#i would trust him with it because i think he respects the barbie vision

[riseninsaturn]

klavier gavin is an internationally known rockstar you cannot tell me that this man doesn’t have a special edition Barbie or something

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi again! Honestly, I kind of love your meta about the Cullens with and without Edward as a framing device. They're so delightfully fucked up. What do you think the Cullens like about each other? Like, do Jasper and Rosalie ever just share a commiserating glance when Edward is getting particularly judge-y? Does Carlisle ever tell Rose how proud he is that her self-control is That Good? Do Emmett and Esme hang out, does she appreciate how light-hearted he is? Like - other than their "mates" do you think the Cullens are super close? What do you think it would take to get them there/what's the ideal "family" dynamic?

Thank you, and for reference, Edward's thoughts on the family.

All the Cullens about all the other Cullens? Well, this will certainly be a large post. I guess we'll tackle this one at a time and then get into what an ideal "family" dynamic even is (especially for vampires).

Let's buckle in friends.

Alice

By far, Alice is closest to Edward.

When she first sees him, she runs to him and embraces him as a brother. Throughout the series, Alice and Edward are the ones that share a close bond with each other, rely upon one another, and hold each other in the highest esteem.

Much of this comes from their respective gifts.

Per their gifts, they unwillingly invade the privacy of everyone close in their lives. More, it's something that forces them to see the world differently beyond even Jasper (who is also gifted). They have a strong sense of kinship with one another.

Bella is important to Alice not only because Alice sees her as a friend but because she is the one who will make Edward happiest. And that means quite a bit to Alice.

Otherwise, Alice isn't that close to any of the others.

Bella comes in slot number two in Alice's esteem and that's very telling, because Alice treats Bella like her life-sized Barbie doll and makes it clear on a number of occasions that she's more than willing to risk Bella's life for the sake of Edward's happiness without a hint of remorse.

Then there's the rest of them.

People, to Alice, are a bit like pawns in a chess game. Part of this is because of her gift, she sees so many futures that it's very easy for her to dehumanize those around her. The people she's closest to aren't people, but a collection of possible choices, and Alice helps guide those choices to the ones she finds preferable.

And preferable, here, is preferable to Alice. Oh, it might work out for everyone else, and Alice will tell you she looks out for the future of everyone over all, but ultimately because everyone else is just a collection of choices it's what happens to Alice that matters.

Alice is with Jasper because a vision told her to be, nothing more, nothing less. Every interaction they have just emphasizes that they are nothing together, not even a real emotional bond.

The others don't even seem to share a connection with Alice at all. She's in their lives, is this perky kind of fun girl, but that's it. They barely know her as she seems to barely know them.

Alice is with the Cullens not for the Cullens themselves but because visions have guided her to be there as the best future for her. Oh, she treats them like family, but I imagine she'd be the same with anyone else had visions dictated a different path.

As for why the Cullens, they're large and very talented, and Carlisle is one of the few vampires in such a large coven who would not use Alice's gift as a means of war or expansion. It's really the safest place for Alice to be, and why she'll likely do everything in her power to keep the coven together.

Carlisle

Despite Edward's, Edwardness, Carlisle is incredibly fond of Edward and does see him as something of a son. He's also very devoted to his marriage to Esme, despite its unseen flaws. And he seems to be very close with Rosalie, easily seeing her as a daughter and acting much like a paternal figure to her throughout the series.

He doesn't seem as close with Emmett, Jasper, and Alice. This is in part because Emmett doesn't really reach out to him the way the others do, Jasper keeps very much to himself, and Alice is Alice.

However, he's very fond of the Cullens as a whole and looks on each of them highly, even if they don't really deserve it all the time. He would be devestated were the coven to fall apart.

Emmett

Emmett's closest is with Rosalie, for obvious reasons, but even they have a pretty dysfunctional relationship. What Emmett appreciates most about Rosalie is her beauty, when it comes to her personality, he openly admits he's not the largest fan (but what are you going to do, it's the wife, amirite?)

Otherwise, he's a very amiable guy and gets along well enough with everyone, but doesn't seem particularly close to any of them. He wrestles with Jasper and seems to engage in the most 'fun' activities with him, but Jasper is a very haunted soul with a difficult past that Emmett doesn't touch with a ten foot pole.

Emmett tries to bond with Edward, but they just don't understand one another. Especially as Edward seems to go increasingly mad when he decides he's in love with Bella Swan, Emmett doesn't know what to do with that one at all.

Emmett never embraces the whole Esme and Carlisle as his parents thing, and to him it's likely a hilarious joke, but otherwise he doesn't bond with either of them too much.

So, when you get down to it, it's pretty much just Rose.

Esme

Esme adores the family, and by the family I mean Edward. Edward is far and away Esme's favorite child, really the only Cullen I'd say Esme considers her child, and she makes no pretense otherwise and openly says as much.

That said, if you asked her, it would be about the family unit as a whole. And she would be devastated if the Cullens fell apart on her, though not as much if one of the fringe members left vs. Edward leaving.

Otherwise, there's Carlisle, who she adores as her husband. Though they, too, have significant issues. Specifically, neither of them truly knows who it is they married and one day they will find that out. Personally, I think Carlisle ranks far less in Esme's priorities than Edward, in part because he doesn't need her quite so badly, and also because in a way he just is Husband to her and little else.

I think she has very little connection with Jasper and Alice specifically, as they came in so late and in a way are so self contained. Emmett I think amuses her, but he's not really a "child" per se. Rosalie's closest, but as Rosalie doesn't need her as a mother I think that puts a wedge between them.

I also think that Rosalie and Esme wouldn't really understand each other. Despite having lived through similar experiences as humans, they are very different women from one another. I just don't see the bond there.

Jasper

Jasper seems to be the eternal outsider in the family. Edward despises him, but more, I think he doesn't quite know where to fit in with these people. He came from such a different from world than each of them and lived a very different life.

We see him wrestling with Emmett, so there's a bond of friendship there, but I never saw it as a particularly deep one. They'll wrestle, play games, but they never have the hard and difficult conversations in life.

He and Alice have their relationship, but there doesn't seem to be anything really holding them together. The conversations they need to have don't happen, and Alice manipulates his life like a piece on a chessboard, and he consents because he has no trust left in himself at all.

We see Jasper despair to Carlisle in Breaking Dawn that Bella, a newborn, has better control than him but this seems to be an extreme moment for him. It doesn't seem like he and Carlisle are talking often even if, perhaps, they should if only to gain more perspective from one another.

Jasper didn't come to the coven for Alice, nor is that solely the reason he stays, but he very much is an outsider and the one who doesn't quite fit in with the rest of them.

Rosalie

Rosalie is very invested in the family itself. She loves these people, even the ones that aren't so hot on her.

Yes, she wishes she and Alice had an actual relationship, and is pissed off when Alice blows her off for Edward's human girlfriend of all things. Yes, she wishes that she and Edward could get along, but she sees him as the brother you sometimes have a rocky relationship with.

Point being, to her, they are very much a family and she strives to keep them together.

