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igiveyoumyblood · 11 months

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Sacrifice MV First Reactions

Lmao why didn’t I get my notification that this came out? Booo, YouTube.

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing that ENHYPEN’s bside MVs are so full of rich imagery that may or may not be related to the storyline. It honestly makes me a bit scared of them. At least they aren’t 20 minutes long like TXT’s bside MVs.

But that’s all okay, because this is a wonderful MV. It’s beautiful and it’s clearly both a HYBE and ENHYPEN MV. Also, most of the analysis in it seems very obvious - I feel like I’ve missed something, but at the same time it doesn’t quite seem like they’re being subtle.

However, this one also has a sad lack of werewolves....

Anyway, full analysis below the line.

Lyrics

The song is very much the glorified and brooding pain of being a vampire - the thirst and starvation, suffocation, darkness, pain, etc. Very edgy. But in this case it’s okay, rather than cringe (I mean, it’s a little cringe), since it’s about vampires and the Gothic and stuff.

Speaking of - it is very Gothic. Although I did completely lose suspension of disbelief when they used the word ‘bae.’ Very weird.

The lyrics are generally reminiscent of codependent and toxic relationships - which is a topic that HYBE handle very well through lyrics, but which was done far better for TXT’s storyline than ENHYPEN’s - since, you know, TXT actually had a buildup to it.

This in no way diminishes the representation given to ENHYPEN - it’s just that ENHYPEN’s is good and TXT’s is 110000/10.

Anyway, I like vampires, so I like this.

NGL this shot just confuses me - since they’re not supposed to have reflections. They literally didn’t have reflections in Bite Me - although that may have been less about reflections and more about teleporting.

Okay, I will accept this, since I’m relatively certain they have had reflections before. Perhaps it is a remnant of either their human past.

I do like the desert setting and I do like how it has the combination of red sand, clear water, and plants. Big on the subversion of expectations.

Dying is a theme of the song, album, and concept, but I find it kind of funny how many times people fall over or cringe in pain in this MV.

The first time I saw these black things I thought they were fish. But it turns out that they’re crystals/feathers covered in blood or ink/blackened hearts. I love any and all of these options.

Mmmmm yess the lighting. And the circular room which reminds us of previous songs/MVs and especially ‘Bite Me’- but here it is a cage.

Bruv y u sideways?

Also, looks like the set Jungwon and Sunghoon were in in Bite Me - funny, since now it has a reflective table surface rather than a chessboard, and since Jake wasn’t in that scene.

Sorry, this one just reminds me of Jungkook in Blood Sweat and Tears. Admittedly, it does also remind me of Heeseung in Blessed-Cursed when he was stuck in that space full of dust.

Anyway, loving the lighting and the colour in the shot. The fabric and cool tones make it almost seem like it’s underwater - it creates both a sense of magic and abandonment. Very creepy, very Gothic, loving it. No clue what it’s meaning though, other than the obvious references to prison/entrapment, death, sacrifice, and possibly desire (from the link to Blood Sweat and Tears).

Love these shots of Jay struggling - it relates to the lyrics and the theme. And throughout the MV more of the scene and context are revealed which creates a lot of meaning - very fun.

Obvious heaven, paradise, and angel/vampire duality references. I find it interesting, however, that Sunoo is the one they chose to portray as angellic/a fallen angel. He’s the only one who was portrayed in this way so consistently, which is just interesting. Niki and Jake had wing moments, but only once each.

Angel wings and red (either blood, or the fruit of knowledge (desire)).

I love the dragging choreo but it’s only convincing me more and more that HYBE recycled TXT things for this ENHYPEN comeback...

Yas you get those wings Sunoo. Use them to murder the werewolves.

I like how the feathers falling is so fast - it gets the idea of pain and loss across, since it is coloured red and black, and since it is fast, thus violent, and then leads into another shot of Jay suffering.

It was a really interesting choice to put Jay upside down here - also an interesting choice to have the particles going upwards. Anyway, we’ll discuss this more later.

Heart crystal? That’s very weird, my dude.

But I do love the duality of Jay both up above and in cool, bright colours, vs below in dark warm colours. It makes us think that perhaps there are two of him on different sides of some line/battle. Idk if they did this on purpose, but knowing HYBE and filmmakers in general, they most likely did.

I also like how the heart thing that blue Jay holds could be considered the rotten soul of red Jay.

And this is the payoff for the previous Jay context clues! And for our intelligence as an audience. I love this shot because it is the one that gives context to everything we have seen so far. Here is Jay’s ideal self - bathed in light, at the gates to heaven, and fascinated by the dark soul of his damned self. And here we have the other Jay - probably the real/current one - a vampire, and in desperate need of saving. He’s in immense pain and struggles to reach his goals, but the light of heaven pushes his soul back down.

Also, fyi that the trees and set in general remind me of BTS and TXT’s storylines - is this the moment they decide to connect ENHYPEN to it too? Or are they just reusing their ideas and resources.

These plants in HYBE storylines are usually a representation of Magic Island, or of a dream state. So do with that what you will.

Dang dude, why’d you take it off?

Reminds me of Jungkook 2.0.

Also is that holy water?

Ew it’s alive!

Also looks like it might be corrupting them, as opposed to being the corrupted part of them? The difference between those two is... very blurry.

That’s right, you purge it from your life.

Alright Heeseung, I guess you chuck it then.

Lighttttttttiiiiiiiiiiing.

Bruv what is that? An egg? Your angelic soul?

VAMPIRE NECK.

VAMPIRE BANQUETS.

And of course similarities to Bite Me.

They legit probably filmed these on the same day.

Why is Niki so edgy this comeback? Niki I challenge you to a fencing bout.

10/10 shot, the tilt is a great way to make us scared.

Vampires, shadows, consumption, blood drinking, entrapment - 10/10.

It was at this point that I realised I was only about halfway through the MV. Whoops... Well, at least this comeback has been much more interesting than Pass The Mic.

11/10 choreo in general and especially this part - I love the motif of being controlled.

More falling. Rip Jungwon.

Yes you reach for that light of heaven.

Also love how the cage is kind of made up of windows and doors - they are meant to be traveled through and seen through, but we can’t travel through them or see through them.

If I was Heeseung i would have felt so cool shooting this.

Epic set, epic lighting, epic outfit which kind of looks like wings from above but off enough to make is know that they are something very different.

Okay I have been proven well and truly wrong about the reflections.

Anyway, looks like he’s having a midlife vampire crisis. And how do things just keep appearing in this sell? Is that another vampire thing?

Here you can clearly see the grimey glass of the window, which is a TEN OUT OF TEN lighting prop, especially with the fog. I used it in my short film and it is so fun to work with.

2 questions - why is it rippling, and why is Sunghoon here? Is he like Heeseung’s alter ego? Will the glass merge or do something funky like in the Matrix?

CHOREOGRAPHY.

There is something incredibly creepy about sweet Sunoo caressing his broken wing with blackened and corrupted feathers around him. And that is 100% how the Director and staff intended it. This is my kind of horror.

Somehow I don’t think Sunoo’s heart looks like this but okay.

Wonderfully religious. Reminds me of Death Note’s opening for some reason.

CHOREOGRAPHYYYYYYYY. I know I have criticised them using a lot of TXT stuff in this comeback, but if I was a member of either of those groups I would be so hyped to get choreographies because all of their choreos have been 10/10 epic ones.

It’s reminiscent of the sets from ‘Bite Me’and also looks like an upside down pyramid - are they in the Illuminati?

Idk if touching the water is a good idea, my guy.

A weirdly demure scene in the midst of this horror.

LIGHTING. PUPPET. IT’S LITERALLY FAKE LOVE.

But bruv why is it Niki? Are they all in this cage?

Ink blood is my favourite horror/supernatural thing. Not really, but it’s up there.

Can we get a rip Niki.

Also interesting that he has this wing below him - when so far Sunoo is the only one with the wings. Maknae things? (ahem, Kai, ahem).

And Jake gives up his wings to... worship the corrupted heart? Whatever works for you, man.

YESSSSSSSS THIS IS THE VAMPIRE STUFF I SIGNED UP FOR. BRING BACK GIVEN-TAKEN.

Well good on them for solving whatever problems they had.

Or this second picture could be a flashback...

Or maybe I’m too obsessed with the non-linear....

Mirroring them looking at the girl in Drunk-Dazed - a juxtaposition of heaven and hell?

