#°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･bahamian reader°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[futuremrscameron]

❀˖°bahamian!reader❀˖°

content warnings: suicidal ideation, (accidental) shooting, symptoms of mental illness, sexual content, implied/referenced violence, major spoilers for outer banks s1-3

[tainted-liquor]

this was specifically requested BY Bree, so here we go🤷🏽‍♀️

“Hood Princess” bree

For starters, I wanna just get a little background info out the way before I do anything. Bree is Bahamian, says she doesn’t experience racism, and its v likely that she has never lived outside of the Bahamas. The official language of the Bahamas is English and Haitian Creole, as many people of Haitian decent LIVE on the island. Haitian Creole derived from FRENCH, lets keep this in mind.

so first I wanna address Bree’s ignorance/marginalization of Caribbean people.

In the DC server I said “maldito mamaguevo” right after having a disagreement over…this message

I thought it was obvious this was in a playful/joking manner, but maybe she took this as a personal attack/accusation. I would just like to say that if I suspected Bree abt this anon (which I didn’t because she had Honey BLOCKED for some reason during this), I wouldn’t have made a joke abt it. Not sent the SS to her. I would’ve made a mental note of it and kept it pushing.

When Bree first sent this message I was confused, because as you know I have Dominican family. I speak Dominican Spanish, and generally only rlly know Dominican slang that I’ve learned from my brother and his side of the family. So obvi I was confused because Bree makes it known she’s very much Bahamian, so I googled what language the Bahamas speaks and if it’s anything like Dominican Spanish !

As you can see, they don’t speak Spanish…so what was the point of saying “I’m Caribbean I know what this means?” Anyone can be Caribbean…White black Asian Latino. If you’re born in the Caribbean you’re Caribbean…so why does this equate to her speaking spanish?

so naturally i went to Dalia abt it cuz even tho I myself could feel this was iffy, I wanted to ask someone else who is more submerged in Dominican culture. And Dalia said this felt iffy, because she has marginalized the Caribbean before and hopped between different dialects that are…not her own! Like Jamaican patois

But besides that, lets address another issue w Bree before we dive into her history of supporting a miles smut writer.

As some of you may know, Bree used to refer to herself as a “hood princess” and used PLENTYYYYY of AAVE and african american culture in her works…lets break this down rq

Bree has earned herself a reputation as a rather aggressive and obnoxious blogger, doing absolutely nothing but fighting w gwiles Stans and “speaking her mind” abt things nobody really paid any attention to. She said she was a pale “natural blonde” girl (I haven’t seen shawty so idk wtf she looks like)

So why does she run around claiming the title of a “hood princess” when she 1, did not grow up in an American hood, and 2, is probably white passing from her own mouth?

for black children who grew up in the hood, you know it’s nothing to brag about. It’s a low income neighborhood, a “bootleg” version of a neighborHOOD. Hence the name. It’s an incomplete neighborhood.

When I had a general discussion w her about the fetishization of African American culture a week ago, she seemed mad avid to defend making the hood be your whole personality..trying to justify it by saying it “makes you think and act a certain way” which is v true! However I’ve never once tried to make myself into a sexxyred “hood princess” js cuz I grew up in a low income area. She even agreed that african american culture was fetishized, so I’m so confused as to why she was offended by my post yesterday?

So as to why she’s mad…idk. When I’ve talked to her abt this issue before, and I’ve literally just taken the issue online this time as a black creator

now let’s move on to Bree’s ableism☠️

I got her so mad she tried to tell me I was “half a chromosome away from a learning disability”…ok!!

But besides that, lets talk about her defending Anika!

So this summer, a popular creator by the name Anikaluv made a fic where miles had readers…nudes in his phone😭

Children should not be sending, keeping, or taking nudes of themselves or anyone else. Wether that’s 14, 15, 16, 17. Just DON’T! It’s illegal, and this fic glosses over the fact that it’s a disgusting crime. Not only that, but miles mother SEES the readers nudes…so😭

Bree immediately took to defend Anika, showing her support for her and saying if we keep complaining we won’t have anything to read☠️☠️

When this is Anika…and Bree DEFENDING Anika

Anika also wrote about the reader buying miles a thong?? At 15?? You don’t “read miles smut” but you sure read anikas work !

FYI…Anika was going to write about Reader and miles GRINDING in said lingerie. And Anika said she despises miles smut, and so did you! But at the end of the day that doesn’t change what you said

Here’s the screenshot you wanted ms. “People are gonna do what they do”

mouthful, but there we go

[ourolite2]

ᨳິ petites idées!　　sfw & suggestive black chongyun.　reader gender unspecified, slight physical teasing. also, bahamian slang was used which i hope was applied properly bcs i am not bahamian LMAO. please do correct any with accuracy if i'm wrong! ༄

•　 chongyun is from the CARIBBEAN. he is BAHAMIAN. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! therefore i'm certain he knows variations of creole spoken in the bahamas, such as bahamian creole and haitian creole. however, his accent and his usage of the language grow in prominence when he code switches specifically. otherwise, his accent is subtle and only heightens when excited or uses an expression. nigga stepped back in surprise and went "mudda sick!"

•　 side note, chongyun also prefers oils like peppermint and eucalyptus because of their heat-defying properties. get too close and you’ll have a breath of fresh air from anywhere above his neck with the slightest whiff. i’d argue that this adds onto his natural scent and repels demonic energy from him, making his duties as an exorcist nothing but effortless.

•　 this is not only my theory but neso’s as well, that high temperatures of weather provoke unbridled frustration, while a high degree in spice provokes his code switch into a more slang-embedded and chatty persona, regardless of the emotion with this linguistic swap. high temperatures in the aspect of becoming overly flustered or anxious would result in stereotypical lightskin ass behavior. symptoms include smooth and failed rizz, leaning against a nearby wall, nodding upward in a 'sup' motion with a sweet smile, and other laughter-bellyache inducing antics.

•　 under the same subject, arousal can also cause certain emotions since.. other parts would become more heated than anticipated. this does not result in smooth behavior, but rather improper use of slang and a few mumbles of "goddamn" or "gyat" to himself. he is not smooth, he's adorable! uh-- well... unless it's hot outside while such occurs. then he'd come off more embarrassed with an attitude due to his ineptness to hold eye contact, in addition to how much he's stuttering and fidgeting in your presence. hm... this is still pretty cute tho, isn't it?

•　 y'know, there's so much black cuisine beyond soul food, but to start off with such chongyun's favorite sides would be potato salad, banana pudding, and deviled eggs because they're delectably served cold of course. as for other types of black cuisine, specifically bahamian or just caribbean, he likes conch salad, johnny cake with some vanilla icecream, crab rice served at room temperature, and despite his sensitivity to heat, chongyun can certainly exalt freshly made plantain fufu with various kinds of soups. also, if his environment is colder his emotions are less chirpy, allowing him to prefer being more composed and chill (pun intended), therefore warmer foods become considerably more tolerable for his yang energy to handle.

•　 you uh.. you guys know how he has those calming herbs in his popsicles for his yang energy? well.... what if he smoked those herbs to calm down? y'know how he doesn't come off aggressively and he's a chill sweetie? well.. imagine he's miffed and just reaches for one of his joints...

•　 okay, okay. let me close off by saying i looooove the pretty blue theme for chongyun's character, especially in his natural features, meaning his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. his clothes matching is just a perfect plus. he'd have three strand twists done in his hair as his day-to-day style as well as his favorite style. the contrast of light blue to his gingerbread cheeks and tawny forehead is so eye-catching, radiating soft, approachable energy. assuming xinqiu is also black here, he definitely re-twists chongyun's hair for him sometimes; this is because doing it himself can make chongyun too hot, since wash days are a workout and a half. he'll have to constantly take a popsicle break til' he runs himself dry. if not xinqiu, however, y/n can lend a comb and a few hours, right?

꒰꒰　　Fifteen minutes after washing and conditioning the lapis exorcist's head of hair, Y/n was confined to numbing their body by sitting in the same position as they moisturized his detangled spirals and corkscrew curls from the ends up. T'was doubtless that the young man was unfazed and emotionally pacified by the massage of cold-pressed cream and peppermint oil to his scalp and ends. Chongyun sighed in delight behind closed, mocha lips, ever appreciative to have someone so amply amiable to assist him with this monthly test of his sanity. "Dunno how I'd do this without you, Y/n. I admire your skill and precision, ‘cause Lapis knows I physically can't fuc-.. can't function..."

