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papertubes · 10 months

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Paper Tube™ Factory produces custom paper tube box packaging for beauty, cosmetics, perfume, lipstick, CBD, apparel, coffee, tea, wine & food" Let me know more For more details https://paper-tubes.com/

#black paper tube box #craft paper tube #paper tube container #paper tube manufacturer #paper tube custom #cosmetic paper tube #paper tube packaging supplier #custom paper tubes usa #paper tube factory #paper tube manufacturing company

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xinxipackaging123 · 23 days

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Unleash Creativity: Partner with Our Paper Box Factory

Unleash your creativity and elevate your packaging solutions with our custom paper boxes, expertly crafted at our paper box factory. Whether you're packaging confectionery, apparel, or electronics, our customizable paper boxes offer endless possibilities for branding and design. With premium materials and precision manufacturing, our paper boxes ensure your products make a memorable impression on your customers. Partner with us and transform your packaging vision into reality with Xinxipackaging's premium paper boxes. Visit our website to explore our offerings: Paper Box Factory.

#custom tube box #custom sticker label #custom corrugated box #custom rigid box #paper bag supplier #paper bag factory #custom paper bag #cardboard box factory #custom cardboard box #custom paper box #paper box factory

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cardboardboxandcustomtubebox · 1 year

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Reasons to prefer cardboard box and custom tube box forever

Custom boxes are widely used because of their unique functionalities. Of course, it should be effective and maintained based on accentuation. It is appealing, and ignoring the packages could be better. However, the Cardboard Box Factory should be elegant and notice changes in the clothing needs. It is relatively high and durable when comparing others. It should be flexible and able to change them completely without any hassles. A custom cardboard tube must be elegant, giving 100% satisfactory results forever. It will design based on the better arrangement in setting a significant cycle for individual cases.

Durable packaging

On the other hand, it should be different and focus on requirements. It will decide mainly to show possible changes in the style and normal designs. Cardboard takes normalized solutions and is mainly useful for focusing on arrived results. It will change a lot by adapting to clothing needs. It must care a lot and be adaptive on different occasions. Of course, packaging has different materials for your desires. Designs are always capable of handling based on genuine regular green style. It has considerable changes in different accessible for showing the significant cycle for your appreciable work.

Protected and Solid

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#cardboard box factory #custom tube box #paper box factory #xinxipackaging

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yeah-yeah-beebiss-1 · 1 year

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It is early October 2023. You go to the mailbox and see a package you’ve waited far too long for. After two delays and 2+ weeks of shipping, it’s finally here. Good Smile Company’s Nendoroid Kobeni Higashiyama from the hit manga/anime, Chainsaw Man. The package is slightly damp. You pay this no mind. It rained earlier that day. Like a goblin pilfering a trinket, you snatch the parcel and scurry inside. You lay the box on the table and gently slice through the packing tape with your trusty xacto knife, before parting the cardboard. It smells like a gym. You pay this no heed, as you are excited to display your favorite character from the hit manga/anime Chainsaw Man on your shelf. You take the Nendoroid box and open the top. Another hit of the gym smell. Curious. You slide out the plastic tray containing the figure, and remove the top half. There are sheets of paper wedged between certain parts of the figure to prevent paint transfer. You delicately remove them. They feel sodden, like the paper that lined the basket of greasy chicken fingers you bought at the carnival that one time. The ones you regretted on that summer evening as you fought for your life on the porcelain throne. You’re getting distracted - back to the task at hand. Nendoroid #2014: Kobeni Higashiyama lays before you, ready to be posed and displayed on your shelf. You gingerly grab the figure. It is damp to the touch. You did not expect this. You shudder in surprise, and the unexpected pressure of this motion makes the lubricated Nendoroid slide out of your hands like one of those rubber water tube toys from the aquarium gift shop. Y’know, the ones people always joke about sticking your dick in. You watch in slow motion as Kobeni flies out of your hands and sails across the room. Sweat beads on her plastic forehead, and not just the sweat printed on by the manufacturer. She looks as if she may cry at any moment. Thunk. She hits the wall, and lands on your bed. You check the figure. No paint scuffs. Good. You check the drywall. Was that water stain always there? No matter. You swap parts to put the Nendoroid into your favorite pose. The plastic feels a little slippery. Must be some leftover mold release from the factory. You place the figure on your shelf. It almost looks like another bead of sweat has formed on Kobeni’s face. You are impressed by Good Smile Company’s attention to detail. As Kobeni Higashiyama stands guard on your shelf, a bead of sweat rolls down her suited form and pools by her feet on the clear plastic stand. It is early October 2023.

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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I’m a plumber. My father was a plumber, his father was a plumber, maybe his father was a plumber. We don’t know for sure. Grandpa was eaten by a tiger working at the zoo that one fateful afternoon, but this story isn’t about that. Where I work is a little company called Fel-Pro.

Maybe you’ve heard of Fel-Pro. You probably use their products. They’re one of the pre-eminent gasket manufacturers of the 21st century. Wherever there’s two tubes in your car that have to have a nice tight seal against each other, chances are Fel-Pro sells something to replace that seal. Are they as good as factory? Experts employed by Fel-Pro mumble and change the subject. Here’s the important thing: they have money, and some of that money goes to feed my kids by way of me fixing their office plumbing once in awhile.

Now, it’s not all roses. My plumber and custodian buddies who work in other companies, they say that people mostly stay out of their way while they’re working. Maybe once in awhile, they’ll get a Super Dad who chats a bit about power tools, or asks some basic questions about their toilet at home, or doesn’t want to take responsibility for having left a cast-iron shit in the tank and then trying to cram it through the manifold using thirty pounds of toilet paper. The usual stuff, right?

At Fel-Pro, it’s different. These motherfuckers have opinions about plumbing, as you would expect from their careers. As soon as they hear even the smallest pinhole leak, the bathroom is filled wall-to-wall with engineers, trying to figure out if it’s a gasket interface issue. Once they realize it isn’t, they start discussing ways to make it a gasket issue.

Anything that leaks is caused by inferior gasketry, even if the pipe itself has split in the middle. They could solve that by making a sort of very long, pipe-shaped grommet gasket to replace the pipe entirely. Yeah, yeah. And then a bunch of these pencil-necks start climbing over top of me to take measurements with their Mitutoyo digital calipers, and video-chat with the toilet manufacturer’s engineers just to call them rookie-level chumps. All the while, the bathroom is slowly filling with water up to our waists, the water-shutoff valve having been removed years before to prevent these eggheads from being tempted to fuck with it.