As for who she's actually close to, I'd say it's Emmett and Carlisle. Her relationship with Edward is tense at best and antagonistic at worst. She and Alice have virtually know relationship at all, Jasper keeps to himself, and we don't see her really connecting with Esme.

On the other hand, in terms of her education (pursuing all she can and especially getting her medical degree), her strict adherence to the diet, she seems to emulate Carlisle in all that she does. He's very much a father figure to her and someone she wishes to be like.

So, I do think Carlisle tells Rosalie he's proud of her and she beams up at him. That one I do very much see happening.

Emmett is her rock, the man who keeps her steady and pulled her out of misery, who loves her near unconditionally. For the wrong reasons, perhaps, but time will tell if that relationship works out for them.

Summing it Up

The Cullens are actually fairly disjointed. They may look like a single cohesive unit, and they are in a sense, but if you look closer they divide down into cliques and subgroups quite easily. Not one of them is equally close to all other Cullens, and most of them are strangers to at least one of them.

This perhaps isn't surprising, given I think the coven is ultimately doomed, but it lays the foundations as for why it's doomed. Edward tells us this himself, what holds them together (vs. other smaller covens) is the diet. Edward, of course, didn't mean it like this, but to me that spells a very tenuous bond. One that, with not much of a catalyst, will break.

And I don't think they're going to get to the point where they reach that family ideal.

First, they'd have to truly understand each other, and understanding Edward would break the coven. So that's not going good places.

More though, they're such different people who ultimately do not share common ideals. They don't want the same things in life and certainly not for the same reasons, and because of that they're not going to be incredibly close to every other person in the coven. And that's fine, they don't have to be.

To be honest, I'm not sure the family dynamic is something they should strive for. They already, mostly, care about one another deeply and do live together. Why should they emulate human families?

The place where it falls apart on them is that half of them don't know who the other is, they all think they have different values than they actually do, and Edward is Edward.

And there's no getting around Edward being Edward.

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined- Chapter 3

Chapter: 3/9

Additional Notes: I have up to chapter 5 posted on my AO3, WizardGlick, if you're impatient. Some vocab, in case you were curious: A glossectomy is surgery to remove part or all of the tongue. A scold's bridle is sort of human muzzle with a spike to press the tongue down.

Chapter Content Warnings: It's hanahaki time, babey. That entails respiratory distress and coughing up flowers. No blood. Yet.

Excerpt: “Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

"Um, Janus?" Patton asked, slowing their pace a little. At Janus' inquiring look, he continued in an almost timid voice, "Where are we going?"

"To my dungeon of depraved delights, obviously," Janus said with a roll of his eyes. He regretted it instantly; he'd lashed out instinctively, assuming that the hesitance in Patton's voice had been calculated, but of course it wasn't. Patton didn't work like that. "Somewhere we can talk."

"Is Re--" Patton stopped himself. "Is anyone else going to be there?'

"No," said Janus, deep in thought. He was working on constructing someplace entirely new, a den of his own design where they could talk without worrying about Virgil lurking or Remus popping up to make things awkward.

He worked it out while they walked, trusting the halls to lengthen while he constructed a brand new parlor entirely from his own imagination.

The final product was shiny with brass and black lacquer on the wooden bar and cabinets, all unnecessary flourishes and overlapping lines. It was a shadowy space in Janus' mind, sequestered and private and dimly lit with Edison bulbs. He only realized he'd leaned too hard into the ‘hidden’ aspect when they reached a plain brass ring set into the carpeting.

"What's that?" Patton asked, stopping well short of it.

"I'll show you." Janus stepped forward, wishing he could lead Patton by the hand. He hooked one finger on the ring and pulled. It rotated on hidden hinges, revealing itself as a trapdoor. Janus forced himself to smile as though this was normal, and gave a little flourish with his free hand.

"Oh," said Patton in a thin voice. "A dark, shadowy staircase. Um…" He shuffled backwards. "Are there gonna be spiders?"

"Yes, this was all part of my elaborate plan to lead you to a torture chamber." Janus said, smiling gently so Patton would know he was only teasing.

"So no spiders?" Janus shook his head, lifting his eyebrows expectantly. Patton nodded, his eyes lingering on Janus' for a second, and stepped onto the staircase.

"There's a handrail," Janus said, awkwardly attempting to walk to the stairs without letting the trapdoor fall shut. He managed it eventually and followed Patton down the stairs, barely resisting the childish urge to grab onto the back of Patton's shirt.

" This is your living room?" Patton asked once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No, it's the bathroom," Janus said. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Do you like it?" Oh, pathetic. He crossed his arms to keep from dragging his hands down his face. Anything for that sweet rush of endorphins when Patton deigned to smile on him. He was doomed.

Patton nodded, spinning in a circle as he looked around. "It's like a… One of those…" He looked at Janus, squinting in the low light, and snapped his fingers a few times. "You know, with a password and all that."

"A speakeasy," Janus said, smiling a little at the irony.

Patton seemed to grasp it, too, because he laughed and said, "Easy for me to say."

"So to speak," Janus agreed.

Patton seemed to forget his woes for one breathtaking moment; he smiled radiantly at Janus. All the lights burned a little brighter until Janus caught himself smiling back. He made a pretense of shifting his weight, making an excuse to hide his traitorous mouth behind his hand while he personally executed every last butterfly in his stomach.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Janus asked, beckoning Patton over to a pair of wingback armchairs by the fire. Janus studied it for a moment while he waited for Patton to answer. This space was all his own, and though the pervading chill of Roman’s melancholy dampened the effect of the roaring fire somewhat, it was still comfortable.

"Um," said Patton. Janus watched him fidget with one of the studs on the armchair. "I just… I don't want to sound rude."

Anticipatory dread pooled in Janus' stomach. Great. So Patton was here to offer up some criticism, was he? Let him try. "Well, don't keep me waiting."

"It's just…" Patton looked up at him, his glasses reflecting the light from the fire and the Edison bulbs. "Do you want something from me?”

Panic whited out Janus’ vision for a split second before he got ahold of himself. He was a better liar than that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like you said to Virgil…” Patton shifted in his chair and wouldn’t look at Janus. “Quid pro quo. And you gave me-- You’ve been so nice to me. And everybody else seems to want something from me, so I just thought…”

“Oh,” said Janus, thinking back to the conference room. Logan and Roman hadn’t thought twice before calling on Patton to take up their burdens, and of course Patton hadn’t advocated for himself. “There are things I want from you, alright.” He waited for Patton to look up before continuing, “I want you to prioritize yourself for once. I want you to protect that bleeding heart of yours. You can’t keep going like this, Patton. You’re bound to collapse again, and I don’t want to see that happen.”

Patton swallowed hard, sniffled. “You made that truce with Virgil. Why?”

"For you , of course," Janus said, dressing the truth in the extravagant trappings of sarcasm and parading it in plain sight. Mocking himself. "All for you, Patton." Quieter, to himself, he said, "For Thomas." A reminder.

Patton nodded. "I didn't mean to imply-- Of course you'd think that of me. I swear I-- I never wanted it to be like this."