Y/n peered from behind him with a velvet grin, taking pride in being so adored for their charitableness. Even so, they were rather rushed and absentminded in their pursuit to deliver succor before Chongyun blew a fuse on his own, so they had no medicinal popsicles on hand to subdue his yang energy's lingering emotional outburst.

Thus, Y/n hummed patiently in response to his subtle agitation layered in clouds of gratitude. "Hmm? No, no, your skill and precision out-rival mine in many things, baby blue. You're an exceptional exorcist for one, aren't you?"

Y/n's words were warmhearted enough, in fact, to cause a drought upon any venom brooding beneath his furrowed expression. Continuing massaging his scalp with the eucalyptus now coating their fingertips earned them another exhale of relief from the miffed munchkin. Alas, this relief was faulty and short-lived, unlike the addictively euphonious voice beginning to toy with his muddled mind.

Y/n leaned further down so that their chest was pressed to the back of Chongyun's head, followed by tilting his head back enough to face them. They endowed a silken kiss to his now ever-more baked forehead, leaving one hand to caress the front of his neck and the other to hold onto his lower cheek and chin. With how his eyes could only widen in a failed quip, his plump lips parting and spreading into a naturally flustered smile, you'd think he must feel heavenly against Y/n's spread thighs. However, the opposite was evident, as his body's temperature began to rise and only increased with Y/n's giggles in response to his adorable reaction.

'Poor cute little thing.' Y/n mused, with their widened lips stuck in that gorgeous upturned setting. Their hand placement was all the more amusing (to them at least) as Chongyun breathed out an incoherent 'damn' under their touch, denying himself any further vulgarities as they continued kneading their fingers onto him and trailing their nails across his sensitive skin, goosebumps present and halfway-completed hair neglected.

"Don't start with your failed, flirty antics on me either, baby blue.. Just enjoy me like this, I'll fix your head momentarily."　　꒱꒱

⑅ leman productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

[zyafics]

omg omg omg rafe cameron + dominican or puerto rican gf ?? all your other pairings eat so hard and i would absolutely love to see him with a carribean girlie 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

omg omg omg YES i will!! i also have a couple in my requests box for a puerto rican gf, so i would love to do it too!! however, in the meantime, also check out @futuremrscameron's bahamian reader too!! but dw, i will be completing this 🙂‍↕️

[ant1quarian]

Hello it's Anomo Again and i just wanna drop another one Have you wacthed Rio with Blu and Jewel and all?, What if we had a Bahamian Parrot Avian Reader to that, don't matter which one but it's one and she can't fly due to being overly domesticated like blu?, let's just say her and her human went there and axe saw her and was like 'She needs my help!' And just swooped in and literally kidnaps Poor Reader who can't fly for nothing and i bet they'd find her attractive too due to her bright colors and patterns too, but besides the point she's just sitting there like she's about to get eaten if ahe moves a inch and their not making it better because their surrounding her and examining her as i suppose they've never seen a Bahamian Parrot Avian in that place before and yada

I absolutely loved Rio. Was definitely one of my favourite movies as a kid.

And that? That sound positively awesome.

I can imagine the chaos of Reader being like: "haha. you thought you was doing a good decision, huh?" while she simply just climb up trees after Axe.

Big ol' liability, but the boys care about her.

Definitely gets shoved off of a ledge by Killer being a goof at some point unintentionally, meaning Dust has to go ahead and catch her because he has the power of zoomies that break the sound barrier.

I can definitely see her jumping and yelping whenever anything she doesn't know about touches her wings and tail- as well as being totally oblivious to the whole "eye-contant-equals-death-or-intimacy-respectively" thing in Avian culture.

Here you are, striking again with your premium thoughts. Much appreciated, Anomo :]

[its-suanneschafer-author]

BOOK REVIEW: Purple Deceiver by John H. Cunningham

Purple Deceiver is the tenth in John Cunningham’s Buck Reilly Adventure Series. Despite being so far into the series, the novel is easily read as a standalone as the author provides enough back story to keep the reader from being lost. After being down on his luck for a while, Buck has recently salvaged the Queen’s Jewels from a wreck in Bahamian waters. He didn’t have the proper authority to…

[sensitivityreaders]

sensitivity reader

name: arilys

pronouns: they/she/vae/magic

age: minor

reads for: hi, i'm 15 and can read for black, bahamian, or biracial in general kinda characters, characters who identify as bi and/or demisexual as i’m bi-demisexual, characters who are nonbinary as i'm a nonbinary woman, characters who have adhd, anxiety and/or have dealt with eds as I have the first two and have dealt with anorexia, characters who may be dealing with abandoning christianity/catholicism, and characters who dabble in witchcraft as i practice it ✨

sensitivity reading:

general questions and discussion: yes

in-depth discussion of plots and characters: no

partial read (relevant sections): yes

full read: no

willing to read: original work, fanfiction (mao dao zu shi, the legend of korra, avatar the last airbender, boku no hero academia, vocaloid, haikyuu!!, assassination classroom, wings of fire)

unwilling to read: erotica/nsfw/explicit scenes, in depth depictions of child abuse (mentally and/or physical) and self harm (ie: cutting, burning)

rates:

>800 words in original stories read for free >600 words in fanfiction for free 1000-2000 would be 2 usd 2000-4000 would be 4 usd anything above goes up 2 usd by per 1000 words

contact: preferably @angsty_turtle on instagram, but my discord is @ari💜#5700 and my tumblr is @iamaneyesore

[futuremrscameron]

❀˖°bahamian!reader’s❀˖° insta

[xxoxobree]

Angels At Work 🪽

A Black Girl Runs This Muthafuckaa . She/her . Writer . Reader . Miles Morales’ wife . Bahamian . Fem!Reader Blog . Sagittarius . Huey & Riley’s Big Sister . Grandad’s Favorite . Comic Lover . Rio’s Daughter in law . E42 NY Local . Opinionated . Confident Queen. Daughter of Zeus. Cabin 1 .

Bookshelf

Hey Babe

The Boy Is Mine

Copyright © 2023 xxoxobree. All rights reserved.

[tainted-liquor]

LMFAOOAA She had to bring out "manly ass 'vice' " ! Baby's bored but requested me specifically... I have YET to hear what was so important that I had to put my pink switch away..."Im sick of running on" so go wrap your 'natural blonde' hair under you pink synthetic wig, take off your 'short likkle skirt' and go play dress up as an African American woman from poverty ! Ms. "I'm Caribbean so I know what that means" despite the official Bahamian language being...english and haitan creole. Wanna be everything but yourself ms. 'confident queen' Freeman. Goodnight lovebug ! Rest those eyes so you can write a shitty fic abt a shitty self insert reader w a shitty attitude!!

african Americans after being so influential bitches all around the globe + sea copy them !!

[something-tofightfor]

On Tap

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 9342

Rating: M (language, talk of drug use, multiple partners, Logan being Logan)

Author’s Note: This is the result of a request from @malionnes​ ... started writing and I just couldn’t stop. 

Summary: Delos is hosting a charity bartending event - and Logan’s behind the bar making drinks and being charming along with some of his friends. 

As always, feel free to ask to be added or removed to this tag list. No hard feelings.

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit  @dreams-with-thoughts  @wangmangagavroche @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @malionnes​

Logan Delos:

@nananananananananananabatman @damalseer @chibiyanai @life-is-a-melody @songtoyou​

Uncategorized: 

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogers @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines​ @audreychaz​ @tc-elliot @kind-wolf​ @honeyydippaa​ @binbonsadoration​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ms-delos​ @jeanettexkillian​ @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0​ @projectcampbell​ @giggleberts​

He was looking at you, watching out of the corner of his eye even as he poured a drink. You watched him, halfway listening to the woman next to you - a coworker named Marlie - as she talked about making her way outside to catch the comedy set that started a little after 9. If you want. You raised your drink to your lips, taking a long swallow and finally looking away, just as he tilted his head to the side, handing the drink over the bar to the waiting patron. “Are you even listening to me, or are you just going to stare at Logan all night?” You looked down, setting your glass on top of the square napkin before turning your head to meet her eyes. “I know you’re new to LA, but you should know that he -”

 “He’s hot.” You shrugged. “What can I say?” She laughed and shook her head. “Besides, he hasn’t even been down to this end of the bar in yet, so it’s not like…”

 “He’ll be over here. They’re rotating.” She used the hand that held her drink to gesture. “Aubrey’s been down at this end, and Charlie and Olivia are outside for now, but they’ll all switch.” She took a sip of her drink, licking her lips as she set it back down. “That’s how it is every year, and every year, Logan works his magic on someone and ends up taking them home.” You fought back a wince at that, trying to keep your expression even. “A couple years ago, he’d take home more than one person, but he’s…” You tuned her out again as you turned your attention back to Logan - watching as the muscles in his back flexed beneath the shirt he wore while he leaned over to take a picture with someone. That’s your MO, Logan? That what Marlie’s hoping is going to happen tonight? 

