#man i was thinking like. the crystal pool theme is so so good

[goldensunset]

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

“Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[swimmingleo]

Harry Styles and Two Loves - A love that dare not speak its name.

‼️Disclaimer I am in no way an English literature expert or student for that matter and can barely organize my thoughts but I’ll try my best. If something doesn’t make sense or is regretful thinking please tell me‼️

Basically Harry is a fervent reader that does not limit himself to Buk*wski and Mur*kami though for some reason he loves to bring up those dudes. Queer literature seems to play a big role when it comes to his inspiration and I love that about his music. A good example is his Shakesqueer Sweet Creature madness. But another one that I hold close to my heart are the parallels he draws with Alfred Douglas’ poem, Two Loves.

Here is the full poem. Give it a read if you can because I won't break it down verse by verse for this post sorry :(

To make it short, the poem is about the narrator (let's say Douglas) wandering in a garden where he meets a young man that turns out to be his lover. For context, Alfred Douglas was very much queer and in a romantic relationship with Oscar Wilde. Both developed their own coded language to express their love and ''sexual tendencies'' through their art (been this way foreverrr will we ever leaarn). However they were not always so sneaky about it and Two Loves in particular was so in your face that it was used against Wilde to prove his homosexuality in trial. He did get away with it this time. Here is his defense. Blueprint of denials. No iPhones at the time.

In Two Loves, two different personifications of love introduce themselves to Douglas and his lover:

The first love is loud and cheerful and sings about pretty women and men that love the said pretty women.

The second love is discreet, almost erased by the other’s presence but is beautiful and draws the attention of the narrator.

Obviously the first love is Heterosexuality, the one that is openly praised by society and the second is Homosexuality who is bullied into silence by Heterosexuality if he tries to speak. The poem ends with Homosexuality saying "I am the love that dare not speak its name." Yeah. And isn’t that the story of H’s career.

HS1 opens with MMITH which ends on "We don’t talk about it, it’s something we don’t do". And from there follows SOTT, "We don’t speak enough". And right after we get the very loud, very explicit and very well documented Carolina. So far the album narration goes "There is something painful going on but we can’t talk about it, I say ‘we’ because there is a you and I and yeeEEAAH THIS GIRL I MET ONCE GETS A WHOLE SONG THE WORLD DESERVES TO KNOW HOW GOOD SHE FEELS FOR A LADDY LAD LIKE ME ALSO HER NAME IS TOWNES YOU CAN CHECK FOR YOURSELF SEE IF SHES REAL I LOVE REAL WOMEN AS IN WOMEN THAT EXIST". Heterosexuality is loud and sings about pretty women right.

But then, THEN we get Two Ghosts. Which is the center piece of this whole post. I mean, the title... Two Ghosts//Two Loves Two hearts in one home ? Sick.

The parallel that hits the most is the physical description that is made of Douglas’ lover and of Homosexuality (which are technically two different characters in the poem).

Douglas’ lover / Homosexuality

Same lips red / Same eyes blue / Same white shirt

Red were his lips / His lips were red / His eyes were clear as crystal / His large eyes were strange with wondrous brightness / White as the snow / His cheeks were wan and white

In Douglas’ poem, it is meant to be understood that the young boy he meets first, his lover, is related to Homosexuality through their physical appearance. Douglas’ love is therefore inherently queer. With Two Ghosts, I’ve always wondered why Harry chose specifically to point out a white shirt as it comes across a bit generic and not really personal yk? But if you compare it to Two Loves, it checks out the recurrent descriptive color scheme: red, blue and white. In both works, red are the lips, blue are the eyes, and white is the ~envelopp. RIGHT. I suppose Harry didn’t feel like describing his lover with pale white skin since it’s brown with lemon over ice when under summer skies so he went with a plain white shirt instead.

I’m not going through a whole analysis of Two Ghosts yet I can safely say that it deals with unspoken words. Not saying things is a recurrent theme in H’s songwriting but within the album, Two Ghosts is the first song that deals with it through the undeniable prism of romantic love. Right before with Carolina, H had no issue being straightforward and wanted to "scream and shout it out", but with Two Ghosts he’s tongue tied and doesn’t say what he really means. Communication issues go on with the following track Sweet Creature, btw may I just:

But oh, Sweet Creature (!), Sweet Creature

Would he […] cry "O sweet creature!", Othello

I cried "Sweet youth…, Two Loves

Queer Literaturry is going wild(e).

Expanding this post with Sweet Creature allows me to speak about the garden metaphor. In lyric poetry, the expression of emotions is often done through nature. It is a process that Harry seems pretty fond of when singing about love (ie Olivia, Adore You, WS, Canyon Moon and Sunflower are good examples) but it’s way more subtle with TG and SC. In Two Ghosts, nature is the moon, and in Sweet Creature it’s the garden.

Would you look at that, Two Loves happens to combine both:

Moon dances over your good side and this was all we used to need, Two Ghosts

Running through the garden oh where nothing bothered us, Sweet Creature

Flowers that were stained with moonlight / Alone in this fair garden, till he came unasked by night, Two Loves

For Harry, the night is where the moon enhances his lover’s beauty, when it’s just the two of them and they need nothing more than each other. The garden is where they run (free?away?), once again alone, unbothered. For Douglas, Homosexuality took form and began to occupy the garden at night, while Heterosexuality who thrives in the golden light (um I- nvm) wasn’t paying attention.

It is also interesting to note that Homosexuality is associated with the night but also with death. And he’s super pale. So like… A ghost ? ANYWAY.

The garden in Two Loves is where love happens, it is a piece of heaven. It’s elevated on a hill and untamed with flowers of various colors growing everywhere. There is sunshine and moonlight, there are "pools that dreamed" and by pools I assume the author means vernal pools which are habitats where flowers grow and oh look over there:

Nice ruffles on that white shirt by the way. Very Victorian.

Two Ghosts, 2017 Mularry so true

So yeah. I don’t want to go into full analysis mode but I find it all interesting. Once again, Two Loves holds a great significance regarding the Oscar Wilde’s lore, and Harry is probably very familiar with anything Wilde related (don’t even start) and by that I think about the Carnation business.

I’ll just conclude with that quote from Maurice by E.M Forster whom I love very much:

"I am an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort."

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

You Can Be The Boss

Summary- 2.2k Mob!Steve x You x Mob!Bucky. Business Deals are done in the club most nights over liquor, drugs and you. Tonight is just like any other. You leave the stage to join your men while they deal with an ongoing issue.  Warnings- Sexual themes, smut, weapon use, drug use, threats, swears. This is an 18+ Only Blog. Written for @donutloverxo​ 4k Challenge. 

A/N- I would love to write more for this trio. Lyrics in the beginning and title taken by Lana Del Rey’s You Can Be The Boss. 

Owned Sinfully Sweet Masterlist

You can be the boss, daddy You can be the boss Bad to the bone, sick as a dog You know that I like, like you a lot Don't let it stop...

The cold steel of the pole easily slicked along your heated thighs as you spun around it, your head tipping back as the rush of the club's sultry lights turned into blurs will you easily landed on your toes. 

Of course eager men awaited at the edge of the landing, wanting a mere glance of interest from you as you worked your curves under the stage lights. Sensuous sways back and forth as the unforgiving lights created beads of sweat to roll down your back and past your bare flexing shoulder blades. 

They flashed dollar bills like you should be crawling to them, pursing your lips in a pout and begging them to stuff your panties and bra with the filth. Little did they know you were here out of sheer joy. Hooking your leg once more and pulling yourself up, a siren at her craft as you contorted your body to the pole, defying gravity with your spins. 

Casually you danced across to the end, the crowd parting easily as you eased from the stage, hungry starved men still hovered, but never quite reached out to graze you, although if you gave them the go ahead they would swarm like hungry Jackals. 

Starving blood thirsty jackals. But you were a lioness and your men ruled here, waiting for you like devils at the end of your walk, they would easily kill any that came near you. 

Your gaze lifted to them, Steve lounging back against his seat, cigar laced between his fingers as drifts of smoke curled around gold ring clad fingers, up around his face where tendrils of smoke caught in his hair before dissipating. The smoke couldn't curb the hungry blue eyes that watched you in your glittery sparse outfit making its way towards him. 

Next to him sat your other companion, in his hand expensive crystal swaying amber color liquor pooled at the bottom of the glass, the liquor would make his lips intoxicating, darts of his tongue catching the droplets and curling wickedly in greeting when he caught sight of you, Bucky was unashamed at the way he shifted in his seat, patting his thick thigh for you to perch on. 

Easing into his lap, your arm locked around his neck so fingers could run through the short crisps at the back of his head, manicured nails making him groan appreciative with a tilt of his head catching your mouth with his. 

Just as you knew it tasted of rich dirty money, your tongue lapping through the brandy and coke lacing his mouth while he took you apart. A hand grasping your ass and flexing the muscle, sure to show those hungry bystanders that you were theirs. 

Steve nearby tilted his head back to inhale his cigar and let it swirl above him before sticking the smokey cigar in a nearby ashtray. You glanced up at him from where you were nipping on Bucky's lip and he reached to pick up a tiny pill and held it up for you. Bucky yanked you away, muttering in your ear. 

“Stick that tongue out Doll.” Which you obediently did and Steve stuck the pill on your tongue, and you let it roll on your tongue for Steve before tipping your head back to swallow, meanwhile Steve’s thumb traced your lip, winking at you. 

“Such a good girl.” He praised while Bucky lifted you off his lap so you could go to Steve, his arm circling around your waist while you settled in against his chest, turning now to the guest at your table. Your eyes roamed him up and down before tilting your head to kiss Steve’s cheek, purring at him. 

“Say hi to the Chief of Police Doll.” Bucky leaned forward with a smirk, his hand possessively on your thigh dangling over Steve’s lap. You were still nuzzling Steve’s cheek before turning to your guest and swirling your fingers at him with a small grin. 

“Pretty isn't she, our Doll?” Steve trailed fingers along your collarbone and dipped into your cleavage, the chief’s eyes following with a lust filled drugged haze. Steve's hand went to your throat, his thumb stroking along your pulse as the cold rings of his bit into your skin. On instinct you purred again, tilting your head to him so he could kiss you slowly, this kiss was different from Bucky’s. More demanding, drawing out little mewls of need and his hand pressed against your hip to rock you in his lap till you settled your ass cheeks against his hard on. 

“Do you want to try her out?” Bucky cocked his head with his signature grin, his hand sweeping up your thigh to cup your mound under your dress, stroking his fingers through your panties. You tilted your head back while Steve nipped at your neck before he tilted back to watch you rotate your hips to meet Bucky's fingers. “She’s excellent, aren't you baby?” Bucky asked and you whimpered in response, pulling at your bottom lip as Bucky dipped beyond your panties stroking your folds. 

The Chief stuttered from across the table, his eyes wide in shock at seeing the Mobsters offering you up to him. “I-I can’t, she is yours and I wouldn’t ever want to cross that line.” 

Steve patted your ass. “Go on Doll.” He insisted and you moved to a stand, hooded eyes roaming the Chief as you made your way beyond the table, your fingers trailing his shoulder while giving a pout to luscious red lips. 

“Am I not pretty enough Sir?” 

He sputtered again, holding his hands up and looking warily over at Steve and Bucky, who both were watching intently, waiting. 

“No Dear, your stunning.” He tried to assure you while going back to Bucky and Steve. “I can't, she's your girl.” He said firmly and you leaned in close, running your nose over the shell of his ear, whispering softly in his ear. His fear dripped like a poison in the air, feeding your men from across the table while they admired you working. 

“You really think refusing their gift will save you Chief?” You bit on his lobe before pulling away, Bucky holding out his hand to tug you back into his lap. Steve glowered with a snarl, reaching in his suit to pull out his glock and set it on the table in front of him before picking up his cigar and dragging from it. 

“You refuse our gift, yet you feel like you can just take our warehouse in a raid?” Steve snapped out and you arched a brow at the Chief who was breaking out in a sweat. 

“I warned you ahead of time that the precinct was getting interested over that location.” The Chief tried defending himself, his hand slamming down on the table in agitation at the situation. 

You tutted while Bucky shook his head, pulling out his own blade from his suit, letting it dance in his hand lazily. “And we told you to handle it Chief. You have been paid well by us, we don’t fuck with your men, they stay away from us. Yet now we're out of a warehouse with all its goods. Not good business.” 

“Not good business indeed.” Steve said darkly and the Chief turned red in anger at their accusations. 

“I keep most of your shit under the radar, I warn you every time there is an upcoming bust in your area. I can't control everything, SHIT. I have people I work for. If i'm caught, I can do some real time.” 

Steve now just looked amused at the Chief, you stroked Bucky's cheek while the blade spun faster in his hold. 

“You think that matters to us?” Steve scoffed and Bucky flicked his wrist so that the blade flew across the table and planted in the man's shoulder before he could escape, making him gasp in surprise while Steve pushed to a stand, grabbing the glock and shoving it in the Chiefs gaping mouth, the barrel snapping against his teeth and pushing to the back of his throat, making him squeal in fear and pain, his hands going from trying to pull out the deeply embedded knife to around the barrel shoved in his mouth while Steve clicked the safety off, making his eyes grow wider and cross eyed looking down at the weapon. 

Bucky tapped your thigh to have you stand, and he moved to approach the Chief after you lifted yourself from his lap, his hand grasping the knife and twisting. Blood curled up from the wound to tinge the air with a copper hot scent. 

“This is your last warning Chief, get this shit under control. Or you will be sporting another hole in your head, got it?” Bucky hissed while yanking out the knife, making the man sink in his seat with a pained groan, sweat and tears mixing on his face. He tried mumbling out a yes, slurred around Steve’s glock. 

“Yossss” he gagged out and Steve yanked the gun from his mouth. “YES! Yes, I promise.” 

Steve settled back down while Bucky wiped his blood stained knife against the Chief’s shirt. You slid in the booth next to Steve, your hand stroking along the inside of his thigh and palming his erection that was now raging, throbbing as you squeezed lightly, making him give you a warning look. 

You couldn't help but get turned on watching them work though, licking your lips hungrily and he grasped your chin, looking at you sternly. “Behave Doll.” 

Turning back to the Chief while Bucky sat down next to you and loped his arm over your shoulder and tucking his knife back inside his suit, Steve waved his hand. “I think we're done here, be sure to think about what we said when you go back to your family tonight.” 

The Chief fisted a nearby napkin against his shoulder to stop the blood and he grunted in pain as he got up from the table to stumble away, get out of the club as fast as possible. Bucky pulled out his phone and placed a quick call. “I want you to send a nice gift to Chief Baron’s wife, make sure to leave a nice note from Barnes and Rogers in it specifically for her and her husband.” He shoved his phone away, knowing that the gift would be an excellent reminder that the Chief’s family wasn't safe either, further incentive for him to take care of business. 

Steve reached under the table to stroke you once more as Bucky had before, leaning into you to kiss on your neck, leaving a nice sting that would blossom darker later. “Fuck you are so hot when you are working.” Steve praised while sliding a thick finger in you, the rings cold in your heat, hard metal following gentle come hither strokes that had you gasping. Bucky tilted your head to kiss you while Steve continued fingering you, adding another to scissor you open. 

“Got all wet didn't she? She loves being teased in front of others.” Bucky smirked as his tongue trailed over your mouth, chuckling darkly at the needy mewl of acknowledgment you gave them. 

“Cause she's a little slut.” Steve stated, pulling his fingers out to show your arousal dripping down his fingers and shoved them in his mouth. 

Bucky yanked you into his lap, pulling your dress up around your hips and shoved your panties aside while he pulled out his cock, making you sink onto it with a cry, he fucked into you while the music in the club picked up. Dancers mingled on the stage before their table, but Steve lounged back. The last of his cigar picked up from the ash tray and relight it while he watched you ride Bucky next to him. 

His finger crooked at one of the passing waitresses who ignored the two of you professionally. You grabbed the back of Bucky's head and started arching faster while he thrusted into you with demanding grunts, pulling down on your hips harder. “Have our car pulled around for us.” He instructed and a final cry of Bucky's name had you coming on his cock and sagging forward while he finished, leaving you dripping around him. Hiding your smile against Bucky's shoulder till he eased you to sit up again, his hands cupping your face as you gave him a blissed out smile as that little pill started to take effect. 

You couldn’t help the rush the drug and orgasm gave you, spiraling through your system in the most addictive way that made you want and crave more from them, your eyes glassy in pleasure while your body hummed happily, flexing around Bucky’s cock still filling you.  

“Starting to kick in, isn't it?” He asked, referring to what Steve had given you earlier and you nodded, tilting forward to lick over his lips with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Good, cause she started something she needs to finish in the car.” Steve chuckled while moving to a stand, holding his hand out to you. You grasped it while moving to a stand, easing off Bucky’s softening cock. He tucked himself away as Steve led you from the club and out into the night, the cool fresh air rejuvenating your senses when you inhaled deeply. 

Steve opened the door for you and you slipped into the back of the limo, he followed behind. Bucky wasn't long as he climbed in and shut the door behind him. 

“On the floor Doll, you got some work to do with that mouth, going to smear that lipstick all over with my cock and leave you ruined.” Steve demanded while the limo pulled away, the tent in his slacks evident. 

Your tongue trailed along your dark red lips as you sunk to the floor, sliding your hands up Steve's thick thighs. 

Anticipation quivered up your spine as his hand cupped around your mouth when your hands rested on his belt. 

“Make sure you get me off Doll before we get home or else.” 

You knew well what ‘Or Else’ meant, with a nod you unbuckled his belt, ready to reaffirm your place as Steve and Bucky’s Doll. 

[youarejesting]

Wash Out.21 (Sope Special)

[Master List]

Banners: @purpleskies1999 Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin,  Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Rating: 16+ Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung’s rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

[Prev] [Next]

Yoongi stood still, his legs shaking. It was not normal for him to be standing for this length of time. They were mermaids used to having tails their strength in the water. Swimming was like breathing. Of course their legs only appeared on their sacred land under the ocean.

They couldn’t walk on human land, could never compare to their leg strength. Most Mermaids spent their days in the water only entering the sacred land for celebrations. Yoongi being one of many guards would protect the royal family, albeit there was no longer a royal family. Jungkook was all that was left, a prince forced to be a king before he was ready. 

Guards were the most common of the merfolk to adorn legs. Jungkook was confined to the sacred land, his time in the water limited. Anything to keep him safe from the threat of other merclans. Each guard embellished in the silk of the clams. Byssus was woven finely like silk, the light material was surprisingly warm enough to protect the guards and King whilst in their more vulnerable form.

Yoongi looked across the crystal throne room, the love of his life standing just as tall, his stature stronger than Yoongi’s. A feat as Jungkook tore the room apart, bioluminescent vines and lanterns ripped from the walls. Food and wine splattered on the floor of their ancestors.

Hoseok’s mouth turned down, the sight unnatural for his usually cheerful disposition. The hardest part of their job was raising Jungkook, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to teach him right and wrong, politics and history they still came up short. He didn’t have a family, not anymore, he didn’t know how to share and never had to work for relationships. 

Everyone adored him, feared him, doted on his every whim. He was given the finest foods and all the newest technology Merfolk could offer. Anything to keep him content in his prison. It surprised Yoongi that Jungkook hadn’t questioned his confines, that he was complacent with their level of control over his freedom.

Jungkook no longer understanding, why his new found friend was so reluctant to stay. He extended all his riches and gifts to the human, something other merfolk would cherish. 

“Why does he still want to leave, with me he could be treated as a king,” Jungkook seethed, throwing a leg over the arm of his throne massaging his temples. “Leave me.”

Hoseok marched dutifully to Yoongi, supporting the older merman as they made their exit. Walking him to the entrance of the underwater cove, the air though damp enough to keep their lungs from feeling dry, they much preferred sinking into the cool water. Doing so allowed the power of the sacred land to slip away leaving only their natural form. 

The two transformed their black and blue tails wrapping around each other, a romantic gesture Yoongi enjoyed more than he wished to admit. They relaxed in eachothers arms peacefully, sinking further until they landed on the floor of the large network of caves. This is where most of the merfolk lived as they were still protected from the open ocean.

Under the cove was wide and besides a few stalagmite and stalactite the surface was predominantly flat. However the local life was anything but, everyone bustling around the settlement enjoying tending to the seaweed, crafting and protecting the sealife. 

“Jungkook, is struggling. He doesn’t understand how to handle rejection. He doesn’t understand that people value the same things,” Hoseok mumbled, massaging Yoongi’s lower back to help relieve tension from standing for such a long time.

“That human cannot survive long under the ocean, he grows weaker by the day, barely eating.” Yoongi huffed, “If Jungkook doesn’t let him go, the poor thing will die, Jungkook isn’t ready to experience something like that so close to him.”

“I think he has gotten too attached, losing this human might break him,” Hoseok bit his lip, “Dare I say he is in love with him, he could be his promised.”

Yoongi scoffed, the idea that Jungkook happened to find his promised one and he was a human, the first human he had ever met. Yoongi and Hoseok were unaware they were each other's promised until Yoongi had a week off from guard duty and started to get really sick. The two had met in the infirmary wasting away and only in one another's company did their condition improve. “Hoseok, that’s a bit much.”

A figure swam down the path quickly, heading straight to the sacred cove entrance, carrying something large. Was someone trying to attack their home? The two fell apart taking up offensive stances, each lurching forward when they spotted Jimin holding an unconscious human.

“Not another one,” Yoongi chastised, eyes sweeping over Jimin trying to be inconspicuous. Though he cared he showed it silently, not fond of open praise. The kind to listen and assist others out of sight.

“I have to make sure he is alright,” Jimin gave no further explanation, swimming up into the cove entrance dragging the human onto the sacred land. Jimin’s gold tail disappearing, leaving behind two bare legs. 

Wrapping himself in a cloth, the two followed. Yoongi strained to lift himself into an upright position. Hoseok brought out their usual transport, especially for Jungkook’s deliveries. In this case they threw the unconscious human across the shell of the crustacean and they headed to their king.

“Are all humans this big?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the figure draped beside Jimin. The two crab-pooling wasn’t the issue, the way Jimin looked genuinely concerned for the human was. It was no good for humans and Merfolk to fall in love, the dynamic wouldn’t end well. 

“No, they aren’t all this big, some of them are small, delicate and beautiful. They are magnificent, fascinating beings. Some are scary and mean and others are innocent and protective, just trying to do the right thing.” Jimin whispered, checking the humans breathing once more. 

“Is he your promised?” Hoseok asked softly, not knowing how to approach the topic sensitively. Jimin smiled, shaking his head. The thought appeared to have amused him.

“He is someone else’s promised,” Jimin said, “But I think I met her, she was beautiful and strong, never letting anyone stop her, never letting bad things keep her down. She would swim head first into enemy waters to save someone she barely knows.

The human groaned, “Where am I?” Jimin let out a sigh of relief, this human was waking up and didn’t seem to be physically hurt, at least there were no wounds they could see upon his flesh. “Am I dead?”

“No, you are not dead, you are in our settlement.” Jimin grinned at the disorientation present in Seokjin’s words. He was struggling to enunciate his words, each more like a whine drawn out.

Upon entering the crystal throne room the group tried their best to support the sluggish human inside. Gaining the attention of Jungkook, ceasing his brooding long enough to assist the three struggling mermen. As if hearing the commotion or perhaps Seokjin’s terrible jokes Namjoon emerged from where he had been staying.

“Jin! Are you okay?” Namjoon grabbed his friend, checking him over for injury, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you and avoiding the police, I ran my car off the cliff and also may have destroyed the letter box outside your beach house.” He laughed, “Never really liked it anyway.”

“You did what?” Namjoon said, concerned, “Are you crazy?”

“Listen, we were being chased. It was all for you, and Jimin of course, returning Jimin and rescuing you.” Seokjin smiled at his friend. Yoongi thought these humans were weird, they were reckless and too odd for his liking. “I even teamed up with Taehyung and Y/n in order to save you. Do you know how hard that was?”

