#very much alice in wonderland vibes

[tojigasm]

Megan Thee Stallion in HISS. 2024

[floatingessence]

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Rsa vs Nrc

Riddle vs Alex ( twst Alice Leddle )

Crewel daughter and Riddle are together in town and talking about something they both can relate, as in art and history and Crewel stay closed to Riddle

Malleus + Disomia vs Price Phillips ( twst of that price from sleeping beauty)

Crewel daughter invited Malleus and his friends/bodyguards as she needs help as she have a client of a foreign land to asked to restore agroot ( decorative gargoyle) and needed his help on stone materials that are uncommonly used and she feels very uncomfortable around the human prince for obvious reasons

Idia vs Heracles ( twst of Heracles)

Crewel daughter and Idia are getting some new video games to play together ( legs say Crewle daughter is a secretly a gamer and otaku because y not? ) And she is off putting with Idia cousin and prefer to hangout with the recluse as he's more interesting to be around

RSA vs NRC w/ Crewel Daughter | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Riddle Rosehearts vs Alix Lidwelle

“As the rules state: on the designated day we shall be in attendance of the latest additions of Art in all of Twisted Wonderland.”

“And as the rules state: on the designated day we will devote are time to one another and our enjoyment to Art!” 

This is the closest Riddle equates to being a fan of anything

Its one thing to have a textbook based knowledge on images

Than to be with (Y/n) Crewel as she tilts her head at world renowned paintings

“Based.”

“Based? Why?”

“I don’t like the vibe I’m getting.”

There was nothing he loved more than looking at art with you

So much so that he even made it a rule that you two travel to different art museums together

If anything this was his day

That is until he sealed the deal…but until then this a thing

Our thing 

Now its almost ruined when the blonde comes skipping in you two’s direction

“What’ya guys doing?”

He can explain or rather you can since the student isn’t even looking at him to answer

“We are carrying out a tradition that we have done for years.”

“Tradition? That sounds..kindof boring? But you can join me for some tea if you want a break at least.”

“Tea but it isn’t even ti-”

“Come on (Y/n)!! Besides why would you want to follow the rules on a lovely day like this?”

HOW DARE HE!?

If his respect for the arts and your non reaction he would have lit the blonde on fire

Better yet behead that arrogant, stupid, idiotic–

“No. I enjoy traditions and its a shame you don’t seem to respect that.”

“W-what?!”

“Come on Riddle we have seven hours left on our ticket. Let’s not waste anymore time.”

“I agree.”

Riddle delights in the red that over takes Alix’s cheeks

And the stomping feet as he prepares to throw a tantrum

The prefect sticks a tongue out from behind your back

Smirking as he offers his arm

“Shall we commence on our adventure on the designated day?”

“As the rules state it, we shall.”

Malleus Draconia vs Prince Paul w/ Restoration Crewel Daughter Reader

You are quieter soul 

Opting to work in the silence as you restore and refurbish antiques

That’s probably why you get nervous about accepting a job at the Royal Sword Academy

So you bring support 

And who better than the one fae who enjoys gargoyles and you+

So you’ll invite him with you and he’s glowing with happiness

An invitation!

From his beloved no less 

You selfishly are quite grateful that he’s a people deterrent

Able to work on your work in peace 

That is until Paul comes

“The sound of such lovely sounds!”

“W-what?”

“Ah, and a beauty is the maker! You’ve entranced me with your sounds–”

“Sir, I don’t really–”

“But alas I have yet to introduce myself! Woe is me! The me being Paul Phillip, it has been to long since I–”

“Oh and your just going to keep talking, great.”

But leave it to your resident guard dragon to swoop in and save you

“Ah the Prince of Briar Valley what a surprise to see you here!”

“My mate…friend is uncomfortable with your presence.”

“But she hasn’t-”

“Go now.”

Be sure to convince him not to go full dragon on him

Smile and thank him 

And he’s happy 

Gargoyles, (Y/n), crushing his rivals, and courting (Y/n)

Its all the great and good times

Now you know you can trust him to protect you

Lilia says that will be enough to proves you

Aww and he was looking forward to deliver a blooody head

Idia Shroud vs Huckman  

You’re no gamer 

But your naturally skilled at everything you touch 

A perfect accessory to Idia’s high-level for multikills 

“You have three hours to beat the level, Idia don’t waste it shuddering in the corner.”

“Y-Y-YES MISTRESS!”

Once he gets in his groove your plowing through 

And since your actually lasor focused on the game

You don’t notice the way he focuses on your features

Just inches away the lips he’d dreamed of being graced with touch at the very least was so close

If he could just pretend to–

SLAM

“Whoops sorry cousin about your door.”

“Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!”

“Quiet! I’m nearly there!”

He’ll play possum as his cousin insistently shakes him

“Hey i know your not actually dead. Idia? Idia?”

Its you that intervenes making his heart go: Doki doki!

“Retriever boy leave for now I’ll deal with you later. I need him in peak condition for the next hour I’ve granted him.”

He snaps to your side immediately

Keeping his eyes glued to the screen as his cousin let’s himself out

"T-thanks!"

Now which tech-terror will he send to make sure ‘later’ never happens

[netherfeildren]

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Extremely Dubious Consent; Or Non Con; You decide but vibes are definitely off; Dark Fic; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say.  I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too. 

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date. 

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died. 

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as. 

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now. 

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream. 

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait. 

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here. 

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else. 

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him. 

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence. 

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue. 

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.  

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too. 

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.” 

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch. 

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?” 

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come. 

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately. 

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red. 

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that. 

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it. 

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.” 

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go. 

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself. 

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical. 

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–” 

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat. 

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know. 

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad. 

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.” 

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess. 

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either. 

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you. 

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking–  “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum. 

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room. 

-

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever. 

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak. 

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready. 

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter,  trail off, voice small and unsure. 

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted. 

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel. 

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day. 

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought. 

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs. 

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you. 

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.” 

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know. 

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them. 

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

 And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now. 

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life. 

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless. 

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips. 