 “Can I get you another drink?” Your attention was pulled by the petite brunette in front of you, her eyes bright. “What were you drinking?” You looked down at your glass, thinking, and then decided to order another one. They’re free, what the hell. 

 “Yeah, can I get one of the watermelon ones?” You pointed at the menu featuring the special event cocktails. “It sounds -”

 “Oh, come on.” You heard his voice from your right, eyes leaving the woman’s face and finding his, a smirk on his lips. “We just use the nozzle for that one, let her make you a drink.” He raised an eyebrow, and in the low light, you saw his eyes darken slightly. “Better yet…” He paused, thinking. “Why don’t I make you a drink?” He glanced away from you and at the woman behind the bar with him, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “We should switch sides, Aubrey.” He looked back up at you, the smirk returning. “Haven’t spent much time over here yet.” You shook your head at him but it was impossible to hide your smile.  

 “Whatever you say, Delos.” Aubrey stepped away from him, grinning. “This is your show.” Under other circumstances, you would have watched as she made her way to the opposite end of the bar, but your attention went back to Logan, who was drumming his fingertips on the bartop, the tanned skin of his arms standing out against the white marble surface. 

 “So.” Logan leaned in, his smile growing wider. “What can I get you?” He narrowed one eye at you, looking you up and down. “Rum runner? Yellow bird? Sex on the beach?” Your eyes widened, but you played it off, and you didn’t think that Marlie caught the fact that you sucked in your breath before you answered. You wanna play that game, Logan?

 “What about a hurricane, Logan?” You raised an eyebrow back at him, lifting your first drink to your lips and finishing it, sliding the empty glass back across the bar at him. “Can you make me one of those?” Logan threw his head back and laughed, reaching up with one hand to run his fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. 

 “Yeah.” He licked his lips, eyes locking on yours again. “I’ll check and see if there’s any Bahamian rum back here.”  His eyes slid to Marlie. “You need another one too?” She gave him her order and Logan nodded before stepping away, stepping over to one of the actual Everson Royce bartenders, speaking to her and pointing at the liquor shelves. 

 “You got your wish.” Marlie said your name, and you looked away from Logan, trying not to grin. Did I? What’s that mean for you? “Maybe I won’t go out to see Charlie’s set now.” You watched as she eyed Logan, tongue involuntarily coming out to wet her lips. “Maybe when Logan goes outside I’ll follow him and see if…” You sighed, feeling yourself stiffen slightly. You were just talking about how… “Oh, look, he’s coming back.” She straightened up as Logan stepped back in front of you, a bottle of liquor in his hands. 

 “It’s not Bahamian, but it’s close.” He winked at you, setting the bottle down and scooping ice into a shaker. “I’ve never done this before,” he continued, beginning to add ingredients in with the ice - a generous pour of the rum, lime and orange juices, simple syrup, passion fruit puree and a splash of grenadine. “So forgive me if it’s strong.” He capped the shaker and picked it up in one hand, his long fingers closing around it as he began to shake the drink, eyes moving back and forth between you and Marlie. “But that’s the point, right?” Satisfied with the combination of the ingredients, Logan popped the cap off and poured it between two ice-filled hurricane glasses the actual bartender had put in front of him before reaching into the plastic container for orange slices as garnish and finishing by inserting straws. “Ladies.” He slid the drinks to you, ducking his head. “Be honest, how are -”

 “Where’s my cherry, Logan?” Eyeing the drink, you questioned him, leaning forward on your stool. “This is supposed to -” Marlie gasped at your words but Logan only laughed again, using two fingers to pluck a tiny, plastic sword from the container in front of him and skewering three cherries on it before he reached out, handing it to you. “Thank you.” You felt his fingers brush yours as you took the cherries from him, but without lingering, Logan stepped back, clearing the bar and waiting. You dropped the fruit into your drink before taking a long sip, Logan watching expectantly. “It’s good.” He looked relieved, but you reached into your purse, pulling out a $10 and slipping it into the tip jar. “Really good.” He grinned, and you could tell that he wanted to say something else but refrained - somehow.

 Logan looked away from you and Marlie after that, talking to the other bar patrons and for a few minutes you just watched as he served them, taking orders and filling them with ease, laughing and joking as he worked. He’s happy. This is good for him. 

 The event was a fundraiser for two of the charities that Delos supported, held at a bar on the south end of Downtown Los Angeles’ arts district called Everson Royce - and it was a lot more fun than you’d thought it would be. Not only was Logan acting as a guest ‘celebrity’ bartender, there were three others there, too, picked as a way to ensure that the event sold out - and that people would get the chance to interact with well-known names while they drank for a good cause. Though you’d been to other events like it in the past in your hometown, the atmosphere was much different that night, the people around you enjoying themselves without going overboard on cheap liquor and beer. You’d arrived with Marlie at 7, taking seats at the end of the bar closest to the doors that led to the back patio, and by 8:30, you’d had two drinks - plus Logan’s third, and a bunch of appetizers. Everything was included with the cost of the ticket, and while you hadn’t had to pay for yours, you still wanted to take advantage of what was offered, because even though no one else knew it, you were actually Logan’s guest.

--- 

 “You should come to the bar event.” The two of you were in Logan’s living room, curled together on his couch as the TV played on low volume in the background. “I know you came to the Christmas party with me, but…” He leaned over, taking your earlobe between his teeth. “Come out with me again.” 

 “Mmm, Logan, I won’t be with you, though.” You turned your body toward his, feeling as his hands moved up your sides. “You’ll be behind the bar and…” You sighed as he kissed your cheek, moving closer to your mouth with every second that passed. “And I’ll be…” His lips met yours and silenced you, Logan pulling you onto his lap without pause and without pulling away from you. “Lo-gan.” You pushed him away with both hands, groaning. “You can’t just kiss me and -”

 “I’ll give you an extra ticket, bring someone from work.” He kissed you again, leaning forward and extending his neck to reach you. “You can watch me make drinks and flirt with everyone for donations all night knowin’ you’ll be the one going home with me.” I… that’s… “Come on, it’s for a good cause.” You laughed at that, relaxing back into his arms. “I’m serious, though, you should be there, it’ll be different than the Christmas party, this is so much more fun.” He paused. “Charlie Day will be there.” You sat straight up, mouth dropping open and your eyes going wide. 

 “Well why didn’t you tell me that before, Logan?” You kept a straight face for approximately three seconds and then burst out laughing, Logan pushing you off of his lap and rolling his eyes. “There are gonna be actual celebrities at this event?” He grumbled, muttering under his breath about you being a typical woman, but instead of letting him pout about it, you reached over, turning his face toward yours. “Lo, I’d go with you even if Charlie wasn’t going to be there.” He smiled at you, wrapping an arm back around you and pulling you close to him again. Once you were both settled, you bit your lip, deciding to have a little more fun at his expense. “So… who else is going to be -” He sighed, raising one of his hands and covering your mouth with it, cutting off your words. 

 “Stop talking, or you’re not invited anymore.” 

--- 

 So you’d taken the tickets and asked Marlie to go with you, figuring that you and the woman would have a good time together. And you had - for the first hour and a half, you’d enjoyed yourselves a lot. People watching had been fun - plenty of familiar faces were scattered amongst the ‘regular’ people, and at $250 a ticket, you weren’t shocked. Marlie had been to the event before - paying her way in, but she’d practically jumped at the chance to go with you for free. She hadn’t questioned you when you told her that you’d been given the tickets from a client; it was common for you and your coworkers to get perks like that, even with as new as you were to the company. It was barely the middle of January, you’d been in Los Angeles for just under two months, and you were starting to settle. 

 You were happy with your job, happy with your new home, happy with the friends you were starting to make - and happy with Logan, even though you were still little more than friends. No, that’s not true. You spent the night at each other’s places, and even though you still had yet to sleep with him again, despite the two of you sleeping in the same bed often, you had nothing to complain about. He’d introduced you to people at the Delos Christmas party, which had been held the weekend after New Year’s, you’d met Juliet and Emily - which had shocked you, and you’d even met a few of his actual friends … but he’d never introduced you as anything more than a friend and “the woman I spent the hurricane with”. At that, you’d gotten a knowing smile from Juliet, whose eyes had flicked between you and her brother quickly, but she hadn’t said anything. We’ll see what happens. 

