#so you could easily say its the velvet room's perceptions of them

[mymp3]

Now that it's on my mind can we talk about how the DLC fights in Royal were kind of a missed opportunity?

They are pretty cool! But i feel like when you play the other games and actually understand how strong the protags are, they're pretty underwhelming.

Like fighting Yu would be something that should be a good fight. Something really challenging but in a rewarding way. He should use his most busted moves. Heat riser, concentrate, Myriad Truths. Over and Over.

I mean, obviously I'm not a game designer, but this is Izanagi. Literally God with a big G we're talking about here. Let's make his right rewarding and as hard as it would be to actually fight him.

And for Minato. He should be the busted one of the two. In my head i have it so that he would have two phases. He's a boy with chronic pain and illness that people underestimate and don't understand, that's his whole thing. I mean, this is the Messiah that saved everyone, you should feel awesome fighting Jesus.

In my mind id have it so that you fight Minato first, and he uses Orpheus throughout the battle. He's pretty easy so you get him out of the way, then Yu unlocks, and he's much more difficult. After you defeat him though, your final fight unlocks. You think it's someone different but it's actually Minato again. Boom, Thanatos and Messiah time.

This is obviously wishful thinking, it wouldnt have to be exactly like that, but it would be awesome. Just make it feel like you're actually fighting the World and the Universe and we'd be alright.

[spinster-sisters]

Thank you. KHJ.

TW: Dom!Jong, Sub!Reader, this isnt exacly a Mafia au its more like it just hints at unlawful buisness practices, i honestly dont know what to put here to describe this, Dollification? perhaps? I dont know if im usuing that correctly, a lot of posessiveness, unprotected sex, general dirty talk stuff the usual, despite the tags its actually kinda sweet (perhaps i just have a fucked up perception of sweet.)

WC: 2.8k

---

"Well, Hongjoong it seems you have beaten me again,"

The older man spoke from across the velvet table, placing his cards on the surface. You couldn't help feeling smug on behalf of your lover. You stood up from the corner you were sitting in and made your way over to the table falling into Hongjoongs lap now that the game was over.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just lucky," Hingjoong spoke in a mild tone but his wide wicked smile was enough to show everyone what they already knew. Hongjoong doesn't need luck, he's just that good.

You had been seeing him for quite a while. You started out as a waitress in this very Casino that Hongjoong owned. Nobody really knows exactly what he and his friends do for a living or the legality of it but the Casino was more of Hongjoongs personal side project than an actual job. While it made a lot of money he only ever took up ownership of it because he won it in a game against the original owner.

You had been taken with the man from the moment you laid eyes on him. He radiated confidence and power in every step he took and he had the looks to match. He was absolutely stunning. How your relationship got started wasn't exactly clear but after being his personal waitress for months you ended up in his office with your clothes hanging off the back of the couch.

"How about another game?" The older man asks with a grin. Hongjoong only chuckles. The older man had been eyeing your creepily all night and you looked to Hongjoong, hoping he would understand your discomfort. Your boyfriend meets your eyes for only a moment before looking back at the man.

"No offense sir but you're all out of chips," your boyfriend replies. As he spoke one hand came to rest on your thigh kneading it slightly in his grasp.

"I wasn't thinking about chips. How about something a little more valuable?" He sleazy man asks leaning forward onto the green velvet. Hongjoong was visibly intrigued, the higher the stakes the more fun it is. He raised an eyebrow in a way that says 'im listening.'

"My hotel chain against her," the man replied pointing a crooked finger at you.

You expected a hard no or a "get the hell out of my casino." But one never came. Your head snapped up to your boyfriend's face and to your disbelief, he was smiling. He was still gripping your leg as tightly as before but his hand was inching up the bare expanse of your leg. Hongjoong only waited a moment before responding.

"Let's play,"

You felt your gut drop through the floor as the game began you felt your hands start to shake in your lap, you knew better than to talk during a game but you wanted to scream at Hongjoong for putting you through this. It's not like you weren't confident in his abilities, of course, you were. But that isn't the only factor in card games like these, at a certain point it is simply luck of the draw, and while Hongjoong certain was lucky today could always be the day that luck would fail.

The game was nearing its conclusion and you could feel your palms sweating endlessly. The dealer spoke for the final time,

You watched in fear as the dealer began distributing cards to the two men. You were squirming helplessly in your spot on Hongjoongs lap, enough so that he had to pull you against his chest to keep you still. After looking at his cards your boyfriend placed a reassuring kiss on your temple but your nerves weren't settled, just what the man sitting across the table had in mind for you, you didn't know and you didn't want to. You didn't understand the game well enough to draw any conclusions so instead, you just watched as the game unfolded.

In true expert fashion, Hongjoong held the perfect poker face, not revealing anything in expression or body language. But the old man was all too telling, though his face did not betray him, his body was telling the story of utter confidence. Fuck.

“Reveal your cards,” he told the man. He sat up straighter with a smug smile before revealing his impressive hand on the table. Indeed, you didn't know much about the game, but you knew that your odds were slim right now.

“Come on Hongjoong, show us your cards. Not everyone can win all the time.” The greasy man poked at Hongjoong. You didn't dare look at Hongjoongs face, you didn't know what you would do if he looked upset. Slowly Hongjoong pulled the hand resting on you from your body and used it to reveal his cards. It took a moment for the room to react.

“Wipe that stupid smile off your face Hongjoong! You cheated and I know it!” The older man slammed his fist on the table making you jump, Hongjoong remained composed. Relife at the realization that your love won flooded through you as the younger man waved over an assistant, who sprung into action bringing over a stack of papers.

“Calm down sir. we both know I didn't cheat, I don't need to cheat to win. Now I believe we agreed that the ownership of your hotels now belongs to me?” the papers were placed in front of the man she stared in abject horror at them.

“There is no way I am signing these!” he cried out.

“I think you will find that you are. Trust me, sir, I am not the kind of man you want to get on the wrong side of.” Your boyfriend spoke, reclining back into his chair and pulling you with him. The man gauped wildly at Hongjoong before begrudgingly signing the papers and sliding them across to him. He lifted you from his lap before standing himself. Motioning for his assistant to take the papers Hoongjong turned to the man one final time.

“What's so funny!” you snapped, glaring in his direction. He was lounging against the kitchen counter.

“Make an offer like that again and I ruin you even more than I already have.”

-------

You stomped into the kitchen later that night. You could hear Hongjoongs calm footsteps behind you, but you ignore him and swing the fridge open at took a swig from a bottle of water. You were practically slamming the door closed when you heard your boyfriend's amused chuckle.

“You are doll face,” He said through a giggle, “Getting so worked up over nothing.” Your glare hardened.

“Oh, so you think risking your girlfriend in a bet against a disgusting old man is nothing?” you threw back, taking another swig from your water.

“It's not a risk if I knew I was going to win.” He replied calmly, resting his head on his hand.

“So you were cheating?” you replied with disdain.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the “p” in emphasis, “As I said, I don’t need to cheat to win.” Your anger was only rising with each of his careless words.

‘Why would you even say that?” he asked almost childishly. You were stunned. He took your hand that was braced against the counter and led it to his lips. They placed fluttering kisses from the tips of your fingers to your wrist. His other hand began to gently cradle your hip.

“God Damn it Hongjoong! Do I really mean that little to you? Am I really just another bargaining chip? All you care about is yourself and I am over it!” You were screaming now. It wasn't your intention but you were so fucking mad. You dared to meet your boyfriend's eyes, expecting the same nonchalant look he always carried, but instead his bemused smile had dropped into a deep frown.

In a start he pushed off the counter and rounded on you, you stubbled backward onto the marble and his arms came around to cage you against the cool surface.

"You are the most perfect thing in my life, baby doll. Can't you see that?" He continued barely above a whisper.

All too quickly his hands went from slow and steady movement to feverish, like he couldn't touch enough of you. His lips were crawling up your arm and shoulder to your neck. He wasn't kissing to make marks, instead, it was quick pecks to every inch of your skin and you instinctively allowed him more room. All your anger was forgotten as his hands roamed you freely.

From where they began on your hip they had moved from your lower back to your butt, around to your tummy, and up to your chest each time taking care to caress every inch of you. You had become putty in his grasp, practically melting into the cool countertop, your eyes already glazed over and releasing soft noises.

"There she is, my little doll," Hongjoong mumbled with a quiet chuckle after observing your flushed face. His free hand reached up to cup your jaw, pulling your lolling head back to meet his eyes.

"You are still unhappy with me dolly?" He asked with a deceivingly innocent look in his gaze.

"No," you mumbled, wanting to feel the gentle pressure of his lips on you again. Hongjoong giggled freely at your wanton face.

"No," he mumbled, "my little doll doesn't know how to be upset with me does she?"

You shook your head no. How could you be mad when you could still feel the buzzing from everywhere his hands had touched. You had always bent so easily to his will and this time was no different, but you trusted him completely so it was easy to let go.

Two hands gripped your thighs suddenly. You let out a small yelp only to silence yourself, good dolls don't speak unless spoken to. His fingers dug into the flesh for a moment before cupping your thighs and nudging you up onto the counter. You followed through and pushed yourself up, spreading your legs enough so that Hongjoong could slip between them.

He was still kneading your upper thighs when he connected your lips. Hongjoong has such perfect lips and he knew how to kiss you exactly how you wanted. He was guiding you gently through the motions of the kiss, taking his time from pecking you gently to a slow precise kiss to pushing past your lips and exploring your mouth freely, all the while inching further up your legs till his hands were beneath the hem of your dress playing with the waistline of your underwear. In one quick pinch on the soft skin, he signaled for you to lift your hips enough to pull them off.

"Your already so wet baby doll," he hummed into your lips while his finger brushed your folds. "Always so ready for me. Always so good."

Your bottom was now connected to the cold counter but your body was heating faster than you could feel it. Two of his fingers gently prodded into you, slipping into your hole with ease. His firm grip on your leg kept you grounded as your hands reached out to his biceps holding on for dear life. Hongjoong had always enjoyed playing with your cunt as much as you enjoyed feeling it, he loved how silky your walls were and how they wrapped around his fingers so perfectly. He slowly pushed in and out of you at his own leisure, occasionally scissoring you open in preparation.

"You feel so nice down here dolly, so warm and wet. Almost like you were made for me" his breath fanned over your face as he spoke as he was still so close to you. His eyes were drinking in every tiny shift in your expression, your eyes were shut tight but you nodded frantically.

"Awe, you're so sweet. Wanna tell me something? Go ahead," Hongjoong cooed.

"All yours," feel past your lips in a quiet moan.

"I know doll, my most prized possession." You opened your eyes to beam at him and he gave an affectionate smile in return. His hand suddenly pulled out if you're almost bringing a whine past your lips but you held it in. You could not stop the pained expression as he was watching your face so closely.

"Don't worry doll your gonna be filled up soon." He chuckled as he spoke, pulling away from you enough to unzip his frighteningly expensive suit pants and pull his length from his boxers. Despite the sight being familiar, you blushed madly, remembering all of the times he fucked you before brought you anticipation to a new height and you could feel more wetness seep out of you onto the counter.