“Didn’t seem hard at all, you and Taehyung seemed to get along really well.” Jimin pushed the human with a smile, it was weird to see Jimin acting so comfortable with the humans. “We will return you so that the issue can be resolved, I am starting to grow worried about how we left.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asked confused

“Humans tackled Y/n and Taehyung dragged me into the water. Right before you and your car contraption fell into the water I killed the man who scared you all.” Jimin said proudly, this didn’t seem to go over well with the human’s. Yoongi hoped Jimin didn’t do something stupid turf war wasn’t on his to do list.

Yoongi didn’t understand the words coming from Seokjin’s face, if he had to liken it to anything, it sounded like vulgar slang, curse words. The human looked panicked.

“We have to go back, they are probably being sent to prison,” Seokjin said, trying to leave unsure which direction to go, “They are in big trouble.”

“Can’t you just talk to your king and explain and they will be removed from prison?” Jimin said

“Prison doesn’t work the same as it does here,” Namjoon explained, “Very Very bad people go to prison, Murderer’s, thieves and other despicable humans put in one place.”

“Yeah and if they go to prison, they may be beaten or worse,” Seokjin huffed. Jimin looked up at Jungkook who nodded, bringing out a small mirror and handing it to Jimin.

Looking over Jimin’s shoulder, Yoongi noticed a human different to the two infront of him, she was feminine delicate and leaking. “What is happening to her?”

“She is crying,” Jimin explained, “Humans do that when they are hurt or in despair, from what I have been told they do the same when they are happy too.”

“Confusing and a little stupid.” Hoseok laughed, “How do you know the difference?”

The charges have been dropped, Namjoon breathed listening to the interrogator, explaining that they couldn’t record the phenomenon that occurred on the beach. “They are being let go,” He smiled, a sight Yoongi hadn’t seen since he first laid eyes on their large domestic crustaceans.

“There is Taehyung,” Seokjin called out looking down, the two humans looked void of any emotion, they collected their things and climbed into the police car getting an escort to their homes. “They are safe and that’s all that matters.” 

Seokjin smiled, his eyes leaking much to Yoongi’s disgust. Namjoon smiled, he seemed a little amused by the older human. “I remember distinctly you saying you hated Taehyung with a passion and wanted him to choke on a sardine.” They two laughed for a moment, “When did things change?” 

“I guess when you are working as a team to save someone you develop an understanding.” Seokjin shrugged his large shoulders, “It also didn’t help that he was living in my house for almost a week.”

“You like him,” Namjoon poked him, “Admit it you have feelings for him.”

“We can head back when you are ready, we have returned Jimin home safely.” Seokjin smiled, looking around at the group and smiling, “I am Seokjin by the way, you can call me Jin.”

The man was goofy, reminding Yoongi of Jungkook himself, the two so alike in their childlike nature, letting themself play without hesitation. It was almost admirable that people could act so carefree, unaffected by how they could be perceived.

“I don’t know if I am allowed to leave?” Namjoon said, his smile falling, eyes fixed on the ground before him. 

Yoongi looked at his king, the spoiled young man reflecting on his actions, it had been many days since they saw the young man smile. Almost expecting him to refuse, Yoongi schools his expression when he doesn’t. 

“You should go, You don’t belong down here?” Jungkook took the mirror before walking away from the group to sit on the throne. He lowered his head looking at his reflection trying to distract himself from the pain. Letting your promised go was the hardest thing a merperson could do. Under normal circumstances, promises are only parted by death.

Namjoon walked over, placing a hand on the king's head and smiling at him, “If ever you want to visit, I would be happy to show you some great places, places you would love.” Jungkook’s broken heart warmed at the human’s dimples appearing softly in the flesh of his cheeks.

That was the last thing they needed, their king running off for a romance on the coast line. Seokjin swung his arm around Jimin playfully, the merman giggling whilst his legs almost buckled. “Yeah Jimin knows the private beach by Namjoon’s house, he can show you the way if you ever want to visit.”

Tags: @backinblack1967 @miriamxsworld @moccahobi @simplymemyself @a-gayish-unicorn @ella-mella @vjinfan23​

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A/N: holy SHIT u guys the way i absolutely LOVE how this turned out,,,,, i REALLY hope u guys love it as much as i do and pls pls pls don’t be afraid to tell me ur favorite parts or give me suggestions for the next part!! and thank u miss tanya @sunflowers-styles​ for beta reading this part!!! ily mwah<3

Warnings: some explicit language & slight sexual innuendos

Word count: 5.9k+

fic masterlist

You gaze out into the crystal blue ocean as you drive along the beachfront, car window ajar allowing the salty, warm breeze to kiss your skin gently. The sun glimmers brightly in the sky, not a single cloud in sight and you feel as though nothing could possibly go wrong. 

Deidre invited you on this beach trip as a last minute getaway. She knew you’d been having a bit of a hard time with your mental health recently, so she decided to rent a beach house for the two of you to try and help you get out of your “funk” as she called it. Two weeks of relaxation with nothing to worry about. Just lounging around in the warm sun with your best friend for 14 days. You simply couldn’t say no. 

Seeing as Deidre has been your best friend for the majority of your lifetime, trips like these aren’t uncommon in the slightest. In fact, you’ve been on so many vacations with her and her family that you can’t even fathom going somewhere like this without her. 

“Do you wanna stop and grab something to eat before we get to the house?” The sound of her voice draws you from your almost dazed state and you turn to look at her as she drives. Immediately at the mention of food, your stomach gurgles violently, loud enough for both of you to hear which causes you both to burst into a fit of laughter.

 “I guess that answers your question better than anything.” You choke through laughter. 

“Well then,” She giggles, “McDonald’s, here we come!” 

The two of you purchase almost the entire McDonald’s menu and eat approximately 3/4ths of it in the car before you’re finally headed to the beach house with bloated tummies and quenched appetites. 

Eventually, you’re pulling into the driveway of a small, teal beach house facing the ocean. The house is lifted on stilts due to its position near the ocean and the paint is slightly worn, chipping away on the wooden slats most likely due to past tropical storms. There are two sets of steps, both leading to a wrap around porch, one coming from the back of the house (where the pool is) and one leading directly to the front door. It’s quaint and homey and you love it. 

When you’d initially pulled in, you hadn’t noticed the other car parked in the driveway, but now that you’re stepping out of Deidre’s car, your gaze falls directly onto the bright yellow Ferrari parked only a few feet away from you. There is only one person you know that owns that exact car. 

“Oh! I forgot to mention, Harry is staying here too.” 

You whip your head in Deidre’s direction, your jaw nearly dropping from its hinges. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier??”

She shrugs casually as she swings the drivers door shut and walks around to the back. “I guess I forgot.” She presses a button on her keys and the back door slowly opens in front of her. “Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind, the two of you have always gotten along.”

“Deidre, that’s not why I’m upset-”

“Great, then what’s the problem?” She interrupts, eyebrows raised in question as she stares at you. You definitely aren’t one for violence, but the image of smacking her directly across the face flashes across your mind for a moment and you seriously consider doing it. “He’s just here to relax like us. And he’s paying for the place, so I couldn’t really say no.”

You let out an exasperated groan in response, slamming the passenger door shut and stomping around to the back of the car so that you can retrieve your own bags. 

The truth is, you and Harry had gotten along in the past, which would give you no reason to be panicking right now, but something you hadn’t told Deidre was that for the entirety of your childhood, you were madly in love with him. Yes, he’s older than you by a few years, but that never stopped you from pining over him from the ripe age of six. You had watched the way he treated his two sisters and mother for so long and fell in love with his kindness and care for others. You used to daydream about the day he would realize his love for you, but of course Harry got famous and that day never came. 

It’s been years since you’ve seen him in person. The last time you were in direct contact was nearly 4 years ago, a couple years after he went on The X Factor and was immediately consumed by fame. He was 18 at the time, visiting home during a little break, and you were having a sleepover with Deidre, but the length of your collision wasn’t very long. A few harmless words were exchanged during dinner and then you and Deidre had excused yourselves to continue your evening and that was it. Then, he was undeniably the most attractive boy you had ever seen and now, if it was even possible, he’d blossomed into a beautiful man, even more attractive than he was before.

As you begin to haul your bags out of the trunk, Harry appears at the top of the steps, screen door leading into the house flapping loudly behind him. 

“Need some help with bags?” He calls, swiftly galloping down the wooden steps.

Deidre sighs in relief, “That’d be great, thanks Harry!” 

His long, curly hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of his head, a few stray curls framing his beautiful face. He smiles at you, dimples sinking deeply into his cheeks as he strides towards you, “Long time, no see,” 

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks and you smile sheepishly, “Hi, Harry, how are you?”

“I’m pretty good! And yourself?” He asks, effortlessly tugging your large bag from the trunk of the car and slinging it over his shoulder. 

You swallow thickly, struggling to keep your eyes off of his straining muscles through his thin t-shirt. “I’m uh- I’m good as well.” 

“Glad to hear it, babe.” He winks and you watch as he takes a few smaller bags from the trunk, heading back up the stairs and through the front door, breathing out a shaky sigh before grabbing your remaining bag. 

Deidre is already halfway up the stairs behind him when she calls back to you, “Can you close the trunk before coming up?” 

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and drop the bags onto the cement driveway, lifting your arms above your head and slamming the large door shut before picking up the bags again and heading towards the stairs. You’re still quite stunned at what just happened and, frankly, you’re a little bit vexed with Deidre’s nonchalant way of sharing that Harry was going to be joining you on what was supposed to be a relaxing trip. Nevertheless, you’re forced to set your feelings aside and keep your mouth shut for fear of Deidre prying the truth out of you. 

As you step into the house, screen door slamming behind you, you take a gander around the living area. It’s small and you can tell it hasn't been redecorated since at least 1985. Every piece of decor has some sort of relation to a beach (quite fitting considering where you are). Even the wallpaper is covered with small seashells and fish and it makes you chuckle. There’s an opening connected to the living area that leads directly to the kitchen, a second doorway that you assume leads to the bedrooms, and a large sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. 

Deidre saunters out of the second doorway, “C’mon, let me show you our room!” 

You frown, “Our room?”

“Yeah, there are only two bedrooms.” 

“Oh,” You take a moment to breathe in, feeling your frustration building with every passing moment as you follow her into the small hallway. You pass the first door on your right, glancing inside to find the bathroom before moving on. The next door you pass is a bedroom decorated identically to the living room, a queen sized bed crammed into the corner with a quilt covered in clownfish and seaweed and the last door is another bedroom. This bedroom is painted a bright coral pink and the theme seems to be seashells due to the seashell print on the bed’s quilt and the framed seashells above the bed. This room, although similar to the first one, is a little bit larger and the bed rests directly in the middle of the room instead of it being crammed into the corner like the first one. 

You step into the room after Deidre and toss your bags onto the floor next to the wall before throwing yourself onto the bed as you kick your shoes off. “I’m so ready to relax,” 

She hums as she unzips her large bag and begins shoveling her clothes into the top drawer of the dresser across from the bed. “Me too,” 

“I think I might go for a swim,” You turn over onto your back, lifting yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed as you look at her. “Wanna join me?” 

“As soon as i finish unpacking, I will.”

You shoot her a quick thumbs up and shove yourself off of the bed and towards your bags. Harry had set your large bag of clothes right beside the door, so you fall to your knees and pull it towards you to search for your bathing suit. 

“Go ask if Harry wants to come, too.” She adds, tossing her own bathing suit onto the bed. 

You hate her. You want to strangle her. It’s like she knows. But of course, she doesn’t. You’d never told anyone about your little crush and you planned to keep it that way. Tucking the valuable information into the very back of your mind for the rest of eternity. 

Without a word, you push yourself onto your feet and pad through the doorway, the thick carpet squishing softly beneath your bare feet. You’re hesitant to call for him at first, quietly wandering through the hallway, peering into the open doorways. Both rooms are empty, but there’s evidence of him sprawled across the bedroom. A large suitcase thrown haphazardly on the bed with clothes and shoes strewn all around it. 

 “Harry?” You continue walking, stepping out into the living room to find him lounging on the couch with the TV on in nothing but a pair of tight, black jeans, tattoos on full display. “Oh, there you are,” He looks up at you, a hint of mischief behind his virescent eyes. “Dee was wondering if you wanted to go for a swim with us.” it’s a statement, of course, but the wavering of your voice makes it sound like a question. 

“I would,” He starts, sitting up a little and reaching for the TV remote to turn down the volume. “But it looks like it’s about to rain.”

You frown, turning to the sliding glass window to find that in the short amount of time it took for you to take your bags from the car and into the house, the sky had filled with dark, fluffy clouds. 

“Shit.” 

Thunder rumbles in the distance, droplets of rain mizzling against the windows and roof quietly as the three of you keep yourselves dry inside the beach house.

“Alright, we have Monopoly, Life, Scrabble, Cards Against Humanity, a deck of regular playing cards, Jenga, and a few puzzles.” Deidre lists as she shovels through the large chest beside the couch, labeled ‘Games’. “Which one sounds the most fun right now?” 

You curl your feet underneath you on the couch and shrug, “A puzzle sounds nice.”

She nods, turning to Harry who’s making himself a sandwich in the kitchen. “Harry?” 

“I agree with her on the puzzle.”

“Puzzle it is, then.” She concludes, grabbing the first puzzle her eyes land on and setting it on the wooden coffee table. Another fit of thunder causes the house to shiver and you sigh, silently cursing the rain for trapping you inside on the first day of vacation. 

After Harry comes back into the living room and settles onto the couch beside you, Deidre sits on the other side of the coffee table and dumps the puzzle pieces out onto it. A show you’ve never heard of plays on the TV behind her and you glance up from the puzzle every now and then to watch it as the three of you sit in silence. 

The entire evening Harry sits beside you, his arm gently nudging yours every time he reaches forward to move a puzzle piece. At first, you brush it off as an accident, barely acknowledging his presence, but when he takes it a step further and knocks a puzzle piece out of your hand, you glance in his direction to find him smiling smugly to himself. You shake your head, holding back a small smile as you return to the puzzle, finding a different piece and placing it where it belongs. Two can play at that game. 

As Harry reaches for another piece, you quickly reach over his arm and snatch the piece he was aiming for, mumbling: “Ah, here it is! I was looking for this one.” 

You can feel his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as you hold back a laugh, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Was that necessary?” He hums thickly, keeping his gaze in your direction. 

You shrug, placing the piece into its home. “I mean, that’s the point of building a puzzle, right? Finding each piece and where it goes...” 

He smirks and shakes his head at you but doesn’t respond.

A few hours pass as the three of you work and soon, it’s dark outside and the rain has calmed to a light drizzle. Deidre yawns and stretches her arms above her head before glance at the time on her phone. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed, it’s pretty late and long drives always make me tired.” She says through another yawn and you nod.

“Me too,” 

“Alright then, wimps,” Harry replies, “I guess I’ll just have to party by myself.”

Deidre looks at you and rolls her eyes dramatically as Harry chuckles to himself. You push yourself up from the couch, stretching your arms out above your head just like Deidre had done moments ago.

“Goodnight, Harry.” She hums, stepping around the coffee table to smack a quick kiss to his forehead before sauntering off to the bedroom. You glance behind you as you follow her, giving Harry a small wave. 

“G’night,” He mumbles softly in response and you can feel his gaze on you as you step into the hallway. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s checking you out.

Warm droplets of water cascade down your bare skin as you step out of the shower, wrapping a soft towel around your body. You hum quietly to yourself, patting the towel against your skin to dry off as much as possible.

Just as you’ve finished drying yourself off, you realize you completely forgot to bring a clean change of clothes into the bathroom, so you’re just left with the dirty clothes you’d spent the entire day in. Cringing at the thought of putting the clothes back on, you decide to take your chances and slip out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around your form. 

You gather the pile of clothes into your arms after taking a moment to moisturize and brush your teeth, stepping out into the dark hallway. Suddenly, just as you’re taking another step, Harry appears at the end of the hallway, crunching loudly with a bowl of cereal in hand. He’s clothed in a thin, grey t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, fluffy socks pulled onto his feet. 

“Shit,” You gasp, eyes widening as you press the bundle of clothes to your chest harshly. 

“Oh, hey,” Harry says mid chew.

You pause, “I didn’t think you’d be awake...”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, uh, I got a little hungry.”

“I can see that,” 

“I can make you a bowl if you’d like,” He offers, jutting a thumb behind his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Harry-” You scoff, “I am quite literally standing naked in front of you right now.” 

He shrugs, chuckling to himself as his eyes flit to the ground and then back up to you. “Was just trying to be polite.” 

“Um- well, thanks, but I think I’m alright for now.” 

“Alright,” He sighs, taking another bite from his spoon, “Goodnight, then.”

“‘Night.” You murmur, watching him strut past you towards his room. You wait until the door is closed before you scurry into your own room, finding Deidre fast asleep on her side of the bed. 

Morning comes sooner than anticipated and soon, you’re dragging yourself out of bed as Deidre snores. You’re not expecting her to get out of bed anytime soon. 

You trudge out into the kitchen with a yawn, finding Harry leaning against the countertop with his nose buried in a book. He’s in the same clothes from the night before, but instead of his hair being pulled back into a bun

“Good morning,” You smile, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step onto the cold tile. 

He glances up from his book and smiles back, tucking a bookmark between the pages before setting it down on the countertop. “Mornin’. Coffee’s almost ready if you want some. I made enough for all of us.”

“Oh, great, thank you!” 

“I went out to the shops earlier as well and got some of that coffee creamer you and Dee like,” He starts, pushing his large hand through his long, curly hair. “I know it’s been a bit since we last saw each other, but I know that she still likes it, so I assumed you do, too.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you take a clean mug from the dish rack lying beside the sink, “I actually do still like it, thank you.”

He shakes his head, “S’no problem, really.”

The coffee maker beeps twice to indicate that the coffee is finished brewing and Harry turns, reaching out for your mug. “May I?”

“Oh- yes, please,” You smile, allowing him to take the ceramic mug from your hand and pour the scalding liquid into the mug before gently placing it back into your hand. “Thanks.” 

You walk to the fridge, swinging the door open to scavenge for the creamer he’d mentioned earlier. The carton catches your eye and you snatch it from the shelf, kicking the fridge door shut before setting the mug on the counter. 

“Did I get the right kind?” Harry asks as you unscrew the cap. 

“Yep!” You smile, pouring the cream into the dark coffee, causing the two to swirl together into a thick, hazel colored liquid. You find a small spoon in one of the many drawers lining the countertop and you drop it into the liquid, stirring it momentarily before tapping off the excess liquid and placing the spoon into the sink. Glancing back up at him, you take a careful sip from your mug to test the temperature. 

“Good?” He asks, sipping from his own mug slowly. 

“Great.” You confirm, taking a larger sip as you lean your hip against the counter. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a few long moments, sipping your coffee leisurely before Harry speaks. 

“Do you-” He clears his throat, “Do you want to go sit out on the back deck with our coffee? The weather’s great and the view is phenomenal.” 

He seems slightly more nervous than he had been the day before, most likely due to your brief run in that evening, but you don’t mind. “Yeah, that sounds nice!”

He nods towards the doorway with a smile, waiting for you to take the first step before following behind you through the sliding glass door. There are a few chairs settled around a small, round table, overlooking a breathtaking view of the beach where a few people are getting their morning jog in or just strolling leisurely along the shore. You slide yourself into the furthest chair, careful not to spill the hot coffee in your hand as you do so, watching Harry as he does the same. 

You wonder why, if he was paying for the entire trip, he would choose such a cheap beach house in such a rural part of this particular beach. Seeing as he was a multi millionaire, you’d assume he would choose the most expensive place to stay in the most popular area, but that obviously isn’t the case. Not that you aren’t grateful for staying there for free, because you are, you’re just curious. 

“So,” You begin, sipping your coffee for a moment before continuing. “How’s celebrity life treating you?” 

He chuckles, pushing a hand through his luscious mane, “S’not bad. Been treatin’ me pretty well, I can’t complain.”

You nod, “That’s good, I’m glad to hear it.” Pausing for a moment, you curl your feet beneath you on the chair before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?” 

He glances up from his coffee, raising his eyebrows with a nod, “Sure.” 

You take a breath, aware of the intrusiveness of your question but speaking anyways. “Dee told me you’re paying for all this,” You motion to the house with your hands, “And I’m just wondering why you chose to come here and rent this house when you have the money for something much nicer in a much nicer area.”

He thinks about it for a moment, brows furrowed in thought before he lets out a breathy laugh. “Honestly, there are a few reasons,” He clears his throat and crosses one leg over the other. “The first one is that I’m able to avoid paparazzi, for the most part, because they don’t suspect that I’d ever stay in a place like this,” He explains, using his hands to animate. “And the second one is that I like to make things as normal as possible, especially when I’m spending time with Dee. I know she would absolutely love staying in some bougie mansion with its own private beach, but I just don’t want things to be different from when we were kids, you know? I’d rather her not have the image of me being a rich asshole in her head all the time. I just want her to see me as she always has; her big brother.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest at his sentiment, the reminder of just how much he cares about his family causing certain feelings to come rushing back to you. “I- sorry, I know that was a weird question to ask... but yeah that makes sense. I didn’t really think of it that way.”

Just as you finish speaking, Deidre comes bursting wildly through the sliding glass door in her bathing suit and a large towel draped over her arm. 

“IT’S BEACH TIME, FUCKERS!!” She screams, leaping down the stairs and bolting across the dock leading to the beach. Her bare feet kick up clouds of sand as she runs across the beach, dropping her towel carelessly as she gallops into the water. 

You and Harry look at each other with wide eyes, both of you bursting into a fit of laughter at the same time. You open your mouth to speak, but Deidre beats you to it. 

“COME ON GUYS!! IT FEELS GREAT!”

You look back at Harry again, snickering. “I think we should get out there.”

He hums, “I agree.” 

You both lift yourselves out of the porch chairs, heading into the house to change into your own bathing suits. Harry, of course, offers to take your mug and clean it. 

Around ten minutes pass before you’re finally in your bathing suit stepping out onto the sand with Harry following close behind. Deidre is laying out on the sand with an arm draped over her eyes as she waits for the two of you to arrive. Since it’s still morning, there’s a bit of a nippy breeze to the air, causing goosebumps to litter your skin and shiver to travel down your spine. 

“Finally,” She breathes, pushing herself up from the towel. Harry comes up behind you and drops both of your towels onto the sand beside her along with his book from this morning. 

“S’quite nice out, innit?” He hums, resting his hands against his hips. His hair is pulled back into a bun and he’s wearing the shortest bright yellow swim trunks you’ve ever seen and you can’t help but to giggle a little. 

Deidre rolls her eyes, reaching forward and grasping your arm before dragging you with her towards the water. It’s around 10:00 am and there are a few more people on the beach than there were when you and Harry had first sat on the deck, so when you enter the water, you and Deidre aren’t the only ones there.

Though there are people on the beach, none of them seem to notice that Harry’s there. They’re all caught up in their own vacations, oblivious to the fact that a multi-millionaire celebrity is galloping into the ocean towards you like a child.

You and Deidre screech as he comes toppling into the water head first, cool water splashing around him and onto both of you. The small waves crash into your legs whilst you clamor through the water, Harry surfacing dramatically, completely soaked and absolutely gorgeous. 

“It’s fucking freezing,” You mutter under your breath, wrapping your bare arms around yourself as you trudge deeper into the water. 

“If you get wet, it won’t be as cold.” Harry retorts, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. 

You shake your head at him, “You’re insane,” 

Just as you speak those words, Deidre dunks herself completely under water, splashing you once again as she comes back to the surface. 

 Harry chuckles, “C’mon, you’re gonna get wet eventually.”

You ignore the subtle innuendo. “I have no intention of getting in further than here so if you really want me to go under, it’s gonna have to be done by force.”

He cocks an eyebrow from beneath his sunglasses. “Is that a challenge?”

“Don’t even think about it,” You breathe, glaring at him. 

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” Deidre snickers as Harry begins to creep towards you slowly. His eyes are hidden beneath his sunglasses but you can tell his pupils are narrowed in directly on you. 