 You sipped Logan’s drink, talking with Marlie and the people around you and listened as the women - and men - that were ordering drinks flirted with Logan, the man not missing a beat as he responded back in the same way. He’s good. You smiled as you eyed him, watching the way he moved as he quickly filled orders - pulling down on the beer taps and tilting the glasses just the right way, lifting bottles of liquor to pour shots and mixed drinks before handing them over the bar, his wide smile never disappearing for too long. He glanced at you every so often, trying to keep it from being obvious, but you could feel his eyes on you, sense that he wanted to speak to you again. Give him a reason to. “Hey, Logan.” You waited until he was filling beer glasses to your left, taking a pause as he looked down and watched the liquid rise. “Call Aubrey down here, let’s do a shot.” 

 “A shot?” He replied to you without looking up, but you saw him smirking. “I donno, it’s not responsible for a bartender to drink back here.” He finally looked up, meeting your eyes briefly. “Do I feel like bein’ responsible tonight?” 

 “No, that’s no fun.” Marlie spoke up from next to you, and you glanced over, lips pressed together. Maybe bringing her was the wrong choice. “Since when is Logan Delos responsible?” You saw him flinch - but knew that she hadn’t, and swore under your breath. “Come on, do a shot with us, Logan.” He laughed it off, pushing the taps back upright, and then handed the beers over the bar, smiling at the people he gave them to before looking back at the two of you. 

 “Since a couple years ago.” You widened your eyes at the words, but she didn’t catch the meaning behind them. “But.” He held up a finger. “A single shot isn’t going to hurt anything.” He looked down, where Aubrey was busy talking with the people at the other end of the bar, hands moving rapidly as she told a story. “Aubrey!” He got her attention, beckoning her over, and the dark haired woman finished her story and walked back down toward you, cheeks flushed. “They want us to do shots.” 

 “Shots? What is this, spring break?” You laughed, but could tell she was teasing. “Alright, Delos. Make it a good one.” She slapped his arm gently before reaching beneath the bar for shot glasses to line them up on the counter. “How many?” She did a quick head count - offering them to the people seated and standing around you, and turned back to Logan. “Ten. Make ten of something simple, and -”

 “Lemon drops.” You leaned in. “It’s easy and you can make a lot of ‘em at once, Lo.” You used his nickname without thinking, but no one aside from him seemed to catch it, and he nodded, scooping ice into two separate shakers with a smile on his face. 

 “Sounds good. Aub, why don’t you get the lemons ready and -” She was already moving, swiftly dipping the slices of fruit into sugar and attaching them to the rims of the shot glasses as Logan reached for a bottle of vodka. By the time both shakers were ready to go, Marlie had her phone out, recording video of the process, and as Logan and Aubrey turned to each other grinning and moving their arms to mix the liquor with lemon juice and the simple syrup, you were laughing too. This is fun. They poured the drinks, emptying the shakers entirely, and then started to pass them out, Logan handing you the second to last shot glass, fingertips meeting yours again. “To all of you.” He raised his glass, looking out over the crowd, nodding. “For making this event possible year after year.” 

 He was met with applause and a few cheers, but Logan met your eyes again as he clinked the edge of his shot glass against yours - and a few others - before lifting the glass to his lips, the lemon slice held in his opposite hand. To you, Logan. You closed your eyes and swallowed the shot before sucking on the sugared lemon slice, the tang of the chilled fruit jice delicious as it slid down your throat. Setting the glass down, you turned to Marlie, who was laughing hard with the man and woman next to her, one hand pushing her empty glass toward Logan’s side of the bar. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, alright?” She nodded, glancing at you. “Save my seat.” You pulled your half finished drink to the edge of the bar and she moved her jacket to the empty space with yours as you stood, eyes scanning the back hallway for the restrooms. 

 Pushing your way through a few people, you made your way into the small room. After using the toilet, you stood in front of the mirror, fixing your hair and reapplying your lipstick in the low light. There were women around you taking selfies in the mirror, arms draped around each other as they laughed, and you smiled too as you left the room, turning back toward the main area of the bar. Before you could take more than a few steps, you felt a hand close around your elbow, pulling you backward. “C’mere.” 

 Logan pulled you into the office across from the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. “Logan, what are you -” But he cut you off quickly, lips moving against yours. 

 “Shut up and let me kiss you.” You nodded, hands going into his hair as he pressed you backwards and against the wall. He hadn’t been this close since Nassau, the way he’d pressed you against the glass door in the dark hotel room filling your mind. I can’t be this close to him without…You groaned, pulling on his hair and not caring that you were likely going to mess it up, his hands at your waist and pushing the shirt you wore up to expose the skin of your stomach. You tasted the shot he’d just taken as his tongue entered your mouth, meeting yours as you kissed him without restraint for the first time in weeks. Logan had been good with keeping things from getting too intense, keeping your bodies mostly separated when you kissed in order to reduce the temptation, but you could feel in his grip that he was unable to keep doing so. Good. “We don’t have long, I’ve gotta go outside and take Charlie’s place while he performs, but I couldn’t…”

 He sighed out your name as his lips moved down your throat, your hands falling to his shoulders. “Logan, don’t start something…Oh!” You gasped as he bit down on your collarbone, teeth latching on. “Logan, stop.” He lifted his head immediately, mouth open slightly as his breath came out hard. “Hey, come on.” You touched the side of his face, leaning in to press your lips to his. “As much as I’d like to let you continue this, I don’t think we should get caught in the office of a bar at a charity event before…”

 “Before what?” He wasn’t mad - you could see it on his face and hear it in his voice, but he was curious. “Hmm?” 

 “Before… we figure out what this is and where it’s going, Lo.” You used both hands to fix his hair, combing the strands back into place. “I don’t want people to think of me as just another…” He nodded, eyes going wide. 

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t even consider…” He stepped away from you and you immediately missed the closeness, your hands dropping to your sides. “I’ve never had to…” You nodded, catching your breath. He’s never worried before. “I’m glad you came.” Logan stepped closer to you again, reaching up to rub a thumb gently over your lips. “Been watchin’ you.” 

 “I know.” You puckered your lips, kissing his thumb. “I’ve been watching you watch me.” He grinned at that. “I’ve also been listening to Marlie talk about how much she -” 

 “The only one I’m leavin’ this place with tonight is you.” He leaned in again, lips hovering over your ear. “She’s got no chance. Never did. I’ve seen her before, and…” Logan groaned, his hands roaming over your back, the heat from them noticeable even though the material of your shirt. “Don’t want her.” You turned your head toward his, feeling the rasp of his beard over your cheek and then you were kissing Logan again, mouths open as he pushed you back against the door, the weight of his body solid against yours. “Want you.” You moaned his name out and into his mouth, hands at his hips, and knew that unless you pushed him away again, you’d be knocking the items off of the manager’s desk and Logan would be having his way with you. No. Not like this. 

 With great difficulty, you separated from Logan, again using your hands to fix his hair. “Lo, you gotta stop.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “Not here, not like this, Logan.” He took a half step back, his eyes flashing. “We’ve waited weeks, we can wait a few more hours.” You touched his cheek, nodding. “You already know how I feel. I’m not turning you away, I’m just telling you to wait.” Heart pounding, you watched as he thought about what you’d said. He’s different now, he’s not going to take this as… 

 “I know.” He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose, pulling his hands away from your frame and dropping them to his sides, fingers flexing. “I don’t want this for you either, but I’m tired of waitin’, tired of remembering what it felt like to have you... “ He met your eyes, and you could see that he’d calmed down, if only slightly. “Soon as I get you into bed again? I’m never gonna let you leave.” You shivered at his words but nodded, stepping away from the door to allow Logan to pass, but he paused with one hand on the knob. “Wait a minute after I leave an’ then come out to the back patio. That’s where I’ll be for the rest of the night, I gotta… Charlie starts in less than fifteen, so…” He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at you. “Plus, the crowd outside is usually younger, more fun.” What does that mean? “Hey.” He spoke again, voice serious. “Eat somethin’ else. Don’t get drunk.” 

 “I will, Logan.” You swallowed and he exited the room, door shutting behind him. Oh, holy fuck. You’d been overwhelmed by Logan since you’d met him in the airport, but at that moment, you were entirely unsure of what your next move would be. At least I know he still wants me. The thought steadied you, and you took a deep breath, pulling the door open. Back to the bar. 