Conclusions

This is the vampire content I signed up for. Bite Me has grown on me massively, but this is still 10/10 a better MV and choreo. I love the female backup dancers, but I’d love them more if they were doing this choreo.

Now I’ve made myself sound like a Bite Me hater. I swear I ain’t. I’m a people-who-sexualise-Niki hater.

Stan the backup dancers, people. Stan the vampires and their wings.

I don’t have anything else to say - my brain short circuited because I loved it so much and it made my creepy-vampire lover brain go feral.

#enhypen #enhypen theories #engene #dark blood #sacrifice #mv analysis

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blood-orange-juice · 1 month

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Thoughts on Arlechinno's design and splash art?

SCREAMING CRYING CHEWING WALLS

I want her carnally.

Moon symbolism, the theme of defying fate and black hilichurl hands also hint at Khaenri'ah (especially together with the Perinheri book), so I also want her for lore reasons. But mostly carnally.

Actual thoughts on leaks and design under the cut.

She's like a combination of all European gothic/demonic tropes. Extremely sinister lady.

Werewolf themes? Check (all the moon mentions and Scaramouche's "wolf in sheep's clothing" line).

Vampire references? Check (her entire kit).

Grim reaper vibes? This woman has them.

The wing shape, the chair/throne, the black and red colour scheme, The Lying? It's straight out Christian devil aesthetic. Not some random demon, the big guy.

Her flickering idle animation points to her being someone who knows the fabric of the universe is fake (could still be just Fatui technology of course). It's also an Abyss thing.

Her six wings remind me of Seraphim imagery, and so do eyes on her clothes ("they were full of eyes within").

I think she also has proper feathery wings in some attacks in the 2nd phase? I didn't look too closely to not spoil myself too much.

Everyone and their mother have already mentioned that, but I'll just reiterate that saraph is a Hebrew word for "burning". Whatever fire symbolism you can come up with, it's very likely there had been a medieval theologist or a poet who tried to connect it to seraphs.

(I also really dig one of my friends' favorite shitpost theory that angels' natural state is being in a flock or other kind of group. they are like some species of birds and wither without company. in other words, family is important)

The one-winged form in her ult. Fallen angel, Luciferian motif (again). Obligatory FFVII Sephiroth reference too. Sephiroth reference is important because he's something alien to the world (his kind corrupts reality just by being in the wrong place).

She has a moon/eclipsed sun in her ult animation.

Reminds me of the red moon in Raiden's Plane of Euthymia.

Something something the Crimson Moon Dynasty and the Eclipse Dynasty of Khaenri'ah.

Let's not forget the Statue of Omnipresent God in Inazuma. It's not a seraph but it still has a biblical angel vibe.

Her colour scheme.

Reminds me of Sustainer's cubes a bit (although they are darker).

Then in the Perilous Trail event (thanks to @letpaimonbitepeople for reminding me) there are these strange red-and-black ghosts. They are theorised to be shadows of people consumed by the Abyss. When Xiao describes them Yelan also mentions things flickering in and out of existence, "objects that shouldn't be here".

*points at Arle's idle flickering animation and Sephiroth reference*

Hoyo love to colour-code and red and black means something other than just fire (like Abyss is pastel and night sky coloured, dreams and memories are pink and light blue and honkai is magenta). My guess is destruction and unnatural things/things being in a wrong place.

I've seen people compare her design to Signora (fire magic that doesn't stem from using a Vision) and theorising about Primordial fire and Arle being a vessel for a shard of the Shade of Death.

Astro draws paralles between Albedo's and Arle's flower motifs, and it's possible she might be a creation of Rhine's. Or someone else who used Khemia.

Her earrings also fit.

(this was also the basis for theories connecting her to Narcissenkreuz. flowers, crosses, memory transfer, theme of rebirth... you name it. the black hands. but now I think it's just Narcissenkreuzers referencing Khemia)

I say we shouldn't pin everything on Rhine and she could have been another Surtalogi's creation (it would explain why they had to namedrop him). Someone from Khaenri'ah anyway and someone tapping into a very old power.

Could be someone from Remuria too, a continuation of Khaenri'ahn arts then. ''The Fall of the Faded Castle'' books mention someone terribly similar.

A stone slate at the entrance to her boss fight domain mentions the name Crucabena, and, as I wrote in another post, this points to her being connected to one of the dead Moon Sisters. Especially with what we know from Perinheri.

Also Perinheri mentions Khaenri'ahns betraying their god rather than simply abandoning them/being a godless nation, this is another Luciferian motif. Maybe she inherits the art of whoever came up with the idea. Maybe their god was an heir to the Shade of Death (like Focalors was the successor to the Shade of Life) and they killed them and took their power.

(maybe all of the above)

I have no idea about where her story will go (what could she possibly want from Fontaine or why would she possibly want to join us) and I'm excited.

Judging by how they handled Focalors (a better Jesus reference than most Christians manage) and how they handle references in general, it will be a marvel.

A special thanks goes to @a-yarn-of-purple-prose, @rayetherna and @letpaimonbitepeople with whom we were collectively shouting over Arlecchino's design and the ghost of Astro whom I know through Ray's quotes. Some of these ideas are theirs.

#arlecchino #батя #rinn talks to people #khaenri'ah #rhinedottir #surtalogi #a reminder that 'the last feast of harlequin' is considered the best homage to lovecraft #and at least the name was obviously a reference #you probably didn't want it to be this long #but everyone who sends me an ask risks receiving a wall of text #so here you go

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eolewyn1010 · 11 months

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Dragging Frankenstein - Chapter 10

Time for some sweet, sweet confrontation! AKA the two nominal heroes of this story throwing themselves a mutual hissy fit.

More landscapes, which offer Victor “the greatest consolation”. Yeah, screw Elizabeth and the fam, I guess. For how nice the descriptions might be, Shelley indulges in her or her husband’s thesaurus syndrome again. “precipitous”? “sombre”? “perpendicularity”?? I got it, you had a dictionary.

Victor’s purple prose at how fugly the Creature is upon the latter’s arrival is annoying as always, but with him being like “come at me, bro!” the situation jumps headfirst into hilarious. Victor, my dude. You built him as a huge brute, and you just said he’s superhumanly fast. DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 8

Also, “do you dare approach me?” Well, you coward clearly didn’t dare approach him, now did you?

“Do you not fear the fierce vengeance of my arm?” … *cackles* Truly precious.

“…that I may trample you to dust” and so on and so forth, but he’s like, “go away or I could do something reeeaaaally mean” – it’s not like he has the balls to attack the Creature in earnest.

The Creature has inherited Victor’s thesaurus syndrome. Aw, he must be such a proud dad! And yeah, he’s neither of Victor’s blood nor of his upbringing, but the fact is, he only ever identifies himself in relation, and in opposite, to Victor.

“my joints more supple” … uhm, why did Victor want his creature to be extra bendy? I’m not gonna count it bc that’s just my mind going into the gutter, but methinks he’s out for some exotic positions.

“docile to my natural lord and king” -.- Whut. I got nothing. Sure, go and feed the DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 9

What reason could he possibly have to be submissive to Victor??

“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel” – ah, that’s where the better part of the Paradise Lost parallel starts. I do enjoy me a little bit religious imagery, and the Creature has more situational awareness about this than Victor. Well, less is hardly an option; Victor is not identifying himself as Lucifer here, hubris be damned. I’m tempted to call him Little Lucy tho.

“Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous”, “it is in your power to deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great” Awareness or not, he’s the same entitled little shit stain Victor is. I will only behave like a decent person if you do as I say.

“There can be no community between you and me.” Isn’t that why you made him tho? For a bit of community? This time, I have to. DAS GAY: 20

“Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must fall.” Still funny. DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR: 10

“Why do you call to my remembrance…” WEH-WEH-WEH, I DON’T WANNA BE REMINDED OF ANYTHING THAT’S MY FAULT! Is it obvious yet that I hate Victor?

Ok, the Creature just putting his hands on Victor’s face? This guy is funny. At least for now.

“For the first time also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were.” No, you never felt that in over two years. It had to be spelled out to you, twat.

And off we go. (to the sound of “Do you want to build a snowman?”) Do you want some exposition?

I sure hope you do, because exposition is what we'll get - for six goddamn chapters. As someone whose mother tongue isn't English, I gotta ask: Is the flowery language as bad for those for whom it is?

