#i can see him listening to xanadu
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i love that a large part of oliver's character arc is coming to love ni no kuni over time until the journey is no longer only about saving his mother to him but about defeating shadar. and i will forever be pissed that level 5 got rid of most of it in wotww. btw.
accidentally wrote an essay about this so i'm putting it under a read more
they didn't get rid of all of it. he has his soulsnare moment. he. uh. i'll be completely honest with you i'm entirely blanking on ANY other moments. like obviously he willingly sacrifices himself to defeat shadar but that's like the culmination not the build up. um. what other. uh.
okay anyway in dotdd you can SEE him get more attached to ni no kuni. literally the first cutscene you see of him after gateway (the deleted ghibli scene. you can see it in the casino in wotww) is him staring at the world in awe. it's emphasised. there's a zoom in on his face. in wotww he has a moment like this but it's a lot less focused on oliver's reaction and more on showing You the beauty of it. (the ghibli scene is prettier anyway...)
in general dotdd does a much better job of showing oliver falling in love with the world and its inhabitants. listen i am the fairyground's #1 fan but in the arc it replaces there's a scene where swaine protects esther, and then immediately after they start fighting again, and oliver starts laughing because he's FOND OF THEM. they're FRIENDS. it does a much better job of showing the party's bonds with each other than the fairyground does. (in a perfect world we would have both the fairyground and del mokahl.)
it's even little thingsss. stuff like swaine directly saying he wants to go with oliver. the tombstone trail where oliver makes friends with a ghost and cries when she disappears. it's so much more obvious that he's getting more and more attached.
and then in xanadu when they discover that mornstar's stones are scattered and they have to find them there's a TURNING POINT. where oliver steps forward and stubbornly says well i don't care that it seems almost impossible. there's a CHANCE. we can do this. think of everyone who's out there suffering we have to TRY. otherwise what was the point of everything we've done up until now? (foreshadowing for his soulsnare moment!) and he doesn't mention alicia ONCE.
in wotww the only stone guardian where you clearly help someone in need is aapep, where you help ali and yasmina break their curse. in dotdd it's all three - oliver promises to look after grey/cerboreas for his past owner, and also, um, organises a union during crossbones. it's just a lot more obvious that oliver wants to help people. he had an ulterior motive for coming here but now he genuinely wants to help and it's OBVIOUS.
and then oliver gets really fucking angry at shadar in perdida. he gets more pissed off in general in dotdd (yet another trait i wish wotww oliver had...) but specifically at shadar he starts shouting about it to the sky. he gets PISSED. it's set off by them discovering a girl who had a piece of her heart stolen by shadar due to her grandmother, on purpose. oliver shouts to the sky that he is "going to SAVE that little girl!"
even the SOULSNARE isn't only about alicia! esther and swaine get trapped in there too and oliver tries to run directly into the poison marshes HIMSELF to get them back and is only stopped by drippy who rightfully points out that he will DIE.
when he finally frees the souls in the soulsnare he has the wotww moment of "everything we've done up until now was for nothing" and then is reminded of everything they've done, and his reason for fighting CHANGES ENTIRELY!!! and it changes in wotww as well - this is the most important part of oliver's arc, after all - but in dotdd. it's already changed. they don't even need the pea montage because you already know how much oliver loves this place.
and then he SACRIFICES HIS LIFE FOR IT!!!!!!! he came here to save his mother - remember, he SAID NO when drippy asked the first time, until he learned about alicia. but he's become so attached and in love with ni no kuni that he heads into a battle he knows he's not coming back from to keep it safe. it drives me NUTS. this world isn't his own and he's killing himself for it because he adores it so much. it's [SCREAMING]
and then in wotww they get rid of almost all of this and oliver is still a fantastic fucking character. they got rid of all of his anger and most of his tears and he's still phenomenal. isn't that crazy. like dotdd oliver is superior but wotww oliver is still really good is the thing
god. anyway. this is your sign to play dotdd. please. please. please. pl
#ni no kuni#rambles#dotdd spoilers#oliver#this can go in the main tag. for funsies#GENUINELY HORRIFIED IN THAT SECOND PARAGRAPH...#i went through all the wotww arcs in my head and there's NOTHING. THERE'S NOTHING#actually there is one line of dialogue when you're talking to the xanadu ghost#where oliver goes 'shadar will pay for this >:(' with a little angry face#but he's not even that mad. they even scaled down that.#because i knowww that one line of dialogue is meant to be the fucking perdida scene#what did they do to youuuuu... oliver i'm so sorry
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youtube
Release: August 8, 1980
Lyrics:
Four o'clock, I've been walkin' all night
It's the time I always think of you
If you could only see through my eyes
Then you know just what I'm going through
Here am I, I'm taking a chance
In running around with stars in my eyes
Here am I, I'm looking for you
Wondering, why do I feel so blue
I'm dreamin', dreamin' of me and you, oh-oh
I'm dreamin', dreamin' will see me through
Never letting chances pass me by
I'm gonna dream you right into my life
Yeah, dream you right into my life
Woman you'd better believe that I'm
(Dreamin' you into my life)
Five o'clock still walking around
I call you up but you'd just bring me down
I guess you'd say I'm getting nowhere
But in my dreams you always come around
Here am I, I'm takin' a chance
I'm walking on air, flyin' so high
Here am I, facing the truth
There's no other way I'll ever make you mine
I'm dreamin'
Dreamin' of me and you, oh-oh-oh
I'm dreamin', dreamin' will see me through
Never letting chances pass me by
I'm gonna dream you right into my life
Yeah, dream you right into my life
(Dreamin' dreamin' will see me through)
Woman you'd better believe that I'm
(Dreamin' you into my life)
Woman, you've got to believe me woman
Oh woman, you've got to believe me woman
I'll be (dreamin' you into my life)
You've got to believe me woman
Songwriter:
Woman, oh woman you've got to believe me
I'll be forever (Dreamin' you into my life)
Leo Sayer / Alan Tarney
SongFacts:
"Dreamin'" ("Dreaming" in the US) is a song recorded by Cliff Richard from his 1980 album I'm No Hero. The track was the first of three singles released and the album's biggest hit. It became a top ten hit in numerous countries, including the UK and the US, where it became his third and final top ten hit.
"Dreamin'" was composed by Alan Tarney with lyrics by Leo Sayer, whose own hit, a cover of "More Than I Can Say", charted at the same time as "Dreaming" in the last four months of 1980. Richard feared that the song was too high for his range. However, Tarney told him: "It was fantastic and asked [him] to sing it in that key."
It was released with the B-side being a re-recording of "Dynamite", a song Richard had originally recorded with the Shadows in 1959 and released as the B-side of their number one hit "Travellin' Light". The re-recording was later included on Richard's 1984 album The Rock Connection due to a lack of material for that album.
Robin Smith reviewed for Record Mirror: “Golden-toed and almond-clad Cliff snorts a ginseng and climbs to another winner. Smooth as a koala bear's bum in summer and with the same listenability as 'We Don't Talk Anymore', The man who makes the EMI accounting department very happy looks set for another decade."
The release of Richard's follow-up single to I'm No Hero album "A Little in Love" was delayed by the release of his duet with Olivia Newton-John "Suddenly" from the Xanadu soundtrack.
#new#new music#my chaos radio#Cliff Richard#Dreamin'#music#spotify#youtube#hit of the day#music video#video of the day#youtube video#good music#80s#80s music#80s nostalgia#80s video#80s charts#1980#rock#rock & roll#pop rock#pop#lyrics#songfacts#806
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Tagged by @jellisdraws Thank you so much! 🥰
Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this to ask your favorite mutuals. 💛
My favourite playlist is actually my On Repeat, I tend to listen to the same 20 or so songs and the playlist just morphs very slowly 😅
One of the best music videos ever and a very deserved viral hit. Check out the lyrics! Deeply relatable to I think all of us
Another favourite video of mine (I like animation okay?), my most listened to song of 2023. 'As long as there are sheep, there won't be a lack of wool' is one of my favourite lines of anything ever
Parov Stelar is coming to Budapest this year! I hope I can go see him
Could easily be the anthem for one of my characters.
OBSESSED with this one currently. Ended up on this playlist because I once listened to it for 3 hours straight.
Tagging: @andletforsakendidodie @dramatic-dolphin @inkformyblood @jeannedarcprice @johannestevans @neatfrog @pipuhattar @rmilkies @sheyshocked
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I both sympathize with Ross and Rosemarie (to a degree) while HATEEEE them as well 😭
Like I know why they both act like this. Rosemarie was sheltered since birth and was raised to believe her parents’ manipulation + their rather recessive values. Ross was raised to be the personal yes-man of any other rich person so he can gain social mobility. Both were taught to not question anyone, to follow the words of anyone of their same or slightly higher status. No one stepped in to tell them otherwise. No one stopped their parents from ruining their lives.
But then we see them FUCK UP so badly as grown adults and it’s just like 😭😭😭 GUYS. STOP. PLEASE STOP. Ross stands aside while other people are hurt (Mainly Francis, but he also doesn’t stop Charity+Xanadu from being a shitty person towards Glaucous and other smaller offenses) even though he KNOWS it’s wrong. Rosemarie listens to most people but when she isn’t being obedient, she’s saying ALL the wrong things. She was raised to value biological family over found/adoptive family no matter what, so she’s got some weird stigma around adoption. She lets Breadon hang around because her dumbass believes him when he says that he’s only joking around with Francis, not berating him.
And they both only realize to change when it’s too late and Francis is GONE with the new family he deserved since the beginning. They fully realize their wrongs when the camel’s back was already broken. They just have to live with the fact they ruined Francis’ life, they ruined other lives by extension, and everything they did was useless and meaningless.
How much of this could have been avoided if they had better parents? Who knows. But at this point it’s impossible to shift all the blame onto the dead because these are grown ass adults, one of which DOES know better, and the other one SHOULD know better, but neither of them are until Francis is out the door.
#Francis fr breaks the cycle of abuse and tragedy and his parents never see him again. slay#I KNOW I MADE THEM BUT AHHHHH LOVE STUDYING THEM#over rainne bay
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(UN)SPOKEN
WORDS: 1511
CHARACTERS: Zenith, Dak
CONTENT WARNINGS: Very minor drug use, discussion of death
Soundtrack: driftwood - jackson scovel
You've been standing outside for at least fifteen minutes. You've been awake longer, and you keep telling yourself it was just because you needed to take a piss (the grody truck stop bathrooms make Xanadu feel close to godliness), but you're still standing here, and you're not peacefully enjoying the summer air and crickets, either. Being alone with the same thoughts that woke you from a restless sleep isn't helping.
Thing is, you risk waking up Pox or Tech on your way back in. Coupled with the fact that you feel like you might come apart at the seams at the slightest provocation, you don't trust yourself to be able to utter even a few words to them without completely unraveling.
Aaaand that’s when you hear it:
"You okay, there, Z?"
Fuck.
You look up, and, of course, who else but Dak Rambo comes sauntering out of the darkness, cat eyes glinting in the neon light from the store signage. In one hand, a joint you can smell from all the way over here sits between his fingers; the other is tucked loosely into his pocket.
"Yeah! Yeah. Hi." Everything is normal and you are not plagued by disturbingly realistic visions of merciless homicide. "Just, you know, wanted some fresh air. We should get the cabin cleaned properly at some point. No offense, but it stinks in there."
"Hey, that's just part of her character. Trust me, there's some smells in there that no amount of cleanin' is ever gonna get out."
"Gross." You laugh, but you're painfully aware of how hollow it sounds. Dak says nothing more. It's like he knows. Like he's waiting.
Well. If anyone would have an answer to something like this, it's him.
Doesn't make it an easy question to ask. The tension is palpable for the full minute you spend trying to swallow the lump in your throat before you can finally form a calm, coherent sentence.
"Dak?"
"Mm?"
"What do you do when you feel like you might hurt people you love?"
Dak stares pensively; first at you, then off into the distance. The smoke from the cigarette resting between his fingers curls upwards and around his jaw. For a split second, you can feel him teetering on the edge of vulnerability.
"I ain't done nothing but hurt people I love, Z. You're asking the wrong guy."
"C'mon, man."
"Where's this comin' from, anyway? What's got you so worried all of a sudden?"
He looks back at you, and you look away, noting the distinct dryness in your mouth as you stare down at the ground instead.
"I dunno. I was just. Thinking about it."
"About hurting us? You're not about to flip and start putting bullets in us, are you?"
"Don't. Dak. Don't." He nailed it in one and he doesn't even know it. The tears you're only barely managing to keep at bay might not be an immediate giveaway, but the tremor in your voice certainly is. You're trying, hard, so hard not to let your cool-headed veneer slip, but for all the effort, it's a battle you're losing fast.
"Hey, hey, I'm kidding, I'm kidding--"
"But what if I do?" It's supposed to be a bark, angry, aggressive, but your voice breaks mid-sentence, reducing it to a muted whine. "I keep getting these--seeing these things in my mind, where I'm doing that exact shit, and I keep asking, like: what if it actually happens? What if I lose control and someone ends up dead?"
The words just keep coming. You wish they wouldn't. An uncomfortable, anxious heat rises under your skin despite the relatively cool night, bringing with it a wave of nausea that makes you glad you haven't eaten. When you face Dak again, you deliberately blur your vision so that you don't have to see the expression on his face. He's looking at you, you think. He brings his joint to his mouth, takes a pull, exhales a billowing cloud of heady smoke.
"I don't think you're gonna kill any of us, Z."
"It's not that simple, Dak--"
"Zenith. Zenith." Dak claps a heavy hand on your shoulder, and the weight of it knocks the rest of your sentence out of your mouth. "Listen. I don't know what the hell’s going on in your head, all this 'losing control' stuff, but I know you. Just 'cause you're thinking it, doesn't mean it's gonna happen, alright? You wouldn't let anyone else hurt us, and I don't think you'd let yourself hurt us, either. And if you did, well--whatever put you into that state, we'll be right there tryin' to pull you back out."
You tentatively let your vision swim back into focus, but the moment you see the rock-solid conviction on Dak's face, tears start to blur it again. (He has faith in you, so much faith in you, not knowing what you've done, what you can do, what you might do again.) He gently pulls you forward, towards him, and you barely need the invitation; you fall face-first into his chest and sob weakly into his shirt. He smells like weed and sweat and oil and there's maybe nothing else in the world more comforting right now, save perhaps for the hand gently rubbing your back.
"Easy, now, buddy, easy," Dak murmurs softly. The depth of his voice resonates into you through his chest. You coiled your arms around him, it seems, snaked them under his jacket to cling loosely to his vest. He's probably getting ash in your hair. You don't care.
"I just don't want to lose this," you manage to croak. "Don't want to lose you. Any of you. And I don't want it to be my fault."
"Yeah. Yeah." Dak lifts his hand slightly to stroke the back of your neck. Underneath you, his chest heaves a weary sigh. "Welcome to the club."
You stay like that for a while. You don't know how long. You aren't keeping track. Dak's hand remains on your back and you're grateful for its presence, for his presence. For him. For Pox and Tech, too, hopefully both still sleeping and not silent witnesses to your little episode. You've had friends before, but not like this. Not ones you've felt so personally responsible for and not ones who you'd tell your deepest fears to in the dead of night.
