#Polish Jazz series

[donospl]

Kasia Pietrzko Trio „Fragile Ego”

Polskie Nagrania, 2023 Prestiżowa seria Polskich Nagrań prezentująca rodzimą muzykę jazzową wzbogaciła się o 89 wolumen. Rolę ambasadorki cyklu Polish Jazz przejęła Kasia Pietrzko wraz ze swoim triem i trzecim (czy też czwartym licząc projekt norwidowski) albumem z dyskografii grupy, zatytułowanym „Fragile Ego”. Dzień po oficjalnej premierze rozmawiałem z Kasią Pietrzko o jej najnowszej płycie.…

[jizter]

Persona 5 Royal: A Masterclass in Storytelling And Soundtracks

Diaz, Juliane Cyruz

BSIT - 1A

OVERVIEW:

Ref: TechRaptor - Persona 5 Royal logo

Persona 5 Royal isn't just a game, but its also an experience with a storytelling that captivates the audience and unexpected character developments, and an engaging storyline along with polished gameplay of turn-based strategy. I really appreciate the art style of the game and the animations, along with its really good soundtrack composed by Shoji Meguro himself. The game also packs a rich gaming experience that combines the turn-based combat, intriguing narrative, and the immersive social simulation. In the game time is also crucial, because players have to carefully allocate their days. Basically almost everything in the game requires strategic decision making that enhances the gameplay, because different choices lead to different outcomes, especially the ending variations, time being part of the strategy mechanic adds another layer of intensity to the game, making every moment of the game meaningful.

STORYLINE AND THE PROTAGONIST

The game follows the story of Ren Amamiya (Joker), a high school student who was forced transfer to another school after being falsely accused of illegal acts. Upon his arrival, he discovered something weird, he stumbled upon a hidden realm called the "Metaverse", where the protagonist and his companions face the distorted desires of the corrupted individuals. After discovering the dark truth inside the realm Ren formed a group called "The Phantom Thieves of Hearts, their goal is to make a change on the hearts of those who opposed to exploit others.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AT IT'S FINEST

Well for me one of the best aspects of this game is the character development. Each character from the group has their own personal struggles and backstories, exploring the depth of their characters through confidant interactions, and these quests are no ordinary side quests but it provides insights on the characters and their growths.

UNFORGETTABLE SOUNDTRACKS

Of course the iconic soundtracks of the game can never be forgotten, almost every player find the tracks really cool, some content creators even use the tracks for their background music, composed by the infamous Shoji Meguro, mixing rock, pop, jazz, and funk genre's, making players hyped during combat encounters, and enhancing the emotional beats and energetic moments within the game. I also saved soundtracks from this game and play it when I'm studying, that's how good the soundtracks from this game is.

Here are some of the iconic soundtracks from the game:

For someone who's addicted with the Persona game series, with the game's enriched narrative, character development, beautiful animations, iconic soundtracks, and smooth and polished gameplay mechanics, this game stands as a benchmark within the RPG genre. I can definitely say that this is hands down a masterclass of a game.

[polish-art-tournament]

paintings* round 1 poll 82

about the artist: Since 2005 he is publisher and editor-in-chief of DIK Fagazine, and has founded the Queer Archives Institute in 2015

Maria Konopnicka (from the series "Poczet"), 2017:

propaganda: I will just quote some text from the curatorial text by Fanny Hauser and Viktor Neumann accompanying the "Poczet" exhibition at Kunst(Zeug)Haus, Rapperswil, Switzerland (23 August - 1 November 2020), because they talk about it better than I could: "The Polish word “poczet” once referred to the smallest unit of the army of Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (1569-1795), and later came to describe a group of people of common descent or performing a specific role. Most importantly, the word relates to a series of portraits of Polish kings and queens (since 966 to 1795), arranged chronologically and conceived as pictorial representation of Polish history [...]. [...] The artist’s employment of portraiture, traditionally considered a bourgeois genre, constitutes a crucial part of his practice as a means to paraphrase and inquire the aesthetics of a variety of historic artistic movements and practices. Adding another perspective to the common visual codes and historical narratives, this contextual shift becomes a subversive strategy to challenge dominant modes of representation and commemorates those who have been subjected to the patrilinear logic of history. Radziszewski’s "Poczet" is a bold retake on the idea of the formation of national identity as demonstrated by pictures that testify to (or rather construct) the continuity of royal power, exercised by heterosexual, cisgendered males and perpetuated through royal marriages. Forming a gallery of twenty-two ancestral portraits of non-heteronormative Polish figures of the past millennium from fields including politics, science, literature and art, "Poczet" deliberately reaffirms the protagonists’ expression of queerness that has been suppressed or erased from their historiography to a large extent."

The series "Ali", 2015-2017:

propaganda: Taken inspiration from Picasso in terms of style (specially like the nod to Guernica), to pay homage to the real life figure Agbola O’Brown (pseudonym “Ali”), a Nigerian-born jazz musician and the sole black combatant of the Warsaw Uprising, right wing assholes like to definine who and who not belongs, so this work really speaks to me as a counter work.

[writingseaslugs]

Jade Leech: After Hours

Hey everyone! So this piece is actually a collab with @twistedchatterbox and they did the morning scenario while this is the night scenario. Hope you enjoy! It’s mainly SFW but there is some slight touching and making out, but I don’t dub that as nsfw.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series are aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please click the “Au Information” below!

Request Information | Masterlist | Au Information

Jade Leech: After Hours

The lounge was finally closed down, the bustling of the night finally depleting. You were tired after helping out with serving tables and you wanted nothing more than to crumble into bed and fall asleep. You rubbed your eyes and let out a small yawn, trying to cover your mouth for the last bit so you wouldn’t get any comments. Floyd was long gone at this point, having ditched midway through his shift, and Azul was still in his office. There wasn’t much else to do other than find Jade.

Thankfully it was an easy enough task, walking over to the bar where he was cleaning up. He was polishing off some of the glasses to put away when he noticed the way your feet sounded as you approached. They dragged ever so slightly from exhaustion as you slowly approached where he was, feeling the slight sting. Even with the classical jazz music that was filtering through the lounge at this hour, he would always be able to tell it was you.

“Was the shift that tiring?” he asked, a sly smile on his lips as he finally glanced up at you. You let out a small, amused huff as you leaned your upper body onto the counter. You scanned over the contents of the bar, taking in how almost everything was already in its place and neatly organized. Jade really did work fast when it came to cleaning up; you had a small inkling he was just lingering around and waiting for you to finally come over.

“Yes, it was.” You said and noticed Jade had come closer. He leaned in and placed a quick kiss on your lips and smiled against you. You went to chase his lips before stopping yourself, and you could see the teasing smirk at your natural reaction to him kissing you. A natural pout was already playing on your lips at him, which Jade found to be adorable, but he wouldn’t give into whatever you wanted that easily.

“Would you like me to make you a drink?” He asked, already going to grab a freshly cleaned cocktail shaker. He seemed like he was already planning on it as he scooped up some ice into the tumbler and began looking for things.

“Only if you add double shots to it.” You said, making the eel raise a singular eyebrow. You watched him turn on the coffee pot and you were about to ask what he was doing when he was already beginning to turn around. The sound of the coffee brewing made you curious if he was making some coffee for himself, or if he’d be using it in your drink.

“That bad?” He asked and you hummed. You watched him take off his gloves and roll his sleeves up to his elbows as he got ready. You couldn’t help but let your eye wander across the expanse of his chest, tempted to just unbutton a few and feel his skin against your own. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you were in a public venue, even if it was past closing and nobody would be coming in. It really had been a long day if your mind was dancing in the gutter at such a simple action like him rolling his sleeves. You were almost embarrassed for yourself.

Jade seemed to dance as he walked around the bar, grabbing the proper liqueurs and syrups for your drink. You didn’t know what he was making but it flowed so perfectly, not missing a single step. Every action was deliberate and you watched him measure everything with expert precision. You could see him grabbing some of the coffee and adding it to the fray as he finished mixing everything. 

He poured it into a rather tall yet thin glass…you think he once called it a zombie glass. It was frosted slightly on the bottom and it made the opaque brown liquid stand out more. Finally he grabbed from one of the bowls next to him and placed a burnt orange peel right on top before sliding it over to you.

“You seem distracted, pearl.” He noted, watching as you slowly picked up the glass. You hummed as you swirled the drink in the glass, looking it over. It looked amazing and smelled like coffee and oranges and your mouth was watering. You knew it had alcohol in it, but you wondered if you’d even be able to taste it with everything else he put inside it.

“I’m not distracted…I just had a few things on my mind is all.” You admitted, looking over the cup one more time before sipping on it. The coffee taste wasn’t actually that strong and you noted a bit of mint in there as well…almost pepperminty. The glass certainly didn’t taste like it had any alcohol in it, but you had watched with your own eyes as he poured it in. Jade managed to snap you out of your stupor as he got in front of you.

“What is this?” You asked, knowing it wasn’t an espresso martini. He normally served those in martini glasses and it was something he refused to compromise with. Jade chuckled as he grabbed the drink and took a small sip of it as well, smacking his lips a bit as he got a good note of the flavors.

“We got a new coffee liquor that I wanted to try out.” He said, “It’s a peppermint liqueur coffee. I think I recall you once telling me about something called an “Irish Coffee”, so I wanted to try something similar.” He explained and it seemed solid. It did have the essence of an irish coffee, but the ones you knew were made by people in their kitchen early in the morning who just poured irish cream into their morning brew because they didn’t want to face the day completely sober. 

“So you’re giving me coffee at this hour?” You joked and his smile seemed to spread as he nodded. You paused after taking another sip and ended up putting it down on the table. What was that smile for? That was the smile he had whenever he was getting up to something, which only ended up well for you eighty percent of the time. “Are you trying to keep me awake for a reason?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” He said, placing a hand over his heart, “To think you’d forget such an occasion.” Ah there it goes, the confusion has now set in. Jade was always doing his best to throw you off guard at every possible chance he could get, and today was no exception.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked as he walked from behind the bar and over to where you were leaning. He held out a hand for you and you were more than happy to hold onto it, though your mind screamed you should at least hesitate when he’s in one of these moods. He helped drag you away and you barely had time to put down your half finished drink. He clasped one of your hands in his own, the other being placed in your hip.

Then he danced with you, a slow sway to the jazz music that echoed in the lounge. The movements were subtle and he made sure there wasn’t much footwork since he knew you must be sore from running about all day. It was gentle and intoxicating, staring into his eyes as he looked over at you with adoring eyes that always made you melt.

“You gonna tell me the occasion, or do I have to guess?” You asked, putting your free hand on his shoulder and getting comfortable. It wasn’t a birthday of anyone, nor a holiday. Your anniversary wasn’t for another few months, so why is he so intent on it being a celebration? Perhaps it was a holiday in this world that you weren’t aware of?

“It’s our two year, eight month, and five day anniversary today, my love.” He said, swaying you a bit and you actually laughed at him.

“Have you been counting every day?” You asked, curious for his response.

“Would you be surprised if I said yes?” He asked and you hummed. Honestly, it wouldn’t have been a shocker in the slightest. He always did pick and choose what he decided to remember. He memorized every mushroom in the books, so remembering something as simple as a date shouldn’t be too hard. Honestly it was endearing that he’d remember all of that; you were happy you were able to recall your anniversary with how chaotic your life was.

“I wouldn’t, however you’re off by a day.” You said and now Jade looked confused, “Look at the time.” He turned to see the clock was just a minute past midnight, “It’s our two year, eight month, and six day anniversary.”

“You’re very correct in that, how did I not realize how late it had become?” He said as he slowly took you back over to the bar. He picked you up and sat you down on the counter, handing you your drink.

“You seemed a bit…preoccupied.” You said, right before taking a longer sip of the drink. It melted on your tongue and you savored the flavor before setting it down. He really did know how to make some of the best drinks known to man.

“It’s easy to be distracted by you.” He commented, “Now you should finish that, after all, you’ll need the energy.”

“Oh, I’ll need the energy?” You asked, “Are we going to be up all night watching movies, maybe going for a midnight stroll? You have to tell me, I’m on the edge of my seat.” You said, already having a hunch as to why you’d need the energy. You still craved to hear the words from him, and knew if you teased him enough he might be willing to indulge you.

“It means you won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I can help it.” He said and you groaned at the thought.

“Are we going to go on that long of a walk?” You said before feeling him placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing it.

“Not a walk.” 

“A swim?”

“Well it can be done in the water if you’d prefer to have me that way.” Now that got your attention. The thought of his tail wrapped around you while he…your mind was already thrown directly into the gutter at everything you wanted him to do to you.

“Oh, and what does this imply?” You teased, kicking your feet a bit. Jade smirked as he leaned closer and cupped your chin. He dragged you in for a kiss, his hot lips pressing against your own. His sharp teeth grazing gently on your lower lip, never enough to cut but enough to know the danger always lingered.

You didn’t need to be asked twice as you opened your mouth, letting his long tongue explore your mouth. You groaned into the kiss, threading your hands through his hair as you tugged him even closer. He took a step forward and caged you in with his arms by your sides, leaning in until he was towering over you. You felt him groaning against your mouth as your grip on his hair tightened with another small tug.

He took another step closer until you were spreading your legs enough for him to slot himself between them. He finally let you go, watching as you panted and tried to steady your breathing. His eyes were half lidded as he licked his swollen lips, savoring the taste of the cocktail on your tongue. His hands found their way to your thighs as he dragged you to the edge of the counter and your legs were able to wrap around his hips.

“What do you think it implies?” He asked and you shivered at his voice. His mouth was right against your ear, the sharp teeth barely touching them.

“I think it implies I should finish this drink.” You chuckled in response. “And we should definitely go for that swim.”

“Of course.” He said, leaning close and kissing your neck. He peppered the kisses up to your jawline before giving you a quick peck on the lips, “Now hurry up, I’m feeling rather impatient tonight.”

Are you a fan of Diasomnia like me? I bet you are if you read my content (we love the boys in this household). Want to support a visual novel that will feature Diasomnia dorm, has multiple routes and endings, as well as some spicy visual scenes? Check out @twstfournights and if you want info, check out their announcement post!

[akairawrites]

Born for conflict | Jason Todd mini series

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A few days later, following the Joker's kidnapping of Black Mask and a near-fatal encounter, he found himself in police custody. However, despite the severity of the charges, he managed to secure his release on bail.

Word of Y/n’s encounter with the Red Hood circulated, adding another layer of complexity to the city’s volatile atmosphere. The information reached Black Mask’s ears, sparking a storm of frustration and resentment within him. The notion that Y/n, seemingly under his employ, had faltered against the Red Hood didn’t sit well with the crime lord.

Amidst the chaos, Black Mask’s legal battles intensified. The courtroom became a battleground, but the scales of justice tipped against him. Convicted, the once-powerful figure found himself on a journey through the grim corridors of Arkham Asylum.

Months after Black Mask's incarceration, Gotham appeared to settle into an uneasy calm, with only petty crimes and the sporadic Joker antics, challenges that Batman effortlessly handled.

Freed from the shadow of Black Mask, Y/n embraced a newfound sense of free will. It was a realization that dawned on her after a long period of submission. Uncertain of where to begin, she took a page from childhood books and secured a job at a popular coffee shop. Money wasn't a pressing need, but this marked the beginning of her journey toward a life unfettered by the constraints of the past.

"Good morning, Claire," Y/n chirped, gracefully removing her sweater and hanging it on the rustic coat rack before clocking in with her time ticket. The soft hum of the coffee machines and the rich aroma of freshly ground beans enveloped the cozy space.

"Good morning, Y/n." Claire greeted her with a smile from behind the polished counter. The coffee shop, adorned with exposed brick walls and vintage-inspired decor, exuded a warm and inviting ambiance.

Claire, a petite, middle-aged woman and Y/n's co-worker, shared a warm exchange. Most days, it was just the two of them working, a dynamic Y/n found comforting. The subtle jazz playing in the background added a touch of serenity to their morning routine, making the shared workspace at this charming coffee haven all the more enjoyable.