 --- 

 Someone had taken your seat at the bar, but Marlie’d saved your drink, and so the two of you made your way out to the back patio, working your way through the crowd and toward the far end of the space. There was a microphone set up on the astroturf, and you figured that it was where Charlie would be performing, as it was the only area where people weren’t gathered. He was right, everyone is younger out here. Your eyes scanned the crowd, which was much thicker surrounding the outdoor bar. Damn, she’s gorgeous. You found Logan, laughing behind the bar with the second woman, this one blonde, and tried not to focus on the way she was working with him, the smaller size of the bar leading to them being in much closer proximity. She’s engaged, and she’s happy, it’s fine. “He’s starting, look!” Marlie tugged on your arm, pointing toward the grassy area, where Charlie had walked out, one hand grasping the microphone. 

 For the next twenty minutes, you watched the man and didn’t stop laughing. By the time his set ended, you were wiping tears away, glad you’d chosen waterproof mascara, but you were ready for another drink. “I’ll go get us drinks, Marlie, there’s still a ton of people at the bar, and it’ll be easier if one of us goes - why don’t you get a table and see if -”

 “Tacos?” You nodded, and the other woman laughed, holding her hand out for your jacket. “On it. I don’t care what you get me to drink, just no gin.” I can handle that. You turned away from her and walked to the bar, setting your empty glass down on one of the carts that was waiting against the wall. Push through. There were more women outside, and you watched as they leaned over the bar, calling out Logan’s name and asking him for drinks, phones in hand. Though it was the middle of January and there was a definite chill in the air, you noticed that a lot of them were still dressed like it was summer - thin shirts that showed a lot of skin, short, tight dresses, tall heels that left their long legs on display as they waited. Guess I didn’t get the memo. While you’d dressed up for the event in a new pair of dark jeans, ankle boots and a comfortable, fitted top, you knew - even only seeing them briefly - that you didn’t compare to them when it came to your style, nor did you compare to them when it came to showing off your body. That’s what used to get his attention, it’s what… You frowned as you realized that of the 300 people at the event, chances were that at least a few of them had caught Logan’s eye at one point or another, but quickly chased the thought away. He said I’m going home with him. The last two months haven’t been for nothing. 

 “And what can I get you?” His voice reached your ears as Logan leaned over the bar toward you, ignoring the others around you - and a few camera flashes - as he rested his elbows atop it. “Thirsty?” Oh, Logan. You have no idea.

 “I am.” You paused. “Just give me two of the lemonade things and a water, please.” one corner of his mouth lifted briefly, but he nodded, standing up straight and reaching beneath the bar, filling up a plastic cup with ice and then using the nozzle to fill it with water. “Thank you.” You took it from him, bringing the straw to your lips and taking a long drink, eyes closing. Needed that. By the time he’d finished pouring the lemonades for you, you were done with your water, reaching both hands out to pick them up, but before you could turn away to find Marlie’s table, Olivia’s voice - loud and commanding - stopped you. 

 “You know what we need?” She paused, stepping next to Logan and reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder. “A way to make some more money for these charities.” The crowd cheered, and you raised an eyebrow as you watched, Logan’s expression growing confused. “Who wants a picture with Logan?” There was a loud cheer, but Logan shook his head, opening his mouth to speak. “Five bucks, you can take one over the bar… ten and he’ll come out over there.” She glanced up at him, grinning. “You know they’ll pay, Delos, and if you start wandering the crowd, I’ll be able to handle the bar by myself.” He considered it and then raised a hand to his face, scrubbing over his beard. “C’mon, Logan, think of this as…”

 “Who’s gonna take the money?” He turned to face Olivia, crossing his arms. “Can’t just have people shovin’ money down my shirt, that’s not... “ The woman laughed out loud, her head tossed back and then she straightened up, glancing around. You watched, both drinks still in hand as she pulled one of the beer buckets from beneath the bar, holding it up. “Olivia, what -” 

 “Logan needs someone to keep track of all the money he’s about to make.” Olivia held the metal bucket above her head, turning to face the crowd in front of the bar, eyes moving over everyone gathered. “Any volunteers?” She raised an eyebrow, even as you felt people around you push, trying to make their way closer as they nominated themselves. Jesus. 

 “Her.” Logan pointed, one long finger aimed at you. “Go give that drink to your friend and then come back here. You’ve got a very important job.” Opening your mouth to turn him down, you stopped yourself. Why? Why would I? You nodded at him, fighting back a smile, and pushed away through the crowd, hearing Olivia ask who the first person would be to get a picture. Making your apologies to Marlie, you told her what had happened, and though she looked disappointed, you saw that she’d taken a seat at a table next to another large group, two of the chairs at that table already turned toward her and a tray of tacos being shared. 

 “Looks like he’s made his choice for the night.” She sounded slightly bitter, but you only rolled your eyes, drinking half of your drink in one swallow. “Lucky bitch.” 

 “I’ll probably only… it won’t be long, people already paid a shit ton to come in here, why would they pay more to -” 

 “Because it’s Logan Delos.” She gestured toward the bar. “And he -” She shook her head. “God, what are you still doing over here with me?” Marlie waved her hand. “Go.” She raised an eyebrow. “Make sure you get a good picture out of it… call it your fee.” You finished the drink, leaving the empty on the table, and headed back to the bar, carrying your coat. Instead of trying to push through the crowd, you went to the open end of the bar, stepping back and catching Olivia’s attention. 

 “My friend’s here, but I don’t know how long it…” You held your coat up. “Can I keep…” She took it from your hands, laying it on a shelf behind her. 

 “Delos!” She called out, and you watched as Logan smiled into a camera, hands flat against the bar as he leaned over it. “Your help’s back.” Logan turned from the front of the bar and toward you, walking the few feet until he reached where you stood, bucket held in one hand. You saw that there were already a bunch of bills in it, and when Logan handed it to you, you took it wordlessly. “I expect you to make a ton of money, Delos.” Olivia leaned in. “Don’t make me call Jason back here to help me show you up.” Logan laughed but nodded, and then stepped next to you, putting a hand on your lower back as you moved out into the crowd. 

 “Least we get to spend some time together.” Before you could answer, a few women walked up to Logan, phones and money at the ready Alright, Logan, let’s do this. 

--- 

 Forty five minutes later, you and Logan were back outside on the patio, and you’d made two separate trips to replace your buckets. It wasn’t that they were completely full, but you hadn’t wanted to walk around with so much money hanging from your fingers in a large crowd. He’d taken more pictures than you could count, men and women more than happy to donate to the charities if it meant they got to snap a photo with him, most of them throwing larger bills than the ones Olivia had suggested into your bucket. This is insane. The crowd inside had thinned, but it was still busy, and Logan had even taken a few pictures with Charlie and Aburey, laughing as he did so. 

 It wasn’t all pictures; Logan stopped to talk to people every now and then, greeting them by name, shaking their hands and introducing you to them too, again calling you his friend, hand resting on your back as a show of support. It felt good, even if you two didn’t have privacy, to be next to him again in public, to feel the occasional, casual brush of his fingers against your arm, hear him laughing next to your ear. “How much do you think I made?” Logan had paused next to the bar again, reaching over for a large cup of water, handing you one too. “Couple hundred maybe?” 

 “More, Lo.” You looked down into the bucket you carried, mentally counting what was in it. “Over five, probably… maybe… maybe more?” He took the container from your fingers and handed it to the bartender that was still with Olivia, his eyes on the woman as she moved to dump it in with the rest. “You gonna get back behind there? There’s still time, you -”

 “Nah. She’s got it covered.” Logan gestured to Olivia, who was serving drinks quickly. “And they’re fine inside, Charlie and Aubrey will keep those people happy.” He looked down, checking his watch. “And there’s only about a half hour left til the event’s over, so…” He shrugged. “I’m done for the night.” He pressed his lips together. “You gonna leave with your friend?” Frowning, you turned to look at the table where Marlie had been sitting, finding that she was no longer there. Where’d you go? Eyes scanning the crowd, you pulled your phone out to call her, but saw a message on the screen. Left with some friends, hope you’re having a good night.

 “She’s…” You typed a response back, telling her to be careful before sliding the device back into your pocket. “She found someone she knew, left to go to a different bar.” She must be really mad at me, she didn’t even try to get a picture with Logan. 