You step back with every step he takes forward, small waves crashing into the backs of your thighs at the movement of the water. He lifts his arms slightly as he stalks toward you and you squeal, nearly stumbling backwards and toppling back into the cold water. 

“Harry, I swear to god-” You start but you’re quickly interrupted by your own shriek as he tackles you into the water. It feels as though you’ve inhaled gallons of water from the impact once you resurface, sputtering and gasping dramatically. He doubles over with laughter and Deidre cackles a few feet away. You feel like a sad, wet dog standing in the ocean as they laugh at you and you cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “I hate both of you so much.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Oh, come onnnn, it’s not that bad.”

“My nipples could do some serious damage right now,” You growl between chattering teeth and both of them giggle. 

“Well, you’re wet now so there’s no point in not swimming with us.” Deidre shrugs, dipping back under as a wave rolls by.

You stand in silent rage for a few moments, glaring at Harry as he tries in vain not to let his eyes flicker down to your breasts. You don’t notice his eyeline wavering, though, too distracted by the brumal temperature of your body. A particularly nippy breeze attacks your damp skin and you whimper slapping your arms around your chest. 

“I’m going back to the shore. It’s way too cold for this.” You huff, the water sloshing loudly as you begin to traipse back to the shore. 

Harry watches you stumble back onto the soppy sand with a slight smirk on his pink lips and you can hear the low chuckle escape from his chest breathily. You counter his haughty chortle with a middle finger thrown up behind you, eyes trained in front of you to shield your view of him. 

Once you reach the towels you’d set out earlier, you unfold your towel and wrap it around your shoulders before plopping your ass into the sand. The chattering of your teeth subsides after a few moments and you glance to your side to find the book Harry had been reading. Curiosity fills you and you reach over, lifting it from its spot on Harry’s towel and bringing it in front of you to examine it. 

It’s a paperback, the cover an off-white cardstock with a simple design of a bleeding heart, impaled by an arrow on the front. The title reads “The Course of Love, a novel by Alain De Botton” and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You never would have assumed that he would be such a romantic.

You turn to the first chapter titled “Infatuations”, scanning it briefly and landing on the small, italicized paragraph in the middle that reads, “A marriage doesn’t begin with a proposal, or even an initial meeting. It begins far earlier, when the idea of love is born, and more specifically the dream of a soul mate.” 

“Insightful.” You mutter to yourself, eyebrows raised in understanding before fanning the pages to scour the book further. 

As you scan the blur of pages, you find that there are words scrawled all over the margins of the paper, words frantically underlined like they’d been scribbled whilst he was in a hurry. Your thumb lands approximately a fourth of the way into the book, a small photograph slipping from the spine and into your lap as you open it. It’s a photo of him, Deidre, Gemma (their older sister) and Anne (their mother) all cuddled up together on Anne’s couch with warm smiles on their faces. Their smiles are almost identical to each other as well as their features and, in a way, it comforts you. 

You glance back up from the photo to the page of the book, your eyes immediately landing on an underlined sentence from the italicized section. It reads, “When two people belong together, there is simply--at long last--a wondrous reciprocal feeling that both parties see the world in precisely the same way.” You suck in a breath at the words for a moment but a sudden droplet of water landing on the page pulls you from your stupor.

“I see you’ve found my book,” Harry’s voice belows above you and you snap your head in his direction as he shakes his dripping wet hair. 

You nestling the photo back into the spine of the book before shutting it and smiling up at him sheepishly. “Sorry, I- it was just sitting there and I got curious.”

“S’alright, I don’t mind,” He shrugs, reaching for his towel and wrapping it around himself. “What’d you think?”

“Oh- I only read a couple sentences,” You mutter, tightening the towel around yourself. “But from what I did read, it seemed quite insightful.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He quirks an amused eyebrow at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, “Very elegant and sophisticated.” 

“Mmm.” He hums, nodding his head in agreement. 

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth to hold back a grin as you glance away from him towards the water. Your eyes land on a group of people standing around Deidre in the shallow water directly across from you. You frown, “What’s Dee gotten herself into?” 

He takes a swig from the metal bottle of water he’d brought with him before speaking, “Made herself some new friends, I guess.” 

You study them for a moment, watching her laugh heartily at one of the guys’ jokes and pursing your lips together. Wherever the two of you went, she was always capable of making friends. Her natural charm could sweep anyone off their feet and it endlessly left you feeling like an extra wheel. You know she doesn’t mean to leave you out of things, she never has any sort of malicious intent, but you’re both so different from each other that it constantly feels like you’re left in the dust.

You glance away from the group, looking back in Harry’s direction to distract yourself from the intrusive thoughts filling your mind.

 “So, um, what’re your opinions on it?” You start again, clearing your throat quietly. “The book, I mean.”

He smiles as he skillfully tosses his sopping hair into a messy bun, “I like it. S’actually the second time I’ve read it.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, “Really?”

He nods, tilting his body closer to you and bending one of his legs up against his chest. “Yeah.”

You laugh, “What do you expect from that?” 

“What, like, do I expect it to change?” You nod silently in response and he shrugs. “I mean- no, it’s just… comforting, in a way.” 

“Comforting,” You repeat to yourself. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It also kind of helps me retain the information better, you know?” He continues, mindlessly digging his fingers into the damp sand. 

“Yeah, I understand,” You reply softly, “Do you do that with all the books you read?”

He nods, “More or less.”

There’s an abrupt screech, followed by a few animated giggles and both of you look up at the sound. Deidre is running towards the two of you happily, a wide smile spread across her face as she skids to a stop in front of you. 

“I’m gonna go get lunch with these guys,” She chokes, out of breath from the short jog over. “Do either of you wanna come?”

You glance behind her at the group as they watch her for a moment and then you turn your head back to her. “You go ahead, I think I’ll just stay back here.”

Her expression falls a little and she sighs, turning to Harry with a hopeful look. He looks at you for a moment and then peers back up at her. 

“Think m’gonna do the same. Have fun, though.” He smiles and you nod along with him. 

She sighs again, reaching down and yanking her towel from the sand. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go change and then I’ll be heading out with them for a couple hours.”

You watch as she calls back to them that she’ll “be right back” before galloping back up to the house with her towel dragging behind her. 

“You could’ve gone with them if you wanted to, you know,” You say quietly. “I’m alright by myself.”

He shakes his head, “No, no, s’not really my scene anyways.”

You stay silent after that, watching the repetitive roll of the waves in a mindless state. Deidre returns in a matter of minutes, a loose dress tossed over her bathing suit, her long, dark hair tied into a high ponytail fluttering behind her as she prances. 

“See ya!” She calls after you. 

“Be careful!” You call in response and then she’s gone, engulfed into the group just like she had been before.

AHHHHHF;LSFSDLFJAS;DLKFJSDFK PLS PLS PLS LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINKKKK <33333

taglist: @first-one-that-i-see @harryandthatgayvodka @summertimestyles @bopbopstyles @harrysclementines @emsthoughts @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @clorenafila @harries-gayvodka @dmcupcakexo @glitterwhore @harryspinkshoelace @lovemenowseemenever @happydays @sisters-of-the-mo0n @shut-up-and-smile @fallingslowlyforu @slytherinambitious @moonlightmaliksblog @cocoamoonmalfoy @harryspirate @sunflowers-styles @sunflower6why​ @harrys-bitch​

[ladyfloriographist]

Valentine

Pairing: Captain Nicholls (War Horse) x femme!Wife!Reader

Warnings: WWI setting, alternate ending fix-it of sorts?, war and death themes, bad for Joey good for James, writing letters (sometimes sexy), yearning, features Major Jamie Stewart (Benedict Cumberbatch)

XXXX

Captain James Nicholls poured himself a drink and gazed at the sepia photograph. He kept it in his barracks so that he’d always have something to come back to; always, a reason to return to his quarters alive.

He sighed, looking at your photograph. The lighting had been wonderfully golden that afternoon, and your hair had sat so prettily about your face. He picked up the small frame and traced over your image with his thumb.

The urge to write you overwhelmed him. He was certain you hadn’t yet received his most recent letter, having despatched it only yesterday morning—but the desire to feel closer to you was too strong to ignore.

It didn’t ease his heavy heart that the only thing he could do was send you words on a page written by his hand, but the thought of you ripping open the envelope and avidly reading his correspondence before eagerly writing him back compelled him to sit at his desk and scratch out a note.

James loosened the standard-issue khaki-green tie as he pulled a pencil from the top drawer of the desk. He flicked open the top button of the long-sleeved beige-green shirt and ran his long fingers through his neatly-parted, close-cropped, blond hair.

He cleared his throat, and hovered the pencil above the paper, before launching in:

My dearest, loveliest Mrs Nicholls, Today your photograph caught my eye more than it usually does. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you reclined on the chaise in the sunroom, the photographer’s bulb snapping pictures of your angelic form. My sketches of you like that keep me company still. But today was different. I wish the photograph had some way of conveying the colour of your eyes. This is not to say that I have forgotten the look of them. Quite the contrary, dear heart. My memory of the hue of your iris, the fathomless black of your pupil, and the curl of your lashes are of’times the only things that grant me sleep at night in this dreary France. My darling, how I long to see them again. To see the two perfectly shaped crystal orbs in your face and look into them until I lose myself in your soul.

James paused, and supped his drink. He glanced at your photograph on his dresser and a crushing weight descended on his heart.

He gulped down the knot in his throat and continued on:

I count the days until this bitter biting winter is over and we British return home to our loves. We are assured that triumphal victory over the Germans is in our sights and you, my dear one, are in my thoughts always.

He signed his name and addressed the envelope to the home you shared in south Oxfordshire, and it was only when he started to write the date that he realised the significance of the day. He smiled and wrote it at the top of the letter:

14 February 1915

XXXX

He was frustrated with no where to put the frustration, and cold with no way to shake the chill. James slumped down into his chair and sat with his head in his hands. His eyes burned.

He dragged his hands down his face and groaned. He’d buried too many today.

Alone in his barracks the Captain privately wondered whether King and Country were worth the cost of so much, so many lives, so many lessons on how to break a man.

Recalling the stench of the gas and the death soured his breath in his mouth and sickened his gut.

He visibly shook the thoughts from his mind and reached for the only relief and release he’d come to count on: a pencil and a scrap of paper, and the sepia photograph of you.

My love, the dearest Mrs Nicholls,

My sweet heart, I miss you.

James held the pencil in his hand, poised to say more, paralysed to write it. The blunted nib hovered over the textured paper and he swallowed, picturing your radiant smile, hearing the trill of your laugh.

He coughed. “Write on, Jimmy,” he murmured to himself, more surprised than he should have been at the croak in his voice. He flexed his fingers on the pencil and wrote:

It soothes me some to address you as my darling wife. Please do not think of me a lesser man, but it is a great comfort to me to know that you are mine and I am yours, and you wait for me on the other side. I fear I shall never see the end of it – this wretched mess. Lord knows many of my men will not—not anymore. The snow has given way to the muddy sludge of spring in the land of the ancient Frank and I find myself longing for nought but a flat, hard stretch of Earth to walk our staunch British soldiers through. They are weary, as I confess I am.

James stopped. He rubbed at his eyes and took a swig of whiskey, sighing as it burned down his throat. Cheap, but the best available. He wrote on:

My Joey doesn’t much mind the mud. A beautiful beast and I am lucky to rely on such a fearless creature. I shall enclose a drawing of the noble steed. I am told that soon we shall spot fruiting mulberry trees between the thick French forests of oak and beech. I can’t imagine anymore something so fresh and vibrant as a berry. Ridiculous trifle. Nothing here is as sweet or juicy as you, my love. My darling heart.

James laid the pencil flat on the desk for the last time tonight. He sighed, lost to reminiscence.

XXXX

Captain Nicholls tipped the glass to his lips only to find it was empty.

He huffed as he put it down on the desk and slid it away, wanting to get up and re-fill it but knowing he has perhaps had too much already.

James looked back at his drawing. It was quite the likeness, if he did say so himself. He hoped he’d gotten the relaxed fall of the towel right and commended himself on your shoulder blades and waist. He added some more details to your hair, and then some more shading to your back and the folds of the rippling towel that covered your lower half.

His favourite part was the way he’d captured your nose and chin, your face turned ever so slightly over your shoulder, your downcast eyes wordlessly beckoning him closer.

Absent-mindedly, James swallowed the excess saliva that had pooled in his mouth—a consequence of his own imaginings. He wished he had even one or two colours to add to your portrait, to bring the plain picture somewhat closer to the rich images he nurtured in his mind.

He wrote your name in the bottom right corner, and underneath it:

After a Bath Cn. JN Artois, Sep ‘15

James sat back in his chair, and as he gazed at his drawing of you he felt the stirrings of arousal, deep in the pit of his gut. He glanced to the side where your most recent reply lay, scented with a fine floral perfume from the array of pressed flowers: orange-toned iris, pink ranunculus, red rose, and purple-hued lavender.

And read them, he had—for what they truly meant.

I love you, you’d said. I’m promised to you. I’m devoted to you, and I want you.

I desire you.

His heart had leapt up into his throat at the small and precious bouquet, and he’d immediately set to work sketching you.

For a few moments James closed his eyes and let his mind drift far and away from the nightmare that plagued his days. He thought about the last time he saw you, on the morning he left Oxfordshire to take the ferry into France. You hadn’t let him out of bed until the last possible moment, and he hadn’t attempted to leave until then either.

He blinked slowly back to the present as his desire grew, then quickly picked up a pencil.

James wrote:

My darling Mrs Nicholls,

My dearest love, tonight I remember the time we danced together in our new kitchen. We’d just moved to Abingdon and everything was new. Your dress that night was full of red blooms and your bright red lipstick dazzled me. We swayed to Sweet Adeline, my darling, do you remember? You smelt like orange blossoms and evening jasmine, I remember.

He sat back in his chair and let the memories crowd him like a swarm of bees: how he’d kissed you and where he’d touched you and the way he’d fucked you so thoroughly that your hair pins had come undone.

You never did find that one rogue button that flew off as he ripped open your dress.

His desire became a hot, burning need—long and thick between his legs. He resisted the urge to touch himself.

It’s cruel, my love, he wrote. The gift of your flowers tantalises me. Memories of you flood my mind like the waves of the ocean flood the sandy shore. Would you do this, loveliest lady? Most sultry sorceress? Would you leave me with your kiss upon my lips and your taste within my mouth, on my tongue to tease and torture me so sweetly? I feel you even now.

James adjusted in his chair as a distracting ache settled at the juncture of his thighs. He was desperately aroused, so stiff and hard, so ready to take you to bed and open you on his cock—to watch you bloom for him like the petals on your soft, pretty flowers. He continued:

Like Henry’s Catherine there is witchcraft in your lips, but also in your deeds, and you enchant me. I ache for your touch, my darling.

James let his eyes fall closed and ran a light touch of his palm over his swollen cock. The sensation shot through him like a bolt of lightning from the Heavens and he shuddered. It had been so long. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down.

Shall I take myself in hand and think of your sweet cunt? Your hot wet mouth? Your own soft hand? I am caught in your spell—I cannot resist, and I am too far gone for restraint. Dear sweet heart, were that you the flower and I the honey bee, I would horde your nectar for myself and eat all your sugary sweetness until it dribbled down my chin. Darling, how I long to dip my wick in your wax and feel you catch alight.

He dotted the period onto the paper with force, and threw the pencil onto the desk with a groan of frustration.

He breathed hard, panting breaths for a few moments, until he hastily unbuttoned the khaki slacks that confined him.

James decided to finish this letter tomorrow morning.

XXXX

“Ready, Jim-boy?” said Major Jamie Stewart good-naturedly, crossing one leg over the other and readying a pencil and small stack of papers.

James smiled as his friend and commander settled on the chair beside his cot. The Captain felt as though too much of a fuss was being made; as though he was taking up a valuable bed in the field hospital.

“Now, no funny business,” said the Major, his words in jest and his face faux-serious, “I’ll hear no pillow talk and I will certainly not dictate it.”

Despite it all, James had to laugh. Despite the pain that shot through his arm from his shoulder to his fingertips. Despite feeling like a deserter, a man who abandons his oaths and his friends. Despite wishing for nothing more than to be wrapped up in your arms.

Jamie smiled ruefully. He’d medically discharged that many men that by now, he could watch the emotions at war on their faces. He decided not to let his friend dwell on them. “How shall I start, Jimmy?”

James rested properly against the two flat, uncomfortable pillows beneath his head. He sighed, “My dear love, sweet Mrs Nicholls.”

Jamie scribbled onto the pages.

“First,” said James, “allow me to apologise—no. Not that, sorry Stu—”

Jamie scratched out some words.

“First, I must apologise,” James said, and Jamie nodded, “for the long interval in writing you back. Allow me to explain the delay, dear one.”

“Mhm,” Jamie hummed, his eyes trained on the paper as he wrote James’ words for him.

“There is no cause for alarm. I am well—no. I am… hurt, but recovering. Yes. Hurt but recovering.”

“Hurt,” Jamie echoed as he wrote dictation, “but… re-cov-er-ing… Yes, go on, Jim.”

“Two days past—”

“Three,” Jamie interrupted.

“Has it been three? Truly? Good God. Three days past we launched an attack on the Germans. Joey charged on ahead at a gallop and was struck by artillery fire. I am not sure where—no, Stu. Erm—struck by artillery fire and… and bolted behind the German line. In his panic he bucked me from his back and I fell. I know nothing more of his condition.”

James breathed deeply to steady himself. It would all be far less anxious if he could explain in person, but as it was, he was already behind in his replies to you and the trip back to Oxfordshire—in his condition—would not necessarily be a quick one.

At his friend’s silence, the Major looked up and said, “alright, Jim-boy?”

James cleared his throat and continued dictating his letter. “My injuries consist of a dislocated shoulder and a fractured radius, both on my right side where I came down hard on the ground.”

Jamie looked sceptical. “’My injuries consist’?”

James shot his friend a look and Jamie quickly scrawled the words onto the paper.

“I am to be discharged and despatched from camp shortly. Darling, you can expect me home by the end of the month.”

Jamie smiled at the endearment. “Anything else, my friend?”

James swallowed. “My heart beats to see you, dearest.” Hot tears swelled in the Captain’s eyes as an acute longing pierced his chest. He cleared his throat and looked up at the tent ceiling of the makeshift hospital. “Dictated by Major Jamie Stewart, forwarding address, all my love, Captain James et cetera, et cetera,” he mumbled quickly.

He felt the phantom touch of your hand wrap around his and he held back a sob. He was coming home to you, but the guilt of leaving his purpose, his men, and his commanders chased away any happiness with blazing torches and sharpened pitchforks.

Jamie’s warm hand gripped his shoulder. “James. I know, James.”

“Stu,” said James thickly, his eyes falling closed as warm, saline tears slipped down his temples and into his hair.

Jamie squeezed James’ flesh where he grabbed him, attempting to reassure his friend. There were no words for such moments where immense relief blended with crushing disappointment. Jamie felt his own eyes well with tears to see his strong, brave friend and soldier overwhelmed by such conflicting feelings.

He clutched James’ hand in his. “Jimmy,” his voice cracked on the nickname, but he continued on. “Jim-boy. If we post this tonight, by six o’clock, we can make the express.”

James sniffed and coughed. “Mm? And?”

“And, she’ll get it by Valentine’s Day, all things being equal.” Jamie squeezed James’ hand and gripped tight. “Valentine’s Day, Jim!”

James opened bleary eyes. “Do you mean that, Stu?”

Jamie snatched the pencil and leant the paper on his own thigh to write on it. “Tell me how to spell her name, Jimmy,” he said, “I’ll ask her to be your valentine.”

XXXX

Note: The song ‘Sweet Adeline (You're the Flower of My Heart)’ by the Haydn Quartet, first recorded around 1908 I think, can be listened to on the YT: https://youtu.be/jRA4fdZytJQ (under 3 min)

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Mahiru is an artist and he goes to the beach for inspiration. While he’s distracted drawing, he becomes trapped by the tide. (KuroMahi, Human AU)

Mahiru walked along the beach with a sketchbook in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He was a professional artist and he wanted to make a collection of paintings with a summer theme. Beaches were a common landscape to paint, he hoped he could find something in the night to inspire him. The air was cool around him and the beach was quiet aside from the waves crashing over the sand.

He stared at the sea that held a sense of alluring mystery and strength. The moon reflected in the water kept his attention and its soft colour captured his imagination. The reflection was crystal white at first glance but, the more he stared at it, he saw a pale blue glow against the dark water. Mahiru wondered how the moon’s reflection would appear underwater.

“Maybe I can paint a merman.” He mused out loud to himself. Mahiru flipped open his sketchbook and he made a small note of the idea in the corner of a page. He wanted to think of other possible things he could paint. He returned his sketchbook to his bag and he continued to walk along the beach. A large boulder blocked his view of the moon’s reflection in the distance. He imagined a lonely merman sitting on the rock and staring at the moon.

He slipped off his shoes and he stepped into the sea. The tall boulder was the same height as him and it stood close to the shore. The water pooled around his ankles when he stood at the base. He tilted his head back and he wondered what the view would be from the height. Mahiru climbed up the boulder and he discovered that the top of the boulder was flat and wide. He was able to sit on the boulder comfortably and he looked over the sea.

Mahiru took out his flashlight and he shone it over the area to study the details in the rock for his painting. He leaned over the side and he watched the sea beat against the boulder. The water left an impression on the surface for a few minutes before it faded. He sat back and he felt something rigged against his palm. When he lifted his hand, he discovered a seashell fossilized in the boulder.

He immediately took out his sketchbook to draw the shell. While the seashell wouldn’t fit his summer theme, the design intrigued him and he wanted to sketch it. Whether he could incorporate the shell in a future drawing or have it stay a simple sketch, he didn’t want to miss the chance to capture the image before him. He positioned his flashlight on his bag and pointed it at the shell so he could see it better.

He drew the loose shape of the fossilized shell. Mahiru slowly added more details to the sketch and the image started to take form on the paper. The moon was bright that night but he needed to strain his eyes as he drew. He knew that it would be easier to take a photo on his phone and use it as reference later. However, he was worried he would lose inspiration if he waited to draw the rare fossil.

Mahiru drew the last line of ridges on the seashell and he closed his sketchbook. He swung his legs over the ledge of the boulder to climb down and cold water sent a shiver through him. He immediately pulled his feet out of the water and he hugged his legs for warmth after the initial shock. While he had been sketching, he hadn’t noticed how much time had passed nor how the tides were slowly rising around him.

Now, he was trapped on the boulder and surrounded by water.

He took his flashlight to fully assess the situation. Mahiru measured the height of the water with his eyes. Since the boulder was the same height as him, he could see that the water reached his nose. He knew how to swim but he would risk ruining his sketchbook and artwork in the water. He couldn’t stay on the boulder overnight either. The tide could rise higher and overtake the boulder and the cold night would make him sick.

Mahiru considered calling his friends for help but they were likely asleep and it would take them a while to drive to the beach. He picked up his flashlight and he held it above his head. Hopefully, someone passing the beach would notice the light and help him. He took a deep breath and he screamed as loud as he could, only for it to be drowned out by the ocean. “If only mermaids were real, one could save me.”

A light on the shoreline flickered and hope rose in Mahiru. The waves around him were too loud for them to speak and he moved his flashlight in a circular motion to respond to the person on shore. The light faded and he prayed that the person had understood him. Mahiru squinted his eyes against the darkness and he saw someone wade through the water towards him. Between the darkness and the distance between them, he couldn’t see the person well.

When the man stepped into the moonlit water, Mahiru almost thought he was a merman. He couldn’t help but study his features as an artist. He had sharp features that contrasted his soft lips. His wet hair was the colour of the moon reflected on the sea. Drops of water clung to his smooth skin as he pushed his hair back and out of his red eyes. He was tall because the water only reached his shoulders.

“What are you doing out here at night? Troublesome.” The man said. “Can you swim?”