Claire meticulously counted the money in the register when Y/n approached from behind, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I got this," Y/n said, gently taking the money from Claire's hands. Claire looked up, a smile gracing her face, but it slowly faded.

"Hey, Y/n?"

"Hm?"

"Could you check on the kids again for me tonight? I’m working a late shift," Claire asked, fiddling nervously with her hands.

Y/n glanced up from the money, concern in her eyes. "Sure, but why not let me cover your shift?"

Claire looked down at her shoes and shook her head. "Money is a little tight right now; I need all the hours I can get."

"Oh, Claire, I can lend you some money if you need it."

"No, Y/n, please. It's okay." Claire met her gaze with a mix of gratitude and reluctance. Y/n understood Claire's financial struggles, especially given her situation with her late husband, and despite the refusal, she intended to help.

Y/n sighed. "Okay, but if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask."

Claire nodded appreciatively and excused herself to attend to the tables. The coffee shop buzzed with the rhythmic sounds of the espresso machine and low conversations, a quiet understanding lingered between the two women.

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled softly as it swung open. Y/n, engrossed in her tasks, looked up to see a tall, brooding figure entering. It was Jason Todd, a familiar face among the regular customers.

Claire, noticing the entrance, greeted him with a warm smile. "Good morning. The usual, Jason?"

He nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes briefly meeting Y/n's before shifting away. Jason, aware of Y/n's presence, observed her from a distance, the familiarity in her face tugging at the strings of a history she was oblivious to. As Claire prepared his order, the air in the coffee shop held a quiet curiosity, with Y/n unaware of the complex connection that lingered between them.

"Can I help you?" Y/n inquired, her focus on her tasks, not bothering to look up. She sensed his lingering gaze. Jason straightened up, suddenly aware that he had been staring.

"No, sorry," he replied, turning away and pretending to search for Claire with his coffee. Y/n finally looked up and frowned. "Hey, don't I know you?"

Turning back to her, he shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I come here a lot, so that might be it," he shrugged.

She shook her head, her suspicion evident. "No, I don't think that's it. Your voice sounds so familiar." Y/n squinted at him, trying to unravel the mystery that lingered in the air.

Jason maintained a composed exterior, masking the turmoil beneath. Y/n's probing gaze hinted at a recognition he wished to keep veiled.

"Well, I'm not from around here, so it's probably just your imagination," he said with a nonchalant smile, attempting to divert her attention.

Y/n, however, wasn't easily dissuaded. "I don't know. It's strange. Maybe I heard your voice somewhere else," she mused, her curiosity unabated.

Claire returned with Jason's order, breaking the tense moment. "Here you go, Jason," she said, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two.

As he took the coffee, Jason nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Claire. Have a good day," he said, sparing Y/n one last enigmatic glance before exiting the coffee shop, leaving her with an unresolved sense of familiarity and a lingering question in the air.

Y/n watched him leave, a perplexed expression lingering on her face. Claire, noticing the exchange, couldn't help but inquire, "Everything okay, Y/n?"

Y/n shook her head, still lost in thought. "I don't know, Claire. There's something about him. It's like I've heard his voice before, somewhere."

Claire chuckled, dismissing it lightly. "Probably just a regular customer. Don't let it bother you. We get all sorts here."

As the bell above the door chimed with Jason's departure, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the encounter than met the eye. Little did she know, the echoes of a shared history lingered just beyond her reach, a mystery she was unwittingly drawn into.

I am so sorry for feeding your delusions also this chapter was very boring I just wanted to get something out before the end of the week

↳ Reblogging also helps!

Add yourself to my taglist here

[bangtangalicious]

nexus (m) part 2

pairing: ot7 x freader smut: yoongi x reader chp-focus: jjk, ksj, myg

premise: a notorious casino conglomerate, took you in when you were young. you practically grew up alongside their sons; inseparable from the oldest, infatuated with the middle, and engaged to the youngest

summary: accused of murdering your best friend, you team up with a vengeful detective in an effort to uncover the secrets of the family you swore your loyalty to

characters: detective!jungkook, bartender!yoongi, bestfriend!seokjin, ceo!namjoon, fiancee!taehyung, model!hoseok, therapist!jimin

genre: 18+ smut slow burn angst romance thriller mystery eventual yandere casino!au organizedcrime!au arrangedmarriage!au revenge!au

wordcount: 7k

warnings: explicit smut, rough sex, todays theme is JEALOUSY, manipulated consent (emotional blackmail), teasing, manhandling, fingering, dirty talk, breast play, crying, penetrative sex, rough oral (m), power plays, a very sexually charged card game and limo ride, a whole lot of SEXUAL TENSION, jin is a FLIRT, suggested dacryphilia, toxic relationships (jin sir pls u good), petnames--princess, mourning/angst, jungkook is hot and COLD (tsundere), obsessive themes, blackmail, guns, character death (nonrelevant), alcohol, gambling, fear, mention of psychiatric treatment

taglist: @raynom @gimmythatjib00ty @yoshiure @greezenini @victoryscreech61 @tbzhubrecs @namjooningelsewhere @sugarcoffeemochi @jiminie-08 @jinssexytoe @kooookie @only4sana @pinkcherrybombs @taeslarityy @natalie-rdr @mageprincess7 @hopeonysus @bibbykins @sameifnn @shadowmoon21 @juliemae80-blog @gaeguuliii @dvalitaes @satorinnie @fournia @kassandravictoria @jazmine2904 @marslena @iloverubberduckiez-blog @manchuria @btseverafter7 @jamlessstars @doublebunnykoo @you-are-my-wind @toughbook @mini-euphoria @lvrseok @n4mina @imjinvolved @rp171198 @codeinebelle @itsallabouthedetails @btseverafter7 @just-me-and-myselfs @blonde-bummer @hcneybees @babycoffeefire @totallynoanalien @seokjinkismet @itslanaanditssad @rhyperia @sporadicfuryface @azazel-nyx @hani-neko-nee-chan (rest of tags on reblog)

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The smell. The distinct smell of false hope. Strong enough to cover the heaps of despair and loss which built it. The casino was ever lively—money on the table, green on green. The sounds of hearty laugher audible over the subdued jazz. Behind the polished bar, Yoongi watched over the crowd with caution. A smile painted on his face like art, unmoving but beautiful to those who looked upon him. He’d chat up his patrons, expertly pouring drinks, movements fluid as he created liquored masterpieces. The trust he held, like a chemist preparing a cure. Their lives locked in his palms.

He excused himself, towel thrown over his shoulder. His all black uniform a welcome contrast to his pale skin. Like a shadow he slipped into the back office. Within a small desk drawer was his pistol. A custom model—the five-letter branding so subtle only those who knew would be able to find it.

He held the weight of the gun in his hand. Nimble fingers tracing along it’s contours. The metal was cold to touch—and he hated it. He hated the life he had been thrown into against his will. But he did it for you.

And you hardly knew. You were utterly blind to the leash which held a vigorous hold around his neck. Even on nights where you’d kiss him so sweetly he could almost forgive you.

Ears tingling from the absence of the pounding music, deep-set laugher. Laughter only those with no care in the world could afford. The silence reminiscent of the void in his heart. He loaded the weapon. Locked in the cartridge and stared down the barrel. You’d look beautiful with it stuffed down your throat. But more likely, it would be Jin pointing it down his.

Tucking the gun in his back pocket, his shoulders relaxed.

A window to the casino floor showed a weak reflection. The fear in his eyes still hiding amongst theatrics of bravery. The fear that the Kim heir had beaten into him with his raw fists. The crooked man who you worshipped was a menace. But you worshipped the ground he walked on, and Yoongi simply couldn’t break the spell.

He returned to the bar. Smile wide with charisma. Despite the pulse of the casino around him, the weight of the gun dragged him down. A harrowing reminder of who he belonged to.

Yoongi hated gambling. It was his least favorite thing about you, yet you knew not of the high-stakes gamble he played almost every night. With every strategically poured drink and every charming conversation, he collected fragments of information, forging alliances and defying destiny. With every step, he embodied the dual essence of a bartender and a gangster—making him a valuable piece in Kim Seokjin’s game.

“Promise me something” The night before, you looked at him with so much adoration, he swore he could melt into your touch.

“Don’t fall in love with me. Because I can never love you back”

His lips parted, shocked—breathing in. Met in seconds with a kiss so incredibly hot that he could feel the burn even hours later. His palms immediately cupping your cheeks, lips pressed tight against yours, unwavering. The pain searing with your words made him dizzy. Made him nauseous. You were sickening, addictive and he craved you insatiably. 

Deeping the kiss as he tilted your head back more. Eyes shut—lost in the feeling. Everything vanished. There was only him. Only you.

He pulled you in closer—lifting you into his arms. Soft moans escaping but neither of you separated for long. He didn’t want to part. Didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to be consumed by the crippling mess you were. Lips sliding across your jaw—peppering hot kisses down your neck. Your fingers weaving through his hair, guiding him. He gripped your hips gently, knee slotting between your legs.

“Promise me, Yoongi” You exhaled quietly, breath uneven, shaky. “I need you to say it”

Yoongi’s teeth grazed over your ear as he grunted in irritation. Fingers intertwining with yours he finally backed away, meeting your eyes.

“We can’t do this unless you promise” Exasperated, he cupped your face again, thumb tracing your bottom lip fondly. You grabbed his wrist, begging him with your eyes. Your voice was quiet. So quiet he could feel your words without hearing them. Lust burned in his gaze—eyes darkening.

The pain was delicious. The ache burning in his heart. He had never entertained the thought of ever having feelings for you. Never rendered the possibility. He understood the arrangement well. But hearing you say it. Seeing the way you looked at him. The way you kissed him, let him touch you, let him make love to you night after night.

“Yoongi, please” Words had a way of ruining the most beautiful things. Yoongi wondered if he had just stayed quiet, would the pain never come? You began clawing at his shirt, popping the buttons off one by one. Yoongi hissed, tugging at your lip warningly. Blinking at you for a second, he seemed to weigh his options. He lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around him.

Staring at you a moment, everything slowed down. He grew annoyed. Why would you say that to him—you didn’t know him. You had no way of knowing whether or not you could love him so why cut off the possibility? Would it really be so wrong? He would care for you. Far better than any of those Kim bastards ever could, anyway.

“Yoongi” You screamed, back slammed against the wall. His hands hovered over your shoulders, fingers hooked under the straps of your bra. Swiftly he pulled them off, allowing it to fall into a puddle on the floor, his shirt following. Yoongi simply chuckled, pushing two fingers down your throat.

Yoongi pulled his fingers out, smirking slightly at the way your eyes quivered. He slid his hand down your body, under your panties so he could paint your quivering cunt with his wet fingers. He watched you carefully as he drew small, tight circles on your clit. His other hand on your neck, thumb tilting your chin up to face him.

“Yoongi stop” Your voice was tiny, almost afraid. The sound only made his heart pound.

“Fuck no” He growled. He dipped his fingers into your cunt, allowing his palm to flatten as you unconsciously grinded your hips against it. Curling his finger, he pumped in and out of you—your eyes rolling back. His lips going down your chest, dragging your bra down with his teeth till he could round his lips over your tender nipples.

A loud moan left your lips, causing him to hiss. Pulling his finger out he turned you around, pushing your chest against the wall before gripping your panties and tearing them in two. It burned against your skin, a dizzying sensation in your head as you heard the fabric rip. Immediately he pumped two fingers back inside, teeth grazing over your shoulders. His belt unlatched, you felt his hard cock slap against your ass. He pushed you down, bending you over with a hand tight  on your neck, holding you steady.

“Who the fuck do you think you are huh? You came onto me, bitch. You don’t call the shots anymore, I do” You whimpered as his thick head pushed in. He lifted you onto his cock, chest pressed up tight against yours—looking nowhere except deep into your eyes.

You sank down so perfectly. Your tight walls hot against his pulsing length. Your legs wrapped around his waist so tight he could barely move. It was emotional, the way you held onto him as he rolled his hips, pulsing into you. Staggered breaths. Sweat on his forehead.

Harder. His hips jerked at the sound of your pussy, dripping out with his every move. Your eyes blasted with lust—lips parted, so incredibly fucked out with pleasure it had him salivating. Pretty little moans as he fucked into you.

Tight. Fast. Lost in your sensation. Eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His lips nipped at your jaw, tasting the sweat glazed over your skin.

“Where can I come?” His voice was hoarse. Low and broken with need. You stilled yourself, sliding off of his throbbing cock until you found your feet and stood. Within seconds you slid to your knees, mouth wide open—eager to please.

He swore you had never looked more beautiful.

He admired your face. Lips swollen, pressing his flushed tip between them, eyes wide with a false innocence. Swiping the drool away from the edge of your lips. You let your tongue wrap around his length, cautiously, exploring across his veins, watching his reactions as you tightened your cheeks around him.

Yoongi’s eyes rolled back, hissing as you began to bob your head up and down. Sloppy, saliva dripping everywhere, the obscene sounds exemplified by you taking him throat-deep, gagging all over. He chanted like a mantra, “Just like that…fuck…just like that”

Both hands on his base, you worked him vigorously, enjoying his throaty moans echoing throughout the room. He bucked his hips, tugging at your jaw as he pushed further down your throat. “Always so good to me”

His hand moved to your forehead, his grip on your head leading you along his shaft, urging you to go faster. He thrusted his hips forwards, forcing you to take him all the way. Fucking your face roughly.

“You can take it, I know you can baby come on” Back and forth, he pulled his cock all the way out, letting you catch your breath before stuffing you full once again. You squealed around him, smacking your lips, pouring yourself into your movements.

Every fiber of his body shuddered as he came, twitching and jerking as he spilled deep in your throat. You licked up every last drop.

He dreaded the silence that followed the beautiful storm. He pulled you into an embrace before you could think too card. Laying you down, peppering you with kisses. Loving ones.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him.

But he wanted to change that. He wanted to fight.

He nuzzled into your neck. Sweet. You blinked back tears. He saw this, growing concerned. “Baby I—I didn’t mean to be rough”

You shook your head, sniffling. “It’s not you I just” The tears spilled down your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart wrenched, reaching to wipe them away. His touch endearing. “I don’t want to hurt you”

Yoongi pressed his lips against yours. Long, sweetly. A tired, exasperated kiss that seemed to say you’re incredibly, utterly perfect.

“I just don’t make promises I can’t keep”

You had cast a spell on him and he was undoubtedly cursed.

The next morning, Kim Seokjin had arrived at the suite. The broad man appeared much friendlier in person than the magazine shoots he had seen him in with his infamous mother. Likely his same age, he was undeniably handsome. Brown eyes that incited mischief, yet with a softness that was almost genuine.

Almost.

You had answered the door, wearing a fluffy casino robe. Unphased when you saw your dear friend. He looked at you briefly, before his eyes shifted to Yoongi who was still in bed.

“Morning princess” Tone was steady, smile evident, but Yoongi could see the irritation in his eyes.

“Hey” You greeted him politely. “Did you need something?”

Jin’s gaze was locked on Yoongi. “Actually, I’m here to talk to him” You seemed to pout. “Don’t worry, it’s just work stuff. Give us a minute, okay?”

Reluctantly, you wandered off.

Jin painted another smile on his face, entering the room. He walked up to where Yoongi had stepped out of bed. “Yoongi—right? I’ve heard great things about the tips you bring in”

There it was. The tricky power games that were synonymous with Kim Seokjin’s reputation.

“Yes sir”

Jin grinned at his attitude. “Now, Yoongi. Man to man. Where do you see this” He gestured his hand, “Going?”

Yoongi pursed his lips. He knew getting involved with these kinds of people was always complicated. But he was in too deep. He wasn’t going to give up on you just over some baseless threats. What he really wanted to know—was how the fuck Jin knew where you were? Was this motherfucker having you followed?