Hongjoong bunched your dress up around your hips and quickly pulled you to the edge of the counter and into his strong arms. Your hands came to rest in fists on his chest. One of his hands came down to grip his dick, pumping himself a few times spreading precut down his length.

"Ready to take it like a good doll?" He asked smirking at your expectant face.

"I am," you mumbled with a small nod. To focused on the desire for him to fill you up to say more. It took little else for him to thrust into you completely. There was a stretch, as there always was, but the gentle pain was only a reminder of your purpose. To take all he was willing to give you.

Hongjoong never restrained himself with you as there was no need. It only took a moment for him to build up a rapid pace and you wouldn't have it any other way. He was gripping your hips tightly keeping your body flush against his thrusts. You were twitching around him already from the stimulation he had already given you and your gasping breathes match his own soft grunts of exertion perfectly.

"Does my baby doll like it when I use her like this?" He spoke through his deep breaths. You squealed in both embarrassment and affirmation.

"This is what you love, to be used however I want, whenever I want. You really are the perfect doll." He huffed, angling his hips in just the right way to have you panting open-mouthed. Your eyes and lips were glossy with tears and saliva but you didn't care, and to Hongjoong you never have looked more beautiful than you did right at that moment. With a groan he reattached himself to your neck, pecking up and down your jugular showering you in praise.

He was pounding into you relentlessly. Hongjoong always took such good care of you, but in times like this, he allowed himself to be selfish, to use your little cunt as much as he pleased, each time forcing himself deeper and deeper into you. At times like these, he recklessly chased his own high as much as it brought you closer to your own but right now he honestly couldn't care less if you came, you would take it anyway and thank him afterward like a good girl. You could feel each thrust with deadly precision as he railed into you. It was hard to keep quiet with this kind of treatment, because as selfish as it was it still felt so good and every stroke reminded you that you were his.

Your head was positively spinning and you could feel your stomach tighten. Clearly, Hongjoong felt it as well.

"You gonna come dolly? It's ok, I'm getting there as well. Gonna fill you up so well, and you're going to take it so well aren't you." His pace was uneven as he spoke through his grunts. Your walls were clinging to him so perfectly as if you were destined for this.

"Yes, I will! I'll be good, I promise," your hands were clinging a little too tight to his shirt for you much money it cost but just as your sentence concluded you felt yourself snap. You bit your lip to keep your noises contained as waves of pleasure crashed through you and it was only a few more moments for your pulsing walls to pull Hongjoong's orgasm from him. He continued thrusting madly as each movement ripped more pleasure through your body and his cum was shooting into you in ropes keeping you full. It wasn't until Hongjoong felt the pain of overestimation himself that he pulled out.

With barely a moment to catch his breath and adjust himself, he had already sprung into action. You collapsed onto the counter without his support and you could feel his cum dripping out of you as you lay without the strength to move. A few moments of panting later Hongjoong returned to his place between your legs with a damp cloth to clean you up.

He chuckled breathily between your legs and looked up.

As he worked you twitched and mewled with every gentle movement between your oversensitive legs. At one particular stroke of the towel directly over your clit you cried out.

"Joooong!"

"Sorry baby, I know it hurts but what kind of man would I be if I didn't take care of my things," he asked flashing a million-dollar smile. As he finished his work he looked up to meet your eyes.

"Now, what do we say?" he asked.

"Thank you,"

[yeojaa]

so maybe another devil in a new suit drabble 👉👈 maybe jk meeting oc parents or like more interactions w oc and jks parents/sister

[ read devil in a new suit ]

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  pg-13.  tags.  mentions of coconut!kook dancing (and the whole reason i wrote this tbh), cute banter, idk.  just a lotta fluff, a lil bit of grinding, y’know.  wc. 2.7k.  beta reader.  none other than @hobi-gif.  i love you always!  author note.  oh look...  it’s me...  posting something...  after sixteen hundred years.  womp womp.  this truthfully didn’t go the way i planned it to but i hope you enjoy regardless!

It really shouldn’t surprise you.  Frankly, it doesn’t.  

But it is a little funny.

There are about six girls gathered in a gaggle around your boyfriend, all desperately vying for his attention as he presents a neatly gathered bouquet to his little sister.  Jisoo’s all smiles, completely over the moon with pride and riding that high as she rightfully should.  (She’d done incredibly well, closed out the showcase with a fluidity you could never even dream of.)  She doesn’t even notice her friends staring at her brother with hearts in their eyes, each one red in the face and not from exertion.

(That, or she doesn’t care.  Maybe she’s grown used to it - the whole having-a-heartthrob-for-a-brother thing.) 

It’s actually quite cute, if only because you know Jungkook doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you.  Can feel it in how he keeps bouncing his gaze back towards you, dimple winking from deep within his cheek each time your eyes meet.  He’s like a child going back to his favourite toy, momentarily distracted by tittering laughter and his sister’s sunny smile but always coming back to you.  The knowledge warms you from the inside out, drags a satisfied smile across your lips.

You wonder whether he notices the attention or if it’s just another part of his life.  (You think he must know.  These college students don’t really hide it well, too handsy for their own good, years of growing up in semi-close proximity instilling a certain confidence in their motions.  That, and because Jungkook is quite possibly the least intimidating person you’ve ever met.)

“Thank you for coming!”  It’s Jisoo, flushed and excitable, round eyes as bright as her brother’s as she crosses to you.  This had been her moment - her time to shine - but you appreciate the effort she makes to include you, finding you within the crowd.  “I was a little nervous but…”  A shrug rolls her narrow shoulders, shakes her dark hair from its loose coil.  

You’d seen her practice before this - watched the long videos she’d regularly send to Jungkook - but seeing her in real life motion was an entire league of its own.  Dancing was her calling, every bit of her made for it.  There was just something lyrical about the way she moved, how her hips rolled, limbs seemingly guided by the rhythm of the music.  A grace you’ve never had, even on your best day.

“You shouldn’t have been.”  You’re beaming right back at her, sisterly reassurance on your tongue.  “You were amazing.” 

Whether she believes you or not - you think she does by how her cheeks grow ten sizes and her eyes are all but swallowed whole by the expression - she’s gracious, accepting the compliment with her blinding smile.  (She really was like Jungkook like that.)  

“You guys should come to a class one day.”  By that, she means a class she helps teach every once in a while.  You’ve heard about it on more than one occasion, seen the choreography posted on Instagram and YouTube.  

Still, you don’t expect that, brows shooting high.  Laughter filters past your teeth, springing off your tongue.  “I am not a dancer and I doubt your brother—”

Now it’s Jisoo’s turn to wear surprise like a neon sign, expression splitting with giggles of her own.  “Wait— have you not seen Kook dance?”  The way she says it is incredulous, Bambi eyes sparkling with what looks like mischief.

“No?”

“Your sister told me something.”

You’ve never seen this particular brand of worry on his face, eyes even more comically wide than usual, whatever words he’d originally meant to speak dying on his tongue.  He looks like a literal deer caught in the headlights, one of his nicknames suddenly very apt.

“What did she say?  She likes to embarrass me.”  True.  Jisoo and Jungkook had a textbook sibling relationship, full of teasing and mockery and copious amounts of love.  “Whatever she said, don’t believe—”

“She said you used to dance.”

“Oh.”  Oh?  You hadn’t expected Jungkook to deflate so easily, relief flooding his features.  “Yeah, I did.  In university.”  He’s utterly unbothered by this knowledge, attention back on the soondubu jjigae he’d been shovelling into his mouth.  “I had some friends who were dancers, so it was good exercise.”

“I want to see.”  

His answer is immediate, despite the heaping bite of rice and stew in his mouth.  “No.”

You whack him across the shoulder, startling him into clattering his spoon on the countertop.  It leaves a messy red streak across marble but you’re dragging his attention back to you with a firm glare, fingers cradled under his jaw.  “I want to see.”

Talent apparently runs in the family, you realise halfway through the third video.  Jungkook moves with the same assured movements his sister does, with power and grace and a confidence that frankly baffles you.  He treats the practice room like a stage, running through the motions so fluidly you almost have trouble believing it’s your man on the screen.  (Not that he’s particularly ungraceful.  It’s just surprising, like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.)

“So, what happened?”  You say it so conversationally, innocently, with eyes that mimic his own.  From the corner of your periphery, your boyfriend shifts, hand flexing over your knee.  There’s the furrow between his brows, the subtle tension in his jaw.  Worry.

“What do you mean?”  

Your own hand waves toward the screen, where the image of Jungkook from over half a decade ago sits paused.  “You were so…”  You’re not sure what you mean.  There are just so many options to describe the literal baby boy on the television.  Young?  Confident?  Round?  (You can’t get over his haircut, though you suppose you can’t hold it against him.) 

Jungkook simply stares at you, waiting for you to find whatever words you want to use.  Despite the uncertainty that swims somewhere in the depths of his eyes, he’s endlessly patient.  Always so soft when it comes to you.

“You had a coconut head.”

Laughter explodes off his tongue, entire face screwing up with amusement.  “Are you serious?”

“You did!”  Admittedly, the cut had somehow worked on him but it’s so reminiscent of grade school haircuts you can’t help but focus on it, too distracted by the glossy sheen to offer much else.  “I guess I get it, though.”

“What do you mean?  Everyone had that haircut—”

“In first grade, maybe.”  He sticks his tongue out at you then;  you scowl in response. 

“What do you get?”  As always, he’s perceptive, immediately aware of your carefully knit brow, the thoughtfulness that fits itself around your teeth like gleaming white veneers and holds his attention hostage.  He’s grown used to it over the months you’ve been together - knows you cling tight to things with an iron grip, turn them over and over until you’ve made sense of it in that brain of yours. 

“The crushes.”  You look affronted, almost appalled at the realisation.  He bursts out laughing, broad palm coming down upon your bare leg in a smack.  (He apologises profusely when you complain.)

“What’re you talking about?”

Your nose is wrinkled, velvet strands dislodged by the shake of your head.  “All your sister’s friends.  They’re in love with you.”  Jisoo had even agreed, laughed about it when you’d commented on it at the recital.  Something about them having grown up with Jungkook, obsessed with the image they’d retained of him since university.  “But you were a coconut.  You wore Timberlands and drop-crotch pants.  You weren’t even that cute.”  An exaggerated shudder slips over your shoulders.  

“I was nineteen.”  As if that makes it better.  Your judgment doesn’t lessen, the lines running the bridge of your nose only deepening.  

“Still.  Embarrassing.”

Your boyfriend truly is the best sport, rolling his eyes at you in the same instance he reaches for you, tugs you closer with broad palms, affection searing into your skin.  “Well, luckily, no more Timbs.  No more bowl cut.”  He nuzzles into the warmth of your neck, spreads your knees wide over his hips.  The sound of his laughter melts into your throat, dresses it in heat deposited by your breath.  “Are you jealous again?”

He doesn’t even get a verbal response to that.  Just a heavy glare and two hands squishing his cheeks.  “Absolutely not.” 