#Frankenstein #personal opinions #disclaimer: this is just for shits and giggles

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childrensbread · 1 year

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7 Keys to Spiritual Devotion: Lessons From Sardis

To the Church in Sardis

💜 “To the angel of the church in Sardis write:

These are the words of him who holds the seven spirits of God and the seven stars. I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead.

Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God.

Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; hold it fast, and repent. But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what time I will come to you.

Yet you have a few people in Sardis who have not soiled their clothes. They will walk with me, dressed in white, for they are worthy.

The one who is victorious will, like them, be dressed in white. I will never blot out the name of that person from the book of life, but will acknowledge that name before my Father and his angels.

Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. ~Revelation 3:1-6 ✝️

Devotional

Have you ever slept through something important? That moment you wake up is stomach-churning. The bleary-eyed confusion. The panic. Perhaps it's a familiar feeling.

Careless sleep can cause serious problems. The city of Sardis knew this only too well.

Sardis was once the jewel of the Lydian empire: a spectacular acropolis set on a naturally impregnable geographical area. However, the city's advantageous location caused its inhabitants to become arrogant. They thought themselves invincible. The Greek historian Herodotus records that in 546 BC, the city was sacked at night by Persian invaders because the watchmen had fallen asleep and left the wall unguarded. It was catastrophic.

Once would have been bad enough, but, incredibly, we discover it happened again. 300 years later, in 214 BC, Sardis was captured in identical fashion by Syrians: Sacked while watchmen slept.

Complacent Sardis was twice conquered by armies who came like a thief in the night. Lazy sleep cost Sardis dearly.

Considering this background, Jesus' words must have resonated sharply with the church there: "Wake up!" For a city known for devastating slumber, it was an incisive alarm.

Yet we know Jesus was speaking in love. He wasn't warning the church to condemn them. He was trying to stir them. He didn't want the church to be destroyed in its apathy or taken captive by worldly philosophies because they were spiritually asleep. He wanted His people to arise and fight for their faith. It's powerful imagery.

Today, we need this wake up call too.

We live in a broken world. This world needs Jesus. It needs to know His love. We, as God's representatives, have been commanded to share His message of hope. Yet often we become apathetic to the stunning truth we carry. It can't stay like that.

Thankfully, Jesus also gives us the antidote to spiritual drowsiness. In quick succession, He tells us how to stay alert: "Strengthen what remains", "remember what you have received and heard" and "hold it fast, and repent." It's a practical three-step manual.

"Strengthen what remains" reminds us that the battle for faith - yours and others' - isn't over. There's always hope with Jesus. He's already won the victory.

"Remember what you have received and heard" encourages us to go back to basics if we are struggling. Looking backwards moves us forward. Immerse yourself again in the Gospel. Ponder Jesus' resurrection. Contemplate His extraordinary grace.

Finally, "hold it fast, and repent" teaches us to value discipline and make a resolute choice to stand firm in faith. Don't give up. There's power in staying the path!

Our fifth "deeper devotion" key this week, then, is this: Wake up! Don't let life passively pass you by. God's got more for you. Step into it today. Here's your alarm! 💜🙏🙂

Source: Glorify App

Image: The Prodigal Father

Photo Editor: ChuldrensBread

My Glorify Referral Link: https://share.glorify-app.com/MRSPINO777 ✝️

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allgaeswelcome · 2 years

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That one Nekonatural post none of you asked for (Part one)

I’ve always wondered how Dean and Cas’s dynamic works out. Given that Dean in an inherently complex yet ultimately limited human and Castiel is an angel, complex in different ways, and somewhat unlimited in power and knowledge in comparison to a human.

I think this is why my favorite Destiel song is This Tornado Loves You by Neko Case.

It’s a song about a tornado that’s fallen in love with a human child, with some extremely vivid imagery.

“Ground it in with bloody hides/their broken necks will line the ditch till you/stop it, stop it. stop it, stop it/stop this madness”

The song does a wonderful job of contrasting the beauty and the violence of the tornado in question, without pretending that one can exist without the other.

This is kind of how I feel about early seasons Castiel. He’s adorable, he’s terrifying. He burns the eyes out of the heads of those that see his true form and yet is so tender when healing Dean.

Their bond of course has to be a profound one. It’s not like they’re two normal humans who met at work, became friends, and fell in love. Castiel has literally pieced Dean’s soul and body together.

What is it like, for Dean to try to comprehend Castiel’s entirety? I reckon it’s rather like a small child trying to comprehend the enormity of a seemingly unstoppable tornado, awestruck by the horror of all it destroys and the beauty of all it is.

“My love, I am an owl on the sill in the evening/but morning finds you still warm and breathing.”

Now this isn’t especially relevant to this heavily disjoined meta piece, but I just thought that this was an interesting quote to add. Not just because it’s my favorite line in the whole song, but also because it reminds me of all the times in Supernatural that Cas watches over Dean.

“What will make you believe me?”

Nothing apparently, given that Dean never said he loved Cas back in the English dub ☹

I don’t know, guys. I literally wrote this instead of sleeping, ok? This is just my two am thoughts here.

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mobiused · 2 years

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this might be stupid and I might've overlooked it on the loonaverse wiki but what is olivia's suspected unmuted, original color? I read her color may have once been bright before she fell.

Olivia's color is anything monochromatic (and by that I mean both black, white, all greys, and silver, because it's a little confusing otherwise). Hyeju once said Olivia's colors are 은별 & 검정, which are silver and black, though we've seen in teasers that she's had white too. Erm nevermind it's just a really light grey. Either way I'm not sure how much I trust Word of St Paul with this because the girls have been wrong about their lore before LOL

You're talking about this page right?

"As theorized by many, Olivia Hye is a fallen angel, meaning her color was once bright and colorful, but somehow became tainted and was outcasted, similar to Lucifer, a fallen angel in the new testament"

This is kind of making me laugh a lot because Lucifer (in his angel form) is literally never mentioned in the new testament, so already off to a rocky start. Yes, both Lucifer and Olivia fall from a non-earth plane, but I don't think that necessarily means Olivia is Lucifer. Another Biblical character who had a (less literal?) fall is Adam, a topic in Christianity known as the Fall of Man.

I don't think I understand where the bright/colorful -> tainted (and implied to be muted since she's monochromatic) comes from? Is it like, morning star -> heavenly accuser (which is what satan is usually said to mean in hebrew)? As in the morning star went 'out' or something? But the character of Lucifer isn't always considered to be the same as the character of Satan. I think Luke 10:18 is the only thing that (strenuously) links Satan and Lucifer, and a lot of Christians believe them to be two different characters, such as Lutheranism or Calvinists. Or what if we are deadnaming the Devil by calling him Lucifer... :(

Erm this is getting long one sec, below the cut is discussion on what Olivia's color means to me but ig is a little off topic

If you think about Olivia's role in the narrative compared to Lucifer, the comparison kind of confuses me. Lucifer's cardinal sin is Pride, that's what gets him cast out from Heaven/Eden (depending on who you ask). Olivia in Eden is not shown to be particularly prideful at all - in fact, she's the most meek and obedient member there, which is why Yves abandons her. Her cardinal sin is "anger" (which is meant to be understood as Wrath; the KR sub is 분노 which is what Namuwiki lists to be the sin of Wrath in Korean but is autotranslated to english as anger... sigh)

I personally interpreted Olivia's monochromatic color to mean more that she has the volition to be "good" (white) and "evil" (black) and, of course, everywhere in between. This is immediately evocative of the theme of East of Eden, that by having the free will to choose good, it gives it meaning. The character of Cal gets empowered once he internalises that "Thou mayest rule over sin" - the choice to be good, the choice to resist temptation, is always his.

I think this is a pivotal part of Olivia's character too. After finally gaining her free will after "falling" from Eden (there is obviously visual imagery for this "fall") where she was unwaveringly obedient until her escape, the first thing she does in a response to her processing her trauma is to burn everything that reminds her of, or symbolises, Yves. I always interpreted her arson to be a therapeutic way for her to assert her own free will, especially since she was coming from a place where she couldn't express her anger, towards Yves, the teacher/institution, or otherwise. Both the fire itself and the items she's burning are each symbols respectively.

The timeline is not linear in the story, but we see her swing from (perceived - who are we to judge) good and evil, from where she sets fire to the moon(?) in So What (arguably good but looks bad), to where she jumps down to meet Yves with a big smile on her face in Hi High. This may or may not be something that took her a while to learn, or alternatively something she struggles with, or relapses on, depending on how you organise the timeline, especially since it's noneuclidean as well as nonlinear.

