#of course he caters to them differently... so powerful and adaptable

[fisheito]

UNLOCKED SCORCHING SUN (sunburst fever) DANTE ! (Spoilers? Here is a short summary of my reactions):

-eiden i live for the cheesy things you say when you wanna bone someone. ehehehehe when the corny roleplay actually works too well🎶🎵

-oh um 😳 eiden getting himself off bygrinding against Dante's leg ahaha💦💦 ok uhhh 💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦

- THE CONFUSED SPUTTERING WHEN EIDEN GETS SUDDENLY BLUE BALLED🤣🤣

-oh shir dante lore drop

-oh SGIT DAnte is working even harder than i thought just to make an equal society like,, dude,, that is sO MUCH to take on YOU ARE ONLY A BABY. BUT YOU TRY TO FIX CENTURIES OF INJUSTICE 😭

-aawwww...... gentle.....🥹

-DAMMIT EIDEN STOP BRATTING FOR 60SECONDS AAHHHHHAJAJAhaha oihh ahhhh

-dante is like the Grinch he doesn't know what the dokidoki in his chest is (.it's his heart) but. He'll get it one day

- they're cute 😭 and funny 😭😭 and eiden's "why do *i* have to go" is so... PETULANT i love them they're bickering idiots 🥳

ah, correction*: why "THE HELL HAVE" i gotta go. to be fair, that is a mild reaction to dante suddenly cockblocking him from himself(?). yeah. selfish lover moment deserves at MINIMUM that amount of sass 🤣

[atinystaypixie]

Puppet Master

Summary: Your viewers love every sex product you make and are always excited to see you personally use and promote them on your stream. Your new sex doll is guaranteed to make them crazy. But, of course that's not all to it.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!, Sex streamer reader, loosely based on canon Choso, "sex doll" Choso, sex, Choso licks readers tears, Choso fucks readers throat, sex while standing, reader is denied orgasm once, NOT PROOFREAD

Word Count: 1.8k+

Everyone thank @calibabii21 because my mootie tootie is the only reason I didn't scrap this whole fic🥰

EXTREMELY late entry to Pixie's Spooktober

They loved every product you introduced to the market. No one had a better line of sex toys than you. The various sized dildos in different colors and shapes, the pocket pussies that felt all too real down to the warmth and wetness, the clit catering vibrators, the vibrating cock rings. There was something for everyone and you made it your dedication to expand on your products.

Fans couldn’t get enough of you especially when you were one to personally demonstrate your new toys. They waited eagerly every week for your lives to start. Every second had them on edge this week because they knew you were finally revealing your newest item. Your horny audience couldn’t wait to see what it was. You told them this would be like no other, something that you put a lot of time and effort into. There were comments already flooding in while the clock ticked, so many guesses on what you were going to reveal, so many eager bodies wanting to give you their money already.

Three, two, one….

“Hi, my lustful loves!” Your lingerie adorned body appeared on their screens greeting them with your bright smile. Someone so pretty making such dirty toys always was the part that drove them crazy. Many wished they were fucking you and some practically were. As a thank you for all the support, your milestone toy release was a limited edition replica of your cunt. They went crazy over it and you sold out within the first hour of the release. 

“As promised, I have a very special reveal today. This is the first of its kind and different from my usual products. I really can’t wait to see what you think.” Your body goes out of shot for a second before you are seen dragging a chair with a life-size figure in it. Chimes and comments roll in fast and it makes you giggle at how excited your audience has become.

“This is a sex doll, BUT not just any sex doll. Meet C.H.O.S.O. short for Charmingly Handsome Operative Sex Official.” A little giggle leaves you. “His name is silly, but don’t be mistaken. Choso is my first edition sex doll. He is programmed to fuck you better than anyone or anything else. He is AI programmed and adapts to its user being able to learn everything about you within the first twenty seconds of interaction.” You pause and read the comments again.

“Okay, okay. I get it, I’ll stop talking so much and get to fucking. It seems all of you are eager for this one, so many of you can’t even wait through the simple introduction.” You laugh again at their eagerness. They’ve been waiting for the reveal and can’t wait to see what CHOSO is capable of. You power him on and connect him and just as you said, within twenty seconds he knew exactly what you needed to be fucked properly. 

Without saying a word, Choso stood towering over you with hooded eyes. It felt like time stopped with the way you froze waiting for him to do something. Everyone was anticipating what he would do, the tension was thick and had you clenching your thighs.

In a split second, he grabbed you by your neck and spun you around with your back touching his front. His grip was firm, blunt fingernails grazing the sides of your neck as he held you. He locked eyes with you on camera before ripping your lingerie in half. The frail material tearing to reveal your pretty skin, your breast spilling out with a bounce, your slit coming into the view for your viewers.

He tilts your head back with his fingers sliding to your jaw, the hold making it go slack allowing him to maneuver it until your lips are parting. His lips pucker and soon after his spit is falling into your pried open jaw, he doesn’t let you close your mouth yet, instead three of his thick fingers are pushed in fucking his spit down your throat. They were so deep that your gurgles and gags were the only thing heard through the screen. His void eyes watch how your wet mouth takes his fingers in, an unnoticeable smirk forming on his lips before he abruptly pulled them out.

You’re panting with saliva leaking from the corners of your mouth, your eyes unfocused and body loose willing to bend to any position Choso has planned for you. Your knees hit the floor before you can register that you are sinking, his large dick coming into eye level with you. You’re positioned so that they can see what is about to happen. 

“Open,” for the first time, he speaks. His voice caught everyone off guard making the comments blow up again. They were so excited you never got to explain just how life like Choso was, he was practically human. He guides himself into your mouth, it isn’t nice, it isn’t gentle, he’s nasty. 

His hands are on either side of your head and just as quick as he pushes in, he is pulling out. A brutal pace being set, bubbles of spit popping from the corners of your mouth from the heavy thrusts he’s giving you. His tip is abusing the back of your throat so good your eyes are rolling back and your hands are clawing at his thighs trying to steady yourself. His void eyes are looking down at you, his balls slap against your chin with every insert back into the depths of your warm cavern. His thrust slows and he pulls out of your mouth showing the thick slob connecting his dick to your tongue, chimes from tips ring loudly upon seeing that. He’s making a mess of you, and he’s barely even started yet.

His hand wraps around his coated member and taps it against your muscle, it’s slippery. He circles his tip from your tongue to your lips. The motion is slow, deliberate and makes your pussy leak. He doesn’t warn you, all you feel is your head snatched back onto him. He holds you there, not thrusting, not bobbing your head, just stretching your throat out on his heavy dick. He’s long and girthy, perfect for fucking your walls in. He’s barely touched your body and you can feel your slick running down your thighs.

Tears start to leak from your eyes and that’s when Choso pulls you off his dick. He leans down and places a long lick on your cheek catching the tears. His tongue starts from your chin and ends at the side of your eye. A sweet kiss being left there makes your heart jump. He’s messing with your head and bad. Using you like a slut then treating you gently.

You love it.

He helps you to your feet and you take a second to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. A wobbly smile being thrown to the camera before Choso is sitting in a chair with you on top of him. He lifts you so that your torso is little further over his shoulder, your pussy is on display to your viewers. You feel his hands grab your ass cheeks and jiggle them making your folds open and close, your glistening pussy being flashed teasing them. 

You hiss at a pressured swipe of his finger passing over your hole and stopping at your clit. The pressure has you whining and squirming but he doesn’t let up and rubs at your clit more. Your viewers are watching intently as your core gets exposed to them.

The stinging on your ass cheek makes you jump, an unexpected sharp slap landing. They’re heavy and loud, not giving your brain time to differentiate between where you were being hit. Your cries are cut off with a hoarse moan when two fingers sink inside of you. Unlike to how he roughly fucked your throat, his fingers massage your insides. They’re curling and rubbing the inside of your walls so well it’s tickling your brain.  

“Ngghhh! Choso, I’m going to cum!” Your whines reach his ears making him scoff.

“Only on my dick.” His arms hook under your knees as he stands with your arms loosely around his neck. Your eyes go cross from the stretch, your pussy opening with convulsions. Choked whimpers pick up on the mic making the viewers stuck between wishing they were either you or Choso when they see him rise to his feet with you in his arms. His strength keeping you from falling out his hold.

His glistening dick is seen pulling almost fully out of you before he swings your hips to meet his. The plopping of your bodies echos perfectly with the squelching of your slick walls, the uncontrollable moans slipping pass your lips, Choso’s raspy grunts, the hypnotizing view of the strong sex doll fucking you while holding you up off the ground. Your head tilted back with your jaw dropped from how good he felt inside of you. Being denied earlier only made the pleasure better, your whole system felt overwhelmed with ecstasy.

“Choso….Choso please…” 

“Go ahead. Be a good slut and cum on my dick.” Your arms tighten around his neck and your hips hump up and down chasing the building release. Tears are running down your cheek again, but that’s not the wetness anyone is focused on. It’s the sound of droplets hitting the floor and the wetness spraying on Choso from your cunt that has everyone’s attention. 

It takes a moment for your ears to stop wringing and your vision to return from white. Choso gently sits you back at the edge of the bed and returns to the chair you originally had him placed. 

“Are you satisfied?” He prompted while looking forward.

“Y-yes. Power…power off.” You are still trying to catch your breath while instructing him. Your attention returns to the chat after a moment.

“Please look forward to the upcoming release of CHOSO. I don’t think I’ve been fucked like that in a while. Join me next week again on Puppet Master. Thank you for watching! Until then, my lustful loves!” You blow a kiss to the viewers and end the stream.

You turn to look at Choso and your body sinks to your knees. Your bright eyes turn dark as your limbs stiffen. Choso rises from his seat and stretches before walking to stand over you. His fingers wrap around your chin turning your head side to side examining you.

“It’s a reason you’re my favorite puppet. Always making me so much money.” He roughly lets go of your chin and walks away into the bathroom to clean himself.

No one needed to know that the actual sex dolls were the hundreds of girls on the site created and ran by him. No one needed to know that the C.H.O.S.O doll being released was modeled after the true creator. 

They never needed to know the secrets of the real Puppet Master.

✨

Thoughts of a Slutty Virgin~🧚🏾‍♀️

Okaaay!! That's the final fic for my first Spooktober🥳👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

It's late, what's new, anyways ENJOY!!

Pixie's Masterlist

Taglist: @444ghosty @un-lawliet @witchbybirth @tophamhat-kyo @nobianna

Taglist is back open if anyone is interested!

None of the images used are owned by me. Credit to original creators and owners. I think I need to start saying that💜

[ramyamodugu]

How TroopToDo Transformed Productivity for Professionals

Introduction

Task management can feel like trying to juggle too many balls at once. From tracking deadlines to ensuring projects stay on course, the right tool makes all the difference. Enter TroopToDo, an innovative app built to simplify task management for individuals and teams. In this article, we’ll dive into the real-life stories of professionals who’ve transformed their productivity with TroopToDo.

Why Professionals Need Task Management Tools

In today’s fast-paced work environment, staying organized is critical. Without the right tools, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. Professionals often juggle multiple responsibilities, making it essential to track deadlines, prioritize tasks, and communicate effectively with teams.

This is where task management tools come in handy. They act like a personal assistant, helping users streamline workflows, set reminders, and foster better collaboration. TroopToDo takes these functionalities a step further, redefining productivity in ways traditional apps can’t match.

Meet TroopToDo: The Best Alternative to Traditional Todo Apps

When you think of task management apps, you probably picture rigid interfaces and limited functionality. But TroopToDo is different. Designed for both simplicity and power, this app caters to professionals across industries. Whether you’re a freelancer or part of a large team, TroopToDo adapts seamlessly to your needs.

Its standout features include:

Customizable task categories for better organization.

Real-time collaboration tools for team projects.

Integration with popular apps like Google Calendar and Slack.

Real Stories: How TroopToDo Made an Impact

1. From Chaos to Clarity: Sarah’s Journey

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After adopting TroopToDo, Sarah noticed a significant improvement. The app’s task prioritization and real-time progress tracking helped her team stay aligned.

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Features That Helped Sarah:

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Collaborative tools for her team.

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Freelancing might sound like freedom, but for James, a web developer, it meant juggling multiple clients and tight deadlines. Traditional task management tools weren’t cutting it.

With TroopToDo, James created customizable task categories for each client. This streamlined his workflow, and the app’s smart reminders ensured he never missed a deadline.

“The app’s flexibility saved me. Now, I never feel like I’m dropping the ball,” James said.

Features That Helped James:

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Seamless integration with his tools.

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Emily leads a remote team of designers, and communication gaps often hindered project progress. TroopToDo became her go-to solution.

Its shared task lists and integrations with tools like Slack ensured her team stayed connected and on track. Projects were completed on time, and productivity soared.

“TroopToDo has become our lifeline for collaboration,” Emily said.

Features That Helped Emily:

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What Makes TroopToDo the Ultimate Todo App?

TroopToDo isn’t your average productivity tool. Here’s why it stands out:

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Why Choose TroopToDo Over Other Apps?

TroopToDo takes the best parts of traditional todo apps and enhances them with modern productivity tools. It’s not just about managing tasks—it’s about transforming how you work.

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Conclusion

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[angelizs]

I think something twst does really well is show the characters improving in a realistic way. No one can change overnight which makes the aftermaths of the overblots so interesting. I think it’s shown the most through Riddle during Book 2 you get to see him changing, trying to adapt now that he’s acknowledged what his mom did. You see him slowly improving and of course he isn’t perfect none of them are, but you get to see them make active efforts to better themselves- 🦭

YESSS YOU'RE SO RIGHT ONCE AGAIN 🦭 ANON!!!

I had a conversation with Gabi about Riddle in the reblogs of one of my oneshots (see here, just scroll down to the end) in which we mention a chapter of the anthology that makes this change very clear (this one!) and as you mentioned yourself in the Floyd ask, there's one chapter in which we get to see it more! in my Azul brainrot I also mention how I like the change in his acts and how he puts some efforts into being better. in my writing I love to explore this aftermath and their inner thoughts on it, especially in this Azul oneshot in which his overblot ends up a little differently!

I have individual thoughts on how each character reacts and improves after their overblots, so I'll go over them really quickly!!

first I just wanted to go over the concept of an overblot on itself. it's mentioned at the beggining that's a rare and dangerous occuring, but at NRC it happens every other month after MC's arrival, so that must be shocking. an overblot also leaves them sore and exhausted, both physically and mentally, as it's the result of the dangerous combination of too much magical usage and too many negative emotions due to years of distress. it's truly interesting how MC and/or Grim seems like a trigger of sorts to these overblots, as I believe there wasn't any before they suddenly appeared, getting involved in the middle of each of them. it's definetly not a coincidence how some of the most powerful and influential students suddenly overblot on the same time period, almost as if there was some higher force making it happen on purpose, for some reason. I hope it gets more explained in the future, perhaps after chapter 7!

as stated, I feel that Riddle, for being the first overblot, has gotten more time to show how much he's changed. from the tyrant from the start of the game to an actual dorm leader worthy of his title! he hasn't dropped his appreciation for rules entirely, but he won't go around cutting other people's heads for minor things. he's still strict with proper conduct and Heartslabyul's students' grades, but in a less overwhelming way, as he's seen how the way he's been taught to do things was wrong. during the second chapter, Riddle is much calmer and more rational, he helps MC solve the mystery even when he didn't have to do so. he was a great help at Leona's fight, and it's due to his quick thinking that no one was hurt at the stampade stunt. even when it's hard and causes him some mental turmoil, Riddle has reflected upon his actions and does his best to change for the better! having Trey, Cater and Che'nya by his side, lending him support, is probably a big motivator, as well as Ace's judgment and sharp words, as he's not afraid to speak his mind and call out people who are in the wrong. Deuce's admiration for him also contributes to it all, as he'd like to set a good example for his underclassmen to follow. all in all, Riddle has improved a lot in his behaviour and I'm very proud of him!

Leona is a complicated case, in all aspects. before his overblot, he had such an intense inferiority complex he didn't put effort in anything, thinking he wouldn't be recognized either way. not only that, he stays stagnant at NRC, most likely because he didn't want to have to go back to his kingdom where he's always second place. it's due to this that he tries to win against Malleus, spelldrive is one of the things he's best at and he used to be recognized for it before Malleus appeared and took his spot. for someone as smart as Leona, I feel that the plan from chapter 2 is kind of... half assed? him and Ruggie appear scheming all smug, but it's a pretty shitty and obvious plan, honestly, and he had potential to do something better. maybe, some part of him couldn't bring himself to care, since he was so used to being second place, it's not like that would change anytime soon. and that's why Lilia's words are so important, to make him realize: he wasn't second place because the world is against him and won't recognize anything he does, but because he can't bring himself to put an actual effort into things and get over his pride and ego to do what's best. I could go on about that but I didn't even get to the point yet, so I digress.

going back to the main topic: after Leona's overblot, I don't think I see him changing that much? while in Riddle's case it's plain to see how he's been trying to be better, Leona seems the same as before. he doesn't go to classes nor starts taking an initiative in things, much less apologize for hurting Ruggie and putting so many people in danger. (not that I expected him to actually say "I'm sorry", but maybe show in his own way that he regrets what he did?) even in chapter 3, he doesn't help because he wanted to, he begrudgingly does as MC suggests only because it benefits him too. I don't believe for a minute that Grim and MC posed any threat to his sleep, as he could easily beat them up and get it over with. no, Leona went along with MC's plan an destroyed the contracts because it was what he wanted all along. in the previous chapter he had made a deal with Azul in order to get Ruggie's potion, so he must have wanted to stop beind indebted with him and/or get back whatever it was that he bargained.

don't get me wrong, I do like Leona a lot! when I first started playing, he was on my top3 characters, and even though he isn't anymore I'm still rather fond of him. it's just... disappointing to see how much potential he has and how he doesn't do anything to reach it. one way for him to change would be to drop the unbothered attitude and actually start making an effort. there's still a long way for him to go, and only he can take the first step. I do like how his problems aren't all solved after a little motivational talk (and being beat up), since his overblot doesn't change his depression, nor his country's political state, nor his family issues, nor his complexes.

Jamil's and Kalim's relationship is a major theme of chapter 4 and very connected to Jamil's overblot in the first place. I like how Jamil becomes more open after it, even if he's blunt and rude, possibly making him seem worse than before. the thing is, before he only hid what he was thinking and kept it all to himself, bottling up his emotions to the point that they end up exploding. afterwards, even if he voices his annoyance and is pretty harsh with his words, not trying to spare Kalim's feelings, it feels better that he's being honest for once. the work his family serves under Kalim's family creates a very complex relationship between those two, as there is a power balance, no matter how much Kalim tries to treat him like an equal. Jamil should always present himself as less than the heir of the Al Asim family, should always follow along his heat of the moment decisions and make sure to keep him safe between the sea of shady students that could take advantage of his naivety and positive thinking. the way Kalim's childhood molded him into such a different person, almost the complete opposite, from Jamil also aggravates their dynamic's problems.

anyways! as I discussed in Azul's post, I like how we can also see a change in how he does things post overblot. while he still might do some shady deals, his focus goes into his business and ways of improving it, showing his change of perspective. he no longer tries to hoard other people's powers, as he finally recognizes his own merits and learns to be proud of them. he's still cunning and witty, not losing the interesting parts of his personality, but he's changed on how he uses those traits. he isn't suddenly one of the "good guys" and he doesn't do things out of the kindness of his heart, as he wants people to believe, but he's improved a lot from how he used to deal with things, even helping MC on chapter 4. (he also had other interests, but he didn't necessarily have to help MC, even if he felt indebted to them for the help during his overblot fight)

I throughly enjoy how the consequences of a change in their careful and fragile balance are explored in chapter 5, with Jamil finally putting himself out there and letting his potential show, not holding back, and Kalim feeling frustrated for the first time for not getting what he wants, and how it makes him understand better where Jamil is coming from and be more considerate to his feelings. all in all, even if Jamil doesn't become a good person in the traditional sense, as he's still sassy and deceitful at times, it serves to help him improve himself in a more internal sense, to try to be more open with Kalim and to break some of the old patterns he's been taught to follow.

Vil is quite interesting, as he's the only character that overblots that I liked a lot straight away. I didn't pass through the phases of "I hate his guts he's so annoying" to "alright he's not that bad" to "wait I think I might like him" like I did with the others. and I'm not saying he didn't do a lot of wrong things, since besides almost poisoning an innocent person, there were also times when he acted out of line and showed his arrogance, such as when he fought with and made Epel cry only to prove a point, without much respect or care for his feelings. still, he also felt more reasonable than the other overblot characters, as he's more down to Earth, shows his hard work and efforts, and is up with social causes like gender equality and not conforming to toxic masculinity.

by the end of chapter 5, he expresses regret (as he "wishes they hadn't seen him in such an ugly state") and keeps his head high as he performs with Neige after losing. he doesn't seem to particularly feel sorry about almost hurting Neige though, and maintains his feelings of animosity. I have yet to see how he behaves in chapter 6 and how he might have changed, perhaps by trying to find compromises when things don't go the way he wants them to and by praising people's efforts rather than only criticizing their errors.

so! I agree anon, TWST does very well show that things don't change overnight and that there must have some effort put into these changes. the characters' problems aren't magically solved by the power of friendship (and violence), but they can get started on working on them. acknowledging your mistakes and trying to improve is rather hard, but a very necessary part of personal growth. with each passing chapter, I hope we get to see more about how the overblots have changed them and how they have improved themselves!

[amuelia]

How do you think Roose will meet his demise? Or will he survive? What's your best Roose end game predictions?

Thank you for the question! This will be a long post under the readmore, going into my thoughts on the show ending and exploring what the books may have set up in regards to themes and characterization, as well as a bit of general analysis of Roose' story arc in a Dance with Dragons (and some speculation about Ramsay as well).

If you click on the readmore i will have divided the post into sections with bolded Headers, if you want to only read my specific endgame ideas you can skip ahead to the "His Endgame?" section.

In The Show

The show had him get killed by Ramsay in s6, which informs a lot of the fandom speculation about this storyline.

I am not a fan of the show's scenario as it was both similar to tywin and tyrion as well as a mirror of robb's death; it would also be offscreen in the books since neither of the characters are PoVs and Ramsay would need to do the act in secret. This would ultimately undercut Roose' role and impact, being a death scene that is not very unique and also isn't shown to the reader directly. Since no PoV is even in Winterfell currently, we would just hear of it from afar and not witness the consequences.

The show also has a different dynamic in the Bolton storyline, emphasizing Ramsay as the "main character" of this arc, and elevating him to the main villain for s5-6 to fill Joffrey's shoes as an evil character played by a very charismatic actor. Ramsay's show writing is informed by the needs of a TV setting that wants shocking moments and capitalizes on "fan favourite" actors; his rising importance in the show thus is not necessarily an indicator of his book importance. The show was also missing many central characters like the northern lords and the Frey men in Winterfell.

The show had a tendency to kill off characters early when they wanted to cull storylines or had no plans to adapt more of the character's story (like Stannis, Barristan, possibly the Tyrells...); In Mance Rayder we have the most obvious example, where they killed him off for real in a scene that in the book was a misdirection. We also have characters like Jorah where it appears the showrunners had their own choice of how they want his storyline to end, even if Grrm has his own ending in mind.

"For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah to be there at The Wall in the end," writer Dave Hill says. "The three coming out of the tunnel would be Jon and Jorah and Tormund. But [...] Jorah should have the noble death he craves defending the woman he loves." - Dave Hill for Entertainment Weekly

So a death in the show does not need to be an indicator that the books will feature an equivalent scene, even if it gives a hint as to what may happen. By s5 the show has become its own beast, and the butterfly effects from radical changes they made as well as the different characterizations results in the show having to cater to its own needs in many cases when it gets to resolving a plotline.