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it. 

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver. 

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him. 

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with. 

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.” 

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you. 

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be. 

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.” 

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear. 

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him. 

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.” 

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. 

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan. 

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more. 

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this. 

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give. 

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him. 

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this. 

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him. 

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.” 

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself. 

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking. 

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[crystallizsch]

hello i am once again thinking about grim, and by extension the heartslabyul duo because if there’s anything else that lives in my head rent-free it’s how the main four are as close as friends as they are throughout the entire game so far.

(help this ramble became longer than i intended)

-> i know it's a pattern that the previous dorms help out in the next book which means once book 7 ends, we’re assuming book 8 would be about ramshackle(?). which means it’s diasomnia’s turn to have a big role in the following dorm. -> but it got me thinking. throughout the books, heartslabyul (specifically adeuce) is always present somehow. no matter how much screen time they actually have and how relevant they are to the conflict at that time. (actually i think something similar could be said with diasomnia but i want to focus mainly on adeuce) -> throughout the books, we're just set up with how good of friends the four are. the prologue, books 1 and 2 start to develop the four's chemistry together, and by book 3 we get one of the first signs that yuu cares about these three to the point they're willing to risk it because their dumbasses decided to sign a deal with azul. -> in book 4, while adeuce didn't have much involvement, i believe twst JUST hammers home that all four of them are friends friends. we are shown how ace and deuce went through all the trouble of transportation DURING THE HOLIDAYS because they thought yuu and grim were in trouble. like they could've easily just went "hey it must have been nothing" but they were worried enough to go check on them, not even thinking that someone else could've had handled it already.

-> since the pattern was that the previous dorm helps the next dorm, why does it seem like in book 5 it seems that heartslabyul, or at least, adeuce has as much of a big role as scarabia? the scarabia duo was there to notice the signs with vil but it was deuce who dealt the last blow to him. (honestly i don't remember much but i don't know how much help scarabia even helped pomefiore other than being in vdc hhh) -> so then it made me think, huh. it's like twst is setting up that these two will be more important than we think and will definitely not be going away soon. -> and then THE END OF BOOK 6. ouughh the end of book 6. their reunion just solidified for me how much they all care about each other. adeuce were not prompted by a direct "we're in trouble, help us" text this time. they just found out yuu and grim were somewhere in danger and it agonized them that they could do nothing about it but wait and hope they're safe. -> book 7 finally we're back to finding out ways to help yuu get home. and since they're all admittedly close friends (dare i say found family) at this point without explicitly stating it, i get the vibes of "we'll help you get home because we care about you but we're not going to think about the depressing possibility we might never see each other ever again".

-> so very abrupt transition;;; this led me to thinking about the overall “alice in wonderland” theme throughout twst. -> is that why adeuce has been with us this entire time? to remind us of that theme? we are in twisted wonderland after all. (I'm not really sure about the thought of yuu being alice but it's an interesting one to consider too) -> to tie in more with the alice in wonderland theme, i'm briefly going to go back to diasomnia. in book 7, there's like a theme of dreams. in fact, throughout the game it was all about dreams and visions and stuff. and in book 7 we're just diving into it. -> and in the story of alice in wonderland, there seems to be the implication that everything that happened in wonderland was just based on a crazy dream that alice had. like we don't know if anything was ever real. (i'm not really a fan of the "it's all a dream" twist but the connections got the gears in my brain turning) (also mickey must be relevant too but i have no thoughts about the implications of his existence at the moment 💀) -> i know we're not done with diasomnia's book but it seems to be set up as a catalyst for something bigger along the line (thinking about the possibility that there is even something bigger than a malleus overblot is very wild to say the least)

-> SO ANOTHER abrupt transition but still related, i thought about the parallel between the "overblot grim" in the beginning of the game and the "jabberwock(y)" in alice in wonderland. they're both chimera-like creatures that are like the final bosses or something. -> and what if a way for yuu to "go home" is to "slay" the jabberwocky (or in this case the overblot grim) just like in the story of alice in wonderland / through the looking glass. -> there's theories i believe that ace is set up to be some kind of "trump card" based on his name and the fact his unique magic isn't revealed yet. but also i want to add deuce in there too remembering how he held a big role in stopping vil in book 4 like some kind of foreshadowing. -> maybe the main role diasomnia will have is only about all these dream shenanigans. and i'd like to think instead that at the end of the day, this conflict with an overblotted grim is ultimately between our main four. some representations based off alice in wonderland. -> going full circle, is this why we have been shown so much of the friendship between all four of them? to establish this possible eventual conflict? and to make it harder for us to choose about "going home"? do we even get the choice?

do we "slay" the jabberwocky or will we decide to stay in this seemingly dreamlike fantasy wonderland instead?

[centrally-unplanned]

Saw The Boy And The Heron today lads:

The first 2/3rds of the film are probably some of the best Ghibli work I have seen. It has this strong commitment to simultaneously intense realism and purely ungrounded magical realism. In particular, its fantastical elements were grounded in physicality and their own realism, not pure whimsy. Its worldbuilding is done as much as possible on the artistic level.

The last 1/3rd does collapse into typical Ghibli-ism - essentially its a story that lacked a strong focus on plot, but then decided it couldn't commit so whipped one up. The first part is like an adult Miyazaki's Alice in Wonderland; and then it transitions to a child's version. Still fun, but disappointing.

I definitely liked the Shinya Ohira fire scene as much as the next dude but y'all sakugabros are fucking obsessed, it was not that big of a scene in the movie lol. I personally found its most standout artistic choices to be in the backgrounds & design work - as other works have 'caught up' with the animation detail that older Ghibli films, with their budget & talent, used to stand out on, those elements is where their comparative advantage now lie imo.

This is twice now Miyazaki has teased me with a grounded, fully realized period piece about the politics and society of wartime Japan and then veered off into a totally different story and I am irate, I am pissed, he is so good at depicting its intricacies just fucking commit!!

Speaking of, there are multiple references to when "the war" began and they are all pointing to 1941 - apparently 4 years of war with China doesn't count! This isn't out of step with Japanese historiographic periodization or anything, just very amusing.