As any professional would, I started ignoring them, but it turns out that showed up on my performance review. Everyone at Fel-Pro has to be vigilant against leaks, said my boss, a dour expression on his face. He thrust a diagram on how to apply the proper torque pattern to the wax seal of a toilet.

Don’t get me started on how angry they get when they see me using hardware-store silicone bathroom caulking to solve the problem. That’s not the ideal thermal interface, they moan, and start bringing out all kinds of high-zoot polymer compounds, emblazoned with safety warnings in Chinese. Those make the room spin pretty good, and sometimes they get worryingly hot on application, but I must admit they work a treat. One engineer brought me something he stole from a tour he took of NASA and told me to seal a leaking air conditioner drain with it. Well, mission accomplished, buddy: Jim, the custodian I share an office with, had to use a plasma cutter to remove it last week.

It’s gotten so bad that I’ve started only doing plumbing repairs in the middle of the night, when the engineers are likely to be at home, berating their spouses for daring to bring Scotch tape into their home.

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beardedmrbean · 3 months

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In the beloved children’s story by Roald Dahl, the golden ticket holders who won a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory were promised – and experienced – “a world of pure imagination”.

But children hoping for a similar magical experience at a £35-a-head event in Glasgow instead found what their parents described as an “incredibly underwhelming” damp squib.

Some of the children who had travelled from across Scotland and the north of England to Willy’s Chocolate Experience in Glasgow ended up in tears. The all-weekend event was abruptly cancelled only halfway through its first day, and police were called as anger grew.

Organisers House of Illuminati promised visitors a “journey filled with wondrous creations and enchanting surprises at every turn” and a day “where dreams come to life”.

The advertised attractions included an “enchanted garden” with giant sweets and an “imagination lab” that promised to transport the viewer into “the realm of creativity”.

But parents expecting the experience to recreate the magic of Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory were hugely disappointed.

Visitors said the event took place in a venue that was little more than “an abandoned empty warehouse” sparsely decorated with plastic props, a small bouncy castle and backdrops pinned to walls.

The furious reaction from parents prompted the organisers to close the event midway through Saturday, only hours after it had opened.

Police Scotland confirmed that officers were called to the event at the Box Hub Warehouse in Whiteinch, and said “advice was given” following complaints from unhappy visitors. House of Illuminati published an apology on its Facebook page and promised refunds over the coming days.

Visitor Shirley Bell wrote: “We had tickets for 1.15pm and didn’t even get in. They have shut it down as so many complaints. Apparently a few props and a couple of people dressed up and then wait for a packet a sweets and a wee lolly.

“Kids all dressed up and crying waiting for what they thought was going to be a magical experience. The organisers should be ashamed of themselves.”

Stuart Sinclair, 29, from Douglas, South Lanarkshire, took his two sons and four-year-old daughter to the attraction.

He told the Courier newspaper: “There was a guy wandering around apparently dressed as Willy Wonka but he didn’t seem interested. You then got inside and there were a couple of props and a plastic chocolate thing.

“In the next room, they had test tubes with jelly babies. I said to the kids at least they would get a bag of sweets but they gave them one single sweet each.”

Another parent posted on Facebook: “What an absolute farce, two upset kids. Cowboys.”

Eva Stewart, of East Kilbride, told BBC Scotland: “It was basically advertised as this big massive Willy Wonka experience with optical illusions and big chocolate fountains and sweets.

“But when we got there, it was practically an abandoned, empty warehouse, with hardly anything in it.”

A Facebook group was set up by those left angry and disappointed by the experience.

The Box Hub venue said it had only hired out the space and was not responsible for the exhibition.

Matthew Waterfield, the operations manager, told The Scottish Sun that House of Illuminati approached the venue a few weeks ago with a plan that “sounded great on paper” but “looked incredibly underwhelming”.

He said visitors “were very unhappy with the amount of money House of Illuminati had been charging for admittance”, adding: “Things started to get quite aggressive.”

In a post on Facebook, a House of Illuminati spokesman said: “Today has been a very stressful and frustrating day for many and for that we are truly sorry.

“Unfortunately, at the last minute we were let down in many areas of our event and tried our best to continue on and push through and now realise we probably should have cancelled first thing this morning instead.

“We fully apologise for what has happened and will be giving full refunds to each and every person that purchased tickets. We planned a fabulous event and it just did not take shape as planned and for that we are truly sorry.”

Glasgow City Council said its trading standards department had received one complaint and people should contact the organiser in the first instance to obtain a refund.

#nunyas news

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greatlydelirious · 2 years

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𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝐕)

Karl Heisenberg x F!Reader

wordcount: 5.6k words

summary: Aren't they all one in the same?

chapter warnings: smut, semi-public sex, angst, descriptions of extreme body modification, threats of violence, porn with plot

previous chapter | next chapter | (AO3 Link)

V: The Girl, the Pig, and the Crow

It was astounding how one day could make such a difference. If you boiled it down, one not-so-chance meeting turned your mundane life into a roaring fire. An overwhelming burn of desire and hope consumed your being to a point that exposed you to possible destruction. That was a risk you were willing to take.

After you and Heisenberg came to a mutual understanding of your exclusive yet purely carnal relationship, you felt strangely content. Although it wasn’t the whirlwind “Pride and Prejudice” love story your whimsical heart longed for, it was leaps and bounds greater than any other “relationship” you’ve ever been involved in.

An outsider may think that you were moving rather quickly in your feelings, but it was the pace your surroundings dictated. Monsters and disease loomed around every corner, so you didn’t have the luxury to take anything slow.

During the walk back to your home, Heisenberg drilled in that you weren’t allowed to go trekking through the woods by yourself anymore. He would come to you when he was not busy. Not the other way around. Your near-death experience by the claws of Lycans made you not protest. Sometimes logic did penetrate your stubborn brain.

Little did you know that it wasn’t the Lycans attacking you that Heisenberg feared. No, after indulging in your body his scent was plastered all over you. It was four mutated people getting their hands on his little healer that he had to watch out for. A frightening prospect, but you were none the wiser.

By the next night, you were safely snuggled by the fire with the beautifully crafted “Machinery in Anatomy” book in your lap. Haphazard oil stains and coffee rings on some of the pages displayed how well-loved it was before you got your hands on it. Perhaps you’ll leave a mark of your own. You were sure you had an old tube of lipstick stashed away somewhere.

Since the book was so large you flipped to a random page near the beginning. Its contents seemed to be more of a safekeeping for breakthroughs rather than a chronological experience. Your fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick parchment page as you tried to soak in the complex drawings and annotations.

Sketched on the paper was some sort of breathing apparatus. The device had an elongated canister, different from all the ones you’d seen before. Small wires are drawn coming from either side of the mask which begged the question, what did they attach you? To you, the apparatus looked like something that would be used during warfare. Not that you had any expertise in that department.