"We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor's talents." - Benioff and Weiss for the s5 DVD commentary, on Indira Varma's casting as Ellaria

In The Books

(Since this post was getting out of hand in length a lot of these arguments are a little shortened/not as in-depth as i'd like! Feel free to inquire more via ask if something is unclear or you disagree)

In the books i find it hard to make a concrete guess as to how it will end. Occam's razor would be to assume the show sort of got it right and that it will vaguely end the same, which could very well happen and i will not discount the possibility; Ramsay is cruel, desires the Dreadfort rule, and is a suspected kinslayer and has no qualms to commit immoral violence.

"Ramsay killed [his brother]. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Reek III, aDwD

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand [to attack his father]. - Reek III, aDwD

Arguments against this or for a different endgame come down to interpretations of the themes in the story arc and opinions on dramatic structure/grrm's writing, and are thus very subjective.

The way the story currently is going, Ramsay killing Roose treats Roose almost as a plot device; his death brings no change or development to Ramsay's character as we already know his motivations and cruelty align with such an act, and we can assume that he would feel no remorse about it either. The results of such a scene would be firmly on a story level, as it brings political changes and moves the plot along into a specific direction. Roose himself cannot have any relevant character development about it as he does not have a PoV and we would not be able to witness his reaction from the outside.

“The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.” - William Faulkner, often quoted by Grrm

Further, killing his father is very difficult to pull off in secret (Roose is frequently described as very cautious, and employs many guardsmen). And even if Ramsay pulls it off (people often interpret Ramsay as Roose' blind spot, assuming he might be caught by surprise, not expecting Ramsay would bite the hand that feeds him), Roose is the one that holds his entire alliance together; The Freys would be alienated by Ramsay who would antagonize Walda and her son as his rivals, The Ryswell bloc appears to dislike Ramsay (especially Barbrey), and the other northmen are implied to not even like Roose himself. Killing Roose would quickly combust the entire northern faction, and hinder Ramsay's further plans (another reason why I am not convinced of a book version of the "Battle of Bastards"). Though this might of course, if we look at it from the other side, be grrm's plan to quickly dissolve this plot and move the northern story forwards.

"Ramsay will kill [Walda's children], of course. [...] [She] will grieve to see them die, though." - Reek III, aDwD

"How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots." - Reek III, aDwD

"Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' death at Ramsay's hand also removes him thematically from the Red Wedding, as we can assume such a death might have happened regardless of his participation in the event (seeing as Ramsay is getting provoked by Roose constantly in normal dialogue, and has a general violent disposition). Roose already took Ramsay in before aGoT started, and married Walda very early in the war, which is already most of the buildup that the show's scenario had. It also has little to do with the The North Remembers plot except set dressing, since the northmen are presumably neither collaborating with/egging on Ramsay nor would they appreciate the development.

Themes: Ned Stark and the rule over the North

Roose is treated as a foil to Eddard; They are often contrasted in morals and ruling styles, while also having many superficial similarities that further connect them (they are seen as cold by people, grey eyed, patriarchs of rivalling northern houses, etc...).

Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. - Jaime IV, aSoS

They both have a "bastard son" that they handle very differently; Roose treating Ramsay in the way that is seen as common in their society. Ramsay and Jon as a comparison are meant to show that Catelyn had a reason to see a bastard as a threat (since Domeric was antagonized by his bastard brother), but also shows that her suggested plan for Jon would not have stopped any danger either (as Ramsay being raised away from the castle didn't help).

And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the north to see. - Catelyn II, aGoT

"Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." - Reek III, aDwD

It appears to me that Roose' story functions in some ways as an inversion to Ned. He makes an attempt to grab a power he was not destined to (becoming warden of the north), where Ned did not want the responsiblity thrust upon him ("It was all meant for Brandon. [...] I never asked for this cup to pass to me." - Cat II, aGoT). Where Ned rules successfully and his northmen honor his legacy ("What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." - The Turncloak, aDwD), the Boltons are largely hated and there are several plots conspiring against them ("Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die." - The King's Prize, aDwD).

It seems possible to me that in terms of their family and legacy, Roose might also live through an inverted version of Ned's story; where Ned died first, leaving his family behind, Roose already lived to see the death of his wives and trueborn heir, and might thus also live to see Ramsay's death. Ned leaves behind well raised children and a North who still respects his name, and even though he dies it will presumably all be "in good hands" in the end (in broad strokes, obviously this is all much more morally complex). Roose however built up a bad and toxic legacy, and also built his way of life around evading consequences; it makes sense to me that he would be forced by the story to finally endure all the consequences of his actions and witness the fall of his house firsthand. After all we already have Tywin who fulfils the purpose of dying before his children while his legacy falls to ruins, and a Feast for Crows explores this aspect thoroughly.

Roose' arc in A Dance With Dragons

The story repeatedly builds up the situation unravelling around Roose, and him slowly losing a grip on it and becoming more stressed and anxious.

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek II, aDwD

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. [...] That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. - Theon I, aDwD

It also directly presents him as a parallel to Theon's rule in aCoK, who similarly experienced a very unpopular rule and his subjects slowly turning against him. Presumably, the point of this comparison will not just be "Ramsay comes in at the end and unexpectedly whacks them on the head". Both Theon and Roose invited Ramsay into their lives, giving him more power than he deserves, and causing Ramsay to make choices that increasingly alienate others from them (the death of the miller's boys for example has repercussions for both Theon and Roose). Grrm is likely steering this towards a difference in how they will deal with this situation.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again." - The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember? How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known?" - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' arc is deeply connected to the relations he shares to the other northern lords, which has been heavily impacted by the Red Wedding. It stands to reason that they are going to be an important part of his downfall, and we see many hints of them plotting to betray him.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." - Davos IV, aDwD

Themes: Stannis and kinslaying

The books set up Roose and Stannis as foils as well; Both lack charisma and have trouble winnning the people's support, Stannis and Roose both parallel and contrast Ned, Stannis appears as a "lesser Robert" where Roose is a "lesser Ned", Stannis represents the fire where Roose represents the ice, both struggle over dominion in a land that doesnt particularly want either of them, etc... What i find interesting is how they are contrasted over kinslaying:

"Only Renly could vex me so with a piece of fruit. He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach." - Davos II, aCoK

"I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aCoK

Stannis is set up as someone who is very thorough and strict in following his own code and his "duty", even if he does not like what it forces him to do.

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady." - Davos IV, aSoS

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends." - Jon I, aCoK

Roose however is frequently characterized as someone who tries to get as much as he can while avoiding negative consequences, and who does not have a consistent moral code and instead bends rules to his benefit to be the most comfortable to him.

It is often theorized that Stannis will end up burning his daughter Shireen; the Ramsay issue might then serve to contrast the two men. If Grrm intends it to be compared by the reader, I can see it going two ways: Either Roose will be forced to finally act in a drastic way after avoiding his responsibility in regards to Ramsay and he will be forced to get rid of his son, making him break the only moral hurdle he has presented adhering to during the story (though analyzing his character, the kinslaying taboo is probably less a sign of moral fortitude and more him using the guise of morals to explain a selfish motivation). Or he might not act against Ramsay and suffer the consequences, presenting an interesting moral situation where some readers might consider his action "better" or more relatable than Stannis', breaking up the otherwise very black and white moral comparison between the two men. It serves as an interesting conflict of the morality of kinslaying compared to what readers might see as a moral obligation of getting rid of a monster such as Ramsay; contrasting Shireen whose death would not be seen as worth it by most. Ramsay as a bastard (who was almost killed at birth if he hadnt been able to prove his paternity) also makes for an interesting verbal parallel with the bastard Edric Storm, and might be used for a look at the utilitarian principle of killing a child (baby ramsay/edric) to save countless people from suffering that underpinned Edric's story.

"As Faulkner says, all of us have the capacity in us for great good and for great evil, for love but also for hate. I wanted to write those kinds of complex character in a fantasy, and not just have all the good people get together to fight the bad guy." - Grrm

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" - Eddard VIII, aGoT

"If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" - "Everything," said Davos, softly. - Davos V, aSoS

However Grrm decides to present these conflicts or which actions the characters will take in the end, it will result in interesting discussion and analysis for the readers.

His Endgame?

Looking at the trends of the past books, it is probably going to be hard to predict any specific outcome; every book introduces new characters and plot elements that were impossible to predict from the last book even if their thematic importance or setup was aptly foreshadowed.

Roose has a lot of plot importance and characterization that has, in my opinion, not yet been properly resolved in a way that would be unique and poignant to the specific purpose his character appears to fulfil. However I also have a bias in that i did not like the show's writing of that scene which makes me averse to see a version of it in the books, and i really like Roose as a character and want to see him have more scenes in the next book(s). This leads me to discount plot speculation that cuts his character arc short offscreen early. Roose is only a side character; however, i have trust in grrm's writing abilities and that he would give him a proper sendoff that feels satisfying to a fan of the character.

"…even the [characters] who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems… When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain — if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection." — George Martin

Considering my earlier analyis, there is a case to be made for Roose killing Ramsay; however it appears grrm might have a different endgame in mind for Ramsay, foreshadowed in Chett's prologue:

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . . - Chett, aSoS

I tend to think something might happen to Roose/the Bolton bloc later in the book that would cause Ramsay to attempt to flee the scene again like he did back in aCoK fleeing Rodrik's justice; perhaps Ramsay is sent out to battle but then flees it like a coward, or he sees his cause as lost. This time, the fleeing and potentially disguised Ramsay would not make it out to safety though, and get killed without being recognized as Ramsay, dying forgotten. This would serve as dramatic irony since Ramsay so strongly desired to be recognized and respected as a Lord of Bolton, without being too on the nose.

As for Roose, i could see him getting captured and somehow brought to justice (either when someone takes Winterfell or in some sort of battle). I see it unlikely that he will be backstabbed like Robb was, because it seems very "eye for an eye" and ultimately doesn't teach much of a lesson except "he had it coming"; But the various people conspiring against him could lead to his capture by betraying him (giving a payoff to the northern conspiracies and the red wedding). I would find a scene of him standing trial interesting since i believe we didn't have one of these for a true non-pov villain yet, and it would be an interesting confrontation that he cannot escape from (he also loves to talk so it would be a good read to see him make a case for himself).

I assume Roose will be out of the picture when the Other plot finally properly kicks into gear (whether dead or "in prison"). With Stannis as a false Azor Ahai and Roose as a false Other (with his pale, cold features), their struggle in the north seems to be a representation of the false "Game of Thrones" that distracts people from the "real threat" of the Others.

As always this is just my opinion, and it could all go very differently in the books! There could always be something that completely uproots my analysis and goes into a direction i did not expect from the material we had; But i have fate that Grrm as a writer will deliver and give me something i can be satisfied with.

[twstgameplay]

uwuwu ooh ye so generous, would you happen to have a tier list for all the card? or atleast the ssrs? i think it would be cool to see it!

🍩: Ara~ What’s this~?

Not at all surprised I found such biased tier lists in the draft. Mod Ojitan, Mod Jakku, let’s get rid of these and show them what should be the tier list! Shishishi~

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🦁: Hmph, this should be the true tier list. None of these punks would survive out there in the wild. If you want to aim for the top, you need to have the cunning of the King of the Beasts.

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🍩: Yeah, but some people need to know the support they can get on their tight budget, you know? So here- a tier list from dear Mod Ragi, the R cards that you should focus on!

First! Being cheap doesn’t mean you only have terrible cards, of course~ You’ll want to invest in the four healers first, PE Floyd, PE Epel, Uniform Rook, and PE Malleus. At Magic 1 Level 5, all four of them will get Medium HP UP, and each one in a different magical element: Fire, Tree, Water, and Null, respectively. Power them up and use them as support in Defense tests as needed!

Second! If you have a powerful SSR and you need to activate it’s DUO, make sure to check out the elements of their DUO buddy R card. In this tier I’ve placed the best R support for the Big Three (Riddle, Azul, and Leona) as well as Trey and Cater (since those two tend to be quite useful in Defense tests). But if you have other SSRs, definitely look into which R cards would be good DUO buddies for them!

Third! As I’ve said a couple times now, R cards are mostly useful as support cards. What better way to support than to provide that delicious extra Medium HP/ATK boost from the Buddy Level. The cards in this tier have been placed here because for at least one SSR card, they are a Medium support. Make sure you check out the buddies of your favorite to use SSR cards!

Fourth! Finally, Cards that have Double Elements. (A few are already in other columns). These are cards that have two of one type of element, making them particularly useful in that specific test. PE Floyd and GM Rook both have 2 Fire, PE Epel and PE Sebek both have 2 Tree, and Uniform Ortho has 2 Water. Use them when you know you need that extra push in their respective tests!

How’s that, Jakku-kun~ A budget tier list! Shishishi~

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🐺: That’s a great list, Ragi-senpai! But... What’s with that S tier?

*sigh* I apologize for my senpais.

Alright, let me share my notes on Dorm SSRs. This should make it easier to rank them:

With that in mind, and leaving Birthday Cards aside, I think this should work:

S is for Cards with Double Elements that hit hard!

Dorm Riddle and Dorm Leona are both Attack Type with 2 Strong Hits on Magic 1 and DUO of the same element, you’re in luck if you have them by your side.

Dorm Azul is Balance Type, but he has ATK UP (Medium) with Jade, making him almost as strong as the previous 2, and he’s also a Healer, so he’s great for both Basic and Defense Tests.

Dorm Trey got a category just for him, that’s because he’s the best for Defense Tests, but not as good for Basic ones. His buddies all party up well, so do invest on him if possible.

A is for Heavy Hitters with Different Elements or that have good Buddy Synergy.

Dorm Jack and Camp Ruggie are both Attack Types with ATK UP (Large/1 Turn) on Magic 1, we can hit really hard if both Magic are used on the same turn. Senpai also has good synergy with his DUO Partner (Dorm or Robe Floyd) in terms of elements.

The Leech Twins (Dorm Floyd and Dorm Jade) aren’t Heavy Hitters, but their Elements and Buddies work super well together. You can make many different teams with them for both Basic and Defense Tests.

Dorm Rook is an Attack Type with ATK UP (Medium/3 turns). His DUO is also the same type as his Partner’s (Dorm Epel) and his DUO has Type Advantage over his Magic 1.

GM Ace and SM Jade also have DUO with Type Advantage and they also have good Buddy Synergy (Ace with Dorm or Robe Riddle, Jade with Robe Azul and Dorm Floyd).

SM Vil has Fire Magic Up for Magic 1 and his DUO also has Type Advantage over Magic 1. He’s good for both Basic and Defense Tests and partners up well with Lab Lilia (or Birthday) .

Another special mention for A would be mostly for Defense Tests or as Support, such as Dorm Cater for Dorm Riddle, with same DUO Element and all.

Dorm Epel has a lot of HP and also both debuffs and heals. FG Leona and DW Deuce both have good Buddy Synergy for Defense Tests, Leona with FG, Robe or Dorm Kalim and Deuce with DW Idia and also Dorm Trey.

B is for useful Cards that can be used in different situations. Both Dorm Kalim and Dorm Jamil can be used together for either Fire or Tree tests, that’s to Kalim’s DUO being Null.

Dorm Vil has good Element Synergy with Dorm Leona and his DUO being Null also makes him useful for other Elements if you partner him with any other Leona.

SM Cater is Double Element (Tree) and great for Water Defense, be it with Dorm Trey or with a Jack.

C is for very specific Defense Teams. Dorm Deuce with Lab Ace and Dorm Ruggie with SM Jack. They might work with Dorm Ace and Dorm Jack for All/Null Elements, but better used mostly for Fire Defense.

D is for... *ahem* Poor unfortunate souls that don’t really have an optimal DUO Partner. Dorm Ace doesn’t have any SR or SSR Deuce that’s Double Fire or Fire/Tree. As for Beans Azul, he can partner with Dorm, Robe or Beans Jack, but he’s a Defense Type so you’d want to pair him up with other Defense Cards. While for Attack Teams he has low damage output.

All cards can be used depending on team building, so don’t feel discouraged if your Oshi gets a low rating. This is based on our own experience as well as preference, so just as some of us insists in using the same characters on every team, you can also adapt yours to keep using your Oshi. Send us an ask and we can help with Team Building.

[sugar-petals]

Bts voice analysis anon here! I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to respond ❤ it made complete sense why yoongi is the deepest I kinda feel bad for him everytime he wants to sounds cheerful or speak in a way so people can hear him he strains his voice

lot to talk about, i’d like to expand on this. especially what his voice being the deepest means for bts’ songs. plus, where his undiscovered vocal talents are, and in what manner his voice will not strain.

that he’s very introverted contributes to what you say, but yoongi is certainly the odd one out voice-wise, such low baritones hardly sound upbeat. similar to how taehyung being the odd one out in the vocal line whose head voices are literal superpowers. i really respect him for singing with jin and jimin who can climb one octave higher than him, up to C#5! and with jk who has the best technique and breaks into the 6th octave if he goes on like that.

it’s very much like yoongi who probably has to mix their tracks back and forth to fit his parts with hobi (who is a tenor as a rapper! — very uncommon) and namjoon who raps in several modes. very low, very high, very impactfully. he’s the most full-bodied baritone in the group even if he’s only the third-deepest. the tone is just so rich. both hoseok and RM are extreme vocal chameleons on top of that. in speaking and in their music you can hear the difference to yoongi all the time. they don’t suddenly drop in pitch and they’re vocal acrobats.

hobi in particular, this guy can do anything. the sheer agility my god, he connects his registers. he can go up and down, impersonate and do a million effects, adlibs, you know the drill. it’s him who actually owns the “cheerful/loud and clear” brand you mention. which is good if not fantastic for yoongi’s production endeavours, the group mood, and how bts cannot be ignored — but tough for yoongi’s voice and comparison thinking, and when he tries to make a point in interviews. maybe it’s not bad that bts have to slow down sometimes to let yoongi speak, but his tone is drowned out (not intentionally of course) in other occasions and he wakes up hoarse often as we saw. which might sound hot, but it’s not good for him as you say.

to be clear. i wouldn’t chalk down his more monotonous and silent tone as a weakness, it’s just outside of bts’ other vocal variety. he makes up for it with speed and good lungs anyway. we just have to listen more closely to him in talks/episodes/conferences but i think he shouldn’t worry about it either or try to sound more enthusiastic, the fans love his soothing speech for its pure sake. he does change it regardless to be more poignant and blend in. it has pros and cons but it wears him out.

yoongi’s voice is under that strain not just in conversation but also in the studio if he wants to bring connection to the rap line parts instead of having 3 songs in 1. which usually ends up happening anyway. that’s also why the cyphers (!) switch genres mid-song so often: their voices are all strong in different registers! yoongi the lowest, joon midrange, and hoseok up high. 

that’s why cypher pt2 is a HUGE stunt and production masterpiece: hoseok’s part is tuned differently, then other instrumentals start with namjoon. and you can literally hear, okay alright a deep voice is coming! from there it just gets deeper and deeper until yoongi is just rapping over a bass guitar (every baritone’s best friend lmao!). god, please give yoongi a big bassline for his every part. “ugh” is the exact opposite: yoongi has to start too high and namjoon also has problems with the key, only hoseok can fully take off after 1:50 with perfect vocal stability. guess which song is autotuned: it’s not cypher pt2! a 3 in 1 song fuels the rapline in a way where they are most comfortable. it’s crazy how far apart they are among each other vocally and it has to be considered.

it’s a dilemma but also why bts’ rap line can tackle any song with at least one member suiting it. they complement each other, every register (except the rare whistle register, aka what mariah/ariana do) is covered. i think that contributed to bts’ fame, it’s so important. however usually, the song caters to hoseok since tenors are preferred in kpop music, or it caters to RM as he’s the central songwriting entity even if mind you, he always thinks about all the members and works closely with yoongi.

but even with joon’s support, it doesn’t work if yoongi is caught in his wish to be a tenor. we’ve seen how much the guy talks about wanting his range to become wider and how he even tried singing quite high for his standards on d-2. he goes as far as collabing only with sopranos to help him achieve that pitch. yoongi is invested to pretty much change his entire vocal type 🙁because the environment simps for high notes so bad (which is fair, falsetto is related to releasing certain happy hormones and highlights parts in songs, but still).

... he actually can’t, unless he wants to damage his throat. that’s the last thing we want. a listener can get the serotonin from a very deep voice equally if they got good taste.

thing is. you cannot morph yourself into a different vocal type and shift your range to the opposite of your comfort zone unless you’re whitney houston. even one in a million tenors like baekhyun can’t make themselves a baritone. his lowest notes are less clear no matter how hard he practices, even if his chest voice is almost operatic and his technique excels. meanwhile, chanyeol (who’s a lyric baritone and exo’s deepest voice) effortlessly hits them without (!!) that kind of decade-long training. have baekhyun or jimin been called bad singers for not being able to cover the other end of the spectrum? nope. so: why would yoongi be a bad vocalist who needs autotune. with lessons, oh man, he could do a lot and many things he dreams of. he has a very unique timbre and enough musical knowledge to do so.

so, we see the magic of your natural supported range. it’s simply given to you. imagine that: if you know you’re not a tenor, you could sort of outsing jungkook — obviously not by technique, but projection— as long as the song is tailored to you and the notes are low enough. yep, jk’s lower register is not extremely forward. each note is perfectly sung because he’s jk, but his power vocals are settled much higher. joon/tae/yoongi would sound much fuller with huge oomph in those lines. that’s where yoongi would be much more clear-sounding to us. a lot of baritone rappers in kpop would be damn good singers. 

that’s why it’s good how a lot of rappers produce solos on their own so they can try it out. 

you just have to respect that your range usually (not always) goes in one direction. once yoongi rightfully decides to abandon his high note fantasy and goes lower just for fun, we are not safe anymore lmao! exception for range: female singers have an advantage there. trained mezzo-sopranos have great access to the head voice and lower registers since they’re in the perfect middle of the scale. but the guys, forget it, even the baritenors. yoongi’s fullest voice will always be coming from a chesty depth and we love him for it. guy just needs to realize.

that’s why his real challenge is rather somehow tweaking the rap parts so his voice finds good resonance like in “혼술” or even “ddaeng”. where his voice is strong, relaxed, and full and flowing. ddaeng — “boy with luv”, too— is ironically in a very high pitch and again caters to hobi’s tone the most, but: yoongi just scales down to his own octave and it still fits, so — great key choice and musicality! and adaptation. it’s not easy to do. you can tell he plays piano.

he either becomes less easy on the ear or has to autotune himself entirely if he works against his voice. or: goes on a track way outside his supported range (dynamite, WOW). it’s a shame. “daechwita” and “agust d” are such a case: both go into the head voice where your resonance should show the most aka the chorus. there are aggressive belts/snarls/shouts that make more sense for higher, trained voices. yoongi is most famous for raps that are literally designed to fuck up his vocal cords 😷that he’s so skilled as a rapper prevents him from that to a degree, but it’s still not healthy. he adapts a lot to bts’ overall delivery but he doesn’t have to, in fact: he could go in the other direction and it would work even better.

the reason for the title track issue: they are the most energetic. in k-pop, energetic means amping up the pitch. and that’s probably a logical choice and a natural human association. if you make a baritone kpop track with a lot of energy, it probably becomes pretty creepy, uneasy, film noir. but i think that’s exactly yoongi’s thing: to unsettle and critique and rage. i think it could work out. lil nas x is a baritone pulling it off. he achieves energetic title tracks, he honors his vocal type well imo. his live singing is cool af, i need this so hard in the rap landscape. so, it’s not impossible to do.

the trick is probably setting everything to minor key. surprise... yoongi’s challenging title tracks are all in major key. boy with luv: minor key, interesting. the former are extremely difficult for him to do so hats off. “shadow” is more suitable for his baritone as is “burn it”. it needs a very heavy, dark track. which is why it’s good that yoongi has that kind of public image. a baritone’s best genre is not super light and whimsical. that’s why all of our baritone faves are not main vocalists but main rappers. kai, taehyung, jaehyun: low voices in vocal lines are soldiers.