There was more than one moment where I thought I was inexplicably keeping up my recent track record of stumbling onto incest media; Himi gave out vibes, man.

Overall very good, I definitely recommend it. It certainly as well has the air of one's "final movie" - its thematic arc is a distant parallel to End of Evangelion in a sense, where one is given the choice between fantasy and reality and chooses reality. Done infinitely less deftly than EoE, for sure, but for a movie that is an artist's almost certain last foray into the world of art in that way, its still impactful. Discourse about Miyazaki is one of those things where the quantity has a quality of its own - the extent to which people discuss and debate his work is proof of its power, and for his final movie to elevate the talents of so many others working for him, giving them reign on their own sections & ideas, before closing the door on his own contributions feels right.

Unless he makes another fucking movie of course and ruins it.

[merakiui]

MERA, THAT NEW TREY FIC HAS TICKLED MY BRAIN SO GOOD LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! ヾ(≧▽≦*)oヾ(≧▽≦*)oヾ(≧▽≦*)o

Surreal horror has always been one of my favorite types of horror because of the unsettling atmosphere and the reality-bending and you wrote it so well! You did amazing when you wrote the dream sequences in DRU, and now to actually read a whole dang fic with the theme?? With Trey of all people???? OTZ OTZ OTZ You've unlocked so many new possibilities with his Doodle Suit, truly the Gaslighting King of all time 👑👑👑

AND THE SYMBOLISM!!!!! please please please please ramble about them if you want-- I'm having so much fun rereading this fic again and again. The Violet Butterwort caught my attention cause isn't that a carnivorous plant? 👀👀 Trapping insects in its leaves like a certain grass-haired man??? 👀👀👀

Anyway, all I'm saying is, Trey is not the only chef around cause you definitely COOKED with this one 🔥🔥✨✨

( ≧ᗜ≦) AAAAA OMG OMG THANK YOUUUUUU!!!!!! ✨ ✨

I'm so happy it tickled your brain! I adore surreal horror in film and writing. There's just so much potential for the craziest of things to happen! Dream sequences or sequences that feel like dreams are some of my favorite things to write. The ones in DRU are also just as surreal. <3 I originally wanted to write this concept with Jade (Kalim was second on my list), but I decided upon Trey in the end because I think he suits the surreal horror vibes so well! Doodle Suit + the power of seamless gaslighting........ what a terrifying combination.

I wanted the story to feel obscure and almost like a trip with the imagery and descriptions. Sort of like the vibes in Alice in Wonderland. Just,,,,, utterly bonkers.

👀 you are very right about the butterwort hehehe!!! As for other symbolisms/details, these are the main ones in the story! I left out some of the symbolisms of various lines or words because that would make for such a long analysis of my own work. ^^;;;

It is under the cut due to length (forgive me)! A warning for mentions of sexual assault and drugging!

✧ the binary can be translated into messages. :)

✧ the feeling of itchiness - feeling as if you don't fit in your body after it's been violated. Feeling like something (trauma/blocked memories) is beneath your skin and you can't get it out no matter what you do. Also, itchy as in discomfort.

✧ grass - this is meant to be Trey. It's how Reader views him throughout the story.

✧ violet butterwort - as you noted, it's a carnivorous plant that traps insects! It's also a symbol of resilience and a common charm used to ward off supernatural evils.

✧ birthday cake with 20 candles - the plot is that Reader and Trey are/were in a relationship and on Reader's twentieth birthday Trey drugged their tea (chamomile) and had his way with them when they were half-conscious. Thus, Reader was never able to indulge in their birthday cake because Trey took it all. Cake can also be a metaphor for Reader's body.

✧ the line "it will take twenty more..." is in reference to the healing process and how it's going to take Reader time to heal from everything.

✧ xylophone chimes/broken glass - the juxtaposition of something sweet-sounding with something jarring.

✧ the white rabbit - a sense of innocence/comfort lost.

✧ "Soups are easy to eat. Easy to slip special sentiments in." - a reference to drugging.

✧ "Soup is what becomes of your brain when your body is too itchy." - disassociation during something traumatic (in this case, sexual assault).

✧ the hedge maze that never has a true exit - the feeling of being lost and trapped and never having a real escape.

✧ the grass bow around the white rabbit's neck - the obsessive and unhealthy hold Trey has on Reader. How he can't let them go.

✧ static - lots of noise and amidst the noise there's Trey, whose own voice is sometimes static and other times soothing enough to cut through the static.

✧ the sequence of "it's here and then there and then here again..." - an allusion to the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland when he's giving Alice directions, but they're all over the place.

✧ every time the grass whispers or speaks - things Trey told Reader when he assaulted them.

✧ "In and out. Out and in. In and out. Out. Out. Out. Incessant itchiness. Get it out." - double meaning for breathing but also the act of sex (thrusting).

✧ the questioning of "that didn't just happen, did it?" - how Reader feels in the aftermath. But also just a general question in response to gaslighting. A consistent questioning of one's reality.

✧ Reader's association of the word "gross" with cake (especially birthday/confetti cake) - it ties into the above and also the part in the story about favorite foods and memories.

✧ teeth falling out - usually, in dream interpretation, this symbolizes a recent loss or mourning of something lost.

✧ hyperdontia - the horror of having a mouth and a voice but never being able to use it because it's so clogged with teeth, so no one will ever listen to or hear the things Reader desperately wants and needs to say.

✧ Frozen Charlotte dolls - Victorian era dolls that could float in the bath. They were also baked into cakes. They're called Frozen Charlottes based on a folk ballad called "Fair Charlotte," which tells the tale of a young girl (Charlotte) on her way to a ball with her lover (Charlie). It's dreadfully cold out, but she frets over the fact that wearing a coat will prevent everyone from seeing her pretty dress. She freezes to death on her way to the ball and arrives in her carriage as a frozen corpse. I think these dolls are fascinating and so cute, so I just wanted to compare teeth to Frozen Charlottes. The description of having a dozen tiny dolls stuck in your throat made for unpleasant imagery, so I wanted to write it!