Not ones you love.
"Hey." Dak nudges you gently; you open your eyes to see the stub of his cigarette smouldering on the ground by your feet. "You good there?"
"...Yeah." You don't know that that's true, but you do feel a little bit better. Just a little bit. You lift your head and straighten up, sniff, wipe the tear residue off your face. "I. Um."
"S'all good, Z." Is it? You have more you want to say to him, after the admissions he let slip. But Dak pats your cheek, almost playful, and it’s disarming enough in the moment to make you forget. "Go on back inside, now. Get some sleep."
"Uh huh." It takes several seconds for you to recollect yourself, but as you're prying the cabin door open (as quietly as possible; you'd still rather not wake the others), you pause, one foot on the step.
"Dak?"
"Yeah?"
"Love you, man."
He chuckles under his breath, and you wonder if he knows how much you mean it.
"I love you too, Z."
You crawl between the seats once you're back inside and carefully slot yourself back in place, tucked between Pox and Tech in the nest of mismatched blankets you found in the trailer. If they're awake, if they noticed you were gone, they barely show it; the only clue they give is the way they both burrow back into you, pressed close against you on either side. Sometimes it feels oppressive, but not tonight. Tonight, you're glad for the reminder that they're here, real, alive. Safe. You with them, and them with you.
Maybe Dak is right. Intrusive thoughts, as unwanted as they are, are not clairvoyance. You're not predicting the future. You're seeing glimpses of the past entangling themselves with your current state of mind. Yeah. That's it.
...That's not actually comforting.
But Tech's leg kicks against yours, and you think about holding him, bloody and unconscious in the back of the truck. Pox drapes one arm over your chest, and you feel the prickling, defensive anger rippling under your skin when you think about her dad, and how gut-wrenchingly evil he is, and how you'd love to get your hands on him and--well, this train of thought isn't exactly assuaging your fears. But there's a point to it.
If there's one thing you know for certain, beyond all else, it's that you'd fight tooth and nail to keep these people safe.
You fall asleep with Pox's hair in your face, in a cabin that smells like drugs and blood and dirt and worse, knowing you'll ache in the morning from your shitty bed setup.
You wouldn’t let anyone take this from you.
Especially not yourself.
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Tip Top Tap: Great Tap Performances in Film By Constance Cherise
In my opinion, there is no conversation surrounding classic musical tap dancing in film without including the likes of the Nicholas Brothers, Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. Over the years, there have been countless memorable dance scenes, and in compiling a list of the routines I felt were exceptional, I wanted to search further than my initial go-to's. Here, in no certain order are my not so obvious choices of remarkable classic musical tap-dancing performances.
The Nicholas Brothers: “Jumpin’ Jive” – STORMY WEATHER (‘43)
They are the incomparable Nicholas Brothers. Their bodies act like boneless structures, they leap through the air defying gravity and land in splits, consecutively. Just when you think the dance cannot get any better, they move to the next set, where the finale is literally and figuratively unbelievable. This is why Fred Astaire called this performance, “The best ever put on film.” If this is your first time seeing this sequence, I can assure you it will leave you shaking your head in pure amazement. Baryshnikov, Balanchine, Astaire and Kelly, were humble fans of the Nicholas Brothers, and all were in awe of their capabilities. Not only is this performance astonishing, according to the brothers, it was unrehearsed and executed in one take.
Judy Garland and Gene Kelly: “Barn Dance” – SUMMER STOCK (‘50)
Gene Kelly and Judy Garland...pure chemistry. This is not Kelly and Garland’s first dance number together. In fact, during their MGM career, they co-starred in THE PIRATE (’48) and FOR ME AND MY GAL (’42). Kelly is his normal effervescent self, performing his discipline in grounded masculinity. Garland, who did not arrive at MGM as a professionally trained tap dancer, matches Kelly move for move until Kelly performs his signature airplane twirl. Although Garland is the healthiest we've seen her in years at the point of this picture—as she recently completed a stent in a detoxification facility (note the measurable difference in her weight by the end of the film in the musical number “Get Happy”)—she remains as light as a feather. “Barn Dance” is a joyful, exuberant number and is reflective in the expression on their faces. SUMMER STOCK would be Garland's last film with MGM. It’s a fitting circumstance that Kelly would become Garland's final partner, as eight years earlier, Garland welcomed and mentored Kelly in his first film, FOR ME AND MY GAL, a facet of their friendship he would always remember.
Gene Kelly: “I Like Myself” – IT’S ALWAYS FAIR WEATHER (‘55)
As if his SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN (‘52) icon status, Hollywood good looks, voice and choreography skills weren't enough, Gene Kelly performs in a pair of roller skates in IT'S ALWAYS FAIR WEATHER (‘55) and once again proves his genius. But, he doesn’t just roller skate. He performs with the precision and grace of a professional ice skater. No stunt doubles here, this is all Kelly (he did the majority of his own stunts). His performance is flawlessly intricate, and for Kelly, it seems as natural as walking. When he breaks into tap dancing, performing time steps and heel clicks, you start to wonder what can't he do? Twenty-five years later and with just as much stability, he would once again don a pair of skates while performing in the cult classic fantasy film XANADU (‘80).
Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly: “The Babbitt and the Bromide” – ZIEGFELD FOLLIES (‘45)
This is the first time Kelly and Astaire dance together on film (they would not dance together again until THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT, PART II, [‘76]). It is a clever vaudevillian-style number, allowing exactly enough time to showcase each performer's attributes, amusingly injecting instigation, to highlight their professional rivalry, concluding in an energetic finale. It is an excellent visual example of distinguishing their unique technique. Each is certainly at their best given their status and subsequent comparison. However, those who are true classic musical fans understand Kelly and Astaire cannot be compared. Although their dance styles are different, they are also equally extraordinary. Kelly's athleticism in juxtaposition to Astaire’s delicacy is perfectly matched.
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers: “I’ll Be Hard to Handle” – ROBERTA (‘35)
The pairing of Astaire and Rogers was destiny. This particular number was performed live: live music, live tap dancing, with no cuts and done in one take. If you listen closely, you can even hear Rogers’ giggle. It seems as if they casually blend into the dance, but of course we know this is not the case. At times, their movements are deliberately delayed and at others, they are kinetic. Midway, the two have an argumentative exchange exclusively through tap dancing. Rogers echoes Astaire tap for tap and their symbiosis is apparent. It is a lighthearted and carefree number, and as with all Rogers and Astaire performances, absolutely delightful.
Bill “Bojangles” Robinson: Stair Dance
Best known for his successful pairings with Shirley Temple, of which both were sincerely fond of each other, here he performs his famous stair dance. Bill “Bojangles” Robinson honed his craft from childhood, which eventually led him to become one of the first African American’s to appear in vaudeville without blackface and as a solo performer. Here, he uses his hands and his feet before climbing the steps, as if testing them to see if they are worthy enough to withstand his elegantly polished footwork. He continues to elaborate each pattern in growing confidence. His feet remain low, and at times it seems that he is standing still. Every tap is clean and sharp as each stair resonates with a different note. Robinson's genius is in creating a performance that is technically complex and elaborate, that appears as if it were commonly effortless.
#Tap dancing#old hollywood#classic film#musicals#nicholas brothers#Gene Kelly#Judy Garland#Fred Astaire#Ginger Rogers#Bill Bojangles Robinson#TCM#Turner Classic Movies#Constance Cherise
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I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 7
Word Count: 11,458
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)
Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent
Notes: I’m sorry! Just it’s really sad, so I’m sorry. There’s some cute fluff in there, but it’s still really really really sad.
If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM
You can also read this chapter on AO3 here
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Damian hesitated outside of the small shop Victor had directed him to as Madame Xanadu’s storefront and home. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting to happen in there, but he was nervous all the same. This woman knew secrets that Victor and his father had been unwilling to share. His father had said there was no point in burdening his heart and Victor had simply said it was not his secret to share.
So that was how he ended up making his way into the lower levels of the city with Victor just behind him.
“You do not have to do this,” the guard told him, looking at him from his post near the door. “Your father is not wrong. You do not need this burden.”
“And what would you do in my place?”
Victor was silent for a beat before sighing, nodding his head in agreement. “I, too, would want to know. But knowing what the truth is, I would also wish I didn’t.”
“You are entirely unhelpful.” Victor shrugged before reaching out and opening the door for Damian, taking the decision out of his hands. With a glare and then a sigh, Damian slipped into the shop and straightened his spine in preparation.
“Your Highness,” a gentle voice greeted him. Turning he spotted the woman with pale skin and kind eyes. “I did wonder when you would make your way to me. I could not see that future very clearly. But at this time, it does make sense.”
Damian considered her closely, frowning at her words. She didn’t look exactly like he had imagined, but he wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting to begin with. He could feel the power coming off of her though and wondered if everyone could feel how strongly it resonated with her. Glancing around the room, he took in the various potions and vials. There an entire wall covered with powers and other items, that he assumed she used to make her goods. A small portion of wall was comprised of books and Damian was curious what was written within their leather bounds.
“Have you come to me for a reason, Your Highness?”
Clearing his throat, Damian pulled his eyes away from her belongings to look at her again. “Yes, I have come to discuss my father.”
“Hmm,” Xanadu hummed, nodding sadly. “The country will be in heavy mourning sooner rather than later.” Damian’s jaw clenched. He knew that, but no one had been willing to say it up until now. His grandfather had been silent on all of it and the doctors had tried to give them hope. But Damian knew the truth. He had been watching it happen for years.
“It is a broken heart, isn’t it?” The woman hummed again, and Damian felt as though a hand had gripped his heart. “Ever since that day, he seemed to be only a shade of the man he was with Ser Jason. He did try so hard to keep it hidden. To remain strong. Those nights we sat together were not enough to quell his pain.”
“It never is,” she confirmed. And Damian had figured. Though he had never addressed the man as such, he had always thought of him as another father. And it had been difficult to light his pyre and mourn him. To this day, his heart still ached with that loss. But he knew it was so much more painful for his father. Damian had never known that kind of love, not yet at least, but he had seen its rarity and beauty through the two of them. “But this is not why you have come to see me, is it Your Highness?”
“It is not,” he confirmed. “Do you have somewhere more private we can discuss this? Or is it safe here?” She tilted her head and he waited, watching her watch him. Then she waved him forward and he followed her through a curtain covered doorway into a back room.
The first thing he noticed was the smell of fresh rain. It was so striking and so surprising, it made him pause. It was all he smelled despite the two separate tables covered with various substances and mixing bowls. The next thing he noticed was the fact that he could no longer hear the outside world. It was silent.
“An enchantment,” Madame Xanadu explained when he turned questioning eyes onto her. “The scent can be too strong most of the time and the sounds distracting. No one can hear us either. So, you may speak freely here.” She gestured to a stool as she sat on another one. He nodded and took a seat, back ramrod straight as he steeled himself. “Now, what is it you wish to know?”
Taking a deep breath, Damian let it out slowly. “My mother,” he started, watching her closely. “She had a part in Ser Jason’s death.” The woman only nodded. “Did you?”
“No,” she said simply.
“But you knew of her involvement in his death?”
“Not until after it had happened. She went outside of our city in order to seek the help she needed. I do not have the kind of power required and none, including myself, in Gotham who do would have done what she wanted.”
Damian considered that a positive at least. His father and Ser Jason were at least loved enough to inspire that kind of loyalty.
“And before you ask, Your Highness, I do not know who she got to do her bidding. I would have told your father if I had. They, too, should be brought to justice.” Sighing, Damian slouched slightly in defeat. He thought maybe he could make something right in a situation where he had no control. “Do you want to know the whole story of your mother’s deeds?”
“I do, if you would be willing to tell me.” The woman regarded him for a moment before nodding and gesturing for Damian to sit on one of the stools. Once he was comfortable as he could be, she went to her table and began sorting through some dried plants.
“Your mother came to me when you were about the age of eleven,” she talked as she worked with her items and Damian’s eyes tracked her movements with thinly veiled curiosity. “Though disguised, I am skilled at the art of aura reading and hers was always quite…demanding, I suppose you could say.” That seemed about right. The woman had been known for her headstrong nature. “But I played her game and listened to her woes.
“She spun a tale of a man she wed and gave an heir, a man she had fallen in love with but who had not fallen in love with her. She made mention of a man her husband loved but could not be with for family and duty. She said she knew her husband could love her if only this man were not around. That was when I told her I would not kill for her, no matter what she paid me, and she asked for a compromise. She asked for a curse that would destine them to always be within reach of the other, but never be allowed to really be with one another.”
Damian gripped the edge of the seat he was on and clenched his jaw. He knew his mother was mean spirited, but he had never known her to be outright cruel. She had asked to strip two men who loved each other of the chance to love each other freely and wholly. “And you did what she asked?”
“I did,” she looked up at Damian with a sad nod. “I did because I knew she was desperate enough to go to another if I did not.” His shoulders lowered as he sighed and nodded. She certainly would have. “I gave her what she wanted with a stipulation attached to it.” Straightening his spine back up, Damian held his breath. This sounded like hope.
“I told her I would make the curse for her but should one of them fall before the age of ten and six that the curse would be broken and they would be reunited.”
Furrowing his brow, Damian tried to decipher that. “Reunited as in the next life?”
“That is not for me to say.”
“But you do know?”
“I do,” she confirmed. “But as I told your father, they have many lifetimes of suffering between them before they will finally be allowed to be together. From that day and all lifetimes after it.” It was a minor comfort to know she had at least seen it. He was sure his father had felt the same. “I did do your father a favor when I told him of his wife’s hand in his lover’s death. I gave him a potion to take that would separate the thread between him and your mother until the lifetime they are to be reunited.”
“And he took it.” It wasn’t a question. Damian knew there would be no chance his father would not want his former wife’s presence gone from his world for as long as possible. But that left his existence in question then. “What does that mean for me?”
Xanadu didn’t answer immediately. Instead she placed her various plants she had been grinding down into a fine powder into a vial before adding some liquid to it and stirring it together, whispering words that seemed to ignite whatever was in there and turned the liquid from clear to blood red.
“For you, my future king,” she said as she capped the vial with a small cork, “it means that you will not be of his blood. But your presence is in as many of his lives that I have been given insight to.” She rounded the table and Damian slipped off the stool to stand when she stopped in front of him.
“Will they remember? Will any of us remember?”
“To an extent all of you mortals remember your previous lives. Perhaps not always evident, but they linger just below the surface of your minds.” The act of keeping herself out of the “mortals” comment did not surpass him, but he knew better than to question. Instead, he thought about the pain his father and Ser Jason were to face with lifetimes of loving each other but not being able to be with one another.
“Can you make us forget? Can you spare them the pain that would come with the curse?” He questioned her, though part of him wondered if she already knew he was going to ask. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you require. Please do not make them carry that pain into each life.”
She held out the vial of blood red liquid and Damian hesitated a moment before he took it into his palm. It was warm to the touch and the power within the glass made him clench his jaw. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew this was the answer he sought.
“Your payment?”
Holding up a hand, Madame Xanadu shook her head. “I require nothing. But be sure you give this to him before you are crowned. I do not know how much longer he will be with us.”
Clenching his hand around the vial, Damian gave her a bow. “Thank you.” Her soft laughter caused him to jerk upright in surprise.