It comes up again in bed, your head on his chest, his hands on your hips.  He asks it quietly, conversationally, with a twinkle in his eye that makes you want to smother him with one of his many pillows. 

“You’re sure you’re not jealous?”

“I’m not,”  you grit, paired with a roll of your eyes and a little snort from your nose.  You really aren’t.  Those girls are inconsequential, irrelevant.  They’ll never amount to what you are to him and that’s just a simple fact.  He’s yours - something he reminds you of day in and day out, both verbally and in action. 

(You love him for it, appreciate it more than you can possibly begin to explain.  There’s a certain bliss to be found in the knowledge that you’re loved.  A warmth that rivals even that of the sun on the summer’s hottest day.) 

“Then why’re you pouting?”  What he really means is why aren’t you smiling.  You don’t pout often - at least not in the same ways he does.  

“I’m not,”  you repeat for what feels like the sixth time. 

“Smile for me.”

You do the opposite - throwing your eyes in an exaggerated circle.  It earns you a pinch to the side, a tender sting blooming beneath ink-strewn fingers. 

“Really—“  When he looks this earnest, it’s hard to deny him,  “you’re sure everything’s okay?”

At most, you can sigh perhaps overdramatically.  Fold your awkward limbs upon his and bury your face into the crook of his neck.  You’re not jealous of those girls, no.   

You’re envious of his talent - the simple fact that Jeon Jungkook is, by all definitions, a golden boy.  God’s favourite, with his heart wrenching smile and easygoing charm and grace that seems almost surreal.  There’s not a single thing wrong with him - okay, except for his bad habit of never answering his phone and always messing up the top sheet and the fact that he absolutely never ever puts the cap back on the toothpaste tube - and it’s absurd.  Utterly, absolutely unfair. 

But you can’t say that.

“Baby,”  he hums, threading the sound of his voice among your hair, tucking the soft syllables behind your ears.  “Talk to me.”

You relent - a little.  “You’re too good.”

“Too good?”  The depth of his laughter rumbles your bones, tickling your insides when it vibrates out of his chest.  “At what?”

A hand gesticulates wildly.  You’re not sure what it looks like, how close it is to hitting Jungkook in the face.  You’ve still got your face pressed to the warmth of his skin, greedily siphoning his sunny radiance with your cheek.   “Everything.”

Despite how he laughs - cackles, really, so adorable and high pitched it’s breathy - you know he knows what you’re talking about.  You’ve given him a hard time about it before.  

“I’m not good at everything, ____.”

He’s somehow even good at making you believe you’re wrong.  That’s a feat in and of itself. 

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Whatever!”  Whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s stupidly gifted.  Everyone and their - even his - mom knows it.  “Don’t believe me then.  I don’t care.”

“Then why’re you making that face?”  It’s almost comical that he’s calling you out for your expressions when he’s the king of funny faces, throwing his features into exaggerated (and adorable) masks.  (Maybe he’d just rubbed off on you?)

“I’m not,”  you huff, exasperated but not quite.  Still soft over his skin, velvet on silk. 

“You’re so cute.”  Sometimes, you think he really is just a child - too happy with putting you on a pedestal and praying at your altar.  Devoting himself to you when you’re nothing but a bag of flesh and bone, dressed in designer fashion and wrapped up with a satin ribbon made from sarcasm and candor.  (Not that you mind.  Who would argue if they were offered such love?)  “I still think something’s wrong but…”

It’s a smart tactic.  He doesn’t press you for an answer, opting to let it linger between you.  Settle like bothersome lint until you offer it yourself.  

When you relent - because you always do, unable to shut out the sunshine that practically pours out of him - you’re quieter.  Not shy, but bashful.  Uncertain in a way you very rarely are.  “I’ve always wanted to dance.”  So much so, you’d begged your parents to enroll you when you were younger.  Demanded lessons upon lessons - only to fail at all of them.  Rhythm simply didn’t exist anywhere in your body. 

“Really?”

You’re pulled from your safe haven, shifted until your entire point of view is filled with Jungkook, his starry eyes and his fluffy fluffy hair.  There’s that look he sometimes gets - full of wonder and adoration - when he learns something new about you.  As if just the smallest tidbit of knowledge opens up a whole new world.  

“Yes?”  You’re half regretting the admission.  He looks like he’s up to something, all the cogs in his head turning in perfect tandem. 

“I’ll teach you.”  

“Hard pass.”

Like a hot air balloon, he deflates, mouth rounding sweetly.  (If you didn’t know better, you’d assume the man was made of cotton candy, semi-sweet chocolate heart where the real organ should be.)  “Why not?”

“I do not dance.”  It’s nothing but a statement of fact, firm and unyielding. 

The pout evolves, swings down into a frown that drags his eyebrows with it.  “You could dance.”

“No, baby—“  So you’re a little frustrated, all your childhood memories pricking beneath your skin.  “I do not dance.”

“Why?”  He’s upright now, tugging you with him as if you weigh nothing.  His way of turning the conversation serious, pulling you from the warmth and comfort of the bedsheets to this.  (He’s still holding you, hooking his big broad hands over your hips, so you don’t mind.) 

“No rhythm.”  Unable to keep a beat.  Two left feet.  The list could go on and on, according to your ballet instructor. 

“Not true.”

Your brow quirks, mirrored by his as if in challenge.  You almost swat at him - so close your hand twitches on his shoulder.  “Very true.”

(Why does this conversation feel so familiar?  It’s déjà vu.) 

“Is not.”  Your boyfriend seems insistent, as if he knows better than you.  (He doesn’t.)  Stares up at you with those pretty eyes and has the audacity to grin when you roll your own, ready to rebuff him. 

Because you’re in bed, the one place where you defer to him whether you like it or not. 

(You do like it, though.  Love it, in fact.  Just like you love him.)

“You’re graceful,”  he hums, bridging the gap between you with a forward roll of his shoulders.  “You’ve got rhythm.”  The hand on your hip grows firm, guides your knees to spread wide on either side of him.  With each brush of his lips - tender little brushes, endlessly sweet and reassuring - he pushes and pulls, dragging you across his lap.  “You can do anything you want.”

You’ve almost forgotten the topic of conversation, preoccupied by how he guides you in languid circles.  How the cotton of his boxer briefs feels against the sensitive inside of your thighs.  The weight that grows between your legs and nudges indelicately against the soft fabric of your thong.

All part of his plan, of course.

“Your body’s the most beautiful thing in the world, ____.”  

When he looks at you like this, you think he might be right.  You’d believe it if he kept saying it, sparking desire through your limbs until they’re jellied and loose.  

(How he sees right through you - cuts straight to the core of your insecurity - you’re not sure.  It feels almost like a superpower, something unquantifiable, unbelievable.  He’s too good for you, always.  So kind and loving, pressing his belief in the form of his mouth, the tender edge of his teeth when he kisses you slow slow slow.)

“You’re perfect just the way you are.”

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Ten

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: don’t be mad ok

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The enamel mug burned her hands but Elide didn’t notice it as she blew on the surface and carefully sipped her tea.

Two hands planted on the island on either side of her and she was caged in, a warm body pressed against her back. “Wow, drinking tea? How the mighty have fallen,” murmured a familiar voice, soft lips finding the sensitive skin beneath her jaw.

Elide breathed in shakily, her teeth catching on her bottom lip as Lorcan continued down the column of her throat, nipping at her skin until he noticed the blank pages and pen in front of her. “What’s that for?”

She put her mug down and spun on her stool, folding her legs up underneath her. “It’s nothing.” The smile she offered him soothed him of his worries and Lorcan returned it, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he kissed her.

Elide returned it, sitting up straighter as she looped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. His laugh was raspy against her lips and she kissed him harder, greedy to feel the sound on her lips so that she could carry it with her forevermore.

Her throat ached with tears and she forced herself to pull away, flicking her eyes over his shoulder to the back window, where she saw Fenrys and Vaughan imitating them. “It seems as though we have an audience,” she whispered, her voice hitching.

If Lorcan noticed the change in her voice, he didn’t say anything as he turned around and rolled his eyes. He sighed as he turned back to her, “I guess I gotta go and get ready.” For their wedding.

Elide smiled a fake smile and she knew Lorcan could tell something was wrong but she didn’t let him say a word before her lips were pressing against his. She told him her silent goodbye through her kiss, asking the gods to take care of him after she was gone. “Go.”

“Are you alright?”

She swallowed thickly, nodding, “I’m fine. I’m good. I’ll see you up there.”

“Promise?”

The lie felt slick and oily on her tongue.

“Promise.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Nehemia’s hands were gentle in her hair as she pulled Elide’s hair back into a simple chignon that rested at the nape of her neck. Her dark brown eyes didn’t miss anything as Elide fidgeted, twisting her mother’s ring around her finger over and over until the skin beneath it was red.

Aneha and Sadirah were flitting around the room, meaningless chatter flowing from their mouths. In the mirror, Elide made eye contact with Odette and quickly looked away, a slight frown on her brows. 

The entire Salvaterre family were too perceptive for their own good. Odette’s eyes missed nothing but she stayed silent, smiling reassuringly at Elide. Nehemia patted Elide’s hair, “All done.” 

Elide smiled, a real smile, and stood up, turning her head to see the style in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous, Nehemia. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she said, hugging Elide tightly, “I wish you a lifetime of happiness with him. You’re good for him.” 

Her smile faltered for a split second and she discreetly patted her eyes dry, careful not to mess up Aelin’s hard work. “You’re going to make me sob like a wee babe.” 

Aelin breezed by, “Now, now, none of that, young lady! Go get dressed, we have a wedding to start!” 

Elide chuckled and slipped out of the room, walking down the hallway. She passed by a room, its door cracked open. Low voices rumbled out of it and she peeked inside, seeing Lorcan and his groomsmen getting ready. 

Her eyes slid to Lorcan, his head tipped back as he laughed, the sound full and warm. He spoke in a melodic tongue with Vaughan as Rowan sulked and muttered that they shouldn’t be allowed to have a secret language. That only made them laugh louder. 

His eyes were bright as he smiled, standing still as Connall - the only organized one of the lot - gently tugged on the cuffs of his white shirt, making them so that they stuck out a bit from his navy suit. The colour contrast of the dark blue against his burnished-copper skin was beautiful, making his complexion glow even brighter than usual. 

Squaring her shoulders, Elide breathed out and walked away, only more sure of her decision after seeing him. She had tucked the letters, all but one, behind a painting and as she paused by it, she glanced around to ensure that no one was there as she lifted the frame and grabbed them. 

There was one for Aelin, one for Nehemia, and one for Odette. The twins both got one and Elide had written another for the boys. They had finally warmed up to her and treated her as one of them. 

As for Lorcan’s… Elide knew she was stalling. She hadn’t written it yet and was dreading it. 

The room seemed frozen as she walked in, able to see them in every feature of it. The duvet still rumpled from that morning because neither cared enough to make it, throw pillows strewn about the room from when they had thrown them at each other, her laughter and screams when he caught her and tickled her mercilessly still heavy in the air. 

