven by the look on your face. You put your hand around your waist and kept laughing so hard you slipped on an uncollected beer bottle and fell backwards, landing in a heap on the couch. Eyes watering, you continued to giggle uncontrollably, ripping at the tape on your hand to completely upend and empty the bottle. You took a ragged breath and shifted, dropping the now empty glass onto the floor boards and letting it roll away with a clatter beneath the couch. Dante danced his way to you to the rhythm of the ending song, still chuckling gently as he let his weight fall on you, straddling your hips beneath him on the sofa. He tossed the gun onto an end table and leaned down over you

“Hey! I’m gonna get you too, another one bite—“

You interrupted him, pulling his head down and biting his exposed neck.

Up close he reeked of liquor, sweat, and smoke, and his stubble scratched your face. But you buried your hands in his hair anyways and when his mouth met yours to kiss you the taste of scotch was rich on his tongue.

He sighed into your kiss and manoeuvred himself further on to the couch to lie beside you, and then beneath you. A quiet giggle escaped your lips and he wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. The warmth of his body and the slight sweat of his skin radiates beneath you. Dante’s chest rose and fell with his steady breathing, punctuated only by small, contented noises as you traced circles on his skin. The track on the jukebox skips a few times and moves to the next album. You let your eyes close and slowly drift back towards sleep, dizzy and sick and so heart-achingly happy.

——————————————————

——————————————————-

Author’s ishkabibble— possible nsfw thoughts ahead:

Okay y’all I know V is The Best Boy and all but hes just too pretentious and fragile to be realistically fuckable. Those of you that can write him into an appealing sexuality are masters of the art of fic on a level I will never attain. Sure, V is objectively attractive, but let’s be real: he’s a demure makeout sesh after a glass of red wine following on the heels of a candle lit dinner. MEANWHILE Dante is a beer in one hand, your titty in the other, raw-dog fuck in the back of a van. And I mean hey, I can’t help it I have A Type.

That dude is gross and I love him. Forgive me for just how casually disgusting this fic was, but as much as we all wanna forget; Start-Game DMC5 Dante didn’t even flush his fucking toilets cos he was hobo-ing his broke ass up in his own home.

Anyways thanks for reading. Pls feel free to message, tag, reblog or reply w feedback and/or insults. This is the first fic I’ve written in Years.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc5 #dante #dante sparda #dmc dante #devil may cry dante #dante x reader #dante/reader #dmc5 dante #non gendered reader?#thongs and fishnets are for everybody #cleo hi if youre reading this ive lost all capacity for shame

57 notes · View notes

glmrous-blog1 · 5 years

Text

✧·ﾟ( dionysus + alexa demie + cis female ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !! have you seen ( valentina vargas ) around ? ( she ) has been in kaos for ( one month ). the ( twenty three year old )is an ( actress ) from ( sonora, mexico ). people say they can be ( reckless ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be( exuberant ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of ( mismatched shades of red lipstick strewn across a private dressing room, sweet red wine in cracked glasses, the glint of smiling - snarling? - white teeth && expensive jewelry under a gleaming disco ball ). ·ﾟ✧ ( penned by aspen, 21+, pst, she/her/hers ).

ii. about your character.

i. in her early teens, val rose to fame in her home country of mexico as a recurring character on several telenovelas, which quickly progressed to the star of twice as many. sonora is wealthy, but she came from a humble family. farmers, on both sides, and val herself grew up on a vineyard which exported grapes to california wine country. she was discovered by chance, sitting in a taqueria near the arizona border. it was a new agent hoping to scope out american tourists, the college crowd, someone unfamiliar with the world of entertainment. a pretty face to make some easy cash off of. someone who wouldn’t know better. val fit the bill; at only thirteen, she was a little round faced cherub gracing the pages of print ads and the reel of poorly-shot commercials for c rated businesses. no one saw all the attention going right to her head.