“I apologize, Your Highness. I just see so much of your father in you. Bowing to a lowly healer, imagine.” She chuckled as she moved toward the entrance that would take them back out to the main shop and Damian followed. “Before you are crowned, do not forget.” He gave a nod as they stepped into the main room and toward the exit where he knew Ser Victor would be waiting.
“Thank you for telling me, Madame. You owe me nothing, but now I owe you much. Please call on me should you find yourself in need of my service.” He gave another bow, much to her apparent amusement, before stepping out of the store. “Come, Ser Victor. I desire some tea with Father.”
The soldier looked at the prince before looking back to the shop in confusion. Damian raised a brow in question and watched as the man shrugged and gestured for Damian to lead the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Richard, honestly,” Damian could hear his Uncle Timothy berating his father on the other side of the room, but he tried to block the two men out as he continued to run his quill across the parchment. He had started and stopped the letter to Jon far too many times now and had decided to simply write whatever came to mind and hope that it made sense to the other man.
He had been putting off requesting the other man’s presence since finding out about his father’s illness, but he wanted the older man there when he was crowned in less than a week’s time.
“Nephew, please. I require your assistance…” His uncle’s voice came closer until he was standing beside where Damian was seated. When his words trailed off, Damian glanced up and found the man’s blue eyes on the letter.
“What do you require of me, Uncle?” Damian asked, not bothering to hide the contents of the letter. He did not for a moment think his uncle wasn’t aware of Jon’s feelings and what had transpired between them when Jon had shown up before abruptly leaving the same day.
The man looked at him with a sort of understanding in his eyes and Damian held his breath for a moment. “He will not hesitate to come once you ask him to. But I do not know that he will make it in time for the crowing, Nephew. Not if your rider does not wear his horse out.”
Damian nodded, knowing the rider needed to leave soon if there were to be any hope, but he didn’t say anything.
“Now, I cannot for the life of me get your father to eat.” Damian frowned and looked over at the man. His father was wrapped in a warm blanket despite the warm early summer day and him being on the window seat, basking in the sunlight. “No matter what I try, he tells me he is not hungry. I do not think he has eaten since yesterday morning.”
“No, he probably hasn’t,” Damian spoke softly. “And I do not know that I will be able to influence him any more than you can, Uncle. But I shall try. Might I finish this letter first?” His uncle smiled and squeezed his shoulder before walking back over to where the king was seated.
Damian watched them for a moment longer before turning back to finish the letter begging Jon to come. Father is sick and I am to be crowned early and would like you there scrawled across the page, conveying his pain and desperate need for his best friend. He did not mention the change of law his father had done for them or the fact that he had figured out his own feelings for the man. He simply requested his presence in one of the most painful and trying times of his life.
“I shall be back in a moment,” Damian called to the two men, who nodded in response, before hurrying out of the room to find his usual rider. He spoke quickly with the man and requested he take the fastest horse, even if it were one of Damian’s or the king’s. The man agreed and accepted the letter before turning to head back to the study where his uncle and father waited.
“Your Highness!” Frowning, Damian turned to see his rider rushing back toward him with someone just behind him. “Perhaps you might give the letter to Prince Jon yourself,” the rider teased, handing the letter back just as Damian realized it was Jon who was there.
He stood frozen with the letter in hand as his rider made his exit and Jon closed the remaining distance between them. There were no words, no vocal greeting, and no warning before Jon was engulfing him in a tight embrace. Damian didn’t hesitate in returning the embrace, sinking into the familiar feel of Jon’s lithe form and the familiarity of his scent. He took the comfort he didn’t allow others to give him.
The silence stretched between them but felt comfortable and familiar.
But eventually Damian’s sense of duty took over and he pulled back to look at Jon. Though having hit his final growth spurt and gaining his final inches that put him above his father’s height and just below his grandfather’s, Damian found he still had to look up at Jon.
“What…how…?” Damian tried to think of the right question, but he wasn’t sure what he was trying to ask.
“Your father wrote to me,” Jon told him, placing a hand on Damian’s cheek. Damian’s eyes slipped shut at the feel of his thumb brushing against his cheekbone. How had he never noticed this…this energy between them? How had he never felt this charge to his heart that felt so familiar? Had he been feeling it all this time without realizing? Perhaps that was why it didn’t surprise him. “Damian…” Blinking his eyes open, he looked up to see the sadness he felt reflected in Jon’s eyes.
Raising his hand and gripping Jon’s wrist, Damian turned his face and kissed the inside of Jon’s wrist. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered against the delicate skin there. Turning to look back at Jon, he smiled softly at the look of shock that had taken over his features. “The rider who led you here was on his way to deliver you a letter,” Damian told him, holding up the parchment folded and sealed with his personal seal and green wax. “We have much to talk about, but it was I who required your strength this time.”
“You have it,” Jon said immediately, no hesitation as his eyes searched Damian’s. And Damian knew he was probably desperate for answers, but he also knew he needed to get back to his father and uncle before his uncle came searching for him.
“I need to return to my father and our uncle. Will you join us? Perhaps your presence will do him some good.” Jon nodded but Damian could see the question in his eyes. “After…we will talk. I promise.” Though it wasn’t much, it appeared to be enough for Jon. Sighing, Damian pulled Jon’s hand away from his face and laced their fingers together before leading them back to the study where the other two men were waiting.
“Jon!” His father called out as soon as they stepped into the room. Damian watched his uncle rush to help his brother stand to greet the prince but Jon released Damian’s hand and rushed forward.
“Please, Your Majesty,” he chided the older man, pushing him to sit back down. The king laughed softly but followed the silent command.
“Nephew,” Damian’s uncle greeted Jon with a hug before sending Damian an amused look. “That letter worked more quickly than I thought it would,” the man teased Damian and Jon let out a laugh of his own when he glanced over at the other prince.
“Yes, well,” Damian cleared his throat and moved over to his father’s side. “I am famished. Shall we call for lunch?” He gave his father a look that was met with amused annoyance, but a nod.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Thank you,” Damian said quietly to the servant who had brought the tray with tea for himself and Jon to share while they had the talk Damian had promised they would.
“Do you require anything else, Your Highness?” Damian glanced at Jon who was seated across from him in the study. The man smiled but shook his head.
Damian looked back to the woman and shook his head as well. “Please tell Ser Kyle not to allow anyone to disturb us unless it is about Father.” The woman looked at him sadly, but nodded her head before bowing and exiting the room. He kept his eyes on the door for a moment before leaning back in his chair with a sigh and looking toward Jon. He wasn’t surprised to find the prince regarding him closely, but he didn’t have the energy to try and discern what exactly the man was thinking. “I am glad you have come,” he broke the silence.
“I would have rushed if your letter had been the first to reach me, to be sure I arrived in time.” And Damian knew he would have. It was why he had written to begin with. Damian would have done the same, had done the same. “I find myself unable to say no to you most of the time.”
“I can say the same in regard to you,” Damian admitted, a small smile slipping into place. “I can say much of the same things you seem to be able to say about me.” Jon’s eyebrow raised and a curious look took over his features, but he remained silent. It was as if he knew Damian needed to be able to get this out in his own time. “I should have sent word to you the day you left. I should have called you back then, once I had come to understand what it was I felt toward you.” Perhaps then he wouldn’t have felt so alone when he learned it was only a matter of time before he lost his father.
He watched Jon lean forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. Damian tracked the movement with interest. “And what have you come to understand?”
“That you are the very air I breathe,” he spoke softly, but with surety. This was his moment to prove to Jon that it wasn’t a passing fancy and that no one had influenced him to feel this way. That he was being more honest and open than he had ever allowed himself to be. “That the mere thought of you looking at someone else the way you look at me would be as painful as if you were to steal my heart from my chest. I do not know how I missed it and I cannot for the life of me figure out for how long I have been blind to that…look upon your face.” He watched Jon’s smile grow, a laugh slipping easily from his lips and Damian felt his own smile grow to match it.
Sitting up straighter, he looked at Jon earnestly. “I am in love with you Prince Jon of House Kent. I am in love with you and would be foolish to allow you to ever think I am anything less then completely lost without you.” And though he saw it coming in the tensing of his body, Damian still allowed himself to be somewhat surprised to have Jon pushed out of his seat and pull Damian out of his. There was a split-second moment where Jon smiled down at him, open and happy, before he pressed his lips to Damian’s.
And though there was so much going on in his world, he allowed Jon to pull him into this moment of oblivion. He allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of Jon’s soft lips and warm body pressed against him. He allowed himself to enjoy the shiver of excitement he felt at the feel of Jon’s hand gripping the small hairs at the back of his neck. He let his own hands grip Jon’s hips, pulling him even closer.
“I didn’t want to hope,” Jon whispered, pulling back just enough for them to breathe and look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t dare hope you would come to this conclusion because I did not think I could survive it if you didn’t.”
Damian raised one of his hands and brushed his fingers along Jon’s cheek before letting his hand cup the side of his face gently. “How could I feel anything else? How could I do anything but love the one person who is not obligated to love me, but does so freely and willingly?” Jon’s eyes turned watery and his laugh was enough to send Damian’s stomach tumbling and a terrible fluttering to overtake his chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damian remained still while Stu finished the final alterations to the royal robes and just watched the man work. He listened to him go on about his grandchildren and how he was fairly sure this would be his final crowning ceremony he worked on because his old bones ached. Damian laughed and told the man he would outlive them all, but the older man just waved off the words and gathered up his things to put back into his case.
“I do believe my work is done,” the man said, looking over his work with a nod. “You will make a wonderful king, Your Highness.” Damian looked at himself in the looking glass and swallowed down the tears that tried to push forward. “I do wish it were under better circumstances, but I am certain he has no doubts about what great things you shall accomplish.”
Looking down at the man, Damian gave a weak smile. “Thank you,” voice hoarse and tight. The older man just smiled, gave his cheek a pat and grabbed his things. Soon enough Damian found himself alone in the room just off the main hall where the ceremony would be taking place. He could hear the servants bustling about the halls as they prepared for tomorrow and all Damian wanted to do was curl up in his father’s bed and give into the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.
“Look at you,” a voice broke through his inner turmoil and Damian turned quickly to find his father in the doorway. He was surprised at how healthy the older man looked, but Damian wasn’t fooled. He knew Madame Xanadu had visited him the day before. He knew the healer had probably given him something to help him get through the next few days. “I thought we might have a talk since neither of us is needed elsewhere until dinner.”
Nodding, Damian moved over to sit on the plush bench in the room. He watched his father shut the door behind him and move over to sit down next to him with a tired smile. Whatever the woman had done for his father might have those who did not know him fooled, but the rest of them could tell. They could see the weariness and pain in his eyes. The pinched look of his smile that was usually so open and bright. He was a fraction of the man he used to be, the man Damian worshiped and strove so hard to be like. The best kind of man that he could only hope to make proud one day.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” His father questioned, watching him closely as he always did when he wanted to be sure Damian was telling him the truth.
But Damian didn’t need to lie about this. “No, I have spent too many years with this as my goal.” That seemed to shift something in his father’s eyes and Damian wished he had chosen his words more carefully. “I only mean to say that Mother was so focused on preparing me for the crown it would be surprising if I felt unprepared to take the throne. So no, I am not nervous to be crowned.”
“I sense a but coming.”
“But I am nervous to not have you here to look to when I am faced with something I am not certain how to handle. Father,” Damian leaned forward and gripped the older man’s hands and looking him straight in the eye, “is there nothing to be done? I know Madame Xanadu called upon you yesterday. Surely there must be something she can do. All that power and she cannot find a way to heal you?”
The king remained silent for a few moments before sighing and Damian knew. He just knew he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “I do not want her to,” his father admitted, and Damian pulled his hands away as if he had been burned. “Please do not be angry with me, My Son. I couldn’t stand that.”
“Then why? Why would you be perfectly fine with leaving your family behind before your time? How can you be okay leaving me behind?”
“Because I know you will be okay.” Damian shook his head as tears burned his eyes. Tears he had only allowed to fall a small handful of times in the private company of his father or Jon. No one else had been allowed to see them fall thus far. “I am broken, Damian. I have been for some years now. Even before I lost your father. I tried to shield you from so much and there is much you have no inkling of that has done nothing but worn me down over the years. When Jason was here, I had someone to share those…woes with. But since he has been gone, I have not wanted to burden anyone with that weight.”
“But it would not be a burden for your family. Please, Father,” Damian begged. He closed his eyes when one of the king’s hands came up and cupped his cheek. “Please.”
“I would stay for you if you asked it of me and truly meant it.” Damian’s eyes snapped open and his brow furrowed. Was that not what he was currently asking his father? Was that not exactly what he had been saying? “You do not mean it. I know you think you do, but I know your heart. I know you would regret asking this of me in a few years’ time and that guilt would eat away at you.”
Damian didn’t say anything, but he processed what his father was saying. Would he feel that way? Would he feel guilty for asking the man to stay just so he would have him around? But that just spurned more questions. Did his father not deserve to rest? Did he not deserve to have the weight of all he had endured over his lifetime lifted so he might start anew?
“I see the truth in your eyes.”
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Damian blinked back the tears that still threatened to fall. “Do you know when? Do you know how soon you will leave us?”
He couldn’t bring himself to look at his father when the man sighed and let his hand slip away from Damian’s cheek. “I do know, and I will not tell you. I do not want you focused on that. I want you to enjoy what we have remaining.”
That was fair. Even Damian knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else if he knew.
“I know it is not fair,” his father spoke softly, and Damian was surprised to see tears brimming his father’s eyes. “But I am glad to leave you with someone like Jon to love you. I am glad I was able to remove the obstacle keeping you from being with him. And all future rulers, whoever they may be.”
Leaning forward, Damian embraced his father tightly and closed his eyes tightly. “Thank you for being the best man I have ever known. Thank you for protecting me and loving me as you have. I can only hope that my children will feel as loved as you always allowed me to feel.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had never noticed the intricate details carved into the wood of the doors to the grand ballroom where his crowning was about to take place. Dragons and knights, crowns and scepters all seamlessly coming together as they surrounded the crest of Gotham. He wasn’t sure how he had never noticed it, but it was hard to miss as he stood waiting for his entrance to be announced to the full room. A room filled with royals, commoners, and everything in between. And the courtyard of the castle was filled with even more, the sounds of them excitedly waiting for him to step out to greet them as their king. His father had made a passing comment about how he was fairly certain Damian had drawn a larger crowd than Richard himself.
Damian didn’t believe that for a moment, but he appreciated the effort.
“It is time, Your Highness,” Ser Kyle said as he came up beside the prince. Damian looked over at him and nodded. “Good luck.” And with that the two doors were opened to reveal the inside of the ballroom.
“His Highness, Crown Prince Damian Wayne of Gotham,” the Herald called out as Damian steadily made his way down the center aisle of the room with his head held high. He made eye contact with a few familiar faces before his eyes landed on Jon, who was beaming from his spot next to his father, the former king of Metropolis. With a slight quirk of his lip, Damian turned his eyes to the two people waiting him at the top of the small set of steps that led to the rostrum.
The Archbishop stood with his hands clasped in front of his familiar gold and white robes, embroidery of Wayne blue making intricate patterns along the thick material. The man was one Damian had been familiar with since he had been the one who had crowned his father and grandfather. And Damian knew this would likely be his final coronation.