The writing along the drawing read, “Subject #5: Previously was in an unstable physical condition. Discovered that securing a mask alongside the cranium’s headwear ensures stabilization to fully conduct. Check for sufficient oxygen levels before durability tests.”

Subject? Based on all the other content you briefly skimmed through, Heisenberg was testing something. “I said I was busy.” The vagueness in Heisenberg’s tone made sense now. No one had pages upon pages of contraptions just for fun. What also made sense was why no one ever saw the Lord outside of his factory. Well, except for you of course.

Embarrassment flames your cheek when you remembered how patronizing you were about what he spent his time doing. Talk about being hypocritical. You always complained about people undermining your work and you did just the same to Heisenberg.

Even though you wanted to dive into every inch of text to decode what exactly he was doing, the telltale signs of sleep started to take hold of you. Although the amalgamation of your fears and dreams inculcates a feeling of dread within you, some sleep was better than no sleep. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

As you go to squeeze the book into a nearby shelf something slips out from the pages and gently floats onto the floor. Bending down you pick up the glossy material and study it. You almost drop the photo again when you finally absorb what you’re even looking at.

Murky yellow eyes stared back at you, but no emotion could be found in their depths.

Its skin was a sickly ash color that reminded you of a mangled corpse. There was no way it could be anything else. Jagged incisions that ran endlessly on the being only strengthened your theory. They were stained red and crudely mended by what appeared to be large staples. Calling the method of suturing cruel and unusual would be the understatement of the century.

Just when you thought that was the end of the horror your eyes drifted down to its arms. Giant drills replaced the spot where its upper extremities should have been. Two thick tubes curved behind its back and you were grateful you couldn’t see what the hell they attached to.

Taking a deep breath, you fight off a wave of nausea. Although you’ve seen your fair share of blood and gore, this was undeniably abhorrent.

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or amazed at the sheer complexity of the… subject you were looking at. The Duke once warned you about the horrors beyond human imagination that roamed where each Lord lived and now you knew why. Now you didn’t want to go for trysts in the woods ever again.

Turning over the photo you brace yourself for more nightmare fuel, but are met with only cursive writing, “Soldat Zwei, success. Enhanced reactor vent with optimal drills.”

From your studies, you recognize the German word for solider and two. You also remember the glimpses of other chunks of contraptions and drills in the background of the photo. That had to mean there were more combinations of corpse and machine where that came from.

These possibly manufactured mutant soldiers must be the reason why Heisenberg didn’t want you to leave his room the other day. Just thinking about the damage those drills could cause makes you queasy. You guess that’s also what makes them so effective.

Heisenberg must be going about a “show don’t tell” way to let you in on what he was doing. A part of you felt oddly flattered that he would trust you with this book, but another part of you wished you could unsee all of it.

Looking around, paranoia itches its way up your spine. This wasn’t something you could just throw on your bookshelf and call it a day. You start to make your way toward the locked chest that holds your lei until you come to an abrupt halt.

Too obvious of a hiding place. Wherever you decided would be a life-or-death decision. As dramatic as you thought that sounded this wasn’t a little secret. It was the size of a fucking bomb that was waiting to blow up your shabby old cabin. God how you missed having no responsibilities.

This is what you get for getting involved with a metal-wielding, electricity-crackling, incredibly sexy man who was also apparently a mad scientist. If only you got a coin for every time you asked yourself, “What did I get myself into?”

Not only did you have to shield yourself from the other villagers, but now you had to hide a colossal secret from Mother Miranda. Faking a smile was one thing, but helping to hide an army of corpses was a whole other brand of trickery.

You tap your foot on the creaky floorboard while trying to find an answer. Under your mattress was too cliché and nearly all your shelves are almost spilling with how full they are. If only you were able to burrow it…

Inspiration hits as suddenly as a freezing-cold snowball to the face. You smack yourself in the head at your oversight. Hiding the book under the floorboards was foolproof. It would be easy enough for you to retrieve and no one would start out with ripping up your floor if they were looking for something.

Moving off the loose floorboard under your foot, you execute your idea and send a silent prayer to any God that lay beyond this village. Wiping your clammy hands on your night down you sulk toward your bedroom. Why waste time worrying about your dreams when you’re already living in a nightmare?

Heisenberg was going to get the tongue-lashing of the year the next time you saw him.

A blissful haze filled your body as you started to wake from your surprisingly uneventful slumber. As you bend your back in a tight stretch something hard presses against your backside. Only then do you register the smell of spiced smoke filling your nostrils and the weight encircling your waist.

Disoriented you try to turn your head but are met with the prickle of stubble. “Did I sleep too late?” You ask groggily as you try to look out the window. The fabric at your hips bunches as wet kisses are trailed down your shoulder. “No, doll. I came to have breakfast in bed.”

Heisenberg’s large hand cups your core before he starts rubbing you with the heel of his palm. Ever the multitasker he fondles your breast through the silk of your night dress with his other hand. Any arguments you had planned to have seeped into your pillow.

The hand on your breast migrates up to your neck. Encompassing the soft column in a tight grip, he pulls your head back. “I was too busy thinking about your tight cunt to get anything done last night, my little minx.” You sigh as his thick cock penetrates you deeply in one slow thrust. Heisenberg’s hips kept a relaxed rhythm that made each stroke drag out your pleasure.

Air was nothing but a concept as black spots filled your vision and high-pitched moans wrestled out of your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let yourself succumb to the bliss that was Heisenberg’s dominating touch.

As daybreak ended and the late morning began, chirping birds covered the sounds of unadulterated sin coming from your cabin. A passerby would think you were being mauled by a Lycan if they came near your door. It doesn’t take long for growls and grunts to morph into soft groans and sighs.

What a way to start your morning.

Heisenberg puffed away at a cigar while sitting on the edge of your bed. You pull on a floor-lengthened, long-sleeved dress that you saved for especially cold days. As you tie your corset you take advantage of the fact that you don’t have to look at the imposing man.

“I saw a picture in my book last night.” Although you attempted to keep your voice neutral, a light tremble makes the last word come out high-pitched. The surprise visit you got wasn’t effective in mellowing out your psyche.

“Is that so?” In your peripheral you watch Heisenberg stomp out his cigar before striding over. Instead of chiding him about burning your flooring, you continue, “Y-yes. I’ve never seen staples that large before.” You were trying your best to be vague. The image seared into your brain didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Nerves get the better of you and you curse when your shaking hands can’t seem to remember how to tie a knot. “Let me lend you a hand.” Heisenberg pushes your hands out of the way before you can protest. Nimble fingers use the laces of the corset to pull you closer. He leans down enough so his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “Not here. Mommy dearest has more than one pair of ears.”