 “Huh.” Logan leaned in, his voice quiet. “Guess you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night then.” Before you could react, he’d kissed your cheek and straightened back up, eyes warm under the strings of lights that hung above you. “On second thought, maybe I will go back behind the bar… make you a real drink.” 

 --- 

He’d done just that, beckoning you to an empty barstool while he looked over the alcohol selection. He got sidetracked twice - other people asking him for drinks, and because technically the event still wasn’t over, Logan poured them, the same brilliant smile on his face that had been there before still present. “Where’d you learn to bartend, Lo?” You watched as he poured your drinks from the shaker and into rocks glasses, garnishing both of them with orange slices and dropping a cherry into the one right in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “I’d think you would always be in places where people would be more than happy to -”

 “Had to learn to be sure I was gettin’ what I wanted.” Logan met your eyes for a second, and you watched as they caught the lights, making them look warmer than usual and showing off the deep brown of his irises. “You’d be surprised at how different a drink tastes dependin’ on who makes it.” Logan wet his lips, pushing one of the glasses toward you, his other hand hovering over the bar. “Open your mouth.” Shocked, you parted your lips without thinking, and before you could react otherwise, he’d plucked a single cherry from the dish, lifting it to your mouth and pushing it gently in. “I didn’t forget.” He winked at you, pulling his hand away and using the other one to raise his own drink. 

 You sucked the cherry all the way into your mouth and reached for your glass, the people around you forgotten. Lifting it, you inhaled the scent of the drink before you took a sip, the cold liquid washing over your tongue and mingling with the cherry juice. He’s right. “It’s good, Logan.” After you swallowed, you cleared your throat and stared at him, smiling. Whatever this is between us, I’m lucky. “Never would have tho -”

 “Hey, Delos.” You swung your head to look at the other end of the bar, seeing that Aubrey and Charlie had joined Olivia, the three of them standing in the open area. “We’ve gotta get a couple of pictures with the Everson staff and the…” She gestured to herself. “Talent.” You snorted but Logan only laughed, glancing back at you. 

 “Don’t go anywhere, please. I’ll be right back.” He reached out, one finger glancing over the back of the hand you were holding your drink with. Once you’d nodded, he took a breath, leaning back and finishing his drink in one long swallow, the ice clinking against his teeth before he set the glass down again in front of you. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he joined his co-hosts, the flashbulb going off over and over at the end of the bar. Sipping your drink, you heard as they moved throughout the open space, taking more pictures, Logan’s laugh reaching your ears - but you didn’t turn around, didn’t want to appear like you were monitoring him, and it was only when it got quiet that you turned your head, watching as they walked back inside. Probably need pictures of the inside bar, too. “He made those charities a lot of money tonight.” The woman in front of you brought your attention back, and you tilted your head to the side, staring at her. “Crowd’s gone, and I just finished counting.” She picked up a money pouch, showing you. “Almost a grand, in tips from taking pictures in under an hour.” You widened your eyes, mouth dropping open. “I’ve been here for this event the last couple of years, and this is the first…” She shook her head. “The first time he’s looked happy the whole time.” 

 “Why are you telling me this?” You leaned in, taking a drink. “I’m just -”

 “It’s pretty clear that you’re here with him, or that…” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, he’s… he’s paying attention to you, and it’s not just…” She waved her hand in the air, licking her lips. “It’s not superficial, like…” She jutted her chin out, gesturing to a group of people that were waiting by the back door of the bar. “Like he’d give to any of them.”  It was women that you’d noticed earlier - tight, low cut shirts, minidresses, heavy makeup. Logan’s type. You frowned, the thought crossing your mind before you could stop it. “I gotta watch people, right? That’s my job. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like watching Logan just a little more than…” She laughed and you did, too, turning back to face her. “You’re lucky, you know that, right?” Lucky? “He’s giving you the attention they can only dream about, picked you to hang out with him while he took pictures instead of anyone else.” The bartender shook her head. “He made it known that you -” She cut herself off as you felt a pair of arms wind around you from behind, a chin settling on your shoulder. 

 “I’m back.” You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice, feeling the warmth of his breath as it hit your skin. “What’d I miss?” 

 “Nothing much, Logan.” Heart pounding, you turned to look at him as he slid onto the empty seat next to you, the bartender stepping away. “She was just telling me that she finished counting -”

 “You made almost $1000, Mr. Delos.” The woman grinned at him, seriousness of your conversation evaporating. “Have you thought about a career as a -”

 “No shit, really?” His tone surprised, Logan leaned in, too, resting his elbows on the bartop. “That much? I didn’t realize -”

 “Lots of people wanted to take pictures with you, I’m not surprised.” She busied herself, filling beer glasses and shaking her head back and forth. “But.” She stopped working after she handed off the tray of drinks to one of the servers, fixing both you and Logan with a long stare. “I didn’t see the two of you get a picture together.” She nodded at the pouch. “Made her carry your money around, and didn’t even offer her -” Logan laughed again, and you turned your head toward him, watching. 

 “No, you’re right, I didn’t.” He licked his lips. “It’s funny, we don’t have…” He looked at you, eyes moving over your face. “How have we not?” He’s right, we never... You hadn’t taken any pictures with Logan in the Bahamas, even though you’d taken them of each other, sitting in the ballroom with the other people, walking around on the hotel’s grounds after the storm had stopped. There’d been a picture taken of you by the Delos photographer at the Christmas party, as well as a few pictures of you captured throughout the night, but there weren’t casual pictures of the two of you, even though you’d spent a lot of time together in the weeks since you’d moved to LA. “We should change that.” 

 He was pulling his phone out of his pocket before you spoke, opening up the photo app. You thought he was going to hand the device over to the woman, who was still watching the two of you, but instead he flipped the camera around to face you, lifting his arm to put it around your shoulders and pull you toward him. “Logan, this is -” He snapped a picture as you were speaking, and after seeing it, you whined out loud. “Stop, I wasn’t re-” He took another one, the grin on his face perfect, as usual, and finally, you turned away from the camera, looking over at him. “Logan, come on, give me a second to -” He turned his head toward yours, and in the brief seconds between your eyes meeting and your lips following suit, you saw resolve in his gaze. Logan what are you doing? He kissed you, and before you closed your eyes, you watched as his phone lowered, falling to rest on the bartop. He brought his hand up to the side of your face as he deepened the kiss, fingers spreading out and disappearing into your hair. Stop, we’re in public, we…

 But you didn’t pull away, you couldn’t, and even though you hated public displays of affection, it felt good, knowing that anyone that looked could see that it was you he’d chosen, that he wanted to be with. To them, I’m no better than… It was enough to freeze you in place, and as Logan pulled away, you watched as he frowned for a moment, thumb sweeping over your temple. “You OK?” You managed to nod, but your heart was pounding in your chest for more reasons than Logan’s kiss, and you winced as recognition filled his eyes, the happiness in them dimming slightly. “Stop.” He whispered the word, leaning back in. “Don’t overthink this.” 

 “Lo,how can I n-” You cut yourself off, sitting straight up and shaking your head while gesturing to the people that were still out on the patio, the crowd of women having dispersed from the door to find seats at the bar or surrounding tables. “Come on, be honest with me. There are people here that you’ve -”

 “There are.” He was staring at you, turned in his seat to face you, one elbow on the bar and the other arm stretched out, between you. He was holding your hand; you hadn’t even realized that he’d taken it, his fingers linked with those on your left hand. “You know … you know what I was like. You have since the beginning.” He took a deep breath, wrinkling his nose. “But I’m here now, with you.” Logan closed his eyes. “I’m not proud of what I used to do, but it was my life. It’s how I coped, and it’s how… how I got through every day.” 

 “Logan, we’re in public, you don’t -”

 “Apparently I do.” Logan leaned back in, still holding your hand. “Couplea years ago, I wouldn’t have been here, out in public like this with someone holding their hand.” You glanced down and so did Logan. “I wouldn’t have spent hours workin’ on you, just to take you home for a night. It wouldn’t have been worth it.” He laughed, sitting  up and reached over, gesturing for the bartender, and asking for a vodka soda. “You want another one?” Glancing down, you saw that your drink was gone. 

 “Yeah, and  a water, please.” You swallowed and there was a long pause before you finally looked back at Logan, only to find that he was watching you intently as the bartender set the drinks down in front of you before she moved away.