Those memories hung around her as she sat down and put pen to paper, not finding it in herself to stop the tears that dripped onto the paper and smudged the ink. 

Crying silently, she folded it and put it in an envelope addressed to him. Elide kissed the paper once, hoping he would be able to feel it. 

As she changed, switching a silk dressing gown for leggings and a snug-fitting tank top, she hesitated, Lorcan’s hoodie catching her eye. Because she couldn’t help herself, Elide grabbed it and pulled it over her head. 

All she thought about as she packed her bags were the words she wanted to so desperately to say to him, but the ones she never would. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Everything was ready.

The dress was draped across the foot of the bed, the blue jade necklace back in its velvet box. Elide had her enveloped letters in hand, one for each person she had lied to.

The others, she put down easily, placing them tenderly, but Lorcan’s… she fingered the paper, a trembling finger tracing over the ink that read his name. He would never forgive her for this and Elide wasn’t sure she would ever forgive herself.

With a shaking breath, she kissed the letter once more and put it down, gently patting dry the teardrop that had landed on the envelope.

Squaring her shoulders, Elide grabbed her bags and took one last look around the room before she slipped off into the sunny afternoon.

She half-thought it would be more difficult to sneak down to the water taxi she’d called, but nobody even noticed.

The man was friendly enough, his attempts at small-talk valiant as he loaded her bags into the vessel. Elide’s responses were clipped and short, not inviting any further discussion until he dropped it.

She didn’t dare look back at the property as the boat carried her further and further away, knowing that if she gave in to the screaming in her head, a voice that begged her to turn around for one last look, she would never be able to go through with it.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” Lorcan knocked on the door to their room, not knowing why he felt the need to seek her out and make sure she was ok but still not being able to shake the feeling. Their interaction that morning had had him feeling unsettled as he got ready and the first chance he got to sneak out of the room, he took.

After checking in with Aelin, who had told him Elide had gone to their room to get ready by herself, Lorcan had speed-walked across the house.

There was no answer from inside the room and he opened the door slowly, taking one step in before his heart cracked.

The wedding dress draped across the bed, the velvet jewellery box, and the stack of letters, it couldn’t be.

“Elide?” he asked again, searching through the entire room, hoping that maybe, what he knew had happened was a lie.

But she wasn’t there and all he had left was the stack of letters, all addressed to various people in her perfect penmanship. Lorcan flipped through them, his breath hitching at the one addressed to him.

In a daze, he sat on the floor, his back against the bed and ripped open the envelope, his hands shaking as he pulled out the paper, tearstained and ink smudged.

His eyes raced over the neat lines of script, reading too fast and making the words a jumbled mess of letters he wasn’t sure were in the common tongue. With a steadying breath,his eyes burning with the threat of tears, he read it again – slowly.

Lorcan,

I have to go. I’m sorry,  but I’m a coward and I’m selfish and I can’t break your family’s heart like that. You deserve a real love, one with someone who is good like you because you deserve happiness and you won’t get that with me. This was a business deal and it’s over.

Be happy.

Elide

Lorcan wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed there, not sure if his heart were even beating, on the floor. Memories of them surrounded him and he somehow got up to walk out to the balcony, eyes on the ocean.

The blue waves were empty except for one boat and he watched as his heart was carried away in the clutches of that infuriating woman.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had been gone for a while and Aelin set out to find her, intercepting Rowan in the hallway. She smiled and strolled up to him, “Well, hello there, stranger.”

His face was tight and he didn’t even bother to fake amusement at her antics like he normally did when distressed. Aelin paused him with a hand on his bicep, “What is it?”

“We can’t find Lorcan.”

Laughing, she grabbed his hand, “He’s with Elide!”

“And you know that how?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and pulled him down to the soon-to-be-wed couple’s room. “It’s obvious. Where else would they be?”

Rowan just shook his head and followed his girlfriend across the house until they reached the room. With a wink thrown over her shoulder, Aelin said, “Let’s go see what the happy couple is up to!”

“I think I’ll just wait out here,” he said, grimacing as he leaned against the wall.

She cackled and knocked once before slipping inside, closing the door behind her. “Hello-“ Aelin cut herself off when she saw the wedding dress and letters. “Wha… Lorcan?” He didn’t acknowledge her from where he sat on the balcony, his head hung low.

Quickly, Aelin hurried out to his side and dropped onto the seat beside him. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” he whispered, his voice broken. “There’s a letter inside for you, but I’m guessing she already told you.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “She told me.”

“She fucking ruined my life and left me with a fucking letter? Tells me to be happy?” he said, his voice raised. “I hate her. For two fucking years, I worked my ass off for her and then she does this shit and doesn’t have the decency to say it to my face. I hate her.”

“No, you don’t.”

He stood up abruptly and began pacing back and forth, crumpling Elide’s letter in his hand. “But none of that matters, you wanna know why?”

“Lor-“

“We had a deal, Aelin! We had a gods-damned deal. She promised to me that I would see her up on that fucking altar.” He seemed to sort of collapse on the couch next to her, leaning on his best friend, his voice ragged, “She promised, G.”

“I know she did, hon.” Aelin paused, rubbing his back gently, “Are you just going to let her go?”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“You did what?”

Lorcan was trying to placate his sisters, who were angrier than he’d ever seen either of them. Even Sadirah, his sweet and gentle baby sister, was shooting daggers at him, her hands fisted at her sides as the light in her eyes promised him a slow slow death. “I-“

“You are the stupidest person I know! Why would you do this? On our birthday? Our BIRTHDAY!”

He didn’t have any words and spread his hands, “I’m sorry?”

Aneha scowled at him, her eyes flashing and she opened her mouth to say something when Odette cut in, holding up a hand. The siblings all fell silent as she walked up to her eldest, cupping his face gently. She spoke in their language to him, “You are a very stupid man.” She paused and kissed his brow, whispering a prayer before, “Go get her.”

Lorcan grinned and kissed her cheek, hugging his sisters before running out and freezing as he was accosted by Vaughan, Fenrys, Connall, and Rowan. “Boys-“

Vaughan held up his hand, those eyes Lorcan saw every time he looked in the mirror rippling with cold ire and fury. Lorcan swallowed hard, knowing he’d broken their most basic rule – no lying. But then, his cousin – his brother, really – smiled and they all did. “Go get her, man. Good luck.”

He grinned and hugged them all, rolling his eyes as they yelled at him for wasting time before he sprinted down to the jetty, jumping in the speedboat and gunning the engine.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had been sitting in the little airport lounge for half an hour and with every ticking second, she grew closer to fleeing back to Lorcan, her heart aching. “All passengers boarding flight 587 to Mistward, please proceed to the boarding gate.”

She sighed shakily and stood up, gathering her things and making her way to the line. Every step closer to the gate had her heart fracturing and she was holding back tears when the boarding agent asked for her boarding pass.

Elide nodded and rifled through her purse. She found it and held it up, attempting to smile when someone called her name. “Elide!” 

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes filled with tears as she saw Lorcan run through the doors, wearing his suit and his glasses.

She loved his glasses. 

There was something sure in his face and she shook her head as he weaved through the crowd to her. “Don’t go.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Lorcan took one step closer and she pressed her hand into his chest, stopping him. “Don’t go,” he repeated, his heart slamming a thunderous tattoo beneath her hand. “Can I just talk to you for a second? Please?” 

Elide gave in immediately and let him pull her to the side. Lorcan just said one word: “Stay.” 

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Yes, you can, you can.” He held her hand to his chest, his eyes soft and open. “Elide.”

Elide just shook her head again, “I have to get on the plane. Lorcan, I have to go.”

“I love you,” he said. Simple, just three little words.

She cried, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I have to go home. It’s time.”

“Princess,” Lorcan said, leaning down and leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you. Let me be with you.”

“You don’t want to be with me,” she whispered, tilting her chin up and kissing his cheek. “Not forever.”

“Yes, I do. Stay,” he said, desperation bleeding through his words. “Stay with me, Elide Lochan.”

“No, I can’t marry you, Lorcan.”

“Then don’t marry me. Just stay. We’ll figure it out together, princess. Say you’ll stay with me.” 

“No.”

“Well… yes.”

“No!”

“Say yes.”

“No, Lorcan,” Elide’s voice broke and more tears slipped down her face. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought it changed. You told me you wanted to stay-“ Lorcan cut himself off, his eyes welling. “I thought you loved me too.”

Elide furrowed her brow, closing her eyes and saying those damning words, “It was just a business deal. Everything Benson said was true.”

Lorcan held her hand tighter, silently begging her to open her eyes, “Tell me you don’t love me then. If you say that, I’ll let you go.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and stepped away from him, handing the agent her pass, “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” Without another word or glance his way, Elide Lochan strode through the gate and walked out of his life. Forever.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: it’s honestly fine don’t even worry 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein @rosegoldannie @pilesoffriles @julemmaes @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @januarystears​

[oh-theatre]

Moceit for a holiday fic!!! If you want to!!!

IF I WANT TO?? OFC!! OH MY GOD!! I WOULD LOVE TO! I LOve them and you :D

Oh, I do hope you like it!! 

- - - - - - - -

Last Christmas

Words: 1741

Summary: Pattons Christmases only seem to improve

Pairings: Moceit (Patton x Deceit)

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart” Patton sang sweetly, moving carefully through the shop as he works “And the very next day..” He matches the pitch, it seems a mix between a hum and actual words, the lights flicker as they come together “You gave it away..” He clicks the first string lights on as the room fills with color, an overwhelming beauty. He takes another set moving towards another step ladder “This year...to save me from tears” He turns as the familiar jingle of the door rings out “I'll give it to someone...” His eyes fall upon a sophisticated stranger, wrapped in a delicate coat, meeting his eyes alight with curiosity “Special” He barely whispers.

Somewhere along the way, he must have lost his balance, a fight begins as he wobbles trying to remain stable but soon enough finds himself planted defeated on the floor, a growing sore on his back. A quick rush and he notices a shadow sheeted beside him.

“Are you alright?” The voice is much nicer than imagined, not that he had much of a perception. Patton sits up straight taking his back as he does so, the figure helps him stand, keeping a gentle arm on Patton. “That was quite a fall” He muses


“I've had worse” Patton responds, a flustered smile upon his sweet face. Finally, he can see the man's face, its...in the most professional sense...dazzling. There are just some things that can capture a person in an instant, and this was that. It was hard to look away, his eyes told a story as they welcomed Patton, his face remained smooth and soft, not that Patton would know…

“Would you like some help?” He offers, gesturing to the lights, Patton bites his lower lip watching the man.

“Oh! I wouldn’t want to trouble you!” He removes himself and continues his journey on the stepladder. The man laughs but keeps a steady arm on Patton, wary to let go. He finishes safely jumping down with ease. Neither noticed how close they end up, the man's arms are so respectful and yet intimate. “Patton” He greets with a squeak

“Damien” He recoils, offering a hand as they introduce themselves. Patton takes it shaking it confidently, he watches Damien smirk below his perfect hair. “I apologize, I should be on my way” He rescinds, Patton waves him off his smile remaining ever so sweet. “It's a lovely shop you have,” He says, his eyes finally making his way around the room. The shelves lined with books, the aromatic waft of coffee and promise of sweet treats making its way up to his nose. Patton watches his face, a slow desire grows upon Declan.

“Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?” Patton wonders, Damien sighs nodding nonetheless after a hesitation. “Come” He suggests making his way towards the small coffee shop they’ve set up. He offers Damien a seat as he works quietly on the caffeinated delectable, a soft hum again. “One hot cuppa Joe” Patton gleams handing the stranger a cup.

“You’re too kind,” Damien remarks, he's not usually so…at a loss for words. Something about the way this shopkeeper well…kept himself was different. Damien could watch him for hours, well now he just sounded creepy. “Why don’t you sit?” He says only now realizing that Patton hadn’t stopped working.

“I guess…it couldn’t hurt” He sits, shifting uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, I'm not…

“You don’t like to sit still, I get that” Damien understands, his words feel too casual, he wants to despise this but…it comes naturally. They continue their conversation, can a room truly get brighter should no one add more light to it? It can as they laugh away the evening, humbly waving goodbye at the midnight hour of the snow ridden moon. “Goodnight Patton”

“Good-

~~~

“-Morning dear” Patton greets with a giggle as a less than ecstatic Damien curls his way around Patton, laying his head upon Patton's shoulder. “Oh cheer up, its Christmas!”

“The most wonderful time of the year” Damien mumbles sleepily, Patton laughs turning to him, his arms make their way around his neck. Damien yawns as his own arms rest around Patton's waist now, holding the world in his arms, hoping the wind would never change on them.

“Indubitably!” Patton plants a soft kiss on Damien, a warmth spreads across the taller man. “Now come, I've got cookies in the oven, a few more presents to be wrapped and our parents should be here soon” Patton lists, Damien, groans into his partner's chest.

“I still can't believe you invited them, its gonna be like world war three in here” Damien makes his way around Patton, tickling his waist unintentionally, his finger dipping into the almost empty cookie dough. “Scrumptious!” He delights

“Good! You can clean it” Patton says, stroking his thumb against Damien's cheek lovingly. He pouts but obliges, it's the least he can do after the house had been turned to a winter wonderland. Especially for later that evening…

“How about a tune Damien?” His father requests pointing towards the dusted piano, Patton squeals nodding encouragingly as he cleans away the delicious dinner.

“Oh I…I haven't played in ages” Damien lies, feeling red as the eyes fall on him. He looks to Patton, his safety embracing him as his blue eyes hit him with a tidal of support. Patton sets down the dishes joining Damien by the window “Only if you’ll sing with me” He whispers

“Always Dee” The nickname rolls off so easily. Damien nods after a squeeze from Patton is felt, he sits his eyes remain on Patton. He plays slowly, beginning a familiar tune, Patton places a hand on his back ready to carry his own. “Let it snow, let it snow…let it snow” They finish, light applause but they don’t care. Their eyes lost in each other, the magical evening.

“Any requests?” Patton teases only slightly, Damien laughs he mocks a pointed finger.

“Will you-

~~~

“-Marry me?” Damien feels the cold seep through his pants but he doesn’t care, he cant not as he watches Patton's unmistakable expression, the pure joy as he laughs softly. Damien's hands trembled with the velvet promise of eternal love.

“Yes” He cries carefully, Damien stands to embrace him as the snow continues to fall upon them, he kisses him lightly. Spinning him around, his heart at the full mercy of the giggles released. They pull away clutching to one another. “Yes a million times”

“Oh, Patton don’t cry” Damien begs, the feathery tips of his glove wipe away the small tears that fall from his fiancees face. He kisses his cheek softly, Pattons smile is endless.

“Happy tears my love, I promise,” He says taking Damien's hands “I love you,” He says as he had done so many times, the cold white substance frosting his face. Numbing his joy but he couldn’t care less. Not with the love of his life in his hands, something he never thought he’d experience, or that he deserved. “Come,” He says extending his hand “We are much too excited, let's skate of some of this energy,” He says, feeling the dream hit him.

“That's all I ever wanted to hear,” Damien says taking his hand, as he always has and always would. He wasn’t the best but Patton glided so easily he did enough for the both of them. Spinning fast through the frosty air, what a bright time Damien noted looking deeply at Patton, never wanting to let go. Once they’ve exhausted their legs, and meet each other once more in the snow, Patton examines his finger where a gold band lies.

“Oh my god!”  He exclaims, his face in horror “It's real, I'm…” Feeling faint he turns helplessly to Damien.

“Pat, breathe” Damien takes his face, cupping it “You’re going to be ok” After a moment he matched his breathing, Patton stares into the amber flame that is Damien's eyes.