---

now a note on yoongi’s best method of singing since it reflects his voice type and brings out the fullness of it. as in, how does it crack and strain less? guess why “사람” is yoongi’s favorite d-2 song to sing. it’s ALL his comfortable range and the singing — very beautifully done —  is in mixed register (= head + chest)! which imo might be his secret weapon. it allows him to do what he longs to do successfuly without going extremely high. bingo.

because: even with baritones, the golden middle is still important. they’re not as deep as a bass, after all. that’s why their voices are so honey-laced in the mixed range and it sounds amazing. heaven, their timbre sounds so seductive. so, it’s wonderful when they find their middle and dare to sing. 

i wish yoongi gets/makes more tracks aimed at just that. in “outro tear” he has to go both too low and too high so it takes a lot of production effort to patch it together. the rapline is doing god’s work to make all their voices sound cohesive without being trained singers. it’s always a trade-off and risk, an immense balance act. “paldogangsan” is hard on yoongi’s voice but works as a whole plus it caters to namjoon to carry the song’s message. the cyphers are chopped up and not chart-friendly but each member is in their comfort zone. 

PS: i said bts’ rap line covers all registers except one. i think that jin is the one to complete bts’ entire spectrum coming from the vocal line. i’m no whistle note expert but dionysus went pretty high up there, i think he might be able to do it. it’s very impressive, even jungkook and jimin probably don’t have access to that register. so, another point for bts being a very ‘complete’ group.

[siren-virus]

There's some stuff that has been going around in my head regarding Luckuboy!AU, so I'll just dump everything here and see how you might adapt/change/evolve some of these ideas, or don't use any of them since that's perfectly valid too and it's your au, not mine :3 anyways, this is a long idea that can be divided, so I'll do just that and make a paragraph for each sub-idea.

1) Ben's daily schedule: Ben most likely has a morning schedule in the coffee shop, and as such he would get to work early, now idk how they work, but I imagine Ben's day to day life would go something like this: Ben's alarm goes off at 7:00, he wakes up and leaves bed at 7:15, breakfast and shower before arriving at work at 8:00 (do shops open at 8:00? 8:30? idk :V), keep working until 16:00 with lunchtime tucked in the middle, hang out with friends/relax/naps until 20:00, start his own vigilante work until 2:00, where he goes to sleep and repeats. If his patrol is slow then he would go home earlier to sleep more, if it's hectic and he doesn't get enough sleep, then the afternoon/evening would be used in powernaps.

2) Ben the info brooker, I imagine that Ben would eventually get to know a lot, and I mean A LOT, of information about everyone and everything important that's going on in Undertown (which, considering the situation of Earth and the Plumbers, is probably the only alien world center, would be everything), and when he hears of someone having some kind of trouble, he gives them a nudge in a certain direction for them. Eventually word gets out that there's a new information brooker in town that has scarily accurate info, he works at a coffee shop and you better give him a big tip if you don't want some of your info to get out fast (how real this info is nobody knows, and since Ben hasn't heard of it he can't correct them)

2.5) One day Argit appears and asks for a coffee under a different name, when it's ready Ben calls for him (he used a fake name) and writes with an alcohol marker on the cup "Argit", scaring the hell out of him. "How did you know?" "I'd be shitty at what I do if I couldn't recognize you *wink*", then he tells him that as long as they do nothing dangerous near him he won't tattle him and Kevin to the Plumbers, or worse, Gwen. "Don't you dare" says Argit aghast, "Try me bitch" answers Ben grinning, almost double daring him into doing something dangerous only so he can call his cousin and set up a date

3) The coffee made in the shop is delicious, caters to every species needs, alergies, likes and dislikes, and everyone agrees that the place is the best of the best in the whole world for these reasons and more; thus the shop has been a tentative neutral zone for years, however the lack of "people" (idk what word to use that captures everyone, human or alien) that knows how to fight there has severly dampened the opportunity of it becoming one. Cue Ben beggining to work there, in the beggining it's nothing special, he's just a human who makes good coffee and is surprisingly charming, come a few weeks and months and everyone starts noticing how he's the infamous information brooker that has been the talk of Undertown, thus gathering a bit more attention. Eventually someone (Plumber, civilian, villain, whatever you choose) is more rude to him than needed and tries to get some info from him, even if it's by force... Ben decks him, like, he kicks their ass, defenestrates them, break a chair on them and hands them unconcious to the closest Plumber, bleeding and all while still being intact himself. Everyone glares in awe at the show of badassery and oficially the coffee shop becomes the new true neutral zone, where everyone can get coffee, exchange information and form unlikely friendships. Whenever someone tries to mess with the shop, if Ben isn't present, is busy or it's too much for him, everyone else, Plumber, villain and civilian joins him in defending the shop and getting rid of the nuisancess that mess with the shop.

4) With all the info that Ben gets both as a barista and as a vigilante, one would think that he would give everything out as long as you paid the prize, but surprisingly he has a strong code that he never breaks. If he EVER learns that a piece of information he has with himself is considered confidential, then he'll never speak about it with anyone, no matter how much they offer to pay him. He can't answer for the ones who talks about this info in the shop without saying in any moment that the info is supposed to be confidential, he can't read minds, but everyone catches on fast on this, and some say the keyword when talking in the coffee shop. However many still forget about it once in a while, since the calm atmosphere of the shop is too powerful and slip up often happen. Still Ben can't be blamed, how is he supposed to know if some piece of info is confidential if no one ever says it is? Again, he's not a mindreader nor a telepath.

5) Any info on his vigilante persona he never gives out, however it's not because of not wanting to give out any of that info, but rather because another part of his code is "If I haven't heard people talk about something, then I don't know information about it. All my info is second hand, so unless someone else already knows about it, I won't know about it". That can come in very handy considering the surprisingly little info there is about his vigilante persona out there, despite how famous he kinda is. This more often than not drives Jimmy mad.

Love brainstorms, hate the alien.

1) Most cafes open at 7am from my knowledge, 9am if you're in a sleepy town, so it'd be more like a 6am wake up, optional breakfast- (who eats breakfast these days?), straight to the cafe around 7ish to help with cleaning and setting up for the day.

This cafe is more of a 24/7 place. With 24/7 breakfast! (don't you hate it when places stop doing breakfast at a certain hour?)

Apart from that love what ya got there.

As for the vigilante side, he starts whenever is easiest, it's all dependent if things are hectic or not. Sun goes down roughly 7PM (pretty late I know, but where I live (during summer at least), sun won't go down til 9PM). Sometimes he finishes at 2AM, sometimes a few minutes before work (Incoming animatic!)

2) Love everything about that too! I'd like to think Ben has no idea about it at first, he just notices some days the tip jar is fuller than others. He chocks it up to his charming personality. But eventually he catches on.

Another thing to add, at some point if people wanted to get info from Ben they'd order a "whipped caramel latte with icing sugar, honey, and salt" (gross) Ben has no idea of this, but the weird amount of customers ordering that and asking for intel, kinda makes him think about it.

2.5) This!! good shit right here! Except, you can't call a customer a bitch, trust me... Karen's and Kevin's exist in all shapes, sizes and forms. So Ben uses the kill them with kindness, customer service attitude.

Additionally, sometimes Kevin, although rarely, comes by, hovers around the counter. He'll order a coffee and glare at Ben until, he gets his attention.

"You staring at me for a reason?"

"I need to know about Gwen 10."

Of course, at this Ben would grin devilishly and respond with, "Oh, you wanna take her on date? She loves sappy romance movies, she's also a nerd, so get her a math book instead of flowers."

That always shuts Kevin up, makes him leave most occasions.

3) Everything about this is just!!! Love it. Wouldn't change a thing.

4) Yes yes!!Sometimes, a customer will demand classified info (those that aren't initiated to how the cafe works). When Ben refuses to squawk this can lead to some shouting from a customer sometimes, which leads to a coworker, or a regular shoeing the nasty customer away. Ben can hold his own against most people, as a human, but sometimes they're just a little too big or a little too tough to be able to defend himself against.

5) I like that a lot too.

I also like to think that sometimes, if Ben wants to mess with someone, especially Jimmy. He'll slip a piece of information out that no one else knows.

"I heard from a plumber, that the vigilante guy likes smoothies- specifically [insert favourite smoothie flavour of the week]"

Cue Jimmy buying several of that smoothie to try and lure Luckyboy (still haven't thought of a namee!!!) out. It works, and Ben gets free smoothies almost every week.

This could backfire immensely though.

Woo, sorry about the delay there, been working a few shifts. Work is kicking my ass as usual...

[inventors-fair]

Child’s Play

As some of you may know, I work in a middle school. (12-15 y/o). We have a MTG club there, with a whole bunch of kids and a whole bunch of fun. Of course, this year, we’ve had to downsize and we have 0-5 kids playing Magic on the daily instead of a dozen or so. Engagement’s a little more difficult.

So what else could I do but engage? I asked three of my more regular and more involved kids what cards they would like to see. To my pleasant surprise, they all came up with quite different challenges. They’ll be “judging,” but we’ll be talking together about the cards and I’ll be guiding them in the right direction.

Meet our three judges, and the things they’re looking for. (Yes, these are pseudonyms, I’m not putting their real names out there.)

Gary would like you do design a card based off of Forgotten Realms. He’s very much into D&D. When playing Magic, he likes tribal components, destructive strategy, and interesting synergy.

Katy would like you to design a card based on either cats, dragons, or both! And it doesn’t have to be a creature card, either. She plays Magic casually with her family and is just getting into formats like commander.

Isaac would like you to design a new mechanic that’s a twist, revisit, or reminder of an older mechanic; for example, what Manifest is to Morph, or what Adapt is to Monstrous, etc. He’s my most advanced player in terms of raw skill level.

Pick one of these three prompts and make a card for it! You are designing for a standard power level with a primary focus on introductory coolness for kids, and/or younger players, and/or new players.

Here’s what I mean by that: Take a look at the cards from the 2018 Gift Pack. All of them are pretty basic, but show the different color strategies, with red’s relentlessness, blue’s tricky forcefulness of interaction, green’s massive threats, etc. You’re not designing for me, although I will have a final say in the commentary. You’re designing to show off to a group of players who aren’t going to judge or nitpick right away. You’re designing for kids who think that all this stuff is cool, and fun, and they like things that are cool and fun.

Does this mean your designs have to be simple? Well, not necessarily. These kids have been playing for at least three years. They’ve played against me, they’ve drafted with each other, they’ve built sealed decks, and heck, they’re going to be doing TSR sealed in a week or so! Isaac’s asking for a whole new mechanic!

So, you’re designing to cater to different kids as well. One of them might argue that a card’s cool when another is lukewarm on it. I might have to force kids out of thinking that a 1-mana-20/20-you-win-the-game creature isn’t a well-designed custom card.

The point of this is twofold. Firstly, I thought my kids would have fun with it, and they’re really looking forward to being judgmental and all. Secondly, it’s a new audience for you guys. We’re (mostly?) all adults here, or at least experienced players. But you’re making things good for the kids today. Young people are a huge part of Magic, and they’re the future of the game.

—Abelzumi

>> SUBMIIIIIIIIIIIIT >> DISCOOOOORD

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Uuh dunno if you would like this prompt : Anna and Elsa as a mythical creatures.

Would love too see what you will write them as ^^

@like-redhead-probably I sat thinking about this ask for a long time, because while I IMMEDIATELY thought of one for Elsa, Anna’s absolutely eluded me. And I know you were probably looking for a story, but I am unable to stop myself from first EXPLAINING my choices xD

I was already thinking about the myth of the Hulder (or huldra if we’re speaking of the creature in general instead of the specific Norwegian myth) for other story-related reasons, and as I did more research, I felt like the Hulder REALLY shared similarities with Elsa.

Generally speaking the huldra is a Scandinavian myth of a pale skinned, blonde or brown haired, attractive young woman who lives in the wilderness, often luring men away with song or dance to be killed or misled, stuck wandering forever. Sometimes she’s connected strongly to water, and instead of making men lost, she drowns them. Sometimes she is described as similar to an elf or fey-like creature, with characteristics related to other Huldufolk (we’ll get to them later) such as living in a parallel world, or a world Underground, and therefore preferring caves or appearing and disappearing suddenly. Sometimes she is depicted as having a hollow back, or a cow’s tail, which she hides out of embarrassment or to conceal her true identity. Which… how cute is that?

Before the 11th century, the myths were focussed more around the Huldufolk, which literally means “Hidden Folk”. There are lots of stories as to why and how the Huldufolk came to exist, but for the purpose of Elsa I think it most appropriate to look at the Christianization of the myths. Why?:

Frozen and Frozen 2 are modern movies made by an American company and Christianity is nigh untanglable with American culture, they take place in ~1840s Norway, F1 has a dedicated place of Christian congregation depicted in said movie, an official royal crowning overseen by a Christian faith leader, and the adaptation of Frozen generally comes from author Hans Christian Anderson and therefore should take his life and society into account, etc.

The Christianized myth says that one day Eve was washing her children (presumably after Cain, Abel, and Seth) in the river, when she heard God approaching. Ashamed that He would see her kids unclean, she hid the half she wasn’t done bathing, and when God asked, “Where are the other children?” Eve claimed that she had all of them present, indicating the clean ones. This gave God pause, but in the end He said, “Then let all that is Hidden, remain Hidden.” The children that Eve lied about became the Huldufolk, unable to live among humans. These people would eventually become characterized as dwarves, elves, fairies, etc., as time and interpretations rolled on, the huldra being just one of many mythical “species”.

So. Who is Elsa? She’s a:

fictional, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young woman who led thousands of men wlw to wander helplessly into the dark caves and wildlands of social media with a power ballad and a jaw-dropping transformation sequence

Okay I’m joking… mostly…

In fact my interest in choosing the Hulder for Elsa lies purely outside of any romantic or sexual appeal, especially since Elsa as a character exhibits next to 0 romantic or sexual interest across two whole movies and an additional two shorts. Indeed, there’s a reason people headcanon her as either asexual, aromantic, or both! No, the reasons I chose the Hulder are:

Elsa’s name

Her upbringing

Her duty as queen, and

Her general behavior, specifically in regards to Frozen 1, as Frozen 2 Elsa is, at times, an almost completely different character

Elsa’s name was chosen very specifically by the filmmakers because it means “God is my Oath”. Oaths are binding, heavy, and invoke the maker’s or subject’s actions and personhood in the future. In Elsa’s case specifically, it invokes divine witness: perfect for a queen, someone born to rule. A promise to be fair, to uphold, to protect, to lead, to be a dignified and honorable face for the country. And Elsa was so ready to be that… except for the powers of course. Or at least, when they became something other than a magical gift of wonder and joy. When they became dangerous. Then there comes another oath, spoken to powerful creatures of magic, the Trolls, and born from parental fear: “She can learn to control it.”

Binding, heavy, invoking of Elsa’s future. As she grows, Elsa becomes closed off, quiet, hiding in her own home. She still takes her duties seriously, but now that she has been Other’d, taught to hide herself and her curse, she is just as much shadow as person. To young Anna, Elsa must have been almost ghostlike, disappearing right when Anna thought she’d cornered her, only to reappear sometime later down the hall, out of arm’s reach.

God promised Adam and Eve that their children would inherit the earth, even after leaving the Garden of Eden. Then suddenly that changed, due to Eve’s fear and shame of her unwashed children, and some would now inherit Underground, or somewhere else entirely. The lost children of Eve had become Other’d, needing to hide, disappear, and resort to inhuman tactics just to exist. Maybe they’re jealous, maybe they're just tricksters. But it’s not their fault. And it wasn’t Elsa’s either. Another reason they are similar.

Now, it’s not all doom and gloom for the Hulder, or for Elsa. While the Hulder is generally known for her more chaotic and negative attributes - just like our favorite snow queen, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There are a few myths that say burning a charcoal fire -instead of a coal or gas one- is most pleasing to the Hulder, that she’ll even watch over it during the night, and wake the sleepers in case something happens. If a traveler leaves supplies behind with a note or offering for the Hulder, they will travel safely. In fact, some people leave caches for her, as though to cater to specific requests. Coming across the Hulder by chance can have a multitude of outcomes, but if an astute observer spots her cow tail and mentions it, she may become shy and run away. Don’t mention the empty back though, that’s almost certain death.

Basically my point is… trade out the word “traveler” for the name “Anna” and we can draw all the similarities we want. Anna did all of those things, in a way. Anna gave Elsa a little gift of their favorite snowman every Christmas. Anna knocked on Elsa’s door and spoke to her, treated her kindly despite the distance between them, literal and metaphorical. It’s not hard to imagine that Anna left little notes around the castle, hoping Elsa would find them, read them, and know that Anna still loved her, still missed her. And, well, hopefully Anna wasn’t setting any fires and falling asleep next to them - but Anna always kept a light on for Elsa, in her heart. And it flickered and wavered sometimes, but it was a strong fire most days. And we know Elsa was always drawn to it, drawn to Anna because she loved her right back. Loved her first, even. And because it was a warmth that pleased Elsa, she tended it, quietly, carefully, warmly. Like putting a blanket over an Anna that had fallen asleep in the painting room, refusing that slice of chocolate cake so Anna could have two desserts, and listening, for hours and hours, days and days, for the sound of Anna’s glorious bonfire-like soul outside her bedroom door. Even when her secret was revealed, Elsa believed that the best way to protect Anna’s life, her flame, was to distance herself, running to a secret, special place all her own - much like the Hulder might run away back to the Underground.

And this last part’s just me, but I’d like to think that if the Hulder was treated kindly, respected, and given dignity, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if someone came across her accidentally. That instead of being instantly drowned, or the Hulder becoming sheepish and attempting to run, it would feel recognized. It could be called by name. And instead of feeling the need to hide it’s Otherness, it could be treated as part of it, and cared for just the same. I don’t even need to be subtle here: Anna called Elsa by Name, really saw her, and reframed her darkness into light. Anna hasn’t fought God yet, but she did walk through hell and back for a sister that everyone else saw as a threat, monster, and sorcerer. A category 9 Other. Too bad for them, Anna’s got a Category 10 heart.

Speaking of. We finally got to Anna.

Anna was difficult to pin down because to me, Anna is so very, very human. That’s what makes her special! Yes, yes, you could throw any mythical creature at Anna and the fun part would be trying to make it work within her personality and characterization BUT since the question was Anna AS a mythical creature, that changes the game! The word ‘creature’ itself tends to conjure something distinctly INhuman. So I…. tried, and cheated maybe a little. Because I picked for Anna the Norse Valkyrie.

Most people know what Valkyries are so this one takes significantly less explaining. Valkyries are women that are warriors, shieldmaidens, and the hands of Odin, and they choose who lives and who dies during battle. Their chosen dead ride with them to Valhalla, while those they choose to live are usually granted honors in life. There are the darker sides of Valkyries that paint them as blood hungry maidens waiting on the sidelines before a war, singing the names of who will die with glee… but generally speaking the version of Valkyries that most people know and admire today are accurate! And thank goodness because attempting to depict Anna the other way would probably give me an ulcer.

Anna, much like the Valkyries, is a woman of valor and strength, who is perceptive, guides others, sees into people’s hearts and reveals their goodness. Valkyries are also warriors of prowess themselves, and Anna in Frozen 2 with that ice sword? We all know she was ready to use that for real. She also exemplifies traits that Valkyries both look for and have! Bravery in the face of danger: hello Marshmallow, Elsa’s own blizzard, Hans’ lethal sword strike, LIVING MOUNTAINS, and a damn collapsing.... dam. She also defends those who cannot do it themselves: saying publicly that, “My sister is not a monster… she was scared, she didn’t mean any of this,” even if that cast suspicion or doubt on herself, and the crown, as a whole. Anna knew and believed in Elsa, despite all the years and heartbreak and anger. Despite the impossible magic that literally just happened before her very eyes. Belief in character, despite appearances. And once they were reunited, Anna made every effort to stay by Elsa’s side because she STILL had that faith in her. Anna’s name means “Grace” or “of Grace”, and damn if she didn’t extend that to the person others found most unworthy, even to Elsa herself. Valkyries see what others don’t, and their decisions are final.

[Deep breath] SO! You asked for Anna and Elsa as mythical creatures. You got… a small academic paper, by social media standards xD. I intend to write a little piece about a Valkyrie who encounters the Hulder on the edges of a battlefield and… realizes she never made a choice about this particular woman. And wonders why she can’t ;). BUT I didn’t wanna leave you hanging any longer. Hope you like my choices!

Oh also, nobody asked, but Kristoff is a werebear. No research required

[peachy-inserts]

alright, here we go; long post coming up y’all

(sorry for any errors, or for too much repetition. i am incredibly tired today)

tdlr; bakugou is angry and deserves love and patience

the name thing is what bothers me the very most about fanon bakugou. he frequently calls people by insults, but even lately in canon has shown to use them less and less, and with people he personally knows, or someone who’s being a dick

and for someone who has so much trouble opening up and developing close relationships in the first place, why the hell would he ever choose to call an s/o by these names? it’s an abusive behavior to do that; i know it’s fictional but could you imagine if your boyfriend called you a ‘fucking dumbass’? ‘endearingly’ or not, i just don’t see how some people could characterize bakugou like that and find it appealing

about showing respect by using names, notice how he hardly calls midoriya anything other than ‘damn deku’, but has rarely slung dumbass or idiot into the mix. he also would never adress his teachers or idols by those things, even though we all know he’s got enough balls and anger to

granted, he doesn’t spare this courtesy with his friends, but speaking realistically i think i say bitch and whore more times a day when talking to my friends than i do their names. i think platonically, with the right context, bond, and tone you can certainly use names like this to show affection. but never to hurt them with

bakugou is definitely incredibly insecure, which of course we saw in the deku vs kacchan 2 fight when all might broke them up. he’s just a messed up kid with a warped perception of reality (which we’ll go more into on in the next part) a lot that goes into making bakugou the personality he is on fanon is this in the works, and yet it’s completely ignored and excused as an extremely confident dude who shows affection through violence and insults/threats. like, what? you can’t play that off as ‘haha he means well’ like no, no. any perosn with an inkling of sense knows you don’t act like that to people you care about

going off of him being insecure, you’d have to have to be forceful with him to get him to open up, as well as showing him a little bit of tlc because it’s not like literally anyone has ever offered that to him. deku has definitely tried to be close with him, but i don’t think he’s going as deep as he should and to no fault of his; his history with bakugou and bakugous feelings of inferiority prevent that from happening on his end. i don’t think bakugou would be able to be vulnerable to somebody unless they opened up to him first, and had written a reliable history with him. he’s someone who could stand to learn by example

still yet though, a lot of what i see with him on the other side of fanon (him not, y’know, basically being abusive) is that he’s a mellowed out fellow, doesn’t let things bother him, is super sweet. even without everything making him him the way that he is, that’s still his personality. even if he were to overcome all of his issues, that doesn’t mean his entire personality would change. he’s certainly aware of how he presents himself, and how people shy away from him, but as of currently where the anime left off (i’m not caught up on the manga) is okay with that. he focuses on his goals to distract himself from those matters weighing down on him but i think in the future as he had more time to bond with others he’d definitely try to make an effort to change, and from that point is where i tend to write him from. he can still be brash, confident, and teasing all while showing kindness to others, it’s just gonna take time

mitsuki is, if you ask me, the root of his problems. for real. mitsuki literally criticizes him for the way he handles being kidnapped, makes him feel guilty for it, treats him as if he should have been able to solve everything in his own, shouldn’t have been there in the first place if he was really strong enough, and reinforces this idea in him that a hero should be able to work completely alone. she gives him the idea that needing help or asking for help is weak and he should be ashamed for ‘inconveniecing’ everyone, despite him literally being her 15 year old son kidnapped by the most notorious and dangerous group of villains in the country

that’s not tough love, that is emotional abuse. mitsuki and bakugou’s relationship is more than them both simply being rough around the edges, she sets out to degrade him and knock him down every time he shows an ounce of confidence. it is extremely toxic, and caused him to develop this inferiority complex that we see (only to be amplified by the one person he could confidently assert himself over becoming the all powerful successor to his idol)

if she would have showed him a little bit of weakness, a little bit of the motherly love expected of her, i don’t think he’d be nearly as insecure as he is now. his flashy quirk would still play into his personality, what with adults fawning over him and saying he should be a hero (seen in the beginning of the series) but i think more than anything it would be a not so intense fear of failure. if he had his own mother backing him up, it wouldn’t be nearly as bad

mitsuki has lead him to believe that unless he’s the best and achieves his goal without any help whatsoever, that he should be disappointed, pitied, and seen as a loser

finally touching the lighter side of things, bakugou would be absolutely hilarious the first time he ever committed himself to a relationship. he’s genuinely never been interested in it, and the few crushes he’s had were completely ignored to fulfill his goals. so far we’ve established that he’s insecure, feels inferior, and has trouble expressing his emotions unless the right person caters to him patiently. there is absolutely NO way that he could go into a relationship confidently, he’d be completely flustered and nervous as hell. i think bakugou is definitely the type to play into cliche romance standards all while pretending he’s too cool to care, and it’s whimsical to say the least

all he cares about is being a hero, so unless someone willing to work with him slowly and show him kindness latches into him and cracks him open, i don’t see him starting a relationship in high school. he wouldn’t be concerned with those matters until he’s finally settled down into a routine work life, and even then wouldn’t be able to develop a good romantic relationship with someone he wasn’t already friends with

as for pda, his flashy show off style and embarrassed ‘never dated anyone and is terrified’ ordeal would clash and leave him wanting to be able to indulge in pda, but far too flustered to go through with it. he’ll hold hand with you, yeah, maybe leave a hand on your waist when you’re idle, but a kiss is taking it outside of his comfort zone. once he’s adapted and overcome these, he’s all over it though. so long as it doesn’t get gross, you know?

i think he would mimic his parents in one sense, that being banter. he’d argue with his s/o, but not in the aggressive manner you’d expect; more so, arguments are a way to exercise his mind and keep him entertained? so i think he’d need an s/o who can keep up with him and playfully bounce back and forth with him over useless things. he’d never take it to the point of anyone being hurt or actually angry, although there would be a couple times he’d lose his temper over something and start an ACTUAL argument that has the potential to escalate. after doing this once or twice though i think he’d work extensively on keeping his cool and having a peaceful albeit tense discussion

otherwise though, i don’t think he wants to be anything like them, and consciously works toward providing a relationship for his s/o much much different from theirs, once that’s open and nurturing

so sorry for the repeated thoughts and spelling mistakes, but those are my thoughts! feel free to add on anymore or elaborate on what’s here so far, and thank you for sending these in babe 😍

[bowditch]

I hc Damian as autistic and I would love to write him as such someday and I was wondering which of his canon traits would have to be changed or altered to not make him too "stereotypical" autistic? In my interpretation drawing is one of his special interests/hyperfixations and he loves animals because their behaviors are more logical and easier to understand. (He also loves noise canceling headphones which is not canon but should be)... but is that too stereotypical?