“Yes, but that’s not the reason I’m stuck on this rock.” Mahiru held up his art bag and explained. “I came here to sketch the landscape. I didn’t notice the tides coming in until it was too late. If I try to swim, everything I drew tonight will be ruined. Can you carry me to shore on your back? Wait, do you think you’re strong enough for me to sit on your shoulders? That way, I’ll be tall enough to keep my bag safe. I’m not that heavy either.”

“I want to help you but the only person who can wrap their legs around my head is someone I’m dating.” His comment made Mahiru blush. He only thought was to keep his art safe from the water and he hadn’t considered how strange the situation would be for the man. He was still kind enough to hold out his hand to him. “How about I just carry your bag for you and you swim back to shore on your own? I promise, I won’t drop it and your things will stay dry.”

“Thank you— I don’t know your name. Mine is Mahiru Shirota.” He introduced himself and handed him his bag.

“Kuro Sleepy Ash Servamp.” He lifted the bag over his bag. With his other hand, Kuro helped him climb down from the rock.

Mahiru was careful not to move quickly and not cause a splash. His feet touched the sand and he realized that he would have to walk to his hotel without his shoes. He had left his shoes near the water and the tide likely pulled them into the sea while he was drawing. He told himself that he could buy his shoes but it was impossible to regain the time and love he put into his art.

They walked through the sea towards the shore. Kuro had lived in the small beach town for years but he didn’t recognize Mahiru. While he didn’t have many close friends, he was certain he would remember someone with brown eyes as beautiful as his. The colour was common but it shimmered like velvet. He assumed that Mahiru was a tourist.

“I’m lucky that you were passing by and you saw me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come to my rescue.” Mahiru said as they stepped out of the water. He lifted the hem of his white shirt and twisted the fabric to wring out as much water as he could. His wet clothes made the breeze colder and he shivered. “My hotel is across the street so I can dry up quickly. What about you?”

“I was driving home when I saw your flashlight. My jeans are going to feel like ice the entire drive home. Can’t deal.” He groaned to himself. Kuro searched the darkness for his shoes and jacket that he had discarded before he jumped into the water. He pulled out his car keys from his jacket pocket and he started to walk away. “See you.”

“Don’t go yet.” Mahiru jumped forward and he grabbed Kuro’s arm to stop him from leaving. “You’re going to get sick if you stay in those wet clothes. I don’t want that to happen after you saved my sketchbook. Thinking simply, you should come with me to my hotel room. You can use one of the hotel towels. It’ll be my way to thank you.”

Kuro debated if he should go with Mahiru. It would often take a while for him to become comfortable and trust a person. Mahiru didn’t appear to be dangerous and his voice only held concern for him. His brown eyes silently pleaded with him to accept and he was tempted to take Mahiru’s hand. Then, another cool breeze passed them and he saw him shiver. He took his dry jacket and he draped it over his shoulders. “Let’s go before we both catch a cold.”

Mahiru dried himself in the room while Kuro used the bathroom. He had changed into clean clothes and sat on the bed with his sketchbook. He wanted to take a shower after swimming in salt water but he decided it was best to wait until Kuro left to do so. While he believed he was a good person after he saved him, he knew he had to be cautious of leaving a stranger alone with his things.

“What are you drawing?” Mahiru jumped in surprise at the sound of Kuro’s voice because he hadn’t heard him leave the bathroom. He stood in the doorway wearing a hotel robe and his hair was a little damp from his shower. He thought of how he first saw Kuro standing in the water. The hotel room was better lit and Mahiru could see him better.

“You’re as quiet as a cat. You almost gave me a heart attack.” Mahiru said with a warm laugh. He nodded towards Kuro’s jeans hanging over the suite’s fireplace. “I hope you don’t mind that I stole your jeans while you were in the shower. They’ll dry quicker with the heat. I told Misono he didn’t need to book me such a fancy hotel room but now I’m grateful.”

“Is Misono your boyfriend? I should run away before he returns and assume the worst when he sees me.” Kuro said as a joke but he felt a hint of disappointment. Between Mahiru’s warm personality and how attractive he was, he would easily have a boyfriend.

“Misono and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends. He’s also my manager so he helped me plan this trip where I could do research for my next art collection.” Mahiru flipped over his sketchbook so Kuro could see the landscape he was working on. “What about your girlfriend? Earlier, you said you would only let the person you’re dating wrap their legs around you.”

“I’m not dating anyone either.” Kuro sat in front of him and he couldn’t take his eyes off the stunning balcony he had drawn. The balcony overlooked the sea and a merman was partially hidden in the shadow of the building. At first glance, the scene was simple but Kuro could see the small details he had drawn into the structure. The drawing was made with charcoal yet he was able to portray a spectrum of shades. He didn’t know much about art yet it was easy to see that Mahiru was talented. “This is great.”

“Thank you, Kuro.” His compliment made Mahiru beam with happiness. Mahiru doubted he could tell Kuro that he was the one who inspired the artwork. “My next collection has a summer theme so I came to this beach town for inspiration. My manager will yell at me for getting distracted and making something outside of that theme.”

“I grew up here so I know a lot of secret places that might inspire you. I can write down directions to them.” Kuro offered. “Do you have a pen?”

“Exploring the city more is a great idea but I think I’ll need a tour guide so I don’t get lost. Are you free tomorrow?” Mahiru asked with a light blush. “I’ll pay you for your time with dinner.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the boulder where we met.”

[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

New Dawn Fades — Literary References Analysis Part 4: The Id, the Ego, the Superego

Cyberpunk Spoiler Warning 

Here’s part four of me going through all the endings and looking for the literary references in each of the endings, which I believe allude to what happens to V/Johnny, possibly in future DLC. If you haven’t read my other posts, you should read them here (Johnny’s Mikoshi poem, V’s Mikoshi Poem, The Star ending) first since we’re gonna loop back to them later.

New Dawn Fades was such a pain in the ass; because Johnny is such an art hoe, I found three different poems/stories scattered around. Not only that, but two of them are translated from Polish, and one of them us from Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. I studied English literature so…forgive me if this is super surface-level. Also, stuff gets lost in translation, so the original meaning sometimes gets lost. If Polish literature is anyones niche, please teach me a thing two, but all I can do now is my best! But from what I could tell, damn…paints a pretty depressing picture. Let’s start with the two Polish writers first:

Bolesław Leśmian, "Why so many candles...”

Why so many candles, these faces above me?

No more harm shall ever meet my body.

Everyone is standing - while here alone I lie -

Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.

And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie -

Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.

Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,

Though by now I know all my comprehension is dead.

How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.

This one is…yikes. Depressing. As I talked about in previous posts, V’s poem is more pessimistic: nothing we do matters, we’re all just dust in the wind, you know, the good stuff. Johnny’s poem has a very different stance; art makes us immortal, and we can change the world, etc. With this…Johnny seems to have given his larger-than-life attitude up in favor of V’s resignation that life sucks. Much like Prufrock in V’s poem, Johnny is lying “Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.” Almost as if he didn’t want V’s body, not as a selfless gesture…but because he has grown accustom to his previous form. In Johnny’s version of Alt’s poem, it almost seems as if he embraces being a construct — the form of immortality it, and his legacy, grants him (remember all that hokey about being a golden bird to sing his message to the youth?). Blackwall was a kind of death Johnny knew — yet now:

“How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.”

Interesting. We never find out where Johnny is going when he leaves Night City, but it makes me wonder. Is he truly starting anew? Or hoping to fix what went wrong?

In the next room, we find another poem, this one an excerpt from Labyrinth by Wisława Szymborska:

So this way or that,

Or no, the other,

By ear or by your gut,

By your wits or by shortcut,

By any means necessary,

Cutting crooked corners.

Past whatever row in a row

Of corridors and gates,

Quickly, in the meantime

Your time grows short,

From one place to another

To one of many still open,

Of darkness and plight

But also delight, held just ajar,

Where there's joy, though sorrow

Lies well-nigh nearby,

And elsewhere, somewhere,

Wheresoever and whereabout,

Fortune in misfortune

Like a parenthetical parenthesis

Acceptance of it all

And suddenly - a fall

I’m a little shaky on the meaning behind this one. My immediate response is to compare it to the poem found in The Star — which contains a piece from The Marriage Between Heaven and Hell by William Blake. The overarching use of this poem, by my interpretation, is an explanation for what the Blackwall is: hell. But not hell how most would perceive it. In fact, according to Blake, hell isn’t so bad. Our views of heaven and hell, good and evil, are wrong. Everyone contains both good and bad within them, and neither is wrong, simply two opposites; between conformity and rebellion, art and obedience. If we were to look at it this way, V would most likely belong in “Heaven,” the world of the obedient, those who play by the worlds rules (at least, in the beginning of the story, before Johnny influences them toward the rebel path), while Johnny represents “Evil,” and would belong to Hell. In some dialogue choices, Johnny will even state that he no longer believes he is a human, and is in fact code, no longer belonging in the world of the living. In this scenario, both have found themselves where they don’t belong. Not only that — but one is supposed to be a healthy mix of so-called “Good” and “Evil.” The “Soul,” and “Body,” are one, not meant to be separated. Uh oh. The tone of this poem in Johnny’s context just seems so…lost, to me. Someone who found their other half, their perfect foil, a soul and body as one…and now it’s gone. What does one do after such a loss?

And finally, the most grim of the three stories: Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. Specifically, Book III, Narcissus and Echo. This one most likely has the greatest significance; not only is it a shard you can pick up, but an open copy of the book can be found in Johnny’s hotel room, drawing further attention to it. 

If you haven’t read it, let me give you a quick and dirty summary:

At the beginning of the story, Narcissus’ mother, Liriope, asks the prophet Tiresias if her son will live to see old age, which he replies “only if he does not know himself.” One day when Narcissus is 16, he is out hunting when he finds a mountain Nymph named Echo. Echo, as one might guess, was cursed by Hera and can only repeat what is said back to her. You know. Like an echo. Echo falls in love with Narcissus at first sight and follows him throughout the forest, waiting for him to speak so she can communicate with him. Narcissus eventually gets separated from his hunting group, and calls out for them, which Echo…well, echos. Eventually Echo reveals herself and Narcissus freaks out, telling her basically he’d rather die than be with her. She hides in a cave and pines until she whithers away from hunger, and only her voice remains.

Many other nymphs fall for Narcissus because apparently he’s a straight up snack, but he rejects all of them. Apparently someone gets so salty about it, they summon the Goddess of Vengeance to do something about it. She leads him to a crystal clear pool, in which he is able to see his reflection. Remember the thing about knowing oneself? Yeah…At first, Narcissus thinks the reflection is a different person and falls in love. He smiles, the reflection smiles, so it must like him back, right? Eventually he reaches to touch it, and realizes that it’s him. He freaks out, and much like Echo, stays by his reflections side until he withers away. Having a total meltdown, he cries out “Alas!” which is echoed, by well, Echo. Her voice lived on, and she watches him die as he calls “Farewell, dear boy. Beloved in vain.” Once again, Echo repeats this. Narcissus dies and all the thirsty hoes make a pyre to burn him, but when they go looking for him they find the Narcissus (flower) instead (nooo...dont transform into a flower, you’re so sexy ahaha). 

So what does this mean for Johnny/V? Well, two main things pop out to me: transformation, and reflections. Much like Echo and Narcissus are reflections of each other, V and Johnny reflect each other. As @ellitira pointed out in my analysis of the Star, V and Johnny constantly reflect each other. One of the most obvious ways is their literal reflection; if you look in a mirror during a relic malfunction, you’ll see Johnny, not V. But scenes are reflected as well; the first and last time V meets Johnny, they grab him by the shoulder from behind to get his attention as he turn to face them. The first time Johnny and V have a civil conversation, they’re sitting at a table in Tom’s Diner, Johnny’s foot on the table. This mimics their conversation in Mikoshi with Alt. Their conversation about taking a bullet for one another in the Pista Sofia where Johnny is sitting backwards on a chair while V is on the ground is also repeated moments later, as Johnny and V have their final conversation about who will stay and who will go with Alt. Johnny also mentions that he spent his first few weeks in NC laying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. When he awakens in New Dawn Fades, what is he doing? Staring at the ceiling fan…in Pacifica, not far from the Pista Sofia. The boy who he gives the guitar to is even wearing V’s “favorite shirt”…the one we see them wearing in the first scene they’re introduced. There’s probably loads more, so feel free to share if you find any more. If you want to know more about why this is significant, make sure to read about V’s version of Alt’s poem. 

So why do these reflections/echos matter? Well, what does one do with a reflection? Reflect. Johnny begins to examine himself through V, and he begins to realize he doesn’t like what he sees. If V calls him the man who saved her life, he’ll respond with “you have no idea how badly I want that to be true.” He tries his best to right his wrong only after this conversation with V, not only in Burning Love and Chippin’ In, but in other ways too. For example, it’s Johnny’s idea to call V’s loved ones to say goodbye on the roof scene, because “he wished that he had had a chance to.” Because of V, he grows, changes, and becomes a better person, just as much if not more as he seems to change V. As he leaves V’s grave, he even states that he has changed; that he’s wiser now, and won’t make the same mistakes. He states he won’t dwell on what happened, but somehow I doubt that, considering everything above.

The other theme of Narcissus and Echo is of transformation; after all, metamorphosis actually means "to change or transform.” Echo becomes, well, and echo, and Narcissus becomes a flower. V and Johnny also transform; not only physically between engram and human, but they transform one another. Both of them fall in love, and neither will move on. Echo falls in love with Narcissus, and Narcissus falls in love with his reflection. Because they refuse to transform the way they feel, they must die and transform physically. So who represents who in this scenario? In a way, Johnny is both. Johnny is a bit, well, narcissistic. He’s self-absorbed in his flashbacks, and adored by countless fans, yet ignores them in favor of his own company. He thinks everything is about him (Alt’s death, Samurai, etc.)  and is willing to die for his beliefs. He is also constantly reflecting on himself through V. However, what really kills him is losing Alt; she tells him not to follow her (much like Narcissus tells Echo to leave him alone). He does anyway, and avenging her leads to his demise.

What’s especially sad about this is the way Johnny views transformation; he is very concerned with the idea of one’s individual identity, and hates the idea of turning into something you’re not. He despises that he’s going to turn V into himself by force. He hates dolls because he sees their behavior chip as something that changes them into something they’re not. He’s scared of V going to Blackwall not because it’s death, but because they “won’t be the same.” I don’t think Johnny ever wanted V’s body; again, not as a courtesy, but because it’s not him. After all, he could have just let nature take its course and let himself re-write their psyche, but instead he actively tries to save them as best he can. If V chooses to let him have their body, he hardly seems happy about it; especially compared to how happy he seems to see that part of him will live on in the way V refuses to give up should they choose to live on. By taking V’s body, he is no longer himself; rebel, rocker-boy, legend, and the guy who promised to save V’s life. Johnny in A New Dawn has lost his entire sense of self, his entire new and improved identity; one that learned from his mistakes and became a better person because of V. Johnny has The Tower tattooed on his arm, the card of (often painful) transformation and change. Yet this is what Johnny is most afraid of; not death, or even the not-so-bad sort-of hell that is Blackwall. He’s afraid of losing himself, and by losing V, he has lost a part of himself. The part of himself that was supposed to be a better person; who was supposed to save V’s life.

[coreastories]

Modern Royals: The King’s White Day declaration

If you live in Corea and you’re a man, you probably have a burning resentment for the king always raising the bar when it comes to romantic gestures. 

For my international readers-- and let’s face it, most of my readers are international because I write in English, although some ahjummas have taken to using translation apps on my articles, just to make sure I’m accurate and/or have used what they “educated me about...”

Anyway, White Day is a special day you only see in a tiny portion of Asia

Japan started it, and Corea and Taiwan also do it. China, Vietnam and Singapore also do it to some extent

While the Western world pampers women on Valentine’s Day, it’s quite the opposite here, where men receive chocolates and confessions of love from women

It’s gotten so widespread that it’s become a standard in schools and workplaces, to the extent that “giri-choko” or obligation chocolates exist 

These are the chocolates you had to hand out to your male colleagues, relatives, friends

Apparently, you can give cheaper varieties for these people. The more expensive the chocolate, the more special the guy will perceive himself to be. It’s a game of finesse, of not leaving anyone out, making sure your recipient feels appreciated (especially the sunbaes and bosses) but making sure no one gets the wrong message either 

White Day is a reverse Valentine’s Day. It’s the women’s turn to receive chocolates and gifts from the men

And men are expected to give four times the value of what they received on Valentine’s Day

Many workplaces pool their money to buy packages of good chocolates for their women colleagues

In Corea, despite dwindling support for obligation chocolate, romantic chocolate persists. Chocolate sales reach billions of won on Valentine’s Day, and this triples on White Day.

Stores create special White Day chocolates, and advertisements and online reservations start as early as January.

White Day this year was full of queen-themed chocolates. Crown shapes, real gold flecks, the plum blossom inspired by the Royal Court’s insignia and Her Majesty’s necklace and signature forget-me-not blue color dominated the designs that flew off the shelves before they were even placed there.

Specific hashtags on Instagram were full of posts of these chocolates and photos of guys waiting in line to pick up their reservations for a Godiva box of Crown Jewels, a limited edition White Day 2021 box of chocolates quilted in the distinct Chanel pattern, which is now a trademark of the queen so often seen wearing her Coco Crush earrings or rings. 

Chocopologie’s House of Knipschildt also created Sa Majesté Truffle, very similar to their Guinness Record-holder La Madeline au Truffle, except this one contains a delicate strawberry and edible gold candy in the shape of the queen’s plum blossom pink diamond necklace. 

This is made to order, and sources say Chocopologie had to close orders from Corea when it reached 2700 pieces. That $350 per truffle. 

Delafee sold out their Plum Blossom Chocolate and Gold Lollipops in seconds, and their 24-karat Gold Chocolate Box with a collectible solid gold coin bearing the Royal Court’s plum blossom insignia, retailing at $899, sold out in one day.  

Coreans snapped them up. These were the gifts to be had. Men thought they were pretty much in the clear in pleasing their women. 

Until photos came out of the queen wearing the legendary J12 X-ray, made almost entirely in sapphire crystal. 

The J12 X-ray and its transparent sapphire crystal face and 5.46 carats of baguette diamonds, with the gear train seemingly suspended in midair

Aside from the watch hands, train wheels, mainspring, metal hinges and components, if the parts aren’t sapphire crystal, it’s diamond, and where it’s not made of diamond, it’s in white gold. The hour markers are diamonds. The bezel is diamond. The face and bracelet are all sapphire crystal. 

As it often goes in Corean media, the photos zooming in on the queen’s wrist were immediately taken down. For security purposes, and some ahjummas said it’s so the queen’s bespoke watch won’t be imitated. 

There are only twelve of these watches to be made in the world, and aside from the queen of Corea, we have not yet seen it on anyone else. The availability is still TBA. 

Sapphire crystal bracelet, plate and bridges. The luxury and rarity comes from the difficulty and expense of machining and working with sapphire crystal, the second hardest material next to diamonds.  

It’s so fitting that royalty is the first to be seen with this watch, and not just any royalty, but the queen of Corea, who does seem to like Chanel watches. 

See our Queens Day Recap, where the queen wore the Chanel Boyfriend watch. 

Here’s Her Majesty photographed wearing the J12 Phantom last year 

And I think the king’s in trouble, because I rather think the queen had no idea she was wearing $626,000 on her wrist when she and the king appeared at the UAAC Baseball season pre-opening friendly match.  

The Prime Minister was also there, along with CorGen Obstetrics Chief Chae Song-eun, the queen’s OB. 

The Royal Public Affairs Office declined to comment, but in his monthly televised panel today with the Ministries of Finance and Commerce, the press asked His Majesty about the watch as the meeting wound down, and the king answered it with laughter.    

“I did hear that men are furious with me? I’m sorry but the watch is very much the queen’s style. The sapphire crystal means the band and the watch face are indestructible. I happen to choose Her Majesty’s accessories in that criteria. 

“If you can afford to buy your wife and the mother of your child an expensive gift, why not? This country owes a lot to its women--don’t forget we have a Queens Day because we owe our queens so much-- give them expensive gifts! The most expensive you can afford without bankrupting yourself and getting yourself killed by your wife, of course.”

Seeing as the king is very much alive and his blissfully happy self as ever, we can assume the queen has forgiven him. 

And now I bet all the luxury brands in the world are gearing up with their own sapphire crystal and/or timepiece offerings. 

And while the J12 X-ray’s price is astronomical, I have to agree with the king that it’s definitely the queen’s style. That is to say, it’s absolutely wearable, unlike the million dollar diamond watches Harry Winston, Cartier, Chopard and their ilk have made. 

We do wonder what the queen has given the king for Valentine’s Day, but perhaps bearing the heir to the Corean throne is beyond enough. 

Our countdown to that happy day continues! 

[jooniyah]

Fool’s Diamonds

Pairing: Park Jimin x Fem Reader

AU: Thief!Au

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Illness, angsty mentions of poverty, diamond mines, drunk character, character death, vague mentions of non con, suggested human trade, robbery, implied smut, general theme of mistrust and deception.

Word count: 6.39 K

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

Author’s note:  This fiction is set in a time when cell phones and social media didn’t exist. Nationalities are purely for fictional purposes, I bear no ill-will towards any nationality, nor am I xenophobic.

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The air was dry and felt like parched paper. You fancied you could break it into pieces just by extending your hand out. A bead of sweat rolled inside your shirt, running down your midriff. Gosh, it was so very hot. Why was it that July felt like Earth was having a fun time roasting all the terrestrial life on a barbecue? A strong cigar smell curled around you, worsening the situation, making you want to retch.

“I’m outta here, Billie,” you shouted, leaving the money on the table. The wet circles left by the beer mugs hadn’t even dried. “Money’s on the table.”

The tattooed girl nodded at you, hollering a hearty “Sure, darlin’. See ya around.”

The heat was reflecting off the road in waves. It wasn’t like you had chosen to stay there. With a drunkard for a father and a ruined mother, you had to stay back and make sure your father didn’t set the house on fire in one of his rages. You spat down, wiping the corner of your mouth. Father. You didn’t even know what real fathers did.

Wait, of course, you did. Real fathers worked to bring bread to the table. They raised their children and tried to get their babies to live better lives. They didn’t collapse by the sewer and roll around in their own puke. It was a challenge every night to find which gutter he had passed out in.

Your mother had worked her ass off to get clothes on your back. Forget college. You had starved on days when your father stole your mom’s daily wages to go and get his brains saturated with alcohol. Did you ever think of killing him? No. Well, maybe. Okay, a lot of times.

But the old woman was strangely attached to him. She went out and dragged him home if you said you couldn’t be bothered to go find him.

“Tis your dad, girl,” she would pant, dragging the wasted scoundrel by his shoulders. “You got only him to call dad, like it or not.”

You would huff and storm out of the room, not interested in getting lectured at. Well, there wasn’t a lot of rooms in your house. There was just a living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom. Your drunk dad would usually snore in the living room. Your mother would join you in the bedroom, where she would lie on an old ratty mattress. It grossed you out to lie on it, just imagine the times it would have seen your parents’ body fluids. Ew. You would lie on a pallet, trying to suppress the anger brewing in your heart.

Every other girl in the town had left, either to college or in search of better jobs. Some had married, just to escape the clutches of the banal town, which was tainted with general unease and distrust. No one was ever able to breathe freely. It was like the whole town was constantly on edge, waiting for something bad to happen.

And when you reached home, the bitter aftertaste of the beer still on your tongue, the cruel hand of fate had struck already.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Momma?”

You raced over to her side, trying to get her to breathe. Her lips were a deep blue, the eyes were rolling back into her head.

“Y/N.”

Her breathing was strained as if every draw of her breath peeled a little piece of life away from her.

“Momma?” You repeated dumbly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Don’t go, please,” the saliva pooling in your mouth made you slur.

“Y/N,” she rasped, struggling to look at you. “Get—”

A spasm made her wince, and you watched helplessly, waiting for her to resume.

“Get outta this…” she swallowed, willing herself to finish her sentence. “… this town. Get out.”

Her eyes scoured the place, trying to see her husband’s form in the bright afternoon light. There he was, fast asleep, not minding in the least about his family or the fact that his wife was looking for him before her last breath.