“If not here then when?” You whisper harshly back; frustrated about the waiting game you keep being subjected to. Patience was a virtue and those were hard to come by nowadays.

“Later. I have a couple of loose ends to tie up first.” With a tug, Heisenberg finishes tying up your corset. Turning around you move back to properly stare up at the bulky man. “That was technically a loose end.” Your snark is rewarded with a smirk, “I said a couple.”

A question that was gnawing in your heart comes out before you can think it through, “Am I going to end up like that?” Time feels as though it was standing still while you waited for an answer. A deep chuckle causes the metal around Heisenberg’s neck to clank. “You’d be dead already if that was the case.” Pausing he tips up your chin with his forefinger and thumb to kiss your lips, “And you’re worth all the trouble.”

Heisenberg’s answer didn’t start very comforting but at the end, butterflies erupt in your stomach. Boy did he know how to charm your panties off. After one last kiss that lingers for longer than necessary, the Lord leaves before anyone could come knocking at your door. He was your Lord and you were the lady in waiting. Nothing could be more literal than that.

“Note to self, Heisenberg has no concept of time.” You come to the conclusion while jarring the remedies you just finished. “Later” didn’t mean later in the day, but when he found most convenient. It had only been a day, but you were chomping at the bit for answers.

Did this make you a brat? Maybe; but at least you were a justified one. All you’ve been receiving lately were questions upon questions. Shaking your head, you try your best to clear out the deluge of thoughts fighting their way to the surface. You had to distract yourself. Work, eat, read, sleep, repeat. Follow that order and the days will soar by. “Easier said than done,” you mumble out loud.

A soft knocking sounding at your door rips you from your stupor. Smoothing your skirt, you make haste to the door. The sight of Elena makes you almost squeal in joy. Without hesitating you pull the young girl into your home and rush to the stove to start boiling water for tea. Conveniently your kitchen was in the same room as the entrance and makeshift clinic. It was a small cabin after all.

You’re surprised when Elena doesn’t immediately start gabbing away, so you opt to start the conversation while sifting through your cabinets in search of tea bags. “Roxana came to me with her tenth scrap this month! I offered to buy her knee and elbow pads from the Duke, but of course, she refused.” The giggle that leaves Elena is dryer than normal. Example number one on why you get paid to heal and not for small talk.

When you finally manage to find two bags of Chamomile tea you place them in a set of cups you traded for a couple of years ago. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” You spin your head around so fast you almost get whiplash. “W-what?”

Elena points over to the tea, “Chamomile is supposed to help with sleep, right?” Leaning on the counter you chuckle while rubbing your forehead, “Yeah, sorry.” You needed to relax. Hopefully, this tea did the trick, if not you would have to make a rare trip to the shanty bar near the center of town. “I’ve been sleeping, just not for very long. You know how I am.”

Nodding her head Elena changes the subject as fast as she started it, “When are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” Someone was on fire with asking personal questions today. Usually, Elena spent at least an hour telling you about her week before you even got to make one comment.

Straightening you grapple for the right answer, “I would introduce you to my boyfriend if I had one. But lucky for you, you’re still stuck with me. Let’s just hope Anton doesn’t hear the news.” Elena simply shakes her head like an admonishing mother, “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You couldn’t help but falter when you notice how Elena’s eyes drag over your form. Almost like she was searching for something. What exactly she could be trying to gauge, you had no clue.

Before you can make up an excuse the loud whistling of the kettle indicates that the water was done boiling. Immediately you turn around to pour the tea while sneaking in a sigh of relief. Elena gives you a quiet “thank you” when she accepts the cup.

As you watch her take a sip of the tea, the absence of a gold chain captures your attention. You freeze when don’t see the heart-adorned necklace resting along her neck. Ever since you gave it to Elena, she never took it off. She even joked that “as long as I have a neck, I will have the necklace on.”

You wanted to ask, but your instincts seemed to stop you. From the moment she walked into your home something felt… off. There was this warm energy that Elena carried that never ceased to calm you, but at this moment, she was devoid of any sweet sincerity.

Maybe she was just having a bad day. Or maybe the other villagers had finally gotten in her head. “Are you alright?” To her credit, Elena looks genuinely concerned. Your lips lift into your well-practiced fake smile. One that, until today, you never had to use with her. “Of course.”

Looks like that trip to the bar was going to happen sooner than you thought.

Amber liquid burns its way down your throat as you attempt to wash away all the concerns you have. The bitter flavor has you sucking your tongue, but the tingle in your brain indicates that the alcohol is already doing its job.

Day drinking was commonplace as each table was occupied. The bar was dingy and had a pungent smell of yeast, but you could care less. What made you shift in your seat however was the whiny voice coming from the corner of the room. Of course, you had to come here at the same time Anton did.

Downing the rest of your drink, you slam the glass on the wet surface. Right as you pass a bag of coin to the bar keep you can feel someone’s presence behind you. “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?” Each word came out more slurred than the last.

Turning around you narrow your eyes at Anton, “Home; and that’s not an invitation for you to follow.” The drunk stumbles his way toward you while pointing an accusatory finger. “Give up the prude act. I know you want me.” You would say he had balls, but only men had those.

Glancing around the room you notice the other patrons staring at the both of you. Great. The last thing you wanted to do was put on a show for everyone. Lowering your voice, you try to reason with him, “Just drop it okay? We can talk about this misunderstanding later if you want.” The later you were referring to was the one Heisenberg went by; probably never.

Instead of backing down, he snags your wrist in a vice grip before you could evade him. When you try to yank yourself away, he only tightens his fist. “You’re not going to make me wait any longer.” Anton tugs you so you fall against him. “All you need is a rough fucking to put you in your place.”

Your stomach roils in protest. Although he was extremely forward in the past, he was never this aggressive. In a way, you blamed yourself for brushing him off for so long. The bastard was the one who needed to be dropped down a few pegs.

Tears spring to your eyes as the pain in your wrist becomes unbearable at his crushing hold, “Please Anton, let go of me! You don’t have to do this!” Why was no one coming to help you? Couldn’t they see he was deranged?

“Put a fucking sock in it!” Anton gets so in your face that the smell of his breath invades your senses and almost makes you gage. “I’m sure you didn’t protest this much when you ran away to leave the rest of your family to die. Without me, you’ll really be a worthless hag.”

Anger bursts through to overshadow your attempts to defuse the situation. You were down being bulldozed by everyone in this Black God-forsaken village. Reeling your other fist back you punch Anton in the face.