Not at all, imo! the thing about writing autism, I think, is that some stereotypes are stereotypes because of how often they occur. it's whether or not you're using the stereotype as a joke, a crutch, or a superpower that it gets dicey. Damian actually is easily a case of institutional autism, I think, but honestly comics canon is such a clustercuss that you don't NEED "canon evidence" to say "I want to write this character this way because I want to write it." Fanfiction is for fun, not for scientically adhering to canon.

You can write Damian in a way that conforms to a lot of canon AND fanon though, and still do this specific thing. Attaching to animals, drawing as a special interest. Noise-cancelling headphones to help with stress, sensory-input, or focus. Routines and sensitivity to touch (animals are good for this because it's not unheard of for autistic people to have touch-aversions AND want the weight of a pet). The thing about any personality or neurological condition is that the chief hallmark is inconsistency, and a lot of "high functioning" (that word has stigma for some, so be careful with it-- it basically means in this case "able to outwardly adapt to non-divergent expectations more easily/hide ND traits/find own coping skills for environment") people can sometimes handle life fine without their noise-cancelling device and other days need it. Sometimes routine disruption is very upsetting, other times stress can be more internalized or its easier to adapt.

One big thing for writing in fanfic, if you want to maintain some appearance of a general canon perspective on the character, is to be careful how you handle meltdowns and stress reactions. Not EVERY autistic person has meltdowns in the same way. Not everyone has the same triggers. And like any strength or weakness, the pros and cons are going to be different sides of the same coin. Special interests are great and can be highly developed skills, but other school work might suffer. Animal interest is wonderful, but because it's emotionally easier to connect, it might come at the price of struggling to give other humans the same consideration. Autism, contrary to early assumptions, is a highly emotional neurodivergency. It's not that emotions aren't there, it's that they're so intense it often makes it difficult to see outside them, express them in neurotypical ways, or process them. Shutting down and hiding with your dog is sometimes easier than talking through being frustrated about something, if your dog is one way you cope with things, and you tend to be low-verbal when upset, etc.

Avoid language that compares autistic traits to robotic ones (unless the character has claimed that perspective themselves) and ESPECIALLY if it's dehumanizing/negative rather than connecting. Be careful about language that makes autism a "super power." Many people do not feel that way, even if autism is a positive or neutral for them. Be careful that the portrayal isn't so rigid that the world bends unrealistically around your character to cater to them (unless of course you just want to write self-indulgent hurt/comfort or something to do something for YOU or a friend-- that's fine, it just won't read as realistic).

I hope this helps!

[mrdemarlowe]

"The 333" Prologue: Betrayals

At the height of humanity’s ignorance, a war was waged.

The night sky morphed into a sea of darkness, as legions of Angels swarmed towards Earth’s land. The Angel’s invisible form only made visible by the trails of fire they left behind on route towards the highest populated areas on the planet.

This event would have multiple consequences for humankind.

To start, almost ninety percent of Earth’s land was destroyed and submerged into the oceans, leaving the remaining ten percent of land poisoned or too small to inhabit. In order to deal with this calamity, the survivors of humanity took to massive sea craft, hastily outfitted for long voyages, and began their long and difficult way through the world’s now dominant oceans. Where they would sail for close to twenty years before finally finding a home on land.

A second consequence of the “Rapture” (as some would take to calling it), was a mysterious mutation that occurred within living creatures and caused grotesque deformation and dampened physical ability within the afflicted. In time however, the survivors began to notice that the once prominent and disfiguring mutations were evolving to less visible, more enhancing mutations.

This would be the rough explanation for the creation of the Loma, a new race of humankind that had adapted with abilities.

The third and final consequence of our war had much to do with the first and second, this would make way for the subspecies of monster races to emerge from mutated manifestations of human consciousness. Of course, not many scientists were counted among the survivors of humanity, so even though not many knew the true origins of these races, this was the generally agreed upon explanation. All they knew, or needed to know, was the danger these races would bring for humans in the future.

The Carrier City, home to our race’s remaining people, would steadily drift closer to an unknown fate, and towards a place with divine implications, but demonic foundations.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the world from humankind, a different race emerged. This race had been created through the evil that man had poured into the land, through years and years of blood soaked battles.

Appearing in various corrupted forms, with demonic ambitions and enhanced abilities, the Demazo Race began it’s task to create a new continent in order to lure in any surviving humans for subjugation.

Thus, after almost twenty years at sea, humanity came across a massive land mass they had never seen before.

The scholars on board Carrier City boldly claimed this error on the navigation teams and captain of the vessel, Domillus Sysa. There were accusations of concealing land, or deliberate avoidance in order to sustain control over humanity.

In the end, a small faction of rebels would depart to make their own journeys on the new land, as Sysa’s group would settle in the northernmost territory of their new home. This territory was named Bernum, and was the first land to be discovered and claimed by humankind in years.

The continent humanity had landed on was named Lynn, after the late wife of Domillus, who had risked her own health in order to develop a treatment for some unknown disease that had plagued Carrier City early on in its voyage.

None disagreed, and a new kingdom arose from the ashes of a war not yet forgotten.

In the years to come, a new history began to unfold created from the actions of King Sysa and his bloodline, leading humanity down a new path of existence within the land of Lynn.

This is where we’ll start our story.

Bernum consisted of three distinct geographic features. It’s mystic forest of Demal Dora, which guarded the entrance from southern invaders, to it’s vast mountain-scape, which created a perfect foundation for Bernum’s eventual Kingdom with natural defenses, and its beaches down on the north side of Bernum’s border, which provided a great area for ports and fishing.

It’s within the first geographic feature, where a small campfire can be seen. Sitting around this fire, sheltered from a raging wind, were four men of varying age.

The first man Jacoby Simms, a grizzly man with silver hair and beard equivalent to the moon, who’s short stature warred constantly with his fiercely overbearing presence, sat idly stoking the flames. His hair and beard, both braided heavily with an assortment of gleaming metallic objects, glistened as it rubbed against his silver armor. His heart and mind were heavy this night, and no amount of drink or song was helping to appease his stress.

But it mattered little, his stress would not be transferred to his subordinates, he loosed a short soft sigh, and fixed himself upright.

“Anyone up for a Sysan Story?” He asked in his gruff but heavily accented voice. “I know one that’ll go great with a moonlit night like we have here.”

The smile on his face was clearly forced, but he had small hope that his crew had not noticed as he stood to begin.

“I’d rather you tell us what was said in Bella and Cyllym.”

This response came from Cassius Grau, a young man of twenty one years, who’s youth often went unnoticed under his wise and questioning eyes. But with his messy hair, and growing stubble, his questions and air of authority quickly vanished under the uncertainty of his power.

To his left sat the youngest of the four, a young man of nineteen, with short dirty blond hair, and a constant look of paranoia in his eyes named Elliott Alba.

Elliott scoffed quietly, before continuing his scan of the dark surrounding forest. “We aren’t high enough in the chain of command to understand these things.”

This was said almost in complete unison with the words of the last man who sat directly across from Cassius. Tristan Zuna, who had started with “You” instead of “We”, and was quite irritated at the mocking done by his pupil, finished his statement with a word of chastisement. His jet black pencil tip mustache and hair, which he kept in the slicked back style of old world Spaniards represented his refined and suave personality and his slick black armor complemented him to a T as well.

“I suggest you stop with the interruptions, and listen to your elders.” Tristan finished eyeing both pupils.

“Don’t be so rough on the boys,” Jacoby laughed, “they’re just nervous of war, and rightly so. But we can talk about that tomorrow when we report to the King. For now let’s recount the tale of Demarlowe Sysa, the fourth King of Lynn, and the wielder of the *Holy Roar*.”

“In those days, demons still ran the majority of Lynn’s southern half, and war between the races had been an ongoing struggle for the past Sysa King’s. But King Demarlowe was young, he knew that he had the strength his father had lacked in his old age. He knew he had the power to subdue the Demon race for good.”

Jacoby paused for effect, before continuing.

“It was on a night like this, with the moon in full view, that the King led his forces to retake Bristol and Fallpin. He discovered his Holy Roar, and with it he banished the Demon Prince to the deepest pit of hell.”

“I doubt things were that simple.” Cassius interjected. “The rest of the Kingdom’s territories were still united in it’s support of the King.”

“And they still are…” Tristan began to argue, but Jacoby stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“This world is ever changing, things come and go, and sometimes we humans crave things we can no longer have, or will never be able to have. This can make us do evil things.” Jacoby looked the boys each in the eyes. “If war becomes an outcome that we are to expect, it is our own fault as a race for our desires and flaws. We just need to trust in those who have a higher sense of divine purpose.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Cassius replied, a sinister smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “We should trust in someone with a higher purpose than just taxes, and technology. We need power and knowledge, with a system designed to cater to those who’ve obtained both. We need a new way.”

“Don’t you ever speak such treasonous words in our prese…” Tristan began to yell, but was cut short by Elliott’s calm whisper.

“Null.”

With this, the two older men found themselves unable to use their Lomatic abilities, and as the cold chill of fear rose deep in their chests they turned to see Cassius Grau rise from his spot with the sinister smile fully visible on his face.

“Lunaius et Espanza” he began in a strange foreign language, before switching back. “Kill each other, make it look like an enemy ambush, and die knowing you’re both failures as teachers. Your own students overpowered you.”

With an evil bout of laughter, the boys watched as their former mentors ripped each other apart while the reflections of the campfire danced inside pools of blood.

The first betrayal was finished.

The Next Day:

As the midday sun reached its place above Bernum’s cityscape, two tattered and frantic riders were seen approaching the Kingdom’s gates. Standing Guard today was Rose Petallis and Sylvia Lennox, two of the most promising Royal Guard recruits in their generation.

Rose, a sweet and logical girl, almost twenty years in age, with warm auburn hair and soft amber eyes, was the first to notice Bernum’s crest on the riders cloaks. This was also when she realized the identity of the men, as Cassius Grau and Elliott Alba reached the entrance.

Sylvia, who was much more aggressive in nature, brushed back her golden blonde hair from her light green eyes and shouted to the men below.

“Identify yourselves or submit to apprehension and interrogation.” She finished, still eyeing them suspiciously.

The pair waited a couple moments for any response before calling down again. This time, the question came from Rose.

“Cassius? Elliott? Where are Sir Jacoby and Tristan?” She asked each question in fast succession, worry clear in her voice. “What’s going on guys?”

“Stop talking!” Sylvia scolded, “Until we’ve confirmed their identity, we mustn’t reveal any important information.”

With seemingly no words coming from below, the two girls decided to head down for a closer look. When they reached the bottom they noticed something off about the two men.

They were bloody, with pieces of clothing ripped off in various places. The frantic energy had faded, and the two men now lay slumped over on their mounts. The scene looked slightly staged but the girls immediately recognized their comrades outside the gate.

“That’s the boys,” Sylvia observed, turning to lift the gate. “ Something must have happened down in Demal Dora. We must inform the King.”

As she finished lifting the gates, Sylvia noticed a brief glimmer of metal before a slice appeared across her jaw and cutting down the length of her chest. As she fell to the ground, life fading from her eyes, the form of Elliott Alba appeared in front of her.

“You really were so beautiful…” He sighed softly. “Such a shame.”

Then he plunged his sword deep into her gut, pulled it out and walked away, as Cassius finished off a struggling Rose with a swift snap of the neck.

Sylvia’s eyes filled with darkness as her vision faded, the last image seen replaying in her head. Cassius and Elliott, with putrid smiles on their faces, walking towards the castle. Their second betrayal complete.

Meanwhile, at the castle:

In the highest observation tower, a frightened and confused Darla Brand has just witnessed the betrayal of her comrades at the gate.

Her dark brown hair, usually worn down, had been tied back to prevent obstructing her view of the seasonal migration of the local birds, but what she had seen by the gates was a simple mistake of curiosity.

The fear and confusion changed to anger and a determination to inform her guardsmen of the incoming danger, but as she reached for the door handle she found it already turning. Once it opened, she was relieved to see her fiancé, Prince Damian Sysa, who had just arrived to surprise her with lunch.

“Cassius and Elliott are back,” she started, “but something is wrong, they attacked Sylvia and Rose. I just saw the entire thing from the observation scope, and they’re on their way here. I think something is going on.”

As she finished, she noticed the doubt in her betrothed ones eyes flicker slowly before switching over to trust when he noticed her gaze. She gave him a moment to grasp the situation before prompting him to action.

“I need you to trust me, go inform your father.” She begged. “I need to go and help the girls at the gate, but when you escape with the King, come and meet me there.”

With this, she raced off leaving Prince Damian to warn his father of the coming attack.

In a quick moment of thinking, Damian decided to utilize his ability.

A quietness filled the room as his eyes closed to this world into another.

The Luullo Void was a dimension built entirely on silence. Only those born with Luullo type abilities can access the void, but even among them few can freely roam inside it’s realm with consciousness.

Prince Damian searched quickly for any aura inside the void, knowing only one person who could help at a time like this. But to no avail, Damian could only reach out in hope.

Finally, after a few seconds, Damian reached the consciousness of his mentor, the only other man to have made conscious contact inside the void. Adamantis Black, his father’s right hand and the commander of Bernum’s Royal Guard.

In the throne room, located on the opposite side of the Castle:

Adamantis Black, a man of few words with dark black hair and a trimmed and kept beard to match stands across from King Darius Sysa, Bernum’s current ruler.

As he finished his report, he feels a pinprick of anxiety coming from the Luullo Void. Without hesitation he establishes connection, and as a first instinct scolds his pupil.

“If you can’t free your mind of anxiety, everyone will feel your presence here my young student.” He chastised lovingly. “We’ve discussed this issue before.”

He felt a mischievous smirk form on his face before remembering his current location. The king eyed him, clearing questioning the smirk.

“Your son has entered the void,” he answered without orders. “he is getting stronger, but as of yet has much to lear…”

He was cut off by a desperate Prince Damian.

“My Father… danger. Cass and El… attack. Protect the King.” His last sentence was short enough to come in clear and was the only one to catch Adamantis off guard.

Without hesitation the King’s commander charged for the door to secure the room, but was too late.

The door handle turned, and in walked a young man with jet black hair and a look of pure delight clear across his face.

“Hello father.” He addressed Adamantis, before spotting the King. With a quick bow he finished, “Your Highness.”

“What’s wrong Sebastian,” Adamantis asked, noticing that something wasn’t quite right with his son. “Do you know what’s going on with Cass and Elliott?”

“Indeed I do father,” Sebastian replied coldly. “In fact, I told them to do it. I made all of this fun happen today.”

At a point of almost hysterical laughter, Sebastian slowly begins to calm down as King Darius rises from his throne.

“Explain yourself now boy, or so help me, I’ll make you slap yourself into a coma.” The King started, an air of intense anger beginning to permeate from his every word.

“Empty threats at this point my King,” Sebastian turned his gaze more intently displaying his pleasure at his achievements. “Everything is as I’ve planned. The envoy from Cyllym to Bella claiming war, the spies in our capitol, even the assassinations in Aurora that closed the trade agreements with Bernum.”

Without another word needed, The King began to incite his ability the King’s Command, which allowed him to speak orders into fruition, however it would not activate, much to the King’s surprise and dismay.

As both Adamantis and King Sysa stared in horror, the walls began to fade away to a dark pitch black nothingness. Leaving behind only, the three men.

“Welcome to my Noir.” Sebastian spoke smoothly, as two more figures emerged behind him. “Glad you boys made it in time to enjoy the fun.”

As the figures began to materialize, the King noticed the faces of both Cassius Grau and Elliott Alba, grinning as if they had just spent the night with a commune of women. Each covered in blood without a hint of injury the King could discern.

“I take it you boys are going along with this then?” He asked, already knowing the answer. A sadness had already began to sit in his eyes and words carried heaviness at the thought of this treachery. “Why?”

“Simple Old man, it’s time for a new line of Kings.” Sebastian, who had now made his way closer to his father, began slowly. “Let’s not waste any more of it.”

Before he could react, Adamantis Black found himself deep within the Luullo Void once more. Yet this time felt different, almost permanent in a way. He saw far more clearly within the void than he had ever seen before. And in his final moments of life, he discovered the experience of being reborn into another.

As Sebastian Black’s blade finished it’s downward slice, Adamantis Black took his last breath, and his body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

The King could do nothing but kneel at his best friends side and watch as life faded from his corpse. An anger again beginning to form deep within his gut. With no hesitation, he began to curse Sebastian Black.

“You are evil incarnate, you shape yourself in ways to mix with innocence but you are corruption to your core. You will hurt those closest to you with no remorse, and trade power for bits of your soul. Yet your evil will be your undoing. It will consume you and erase your existence forever.”

As the King finished his fierce last command all three boys lunged forward. Each one plunging their swords deep into the King’s chest. And watched as his body landed uncomfortably on the ground.

“It’s a new Era boys, let’s make sure it remembers who we are.” Sebastian mutters proudly.

The blackness faded away leaving no trace of the incident that had just occurred, just a cruel smiling Sebastian sitting on the King’s throne. With his third and final betrayal finished, he commenced with his last objective.

“Inform the council of elders knows of the Prince’s treason, and make sure you capture them before they escape.”

With Sebastian’s orders, the two men disappeared to capture the prince, as Sebastian peered happily through his new throne room’s window.

A few moments earlier:

Prince Damian had felt the disconnection from his mentor before anything else, and once he had realized what that meant, began making his way towards the throne room. However he was stopped by a reestablished connection to Adamantis Black who spoke briefly through the Void.

“I am dead, your father is surrounded, nothing you can do, run, take Darla and the baby, live.”

As tears filled his eyes, Damian understood his mentors words, and he raced to find Darla and escape the castle grounds. He would never return to his home territory, and he rode away from it’s borders with tears in his eyes and hatred in his heart. He turned to give one last glance to his old life, then turned back and headed towards his new one.

In the years that followed, Damian and Darla would settle cautiously within the territory of Alorica where they would have their daughter Donna, and would stay hidden for years until sickness took hold of Darla and eventually, Prince Damian as well.

[grassie]

((Am not sure this is an OC because she is based on me in some way 😂))

Grassie Aldenhart,

She was born on earth, where the humans live. Carefree and curious she is, she found a mirror that she has never seen before on the attic and suddenly she felt she was being pulled into the mirror. Due to the shock, she couldn't scream, falling constantly in darkness. Then, a hand offered her a help, she grabbed it with instinct, hopefully to get out from this darkness.

6 months after adapting to the Night Raven College, she was brought to the magic mirror by the principal, Crowley. Half a year ago, the mirror said she has no magic so she had to be thrown to Ramshackle. But now, it's different. The magic mirror said she belongs to Diasomnia, despite she can only use one type of magic, Ice.

Therefore she received Diasomnia's uniform, and starts to live there. Much better than Ramshackle she thought.

Her love interest is actually Divus Crewel, her Alchemy teacher. Which is why she excels at that to gain his attention. Crewel would probably noticed her feelings already, but he is aware that he is a teacher, and Grassie is his student.

As an extrovert, she actually could befriend with everyone, including Malleus or even Floyd with his mood swings. One person she is not really close to is Riddle Roseheart, due to her rebellious nature and she can't really stand on too much rules. Still, Riddle is a good friend if she wants a company to go horses riding.

Her relationship with Heartslabyul students? Great! She has been constantly invited to the tea party because she eats a lot and apparently she can guess the ingredients of random cookies and cakes with her eyes closed. Though she is a bad cook so she never went in the kitchen. As a person who is easy to laugh, she laughs a lot when Ace & Deuce are at it again. Watching them feels like watching stand-up comedy. Cater always took a selfie with her when she visits and Trey gives her dental care kits because she had been eating a lot of sweets.

Relationship with Savanaclaw? Besties! She is the only manager of the basketball club, and because of that Jack has actually asked her to be the 'manager' in Savanaclaw, along with Ruggie (he is the mother of this dorm afterall). Once she had a great idea and asked Jack to lift her up while doing morning jog. It was a great memory.

Leona pique her interest, thus Grassie always wakes him up. She accompany him playing chess sometimes, though she is really bad at it. Leona could've just paid zero attention to her, yet he founds her amusing with how she perceives. Though she always loses to him, she never gives up and while playing she tells him stories about her day or her past. Plus, she is the only person he lets to sleeps on his bed if she feels sleepy or tired. Sometimes they take afternoon nap together!

Octavinelle, or Monstro Lounge is where she hangs out and apparently Grassie is Azul's personal financial advisor. During her time on earth, Grassie has always been the one who can manage her money and good with money-talks. Azul sees this potential, and when he offered her a contract, she actually read the details and did some negotiation to ensure more benefits on her! This suprises not only Azul, but also Jade & Floyd. The deal was made after tough negotiation. Azul and Grassie could be in the same wavelength in terms of intelligence and strategy.