“She came onto me, sir”

“Oh I know” Jin chuckled, “She was nursing a broken heart, poor thing. My idiotic brother crushed her, so she’s acting out”

Namjoon. Yoongi recalled.

Jin’s gaze was intense—serious now, in contrast to his playfulness earlier. “I want you to understand something, Yoongi.” He took a seat on the bed. Leaning back, his hair flipped over his forehead. “I’m allowing this. For now.”

“Sir”

“There will be a time where I’ll need you to back off. And you’ll do it, otherwise your dean is going to get an interesting phone call”

Yoongi swallowed thickly. He didn’t like being threatened. How could you live like this? Did these guys interfere in every part of your life?

“Yes sir” He responded, humbly. Jin seemed satisfied.

“One last thing” Jin stood up, brushing the dust off of the lapel of his designer suit. He rest his hand on Yoongi’s bare shoulder. Skin cold to touch. Grip firm. “Hurt her, and I will kill you”

You made your way back eventually, noticing Yoongi’s shifted demeanor.

“Sorry, I know Jin is a lot sometimes” You kissed him, crawling into his lap where he sat, defeated. “He’s just looking out for me. We’re like best friends”

Yoongi scoffed. How naïve could you be? He knew crazy when he saw it, and that man was no friend of yours. He looked at you, eyes softening once he saw how cutely you were grinning.

“I’m glad he approved” You beamed at him. “This means, we can like, actually hang out…if you want”

God, of course he did. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. Interestingly, Jin was welcome to Yoongi after that day. You would bring him along on weekend getaways, Monaco, Bali, Paris and Milan. Jin would be there, occupied by his own vices while you and Yoongi got lost in a honeymoon haze. Sharing your darkest thoughts under the eastern sunrise, to hushed confessions under the northern stars. He learned you. Knew you like the back of his hand. Your quirks, likes, irritations and dreams.

“You’ve seriously never had feelings for him?” He asked you one day. You made a face.

“I’ve only ever loved Namjoon” Ouch.

Yoongi was skeptical. Frankly because Yoongi knew you were in love with him from the way your eyes would light up talking about him. Your memories from childhood, or the intimate laughs the two of you would share. You followed him like a little lamb, adapting his crazy lifestyle and engaging with his elitist friends. And after the glimmering lights would go down, you’d make your way to Yoongi, who was…

What was he?

A dog. You had him on a leash, Jin had him in a cage. He was a mutt allowed to you out of pity, to distract you from the real things that were controlling your life. Yoongi’s job was to give you a semblance of control. A sexual outlet, a shoulder to lean on.  

And Yoongi hated you. Hated who you were around Jin and hated that no matter what he did, Jin would be a huge part of your life. Even if he did somehow, miraculously, make you fall in love with him, make you feel for him what he did for you without a doubt—Jin would still have control. Yoongi was useless in his shadow. It enfuriated him. Drove him mad. What lengths would he have to go to get you? What would it take for Kim Seokjin to back the fuck off and let you live your own life?

But your life was never your own. And now here he was, all the loyalty paid off into dust as he tended the bar at your engagement party. It was ridiculous. Did he truly mean so little to you—that he wasn’t even a guest? Let alone the fact that it infuriated him you had to marry one of these twisted, god-awful Kim boys against your will.

In front of him, the man of the hour—the so-called Kim Taehyung, sat with a dirty smirk on his face, eyes drilled onto the pair of die rolling in his palm.

“So”

It was in the job description. Make conversation with the guests. Yoongi had been around long enough to know how to make men like Kim Taehyung feel great about themselves, in more ways than one.

“Been a while since you’ve been home huh”

He set down the shaker, straining the drink mix into a margarita glass with a slight flick of his wrist. Taehyung watched the steady pour of the liquid.

“Absolutely” He smiled, although Yoongi could tell it was fake. “I had to come home. See my family—my brothers. After all,” He flashed his forearm at Yoongi, where the Kim crest was neatly tattooed, same as his brothers.

Yoongi squinted. He knew about the tattoo. He had seen it, both on Namjoon and Jin. He knew they got it after their mother died. But as far as he knew, Taehyung had left at a fairly young age, not keeping in contact with his family. Taehyung hadn’t been around for his mother’s death.

Right? Yoongi pursed his lips. Taking another look, he watched Taehyung carefully. Round eyes, thick lips, small fingers in which the dice rolled.

He looked familiar. Yoongi swore he must have seen this man somewhere before. He knew nothing of where Taehyung had been for the past ten years. According to you, no one did.

“Please excuse me,” Nodding politely, Yoongi rushed off into the storage room. Grabbing his phone, he googled the man you were about to get engaged to.

Kim Taehyung.

Nothing.

Nothing at all—not even so much as a media article on the engagement. No photographs, nothing.

But I know I’ve seen you somewhere.

He went to his own camera roll, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to jog his memory. Would it have been school? The casino? He couldn’t figure it out.

Until he saw it.

A group picture. From a dinner one of his professors had invited him to. There he was—Kim Taehyung.

Except there was no way, Yoongi would have remembered if he met someone with that name. Was he going by an alias? Who was he?

Dialing his professor, he gulped the sour bitterness in his mouth.

“Yoongi? Odd time to be calling—is everything alright?” His professor greeted him kindly.

“Hi sir. Sorry about that I just have a quick question. That dinner you invited us out to…there was another person there who was not a student. Could I know their name?”

His professor chuckled, “Oh, sure. That was Park Jimin—he was a student of mine who now runs a private practice, pretty upscale clients apparently.”

Hanging up abruptly, Yoongi ran back out to the bar.

Yoongi didn’t like anything about it. But he had little time to ponder over it when suddenly you walked in, and he swore his heart stopped.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because it finally hit him. Had he told you everything he held inside? Had he made sure he savored every last second he had you? He couldn’t think. His mind went blank, red with rage—even moreso when Taehyung stood up in front of him and went to go see you.

He watched as he pulled you onto the dance floor—you hate dancing, Yoongi thought to himself. He watched as the man touched you, the lust in his eyes shamelessly evident.

He felt like throwing up. He prayed and prayed that you would stop. He wanted you to get away from him, he wanted you to be in his arms.

And his prayers were answered, as the ceremony was brought to a startling halt.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kim Seokjin”

Yoongi’s eyes darted towards the small ensemble of law enforcement that pushed through the crowd towards you, led by a man in a dark coat. Handcuffs clicked around your wrists and you were being dragged out. Yoongi ran to the entrance before they could take you—reaching out with assurance

“Y/n—listen to me” Your eyes were void of emotion. Frozen with complete and utter shock at the news. “Don’t say anything without a lawyer okay? I will meet you at the station with bail money”

You nodded slowly, but Yoongi wasn’t convinced you had heard him.

You were gone. Arrested. Yoongi spun around to scan the crowd—it was a critical time after all. Where was Namjoon? Yoongi looked on, searching for the Kim heir who was nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed instead on Taehyung who stood in the middle of the dance floor, a small tug at the edge of his lips.

Playing with those goddamn dice.

-

Jungkook’s mind went blank when he saw you. Breath quite literally stolen from his lungs. Never in a million years would he admit just how pretty you looked tonight. The soft fabric of your engagement dress fell against your body just right. Your face glowed, glitter on your eyes. Diamond choker on your neck—simple and yet dazzling.

Your lips were his favorite. Plump and glossy pout on your bored face. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to tear it all off and ruin you.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He didn’t intend on arresting you in front of everyone. But the vile jealousy that built in his chest when he saw the way your fiancée, Kim Taehyung, sweep you onto the dance floor—he couldn’t help it.

The burning sight of Taehyung’s hands on your waist, face a breath away from yours, lips so close to your neck. The way he looked at you—way you looked at him. You barely knew this man—how could you look at him like that?

He had to stop it. Fists clenching he decided to arrest you then and there. The way your face fell when you saw him was priceless. You seized up at his touch, the soft click of the cuffs around your wrists where your ringless fingers lay limp. Slow, shaky, tears budding in your eyes but never spilling.

Oh how he would love to see you cry.

The moment he had you outside, all hell broke loose. You were livid. Dragging your ankles into the ground like a little brat. Rolling his eyes, Jungkook decided it would be far easier to toss you over his shoulder rather than continue putting up with your antics.

“Put me down you fucking asshole, I didn’t do this!” You screamed, kicking your pointy heels into his back. “Where the fuck is Namjoon huh? Why aren’t you arresting him, if anyone had motive—”

Jungkook suppressed an urge to snap back at you. Setting you down harshly, he pinned you against the side of his car, forearm by your cheek.

He paused, looking deep into your eyes. The rise and fall of your chest calling him closer. You glared at him with such spite. Such disgust. The thought of planting his lips on yours crossed his mind. Put that all that pent up anger to good use.

“Fuck you Jeon Jungkook” You hissed, your hot breath against his cheek. “I’m gonna get you thrown off this fucking case you piece of shit”

“That’s enough” His fingers gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, “Do you really think any other officer in there is going to take on a case to arrest Kim Namjoon for murder? This is my chance to finally tear that stupid family to pieces and I’m not letting a spoilt little cunt like you get in my way”

Jungkook hadn’t realized how loud his voice got by the end. You looked petrified, nodding slowly. His heart squeezed as he could see a tear forming at the corner of your eye.

He let you go. Shit. Your best friend had died. You likely were just hearing about it. Clearly in denial or putting on a brave face for him. For the crowds. Turning away, he opened the door.

“Just get in”

Huffing, you did as he said, slamming the door closed. Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as he looked over at you again. A tear finally spilled from your eyes, causing Jungkook’s heart to jump. Dammit. Reaching nervously into his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you.

His fingers brushed against yours as you took it. Your skin was cold—instinctively he grabbed your hand. You flinched at his touch, pulling away but Jungkook grabbed it again, tightly, pulling it back towards him. His hold unwavering.

“I am sorry for your loss” Jungkook’s eyes softened with something bordering concern. Gulping he released your hand, diverting his gaze. A reluctant blush painting his cheeks.

Jungkook knew you weren’t his culprit. As much as he loathed you, he had no vested interest in your demise. You were collateral damage. Unfortunately for him, the Kim’s had police tucked deep in their silver lined pockets. He had to be careful. Someone was always watching.

Clearing his throat, he put the car in drive, pushing the temperature higher to help you warm up. Turning out of the parking lot, he figured he should try and get some information off record before everything you would say would literally get used against you.

“Where were you last night?”

You scoffed. “You’re not getting a fucking word out of me.”

God, he forgot what a pain in the ass you could be. Spoilt brat. “Y/n” Jungkook’s voice was stern. “I can make your life hell, or I can help you. And trust me, I’m not someone you want as an enemy”

You chuckled bitterly, “Yeah because otherwise you’d be fucking obsessed with me like you are with the Kim’s”

He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Answer the damn question, Y/n”

“Getting ready for my engagement—which you crashed, by the way”

Jungkook’s tongue rolled against his cheek. “You didn’t want to marry Kim Taehyung, did you?” He needed to know. Needed to be sure you didn’t actually care for that man.

You grinned. “Why, you jealous?”

He looked you dead in the eye. “Yes”

That shut you up. Jungkook bit back a smile as you processed his response. “Enough with the attitude. Who was making you do this—was it Jin?”

You groaned, tugging at your handcuffs in irritation. “No, it was Namjoon.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. That wasn’t true. He debated if he should tell you now or wait until you reached the precinct so you could see it with your own eyes. He had hard evidence that painted Namjoon even more so as the culprit.

Jin wanted you to marry Taehyung.

Namjoon didn’t.

⟶ One Day before the Murder ⟵

The scratch of a record. A soft echo of jazz filled the glass walls as Namjoon stood, staring out the window. The 52nd floor. Looking out at people scurrying in the dark, small as ants, truly meaningless. His employees thought he was given this office, unaware of the blood spilt for him to truly position himself as the inheritor of Kim Enterprises.

Namjoon was forged in the shadows of the charming, alluring Kim Seokjin. And Kim Seokjin was gold—magazines chased him, models threw themselves at him, colleges begged for him to attend. To the world, Jin was perfect. Which meant Namjoon had to ascend perfection.

So he did.

Jin would spend his nights partying while Namjoon would study hard. Seokjin would sleep around while Namjoon ran for miles. Seokjin would get lost in the limelight, drugs, alcohol, sex—Namjoon abstained. He was focused on one thing: he wanted his throne.

The 52nd floor was his right. The cage he had built for himself. Here he was untouchable.

Here he felt, absolutely broken. Alone. Moreso because he had spent the day preparing for your wedding. His heart ached inside his chest. He wanted to vomit. Each time he’d see your name on a wedding card or an article, he felt like he was getting brutally stabbed in the chest.

You probably didn’t know. Of course you didn’t—but Namjoon had grown truly fond of you lately. Jin had moved out at a young age, wanting to freely bring home sexual partners. You and Namjoon remained living at the Kim mansion for a few years now. The two of you had a banter—ever since the night he took advantage of you, he knew you no longer had feelings for him. He had seen the way you changed after that. While he was ridden with guilt, the hurt made you blossom into someone else entirely. You became confident, sexy, and never let a day go by that Namjoon didn’t regret treating you better.

He kept you at a distance because he needed to stay focused, but things were getting too real now. You were getting married.

You were leaving him.

And he only recently admitted to himself that he loved living with you. He loved the way you would bug him while he worked. Loved the way you would throw little tantrums when you couldn’t figure out what to wear, or after a shopping spree you would come home and try on everything for him, ignoring anything he would have to say. He would miss walking past your room to see you lying on your sheets, blanket on the floor, pillow tucked in your hold—sound asleep. He’d pick it up and cover you, admiring your face as he did.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Like a punch in the gut, Namjoon let out a sharp breath. Turning, he faced his college friend, Jung Hoseok.

Namjoon hated being vulnerable. So Hoseok was a great friend to have—because he was hardly ever in town, being a self-made supermodel. He was low risk. Disposable.

“No” Namjoon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hoseok chuckled, seating himself on Namjoon’s desk chair. He was wearing a bright blue jumpsuit—hair a shocking silver white.

“I can’t tell you how many bets I have that you’d fall for her one day. Damn, I’m gonna be rich”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “I didn’t fall for her. I don’t give a shit about her”

Hoseok scoffed, “Mhm, sure. What I don’t get is why this fucking wedding is happening. You’re the heir now can’t you call it off? Don’t marry the woman you love off to your brother, that’s just fucked up man”

There were many times he wanted to tell you the truth. But he had worked too hard to give up his dream for you. When his mother died, Jin had agreed to surrender his birth-right to the company on two conditions.

“In exchange for the company, one of the things I had to promise Jin was that this marriage would happen”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He rubbed his chin, “Interesting. What’s that about?”

Namjoon shrugged, turning back to the window. It was something he often wondered. If Jin cared about you so much—why would he force you to have an arranged marriage? To Taehyung, of all people. Taehyung who none of them had seen for over ten years. Taehyung whose whereabouts only Jin knew. And his mother, of course.

“I don’t know. But I agreed” And he knew you wouldn’t forgive him for that if you knew. He rolled his neck, denying the tears building in his eyes as he thought about you in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle next to him as he let you go. Forever.

He didn’t want your hand to leave his. He wanted to be on the other side. He wanted you to come towards him.

“What was the other condition?” Hoseok’s voice shattered his fantasy.

“He wanted to keep Nexus—Y/n’s mom’s company that my mother got in the will. I didn’t give a shit about it so.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Nexus, huh” He mumbled under his breath. Licking his lips, he pulled out his phone. “Kim Seokjin—just what are you up to you little bastard?”

Namjoon pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it quietly. Taking a quick puff, he exhaled the smoke.

"I can't let her do this" His voice was hoarse. "I can't do this to her. She deserves to choose"

Hoseok rolled his eyes, standing up and walking besides Namjoon. Pulling the cigarette from his fingers, he grinned widely.