✧ "A black rabbit blinks up at you with its milky-white eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A loud gust slithers through the field in which you currently observe, surrounded by decaying greenery and wilted wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with broken fingers. You watch monochrome tones sway, dried petals flaking off like scabs against a battered, bloodless sky." - this is the same paragraph as seen in the beginning, only certain details have been changed. It's a hint at some sort of cycle that Reader's just only beginning to see. Idyllic beauty is no longer so blinding now that Reader sees what they didn't notice before.

[mollyjames]

Sonny Boy is a really interesting to pick apart because it's one of those shows where you feel kinda dumb for not following what's happening, but everybody is saying things that sound confident and correct so you just kinda assume that you missed something, only to go back later and realize "oh, we're just bullshitting this, huh?" I think it's extra sneaky because the first few episodes are actually very good at setting up some weird sci-fi scenarios, and it's a fun puzzle to try and figure out what's happening, and all of the rules make a kind of cosmic sense in the same way that good Doctor Who is able to construct an episode around completely made up alien timey wimey nonsense but it all works because we can follow the explanation and it matches up with what we've watched. It's only about halfway through the show's plot folds into itself and collapses under the weight of its own silly nonsense- like bad Doctor Who.

I find this a lot more forgivable though because, for one, it's only 12 episodes, so the relative fallout really only impacts like... 3 and a half episodes. Maybe 4 total, if you add it all up. For another, at a certain point, Sonny Boy doesn't really care. It makes a token effort to continue the narrative, but it's really at its best when it gives up on explaining things and just... is. When it realizes that none of that really matters. And that lets it push its premise to its logical extreme and takes the show much much farther than you would expect for only 12 episodes.

It helps that I really like the ending. Sonny Boy is an isekai, of sorts, but I think it falls better into an older niche category called Portal Fiction. Classically, this is where you get stuff like The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, Alice In Wonderland, The Wizard Of Oz, etc... I read a lot of Portal Fiction as a kid. It was my favorite genre, but my favorite part, the part that really got my brain bubbling, was the ending. See, one of the enduring qualities of Portal Fiction and isekai to an extent, is that it is transparent about the fact it is telling a story. We get engrossed in those stories in the same way the characters do, and at the end of the story the characters return to the Real World, and we are returned to real life. What the characters do at the end of the Portal Fiction informs what we were meant to take from it, but it's also the point where the characters feel the most real, the most complete. It never feels like it lasts long enough. It's what makes the last episode of Sonny Boy so brutal at first, and also so special. I finally got what I wanted.

There's more I want to talk about here... honestly if anything ever gets me to finally make the dreaded Video Essay (tm) it'll be this. I also think my own personal experience contributed a lot to my enjoyment. Confession time: I never vibed with FLCL. I've watched it through a few times; it just doesn't line up with my experience growing up, or what I was dealing with. Sonny Boy does. If there's one takeaway here, I guess it's go watch Sonny Boy. It's really shot up to being one of my favorite anime of all time. It's not gonna be for everyone, but I think the people who like it will really like it. And uh... don't feel like you have to understand it to get it.

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Some personal headcanons of the Twisted Wonderland beta Designs:

Heartslabyul:

Beta-Riddle:

As mentioned, I get the vibe he's a bit bratty and too arrogant or spoiled, wither it's his birth or how his dorm treats him I dunno

Gives me sassy vibes

He gives me vibes of SIX's song "Get Down"

I have zero idea but the idea of shipping him and Beta Azul is cute

Like picture Fizz as Beta Riddle and Ozzy as Beta Azul doing normal morning schedules, cuddling and joking, and if Beta Riddle got hurt Beta Azul would be a worry wert/true mafia boss if the mafia vibes are canon (I also see him originally a lot more like Ursula)

Video editing by me btw

Everyone in his dorm loves him in different ways as I lowkey see our Riddle being kind of more based off Tim Burton's Alice In Wonderland with his main core of why he's focus is cause he wants to be loved

Beta Ace:

More or less the same but the vibe I get from him is more a performer like a Disney employee.

You know how in that past I said this song was playing while writing the post? Well I can see him doing this whole thing of the scene during an assembly for shits and giggles

sorry i reference this movie twice, it's a good movie-

He's the one who will most likely be the next dorm leader after Beta Riddle

Beta Deuce:

Dere-dere

Super serious

Would be offended with our Deuce lol

Most likely look good when his hair is down

Beta Trey:

More or less the same as now's canon

I get the vibe he's like the Twst's universe's version of the Queen's knave

Beta Cater:

Again, more or less the same as canon Cater

I get the vibe he was Riddle's childhood bestie than Trey

Savanaclaw:

Beta Leona:

Though this SUPER BLURRY pic I get the vibe he's way more arrogant than what we got now

Has way more Scar's sass we were blessed with in the movie

Why do I get the vibe he and the Beta Savanaclaw were in a open relationship???

Beta Ruggie:

That one annoying kid who anime moans in the back of the classroom

The itty bitty bean

Probably more eager to follow Leona than the actual duo in canon

Beta Jack:

GIVES ME DIFFERENT VIBES THAN HIS TSUNDERE SELD WE HAVE NOW

Will pick up people without warning or question

Drinks those weird smoothy drinks from the grocery stores with kale and garlic and shit for athletic stuff

Octavinelle:

Beta Azul:

More or less the same just more Ursula???

Openly calls the Tweels his "poopsies"

Spends way too much money on stupid shit he doesn't need or want

Has way more people in his dept

Sings a lot in his lounge or casino or whatever, most this song

Beta Jade and Floyd:

The same person but one's left and the other's right

Silently but scary

Think my Ray twins OCs

Scarabia:

Beta Kalim:

Most like Aladdin

Maybe him and Jamil didn't know each other before NRC and rivaled until Kalim lied about being a prince and wins Dorm Head

Has the best parkcore skills

Sweet bean deep down

Has a weakness to shiny things

Beta Jamil:

Maybe was actually Dorm Leader instead of Kalim???