 “It wouldn’t have been worth it, because even though I like the idea of knowing someone a little bit before I take ‘em to bed, I don’t need to. Never did.” He shook his head, the fingers of the hand on the bar tapping against the surface as you took a long drink from the water cup. “Fuck, I could walk up to just about anyone out here right now and ask them to come home with me, and because I am who I am…” He laughed, raising his new drink to his lips. “They’d do it.” They would. They…Your eyes left Logan, moving around the bar and landing on a blonde woman in a tight gray dress, her attention focused on you and Logan.

 “They would.” He sipped his drink, waiting for you to continue. “So I guess… what I’m wondering is what’s the end game here? What - no, why draw this out with me? We were together in the Bahamas, but that was only one night, and now that I’m out here, it’s like you’ll do everything you can to -” 

 “We should leave.” He interrupted you, pulling his hand from yours. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you here. It’s not right.” I agree with that. “Do you want me to call you a car, or do you want to come home with me?” The question - coming from Logan’s lips - should have shocked you, but it didn’t. The understanding at the beginning of the night had been that you’d go home with Logan, spending the night at his place like you had plenty of times before, but he was giving you the chance to back out, to make other plans based on the way that the night had turned. It turned because of me, because I can’t… 

 “I want to be with… to go back to your place, Logan, I thought that’s what -” 

 “It is.” He picked his phone up from the bar, tapping a few times on the screen. “Car will be here in a few, let me pay, and we can go.” Wordlessly, you finished your drink, sucking one of the ice cubes into your mouth. “Wait.” He put a hand on your leg, thumb pressing down. “You good?” Confused, you stared at him. “Sober, I mean, I don’t want to -”

 “No, I’m good, Lo.” You smiled at him, swallowing the last of the ice. “Someone told me to drink some water, and I haven’t had that much, so…” You shrugged. “I know what I’m saying, and I know where I want to be.” He turned away from you and flagged the bartender down, asking how much he owed for the drinks, but when she waved him off, he rolled his eyes. 

 “Alright, let’s go.” He pulled his wallet out as he stood, fingers closing around a bill before he tucked it on the opposite side of the bar, away from the rest of the crowd. That definitely covers it. “What?” He grinned at you, tentatively putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you next to him. “It’s just money.” Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to say that? 

 By the time you got back to Logan’s place, it was after midnight. After the crowd at the bar, the quiet of his darkened home was a nice change of pace - and one that you welcomed. Shit, I don’t have clothes here. As the door closed behind you and you walked through his living room and toward the back of the house, you realized that though you’d spent the night there before, it had never been on accident. That meant that you’d always had something comfortable to change into, or had arrived wearing something you could sleep in. “Logan, I don’t have anything to sleep in.” You turned toward him, surprised to find that he was only a few steps away from you, hands in his pockets. 

 “I know.” His voice was quiet, but it was different than it had been at the bar. “I thought about that on the way back here, and…” He stepped closer to you, the low light from the kitchen illuminating half of his features. “I’ve got a shirt you can wear, maybe some…” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and slid his fingers up your arm, stopping near your elbow. “I didn’t want you to feel like this.” 

 “What?” You stared up at him, waiting. “Feel like…”

 “Like I was stringing you along.” He moved even closer, and you took a step back, though you weren’t trying to get away from him. “Because I’m not.” I… “That night, in Nassau? Everything happened fast. And I spent that whole next few days thinkin’ about how I told you that I was trying to be different, and yet I… I let myself get caught up, and I treated you like…” He shook his head, hair falling over one eye. “I’m glad it happened, but I’m also glad that we had those days after because…” 

 “Because what, Lo?” Your hand moved to his hip fingers sliding into one of his belt loops. “I’m glad too, but…”

 “Because I got to know you, outside of…” He stopped speaking and your mind wandered back to the hotel room - sitting on the chair and talking to him as your hair dripped down your back, sitting cross-legged on the bed and asking him questions, the way he’d stepped behind you in front of the sliding door without pause, how turning and kissing him had been so easy, making you forget about the memories of the resort that you’d thought you’d never let go of. I knew what he was like and I didn’t care… so why do I care now? Why is it such … You frowned, Logan’s eyes still on you. “These last few months have been… hard, to tell you the truth. I just wanted to… fuck, all I’ve wanted to do was be with you again, but I needed you to know, needed you to understand that it wasn’t just about the sex with you, it wasn’t just that I wanted to get you in bed again.” He took a breath. “Do you know how hard it is for me to sleep next to you and not touch you? To kiss you and then pull away before you can feel how…” He swore, shaking his head. “The Bahamas was one thing. That feels like it was supposed to happen, but it also felt too close to what I’d gotten used to for me to be completely fine with it.” 

 “I get that, Logan. But I knew what I was -” 

 “It doesn’t matter. You spent hours tellin’ me about your past and opening up to me, and then we slept together and couldn’t do anything about it for the next few days, and then we just go? Not see each other for weeks? I wasn’t going to do the same thing twice.” He leaned down, putting his other arm around you, palm flat against your back. “Wasn’t just gonna walk into your place that first night and drag you back into bed even though that’s all I wanted to do.” That’s all I wanted, too. “I wanted to show you that it was about more than that with you, that I wanted to know you before…” He sounded unsure, but continued speaking, words coming out faster and faster. “It’s easy to get caught up in someone because of sex, and believe me, I know that too well, but that’s not real, there has to be somethin’ else, or that’s all it’s ever gonna be.” You tilted your face up, feeling Logan’s lips moving against yours. “I don’t want it to be ‘just’ anything with you.” 

 He fell silent after that, and the two of you stood in front of Logan’s patio door, arms around each other. It was a lot to consider - but you didn’t want to lie to yourself. He’d addressed many of the fears you’d been afraid to talk about with him, hitting on the points that you’d gone over in your head. “Logan, we’re adults.” You took a deep breath, knowing that his silence was his way of giving you a chance to speak. “We both know what we want, we both… understand that it feels like…” What exactly does it feel like? “I feel like you pushed me away, Logan, once I got here. Yeah, we’re friends, but it feels like you’ve been trying to… I don’t know, keep me from getting closer than that.” 

 “What did I tell you in that office?” He pressed his lips to yours gently, head shaking back and forth. “I want you, but I know that once I have you again, it’s not gonna be enough.” He stepped forward, this time pushing you backwards, your feet moving with his without pause. You’d been closer to the closed patio door than you realized, and too soon, you felt it against your back, Logan’s body pressed against your front, but not to trap you. You brought a hand up, fingers unconsciously moving back to his hair and that spot behind his ear that you’d found without even trying in the hotel. He groaned and turned his head away from you, dropping it forward and kissing your neck, breathing your name out as his lips moved over your skin. “I want you to be sure.” He lifted his lips away from your neck, pausing for a moment before he kissed you quickly, chest pressed against yours, the hand that had been on your back moving to rest against the glass next to you. “It’s up to you now, what happ-”

 “You call that a kiss, Delos?” You leaned forward, lips landing on his, teeth closing around his lower lip before you pulled away. “You can do better.” He laughed quietly, but then kissed you again, fingers returning to your hips on both sides, your arms going around his neck. He was pressed against you; the entire length of his torso a welcome weight after weeks without it, and when, after a few seconds, you parted your lips against his, Logan didn’t waste time, using the opening to his advantage and kissing you deeply - nothing held back. It was different than it had been in the office; you didn’t sense urgency in his kiss, it didn’t feel like he was letting himself act on instinct. He meant it. He pulled back first, taking a second to compose himself, and you untangled your fingers from his hair, deciding in an instant what you wanted. “Bed, Lo. Now.” 

 ---

[outroshooky]

my pretty sleeper | ksj

⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢  warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).

part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.

“the woods are lovely, dark and deep,   but i have promises to keep,   and miles to go before i sleep,   and miles to go before i sleep.”

⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost

Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.

Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply. 

It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.

Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.

The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.

Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.

Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.

It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.

The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.

The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.

The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.

 Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.

You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback. 

Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.

No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all. 

Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.

With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.

The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.

With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.

Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.

“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own. 

“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”

“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”

“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”

“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”

“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”

Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”

In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead. 

A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”

You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.

Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.

You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.

He had never cared that you were only his maid.

You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.

He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.

You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.

Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home. 

With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.

It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with. 

A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.

You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.

His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.

The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch. 

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.

You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.

You hold your breath for one moment, two.

He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.

Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.

Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.

With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.

The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.

Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?

Horror.

Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime. 

There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.

Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.

You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.

The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.

For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.

The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army. 

The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.

The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.

With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.

In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.

It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.

“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”

“And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”

“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”

But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”

The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”

It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne? 

The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.

In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what. 

The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.

Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades. 

No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.

“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.

For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.