The surprise blow makes his grip loosen enough for you to wriggle free. Seizing the opportunity, you kick out blindly. Sick satisfaction fills you when Anton doubles over while holding his crotch. How was that for a “worthless hag”?

“You fucking bitch!” Anton looks up at you in disbelief as he holds his jaw. The blood roaring in your ears made you almost miss his slurred words. This time the slur was from the blood filling in his mouth and not the alcohol.

Emboldened by liquid courage you kneel so that only Anton could hear you, “If I’m a bitch then you’re a filthy pig.” With one last scathing look, you leave the bar before anyone else made the idiotic decision to confront you. All you wanted to do was go home and rub your skin until his smell and touch went away.

The adrenaline starts to wear off while walking through the village. Your hand shakes like a ground-splitting earthquake as try to tuck your hair out of your face. Your one goal was to not make any more enemies and you were doing a piss poor job at that. The only gratification you got was knowing that the only person who could fix Anton’s jaw was you. And there was no way he would dare step foot anywhere near your cabin. At least that’s what you hoped.

When you round the corner, you see Elena walking in the other direction of the path. Her face lights up at the sight of you. “Hey! I came over for our weekly tea, but you weren’t home. Did you have to get errands?”

Your raging nerves are glazed over with a rush of numbness. “W-what are you talking about? We had tea already.” If she sprouted two heads and started flying, you still would not have found that crazier.

Elena tilts her head to the side before breathing out a small laugh. “You really need to take a day off. All those oddly named herbs might be screwing with your head.” It feels as though your limbs are dead weights as Elena hooks her arm with yours as she walks you back home. Her touch was warm, but your heart felt cold.

All you could do was pace around the small space as your head barely contained the sheer insanity you were feeling at this moment. You were not crazy. Well… not in the hallucinating full interactions way at the very least.

Rubbing your temples, you analyze every second of your conversation with Elena. Nothing seems to click until what she said earlier makes you stop dead in your tracks. “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You have heard that exact sentiment before. The woman in your nightmares told you that once. Word for word.

Gripped by panic you rush out the door. Without a destination in mind, you run past the other houses and villagers around you. The murmurs at your strange behavior swirl together in an all-consuming way. No matter where you go, or what you do, you can never be left alone. The village people, Anton, the hag, the Duke’s coded messages, and now Elena.

Maybe one person was not trying to tear you down after all; they all were.

It is like your throat is collapsing in on itself. Running between two abandoned houses, you press yourself into the cold exterior. If only you could fuse yourself into the dilapidated structure. Closing your eyes, you try to regain any control you have left.

Despite your efforts, tears start to pour from your eyes as the ringing in your ears intensifies. Each time your body shivers from the bitter cold more raw emotions are forced out to the point where you might fall to your knees from grief. You had never felt this alone since your parents were stolen away from you.

Out of nowhere, something sinks its fingers into your shoulders. Flashes of Anton grabbing you make you switch back into full survival mode. Your scream is cut short when your mouth is quickly covered.

“Stop struggling.” Your assailant’s voice sounds as if it was underwater. Not relenting you try any trick you can muster. Kicking, scratching, and thrashing; anything to be let go. In your hysteria, you manage to land some blows hard enough that they make the other person grunt.

A current of electricity jolts your body. The searing pain was as effective as a slap in the face. Opening your eyes, you are greeted by a disheveled-looking man. His hair was tousled, and splotches of crimson were splattered across the man’s torso up to his neck. What struck you was the way the man’s wild green eyes searched all over your skin.

Upon closer inspection it was not just any man, it was Heisenberg. You bring your shaky hands to Heisenberg’s face. The roughness of his beard on your delicate skin grounded you. This was real. He was real. At this moment you needed that confirmation more than anything else in the world. Before he could open his mouth, you interrupt him, “Hold me.”

Heisenberg doesn’t try to stop you as your legs wrap around his hips and you cling to his neck. For a couple of moments, you simply sit in each other’s embrace. When was the last time a lamb ran into the embrace of a hungry wolf?

Heisenberg takes your wrist in his hand, kissing the blooming bruise, “He will never touch you again.” You should have been shocked that he knew what happened, but you weren’t. Word spread fast and probably even faster when you were a Lord.

“How can you be so sure?” Nothing you tried in the past ever stopped Anton. A dark chuckle vibrates your chest as he wipes away any tears left on your face, “Because I made sure.” The assurance should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t enough.

“I feel like I am going crazy Heisenberg. Please tell me you will not betray me too.” His eyes flash, “What can I say for you to believe me?”

Shaking your head, you pull him closer to emphasize your point, “Words are not enough. I need you to show me.” Heisenberg searches your eyes before he finds the answer he was looking for. You wanted to feel a touch that was safe and familiar.

Normally rough lips descend on you with the lightness of a falling feather. All traces of Anton’s touch on your skin disappear as Heisenberg kisses every inch he can reach. The man against you did not smell of musk and bourbon, but of copper and spiced tobacco. An intoxication combination that was successful in clouding your mind with nothing, but thoughts of Heisenberg.

You moan when he starts to suck on the spot just behind your ear. One of the many erogenous zones that made you push into his body. Heisenberg grunts at your display of need, “Do you want this?” Although your body always communicated your consent, his want to hear it for himself meant more to you than anything else. “I need this. Please.” Your voice breaks as you practically beg. You wanted him to wash away all the pain and torment.

A thumb comes up to pull on your lower lip, “How can I refuse when your pretty little mouth asked so nicely?” After a quick kiss, Heisenberg begins to push up any clothes that dared to get in his way. Hands work with an inhuman speed that before you know it, you are filled so completely it almost hurts. Heisenberg snaps his hips at an unrelenting pace. Each drag of his cock makes you bury your face further into his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure.

Pushing you further into the siding of the house, Heisenberg slides a hand in between your bodies. His fingers start to rub your clit in fast circles that leave you breathless. Each message sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.

Heisenberg was consuming you in a way that left you feeling raw and vulnerable. You offered him your flesh and bones on a silver platter, and he took them without a second thought. What was terrifying was the fact that if he only asked, your heart could be his to take. After this was all said and done, would you have anything left for yourself?

“Fuck, that’s it. Use me for your pleasure, doll. Take it all.” Spurred on by his grunted words you start to meet him in time with every thrust. The additional friction makes the pressure in your core build and build until you didn’t think you could take it anymore. Nails breakthrough skin with unadulterated desperation, but neither of you cared.

Despite the frigid weather, your bodies felt as though they were on fire. Not only that but the air crackled with an intensity so explosive it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. At every turn, the universe warned you of how dangerous Heisenberg was, but the way he worshipped your skin was nothing short of passionate.