If you think about the fall, and how the closest to white she's been was pre-debut era, it makes me wonder whether she'll ever get all the way to pure white - and what would that mean. The notion of biblical good doesn't necessarily align with what LOONA thinks is good - the lyrics of Why Not are about how they're "bad" girls for going against tradition, but they trust that in their hearts they know what is good for them. And then I also wonder if the new A&R staff even remember what the symbolic colors are meant to mean, and whether we'd actually ever see these threads picked back up... lol.

Silver always makes me think of silver bullets to kill a werewolf, and we saw a little bit of Olivia wolf shenanigans in PTT kinda. Silver is also used as a metaphor for the process of purification (Psalms 12:6, Psalms 66:10), and of course it is reflective - what does that say about Olivia's character? Are people using her as a mirror, "recognition of the self through the other" style? When she's with someone, will she imitate whatever they do too? When she has nobody to mirror, who is she then?

That being said, nothing in the loonaverse is a 1:1 allegory. While the pre-so what lore made references nearly nonstop, the narrative still remained unique and never lifted plotlines from other media, was only inspired and influenced by them. So maybe idk lol

#my personal opinion is that yves is obviously eve and the other 3 are all various facets of adam #and jinsoul can be lucifer if she wants i guess. cuz the canto 'fallen angels'... which doubles as a wong karwai reference #long post #loonaverse #loona lore #fallen angels actually arent christian theyre from the book of enoch #and then i start to wonder how interested is jaden in jewish theology #because what might be factually true about religious things might be different to how he intended it to be understood #jinsoul as lucifer and hyeju as (one version) of adam also makes sense to me in the way that jinsoul seems to be 'tempting' her in egoist #sorry this is a mess its 2am i hope it makes sense :( lmk if it doesnt

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farthngdr · 3 years

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Some Thoughts on “Dead to Rights” by Radio Company

First, if you are not a Cockles truther, you should probably look away. My tinhat is so tight it hurts. Surgical removal has been deemed too risky and would probably result in my demise.

The comments here are entirely mine, as are the assumptions incorporated into my lyrics analysis about real-life people and their relationships. No disrespect is intended. Please do not contact Jensen, Misha, or Danneel about anything you read below, or about anything Cockles-related, because there is absolutely no evidence for anything I am saying here, and their lives are essentially unknown to us.

Thank you.

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She said It all will change If not it all can wait It may die away Over time But I do believe It's better than being alive It's better than being alive It's better than being-

Bombs away Only just begun You want to be the one to say you love The rain-

fall

When all the while the angels call; The only way to see just how it comes to be Every day To know it all falls away.

You had me dead to rights Holding down my chain; You had me dead to rights I got out again; Never been the same.

Song composed by Jensen Ackles and Steve Carlson

No official statement has ever been made by the two songwriters as to who wrote the lyrics, who wrote the music, or if words and/or music were composed by both. I am proceeding on the assumption that Jensen wrote the lyrics. He has mentioned writing lyric ideas on notepads (as shown in the above photo), and so indeed he gives much thought to his lyric-writing process.

In another track from Vol. 2, “City Grown Willow,” a song clearly written by himself, he uses “chain” imagery. Clearly, the concept of the chain resonates for him, whether the chain belongs to his lover, in “City Grown Willow,” or, as in this song, the chain is attached to himself, with the other end being held by the “she” he refers to throughout this lyric.

In addition, a close examination of other tracks by Radio Company share similar lyrical hallmarks as “Dead to Rights”: the invocation of a “she” in “City Grown Willow,” who I maintain is the same “she” as the one here, namely Danneel; “bombs away,” a metaphor for his emotional relationship with the “bomb,” i.e., Misha, recalls “cannonball, rise and fall,” from Vol. 1; other similar MC metaphors are the “fire” from “Jump into the Fire,” and “he stokes the flames ‘cause he is amused by the glow,” from “City Grown Willow.” Other JA lyrical hallmarks can be identified here as well.

________________________________________________________________

“’Dead to rights’ means having overwhelming evidence of someone's guilt, having irrefutable proof that someone is responsible for something. The idiom ‘dead to rights’ came into use before the 1850s in the United States.”

“’Dead to rights’: In the act of committing an error or crime, red-handed. For example, ‘They caught the burglars dead to rights with the Oriental rugs.’ This phrase uses ‘to rights’ in the sense of ‘at once.’”

________________________________________________________________

The theme of guilt is embedded in these lyrics--the narrator, JA, is guilty of something, and he was “caught red-handed,” as it were, by someone, the “she” in the song--his wife. The “guilty” act was more, I believe, her intuiting/noticing that her husband was in love with another--early days, perhaps before much had occurred between the two men, but wives are smart, and they can sometimes intuit when their men are in love with another, even before the husbands know themselves.

“She said”---This song focuses on the fact that the narrator’s wife notices instantly--”at once”-- the “act” for which he feels guilty. And she voices it to him--she knows he is in love with another. And she also knows who.

Thus, the “dead to rights” reference--she knew right away when her husband fell in love, and that he either wants to, or already has begun, pursuing a romantic relationship with his love. She “caught him red-handed,” even though a “crime” has not literally occurred, and, most importantly, *she is not angry or judgmental*; rather, she is concerned.

She has thought about it before she confronts him with it. She is philosophical: “It all will change”--that is, this could be a momentary fancy, and if you follow through, everything will change in your life. “if not”--that is, if this is something lasting and substantial--then “it all can wait.” What’s the rush? Why not cool your jets and see if you still feel the same way in a few months? And know too, if you do pursue this, “It may die away over time.” So be careful. Don’t jump into the fire. You could get burned. I don’t want that for you.”

What is his response to her words? He acknowledges to her: “You are right.”

He concedes that everything she says is true. But he has thought about it too. A lot. And he realizes something: “But I do believe it’s better than being alive.” This cryptic line puzzled me initially. “What” is better than being alive? Then one day, after hearing the track a few times, it hit: If the relationship crashes and burns--if it does die, and his heart is destroyed in the flames and ash--then so be it. He has decided that being with this person, jumping into the abyss with him, which could result in his own metaphorical “death,” is exactly what he will do, because “dying” from the possible fallout of a disastrous love affair is preferable to the agony of continuing to live without him.

“You want to be the one to say you love the rain.....fall” --I love the pause here, putting the emphasis on the “fall,” conjuring up the act of falling in love; and also, the possibility of falling to one’s death. And of course, the biblical “fall”--we’re all fallen from grace. He is reminding her that it is she who always says she loves the rain--metaphorically, the rainy days, the times when things aren’t necessarily all sunshine and roses. She understands and accepts life’s gifts and risks. (And we learn in “City Grown Willow” that, in fact, “Her faith in love is better on sunny days.”)

“When all the while the angels call”--I cannot emphasize enough how unequivocally this imagery refers to MC. If I have to explain how many times J has called M an “angel”.....The point being, the angel calling him is impossible for him to ignore, and he just plain doesn’t want to. When an angel calls your name................you go.

“The only way to see just how it comes to be”--a typical Jensen cryptic line, when he wants to say something but doesn’t want to be too revealing, so he does so with the utmost vagueness, to the point where his meaning is almost impossible to decipher. That cryptic line, combined with the rest of the verse, “Every day/To know it all falls away,” strikes me like this: “The only way to know if I should do it or not, is just to do it.” And in the end, he philosophizes, everything falls away in any case--”even you and I will someday be parted.” The idea of mortality--of the limited span of time we inhabit this life--is heavy on his mind. And again, he has made his decision: His love is so deep, so compelling, that he is willing to risk everything--heart and soul--to be with the angel who is calling him.

_______________________________________________________________

ADDENDUM TO MY POST:

Unless Steve Carlson has said publicly that he specifically wrote the *words* to City Grown Willow, I maintain steadfastly that Jensen composed the lyrics. It makes sense that Carlson had written the guitar piece itself, with its beautiful, cascading notes and striking chord progressions, which demonstrate his skill as an instrumentalist. It’s no accident that the recording itself features only Carlson’s playing, with no other instrumental accompaniment--probably exactly the way Jensen first heard it.