"I thought you’re the smart one, Namjoon. Jin's the problem. Get rid of him"

It wasn't as if the idea never crossed his mind. Namjoon hated Jin. Everything about Jin make him want to vomit, and yet, this was a line he couldn't cross.

Could he?

-

“All in”

Jin cursed inwardly. Your long fingernails traced along the edge of your cards, eyes flickering between your hand and the man in front of you. Dim casino lights accentuating the glitter on your lids, the pop of your lush lips which were grinning ever so slightly. You always looked gorgeous to him but tonight you were something else entirely.

His breath was heavy, palms sweating as he clenched his fists in desperation to keep it together. To keep his hands off. You blinked his way, innocently as if you were unaware of the teasingly low cut of your dress. The spill of your chest as you pushed your chips towards him.

As if that wasn’t enough. You laid your cards down right in front of him. Sliding them across the table. Pair of kings.

Jin didn’t even care. You would always win. And he loved that about you. It was as though you knew his thoughts before he even had them, always one step ahead, reading between the lines. You were a force to be reckoned with ever since Jin first took you to a backroom poker game years ago. With pride he’d observe your nonchalance—sending bratty chaebols running to their mother’s in tears after you swindled them out of their trust funds.

Seeing you at the table was something else. When you were in your element, your eyes would light up with a fierce blaze. With a slight of hand, you turned thousands into millions overnight. But you were never in it for the money.

You were in it for the kill. 

“Fuck this, come here” Tossing his own cards aside, he beckoned for you to come to him. He needed to touch you. He couldn’t hold back.

Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into his lap. Your scent was intoxicating. Familiar, and yet addictive. He placed his lips softly against your neck. You giggled, pulling away but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“When did you get so pretty?” His finger trailed up your neck, tilting your chin up. Things had been tense between the two of you. The soft touches, the lingering stares—he was flirting with you. He knew he was, but he wanted to. So badly he wanted to tease you, rile you up and watch you unfold. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to touch you in the shower that morning—something which hadn’t left his mind since.

“I’ve always been pretty” Your response was cocky, as expected. “You’re usually too drunk to notice”

“That” He nipped at your jaw between each word, making you giggle in the process “Is not true”

He allowed his fingers to aimlessly brush against your thighs. He looked at you enticingly, nothing but mischief on his mind. He pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers, wanting to tear the damn thing off. Your hand covered his, halting him in his tracks.

“Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop” He sighed into your skin, tongue licking under your jaw. Your sweet skin was addicting to taste, and it didn’t help that he could feel you trembling in his hold. You were confused, he knew you were. But he could see that you wanted him. He could feel it.

He hugged you closer—chest to chest, feeling the drum of your heart on his. He wanted to fuck you so bad it hurt. He was so sure he had never been attracted to you this way. Of course he loved you, there was never any question about it. But you had been like a sister to him your whole life. Lately he found himself wanting you in a way he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Because you were getting engaged to his younger brother. And he had known that all along.

“Jin,” Your voice was barely a whisper, “Why?” It was a valid question. One he was not ready to answer. His advances had hardly been subtle.

“You said I wasn’t giving you enough attention. So here we are. Just me…” His finger trailed up your thigh, “you” From the table, he pulled out a single card, twisted between two fingers which he slid down the side of your face before pulling it away so sharply, a drop of blood trickled from your cheek.

“And a deck of cards” He leaned in, lips brushing against the tiny cut in a soft peck. 

“Stop fucking around Jin” Standing up from his lap, you looked him dead in the eye. “I’m getting married to Taehyung. Your brother, who you love.”

Jin tilted his head in irritation. He absolutely hated being told no, it wasn’t something he typically had to deal with. Frustration boiled in his veins, the confusion so overwhelming it made his head spin.

The reality that he was falling for you. Hard.

He gulped, staring at you. Eyes softening as silence filled the air. He felt choked, throat gripping in anticipation of what he should say next—if he would actually say what he knew you both were feeling out loud.

There was a knock on the door. Instinctively, Jin grabbed your wrist, holding it firmly.

“Mr. Kim, you have a phone call”

The door opened, allowing one of Jin’s guards to walk in and hand him his cell. You motioned to excuse yourself, mouthing the word 'bathroom'.

Jin nodded, pressing the cell to his ear. 

“Mr. Kim,”

The distorted voice through the phone gave him chills. His heart pounded through his head, veins pulsing with anger.

“Did you forget about me?”

He glanced at his guard—whose eyes were questioning him with worry. He tensed his shoulders before nodding at his guards softly, indicating for them to act accordingly.

“You’re making this too easy Kim. Shouldn’t leave your most prized possession unattended. I could just snap her pretty neck”

Jin could only hear his own racing pulse. Anxiety gripping his chest with desperation—you couldn’t be in danger. He had no idea the chaos that would ensue if there was even a scratch on your body under his watch.

“Then again, I’d much rather snap yours”

Jin lunged forward, a mere millisecond before a bullet shot through, piercing his guard in the gut. The man fell over, not before two more guards arrived in a panic. Blood began to pool on the dark red carpet. It was almost despicable how the color matched.

Jin felt dizzy, his body acting purely on instinct where his mind simply couldn’t catch up. He could feel a heaviness in his throat, but now was not the time. Where were you—you went to the bathroom—he had to get you out of here— and so he ran. Faster than he ever had. Mind empty except for the need to keep you safe.

Slipping quickly through the hall, Jin rushed over to the bathroom, locked from the inside. He pounded against the door, a sweat breaking across his forehead. What if—no. Don’t think like that.

He shuddered, imagining the worst. Throwing himself at the door, he screamed out in frustration.

“Y/n!” He never used your name. Not unless it was serious. “It’s me, we need to go, now” He paused, catching his breath as he heard the lock click from the inside. The door swung open and there you were, a disoriented look on your face.  

“What’s going on—” Without so much as a second thought, Jin grabbed your wrist, pulling you through a back exit—ignoring the blaring fire alarms that went off as he kicked the door open. His guards pulled a car around.

Settling in the back seat with you glued to his side, he barked at his guards “Safehouse, now”

He was trembling. Not even realizing how tightly he was still holding your hand. So lost that he didn’t hear you calling his name frantically—“Jin what the fuck is going on?”

A shaky exhale left his lips at your words. Almost out of sheer desperation he turned, pulling you into his lap where he cupped your face. You were so close. Close enough that he could almost taste the sweat on your neck. You held him, allowing his hands to roam your body in assurance that you were alive. That you were okay.

He tried not to entertain the thought. To appreciate that you had survived, but his mind couldn’t help but wander as he gazed into your sweet eyes—what the fuck would he have done if something had happened to you?

His eyes shifted from your eyes to your lips. He gulped. He needed you. Tempted to slam his lips onto yours, but instead just breathing you in, letting his eyelashes brush against your face. Holding you in a tight embrace. Tears rolling down his face.

It was as though in that moment, everything became so clear. For a moment he swore that nothing made more sense than you in his arms. You consumed him. You were a fever, he woke up burning, went asleep in sweats—he craved you, like a man on the brink of insanity. If this was love, he wanted to drown in it. He couldn’t breathe—not if you weren’t besides him. You were beautiful, flawed, and simply everything he ever wanted.

“I can’t—”

He choked on a sob, looking at you again. There was more said in those two simple words. Everything he needed to communicate, and he knew you would understand “Princess, I can’t”

The tears fell harder. His walls came crashing down, all he had held back seemed to overflow. The fear of losing you triggering so many pent up emotions that he couldn’t take it. His body trembled.

“Fuck” He cried out in frustration, almost tasting your lips against his own. Fingers tightly intertwined in your hair. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t hold back.

Except he had to.

“Jin,” Your tone shifted. He understood it—it was pleading. Your eyes were wide with confusion, with want. Your lips—your sweet lips, he could only image how amazing they would feel. The world would fade away in an instant and he would be lost in your touch. He would kiss you everywhere. All night long. He would never let go.

His breath was shaky, cutting his desire to cry harder. Letting his eyes fall shut, he pushed you off of him, turning his back towards you. He could hear you scoff and swore his heart shattered. He didn’t want to hurt you. He was equally perplexed at how quickly his love for you and surfaced within the past few days. It had been there all along, but now that you were forbidden, it came pouring out of his every move.

He shook his head. There was no point in starting something that couldn’t be finished. If he were honest with you, you would end up getting hurt in the worst way possible. If you knew all the lies he had told you, all the secrets he kept. All the ways in which he used you as a puppet for his own gain. Jin wasn’t proud of who he was. And surely, you deserved better.

“I’m sorry” The words hung heavy in the thick, disappointing silence. The tension throbbing in his veins as the drive continued on in the dark night.

The second the car pulled into the safehouse, you pushed yourself off of him—jumping out of the car. Jin followed as you began to run—grabbing your wrist before you could.

“Let go of me” You hissed, tugging at his grip.

“No” With a jerk of his arm he pulled you towards him.

Cricked chirped in the dead of the night—there was no living soul for miles. The stars shone brightly through the chilly wind and there you were.

Kissing him.

-

⟶ Years before the murder ⟵

“Tell me about the dice”

Back & forth. The steady creaking of the bed as the patient sat, curled up into himself. Across the room Jimin sat, waiting, observing. The patient was staring into the palm of his hand. Two red die, rolling around in his palm.

He had been at it for a while, not uttering a single word. But Jimin was trained for this. He was nothing if not patient. He could dig at his patient for hours until he would get them to bend to his will. Persistence, determination, delayed gratification, these things came to him easily.

Jimin cleared his throat, “Nurses are telling me you throw a fit when they try to take those away from you. It must bring you a lot of comfort”

The patient continued to ignore him.

“I understand you are very fond of playing cards” Jimin flipped through his files. “Want to tell me about that? Do you like gambling?”

The patient stilled his wrist, closing his long fingers over the dice. “She gave them to me”

Jimin raised his eyebrows. Finally. He was breaking through to him. He was so close to getting what he needed he was practically salivating. So close to getting all the information he needed.

He set his notebook aside, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at his patient with sincerity. He was careful with the way he spoke, never wanting his patients to feel patronized, judged or scrutinized. He needed his patients to trust him. To confide in him without holding anything back.

“Why don’t you tell me about her, Taehyung?”

⟵|| previous || next ||⟶

series navi | join taglist | masterlist | scream in my asks

thanks for reading you cutie <3 have a great day!

[invisiblequeen]

For @spacecadet-sims 's Maru Application:

Name: Dashiel Hipes

Age: 41

Gender & Sexuality: Cishet Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Occupation: Professor

Traits: Bot Fanatic, Photographer's Eye, Sweet Talker

Aspiration: UFO Investigator

Likes: Black, Blue, Brown, Soul Music, Retro Music, Jazz Music, Writing, Rocket Science, Robotics, Preppy Fashion, Polished Fashion

Dislikes: Purple, Pink, Metal Music, Classical Music, Singing, Photography, Outdoorsy Fashion, Rocker Fashion

Misc. Facts: Has a custom-made trusted servo, Jax, that assists him with all his paperwork. Likes his tea with no sugar and all the milk. Enjoys a nice game of chess by the fireplace on a cold day. Really, really, REALLY dislikes the sound of thunder. Is addicted to mystery novels, but is currently outlining an idea for a sci-fi series.

Bio: Dashiel has made a good life for himself. He's highly respected in the extraterrestrial science field, fairly popular for his work with fake-sentient servos, and finally earned his greatest achievement in academia: tenure. Which means he can rest easy in his newly comfortable life. That life, however, is rather lonely. Not that he's alone! He adores his fellow work friends, calls his parents every weekend, and tutors at least one struggling student a month. It's the dating scene where he finds himself lacking. "You're such a nice man, Dash, any woman would be lucky to have you--we just don't have that spark!" He's heard an iteration of that line more times than he can count. And he was just about to resign himself to his lonely love life, when fate put him in a room with a certain Sim...

[faustus-pheles]

I already had these ideas for about a year and a half but I was finally able to draw it/write them down. Also, I tried my best to draw in the project sekai art style. The face was the best I could do (T-T)…I’ll probably do the school uniform later.

If you want to know general ideas or maybe more info, you can read below, though, it’s kind of long(^^;) This unit will definitely be set before the 3rd anniversary.

This unit is known as Rozen Notturno, a classical and gothic band that focuses on one pair of musicians and one pair of singers/dancers. Together they create highly polished music. Pairs are changed depending on the song and while there are main singers, that doesn’t mean the musicians don’t sing. Because they’re more invested into music playing, they become back-up singers. Their dances are a mix of ballroom dancing and ballet. Each band member has an instrument(s) associated with them. Miyuki (piano, harpsichord, organ, etc.), Suzu (Violin), Aiko (Electric guitar, accordion), and Rei (Cello). Miyuki/Suzu tend to be in one pair and Aiko/Rei tend to be the other. Their lyrics are very symbolically/metaphorically driven and story based( they tend to be horror or fairy tale inspired). When they do add lyrics based on themselves, it’s usually hidden between the characters they created. Miyuki is the composer, Rei is the lyricist, Suzu is the storyteller, and Aiko is the stylist.

In terms of how their music sounds like, it’ll be something akin to Ali Project, Valkyrie (enstars), and Hollow Mellow. On the more extreme side, Rozen Notturno can lean more into gothic visual kei bands or Youseki Teikoku. Even jazz is a possibility.

Some of the vocaloid songs I was thinking that they could potentially cover could be limited, but that could also be because I haven’t search enough. Either way some of the songs include:

Kikuo (ex. Histrionic, Rolling Rolling Tumbling Along, Dance of the Corspes, KikuoHana in general

Kanon69 (Darkestory, Royal Scandal series)

Nem (ex. Angelfish, Virgin Suicides, Scissorhands)

Machigerita (ex. Coffin of Sweet Death, Dream Meltic Halloween, Moonlight and Black)

Hitoshizuku & Yana (ex. The Corpse Princess and the King of Vengeance, Prisoner of Love and Desire, 13th Apocalypse, Alluring Secret ~Black Vow~)

Some general songs (ex. Honeymoon Un Deux Trois, Cantarella, Cendrillion/Adolescent)

Their sekai would be the Ballroom Sekai. A place full of extravagant paintings/decor and musical instruments. It’s very Rococo inspired. It has enough space for Rozen Notturno to practice and for “guests” to peek in. The guests are porcelain dolls that are about 2.5 ft. The sekai is created by the dream of both Miyuki and Suzu, the dream to once again play together in front of a live audience (in an orchestra).

Miku and the rest of the vocaloids would be ball-joint dolls. Specifically with Miku, she’s an always smiling and always kind (albeit slight eccentric) doll that’s constantly en pointe. She has no instrument associated with her as she’s only a singer/3rd dancer. The rest of of the vocaloids change instruments based on the song.

The main story will most likely be about Miyuki meeting Suzu again after many years and failing multiple times to get her to play with him. He’ll meet Aiko and Aiko wanting to help him, will probably recruit Rei, who has no friends. The general idea of creating a “band” will actually be Aiko’s idea as in having more people to perform together should be much easier than having only one. With they finally recruit Suzu (with the help of the vocaloids as well), they decide to try to perform on a small stage. Though until the very end, Suzu is unable to, as her fears are triggered. What they decided to do thanks to Miyuki’s plan is to use Suzu’s persona, Engel, to perform instead, and to wait until Suzu is able to perform as herself, as everyone wants to continue playing together as a “band” . The main story arch will be mostly focused on helping Suzu gain the courage to play as herself with everyone. Smaller arcs will include on how they want to run their band/how they should perform, Rei’s inability to open up even for the most simplest of things (trust issues/vulnerability issues), and Aiko’s fear of being abandoned by her friends (abandonment issues). Miyuki’s the only one who’s actually ok(^^;). Though, arcs will most likely focus in his creative endeavors (same as Rei).

Some character interactions:

Miyuki will have interactions with Toya (mostly), Akito, Kanade, Ichika, and Tsukasa.

Suzu will have interactions with Mafuyu and Mizuki (She’ll have the least because of her social anxiety)

Aiko will have interactions with basically everyone but mostly Mizuki, An, and Tsukasa.