“With you?” He says taking a deep breath “I'm always ok, well…more than ok” He kisses Damien allowing the world to melt away underneath his touch. Pulling away he watches the children around him, grasping their packages filled with wonder tightly. He gasps delighted, he pats Damiens chest, his eyes full of promise “Come-

~~~

“-Presents time!” Patton calls out, Damien chuckles from his position on the couch, his eyes scan the newspaper. “Kiddos! Let's go! Or Dads going to open all of your presents” That seems to gain their attention

“No! No Papa dont let him!” Virgil begs running right into his father, a calmer Logan follows propping himself next to Damien who puts away his paper, wrapping his arm around his smaller son. Patton lifts Virgil up seating him on his lap as he sits next to his husband.

“Can I go first?” A timid request falls from Logan's mouth, Patton smiles brightly nodding, Damien ruffles his son's hair encouragingly. Patton sighs leaning into Damien, his husband kissing his forehead lightly. Logan picks the first one he sees with his name, unwrapping it carefully. Virgil groans falling into his father. Logan pouts turning towards his parents holding out the gift “help”

“I'll do it!” Virgil volunteers hopping off his father's lap, he goes to where Logan now sits across the floor and helps him in his own way. Patton watches them smiling as he only cuddles further into Damien.

“Having a nice time?” Damien jokes, only placing more gentle kisses upon his forehead. Patton leans up slightly fully meeting his lips, he’d never admit it but even after all these years…it still feels a dream, surely he didn't deserve this. “Are you alright love?” Damien checks

“I love you” Patton wants to make sure he knows it, that Damien has those words seared into his brain, almost to the point where it annoys him. The children pull apart ripping the present open, chatters of laughter play out. “And them” Patton smiles. One more kiss upon the forehead from Damien is placed on Patton.

“I love you too” Damien responds, the Christmas air pushing through as the world fades away. The only thing to keep was their magical time under the lights…as they had met so many years ago. “Last Christmas…gave you my heart” Damien hums gently, Patton yawns “Next day…” He skips over a few lines, watching the children open more gifts “Give it to someone…” He looks to Patton “Special” and he had

[thieves-in-the-palace]

Even more Velvet Stage Palace AU ideas

Hhh sorry for how long this one is, I noticed a plothole that needed fixing and proceeded to get carried the eff away

The reason the rest of the Phantom Thieves find out about Akira’s Palace is because he starts sleeping a lot more than usual, has a harder time getting up in the morning, and starts eating less. Morgana pesters Akira into visiting Takemi in case he might be sick, but Takemi concludes that he’s perfectly healthy. When the issues persist, despite Akira’s claims that he’s alright, Morgana brings it up with the others b/c he’s worried. While they try to figure out what’s going on with their leader, someone (maybe Ryuji) jokingly puts his name into the MetaNav. Everyone’s caught off-guard when it’s a hit.

The Phantom Thieves appear in their normal real-world outfits the entire time, rather than shifting into their Thief outfits at any point (though they still have access to their weapons). Even if they’re identified as a threat in the Palace, real-world Akira still sees them as his friends first and foremost. Morgana does change into his bipedal form, but it has more to do with him being in the Metaverse than him being perceived as an enemy.

The cognitive versions of the Confidants all appear relatively normal/undistorted, but there’s still something a bit…off about them. Think uncanny valley here: they look perfectly human, but their movement are just a little too stiff to be natural, etc. Aside from being sorta fixated on the show and quick to praise Puppet!Akira, their personalities are pretty spot-on.

The non-Thief/non-Velvet Confidants are only semi-aware of Puppeteer!Akira, and don’t really have an opinion of him. Cognitive Igor, Caroline, and Justine are aware of Puppeteer!Akira, and have a generally neutral opinion of him.

The Thief Confidants are aware of Puppeteer!Akira, but they don’t like him, or like talking about him. If/when the Thieves manage to get their cognitive equivalents to talk about Puppeteer!Akira, they won’t have anything good to say about him – he’s creepy, it’s annoying when he messes up the show, it’s frustrating how he’s been taking more breaks recently, etc. This (combined with how easily they compliment Puppet!Akira) is to reflect how Akira feels like his friends only like the act he puts on around them, and not Akira himself.

All the cognitive Confidants refer to Puppet!Akira as “him,” but Puppeteer!Akira refers to Puppet!Akira as “it” instead.

LISTEN I know I said “eff the rules give Akira two Shadows” last time but I gotta change that now for the sake of Plot™. Right from the beginning, Akira’s Treasure is already manifested as Puppet!Akira. There are a few possible explanations for this, but the idea I’m leaning towards the most is that Puppet!Akira isn’t a “true” Shadow. It’s a Treasure that, due to its nature as a fabricated version of Akira made to perform for others, is a little more sentient than usual. As such, Akira would always be aware of its existence, thus leading to it already being manifested by the time the Phantom Thieves enter the Palace. This also leads to them mistakenly believing that Puppet!Akira is Akira’s Shadow at first.

@the-baron-of-burgle​ you brought up in ur ask how part of Puppet!Akira’s performance could include talking to the audience, and I really love that idea?? The Phantom Thieves would have the opportunity to tell him to drop the act, that he doesn’t have to put on an act to be loved, etc. Unfortunately Puppet!Akira doesn’t have enough autonomy to revolt against Puppeteer!Akira like you mentioned, but Puppeteer!Akira does hear the Thieves when they talk to Puppet!Akira. Their responses startle/confuse him enough that the performance is noticeably disrupted. This draws the ire of the cognitive audience, so the show is quickly resumed; afterwards though it’s announced (maybe by Caroline & Justine) that there’s going to be a short break before the next performance. The cognitive Confidants complain again at this, blaming the PT for messing things up, but they don’t become hostile. The enemy Shadows in the audience do attack though, but luckily there aren’t many of them, and the Thieves are able to escape and regroup.

You also brought up cutting Puppet!Akira’s strings and that is EXACTLY what’s gonna happen here baby!! If the Phantom Thieves are able to change Akira’s cognition from the real world, Puppeteer!Akira will cut Puppet!Akira’s strings, rendering it unable to perform. If they wind up having to send Akira a calling card, there will be a boss fight against Puppeteer!Akira – part of this fight will involve cutting Puppet!Akira’s strings themselves.

Although the Phantom Thieves agree to try changing Akira’s cognition from the real world and leave stealing his Treasure as a last resort, they still spend a decent amount of time investigating the Palace and trying to locate a route to the Treasure. To their confusion, all the routes they investigate wind up either being dead ends or leading them back to the main stage, where Puppet!Akira performs.

Puppet!Akira can talk and emote to an extent, but it doesn’t blink or breathe. Its eyes stay relatively emotionless, and are the signature Shadow yellow, though they look much less alive than Puppeteer!Akira’s. It generally doesn’t do much unless it’s actively being controlled.

Puppeteer!Akira can talk, but rarely does so – when he does, his voice is very quiet. His eyes are more emotive than Puppet!Akira’s, even if his main emotion is unfortunately “depression.” He doesn’t like Puppet!Akira very much, but views it as necessary to keep around.

@yiffquius like u mentioned in ur tags, the memories that get played out by the bunraku puppets 100% are altered from how they actually went down. The alterations always reinforce Akira’s perception that he has to keep up the act or else there will be some form of consequence, primarily people abandoning him.

Speaking of the memories, I feel like they ought to expand back to pre-canon, or at minimum to the day of Akira’s arrest – Palaces take a long time to form, after all. However, another way to go about it is to say that the PT don’t see any pre-canon memories for whatever reason. Maybe they feel like it’d be an unnecessary invasion of privacy, or there’s not enough time to watch all of them, etc. Of the memories they see, I think three that would emphasize Akira’s distortion well (and be easy to alter) would be the night of his arrest, his car convo with Sojiro/Sojiro threatening to kick him out if he gets into trouble, and that part of the buffet scene where he’s made leader of the Phantom Thieves.

I kinda want Nameless and Belladonna to have cameo appearances, seeing as they could provide (a limited range of) music for the shows. It’d be kind of a stretch, unfortunately – since they don’t show up in Akira’s Velvet Room, he has no reason to know them, let alone have cognitive versions of them.

[talesofmaehem]

Family Tradition

“Will,” Charlotte sighed, in the exasperated tone that usually accompanied his name, “please. It’s a family tradition.”

“Well fortunately for me,” Will said flippantly, “we aren’t family,” and tried to ignore the wounded expression that flashed across Charlotte’s face. He was disturbed by how easy it was becoming. The cruelty. He’d had to work at it before, resorting to sullenness and brooding stares until he’d realized that his words could just as easily be weapons as comforts. The quick wit he’d cultivated to amuse Ella and tease Cecy worked just as well to lash out at those around him. He hardly even needed to think up cruel remarks now; he just said the first thing that leapt  to his tongue and it was sure to be something barbed and out for blood.

He turned from Charlotte so she wouldn’t see him close his eyes and read any form of remorse in the gesture. She was stubbornly determined to find the good in him and it was exhausting. Maybe he could steal Henry’s Christmas brandy and get unrepentantly drunk off it. That would be sure to ruin any lingering suspicion of goodness. He pictured Charlotte’s fury and Henry’s disappointment and felt his gut sour.

Well. It’d be a last resort.

Will opened his eyes and turned just in time to catch Charlotte opening her mouth to undoubtedly guilt him into feeling even worse when Jem came into the dining room.

“What’s this about a family tradition?” he asked curiously.

Which meant that he’d heard Will’s response too.

Will was both relieved at being rescued from Charlotte’s good intentions and angry that he had to be rescued at all, so he scowled at both of them and threw himself into one of the chairs at the table.

Charlotte turned to James and smiled warmly. It was the only way people could smile at him. Even a blizzard would pause its howling and thaw out a grin if Jem asked nicely. And he was always nice.

Actually, nice wasn’t the right term for him.

He was kind.

And in that simple word he was everything Will couldn’t be. Couldn’t let himself be.

In many ways, it would have made sense for Will to hate Jem. He was so easily loved and loving, free with his affection and unencumbered by things like curses.

Will felt a horrible wrench in his heart as the candlelight glittered off Jem’s increasingly silver hair. Because in his own way, Jem was cursed. He just managed it so much better than Will did. And even this, perhaps, Will could have hated, for while Jem’s curse meant that he suffered, that he was dying, Will’s curse meant that he had to make everyone else suffer. Everyone he loved.

But Will did not hate Jem.

The opposite in fact.

Even if the other boy wasn’t suffering his own curse, Will didn’t think he would have had the fortitude to withstand Jem’s kindness. Really, he thought, it would almost have been worse if Jem wasn’t dying because then his stubborn affection for Will would have killed him anyway. Will immediately felt horrid and guilty for such a thought. Grateful that Jem was dying? He really was a cruel, wretched creature even without his curse.

Because Jem, Jem was everything good and right that he wished he could be. Jem was the other half of his soul. The half that he had to keep buried, that he could risk no one but Jem catching glimpses of. Jem was his last link to goodness. He deserved to live. Instead, he was dying and had somehow still chosen to spend the remaining years of his life bound to this venomous creature Will was becoming.

His only hope was that loving Jem and allowing Jem to love him in return would give Jem a quick, painless death rather than the slow, burning one that loomed in the future.

He glanced back at his parabatai who was talking animatedly with Charlotte. It’d only been a few months since their ceremony, but Will felt like the tether between them had always been there. A duet between heartbeats so complete that it didn’t lack any other symphony.

“Is that true William?” Jem asked, drawing Will back to the present conversation.

Will stared at him blankly and Jem raised an eyebrow, gifting Will a wry grin.

“Charlotte says you refuse to decorate the Christmas tree.”

“I refuse to partake in insipid mundane traditions,” Will corrected, shoving aside memories of his father lifting Cecy to place the angel atop their own tree and Ella draping their mother with tinsel. “What a ridiculous notion, taking a tree into the house. What next, the whole forest? Ducks in the bathtub? Where will it end, James?”

Jem tried hard to keep a straight face in front of Charlotte, but Will was gratified to note he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Stop being dramatic Will and come help us decorate the tree.”

Charlotte bustled about, happy now that she had someone to decorate the tree with her. Will thought it probably should have been Henry, but he didn’t bother to point this out. He was sure Charlotte was acutely aware of the fact and there was no need for him to be that cruel.

Instead, he sighed and stood, dragging his feet as he trailed Jem and Charlotte to the stately tree that stood in the corner. Charlotte lifted a wooden box off the mantle, handling it fondly before turning back to the boys. Will felt a hint of curiosity despite himself. The boys looked at her expectantly.

“They were my mother’s,” Charlotte explained, looking down at the box.

At the mention of mothers, all three of them fell quiet.

It was a rather morose silence, and noticing this Charlotte caught herself and smiled gently, opening the box.

“They’re beautiful,” Jem said sincerely, as he peered into the velvet lining.

Will said nothing. Sometimes that was the kindest action he allowed himself.

Inside the box were a set of crystal ornaments carved into the shape of runes. Prosperity and Abundance, Fortune and Fortitude, Trust and Understanding all shimmered up at them. They were beautiful and Will could never admit it. Each rune was hung on a thin ribbon of red silk and Charlotte lifted the top most ornament from the box, red ribbon hugging her finger. Fortitude. She bit her lip and glanced towards the door. Jem and Will shared a quick look. Henry. But the doorway remained empty.