Jensen heard Steve play the piece, loved it, and proceeded to write words for it. When Carlson says he played this piece for Jensen and that he had written it years prior, I take that to mean that Jensen loved the sound of the guitar and wanted to work with it.--that the song had no words. The lyrics have the hallmarks of Jensen's writing style; the content fits his situation, with a female and 2 males as the protagonists; and HE is “the man from the mountains.” That’s not Carlson’s identity--that's a moniker Jensen deliberately chose for himself, as he makes clear in the music video.

If anyone can provide for me a direct quote from Carlson that he wrote the words, I will retract my statement. Until then, I hold my position.

#Cockles #Radio Company song #lyrics analysis is a love of mine #no offense is intended and I know nothing about anything #even cryptic lyrics can be deciphered #some people have tremendous grace and I love them #I will never as long as I live measure up to the greatness in these people's hearts

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fascination-street-writing · 3 years

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Steadily Emerging with Grace | La Squadra x Ghost!Reader

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes, for his eyes have fallen to the bruises upon your skin, and your pretty terry dress that seems a decade out of fashion. It was never a secret to any of the men from La Squadra di Esecuzioni - or rather, to anyone who has lived in Napoli long enough - that a young women fitting your description was murdered within the very confines of these walls.

It is an absurd thought to believe in ghosts - but then again, so are the existence of Stands.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece II for @elxzyy -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Murder, Past Domestic Violence, Religious Imagery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Masturbation, & Implied Sexual Content

You were born in 1959: the same year that Ethel Merman took to the stage for her last Broadway production in America, and when Miles Davis released his hit album Kind of Blue; you remember the latter fondly, for it reminds you of weekend car rides to the beaches with your parents – it was, after all, your father’s favorite cassette tape.

At age twenty-two, not long after the discovery of the ever-elusive propaganda due of Milano – headed by Licio Gelli –, you were murdered in the not-so comforts of your own home in Vivo Pallonetto Santa Chiara by a troubled lover who had found his consolation in nose candy and cognac.

You faced death with buoyancy. The afterlife will not be so bad, you had thought. But there was no light, no stairway to heaven, and no pearly gates; only inescapable solitude, and utter loneliness. Your former lover faced no vindication, because having family in the court system paid off. To the public, you were the victim of nothing more than an attempted robbery, gone horribly wrong.

And so, you linger on this plain of the earth with little more to do than watching birds through the panes of the window glass during the day and counting the stars at night. The rumors of a woman’s ghost – your ghost – who haunts this gloomy residence has kept it away from the claws of real estate tycoons. It is true that joggers hold their heads down as they pass, and dogs bark at your face through the crackling windows; school children have dared each other to spend the night inside, but never could get past the boarded front door without being shooed away by pesky neighbors or authorities.

Dust collects on pieces of discarded furniture that you had accumulated from thrift stores and porch sales during your brief stint as a renter. The buffet table beside the front door, which you used to use as a makeshift shelf for wine bottles, had belonged to your grandmother, however. And when that door finally opens for the first time in these lost years that you cannot recall, the knob brushes against an emptied bottle for holding flowers and sends it to the ground with a splintering thud.

It startles you, and though your mind races with questions that will only be answered in due time, you vanish from your perch at the window. Cool air rushes through from the opening; you have forgotten what life smelled like. Surely, you had not expected that the first living being to grace you with their presence once more would be a man of such intimidating stature.

Silver hair, red eyes, and black sclera: if not for your contemptuous curiosity, you might think him to be an angel of death. You follow him through the creaking halls and neglected rooms, waiting for the moment when he will stretch his hand to you for the taking and lead you beyond this world.

The thundering tone of his voice might have been a trumpet’s call if it were true. Before the threshold of the room wherein you met your fate, he stops.

“Leave.”

You frown, but surely you ought to do as he says. He is an angel, after all.

You learn from the calendar hanging above Risotto’s desk – as you have discovered to be the silver-haired man’s name – that it is now the nineties. You do not dwell over how long it has been since your death, because it changes nothing. Your home is full of life again, for that it what it has truly become – a home.

With the passing of time, they come and go, these new men who have taken up residence here. You hide in shadows and observe them as if they are a living depiction of a sitcom and you their only audience member. Talks of assassinations, blood splatters on the carpets, and mysterious wounds from the outside world never bother you anymore. You adore each man for his own endearing ways, but what is more, you admire them for what they are.

A family – albeit an unconventional one.

And so, prompted by perhaps your own desire to fulfill your need of stolen domesticity and a sense of belonging again, you spend your days tending to them; without their knowledge, of course, as you have never made your presence known after the day you first found Risotto. From cooking meals when Prosciutto is too tired to do it himself, or folding the clean laundry that otherwise gets tossed over desk chairs – of which Formaggio is the biggest perpetrator; yet, you tend to it all with the same diligence of your own mother. And, oddly enough, you are glad for it.

Alive, you never cared for these things. Now, you suppose, you simply have nothing better to do. You enjoy watching Prosciutto cook, just so that you can commit his skills to memory and memorize his recipes – and the same has been done with the laundry. With each passing day, you learn a new secret about the men of the house. Tonight, you will learn of Risotto’s unprofessed ailment of night terrors.

Surely, it comes as an unfathomable surprise to him when he wakes before the morning sky has; chills curl his dampened spine and root him in place by what must be an invisible bond. He struggles to catch the breaths that do not stay, and the room around him spins so fast that his stomach lurches with pain.

He does not dream of those whom he has killed – he dreams of everything he has done wrong and more. In this moment, Risotto feels as though he has been suspended from a string that holds him in place between the realm of consciousness and not. If his body could listen to his mind, he would carry himself to the shower and begin the day prematurely.

Standing above him, your skirt swaying from the gentle breeze of the box fan in the window, you soak a cotton cloth in a bowl of cold water and hum to yourself a particular little tune from your childhood. You give him this moment of vulnerability, because he needs it as a reminder that he is only human. But that does not mean he must suffer for it alone.

You stop to wring the cloth back into the bowl before draping it over his glistening forehead. His eyes scan your face for an answer that you are not able to give. In his delirium, he decides that you must be an angel who has come to visit him in his sleep – and even now, this is nothing more than a fantasy. And yet, when he bursts into a sudden coughing fit and begs you for a glass of water, you fetch it without hesitation.

The rim of the cup meets his lips, held to them by your own grasp. In this reverie – this hypnotic daze – he can feel everything, including the soft pads of your fingertips as you comb through his hair and nestle him back down against the pillow. He can smell the faintest perfume of flowers, too. You stay with him until his gasping for air becomes the timbre of gentle snores, and his haunting eyes have drifted shut.

And it fills you with the strangest kind of gratification that makes your heart swell like a blossom in spring.

In truth, you ventured into the bathroom with every intention of mopping the vinyl-tiled floor and bleaching the shower while the men are out. Instead, your cleaning supplies lie neglected in the corner, in an unforeseen bout in which you have become distracted. You stand in front of the mirror with a scowl as you trace the permanent bruises on your neck, left behind by your lover’s hands. You ought to be a woman near forty now, perhaps married to some corporate worker from the retail district – or at least, certainly someone other than him, if you decided to marry at all.

Whatever decision you may have made, you just hope that you would have been happy. Because, if you are utterly and truly happy as you are, then what good is a husband or a wife to share it with? With a sigh, you turn away and effectively tear your gaze away from your reflection. That is, until a peculiar silver hand slips past the paneled mirror and curls around your wrist. Without a moment to spare, you are pulled backwards, and into the precipice of the void.

It is Illuso who stands in front of you in this mirrored realm of what appears to be the bathroom but is not quite so. The lights are darker, and air around you is unsettlingly cold; the thing that holds you still is anything but human. Dark red eyes belonging to a peevishly smirking face peer down at you.

“You know, bella,” he says as he tethers a lock of your hair around a finger. Even if he tore it from your scalp, you would not feel same the pain that others might. Though, that does not stop you from cowering at his touch. “You have some nerve, breaking in when the others are gone. I bet you think you’re the sneaky type, hm? Well, if that’s the case, you aren’t very good at this. So, let me ask something, and if I like your answer, I’ll let you go. Did the Boss send you?”

Your breath hitches.

“Or are you just a lost stray from the streets?”