Confused and determined not to show it, Janus said, “I really do want to help you. It’s like I said earlier, I…” And maybe this was giving a little too much of himself away, so far from the strange liminality of last night, but how could he help it? “I respect you. I understand you a little better now.” Half of him, the stupid half, the idiotic , saccharine, unbearably-sickeningly-obscenely desperate half wanted to kneel at Patton's feet and swear to fix it for him. Janus could take the burden of leadership, Janus could bear the scorn of Patton's friends on his behalf. Janus would take the pressure, and all he would ask in return was Patton's devotion. He almost scoffed aloud at himself. That wasn’t how this worked. Shifting the weight wouldn’t make Patton any less self-effacing, and he didn’t want Patton in his debt. All he could do was provide support, and burn quietly and not let the smoke sting anyone’s eyes.

“You’re so sweet sometimes,” Patton said sadly. “I wish I’d known.”

Janus didn’t miss that ‘ sometimes,’ the pointed reminder that his heart was guarded, his defenses sharp. The gates were either open or closed, and he couldn’t let anyone else in. It was hard enough letting Remus know that he was capable of anything other than snide remarks and cutting words. He had let Roman and Logan see inside when he had made himself vulnerable to Thomas, and look where that had gotten him. Roman had struck for the heart. “I have a lot to offer,” Janus said, gently trying to steer the topic back to safer territory. “But so do you, Patton. You’re far stronger than I gave you credit for, and I want-- I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Them first,” Patton said, and Janus had to fight to keep his frustration from showing on his face. Suddenly it was all too much, the proximity to Patton and his maddening refusal to look after himself. Janus felt himself on the verge of yelling or lunging forward and kissing Patton hard on the mouth. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his forehead like he’d just remembered something. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Patton leaned forward, cocked his head.

“I almost forgot; Remus had asked me for help with something.”

“You’re friends?” Patton asked.

“That, dear Patton, is a conversation for another day.” Janus stood and motioned for Patton to walk to the stairs. “After you.” The pain of unfulfilled desire sat tight and heavy in his chest; he could make Patton feel alright. But that wasn’t what either of them needed; no temporary pleasure could mend these wounds.

“I think you’re right.” Patton got up and mounted the stairs. “But thank you, Janus.” He paused, one hand on the trapdoor, and turned. “Really. It helps knowing that…”

“That I've got your back,” Janus said. “And I hope you can believe me when I say that.”

Here in the dark, where the dim light from the Edison bulbs didn’t quite reach, Janus could only guess at the look on Patton’s face. “I do,” he said, nearly in a whisper.

Then light flooded in and Janus blinked and steadied himself against the railing, and when his eyes had adjusted, Patton was gone.

Well, then. Off to Remus.

Janus’ breaths burned his lungs as he walked, coming shallower and shallower, until he had to pause, disgusted with himself. But the panic attack never came, and the burn in his lungs retreated, and he kept walking.

He was out of breath again by the time the halls brought him to Remus, who had constructed a blood-spattered laboratory for himself. Doll bodies decorated the counters and exam tables, interspersed with scissors and scalpels and pliers.

"Did you run here or what?" Remus asked, nonchalantly tossing a Barbie head into a red biohazard bin.

"Sprinted," Janus wheezed, falling against the counter. A few limbless torsos fell and clattered onto the linoleum.

Remus bent over to pick them up before Janus could so much as roll his eyes. "You gotta stop smoking, Jan." Janus nodded, too winded to even go along with the joke. He forced himself to stand up straighter and take deep breaths, which seemed to help a little. It still hurt to inhale. Remus frowned at him. "Seriously, did you convince yourself you have asthma, or what?"

"I'm just tired out after running from my hordes of admirers," Janus said, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. Whatever it was, he could think himself out of it later.

“Oho.” Remus picked up a hot glue gun and aimed it at a small leg that looked like it had come from a Polly Pocket doll. “Have another rendezvous with the Loveland Frogman?”

“Nothing like that,” Janus said, distracted. His lungs seemed to itch , somehow. He swallowed experimentally, but it definitely wasn’t his throat causing the discomfort. Forgetting Remus altogether, he coughed into his fist. That helped a little, though a residual burn made him dig at his ribs with his fingertips.

“We did Chestbursters last Halloween,” Remus said. “Hold this.” He thrust the glue-covered leg at Janus, who quickly swapped his nice gloves for blue nitrile, throwing on a lab coat as an afterthought. “ Did anything interesting happen?”

“Oh, you know, apart from the orgy, not much,” Janus said, finally examining Remus’ handiwork. Before them on the table sat a torso. It had no limbs attached except for the right shoulder, which was a mess of tiny Polly Pocket arms and legs, all sticking out like the ribs of a hand fan. “That’s unsettling.”

“Aw, only unsettling?” Remus took the leg back from Janus and added it to the shoulder socket. “I was going for ‘skin-crawling.’”

Another itch flared up in Janus’ lungs and he clawed at himself again, only noticing when it started to hurt. The nitrile was not as thick as his usual gloves and did less to disperse the pressure from his fingertips. He turned away and coughed again until the itch went away. “‘Skin-crawling’ is also apt,” he said, turning back like nothing had happened.

“Did you inhale some doll hair?” Remus asked, holding up a pair of scissors with a guilty expression.

“Must have,” Janus said, forcing himself to believe it. He had no other explanation. He flinched at the sudden weight of a particulate respirator against his face, glanced up to see that Remus was also wearing one.

“There,” Remus said, his voice muffled. “Only the best for my trusted assistant. Now hand me the pliers; we have corpses to deface.”

--

Much to his annoyance, Janus’ cough only got worse throughout the day, dragging a scratchy throat and sore ribs in its wake. He ended up going to bed early out of desperation, thinking it was some sort of exhaustion-related malady, not that he’d stretched himself so thin lately. One night of sleep deprivation should barely have touched him.

He was tired, though, and his thoughts drifted as he brushed his teeth. (This, strictly speaking, was not necessary. But he was Self-Care; he had to set an example). He imagined standing elbow-to-elbow with Patton at the bathroom counter, brushing his teeth while Patton… Did whatever he did before bed, washed his face or something. Just something domestic and sweet for his brain to hold onto, like hard candy. But it didn’t keep the horrible, roaring desire at bay, nor the aching loneliness that had never troubled him before. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted , and here in the solitude and silence, there was nothing to drown it out.

Nothing except for that godforsaken itch in his lungs. Janus doubled over at the sink, spitting out toothpaste foam as his diaphragm spasmed almost of its own accord. He focused as hard as he could on the idea that he was fine, but the coughing refused to abate. Panting slightly, he rinsed his toothbrush and let it skitter across the tiled countertop. If he wasn’t better by tomorrow, Remus would offer to help, and Janus would most certainly take him up on that.

He slept fitfully because of course he did. Nothing was ever easy, was it? The cough troubled him only a little, drowned out in a sea of half-dreams. Visions of Patton or Roman or Virgil, screaming fights, dirty make-outs, displays of violent passion he held himself above, all whirled in his drifting mind like a carousel. It was a vision of Roman that finally woke him up, screaming in his face and driving fist after fist into his solar plexus. "It should be you, it should be you, it should be you! Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"

He woke up coughing, disoriented, and rolled over to curl up on his side. It felt for all the world like his body was trying to expel something, something soft and damp that clung to the side of his throat and would not be moved no matter how deeply he coughed.