She doesn't always visit the lounge everyday, but she made sure she always visit on saturday or sunday night. On the weekends, Azul plays piano, and her eyes always locked to him whenever he plays. One time Grassie asked Azul to play a song for her called 'Part of your world' on the piano, in exchange for her pay for that day. Since Diasomnia's uniform makes her out of the place whenever she visits, the twins prepared her a special velvet-made slit dress in purple for Grassie to wear whenever she visits. On flying lessons, Grassie can be seen try to teach & company the Octavinelle boys to fly, she herself loves height and flies around!

Grassie eats a lot. She is a foodie, which is they type of person Kalim likes! One of her bestest friend is actually Kalim. They are really on good terms. They fly around with Kalim's magic carpet and threw a sleepover party together. (She is also Kalim's financial advisor)

Jamil's cooks are one of her favorite in the world. Kalim & Grassie always visits him when he is cooking, or cheer on him when he dances. When Kalim is asleep, she would have a private talk with Jamil, mostly him telling about his relationship with Kalim and their past. Jamil sees her as a Kalim's friend at first, but when he tries to hypnotize her and it doesn't work, he starts to look more into her background whenever she visits apparently.

Makeup is one of Grassie's bestfriend, she can always pull off almost any look. And that's when Vil Schoenheit noticed her. He asked her about her makeup and from there they become best friend! Grassie appears on Vil's MagiCam sometimes, mostly either she does her makeup on him or vice versa. Some of his female followers envy her, but she couldn't care about that. Though Grassie is pretty neat in terms of makeup, she can't really do her hair. Vil or Rook always ready to help their dear friend.

Btw Grassie and Rook are the only ones that has seen Vil bare face.

Apple is one of her favorite fruit, so Epel would cut her apples and show off his skill which always made her in awe.

Extrovert and a very introverted person? Doesn't sounds they would get along well at all. Yet Grassie used to play a lot of game during her time on earth, which is why she gets along with Idia, dorm leader of Ignihyde. They play a lot of games together in Idia's rooms, even he showed her the hologram technology, and she thought that this dorm is way more advanced than current technology in Earth. Though Grassie always loses whenever she plays games with him, the only game she'd won is rhythm game. Ortho sometimes asked Grassie to help Idia to get out of his room too.

On one night though, Grassie was about to return to Diasomnia, when Idia stopped and told her to be careful around Malleus. Idia found something about her using his tech, he is aware that she is human from earth yet she has something in her that even his technology couldn't decipher. All he knows is green-colored magic aura inside her body on abnormal scale, which most likely from Malleus since he is the strongest mage in the whole college.

Diasomnia, her dorm. Grassie has been staying there for almost a month now. Her loyalty is low because she used to hangout with everyone and she is the opposite of Sebek personality. Plus, she sleeps in different places. On weekends she would sleep in Octavinelle, during afternoon you would find her napping in Savanaclaw, of course she sleeps in Scarabia because Kalim often invited her for sleepover party. Or you can also find her sleeping in Ignihyde if she played too much game with Idia. At least 50% of the time she sleeps in Diasomnia.

Sebek used to hate her because apparently after she came to the college, most of Malleus's attention is directing toward her. Slowly he grows fond of her, because she is attentive when he taught her Taijutsu.

Silver? Her companion when she sleeps in Diasomnia. His hair really attracts her attention and she would unconsciously touch his hair. He doesn't mind that. And he is always be the one that shield her if Sebek was about to snap at her.

Lilia is fond of her, mainly because she is a wholesome interesting human being, different from Silver and other humans he had met before. Plus, both Lilia and Grassie are superdupermegaextremely bad cook. And she always agrees to Lilia whenever he plans for something fun but evil in a way.

The only one that company Malleus when he visits abandoned building is Grassie. He doesn't really bring people along with him, but he wants her to be by his side. The great mage founds her beyond interesting, the way she laughs and eats, and when she is negotiating thinking for the next comeback until her face scrunch sometimes. The way she touch his horn because she was infatuated with it, which he always thought that his horns will scare her off.

One time she entwined her fingers with him when they were strolling around the college at night, and she told him what had happened to her today. Her smile under the moon, her laugh that echoes in his mind. The Malleus Draconia himself never thought that this girl has such a big power inside her, clearly not magic. He remembers once when he wasn't invited for a meeting, so she drags him to the meeting room and asked Crowley : "How could you don't remember this man with 2 metres in height, with horns and glowing green eyes? I should be the one that in charge of attendance now."

Grassie has actually been thinking of what Idia said that one night. She can't see what's so dangerous about this poor uninvited tall mage. He is strong, but that doesn't mean he is scary, she thought. For her, she is the best company in this college.

Malleus himself noticed her feelings toward Crewel. But he keeps silent about it, because in the end she will fall for him. How? Little did she know, the hand that pulled her from the darkness is his. The magic inside her body came from him and is what makes her can do a little bit of ice magic, and to prevent her from getting hurt or hypnotized. And that's why Jamil could never hypnotize her.

[taendrils]

fame & surrender (m.)

― ❝ever the curious cat, you can’t say no when notorious rockstar V extends an invitation to get to know him better after your televised interview. skin to skin, you become acquainted, and you end up discovering what really goes on behind the scenes in the forms of glistening bodies and alcohol stains on your curves.❞

• genre: smut with plot, 90′s setting • warnings: dom!tae, big dick!tae, alcohol mentions, sexual tension, exhibitionism, dirty talk, mentions of orgies, condescending praise, sensory play, cum play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation • pairing: taehyung/female reader ft. jimin • wordcount: 18.4k words

ROCKSTAR AU.

The screams you hear are shrill, sounds that tighten into themselves and spread the growing anticipation for what is about to step on stage. 

It wasn’t a matter of who, it was a matter of when, and one of power. A supposed distraction which crawls too deep and makes it uncomfortable either way–the stretch of pulling yourself out of it too empty and painful, the time spent discovering more too consuming and a notch more demanding. Word travels around in big cities if your name carries enough weight, even faster if its heaviness comes from pure metal instead of the alloy they shape in the industry. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy riffs of a guitar supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

Of course it’s not a matter of who, you chuckle, since there’s only one person who can make everyone feel like this. With the weight of his name pressed against everybody’s lips, a contained sound which catches between them and gets free reign as it is released, it’s easy to pinpoint how their teeth want to grip into it again. The gospels he put out, the ink he splattered and swallowed to build the charm into who he was and stain the raw talent so the corrupted could lose themselves in it–they all served as contour for a distinct identity. His identity. Half boldness and half self-assurance, his rebellion is compelling to watch, since his mouth strictly speaks for his own and never caters. He sings for himself, never for you. But oh, do your loins catch fire when he puts on a show.  

It’s entirely lucky for him and fundamentally damning for you that after the four years in the spotlight, he not only owns up to, but deserves every bit of cockiness that he has.

On screen, he has the allure of an idealistic presence, but face to face the same V is tough to get used to. You would be at ease if you were one of the faces who followed after the motion of his hand, who got lost in a stare from him and lived as a subject of fantasy for the rest of the night, but the knowledge of your reality punctures the tissue of your lungs. It overwhelms you beyond your composed façade, the fact that the breaths you let out would burn under the stage lights and the ones you took couldn’t offer you any stability, as each had to pass by his word. Constricted by the tips of his fingers and depth of his answers, the wait leaves you trapped and focused on nothing but him–and you have a feeling he’d love hearing all about it.

He said so himself, he’d always been a greedy man.

Even now, you are not doing anything, choosing to direct your focus on stifling your nerves; yet his presence leaves you intimidated. Lids closed, he rests on the guest chair, sitting alone before the artists rush to him, pampering his skin and blending dark shadow into his lashes. He still looks alone. A part of you wishes to speak to him, but you’re much too aware that at one wrong move, all eyes would be on you, his eyes would be on you. Despite the instructions you were given and how your head runs dizzy with filtering your thoughts, something deeper reaches and pulls at your essence: curiosity.

Curiosity in itself has been your rise and it won against the lack of both experience and exposure, which put you as a ‘fresh face’ in television. Many stories swayed you and tempted you to search for their hidden meaning, for the side others will not even dare think to look for. Solving the riddle didn’t satisfy you, finding its roots did. And Kim Taehyung, the man behind the notoriousness seemed to have buried his under a pile of personas he came to adapt in his life. The thing is, they all seem to contradict the man sitting a few feet away from you.

His silence is nostalgic.  

It comes to you as a tender shock, since you’ve been watching him for weeks prior to receiving your schedule, listened well to his past interviews and kept a careful eye on his mannerisms. Almost a year ago, the past spring season caught him in the last interview he would give before the one with you, head tilted as he stared the interviewer down with raised brows and tongue prodding at his lips. His posture was relaxed, yet his gaze held a different story–the game changed, as it does on stage when he’s singing; or rather playing.

He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends the way his microphone demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches himself, fingers trailing from the ends of his mouth to his jaw and through his hair. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would be yours.

You need to know more, you realize in your haze, and despite your conscience, you straighten your top and push your shoulders back.

“V?” You approach him with mismatched steps, clipboard resting on your hip, over the high waist of your dress pants. “Ten minutes till the interview. They are giving us twenty and we’re closing the show.”

The audience around the two of you clears out as you stand before him, taller in your heels as he slumps in the chair. Gone is the melancholic air once you make eye-contact, drive fuelling into his grin as the chains of his dangly earring catch the vanity lights. He looks every bit the sin he claims to be, far overstepping the sinner title.“Got it. Thank you for telling me.”

His words have you nodding, easy enough to shake off some of your anxiety but not to the point of letting your guard down. You purse your lips, feeling like you’re missing something despite being the one to schedule things around for your segments. Everything is too calm, and from your position, with him standing down it is unsettling, like a game of chess with the kings sat on their opposite colour. Then it hits you: it’s too empty, too intimate for a backstage meeting. The band who was supposed to perform with him at the end of your interview is not here, and neither are any of the main instruments. An acoustic guitar which is nothing like the electric beauties he uses in his concerts lays against the shelves of the vanity, cream wood against pristine white next to all black.

Your head comes up empty in its search for a way to ask him about it. “Your staff…the band, they–”

V stares at you with his head tilted as if he’s about to eat you whole. The glint in his eye is dangerous and it makes you feel like a prey put on display; only this time you’re playing yourself in front of him and he doesn’t have to put a finger on it.

“Oh, them?” he grinned. “They had a little bit of a rough time last night, but I made sure to come and see you all face to face.”

From the rumours you’ve heard about his backstage persona, him taking pity leaves you taken aback. Entertaining a feeling and seeing it solidified before you hit differently, you come to phantom after his words, as you thought you were prepared by studying him so much and even rehearsed what you would say to him. The pressure of doing well in your first interview made you overthink and analyse every possibility of how it might go. And you’re prepared, you swear you are–the replies lie at the back of your throat–yet you can’t say anything.

“I’m surprised,” he says and studies you, careful to drift your attention back. His facial expression changes quickly, adapting to your current emotion but his stability never wavers.“There was no one to show me around here. In the other one they showed me the camera work, we sat and drank a bit…you guys must be busy here.”

You turn like a toy on arches yet he stops you, gentle. “I wasn’t asking you. Just making conversation, I won’t be here for long anyway.”

You bow your head, slumping your shoulders at his confession–like you’ve been taught to behave around the stars here. Conflicting emotions settle in the pit of your stomach, a simmer of anger closing down on a thread that’s stuck in your neck and prevents you from talking. His condescendingness is palpable, he is good at what he does–having you start to dread your current position. A desire for more morphs in the heavy rise of your chest. You want more status, more power, to be considered beyond your position so you wouldn’t have to bow to the likes of him or act as his entertainment.

“It’s such a shame, right? Not many people call me up for interviews nowadays. I can’t seem to figure out why…”

He doesn’t look at you, rather ponders on the questions–equally demanding and mischievous, innocent enough so when cherubic eyes shift to yours, you are compelled to answer.

“Why do you think that is?”

Your mouth closes on its own as you take him in, leather pants and dress coats, choker adorning his neck, caressed by the tips of his hair. Such a presence is the first to ask.

It startles you, since you were not paid for your opinions and they didn’t weigh much either. Despite being displayed on television, you had little influence over those in higher positions. To know your supervisors are choking on the chains this man tugs on for the moment as they roll your little strings between the creases in their fingers makes you bold.

“I think… they don’t know where to start with you,” you say, voice barely passing a whisper. Seeing how he doesn’t stop you, a part of you pushes you further, the taste of disobedience lingering on the tip of your tongue and frustrations coming out through its flavour. “It scares them that they don’t know how to handle you.”

“And you do?” he challenges, getting out of his seat in slow movements. The balance acquired through your distance is thrown off and it leaves you more vulnerable as his weight settles in your personal space.“Or do you need more practice? You can ask your questions here too.”

You’re pulled towards him with how his voice deepens and he plays with its inflexions. You’ve heard these in his concerts, how he dips into growling tones and tastes the ending syllables. Your eyes, captured by the metal resting on his collarbones switch to meet his, and so he switches to the gentleness of the whisper again. “I’ll sit pretty for you while you ask. But I can only promise that if we’re here.”

“There’s no camera here though,” you state, lost in the eye contact, lost in how your throat constricts when you watch how his mouth curves.

“What reason do I have to misbehave then?”

He is toying with you, mischief now clear in how he quirks his brow and smirks, the line of professionalism being pulled by its threads, and your heart thumps to the bass of his voice. The threat of a clock skims by since your heartbeat no longer follows its normal course, running erratically–over what, you don’t know. The disobedience through your interaction flares up and directs itself towards him, and it builds in your chest, top too tight for the heavy breaths your taking.

“How about me? What reason do I have to bother?” you throw, careless to how your words drown the established boundaries. You have no sense of repercussions. You wonder what he’s going to do next.

His lips purse as his eyes drift down before a chuckle leaves him, breathy sound meeting a restless tongue, as he runs it over his lip. Pause, break, exhale. Steps, composure, lungs–“You’re right. Who am I to demand this from you?”

“I’ve been getting too comfortable. I take from others like they do to me,” he says it with a nonchalance which almost tricks you into thinking it’s a fact. “It’s not your responsibility to give into a brat like me, mm?”

The way he’s coming close to you, head tilted so his soft breath falls upon your cheek, instead of asking, it’s rather tempting you. You had a responsibility to keep your eye on him, you had plenty others to ensure a smooth flow, to avoid being overwhelmed on air where your slip would be replayed again and again. Giving into him, however–it was a voluntary action. He was merely suggesting to proceed.

You slowly shake your head, indications forgotten but still rooted deep within you, regrets sinking in at your impulsivity. You should’ve been more careful, not get caught up in his presence since the stakes have already risen beyond your influence. So why are you still yearning to push further?

Always attentive and attuned, V seems to sense your hesitation, as he takes a step back. You can’t discern between lines of arrogance and satisfaction on his face with the ease he may do it to you–reading into the conflict on your face. The contrast between the impersonality of his stage name and his interaction with you, how he asked for privacy upon sight, how he came to you… Who were you speaking to? The man, or a character?

His baritone keeps you alert, yet there’s a tint of safety to it, of the privacy you’ve been given since the beginning. And once again gentle syllables surround and silence your doubts.

“There’s no reason to get involved. For you, I’ll behave.” He extends a hand for you to shake, and you take a moment to grasp his hand, to soak in how the long fingers engulf your own. “If you promise to do it slower.”

You look up to him in question, but his voice doesn’t waver.

“My name…” he trails off as his thumb swipes across from your palm to yours, “You should say it like you want me. That’s how it gets the charm.”

He winks and pulls away, teasing yet ever the unassuming in the way he claims the public’s attention and bites into it. You follow after him on set, mentally preparing for what’s to come when he plops on the couch, legs crossed and gaze ready to claim every inch of the gold in your veins. The cameras are set in front of you, on your left and right and above, though the most careful eye you want to catch is his.

“Welcome back to Late Night Blues!” you grin as the framework zooms out, catching more of the background and bringing light to the couch your guest was leaning on.“Now that we’ve covered the latest pop-sensation news, for our last segment, we’ll sit down with popular singing figure V and look back on his latest album–Chaos and Disorder.”

You ensure your voice slows down at the mention of his name. Your confidence returns as you spot how he further relaxes into his pose, thighs spread and elbows resting by his sides. He’s watching you with his head tilted, lashes fluttering as you continue your introduction. “Chaos and Disorder, the sixth album of his career and the fourth to be attributed to V has sold no less than four million copies, three months after its release. This is a huge step from the latest album, which neared a million in eight months and saw an additional five-month hiatus.” He nods at your mention of past achievements, brow rising to tease. “How does it feel to have such a reception not even half a decade into your career?”

V pauses, chest rising with the deliberate breath he’s taking and the joviality on his features melts in the slightest under the heat of your question. “Looking at the pictures and flashbacks over the years, it’s…it’s a little surreal, not gonna lie. I mean, my songs are received well, I’ve established my style and I have a clear direction of where I want to go from here. I’m not scared to experiment–I’m doing what I was born to do and I get paid for it, does it get better than that?”

You laugh, and it’s laced with genuineness once you catch his confident expression. “Sounds like the dream life. Are you any closer to it, or has anything changed with your most recent release?”

“Well, not much has changed–I’m keeping it like it’s been. I’m constantly evolving, trying to look on my whole being and reflect on what I want to do better for the next time.”

“It’s rare for a musician to be praised by media and be so loved by fans throughout the years. There have been other acts to approach the same subjects as you do in your music, but it’s a rare instance to get such a wave of support, especially as you continued on with your new stage name.” You can sense the waves of truth through your question’s blinds, your own curiosity having you lean in more–the effect of his presence is an internalized fact.

The industry in itself always seeks for profit, engagement and shock value, and the ways of achieving it are rarely held in moral qualms. Yet, despite its nature, it pushes against acts promoting too much deviation from the norms, though along with his arrival, the aesthetic gained more popularity. The tabloids like him a little too much and they exploit him with the same controlled vigour, praise every line he sings and every line of skin the leather doesn’t cover. It should have eaten him, should have manipulated his essence and disturbed the covalence of his atoms till this moment–if only he wouldn’t fight against it.

“I’m happy they like me for now, they–they’re very passionate. Instrumental does half my job though, if they keep praising me and my voice it’s gonna get to my head.” He chuckles, shaking his head as if he takes his time to bring the thought back onto the surface.“What are we gonna do when my pride gets too big for my body, when I start to think I really am special?”

“It could become a thing they’ll love you for,” you say as you shrug, slight pout crossing your features, and he nods in acknowledgement at your posture. Your shoulders are high, propelled by the reminder of your ability to stay in character after your backstage conversation. “The interest in going against the norms in different domains has even been documented by your fans through polaroids of their creations. They’re even mimicking your pose, and the choice seems to be popular–what made you take the step from your real name to this? Does it have a relation to the peace symbol?”

“Mm, so many questions…” he ponders, eyebrows furrowing yet there is no trace of malice in his words. “Peace is not a common theme in my songs though. I don’t know if it’s a good example, but it’s a nice juxtaposition, using such a symbol to say ‘fuck you’ to whatever you’re given, whether it’s on air or not.” He makes sure to match the emphasis with a grin which widens till it’s all teeth, glints of mischief reflecting as he strums the chords of permission with his words. He’s probably satisfied with your cracked composure when he sees you taking a deep breath at his cursing, already picturing your director’s face at his disrespect–and the fine about to follow.

You remember his last hiatus, how they milked his name until they ran out of news and ways to market his style. No new club appearances or ads, no encounter with the media that would soil his image, no proof to adhere to the rumours about his notorious behind the scenes life, followed by the silence that came in February. The layer of quietness shredded to pieces as the explosion of his last album ripped into the general public. A break again, no words to the media, until your interview which was losing track the more he spoke, the more he ripped into you too.

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in tight-lipped smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through a body that’s chiselled and polished from every angle–and his voice, his speech patterns never disappoint either. You’d let him talk as he pleases if this was any other situation, but you’re much too aware of the eyes following you, the neutral figures behind the scenes who don’t watch–they scrutinize.

“So yeah, feels good that guys like me are the backbone of our genre right now and I get the opportunity to tear the house down while still having people openly supporting my message,” he adds in response to your silence, and you suppose he means it as comfort.

Your eyes switch between him, the camera and the dark backstage background, fidgeting in your seat to process the rest of the lines you lost as his answer came. The loss of control has you vulnerable, and your muscles lock into themselves, constant pressure leaving your hands rooted on the cards. The idea of forgoing them entertains the rotten part of your conscience, and you choose to ignore the bullet points laid in the middle, jumping instead to the next section.

“With such a broad range of tracks with influences in R&B and funk, it’s hard to classify your music in one genre. You’re constantly experimenting with new sounds and vocals, is there any space left for reflecting yourself or who you want to be in your lyrics?” Despite being sudden, the transitions you use to fill the gap sound natural to your ears, and the thread of your story is steady, leading up to the more pressing questions assigned–that’s until it splits.

“I don’t know about that, you’ll have to tell me.” He shifts from his position, crossing his legs and redirecting his attention to you. The distance between you does not shift–it’s the implications which seep through his casual tone that make it so intimidating. “You know me well–you did your homework, right?”

The balance sways too much and ends up bending to his corner, down to its foundation. He is too relaxed, too confident, while you are too scared to breathe. You now understand why he accepted the interview instead of turning it down like he has done with those he received in the last months. You’re confident in your belief, yet his tone sets off a range of possibilities running through your head regarding what he might continue with. None of them are clear to discern between, but they can somehow prepare you for his next hit.

“Those of you in the media assume you know me best, no? I could play any tune and I’m sure one of you can spot what’s made up and what’s really me,” he tells with the same calamity and inflections from the sphere of truth, which would make one believe and comply. “You wouldn’t waste your time writing all those articles if you didn’t.”

“Are you thinking about if you were to play something for us?” You’re treading on thin ice, but he is nonchalant even as he is confronted with your question, though the glint in his eye says otherwise.

He’s caught on.

“Yeah, ‘course…if I were to play. Fine, I’ll play something for you.” Faster than you’d expect, he picks up the same acoustic guitar at his feet before settling it in his lap. “Any preference? Anything that you love?”

“I…I Rock, Therefore I am,” you say, and you’re surprised at how stable your voice comes out. Your choice could never reach his level of boldness and neither could it reach your previous one, but it has risen since you have started. You brought to light a track which is essential to him and his message, while still coming back to the album in question. You’re doing anything you can to give continuity to your interview, to constrain his deviation and criticism even though it doesn’t have to do with you, and it is more than transparent.

“Mmm, that’s a good one.” He nods, licking his lips as he pats the guitar in a similar rhythm. “I could accompany you, since nobody’s gonna focus on me with you here. Would you like to sing?”

You pause, looking at him with wide eyes. “But…but I’m not a singer.”

“Neither am I,” and the way he challenges you as he’s beaming sets your loins on fire.

“I–I don’t know what to do. I’m sitting with such a presence, and he’s the one telling me to sing,” you stutter as nervous laughter bubbles in your throat. The thought is so ridiculous you are even admitting to vulnerability, certain that he is toying with you again. You stare at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as the hint of a smile plays on his own and gods, he is beautiful. All delicate features and sharp corners, tight grips and careful fingers, who could say no to him?

You shake your head, overwhelmed tears glossing over your eyes, structures tinted by admiration disbelief shaping your confession: “You’re killing me.”

“That’s the idea.” He chuckles, brightening up, and the creases near his eyes deepen as he urges you on. “Give me a little, come on.”

The melody starts, and the temptation to get lost in it thrums under your skin, sinking part of your doubts in a muted place. As of now, he is commanding your limitations, and his demand is too innocent to further cause you trouble. Previous instructions made you approach him with such hesitation, told you to comply with his wishes and not press him too much about them. But what were you supposed to do when he was telling you to take the spotlight from him in a set put together to serve an opposite purpose?