Rei will have interactions with only the Kamiyama students and he won’t have any favorites.

That’s all I have but I might add more later when I get more ideas.

[nayialovecat]

Can I get any more hints for the challenge? Perhaps a list of fandoms you like, or a reworded clue?

Ok, it's even a good idea to write down what things I like. Especially since lately I have been often asked to draw something or to make a cross with something that I only know it exists.

I divided the list into categories to avoid any doubts (e.g. BATIM is only in the games category, 'cause I haven't read the books and I don't plan to read them yet, and W.I.T.C.H. in comics, 'cause I hate the animated series).

Books: (here list is really long so I write only these very popular)

Discworld and others from sir Pretchett

The Lord of the Ring, Hobbit

Harry Potter

Agatha Christie's books

Jane Austen's books

Maria Rodziewiczówna's books

many old Polish authors (like Sienkiewicz)

Movies:

almost all from Disney

almost all from Pixar

Ghost Busters

almost all from DreamWorks

Beetlejuice

old Star Wars

LotR, Hobbit but not really

strange French animations

old Polish movies (like Odwrócona Góra)

Scooby Doo but not all (hate live actions especially)

Smurfs

Not all - Pokemon

Deadpool

Jurassic Park

good ol' classical movies like Terminator, Mission Impossible or Fifth Element

Animated serials:

Gravity Falls

Scooby Doo (ALL of them)

Star Butterfly

The Owl House

old Polish series (i.e. Dixie or Koziołek Matołek)

MLP (almost all generations)

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Spider-man (almost all)

Batman (not all, but Brave and Bold is my fav one)

Kipo

Rick and Morty (but last seasons were meh)

Phineas and Ferb (whole universum)

Smurfs

Duck Tales

Dead End: Paranormal Park

Steven Universe

Teen Titans (yes, Go! also)

Pokemon

Loony Tunes

Merry Melodies

Craig from the Creek

Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy

other CN stuff I guess?

Comics:

Donald Duck (and others)

W.I.T.C.H.

Deadpool

Hellsing

The Bridge's Stories

many online series like Erma, Vampire's Husband etc.

Pokemon Special

Games:

Chrono Trigger (world best game - you cannot change my mind)

BATIM

The Sims

Don't Starve Together (+ Don't Starve)

The Night of the Rabbit

Pokemon (all of them I guess)

Fallout Shelter

Team Fortress 2

Planet Zoo

Timberborn

Settlers

Sid Meier's Civ

Heroes of Might & Magic (but not IV)

Terraforming Mars

Talisman

Magic the Gathering (TCG)

Death and Taxes

many point&click

Tzar

Aztec Wars

Jazz Jackrabbit 2

Worms

Inscryption

Graveyard Keeper

It's not a complete list, just the things I remember at this moment :)

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Some Language, Smoking, Death, Drinking

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: City of the Dead

The streets are packed shoulder to shoulder as Lucie steps out of the cab and onto Decatur.

With the worst of hurricane season behind and the oppressive summer heat fading, the French Quarter is in full swing to prepare for Halloween. Beneath the wizened, watchful eyes of St. Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square is a veritable menagerie of excitement. Tourists pose for photos in front of the manicured gardens while artists, street performers, and fortune tellers seek to alleviate their heavy wallets by a buck or two. The honeyed notes of a corner brass band reverberate off the walls of the red, pink, and purple Spanish-style buildings, rising above the bustle to join the music coming off Royal and Bourbon, mixing into a cacophony of jazz that floats overhead like a cloud. 

Lucie hates the French Quarter. It hits her in full force as she squeezes between feverish bodies and dilapidated storefronts, the air thick with the miasma of sweat, seafood, and alcohol. The colors are too bright and the smiles too broad, both painted and polished for the out-of-town crowds. 

But Lucie knows the truth. The sugared confections, clinking plastic beads, and the curated romance of wrought-iron balconies and Spanish oaks, are a mask. Like a corpse sewn and rouged for the wake, they hide the telltale signs of decay. 

In a land below the water table, the earth spits out its dead in a final act of rejection. Above-ground burials are hot real estate, dotting the landscape like ant hills. Yet even in death, all is not equal. Towering over regular “ovens,” the grand mausoleums of Lafayette and St. Louis are monuments to the elite. 

New Orleans is more mausoleum than city. 

She weaves through a sea of people crossing the square. Her feet travel the well-worn flagstones of streets where victims of Yellow Fever were once left to molder in the heat until they could be dumped into the Mississippi. There had been too many to bury. 

It’s only one of many gruesome moments in the city’s long history. Stories of not only apparitions, but the atrocities that humans commit against each other were enough to make even the most skeptical of locals harbor a healthy fear of that which lurks in the dark. 

Even they don’t know what Lucie does, don’t know what monsters make their beds on the banks of the delta. 

A chill radiates through Lucie like long, bony fingers running down her spine. The cathedral’s shadow amplifies the ice in her veins as she slips into one of its quiet side alleys. 

The air is lighter here. She fills her lungs and finds her bearings against the faded white-washed facade. Only when she retrieves the box of cigarettes from her purse does she notice her trembling hands. 

It’s not surprising. Not when she passed through two state lines, including the entire width of Texas, in the last eighteen hours. That’s saying nothing of the half day spent on some roadside trying to find a tow company to haul her and her sedan out of the bayou. The ride here alone had cost her close to a week’s old wages. 

And Violette is dead. 

The sentence plays on an endless loop in her head. Like if she only tells it to herself enough times, it’ll make it seem real. But all she can muster is a dull acceptance and sharp edges of a distant pain. 

She’ll have to deal with it eventually, but for now, presses a cigarette to her lips and lights it. Her eyes close against the familiar harshness as the smoke slides down her throat.

“That’s a terrible habit, you know.” A voice says and Lucie jumps out of her skin. Smoke catches in her throat. She coughs and scowls at the intruder with stinging eyes. 

The first thing she notices is the tattoo on his chest. It’s eye-level, peeking out from beneath the collar of a light-colored Henley. The shirt is tucked into a pair of jeans so meticulously distressed they must have cost a fortune. She doesn’t need to look at his face to know this isn’t the average LSU frat boy. But she does anyway. 

What she finds is blue eyes beneath sandy locks of curly hair and a smug smile. She realizes he’s smirking. At her. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she says, flicking the end of the cigarette. She watches the ash flutter to the ground before taking another drag, despite her burning chest. Irritation flickering, she adds, “So is sticking your nose in other people’s business.”

If she thought it would humble the strange man, she was wrong. His smile broadens in a way that can only be described as wolfish. 

“Then I suppose we’re both in need of a little self-improvement.” His accent is unmistakably English. That in and of itself is surprising. Usually, foreigners opt for more well-known travel hubs, the Gulf Coast or Floridian beaches. But there’s something in his tone, too. Like he’s laughing at a joke she’s not in on. 

She hums in a non-committal response, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave her alone. She’s never been particularly lucky. 

“Shouldn’t you be out with your friends, enjoying all that the French Quarter has to offer?”

She exhales, watching the smoke swirl and dance in the space between them. “Needed some air,” she shrugs. 

If he’s fishing for personal details, he has the wrong girl. And she certainly isn’t going to let on that she’s here alone. Despite her more melancholy tendencies, she doesn’t have any desire to end up at the bottom of the Mississippi. 

“Well, filling your lungs with poison seems a strange way to get it,” the man drawls. The amused sparkle in his eyes sets her teeth on edge and tests the limits of her already strained nerves. 

“Are you bad at picking up hints or just a dick?”

The man laughs.

“Easy, love,” he says, hands up. “Your point is clear enough. I’m just passing through. It’s a free city, after all.”

Lucie feels the tiniest flicker of regret. Exhaustion and stress and years away had eroded her manners. 

“I’m sorry,” she says reluctantly. “It’s been a long day and crowds make me edgy. Do you need directions?”

His lips flicker in the faintest of smiles. “Oh, I think I can find my way.”

And with that, he steps out of the alley and into the bright daylight, disappearing into the crowd beyond. 

Well, that was weird.

_____

She’s hit with a blast of cool air as Lucie steps off Chartres Street and into Rousseau’s. She blinks a few times, eyes adjusting from the abrupt transition from bright autumn sunlight to the dim ambiance of the bar. 

A handful of patrons drink at tables scattered across the room. Nobody raises their voice above a whisper. The soft sounds of conversation only seem to add to the sleepy atmosphere. It’s a far cry from the world outside its doors. 

The bell jingles as the door shuts behind Lucie and a blonde head pops up from behind the polished bar top. 

“Hi!” the breathless bartender says. “Take a seat wherever and I’ll be around to take your order in a sec.”

Lucie nods, but the woman has already returned to rummaging around behind the bar. 

Framed art and candles cover the walls. It’s an odd mismatch, but it works somehow, giving the place a quaint, hole-in-the-wall sort of charm, Lucie thinks as she slides into a seat at the bar. 

“Alright,” the bartender says after a few minutes pass. “What can I get for you?”

‘Camille ’- according to her nametag- peers at her from the other side. Dark blonde strands escape the confines of her loose ponytail, framing her angular cheekbones. She seems a little frazzled, but her lovely hazel eyes shine with curiosity, and her smile is friendly. And even though her nose wrinkles in disgust when Lucie orders the cheapest domestic on tap, she doesn’t say anything. 

She turns away to pour her beer, and it’s then that Lucie realizes that she’s not alone at the bar. 

She watches the man at the other end, with detached observation. She traces the sharp lines of his profile, from the meticulous coif of his dark hair to the strong jut of his jaw. The perfect tailoring of his suit accentuates the broad span of his shoulders and the curves of his biceps in a way that makes him seem more fit for the pages of an Armani catalog than an empty French Quarter haunt. 

What are they putting in the water here?

When his eyes, dark and arresting, lock on hers, she realizes that she’s been caught staring. His lips quirk at the edges and she turns her head to inspect the patterns in the wood grain, cheeks hot. 

It’s not until she has a beer in hand and some of the initial embarrassment has faded that she dares another glance. To her relief, he’s looking down into the amber contents of his glass. If she had to put a name to his expression, she’d call it pensive. 

“So, how long are you in town for?” Camille asks.

“Hmmm?” Lucie tears her gaze from the man in the suit to look at her. “Oh, just a week.”

Camille’s lips quirk as she rubs at the wood with a washcloth. “Is it your first time in the city? I’ve got a laundry list of recommendations if you need them.”

“Thanks, but they’d be wasted on me.” When the bartender gives her a curious look, she adds, “I grew up not too far from here.”

“I thought I smelled a local,” Camille says wryly. “Irish Channel.”

“Garden District,” Lucie replies with a soft smile. Her eyes wander about the room as she searches for a friendly topic. “Do you still have family nearby?”

It’s the wrong thing to say because the bartender’s smile slips and her eyes go blank. Then she plasters it back on, though more lackluster than before. “Just an uncle, but we don’t really talk.” 

Lucie gives a sympathetic hum. “Families are tough.”

The bartender snorts. “You can say that again. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Lucie.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucie. I’m Cami.”

“Likewise,” Lucie says, sipping at her beer. “You can’t be that much younger than me, but I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Cami says, tensing to a stack of empty glasses. “Catholic school until I left for college. I’ve only been back for a couple of months. I didn’t plan on being here this long.” 

Lucie swallows the foamy liquid, only wincing a little as it goes down. “This place has a way of dragging us back, kicking and screaming.”

Cami huffs in agreement, leaning against the bar top. “Good to know it’s a universal experience. What brought you back? -No wait, let me guess, a wedding?”

“Funeral, actually.”

She expects the stilted silence that follows, but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she asks gently. “Can I ask who it was?”

“My great-aunt.”

“I take it you were close?” She pauses at the stunned look on Lucie’s face. “Actually, you know what? It's none of my business. I’m going to shut up now.” Cami’s cheeks flush and she returns to wiping at the counter with renewed vigor. “Grad degree in psych. I need to learn to shut it off.”

“Impressive,” Lucie laughs. “Maybe you should lean into it. I bet a drink-slinging therapist could make some pretty amazing tips.”

“You know, I think you might be onto something there.” Cami smiles at her, cheeks still pink, but seemingly relieved she’d been let off the hook. “Maybe we can be business partners.”

She reaches under the counter to the distinct sound of clinking glass.

Then a bottle of bourbon lands on the bar, followed by two shot glasses. Cami pours both and slides one to Lucie. “Here, on the house.”

Lucie gives her a questioning look.

Cami shrugs. “Let’s say I know what it’s like to come back to say goodbye.”

The expression she gives her is so sincere that Lucie finds herself at a loss for words. 

She lifts the glass, locking eyes with the beautiful bartender. “To goodbyes.”

“To goodbyes,” Cami echoes, clinking their glasses together before knocking the whiskey back. 

Lucie does the same. The amber liquid burns her nostrils and sears down her throat, but settles like a warm blanket in her belly. It almost feels like home. 

When she steals a glance to her side, the man in the suit is gone. 

____

A light breeze tugs playfully at her hair, but her body is liquor-warm as she steps out of Rousseau’s. A reluctant smile forms on her lips. It’s late. She had stayed at the bar far longer than she’d meant to. But Cami was easy to talk to, and it had been a long time since she’d been in the company of women her own age. They’d swapped stories and numbers, sharing more than a few drinks. 

A couple of squandered hours and a long walk on a nice night seemed a small price to pay to find a kindred spirit here of all places. 

Nearly a mile of clubs and bars stand between her and her hotel. She knows the streets like the back of her hand. The walk should take her twenty minutes except she opts to detour down to St. Peter. It’ll add another ten minutes to the trip, but at least it’ll keep her a safe distance from the east side of Dauphine. 

The last thing she wants is a run-in at the Jardin Gris. So she commits to enjoying the extra long walk that allows her to bask in the peaceful balmy night and ignores her aching feet.

The streets are mostly empty, though a few individuals are out enjoying the evening. She sidesteps them as she passes, deftly avoiding uneven slabs in the sidewalk. 

The trees rustle as another gust picks up, carrying the rich scent of gumbo and soft brass.

When she was a girl, she used to wile away autumn evenings like this at Violette’s. She and the other girls would park themselves on the front stoop with glasses of lemonade and listen to the music. Inside, the older women chatted in the kitchen, peeling vegetables and taking turns stirring the pot. 

Now and then, one of them would step out of the hot kitchen to catch the cool air. Bastiana would chide them for their laziness and, more often than not, Violette would shoo them away to do some chore or another. But she always liked it when Agnes came to join them. She was quick with a smile or a gentle pat, and she always had the best stories.

Her chest constricts. It’s a past that’s no longer hers. No one lives in the old house in the Garden District and Agnes would be more likely to drive a knife through her heart than tell her story if they were to cross paths now.

She shakes off the pain like a chill. It’ll still be there in the morning, but for now, the night is too lovely to let old ghosts ruin it. The sun has long since dipped beyond buildings and the French Quarter comes to life. Neon signs and gas lamps glitter like stars from every corner, casting Chartres in an ethereal glow. 

She watches a group of girls stumble out of a bar, leaning on each other for support as they amble along in their heels like drunken gazelle. Their laughter jingles like bells as they pass her in a gaggle of hooked elbows and hairspray. 

Cool air wafts off the river, bathing the neighborhood in a crisp shroud. The street lamps glow and fairy lights twinkle from balconies overhead.

Bewitched, she follows rows of picturesque balconies block by block. Laughter and music trail behind her. 

The Ursuline Convent looms a few blocks ahead, but even it can’t dampen her spirits. For a moment, she wonders if she ever truly thought she could hate this place.

Then, she turns the corner and finds Jane-Anne Deveraux dead on the pavement.

[rullakebu]

Foxey Lady (F/M, tickling, fur, JoJo's)

I finally finished this story based on JoJo's Bizarre Adventure.

I want to thank Goddess Youko for letting me use her for this story. This story is dedicated as a tribute to her.