“I’ll wake him up,” you said, trying to get up.

“No,” her voice was soft. “I been done waiting for him to wake up.”

“Momma,” you whined, voice laden with sorrow.

She shook her head, flashing a watery smile at you. “My baby,” her cold fingers clasped yours. “Get outta this place. Live your life, girl.”

You turned to stare in disgust at the man stretched in the doorway. “But him…”

She cut your words, whispering hoarsely. “No use, girl. He’s good as dead. You gotta go.”

Her beady eyes searched your face, relaxing when you nodded and sobbed.

“I love you, baby.”

Her chest stopped heaving.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You were wiping hot angry tears off your cheeks, thinking what a waste your father was. He hadn’t even stirred when you shook him awake, screaming at him.

“Momma’s dead!” you had cried, hitting his chest as if it would get his brain hum-started. “You weren’t even sober, you fucking loser!”

When your mother had been around, you had kept a lid on swearing. But the dam broke, unleashing a torrent of suppressed anger spilling out of your heart in waves.

He had grinned dumbly, saying in a slurred voice:

“One less mouth to feed, then.”

You hadn’t meant to, but your fist came into contact with his nose, followed by a sickening crunch.

“You loser,” you shouted, going crazy at the thought of a world without your mother.

He shrugged, lying down on his side, supporting his head with his hand.

“My girl be takin’ care of me, I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

You jumped to your feet, fingers trembling in rage. Your mother had lived and died, trying to support the scoundrel lying before you. But it wasn’t your cross to bear anymore. Your mother had been right, he was of no fucking use. He would simply leech off you and get drunk till his last breath. No, that wasn’t what your mother had wanted. You had to get out of the damned place.

But how? No money. No jewels. Nothing you could pawn off. Your father had already done that and drunk away all the little precious things your mother had ever owned. There was nothing to support you out in the wild, wild world.

You had a job at the local convenience store, but it didn’t pay much. It was your first job since finishing school. You had taken it instead of leaving the town, just to support your poor mother. There wasn’t much respite, but it did provide you bread when your father ran away with your mom’s wages.

You hadn’t saved a lot. But you needed leave the cursed town before it trapped you for life. Your mother had lived and gone to dust, working solely to keep you from dying of starvation. It was time to leave. To begin a new chapter elsewhere, where drunkards didn’t puke all over your foyer.

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“Billie,” you called, moving closer to her. “You got any jobs here?”

The girl pursed her mouth, shaking her head.

“Sorry, girlie. Ain’t got no jobs right now.”

You nodded in understanding. Fair enough. It was a rotten place, with not a lot of opportunities. It was a wonder that Billie kept running the pub after her old man died. It was evident that she wanted to leave the place. But like you, she had been tied to the town because of her sick father.

You were curious why she still hadn’t closed shop and left town for good.

“Billie, didn’t you ever think of leaving this place?”

She lifted a finger to be excused for a moment. She moved to pour out beer for a tall man who was standing at the counter. She pocketed the change, shouting “Enjoy your beer” at his retreating back.

When she returned, she wiped her hand on her apron, thrusting her tongue out carelessly.

“Well, I sure did, but this place ain’t got no other pub. And the money’s good the last couple o’weeks.”

You leaned in, interested.

“Anyone struck diamonds? Give me the juice, girl.”

She laughed, wiping the beer spills on the counter, nodding as she did so.

“Aye, there’s a couple guys who struck it rich. They’re comin’ and leavin’ big fat tips.”

She patted her pocket to emphasize her point. Billie was obviously in need of the money to keep the place running. You grinned, interested to hear more.

“Tell me about them.”

She handed out another mug of beer and pulled a stool to sit near you.

“There’s this guy from Russia, he been scouring for stones since last August. He bought a trench from old Mr. Hadley and started diggin’ two weeks ago. Big diamonds, you see,” she opened her thumb and index winger to show you the size, “Big ones. He been buyin’ drinks for everyone in the mine to celebrate it.”

You whistled. The only thriving business in the town was mining. People came from all parts of the world to try their luck at finding the crystallized carbon rocks. Most of them returned broke, some fell sick from the dusty haze and polluted air. Some even died in vain, succumbing to the hot burning sun.

“And the other one?”

She giggled, letting you in on her little secret. “He asked if I wanna go to Ireland.”

“He’s asking you to marry him?” It wasn’t a surprise. A lot of girls in your town had gone and married potential miners just to escape.

She shook her head, grinning. “We were foolin’ around and he thought I was serious.”

Well, poor man. Billie wasn’t the type to settle down without roaming the Earth to her heart’s content. She was simply chiseled from another rock. She didn’t like being caged.

“Talk of the devil,” she whispered, wiping the counter furiously. “There’s Mr. Russia.”

You turned and eyed the big guy entering the pub, his eyes lighting up when he saw Billie. The people in the pub cheered when he entered, and he raised a big palm to accept the claps, smiling widely.

He strode towards the counter, catching sight of you.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” he asked, smirking in your direction.

“Y/N,” Billie replied, handing him his lager. “She works in the convenience store by the old railroad.”

“Pleasure,” he said, extending his big hand to you. When you shook it, the callousness reminded you of sandpaper.

“You haven’t left town yet?” he asked, sipping his lager casually. “I mean, I thought Billie was the only lass in town.”

You smiled. The curiosity was well-earned. “I’ll leave soon enough,” you replied, keeping the obvious eagerness from spilling into your tone.

“Y/N’s momma died, so she got nothing to stay back for anymore,” Billie said, looking at you with sympathetic eyes. She had been in the same position, and she understood.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, his thick accent bubbling out of his chest.

“It’s okay.” You looked at the time. “Ah, I gotta run, Billie. See ya.” Turning to the man, you dipped your head with a soft “Nice to meet you.”

He nodded chastely, watching your back as you scurried back to work.

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“Y/N!” the man hollered, “customer for you!”

You were at the back, checking the expiration dates and noting which ones to take back home. It was common in your town for salespeople to take items that were a day or two beyond the expiration dates. You stopped what you were doing and rose up to look over the aisle.

It was the Russian man. His face registered recognition, and he raised his hand to wave a small Hi to you.

“Yes,” you said, walking up to him. “How can I help you?”

He told you he was looking for some souvenirs to buy for his daughter back home. You led him to the small section that had girls’ trinkets and stuff like hair slides.

“These are all we have. You could try Miasie’s too. She might have some more accessories.”

He nodded, carding through the fake jewelry items. He whistled in a low voice.

“They look like real diamonds,” he said, pointing to a bracelet studded with stones.

“Zirconia,” you replied, taking the bracelet out of the plastic cover. You had to admit, it really looked authentic. It was a running joke in your town that the fake jewelry outshone the diamonds mined there.

“Maisie has a lot of Zirconia jewels, these are made by locals,” you said, running your finger through the stones. “

People who fared badly at the diamond mining expeditions returned home with Zirconia jewels to save face, to try and convince their people that they had in fact dug a few diamonds out. Hence the market for fake diamonds boomed, and a lot of locals thrived on it.

“I’d rather buy this, at the hands of the beautiful maiden holding it,” he said.

Was he hitting on you?

You nodded crisply, asking if he wanted anything else. He hesitated, looking around. “Is it- is it fine if I ask you out?”

There it was. Gosh. It was an endless game of cat and mouse in that town. For hundreds of young miners, there were only a handful of young girls, so the competition was crazy.

“I guess,” you said, hoping he would just get you a beer and call it a day.

“So, I’ll come and get you at…” he licked his lips. “…where do you live?”

You thought about it, thinking if you should just tell him to come to the store after all. But you got off work at 4, and you didn’t want him to see you carrying expired food back home. You wrote him the address, telling him to reach your home at 6.

He smiled and left, promising to call on you later that evening.

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“You gotta be kidding me,” you hissed when you returned home to see your father conversing with the Russian like old buddies.

The men snapped their heads to follow the sound of your voice, and there you were, holding an armful of stuff from the store.

“Y/N,” the Russian said, getting up to help you carry the items inside.

“Alexei! What are you doing here?” The time certainly wasn’t 6 pm. What the hell was he doing, cozying up to your father?

Your father grinned his sickly fishy smile. “Y/N, don’t raise your voice…”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, cutting him off. You hated when the loser lectured you. “I wasn’t talking to you.” All the foodstuff in your arms dropped down with loud thuds.

Alexei stooped to pick up the small cartons. “Y/N, let’s not shout,” he was saying, when you swatted his arm away.

“You don’t tell me what I should do, not at my own house.”

He raised his palm in a gesture of peace.

“Why are you here? I told you to come at 6. It’s only 4.30.”

He looked over at your father, catching his lip between his teeth.

“Well, I was free and thought I’d pay you a visit…”

“When I was away at work?” you questioned.

Your father cut in harshly. “I sold you to him.”

His voice was blank, devoid of any emotion. The shocked silence prevailed undisturbed for a good five minutes before you found your voice.

“You what?”

Charging forward, you went flying towards the old man, when Alexei caught hold of your hips, holding you in place.

“It’s not what you think, Y/N,” the big man said, heaving in exertion as you squirmed and cursed out loud.

“Get your hands off me! Get your hands off me!”

He let go, but clasped your wrist instead.

“I just asked if I could take you with me to Russia. He said he didn’t have anyone to support him if you left, so…”

“So? So, you offered money to take me away? Who do you think you are?” Your voice was rising to dangerous limits. “Am I an object you can just buy? Fuck you.”

Your father was sober for like the first time in months, and then he went and sold you off to make money to drink even more?

“And you!” Pointing your finger at the old man, you screeched in anger. “You fucking sold your daughter to get drunk even more? Why didn’t you die instead of mom?”

“Enough, Y/N,” he shouted, getting up and smacking his dry lips. “You be goin’ with the Russian. It’s the least you can do for yer’ old man.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” You screamed, voice breaking and throat going dry from all the screeching.

“Now, now, Y/N, take a breath.” Alexei came nearer, whispering in your ear. “You want to escape this place; I offer you a pass. Why do you resist?”

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Billie widened her eyes in shock.

“Y/N! Are ya fuckin’ outta your mind?”

You shook your head, aware of Alexei watching you from across the pub.

“Far from it.”

She leaned down and lowered her voice.

“Girl, ya know what ya gettin’ yerself into?”

“Yeah, I know. Billie, he’s gonna take me outta this wretched town!”

“At the cost of what, Y/N? He’s married, he’ll probably sell you to another guy or worse he’d put you in a brothel.”

“I know.” You sipped the beer and swallowed the liquid before adding:

“I will be careful, Billie. He got strength, but I got brains.”

She scoffed. “Seems more like them brains evaporated in the heat, based on what nonsense yer talkin’, girl.”

You were touched by her concern. Being the only two girls in the neighborhood, it went without saying that she was like a sister to you. And if the most spirited daredevil of the town was worried about you, there really was a grim storm brewing for you.

“Listen, Billie. I’ll be sharp. I won’t get kicked into a brothel. You know me, girl.”

She considered your determined face, before giving up. “Well, if ya say that ya’ll be alright, it gon’ be alright I guess.” She looked over at Alexei. “When ya leavin’?”

“This afternoon. There’s a train to the capital. A ship’s leaving for his country on Thursday.”

“So, the three days until that…”

“He says we’ll stay and look around the capital until the ship sails.”

She curled her lips at you. “You got balls, girl.”

You grinned, smiling at her as you downed the rest of the beer. Both of you knew that you were never going to see each other again.

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“Want to go to bed?” the man asked, pulling you snug against his side profile.

“Alexei.” Your tone was curt. “Don’t touch me unless I say it’s okay to.”

Bitch. Well, he would break you in soon. He’d have you begging on all fours. Just wait till he got on that ship with you. There was no way he was going to wait longer than that.

“Apologies, I will see you tomorrow then.”

He withdrew to his own hotel room. You had arrived at the capital at 11 am. It was Tuesday. Three more days to go before you sailed to Russia with him. You had demanded a separate room. He had tried to reason with you, but you just wouldn’t hear of it.

Alexei saw you slam the door shut, standing on the verandah. He lit his cigar. Soon, he said to himself. Soon he’d have his dick inside that uptight ass of yours.

Your father had been surprisingly easy to bend. He had just said that he had struck diamonds when the old man folded like a napkin. He had honestly meant to gossip until you returned, but he quickly saw a delicious opportunity right before his eyes.

He had innocently talked about how it would be difficult for the old man if you left town, and soon enough, he had wrapped him around his little finger. He just gave him one of the smallest diamonds, the most unclear of them all, but the man danced like it was Christmas already.

“Take her, yes, by all means,” he had said, rolling the stone around in his palm. “The lass don’t have much savings, it would be damn difficult for me to get ‘er a man. Better you take ‘er. I’m happy.”

Alexei had been quite taken aback. The man really was willing to give up his daughter for a low-quality diamond. But hey, he had no qualms. He was getting the best looking girl he had laid eyes on, and soon enough he would trade you for money, or better yet, another girl.

He blew out the smoke, slowly imagining how your naked body would feel under him. Those pert tits, he could almost see them in his mind. He would make you take back every sharp word you had said to him since the day he bought you. He looked down, exhaling the smoke again. He would have to take care of the tent in his pants by himself. Until Thursday.

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“Jimin-ah,” the girl drawled, draping herself against his warm, shirtless torso. “Stay a bit longer.”

He raked his slim fingers through his mussed hair, clicking his tongue.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I have to go.”

She pouted at him, sticking out her lower lip. “When will you be back?”

He scooped her up, kissing the top of her head.

“Soon. Really soon, baby.”

He slipped his shirt on, shaking his hair free and arranging it again.

“Don’t stay up too long, I’ll be back tomorrow.” He kissed her knuckles, reluctantly letting her hand go.

“I love you, Jimin-ah,” she whined, gazing forlornly at his back.

He grimaced unbeknownst to her. He didn’t love her. And he most certainly wasn’t going to see her again. He rapidly exited the dingy hotel, not caring in the least that the poor woman would wait for him to return. Gosh, the extents a guy had to go to, to get a nice fuck these days.

Jimin didn’t really go to sex workers. It wasn’t his style. No, he was the playboy. He liked the thrill of seducing a woman, making her a gooey mess, making her tremble in anticipation of his touch. He was skilled at those games. But once the initial thrill was over, he didn’t have much to do with the girl. The longest he had been with a girl after sex was 3 days. He shuddered. What a whiny bitch she had been. Ugh.

He was strolling through the streets, scoping out potential targets. He was already hungry. He had to pick a few pockets soon if he wanted to sleep with a full tummy. The street was bustling with people. He eyed each person as he slowly danced through the crowd.

Park Jimin was a slippery thief. He had the agility of a panther stalking its prey. For anyone who looked at him, he would seem like an innocent baby-faced man in his early twenties. The air of childish charm made it very easy for him to fool people. He had to do nothing but stare wistfully at the street from the window of the coffee shop, and boom! He would have a kind-hearted unwitting girl wanting to buy him coffee. So easy.

His hand slipped into the loop of your handbag, and before he knew, you had clasped his wrist tight. Alexei went on walking before you, apparently not seeing the man digging his hand into your handbag. You didn’t say anything, walking on sedately behind Alexei, not budging an inch as Jimin whispered cuss words and tried to wiggle his wrist free.

When Alexei was beyond earshot, you hissed at Jimin angrily.

“What the fuck were you doing?”

He tagged along, unable to believe that he had been caught so easily. The cat burglar, caught in plain daylight by a woman? Was he losing his touch?

Alexei was still walking ahead, inhaling the aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans wafting throughout the pavement. You came to a halt, narrowing your eyes at the gorgeous man who was squirming under your grip.

“I- I was hungry,” He had decided to turn his charm tap on. Maybe you were one of those gullible women who would melt. “I’m sorry, I had no choice.” He hung his head in shame. “I lost my job, there’s no money for food…” His tears flowed easily. A corner of his mind wondered if he should take up acting. He could give those Broadway actors a run for their money.

You let his hand go, watching Alexei’s back warily. Digging into your purse, you pulled out an old currency note. It wasn’t much, but it was all that you had.

“Take this. Get something to eat.”

He accepted it silently. “Thank you, ma’am.” His hunger made him fold. Jimin knew that you could have called the big man to box his ears, and he admired your nerve.

His eyes scanned your persona, and his inner thief sang when he saw the chain and bracelet you were wearing. You were wearing what was worth his entire month’s fun.

“I’d like to repay you. I will return the money as soon as I can.” He watched you, simultaneously keeping an eye on the big man who had stopped to examine something in a roadside shop.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, touched by the man’s sincerity.

“No, I insist. I’d have become a thief if it weren’t for you.” He smiled inside at the soft expression blooming on your face. Damn, girls were so naïve.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Alexei was knocking on your door impatiently.

‘Y/N? Let me in!”

You feigned a yawn and opened the door just a little bit.

“What is it?”

He tried to pry the door open, but your resistance was surprisingly strong. “It’s Wednesday, remember the carnival I told you about? Come on now.”

You put on the best sick face you could, rasping slowly, “I feel so tired, Alexei. My head hurts. You go on. I’ll come with you in the afternoon.”

He tsked, annoyed at having to leave you behind. But he wasn’t foolish enough to leave you unguarded. He had slipped two enormous wads of cash into the bellboy’s hand as soon as you had arrived at the hotel. The bellboy and the man guarding the door would never let you set foot outside the door. You were as good as trapped.

“Well, okay then. I’ll come to fetch you for lunch.”

When you closed the door behind you, an audible sigh emanated from under the bed. Jimin climbed back into the bed, his naked upper body shining in the morning light. He was only wearing his boxers, and his toned thighs were deliciously on display as he wiggled his toes at you.

“Come on, Y/N,” he purred, voice heavy with lust. “I can’t have enough of you.”

You smiled at him, climbing into his lap like a kitten. His fingers carded through your hair as you watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He drew soft patterns on your skin, murmuring affectionate words and sighing happily.

His eyes were on the chain and bracelet you had carelessly left on the bedside table. It was making his palms itch. He had listened to you all night, patting your back gently as you told him all about the dilemma your father had put you in. Part of his brain had been focused on you, but the other had been drooling at the chain glinting on your chest.

“It’s okay baby,” he had cooed, “We’ll get you out of the guy’s clutches.”

You had made passionate love; it had been your first time ever. But that hadn’t stopped you from enjoying it. Billie the encyclopedia had given you lots of inside information, so much that you knew a lot more than playboy Jimin even did. Jimin had no idea he was fucking a virgin, so good was your theoretical knowledge.

“Jiminie,” you said, grazing your nail against his chest.

“Yeah, baby?”

“The ship leaves tomorrow. How can we escape before that?”

“I wish I had money to get you tickets for another ship, baby. But you know I’m penniless.” He held his breath, waiting to see if you would say the words he longed to hear.

“I don’t either, Jiminie.” Well, obviously. Think harder, airhead. “But maybe you can sell the diamonds and get enough money.” There you go, pea brain.

He licked his lips, waiting for you to reach for the jewels on the table. Wow, he was going to live a goddamn rich life. But his face scrunched up when you reached inside your bag instead.

“Baby, whatcha doing?”

You looked up at him innocently, extracting a little tied-up handkerchief from your bag. “Getting you the diamonds.”

His confusion dissolved when he saw you untie the kerchief, revealing a big pebble-sized diamond and a handful of smaller button-sized diamonds. Oh, he’d be damned.

You picked the big one, handing it to him. “Can you try and sell it? It’s of the best quality.”

He licked his dry mouth to life. “So many- so many diamonds?”

You laughed. “Alexei has a lot more. He gave me these to make me agree to go with him to Russia.” Alexei had no idea that you had stolen from his bag, but Jimin didn’t need to know that.

Jimin turned the diamond over in his palm. Fuck, it was the biggest he had ever seen. His mind was working on overdrive.

“Why not give all of them to me, baby? I’ll sell them all and bring the money.”

Like hell you would. You shook your head.

“No, it’s easier to sell one and get going. We can sell the rest as the need arises.”

Tight bitch.

He had to think of a way to purloin the rest of the lot later. For now, he would go with your plans.

“Sounds like a good plan, baby. I’ll get going then.”

You watched him dress himself up in a rush. He was so beautiful, naked or otherwise. So damn beautiful.

Jimin saw your eyes drift to the table. He cursed under his breath. The chain and bracelet would have to wait.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Naturally, Jimin knew the best places to go to. He was a thief, and he was buddies with a lot of pawnbrokers.

“Heya there, Jimin!” the man called, smiling his crooked smile at his favorite customer. Jimin brought a lot of stuff to his shop, and he was glad to do business with the innocent cherub.

“Brought a diamond today, Han,” Jimin said, looking around the cold, dark room. No other person was around. Jimin loved the cold ambiance of pawnshops. The metallic smell of old silver and brass made him feel at peace. There were so many interesting things on display. He felt like a child taken to Disney Land.

“Let’s take a look,” Han said, extending his palm.

Jimin looked around at the stuff Han had recently acquired, whistling softly while the man appraised the diamond.

Han looked up from his loupe, eyes wide. “How ever did you get such a good stone, Jimin? This one is easily worth thousands!”

Jimin’s heart lifted. He had been worried that you might have sent him on a wild goose chase. He had doubted if it really was a diamond at first, because you were ready to part with it freely. He smiled at Han.

“A chick I know had it.”

Han winked. “Got rid of her yet?”

Flashing him a conspiratorial smile, Jimin drawled, “Will do soon.”

He turned to Han on his way out. “I’ll bring you some more, hold on to your breath.”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Jimin was on his way back to your hotel. He had stopped to buy a ticket to Bermuda. He was going to sail away happily. The only thing was, he needed to rob the rest of your diamonds before the end of the day. He would stay up after you slept, and sneak off with them.

He had so much money in his hands, and his robber instinct told him to flee already. But then, those button sized diamonds beckoned, appealing to his greedy heart. Some more money wouldn’t hurt. There had been at least 10 diamonds in there. Not to mention your jewelry. Greed made his feet walk automatically back to you.

When you opened the door, you were dressed up. It was evening already, nightfall was approaching. Maybe you had gone to the carnival after lunch with that Alexei guy. Jimin didn’t really care where you went as long as the diamonds were safe.

“Hey,” you whispered, letting him slip into your room. “Did you sell it?”

He grinned and dangled the thick wads of cash before your eyes. “Uh-huh. See? We’re gonna run away together, baby.”

You clapped your hands in delight, taking the wads from his hands. You counted carefully, looking up at him with a startled “15 thousand?”

Jimin had taken five thousand for himself, but he wasn’t going to tell you. He simply nodded.

You were surprised. Wow. You had thought that the diamond required more polishing. You had only expected a few thousands. But this was so good.

“Jiminie, you were right, will you hold on to these diamonds too?”

You thrust the diamonds bundled in the kerchief into his hand. “I don’t want Alexei to find out at the last minute.”

He had to put so much effort to stop himself from laughing out loud. This was going so deliciously well.

“Sure, give it, I’ll keep it safe.”

He tucked the bundle neatly into his pocket, innocence painted all over his face.

“Hmm…” you embraced him, sighing in contentment. You were going to escape Alexei. The thought made you giddy with happiness. You tied the wads of cash into a scarf, securing it under your pillow.

Jimin watched you, fascinated. Ooh. He could run away with the diamonds and the cash. Midnight would be the best time. It wouldn’t hurt to fuck you a couple times to while the time away.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

“Y/N?”

Jimin had watched you go into the bathroom. But you hadn’t come back yet. Maybe it was the right time to run.

He dug his hand under the pillow, groping blindly to feel the cash. It wasn’t there. Fuck.

He turned to see the light still streaming from under the bathroom door. He had to decide if it was worth the risk to try again. His hand roamed on the bedside table. Thank goodness, the jewels were there. He grinned to himself. Awesome. He had to make a run for it.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

When Alexei opened the door in the morning, there was no sign of you. He stormed into the bathroom, calling out your name. No answer.

He ran down furiously, looking for the bellboy.

“Where is Y/N?” he shouted, bunching up the boy’s collar in rage.