When your inner walls start to quiver in anticipation of your orgasm, his thrusts begin to stutter. Heisenberg’s voice was so deep, it was almost unrecognizable, “Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.” You did not know how much you needed permission until you had it. Closing your eyes, you revel in the tension your body releases when your orgasm rolls over you.

“God fucking, dammit!” Heisenberg slams your lips together as warmth begins to flood your core in sharp spurts. There was no finesse in the kiss, but it could not have felt more right. Tongues slide across each other at the same pace as the slow last couple of strokes trying to prolong your joint orgasm. If only you could stay in his arms with him in you, forever.

Your foreheads come to rest together as you exchange every desperate breath. Instead of pulling away, Heisenberg lets you hold him in your iron grip. Nothing felt real anymore except for his touch, his words, and most crucially, him.

A lone crow squawks before flying away from the embracing lovers. Despite how small the creature was, it reaches its master in a matter of minutes. An outstretched finger reminiscent of a willowy branch awaits the crow’s arrival.

Mother Miranda’s smile is laced with twisted satisfaction. The intelligent little birds were her eyes and ears around the village. Each conversation and possible outlier eventually reached the ears of the prophet. Just like you had all those years ago. Everything was finally falling into place. Like pieces on a chess board, Mother Miranda was able to maneuver her metal-clad knight to trap her opponent.

The hag instilled in Anton that his fate was to be with the local healer. This was so a large event could be triggered. One that conveniently pushed Anton to attack you publicly.

Mother Miranda had assigned Heisenberg to watch over you under the guise that she wanted to keep tabs on the prominent people in the village. Her true intentions were more coveted than any of her “children” combined.

Heisenberg’s supervision over the girl was going just as she instructed. Although his attack on Anton made her eyebrows raise. After the confrontation, Miranda instructed Heisenberg to send a Lycan to kill Anton. How curious was it for him to do it himself? However, all that mattered now was that the deed was done. Soon the hag would spread to the townsfolk that you used dark magic against Anton to make him infatuated with you and when it went wrong you killed him.

The point of having the villagers turn on you is so you would be forced to come to Mother Miranda for refuge and in turn be prepped for your greater purpose. The next morning Mother Miranda will call Heisenberg and tell him to bring you to the church under the Dimitrescu estate so they can have a meeting and introduce you to the family.

Ever since you were born, Miranda could feel the potential in you. That’s why she had to get your family out of the picture and stop your grandmother from further corrupting your mind. After they were killed, Mother Miranda meticulously planned what would happen to you once you hit maturity.

When she saw you in the flesh at your home today, it only motivated her further. By day’s end, a witch hunt would be assembled. Once the villagers hear of Anton’s death after being last seen with you, they will do all the work for the Black God. Then there will be nowhere else for you to run to except straight to her.

“It’s only a matter of time before you will be ready to come home my darling Eva.”

Large wings encircle Mother Miranda like a giant cocoon. By the time they retract she is not as she once was. Instead of being wrapped in her ornate ropes, she now was adorned with the clothes of a peasant. Once-flawless skin sagged and wrinkled with old age and any traces of blonde hair were now as grey as her eyes. The hag cackles as she makes her way into the village.

May the mayhem begin.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenburg x you #karl heisenberg imagines #karl heisenberg #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village #resident evil x reader #heisenberg x reader #delirious masterlist #crucible of desire masterlist

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

Text

Mr. Spooktacular / Jimmy McGill Imagine

Request: GIRLLLL YOU WRITE FOR BETTER CALL SAUL???? IM ABSOLUTELY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHAT'S UP IM DYING!!!! i would like to request something for Halloween with jimmy but idk what, something fluffy up to you! dealers choice! im so excited to see how you write him ♥️♥️

This is such a lovely request and I’ve made it so stupid @offbrand-slasher I’m so sorry I just feel like he’d be the type of guy to love dressing up to answer the door lmao ily!!

(I do not own Better Call Saul or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @santavenganza.)

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

‘Mwahahah, have a spooktacular Halloween! And don’t forget kids, to tell your lovely nanas and bobos where to come for some treats that don’t look like they’ve been shot out from a Chocolate Factory....’

Jimmy’s voice trails out as the kids recede down the outer apartment block stairs, shaking their pumpkin buckets in their hands to try and suss how many sweets they bagged this time; his smile finally drops as the last bit of mummy toilet paper disappears over the pavement, and he rubs his chin contemplatively as he turns and shuts the door, once again, behind him. It takes him a moment to realise he’s managed to wipe off half of the gaudy cream ‘Dracula-esque’ makeup off his chin (as he had sardonically called it when he picked the half-price tube off the drug store shelf on your joint way back from the office that afternoon). When he sees it smeared across his fingers, he whines in exasperation and makes you chortle as he begins to try and wipe it off onto the bin bag looking cape he’s tied across his shoulders.

Pulling his fake teeth out, he points over to where you’re lounging on the couch, half-caught in a stretched yawn by his wagging pointer finger. ‘What, exactly, are you laughing at? I hope it’s not my stunning outfit - this thing cost me nearly twenty bucks, but I think it was worth it.’ He finishes his sad scan over his cheap nylon trousers and fake blood stained frilled shirt with a small smile and ostentatious flick back of his gelled hair. ‘At least it’s got great re-use value: I’ll be able to wear it into HHM next week and still look more sprightly than Howard does.’

You shake your head with as much indignation on Hamlin’s behalf as you can, but Jimmy still smiles and comes shimmying his shoulders towards you. Pressing the palm of your hand to your lips, you try to stop the snorting laugh from busting out as Jimmy drops the near empty candy bowl on the table and kneels down to start dumping freshly opened bags of hard sweets into its depths. Bless his heart, he looks so happy, so childlike and innocent again as he meticulously opens the plastic and grins at the way the sweets fall between his fingers. He’s humming gently to himself, an old country tune his father often used to listen to in the small store shop when Autumn time began to roll around the dusty grounds; when the two of them used to stay late after closing shop to huddle on overturned milk crates in the middle of the shop floor and choose a bag of sweets to share after the Halloween sales were over again for the year. Back in the days when Chuck used to roll up punctiliously after his extra evening classes and be glad to see Jimmy enjoying himself through the store window, sighing sweet relief as he perched down next to his brother and stayed there until the sun would begin to flood over the heads of the golden cornfields and blind his tired eyes.

He blinks back to himself, not realising he had been staring down at his hands for the past thirty seconds, when you gently kick your bare feet against the expanse of his back. He looks behind him, rising up to kneel between your knees and waiting, tenderly and expectantly and as if he had all the time in the world to just gaze and admire you, for you to speak.