In a soft murmur, you begin the first verse after the chorus, foot tapping the floor cautiously as you fixate on him–waiting for his reaction.

“There we go. Let it out, sugar.” He continues strumming, bobbing his head to as you end the verse before you’re tongue-twisting your words as you near a faster part. “Good, good–this is way more fun than those stupid photoshoots.”

You giggle into your hand, beyond embarrassed at what you did, so much that it drowns your sense of the current reality. What comes next is allowed without much thinking. “How did you end up there?”

“My manager wanted the extra promo and hey, money is money.” He shrugs. “I need something to fall back on in case this whole singing thing ends up failing me. Might have to work a little on my body for photo shoots, but I think I have the face for it. What about you?”

From your peripheral vision, you see the main cameraman raise his hand, fingers splayed out and signalling the five-minute warning, and any intention to answer dies in your throat. The lightheartedness shared between the two of you vanishes without any trace and the previous pressure lays over the back of your head and bends your vertebras bit by bit.

You peek at the script, checking on what you already knew. Sure, you enjoy listening to him, he has cooperated for a majority of your time together, he’s answering your questions–just not in the way you anticipated. He starts off with your lead, yet he turns it around just as fast, reminding you of the rhythm and bass in his songs, the crescendo that he builds and drops at his own will.

One part of the flashcard you’re holding threatens to rip, you realise as your grip tightens more and more and the paper holds no real barrier against pain. The tips of your nails dig into your palm and the foundation for the smile you have built shatters the more you realise you could never reach a balance. None of it made sense with your current situation.

Pleasing the directors meant filled-out grins that were unmovable, thoughts already printed and the cover of undivided attention as you rehearse what you’re told. You had no real basis on your guesses of what pleasing V meant, but it came clear that he didn’t sit well with rehearsed ideas by how he eyes your mouth. More time is ticking away, counted with the beats of red in the camera lights. It’s ironic how before even considering him for an interview, you’ve pushed for more freedom in your interaction, and now that it came to you without meaning to, it forces you to reconsider your position. Your stomach sinks the more your grin lifts.

And at once, it drops. You nod to yourself, almost frantic, and you have no conscience of disturbing your hairstyle or the golden pins in your hair. You’re hyper-aware of everything that’s keeping parts of you in place, and instead of building composure, this time they have you hesitant and self-conscious. Even the way your heel sinks into the floor has your balance off–there’s nothing natural about how you’re sitting, back straight and chest pushed out. The imposing status which came with performing these acts leaves you bit by bit, and you sink with the weight in his stare. He’s expecting more.

You recall your next lines, you are supposed to ask him about future collaborations, you’re supposed to ask about him feeling threatened by rising stars, but the transition sounds wrong to your ears. Who out there is doing things like him? Who has a more distinct identity, who sits on top of the balance between brattiness and maturity? He would never feel threatened. You can’t find it in yourself to believe, so with the utmost care, you move your shaky hands from your lap and put the script down, ignoring the anxiety which flares up in your gut.

What about you?

“Of course you do,” you breathe out. “It would be a pity though, seeing how well you’re doing now.”

“Hey, I’m talking about you too. That’s a face you want to capture, I’m sure the audience agrees.”

His compliment stirs up the same simmering warmth, but you remain impassive, your goal now becoming clear in your mind. “My influence is nowhere near yours, I won't have a lot to give up. You're sharing a lot with this album, expressing your wishes and reprimanding current society. Is the title connected to your vision, to what you'd like to see as a future for us?”

“Partially? Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender…those are things you have to experience for yourself before daring to speak out. They’re ideals, fulfillments–well, in a sense.” His candour sets a new spiral of hope within you, glazed with uncertainty–you feel you should stop hoping as if you know him. These feelings would soon vanish, you recognise, but now they are your main influence, and all you feel a sense of is hurt at how easy you are for him.“When you want to reach any of these, you give too much of yourself, and there’s always the chance to feel empty once you did. And it's...it's one of those things you're wishing but you're also scared of.”

You don’t know him, you don’t–

“Did you have those thoughts when you released your first songs? Speaking from experience?” you ask as if you’re testing the syllables for the first time.“Your style changed over the course of the albums, even your instrumental, the–the sounds refer to different emotions…”

It is his turn to remain quiet, to gaze at you like he depends on you to give more so he has the courage to answer. His eagerness slips from him like sand and it pours on your fingertips, and you wish to pry further into the space he let you open.

“Did anything… did the inspiration arise from your lifestyle?”

“My lifestyle?” he grimaces. He grips his sheer shirt, pulling it to cover his sternum. “What do you mean?”

“Talking about your first release, Stigma. The feelings of resentment and not being worthy made your audience empathize and relate to it, a–”

“Did you?” He’s focused on you, any hint of the teasing he has been playing with gone. Confident demeanours evaporate, and you’re met with an image you’re seeing for the first time–he doesn’t match the image of a notorious rockstar, he looks like the song’s writer awaiting your verdict.

Stigma, such a personal piece, released as a studio version in his early twenties. The melody you listened to until the pieces of glass in his chest grew into yours and brought conflicting emotions, desires of forgiveness. The ode missing any rights to say sorry, for abandoning and being unable to protect, which is too far from the man in front of you. The one who a spotless image and has no care in the world about who he touches. If he was closer, you’d tell him all about it, explain in your best terms how it touched you. You’d further consider the possibility that he hasn’t changed much from the man he was then, emanating the same warmth. You’d soften your gaze and let your mouth fall open the way it should without time stopping cold.

Instead of pinning you with his stare, you imagine he’d smile and mirror your expression. He wouldn’t make your sphere this small, like he wants to take from you and only for himself. He’s not downplaying his intensity, almost pleading with you to answer, like it was a moment shared between the two of you and nothing else, like he needed your answer. He doesn’t budge. He waits and wants.

“What do you need forgiveness for?”

And when you’re too scared to give, he still speaks.

You don't want to break yourself apart from this moment, content with the tension and the constriction in your chest as it is allowing you to see bits of him not yet explored. Your silence makes you feel you went too far to keep him close, built the same hope to him, as your willingness to tell him about it scatters. There's not enough time to explore his true depth, no time for you to open up and bloom as he must have liked. Two fingers up serve as a reminder that your conversation is nearing its end, and you're hyper-aware of it, lips rubbing against each other and pulling bits of lipstick off their creases.

“It's a lot... a lot of responsibilities that I've neglected,” you say because you can't find it in yourself to leave him empty and he carefully follows your trail. “Do you think it’s a responsibility now? That you’re the face of a genre right now, are you pressured to put out songs that deliver strong messages?”

What you wished to avoid on your part manifests upon his, as his mouth opens in recognition and his body falls back on its ordinary, relaxed position, at the same distance it was in the beginning.

“Responsibility? It sure doesn’t feel like one. Freedom and responsibility–they’re not tied together. I have no sense to be a role model, but if the public takes my actions, my lyrics and makes them into something freeing, then all props to them. That doesn’t have to do with me personally.”

“What should we expect for this year? Is promotion going to continue with no televised appearances or are we looking at another possible hiatus?”

“You'll have to wait and see, but I…I wouldn’t call it a hiatus. I’m never far enough from music to say I’m taking a break from it. I’m still gonna sing, I’m still gonna write.” He looks away from the cameras, head leaning on his hand–“I just leave it for me sometimes.”

The last finger up rushes you to the written ending, gazing for one last time at V, but your previous excitement is replaced by something more demure whose rise blossoms from underneath your vocal cords.

“What a way to end this. Thank you to V for joining us here today, and thank you to everyone else at home watching. Make sure to tune in next Friday for more in-depth looks at our latest stars! Have a good night!”

He stares at you, forgetting any acknowledgement of your mention, and while you get up to bow, he remains seated. You don't stay and question, choosing to have this moment for yourself, to collect your breath before you walk backstage. As you reach your corner, you squeeze your eyes shut, wasting no time to take your blazer off and hug your shoulders, letting your head rest in that space. It doesn't erase the past hour in its entirety, but it silences your thoughts, and you're grateful for the moment of silence you get as the rest of the crew wraps up for the day.

The volume rises with your guest's voice again and you turn around to follow the sound, “PD! What a great choice you’ve made with this one!”

He says his congratulations as he grasps the man's hand and shakes it once, impassive. “Thank you for having me on your show, I look forward to working with you in the future,” His attention switches to you as he notices you staring back, and he makes a point to pat your director's shoulder before dropping it entirely, “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to congratulate our interviewer too. Don't want to keep all of you for too much.”

The same hand hovers over the small of your back as you lead him back to your vanity, and it only grips when you're under the safety of the lights and his body covers you from the rest of the scene.

“Before more pleasantries, I want to know whose idea was it to ask those questions? And don't lie to me.” His gaze is intense, yet his demeanour screams calm to the point where even his demand sounds gentle. “Was it you?”

“I…well…the writers are the ones responsible for my speech, but I was curious too,” you say as your eyes linger on the ground. “You gave me a hard time. I had to ask things of my own since none of the ones from before were working.”

He nods as if he takes it all in, and you switch back to him, wanting to grasp his expressions, understand his actions better.

“Curious too, huh...Did I satisfy?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, tongue prodding at his cheek. “Or would you like to know more?”

“I...of course I want to.”

“I’d like you to have dinner with me. Have more with me.” He’s testing your reaction more, next words slow and languid as they roll off his tongue, “Would you?”

“Are you… are y–…”

“If you’ll take me.”

You don’t register what comes first, your nod or how he grins before gripping your hands and bringing them to his lips, quick, grateful. No longer are you surprised at how your heart jumps, you find the feeling pleasing–after all, it's better not to worry about it. There are much more putrid thoughts eating at you.

You never know what to expect from him, and you guess it's one of the things that incited you the most about him. It left space for you to make your assumptions, to twist the narrative in any way you liked about his stare, his intentions. His contribution, the invitation he extended rose hopes for you to give new meanings to his actions and mould yourself from those pointers in the time you spent away.

You talked to him for such a short time, yet it was enough for you to wonder. You wondered why and where he would take you, if he would choose places which suited his fine taste or matched the raw core of his character. If he wanted his girls like he guided his grip, a little caught up and tight around the edges or loose and ready to move with his flow. If he left enough space for you to squeeze deeper within the cracks you have scratched across his surface.

An address and a time is all that has been given to you, and you should be more nervous, since you were left in obscurity for the most part of this meeting, but all you feel is a thrill that moves along your spine and makes your chest rise up and your smile widen. You had no qualms yet regarding what he needed from you, and you found that in moments where your face wasn't grazing his line of vision he wasn't too keen on revealing more. It did not bother you, since you’ve seen him more in passing, a word here, a promise and a thankful smile there. He mentioned how he would love for you to meet him soon since he'll be leaving town in the next two weeks to perform at the Arts Center. You can't blame him for his decisions, you really can't, because he needed the privacy, and hadn’t it been for his clear sincerity, the depth of his words would have risen and vanished like smoke later when you lost sight of him.

It was an interaction which needed you to be close, needed you to speak it into the existence in the rhythm of his exhales, or else the string would be broken and the linearity of him opening up further would lose its path. The invitation was there, no shame or misunderstandings: he knew he was the lock and you the key, and he dared for nothing else than you opening him up yourself.

That's how you chose to go for now, sure and easy to open, had everything loose on you as opposed to the constriction you felt in your first interaction, part from the clothing and part from him. You smooth over the material of your two piece as you step out of the taxi and into the lobby of a four-star hotel with the same uncertainty you felt upon approaching him; only that this time it diminishes when you catch sight of the same metallic choker, sat over the dip between his exposed collarbones.

Taehyung raises from his seat when he spots you, a tint of a smirk gracing his lips when his gaze follows the curve of your hip and falls into the nets of your stockings.

“I’ll have to apologise,” he muses as his hand hovers over your waist in the same way he did before, fingers brushing against it only serving to make you more alert. “A rundown bar full of beer and rowdy bikers is more my style, but all of them were closed. I hope this will do.”

“Disappointing indeed. I didn't take you for a man with such elegant tastes,” you say, yet your tone is teasing–he had all the ground to represent any style, class or level of luxury there was. And by the fine silk that gave peeks to the planes of his chest and his smooth stomach, there was no doubt he loved to be surrounded by the same delicacy that his voice gave into the world.

“But I'm standing with you, aren't I?” He slows his step as he leads you towards the elevator, pushing the button for the secluded area on the second floor. The gold of the chandeliers and dark of the night painted between the window frames accentuate the atmosphere, making his words sound all that more intimate. “And I still want to sit with you. I say I'd need a little taste for that.”

You cater to his wish with a smile and he lets you pick where the two of you will sit. The place is crowded for this hour, and you find yourself at ease within–there are not many faces paying attention to you, most who do choose to watch are glued on V. On Taehyung. The Taehyung who left his leather in his closet for a shirt opened at the first two buttons. Each wrist tinks with the gold he wears around it, complementary with the fine chain that starts at his cartilage and meets the diamond stud on his earlobe. The colours only serve to complement his tan skin, a portrait of holy aura which shifts its focal point when he takes a glass of champagne from the tray and returns in your proximity.

“Is this usual, or did you need a change of scenery for now?” Now. The moment where you're closer to him than before, where you sit on stools next to each other and wonder out loud, part confirmation, part you wanting to know more about him, to hear him talk and never stop.

“How much is this for another interview?” he retorts, fingers rubbing the glass surface of the counter as he leans his head into his left hand, eyes on you. Mischief suits him well and paints a splitting image of a poster problem child for all the right reasons. You lick your lips as you watch him, pondering on the right answer when he changes the game, plays you as he likes, “Then how much do you want to know me?”

“I...I told you already. I was curious too,” you pout, chest constricting for the same right reasons and this time you can't control it. You had an eagerness about you which you didn't explore till now, didn't know yourself how much it aches when you let it free and you’re met with the wrong reaction. Sure, you were young and starry-eyed and willing to be swayed, a dream for the producers out there–but too much eagerness also showed inexperience you wished to avoid.“I could ask the same about you.”

The pure that Taehyung saw in you comes and goes, and he hopes he can see it clear enough to cut through and sink his teeth into it. This game that you're playing, the bits of vulnerability that you give him, they all serve to tease him, to pull him in more. He knows how the rules work and does not mind bending to them as long as it meant more of you. He's looking to prompt you, get the things you want from him out of you, so he lets out a soft 'oh?' and waits for your reaction, waits for you to continue.

“You...you didn't invite me here for nothing,” you whisper, fiddling with your thumbs as you lean in more as if you're telling him a secret he sees as endearing. “You want to find something out as well.”

“And if I do?” He chuckles, tongue toying with the edge of his canine, making a show of the syllables that make his mouth gape. “Will you be nice and tell me what I need?”

Your career path has led you into being taught what to say, and your mind doesn't grasp all the meanings in his message and the speed at which he turns things around. Without a clear string, it's too easy to get lost in him, to say yes baby, I'll do what you ask. He doesn’t try much though, and you suppose it’s a trait quintessential to him since you haven’t seen anyone behave similarly in recent years.

Because of him starting at your current age, the four years of experience place him ahead of you in the search for answers. The bits and pieces you found about his private life, you discovered he’s never tried to flaunt his experience to anyone–but in the league he is in, you imagine he is not lead by his impulses with the ease that you are.

A fight for control from two different sides of you, that's what it is, in which imitating his game is too dangerous but letting him win is overwhelming to your senses.

“Words,” he reminds with sweetness pouring out with every hit of tongue on the roof of his mouth.

One beat, then another.

“I made the time,” is what he says when you remain quiet, “I wanted this. All I ask is for you to talk to me.”

“What would you like then?” You tiptoe on a high edge, one which gives him far more reign than you have wished for.

“I'll let you ask your questions, answer the best I can,” he suggests, the steps pleasant to your ears. “Then I'll ask mine. I only want your honesty. Can you do that for me?”

The intensity of his gaze, laced pretty in carefulness has your shyness taking over and your head dropping down to stare at how you continue to play with your hands that are grazed by his long fingers. Other times, his touch served to bring your focus back to him, but now you concentrate on the opportunity he offered as his fingertips linger on your skin.

“What made you take that step?” you make eye-contact when you're sure your voice doesn't waver. “You had a stable career, not the best. But how could you know breaking off from your label was the best option? You had enough there.”

Your breath leaves you at once in a mirror gesture of his, since you're aware you dipped into the curiosity of others before you, the one he was asked at his past interview. The one where he made sure the media didn't toy with his boundaries, answers echoing deep within the man who overstepped his status. V stared at him with a fire untamed, questioned about the other's worth to talk to him in such a way, and the same fire is reflecting against you, only that it burns in both his hazy eyes and your belly.

“That's a little personal,” he comments, and his fingers squeeze your own. “Are you sure it's worth it?”

You know you made a bold move, maybe even too bold for you, but the impulse does not care about the implication. The rough edges and insistence to never cater brought you to him, and in his way, he was an inspiration, a dream forbidden for ordinary people like you. In his way, he ended up laying a foundation where you’re free to live through him as you wish–and you needed to further your fantasy.

“I followed their ways,” he begins with a calamity uncharacteristic to how he's looking at you right now. “And I'm not saying that they're bad, but in time I realized my way was the best way. I got to that point where I was comfortable with them telling me what to do and what to write because I had a promise it'll be well.”

“And it was.”

“But it wasn't what I wanted to do. On stage, what you see, that's part of me. I didn't want to sell it, to act and be a character, and I...” His stare is blank as he ponders over his thoughts before the corners of his mouth rise on arches, and the core of his composure changes, lifted to his usual spirits once again. “What you see is what you get.”

It's a surprise to you how it hurts. Your past assumptions match his description and with the discovery, you feel like too much of a familiar for him, a place you were never supposed to reach in any daydream of yours. You couldn't have anticipated anything close to it, for him to speak to you with such candour, but, unlike you, boldness has always been a trait of his. Chains pull at your heart's desire and deep down you wish for him to stop, but the temptation, the stakes, they're all too high, and the possibility of him telling the truth, you can't–

You can't stop now.

You lean in, and your hand slithers under his so that yours is now half-covered by gentle fingers. “We saw a different side of you before that. We saw Taehyung, the music you made before, the vulnerability–”

He hisses at the mention of his real name but doesn't press it further, too caught up in you. “Those are me too. But it's not what the public wishes to see until way later. Why shouldn't I have fun then? I'm not stupid, I–”

“You didn't seem to care about it when you started out,” you interrupt, a habit unheard of from your part coming to light because of images of the man you admired, the one on stage and the one in front of you not matching.

“I didn't know a thing when I started out. I didn't care about implications or labels or processes, I wanted to sing. They sure were quick to tell what they thought about that.” Patience hasn't been a nice cloth for him, and now it wears him down, trying to hold down the revolt simmering under his skin. His tone remains gentle, but you pick up on how he is abstaining from saying more.

“I didn't know I'd make music on demand and that I'd be either ogled or treated like I'm loitering. The label didn't anticipate for me to be the teenage girl's dream or some rebellion the tabloids get to write articles about.”

“But the attention you get...do you hate it?” You're aware of the superficiality of your questions, but you don't have enough experience or knowledge about him to add anything of value. You hope for him to continue.

“I don't. I like that my word has worth. I don't like that I had to compromise and give up songs with emotional value. I hate that I can't have an actual impact unless I act upon this part of my personality.”

“I don't understand.” The assumptions you made and narrative you pushed for yourself make it impossible to wrap your head around him telling you he wanted to continue the way you did. The route he's taken is plausible by itself, but with his attitude and his image in mind, with what he is presenting, you'd associate it with anyone else but him.

“What is so hard? They don't care about my emotions for now. No one made a career out of feelings.” The air he takes tastes bitter, and it's obvious by how it filters through his clenched teeth. “They'll be happy to see me in a scandal, b...break down a little, and I can't stand for it. Better to let it out early than have it be my downfall later.”

The single word sounds foreign to your ears in the situation where you allow for the both of you and no one else. They, he says, but you have a feeling it's half meant for you as well. You have no time for offence, his guilt is your guilt–you spoke in plural too, when you were too scared to speak for your own person. When you wished to detach yourself from the situation, to take the blame and place it onto others, onto another evil which would minimize your own interest.

Thoughts of personal feelings mingling with those which said your curiosity rose from the media's obsession–just like the others. It makes the situation blurry. Maybe you were a copycat looking to get her entertainment, maybe your head was empty and you'd get your excitement from the exploitation of his emotions. Maybe you saw a distorted image of yourself in him, one who instead of wondering and searching attempted to act and not let herself be pushed around.

Your job, your status, your inferiority in media–none of those had to do with anything you were asking right now. You craved to know for yourself, and the realisation sets another ache in your chest. What made it such a thrill that at the slightest loss of composure you would do anything to keep pushing once the barriers were lost?

For what did you need to always go deeper, and why did it satisfy you so much, pushing his buttons further until he snapped?

“You can't know if that's true.”

“Humour me, how many people would have listened then? Two? Thirty at best?” He shrugs, reminiscing of his teasing aura, yet stiffness is palpable in his movements. “I don't take directions from anyone in what I say or the person I am. Beyond that...”

He sighs and leans into his free hand, and the action further brings him in your line of vision.

“I'll be kind and say it's up to the audience.” The grin he gives resembles the mannerisms of the puppet he makes himself seem as it is pulled up against his will. “My job? I talk back, I sing, I make my money. That's all.”

The lines supposed to differentiate you from the mass of his supporters blur, since there was comfort in anonymity, in making statements which cannot be traced back to you. Before you can ponder more over your decision, you find yourself speaking.

“No, that's not what the audience asks for. They want a model for those with attitude, a reason to justify their actions. They can watch you, grow with you and if you succeed, they'll think they're the ones who made it.”

“I'm not looking for that.”

“It's not about what you–” are looking for, but it dies on your lips. There is pain and truth in how the public doesn't care, each selfish in their own purposes, as it was what all of you were made of. Dreaming and chasing an industry that benefits off exploiting your being, for the illusion of spotlight. To assure you will not be forgotten.

That’s what you craved as well, why you are pursuing your career and why for the first months, your satisfaction with your job has been held constant. Seeds of doubt blossomed here and there, yet none of them grew enough to have you fully aware–until him. You felt it with him, what it means for the light to be on too long, for the things you meant to be private to burn under the watchful eye of hundreds.

You can’t say how much you have left, but with how he has been holding on, he still has a say in it.

“Guess I've been lucky then, huh?” In this position, luck was subjective. With the minor role you have, your actions will never be justified the same or thought of as your original intentions. For him, whether he plays nice or not, there will always be reasons to defend and despise him for, no matter if he’ll ever do it again. “Living with the idea that I get to decide what matters. That's not the case.”

His reaction is not entirely triggered by you, but also the obsession regarding ownership of his work, with releasing music on his terms and at the time he felt like it. Topics of money were mentioned, but you're sure there was no issue with money from his side, and your theory is validated by the lack of articles about royalty scandals in the last two years. Irony seeps through the cracks whose foundation crumbles more and more.

“You might be right. Did they tell you to say this for confirmation?”

“Nobody’s telling me what to do,” you huff in indignation before your body takes a more mellow stance, “It’s just… It’s how it works. Always about them.”

“You think you know what this is about?” he prompts, and panic settles in your gut, mixing with rotten curiosity when you spot how his jaw ticks.

Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender, you need to experience those for yourself before you speak out.

“I–I learned a thing or two.” Of course, it's nowhere near what he learned, but you have your pride, you have to fight to reach his level. Fame is the only thing that's missing from your list, as living in the sphere of disorder comes with the erratic hours of your job. It’s not about having similar experiences though, it’s about drowning another boundary, one for which you're purposefully provoking him.