You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.

And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”

Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.

“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”

“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.

You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.

“My lord?” The attendant steps forward

“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”

“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”

It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.

Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.

“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.

“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”

“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”

He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.

“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”

“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.” 

“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.

“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”

“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.

The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”

“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”

The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, my lord.” 

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“You as well, my faithful servant.”

[marryat92]

I'm now finished with Peter Simple, which was a strong early Marryat novel, and far more polished than anything he wrote in his early career except for my problematic fave Frank Mildmay. (I absolutely adore that book and think reviewers never give it enough praise; please please talk to me about Frank Mildmay.)

Peter Simple is not autobiographical in the way that Frank Mildmay is, but it clearly takes inspiration and plot points from Frederick Marryat's real life. There are the now-familiar naval battles on the Mediterranean coast and prize-taking of the late Napoleonic wars (with a Lord Cochrane expy called Captain Savage), and much time is spent in the West Indies.

Both books are written in first person POV by the title character, which I think helps to keep Marryat's fourth wall-breaking habits in check. Peter Simple starts out as comically naive, but as time passes he becomes remarkably more competent and worldly-wise. He learns to stand up for himself without being arrogant or overbearing. Frank Mildmay, on the other hand, is a spiteful, jealous, and obnoxious brat from day one, as much as he whines about being corrupted by his naval service. (It's obvious that Marryat regretted making his most autobiographical character such a rogue, and he expressed plans to re-write Frank Mildmay although he never followed through.)

Whereas the reader is well aware of Frank Mildmay's beauty, humble Peter Simple doesn't dwell on his appearance. Most of what we know about his looks is that he makes for a very pretty girl, and young Peter attracts a lot of attention when disguised in female clothing. Mildmay and Simple are probably equally emotional— which is to say very emotional. They both have a habit of responding with tears when someone is kind to them after an ordeal. (I honestly love this depth of feeling in Marryat heroes.)

In a way, Frank Mildmay and Peter Simple read like different fictional versions of their author: scoundrel Byronic hero Marryat, and wholesome himbo Marryat. (Peter even gets a hated older brother named Tom, just like Frank! R.I.P. “Tom,” always getting killed off.) While Peter Simple predates Marryat’s acquaintance with Charles Dickens by almost a decade, it feels satisfyingly Dickensian in that a number of minor characters return at the end of the book with happy resolutions to their stories. (The opposite of The King’s Own, which appears to set up redemption arcs only to kill everyone off.)

I prefer Frank Mildmay as a character to Peter Simple, but Peter Simple the novel was more informative about day-to-day life in the early 19th century Royal Navy. Both books have an axe to grind about the unfair promotion of unqualified officers with powerful connections, even as their heroes benefit from “interest.” Mildmay is the son of a man “of considerable property” who secures him a place as a midshipman, and Peter Simple is the grandson of a character literally named Lord Privilege.

Another interesting point of comparison between Frank Mildmay and Peter Simple is the treatment of illegitimate children. The philandering Frank is shook by the tragedy of his illegitimate son Eugenio, and he’s almost murdered by the Bahamian girl living in “familiar intercourse” with him. It’s perhaps surprising that wholesome Peter Simple encounters a more positive representation of illegitimacy. The boatswain Mr. Chucks is proud to be the illegitimate son of a first lieutenant: “I had rather be the bye-blow of a gentleman, than the ‘gitimate offspring of a boatswain and his wife. There’s no chance of good blood in your veins in the latter instance, whereas, in the former you may have stolen a drop or two.” 

[mczreads]

The Golden Hour

Beatriz Williams

Published July 9, 2019 by William Morrow.

3 stars

I was given an ARC of this book by HarperCollins. This does not affect my review. Any details quoted here may differ from the published copy.

I can see why The Golden Hour is touted as a beach read. The sprawling, languid descriptions of the settings in the novel, specifically The Bahamas and Florida, set the reader’s mind in faraway places and other eras that are particularly appealing for summer. The story follows two women: Lulu, a journalist sent to the Bahamas to write about the governing Duke and Duchess of Windsor during WWII, and Elfriede, a woman sent to convalesce at an clinic in 1900 after developing postpartum depression. Both woman fall in love in their new locales and struggle to define happiness, family, and loyalty for themselves. The story alternates between the two women, revealing connections between their lives. While categorized under historical fiction, this book leans more into romance than history. And that’s fine! Just know that if you picked up the book for the real-life details of the Windsors, an unsolved murder, and espionage, those details are passing backdrops for an ongoing love story. I rated this book a 3 because it has its merits--mostly descriptive language that sings, placing the reader right where the author Williams wants--but the writing struggles with voice and accents, and the story would have been so much stronger if the protagonists could have been involved in more of the action.

Spoilers under the cut.

My ARC of The Golden Hour is over 460 pages long; the book should have delivered much more action, or it could have been edited to half its length if unnecessary filler had been cut.

Most of my frustrations are with the chapters narrated by Lulu. The author does give each protagonist her own voice, but with Lulu she narrates using dialogue filler. Narrative sentences include, “didn’t they?” or “if you know what I mean,” and even, “Now, where was I?” I sense that Williams is attempting to characterize Lulu through her voice, but these additions add nothing to the story or her character. She’s the sole American, and this could have been shown in her dialogue with the British characters she works with in Nassau. On my first trip to London, I created a misunderstanding over the word “bacon” in my first 24 hours. A similar disagreement could establish Lulu’s American identity, or her sass and humor could come across by speaking more bluntly than those around her.

Speaking of dialogue, Williams includes characters of different nationalities in this story. Lulu is American, Elfriede is German, Nassau residents are the British colonists and the hired native Bahamians, and supporting characters are from all over Europe, including Scotland. Guess which group of people speak in broken, phonetic English? If you guessed the Bahamian housekeepers and hired help, you’d be correct, and I hope you didn’t strain your eyes rolling them as hard as I did.

Accents can be tricky to write, and from a writing perspective, there’s a fine line between including details that create a living scene and writing something so jarring that it slows the reader down or takes them out of the story altogether. From a human perspective, authors have to be aware of how they’re characterizing speakers through their accents. And in this story, Williams does not treat all accents equally. The Bahamian dialect is written phonetically, a Scottish brogue is described as hard to understand and then “translated” into perfect English, and the Germans are only distinguished by dialogue tagged, “he said in a German accent.” Elfriede’s accent is mentioned once, in an English lesson from her lover, where it’s written to be adorable. The kicker is that much of Lulu’s story is spent with the Windsors during WWII, and their attitudes toward Hitler (sympathetic but not wanting to advertise it) and the Bahamians (straight up racist) are meant to shock because of course these views are wrong and of course anyone who feels this way is a bad person... yet the writing then creates a dynamic where white American, British, and German characters are written to be easier to understand, and therefore easier to sympathize with. And I’m sure that’s not what Williams intended! It’s aggravating to see an author undermine her own point because she didn’t examine her biases, and I wish a beta reader or editor had pointed this out.

The details I was most excited to read about--the Windsors dealing with the ramifications of David’s abdication, and the murder of Harry Oakes--occur around Lulu, but do not involve her. She’s hired to write about the Windsors, yes, and she yearns to write about the real news instead of a glorified gossip column. But nothing comes of her yearning, as she continues to humanize the Windsors, specifically the notorious Wallis, even as she suspects that they’re involved in illicit dealings. There’s no dramatic reveal or dangerous confrontation. The reader is merely informed that the Windsors were plotting treason. Similarly, the murder of Harry Oakes occurs while Lulu preoccupied with her lover, which would be fine if she were at least involved in the fallout. You’d expect a journalist to cover an infamous murder trial, right? Except Lulu’s just a columnist, so the story skips over the investigation and trial, and the reader learns the outcome through gossip at a party (and again, the Windsors are involved in ways that aren’t entirely legal). The final 30 pages of the book include all the best action, but it’s done by other characters while Lulu waits.

The bones of a killer summer read are all present in The Golden Hour. Williams can compose some solid writing. Take this description of a long train ride: “Margaret lights a cigarette and stares out the window at the passing shadows, black on black, while I settle myself against the corner and listen to the rhythmic clatter, metal on metal.” Doesn’t that echo the same “rhythmic clatter” she describes? Doesn’t the sentence feel like the rocking of a train through the dark? But her skill makes the omission of any significant action almost cruel. This could have been a longer story of intrigue and romance, or it could have been a short story of love, but in the end it only partially delivers.

[futuremrscameron]

rafe’s insta posts about bahamian!reader