Next to him, his father stood in his royal robes that were not so dissimilar to the ones Damian wore currently. Though his black and blue were a contrast to Damian’s chosen green and black. The wink of red clasping both of their cloaks in place at the base of their throats was a decision made just between the two of them. A nod to the man who should be there with them but was taken from them. Damian let his eyes slide up to the crown adorning his father’s head that would soon be resting on his own head and steeled his spine.
He came to a stop at the foot of the steps that would take him up to where the two men stood with the all too familiar throne between them. The throne that, like the crown on his father’s head, would soon be his. Though, thankfully, not something he would have to sit on all that often. Only for ceremonial and formal affairs, two things that happened particularly sparingly in their kingdom since his father had taken the crown. From what his father and most of the others said, his grandfather had been much more formal with his proceedings. Damian was not yet sure where he would fall on that scale. He could see the appeal in formalities, but he also enjoyed the more friendly state of things he had experienced over his eighteen years.
“Prince Damian, please join us,” the Archbishop said as Damian gave the formal bow of respect. He took the stairs on steady feet and head held high. He could see the look of pride on his father’s face and it just steadied his resolve even more. “Please place your hand on the Book of the Law of Old.” Raising his right hand, Damian set it carefully on the book of the original laws of their people. Recite after me.” And so he did. He repeated the promise to protect the people as though they were his own blood. He repeated that he would be just and rule with the knowledge that the entire kingdom was important and not just the ones who could contribute. He promised to care for the elderly and raise up the poor. He promised to follow the laws laid down by the rulers before him. And lastly, he promised to put Gotham before his own pride always.
“Damian of House Wayne,” his father said in a strong voice, “I grant you this crown before your time as my own time has come to pass. I bestow upon you the faith of the people and the love of the kingdom. I crown you in good faith that you are the rightful ruler of the people and will love them above all else.” Damian looked at his father with a nod before turning to face the crowd that was watching them. He sat down on the throne and waited for his father to place the crown upon his head.
“I, Damian of House Wayne, accept this burden and promise to wield my power justly and wisely. I thank the people for trusting me with this crown and acknowledge that they are the true power in this kingdom,” he spoke calmly, letting his voice carry. He watched his father descend the stairs and join the rest of his family.
“All hail Damian, King of Gotham!” His father called out, smile wider and brighter than Damian had seen in a long time. The rest of the crowd followed suit and called out the hail, but his eyes remained on his father.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His room was dark and silent when his eyes opened, unsure of what had startled him into waking. But there was something, an irritation on his mind that demanded his attention. Sitting up, Damian tossed the thin sheet covering him to the side and turn to allow his legs to hang over the side of the bed. Scanning the room, he couldn’t find anything that would have caused him to awaken.
But he knew there was a reason. He knew it.
So he slipped out of the bed and grabbed his robe, wrapping it around himself and making his way over to his door. With a firm tug, he pulled it open and was surprised to find Ser Kyle there with his hand raised to knock.
“Ser Kyle!” Damian exclaimed, sounding as surprised as he was sure he looked.
“Your Majesty, your father is calling for you.” His tone was grave, full of sorrow and Damian hated it. He hated that he knew exactly why his father would summon him in the middle of the night. But he also knew this was exactly why he had awoken. He was to get his final goodbye. “Your Majesty?”
Swallowing, Damian gave a nod of his head and followed the knight through the halls toward his father’s rooms. They had moved the man from the King Chambers the day before the coronation despite Damian having told them it was unnecessary. But his father had only laughed at him and told the staff to continue on.
“You are to be king, you must uphold tradition and move into the King’s Chambers. I will not hear otherwise. And neither will your grandfather and we all know how he can be about tradition.” His father had whispered the last part to him, but the effect was ruined with the laughter in his voice. And though Damian knew he meant what he said, he also knew his father did not want to die in those rooms. He would be selfless enough to not ruin Damian’s future room with his death.
And Damian had appreciated that.
“Will you inform Prince Jon,” Damian requested when they had reached his father’s room. The knight looked uncertain but gave a nod. “Tell him to remain where he is, but inform him of what is happening.” With a bow, Ser Kyle gave him one last look of sympathy before he turned and headed toward the guest rooms where Jon and his father were staying.
Taking a deep breath, Damian gave a gentle knock to the door as he pushed it open and slipped inside. He took in the sight of Healer Thompkins as she spoke softly to his father, but her lack of equipment just served to confirm his suspicions.
This was the night he would lose his final parent.
“Your Majesty,” the healer greeted him softly, bowing as well as her older body allowed before straightening and moving forward to his side. “I can see in your eyes that you understand why you have been summoned in the middle of the night.”
Damian nodded.
“I do not know how much longer, but he is certain it is to be soon.” The tears burned his eyes and he welcomed them like an old friend. “I am sorry I could not prevent this from happening, My King.”
Damian shook his head and took a deep breath. “He wouldn’t have allowed it,” he spoke softly, glancing over at his father who was watching the exchange from his place on the bed. “This was his wish.” The woman gave him a sad smile and nodded. “Thank you for caring for him as well as he allowed.”
The woman gave another bow before she glanced back over to the former king and then headed for the door. Damian waited for the click of the door closing to sound before he closed the remaining distance between himself and the bed where his father laid.
“My Son,” his father’s voice sounded weak, as though it had been unused for quite some time. It was a stark contrast to how it sounded just at dinner earlier in the evening. The former king offered up a hand and Damian immediately latched onto it with both of his as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I do not have much left to say to you except that I am so very proud of the man I see in you.” He watched his father take a few stuttering breaths and Damian clung to his hand more tightly, silently willing the older body to take strength from his younger one. A few beats passed before it looked like his father would be able to speak again, but he remained silent and simply smiled at Damian.
Damian didn’t deny the tears that came forward, not this time. There was no reason to hide them, no reason to be strong in this moment. So he let them fall with a quiet sob as his chin dropped to his chest. Saying goodbye to Ser Jason had been hard, but he had already died. He had never thought about how it would be to watch the life of someone he loved slipping away from them with each passing moment. And now that he was facing one of those moments, he wasn’t sure he could actually watch it happen. His entire body begged for him to flee, to run away and not stop until this moment could no longer haunt him. But his heart told him he would suffer this a thousand times over because it was his father. It was the one man who had always done everything he possibly could for Damian. The one man who had put him above all others and never expected him to be more than he was and loved him as he was.
And now he was expected to go on without that love in his life. He was expected to just move forward and be the king the country needed when he just wanted to be an eighteen-year-old who needed his father.
“Please Father,” he sobbed, falling forward so that his forehead was pressed into the older man’s ribs. “I am not ready to say goodbye. I have not…please…” He begged, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was begging for. Because he knew he had relented to his father’s wishes of this being his time to go, but he still found himself unable to say that final goodbye.
Damian turned his face to looked at the man when a hand fell heavy onto his head. “You are more than what she wanted you to be, Damian. Do not ever forget that we choose who we are to be.” Damian nodded through his tears, his cheek rubbing against the sheet covering his father’s body. “Be strong and just like your father but remember to love those around you even when they seem to fall short.”
“I will. I will strive to be like you. To be kind and generous.”
“Strive to be like you, My Son. Be who you are in your heart. I would not leave if I thought you were not perfect just as you are.” Damian wanted to argue, but he remained silent. He was not his father, but he could strive to be no matter what the older man was saying. “Marry Jon, okay? Do not wait, do not hesitate. Give him the ring in the top left drawer of my desk in my study. It was one I gave your father many years ago even though we were not as fortunate as you. To be able to be with the one you love. Do what I could not.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I love you more than words could ever say. Remember that in the remainder of this life and all the ones to follow.”
Turning his head to bury his face in his father’s side again, Damian’s sobs came out in gasping breaths. “I love you,” he cried into the sheet. “I love you so much.” He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how else to vocalize his devotion to the older man. The man who had given everything to make sure Damian grew into a good person. Who had sacrificed his own happiness for so many others. The man who had changed so many lives at the sake of his own. “Tell Father I love him as well,” he whispered, turning to look at the man, but finding his eyes closed.
Pushing up, Damian looked down at the man and took in the stillness of his body. He looked where the hand that had been resting on his head had fallen onto his father’s chest and noticed the lack of rise and fall.
“Be at peace,” he choked out, dropping his chin to his chest again as the tears came in earnest once again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jon’s presence just behind his right shoulder was solid and steady, something Damian appreciated greatly in the moment because he was certain he would have collapsed already without it. The crowd that had gathered for his father’s pyre was no surprising in the least and far larger than the one they had done for Ser Jason. Not because his father was more loved, but because he was a great king and news of his death had drawn in villagers from all over the kingdom.
“How am I to address these people here?” He asked Jon quietly, glancing at the man briefly before looking back out to the crowd. The Archbishop was giving his blessing over the body before it was time for Damian to speak and light the pyre. But he had no idea what to say.
“Just say what is in your heart, Love.” Just like that. Such a simple concept but his heart was too heavy for simple. “They are hurting, and they just want to hear that their emotions are valid. You are their king, but they all understand that you were also a son.” Glancing over at Jon, Damian furrowed his brows, but Jon just raised a hand and let it fall heavy, comforting, onto the back of Damian’s neck.
“Grandson,” his grandfather’s bulking form came up beside him. “I can make the speech if you need.” It was the out he craved, the excuse to keep his grief quiet and only shown to those who knew him best. But he could hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind that this ceremony was not about his grief. That he would have the raising of the effigy with just the family for that. This ceremony and the Feast were about the people.
“No,” Damian looked over at the older man. “It is my duty, and he would not want me to turn my back on the people.” His grandfather regarded him carefully before giving a nod and stepping back over to where Selina and the other members of the family were standing. He could see his uncle watching him, eyes sad in a way Damian had never seen. But Damian couldn’t focus on that right then. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had to focus on putting the hearts of the people at ease when his own heart was in turmoil.
With a glance from the Archbishop, Damian gave a bow of his head in respect before he stepped forward. The movement pulled Jon’s hand away from his nape and Damian immediately missed the comforting warmth of it, but instead of rushing back like he wanted to he pushed forward. He could do this and then Jon would be there at the end.
Stepping onto the raised platform, Damian looked around at the faces of the people who had gathered. As far as he could see, in every possible space between here and the walls, there were people who had loved his father. People who had known him for the good man he was, the kind and giving king. The man who had loved his people enough to walk among them as if it were nothing. The man who had raised his son to regard the people in the same manner.
Glancing back at Jon, he clenched his jaw when the man simply held a hand over his heart and gave him a nod. But he still had no idea what that meant. Turning back to look at the expectant faces below him, Damian shook his head. “I have not a single idea of what to say to all of you who have gathered here. I am not eloquent like my father was and I am not experienced the way my grandfather is. I wish I could say beautiful words that would warm you in this cold time, but I do not know them,” he admitted, his voice carrying over the crowd as they stood silent. He could see the looks of confusion, but there were also looks of understanding. And he could latch onto those. “My father was the best man any of us have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was kind and he was generous, but more than that he was love. And he had so much love to give. Not just to me or the others in our family, but to each of you as well.
“I cannot convey how much he cared for each and every one of the citizens under his rule. He sacrificed so much so that he could be the ruler you, the people, needed. Most of all, he gave to everyone without expecting the same in return,” Damian swallowed, taking a split second to push back the tears that were trying to force their way out. “The loss we have suffered is great. And I know it might seem like things will never be the same or that we have lost…some of the color in the world, but we will recover.” He lifted his chin and took a deep breath.
Reaching for the torch that Ser Roy held in hand, Damian stepped up to his father’s body and looked at the familiar face. “We can never replace someone like Richard of House Wayne, there is no one else who can come close to the kind of man he was. He is irreplaceable. But his influence and his teachings live in all of us and through that we can strive to be just as good and kind as he was. We can strive to be what he knew we could be.” Lifting the torch high into the air, Damian looked out at the people who watched him with rapt attention.
“To King Richard, the best of us all. May we spend each day striving to be the person he believed each and every one of us could be.” May I be the man he thought me to be. With one last deep breath, Damian looked back down to his father’s resting form and touched the torch to the hay lining the pyre. He took a moment to watch the fire burn before he turned and found his grandfather already waiting to take the torch from him.
The man gave him a firm nod, his face a mask of strength that his eyes did not fall in line with. Through them Damian could see the grief the man was feeling, laying his eldest son to rest far too soon. But there was an unspoken understanding between them. A father and a son, both grieving one of the most important people in their lives.
With the torch passed, Damian made his way back to his spot, Jon immediately slipping his hand into Damian’s. And though it was not necessarily proper, Damian couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead he focused on the comfort it provided as he watched the pyre light consume it’s victim.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cold air hit him like a slap to the face, but it was a feeling Damian welcomed in that moment. The ballroom was crowded with citizens and travelers who had come to join in the Feast of the Seven, and the warmth had been almost suffocating. The spirit of the room was joyous, as a Feast always should be, but he had been struggling to really feel the same joy the others were experiencing as they celebrated his father. So, he had excused himself from the room and stepped out into the gardens, a place his father had loved and often could be found tending despite them having staff members to do just that.
Tilting his head back, Damian took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the cold air chilled his lungs before he slowly released it.
“Your Majesty,” a voice greeted him, causing Damian to stiffen as he opened his eyes and looked behind him to see who had joined him. He watched the woman give a bow but something about her presence told him he should probably be bowing to her. He took in her raven hair, cut so it just brushed the tops of her shoulders, reminded him of the color of his father’s hair. And though it was fairly dark with only a few torches lighting the walkway, he could see the deep blue, almost purple color of her eyes. But it was the jewel resting just above the space between her eyebrows that really caught his eye.
Even from where he stood, he could feel its power. And the blood red color of it said it wasn’t gentle power either.
“Do I know you?” He questioned, eyes narrowed.
The woman shook her head and took a few steps closer. “I am called Raven,” she told him. Damian’s eyebrows raised at the strange name and lack of any kind of surname or name of her family attached to it. “I came here seeking Madame Xanadu and she pointed me in your direction to deliver my knowledge. I had thought it best to have a familiar face give it to you, but she disagreed.”
At least her connection to the healer of the city explained why Raven did not bother with any family names or titles. But he couldn’t imagine what kind of information she might have that the healer thought he would like to know.
“What knowledge have you come to bestow on me?” He kept his tone even, not sure he should trust this woman or not. But he knew his guards were close and he was more than capable of defending himself. But if she were a practitioner like Madame Xanadu then he wasn’t sure anyone would be able to save him.
“I have traveled from Nanda Parbat with news of your great grandfather’s rule.” Damian sucked in a surprised breath and waited, knowing this was important. That despite evidence, it was Ra’s who had ordered him to be killed. “Your grandmother’s sister, Nyssa, has dethroned him and he has been laid to rest. The magic keeping him alive has been destroyed.”
Considering what this meant, Damian felt a small weight lift off his chest. A weight he hadn’t noticed sitting there under all the other things burdening him. “So the order…”
“The one for your life?” Damian nodded. “Nyssa has rescinded it and sends her word that peace remains between Gotham and Nanda Parbat for as long as she is on the throne.” A folded parchment was held out to him and he immediately recognized the seal of Nanda Parbat. He took it from her and held it by both ends, looking down at it. “Nyssa has also destroyed the legacy of Ra’s by removing the title of Ra’s Al Ghul and stating that the ruler shall hence forth be called by their own name or one of their choosing.”