‘You know’, you start ‘it wasn’t even the outfit. It was the fact that they were literal nine year olds you were shouting elder law rhetoric at, Jimmy.’ You affectionately run your hand over his greased up hair, and appreciate the way his shoulders shiver as his head leans back to follow your touch.

‘Phhh’, he waves a hand, and quickly uses it to grab your retreating wrist and place it back on top of his head, like a lonely puppy just begging for someone to show him love. You run your finger down the shell of his ear, teasingly pulling at the lobe as he watches you with eyes wide enough to store all the burning love of the universe within, before snaking your hand into his shirt pocket and nicking one of the candy bars he had slotted in there to eat later. He bats his plastic cape behind him with a twisted frown, which soon falls into a pleading pout as he watches you unwrap and take a bite out of his caramel bar.

‘One: trust me, it’s never too early to get legal advice. They’ll be old people too one day! And trust me, Jimmy McGill will be a family brand for years to come - name up in lights kind of thing. Two: I think you’ll find... that was mine.’

‘Too bad, now it belongs to me.’

You take another bite and chew obnoxiously extravagantly, moaning after each swallow and pretending not to notice the way Jimmy’s eyes rove over your face with a flash of irk and clouding adamant awe. He comes scrambling towards you, crawling on his hands and knees until he’s levered himself up onto the sofa beside you. For a while, it’s peaceful: Jimmy lowers your head onto your shoulder, careful to turn his cheek so the makeup is just lingering above your skin. You wrap your arms tightly around his midriff and squeeze, and Jimmy snorts out a deep breath as he settles back to rest against your chest, the heavy weight in his chest flowing out of his body and bustling away to linger in the dark shadows that cut across the corners of the room, just slight out of the edge of his vision. He turns his head back towards the light: towards you, and tries to focus again on the double bill of horror movie that begins to roll to a close on the cable tv.

Yet he can’t help himself. It takes less than ten minutes for his focus to wander, for his mind to claw its way back up to you, and the tilt of his head further up your neck soon follows. Like the soft moonlight dying away under the douse of the raging sun, he peers up at you from behind hooded, love struck eyes and just watches the flickers of black and white dance over your face. Without even batting an eye, you lower the half-eaten chocolate bar to his lips and shove it into his mouth so he can share a bite.

Your reverie is broken by the sharp sound of another trick or treater knocking fervently at the door.

‘Ooh, there’s the next lot to fall victim to my-’, he stops as he jumps out of your arms and spins round to face you, wiping the fake teeth back off the table and shoving them into his mouth. With an exaggerated comical baring of his teeth and raised eyebrows at you, he holds out his arms loosely in front of his chest and pretends to take small tip toe steps towards you. ‘The victims of my sharp wit and dashing legal pricing.’

‘You know, when you walk around like that you look more like a zombie than a vampire.’

He drops his arms, ignoring the sound of bustling, giggling footsteps marching around on the small veranda outside the door, and the constant ringing of the front bell. Scrambling towards you like a rat being bashed at with a brush, he launches: tickling your sides until you’re begging for him to stop.

‘You know, you’ve just lost your cuddling privileges for the night.’

#better call saul #jimmy mcgill #saul goodman #better call saul imagine #jimmy mcgill imagine #saul goodman imagine #jimmy mcgill x reader #saul goodman x reader #halloween #halloween imagine #bob odenkirk #breaking bad #breaking bad imagine #jimmy mcgill fluff #saul goodman fluff #bcs #bcs imagine #better call saul fluff

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whisperthatruns · 11 months

Text

The Long Labors

My grandmother said it was going to be long—as long as you can hold your lineage—depending on how long you can hold your tongue—as long as your tongue can wrap around the pit—of some stolen stone fruit—as long as you can hide your pitter-patter face—glued in sun-split splinters—lengthening shadows as long as your face—longing to be mirrored back—back to your daughter your mother your grandmother—freckle by freckle—furnished forever across—the long loaming haul— Collapsed in a pool of spit—my mouth over papers—raccoon doctorate—luxurious loser with thin branch fingers—no meat in the palm—no muscle in the bending—the farmer in me is atrophying—the cook the factory seamstress the clerk the mother in me is pooling out—all that I come from—all that I owe to them—what is left of me—what is—me: professorial rat—book-leavened and maddened in meetings—chewing at my desk on a frozen anything—microwave spun and splattered on lessons—wondering who packaged this—who spooned this glacial sauce into this plastic hull—whose hands whose daughter does she look like me does she like dancing in the gloaming—funneled into my greedy mouth—I: daughter of long labors—I: knock-off half-price guilt—I: impossible imposter big words big words—trying to prove what—and to whom—I wait to be seated at a restaurant—a white person enters and orders from me—“I want sweet and sour chicken but without bell peppers and brown rice”—and I almost take it down— In the twelfth hour of night-shift overtime—my mother gobbles the air of the facility—mouth opening a cavern or a bowhead whale or a sinkhole—gobbling up its oxygen its nitrogen its argon its skin its hair dust its swirling smog—collecting time collecting benefits—her eyes so baggy they carry a leaking pack of chicken breasts—she had planned to cook tonight for us—but look at the break room clock she is out of time and now—they will surely go bad—what a waste at $1.50 a pound—she returns to her station rubs tiger balm and lavender oil along her wrists and hands—chews dried ginger to keep awake—the root of herself sharpening salivating—reapplies pink lipstick swivels the tube upward—rituals of resilience—feeds letters to machines churning intestinal noise—electricity bills and love letters and baby photos and magazines ladies who lunch will take to the salon and credit card limited-time offers and reminders from the dentist and supermarket weeklies and postcards from Oahu—“you wouldn’t believe how blue the water how restful how peaceful bring the whole family next time”—ginger chew ginger chew— Who made this for you—do you know the song that reminds them of home—do you know to play the radio as loud as you can and roll down the windows and smack your cheeks ten times in order to stay awake for the drive—do you know who sewed on this button—do you know the murmuring leg ache from standing all day a tree for whom—do you know who processed the letter you received today—fed it into a machine with paper cuts as wide as a river you could float in—do you know how long you can hold your urine until your 15-minute break—the roiling pressure in the abdomen the tick-tap of the feet the hands—how much to tip the gas station attendant in Jersey how the smell sticks behind both earlobes—the temperature when flipping a wok the oil burns the white paper hat measuring salt at the brim—how your impatient face resembles a slowly rotting peach—worms in the snarl—do you know the name of your fishmonger the name of my uncle—the times he snuck in a call to say he will be late picking up his daughter fish scales glittered to his elbows like opera gloves—do you know cuticles peeling white like flecks of cod after washing dishes—do you know the smell of nail polish remover stinging bees in your nostrils—do you know the back—how the back curls how the back bridges how the back puckers and crunches—like packed snow no one else but you will shovel out—I look up how labor is used in a sentence—“the obvious labor”—“immigrants provided a source of cheap labor”—“negotiations between labor and management”—“wants the vote of labor in the elections”—“the flood destroyed the labor of years”—“industry needs labor for production”—anthropocene capitalism gentrification—what do these words mean—and to whom—helping my mother over the sink—I snip the ends of long beans 豆角 with kitchen shears—the ends rolling away—green lizard tails—I cut away each word like a long bean—gentrificat—gentrif—gen—ge—g—glugging the g—down the drain— If only lying on a beach—limbs loosened like an old garden hose—if only watching the movements of our stomachs—rising and falling like baby jellyfish—our thighs waxing and waning—in bristle-rough sand if only—reading a book the pages—wrinkled and curled like a snail shell—from falling asleep against our faces—if only devouring a cloud—full of no rain no metallic muscle if—only softness if only we—went off in the softness—into the downy relaxing abyss—what is this word—vacation—my grandmother asks me chili hitting the wok like delicious dying stars— My grandmother said it was going to be long—going out the door always late for work—shirt inside out—said go on and bounce a howling baby (my mother/me/et al)—while skimming oxtail broth—the fat sheen of look how well we eat in this country—lest you forget it was worth it—lest you forget—the dilation of the cervix going the contractions going the grip the placenta the shit the vernix the garbled life going the soft flashlight eyes the milk the teeth the nails the hand on heart the soup coagulating on the stove—you must go—for what gleams in the dark turns to look at you—remember this— The work and the afterwork and the work of being perceived as not doing enough work though you are working well over enough—will this ever be enough—when is enough enough—the chorus now: not until the knots of fat—melt in this wok—not until you have nothing left but this suet—this smear of high-heat lineage—gleaming in the gloaming—and it is yours and it is mine and it is your dream daughter’s and it will last longer than you will ever believe—believe us—