When he realized he wasn't suffocating, he rolled over to switch on his bedside lamp (bright incandescent bulb, white laboratory lighting, no shadows) and jammed his fingers in his mouth. Sure enough, something velvet soft and wet with saliva slid along the edge of his mouth. He found the edge of it and held it tight between his fingertips, pulled it out of his mouth to examine it.

Reflexive delight flared up before horror and confusion took its place; it was a flower petal. Bright orange and fan-shaped, Janus recognized the familiar hue of a California poppy. He wasn't sentimental enough to have a favorite flower, but the sight of California poppies decorating a green West Coast hillside always made him smile. Bright and summery, they grew in unassuming places and transformed the landscape into art.

So what was a singular California poppy petal doing in his throat? A terrifying thought crossed his mind; he doubled up on the mattress, supporting himself on three arms, and forced himself to cough until he felt that his throat might tear open. Not thinking, he spat into his hand and was rewarded with the sight of shreds of orange and green. Petals and leaves.

Not his throat, then. His lungs. Denial lunged at the first sign of panic, Janus' function kicking in. It was probably nothing, probably some prank of Remus' that he hadn't fully thought through. It was nothing to worry about. Janus was only in minor discomfort and half of that was his own doing, from coughing so hard. He put his extra arms away and lay back on the pillows. He could ask Remus about it in the morning.

Despite the sweet haze of denial telling him not to worry, Janus marched straight to Remus’ room as soon as he awoke. He didn’t even bother to change out of his pajamas. He was angry, he decided on the way over, and not in the fun way. The ghosts of his nightmares trailed behind him, mocking him, and only stopped when he realized he was working himself up into a defensive rage. Remus didn’t deserve that, even if this was all his fault. Which it was. It had to be.

Still, Janus opened the door without knocking, steeling himself against the inevitable horrorshow within. He was greeted with the sight of Remus asleep, all his walls broadcasting scenes from Janus’ most intimate nightmares: mouths sewn shut with leather, pierced shut with metal; spiked muzzles and scold’s bridles; crude glossectomies-in-progress. He steadied his breathing, despite the pain it caused him, and forced the images to fade into bare white walls.

“Rise and shine,” he said, striding toward the bed.

“Fuck off,” said Remus, not moving.

“I need your help,” Janus said, counting on the plea to catch Remus’ attention. Janus never asked for help; he never asked for anything. It was one of the unspoken rules that governed his conduct and kept him safe from debts.

Remus sat up, the covers falling from his bare chest. He blinked at Janus and rubbed his eyes, smearing purple eyeshadow down his cheeks and and just below his temples. “Are you dying?”

“I might be, if you don’t get rid of these damned flowers.”

“Flowers?” Remus looked Janus up and down, nose wrinkled in obvious confusion. “What flowers?”

“Oh, come on, Remus,” Janus said. Begged. It had to be Remus causing this. He tapped either side of his abdomen with his pointer fingers. “In my lungs.” As though to illustrate his point, the cough flared up. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, his throat already protesting the violent treatment.

Remus crawled forward, peering closely at him, then pressed one sticky hand to Janus' face. “Are you sick?”

Janus didn’t answer, instead clearing his throat as he shook Remus off. While they lacked Thomas’ human response to viruses and bacteria, it wasn’t unheard of for a Side to fall ill. Usually it was due to some sort of psychological turmoil related to their function, but Janus was fine. Better than fine, he was accepted. With one final, barking cough, he forced a flower petal into his mouth, and rather than touch it, stuck out his tongue so Remus could see.

Remus took it and Janus shuddered despite himself, grateful that they weren’t susceptible to germs. “Flower petals, hm?” Remus said, “That’s not really my area. If I was going to make you cough something up, it would be, like, bugs or something!” Images flashed on the walls and floor of that very thing, until Janus banished them with a very definitive stamp of his foot. “Anyway,” Remus continued, apparently unphased, “That’s more Don Romano's bag.”

“Well, as you can imagine, it’s very pleasant,” Janus said, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose you can make it go away?”

“Poof,” said Remus. “Abraca-douchebag. I heal thee. C’mere, Snakey, let me lay my hands on you.”

Janus sighed but obliged, and let Remus touch him with his hand curled in the sign of benediction, then in the shocker. “Gross.”

“Do you feel any better?” Remus asked.

Janus thought about it. No discomfort flared up in his lungs, but he was just standing there. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Great,” said Remus, flopping spread-eagle onto his mattress. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” said Janus, a little parting shot. But he was gentle when he closed the door behind him, and walked quietly until he was out of earshot of Remus’ room. What was he supposed to do now?

[princess-of-france]

i would love to hear abt your rococo lll

Oh my gosh, you lovely human, settle in. This production is my Ultimate Theater Pipe Dream and I apologize in advance for how little chill I’m going to have as I explain it. 

Are you ready? 

I want to start with my standard disclaimer: I am a theater artist, not a literary critic or a historian. When I’m directing a play, I extract fragments of lit crit and historical fact as I need them and leave the rest on the buffet line. This LLL in particular requires me to play fast and loose with history, so be prepared for a truckload of anachronisms. They make the vision work!

So, with that…

The sad Catch-22 of my Rococo LLL is that no theater will ever put it up:  a smaller, indie, risk-taking theater wouldn’t be able to afford the astronomical production costs of casting the 20 actors I need, to say nothing of building opulent sets and period-accurate costumes that imitate the royal courts of the late 18th century; conversely, a large, well-funded, regional theater wouldn’t be able to justify funding a 2.5-hour Shakespeare retelling that turns one of his most sparkling comedies into a dark, violent allegory about the French Revolution and casts young, privileged, light-skinned European elites as the tragic heroes brought low by proletariat Jacobean reform. Even as I type these words, I realize how irresponsible an investment that would be. My Rococo LLL is not the kind of classical theater we need in America right now. It is retrograde in terms of diversity, equity, accessibility, and social justice. It probably says something terrible about me that I even dreamt it up in the first place.

And yet.

I want to direct this production so badly it feels like I’ve swallowed a piece of the sun. If I had all the proper resources (time, money, venue, artists, designers, marketing, etc.), I would do it tomorrow. It’s my baby.

Here’s a blurb that kind of nutshells it all together:

July 1789. King Charles VI of Navarre has died, leaving his son, young Ferdinand III, to take the throne. On a tide of Enlightenment idealism, King Ferdinand commissions his three best friends to join him for a period of ascetic study at the court of Navarre. The rules are simple: no luxuries, no alcohol, and no women. For three long years.

The boys’ oath is immediately put to the test when four young ladies arrive in Navarre on a diplomatic mission from Versailles. Led by the spirited Duchess d’Albret, the Frenchwomen and their mile-high coiffures prove irresistible to the King and his companions. With the help of a motley band of scholars and servants, they set out to woo the Duchess and her friends. But when sober news arrives from Paris, will young love be enough to rewrite history?

Set against the glittering backdrop of the last golden days of the ancien regime, this bold reimagining of Shakespeare’s beloved comedy invites us to look at the most famous revolution in Western history through the eyes of the young elites who learned the truth about privilege just a moment too late.