With a barely perceptible sigh, Charlotte turned towards the tree and hung the rune on an outstretched branch.

“You know,” Jem mused, “in China red is a lucky color, said to bring good fortune and joy. A rather fortuitous choice on your mother’s part.”

Charlotte smiled at him gratefully and reached out to gently ruffle his hair.

“What’s fortuitous is that you’re here to make William behave himself, Jemmie.”

Will made a sound of protest.

“Jem does not make me behave,” he argued petulantly, “I can be a perfect gentleman if I so choose.”

“Well perhaps,” Charlotte hinted, “you could exercise that choice a little more often.”

“Come now Charlotte, that’d just be boring,” Will added with his customary sharp smile.

Charlotte sighed but didn’t press the issue.

“Just put an ornament on the tree William,” Jem said, reaching into the box.

And because it was Jem asking him to, he did.

The box was nearly empty, a solitary ornament resting at the bottom, and Jem and Will reached for it at the same time. It was the rune for Friendship. The same rune Will had placed directly above his heart, the twin of which rested on Jem’s shoulder. The parabatai rune. Will still remembered placing it there. Jem’s steady gaze locked on his. The rightness of the moment, the way the rune unfurled fluidly against Jem’s shoulder, like it wanted to be there.

Will glanced at Jem as their hands knocked against each other. He saw the same memories reflected back at him in Jem’s eyes.

“Together?” his parabatai asked.

Will swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

“Always.”

If his voice was rough, or Charlotte’s eyes wide and brighter than usual, they collectively ignored it as the two boys placed the final rune on the tree. Right in the middle, at eye height, where it winked and glittered at them each time they came into the room.

And if the year after, Will didn’t put up a fight when asked to decorate the tree, and somehow Charlotte managed to leave the parabatai rune at the bottom of the box, and incidentally Jem waited until Will’s hand was on the ornament before he reached for it, and so the boys hung it together once again…well.

At that point, it was well on its way to being a family tradition.

[thegazettefanfiction]

The Art of Attraction (Reita)

Reita arrived at the entrance of Chatei Hatou, and stood in front of it while staring ahead, with his left hand was shoved into one of the pockets of his black jeans, while the other hand was carrying a paper bag. Despite wearing a black cap and a white face mask to hide his true appearance behind the heavy makeup he often put on for the cameras, one could easily tell that he was nervous; and that word itself understated what he was feeling at that moment.

When he was visiting a bookshop to grab a book for him to read during the long Japan tour, his attention was diverted towards the little section where a pile of “(Book title)” was displayed. Out of curiosity, he picked up one and read its short description printed on the back. At that moment, he knew he had to get a copy for himself, and he didn’t regret a single yen.

Throughout the tour, he found himself picking up the book and reading it when he had nothing to do in his hotel room. He hadn’t read such a page-turner in a while, and it was refreshing; the plot was interesting and suspenseful, the character development was gradual and interesting without making any drastic changes that challenged the characters. But what attracted Reita the most was the author’s language used throughout the story. It may had the right amount of bombastic words and description without leaving readers feel bored or disconnect from the story, but there was something about the way the author conjure up the image with her words that attracted him; and he couldn’t tell how and why.

After finishing the book in about three days, Reita decided to drop by a nearby bookshop to purchase more of (Y/n)’s books, even though she had only four works published, including the recent best-seller. Let it be during shooting, rehearsals or soundchecks; he’d carry one of her books wherever he went, sit in a small corner away from the noise and crowd, and begin flipping through the pages as his eyes scanned every line written on each side of the papers. The more he read her books, the more he began to wanting to know more about the author, for not only her stories were interesting and challenging the readers’ perception on certain issues, the way she put her words together and the usage of certain vocabularies intrigued him.

Of course, the bassist’s odd behaviour didn’t go unnoticed by the other band members. As if sitting in his little corner and reading some novels wasn’t odd enough, he would even decline their offer to hang out after performing and preferred to stay in his hotel room to read. Even if he did hang out with them, instead of joining in the conversation, he spent most of his time scrolling through the Twitter and Instagram feeds of none other than (Y/n), according to Uruha who caught this from his peripheral vision when he sat next to his friend.

It was clear to the band members that he was interested in the author, and they decided that he should at least meet her and get to know her more. Reita thought it was ridiculous to do so, for he thought that (Y/n) might be busy with other matters and would have less time meeting up with some random stranger. But did that stop them from their antics? Well, needless to say, he was barely pleased when they told him what they had done.

“You sent an e-mail to her?” he repeated with much disbelief and anger. “What if she rejects me?”

“It’s not that bad.” shrugged Ruki after taking a puff of his e-cigarette. “Besides, what’s life without a little gamble?”

“Face reality, Reita.” advised Aoi. “You wouldn’t know until she responds.”

The said man kept quiet and took in what his friends said. They were right. It would do him no good if he just continue stalking her social media profiles. If he wanted to get to know more about her and meet her in person, then someone had to make the first step.

“You’re right, guys.” he admitted with a small smile. Just when he was about to leave the green room, he abruptly stopped and turned around before asking, “By the way, how did you get my e-mail password?” But they didn’t respond as they averted their attention to something else, pretending to not hear him. At that note, Reita knew the answer. “You guys were spying on me, weren’t you?” All he got were the murmurs of his friends among themselves.

Much to his surprise, (Y/) responded his e-mail by saying that she agreed to meet him. Using the phone number she had sent him to contact her, he sent her a personal message on where and when they should meet. And finally, a week after the last day of their tour, he was standing in front of the cafe trying to calm himself down before meeting the woman he was infatuated with.

Okay, thought Reita while taking a deep breath. You can do this. Just walk up to her, introduce yourself, take a seat, and talk to her after giving her the present. And don’t rush things!

He glanced at his watch, watching the second hand move until the minute hand struck “12″, followed by the hour hand that moved to “1″, telling him that it came the time for him to meet (Y/n). Taking a deep breath, he walked into the cafe where the waiter welcomed him.

“Table for one?” he asked politely.

“No,” replied the customer while looking around for any signs of the writer. “Actually, I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh, are you meeting Ms. (L/n)?” asked the waiter, to which Reita responded with a nod. The former smiled at him before gesturing his customer to follow him. “This way, please.” Reita wordlessly followed the waiter into the cafe, where aroma of freshly brewed coffee was hanging in the air, accompanied by the soft chatters of other customers, who were either friends, colleagues or lovers. After a few seconds, the waiter arrived at a table located in the far corner of the room, holding his hand out towards it. “Here is your table.”

After nodding at the waiter as a way to thank him, Reita walked up to it and merely stared at the woman he had been thinking about for so long. (Y/n) looked up from her phone and smiled at him, which, as clique as it sounded, struck a cord in his heart. “You must be Reita.” she stated while standing from her seat when he took a few steps closer to him before bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“T-The pleasure is all mine.” he stammered with a curt bow before taking a seat across her, just in time for another waiter to arrive at their table and take their orders. Oh, boy! His dream of meeting his celebrity crush came true all thanks to his mischievous band members. Even just sitting across her felt so surreal to him. But now that he was there, he’s afraid of screwing the whole thing up. What if he accidentally said something bad? What if he intended to crack a joke which wouldn’t be funny? What if- No, now’s not the time to have doubts about himself. The remainder to be himself kept ringing in his head. If she didn’t accept him the way he was, then she’s not meant for him. Simple as that. And he would put that to the test.

Once the waiter walked away, Reita lifted up the paper bag and handed it to her, who was surprised by his action. “This is for you.” he said.

“Oh, thank you.” said (Y/n) shyly while receiving the present from him. “May I?” Once he gave her a nod, she removed the tape to open the paper bag, and was even more surprised when she saw what was inside. Her hand reached in to take out the white velvet box, and opened it to reveal a Stirling silver bracelet with small (birth stones), followed by a charm of a heart. “It’s beautiful.” She then looked at him in the eyes with guilt across her face. “But it must be expensive, and I didn’t prepare a gift for you.”

“It’s alright.” he assured with a wave of his hand. “I bought it because I wanted to. Here, let me help you with that.” Seeing that he was willing to help her put on the bracelet, (Y/n) handed it to him before raising her wrist, allowing him to buckle the bracelet.

She stared at the bracelet one more time before looking at him, and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” he responded humbly, but he was proud of himself that she was happy with the gift. It may not be one of the most luxuriously expensive bracelets in the market, but the price he paid was worthy of the quality.

“So, Reita.” began (Y/n) after putting away the box and placing the paper bag on the floor. “I only know you as the bassist of the GazettE. Could you tell me more about yourself?”

That became the trigger for him to tell her about himself; his background, his hobbies, the types of books he read, the bands and artists who influenced him. When their cakes and coffee had arrived, it was her turn to talk about herself. Needless to say, Reita realised that she was his type - womanly, mature, and was good in using her language with much sophistication and elegance. It wasn’t about the level of politeness she portrayed when she spoke. To him, it was as if she spoke of poetry so naturally with the choice of words that not even women of her age would use during conversation. There were times when she surprised him by laughing at his jokes that his own band members find them lame, and her laughter was contagious enough to make him join in.

“Oh, look at the time!” gasped (Y/n) suddenly when she glanced at the wall clock in the cafe. “I’m afraid it’s time for us to part ways.”

Reita’s face fell upon hearing that. With each passing time, he was beginning to be attracted to the author, and wanted to spend more time with her. Not because she was the author of the books he admired, but because he was genuinely interested in her. But the main question was, “Can we do this again?”

It seemed that he had accidentally blurted out what he was thinking, because she looked back at him with a warm smile and said, “Of course we can. I enjoy your company very much, and look forward to have another date with you.”

The very word “date” sent him to cloud nine; it meant that she, too, felt the same way and would like to meet him again in the future. Where would this lead to; he wouldn’t know. But he needn’t be worried about that, for they had begun making arrangements for the next meeting.

[phantasmagloria]

Hello my diamond dogs!

What could ever be said about the Thin White Duke that could ever be enough? Few have managed to explore music the way Bowie did, to bring to life such diverse characters and to remain artistically true to his own vision. Pushing the boundaries of his own creativity, he built up sonic worlds, whole universes even, and took us on a journey through his mind, heart and soul. By exposing his own humanity (however alien-like sometimes), he helped us explore our own internal worlds, creating music and lyrics with imaginative, playful and intelligent finesse – undoubtedly one of the most important sonic and lyrical masters of our time.

To discuss the diverse, finely tuned universe of sounds and experimentation found of every single one of his records could take up thousands of pages – from the inclusion of classical and jazz instruments (be it a single, sexy or sad sax, a booming orchestra or a quietly plucked koto) to the use of bird song, synthesizers and invented  language. His use of the English language is also spectacular, unparalleled even. Brilliantly subliminal, beautifully delicate and undeniably powerful, Bowie subtly weaves words of poetry, literature and philosophy into his verbal fascinations.

Whether it’s the existential lyrics on his anthem ‘All the Madmen,’ with its heavy guitars and loaded meaning juxtaposing the lighter sing-along ending complete which chorus claps (too good! If it doesn’t reach in a squeeze your heart maybe you don’t have one) or the obsessive yet prayer-like lyrics on his tribute to wandering cocaine hearts eager to connect with love ‘Station to Station,’ Bowie paints a picture like no other. Both these tracks, like ‘Moonage Daydream,’ with its sexy, futuristic lyrics and its inviting, daring attitude, are perfect examples of a Bowie universe in song form – and yet no two Bowie songs have ever been alike.

When I was about 12, I got two Bowie compilation CDs, and have played them on repeat ever since. At that time electric blue was my favourite colour, and I was cutting out anything blue I found in magazines, taping the pages all around my room, making a massive, ever-growing collage of ‘blue, blue, electric blue, that’s the colour of my room”… true story. I remember ‘John I’m Only Dancing’ (along with ‘Suffragette City’) sounding like one of the most ecstatic things I’d ever heard in my life. The howling vocals, the electrifying guitar, the claps and sexy sax, that screeching, raw ending – a total banger and still one of my favourite songs of all time! Velvet Goldmine hit the silver screen about the same time and of course I was hooked.

I was enchanted and excited by every one of his personas – some closer to the heart than others but all carrying their own sound and vision that in turn uncovered a different side of my own self. His ability to wear different creative masks, then shed his skin and reinvent himself, while simultaneously framing his existence within an infinite universe of stars and possibility, giving a perspective to the concept of existence that encouraged embracing life, was a game-changer for me. Why be one thing other people want, when you can be everything you want to be? Why be one colour, when you can be a beam of light and channel a whole fucking rainbow? The collective impact of songs like ‘Starman’ and ‘Life on Mars,’ ‘Rock’n’Roll Suicide’ and ‘Velvet Goldmine,’ ‘Rebel, Rebel’ and ‘Modern Love’ literally shaped who I am today, a testament to how Bowie affected his listeners, deeply altering their perception of…well, everything.