Was more sassy as Jafar

Has a Iago type of henchmen somewhere

Totally has sexual frustrations to Kalim like "Stupid sexy Kalim and his stupid handsome face-"

Pomfiore:

Beta Vil:

SUPER ARRAGANT

Looks like he'd say schedule as "sheddjual"

Also gives me SIX's Get Down vibes

Will throw his wine glass at you if you offend him somehow

Too glued to the mirror

Beta Rook:

Based off the Magic Mirror in my opinion

Somehow even more arrant than Vil

Will be very toxic if he wants to be

A lot like Gretchen Weiners from Mean Girls towards Vil

Beta Epel:

Either a girl or crossdresser

A literal tease who starts romance drama but flirting and crying after like "He's picking on me and being weird"

I kind of think this one would have a lip gloss that is addictive to those who taste it from her kiss

Ignyhide:

Beta Idia:

I was informed by @bestmannequin2018 and @porcelain-animatronic kindly in my original post, it seems this is Beta Idia and he's the youngest of the whole cast who skipped many grades cause of his big smart brain

I feel like he's more cocky than our Idia

Has super bad anger issues

Diamonia:

Beta Malleus:

Sexy sexy cocky arrant man

Very childish especially when he loses

Gets really petty real fast

Is very scary when mad

Looks scary but everyone in his dorm knows he's a cry baby

Beta Lilia:

Super childish

Is literally more daddy than our Lilia somehow

I think he was meant to be the raven in Maleficent

Beta Silver/Beta Sebek:

I only do them together cause I really can't tell who's who

Very different than they are now

I think Silver is thorns

Sebek is still thunder

I would be shocked if they are all cis and straight

[cheekinpermission]

Happy 500 followers!!

How about 1 and 10 for the ask game?

Thank you for you participation, anon! Ask game is here! Send them in if you want <3

1. Who's hand did you first grab? Why? Would you choose someone else if you could do it over again?

I grabbed Idia's hand! When I first got into TWST, I had absolutely no clue what I was getting into so I really just went based on which voice actors I recognized LOL. I know Kōki Uchiyama from a ton of different anime (JJK, Buddy Daddies, Haikyuu, BNHA, Yuri on Ice, etc.) so I just went with his character. While Idia doesn't crack the top 5 for me, I don't think I'd choose again. The only reason I would is if it impacted the story somehow but I really doubt it will. I'm COMITTED.

10. Top five favorite characters?

Grim occupies all top five spots. BUT since that's boring, so I'll limit my choices to the main cast lmao. (My love for the dire beast is PROFOUND) I got VERY wordy here so here's the short answer: 1. Riddle Rosehearts

2. Vil Schoenheit

3. Malleus Draconia

4. Ruggie Bucchi

5. Kalim Al-Asim Explanation below the cut! (I got very excited to talk about my favorites and wrote a lot so I figured I'd condense it for people who didn't want to scroll through it all lol whoopsies.)

1. Riddle Rosehearts - I have no explanation for this?? He's pretty much the opposite of my usual favorite characters so idk what happened here. I've always been drawn to the Alice in Wonderland aesthetic so maybe that has something to do with it? He's got such great character writing, too?? Everything about his personality just makes sense when you know his backstory. When we learn that Riddle's tyrant of a mother was strict and controlling over him, the pieces just seem to fall into place. His whole life was just following her rules and studying like a good little boy, and when he stepped out of line even a little bit he was reprimanded harshly for it. Of course, he's going to the exact same thing once he's in a position of power. It's all he knows. He's just another version of his mother. Not only does he uphold the tradition of punishing rule breakers rather severely as he was when he was younger, I think there's also an element of fear there as well. Like, his mother just instilled an innate fear of breaking rules because bad things would happen if he didn't follow them exactly. I really do see Riddle as a scared little boy who is suddenly realizing that he was set up for failure by his own mother. And THEN he makes an honest effort to improve himself post-overblot?? His transformation after the fact is one of the more obvious ones and I'm just so proud of him. A THOUSAND HEAD PATS!! Okay, I'll stop rambling about him lmao I love Riddle sm (Also want to make clear I'm not saying Riddle was right for anything he did, only that I appreciate how his character was handled. Added for legal purposes so people don't come after me :c ) 2. Vil Schoenheit - This one comes as no surprise to me. Pretty boys who challenge gender stereotypes are RIGHT up my alley. Like Riddle, I think Vil has some great character writing is one of the more complex characters in the game. He just feels so compassionate to me?? I don't know how to explain it - he just gives such nurturing vibes. I'd trust this man with my drink at a bar fr fr. And then he tells Epel off for saying ballet is too "girly" for him?? Thank you TWST for bringing me this man. I pray at the altar of Vil Schoenheit. 3. Malleus Draconia - Doesn't Malleus top everyone's lists LOL I think my favoritism for the dragon man is more to do with his relationship with Yuu than anything else tbh. He's like one of three characters that actively engages with the main character and I think they've got such a fun relationship. Two people who feel very alone in the world finding friendship (or something more for you malleyuu shippers) in each other is so beautiful. I'm glad they can be there for each other like that. Side note: I adore romantic Malleyuu for sure, but I think it's equally as endearing if all of Malleus's flirtatious lines were never meant to be romantic but he's just really bad at communicating his feelings in a platonic way. Like, he doesn't mean to flirt he's just socially inept. 4. Ruggie Bucchi - Gremlin hyena boy is just too good for words. Ngl, I started off not really liking Ruggie all that much because of what he did in the Savanaclaw book. My mans was basically shoving people down flights of stairs?? I'm not really sure where the turn around happened tbh. Mischievous personality types do tend to draw me in in fiction so that probably has a lot to do with it. I also felt really bad for him at the end of the Savanaclaw book when Leona was ready to Thanos him out of existence despite everything Ruggie had done for him (and continues to do for him). I appreciate his work ethic, I can respect the hustle, and he's got such a cute little laugh. I wanna pet those big ole ears of his. Leona - pay this man more smh 5. Kalim Al-Asim - SUNSHINE BOY!!