Of all the radical things I want to do with this production, the thing that would probably cause the most controversy (and earn me a reputation for being a narcissistic, pessimistic, Shakespeare-desecrating hack) is my addition of a prologue set in Paris in June 1793. I could try to sum it up here, but honestly I think it would be a lot more effective and comprehensive just to post the excerpt from my script:

…etc.

So basically, half my audience will vomit due to the unexpected onslaught of blood, gore, and violence…and the other half will vomit from the sheer anti-progressivism of the show’s politics. And I don’t blame anyone who finds fault with this production concept. On a political level, I find fault with it. Arguably the last thing our society needs right now is a Shakespeare production that paints young, pale, overprivileged trust fund babies as the poor, helpless victims of a liberal-led revolution for social equality. 

But at the same time, I can’t help but think that the entire point of Love’s Labour’s Lost is to make us look hard at our own privilege and ego, and weigh those things that seem sooo valuable against the true gifts of love, empathy, friendship, generosity, and kindness. 

“This is not generous, not gentle, not humble!” Holofernes cries as the Crazy Eight—high on adrenaline and their own cruel wit—jeer him off the stage during his performance as Judas Maccabeus in 5.2. More than any other, this moment epitomizes the value of setting LLL in a sex-charged, champagne-fueled, pastry-laden, cream-filled, lace-drenched, satin-covered, feather-topped, Rococo landscape. There’s no way in hell the audience is meant to sympathize with the insult-flinging prep school Kens and Barbies when they humiliate Holofernes to the point of tears. Shakespeare is way too smart for that. In the final whimsical moments before the messenger Marcadé comes onstage, laden with the news that is going to change the entire genre of the play, the Bard turns a critical spotlight on the young people we’ve been rooting for since Act One, Scene One and invites us to view them—for the first time, really—through the lens of the hardworking, lesser-privileged plebs of Navarre. The portrait is revolting. However witty, cultured, and elegant the courtiers might seem, they clearly have a lot more homework to do. Marcadé’s arrival a few short lines later is the final test of their youthful ego. Is being clever worth the price of experiencing love? Is love worth the price of responsibility? Is she brave enough to admit that she’s scared to take up the mantle? Is he brave enough to give up the one person who matters for the sake of the people he once mocked, the people he now must lead?

I don’t believe the Navarre Nerds and Les Filles have survived the centuries because they end the play as sharp-tongued, entitled, and self-absorbed as they behave at the start. We wouldn’t still be making and remaking this play if the protagonists were so static. I think the young people of LLL resonate with us—or, at least, they resonate with me—because in the course of Shakespeare’s plotless little play they grow up right before our eyes. King Ferdinand learns that he can’t bury his head in his books and ignore the responsibility of ruling when he watches the love of his life choose duty to her country over the desires of her own heart. The Princess learns that the cost of being the cleverest person is human connection when she finds herself laughing alongside Ferdinand at the antics of the Nine Worthies and somehow feels happier than she ever did when she was mocking him into the earth. Berowne learns that love wins every argument: against wit, against intellect, against bachelorhood, against willpower itself. Rosaline learns that love is strength, not weakness, and that she is stronger when she allows herself to feel. Dumaine learns that love demands vulnerability. Katherine learns that love is not a game. Longaville learns that love thrives on honesty. Maria learns that love takes courage. When the Crazy Eight say their heartbreaking goodbyes at the end of 5.2, they no longer care about sounding smart or superior; in fact, they speak against their own intelligence. The erudite Ferdinand trips over his words, the cynical Berowne invokes romantic idealism, the boastful Dumaine speaks with humility, the shy Longaville puts all his cards on the table. The women are no less altered. I don’t want to fall into the trap of ascribing an easy, one-size-fits-all moral maxim to LLL, but what else are we supposed to take away from this play if not the fact that we fucking owe it to ourselves as a species to set aside our stupid pride and say, “I love you,” when we feel it because we never know when time is going to run out? What else are we supposed to feel if not pride in these young people for choosing to step up and take responsibility when they hear news that the world outside is ending? That there may be no world left? Les Filles go with their Queen. The Nerds rally around their King. They choose fidelity to their respective kingdoms over the indulgence of love. But they also learn to value love for what it is, and to call it by name…even if that love can only last for a few fleeting seconds:

“If this or more than this I would deny,To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,The sudden hand of death close up mine eye.Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast.”

(King Ferdinand, V.ii)

As the Crazy Eight grapple in real time with the consequences of Marcadé’s message and what it means for their role as leaders in society, Rosaline gives Berowne a task to complete in their year apart that practically hums with poetic intelligence. Her lines are so iconic, we still quote them colloquially today:

BEROWNETo move wild laughter in the throat of death?It cannot be, it is impossible.Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.

ROSALINEWhy, that’s the way to choke a gibing spirit,Whose influence is begot of that loose graceWhich shallow laughing hearers give to fools.A jest’s prosperity lies in the earOf him that hears it, never in the tongueOf him that makes it. Then, if sickly ears,Deafed with the clamors of their own dear groans,Will hear your idle scorns, continue then,And I will have you and that fault withal.But if they will not, throw away that spiritAnd I shall find you empty of that fault,Right joyful of your reformation.

(V.ii)

I think this is the moment when I would start crying if I ever watched my Rococo LLL performed live. Because of all les Filles, I think Rosaline is the only one who knows that by choosing to accompany the Duchess back to Versailles at the end of LLL, she is effectively signing her death warrant. The Jacobeans and sans-cullottes are not going to want young, eligible, Catholic Rococo princesses wafting around their new, secular state. The guillotine may not yet exist in the summer of 1789, but the there is a thirst for blood and Rosaline can smell it. And now Bastille has fallen. Paris is on fire. King Louis XVI has months to live. The world will never be the same. Rosaline’s once-ordered, once-gilded country is careening into a bloody nightmare of soured ideals and ruthless social weeding, and even though she can’t see the future, she can read men like books. Even Berowne. Even the charismatic nihilist who earned a bachelor’s degree in bachelorhood and tried to hide his heart under a bushel. She can read him and she can save him. They can’t kill her husband if she doesn’t have one. 

Rococo LLL? I don’t know. It’s a pipe dream. 

But can’t you picture it? 

Tagging my girls @harry-leroy @suits-of-woe @lizbennett2013 @dedraconesilet @exeunt-pursued-by-a-bear @henriadical in case anyone is interested :)

Thanks a million for one of my favorite asks ever! Happy holidays, friend!!

xx Claire

[chwrpg]

Mom! I'll be right behind you in the hearse!

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: Again, we had quite the battle of the CHW all stars for this character but in the end, I had to give Arden to miss Tiff. You put everything into this application and I loved that. I have such a clear vision of who this character is going to be in your hands and I am so excited for everyone to get to interact with this incredible being you’re putting onto our dash. Thank you Tiff for this application.