You fumble in the grasp of that which grips your arms. You have overhead the men in conversation of whom you can only assume is their employer – and, based on the inflections of their tones, you know that they harbor unspeakable resentment towards him. In your silence, Illuso huffs and suddenly you are thrown to the floor. The tiles feel sticky underneath your palms.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes, for his eyes have fallen to the bruises upon your skin and your pretty terry dress that seems a decade out of fashion. It was never a secret to any of the men from La Squadra di Esecuzioni – or rather, to anyone who has lived in Napoli long enough – that a young woman fitting your description was murdered within the very confines of these walls.

It is an absurd thought to believe in ghosts – but then again, so are the existence of Stands. In a world where the physical manifestation of one’s own soul is possible, how truly ludicrous would it be for the apparition of a human being to linger, post-mortem? It is plenty good a rationalization for Illuso, and so he crouches down and grasps your chin.

You meet his gaze, reluctantly so.

“So then, you’re the one who burnt dinner last night. You owe Melone an apology; here, we all thought he was to blame.”

Of course, you already knew that.

“You’ve been a busy girl, haven’t you? Now, if I’m not mistaken, you were in the middle of something. I won’t keep you any longer.”

He casts you from his mirror. You land on your knees, just before the empty mop bucket. It is not until you stand that you realize Illuso is still in the mirror, smiling so wickedly again as his hands move to work the buttons of his shirt loose before he turns on the showerhead and steps inside.

The bathroom will have to wait to be cleaned. Besides, you think you have just heard the washing machine chime.

Your unfortunate interaction with Illuso has, to say the least, rubbed you entirely the wrong way; it is merely his condescending self, and therefore, his blame. His nasty jab at your cooking abilities has not helped to fuel any incentive to continue helping. The laundry has gotten backed up, and more often than not, Prosciutto orders takeout for the others rather than spending his own precious time preparing a meal, only to be stuck with the mess of dishes.

Among this all, you have returned to the solitude that was once like a dear, albeit unwanted, friend. Today, you are found amongst crates in the basement with a file that you had snatched from Risotto’s office. It makes for a good bit of reading, and surely, there can be no harm in peaking.

As for Ghiaccio, he has practically torn the apartment apart in his reckless rage to find his missing dossier – which, as he recalls perfectly clearly, he had left on his Capo’s desk for light corrections on the misspelling of the target’s name.

If Pesci were here, he might insist that the ghost stole it. It is a thought that makes Ghiaccio scoff because there is no such thing. He was disappointed to find Risotto’s eagerness to believe Illuso’s insistence on the matter. Prosciutto met the accusation with a roll of his eyes; Formaggio, a dismissive flick of his hand and a laugh; and Melone . . . Well, by that point, Ghiaccio had tuned out the ludicrous conversation entirely.

He stares at the basement door as his fists curl tightly to his gloved palms. It is the last place he had thought to look, for he had no reason to. Although now that he finds himself caving to the frustrations of his missing file, he opens the door and plunges into the dark.

You do not hear him approach – too mesmerized by your choice in reading, of course. When the file in the manilla folder is snatched from your grasp, you frown and meet the fuming stare of Ghiaccio. “Are you serious?” he asks, incredulous. “I’ve been looking for this for hours, no thanks to you.”

When he slams the door, shutting you away without a better source of distraction, you sigh. You should have known better. Maybe when he is done with it, you will borrow it back.

But until then, you think you will pretend to take a nap.

Today is a good day, and you feel like cooking again. You scour the refrigerator and pantry for the ingredients needed to prepare Prosciutto’s salted herring and polenta. You add corn meal to the pot of cold water atop the stove. As the water heats, you throw in a pinch of salt and a spoonful of dried rosemary. It is a simple dish, yet the men eat it all the same.

The floorboards behind you creak under Prosciutto’s weight. He lowers the dangling cigarette from his mouth. Ashes trickle towards the ground and to his shoes. He watches, unsure of what to think of it really, as you take a whisk to the pot. His eyes fall to the jar of pickled herring, and perhaps if he felt so inclined to, he might have smiled.

He stubs the cigarette out and drapes his suit jacket over a chair to the kitchen table. Suddenly cognizant to his intrusion, you drop the whisk on the counter, meaning to flee – until he stops you with a firm grip to your shoulder that encourages you to continue.

“I’ve missed your food,” he confesses with unknown sincerity. “But you have a knack for burning the herring. Let me show you how to do it better, eh?”

Sleeves neatly rolled back to his elbows, he cleanses his hands in the sink. He smells like smoke and death; judging by the subtle unraveling of the buns at the back of his head, you suppose that this must have been a difficult hit. Regardless of whatever may be troubling him, Prosciutto rests a skillet atop the next burner and sets a pat of butter inside it for melting.

Still tense, though you feel yourself relax ever so slightly with the easing of your joints, you return to the polenta and pray that it has not scorched in the absence of your touch. “It was one of my grandmother’s recipes,” he confesses as he adds the first filet to the pan. “The brine for the fish, that is. She died before I ever knew her, but she did leave my father her old recipe book. Not that he ever cooked much, mind you. Regardless, I believe this was too plebeian of a dish for his tastes.”

You do not know how to respond – maybe he is waiting for a confession that you have met his grandmother’s soul, or something else along those lines; however, he will only be disappointed by any semblance of an explanation that this is simply not how spirits work.

Instead, you grate a rind of parmesan into the polenta.

Empty bottles of beer and a shooter of vodka lie discarded on the floor, littering the living room with an unkempt mess that would have sent your mother into a spiral, if she were here to see it. The television flashes as the end credits to whatever rom-com Formaggio decided on roll down the screen. Most of the cast-member’s names are unfamiliar to you, apart from the lead, whom you remember as an upcoming starlet from your childhood. You always thought she was a bore.

With a groan, an unconscious Formaggio turns on the couch. A half-empty peroni dangles precariously from his grasp. You take it before it can spill, and as he sleeps, you gather the rest of his mess for disposal. Once you are done, you switch off the television and hoist the man up. He becomes nothing more than deadweight at your side.

You are halfway to his bedroom when he lurches. In a stumble, he catches himself by grabbing the closest thing within his reach: your breast. You shove his hand away, and his green orbs dart around in an ogling state.

“Hey, bella signora,” he says with a heavy slur to his speech, accompanied by a grin. “Sorry about that . . . You have great tits, y’know?”

You blush. Now in his room, Formaggio falls to the unmade bed; the springs recoil and squeal beneath his body. He pulls a wrinkled blanket to his shoulders. You return with two tachipirina and a bottle of water for him to take up in the morning – or whenever he wakes, for that matter. A hearty breakfast will do him good, too. You certainly will not need to pull his arm to convince him otherwise.

You set the medication upon his nightstand, beside a crushed soda can and an overflowing ashtray.

“Grazie, [Y/N].”

To hear your name spoken again after so many years is something that curls into your heart and tugs it so tightly that your fingers tingle. Formaggio gawks up at you through half-lidded eyes. With a heavy sigh, he falls back asleep without much effort.

No matter his intent, it brings a smile to your face.

You hurry down the hallway, clutching a basket of folded laundry betwixt your arm and torso. The warm linens carry the scent of detergent – ocean breeze, the bottle called it. You are not convinced, for it smells nothing like the ocean you once knew; it is far too fruity and clean.

“No! Get away from me, fantasma!”

You stop. There Pesci stands at the edge of the hallway, his green hair still wet from the shower. He stumbles backwards until his spine meets the wall with a forceful thud that rattles the pictures on the walls.

“Fratello! D – Don’t hurt me, please! Fratello, help me!”

You wonder if Prosciutto will come to his rescue – not that Pesci is truly in need of anything of the sort. Alas, the younger man’s words are startling. Taken aback, you contemplate that perhaps your kindness has been rather unnerving to some, and more than others. His eyes glisten, as if he might cry; the laundry basket feels far too heavy in your grasp now.

“Why would I hurt you?” you ask; you no longer recognize the sound of your own voice, for the sounds of your thoughts carry a different ring. “Why would I want to hurt anyone? If I wanted you dead, don’t you think I would’ve already done it by now?”

With an indignant huff, you make your way towards the bathroom to tuck the fresh towels away. The air is clammy and hot, but it does not bother you.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”

You set the emptied basket down. “Obviously not,” you tell Pesci.

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. You wish he would leave, because the uneasiness of presence is unnerving – sweltering, even. “Wait. You’ve been the one doing my laundry?” he asks shyly.

“Yes.”

“You even separated the colors. I can tell because my whites haven’t been turning dark.” His lips pull into a sheepish grin, and his cheeks turn the color of a summer rose. “Thank you.”