“Was a strange tradition,” he muttered and was surprised when a laugh slipped past Raven’s lips. She seemed equally as startled and quickly cleared her throat, but it was too late. Damian was smiling and had relaxed the remaining tension in his shoulders. “Thank you for bringing such glad tidings during such a…” He looked past her toward the crowded ballroom and frowned.
“Yes, I was saddened to hear of Richard’s passing. The few times I had spoken to him, he was exceedingly kind. The world shall be a little darker without his aura to brighten it.” Looking back to Raven, Damian nodded sadly. “You have such an aura as well, Your Majesty. Do not let this dim it. He would not want it.”
“No, I do not think he would.” Glancing down at the parchment in hand, Damian sighed before looking back to Raven but jerked when he found himself alone. He glanced around, finding no trace of the woman at all.
“Damian, there you are!” Jon’s voice called out as he came walking out of the ballroom. “Damian? Is everything all right?” He asked as he neared the younger man, but Damian wasn’t sure how to answer him. Did he tell Jon about Raven? Would he believe him? And even as he thought it, he knew it was ridiculous to question. Of course Jon would believe him.
“I just had a strange encounter with a practitioner who knew Father,” he explained, looking up at Jon with wide eyes that expressed his bewilderment. Holding up that parchment, he showed Jon the seal.
“That is Nanda Parbart.”
“It is,” Damian confirmed. “She brought tidings from Queen Nyssa and word that the order for my life has been lifted.” Jon’s eyes widened in shock before a relieved smile broke out over his face. And soon enough, Damian found himself encased in Jon’s arms.
“That is wonderful news!” And it was, it really was. “A bit of light in a dark time. I wish I could thank this messenger,” Jon said as he pulled back and glanced around as if he would spot Raven where Damian had been unable to. “I do believe we should drink to this news, yes?”
Looking at the letter again, Damian found himself nodding and feeling a bit lighter. “Yes, a drink would be suitable.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was warm for the time of year, but Damian found himself welcoming it. And enjoying it at the insistence of Jon, who had shown up at his study with Titus and a basket full of food and a blanket. And though Damian knew he had much more he needed to get through before Council later in the day, he allowed Jon to pull him away from it and take him on a picnic.
Now he found himself relaxed on the blanket while Titus and Jon chased each other around the field and for the first time in the weeks following his father’s death, he felt joy. The sound of Jon’s surprised laugh when Titus tackled him into the tall grass brought an easy smile to his face that didn’t feel as though it was a lie or a façade.
“What?” He questioned when he found Jon regarding him from where he was still seated in the grass, Titus having gone off to chase a bird. He watched the older man shake his head as he stood and brushed himself off.
“I think that is the first smile I have seen on your face since…” He made his way over to the blanket and dropped down next to Damian, not bothering to finish his sentence. But Damian understood all the same. “It has been missed,” he commented softly, raising his hand and brushing the backs of his fingers across Damian’s cheekbone.
Ducking his head at the affection from Jon, Damian attempted to get his emotions under control. But the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at Jon’s words and meaning was something he had yet to get used to and it caught him off guard every time. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it was not something he had yet come to terms with. And Damian was not good with things that he was unsure of how to handle. Not when he was still struggling to get out of the constant vigilant headspace his mother had conditioned him to be in.
“I have been meaning to ask you something,” Damian changed the subject, thankful for the understanding he saw on Jon’s features when he looked back up at the man. The single raised brow gave Damian to go ahead to ask what he had been thinking of. “How long will you stay? I know you mentioned new duties for Metropolis, but I was not certain when they might pull you away.”
He watched Jon smile easily as he leaned back onto his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Trying to be rid of me, Your Majesty?” And though Damian knew it was a joke, he still cringed at the playful accusation. “I am only joking, my love. But I hadn’t really contemplated it yet,” he admitted with a shrug of his shoulder. “Kon told me he would send for me if he required me, but Timothy told me it was not likely it would happen.”
Damian considered the answer and what exactly it could mean for them. If Jon’s duties were easily set aside, then it was likely he wouldn’t be missed if he remained away for a long period of time. At the same time, Damian felt a little bad about keeping him from his family for as long as he had. Even if his father had been here for the coronation and then the death of the former king.
“Is there a reason you ask?”
Shrugging a shoulder, Damian tried to think of an answer that didn’t give his personal desires away. Did he admit to Jon that he never wanted the older man to leave? Did he tell him that it was his intention to have him stay at his side forever? “I was simply wondering…” He attempted to say, but even in his own eyes it sounded like a lie. And the snort Jon proved that the other man didn’t believe it for a moment.
But instead of calling Damian out on his lie, Jon simply gave him a knowing smile and got back to his feet. He called Titus over as he stepped away from the blanket and took a large stick the dog had managed to find and threw it out into the distance for the dog to chase. Damian remained in his spot, watching the two repeat the action over and over and allowed his mind to drift.
He allowed himself to think of what it would be like to have to bid farewell to Jon when he finally needed to return to Metropolis for his duties or family. He thought about the loneliness that would surely follow in his absence and how he might handle that. But then he thought about what he could do to ensure that Jon stayed. He thought about just asking him outright to remain at his side and abandon his duties back home. Though Damian knew that unless he had a good reason, Jon would never just abandon his family. And Damian could never ask that of him just because he would miss the other man. But still the thought of going about his daily tasks without Jon, without the unfailing support the other had been providing since his arrival, struck him hard and fast in the heart. The dread was almost palpable. He could practically taste it. And that frightened him.
When had he become so dependent on Jon? When had he lost his ability to stand on his own?
When you fell in love.
The thought appeared out of nowhere and the voice in his mind sounded just as his father would have. And the more he considered what his father might have to say about this moment, the more sure he was of exactly what his father would tell him. He knew precisely what his father would offer up as a solution. But were they ready? Was he ready?
Looking over to Jon, where he stood laughing as Titus jumped in an attempt to get the stick out of Jon’s hand, Damian knew the answer. How could he consider any other option?
And he was reminded of the band he had taken to carrying around in his pocket since retrieving it from his father’s study the morning after he passed. The silver band with an intricate pattern and red jewels was one he had remembered Ser Jason wearing but hadn’t know his father had given it to him. But Damian had admired it then and he would feel even stronger about it should it rest on Jon’s finger.
So, he pushed to his feet and made his way over to where Jon stood waiting for Titus to chase after the stick he had just thrown. And when Jon turned to look at Damian as he approached, the smile Jon gave him further solidified Damian’s resolve. And he didn’t hesitate once he reached the other man, taking his face between his hands and pressing their mouths together.
It wasn’t their first kiss, it wasn’t even close to being their first at this point, but it was their first that had such a big meaning behind it. At least to Damian. And he tried to convey that meaning to Jon through the kiss, through the press of his body against Jon’s.
“What was that for?” Jon’s voice came out breathy, quiet as he gasped for air when they had separated by mere inches.
“Marry me,” Damian responded. It wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t memorable, but it was honest. “Do not leave me ever. Stay with me in Gotham and help me look after my kingdom. Make it our kingdom.”
Jon’s face went from dazed to shocked as Damian spoke and the words sunk in. “But…” Damian allowed him to work through whatever it was he was thinking, waiting. “What of the law?”
“Before Father passed, he had it abolished. He asked the Council, based on what happened with him, Mother, and Ser Jason, to abolish it and allow all rulers to marry the person they see fit and not someone who would just be an heir producer.” Jon’s eyes went wide, and Damian tried not to laugh at the fact that he could basically see the thoughts running through his mind. “He did it for me, for us. Before he died, he told me to find this,” he said, pulling back to grab the ring out of his pocket. He held it up in his palm and looked from it to Jon. “He told me to find this and to give it to you. To have what he was not able to. To marry someone he loved.”
He watched Jon’s blue eyes look down at the ring, a look of familiarity passing over his features, before he looked back to Damian. “This was Ser Todd’s?” Damian nodded. “You trust me with this?”
“I trust you with my entire world,” Damian admitted. “Will you trust me with yours?”
“I already do,” Jon laughed and quickly pressed his mouth back to Damian’s in a quick, but heated kiss. “My best friend, my partner, my King, my…husband,” he whispered against Damian’s mouth and the younger was certain his heart was moments away from beating out of his chest.
“Is that a yes?”
“How could I say anything but?”
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Billboard #1s 1980
Under the cut.
KC & The Sunshine Band -- "Please Don't Go" -- January 5, 1980
Is that falsetto in the opening or merely an attempt at it? KC & The Sunshine Band trying to do a sincere, sad ballad does not work. Now I have the dance remix by KWS that was a hit in the 90s (and apparently plagiarized from a Euro-dance group) in my head.
Michael Jackson -- "Rock With You" -- January 18, 1980
I thought I had never heard this song before until I heard the chorus. Oh yeah, this one. I don't know if Michael Jackson singing a sex jam would have worked for me before, well, all the child molestation coming to light. Now it really doesn't. There's only so much "separate the art from the artist" I'm capable of, though I am in favor of it. On another note, in the video, he's wearing the sparkliest outfit I have ever seen.
The Captain & Tennille -- "Do That To Me One More Time" -- February 16, 1980
I don't want to think about The Captain doing it even once. That is the problem with this song. Other than that, I think it's a perfectly acceptable cheesy love song. Well, except for the... plastic flute? I don't know what that is, but I'm not fond of it.
On a kind of strange note, I scrolled ahead, and starting here, I recognize almost all the songs for the next couple years on this list. Maybe they were played more on the oldies stations? At clubs? Restaurants? Maybe I came to musical consciousnous at three and a half years old?
Queen -- "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" -- February 23, 1980
This is not a top tier Queen song, but Freddie Mercury belching would be better music than anything Barry Gibb did. Not top tier, but still very fun. And it's always great hearing Freddie Mercury do whatever the hell he wants to do with his voice. Here, he has fun doing a little bit of Elvis, but not too much. It's a rockability track by Queen. So it's great.
Pink Floyd -- "Another Brick in the Wall (Part II)" -- March 22, 1980
We don't need no education. This is a song about the horrible British teachers who used withering sarcasm and cruelty against the children under their care. (Like Snape, basically.) I think it's about boarding schools, since the teachers apparently have control over whether or not the kids get pudding. British boarding schools were terrible. British boarding schools are terrible, though they seem to be trying to be better. We'll see. They have hundreds of years' practice at bricking kids' psyches up in walls, and I don't trust them to change. Um, anyway, it's a good song, but not one I'd choose to listen to separate from the entire album.
Blondie -- "Call Me" -- April 19, 1980
This song actually does start with "Color me your color, baby." Or I suppose "colour" since Blondie are Brits. But it's not like the lyrics are deep -- if you can understand "Call me," you get it. I guess it's technically a love song, but since Debbie Harry sings in such an intentionally icy manner, it's anything but passionate. It's still fun and light and musically interesting.
Lipps, Inc. -- "Funkytown" -- May 31, 1980
This song is about moving out of a town that's stifling and to a town that's right for you -- "Funkytown." It could be any big city with a music scene. It's a dance song with very few lyrics, and yet the lyrics are important. The singer has "talked about it talked about it talked about it," but is determined to finally do it. It's a good funky disco song, and a good send-off for the genre's dominance.
Paul McCartney and theWings -- "Coming Up (Live At Glasgow)" -- June 28, 1980
It sounds a little bit like McCartney trying to do Philly soul, horns included. But lighter, because Paul McCartney. I can't remember the lyrics even just after I heard them, but it's a love song. Quite boring.
Billy Joel -- "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me" -- July 19, 1980
I love a lot of Billy Joel songs. I don't really love this one. I like the sentiment -- "Oh, it doesn't matter what they say in the papers/ 'Cause it's always been the same old scene/ There's a new band in town but you can't get the sound/ From a story in a magazine/ Aimed at your average teen." He also criticizes the 80s' roaring materialism, which hadn't even hit its nadir yet. But I dunno. Maybe it's a little slow? It needs something.
Olivia Newton-John -- "Magic" -- August 2, 1980
I had never heard of the movie Xanadu until about a decade ago. It's a staple of bad movie sites. Its plot is bonkers, and some very 1980 blockhead is the male lead. The story would have made more sense and the movie been far better if Olivia Newton-John's character had gotten together with Gene Kelly, who's also in the movie, instead. Anyway, this love song is from the movie's soundtrack. It's got a little bit of that mystical vibe that Stevie Nicks did so well, and that always appeals to me. I can't pretend this is a great song, or even necessarily a good one. But it speaks to the 12-year old in me.
Christopher Cross -- "Sailing" -- August 30, 1980
This is the most Florida song ever. Because it doesn't sound like he really has a boat. "Fantasy, it gets the best of me/ When I'm sailing/ All caught up in the reverie, every word is a symphony/ Won't you believe me?" Musically, it sounds like it would go well with a sailboat. But almost none of us have sailboats. We have fantasies. It's a nice-sounding song, and if you think about it enough, it becomes more complex than it seems.
Diana Ross -- "Upside Down" -- September 6, 1980
I'm going to have to face up to the fact that I usually don't like how Diana Ross sings. She's too slick and detached for me, without lyrics that go with that. I cannot believe this woman was ever turned "upside down" by love. And of course the guy she's singing this to is cheating. But she's okay with it, because of course she is, he's just so awesome that she's singing to him "respectfully." I like this song musically, except for Diana Ross' emotionally distant singing, but I hate the lyrics, and I am extremely sick of this no-maintenance schtick.
Queen -- "Another One Bites the Dust" -- October 4, 1980
This might be the only Queen song I don't like. I'm not saying it's bad. It's probably very good. But I have heard the chorus way too much. Otoh, I've heard "We Will Rock You" even more, and I still like that. Maybe there's too much... stuff in this one? I don't know. It's definitely too repetitive. It's no "Don't Stop Me Now," that's for sure. Queen's best songs never reached #1 in the U.S., and I don't know if any came near until "Bohemian Rhapsody" hit #2 when I was in high school. But reaching the charts is a very bad sign of whether or not music is actually good.
Barbra Streisand -- "Woman in Love" -- October 25, 1980
I'm not going to go back to check, but I think Barbra Streisand has exactly the same pose and expression on the covers of all her singles. This one was written by Barry Gibb, oh joy. I wondered if this would be an additive or a multiplicative factor in how bad the song (which I had never heard) was. Something happened that I didn't expect: It made the song so boring it slips out of my head while I’m listening to it. There's the line "no truth is ever a lie." Brilliant, Barry, what a lyricist. Also, that line is not true. Barry Gibb was apparently not familiar with Othello. Anyway, since I'm just bored, I guess Streisand and Gibb together is actually better than them separately. Still bad, though.
Kenny Rogers -- "Lady" -- November 15, 1980
It's a love song in which the narrator sings that he's your knight in shining armor. That sentiment should be surrounded by more interesting music in some way. Something operatic, or mystical, or country, something. Kenny Rogers was never one of my favorites, but he's capable of something. This song is nothing. Lionel Richie wrote it, so of course.