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

It’s Britney bitch, she/her, 25, CST

DESIRED CHARACTER:

Arden Atkins

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

7-8

SECONDARY CHOICE:

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

From the very second she entered the world the odds had always been stacked against Arden. Unlike most of the people she rubbed elbows with on the streets of Rosewood she hadn’t been graced with the good fortune of being born into wealth or power. There was no trust fund for her to fall back on or family business to take over. No, all Arden had to look forward to inheriting somewhere down the line was a pile of clothes from Goodwill and a beat up old trailer home that barely fit one person, much less the three women who currently lived in it; that was if they managed to even pay it off. Though who knew how long that would take since they could barely afford it as it was; based on her grandma’s disability checks, her paycheck from her job at Mallrats, and her mom working as a hair dresser. Still, for as unfortunate a hand as she was dealt, Arden never once showed or expressed dissatisfaction about having less than others. The way she saw it there was always someone out in the world who had it worse than her. Someone with even less privilege than her. And besides what was the point in wasting time whining about things when she could go out there and make it happen for herself? Some would attest her outlook on life to naivety, they liked to write her positivity off on the fact that she was still a child who hadn’t yet had a chance to see the world for what it really was. While others just believed she was a stereotypical blonde airhead who never had a care in the world. But in actuality it was because of the things she had grown up seeing, the hardships her family had lived through, that Arden chose to always bear a smile instead of putting up a wall or having her fists held up to the world. She just preferred to believe that all of her trials and tribulations could be turned into positive experiences; lessons to be learned, things that would help mold her into a stronger and more intelligent person. No, her life wasn’t perfect by any means, even when her family was whole. But she would be damned if she let herself become a victim of circumstances.

Just because she was content with what she had didn’t mean she was willing to settle. As much as she appreciated everything her mom had done and overcome to get their family out of the hole her dad had dragged them into she didn’t want to follow in the woman’s foot steps. Because she grew up with practically nothing that she wanted everything. In an ironic turn of events, that she didn’t like to dwell on too much, her drive for more sometimes even mirrored her fathers gambling habit. Except instead of placing everything she had on risky hands she chose to play them all. Odds were that the more doors she opened the more chances at success she would have. Arden didn’t believe in dumb luck, that went out the door the same day her dad and his bullshit did. What she believed in was creating her own luck. After all, as the great Oprah Winfrey herself said “luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity.” And she was more than prepared to do whatever it took in order to achieve her dreams. While other doors were closed to her others opened and she came to soon understand that the pageant circuit was somewhere she could get a foot in the door to propel not only her career but herself personally.

SAMPLE WRITING:

It’s lonely at the top…

It was something she had heard a couple of times in those melodramatic teen dramas growing up. One of those lame one liners that she would always find herself snorting over because from the outside looking in the solutions to their problems were literally right in front of them. But as cheesy as it felt quoting and comparing herself to a CW protagonist it seemed that what her life had started to become since beginning her pageant reign. The more titles she racked up the less and less it seemed like people wanted to be around her. And everyone seemed to have an opinion. Some welcomed her with open arms. Mostly the judges and sponsors who were looking to mold her into their ideal spokeswoman for whatever flat tummy tea or hair care vitamin they were trying to push on Instagram. Her competitors though? Not so much. She wasn’t from their world. As far as they were concerned she didn’t belong.

The blonde had come from nothing. Her family had no connections, they had no money, they barely even had a home to call their own. It probably didn’t help that to this day, with several competitions under her belt, she still showed up with handmade evening gowns and press on nails from Target. Others had been entered in pageants from the moment they could walk. They paid thousands of dollars for pageant coaching, and dance classes, hair pieces, spray tans, make up, and even fake teeth. While the most experience she had was binging a couple of seasons of Toddlers and Tiaras and watching Miss Congeniality with her mom at least once a month growing up. Walking in like a dollar store Barbie was a slap in the face. How dare she think she could just waltz in and act like she was hot shit?

Those were some of the nicer things that were said about her.

Yes, Arden was aware of the murmurs behind the scenes about her. There wasn’t any gossip around town that her mom’s best friend Loretta wasn’t in the know about. So it didn’t take very long for them to find just how vicious not only the fellow contests, but also surprisingly their mothers, could get with just their words. They were like vultures who searched for any scraps of their prey they could find to dish out. And she was an easy target for them. A hot topic that had spread like wildfire backstage was her family’s past. Her father’s history of unsavory habits wasn’t hard to track. The man had racked up a debt so large and conned so many people in Rosewood out of money that he saw no other choice than to run from his problems before they caught up to him, effectively leaving herself and her mother caught in the crossfire.

But Arden wasn’t one to sit back and concede because things got tough for her. No, she was the girl who made dream boards and hung them up on her walls so every morning she could be reminded of what she was working for. She was the girl who not only made goals but came up with a game plan on how she could achieve them. And made back up plans and back up plans for her back up plans. People could say whatever they wanted about her all that mattered was that she stayed true to herself, that her family would be proud of her, and that she put her all into everything she did. Maybe that was why she excelled at pageants from the minute she first stepped onto the stage. The way her mother recalled the moment it was like a hurricane storming her way through the rest of the competition.

There was, however, a tougher hurdle to cross and that came in the form of Beverly Leon and her mother. If Arden was a hurricane then Beverly was a whole damn tsunami. She wasn’t sure what she had done to get on their shit list but ever since she had walked in to first compete they had gone out of their way to knock her down at every turn. And . their fire only seemed to be further fueled the night of the Miss Windy City pageant. The night she finally managed to ‘snatch’ the first place title from Beverly’s hands, the rightful owner as the girl’s mother had so eloquently told her in that sickly polite tone she used in front of the other moms and even some judges when she was letting them know she wasn’t pleased. How someone could manage to make underhanded threats sound like simple backhanded compliments kinda scared her. But in a weird way also excited her. If the top of the food chain thought of her as a threat that meant she had to be doing something right.

The Q&A portion had gone smoothly. They always asked the same questions like where the girls saw themselves in ten years or what they would do if they were President for the day. And as she was still learning the answers never really strayed far from ending world hunger or ensuring world peace. There was a specific set of do’s and don'ts. Things the judges like and don’t like to hear. It was this portion of the competition that Arden felt she truly played it. She felt like she knew what the judges were looking for. They were looking for someone who could become America’s next angel. The poster girl for what it meant to be all American. Or at least their old school version of America. That much they made clear when they announced the theme cor the pageant would be Land of the Free. While they tried to be progressive in some respects there were clearly other aspects of pageantry that were behind on the times. Still. it was somewhere Arden felt like she could make a difference. It was where she could flex that 4.0 GPA that she had worked her ass off to maintain. Where she could show that she was as well spoken as Diane Sawyer and as insightful as Oprah. Where she could prove that yes she had the looks but there were brains behind those looks as well.

Her question that night? Who was her greatest inspiration?

“My greatest inspiration would have to be my mother. A God fearing woman who has learned to bring herself and her family out of less than favorable circumstances with hard work. Her strength to work full time but still be a diligent homemaker is what is a true testament of what women can accomplish if we truly set our minds to it. I hope to inspire people the same way she has inspired me be it with a child of my own or any child in need…” There was more to her answer but she could barely remember all the fluff she spewed.