Even when you were alive, you chide that you have always been something of a winsome little fool. Dead, you still have not learned any better. And that is why you find yourself standing in front of Melone, frozen in time, as his lithe fingers curl around the base of his manhood that drips from the head. It was an honest mistake on your part – you had entered to deliver an object of some importance without bothering to knock first.

His eyes are screwed shut; otherwise, he might see you standing here at the foot of his bed, your own belly churning in anticipation that you have not felt since you were one of the living. It is a phenomenon of interest that begs you to climb upon the bed next to him – to feel those soft sheets beneath your own skin – and touch yourself. And so, you do.

Your skirt bunches at your waist as you drag your hand towards your folds, panties discarded and dangling from your ankle. Tentative at first, you bite your lip as you graze your hardened pearl before stroking yourself until you are glistening like him. At the sound of Melone’s poorly muffled moan as he bites the back of his knuckles, you slip inside and hook into the warmth that pulsates between your spread thighs.

You are giddy like the young woman you were the first time you had ever indulged in self-pleasure; it is a wicked, sinful desire – or at least, that is what your mother always told you. You never believed much of her volition because you knew she only ever said it when thoughts of impulsive yearning plagued her own mind.

You fumble through velveteen fabric to find the stiff peaks of your breasts; with a sigh that you forget to hold in, you tweak and pinch your nipple as you slip a second finger within your folds and imagine that it is Melone’s shaft pumping in and out of you, with the tenacity of a gentle lover. You time your thrusts with his own until you are hanging on the edge of your own orgasm.

It is a beautiful feeling that you never thought to be possible again. Fuming with spent sex, you cradle your slick hand to your chest and watch as white ribbons lacquer his stomach like the paint of a picket fence. He turns his head away in his own exhaustion after wiping himself down with a towel that was deliberately left beside the bed.

You lean over his still form to admire the handsome structure of his resting face. His lips look so soft, you think – and you wish only to feel them with your own. It is a daring move, but you brush his lavender hair away from his drenched forehead with every intention of doing just that.

Only, as you have found after your tentative stupor, to end up on your back with your arms pinned to the space beside your head in a giving – albeit firm – hold. He nestles his body against yours until you have no choice but to hike your hips up to meet his. His hair dangles above you and abrades the flushed skin of your cheeks.

“I hope you enjoyed the show, mia civetta,” he coos in a tone that suggests his desires. “Because I know I did.”

His hand cups your wet folds, and you find yourself bucking against the touch that could never compare to your own salacious act. You keen and meet him in a kiss halfway, as his fingers plunge within you and your toes curl into the bedding.

You would not mind staying like this forever.

As the millennium turns into the new century, it becomes an unuttered agreement among the men of

La Squadra

that yours is an appreciated and coveted presence – ghost or not, they cherish you as if you are one of their own. And, in a way, you suppose that you are. You are solace to them amidst their troubles and talks of betrayal to the one who first appointed them under Risotto’s leadership.

You have learned that there are two more members of their team: Sorbet and Gelato. Though, they did not come around often, and your interactions with them were far from illustrious. Alas, you knew that they were dead before the frames of formalin arrived.

The paper shredder runs for days, and the unused fireplace roars with the blazes of tattered documents. Formaggio is the first to leave. With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his striped trousers, he saunters over to you at your perch by the living room window. “Addio, bella,” he says to you with a grin that does not quite reach his eyes.

Illuso is next. “I would tell you, ‘I’ll see you around,’ but we both know that isn’t possible,” he huffs; it is a jab at some sense of humor to alleviate the lingering doubt that he swallows like a pill. “Enjoy your little stay-cation, won’t you?”

Then it is Prosciutto, with Pesci following in tow. The green haired man radiates confidence that the blonde does not reciprocate. “Wish us luck, [Y/N!]” the former admonishes as he reaches to pull you into a hug that is tight enough to let you know that he is truly terrified of what is to come.

He does not let go until his superior demands it. After the younger man has left for the car, Prosciutto reaches into his suit jacket and produces a book. The spine has worn out from use and labor, and its pages are crudely held together by brown rubber bands.

It is his grandmother’s recipe book. You take it and cradle it in your arms as if it is a newborn babe, because you fear that anything less than a delicate grasp with make it fall apart. “Take care of yourself, my friend.”

You nod, and he is gone. You spend the night peering over the stained pages, willing yourself to commit its contents to memory so that one day, you might return the favor. On Melone’s day to leave, he bids you adieu with a suggestive tone and a firm pat to your backend. If he had the time to spare, you might have begged him to stay a bit longer – or at least, enough for just one more round of lovemaking. He placates you with a kiss that leaves you craving his touch, instead.

“There’s a few dossiers left in the office, if you still want to read them so badly,” Ghiaccio begrudgingly tells you before he departs. “I convinced Risotto to let you have them for now. Just burn them when you’re done.”

All that remains is you and Risotto – just as it began. It is the way it should be, in a poetic sense of justice wherein the beginning becomes the end; full circle, as they call it. You are not too sure about that, for you are full of bitterness at the crumbling of your familiarity. You sit beside him on the couch, biting your lip in dreadful anticipation for what is to come next. He stares blankly into the space in front of him, perhaps stuck in his own thoughts so much that he cannot separate them from reality.

Eventually, his calloused palm finds your shoulder, in his means of comfort – to reassure you or himself, you are not sure. Whatever he needs, it is his. “Thank you,” he finally says.

Risotto once thought you to be an angel, though he never believed in anything of the sort. Religion has left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You gave me a purpose,” you confess with a sad simper. “All of you did.”

Just when you think that he might return the gesture, he stands. Despite the traces of uncertainty in their hearts, every man of his team believed that they would return – to the apartment, to Passione, and most importantly, to you.

But he will not dwell on any such idea, because he knows better than to make promises that he cannot keep.

One-by-one, the men trickle home with fresh scars and unspeakable horrors. It is a pretty dream, that the abode where they each possessed the deepest connection to were neither childhood cottages nor the places of their demises – but rather, the place where you exist alone

It irks you to wonder why you ended up here after your death, though you tell yourself that it was just a twist of fate so that you might find them – the ones who needed you the most.

There are no needs for cooking or laundry – the home that once felt scared to you is tense again and filled with brooding silence. When at last Risotto arrives, body littered with seeping bullet wounds and missing a hand, the dam breaks as the men accept their aggrieved failure.

Unbeknownst to you all, it has only been the matter of a few days since they returned to you in haste; you have found that the perception of time for the dead is hazy at best. Soon enough, you find yourself in an empty home again. You are, of course, glad that they have all passed on – that somehow, their deaths have been requited.

The same cannot be said for you. And so, you spend your days on newly neglected furniture and stew, solus – this, you decide, will be your eternity; a lost soul with nothing better to do than to long for that which will never be.

When, months later, the door opens anew, you do not rise; surely you are imagining the blonde boy and the other with an oddly patterned beanie cap who stand under the arch and gape at you like a caged animal in a display. In due time, you will learn of Giorno and Mista’s intentions – for those are their names – of repurposing the townhouse in the name of Passione.

But for now, you greet them like two friends, because the nagging in your old heart tells you to.

| 5160 Words |

#la squadra x reader #la squadra #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #melone x reader #formaggio x reader #pesci x reader #ghiaccio x reader

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trashahime · 3 years

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So I know I put some crazy theories on here and some of them are far fetched but I think there might be something to this.

So now I think Lady Kyuki is the mom, and she is or represents Kagura.

Let me tell you how I got there.

So, it started earlier today when I was looking at the character profiles on the Yashahime site for my Riku post. I noticed that Tokotsu, Kyuki, and Kirinmaru's mask all had horizontal stripes on their face and they reminded me of a mix of Sesshomaru's amd his mother's. Kirinmaru's actual face has a blue vertical stripe and it seemed odd his mask didn't match.

I didn't think much of it at the time. But I went back to Kyuki's profile and I noticed she wore a bell around her neck. I knew a bell in Japan was used to ward off evil and I thought it ironic because she was the evil. Why would she need one?

I always thought Kyuki looked like an angel and then I realized she's a white tiger. White tigers are good figures in Japanese culture. I thought maybe a fallen angel type figure?