Some of you might not know what a "Stand" is. They are manifestations of their users' fighting spirits. They can interact with people, but people cannot interact with them. Only other Stand users can see Stands. They are invisible to regular people.

The protagonist is Jean Pierre Polnareff and his Stand Silver Chariot.

This is Youko's Stand. She is called Foxey Lady, as in the Jimi Hendrix song. I am aware the name is already in use in Steel Ball Run, the seventh part of the series. However this name was too perfect to pass up, not to mention this takes place in the original universe. You'll get to learn what she's capable of in the story ;).

Jean Pierre Polnareff, the silver-haired Frenchman, breathed in the warm, tropical air of Singapore. Fresh off his victory against the sinister Devo the Cursed and his treacherous Ebony Devil, the fierce wielder of Silver Chariot felt a rare moment of peace. His tense muscles finally relaxed as the vibrant city buzzed with life around him. The dazzling skyline of Singapore beckoned him to indulge in its nightlife—a well-deserved break after the intensity of battle.

After informing Mr. Joestar of his plans, Polnareff was pleasantly surprised when Noriaki Kakyoin, ever the enigmatic companion, expressed interest in joining him. The two shared a knowing smile. Beneath the calm surface of their friendship lay the shared weight of the journey they'd undertaken not so long ago, but tonight, they intended to let that burden slip away—at least for a little while.

As they made their way through the neon-lit streets, Polnareff’s mind wandered, the sounds and smells of the city creating a welcome distraction from the battles yet to come. “Here, Kakyoin! Look at all these food stalls!” Polnareff beckoned, feeling his hunger grow by the second.

Kakyoin, calm and composed as always, crossed over from the other side of the street with a slight smile. “Singapore is renowned for its food culture, Polnareff,” he explained, a glint of appreciation in his voice. “To Singaporeans, food isn’t just sustenance—it's part of their heritage. A symbol of unity, diversity, and passion.”

Polnareff grinned widely, clearly less focused on the cultural insight and more on the endless variety of dishes before him. “Heritage or not, I’m ready to try everything!” He approached a nearby stall, seeing the food being cooked right in front of his very, famished, eyes. Wiggling his fingers, he reached for an unguarded meat skewer.

Kakyoin, a bit irritated, quickly slapped Polnareff’s hand before he could touch the savory treat. “Excuse him, mister. We’ll take two of those!” He informed the cook, lifting his index and ring finger up, signifying the order.

Polnareff rubbed the back of his hand, pouting slightly. “You didn’t have to hit me, you know. I’m just hungry!”

Kakyoin sighed, shaking his head but unable to suppress a small smirk. “It seems you’re always hungry, Polnareff. But some of us like to show a bit of restraint before digging in.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Polnareff dismissed with a chuckle, brushing off Kakyoin's scolding. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed one of the skewers and took an exaggeratedly large bite, savoring the smoky, grilled flavor with a satisfied hum.

After finishing their meal, Polnareff stretched contentedly. “That was great! But now, I need a drink to wash it all down. How about we find somewhere a bit fancier, Kakyoin?”

Kakyoin smirked. “A change of pace? Fine by me.”

They made their way to a sleek, upscale bar nestled between towering skyscrapers, its polished glass exterior glowing with a soft, amber hue. Inside, the ambiance was refined, the air filled with smooth jazz, and the soft clink of crystal glasses. Polnareff’s eyes sparkled as he took in the luxurious décor—velvet booths, low-lit chandeliers, and bartenders expertly crafting cocktails behind a marble bar.

“Where’s the guy checking IDs?” Kakyoin asked, scratching his head as they entered.

Polnareff waved him off with a grin. “I don’t know. And I don’t care,” he replied, already eyeing the bar. “Don’t worry about pointless things, Kakyoin. This is a night to relax, not to play by the rules.”

Kakyoin shook his head but smiled at Polnareff’s carefree attitude. “Relaxing seems to be your specialty,” he muttered as they made their way inside.

Polnareff patted his friend in the back. “See? You’re getting the hang of it already.”

The duo approached the bar, and Polnareff ordered a whiskey on the rocks while Kakyoin opted for something a bit more refined—a cocktail with an exotic name neither of them could pronounce. The drinks arrived with a flourish, and Polnareff raised his glass in a toast.

“To battles won, and drinks well-earned,” he declared, clinking glasses with Kakyoin.

After a few sips, Kakyoin set his glass down and stepped back. “I think this is where we part ways for the night. I’ve got some things to take care of,” he said with a casual wave, but there was something in his tone that suggested he had more on his mind.

Polnareff raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Kakyoin.”

Kakyoin smirked. “That’s your job, Polnareff.”

With that, Kakyoin turned and slipped out of the bar, leaving Polnareff to enjoy the evening on his own. As Polnareff nursed his drink, his eyes wandered around the bar, taking in the elegant patrons and the soft glow of the chandeliers.

As Polnareff took another sip, the seat next to him shifted, and he turned to find a striking woman slipping into the booth beside him. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, and she wore an elegant black dress. Finishing her ensemble was an enormous silver fox fur coat, cascading down her form and shimmering under the bar’s lowlights. Her presence was magnetic, commanding the room without effort.

“Enjoying your night?” she asked, her voice smooth and sultry. She was Japanese by the sound of it.

Polnareff, ever the charmer, flashed her a wide grin. “Even more now. Jean Pierre Polnareff, at your service.”

“Youko,” she introduced herself as her red lips curved into a smile as she glanced at him sideways. “Such flair, you’ve got,” she murmured, her fingers gently tracing the rim of her glass. “And what brings you to a place like this?”

Polnareff leaned back, clearly pleased with the attention. “Just enjoying a break from my travels. A bit of adventure, a bit of relaxation,” he said, trying to keep his composure.

She chuckled softly, her gaze steady. “Adventure, you say? It seems you have a knack for finding it, wherever you go.”

Polnareff’s interest piqued. “Oh? And what makes you say that?”

She adjusted her fur coat, its hairs wiggling in the air slightly as she set it back properly. Youko’s eyes twinkled with mystery. “Just a hunch. Sometimes, the most intriguing people have stories that go beyond what meets the eye.”

Polnareff saw a glimpse of skin as she adjusted her coat. Her shoulders were tattooed, one having flowers and butterflies and the other something scaly, resembling a snake or a dragon. He felt a flicker of caution from her words but couldn’t help but be drawn in. “You’ve got me curious. What kind of stories do you think I have?”

Her smile deepened, enigmatic. “The kind that might involve unexpected challenges…or perhaps encounters with interesting characters.”

Polnareff leaned forward, captivated. “Interesting characters, you say? I can certainly relate to that.” He gestured to the bustling bar around them. “Just look at this place—full of stories waiting to be uncovered.”

Youko tilted her head, considering him thoughtfully. “And yet, it seems you’re the most intriguing of them all. There’s a certain energy about you, Jean Pierre Polnareff. It’s hard to ignore.”

He chuckled, trying to play it cool despite his nervousness. “What can I say? I’m a man of many adventures.”

“You might say that,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly, drawing him in. “But every adventure has its shadows, doesn’t it? Challenges that test our limits.”

Polnareff nodded, a more serious note creeping into his tone. “True enough. But it’s how we face those challenges that define us.”

She leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto his, revealing a flicker of something deeper beneath her playful facade. “And what defines you, Polnareff?”

He hesitated, the weight of her question settling over him. “I like to think it’s a bit of everything. I’ve faced my share of darkness, but I always find a way to fight back.”

Youko’s expression hardened slightly, as if she recognized the exact meaning in his words. “A fighter, then. I admire that. It takes strength to stand tall against the odds.” She said, a hint of insincerity in her voice.

“Strength, courage, honor and a bit of luck,” he added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? What’s your story, Youko?”

She smiled, but there was a flicker of something shadowy in her gaze. “Ah, mine is still being written. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of unexpected turns as well. But tonight, I’m more interested in your chapter.” Youko’s attention sharpened, her demeanor shifting slightly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us. Just be careful who you trust, Polnareff.”

His instincts kicked in, and he followed her gaze, the playful banter momentarily forgotten. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Youko said, her demeanor suddenly brightening. “Just a little intuition, that’s all. I’m the curious type, and sometimes curiosity can lead to exciting stories.”

Polnareff studied her, sensing the shift but still feeling a flicker of caution. “Exciting stories, huh? Is that your way of saying trouble might be on the horizon?”

“Not trouble, just… possibilities,” she replied with a playful grin. “Life is full of unexpected twists. Isn’t that what makes it thrilling?”

He couldn’t help but smile back, drawn in by her infectious energy. “You certainly have a way with words, Youko. But I’d prefer to avoid any actual trouble tonight.”

“Oh, come on! Sometimes a little trouble can lead to unforgettable experiences,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You might even find it enlightening.”

Polnareff raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Enlightening, you say? What do you mean by that?”

Youko leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say I have my own way of exploring those ‘unexpected twists.’ Some might even call it… a profession.”

“Profession?” Polnareff echoed, curious yet cautious.

“Yes,” she said with a sly smile. “I’m a dominatrix. I explore the boundaries of desire and challenge people to embrace their hidden sides.”

Polnareff blinked, processing her words. “Well, that’s certainly unexpected! You’re full of surprises, Youko.”

She laughed lightly, enjoying his reaction. “And you’re not the least bit intimidated?”

“I am, but also intrigued,” he admitted, the thrill of the night growing. “So, what kind of adventures do you have in mind?”

Youko leaned in, brushing Polnareff’s cheek with the sleeve of her fur coat. The soft hairs of silver fox fur caressed his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He felt a rush of warmth and excitement at the intimate gesture, a spark igniting within him.

Youko saw him squirm slightly and chuckled to herself. “Do you like fur, Polnareff?”

His cheeks flushed, and he cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “Well, I can’t say I dislike it,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Youko leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “There’s something enchanting about it, isn’t there? The softness, the feeling…” She brushed her sleeve against his cheek again, the fur gliding slowly, teasingly.

Polnareff felt his heart race, a mix of excitement and arousal bubbling within him. “It’s definitely… captivating,” he managed to reply, his voice a touch breathless.

“Tell me how it feels… How does the fur feel?” Youko asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Polnareff swallowed, his pulse quickening. “It feels… incredibly soft,” he began, his voice steadying as he leaned into the moment. “Like a gentle caress against my skin. It’s warm, almost inviting. It almost tickles.”

Youko’s smile widened knowingly, her eyes squinting in mischief, almost looking triumphant. “Tickles, you say? Tell me more,” she urged, leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “How does it tickle?” The closeness of her presence sent a rush of warmth through Polnareff, and he felt a thrill at the intimacy of the moment.

He swallowed, trying to keep his composure while his heart raced. “It’s the way it brushes against my skin,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “It’s light and teasing.” As he spoke, he could feel the electric tension between them, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. The warmth of her breath mingled with the softness of the fur as she let it trail along his arm, heightening his senses in a way that felt intoxicating.

“Would you say you’re ticklish, Polnareff?” she teased, her tone laced with curiosity, as if waiting for a cue. He could feel his cheeks flush as he contemplated the implications of her inquiry, wondering if this was her way of pushing boundaries, enticing him further into a realm of playful intimacy.

“Yes,” he admitted, the word slipping out with a mix of vulnerability and a hint of daring. There was something exhilarating about the admission, as if he was letting her in on a secret. The air between them thickened, charged with tension.

A smirk played on Youko’s lips. “Good.” But just as the thrill of their playful banter hung in the air, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Without warning, a loud crash echoed through the bar as glass shattered, shards flying in every direction. The playful tension dissolved in an instant, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. The customers and bartenders quickly evacuated the venue, startled by the transpiring commotion.

Polnareff’s instincts kicked in, and he instinctively stepped back, his body tensing as he prepared for the unexpected. He could see Youko’s expression shift from playful seduction to fierce determination. She rose from her seat, adjusting her glimmering silver fur coat once again. 

A radiant glow enveloped her as a Stand materialized beside her, an imposing sight that commanded attention. It resembled a feminine figure, its tones a mesmerizing blend of dark and silver, shimmering as if woven from starlight. Around its arms and shoulders floated what looked like a long, thick, double-sided fur stole, its luxurious texture giving the Stand an air of elegance and danger.

“Meet Foxey Lady,” Youko announced, her voice imbued with pride and challenge. The Stand moved with a fluid grace, every gesture exuding predatory elegance, its presence both captivating and intimidating. Polnareff felt a rush of adrenaline, the atmosphere thickening with the weight of the impending confrontation.

“You’re a Stand user,” Polnareff stated, his voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. “What’s your Stand’s ability?” He focused on her, trying to read her intentions, but the playful glint in her eyes suggested she relished the mystery of her powers.

A mischievous smile danced on Youko’s lips as she regarded him, her confidence unwavering. “Let’s find out together, shall we?” The challenge hung in the air like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. Foxey Lady moved with an almost hypnotic grace, its sleek form a testament to Youko’s own allure, and Polnareff felt a thrill of apprehension mixed with eagerness.

With a firm resolve, Polnareff summoned Silver Chariot, the familiar rush of power surging through him as the armored figure manifested by his side. Its gleaming blade caught the light, reflecting the intensity of the moment and igniting a fire within him. He felt the connection with his Stand, the bond forged through countless battles, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead.

“Silver Chariot!” Polnareff cried out, sending the knight-like Stand forward with a powerful thrust. The air crackled as Silver Chariot surged into action, its movements fluid and precise, darting toward Foxey Lady with the speed and grace of a skilled warrior.

Before he could realize, Foxey Lady launched the fur stole toward Silver Chariot, the strands weaving through the air like a serpent, aiming to ensnare Polnareff’s Stand. He slashed toward the fluffy accessory, but it evaded his attack with ease, twisting and gliding just out of reach. In a blink, Foxey Lady sprang forward, passing Silver Chariot’s right side, then snuck behind him in a blur of motion.

Suddenly, he felt an unexpected sensation as Foxey Lady began scribbling her nails into Silver Chariot’s armpits. Polnareff burst into laughter, unable to keep his composure amidst the sudden ticklish onslaught. The moment caught him off guard, and he realized that Youko had taken the battle in a direction he hadn’t anticipated. 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT THE—” he exclaimed between fits of laughter, but his words were cut short by the sight of the fur stole flying toward his face. Before he could react, the soft stole coiled around his head, enveloping him in its plush embrace. The velvety texture teased his skin, and his laughter became muffled as the stole constricted slightly, obscuring his vision.

Polnareff's hands shot up instinctively, grasping at the fur with growing frustration. But his fingers passed through it as if it were smoke, unable to grab hold of anything solid. Panic flashed through his mind as he realized this was no ordinary fabric—it was a manifestation of Foxey Lady, a part of Youko’s Stand, and as such, he couldn’t physically interact with it. His inability to touch the Stand made him feel powerless, a sensation he rarely experienced.

“DAHAHAHAHAMN IHIHIHIT!” he cursed through his predicament, the sound barely audible beneath the thick stole. The tickling sensation continued to play havoc on his senses. His body still trembled with lingering laughter, but his mind was racing, desperate to find a way out of this trap. He couldn’t call Chariot back, alas he was under Foxey Lady’s ticklish barrage.

Youko’s voice cut through the haze, playful and taunting. “You seem to be in a bit of a bind, Polnareff,” she cooed, her words dripping with amusement. “How does it feel, being wrapped in such softness? Quite luxurious, isn’t it?”

Polnareff felt his knees buckling beneath him as the impossibly soft fur stole tightened its grip around his face. The plush fabric pressed closer, almost suffocating in its embrace, as if every fiber was designed to tease his senses and drain his strength. He could feel the fur stroking across his skin in waves—warm, soft, and maddeningly delicate.

“Give in, Polnareff,” Youko’s voice came, soft and insidious, weaving its way into his thoughts like the fur around his face. “There’s nothing more you can do.”