“I don’t know, sir,” the boy said, surprised and caught unawares.

“You little cocksucker,” Alexei screamed, shaking the boy until his joints rattled. “You just cost me my bitch!”

The bellboy remembered the crisp notes you had slipped him at midnight. It was more than Alexei had paid him to keep you inside. You had been the highest bidder, so it was only fair that he let you go.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, allowing Alexei to box his ears. “I never saw her come down.”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

You were on a cruise ship to Bermuda. It left at 9 am, and you had found the ticket luckily in Jimin’s pocket at midnight. The guy had to learn how to safeguard his stuff. You stifled a giggle. Poor bastard. He was probably shocked when you never returned from the bathroom. You snorted, and an elderly man looked at you in surprise.

At last, you were free. Life was so exciting; you had a whole new chapter waiting to be written. It was going to be a ride, and you were determined to enjoy it thoroughly. You remembered Billie. She would have loved to go with you.

Retiring to your cabin, you picked out a paper and started writing a letter. Detailing your adventures, you finished with the lines:

‘You were right, Billie. I would never have survived out here if it weren’t for brains. I fled and made sure Jimin would be responsible for the stolen diamond and not me. My hands are clean.’

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Alexei found out that a big diamond was missing from his rucksack, and he stormed off to get in touch with the police. They assured him that they would look into all the diamonds pawned over the last couple of days.

He thought you were too naïve to embark on a journey alone. You were probably hiding out in a motel, waiting till the hue and cry died down. He was sure that the investigations into the pawnshops would lead him to you.

Han was sweating profusely when Jimin returned.

“Whatever’s the matter, man?” Jimin asked, raising his eyebrows at the guy.

“Police are sweeping all the pawnshops in the district for that diamond of yours. My cousin runs a shop too, and he just dropped by to share the news.”

Jimin tensed. It would be a tight stretch to pawn the rest of the diamonds to Han. The man was in enough trouble already.

“Okay, I’ll come back after a while then.” He shook the tied-up bundle before Han’s eyes.

“Yeah, you do that. It’s for the better.”

Jimin paused to think. Han might give him away if the police pressed too much. He untied the bundle and extracted a couple diamonds, passing them over to Han.

“Here’s a gift, you keep quiet and you can have them for free.”

Han looked at the stones in his hand wide-eyed, unable to stammer out his thanks. He nodded silently, bending down to examine the stones.

Police sirens were sounding in the distance, growing closer by the second. Jimin’s foot was almost out the door when Han called:

“These ain’t diamonds, they’re Zirconia! They’re worthless!”

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

[tartagilicious]

Gavin Eternal Wedding Karma Date (translated)

there was an issue with Tumblr and the original text was deleted. this is the same content, but w/o the cgs and also bolded names to make reading it easier. sorry for the inconvenience :(

spoilers for a date not on the EN server below the cut~

MC: Anna, has everyone reached their places?

Anna: rest assured, i’ve checked with them all, there will be no problems, and the photographer will come find me with the situation of the drone.

Anna: you’re the bride of the day, if you run around like this, the makeup artist’s hard work for two hours will be in vain!

MC: you’ve all worked hard…

Near valentine’s day, the company planned a collective wedding called “Fairy Tale Dream”.

We ran through the city’s wedding company and finally found 99 new couples who were willing to cooperate with us in the collective shooting in the “Fairy Tale World” themed park in Lianyu City. (tn: loveland city)

We will arrange these 99 couples to stand in different positions in the park, from the lawn at the entrance of the park to the retro street in front of the castle to the church decorated with flowers.

The said drone equipped with a camera will fly through the entire park according to a predetermined path for shooting, and the new couples will have to put out a specific act when it passes.

We want to pass this kind of ‘one mirror to the end’ technique, where we will take the fairy tale aspect of the whole paradise and have the atmosphere and happiness recorded.

Though, I didn’t expect that a few days before shooting, a few couples couldn’t come due to emergencies! In our desperation, we could only find stand-ins among ourselves.

Willow, Kiki and I have gone together only to make it up to the number 99.

I smoothed out my snow-white skirts -- although the dress is only borrowed, and the groom is fake, I'm still sure that every girl will have a heart full of longing for such a wedding.

After all, it’s really beautiful…

Should I take a picture for him?

I talked to him last 3 days ago, and I don't know if his mission was going well.

As soon as this thought arose, my phone rang. It was my “groom” Minor.

[over the phone] Minor: Hi boss….

Minor’s voice was so sleepy!

MC: Are you still at home? Filming will start in half an hour!

[over the phone] Minor: I…

[over the phone] Minor: I stayed up all night last night and went to bed at four. Can I take a day off?

MC: What?!

This is the fairy tale wedding that I prepared for nearly two months, and already at the last moment before shooting, Minor has released my doves? (tn: she’s saying that because he won’t show up, he’s ended everything before anything even happened.)

MC: you’re my partner, who am I going to film with if not you?

For a moment, I was so godless that I couldn’t help but raise my voice

Anna: What happened? Minor won’t come?

MC [to Minor]: You come here right now, and I’ll tell the photographer to wait for you! If you don’t appear in front of me in half an hour, I will--

[over the phone] Minor: Wait, wait until I finish talking, boss -- Although I can’t come, your groom will not be absent.

MC: what do you mean?

Minor was one step ahead of me and hung up the phone without waiting for me to speak. I hadn’t even responded yet, and a familiar voice suddenly came from behind me.

Gavin: Am I late?

As I turned around, I couldn’t help but feel stunned. The man in a suit and leather dress shoes stood a few steps away from me. His light chestnut hair was covered in gold from the sun, his amber eyes were enveloped in fine shimmers, and the corners of his normally unsmiling lips were slightly raised. He had a clean jawline, and this smooth, somewhat sharp line immediately followed his thin neck and wide shoulders that were covered under his shirt.

It’s the man I’m familiar with, but it’s not the same as usual…

The ten slender fingers are holding a pair of ice-like crystal shoes that shine in the sun, and the upper part of the shoes shines brightly as well, like the stars or a firefly.

MC: Gavin, you…

I was still at a loss for words. Gavin came over to me naturally, stooped down and knelt in front of me. At the next moment, warm fingertips touched my ankles and I bit my lower lip subconsciously.

The wind in February is cold, but my face becomes hot instantly. At the same time, I clearly hear the sound of my heart in the left-most side of my chest, again and again.

I looked down at Gavin, and all of my emotions were stuck in my throat. It turned out that it was quite a feeling to be found by him in a big crowd.  Every year, Spring is given meaning, and every moment of waiting for happiness is suddenly fulfilled. (tn: kind of complicated, but she’s basically saying that she feels the traditional relief and comfort of spring looking down at Gavin.)

After changing a shoe, I noticed that I was not standing steadily. Without hesitation, I put my hand in his palm. I let him take my weight and stepped into the second shoe delicately.

Gavin stood up quickly and took the balloon in my hand. Anna then stepped forward to straighten my hair for me and set the veil down again, making sure that my makeup had no flaws while smiling with ease.

Anna: I am a bit reluctant to send you off to marriage all by yourself.

I glanced at Gavin with corners of my lips turned up in a smile, and muttered softly.

MC: we’re not getting married…

Anna smiled and held her hands up in surrender, but her eyes still fell on the hands that Gavin and I hadn’t yet let go of. She looked cheerful.

Anna: I’ll clean up here, you hurry up and prepare.

I looked at Gavin and smiled at him slightly.

Gavin: Ready to go?

MC: ok!

I never thought I would have such a one-on-one walk with Gavin in these blooming flowers, leading to a fairytale kingdom.

With every step, the pleasant sound of the crystal shoes stepping on the ground rang in my ears. Maybe a fairy has put some magic on me? Maybe then I can have the surprise and happiness of Cinderella.

MC: Gavin, actually I was thinking just now, if you wouldn’t have seen me looking so beautiful today, it would’ve been a pity.

Gavin: Well, then it’s a good thing I came.

The designated shooting location for Gavin and I was the terrace on the third floor of the castle. I carefully took the skirt in my hands and walked up the castle’s circular staircase step by step. Probably only because I was insecure. Gavin held my hand sweetly, lifting it slightly. Every step was slow and careful, but he was patient.

Sunlight shines into the castle from the windows filled with stained glass, casting colourful lights and shadows on the dark cyan stone bricks and pure white steps. The huge dome itself depicts exquisite Greek mythology, and the golden bows and arrows of Eros around the edges point directly to the dark blue night full of stars.

A pure white and flawless wedding dress, magic crystal shoes, and a gorgeous castle -- although the teenage mind has imagined so-called fairy tale weddings countless times, I never imagined that one day my own dream would become reality.

Although unexpected, it made me feel that this arrangement of fate is a good thing for me.

I looked through the veil at Gavin. Somehow, since he appeared in front of me, even though it’s just a simple shooting for work, it’s made me inexplicably nervous.

MC: Gavin, when did you come back?

Gavin: Last night. Minor sent me a message two days ago saying that you were missing a partner, so I finished the task as soon as possible to come back.

My footsteps took a light pause. Sounds like I caused him trouble again….  

(tn: and she’s just gonna ignore how minor never planned to come in the first place sfksjh)

I sighed to myself, a thank you almost escaping, but I swallowed it back after a short moment of hesitation.

MC: I didn’t expect the shoot to be temporarily short of people, but this doesn’t matter so much. You didn’t need to rush back.

Gavin: It matters.

There was a light smile on Gavin’s lips.

Gavin: Whether it’s real or not, only you could be my bride.

His tone still carries the usual carelessness, but every word and every sentence he spoke falls straight into my heart. Although he always understates such solemn promises, he never says things like that.

He is my fearless knight, always falling from the sky when I need him most, giving me the most comprehensive protection -- without exception. If I have him, I have unlimited courage.

I held his hand tight and wanted to convey to him all my euphoria and gratitude at the moment through my palm temperature.

Every step of my heels on the marble floor echoed throughout the building. This road to our future is paved by out short and long life in the past --

MC: Gavin?

Gavin: Yes?

MC: Do you think that if the prince did not find Cinderella, would he marry another princess?

Gavin: No. After you’ve identified something, you won’t just stop looking for it.

As soon as his words fell, we walked through the last step, and my eyes were suddenly blinded. Sunshine and white pigeond are spread in every corner of the terrace, the vines climbing on the railing to lazily stretch out to branches and leaves. Standing here overlooking the paradise, I see everything in the scenery reflected in Gavin’s eyes.

The shimmering coins in the wishing pool, the flag flying on the pirate ship below and another flock of white pigeons flying over the castle -- I couldn’t help but gasp.

MC: The last time I was here it was a rainy day, but I didn’t expect to miss such scenery!

Gavin: Since you see it now, it’s not a miss.

Just as I was fascinated by a white dove resting on the railing of the terrace, a ray of blue smoke floated over the large lawn at the entrance.

MC: It’s the signal to start shooting!

A cheerful waltz sounded, and countless gorgeously dressed fairy tale characters rushed from all sides to the main street in front of the castle, singing blessing songs for all of the new couples to hear. The white wedding dresses of the brides rotate with their elegant dance postures, blooming like blossoming camellia.

Several pumpkin cars slowly drove past, throwing wine and gold leaves and petals around. At this moment, the colourful balloons in the hands of the grooms took off. Pages of fairy tale chapters are being staged, and the magic and magnificent love on the pages of the yellow-ish book are now unfolding right in front of my eyes.

While I was immersed in the joyous atmosphere in front of me, the drone in the distance appeared in my sight -- I didn’t expect it to come so fast!

I took repeated breaths in an attempt to calm down.

Gavin: Cold?

Sensing my increasingly stiff expression, Gavin shifts closer.

MC: No, I’m just… a little nervous.

Although I am already familiar with the next process, I did not seriously participate in the rehearsal, after all. I can’t help but feel guilty about possibly ruining the upcoming official shooting.

MC: Gavin, remember to lift my veil later and let go of the balloons.

After this sentence was finished, I realised that the scripted action of looking at each other affectionately was originally written in the planning case by me….

That’s embarrassing.

I could feel my ears turning more red and tried to pull my hand out of his, but failed.

MC: it is to lift the veil and let go of the balloon, so….

So he should have a free hand. But, he only held my hand tighter.

At this moment, the drone was flying slowly towards the terrace. I was about to remind him again when a breeze blew in front of me, gently lifting my veil -- the piece of fabric was gone and now, I could clearly see Gavin’s face.

He stepped forward about half a step closer, released the balloons according to the predesigned plan, and the free hand wrapped gently around my waist. I blinked and clearly saw the smile of his amber eyes, the most dazzling light in the world, reflected in my eyes at that moment.

I don’t know how long it took before Gavin stepped away.

The drone had long disappeared, and the entire park has been filled with colourful balloons.

I took two steps to the edge of the railing, and even when seeing that the shoot was now completed below, the couples were still hugging tightly. There are also some jokes and laughs down on the grass -- you are carrying me, and I’m pulling you -- but whatever the action, everyone is smiling.

MC: That’s nice….

I was relieved by their smiles, no matter what the results of the shooting are, this moment makes it all worth it!

I found myself having slightly red eyes subconsciously, but it was suddenly enveloped by a burst of warmth. In the blink of an eye, something dripped from my eyes and crossed my lips that were always raised.

Gavin hugged me from behind, and when I imagined this picture, he tightened his arms and held his breath. He lowered his head, his chin resting gently above my forehead.

Gavin: What are you thinking?

I watched the bride closest to us raise her phone and take several pictures with the groom.

MC: When i first started this planning, I always felt that the form was greater than the content. After all, compared to a wedding ceremony, the atmosphere of a park and the drone shooting are the key points.

MC: But later, I felt that the form was less and less important. It’s the most significant thing to witness the most important moment in the life of so many people! It turns out that happiness can be seen: there is sound, there is temperature. Yeah….

My hand was covered with the back of Gavin’s, and my fingertips touched the rough marks his guns had left over the years. Then, he intertwined his fingers with mine, leaving no gaps.

MC: ...Happiness can be touched.

Gavin didn’t speak anymore, and a light smile flicked my ears. The long silence stretched this warm moment for a long, long time, but every second, I subconsciously hope that the next will be longer.

Soon, all of the colourful balloons disappeared into the clear sky, so it seems like the shooting should all be over.

I immediately picked up Gavin’s hand and ran back the way we originally came.

MC: come with me ---

I led him out of the castle and ran along the avenue full of petals to the deserted game area. The park is not open to the public today, but due to the shooting requirements, all game equipment is in operation. And lucky for us, the entire area is covered by one after another.

Seven or eight pigeons stood in the open space in front of the carousel. I took a few hesitant steps forward, and although I deliberately slowed my pace, the pigeons still jumped and flew off in surprise.

Gavin: Seems these pigeons are very afraid of life, and they’re not very obedient.

MC: No!

I reached into the small bag I carried with me and pulled out two small packs of pigeon food, shaking it in front of Gavin.

MC: these are props I “borrowed” from shooting. During this time, I’ve been friendly with them, so they’re a bit closer to me.

I threw a handful of pigeon food all over the open space. In an instant, all the white pigeons passed by in front of us and stopped to grab food between their small beaks.

Watching them happily eat, I couldn’t help getting closer.

MC: Eat a little bit more and go home full. But in the future I ask for you to visit often!

Group of pigeons: coo coo! (tn: felt like i had to keep it lol)

I do not know if it understood what I said. Several white pigeons raised their heads to look at me with beady eyes, but when I looked back, a fat white pigeon was already perching on Gavin’s index finger.

He was shrouded in the morning sun as thin as a tulle . The tie that had been neatly worn was slightly loosened by him, and the suit waistcoat was also loosened by two buttons.

I stepped forward and lightly touched the white pigeon’s talon, but the little guy ignored me and only looked up and Gavin.

Gavin: If it depends on me to eat, it’s probably not very hungry.

MC: either that or it knows you can eat a big meal here.

I flipped my bag open again, and I found the last bag of pigeon food. I ripped the package open under the heavy gaze of the white pigeon, and it stared at the food. The fat pigeon immediately flew from Gavin’s finger and stopped at me. However, it only took two bites before suddenly flying off --

Gavin: Someone’s whistling.

MC: ah, well, we agreed with the owner of them that they could be picked up around this time.

All the pigeons seemed to notice, and suddenly spread their wings to rise into the air, leaving only small scraps of food behind. Watching them fly higher and higher, I hurriedly waved at them, and then looked at Gavin with a smile.

MC: Shall we go home too? You can rest for a while and wait for me to cook a big meal for you!

Gavin: That sounds good.

Gavin strode forward and took my hand, and his brow suddenly stretched as he smiled slightly.

Gavin: You have cold hands (tn: it’s worth mentioning he has a very sad expression in this frame)

He immediately draped his blazer over my shoulders, and pulled his collar tightly around my shoulders exposed to the cold wind.

Gavin: Sit down and rest for a while, we don’t have to rush.

I looked at the low bench, then my wedding dress. After all, it is borrowed clothing….

Gavin seemed to understand my worries and took me into his arms directly without saying a word.

MC: Gavin!

Suddenly, my feet were off the ground, and I exclaimed in shock. When my reaction came, he had already entered the carousel area and placed me firmly on a wooden horse. However, as soon as he lets go, the game starts a new round of rotation. Sitting on the shifting wooden horse, I unexpectedly lost my balance!

Subconsciously, my hands grabbed for the nearest support -- a white dress collar.

Gavin: Afraid? I won’t let you fall.

He took another half step, and I was finally able to relax after regaining my sense of security.

It’s just that I still dare not let go with my feet off the ground, so I subconsciously gently hooked my arms around his shoulder. A brilliant string of lights shone above my head, and warm and joyful music was playing. In a flash, I felt like I was pulled back into the fairy tale dream.

MC: Gavin… Thank you for coming back for me.

Gavin: What?

MC: Whether it’s true or false, I want to only be your bride.

The bell of noon is ringing -- the fairy’s magic has not disappeared. My knight, who has seen me look so embarrassed and silly for so many times, still pulls out his sword in the face of the evil dragon and witch, and firmly stands in front of me.

His tall back is the deepest notch left in my memory. The wind and frost condensed in his eyes is the starlight that I am willing to look to for my entire life. The sea breeze blows between my fingers, and I gather my fingers to hold them tightly in my palm.

At this moment, I don’t know how I can express my love for him in words. I can only stare at him in wonder, and I can’t bear to look away

Gavin: ……

With a small chuckle, he leaned over and drew closer to me. At the moment when our eyes were locked, I held my breath slightly, and then he moved closer and dropped a soft kiss on my lips.

Afterwards, I saw the colourful lights on the top of the carousel’s stacked halo, and saw the white pigeons passing through the cloudless sky -- I wondered for a moment whether I fell into the most beautiful dream in the world.

Gavin’s warm breath completely surrounded me. He held my face tenderly in one hand and rested the other gently on my waist.

Every plunder did not go in depth, nor did he leave. I was dazzled by it and did not want to wake up.

Gavin: When you are ready -- you can be my bride at any time

[youarejesting]

Wash out.2 (special)

Banners: @purpleskies1999​ Pairings: Dolphintrainer!Taehyung x SharkDiver!Jin,  Mer!Jimin x Reader, Scientist!Namjoon x MerKing!Jungkook, Mer!Yoongi x Mer!Hoseok. Words: 1k Genre: Mystery, Romance, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, little bit of Action, Slice of life, Enemies2Lovers, Friends2lovers, Social media au, Fake Texts, Fake Subs.

Summary: Taehyung and his best friend Y/N are Dolphin trainers at Wash Out; Marine Wildlife and Theme Park. When the nerdy marine biologist and resident veterinarian Doctor Kim Namjoon goes missing; the two friends form a ragtag team with Taehyung's rival Seokjin and a…. Fish?

Namjoon swallowed the pills hoping he would be able to keep them down, they were a fast-acting anti-nausea medication. It wasn’t his fault, he just had trouble getting out on the ocean waves without feeling painfully seasick. 

He placed his things inside the locker and everything else he needed was placed in the waterproof ziplock pouch attached to a lanyard around his neck. Before heading out to the dock, the group headed out and to the end of the bay where there were some sharp rocks that tended to catch sick and injured marine life. Between the rocks, the rock pools were quite deep, so it could be anything from a shark or a Jellyfish or a broken surfboard. But, they responded to the call as they always did, and they would care for the animal or just clean out the pools of debris.

The boat was in motion and as such was not causing Namjoon any stress, it was only when the boat stopped and was rocked gently by the waves would it stir in his stomach. He hoped they would never reach their destination, though the hope was short-lived as the boat slowed to a stop and the swaying felt more like churning. Namjoon, saving himself from heaving, jumped into the ocean and swam to the edge of the rock pools looking in, he began inspecting the creature. It was dark and he couldn't really see but, he soon noticed it was a human.

Grief consumed him, "It's a body," Namjoon reported seriously, "this poor young man had most likely drowned and was washed up during the high tide into the--" 

It moved, that couldn't be, his eyes must be playing tricks on him, the man was now facing him, his features were delicate and his eyes seemed to watch and follow Namjoon's movements. Namjoon again passed it off as a trick of the eye and the reflection on the water, or even the froth of the waves, until the thing blinked. Hands reached in to grab the body and that's when he was smacked with something in the face, whatever it was, it was fierce and he felt as if he was going to blackout. 

He had no strength to move under the water, but he was also intrigued by the two figures swimming towards him. The first took his left hand, his reddish hair glowing faintly as the sun broke the water and left small beams of light shining on the two gentlemen. The second smaller and blonde grabbed his right hand and they swam so fast. Namjoon was starting to feel like all the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs but just as he felt himself seeing black he broke the surface. 

Wherever he was it was night time, it was dark but there was a glow like a thousand stars on the walls, and the two men threw him out of the water and onto the ground and climbed out, this was the moment Namjoon noticed they had fishtails. "Mermaids" He muttered, receiving two glares. "You don't like that term, I am sorry?"

They stood up naked making Namjoon turn red, they wrapped themselves in silk that glistened like the sun on the waves. The redhead draped Namjoon's hands with a piece of similar fabric and he let out a, "oooh so soft..." at the cold watery feel as it touched his skin, before it tightened, binding his hands together. "Oh. I see."

There was a strange clicking and he turned to see the blonde returning his thin legs shaking as if he had just run a marathon and would collapse any second. More importantly and taking up his entire attention span was the clicking coming from two very large and deep blue crabs, They were the size of a miniature pony but twice as stocky, he came closer slowly and began patting the shell of the crustacean with a prominent grin on his face.

He was lifted onto the crab and he almost passed out, this creature was majestic and he was overjoyed with being this close and seeing such a gargantuan version. "You are big boy aren't you, you are so perfect, you are doing amazing"

The two who were leading and sharing a crab were sitting sideways and watching him patting the creature and speaking gibberish, they shared a look and rolled their eyes, heading through the place, there were lanterns filled with crystals that gave off a large green glow and the walls were covered with a blue bioluminescent slime, that seemed to come from snails that were traveling around the large cave painting the walls there houses glowing brightly lighting the whole place.

It was like a scene from a fantasy movie but all Namjoon could think of was studying each organism and creature and looking into their lifestyles. He knew there was so much to learn. He touched the wall and his fingers were covered in the thick glowing slime and he grinned and played with it slowly. 

Namjoon was glad for his notebook and phone, as he would be able to document some of the creatures and sights he saw. He was going to take out his phone from the pouch, and snap some photos when the crabs stopped and he felt the fabric around his hands being pulled. Thanking the creature with a friendly grin he followed after them into an ornate room with big arches and intricate carvings in the crystal pillars that all glowed.

The room was round and directly across from the entrance was a small platform with a tall ornate throne, it seemed to be made of hard crystals but lavished with the soft silk fabric which made it seem quite comfortable. 

Upon the seat was the most beautiful young man Namjoon had ever seen fabric wrapped delicately around his waist a little lower than Namjoon was comfortable with, it showed off the man’s deep adonis belt. His chest and arms were also muscular and Namjoon counted at least six elaborate necklaces and three armbands, the latter looking as if they would snap if he flexed his bicep. His hair was a little shaggy making his features look softer and more androgynous. 