So I went back to Tokotsu to see if he might have some fallen angel symbolism too. I noticed the floating sash and a google search lead me to the knowledge that floating sash is used to denote many things, including tennin, a Japanese angel. Then I looked up wild boar symbolism for Japan and had a holy shit moment reading the wikipedia article.

It's considered a fearless and reckless animal. Those born under it's zodiac sign are considered impetuous and determined. It's also said that hunters admire thier courage and defiance to the point of naming their sons after the boar. Further research confirmed this.

Now who the hell does that sound like? Yeah... And look at his profile imagery.

They really want us to take note of of the shot from the anime. Even put an arrow in case we missed it. Why? Because the glowing red eyes and single jagged streak is just like Inuyasha's in full demon mode.

I always wondered why Tokotsu had the red pearl with it's obvious connection to Inuyasha/Moroha.

Remember the "see the arhat kill the arhat, see your father, kill your father" thing. It may have been meant literally.

We've all been speculating that nothing is as it seems. With the in story hinting that Kirinmaru isn't evil, it could hold true for the Four Perils as well.

So who is Jakotsumaru? I don't know. Maybe Shippo, but I doubt it. Some of us thought it was strange InuKag waited to have Moroha, maybe they didn't and he's Moroha's older brother.

Anyway, if Tokotsu is Inuyasha then that might mean Lady Kyuki represents a parent too. And I think it's Kagura.

What's funny is that it was some SR shippers that dislike Kagura that made me connect her to Lady Kyuki by pointing out how similar they were in the scene between her and Kirinmaru. Once I thought about it, I agreed. Kyuki does give me major Kagura vibes.

Besides that, there so much connecting her to Kagura.

Kyuki is Japanese name for the Qiongqi and in Japan it's thought to be the Kamaitachi. And the Kamaitachi is associated with the weasel, but's mostly all about cutting and wind. Who has the dance of blades? Blades that look like sickles? What are Kamaitachi also called? Kazakama, meaning sickle wind. I could go on but this is already long af.

Who has a bunch of freaking wind powers like a Kamaitachi? The twins.

There is also the feathered wings and feathers are associated with Kagura.

The bell around her neck looks like it could be from a kagura suzu.

Lady Kyuki's colors are all up in Setsuna's ED scene. I think that means Setsuna will be the one to defeat her.

She has red stripes on her kimono and they are associated with Kagura.

They are both barefoot, which is kind of silly but still another commonality.

Eta: Also, the purple and red eyes of the twins could be a callout to Kyuki's colors.

I bet more connections will come as the show goes on. In the preview it looks like they fight, but I think Kyuki will survive since she is getting set up as the big bad, when she's not. I think that's why Tokutsu and Kyuki have horizontal stripes instead of Kirinmaru's vertical ones, they are really aligned with Sesshomaru. Kyuki even has the same arm and ankle stripes.

God I have so many new theories based on this but this post is already too long. I'll do it in another post soon.

Eta: I do think this is all taking place an illusion or dreamlike environment. Or the Perils could be projections like how Yura in the OG was actually her comb. I highly doubt Sunrise is going to let the girls literally kill their parents.

I have added made another post with more info.

#inuyasha #hanyo no yashahime #yashahime #setsuna #sesshoumaru #kagura #lady Kyuki #kirinmaru #Tokotsu #perils=parents

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kindaorangey · 3 years

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laimondi

jet lag (simple plan ft. natasha bedingfield)

long distance yearning! ouch

painting flowers (all time low)

“tried to open up my eyes/i'm hoping for a chance to make it alright/when i wake up the dream isn't done/i want to see your face and know i made it home/if nothing is true, what more can i do?/i am still painting flowers for you/show my cards, gave you my heart/wish we could start all over/nothing's making sense at all”

something about this song gives me vibes of like... a love that is so heartfelt that it’s inspiring to even yourself. that is very rowan to me.

“painting flowers” is like... emotional investment, or plan-making - i think bliss and rowan both have to re-contextualise their relationship in the wake of their breakup, but sometimes they still, “paint flowers” for each other and humour the idea of spending their lives together, romantically, just because of habit

too much (all time low)

because their breakup was overdue, and they are better off as best friends. i kind of feel like they took the novelty of a relationship for granted and that’s why it took them a while to realise it wasn’t working for them

trust nobody (king princess)

“they treat you like a ticket/but i just wanna kick it/and honey, i'll take you there/oh, when everyone starts calling for me/oh, i only pick up for you”

it’s important that rowan met bliss at a time where fame had just hit them hard, because it makes the fact she didn’t know him as a celebrity just that more significant

if i could fly (one direction)

long distance thing again. part of me really thinks they might’ve stayed together if they’d had the time they needed, when they needed it

coffee shop soundtrack, studio (all time low)

rowan considering his fame in the context of his relationship with bliss. this is at the start of the relationship though, so it’s more of an awareness of everything that could go wrong with it

walls (all time low)

bliss is quite self-reliant. this song is about her learning to trust herself and be vulnerable around rowan

sick little games (all time low)

rowan’s fame meaning there’s always this kind of looming possibility that they’ll need to break up, because he's sort of trapped in it

piece of your heart (mayday parade)

long distance stuff but a bit happier !

coffee shop soundtrack, acoustic (all time low)

everything i said before about this song, just with the reality that they do break up because of rowan’s fame

i couldn’t be more in love (the 1975)

this song is a fun one because it’s technically about an artist’s relationship with their fans but lyrically it’s got the framing of a relationship that you were very emotionally invested in but has now ended, re: it's a very rowan song

broken record (atlas)

this one’s a soft one. rowan’s a lyricist, but this song’s about struggling to put into words how much you love someone without being cliché. i love it

trouble is (all time low)

“all that i know is i just can't say no to you/funny how things never change/all that i wanted was just to get over you/trouble is i can't find a way/you're part of me”

no matter how much bliss and rowan have lost their romantic feelings for one another, adjusting to being single and being friends with your ex is always going to be jarring, especially if you were together for as long as these two were

glitter & crimson (all time low)

this one’s how i imagine bliss feels about rowan, like when they first reached a point of stability and comfort in their relationship - this is when she realises their relationship isn’t going to be fleeting, and the euphoria of that. also, the dumbass “glitter and crimson”, “supernova/four leaf clover” lyrics are a good contrast between rowan being a really good lyricist and bliss just not caring about any of that

scrawny (wallows)

first meeting stuff! i very firmly believe both bliss and rowan think the other is way cooler than themselves, but not in a self-deprecating way, they just love and respect each other a lot :)

back of a cab (king princess)

breakup things ! kind of a sadder version of why i have ‘trouble is’ on here. point being, breaking up from a first-love, long-term relationship is going to leave an impact on both of them

ohio (king princess)

“'cause i've been getting rich/but everything i love is broke/so what's good?/is it me or is it you?”

the sense they had throughout i was born for this that things were going to come to an end, even if they didn’t want it to happen at first

mirrored heart (fka twigs)

“it’s all for the gain/it's all for the lovers tryna take the breath away/it's all for the gain/it's all for the lovers tryna chase the rush again”

bliss and rowan both knew throughtought ‘i was born for this’ that something was off, and that their relationship was coming to an end. still, they found comfort in each other, and wanted to hold on to being in a relationship for a little bit longer

“but i'm never gonna give up/though i'm probably gonna think about you all the time/and for the lovers who found a mirrored heart/they just remind me i'm without you”

just the absolutely depressing feeling that you haven’t found your 'person’ that everyone gets in the wake of a breakup. “i’m never gonna give up” reminds me of rowan, his resilience, how he will do anything to ignore his own problems. i think this one

“did you want me all?/no, not for life”

i think this one hits particularly hard for rowan, with the whole “no one else is like us” thing making it more difficult for him to have a normal relationship because of his fame

summer girl (haim)

“lightning in your eyes, you can't speak/you've fallen from the sky, down to me/i see it in your face, i'm relief/i'm your summer girl”

god this song... it’s soft, it’s tender, it’s about understanding what little time you have with someone and the joy that then comes from seeing each other. there’s a teeny bit of religious imagery in, “you’ve fallen from the sky, down to me”, as if rowan is an angel, or at least bliss views him as one, and it also speaks to how different their lives are since rowan is famous. bliss is “relief” in rowan’s eyes, she’s his “summer girl” - think of this quote from jimmy:

“when they were together they both seemed to stop worrying about everything else in their lives - rowan was no longer an overworked band boy and bliss was no longer a struggling student. they were just together.”

#playlists

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