Jane Wong, How to Not Be Afraid of Everything (Alice James Books, 2021)

#quote #jane wong #the long labors #how to not be afraid of everything #poetry

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hopeymchope · 2 years

Note

Au where Saionji goes to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory with Mahiru and she gets stuck in one of the tubes. Cue Ruruka eating blueberry gum, swelling up and turning blue, Kokichi is also Willy Wonka in this AU so when he sees Saionji he smiles and says, "Ew."

I suspect you picked Kokichi as your Wonka because he kind of looks like Johnny Depp's version of the character? He’s got similar hair and that same impish look about him. (By the same token, Ruruka looks rather like the 2005 film's version of Violet Beauregarde. So that fuels my theory on how you cast these parts.)

But I think I want to pitch matching the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory characters to their closest analogs in DR in terms of shared traits and overall personality.

- Kokichi’s not a bad pick for Wonka, frankly. I think I’ll keep him. :) Although Kokichi is clearly the more sinister of the two, they both are pursuing a theoretically positive end goal through bizarrely cruel means that will leave permanent damage on all involved. Hooray...?

- Charlie Bucket is selfless, honest, generous, devoted to his family, and uh, is a good kid who is good. He worries a lot about his family’s poor medical and financial situations, to the point where he starts doing a paper route in the morning before school to assist. Hrm. Well, given that he’s a worrier who overworks himself, maybe this could be a part for Mitarai? Kind of a stretch, but I don’t really know what else to do with this thin-ass protagonist role.

- Grandpa Joe is an old man who is supposedly one of our heroes - an excitable, stubborn guy who is defensive of his grandson and angry when things seem unfair. But I say “supposedly” because the Internet has decided he’s actually a secret douchebag hiding his true nature. So I’m tempted to give this to Tengan. Y’know - for the meme.

- Ruruka Andou becomes Veruca Salt. Obviously! Because Veruca is known for being demanding, spoiled, and utterly entitled. Easiest casting here.

- Mike Teavee is portrayed as having some really violent and destructive tendencies in the 2005 movie and in the more recent Broadway musical. In movie, he just repeatedly breaks and crushes objects for fun, and he likes to scream “Die!” at opponents while playing competitive video games. Whereas in the musical, he’s literally killing animals and attacking adult women for fun — a legit psychopath. In both cases, he’s got a bit of an ego on him that lets him feel like he deserves to do whatever he wants. The Broadway version makes me think Jataro or Korekiyo (or Hiyoko because of the animals), but overall, Mike gives me Masaru Daimon vibes. He’s certainly violent and egotistical enough for the part. So I’m gonna go with Masaru.

- Violet Beauregarde has a different personality in every adaption. The only consistent thing about her is that she chews a lot of gum. 1971 Violet is arrogant, vain, and self-centered — so, Hiyoko? 2005 Violet is overly competitive, kind of rude, and into martial arts — Akane would fit that. And Broadway Violet is a fame-hungry child who is mass-marketed at the behest of one of her parents, often seen in pink. So that one’s best aligned with Kotoko, it seems. It’s really hard to congeal these different Violets into a single character... but if I had to do it, I guess I’d say Junko gets the part. Enoshima is certainly mass-marketed, she’s plenty competitive and nasty to others, 100% self-centered and arrogant.... it’s a decent mix.

- Augustus Gloop isn’t a character; he’s just a sad, fat-shaming joke with a supposedly comedic accent. He goes down first and has almost no backstory. You might think, then, that I’d pick the Ultimate Imposter to be Augustus, because he’s the fat joke of the DR franchise. But no! Because when I think “character who loves food, dies first, and talks in a way that’s supposed to be funny,” I think Daisaku Bandai. For sure.

Any remaining noteworthy roles are comparatively simple, both in depth and difficulty of casting. Slugworth — aka the rich suit who is seemingly after profit at any cost but secretly is part of a manipulation with overall positive intentions? That’ll be Togami. The singing, dancing, short little race of clones? Monokumas, naturally.

And there you go! We’ve got ourselves a cast for Danganronpa and the Chocolate Factory.

Willy Wonka - Kokichi Ouma

Charlie Bucket - Ryota Mitari

Grandpa Joe Bucket - Kazuo Tengan

Veruca Salt - Ruruka Andou

Violet Beauregarde - Junko Enoshima

Mike Teavee - Masaru Daimon

Augustus Gloop - Daisaku Bandai

Slugworth - Byakuya Togami

Oompa-Loompas - Monokumas

I like it.

It’s interesting that I wound up with so much DR3 representation here. That wasn’t a goal at all.