Namjoon was stopped and the men beside him began speaking, in their language, it was melodic, slow, and higher-pitched. Namjoon wondered if it was because they had to communicate underwater that the pitch was raised to cut through the water, he wondered if they had some sort of sonar in their bodies.

The young man on the throne listened to his subordinates, his eyes trailing over Namjoon’s form, making him feel nervous. Many people thought he was funny looking and dressed oddly, they thought his personality was dull and his hobbies and interests were too eclectic to be relatable. He was just waiting for the man on the throne to look at him with the same level of displeasure as others do when they first meet.

But it never happened instead the young man stood from his perch and walked towards him, stopping a few inches shorter than himself Namjoon smiled at him and held out his hand. The young man looked at Namjoon’s hand intrigued but waved him off and he was guided into another chamber and was made to sit in a room that he could only liken to a prison cell. 

Namjoon had been there for what felt like half a day but according to his phone was only a few hours. The young man returned, handing him something wrapped in a leaf, Namjoon took it and frowned, it was seafood and he didn’t particularly like seafood especially since he had met so many nice sea creatures that day he couldn’t stomach it. 

He handed it back shaking his head and the man frowned and tried to demonstrate eating it and handed it back. Namjoon tried he really did but the moment the raw fish touched his lips he vomited in the corner.

The man sighed placing down the leaf of food and rubbed Namjoon’s back in wonder, he looked at Namjoon’s build and tried removing his shirt making Namjoon blush but reluctantly removed his shirt. 

“You all seem to trust skinship, so I will cooperate with your customs” He removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor beside him. The young man’s eyes were big and made him seem so innocent when he looked at Namjoon’s broad chest. He seemed to measure their builds making Namjoon chuckle. “Our builds are quite different, you all seem quite small and lithe for agility when swimming. If you think my shoulders are wide, you should see my best friend, he has very broad shoulders.”

The man in front of him adopted a deeper voice while scrunching his nose playfully. Namjoon rubbed the back of his head bashfully, he must stick out like a sore thumb, a big burly guy with a deep voice amongst these elegant lean creatures who were sweetly spoken.

He lowered his head in a greeting and said something and Namjoon lowered his head and repeated it making him laugh his face lighting up. This perhaps king was cheeky, he liked to play games, or at least this was the impression Namjoon got from him.

It was going to take a while for the two to communicate properly without understanding but the king hummed and kissed him on the lips surprising Namjoon. When the two finally pulled away from the kiss the young man laughed again and said. “I hope now you can understand me, my name is Jeon Jungkook, I am the King of the Merpeople”

“What!?”

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[melissart]

Miracle Circus: Chapter One

Genre: fantasy/coming-of-age/LGBT+

Word Count: 8,447

Synopsis: Every summer, Peterkin G. Saemon and Ralph Blimerance spend the summer touring across the country with their respective parents, Sybil Saemon and Dorian Blimerance—the two most powerful circus magicians to ever live (in that order, Sybil would proudly boast). With their great power, Ringmasters Sybil and Dorian run the world-renowned Miracle Circus all by themselves: the tickets, the concessions, the games, the tents, but most importantly, the Big Top show that ends the night with a guarantee for the impossible, the fantastic, and the miraculous. But Peterkin is bored of perfection. He can’t find excitement in a perfect world of where everything is colored within the lines, no matter how glorious the colors may be. 

In his twelfth-and-a-halfth summer, Peterkin decides to sabotage Miracle Circus’ first show of the season, just for a brief moment. That moment is the first time Miracle Circus had ever been thwarted. Impossible, fantastic, miraculous—Sybil and Dorian realize they had been out-miracled in their own Big Top and come to the conclusion that there are still witches remaining. They stage an audition as a facade for a witch-hunt, not knowing that the witch they are hunting is none other than their own darling little Peterkin.

The fair, golden-haired boy sits in Section E, Row 5, Seat 12 and a half whenever he visits Miracle Circus. It’s specially reserved for him because he’s Dorian’s son—handsome Dorian’s son, ringmaster Dorian’s son, old money Dorian Blimerance’s son—but he doesn’t know that. Ralph Blimerance sits in the same seat because he’s used to it. He doesn’t know that the ringmaster and ringmistress of the circus perform to him, for him, and because of him every summer, when Dorian has custody of him. He doesn’t know that the sun’s warm beams follow him even when he’s strolling down the darkest of alleys because he was always meant to walk in the light. He just thinks that life is wonderful and that whoever is miserable is simply predisposed to gloom. 

It’s already five minutes past scheduled showtime and Section E, Row 5, Seat 12 and a half is empty. Another thing that Ralph doesn’t know is that the show doesn’t start without him. 

Peterkin had been alternating between apparating and running, charming every minute hand on every clock into turning one degree counterclockwise per every 360 degrees the second hand travels. He can’t find Ralph anywhere, that stupid boy! He’s not in the Tent of Sundials and Mercury or the Tent of Time and Candles or the Tent of Hourglasses and Looking Glasses or any of the other tents that are either time-themed or, for some reason, involve some kind of clock. 

Peterkin hates the circus for having so many tents. He’s wasting his time! The mature thing to do would be to tell Dorian, straight-up, that he doesn’t know where Ralph is and that tonight’s show would have to start without him. Ralph is a big boy, now, and he should be allowed to live his life as he pleases. He’s half a year older than Peterkin and he still doesn't understand why he was looking after him. 

The harsh air of Empire State’s night weather engulfs Peterkin in a shiver as soon as he exits the Tent of Isolation and Crippling Anxiety. (Actually, it’s just an empty tent. Some of those are thrown in amongst the infinite attractions as a prank. Expect anything—even nothing.) His breaths come out in hot white puffs. 

“Dorian,” Peterkin says to himself quietly. Best to practice now. “Ralph is missing.” 

He happens to look down at his hands which were, rightfully, shaking—Dorian is going to have his head. His first day officially volunteering as the third magician of the formerly two-magician wonder that is Miracle Circus and he’s already failing miserably. Tonight’s show was supposed to be dedicated to Ralph. But then again, every show is dedicated to him. It doesn’t take much but a heartfelt speech at the beginning of the show to dedicate it to someone. Dorian and Sybil could adlib any other name in their dedication and it wouldn’t make a difference. 

“It’s not my fault!” Peterkin insists. He walks and talks, all the while scanning for any sign of Ralph. “Ralph is twelve-and-a-half years old, already. He can take care of himself.” 

He pauses in his tracks. “Twelve-and-a-half years old is still a child, stupid. Of course he needs a babysitter.” It’s all because he lost him while repairing the glass menagerie in the Tent of Fragility. The crystal animals, the glass sculptures, the diamond chandeliers, the pottery and the intricate spider webs and the preserved flowers and the porcelain tea sets—all destroyed. He told Sybil to not put that tent next to the Tent of Baseball and Bats, but she never listens. It’s the most vulnerable tent, besides the Tent of Vulnerability, and he’s always the one who has to clean it up. Almost as susceptible as the Tent of Susceptibility.  “It’s all my fault. It really is all my fault!” 

It’s strange, though, because usually Ralph is eager to drag Peterkin from tent to tent and narrate what elaborate techniques went into designing each and every detail, as if Peterkin were not a son of a ringmaster himself. It’s not as if he took too long un-shattering the shards in the Tent of Fragility. It takes but a flick of the wand. Somewhere, amidst the applause of nosy spectators, Ralph slipped away without a trace.  

Suddenly, Peterkin realizes he’s surrounded by fountains and bubbles. He doesn’t remember how he got there or how much time it took, but he refuses to think of it. Sometimes he uses magic without realizing it. It’s not good. Again, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

The Tent of Fountains and Bubbles has been his favorite tent ever since Sybil made the pink bubbles pink-flavored. Peterkin says it’s one of the greatest accomplishments of her entire magician career, next to founding the Little Miracles Orphanage. She really captured the color pink in a flavor: bubble gum, watermelon, strawberry, peach, and some other artificial undertones he can’t quite place. The other bubbles taste like soap. Non-toxic for curious idiots like him, but disgusting enough to discourage you from eating it. 

Oh, he loves this tent. He can’t be anything but happy when sitting at a fountain and catching bubbles in his hand. It’s all a good time. The bubbles come in all shapes and sizes and colors and opacities. Some become cute bunnies that hop along a pool of water at the bottom of a five-tiered fountain. Some never pop. Some are colorful, foamy bubbles in a bathtub that apparently passes for a fountain just because it has lily pads in them. 

The lighting changes according to Pacific Standard Time, the time zone Peterkin was born in. It’s barely glowing a sunset in the Tent of Bubbles and Fountains, though it’s already dark outside. The bubbles near the top of the tent glow auburn and amber and rose and pewter-blue, the same shade as the clouds on the beach. How is he supposed to leave this tent when the fountain water tints to the same darkness as the ocean and foamy bubbles start to look like the white crests of pacific waves? 

Peterkin sits at the cupid fountain wondering if he even had the heart to leave the tent. It’s not often that he gets to sit at the cupid fountain without being surrounded by PDA. Sybil says the fountain is made of pearls to strengthen love and protect children. Witchy elements like that are socially accepted as long as it’s for good luck.

There’s a lot to say about a cupid fountain that depicts Cupid stabbing himself through the heart with his own arrow. The water gushes out of his wounds and his crying eyes. The main legend is that Cupid was so fascinated by a mortal that he thrusted his own arrow into himself so he could properly fall in love. There’s another variation he’s heard, where the arrow is poisonous to Cupid and he only has a short time before he dies to experience true love for the mortal. 

The important part is that Sybil tells people if two lovers toss a chip behind them at the same time and the chips land on the same side, then they will stay in love forever. At the end of the day, she has Peterkin clean up the chips and store them away. Not that money is of much use, nowadays. Inflation in the country is a nightmare. 

Peterkin looks down at his reflection in the pool of water, littered with white roses. “Dorian, I’m sorry,” he says to his wavering image. He brushes some foam out of his hair. He tries a more pitiful tone. “Please forgive me, Dorian.” He sure is glad nobody is around to hear him. “Dorian, you’re the most handsome man in this universe and I want to marry you.”

“Peterkin!” 

Peterkin doesn’t dare look behind him. Dorian is as stunning as Medusa is petrifying—one thoughtless glance, and he’s done for. The enchantment is insidious, as Freudian as it is Pavlovian. “I didn’t say anything—” 

“Where’s Ralph?” 

“Um…” The blank white petals on the roses start to dye an inky black. He stands up and faces Dorian. “I’m sorry, sir.” Uncharacteristically, he meets Dorian’s gaze. Better for Dorian to look at his pitiful face than the black roses behind him. Peterkin has to pick his troubles. 

And what a devastating trouble it is to look Dorian in the eyes. Dorian is in a pure white ringmaster’s ensemble: a white button-up under a white vest with a white silk bow with a white satin tailcoat and white pants and a white tophat. All fitted perfectly and immune to even the most miniscule specks of dust. Ruffles of white lace adorn his arm cuffs. Raining down his waist are strings of pearls, like icicles hanging down from the edge of a snowy roof. He looks as if he robbed his outfit from a bridal shop. Peterkin assumes Sybil’s ringmaster costume for this show is in pure black, to juxtapose her partner. Pure black and pure white—the trademarked colors of Miracle Circus’ striped tents. Every other non-Miracle Circus-affiliated product or company or production featuring black or white has to settle for an off-colored variant. 

Dorian sighs loudly. He crosses his arms and shakes his head in disappointment. As a performer, he has a habit of exaggerating his feelings, constantly broadcasting to an invisible audience. “You had one job, Peterkin.” 

“No, you gave me one job! Sybil gave me one job, and then the same job again because she forgot, then she kept on piling more tasks on me, and then eventually she figured out that writing a list would be more efficient...” The list she gave Peterkin was a scroll longer than his height. 

Dorian gives Peterkin a sympathetic pat on Peterkin’s shoulder. His reflection is covered by pink roses. “That’s your mother’s revenge for ditching last year’s finale show.” 

Peterkin looks away. He never was good at keeping eye contact. Sybil tells him the trick is to look six feet past the person in front of him, but the only trick he wants is a vanishing act. He’d like to be the disappearing milk poured into a dry cone of yesterday’s newspaper. 

“Maybe Ralph wants to ditch tonight’s show,” Peterkin suggests. “It gets boring going by yourself all the time. Most kids visit the circus with their parents.” 

Dorian ponders the idea. “You’re right, young Peterkin.” 

“I am?” 

Peterkin can’t believe Dorian is buying his lemon of a pitch. Ralph could be in real danger, maybe kidnapped for ransom by a rival circus. He never misses a show. He spends every summer with his father, and consequently with Sybil and Peterkin, and every summer he’s thrilled to see the same three tricks his father and Peterkin’s mother perform: the impossible, the fantastic, and the miraculous. He’s Miracle Circus’ biggest fan. Even in the off-season, he watches old recordings of Miracle Circus shows and practices behind his mother’s back after he’s done studying. He collects all the merchandise and wears it to every show. He readily soaks in all the propaganda Sybil feeds him of Miracle Circus’ glory, the silver lies of Miracle Circus’ divine right to ruling the circus industry. It’s hard to believe wide-eyed Ralph is capable of a rebellious phase. 

“Of course you’re right, young Peterkin!” Dorian ruffles Peterkin’s hair affectionately. “Why don’t you take Ralph’s seat for tonight?” 

“Huh?” 

“I understand that you don’t have the most maternal of mothers. She treats you more like an equal than a son. That’s not fair to you. Why, just because you’re a child prodigy doesn’t mean you’re not still a child.” 

Peterkin glances down at his watch. “That’s kind of you, Dorian.” It’s already twelve-and-a-half minutes past scheduled showtime. They should really be double-timing it to the Big Top, but he doesn’t have the courage to rush Dorian. The more distracted Dorian is by his own tangent, the farther away from the consequences of losing Ralph Peterkin is. 

“We’ll change the plans! This show is just for you, Peterkin. Your favorite color is pink, right? And your favorite bird is the rooster and your favorite noise is the jingling of keys and your favorite flower is the daffodil?” 

“That’s... right.” Peterkin would fear Dorian had been reading his diary, but he doubts Dorian would be able to look him in the eye if he did. “You’re not going to dedicate it to me, are you? Out loud with a spotlight and all?” 

“Of course we will!” Dorian grabs Peterkin by the shoulders. “This show will be un-ditch-able. One hundred percent, money-back guarantee!” 

“But I didn’t pay—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, he appears at Section E, Row 5, Seat 12 and a half with a surprised yelp from the boy in Section E, Row 5, Seat 14. He’s the only one bothered by Peterkin’s abrupt existence. The rest of the crowd is busy orchestrating the cacophony of excited chatter.

“Geez, you scared me!” the boy in Seat 14 exclaims. He’s clutching at his chest, as if he were trying to keep his heart from leaping away. “But I’ve got to admit—that’s a wicked clean appearification. I’d poof around everywhere too, if I were that clean.”

The cogs in Peterkin’s mind are turning too fast for him to come up with a proper response to his undeserved compliment. He swears both of Dorian’s hands were grabbing him, in that split second moment before he poofed them both away. Far from the wand in his back pocket. He can still feel the warmth of those strong, soft, handsome hands on his shoulders, like a phantom’s touch—a ghost of a memory of a feeling that he was going to be dazzled against his will. He wouldn’t forget anything Dorian makes him feel. 

He just used wandless magic. Didn’t he?

Complete darkness swallows the Big Top. The white stripes of the canvas become indistinguishable from the black stripes. Light manipulation is one of Miracle Circus’ many specialties, under the broader umbrella of passive magic. There’s a difference between active light manipulation and passive light manipulation that Peterkin hasn't figured out, yet. A single pink spotlight befalls Sybil and Dorian. Peterkin looks up to try and locate its source, but the point at the top of the cone of light has no blinding shining circle of origin. The pink light seems to come from higher than the ceiling of the Big Top, as if it were sent by the heavens above. 

Any half-smart magician would be immediately impressed by that pink spotlight alone. Peterkin notices that the boy beside him has his chin turned up, wondering about the source of the light instead of cheering for the ringmasters under it. Ralph would be doing the same, if he were here. Peterkin tries to look around for Ralph’s specific hue of blond, but every mop of hair he finds are all the wrong shades. 

Sybil and Dorian’s ringmaster costumes have been dyed pink. Sybil’s bodice has strings of pink pearls cascading in loops, drooping down just until the poof of layered pink lace on her skirt, which flares out just below her sheer pink tights-clad knees. Her tailcoat is pink satin, the same as Dorian’s, with the same ruffled lace at her cuffs and the same pink silk bow at her neck. Her tophat is adorned with pink lace and pink daffodils and a pink bow. If there’s any consolation to Peterkin for being stuck watching another tedious show, it’s knowing that Sybil will be in a bad mood later from having to wear her least favorite color. 

Contrasting Sybil’s pink ensemble is her infamous waterfall of dark, silky-straight hair that spills over her shoulders and down to her lower back. It’s not her natural hair texture. Peterkin thinks she must have wavy locks like his own, but he has no proof besides his genetics. More eye-catching, though, is the length of her hair. She doesn’t respect the hair protocol in the Magician’s Code, which states that all female magicians must have their hair worn up and out of the way during performances. Her excuse is that she’s not a “female magician”, but a “real magician”. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! Both and neither!” Ringmaster Sybil calls out. 

Her voice projects around the stadium surrounding her as if she were only a couple feet away from every audience member. She doesn’t need the assistance of a microphone. Passive sound manipulation is another specialty of Miracle Circus.

“Welcome to Miracle Circus! Home of the impossible, the fantastic, and of course—the miraculous! You’ll never find magic as pure, nor as powerful, nor as potent as ours! But there is another thing that’s just as pure and just as powerful and just as deathly potent… Dorian, do you know what that is?” 

Peterkin knows he’s about to be publicly humiliated. He reaches for the wand in his inner coat pocket, but it’s missing. He frantically checks every other pocket to no avail. Dorian took his wand. 

“Of course I know, dear Sybil! That would be…” 

A new beam of pink light illuminates the poor idiot sitting in Section E, Row 5, Seat 12 and a half. The boy beside Peterkin yelps in surprise again. The spotlight is hot and heavy, but unfortunately not hot enough to burn Peterkin to a crisp and release him from his eternal suffering. 

“... our love for little Peterkin-pumpkin!” the two ringmasters declare in unison. 

The crowd erupts in an adoring coo and proud applause. Everyone likes a family business. It gives them the illusion of a moral high ground for supporting a mom-and-pop operation while still enjoying the luxury of a multi-million corporation. Sometimes Peterkin wonders if he was only born to be a marketing strategy, but he couldn’t deny that Sybil and Dorian’s grandiose gestures come from their idea of love. He could only cry in the restroom later from sheer embarrassment. 

But if they dare call him up as a volunteer, Peterkin will not hesitate to cry right then and there. 

“This show is dedicated to my darling Peterkin! My son! My pride and joy! You might have seen him earlier, helping Mommy maintain some of our more difficult tents, and you can bet a pretty chip that it only takes him a flick of the wand!” 

Peterkin tries not to focus on the audience members below him, craning their necks to gawk at Ringmistress Sybil’s son. The energy is better spent trying to convince his nervous system to not shut down. 

“That’s right,” Dorian says. “Young Peterkin is an heir of talent! A prince of purity! A claimant of genius!” 

Peterkin slumps into his seat. He doesn’t like being Ralph’s replacement much. Only Ralph has the ego to soak up overinflated praise with a smile. This certainly is his punishment for losing Ralph. 

“So, without further ado, let us begin our program, ‘Peterkin’s Show’!” 

Peterkin is floored by the creativity of the title. Truly an inspiration. With that kind of eloquence, Sybil could be a wordsmith. 

Though, what she can’t achieve with her words she compensates with her magic prowess. She flips her wand high up into the air, where it twirls and sparkles gold out of the white tips on either end. Underneath the wand, she does an aerial and lands in time to catch her wand, which triggers a burst of thick pink smoke and iridescent glitter that expands out into the audience. A light tinkling of metal keys ring out like sleigh bells. Underneath the high tones of the tinkling metal is the sound of many stringed instruments bending their pitch up. 

Instinctively, Peterkin flinches at the smoke and glitter, but there’s no tangible residue to creep into his corneas. On the tip of his tongue, he tastes sweetness. A light aroma of peaches and cream wafts about. He already knows what’s to come: when the smoke clears, the stage will proclaim some dazzling display of roosters and daffodils and some random surreal element you wouldn’t usually associate with roosters and daffodils, like the twinkling of a galaxy or silvery clouds that project images of winged angels frolicking in lush fields or dancing bronze sculpture-people. It’s the classic Miracle Circus opener that the crowd swoons for every time. Sybil always likes to open with strong symbolism to give the audience members something to grasp onto before ripping away the familiarity and sending them spiralling down a rabbithole of spectacles. 

When the smoke clears, the stage is revealed to be teeming with absolute emptiness. Nothing has changed. Sybil and Dorian are standing in the very middle of it, the same spot they were in before, gesturing to the invisible grandeur around them. Peterkin had to admit, his expectations are defied. He’s amazed. Not impressed, but thoroughly on the edge of his seat wondering what’s to come. It’s a risky move building up to a reveal and then disappointing hundreds of eager, money-paying spectators right off the bat. Anticlimacticism is hard to pull off. But he likes it. It’s a bold statement that asserts dominance, as if Sybil were saying outright, You know who I am, I don’t need to impress you. 

Sybil is the first to break character. That’s when Peterkin realizes this isn’t some avant-garde act of defiance against consumer culture. She whips her head around, a quick motion emphasized by the twirling of her long, dark locks all around her, looking for someone hiding in the shadowy backstage. The show is being sabotaged. Peterkin picks his posture up and shifts his weight to the edge of his seat. No one has ever dared to sabotage a Miracle Circus Big Top show, before. 

Dorian takes over and summons the growth of pink daffodils, peeking out of the crevices in between the floorboards. Green spathes unfurl yellow petals, cradling dew-kissed coronas spewing out puffs of glowing pollen, like millions of tiny fireflies. The distinct smell of burning canvas, a reminder of a lesson in creating fireworks gone wrong, distracts Peterkin from the light floral scent. Someone has set fire to the tent. In response, Sybil waves her wand and sprinkles water upon the audience. The sparks of fire at the bottom of the canvas sizzles out. She sends out an eclectic blue jolt of lightning into the air, which branches in all directions and hisses at every drop of water it meets. 

When a deafening boom of thunder reverberates, Peterkin looks down and finds that Sybil has been replaced by a clucking rooster. The sprinkling of water has stopped. Dorian is similarly alarmed by his partner’s disappearance. In a panic, he resorts to distracting the audience with bright bursts of colored smoke streaming into the air and exploding in chrysanthemum bursts. Shades of cobalt, tangerine, violet, magenta, and dandelion swirl about. Behind the rainbow of cloudy smoke, a bright white orb of light shines. The shrill scream of a lime green stream of smoke popping into the air covers up yelling below.

All at once, the multicolored smoke gets absorbed into the orb of light, which collapses in on itself. Peterkin tries to blink away the spots in his vision. When he looks down at the stage again, he sees Sybil and Dorian gliding around on an ice rink on ice skates. In one corner, Dorian lifts up into a quadruple toe loop. The audience claps at his perfect landing. He meets Sybil at the center of the rink and lifts her up onto his shoulders. She uses the momentum for a backflip.

Before she lands, Dorian casts a large dome of opaque ice around them just before a gunshot. The bullet shatters the dome, revealing a flock of roosters underneath. There are screams from Section J, stage right. A pink spotlight flashes there for a moment, highlighting Sybil dragging a gunman out of his seat. The spotlight darkens and is replaced by a different spotlight back on stage, where Dorian juggles bowling pins. The ice rink has been replaced by a white marble floor. Dorian narrowly avoids the sudden addition of a bowling ball to his juggling act, but before the bowling pins and bowling ball come crashing down, the attention is once again replaced when yet another spotlight redirects the audience back to Sybil, who is crossing a tightrope up high that wasn’t there before, balancing the bowling pins and bowling ball from Dorian’s act on her outstretched arms in two precarious towers. 