ii. growing up in the limelight does things to a little girl that you can’t see on a x-ray or a brain scan, in ways that you don’t notice until you look at her right in the eyes for just a second too long. it makes her feel like she can do anything, that she already has everything, and the only place to go from there is down. but she’s still a child. the excitement is in the destruction, not the creativity or the creation. she becomes feral, a sponge covered in day-old makeup who takes and takes and takes and only offers chaotic revelry in return. she looks at you with a wicked gleam in her eyes and you can almost believe, for an instant, that this can make you happy. that you’ll catch fire and burn alive and the pain will be everything you’ve ever wanted. the pile of ashes at her feet grows and grows and, still, something in her believes the spark will finally make her happy this time, too. it never does. and then you’re broken and empty, hollow, and she moves on. the trick is that she’s been empty since the moment she first smiled for the camera.

iii. some indigenous peoples believe the photo film captures your soul, steals it from within your ribs, and traps it on the glossy print. maybe they’re right after all.

iv. some days she looks at herself in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the person she sees staring back at her. the world is numb and hazy, and the only things that matter anymore are the things she can destroy. it’s everything. it’s herself, piece by piece, little by little. her parents don’t speak to her anymore, but they brag to anyone who will listen about their little girl on the television. it’s like she’s not real, like valentina doesn’t exist anymore. she’s just an idea. the people she works with, they all hate her. she’s insufferable, the doll of the small screen but a real bitch to work with. demanding, rude, blunt, bossy, inconsiderate. she’s heard it all. maybe it’s true. maybe it’s just another character. it takes the best actor to play the villain.

v. they sent her away. even the production crew, her new family, the only solid thing that makes her feel like a person anymore. one too many takes with glazed eyes and slurred words and a dressing room full of wine bottles. they told her it was her lifestyle or the job. she smiled and said the job gave me this lifestyle. you people made me this way. they don’t care. they said go to rehab. she said no, no, no. but at least she’s on vacation now, right? checked herself out of the luxury, celebrity, all expenses paid clinic after three days, but hey. greece is beautiful. someone with a camera will always want to pay a pretty girl to smile.

iii. details.

PINTEREST BOARD , PLAYLIST

i wanted to make Many pretty edits but i just … decided to app too late and had too much going on jiuhgytfyguh. so have all the same info in a much less aesthetically pleasing way!

CHARACTER ARCHETYPES

53% THE REBEL : The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across.

THE HEDONIST: Hedonists are wonderful hosts and guests. They bring added pleasure to any pleasurable occasion by noticing and appreciating the details and savoring each element.

THE FEMME FATALE: Femme Fatales embody female empowerment and are unafraid of their sensual and sexual sides. Their rebellious natures make them liberating presences and fun to be around.

THE WILD WOMAN: Wild women are the most outrageous of Rebels. These are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

THE SABOTEUR: Like their archetypal cousin, the Jokester, Rebels live to upend anything that smacks of banality or conservatism.

33% THE PERFORMER : Taking center stage comes naturally to the Performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience. They are magnetic and know how to inspire.

THE SPELLCASTER: You can convince anyone to do anything from falling in love with you to selling ice to an Eskimo. You excel at any kind of sales or marketing role. You can also be terribly manipulative down to a total con artist.

THE ACTOR: Actors at their best are avid students of life, with an empathetic interest in others. They are typically dignified presences as well, and alluring in their mystique.

THE PROVACATEUR: You are charming and deeply provocative. You could get anyone to do anything for you. You may even be a screen siren. You can also get people to do something they will regret for the rest of their lives.

THE SEDUCER: Rather than receive the feelings of those you love or listen to you, you constantly look for ways to be of interest and to have the last word.

14% THE ROYAL : When the Royal walks into a room, they command attention. They are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work.

THE DIVA: With their talent and tendency to dress to kill, Divas bring sparkle and fireworks to any situation.

THE VAMPIRE: Like Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula, who fed on the lifeblood of others while living in a regal manner, Royals can be a drain on those around them.

THE BRAT: Because they are used to pampering and don’t know how to do things for themselves, Royals can exhibit childish behavior in the form of tantrums and unreasonable demands.

THE DESTROYER: The Destroyer shadow manifests in vindictiveness and an unchecked fascination with wreaking enormous destruction on enemies.

INSPIRATION CHARACTERS

nathan young , misfits

elise elliot , the first wives club

logan delos , westworld

meg giry , love never dies

lina lamont , singing in the rain

#kaos:intro #this is so late and i'm sorry #my personal life has been hell but i am doing #My Best

6 notes · View notes