He's such a breath of fresh air in this game LMAO. As much as I love the fact that most of the cast are unapologetically flawed, it's nice to have a few characters that are genuinely good people. His VA (Kazuki Furuta) absolutely kills it imo. I can hear his laugh in my head as I'm typing this - it's just so warm and happy :D He also breaks the sterotype of most rich characters in media by just being a nice person? He's not evil or greedy (although naive and entitled) and he just wants to be bffs with Jamil. Break his heart Jamil and we're gonna have WORDS. Also just like FORGAVE JAMIL??? His bfffl yeeted him across the desert, brainwashed him and admitted to wanting to get him kicked from the school and Kalim didn't really hold it against him. He was so understanding and sweet about everything AHHHHH

[tissbutthfourth]

Alice in wonderland AU

Lucifer: Mad hatter

Charlie: Alice

Adam: The queen(king?) of hearts

Lute: the red knight

Emily: The White Queen

Niffty: the march hare

Husk: the door mouse

Vaggie: The white knight

Angel: The mouse

Alastor: The chesur cat

Sir pentious: the walrus

Cherri bomb: The carpenter

Vox: The white rabbit

Valentino: The caterpillar

Velvette: the duchess

razzle and dazzle: Tweedledum and Tweedledee

Luci Vox and Angel designs

Thoughts under cut

I really didn’t want to split up angel and husk but i really couldn’t see angel as either of the twins and i couldn’t see husk at the tea party so it had to be done plus i really wanted the twins vibe to be telling old stories calmly vs exitedly Edit: Problem has been resolved after having reread the books he is now the door mouse

I really wanted to include the other vee’s but it’s been years since i last read the book so i couldn’t remember any characters that matched their role/personality only vox had the perfect personality match Edit: problem resolved vel is the duchess and val is the caterpillar

and while you may be thinking hang on the white rabbit is on reds side so then why vox? the reason is the world of wonderland is split into three sides the red the white and the civilians so it’s hard to match to hazbin split of four (good angels bad angels the hotel and the vee’s)

I really wanted to make charlie alice because of how the live action movie portrayed her relationship with the mad hatter (luci) which was a very father relationship

alastor is obviously the cat because of smiles but also because the cat is extremely hard to read and understand its motivation much like alastor

yes angels the mouse the ‘frail scared one’ but given the way the live action movie portrayed the mouse as braver than size i thought that idea would be cool to explore with angel

I would love to hear other peoples thoughts and i plan to expand on this universe if you have any ideas on the vee’s i’d love to hear them and i’m also planning on rereading the book (the original one) to see if i can find more characters

Yes i know that most versions make the white knight and the white queen the same person but i thought that this would allow for some really cool chaggie moments as well as involving emily

[phopollo]

No pressure if you don't want to discuss it but I am super intrigued by the RWBY Afteran AU, is there anything you can tell us about it?

Oh, yeah yeah! Sure!

So, before I say anything else;

I apologize, I don't have very much for it-- definitely no plot-- because I kind of started falling out of RWBY a little bit shortly before I started working on it, and because it was part of a contest entry I kind of just crashed and burned after I finished them haha

So! With that out of the way;

Let me first share with you just the design lineup I made because looking back at the post I can see I only shared the character drawings

Aaaand I can tell you that while I was working on it, the piece of Alice In Wonderland I kept thinking about was the queen of hearts and the red roses

In my head, the thing that made Ruby special wasn't her silver eyes, it was being a naturally red rose-- the only red rose left (because Ruby & Yang are flower people-- Yang is a snapdragon)

And the change happened within their lifetime-- or-- I suppose, within their current ascensions

It was going to be a whole thing that Weiss and Blake didn't realize that Ruby was always red, because its been a thing with other roses to "paint themselves red"

Because red roses were excellent warriors

So it wasn't uncommon to try to be perceived as red

Weiss has vague memories of other red roses from when this ascension was young, as many were on the red king/prince's guard-- perhaps she even has memories of them teaching her things

So Weiss doesn't really take kindly to roses painting themselves red, and it's part of why when everyone initially meets she's not super fond of Ruby

-

I can yell you that Ruby and Yang come from the garden acre, where they've essentially been working on a farm & protecting it from any threats or harm

And Weiss obviously comes from the king's acre, where she's been on the red king/prince's personal guard

And Blake from one of the uncharted acres, but similar to the curious cat, she just vibes across every acre-- if she had a particular job, no one really knows what it was

The 4 of them came together as a team due to the rise of jabberwalker attacks-- they take on a role similar to the grim in the world of remnant that we know

I dont think they attended school for it though, Afterans hardly stay themselves ling enough to go to school for it

I was

Also toying with the idea that team RWBY was a "friendship lasting more than one lifetime" kind of deal, but

I never really settled on whether to roll with that or have it be that things were by complete chance

(Because if it was, Weiss remembering red roses from her Younger days could have TOTALLY been Ruby's previous ascension, and that could be super cool, but also, super complicated which is why I never really settled)

-

Oh! I can also tell you that Yang lost her arm to a jabberwalker

And that Blake can turn into a little kitty cat

In theory, Blake can do all the things the curious cat can-- she either chooses not to, or doesn't know how

I never really decided on whether they both exist or not though either :,)

Lots of undecided things and ideas I toyed with

-

Thank you for asking!

I haven't really thought about where any of the other characters fit into this au, but it was a lot of fun to think about again!

Maybe I'll even add a little more to it now that I know folks are interested!

This was probably a lot more of an unorganized ramble than it could/would/should have been, but what would be anything ever after if it made sense?

[yyouzip]

༉‧₊˚🔭彡 newjeans career in 2024 tarot reading ~

this will include…

newjeans new music, new jeans as a group, new jeans members individual careers.

DISCLAIMER: this is all for entertainment and depends on the energy being read at the given time. the future is always able to change as we all have free will. this reading is done with the assumption that everyone mentioned continues to live how they are living without sudden changes, if that makes sense.