John Lennon -- "(Just Like) Starting Over" -- December 27, 1980
This song hit #1 just after Lennon was murdered. I was 4 years old, but I actually remember when John Lennon was murdered -- I was in the car with one or more parental units (I don't remember who), and it came on the radio. I was upset. I knew Beatles music, my parents played it all the time, and I knew who John Lennon was. I'm still extremely sad about his death today. This song is about how happy he was with Yoko, all settled down and looking forward to a nice, calm, loving future together. Ugh I'm gonna cry.
BEST OF 1980 -- "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" by Queen. WORST OF 1980 -- "Please Don't Go" by KC & The Sunshine Band
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the effect of The Caligula Effect
I just beat The Caligula Effect, a game I heard about years ago, but always understood to be a semi-bad Persona clone full of angsty-looking high school kids with superpowers. But I was eventually convinced to play The Caligula Effect: Overdose, an expanded rerelease that allows the gamer not only the opportunity to play alongside the Go-Home Club – a group of students who are searching for a way to escape the virtual utopia that entraps them – but also the chance to simultaneously join the Ostinato Musicians, another group of students who are determined to preserve the utopia and their idealized lives within it at all costs.
I'm a big fan of Persona, and this isn't the first clone I've played. Last year I tried out Falcom's Tokyo Xanadu. As far as I'm concerned, neither game approaches the quality of the latter three Personas, but in terms of visuals, gameplay, and story, Xanadu has Caligula pretty well beat.
I like Xanadu. But between the two, Caligula is the one I like more and care much more about.
Justifications below the cut. Also some extremely vague spoilers.
The Bad: The Caligula Effect has major shortcomings in many, many areas. For me, the battle system is clunky and bland (though if I raised the difficulty, I might find it more interesting). The character models are awkward. The environments are repetitive and the levels are too long. And as far as battles go, you are literally just fighting other students – no interesting monster designs anywhere. Those are a few points, but there are definitely more flaws that could be gone into.
But if you've followed me for a while, you know that the games that end up grabbing my attention aren't necessarily the most deserving. So here's what I like:
The 2D art is lovely. The characters have changeable portraits based on their emotions, as per Persona, but the menu features two full-length portraits for each character, Go-Home and Musicians alike. The elegant, silvery art style is gorgeous, and it's a shame it wasn't used more prominently and creatively, rather than the awkward 3D models. The main visual motif is flowers, and to that end each Go-Home member has unique (and highly symbolic) flowers associated with them. When they access their superpowers, each of them is shown with a stake driven through their heart, surrounded by their flowers – a striking and unusual effect. The desaturated colors in the characters' designs make their flowers stand out all the brighter.
And definitely check out each character's status screen because their portraits hint towards their true personalities.
Speaking of which –
Caligula mimics Persona's Social Link system (it doesn't use the term Social Link, but that's what I'll use here), allowing you to grow closer to your teammates on both sides of the ideological conflict. Not all of the Social Links are written equally well – some are more interesting than others – but a number of them are intertwined (even across both teams in the Overdose release) and become very engrossing as you try to figure out how events fit together. And who these people you're working alongside really are.
Like Persona, several of your teammates are motivated by personal trauma. As great as Persona 3 is, it can start to feel ludicrous how many of its characters have dead parents. (In fairness, their traumas aren't just that they have dead parents – but most of them have at least one dead parent and it gets old.) In Caligula, the traumas feel varied and more unexpected, touching on subjects I haven't often seen in JRPGs. For example, I guessed Mifue's trauma fairly early on, but was surprised at how seriously it was eventually depicted. I thought I figured out Ayana's quite quickly, only to have my theory pulled out from under me. Izuru's Social Link ended up shocking me at one point, then made me more thoughtful as I listened to him analyze himself. I've heard Kotono's arc wasn't universally liked in Japan, but I was really happy to see her specific backstory handled, even if it made her more complicated than a typical pretty girl in a high school game. And when it came to Shogo's, I immediately started to downplay the seriousness of his past – only to be proven quite wrong.
And it's not just the heavy stuff. Going through characters' Social Links (and talking to them on the game's texting feature) often changed how I felt about them. When I first met Suzuna, I was instantly fed up with her timid personality and thought I was going to hate her. She ended up being one of my favorites, the change not so much due to big story events but because of small details about her personality. I disliked Ayana and Naruko early on, but softened as I got to know them. This is especially noticeable with the Musicians. If you only encounter them as the Go-Home Club, they'll be rather flat, easily dismissed antagonists. Getting to know them on their own turf reveals characters who are often as fleshed out and interesting as the main cast. And again I was surprised at who I ended up really liking, like Sweet-P and Shonen-Doll.
Another, more subtle, thing I enjoyed – in different Persona games, a number of your teammates are very cool people. Eriko's mysterious and interested in the occult, Mitsuru's this unattainable school celebrity, Akihiko's a star boxer, Ann's a professional model, Yusuke's an artistic prodigy, Rise's a literal teen idol. There are certainly talented people among your teammates in The Caligula Effect, but for the most part, you're all nerds and losers. And that goes for the villains as well. Most of the characters aren't that socially impressive, either because of their personalities or they have very powerful reasons for turning away from the mainstream. And while many of them grow and change, they're not really wish-fulfillment characters.
One last thing I want to touch on – this virtual utopia our characters are struggling in is rather deceptive. Everyone within it takes on the role of a high schooler, but this doesn't always reflect who they are in reality, adding another layer of interest for me. Without going into specifics (because one of the most fun things for me was trying to figure out who people really were), a (vague) number of these characters are adults, not teenagers. And many of them are motivated by very adult concerns, such as dissatisfaction with their professions and questioning their positions in their adult lives. One of the main tensions of the game is whether it's better to direct yourself as an adult in the often-disappointing real world or whether it's better to remain a child free from responsibility in the virtual world. Despite all the game's high school trappings and tropes, I found myself wondering who the intended audience really was.
Caligula's main story is pretty flat and basic, much less sophisticated than the plots of the Personas or Tokyo Xanadu. But because of the characters and the multitude of B-Plots you go through with them, the game still has a compelling, and even adult, quality.
It's not a great game. I can't stress that enough. The first handful of hours are terrible. I think one reason I'm so into it is that I entered the game with very low expectations. But its characters have a lot to offer, and for me that ended up being the heart of the game. So I liked it.
#the caligula effect#lucid#suzuna kagura#(being the pictured characters)#meta#rayless reviews#i'm not going to do game reviews as a regular thing#but i had a lot of thoughts after beating this game#and may post a few more thoughts in the future#persona#tokyo xanadu#mine
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Top Five
Just for fun, tell your followers your top 5 albums and your top 5 songs from each, then tag 5 people to do the same!
Thanks @inabottlelikelightning for tagging me! It was super cool to see your music taste – I now have a few new songs on my Spotify because of it :D this was really tough because I don’t have many albums that I sit and listen to, I tend to just have a few songs from various ones for an artist, so I had to cheat for a couple! I also italicized my favourite song from each album if anyone’s bothered.
People – @dark-evil-phoenix, @yuemiis, @user99istaken, @theoegg & @iamregularshit
1. Queen - several different albums (sorry)
Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Killer Queen
Somebody to Love
Keep Yourself Alive
A Kind of Magic
This was soooooo hard to choose. Queen is my go-to for pretty much any mood or situation and I love pretty much all of their songs. I haven’t italicized any song here because they’re all equally brilliant to me.
2. All Time Low - Future Hearts
Kicking & Screaming
Something’s Gotta Give
Kids in The Dark
Missing You
Dancing with a Wolf
Again, super hard. Next to Queen, ATL is my favourite band and any of their albums could have easily been here. But this album and these songs in particular resonate with me.
3. Marianas Trench - Fix Me
Say Anything
Decided to Break It
Alibis
Vertigo
Skin and Bones
The lead singer and songwriter from this band had a lot of the same issues that I did growing up - this first album and these songs especially talk about those issues and they hit me deep. They’re also super beautiful works of music in themselves.
4. ELO - several different albums (again, sorry)
Roll Over Beethoven
Turn to Stone
Mr. Blue Sky
Hold on Tight
Xanadu
Me and my dad have a pretty rough relationship most of the time for ~various~ reasons, but some of the best memories I have with him are listening to ELO in the car together. The songs are also just straight bangers.
5. fun. - Aim & Ignite
Be Calm
Benson Hedges
Walking the Dog
All The Pretty Girls
Barlights
Idk man, I don’t have a story for these ones like the others. I just really like them and I play them a lot in the car so I can scream along.
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Buttermilk
I am the debutante’s offspring.
Streaks of marigold and straw.
My Grandmother once said to me,
“Your cadence, your tongue,
Must mimic a rosewater ellipsis.
It must linger.”
We are the modern-day courtesans.
The muses from Xanadu.
Bathing in the buttermilk,
Poured from a white porcelain pitcher.
A southern delight.
I am a figment of your imagination.
The sensation of fingertip on rose petal.
The unthreatening presence,
That lingers in your grace.
But in reality,
Or something like it,
I am just a dancer.
Living day to day,
Leotard over breast,
On the subways of New York.
I was taught quite young,
How a lady speaks,
Without saying a word.
You don’t have to tell me,
That I have broken the mold.
I already know.
The book that I learned from,
“The Language of Flowers”,
Was written by Sheila Pickles,
In 1989.
The Miss Sheila who taught me how to arabesque,
Ended her professional dance career,
In 1972.
To this day,
Nothing quite compares to the moment,
When she positioned me center stage.
My pointe shoes were colored peach,
And the rouge of my cheeks,
Matched them perfectly,
On opening day.
We performed the Tarantella,
Beginning in a V formation.
Corseted, red and green.
In the grand ballroom,
Underneath the crystal chandelier.
As we finished,
The crowds,
They threw red,
Long stem roses at our feet.
I picked one up,
And placed it between my teeth.
“Passion,”
I thought.
“They want passion.”
Months earlier,
I sat in the study,
At the estate on 108th Avenue.
“Recite to me, dear one,
The meanings,
Of the colors,
Of the rose,”
My grandmother demanded.
I began, meekly:
“Red is for passion,
Blush, for first emotions of love,
Yellow for friendship and remembrance,
And white,
For a love that is spiritual.”
Many an afternoon was dedicated,
To southern etiquette,
The symbols of beauty,
And improving my posture,
A book balanced on my blonde head.
These are the makings of a woman,
In the upper echelon.
A woman whose art,
Is found in her restraint.
The skillset of the demure woman,
Can only be taught,
By studying the most delicate of flowers.
But I had a question.
“The Marigold is oh, so sunny,
In its disposition,
And so robust,
In its form.
Why then is it a symbol for death?
Are there other symbols, Grandmother?
For death?”
Through the beginnings of my dance career,
I received two pieces of advice.
The first,
Being ‘bend so that you do not break’,
And the second,
Being ‘A hint of evil does wonders for the art form.’
I listened,
And moved from the oil money territory,
Of deep Texas,
To a salted soda cracker box,
In Brooklyn.
But my buttermilk would never go completely sour.
I would remain pure and sweet.
“A being of moonlight and cream.”
That’s what you said to me when you found me in the village.
The mink coat I wore,
I bought second hand in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.
It used to belong to someone else’s Grandmother.
The mink coat that you wore,
Belonged to yours.
We were on the naked intersection.
The two tea roses,
In the one bouquet,
Atop the front desk,
Of the Chelsea hotel.
Blooming for all the wrong reasons,
And the fairest of the seasons.
Amongst the baby’s breath,
And the folly.
We were dreaming of men tremendous in stature.
Reminiscing about the times,
When we had our own.
The marksman of the cotillion,
And the king of Buckaroo Ball.
How the Blue Waltz from their mouths,
Was on our pressure points.
And how we allowed it to decant.
But that was all before.
And so we set sail to Coney Island,
On a ship named Susie Q.
The look I gave you was telling.
Yours, in return,
Knowing.
And from your silk garter,
Underneath the petticoats of splendor,
Appeared your golden flask,
Filled with a buttermilk liqueur.
We could see the heat,
The blurred mirage on the horizon.
There was HP-5 in the film compartment,
And visions of Suavies Island on the deck.
The young bucks,
They came out of their cages.
And they asked, quite desperately,
For the directions to our hearts.
After a simultaneous drag,
From French cigarettes,
We pointed them all,
To the ocean.
You are the toast of New York.
Celebrated throughout the generations,
Via streets echoing ragtime jazz.
You were a cocktail waitress back then.
Throwing your pearls,
Not before swine,
But before the Wallstreet banshee’s,
With the most overflowing of wallets.
A fine dining hustler.
And I was the Boutonniere on your lapel,
Reminding you that traditions,
Sometimes,
Were meant to be broken.
In the back of a taxi,
On New Year’s Eve.
We carried Champagne from the wine cellar,
Underneath our mink.
We were cackling,
The witches of the Alamo,
Out of our elements.
High.
The driver asked for our destination.
We exclaimed,
“To Mercury!”
We were speaking the language,
Of the wildflowers now.
Vibrational.
Transcendent.
This really is what makes us girls.
We were suffering,
From a horrible case of root rot.
One the botanists,
Could never explain.
For you, it was,
A witnessing of the decay,
Of a love that,
Sent the Kachina’s to the rooftops,
On the night of your conception.
And for me, it was,
A witnessing of the decay,
Of the beings who had conceived me.
For I am the daughter of Rage.
He would never speak,
The language of flowers,
From his final resting place.
And neither would the perfected loveliness,
Of the Camellia’s that drove him mad.
But we knew what love was.
We were carved,
From the same block, you and I.
It is the demi plie,
The bread and butter,
The basics,
The sustenance,
Of the soul.
We fell asleep each night,
To the riverbed sirens.
The lights of Times Square,
Had replaced La Bella Luna.
We were known in the speakeasy circuit,
As a package deal.
You performed under the name Ambrosia Michaels,
And kept a bottle of Chanel No5,
On the blues piano.
It aided the alto fingering.
I kept desert poppies,
Pinned to the tulle I danced in,
And violets pinned to my furs.
We were the modern-day vaudeville,
Swimming underground.
Carrying our floral hat boxes,
Full of our accoutrements,
On the A train,
To Manhattan.
To them, we were a local favorite.
An offering that was never on the menu.
If you knew,
You just knew.
My pointe shoes were blood colored at last.
And the lacquer on my lips,
Matched them perfectly,
On our opening day.
We had become them.
Flightless in their disdain,
And their bewitching.
The quail and the kakapo,
Of the Marsh.
The lonestars were out yonder,
And I was a civilized lady,
When it was convenient.
I’m afraid I danced,
Until I turned blue.
Because I wished to embody the cornflower,
And all of her delicacy.
Through the primal act,
Of performing,
The dance of the velveteen belles,
Of New York.
And where are we now?
We’re on Eighth street.
Pounding the cobblestone,
In soft, Italian leather.
Water spotted, almost ruined.
Because freedom,
Is jumping into the puddles,
Of the holy water,
And the buttermilk,
Uncaring.
I learned that from you.
The people of our city,
Have flower mounds under tongue.
And in the blue,
Behind their eyelids.
Because we are the indigo children.
And they speak of us often.
Of our arts and our leisure.
We are forever stamped,
In the passport,
Of the history,
Of death and rebirth.