He fell to the floor in an exhausted crash, the impact jarring but not enough to snap him out of the daze clouding his mind. His vision blurred, the plush fur tightening around his face, making each breath a struggle. “No! No, I can’t lose here!” Polnareff screamed inwardly, desperate to fight against the encroaching darkness. He couldn’t let it end like this. Not smothered by some cursed, luxurious fur. Not humiliated by this seductive trickster.

Before he knew it, Polnareff fell into a deep, involuntary slumber, the overwhelming softness of the fur wrapping around him like a weighted blanket, pulling him down into unconsciousness. It was as if the very fur was seeping into his thoughts, wrapping itself not just around his body but his mind, draining his will to fight back.

Snap—Polnareff’s eyes shot open, his heart racing as he gasped for air. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The familiar plush velvet of the bar was gone, replaced by a dimly lit bedroom that stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity within him. Confusion hit him like a wave as he sat up, glancing around.

"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, his voice feeling unusually strained. Instinctively, he brought a hand to his throat. "Whaaat!? Why is my voice so... squeaky!?" He yelped, a squeal escaping his lips, shocking him into silence. He jumped to his feet, darting his eyes around the room, searching for any clues that could explain his predicament.

It was a small room, furnished with floral bedding and lacy curtains. Polnareff's eyes finally locked onto a wall calendar. He squinted at the year printed in bold letters: 1982. His heart skipped a beat.

“I’m 18 again?!” Polnareff exclaimed, his voice still annoyingly higher-pitched than he remembered. Panic gripped him as fragments of a long-buried memory began to resurface. He knew this room. It belonged to his friend’s mother, a woman who had always treated him with a warmth that felt maternal. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled what had happened before this bizarre twist of fate.

“But wait! If I’m here then that means…” Polnareff recollected, as he saw the bedroom door open.

Creak!

The door swung open, and in walked his friend’s mother, draped in a luxurious golden island fox fur coat that glowed under the soft light and swayed elegantly with her movements.. Her presence filled the room with an unexpected mix of warmth and authority, her heels clicking on the floor as she entered. Polnareff’s heart raced; he was caught in a moment he had hoped to forget.

“Jean Pierre! What a surprise to see you here,” she said, her voice disappointed yet teasing, and laced with that unmistakable maternal tone. “I didn’t expect to find you in my room, of all places.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she caught sight of the magazines strewn about, the very ones that had piqued his curiosity moments before.

Polnareff’s cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “I—I was just looking for something!” He knew full well he had been caught red-handed, and there was no escaping the consequences of his actions.

She closed the door behind her, the sound echoing ominously in the small room. “Oh really? You know it’s not polite to snoop, especially in a lady’s personal belongings,” she chided, stepping closer. The playful glint in her eyes made him feel dread. He knew exactly what this was.

Before he could react, she lunged toward him, her fingers wiggling with a teasing intent. “Let’s see if I can teach you a little lesson about respect!” 

She pinned him down on her bed, straddling him and her fingers finding his sides and beginning their relentless assault. “No! Not this again!” he gasped, laughter bursting forth uncontrollably. “HAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOHOHOP! HAHAHAHA!”

She only laughed more, clearly enjoying his predicament. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she reached over to the nearby nightstand and picked up a pair of handcuffs. “How lucky I am that my husband is a police officer!” she mused, twirling the cuffs playfully.

Polnareff’s heart raced as he felt a rush of panic and embarrassment. He couldn’t resist as she clicked the handcuffs around his wrists, securing them above his head and around a pillar of the bedframe. The cold metal sent a shiver down his spine, making him acutely aware of his vulnerability.

“Now you’re really in trouble,” she teased, leaning down to meet his gaze, her face inches from his. “Let’s see how long you can last without begging for mercy!” Her fingers danced teasingly over his sides, reigniting the tickle torture.

The tickler’s fur coat cascaded around Polnareff’s legs, wrapping him in a soft, plush cocoon that heightened his sense of vulnerability. It felt as though he was ensnared in a fluffy trap, each strand of fur teasing his skin and adding to the sensation of helplessness. The combination of the intense tickling and the enveloping warmth of the coat sent shivers coursing through him, making it nearly impossible to focus.

“IS THIS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FOXEY LADY’S ABILITY? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Polnareff screamed out, the realization hitting him amidst the whirlwind of laughter and sensations.

“That’s right,” Youko’s voice appeared suddenly, like an ethereal echo. “This is my Foxey Lady’s ability. It takes you into your most intense and excruciating memory of tickle torture and makes you experience it for as long as I desire.” Her words dripped with playful malice, a reminder of his helplessness.

Polnareff’s laughter intensified, desperate. “YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS! YOU’RE GOING TO KEEP ME HERE LIKE THIS? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he gasped, struggling against the cuffs, but they held firm.

“Oh, but I can,” she replied, a teasing lilt in her tone. “And I intend to have my fun. You see, the magic of Foxey Lady is that it amplifies your sensations, making everything feel even more intense. Every tickle, every brush of fur—it’s all heightened. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“NO! HAHAHA! THIS IS TORTURE!” he cried out, laughter erupting uncontrollably as he squirmed beneath her playful onslaught. “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO KEEP ME HERE FOREVER?”

“I told you I’m a dominatrix, Polnareff,” she informed him, her voice smooth and dripping with confidence. “I utilize my Stand in my profession. It works on non-Stand users too; they just believe they’re hypnotized. I control every aspect of my Stand—how intense the tickling is, slight adjustments to memories, and how long the tickling lasts.”

His mind raced as he processed her words, a mix of disbelief and dread washing over him. “THIHIHIHIHIS IS INSANEHEHEHEHE!” he thought, the laughter spilling uncontrollably from his lips.

“Usually I stop in time with my submissives, but with you I’ll make an exception, darling.” Youko teased, adding to Polnareff’s dread. Her Stand materialized partially, glowing slightly over the figure of Polnareff’s tickle torturess. “I am going to keep tickling you as long as it takes. To stop your heart, that is…”

Polnareff’s blood ran cold at her chilling declaration.

“I am going to tickle you to death, darling.”

Panic surged through him, mixing with the laughter that threatened to spill out again. “NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! HAHAHAHA!” he gasped, desperation creeping into his voice as he squirmed against the bed.

“Oh, no, but I can, darling. DIO is paying me handsomely for this, my weak little tickle slave,” Youko replied, her voice dripping with mockery. “To think one of you is going to die to something as ridiculous as tickling. Isn’t it deliciously ironic?”

His heart raced as he processed her taunts, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “I WON’T LET THIS HAPPEN! HAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” Polnareff shouted, though the laughter spilled forth uncontrollably, betraying his resolve.

“Aww, darling,” she teased, her fingers expertly dancing over his sides, reigniting the relentless laughter that bubbled up from his core. “Every gasp, every plea, only fuels my desire to keep you right where you are—helpless and utterly at my mercy.”

Foxey Lady's fingers traveled up Polnareff’s sides, traveling up his sides towards his vulnerable armpits with ruthless precision. Her nails moved like a blur, skittering over his skin with untold speed, creating an barrage that felt like a sandstorm of relentless tickle torture. When Foxey Lady arrived at Polnareff’s armpits, she unleashed a flurry of tickling that sent him spiraling into fits of laughter.

“Tickle, tickle, Polnareff~” Youko teased, her voice playful and mocking, as if she were serenading him with his own helplessness. Each stroke of her Stand’s fingers sent electric signals of ticklishness throughout his body.

“SILVEHEHEHEHER CHARIOHOHOHOHOHOT!” Polnareff cried out, between gasps of laughter. He felt as if he had manifested his Stand, but it was nowhere to be seen. “WHAHAHAHAHAT? WHEHEHEHEHEHERE IS IT? WHEHEHEHERE IS CHARIOHOHOHOHOT!?”

“Oh, sweet Polnareff,” Youko cooed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy, “your Stand can’t help you now. Foxey Lady has you trapped in your own memories, where I hold all the power.” Foxey Lady leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear, being a part of the stand. “Just let go. There’s nothing you can do but laugh. Tickle, tickle!”

The laughter poured out of him, a reaction he couldn’t suppress, his body betraying him to the soft, relentless tickling that consumed his senses. “I won’t give in! I’ll find a way out of this!” he thought desperately, even as the ticklish sensations clouded his mind.

Suddenly Foxey Lady stopped, as Polnareff saw the figure of his friend’s mom turn around, still straddling him. The fur of her coat brushed against his chest, soft, luxurious and teasing, obscuring his vision and heightening his helplessness. “Remember this, Polnareff? It’s really about to tickle, darling!” Youko exclaimed. As her Stand’s nails skittered along his suddenly vulnerable feet, he felt a fresh wave of laughter bubbling up inside him, pushing against the walls of his resolve.

“NO! HAHAHAHA! PLEASE, NOT AGAIN!” he gasped, laughter spilling from his lips as he writhed beneath her. The feeling was maddening—he was trapped in a world where laughter was both his punishment and his prison.

The soft golden fur brushed and teased against Polnareff’s face as he squirmed under the coat, covering him in a cocoon of warmth that felt both inviting and suffocating. The duality of comfort and torment was overwhelming, and he could feel the edges of his sanity blurring. In this moment, every tickle sent jolts of dread coursing through him, forcing him to confront not just the laughter but the memory of his own helplessness. He couldn’t escape, and the laughter continued to pour from him.

“Does it tickle, Polnareff? I can keep this up as long as I want,” Youko taunted, her voice oozing with evil delight. “You’re completely at my mercy. Just imagine how long I can prolong your laughter.” The playful menace in her voice only intensified the sensation, and he could feel the weight of her words pressing down on him like the plush fabric surrounding him.

Foxey Lady’s nails found their target, skimming over Polnareff’s ticklish arches with a relentless precision. The delicate yet ever-so-intense touch sent him into fits, his body reacting involuntarily as the sensations overwhelmed the nerves in his feet, spreading up his legs and throughout his whole body. Each skimming tickle was like millions of feathers, light yet insistent, dancing across his skin in a manner that felt both maddening and strangely intoxicating.

“Tickle, tickle, darling,” Youko purred, her voice a sultry tease that echoed in the plush cocoon surrounding him. “How does it feel to be so utterly at my spell?” Her Stand continued its exploration, fingers deftly weaving between his toes and tracing the sensitive contours of his feet. Polnareff squirmed beneath his tickler, laughter bursting forth uncontrollably as he tried to pull his feet away, but the restraints held him firm.

“I can only imagine how much it tickles, Polnareff,” Youko teased.. “Do you like the way her fur coat brushes against your face? Is it soft, teasing?” The words struck his psyche like a rapier, amplifying his embarrassment.

Foxey Lady’s fingers continued their relentless dance, the soft fur brushing against him creating a cocoon of overwhelming sensations. “Admit it, darling. You’re done, nothing to do, nowhere to go,” Youko purred, watching him squirm, enjoying the torment played across his features. Each giggle and squeal only seemed to encourage her, pushing her to prolong the ticklish torment that held him captive.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you finally succumb to the tickling,” Youko said, her voice dripping with a mix of amusement and sinister delight. “Just imagine it—seeing your life ebb away as you laugh your last laugh.”

Polnareff’s heart raced, a mixture of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. “YOU CAN’T! I WON’T LET IT END LIKE THIS! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he shouted, though the desperation in his voice was undercut by another fit of uncontrollable laughter as Foxey Lady’s nails found a particularly sensitive on his soles.

“You can’t escape, my tickle slave,” she continued, reveling in his torment. “Each giggle brings you closer to the end. Just let go and embrace it. There’s nothing left but laughter now.” Her fingers danced with renewed fervor, drawing out every bit of resistance he had left.

“Think, Jean Pierre! Think!” he urged himself, struggling to clear the haze of laughter clouding his mind. “There’s got to be a weakness!” He could feel the tickling sensation overwhelming him, but amid the chaos, a flicker of determination sparked within.

“My Stand has no weakness, Polnareff,” Youko taunted, her voice laced with confidence as she continued her relentless assault. “Her ability is to exploit every inch of your vulnerability, and you’re far too caught up in your own laughter to even think of escape, I’m afraid.”

But in the depths of his mind, Polnareff was fighting back. “There has to be something!” he thought fiercely, gritting his teeth against the ticklish sensations that swarmed over him. “Even the strongest Stand has a limit.”

“Let go, Polnareff. Nothing you do can stop Foxey Lady. The tickling is so overwhelming. Can you feel your heart? The way your lungs ache?” Youko's voice was a seductive whisper, dripping with satisfaction as she pressed her advantage.

Polnareff’s heart raced, not just from laughter but from the determination within. “I won’t give in!” he shouted defiantly, though the words felt weak against the storm that bombarded him so ticklishly. Each touch of Foxey Lady's nails sent shockwaves through his body, making it hard to think clearly. He felt himself teetering on the edge, the line between surrender and defiance blurring with every passing moment.

“Do you think the demons in Hell are watching? Do you think they’re waiting for you? Do you think they’re going to keep tickling you forever and ever, never letting up?” Youko's voice dripped with mockery, each word laced with an enticing malice that only fueled his despair. “Imagine it, Polnareff. Being tickled forever, knowing you cannot die? That your reality is tickle torture… forever?”

He could almost picture the demons and succubi, cackling as they reveled in his helplessness, their sinister laughter mingling with his own. The very idea was maddening, and he felt the edges of his sanity fraying as the laughter spilled from his lips uncontrollably.

“Come on, Jean Pierre! You have faced worse than this!” he urged himself, his mind racing as he sought a way to turn the tide against the merciless tickling. “There has to be a way to break this cycle!”

Foxey Lady let up the tickling on Polnareff’s feet, granting him a brief moment of respite. The figure of his friend’s mom faded away completely, in her place, Foxey Lady materialized fully, her ethereal form shimmering with a seductive allure. The fur that had previously obstructed his vision no longer clouded his sight, allowing Polnareff to take in the full majesty of the Stand before him. He noticed that the fur stole that had accentuated her was no longer there.

“Actually, I feel like I’m getting impatient, Polnareff…” Youko mused, her tone playfully mocking as she surveyed him with a smirk. Polnareff's heart raced as he watched in horror as Foxey Lady transformed, sprouting two extra arms, making a total of six. The Stand’s presence intensified, each arm moving with an unsettling grace, fingers poised for a new wave of torment, wiggling menacingly.

“Tickle, tickle! Time to die!” Youko declared, her voice playful yet chilling. Polnareff's heart raced as the six arms of Foxey Lady advanced, fingers wiggling like a swarm of playful serpents, each one eager to find its target.

She struck with precision, her tickling fingers darting into his armpits, his sides, and his hips simultaneously. Polnareff erupted into a chorus of laughter, the sound echoing off the walls like a desperate plea for mercy. The sensation was overwhelming, each touch igniting a fire of ticklish agony that spread through his body, rendering him completely vulnerable.

“Is this really how you want to go out, Polnareff?” Youko taunted, her voice laced with mock sympathy as she watched him squirm. “Tickled to death, all while begging for it to stop?”

“NO! HAHAHA! NOT THERE!” he howled, squirming beneath the relentless tickling. Every stroke felt like a jolt of electricity, a reminder of his utter helplessness. The laughter poured out uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face as he writhed under the merciless onslaught.

“Give in, Polnareff! Just let it happen,” Youko taunted. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.” The six arms moved with a terrifying efficiency, ensuring that there was no escape, no relief from the laughter that consumed him. The tickling was all encompassing, complete, overwhelming. It was the pure definition of tickle torture.

“Think! Why can I feel my Stand manifest? Where is Foxey Lady’s stole? There has to be something!” Polnareff shouted inwardly, desperately searching for a way to regain control. As the relentless tickling continued, he felt the familiar energy of Silver Chariot stirring within him, its presence reminding him that he still had power, even in this bizarre dreamscape.

Suddenly, the chaos of laughter and torment began to crystallize into clarity. He recalled how Foxey Lady’s fluffy fur stole had enveloped him earlier, a key component of her Stand's ability to trap him in this memory. If he could break the connection, perhaps he could turn the tide.