What she didn’t mention in her response was that while her mom inspired her it wasn’t only through her hard work. But in the way that Arden was constantly reminding herself not to walk down the same path as her. Her mother gave up on her dreams for a man. She let herself be defined by his words and actions. And when she had been left with nothing but broken pieces of a family she had to pick up and glue back together on her own. She loved her family more than anything, she was proud of where they had ended up after everything. But she didn’t want to have to go through anything like what they went through ever again. It was exactly why she had cut off communication with her dad all those years ago. It took a while but she got past

Afterwards, while she was fixing her dollar store lashes from falling off she was caught off guard when a soft voice called to her from a couple of feet over. “Hey. I really liked your answer up there. You know, about your mom being your inspiration. I especially like how you added in the part about the children in need, total tearjerker.”

“Thanks. I almost went with Black Widow because you know, everything now a days is an Avengers reference.“ She teased, flashing a sincere smile at Luna. Though by now she knew that talk of her family had spread around the pageant circuit. Those who didn’t look down on her like she was garbage looked at her with pity. And she couldn’t help but reactively defend her mom and grandma. “I meant what I said up there though. It isn’t easy to rise back up from nothing. I believe that those who make something out of nothing are the real heroes.”

“Hey, girl, you go out there and live your truth. Personally I’m more of an X-Men gal. At least you didn’t get stuck with a shitty question like what’s your favorite season. They say there’s no such thing as wrong answers. But you know they’re deducting points if you don’t automatically say summer. Because, you know, independence and what not.” She shrugged coolly.

“You know, when I started I heard a rumor there was a frontrunner for a pageant who got all of the top scores. And the only reason she didn’t win was because she was an Aries. Is that for real?“ Arden asked.

“She was a Gemini actually.” Luna retorted jokingly.

Arden chuckled, happy she was able to talk to someone who didn’t seem like her life only revolved around the competition or winning.“So what about you? Who would you have said your greatest inspiration was?” She knew that Luna was probably just making small talk, maybe even trying to judge her competition. But Arden was genuinely curious about this girl. Luna was beautiful, seemed lively, and had the same air of determination she recognized in herself.

For the next twenty minutes until they had to go back on stage they sat there and chatted. It had just started out as small talk but the longer it kept on the more they divulged with each other. Each others reasoning for entering the pageants, their lives, their interests. It was just so easy to talk to Luna. She even told Arden about her brothers move to New York and how she wanted to someday follow in his foot steps. Talking to her was almost comforting. It felt like they had been friends all their lives.

That was the same night Beverly had “accidentally” tripped her on their way backstage to change into their outfits for the talent portion of the show. The same night she began to realize just how vicious these competitions could truly get.

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985

[weepingfanchild]

IV: Lie

He watched the cars pass by with a droopy expression and pursed lips. His coffee was taking a while.

If he knew that Taehyung would call him up at that time of the morning, he would have cancelled this meeting. He would have just went home and slept, because unlike Taehyung he actually has a decent sleep schedule. If he knew that he'd look like a mess he would've gone and at least took a shower and not just put on what ever dress shirt was left in his car. But he didn't know so he's now here, waiting for his second cup of coffee to be served while angrily munching down on a cookie.

Jimin felt like he knew what this meeting was about. He felt like he knew what they were going to tell him, or show him rather. Another picture of another girl with a profile that was impressive for them. This wasn't the first or second time that happened and he was used to it.

Another five minutes passed and his coffee was finally served. His caramel macchiatto was the same color as his hair, a mix of brown and milky. Jimin always has his coffee sweet. He never liked to taste the bitterness of it. People would always ask him; "Why do you take your coffee like that? You can't even taste the coffee anymore" but he would always respond with; "It's my personal preference and none of your business." but of course he would say it with his usual politeness and a smile.

It was around 7:15 when he finally saw a familiar black Bentley Mulsanne pull up behind his silver Aston Martin DB9 GT. He knew who was sitting in the backseat of the luxury sedan but he knew not to expect her to come out of the vehicle. The chairwoman does not want to waste her remaining strength and energy on walking into a place only so she could leave. And as expected, a tall man in a black suit came out of the front passenger seat carrying a folder.

Jimin smiled to himself as he sipped on his sweet beverage. With his chin down, his eyes followed the man as he entered the cafe and approached him. He stopped right behind the chair opposite Jimin's, and formally greeted him with a perfect right angle bow. He quietly placed the folder he was holding on top of the white cloth covered table. "Have a seat," Jimin invited.

"That won't be necessary sir," the man spoke, "I was only told to hand this to you."

Jimin snickered at the politeness being shown to him as if he wasn't used to it. "Does the chairwoman not have anything else to say to me?" he questioned mockingly.

"No sir," the man immediately responded, "the chairwoman trusts that you know what to do."

Jimin let out a sigh but only nodded in response. "Tell my grandmother she shouldn't worry about it, I'll do what she says."

"Will do sir," the man said as he bowed again before he walked out of the cafe heading back to the sedan that contained the chairwoman. Jimin turned his head towards the backseat of the Bentley and as if they were seeing eye to eye, he bowed his head to his grandmother. He watched as the car drove away from the cafe and towards the inner part of the city.

Jimin rolled his eyes at what just happened. He knew it, he was right again.

He reached for the folder and looked at it's contents. He smiled at the picture of a smiling girl in front of a clean white background. She looks just like the rest of them, he thought. The girl was named Choi Heeyeon according to the profile that came with the picture. She is the youngest daughter of the head of a pharmaceutical company, the leading one in the country. There were other things written about her on the profile but Jimin has read everything he needed to and couldn't care less about the other things. He took another look at the girl in the picture. Perfectly placed hair, groomed everything and a clean ass smile. Hell she probably also has barbie doll proportions. To anyone else she could be the perfect girl. But to Jimin, he's seen enough perfect to deem Choi Heeyeon as normal.

Also included in the folder handed to him was her phone number for him to contact her personally. Probably to make it seem like he was really interested and that this whole thing was his idea. He's done this too many times to not know how this goes. He knew what to say like the back of his hand.

He picked up his phone and dialed Choi Heeyeon's phone number. It took three rings before she picked up.

"Hello?" her voice sounded confident, like she knew exactly who she was.

"최 희연씨?" (Ms. Choi Heeyeon?)

"May I ask who's speaking?"

"This is Park Jimin," he knew he didn't have to say anything else.

"Oh!" he heard her girly giggle across the line, "why did you call?"

"I called because I really must ask you something," Jimin started the game.

"W-what is it?" she played along without knowing that she's playing.

"Can I take you out to dinner?" here it goes...

"Uh- tonight?" she sounded so excited Jimin almost felt bad.

"If you're free," Jimin was advancing, "I mean, you seem like a pretty busy lady."

Here comes the killing part...

"O-of course! I'm free tonight! I'm free this week, I'm free every night!" she said with such speed and conviction that Jimin couldn't help but internally laugh at her enthusiasm.

Knock out, he thought.

"Is that so? I'll just text you the details then, " he continued, "Can't wait."

통화 종료뒴. (call ended)

•••

The temperature of the water that was hitting his back allowed him to relax and put himself at ease. Around two more hours were left before his date with Choi Heeyeon and he didn't want to even think about going on another arranged date but here he was, getting ready for one. If only he could tell her straight up that he wasn't interested and that she could go home so neither of them would be wasting their time, but he wasn't that guy. If you wanted an honest one you should've called up Taehyung, the man says what he wants. Jimin on the other hand will play along with you.