⤷ ୨🎐୧࿐

newjeans new music : KoC AoC 5oS KnoC QoP rx Justice

we might get music about self awareness and love or mv with an older figure with masculine energy acting as a guide or councillor of sorts. the music may take a more ‘spiritual’ route with things like angels or spirits in it. it’ll be pretty unique and creative. maybe the mc of the music video is new to love or the relationship ? it’ll have a dreamy and floaty kind of vibe. it may have to do w the mc going through some pain and trauma like bullying. i get the vibe of someone sort of running away from reality and ending up elsewhere, like Alice in wonderland. but to a dreamy kind of aether dimension. i think we will get an rnb song with the vibe or hurt, cool with you, or ditto. it’ll be very creative and fun to watch

we might see fans angry that there wasn’t more. it’s like ador is being stingy and hiding things from us. maybe there wasn’t enough music released? regardless, fans desperately want more. OR newjeans won’t really get the reaction fans feel like they deserved. maybe not enough streams or appreciation for this new music? and they feel like they didn’t get enough. still, fans will love the beauty and art of it and find it very imaginative and romantic (romantic as in beautiful and such). we might get a little controversy again, like with min heejin. fans might think there’s some dishonesty and lying and min heejin is running away from accountability for whatever the issue is. i think the issue may be about the aesthetics of the mv feeling inappropriate somehow. maybe it’s spiritual nature will have religious references that don’t sit well with fans. or it’ll be the aesthetic itself not sitting well with fans.

things that come to mind: cool with you by newjeans, mortue aesthetic, angels, crosses, suicide and death, rebirth and innocence, isolation, awakening, divinity, satanism and catholicism, the cold, all about lily chou chou, occult/metaphysics

new jeans as a group : the empress KoC 2oC

they’ll be a lot more unique and creative and bring a good flow of cash to ador. alottttt of creativity i’ll go into newjeans in 2024 they’ll be bringing in new things to k-pop just like in the past. a lot of respect for music as an art will go into newjeans 2024 and they’ll gain a lot of respect and admiration for it. their creative team will be respected alot. they’ll be respected by other idols and have a lot of collab opportunities sent their way.

new jeans members individual careers :

Minji : 8oC KnoP rx the emperor rx

she might get less appreciation despite her hard work and seem like she’s fading into the bg a bit. she might be overworked and busy 24/7 with ador acting almost like a tyrant. even though she’s being worked so much, she’s still not being appreciated the way she should be. she will have little to no self control with her professional life and feel very overwhelmed and tired. she's very unwilling to share so that's all lol.

Danielle : 10oP AoW both rx the moon QoP AoS

this may be an unstable year for her professionally. behind the scenes might be a lot of loss of profit and disappointment from ador causing hesitancy, anxiety, and a serious lack of passion. we might see more vulnerability and emotion from danielle. there’s a lot going on behind the scenes though. there also is a lack of transparency from the company with a lot of things, fuelling her anxiety and confusion. this’ll be heightened by potential controversy surrounding their new comeback. still, among fans she’ll build a reputation of someone who is mature and composed. she’ll keep the same nurturing kind girl image she has rn and get positive attention. she may get praised for positive behaviour or go viral for a cute interaction with another idol. even though she’s anxious and nervous, she’s still ready for new projects and is willing to take whatever the world gives her.

Haerin : (tumblr like reset everything from haerins reading and what i had started after idk y:( i remember the message but not the cards. sorry.)

haerin will be taking up more leadership roles within the group. as well as sending messages outwards and communicating with fans in a manner that comes from the heart and from a place of true love and passion. she’s going to feel ready to take on what’s new and the creative directions the group is going to take. she’s going to use her love and connection to fans to elevate her career. she going to gain significant respect from people all around her. staff, njs members, and netizens alike. still, she’s going to feel as if something is missing. like newjeans aren’t getting the respect and appreciation they want and even though they work hard, this isn’t reflected in the way they’re being treated by the media and their underwhelming reactions. she feels like what they're making is great and she is working hard and intelligently, but the pay off is still low.

Hanni : PoC rx 7oS rx QoP

with PoC and 7oS both in rx, we might see hanni getting into some scandal or drama surrounding her negative and immature behaviour from the past. this may reveal more about her character and cause some uproar and sad/disappointed feelings with fans/netizens. REGARDLESS, ador and/or hanni will step up almost immediately and apologize to clear up the controversy. it may be a past classmate for friend making comments about her judgement and immature or rude behaviour. i don't see anything to the extremes of bullying though. it may also be a distasteful comment she makes. despite all things, hanni will work very hard this year and make sure she is providing well for fans.

Hyein : 2oS PoC 10oP rx the sun rx

she might be quiet or inactive online, feeling sensitive to netizens comments and hesitant to express reactions and feelings. she'll follow her intuition most of the time and she may experience setbacks with her sources of income like modelling and being an idol. it seems like newjeans won't be growing or gaining all too much this year, as some of the members (including hyein) seem to share the sentiment of disappointment regarding response to their music and creations. she'll feel like her expectations were too high, and she will be unable to appreciate the reactions given by fans and netizens. this may make her appear more silent and sad.

hope you enjoyed!

next up . . .

ive, bts, aespa, nmixx, and more.

[mishacakes]

apologies if you've answered this before BUT! in the future au with Sof and Hiro, what twin takes after which parent? do they have any mystic powers, and are any of them like their parents' powers?

and who are their favorite uncles?

i just find your little turtle/bakeneko family so cute and wholesome and i love them!

(also a fan of your web comic!! ik it doesn't get talked abt as much here as your rise ocs, but aatn is such an interesting take on the Alice in Wonderland story!)

Thank you for asking!