And yet, even when Bowie is singing in a language we can’t even understand (as he does on Low), or when he delves into avant-garde territory (as he does on ‘Neuköln’ for example), whether dripping with classical influences or brimming with electronic innovation, he still creates something totally unique and soul-shattering. When it comes to composition, his influences beautifully shine through, be it Scott Walker, John Lennon, Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, John Cage, Steve Reich or Tangerine Dream.

It’s hard to single out just one Bowie record as the best because it’s hard to even compare some of them, he’s so consistently diverse. To me, however, Low, written in Berlin in an almost destroyed state, stands at the centre of his creations. His records before and after are equally impressive and impressionable, total classics I love, but Low from The Berlin Trilogy to me sounds like the ultimate sonic evolution: the highest state of his creative self-actualization, borne of a phoenix-like incineration, never to be the same again after it. Along with Heroes, Low was reworked by Philip Glass, two sublime pieces of work to say the least. Glass’ signature repetition, cyclical progression and pizzicato playing (think Glassworks) come through wonderfully in his rendition of ‘Some Are (Part 2)’.

Also on this show we hear pieces from the soundtrack Bowie did with Syuichi Sakamoto from Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, Aphex Twin remixing Glass reworking Bowie, a very dark collaboration Bowie did with Massive Attack covering ‘Nature Boy’ for the Moulin Rouge soundtrack, and (a match made in heaven) Bowie with the absolutely fabulous Pet Shop Boys on ‘Hallo Space Boy’ (I was obsessed when it came out). We basically skip everything else (because there simply wasn’t enough time!) and close it all off in the year 1997 (a good year for music), that finds Bowie pushing his electronic boundaries and delving into drum and bass (the opening to ‘Little Wonder’ could have easily fit into Prodigy’s The Fat of the Land that came out that same year).

Until next time, ‘don’t fake it baby, lay the real thing on me. The church of man, love, is such a holy place to be.’

With love from outer space,

—Stardust Rebel

Storm Stereo #33: Bowie Special Hello my diamond dogs! What could ever be said about the Thin White Duke that could ever be enough?

[sabraeal]

Obi and Shirayuki visit her hometown, and Obi learns that his Miss has had a little more experience than he thought (AKA - Gimme your Pavo story!)

As long as he lives, Obi will never be comfortable in Tanbarun.

His miss is all smiles when they walk into the market, greeting her old neighbors with the sort of warmth he’d imagine another might greet extended family – fond, but not familiar – and all he can think of is the dozen ways she could disappear in front of him, be spirited out of his reach before he ever knew she was gone.

Her hair is covered; a concession she made easily enough when they crossed the border. In Clarines travel is easier; after so many years as the second prince’s speculative bride, even the smallest villages know to keep their hands off the red-haired woman who rides through. Obi cannot help but wonder if it will be the same when they ride back – after all, word is sure to get out by then. There is no such thing as a secret in the palace that the king does not care about keeping.

And there is nothing about this that High Majesty would like to keep quiet. By now he must have Master neck deep and treading water in the treacherous seas of international matrimony.

It’s common here for women to veil their hair after marriage, and they look different enough to pass for husband and wife at first glance. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had overlooked the careful space he leaves between them. It’s an easy enough mistake to make, he supposes; they long ago ceased to ask for separate rooms at an inn, just a single bed and a cot, and more often than not of late his miss’s complaints of cold do not allow him even that –

“Right, Obi?” Miss asks, sending his thoughts into a jumbled heap.

He blinks slowly, his passive gaze falling to her determined one. “Hm?”

“Frau Kino is asking if we’ve eloped without her knowing,” she prompts expectantly. He finds the old woman eyeing him speculatively with a smile he’s not entirely sure he appreciates.

He presses a hand to his heart, offering her a polite bow. “I promise, ma’am, were Miss to agree to take this humble knight in lawful matrimony, you would be in the first row.”

Kino laughs at that, clapping her hands in glee, and his miss offers him a flat look.

“You’re only encouraging her, you know,” she murmurs, leaning back into him. Her spine burns a scorching line along his side.

He bends down just slightly, so that she can hear him whisper, “Come now, Miss, what’s the harm?”

“This is how I know you’ve never grown up in a village,” she tells him, and he’s ready to clap back with, and neither have you, but –

“Ah, Shirayuki,” one of the other women says, her voice pitched low. “I know you’re excited about the festival but –” her eyes dart back and forth, searching to see if anyone might be eavesdropping on their conversation – “Pavo is going to be there.”

Miss blinks, and for a single, bare moment, she grimaces. It slides into an easy smile not a second later, wide and bright. “That’s good to hear.”

The woman is stymied by Miss’s lack of reaction, and Miss takes the opportunity to turn away, drawn off by Frau Kino to come meet another neighbor she hasn’t seen in ages.

Obi hesitates, staring after his miss. Interesting.

Obi thought he’d have to wait until the festival to find out about this mysterious Pavo, but in the passing days, not a single neighbor does not draw Miss aside, voice dropped into a low whisper, and warn her about this Pavo and his impending presence. She gives no other reaction other than a smile and pink cheeks, sometimes even a furtive glance his way as if she wondered if he heard, but no signs of distress.

“Who is Pavo?” he asks, so innocent. “I heard you and Herr Eno talking about him yesterday. A friend of yours?”

Her cheeks flush a deep, splotchy red, as if she’d been slapped. “Ah, yes. He’s just – a boy I grew up with. Everyone thought we would be, ah, something, so…”

His eyes narrow in suspicion. He has not been with her so long to be fooled by such a weak response. “That’s it.”

Her gaze slips off of him. “Yes.” She gestures over to a food cart. “Oh, Obi! Didn’t you say you were hungry a while back? Let’s grab some some bratwurst –”

His stomach growls at the thought of sausage dressed with onion, and he follows her with a grin, but –

This Pavo is not forgotten.

Sometimes the only way to get answers is to go a more circuitous route.

“Frauline,” he purrs, earning a skeptical look from Kino as she sorts coinage at her till. “You are looking lovely today.”

“Hmm.” Her eyebrows raise in mild surprise. “You must need something.”

He presses a hand to his heart, wounded. “Frau Kino, would I ever –”

“I assume this must be about Shirayuki,” she says, “and you must have already tried to ask her.”

He closes his mouth, adjusts his tack. He forgets how perceptive old women can be. “Who is Pavo?”

Kino’s mouth pulls tight. “Ah, Pavo. He’s the innkeep’s boy. He cause quite a stir back after Shirayuki’s grandparents passed.”

Obi leans in. “Stir?”

“I don’t know the whole of it, of course. I don’t truck with gossip, you know.” She couldn’t bother to even make that sound halfway true. “But apparently he, ah, plucked her maidenly flower, if you catch my meaning.”

He blinks. Miss?

“Plucked?” he manages. After Master had been so concerned with propriety, so worried about protecting her virtue –

“Oh, it was given freely, as I heard it,” Kino assures him, patting him on the hand, as if she had not just tilted his earth on its axis.

“But after, well…” She lowers her voice, even though they’re the only two in the whole of the store. “He wouldn’t marry her. Didn’t even give her the time of day, mostly. She was busy with the apothecary but, well…”

Kino shrugs, but Obi hardly sees it with all the red tinting his vision. “It’s all said and done, of course, been nearly ten years now, but…rumor has it Pavo is bringing his new girl to the festival. Going to jump the fires, they say.”

His fist clenches. Oh, Pavo will be getting up close and personal with a fire, that’s for certain…

The bell jingles over the door, and Miss ducks her head in, smile wide. “Obi, have you –?” She blinks, seeing them bent so close together. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Just what are you two talking about?”

“Just telling Obi how much he looks like my husband,” Kino tells her, not batting an eye at the lie that tumbles from her lips.

Miss’s gaze flicks to his face before she turns back to Kino with puzzled gaze. “Bertram? Obi?”

Kino offers her a smile far too innocent for Obi’s liking and winks. “Oh, I didn’t mean in the face, dear.”

The problem, of course, is not that she has done anything – a woman’s body is her own, no matter what the Clarinese think, and it’s not as if Obi has been a paragon of chastity despite his current, years-long drought – but rather that he – he –

That he can’t stop thinking about it. Vividly.

It had been easier when he thought her untouched. He had assumed his more…suggestive jokes had gone over her head, that her blushes were a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity, but now, now –

Now he wonders if she had flushed for a different reason – if, like him, she had missed it, the bone-deep relaxation only that sort of touch could bring –

When he closes his eyes, he sees her in his bed, arching beneath his hands, both of them seeking release with hands and mouth and – and –

He groans. There are somethings that cannot be unknown, and this is it.

It will pass. It will.

It has to.

He’s not sure what he expects from Pavo, but it’s not…this.

Obi catches sight of him across the square; a lantern-jawed man with a mop of tousled blond curls and the sort of dark eyes that girls fall into and can’t find their way out of, like a quagmire. He’s got that casual strength that farm boys have; the sort of bulky tone that suggests he lifts sheep as easy as breathing. His skin’s the flushed sort of ruddy that speaks of a healthy life out of doors, and a smile broader and whiter than any innkeep’s son’s has a right to be. The only thing Obi has up on him is height.

And brains, clearly, because if Miss wanted him to marry her, he wouldn’t need think twice.

She hasn’t noticed him yet; instead she is leaning over a vendor’s cart, perusing scarves – she insists it’s time he had a new one, never mind that he has three and he cleans them regularly. Her arm is wrapped through his, tugging him along. It’s midsummer, and even in the evening it’s warm enough for him to bead with sweat, which is clearly the only reason his skin is dewy now, her bare skin slipping over his –

“Do you like this one?” she asks, pressing close. His agitation at Pavo’s continued existence is momentarily interrupted by the knowledge that his miss’s breasts are pressed against him, that her hips are slotted at a right angle to his, enough that he feels the heat rolling off her body –

“Yes,” he croaks, “I like that. The scarf, I mean.”

She steps back from him, smile oddly sly. “Obi?” she asks, so innocent. “I feel strange buying you a gift in front of you. Do you think you could get us some cider?”

His gaze is riveted to where she is stroking the soft velvet, watching her slender finger draw furrows in the grain, and all he can think of is how he would like her to do the same to his hair, his skin –

“Yes,” he tells her stiffly. “What ever Miss desires.”

He tries to forget the intrigued sound of her hum as he walks away.

Obi shakes himself. There is no Master to consider, but that does not mean – she does not want him. If she draws close to him, it’s for comfort, not for – not for desire. Her and Master may have parted, but that does not change anything between them.

“Ah,” he hears as someone bumps into him at the tap. When he turns, he looks down into cowlike eyes, crinkled in humor. Pavo. Just what he needs.

He glances up behind the man. And he’s brought friends. Excellent.

“You’re the man who showed up with Shirayuki, eh?” Pavo eyes him speculatively, stopping at the shock of dark bristle at the top of his head. “You don’t strike me as her type.”

Obi grits his teeth. He shouldn’t start a fight. Miss wouldn’t like it.

“You’re right,” he says with a grin, letting his own gaze linger somewhere more southward of Pavo’s face. “She said she wanted to try something…bigger.”

He watches Pavo’s fist pull back with a smile. Worth it.

The door to the stables has hardly closed when Miss lays into him.

“What were you thinking?” She’s flushed; he assumes it’s a mix of anger and embarrassment. He’s still not an inch sorry. “Sit down.”

He does not so much sit as stumble, his knees folding as she backs him into a bale. She crouches down in front of him, rolling out her bag with a crisp efficiency that says more than words ever could about just how deeply she is frustrated by him.

Cool hands come to frame his face, dabbing stinging antiseptic onto his open cuts. “What were you thinking? Four men?”

His shoulders twitch in a shrug. “I wonder…”

He hisses as she pressed the cloth more firmly to his largest cut. Ah, but one of Pavo’s friends had gotten a lucky shot.

“I think I deserve more than that for an answer,” she tells him. “Considering how this is going to need a stitch or two.”

“You should have seen the other guy.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “I did. All of them. Pavo won’t be jumping any fires tonight, with that –”

Miss’s hands still. Ah, so he has been found out.

“Did you start a fight with Pavo?” she asks, fingers soothingly chill against his temples.

He offers her a grin. “I think it would be more accurate to say Pavo started a fight with me.” He presses a hand to his chest, wincing when he glances over a bruise. “I am a gentleman, after all.”

She is silent at that, her fingers softly brushing the bristle at his hairline, now slicked with sweat.

“Not a very smart man to start a fight with someone that looks like me, eh, Miss?” he teases, flinches when his smile pulls at the cut on his lip. “Ah, but it’s only to be expected, if he didn’t know what he had while he held it.”

“What do you –?” Her eyes pulse wide. “Kino.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss.” he assures her. “But some people need to learn a lesson about keeping promises –”

She laughs.

“Oh, Obi.” She wipes at her eyes, nearly doubled over. “What did she tell you?”

“That you l-laid with Pavo, and he –” it’s hard to talk over her laughter – “he wouldn’t make an honest woman of you.”

“Oh no, no.” Her head shakes frantically. “No that is not – oh, Obi, I’m afraid you fought over my honor for nothing.”

He blinks. “Eh?”

“Pavo asked me to marry him,” she explains with a smile. “And I said no. Twice.”