What they love about us,
Is our lingering in frivolity.
Our return to analog.
Our floral, syllabic homage,
To the divine.
Our repeating praise of Delphine.
We aren’t as crazy as sixth street,
But we’re close.
We can smell the smoke of Winter,
Before it is real.
We can feel the chest fluttering,
Soul excitement,
Of our evening show.
“Introducing,
Ambrosia Michaels,
And Violet Crawford.
But you can call her,
Buttermilk.
Please,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Deliver them from evil.”
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title: suddenly.
anonymous requested: “ I don’t know if you’ve seen the film Xanadu, but could you do an inspired au, Paul as the muse to John or vice versa. Thanks!”
author’s note: ╮(╯∀╰)╭ ( °-°)シ ミ★ ミ☆
---
A mirage of vibrant colour in the night sky danced around the figure of a lone man. Rain beat hard unto his shoulders as he stared out into the River Mersey, papers fisted tightly in his shaking hands. Papers crumbled into his fists longed for freedom and his unyielding attention- hopelessly alone and lost to the unknown, he tore up the drawings, throwing them with all his might into the ocean, watching the strong wind take the shreds and disappear into the salty air.
His body quivered as he tried not to weep. The week had been long and hard, and this was just the dramatic end to yet another horrible day. He had lost all hope on ever feeling the bright relief of laughter and happiness again when a euphoric melody swept through the chill air. He turned sharply against the metal rail that separated him from the angry ocean; he looked around desperately for the angelic singing, longing for the feeling it was slowly enticing out of him. And so he finally saw; a shape of bright light coming towards. A human shape, a male shape, of wondrous white gold light reached towards him as notes of music flowed out from the stranger. The light neared him but never stopped its flowing movements.
Hands wrapped around his clenched fists gently, but tightly. Swirling him around with him as he danced to unknown music John couldn’t hear. He had no intention of moving along with the stranger but his feet moved and danced; ignorant of his protesting mind. He stammered in confusion at the dark-haired stranger but no words came out in an intelligible fashion. The stranger laughed, pearls of divine laughter, brighter and lovelier than anything he had ever heard; and with a quick and delirious peck quickly to John’s lips, he disappeared as quickly as he arrived with no sign of considerations of John’s protest and wishes for names and information about the bewitching stranger that vanished into the fog like the beam of a lighthouse.
---
He was all John could think of the following days that followed. He wandered the promenade every chance he got- forsaking his family and friends (and more importantly his work) for the search of this intrusion in his otherwise downtrodden but peaceful life. For this man that had so suddenly appeared and left him with a hard weight in his chest- of something long loved and lost. He had to find him! No matter what it took! He was all could think about- he yearned so desperately to hear that singing and feel the lips of the angelic melody again on his lips.
That desperation- his obsession- had left his place of work in disarray. But he did not care- his absence was not unusual to his friends, and his boss who showed only hot-faced anger whenever John deigned his time worthy to show up. John cared not, and knew his position there was too important for him to be fired. His boss, Spector, too cheap to pay up for anyone more loyal to his work than John. For John it was the money and his friends (Ringo, George and Stu) that kept him there for as long as he had- but it was soon to be all for nought as he had completely forgotten that dingy little studio’s existence for the higher purpose of finding the lively stranger that still lingered in his mind.
---
One Mr Epstein, (Eppy for short as John resented such formalities and displays of authority), had become a beacon in his search for his new found muse- drawings now scattered around every inch of his apartment, sketches and paintings of his dark hair, feminine lips and baby doe eyes. John’s fingers stained with paint and ink from his chaotic hurry in sketching down every last feature of the stranger, lest he forgot his face entirely.
It was between his first tumultuous meeting with Eppy and the second more relaxed one that he met the stranger again. He had danced around John as they followed each other to an abandoned nightclub, decayed to its structural bones, his eyes bright with laughter and joy. His name was desperately begged for and, after a brief hesitation that John noticed not at all, he introduced himself as Paul… Paul. John knew he could die happy now with the utterance of that name. Paul. A simple name, yet it was the most stunning thing he had ever heard. Paul.
The night disappeared quickly as they danced and laughed as they had never done before. John felt a lightened feeling rise in his chest- something that had been amiss for so long. Happiness. Paul had brought it back to him by his presence alone and when left alone John felt an abundance of creative motivation. He sketched and drew and painted like he had never done before. The dark brown hair and hazel immortalised on canvas so John may never forget such beauty. Paul tells him nothing more but that- his name. His sparkling name. And though the curiosity gnaws and begs, he ceases in his pleas for anything more and simply revels in being with Paul for as much as he can.
It wasn’t until he stumbled upon the old man, Eppy, again and was invited to the peculiar old man’s estate that was slowly wasting away into the ground, lost in time with only a single aging man to keep it company. Eppy had, once, been a very popular and sought after man. Young, dancing around town, listening to all kinds of music wherever he went. It was out on one of those ‘escapades’ that he met a young man- his name going unmentioned. He talked of how they had spent all their days together but something had broken them up, something too painful to repeat. And now he was all alone, with John as his only company- something John thought quite pitiful. There existed far more exciting people to hang around than him.
---
Next time he saw Paul, it was far from joyous. They had started arguing, heatedly so (though it was rather one sided as John did most of the yelling and aggressive posturing). Paul, not long after they had entered John’s humble abode, had sat John down and told him they no longer could see each other. That it was wrong and in the end would only end in pain. Why? Something that still burned in John’s mind. Why? Paul had come out with the revelation that he was a muse, something straight out of mythology and, of course, John’s immediate reaction wasn’t to believe his love but rather laugh at the big joke it could only be and nothing else.
But it had been true. Paul, frustrated and desperate for John to believe him, made everything that seemed right wrong and everything that seemed wrong right- turning John’s world upside down in his (successful) attempts at making John believe him. Magic existed. Mythology was true. But John couldn’t, hadn’t, the words, or the time, to express his regret in ridiculing Paul for his statements that turned out to be so true for the muse, and love of his life, had left him as soon as John’s belief flashed upon his face. John had ran after him but it wasn’t enough for Paul vanished before his eyes and out of his life.
But John wasn't a man to easily give up. He scoured through his mind for everything Paul had ever said, anything to could help him in his search for his muse. He yelled and screamed at Epstein for any help- the man seemingly knowing more than he let on about Paul. His emotions and energy high as he stormed the city till he came past the pier were all that were ending had started. He fell to his knees as he saw Paul there- luminous as ever, twice as pretty. Everything around him disappeared as he begged and pleaded with Paul- to let him back into his heart. That they could work it out- work out whatever being a muse meant. What it meant for the two of them.
And he did. John counted his lucky stars and held his breath as Paul, bright and smiling, stepped towards him and pulled him up with pale and soft hands. Pulling him into a gentle kiss as the sun rose with their love.
#request#john lennon#paul mccartney#mclennon#the beatles#beatles fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#it's not a 100% retelling of the movie because fgashkdlas#but i hope it still works#also ya don't need to watch the movie to read it! but you should anyway because its fun#aint that all what we need in life? some fuun#asdassd
i kinda struggled
writing this
but that's because my brain is just not working with me heeeh#person who requested this weren't anonymous but i forget the name asdfghjfg
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“I can’t believe you made me meet you here.”
“Oh, can’t you?”
The cafe is a little grody, he can admit, but it’s homey, it’s nice, it’s tucked into a corner a block away from a truck stop- okay, yeah sure, he gets like maybe half of the complaint, but Gable is really putting the wrong foot forward. Sure the neon lights aren’t really coffeeshop vibe, and sure the random pinups on the wall could be considered slightly tacky, but that’s neither here nor there, really.
He leans on the counter with his elbows, back to the nonexistent barista and facing Gable who looks a little out of breath (hot) and already very put upon (hot, also). He’s glad his scarf is pulled up as tight and as high as it is.
“Travis what am I doing here?” It’s barely a question, sighed out dramatically the way it is.
“Really, what is anyone doing here.”
“Travis.”
There’s a jingle of the bead curtain, (because of course there’s a bead curtain) and Travis turns around to look at the barista.
“We could have robbed you blind.” He informs the kid, leaning on the counter again.
“I wouldn’t have done that,” Gable says behind him, and Travis can’t help but smirk. You’d think criminals would be less honest in this day and age. Not that they were criminals, of course, of course not.
“Go ahead.” The kid pulls out his phone. “You think I’m going to die for burnt coffee?”
“Zenith.” Travis drags out, tongue pressed against his teeth. “That’s really not how to advertise your services.” He’s been coming to this place for a few years now, whenever he’s in town really because he really vibes with the atmosphere. Zenith’s new- newish- newish on Travis time. It’s been maybe two or three years since he’s started working here.
“You’re not here for my services, you’re here for bad coffee.”
“Mm- You got me.” He reaches over the counter and pulls Zenith’s phone out of his hands. “You can get this back when you make me an iced latte.”
“It’s snowing outside.”
“And you have the heater on. Come on. Gable, what are you getting? Gable?” Travis turns around, and Gable is staring at him. Annoyed. Fun.
“I’m so sorry for him.” They sweep the phone out of Travis’ hand as they push him aside, very smooth, and push it back into Zenith’s hands. “Just a black coffee.”
Zenith looks between the two of them and then shrugs.
“Put it on my tab,” Travis calls, already heading to his table.
It has his name on it and everything.
Gable takes their time, waiting for the drinks to be made even though Zenith totally would have walked them over because Travis tips so well. Maybe in money that isn’t federally traded but that’s neither here nor there. They walk over slowly, careful not to spill either drink on the already sort of gross floor.
“Why are we in a hole in the wall?” They ask again.
“Xanadu is lovely, how dare you.” He sips his drink as loudly as he can. There’s his guaranteed eye roll. “You know Dref?”
“Dref? Dref, our coworker who we see every single day?”
“Yeah, have you heard of him?”
“Christ.” They lean back in the chair, and it creaks under all of their weight. “Yes.”
“He has something that I really want. And he won’t give it to me, because he thinks it's dangerous’ and that I’ll ‘abuse it’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.” His air quotes go without saying.
Gable takes a sip and sputters.
“This is awful.”
“Of course, it is.” He leans back in his chair, legs up on the table and who’s going to stop him if they’re the only people in this place. Zenith? Zenith doesn’t give a fuck. He has no idea where Zenith disappeared too, actually, maybe to go make out with his weird magic boyfriend who maybe sleeps in here sometimes. “Listen. Are you going to help me break into Dref’s office or not?”
“What- Why- Travis, why would I do that?”
“Because I’m your favorite.”
“You’re not. Jonnit’s my favorite. I mean, not that I prescribe to favorites.” Travis makes a face, really plays up the hurt emotions. “That’s just objectively incorrect. It goes Jonnit-”
“Okay.”
“And then my birds.”
“O-Kay.” He drags out.
“Then, the captain.”
“I heard the elderly are supposed to be polite.” His pride isn’t hurt, it isn’t, because that would be ridiculous. As if Travis Matagot would be swayed or really even bothered by something like being told that a corpse outranks him.
Well, Orimar did make a very hot corpse.
“Have you met yourself?”
“I’m a delight.”
“Ha!” Gable takes another sip and recoils. “This can’t be safe for human consumption.”
“Good thing we’re not.” He whispers, and Gable cracks a laugh. God, finally, someone recognizes his brilliance for what it is. He brings his cup up to his face and puts the straw in his mouth with no hands on the very first try. There. Could a corpse do that? “So Dref’s office-”
“I’m not going to help you steal from our coworker, Travis, that’s insane.”
“It’s really not.” Eyebrows raised. Maybe even a little waggle. “Come on,” He whines, but in a cute and fun way and not at all in a way that’s pathetic. “We make such a good team.”
There’s a pronounced pause, a sink turns on somewhere in a backroom, and Gable looks him over again. They are really good at making him Almost second guess his choices. But only almost.
“What is it?”
“A skull.”
“Travis, what the fuck.” He laughs, sure that he’s got them now, and leans forward, almost having the chair slip out from under him in the motion.
“Okay, so listen, remember when we pulled off that totally sick and completely legal robbery.”
“Travis!” They hiss because Zenith walks back into the front with a rag in his hands. Whatever.
“I said legal, it’s fine. There was a chest of shit, and we all called dibs right, so I found a skull. And Dref found out and got super weird about it, because you know how weird Dref is.” Gable just gives him a flat look. “Horny. Like murder horny.”
“Travis, we are in public.”
“Like really into skulls and shit- you get my point.”
“Mm.” It’s high pitched. (Cute.)
“Right. So it’s in his office, somewhere, for ‘my mental wellbeing’ or whatever, when really he’s probably just being weird. Again. Can you help me get it back, please?”
“Oh wow, manners?”
“I know, I’m really trying here.”
“A-” They lean forward until they’re very close to his face. “A skull?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s skull is it?”
Travis swallows more bad coffee.
“Someone like me.” He takes a moment, and everything feels still again. Gable stares. "Something. Something like me."
Thinking about it, he really should have lead with that, because Gable says yes instantly.
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Music Meister Fluff Alphabet
GRRG THIS TOOK SO LONG UGH I started last night but whatever. So like I’ll do this for the others as well and also sorry for the amount of songs in this I just know I’m not gonna be able to think of anything for the others. (I have really specific music taste if I’m gonna be honest). Anyway enjoy even though this actually sucks, I put too much time into it.
A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)
This one is so damn obvious but your voice. He loves hearing you sing and talk and just any sounds you make in general, he loves it all. He also real loves your eyes. The way you look at him with nothing but love and adoration just makes his heart melt.
B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)
He would probably say yes but he’s not that good with kids. He doesn’t really have the patience to deal with them.
C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)
He loves when you rest your head on his chest and wrap your arms around him. He also likes when y’all are on the couch and you hold him and stroke his hair.
D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)
Spontaneous. He’ll randomly just be like “hEY LETS GO ROLLER SKATING” “kAROKE IN TWENTY MINUTES”. Oh but musical dates are planned! He’d take you to a nice restaurant before the show too. The two of you go see one at least every month.
E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))
You are his goddess, his muse.
F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)
When he first heard your voice yeah he was very attracted to you but not in love. It had to be when he was showing off as usual and you were just amazed by his talents. When he saw the way you looked and smiled at him, he knew he was definitely in love.
G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)
He always tries to be as gentle as possible. He wants you to see him as the perfect gentlemen.
H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)
He love holding your hands. It doesn’t matter where or what’s going on, if he wants to hold your hand, he’s gonna do it, which is pretty often.
I = Impression (What was their first impression?)
He thought you had a beautiful voice and the beauty to match. However, he did think that you had room to improve and wanted to help you get there.
J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)
MM gets jealous easily. He’s pretty possessive but he’s trying to work on that.
K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)
Passionate but tender, and often. He jumped the gun and kissed you first. It was unexpected but definitely not unwanted.
L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)
Again he’s quick to jump the gun, you didn’t expect him to say it so early in the relationship but he’s a hopeless romantic.
M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)
The first time you did a duet with him. That’s probably one of his favorite memories of the two of you, if not his favorite.
N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)
Yes, he spoils you rotten. He splurges on you a lot, almost as much as he does himself.
O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)
Some color that’s bold and bright probably
P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)
He uses every single one he can think of but his most common one to use is darling.