Sof takes most after Tomiko, in that she’s a feral little beastie kitten. Tomiko, who has a fairly restrictive upbringing, vowed to not do that to her own kids. So, Sofonisba, rowdy, loud, ready to gnaw on anything within reach. Her mystic powers take more after Leo, in which she can teleport objects (and when she gets really good at it it can get vicious, i.e. Mithrun’s powers in Dungeon Meshi)

Hiro takes more after Leo, and I mean more “classic” Leo. So he’s quiet, meditative, and driven, but has a strong loyalty to his family and is a geek in his own right. He looooves high fantasy and talks lore whenever he can. His powers are shapeshifting like his cat parent.

and they both have their own relationships with their uncles. Sof thinks Donnie is boring but CAN be fun, she wants to fight Raph and gets mad when he fake loses (she wants the real victory dangit!!!!), and Mikey becomes her mentor when she gets older. (in history Michelangelo mentored Sofonisba so I wanted that connection to stay). Hiro likes Donnie and very often they take turns infodumping (not understanding each other but appreciating the passion), Raph is fun to climb and nap on, and Mikey just has good vibes to be around.

(and THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! i understand fandom stuff vs original ocs easier jumping off point etc etc but it’s SO APPRECIATED WHEN SOMEONE RECOGNIZES MY STUFF AAAA)

[chinad011-art]

Duchenne Chouchou / Non-binary / ■■ / Demon Known as “Demon of Illusions”, has the power to manipulate illusions. Always smiling, they are very playful and love messing with people, but hardly maliciously. Is gone and reappears however/whenever they like. They are the one who found Ramiel as a baby. They grew attached to him, even going as far as to protect the Fae Forest for his sake. Ramiel is one of few who actually likes Duchenne, their relationship something like a mother and son.

2nd character for Twins Phantasia, this time it's a very powerful cheshire cat demon. i know alice in wonderland isn't technically a fairy tale, but the vibes are definitely there. i say why not include it in some form? duchenne might be non-binary but i definately think they act more like a typical mother rather than a father to ramiel. i can imagine duchenne playing little tricks on ramiel all the time. it's okay though, ramiel would play along. not many other people may appreciate that unfortunately.

in my story White Clover Guild, there were twin goddesses that represented light and darkness respectively, which were the two constants in that world. light and darkness did not represent good and evil, but rather just opposites, two sides to the same coin, etc. i really liked that idea i guess because the two first characters i made for Twins Phantasia ended up being a representation of that light/darkness idea. actually, the name "Twins Phantasia" is in reference to the twin goddesses from that story. they're in this too, but i won't be focusing on them all that much.

[tj-dragonblade]

*knock knock knock* ❄️☃️🎄 Asking for 24 for the Spotify Wrapped!!!

24 - Dance With the Dragon by Dark Sarah

Congratulations, you've landed on one of the songs that's officially on my list of Songs That Would Make Great Dreamling Fics (That I'll Never Write)! Based entirely on the video linked above and the story that it's part of, this would be a fantasy AU where the vibes are 'Labyrinth meets Alice in Wonderland' with hints of Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, and Hades and Persephone sprinkled over for flavor.

The basic idea is that Hob is trapped in some alternate reality and trying to collect a key from each realm he passes through to be able to get back to his own reality. No idea at this juncture what the first realm/key would be - maybe something with the fae, maybe hell, idk. The second realm is Dream's. Do I want to keep to the source and make him a dragon who lost his wings for hubris and arrogance and got banished from the 'upper world' to rule this dark 'underworld'? Maybe, but that's also very Lucifer-ish. So maybe I'd blend in something closer to his canon. In any case. Hob tries to sneak into Dream's castle, get the key, sneak out. He does not succeed and is taken before Dream. There is antagonistic chemistry. There is sneering haughty-in-my-superiority taunting and 'let's be reasonable' demands. There is at least one challenge set, there is Hob as a 'guest' of Dream's until he completes the challenge ('So I'm a prisoner, then.' 'Oh no, you may leave any time you like, but you will gain no key until you complete my challenge.' 'But what good is leaving without the key, when I'll just be stuck here forever??' 'I fail to see how that is my problem'), there is continued verbal fencing and sparring and building UST as Hob struggles with the challenge, there is an elaborate ball (masquerade?) held, there is a waltz charged with so much tension and raging attraction it's a wonder the room doesn't spontaneously combust. There is at least one moment of 'Oh no under different circumstances this could be More™️' and genuine understanding/connection between them. In the end, Hob finally succeeds at the challenge, earns the key and departs on a note of uneasy flirtation - Dream bowing and kissing his hand in farewell as he acknowledges his defeat, lingering intense smirky eye-contact as Hob goes, that kind of thing.

Potentially this can go on, if I continue the thread of the source storyline but lean on Dream's canon for details. Perhaps collecting the three keys would give him the means to restore Orpheus/free Orpheus/something to do with Orpheus, and he's never had the means to collect the other two keys on his own, but now that Hob has collected the first and second, if Dream accompanies him while he collects the third, they can both use the keys to achieve their ends - Hob to go back to his own world and Dream to restore Orpheus. So Dream leaves Lucienne in charge of the realm and follows after Hob, catches up to him, proposes they cooperate etc; they quest for the third key and finally resolve that UST in the process. When they get the third key, and present it to let's say the Fates, they're told they cannot both claim reward - and they put the choice to Dream, his lover or his son. Let Hob go back to his world/his regular life, or be 'selfish' and choose to cash in for his own goal instead. It could end here with Dream choosing to let Hob go, which could be passing a test by the Fates and as reward for passing he still gets to save/restore Orpheus. Or, the longer and angstier version, he chooses Orpheus and thereby casts Hob into yet another alternate realm, and the next leg of the story is Dream's quest to find Hob again and seek his forgiveness, and find a way to get him home. Hob can't exactly fault Dream for choosing his son over this outsider human that he's started sleeping with, but it still hurts, still feels on some level like betrayal, and while he might like to freely offer forgiveness it's more plausible that there will have to be some earning done. Eventually of course they reconcile and find a way to get Hob home and then of course establish a means by which they can continue to cross worlds to see each other.

Anyway this is far more a mental exercise in mapping one story to another and seeing where they might translate than it is a viable fic idea; it's far too grand in scope and not nearly detailed enough for me to realistically take it on. Mostly I just want the enemies-to-lovers fraught-with-tension ballroom dancing scene.

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