Jimin is a liar.

People often mistake Taehyung for the mean one and Jimin for the nice one but they're severely mistaken. Jimin liked to think that it was the other way around. No he wasn't straight up mean and he's not calling Taehyung an angel but anyone would take honesty over lies any day.

If Taehyung didn't like you he'd tell you right away because he knows that you can't do anything about it. What are you going to do? Pick a fight with Kim Taehyung? You must be some kind of crazy to argue with that brat, Jimin liked to say. With that big of a bank account and an ego that was bigger, you can't get even with him. But you have to respect his honesty. If you looked funny, he'd tell you. If you sounded dumb, he'd tell you. If you're embarrassing yourself, he'd save you from further humiliation by telling you how embarrassing you are. He had the confidence and the mercy to do so, but Jimin does not.

That's why Jimin was a liar. Because he wasn't like Taehyung.

Jimin doesn't have the heart to tell you the truth even if your life depended on it. He didn't want to be 'that' guy. He's too selfish. He'd rather have you ruining yourself in front of his eyes than to ruin his reputation which is, the good guy. Sure he'll open doors, pull out chairs for you and have good manners, but that's just because of his upbringing. That wasn't his personality. Jimin is the kind of person that'll talk to you with a smile but roll his eyes at you when you turn around. He's the kind of person that will tell you want you want to hear but leave out what you need to hear on purpose. Jimin is a filthy liar.

But sure, he's the nice one.

He turned the knob to turn the shower off, then proceeded to dry his hair with a towel. The steam from his shower fogged up the mirror so he used his free had to wipe a part of it. The vision he saw was of his physique but not of himself, the mirror couldn't show him. Just like how being naked doesn't make him vulnerable. Seeing him naked doesn't mean you're seeing him entirely. His body was the wall that guarded everything else about him, the wall you can't break down.

•••

Dressed in all white and riding his silver Maserati Ghibli, Jimin looked nothing short of heavenly. It was now exactly 7:00 pm, just in time for his "date". Jimin was never late because he never wanted to be late, it showed bad manners and he didn't have those.

As he was driving up the elevated road towards the driveway entrance of The Cloud Tower I, he seemed to notice the car he was following. The gate security let them in without asking for identification which meant that whoever was in the car was a regular here but Jimin didn't recognize the vehicle. He brushed off his curiousness. He'll know about it later.

He pulled up in front of the entrance and stepped out of his car. Everyone that worked there no matter how high of a position always bowed a perfect bow at the sight Park Jimin. He needed no introduction here. The Cloud Towers knew him all too well.

He kept his subtle smile all throughout his walk from the driveway through the lobby and to the lifts. He prepared himself for his night. He wasn't nervous he just wants to get this whole thing over with. The elevator opened its doors and as soon as the doors opened at the fourteenth floor, Jimin was greeted by a perfect bow from the man in charge of the guest list, his name has never been on that. It never needed to be. He smiled as he acknowledged the gesture. He spotted the table where he will be sat for a portion of his night. He saw Choi Heeyeon already sat and looked settled down. She must've been here early.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Jimin apologized with his good manners, "Have you been here a while?"

"No, its totally fine!" she chirped, "It's only been an hour I guess I was just too excited." she seemed really fine for someone who waited for an hour. But if you're waiting for Park Jimin, an hour isn't that much.

"You should've came in late," Jimin started as he settled himself down on his chair, "pretty girls always come in late, and are always forgiven."

The reaction he received from Heeyeon was the reaction he was expecting and always received. She was probably already rubbing her thighs together under the table as Jimin looked through the wine menu. He smiled to himself.

"Do you have anything in mind?" He asked her who seemed to be drifting off in a daydream

"Huh?" she answered a little startled by him.

"Do you have a suggestion?" he asked again, "Which wine shall we drink? Do you have any preferences?"

And as if she couldn't speak she just rapidly shook her head in small motions. Jimin let out a small laugh. "Okay then," he said while gesturing for a waiter.

"Valserrano Rioja Crianza,"he just simply said to the waiter while handing him back the wine menu. Heeyeon looked so amazed by Jimin but if she could read his mind she wouldn't be. She was wasting her emotions on him and he felt sorry for the poor girl. She's probably already planning the night they'll have her in her head, but the truth is that was far from what will be happening in reality. He could've told her even before their night started and should have not gotten her hopes up, but Jimin was a liar. And Heeyeon, just like everybody else, never even knew.

He glanced at his white gold Rolex as the Rioja lingered in his mouth. 7:46. It hasn't even been an hour and he was already tired of Miss Choi Heeyeon. He watched as she bit her last bite of food because that was what he was waiting for. He didn't expect that she would be like this. He expected getting his ear talked off but he was faced with her roaming eyes and jumpy responses whenever he tries to initiate a proper conversation.

He couldn't take this anymore.

"I think its time of us to call it a night," Jimin tried his best to keep his good manners. He nodded his head a little and smiled at Heeyeon. Standing up from the wood framed chair, he ran his fingers through his ash blond hair and proceeded to walk towards the elevator that will get him the hell out of here. He stopped in front of the lift to ask for his car from the valet when he felt somebody snaking their arms around his own. He turned only to find Heeyeon looking up at him and smiling. Jimin raised an eyebrow. What the hell is she doing?

"What is it?" he managed to blurt out, "Is there something wrong?"

She suddenly looked as confused as him. "Aren't we leaving together?"

Man, was that Rioja too strong for you little girl? Jimin thought. He didn't know when and how he'd given her the idea that they'd be doing that, or that. But good manners are always important to Jimin.

"Look darling I'd love to," He started, "But I have some place to be," Lies.

"Oh that's fine!" Good, Jimin thought, "I can just come with you!" What?

Jimin gently removed her arms from his with his free one, and smiled at her politely.

"Don't you think you've had a little too much wine?" he said as he placed his hand on her head and ran it down so it landed on her shoulder, "I would drive you home, but your chauffeur would be useless if I did."

"It's okay!" she said with her eyes gleaming as if that just gave her a brilliant idea, "I can tell him to go!"

"But I don't know where you live," Jimin said, beginning to feel irritated, but still kept his smile, "good night Heeyeon."

The elevator doors opened and Jimin gestured for her to get on. Please get on, he thought. Good thing she did, much to Jimin's relief. The doors closed as Jimin was waving goodbye to Heeyeon who looked rather shaken. Jimin let out a relieved breath as he turned to the man who called the valet for his car, the man was laughing slightly. He was used to this scene, Jimin has brought enough girls and he knew how it goes. Jimin laughed along. "Your car is out and ready sir," he said with a slight bow which Jimin mirrored as his thanks.

Just as the elevator doors opened, Jimin heard a faint giggling from behind him. He turned to see who it was.

"How long have you been here?" Jimin questioned her.

"The whole night," she answered.

"So," she added to her answer, leading up to another addition, "can you drive me home instead?"

Jimin snickered as he entered the elevator. "Sure," he said, "hop in."