“Is it enough for you to talk to me like that?” He furrows his brows as he speaks, and you'd take it for a display of superiority if it weren't for the desperate edge in his tone, one which tells you he is demanding the respect he deserves. “I don't get it. What do you want to see in me?”

He doesn't let you answer when he sees you hesitating, prompted by your lack of self-assurance, by how you can't own up to the things you ask.

“Are you not the same?” He continues, but instead of the rebellion he accustomed you to, he sounds defeated. “You're also in the public eye. Did you think it would be different for you? There you have it, what happens when you grow.”

Throat stuck with thorns, you struggle to get the words out. “I'll never be like you. Our fields, our personalities... they're different. There's no one to back me up if I don't move as they like.”

No one. Your face falls when you realise your mistake, realise how you denied it in front of him. He had the status to afford to mess with you and leave you the consequences to sink into. With time taken to reflect, you don't see him as the shadow of a persona. You're sure about who he is now, the one who challenged you and provided you with the safety to get out of the norms he kept breaking.

“Then why ask in the first place? Why go off track? I got the script beforehand, the dog got on his knees for me to be on his show,” he retorts, careless at how anger and disbelief pour out of his mouth with the loss of composure. He looks lost as he switches from you and returns, he is searching your eyes for an explanation. “Was it some sort of plan? I knew everything you were gonna ask, I thought there would be no more surprises, but–”

“But?” you press, newfound desperation making its way through you and pulling you towards Taehyung. V. You can't comprehend the single letter anymore, don't care about whatever peace symbol or the relations, part of your past which brought you here is erased. You care for now, for him, for Taehyung.

Taehyung. His name is so pretty. Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

“Why?”

“Because I–because they–” You babble, too lost into chasing more of him, elbow sliding on the counter as you lean closer–until you're centimetres away from his face. Your thoughts turn frantic when you see his head down and hear nothing else from him, and you're reminded of the same nostalgia you saw backstage the first time–how more than ever you want to soothe it. You're scared to touch him, to offend or unnerve or do anything which would bring him back to you when you don't have the right words to mend his ache.

There's so much to say, how they never planned to make such an effort, how it was you and your curiosity and no rehearsed plan could have saved you since he was too much for you to handle. You gulp, throat dry and incapable of more when you hear his shaky exhale. It pains your heart and your breath when you force yourself to whisper, yet all you manage is a whimper when he looks up, hazy eyes staying open for one last moment before his forehead softly falls against your own,

and your world shuts.

His shaky hand reaches out, but it never ends up touching you. The shadow of his figure falls upon your exposed skin–you see it when you look down to hold onto the last bit of control you still had.  The brightness of your dress deepens into a much sultrier colour where his shadow brushes it, and he gasps when he sees the same connection. He's lost, and that leaves only innocence on his features, innocence that screams his need for guidance and begs your palm to settle on his neck. You crave for nothing more than to steady him, though all your touch does is bring him closer. With his lips hovering over your own, your heart breaks and falls into the pit of your stomach where it melts into heat. Why, why, why.

“Why me? Why are you not leaving me alone?”

He is too much, too close for you to think of anything else and it weighs on your conscience, manifests as a visceral press on everything that made you whole. The syllables sound broken, whispered in a breath you swallow as you lean in more, thumb stinging with the sensitivity of the touch when it brushes against his bottom lip. He has given it to you. Whatever state of mind or information you needed from him, he has given it up in place of being raw and open for you despite your ties with a world looking to break him apart. It's hard for you to pin what he expects from you now, if he expects pride to swell in your chest instead of the ache building in your core. You can't think beyond this moment, you can't care about anything else.

You want to kiss him. You want it so bad.

“I have no responsibility towards anyone, I don't owe anyone anything. Just like you had no responsibility to deal with my tantrums and how you still have no responsibility to give into me.” His lips tremble, and you catch the movement, fixed on nothing else but his open mouth and the laboured breaths he's taking. “You'll only do it if you want to. Why is it so hard to understand,”

“I'm sorry,” and you hope the broken words can convey their meaning. The distance cuts through you with the realisation of how far you are from attempting to seal it with a kiss.“You don't seem to take yourself that seriously, maybe it's why everyone assumed–”

“But that's what I'm doing. I am looking for someone that can take me seriously.”

You're locked in the sensation, locked up with the anticipation which prolongs the moment and you wait for the trigger to be pulled. He presses on, but the effect never comes.

"Oh, in that case, I–I'm..." you mumble, lost when your expectations aren't met but Taehyung silences any apologies you had when you feel his hands on you.

He cups your cheek with the utmost care, and it's unclear whether he wants to bring you back to earth or to bring you closer so that his mouth swallows the breaths you've been taking over his bitten lips. His hand glides up and down, uncertain in its movements as it descends to your neck, one step away from covering it whole. The delicacy of his gestures has you chasing after the warmth, head following after the motions of his palm, bending how he likes, easy.

“You risked so much. No one knew how he was going to react.” He takes you back to his previous question, the reason why he sought you. He's talking about the PD, the man in his forties who let no ground for the younger staff to express themselves, had no consideration for his employees when the cameras were off unless he had something to gain from it. Of course, he was not the only one with authority over you, but he is the one whose characteristics you can list in the eight months you have worked under him. You recalling how revolted you were in the first weeks–complaining to your mother endlessly before swearing you will not be rendered by it. If you weren't part of the situation, if that scene was not part of your current reality, you suppose you would react the same, but now the thoughts leave you voided of any emotion.

Taehyung is right, you are aware, but you cannot process it.

“Who would you have done this for? A friend?” He smiles for the show, eyes closed as his lip drags across your jaw, shy. “A lover?”

You let get lost in the sensation, let him play you as he wishes in hopes to avoid his question. His lips tease the curve of your jaw, but he never takes it further: he holds you in place as you search for an escape to cling to so you won't say it–how you wouldn't have done it for anyone who wasn't him.

“Your honesty. That was all I asked.” He sounds like he's begging, tampering with his tone and letting you see him for what he is to weaken your resistance. A fighter who refuses to die off gently. “That's my question. Indulge me a little, won’t you sugar?”

The plea shakes your entire being, and only when he moves to say it into your ear you can breathe again. You're brought back to a thread of reality he pulls at, though his presence and aroma still linger. You can feel your surroundings, and they still mess with your senses when you notice the gold all around you, how your thighs are resting between his spread ones. “I'd do it for anyone who needed it.”

Taehyung laughs in your ear, and the vibrations run shivers down your spine. “Quite the interesting answer. After what I've told you, I didn't think there was any way left for you to surprise me. Didn't take you for a liar.”

With how wrecked you feel, body walking the line between tight and boneless, you can't understand how he can be so sharp and articulate. How much experience does he really have with strings to bring a new star to light, alternating between your loss of control to his vulnerability which goes away on whims. You're taken aback by how his voice is drained of emotion and replaced with a sensuality that serves to tempt you. It comes naturally to him, and so you suppose that is why it’s easy to forget, because with him experience every moment in the present. You see him as a new person with each reply.

“I'll lead you back if you don't want this. I shouldn't have to beg,” he whispers and you jolt, too shocked at him suggesting leaving as he rests in your space, touching and breathing on you.

“I can’t,” you admit, weak, “I don’t want to humiliate myself.”

“How is it humiliating? You did not feel a thing when you asked me those questions. You had a lot to say before,” he teases with his tint of condescending before setting on gentle. “We can talk another time. We can do it when you’re ready.”

He gets up and waits for you, and the graveness sinks your stomach to the ground. You walk the same pace, steps slow and deliberate, and you fix your gaze on the floor to avoid looking at him, as if you'd announce your defeat, your weakness if you were the first to do so. Every move bringing you closer to the point of departure gives more heaviness to your legs and alarms ring in your head in the rhythm of your heartbeat. You need to say something, you need to stay–

“It's still a truth, no matter if you choose to believe it or not.”

He says nothing, smirking when he spots traits of him in your stance, in your words. “Pretty games for a pretty girl. Too bad I won’t get to play them.”

You press the elevator button, the indicator lighting up to signal the following descend from the tenth floor. Crossing your arms in indignation, you lean against the cream wall and in his personal space, looking at him from under your lashes. “You can’t say that, you’re hurting my pride.”

“Come on, I have no intention of doing that, I’m just trying to work you a little, get my entertainment. It gets tiring–kinda lonely after a while.” He is rambling, distracted by the change of position and how you seem to be pulled in his direction. He gulps, eyes wide at his own actions, as if he surprised himself by holding onto a mask that cannot stay any longer. In your mind, the meaning blurs. You can't make the difference between the two variants of his truth: if he is selling you the transparency or if it is a figment of your perception. Acknowledging how it might not be an act would only bring you back to where you were before, too scared to admit you’re wishing for it to be true.

“Is this why you want to hear this from me?” you urge, pulled towards him no matter the implication or how much you lie to yourself that you're not affected by it.

“Yeah. You don’t know how lonely it is. You don’t know how bad it is to be in need of a touch,” he smiles but it's full of need and bitterness, the heat of his exhale falling on your neck as he speaks into it. He's far too close for you not to notice every move, how your hairs rise as he noses along it.

“There’s all these people–” you protest, but instead of pulling away, you grip the hair that's touching the nape of his neck. You're not sure if you mean for an ode his audience, or a warning about the people around you whose interest you lost, but who could turn around any minute at the slightest sound.

“So? Are they going to touch me? Fuck me how I like it?” he demands, chest pressed against yours, and it's so rare to anything dirty spew out of his mouth. The effect is far more powerful, far more wrecking. Oh, how it bites. “What do they have to give to me?”

What do I have, you mean to say, but your thoughts are blurred by the groan he lets out as his lips seal over your own, hand pressing on the wall to steady himself as he presses into you more. His pace is frantic, hands gliding across your body and your rationality spreads all over the place till you have no sense of surroundings, till all you can register is his touch. The first sound is what gets to him, makes him push his knee between your thighs and spread them as his for the taking. You can't take it, impatient in your gestures as your splayed out fingers travel across his ribs, searching for more material to grip. Half-lidded eyes meet yours before falling on your jaw. His fingers reach to caress it for the briefest second, gentle hand pressing over of your throat as he sucks hard enough to bruise.

You can't explain it, how much you like him filling up your space, how much you like it that at every angle there's a piece of him on top of you. How he can't wait any longer to take from you, how he pins your wrist away as his other hand reaches and toys with the ends of your dress, lifting them so he can grip the fuller part of your thigh and wrap it around his own. Satisfaction floods your senses, since there’s no way around it anymore: you’re getting a side of the real him. The part of him who is reckless, who can't wait to rip the same hems apart so he can reach deeper, move your underwear to the side and make a mess out of you.

Despite the roughness, despite how he handles you in a way you can’t do anything about it, you still feel safe. But it's not enough right now, no, no. You crave to lose that sense as well, to get so lost you'll never find your way again. You crave his mark, yes, you want for him to soothe the desperation eating at your conscience with no regards, take the pure part of you and wash it away with traces of his tongue. You’re about to voice it over his mouth when the sound of the elevator opening brings you back to earth, and you hold onto him to find a balance for your weak legs.

His hands cup your cheeks in support, like he fights to pull away but he can’t, heavy breathing falling over your lips–only that this time he bites at them and soothes the sting with another kiss.

“I'm not some tragic story. All that they say about me, my lifestyle and the shit I thought you were going to ask–those are true as well.” He grins, no regards to the people who pass by you. “Not even a little bit curious about those?”

Your body lights up at the words, familiar with the rumours of the things they do after performing, though it holds no fear or judgement. You couldn't say no to him right now, not after he kissed you, the dark red of your lip around his mouth a clear reminder of your act. A reminder that you’d love for your stain to reach deeper and take parts of him yet unknown.

Too lost in the possibility, you choose not to answer and pull him inside the elevator, hands brushing the satin as they glide down his back till they reach his hip bones. You don't think, pressing him against you once again as your hips drag against each other. He nods against your neck, a wrecked chuckle passing him as your breaths become weaker, needier.

“Fine. Eyes on me and I’ll show you.” With that, he distances from you and turns to press the button for the penthouse, eyes flaring with promises of more than you could handle.

The doors to the elevator open, the foreign space they hid making you shift closer to Taehyung, whose hand now remains tight around your waist. Throughout your interactions, you've made yourself one between the tints of gold, shone and felt burned under the bright lights–each colour scheme bringing the best version of yourself for everyone to see. This time, with no shame, dark surrounds you and overshadows your presence. With the exception of the ambient neutrality of the walls, all around you can find leather and recklessness, people who drink in motion with the bass, images you’ve taken as universal truth before meeting him.

The penthouse covers the same surface as the private area, might be even bigger at a deeper glance, only that the silk on tables and the big windows are replaced by accent walls and liquor stains on wood. You can't name most of the bottles you see, much less the faces, but you catch sight of the signs of luxury, how the drinks are adorned in coloured glass and cursive writing. Seems like that's the place Taehyung left his leather at, as everyone has a quintessential part from its element, from pants to chokers, to jackets that sit pretty over bare skin. At its core, the scenery is modern, but it keeps tints of the classics, with an imposing chandelier being the only source of light, the bulbs inside covered in translucent reds. Pairs of eyes turn to you as they see you, careful to move with him at once.

A shadow of scarlet falls upon the centre, where most of the group sits, where most of them turned to watch the both of you, giving meaningful glances to Taehyung and studying your figure, from the crossed model on your stockings to the slight rip in your dress. He grins when the attention lingers on him, pulled by his string, and he turns to you with mock curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “Looks like anything you've imagined?”

“I haven't got to that yet,” you confess, thoughts of Taehyung's presence alone overwhelming you. “Is this the place–the place where...?”

You haven't considered this aspect of his life in its entirety, too caught up in untangling the wires lost from the start of his career and up to the point of now. As you see him, he is in control of every aspect of his identity, making active choices of where and when he'll show his vulnerability–it's hard to imagine him losing that control without his will like the ones here seem to do. Your mind swims in all the possibilities, mixing the scenery with what you have heard and what you have experienced with him. His inhibitions were limited regardless, though their level has yet to be discovered.

The picture snaps on the newspapers you read were blurry and inaccurate but captured the same essence: he hung around places where someone could mingle, make relations, drink, hold no inhibition when it's about feeling each other, no matter the person, no matter the number. Places where he had the opportunity to deviate from whatever it was imposed from his lifestyle as a songwriter and a chance to experience the fantasy people associated with his kind. As the clarity of the area is faded by incense, opulence drowns your remaining senses. You feel out of it, and oh, how you'd shame this if it was anyone else but him.

Him, you think, for him it's not enough. He deserves more than that.

Taehyung ponders over his answer, slight pout shaping his mouth, confirming all your thoughts. He does deserve more. “For now.” He leads you towards the corner where the appetizers are, parallel to the line of instruments and sound equipment. Ever so careful, he avoids the centre where people stare and nod at him. “They needed a place to bring all the instruments till we move to the next city.”

“I'm sure this is the case,” you state without much conscience, and there would be more sarcasm laced in your tone if it weren't for your disbelief and closeness to Taehyung, which has you reconsidering the roots of this place. “What do you do here?”

His brows raise, free hand gesturing towards the groups. “You're free to do as you like.”

“I'll stay with you” you blurt, feeling your cheeks heat up at how fast you made your choice. “I mean, of course. Is this the rule for everyone?”

“Well, who am I to tell them what to do? Mm?”

“What if they ask you to?” The question has you holding your breath as you watch his gaze darkening, the intensity from moments ago blazing in his eyes. He reaches out to cup your face, thumb massaging your lip and your lids are already dropping when he presses deeper–moments before a hand slaps upon his shoulder.

“You said you wouldn't be here tonight,” the man says as Taehyung cuts to him, confusion morphing into acknowledgement. “We didn't expect to see you so soon.”

His tone is snarky, more scolding than playful but you suppose it is a casualty since Taehyung smiles at him. The latter mentions how he was not planning to do so, and his eyes travel to you by instinct, making the stranger watching with intent, doll eyes sharp as they study you. Taehyung introduces him as Yoongi, mentioning how he plays the keys and works for his previous label, the one deciding to stay while Taehyung left.The dark-haired man nods at you and disappointment spreads under your sternum at how he doesn't pull you closer to introduce yourself like you've seen around here. Like you've seen the two women in cut-out shirts do, shake hands and whisper to each other before embracing. Last you've seen them giggling, tangled in each other as you passed the fuller part of the crowd. Thoughts of sticking out too much overshadow past desires, and anxiety climbs up your spine once you make eye-contact with Yoongi again.

“We worked on a couple instrumentals together. And this is–”

His talk is interrupted by another presence, and if Taehyung had the looks and emanated the thrill of the rockstar, the man in front of you had it pouring out of every pore. While Taehyung is a subtle controlling aura, asking for what he wants through tints of games and teasing, the other man's smirk tells you he had no qualms about being upfront about his needs. His body tells the same by the open shirt halfway down his chest and the way his hands lay his pockets, how he stands with his legs spread. Even with the blur around, you can make out shades of messy pink hair and coloured drops of sweat which have dripped down his forehead. He looks like the kind of wanderer you'd lose yourself in with no mind, one who seems like he doesn't care for hiding, skin glistening and pairs of hoops hanging from the cartilages. Crystals adorn the translucent silk brushing his chest, sticking to bits of skin where sweat has sunk in. It didn't take a lot to figure out that if Taehyung was the core of this place, this man was a split image of its surface.

“Jimin, good to meet you.” His aura shifts and you're marvelled at how young and pure he does look when the grin he wears emanates warmth and self-assurance in the way Taehyung's does. “The one responsible for all of this.”

You suppress the reflex to bow your head as you introduce yourself, aware that there was no room for respect and formality in a place like this. He seems to lose the last tints of shame as you take him in, and you presume he wouldn't mind more arrangements with you. Jimin, in all his careless glory, is a pretty face the tabloids wouldn't mind. A face you wouldn't mind seeing every night from your TV screen as you breathed out the worries of the day. While fine taste suited Taehyung the best, Jimin's luxury was written in the same cursive next to the signature of his name.

“Say, how did you meet V?” Jimin throws, focused on you, and Taehyung's hand on you splays out, a change of position which lets you know that he is listening, more carefully than you'd like to consider. Heat is still simmering under your skin as a reminder of his touch he is not keen on letting you forget, back arching when his hand moves to your stomach over your belly button. It's not fair, he can't demand answers from you when Taehyung pulls you in like this and you feel his solid body on yours.

You can't think when he touches you like that, with warmth burning at your side and your mind focusing on nothing but how hard it is to bury the urges of following the trail of his mouth. Pressure lays upon your shoulders but it sinks in your stomach and manifests in how you pulse from it. It's too much, the attention that makes you feel small under their gazes, makes you steel yourself to hold eye-contact with the man in front of you. “I was with him in my last interview.”

Jimin's face lights up in recognition, and a wicked curiosity stains the previous warmth of his smile. His gaze is lost in the red marks on your throat before switching back to your eyes, not bothering to hide his interest. “The bold one, huh? Are you like this always or is my Taehyungie over here making you act like that?”

“Jimin.” What comes off your date's lips is a warning, but he fights against his lips curling. “You're too much.”

Fake innocence settles over the man's features as he tilts his head at you two, peering at how Taehyung's holding you. “What, you can't blame me for wanting to know. I'm sure she had her questions too.” With another glimpse at Taehyung, Jimin abandons the focus, taking a step closer towards you. “Did he satisfy? It's hard to get him to talk when he insists so much on being an ass.”

Another one and he'd be in your personal space, body pressed to your front.

“He's a little impatient, isn't he?” Jimin chuckles, but the connotations are open enough to include you in his game. “I didn't expect him to bring you here so soon.”

“She wanted to know.” Taehyung shrugs and says nothing else.

“Did she? In that case, you can ask me all about it.”

Although Jimin himself resembled the protagonist of any fantasy you’ve had arisen from the crescendo of the moonlight, had the boldness you so much enjoyed in his approach, you couldn’t comply. Your presence there was owed to Taehyung. Your interest laid on discovering parts of him yet unknown, untangle webs from such a complex character that details beyond him overwhelm you–aiming to get to know Jimin would be too soon, too much.

“I asked him,” you begin, words forming with difficulty. “I do want it...from him.”

Jimin purses his lips and nods with you. “Such a sweetheart, and so eager to ask...him. Who gave you the reign for it?”

The question makes your blood boil and your walls rise in defense, possibilities of forgoing the thoughts you've had of him running rampant. A part of you feels that Jimin's approach comes from how protective he needs to be, of both the collective and Taehyung. You're sure exclusivity must be kept, and the stamp comes with being a judge of character, an ability to look beyond and into the transparency of outsider intentions. With the way you're clinging to Taehyung, you can't understand how Jimin might think you're here for any other reason. More than pissing you off, it is upsetting you.

“What did you do to deserve it?”

You unlatch from Taehyung in need of something to prove, hoping that Jimin can see through you without your use of words or the need to scream for it. Despite how fresh into the scene you are, you can figure out that once you have to say what you mean, the words lose their value.

“Or what will you do, hmm?” Your breathing is heavy as Jimin zones into your lips. The tension lays a thick web in your stomach that's grows all that more intricate when he arches an eyebrow at you, provoking you with the same vigour. Anger and craving tighten against each other like vines, you wish to prove him wrong so bad it fades the lines of morality you built. Teeth clenched, you take the remaining step towards him and break the barrier as you fist his shirt before turning around and roughly pulling Taehyung into you.

You feel restless, impatient in your own skin as you cup his face and slam your lips against his, and he lets out a choked moan as presses against you, grip tight as he sits you on the table. The sound of glass shattering is deafening to your ears before you sink underwater, muffled by his breath. Your tongue licks at his bottom lip and he opens his mouth further and lets you lead as you fall back, dragging him with you and spreading your legs further to accommodate him better.

There is a rush you get at the fact you know Jimin is watching, the image of his expression stirring you on further and making you spread your legs as much as you could to bring Taehyung closer in his rut against you and prove something to the man. Your thigh knocks against Jimin's hip on purpose, and his fingers fit themselves into the dark nets, and oh, how you like it when he pulls on them.

“Take a shot with me.” Jimin offers to Taehyung as big hands drift to pull your skirt down, until he could slip his fingers under your stomach. Taehyung struggles to break apart from you, the softness of your lips molding on his tempting him to forget anything about paying attention. You whimper against them, rotten satisfaction burning your loins as you feel his hands falter and how the rhythm breaks, and you can't stop thinking it's all you. You're making him feel like this.

“I’m not drinking,” Taehyung states as he lifts your thigh to press deeper into you, rough drag of his cock against your clit.

“From me. He'd drink from you though.” You break apart at the affirmation and look at Taehyung to confirm, mouth gaping at how wild his eyes are, though there is no sign of denial. Confused, you grab a cup and wait for Jimin to fill it, turning back only when the whiskey nears the tip of the glass. He doesn't budge.

“Not like this,” Jimin tutted, tipping the glass so the liquid falls on your exposed skin, over your low piece and hipbones, and before you can express your shock you feel Taehyung pulling down your skirt, drops dipping into your belly and gliding further down. He falls to his knees, grabbing your hips and pulling you close to his mouth as his tongue cleans it all up, lips sucking on the skin there, so close and yet nowhere near enough.

“I could show you more,” is uttered through reddened lips before big eyes plead for your confirmation.

“Here?” you ask when he takes a step back and fumbles to take the belt off. Molten pleasure runs through your core at the idea and it lights up ablaze when you're met with his smirk.

“Where else? I'm sure that they don't mind.” He looks like he wants to say more, but something is stopping him. “Come here,” he motions as takes his belt off.

You take deliberate steps until your thighs brush against his, hands rising to splayed over them. There’s a hesitation on your part, used to him making the first move–some could say it’s shame burning in your belly at the faces watching, distant memories that remain in dark corners of your mind as the star twirls in his toybox. Taehyung stares at you with his head tilted and intensity sharpening his features no sooner than you feel the leather of his belt snaking over your shoulders till it reaches the back of your neck. He pulls on it teasingly, bringing your face to his. “I said closer.”