Q = Questions (what are the questions they’re always asking?)
He’s always asking you to sing with him or for you to listen to him sing or play an instrument.
R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)
Rainy days consist of musical movies, cuddling on the couch, and a shit load of blankets. Again he loves it when you play with his hair.
S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)
Cuddles and cookies/brownies/some kind of sweet. Other than that dancing because it makes me think of Shall We Dance? from An American in Paris.
T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)
Musicals (behind the scene kind of stuff and broadway actors/actresses), himself and how amazing he is, new song/costume ideas, hIMSELF AGAIN, oh and how amazing you are as well.
U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)
Long ass showers, oh and the showers are burning hot. Also you think it’s pretty funny hearing him sing his lungs out in the shower.
V = Very ___ (they’re thoughts about each other (e.g she’s very smart, he’s very stubborn, they’re very annoying etc.))
He’s very self assured, stubborn at times, and arrogant.
W = Why (Reasons why they love each other)
He loves you because you’re always there for him and you deal with him being so smug all the damn time.
X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)
With So Little To Be Sure Of - (Anyone Can Whistle)
Tonight - (West Side Story)
Liza - (An American in Paris)
Suspended in Time - (Xanadu)
Y = You (The ___ to my ___ )
You’re the Maria to his Tony, the Cosette to his Marius, the Johanna to his Anthony (he prefers Johanna and Anthony to Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett because their love is pretty one sided), the list goes on and on and on.
Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)
Probably like a song bird or something
#music meister#music meister x reader#dc comics#dc#headcanons#fluff alphabet#i hope thats how you spell alphabet#more to come
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My Baby Does Me: Chapter 14
POV: John Deacon x reader
Notes: This fic is ongoing. Updates weekly. We average 2-3 new chapters a week. Want on the tag list? Let me know, friends.
Warnings: 99% fluff 1% intrigue. Swearing?
Abstract: Jim and Freddie discuss matches; Deacy and reader contemplate real life vs fantasy.
Freddie and Jim were doing their best to focus on each other and not the sounds coming from the other side of the ornate gold-leafed door. The people weren’t arguing anymore, thank goodness. The voices weren’t even heated, muffled at most, but they were present and relentless. Jim had well-founded suspicions Roger was to blame for the lingering problem of the loiterers in the hallway. Roger was a snarling charmer; at least, Jim thought, if you stopped listening to the words coming out of Rog’s maw, he was at least exceedingly pleasing to gaze at. Roger was fire: pretty to behold, but would burn you and like it.
However, tonight, right now, the company in the hall and the house were not what either man in the bedroom cared about. The world could be aflame at this very moment, World War Three could have started suddenly, and Freddie and Jim wouldn’t care about anything but their shared admiration and decadence.
They were still fully clothed; well, Jim thought, Freddie hadn’t been fully clothed all night, much to both of their mutual enjoyments. Their kisses weren’t shy, but each joining of their lips was excessively slow. Each kiss emphasized care and tender longing. Each kiss mounted passions on top of passions. That thing called time ceased to exist. They were making their own sense of time now, more than contented to make every moment count. It was a love defined by equality of needs and wants gained through trials deeply personal and fundamental to them both. What they were as a couple was who they were individually. And when once it seemed their words were incompatible, that had proved a false fear, and was long buried in the past. They were the couple everyone was envious of and simultaneously endlessly overjoyed for; Freddie considered it the best of both worlds.
“Was the party successful?” Freddie asked, coming up for air between kisses. He traced Jim’s mustache, wanting to coax an answer out of him. Freddie’s parties were legendary and legion. He wanted each to have a special flare and theme, never to repeat himself or be disappointing to his guests. He might enjoy a more banal life these days, but when he put on his face and threw a party, he would embrace the madness and become the keen spirit of the festivities himself. Carefully intuitive he would be the picture of the perfect host, and when the party ended, pleasantly spent from a successful night, the only thing he wanted besides a restful night’s sleep past whatever hangover would occur, would be Jim’s honest review of the night.
“It was spectacular, angel.” Jim said earnestly, running a hand down Freddie’s thigh, and back up and down again. Over and over.
“You really think so?” Freddie sounded hopeful, like a child asking for approval from someone hard to impress.
“It was Kubla Khan-esque, Xanadu, Babylon and all that...” Jim wrapped his arms around Freddie, pulling him onto the bed, other pleasures in mind than the pleasures of their many guests. With the elegance only practice and supreme compatibility can bring, they effortlessly laid down, mixing limbs while tugging at clothes, never fully separating from touch, from kissing, from each other. It was the perfect combination of spontaneity and mastered choreography.
Freddie, however, not one to be diverted from any task, between increasingly longer embraces and the unbuttoning of Jim’s shirt, he moaned, “No, I meant the matches.”
Jim positioned himself on top of Freddie, and started undoing the button-up fly of his pristinely white hot pants. He was equally interested, perhaps against his will at the moment, in the unsuspecting matches that had been made that night between Y/N and Deacy and Roger and Lydia.
“I like them as people,” Jim said pensively, yet not tellingly. His attention was completely divided now between his steadfast desire to fuck his husband and to discuss the matches, as Freddie had called them. What indeed would come of them? The last time that poor John Deacon had been in a long-term relationship he has gotten his ponderously hopeful heart completely eviscerated. He, Freddie, Roger, and Brian had helped pick the flayed pieces of John’s heart up for months; even now, Jim wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to open up to another person again. And speaking of Roger, even when Roger claimed to be in a monogamous relationship, that never proved to be the full, unyielding truth. Roger, more or less, did precisely what he wanted and little else. Furthermore, as for the women? Well, Jim had liked Y/N and Lydia from the start, and he held strongly to first impressions. His first impression of Freddie has been quite impressive and innovatively inappropriate. But that was a story for another time, thought Jim.
Freddie, taking a disproportionate amount of time unbuttoning each button, each slip of fabric was a whisper of seduction, sighed, “You don’t sound so sure, darling.” At the last button he stopped, and he waggled his eyebrows at Jim.
Jim laughed, leading Freddie into a longer kiss, not wanting to stop. “We don’t know much about those perplexing women; beautiful and witty yes, but are they up to the task? And our very own Roger ‘loose cannon’ Taylor isn’t the easiest man to live with—not that I’d know from personal experience.”
Smiling at the sound of Jim’s lyrical voice, Freddie unbuttoned the final button. “Yes, we must grill Bri about that particular adventure.”
“Yeehaw,” Jim agreed. “And John is…” Jim’s voice tapered off as Freddie started stroking his cock through the extraordinary navy trousers.
“International man of mystery?” Freddie offered, only halfheartedly trying to jog Jim’s memory as to the original train of thought of their discourse. There was no pleasure equal to giving mind-erasing ecstasy to your lover. This was his favorite benign game: turning Jim on mid-conversation and seeing how long he could maintain his composure and concentration before giving in completely to him.
“International might be going too far.” Jim laughed, his brown eyes shrewd with lasciviousness. He sighed, slipping more and more with each passing second into a state of pending oneness with his beloved husband. Becoming markedly serious, he said, “I don’t want to talk about Roger or Deacy right now. In fact, any words said from this moment on that aren’t strictly dirty will be ignored.”
Freddie, grinning with a fantastically sexy wink, removed Jim’s flannel shirt and started unzipping Jim’s pants. He paused, staring into his husband’s eyes. This particular pair of pants held a poignant place in their hearts. They were sacrosanct, and always would be.
“I love you, Jim Hutton.”
“I love you, Freddie Mercury.”
You, Lydia, John Deacon, and Roger Taylor stood awkwardly in the hallway outside the bedroom of Jim and Freddie. You weren’t quite sure what to say to get the party moving on; you didn’t necessarily want to be apart from Deacy, but you also weren’t sure you wanted to stay here any longer. The party, the night, the festivities had moved on towards slumber, and you felt exhausted. This night had been wild and draining, though draining in mostly good ways, you so desired a lengthy sleep in your own bed to recover and ponder.
Deacy was trying to make eye contact with you, concerned something had changed for you both. You flicked your eyes on to his suddenly, and he met your gaze with a piercing stare quite intended to read your mind. He felt renewed security in your shared gaze. Something about how you looked at him made him feel sublime, unique, interesting.
“Shall we go?” He asked. There was something hidden in the question, you were sure; maybe Roger was right about his duplicitous talk.
“Yes,” you said simply.
“Well, we’re leaving too.” Roger said, as eager to get a move on as he was to be the center of attention. He took Lydia’s hand in his, and tugged her along. She waved at you wondering if you were thinking what she was.
You were sharing the same thought, though before you could voice it, Deacy offered you his arm. This small gesture evacuated every other thought from your mind. It was gallant and possessive, and you liked it. He might always be two things at once, but that was his charm, his dangerous allure that you thought would always keep you guessing, always on your toes, never sure exactly what he was thinking or meaning to say. It was that paradox from earlier in the night again; for he was entirely genuine as well as being deliberately unknowable. You took his arm in yours and felt truly warm and safe; there was a finality to the action: you belonged to him, and him to you. Ridiculous, you thought; you had just met. You needed to stop thinking such stupid things like that. He was a rock-star; this was a life you would never have, maybe one you’d dream to have, but the odds were astronomical. As astronomical as sharing all those intimate moments with Deacy tonight were, perhaps...
What were the odds of falling in love, you questioned. Not just with Deacy, but at all? Surely, falling in love wasn’t just some one-sided phenomenon; it had to be shared to be real love. Pop culture wants us to believe in selfless, one-sided, self-sacrificial love is where it’s at, but that isn’t very realistic, you thought. Not entirely healthy, either; you had been there before. Sacrificing yourself on the pyre for love you thought was pure and reciprocal only to find it wasn’t. That kind of falling combustion can be devastating. Love had to be reciprocal entirely, not uncertain, and committed. You wanted none of the half-love of yore anymore. Either full dedication between two souls in passionate love with each other, fully engrossed in the meaning and profundity of their combined lives together, or you wanted nothing at all. All or nothing. Magic or nothing. This was a pact you and Lydia had made recently. One you intended to hold each other to come hell or high water, some snipers in the night, and lions at your door. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth it to not compromise what you needed and wanted at the behest of someone else. You wondered if Deacy would be up to the task?
Walking arm in arm, you let John Deacon lead you through the house to the front door. “May I escort you home?” He asked a little too casually.
You giggled rolling your eyes up at him. Just as you figured, he had a shy smile on his face, though you knew better; there was nothing bashful about that grin.
He was slightly taken aback; had you cracked his code already? Maybe Roger was right, he thought. His expression softened into a muted sincerity, and melted into the hidden desires underneath his earlier question.
“Well, escort me home, you may, though there will be no other kinds of escorting.” You said putting on a prim accent, “Not tonight, at least; I’m a lady.”
“Indeed,” he said, trying not to laugh, recalling just how lady-like you had been orgasming in his grasp. He licked his lips, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “you want to be wooed, my fair lady?”
“Stop,” you said, laughing lightly and hitting his arm ineffectually, “You’re making me wet, and I just can’t handle another round tonight.”
“Oh, I think we’re up to the task, but I’ll defer to your wishes, always.”
“You’re too much for me, John Deacon.”
“May I quote you on that?”
You both laughed, walking through the front door. You saw a sleepy valet sitting and reading a magazine. Deacy reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip, and passed it to the valet. He took the slip and grabbed a set of keys saying he’d return in a couple of minutes with Deacy’s Mercedes.
“A Mercedes?” You questioned.
“Yes; what? Classier than you expected?”
“Everything about you is a surprise.” You hummed. “What color?” That was the extent of your car conversation capabilities.
“I think the green one.”
“The green one, you think?”
He shrugged at you, embarrassed in the late moonlight. He had money, more money than he knew what to do with; his expenses weren’t plentiful, and he didn’t have a family, or a partner like Freddie. He had no one to provide for.
No one to provide for.
This idea frequently made him bizarrely solemn. It always left a pit in his stomach, made him feel quite hollow, and confusingly guilty. He could, given the right circumstances, give so much to someone else. If that person would ever come along, he thought. He looked at your face, then, studying it closely. Looking for some hidden hint he was on the right path.
Fire and ice shone in those grey-green eyes of his. He was mesmerizing and chaotic, you thought. Deadly, like Roger, but you sensed there wasn’t a temper hiding under his shrouded mystery, but something else altogether.
The valet returned with a green Mercedes-Benz. The top was down, and you had a hard time imagining someone so mischievous driving something so, well, cool. Deacy tipped the driver, and traded spots with him. The valet opened your car door, and closed it behind you.
“Thank you,” you said to him. He waved you both off, clearing you to go.
Deacy put the car into gear and slowly drove away from Garden Lodge. Looking at him, his curly auburn hair dancing in the wind, the full beauty of his person unfurled itself to you in a way previously unseen. Something about him relaxed entirely the second you had step foot outside the party. He was at ease, and any weight of “being on” for the party had evaporated into the night air. His red necktie was flapping behind him like a scarf. You hated to admit it, but damn, he was the coolest person you had ever met. You laughed, thinking how disappointed Roger would be to hear you say that.
“What?” Deacy asked, responding to your laugh with one of his own.
“I just cannot believe that I am here with you. I have to keep reminding myself it’s real.”
“I assure you,” Deacy said, looking at you briefly, “this is no fantasy, Y/N.”
Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor @triggeredpossum @groupiie-love @partydulce @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty @deakysdiscos @yourealegendroger @marvellouspengwing
#john deacon x reader#john deacon#roger taylor#freddie mercury#jim hutton#brain may#queen#queen x reader#bohemian rhapsody#rami malek#joe mazzello#aaron mccusker#gwilym lee#ben hardy
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my favorite things friday
happy friday, all you beautiful chickens out there.....
you may think today is gonna be about our favorite songs, or 30 songs about coffee, or 30 songs about vodka.
you would be wrong, and i intentionally kept the promos vague so that when i told you what today was gonna entail, it would be a surprise....a glorious musical surprise that would get you on your feet and paying attention.
you may not know this, but @thepunkmummy and i love musicals.
pretty much all musicals, too. new ones, old ones, weird ones, ones with puppets, ones with mormons, and especially ones with bob fosse at the helm.
speaking for myself, i grew up on musicals, and not just of the xanadu variety. i saw pretty much all of gene kelly’s musicals by the time i was 5 or 6 (sadly, he wasn’t represented today by either of us) so that when i DID see him in xanadu, i knew what was what. we also had a local community theater that put on 4-5 shows a year that we always went to, and i may have been in a few of them over the years....
i have a serious soft spot in my cold, dark heart for musicals, and i don’t know, there is just something about them that you either totally love, or just don’t get. and i totally love them.
so while we won’t make you sit through a bunch of musicals today, we WILL show you 30 songs from musicals that we love and think are worth your time to listen to. i didn’t place any parameters on whether they had to be either movie or stage musicals (there’s usually a version of both, anyway), so there’s a mix of both. i know i tried to play some less obvious choices (that’s how gene got cut from the list) but we also threw in quite a few old favorites.
what can i say? the heart wants what the heart wants, and today it wants this.
hope you guys enjoy this fun friday show full of amazing performances from musicals!
spend a little time with me kisses,
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
loveaxiomatic and thepunkmummy
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