“She mentioned something about hypnosis…” Polnareff thought, a flicker of realization igniting in his mind. Then it clicked. It was all an illusion. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU’RE DONE, YOUKO! YOUR STAND ABILITY IS HYPNOSIS! HAHAHAHAHA! IT’S PURELY VISUAL! AND THE THING KEEPING ME IN IT IS YOUR FUR STOLE!” he yelled, his laughter now infused with defiance rather than despair.

Youko's victorious attitude faltered for a moment, surprise flickering across her features as Polnareff's laughter turned from helplessness to determination. “What are you talking about?” she retorted, though a hint of uncertainty crept into her voice.

With renewed vigor, Polnareff focused on the fur wrapping around him, visualizing it as a barrier rather than a prison. “I can break this illusion!” he declared, channeling the energy of Silver Chariot. “HAHAHAhAHA! IHIHIHIHIT’S JUHUHUHUST A TRIHIHIHICK! I WON’T BE TRAPPED IN YOUR GAMES ANY LONGER!”

As he gathered his strength, he imagined Silver Chariot materializing, cutting through the fabric of the illusion with the same precision it wielded its blade. He could feel the connection between himself and his Stand strengthening, a tide of energy rising within him, ready to shatter the confines of Youko’s hypnotic grasp.

“SILVER CHAHAHAHAHARIOT! CUT THEHEHEHE STOLE AWAY!” he cried, his voice ringing with newfound determination. In that moment, he felt Silver Chariot respond, the familiar rush of power surging through him, igniting a fierce resolve that overshadowed the laughter.

With a swift, decisive motion, he envisioned Silver Chariot’s blade slicing through the illusions that bound him, severing the connection to Youko’s fur stole. The air around him shimmered, the fabric of the dreamscape rippling like a mirage.

Foxey Lady stopped dead in her tracks, staring blankly for a moment, her multiple arms frozen mid-motion. The atmosphere around them crackled with energy as Polnareff's command took effect. Then, in an explosive burst of ethereal light, Foxey Lady shattered into a cascade of shimmering particles, the remnants of the illusion scattering like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind.

Polnareff rose to sit, scratching his head in a daze as the remnants of his bizarre experience lingered in his mind. The bar was a mess, shattered glasses and broken bottles littering the floor, evidence of the chaos that had unfolded. He glanced around, expecting to see Youko, but she was nowhere to be found. The air felt heavy with the aftermath of their confrontation, and the chatter of patrons resumed, oblivious to the battle that had just occurred.

“Where did she go?” Polnareff muttered to himself, his heart still racing. He felt a mix of relief and frustration; he had escaped her grasp.

Gathering himself, he stood up, carefully stepping over the debris scattered on the floor. As he made his way to the bar, he couldn’t help but replay the encounter in his mind—the way her Stand had toyed with him, the soft, teasing nature of Foxey Lady, and the chilling realization that he had nearly succumbed to her power.

“I need to be more vigilant,” he thought, determination solidifying within him. “But I trust she will not try any of us again, since the secrets of her Stand were so easily uncovered.”

Polnareff scanned the room, contemplating his next move. “I need to warn the others,” he thought, remembering the bond he shared with his friends. They needed to be prepared for whatever came next.

[menlove]

hello ... james menlove. my request is that you answer any of the fic writing ask things that you would like to answer. sincerely, Millie Forthlin (nee Soetrys)

HELLO MILLIE FORTHLIN (NEE SOETRYS). it is always a pleasure to hear from you, my good normal mutual

i shall answer three!

do you listen to music while you write? if yes, what have you been listening to recently?

i looove listening to music to write. i can't edit while listening to music, but writing definitely. lately i've been listening to this mclennon playlist i made w all of their most insane songs and also somehow my favorite playlist that i always come back to is this charles xavier one. i wrote my capstone to this playlist until i got sick to death of it.

what is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

LOVED the world for "the star to every wandering bark". written by me & my ex and we never finished it rip. we were going to after s2 came out but it just never happened & now we no longer keep in touch (my beatles posting proved too much.... tragic). but i just really enjoyed this world we came up with and i still think about it a lot bc there's a couple ocs from this universe that just make me sit and stare at a wall. BUT out of this, which is just a role-swap good omens au, we wound up creating an au of that set in like. a medieval type fantasy world with sorcerers and warlocks and necromancy and all that jazz. and it got pretty detailed. and i LOOOOVED that one. it never made it to any fic but like. we put an insane amount of worldbuilding into it. if i ever wrote a novel it would probably inspire it and i'd have to go ask him for permission fasdjfasdf

in "i want you, i need you, i love you", is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included? why did it get cut?

OHOHO SO GLAD U PERSONALLY ASKED THIS AND I DIDN'T JUST CHOOSE THIS QUESTION AND THE FIC... but i have a whole doc just called "killed darlings" & my favorite one is paul's pov of 1967-68 from "i need you (never leave me alone)". but it goes over brian's death, him proposing to jane & losing john, a lil snippet from the "hey bulldog" recording session, and paul writing "i will" in india for john while john could Not give less of a fuck :( i think it's honestly pretty important to understanding paul's character and motivations in "i need you," but it got cut for a few reasons. "i need you" started out as what was going to be My Fic Only, whereas miles was gonna take "i love you." however we are both big babies and like each other too much & writing w each other that we both started on each respective one and then went "this feels too fucking weird". so all of that was what i wrote Before we decided to write "i need you" together, which necessitated some john pov & thus cutting out a Huge Chunk. and then it stayed cut bc there was just no good way to work any of it in without being out of place & the word count on i need you is already insane.

buuuut i am highly considering polishing it up and fleshing it out and posting it as a lil one-shot extra to the series bc like i said, i do think it's super important to understanding paul in this universe

fanfiction writing asks

[polish-art-tournament]

paintings* round 1 poll 66

Cellos and basses by Kazimierz Śramkiewicz, 1988:

[no propaganda has been submitted]

Lulli by Louis Marcoussis, 1919:

propaganda: I love the bright colors combined with the bold shapes, do you remember this series of animated polish short films from the 90s, set to classical music, like a local version of Fantasia, I don't remember one to more modern music like jazz or blues, like the Rhapsody in Blues segment from Fantasia 2000 but it still remainds me of that, like there is music in the picture for me, I can hear Jazz when I see it.

[catastrophic-crisis]

The Steam Next Fest for June 2023 is live, so here's some potential game demos to check out this weekend!

Sea of Stars | Press Kit

Turn-based RPG Sea of Stars offers a pretty polished looking package, using dynamic lighting to shade and light detailed pixel landscapes that offer a surprising amount of verticality and traversal options, inhabited by denizens animated with a delightful amount of character. In combat too, the game adds a surprising bit of interactivity to the turn-based combat with the option to react in real time to boost damage output or minimize incoming damage on top of the strategic "locks" and "combo" systems. What we've seen so far reflects the game studio's mission of "retro aesthetics, modern game design", with Sea of Stars building upon the traditional turn-based RPG formula to give it that little something extra.

And of course, it has fishing. The game is set to release August 29th, 2023.

Sea of Stars is a turn-based RPG inspired by the classics. It tells the story of two Children of the Solstice who will combine the powers of the sun and moon to perform Eclipse Magic, the only force capable of fending off the monstrous creations of the evil alchemist known as The Fleshmancer.

In Stars and Time | Website/Press Kit

RPGmaker-style time loop adventure In Stars and Time combines rock-paper-scissors-inspired turn based combat with plentiful party banter, creating a fun fantasy world to save from freezing time and capturing the feeling of having a bunch of friends all repeating the same phrase on Discord. This lightheartedness may be needed, if the crushing time loop shenanigans ahead are what they sound like.

But what seems like a handy trick to ensure victory quickly begins to weigh on Siffrin as he experiences the loop over and over with no end in sight. Unwilling to open up to their friends and companions, and with the literal weight of the world on their shoulders, can Siffrin find a way to break the loop before it breaks him?

El Paso, Elsewhere | El Paso, Elsewhere Is A Supernatural Take On Max Payne Shooting To Its Own Rhythm by Kurt Indovina for Gamespot

There's no dancing around it: El Paso, Elsewhere, the new action game from Strange Scaffold, is an unabashed homage to the 2001 seminal pulp-noir action classic Max Payne. It's an obvious influence that writer, director, and voice actor Xalavier Nelson Jr. isn't shying away from, but is hoping to elevate for a modern audience. During my hands-on preview of the game, he told me, "I'm not interested in recreating Max Payne; I'm interested in seeing what Max Payne could be next." And for eclectic developer Strange Scaffold, that means a supernatural neo-noir blood-stained journey through a dimension-shifting motel to stop the world from being overrun by vampires.... It's a sentiment that can be heard in the dialogue of El Paso, Elsewhere. A mantra that rings true to the studio's preceding outings in the medium: "So let's take it from the top, like a jazz standard, played in our own time, as loud as we dare," all of which is intersected with the sounds of guns being loaded, and hammers being cocked. It feels like Strange Scaffold is playing to the beat of its own gunfire with El Paso, Elsewhere. We'll have to wait and see how it all jams out when it releases in Fall 2023 for PC and Xbox Series X|S.

Loddlenaut | Press Kit

A relaxing yet satisfying game about cleaning a polluted ocean planet and taking care of the axolotl-like alien Loddles, Loddlenaut is a thesis-project-turned-commercial-release estimated to drop on Steam in 2023. Loddlenaut has you experiencing the satisfaction of blasting away grime and picking up garbage like gameplay out of something like PowerWash Simulator, but with a more relaxed style that streamlines cleaning and resource management in little ways. And the occasional cute swimming potato!

Loddlenaut takes inspiration from early-2000s pet-sims like Tamagotchi and the Chao Garden as well as more recent aquatic games like Subnautica and ABZÛ.

TOBOR no.2b | Website/Press Kit

You are a successor to a previous spy robot, tasked with surveilling and gathering intelligence on an abandoned underground kingdom.

Your dreams are filled with colorful nightmares, and your predecessor was terminated via what one might call "head explosion". Make sure to watch, record, and deduce in order to not meet the same fate.

Active Agent: TOBOR no.2b Mission start date: Immediately Assignment: Gather intelligence of Undercroft using our top of the line surveillance system. You are now an active agent of RA. You're a very important asset to the company. Rule one, DO NOT EMPATHIZE with any subject or event inside the surveillance camera. Rule two, DO NOT INTERFERE with any subject or event inside the surveillance camera. Rule three, DO NOT BETRAY RA CORPORATION. EVER. The outcome of a betrayal has always been consistent. TERMINATION.... Remember: Spying is the future, the future starts with you.

[jazzandother-blog]

GENE KRUPA

(English / Español)

Gene Krupa (January 15, 1909 - October 16, 1973) was a famed and influential American jazz musician and big band drummer, known and recognised for his energetic and brilliant playing style. His parents were Polish immigrants to the USA and he was born in Chicago, Illinois. He began his professional career in the mid-1920s with bands in Wisconsin. He emerged on the Chicago music scene in 1927, when he was selected by the MCA to become a member of the orchestra of Thelma Terry and Her Playboys, then the most notable American jazz band led by a woman.

Krupa made his first recording in 1927, with a band led by banjo player Eddie Condon. Krupa also appeared on six records by Thelma Terry's band in 1928. In 1929 he moved to New York City and worked with the Red Nichols band. In 1934 he joined Benny Goodman's band, where his unique drumming made him a national celebrity.

In 1938, after a public falling out with Goodman at the Earl Theater in Philadelphia, he left Goodman to launch his own band, with which he scored several big hits alongside singer Anita O'Day and trumpeter Roy Eldridge. Krupa made a memorable cameo appearance in the 1941 film Ball of Fire, in which he and his band played different versions of the hit song Drum Boogie.

In 1943, Krupa was arrested for possession of cannabis and briefly imprisoned.

Krupa retired musically in the late 1960s, although he played occasionally in public until his death from leukemia in Yonkers, New York. He was buried in Holy Cross Cemetery in Calumet City, Illinois. He became the face of Slingerland Drums, which later launched a "Radio King" series in Krupa's honour.

Krupa is considered by many to be the most influential drummer of the 20th century, especially for the development of the drum instrument itself. His main influence began in 1935 in the company of Benny Goodman, where he excelled as a true star, but above all for his use of the bass drum pedal. This particular method of playing was published in 1938 and became a standard text for the study of the instrument.

*****

Gene Krupa (15 de enero, 1909 – 16 de octubre, 1973) fue un afamado e influyente músico estadounidense de jazz y un gran baterista de big band, conocido y reconocido por su energético y brillante estilo de tocar. Sus padres eran polacos emigrantes en USA y el nació en Chicago, Illinois. Comenzó su carrera profesional a mediados de la decada de los años 1920s con bandas en Wisconsin. Emergió en la escena musical de Chicago en 1927, cuando fue seleccionado por la MCA para convertirse en miembro de la orquesta de Thelma Terry y Sus Playboys, entonces la más notable banda americana de jazz liderada por una mujer.

Krupa hizo su primera grabación en 1927, con una banda liderada por el banjista Eddie Condon. Krupa también aparece en seis discos de la banda de Thelma Terry en 1928. En 1929 se mudó a New York City y trabajó con la banda de Red Nichols. En 1934 se unió a la banda de Benny Goodman, donde su particular forma de tocar la batería le convirtió en una celebridad nacional.

En 1938, tras una pelea pública con Goodman en el Earl Theater en Filadelfia, dejó a Goodman para lanzar su propia banda, con la que obtuvo diferentes grandes éxitos junto a la cantante Anita O'Day y el trompetista Roy Eldridge. Krupa hizo un memorable cameo apareciendo en la película de 1941 Ball of Fire (Bola de Fuego), donde él y su banda tocaban distintas versiones del éxito musical Drum Boogie.

En 1943, Krupa era arrestado por posesión de cannabis siendo brevemente encarcelado.

Krupa se retiró musicalmente a finales de los años 1960s, aunque tocaba ocasionalmente en público hasta su muerte por leucemia en Yonkers, New York. Fue enterrado en el Holy Cross Cemetery en Calumet City, Illinois. Se convirtió en imagen de las baterías Slingerland, fábrica que posteriormente lanzaría una serie "Radio King" en honor a Krupa.

Muchos consideran a Krupa como el más influyente baterista del siglo 20, especialmente por el desarrollo del propio instrumento de la batería. Su principal influencia comenzó en 1935 en compañía de Benny Goodman, donde sobresalió como una auténtica estrella, pero sobre todo por su uso del pedal del bajo de la batería. Este particular método de tocar se publicó en 1938 y se convirtió en un texto estándar para el estudio del instrumento.

fuente: last.fm

[candygurl-gumdropz]

My Predictions for the Pokemon Day Direct:

1. Gen 5 remakes

2. Some sort of “gimmick” game. Ex. Legends Arceus or Let’s Go

3. New content for the mobile apps. Possibly a new mobile app announced.

4. New Pokemon cards and TCG updates

What I hope to see in the Pokemon Day Direct:

1. A Legends Unova game that takes place in the 1920s or a Legacy Unova game that takes place in the future

2. Ports of older games to the switch

3. Gen 5 remakes that fix issues and isn’t 100% the same

4. New games for the spin-off series. Like Mystery Dungeon or Ranger.

(When I say “gimmick game”, I mean a game that really shakes up the formula and tries something new, but is still a traditional Pokémon game at its core.)

Being 100% honest, I’d prefer if they’d either announce a remake or a new Legends, Let’s Go, etc. game now and the other at a later date. Kinda stretch out the hype and release of content. Plus, I’m sure that they could use the extra time to polish the game lol.

However, it’s Gamefreak and I know that they’re not gonna do that. They’re likely gonna announce both on Pokémon day and have their releases be close to each other.

It’d be super fun to see a 1920s Unova with gangsters and lots of jazz. Though a future game would be badass as well. Also, Nintendo please release the older games on the switch and give the spin-off games some love, I’ll give you my money!