He leaves a fleeting kiss on your lips, enough to have your mouth chasing after his.

“Usually you're so well-mannered, why is it so hard to get you to listen baby? I've been patient with you,” Taehyung pouts as his hand reaches between your legs.“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumble as you throw your arms around his neck, face attempting to hide there as his finger massages over your underwear before deciding against it. He dives in, sliding his fingers in and circling your bare clit. Your mouth gapes at the sensation and at just how easy it would be for him to go further.

“Who are you speaking to?”

“I'm sorry, Taehyung.”

“That’s right, say that again,” he commands, but his voice is breathy. “Say my name again and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Why are you teasing her like that,” Jimin, whose presence you have forgotten about makes your breath hitch up in your throat. “Can't you see how bad she needs you?”

Your unfocused gaze falls on him, leaned against the same table Taehyung kissed you on with Yoongi not too far apart. You’re aware of how Jimin’s eyes devour you, taking in the image of your loss of control, but you’re not shy. You’re grateful for him, for the interruption, believing that his provoke Taehyung into hurrying up. And hurry up he does, unbuttoning his shirt, giving you all the space to roam over bare skin and over the band of his boxers.

Based on first impressions alone, Jimin is slim and chiseled, straight line defining his abdomen. He is a stark difference from bodies you have seen before, and trying to get used to it grows the surprise you have when you get a peek at Taehyung, who is solid in all the right ways and feels warm under your hand. A tiny sound from the back of your throat leaves you when you squeeze his shoulder and splay your palm on his chest, finding how his heartbeat matches yours.

“And just how am I teasing?” Taehyung smirks, pushing one finger into you, making you clutch the collar of his shirt. “Hear that? That’s what he believes.”

His free hand drifts higher till it reaches the belt still resting on your neck, gripping it to have his mouth brushing over yours as he takes his time spreading you open and curling them. “Am I so mean to tease such a pretty baby when she’s already this gone for me?”

You can’t say anything, too focused on trying to push back against his fingers so you’re getting more of him. Your head shakes in an attempt to soothe him before his tongue licks into your mouth and laces with yours, hints of champagne still on his tongue. When he parts, he takes the belt in his grasp and raises it until it reaches eye-level, the hand slick with you remaining on your mouth. “If I were teasing, I’d say this.”

You let your eyes close as the leather wraps around your eyes, presses on your lashes. You're more vulnerable like this, more easy to be watched without a shame in the world but you can't find will to care about it, too busy running your mind with possibilities of what Taehyung will do. The action heightens your other senses, hyper-aware of every move happening around you, so it comes as a no surprise when you feel Taehyung leading you backwards, pushing until your back makes contact with the table.

“I’d say you know me.” It is not a hypothesis, it is a statement, one that has been tested throughout your evenings and which gave you an illusion of hope. “I’d ask you to tell me where I'm touching and I'll let you cum.”

You don’t grasp the full meaning of his words until another hand lays softly upon your shoulder and your back arches from the touch. “Yes, yes–” you breathe out, pushing your chest up to slide the touch lower, to dismiss the softness in place of something bolder. The blazer you are wearing is pulled down and the skin to skin contact intensifies as you’re left with your two piece before you’re pulled into another body, bold teeth grazing the zipper of your top. Your back is left exposed, top still hanging by the straps on your shoulders, and no further move is made. It leaves you feeling that much more vulnerable.

Footsteps are heard to your right and the grip on the belt is released until another one takes Taehyung’s place. You can’t make accurate guess, but you follow the motion of his fingers, know that the large palm below your breast and brushing over your rib belongs to him before he moves again. Others are too soft, respectful almost, and your train of thought is confirmed when lithe fingers dip into the curve of your waist. It’s all too much, trying to keep up with his trail when the touches mix and hands intertwine and lay upon the other on your body until his fingers fuck into you again, making you moan into his mouth.

“Taehyungie, look at how much she likes it.” Jimin says into your hair, marvelled and Taehyung’s pace increases, a third finger teasing at you.

You’re getting closer to your orgasm, voice left free and inhibitions gone as you whine and whimper at the smallest touch, at every motion inside of you. Your reasoning pours from your mind right between your thighs, yet no matter the moans and how wrecked you feel, you still can’t prevent your mouth from speaking, questions left unanswered still gnawing at you. “Do you do this with a lot of people?”

“I do,” he admits freely, breathing into your neck, and you hold no judgement. He seems to press himself deeper into you as he anticipates your next question. “Most of the time with however many Jimin wants. You should see him, he's very demanding.”

His reply births another meaning to his words and spreads heat to your core, burning the remaining sanity you had so hard you jolt, clenching around his fingers. Taehyung, surrounded by more bodies. Oh.

“In the future, you could join us if you ask. Jimin doesn't seem too upset about it.”

“Aren't you happy? You'll have to ask.” Jimin teases, and he seems to hold it over your head, yet all his remarks do is make you roll your hips harder into Taehyung.

“That’s all it would take to make me do so much.” Taehyung pauses to laugh, a little wicked and breathless and right as you want him. “Scream your name? I’ll scream for you. I'll do it if you want it.”

He scissors his fingers inside of you to support his claim, that you throw your head back, sense of reality alternating the balance. Jimin holds you still, darkness muting everything else surrounding you.

“Ask me.” Taehyung demands, adding a third finger, and the knot in your stomach tightens until the friction has the fibers breaking the foundation apart. “Ask.”

“Make me cum,” you whisper, defeated. “Please make me cum.”

At your plea, he press on your clit, touch firm and tight and you unravel, thighs shaking as Taehyung mutters little praises. Before you can catch your breath, you don’t register how he keeps going until you feel how sensitive you are, body trembling against him but he is relentless, tone sweet and apologetic. “I’m sorry baby, you’ll need it.”

You hiss at the overstimulation, unable to register what he is talking about until head of his cock pushing against your sore clit and slides further, length reaching your stomach. You gasp as he repeats the motion, your thighs closing around him.

A higher, sultrier voice speaks and tangles you deeper into Taehyung’s nets. “Look at him, such a wicked man, and you'd let him touch you? Let him stretch you open? My, my.”

“Jimin's right. You'd let me do whatever I wanted, right?" he taunts as he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you beyond what you'd normally take. He's so big. "What a little deviant.”

Your moans are swallowed once he thrusts into you messily, all senses of morality gone. Yes, you would do whatever he asked, you realise as he sets a rhythm, slow and reaching depths that haven’t been stained before. Your morality ends in downfall as your head falls back, dizzy. In your haze you can’t think of anything else, only Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, how let him take and take no matter who is watching and what might come after.

“Do you even care about the consequences?” Jimin's condescending tone makes its way to you, the world outside is so muted you hear it right by your ear. You whine, ashamed and needy, because you don't and you wouldn't even consider them if it meant getting your pleasure. Jimin takes it as a cue to push you further. “Oh, you don't, you're so close, you want it so bad, yeah? Poor baby.”

“Ah, fuck–please.” You can’t help begging when plump lips kiss behind your ear and the grip loosens, belt falling off your eyes, and you can’t understand how he’s in front of you, inside of you, moaning because of you. It’s not possible that you have such an effect because how far up he is, how unreal he is.

Taehyung gazes at you with unspoken promises and primal need to claim, and you want to scream how you’re his for the night, and you’d remain that way for other times, titles which dance to the night in fear of what the light brings spinning in your head.

As much as he toys with the idea of sharing, he is possessive, you can sense it in the way he grips you harder than the others, how he groans and keeps you at a closeness where your breaths mingle. You can sense it in how his body shields yours despite the setting and how he asked for you in the open and under scrutiny.

It turns out you get a sick pleasure from it, from the low pitch he can't shake off, familiar yet contrasting the playful aura resting within the shape of a classy surface. From what you have noticed, Taehyung as a man and in regards to his own self must not allow anything far away from the untouchable. Like this, he looks disheveled, messy from his sticky hair to his clothes and down to the way he is handling you.

“Look how well you're taking it, you're so good for me, shit.” He mouths at your neck and grips your chin before tilting it down, fixing your eyes on the motion of cock sliding in and out of you. “Gonna let me be a man, mm? Watch me stretch you out?”

You can’t nod, the breaths you’re taking and nothing else overwhelming you as you get closer, knot building so soon and with no regards to your feelings. Your hand travels and reaches into your thighs, opens you further for him as he fucks harder, faster, until your toes are curling in your satin heels.

“Oh–fuck. Too much.” you cry out when coming down from your orgasm you still feel him rutting into you.

“I know baby, I do–” he gasps, pace turning frantic as he pulls you to his chest, little whimpers leaving you at his insistence. You can't make out the ties between how weak his voice is and how hard he fucks into you, chasing his release. “Just a little more.”

He uses the last bits of his energy thrusting in deep, slow drags of his cock into you, a primal growl makes its way from his chest before pulling out of you.

His cock pulses on your stomach as he cums, and your fingers follow its path, bringing them to your mouth for a taste. The substance stains your lips as you dip it in, craving to swallow though you can't bring yourself to do it. An urge deep within tells you to await his request, tying you to him, “Open up.” You obey, letting him see his cum in your mouth, how your tongue swipes across it and Taehyung coos, reaching to caress your jaw. “Want more of me? Close.”

He drags his finger down your neck, throat bobbing under his thumb as you swallow. “Very good, such a sweet girl.”

You find comfort on the feel of sturdy wood, still pulsing from sensitivity and need, Taehyung's embrace holding your threads to reality. The bass is thumping along with the beat of your heart, but you can't hear anything else for now, senses surrounded by a thick fog that clears up only when you feel another hand turning your jaw. Jimin drags the wet tissue across your mouth, careful not to miss on the corners and you stare at his plump lips, remember how wild his eyes were as he dug the same fingers into his thigh, pushing himself not to touch you any further.

Your fingers circle his wrist, guiding his soft gaze to yours. You pucker your lips and he grants your wish, covering them in a gentle caress, almost shy. His touch barely there, treating you with such tenderness it has you whimper at the contrast between his words and his kiss.

“I…” Taehyung watches you with expectations gleaming in his eyes as you push your hips up. He stills them and bites his lips as Jimin taunts him further, poster troublemaker for all the right reasons.

Taehyung has no reason to hide. He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends you the way his body demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches you, fingers trailing from the ends of your mouth to your jaw and through your hair as he fucks deeper into you. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would remain as yours.

“How is it?” he asks through the haze you’re in, messy hair and scarlet around his mouth, expression far overstepping the sinner title. “Feeling sated?”

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in full smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through his tongue, through your body that’s covered by his marks and feels coarse from every angle.

What is about to follow makes sense to you, because it is a matter of when, and one of power. A power you surrender as pleasure pushes at you until it stings, until you shake your head and shake off any past thought you have wished to bring into this.

“More,” you say and spreads you further and claims his space till there’s no part of you he hasn’t covered, no root left untouched. He nods and teases you in the way it makes your head swim as buries himself within you to the core, taking and taking until his lips are over yours again, bitten and about to taint the tears on your cheeks.

A moan tears out of him as he praises you more, voice rough with effort, and he seems to have the same reaction you do as he hears himself talk. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy breaths of a clear desire supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

a/n: for my sweethearts who might have caught it, taehyung’s character is partially inspired by prince and his songs, and the interview scene was inspired by his interview with maria bartiromo in 2004! scream to me about him please. chaos and disorder wasn’t much of a happy album for prince, but i thought the title was cool. i killed 2 of my 3 braincells writing this and slaved away for ur consideration ok byye

[jeonsduck]

Smoke and Mirrors pt 6

Y/N puts 2 and 2 together

warngings: cursing, kidnapping, mentions of blood and death 

You had said you weren’t going to make anything official until after you finished the case. You were going to keep it professional. That didn’t even last 24 hours. In your defense, San was hot and really good at fucking you and to be honest, you didn’t want to wait until the investigation was over. Which was how you often found yourself bent over either your or San’s desk at work. Or spread out on the backseat of his car, or anywhere he could convince you to let him put his hand down your pants. And he tried it a LOT. The guy was like a machine, but honestly you weren’t complaining. And it wasn’t just sex either. San had started buying you gifts, very expensive gifts. If the lunch he bought you the first time you met qualified as a bribe, you’d hate to see what the administration thought of the designer laptop bag, shoes, coat, and jewelry. You didn’t dare go shopping with San anymore, because if you looked at anything for longer than two seconds, he would buy it for you.

“Mhm, I could come home with you again and we could rack up some more noise complaints from your neighbors.” San offered. 

You were perched on his lap, reviewing your files. Correction: trying to review your files. San was pressing wet kisses to the sensitive spot on your neck and his hand was already under your shirt, so it was very hard to focus. You squirmed when he bit at the junction between your shoulder and your neck, barely holding in a yelp.

“Sannie, stop it.” 

He chuckled, but his hooked his head over your shoulder innocently and tightened his hold on your waist.

“So what do you think?” he murmured, playing with a strand of your hair. 

“I think that sounds very tempting, but we both have work to do right now. Besides, I have to go to the FBI and talk to Agent Heejin and pretend that I’m not fucking you.” you said, squinting at the papers in front of you.

These were the notes you made when you had that fever and were totally out of your mind, and none of it made any sense. You might need to go back and look at the original documents…

“First of all, baby, I’m the one that fucks you, let’s keep that straight. Second, that’s gonna be pretty hard with a hickey the size of Mexico isn’t it?” San whispered in your ear, making a shiver run down your neck.

“What hickey are you talking abo- hey!” you jolted when San nipped at your neck before starting to suck a bruise into the flesh.

“Hey, stop it!” you batted at his arm and got up. San held you tighter, resting his head on your back.

“I’m sorry, I was just fooling around don’t leave. It’s so boring in this room without you.” he pouted and you sighed. 

“I’d love to, but I need to go get some original documents from the file room. I’ll see you later.” You said, removing San’s arms from your waist,

He grumbled but let you go without putting up anymore of a fight. He did grab your wrist and drag you back against him to peck you on the lips one last time. You rolled your eyes and left before he could get another crazy idea to keep you in his office. When you passed by Keran’s desk, she was wearing noise canceling headphones. Oops.

There was something seriously wrong with the records that were in front of you. You were looking at all the guys payments for San’s accounting services. The payments were made once a week, way too often for something that should be billed monthly. The amount was the same every time, but the frequency was way too high. San’s services could be expensive, sure but this number was astronomical. And then there was the amount that was being paid to Yunho and Mingi for security services. Similarly, the amount was way too high, payments too frequent. And the money wasn’t being sent from commercial accounts, but personal ones. What the hell…

“Y/N, it’s time to go! We shouldn’t keep your FBI Agent waiting.” San said, poking his head in your office. You startle and shove the pages between your laptop before snapping it closed. 

“Yeah, let’s head out.”

While you didn’t have a huge hickey on your neck, Agent Heejin did recognize San’s car when it pulled into the lot.

“I honestly don’t even know where to BEGIN with the mess you’re in right now, but since your investigation hasn’t turned up any suspicious activity yet and I don’t think it will, I won’t waste my breath.” she sighed, slamming a manila folder down on her desk. It flopped open and a large full page picture fell out. It was a tattoo, partially covered in blood. It looked hauntingly familiar, but with  the blood covering it, you couldn’t be sure.

“Wait, I think I’ve seen that tattoo before…” you said, stopping Heejin before she put it back in the folder.

“Really? Where?” 

“I’m not sure, there’s so much blood. Can I take a picture of it?” you asked, and Heejin held the page out.

“Yeah sure. Let me know if you remember where you saw it?” she says as you snap a picture of the page.

“Of course. See you next week.” you said, making your exit. 

The whole way back to your apartment you were thinking about the tattoo. It was so very familiar. Where had you seen it before? 

San always let you invite him up instead of just following you into your apartment. You called him up, even though you didn’t have any ulterior motives tonight. San was fine with that, just as content to cuddle you and Noodles on the couch while you watched Chopped reruns.

San was playing with your hair, and you got tired pretty quickly. At this point San had a couple changes of clothes at your place in case he stayed the night. A few more weeks of this and he might get his own toothbrush holder. You snorted at your joke as you walked back into your bedroom, to find San laying face down on your bed, petting Noodles. You eyes drifted to his left shoulder, his tattoo out on display because he tended to sleep with his shirt off. Suddenly, you were hit with a series of flashbacks. The tattoo that curled up Keran’s arm, the flash of ink you’d seen on Wooyoung’s stomach when you met him. The bloodied image of a tattoo on your phone. They were different, obviously adapted for different parts of the body and each customer’s preference, but they were essentially the same tattoo. Why did San Wooyoung, and Keran have the same tattoo as a dead person in an FBI file? Were they really triad members?

“Babe, is something wrong? Come to bed.” San smiled over his shoulder at you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning you tried to call Agent Heejin but she didn’t answer. You left at least 10 messages, but nothing. In between calls you continued to review that discrepancies you’d discovered. Yeosang’s jewelry business was making huge sales on extremely generic pieces of jewelry. The security firm was getting payments from random small businesses across  town. Laundromats, tattoo parlors, restaurants. Not the calibre of clients they usually catered to. All of the companies Seonghwa was contracted to were shell companies. And strangest of all were the huge sums of money being paid too and from Hongjoong, by San. You couldn’t see where this money was going, not without looking at San’s financial records. 

Technically, what you’d already seen gave you the right to look at San’s records as well. But for some reason you were terrified. 

When you think back on it, deep down , some part of you knew the truth. Not the whole truth, not yet, but you knew San wasn’t the innocent ball of sunshine you thought him to be. And you also knew it was going to be a struggle to present this new knowledge without San finding out. And if the ship started sinking, he’d know it was you who sold him out. And you had no idea how powerful San was, didn’t know how deep his pockets were, what all he could do.

So, you pulled down the box of San’s records, opened a binder and got to work. 

When you left work that day, you acted as normally as possible. You had the binder of San’s records as well as the others in your bag and you pretended it wasn’t weighing you down like a rock. 

San kissed you goodbye when he dropped you off, and you kissed him back. You went upstairs and watched his car drive away. Then you grabbed your keys and ran back down to your car. You hadn’t turned in over in weeks, maybe a few months now. You peeled out of the parking lot as fast as you dared to and sped to the FBI Headquarters. You kept glancing in your rearview mirrors, afraid that you would see San’s car behind you. 

When you parked at Heejin’s office building, there was a moment where you sat there, thinking about what you were about to do. You liked San a lot. A lot a lot. But this was your job. And you didn’t really know him, not really. The more you thought about it, the more you realized. You’d never even set foot in San’s apartment. He had access to you 24/7. 

Suddenly your phone rang, startling you. The screen lit up with a picture of San you’d taken a while ago when he hadn’t wanted to get out of your bed on a Saturday. Noodles was curled into his side. 

You breathed in, sent his call to voicemail, and put your phone on silent. You breathed out, grabbed your files and got out of the car.

“Let’s do this , Y/N.” 

When you got up to Heejin’s floor you were surprised to find she wasn’t at her desk. One of her coworkers saw you come in and smiled sadly.

“You looking for Heejin?” 

“Yeah, is she out.” 

“We had an emergency on a big case last night. Heejin got hit and…. She’s dead.” they said solemnly.

You felt off kilter. What? “Yeah it’s really shocking. But weren’t you just here yesterday?” they asked.

“I found something.” you said, holding up your binders.

They quirked an eyebrow and led you to a conference room. You explained the discrepancies in the financial records and what you knew about the tattoo. You didn’t mention the fact that you’d been sleeping with San. 

“Well, it’ll probably be a few days before they hand this case over to someone else, but as soon as they do, I’ll give them this. In the meantime, be careful about that accountant.” they said. 

It was out of your hands now. You just didn’t know what to do about San. You were spared from agonizing over that detail when two strange men approached you. Same uniform as San’s bodyguards, but different men. You could see a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of one man’s shirt. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. How did they know?

You turned and broke into a sprint, running the opposite direction. They walked leisurely towards you, and you ran straight into someone else as you came around the corner. Wooyoung.

“Where are you going in such a rush, hmm?” he drawled.

The next thing you know, your had a black hood shoved over your head and were being dragged across the parking lot. You struggled, but whoever had a hold of you was strong, and you were unable to even get one hand free.

“Help! Let me go, HELP!” you yelled and heard Wooyoung chuckle. 

“Don’t shout yourself hoarse. There’s no one around to hear you.” he admonished and you writhed again, trying to get loose. 

It was futile, the person carrying you hauling you up and into the trunk of a car.

“San’s gonna kill us for putting them in the trunk.” Jongho’s voice said.

“We can deal with San later.” Wooyoung replied. 

You heard two car doors open and close, and the car started. You tried to keep track of how many turns the car was taking, but panic was slowly taking over, and you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the odds of them killing you. 

After who knows how long, the car came to a stop and you relaxed slightly. The trunk was opened and you were hauled out, assumingly by Jongho. He set you on your feet and started dragging you… somewhere. The hood was still on your head, and you nearly tripped on a step on the floor.

“Oh, whoops. Here, there’s a step.” Jongho said. 

Okay, so maybe your survival chances were higher than you thought. It felt like you walked for a long time before Jongho finally sat you in a chair. Your hands and ankles were tied to keep you in place and the hood was finally taken off. You squinted at the harsh white light, trying to shield your eyes with your shoulder.

“I thought we had a deal. You’re always supposed to answer if I call.” San said.

Your eyes focused to see him looking like a James Bond villain, sitting behind a large desk petting Noodles. How did he get Noodles?

“How did you-?” you started but San cut you off with a chuckle.

“I’ve had a key to your apartment for months now. Not that I need one to get in. But that’s beside the point. You didn’t pick up when I called.” San said.

“So, what you kidnapped me because I didn’t answer your call?” you asked. 

“No, I kidnapped you because you were about to sell us out. My baby is very smart, aren’t you?” he says, standing up and walking around the desk to hold you by your chin.

“So you are triad.” you sneer.

“Mmmm, not exactly. But we are criminals.” he said.

San let that sink in for a moment and you scowled at him.

“Did you kill Agent Heejin?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even send the order for that. That was Hongjoong. Your old supervisor on the other hand….” he trailed off.

“She’s been missing for weeks… you killed her? Why?” you asked.

“She made you cry, that day I came to visit you at the office.” he explained, like it was a simple chain of events to follow.

“Oh my God, you’re fucking sick.” you say, but San just laughs sharply.

“No, what was sick was what I did to your coworker.” he corrected. 

You stared at him, blankly, processing his words.

“You killed Jacob? You did that- HE WAS MY FRIEND, YOU BASTARD!” tears quickly sprung to your eyes, and San wiped them away with his thumbs. You jerked your face out of his hold, but you could only go so far away. He tutted at you, holding you still so he could clear the tears from your cheeks,

“Hold still. I know he was your friend but.. I didn’t know, I’m sorry baby. I really am.” he said. 

It was true, he felt awful about killing Jacob. San had killed a lot of people and rarely felt guilt for it. But for him, he really was sorry.

“He didn’t even do anything to me. Why’d you kill him?” you screeched, but San didn’t even flinch.

“He- I thought he was trying to make a move on you. You’re mine, Y/N.” San said with conviction.

You stared blankly at him.

“No I don’t San.”

San growled, tipping your head back.

“Yes you are. Your entire life belongs to me.” he said. 

“Good luck controlling me from prison”, you snarled back.

San chuckled at that. He pet your hair, smiling down at you.

“Oh, baby… I’m not going to jail.” San said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The evidence I handed over was pretty compelling.” you said, and San couldn’t help it, laughing at you.

“Darling, who do you this was the ‘higher-up’ asking for you to be on this case? Baby, who do you think started this investigation?” he drawled.

You stared at him in shock, but how did he do that? How long had San been watching you? 

“I’m the one in charge here, and don’t you ever forget that.”