There’s a final moment of relief as the spotlight follows her, in silence, across the tightrope. It is more of a quiet exercise in introspection than it is a gravity-defying act. As she is suspended in the air by only a rope and her balance, the audience, too, has their disbelief suspended with the knowledge that Sybil isn’t known to play games she can’t win. She will meet the end of the tightrope as easily as she met the beginning of the tightrope. But it is doubt that makes the journey through the middle of the tightrope tantalizing, the .01% of uncertainty that removes absolute perfection as easily as 10% would. It isn’t hers. The doubt could only belong to the envious onlookers, whose everyday lives are so infinitesimal with doubt, made so microscopic with every fluctuation between black and white and even more minute whenever wrong crosses paths with right, that the grains spill out and manifest as bias. If Ringmistress Sybil of Miracle Circus could only teeter to the left a bit, not even fall, but just give her onlookers the sharp inflation of a gasp into their pudgy stomachs and thus succumb to their doubt shamelessly, then absolutism could be abolished and absurdism may abscond. 

Peterkin’s hope for his mother to make a mistake shines the brightest of them all. He doesn’t live in a reality of crooked lines or scraped knees or spilled half-empty cups of milk. There is no vicarious escapism for him at Miracle Circus. As he was telling Dorian earlier, he didn’t pay to get in, just as he didn’t ask to be the son of a ringmistress, and thus a refund wouldn’t be possible. And if he’s not the consumer and he’s not the producer, process of elimination would have it that he’s the product. Peterkin hopes to gain some form of pleasure from the show dedicated to him, to prove that he can be a consumer, but he can only indulge in schadenfreude when it comes to the pure black matriarchal shadow he lives in. 

Peterkin can only be disappointed, but at the same time, impressed by the true ending. Not amazed, but impressed. Ringmistress Sybil places every high-heeled step in front of the other with the same ease and poise and deadset intent that brought Miracle Circus to its current prestige. That’s what Sybil tells Peterkin magic is derived from: ease and poise and deadset intent, especially intent. She tells him that one doesn’t try to pull a rabbit from a hat—one does pull a rabbit from a hat and both the rabbit and the hat are made from magic. All magic is intentional, she says, and she also says that nobody’s intent is stronger than hers. She crosses the tightrope from start to end without a wand because she’s so good at magic she doesn’t even need it. She is impervious to the sabotages of her worst enemies and the ill intents of her closest loved ones. 

The breath everyone else had been holding is released, but not Peterkin’s. When Sybil is at the end of her rope and the bowling pins and bowling ball balanced on her arms vanish into nothingness, Peterkin is still suffocating within the vortex of an airless tornado because his doubts continue to bloom as plentifully as a meadow of pink daffodils. Sybil’s path, both across the tightrope and to success, was a straight line. She was so good that she became the best; that much is dumbfoundingly simple. Outside of that strict straight line, Peterkin thinks he sees an extraneous dot: a careless residue of a careless pencil stroke. He only thinks he sees it, but it doesn’t appear in isolation. Like stars in the night sky, the harder he looks, the more of them he sees. 

Peterkin remembers himself suddenly surrounded by fountains and bubbles. 

And he recalls the warm weight of Dorian’s hand on his shoulders. 

And he also wonders why someone trying to sabotage the show wouldn’t have taken that perfect opportunity to shoot Ringmaster Sybil down during that unguarded lapse of time between the beginning and the end of the rope, because even Sybil has admitted to Peterkin that it’s faster to shoot a gun than to pull a wand out. 

But Sybil isn’t an Impressionist, she’s a perfectionist. She wouldn’t dapple her pure white canvas with ugly little dots, yet Peterkin is seeing the work of another artist, and that artist can only communicate in dots, like Braille constellations warning Peterkin of the wool over his eyes. 

The roar of applause dims down before Peterkin gains the capacity to register it. Sybil’s voice announces, “And there you have it, folks! The conclusion of the first act of Peterkin’s Show: ‘Peterkin’s Show’s First Act’! We’ll be back shortly after intermission!” 

Light fills the Big Top. The usual chatter and stretching of limbs and hurrying to get to the snack bar before the intermission is delayed. No one can deny that an intermission felt deserved after such an odd, eventful first act, but it is only after the first act and it hasn’t been specified how long the intermission will be. Miracle Circus has defied yet another expectation. Ringmistress Sybil can declare intermissions whenever she wants and for however long she wants. 

The boy in Seat 14 isn’t shy of expressing his surprise, again. “What!” he exclaims. 

Peterkin isn’t sure who the boy is trying to address, anymore, because he and the boy are total strangers and the boy didn’t seem to expect any kind of response. As the only willing witness to the boy’s outburst, he felt obliged to take his exclamation as a conversation-starter. “What?” Peterkin asks, and a part of him hopes that the boy is frustrated for the same reason he is. Peterkin wanted to believe that the non-sequitur dots he saw in Sybil’s tightrope act weren’t invisible to the sane. 

“I was trying to—she just—why couldn’t I—” 

The boy trails off into a strangled scream. In the light, Peterkin can now see the boy’s features clearly: round almond eyes, a stout nose, and a nervous, frowning expression that looked to be his default. He’s thin, and it would seem to anyone else that his figure is simply good genetics, but as someone who’s known him for more than five minutes, Peterkin can already guess that weight is hard to stick on a boy who’s always burning calories with his tenseness. Every line on his body seems to be tapering inwards, like he’s constantly collapsing in on himself. More prominent to Peterkin is the crimson red pocket square in his suit jacket and a wand clenched in his left fist. 

The pocket square inexplicably catches Peterkin’s eye more than the wand does, although there should be no reason for a magician in the audience to have his wand out during another magician’s performance. Peterkin recognizes that shade of crimson red as Phantasm Red, and so he begins to connect some dots. The wand should have been a deader giveaway, but the conclusion is still the same. The boy in Seat 14 was trying to sabotage Sybil during her tightrope act and couldn’t, even though she was wandless. 

Experimentally, he taps a bouquet of roses into his hand, then taps it away. 

“You’re the son of Ringmistress Sybil,” he says to Peterkin, but also more to himself. “Tell me, can magic go defective?” 

“Um… Uh… I don’t know?” The real answer is no, magic is always intentional and always in control of the magician, but Peterkin isn’t good with being put on the spot. He tries to muster a more coherent response. “I think it has to be your intent.” 

“What about my intent?” the boy demands. 

“It’s—I don’t know, but it comes from your intent. I’m sorry.” 

“What are you saying sorry for?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Peterkin turns to leave, but he’s met face-to-face with the elusive blond he had been trying to track down all night. Peterkin grabs him roughly by the shoulders and shakes him. 

“Ralph!” Peterkin yells. “Where have you been?” 

“Cheater, cheater, Peterkin-eater,” Ralph sings to him. He brushes Peterkin’s hands off of him. “Nice show, isn’t it? All for you and all. Some odd parts, but I’d say that’s fitting for a show with your name in it. And you’ve got the best seat in the house.” 

Peterkin lets Ralph avoid the question. He knows he can’t enforce any consequences. All the responsibility, but none of the authority. “Just take your seat back, already.” 

“Who’s to say it’s my seat? It looks like it’s yours. Your show, your seat. All for you.” 

“You can take my seat if you’d like,” the boy with the Phantasm Red pocket square offers. “I’m done trying to sabotage the show.” He picks up Peterkin’s hand, pries open Peterkin’s fingers, and places his wand in Peterkin’s palm. “You can have my wand, even. I’m certainly not putting it to good use. I don’t have the right intent, or something.” 

Peterkin watches the boy excuse himself as he crosses the row, disappearing into the crowd going upstream for kettle corn refills. At his hands is a shiny black steel wand with Phantasm Red tips. Engraved in gold, is a declaration of ownership: Property of Phantasm Circus™. It’s weighted heavily on the end with the engravement.  

“You just let the kid next to you try to sabotage the show?” Ralph asks. 

“I didn’t notice!” Peterkin says. 

Ralph laughs at that and holds onto Peterkin for support while mirth wets his eyes. “Of course you didn’t! Who can ruin a Miracle Circus show? Only a Miracle Circus magician, right?” 

“Right…” 

“Right!”

All is right with Ralph returned. Ralph can disappear but not be lost, can have his seat taken and then have another one offered, and break the rules without getting into trouble. In that way, Peterkin thinks Ralph to be more of a Miracle Circus magician than himself: impervious. He sees, in Ralph, the same easy balance that brought Ringmistress Sybil across the tightrope. There is no doubt that the rest of the show will continue smoothly, with Ralph now sitting in Section E, Row 5, Seat 14. And if there is, the doubt can only belong to Peterkin. 

Slowly, the lights flicker on and off to signal that intermission is ending. The bleachers refill steadily. Peterkin slumps into Seat 12 and a half and laments, in his head, that the second act won’t be nearly as interesting as the first. No risk, no stakes, no bad guys to root for. Peterkin thinks a tone shift into the usual perfection would be too discontinuous. And isn’t the show “Peterkin’s Show”, not “A Show For Peterkin”? Meaning, the show belongs to him. With a Phantasm wand, he might be able to turn his doubt into certainty. 

The Phantasm wand has a nice weight in Peterkin’s hand. It’s heavier and much more solid than a Miracle Circus wand, with a tip that follows the flow of its path smoothly, like dragging a finger across a lake’s surface. It feels more like a weapon than an instrument and Peterkin intends to take advantage of that. 

The lights dim, then go pitch black. A rooster cries out, then a pink spotlight illuminates Sybil and Dorian, hanging off of either side of a swinging trapeze. At his lap, Peterkin slices his new wand horizontally. The trapeze’s strings are cut. Sybil screams—she actually screams out of undeniable fear and everyone hears it. Her illusion of invincibility has shattered and everyone sees it in how fast gravity works on her. Even the best circus magician to ever exist is subservient to the laws of physics. 

In those few seconds where all of Sybil’s weight is working against her and plummeting her helplessly towards the ground, Peterkin finds certainty. It’s the same certainty he recognizes from when he lost Ralph—the certainty that he is a very bad person and everything is his fault. He didn’t have to do that. He really shouldn’t have. 

But she recovers quickly, with a frilly pink parasol with enough air resistance to float her gently to the bottom. That makes Peterkin feel even worse. He discovers how shallow his regret was when Sybil arrives safely on the ground, but the only cure for his chagrin is to try again at matricide. And what if he fails again? Or what if he succeeds? Peterkin doesn’t see a happy ending in witnessing the rest of Peterkin’s Show, which is really just A Show For Peterkin and not A Show Belonging To Peterkin. 

Peterkin makes like a banana peel and slips away. 

--- 

For everyone’s safety, Dorian takes care to rush all the circus-goers out of the gates as soon as the Big Top show is over. The premiere was a disaster, by Miracle Circus standards. Dorian knows how bothered Sybil must be. First impressions are everything. And to make their first impression for the season a sabotaged show dedicated to young Peterkin—if Dorian were superstitious, he would fear a similar corruption to occur in or involving Peterkin, during his 12 and a halfth summer… 

But Dorian isn’t superstitious, because according to the Magician’s Code, superstition is for witches. The ringmasters of Miracle Circus do not fear a bad premiere out of some contrived, non-sequitur correlation to the events for the rest of their season. They fear a bad premiere only due to their miraculously high standards. 

Dorian leads Miracle Circus’ lovely fans off the premises like a pied paper, schedules an exclusive interview with the Cirque du Chronicles reporters addressing the future of their season in their current economic climate, and prepares a sweet cup of mint tea before knocking on Sybil’s dressing room door. With magic, it all only takes him five minutes total. Three of those minutes were spent preparing the tea. Even the best magical skill a Miracle Circus magician possesses cannot replace the care spent in preparing anything drinkable or edible. A magician’s magic is simply not capable of conjuring anything drinkable or edible. Thus, all snacks and beverages at Miracle Circus have zero calories, for they are but well-crafted illusions no other circus is capable of: from the crunch of a caramel apple to the tangy splash of pink lemonade. True food magic is impossible. 

When Dorian knocks thrice on the grand cherry wood door, the door reveals its true nature and shatters into paper-thin shards of glass that have been deceptively painted with the facsimile of a grand cherry wood door. Beyond the remaining shards of the door is Sybil, sitting at a vanity mirror lit with red bulbs. The lights dye all it reaches the color of candy apples and ladybug wings, of lipstick and rubies, of blood and a dozen passionate red roses yearning to be cradled with the affectionate touch of someone enamored by true love. Phantasm has their own bright bastardization of red copyrighted, but this shade, as deep as the ocean and as rich as the Blimerance fortune and as true as an infant’s unfiltered babble, has been owned by Sybil as soon as it touched her. It isn’t a frivolous claim for the sake of competitive branding. The fact is inherent in her dark gaze at her reflection, which sees past the mere self-image in front of her and into a truth Dorian may never know. 

Then, the color changes to cyan. 

Then, the color changes to banana yellow. 

“Remember when we thought it would be a good idea to have a light-based show? And then your ex-wife had to save us from the lawsuits?” Sybil asks. “We were so close to folding.” 

Begrudgingly, Dorian recalls that show: “In Full Technicolor”. Show concepts were much simpler back then. They played improv with crystal prisms and refracting light beams and gave every spectator a complimentary pair of sunglasses. But having to pay for a hundred hospital bills wasn’t nearly as humiliating as having to explain to a much younger Ralph that, no, Daddy wasn’t visiting Mommy because they loved each other again. Daddy was begging Mommy for help because Daddy and Auntie Sybil induced seizures at their circus show. Somehow, Miracle Circus survived, on the basis that epilepsy fell under the umbrella of the impossible, the fantastic, and the miraculous. 

Being on the forefront of innovation means taking risks. It was the first circus show to rely primarily on light manipulation. Miracle Circus used to show off the magical prowess of their ringmasters by demonstrating their mastery in every magic skill ever thought of: light manipulation, sound manipulation, space manipulation, animal summoning, botanokinesis, pyrokinesis, hydrokinesis, aerokinesis… Everything that magic was capable of, they mastered it and focused a show on it. There were enough magic skills to last them an entire season of shows. In Full Technicolor taught them that too much raw power was dangerous, though. That was when Sybil and Dorian discovered the true advantage of illusions, and that was sensory manipulation. No more seizures if your body doesn’t perceive the flashing lights as a disregulatory signal. 

“We came out of that stronger than ever,” Dorian reminds her. “We always will.” 

“Oh, save your pretty words for the press!” Sybil scoffs. The lights return to red. She stands up from her armchair and approaches Dorian. Although her high heels are off, her shorter stature does nothing to diminish her domineering presence. “That second-act-sabotage caught us both off-guard. With our wands in our hands. While we were already expecting a sabotage! How is that possible, Dorian?” The lights flicker. “Answer me that, Mr. Blimerance!” 

Dorian winces at the flickering light. With a simple flick of his wand, he changes the light to bright white. He would’ve gotten sick if he had to tolerate those flickering lights any longer. Though he fears Sybil, and rightfully so, he is not scared of her. He hands her the steaming hot cup of mint tea. 

“It’s impossible,” Dorian answers. “It’s fantastic. It’s miraculous.” 

“We’ve been out-miracled in our own Big Top.” Sybil sips on the ice cold tea. She dumps it out. “And by Phantasm, at that. They’re not even world class!” She tosses the porcelain tea cup over her shoulder without a care. It poofs away. 

“Sybil… do you realize what that means?” 

Sybil nods. 

They grab each other by the shoulders. 

Their smiles are wide and gleeful. 

“A witch hunt!” they declare in unison. 

--- 

After the show, Ralph wanders around the empty circus grounds just as he did before the show. He calls it walking a mile in Peterkin’s shoes. In Ralph’s mind’s eye, Miracle Circus is a bright wonder of endless amusements, always teeming with toothy smiles and boisterous laughter. He thinks of Miracle Circus and its sweets that never give you a stomachache; he thinks of colored fire that won’t burn you; he thinks of water that doesn’t soak your clothes. 

He thinks of his father ruffling Peterkin’s hair as if Peterkin were his own son. 

He thinks of Auntie Sybil denouncing all lesser magicians.

He thinks of infinity. 

Before tonight, Ralph has never thought to see Miracle Circus in its rawest form: a collection of tents. Sybil and Doran don’t produce the tents until the very second before the circus opens—thus, the only time to see the circus empty is during the Big Top show. Only Peterkin would ever think to ditch a Miracle Circus Big Top show and Ralph wants to get closer to how Peterkin thinks. Ralph’s hypothesis is that understanding Peterkin will help him understand why he’s lesser than Peterkin. 

The circus is suddenly inanimate. Usually, the circus would’ve stopped existing as soon as the circus-goers left, and usually the circus-goers also wouldn’t be gone by now. Ralph has a lucky second chance at experiencing what Peterkin feels when he’s ditching a Big Top show, but this time, it feels different. The circus isn’t simply empty, because an empty circus feels like a relief after pushing through crowds all day. It’s desolate. Ralph has never noticed it before, but there’s an energy in Miracle Circus that is now missing that reminds him of the protective gaze of a parent while they’re watching their child at the playground. Miracle Circus is dead without Sybil and Dorian, whose ambition to be the best is the lifeblood of the circus. 

Ralph walks through a few tents looking for either his father or Auntie Sybil. The circus is smaller and easier to navigate now that it’s not constantly rearranging itself. He visits all of his favorite tents, the clock-related ones, and notices all the clocks in the clock-related tents are hours off and out of sync. He assumes it’s one of Phantasm’s petty attempts at sabotage and moves on to the other tents: the Tent of Vibrations and Storms, the Tent of Waterfalls and Canyons, the Tent of Temperature and Mercury, the Tent of Spring and Jumping, and many other tents that seem as if their themes were lazily pulled out of a hat at random. 

Ralph has never had so much trouble finding the two ringmasters before. They like having their presences known, but now, they seem to be in hiding. He closes his eyes and tries to hone in on whatever energy he can pick up on. It’s a witchy method, because really you shouldn’t be able to sense someone’s presence unless through supernatural means, but he does swear he can usually feel Dorian and Sybil’s presence. Any half-smart magician is aware of the sheer power they radiate. 

He opens his eyes and heads toward the Tent of Void and Nothingness (one of the empty tents). He thinks Sybil is in there, though he has no proof other than a vague feeling. 

“Auntie Sybil?” Ralph calls out. Ralph pushes through the flaps of the black-and-white-striped canvas. It’s dark, but not pitch black. He makes out Peterkin’s small frame, made smaller by the fact that he was curled into himself, sitting with his head buried into his knees. “Oh. It’s you.” 

Ralph shivers. He gives out a long exhale to test the coldness in the tent and it comes out in a white cloud of condensation. It’s summer in the rest of the circus besides the tent he has entered. He thinks it odd. The empty tents in Miracle Circus are supposed to have no magical effects on them. But anything is possible in Miracle Circus, so there’s no way to be sure of any anomalies. It could be another one of Sybil’s pranks. 

Peterkin lifts his head up. “Hi, Ralph.” 

“Where’s my father and your mother?” 

“What do you mean? They’re just around.” 

Peterkin is right; the circus can’t exist without Sybil and Dorian around. Ralph isn’t sure why he gets the impression they’re gone. He wants to look for them some more, but he’s scared to leave the relief of Peterkin’s presence. He sits down next to Peterkin and wonders how he’s not cold and also why he would choose such a frigid place to isolate himself in. 

Peterkin, after a long moment spent riling up the courage, finally gets around to saying what’s on his mind. “Ralph, can I ask you something?” 

“You just did.” 

“Never mind.” 

Ralph doesn’t mean to bully Peterkin. He thinks Peterkin makes it too easy. A magician shouldn’t ask to ask a question. He should simply ask it. A better magician would already know the answer, thus eliminating the need for asking unless for rhetorical purposes, but they had the excuse of youth to fall on. Although Ralph knows he is not the better magician, he takes responsibility as the older magician. He must lend his wisdom. 

“Tell me what you want to ask,” Ralph demands. 

“I wanted to ask what happens if you’re a witch.”

Ralph hesitates. His first instinct is to call Peterkin stupid, but he’s trying to be nicer to Peterkin and also it’s not Peterkin’s fault he doesn’t know. He’s surprised his father hasn’t told Peterkn, yet. After all, Peterkin gets to see Dorian all year round. Ralph is only 30% Dorian’s son, but Peterkin is 100% Sybil’s son, and Dorian and Sybil—they’re contractually bound together. That contract is more soul-binding than Ralph’s parents’ marriage ever was. 

With Ralph’s surprise comes pride. It gives him the reassurance he’s been looking for that he is his father’s son. A Blimerance. His mom almost had him change his last name to her maiden name after the divorce, but decided it would be too troubling for his paperwork. Ralph thought convenience was the only reason he stayed a Blimerance, until now, with his heritage shining through his unique connection to the history of witches, a connection that Peterkin lacks. 

“Do you know how the Blimerances came to their affluence?” Ralph asks. 

“I don’t know. Stealing from the poor?” Peterkin guesses. 

“What! No! The Blimerances were the best witch-hunters, back when this country was still a collection of colonies. And they were so good that witches don’t exist anymore. The end!” 

“But what happens if you find a witch nowadays?” 

“You’d burn ‘em at the stake, of cour—oh, what are you crying for?” 

“That’s awful! Why should we kill anyone?” 

“You don’t get it, Peterkin.” Ralph tries to phrase himself as if he’s speaking to a child, which he is. “Witches are bad. Their magic has gone corrupted from their ill intent. They hurt people, Peterkin. Magic isn’t for hurting people! It’s for making miracles. That’s why we have to get rid of witches, so they don’t hurt anyone. And they’re already gone, so what’s there to cry about? There’s nothing to cry about.” 

“You think I need a reason to cry? I don’t!” 

Ralph listens to Peterkin cry himself out in the empty tent, as he had many summers before. The temperature continues to drop. He expects, at any second, for the tent to poof away and for the summer air to coalesce into the cold air around them, but the night sky above them is never revealed. It’s anomalous, though that in of itself was also a part of the routine. Sybil and Dorian are hiding somewhere, brewing up another innovative spectacle, and then Miracle Circus will monopolize the circus industry so triumphantly that every other circus will fold in shame. 

[written-in-flowers]

Baby Blue: Pt. 1

Summary: Jimin is blue. He’s loyal to his customers and confident in everything he does. Namjoon is white. He’s pristine and maintains a perfect balance in life. When the two come together, they create baby blue, a color of freshness and something new. It’s new for both of them, but not all new things are bad. 

Main pairing: Namjoon x Jimin/ Side pairings: Yoongi x Jungkook, Jin x Taehyung.

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, sugardaddy!namjoon, and sexworker!jimin

Words: 7k

Disclaimer:  These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of BTS in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Tags: Bdsm themes, light restraint, oral (giving and receiving), edging, spanking, sex toys, slight dom/sub relationship, 

Gif credit to @softjeon thank you so much, love!

Masterlist > Next Chapter 

*****

He loved waking up in hotel sheets, specifically Northern Canopy’s. They always used the nicest thread counts and the covers aren’t itchy. Jimin stretched on the bed, rubbing his face into the softest pillow ever. Howie told him he could sleep in while the man finished up his business trip weekend. “Business”. Jimin scoffed and rolled onto his back. Beyond the balcony, Jimin saw the lush hotel gardens and the crystal clear pool even farther. He already spotted other resort guests walking on the pathways to their activity of the day. The spa, the pool, the salon, or one of the many restaurants and shops downstairs. He considered going to the pool. Howie bought him a new pair of swim shorts to wear, but he’s sure Howie wanted to see him in it. So the spa it will be. Howie’s business meetings went on for long periods of time. On trips, Jimin is used to having an ample amount of free time. It made the entire experience even better. Not having a dreadful 9 to 5 job. No overbearing bosses or gossipy coworkers. Just Jimin and his clients. 

He finally slipped from the bed and felt the soreness. Howie and him must’ve gone harder than he first realized. Howard Barnes can really dish it out despite his age. Jimin actually liked Howie. He’s one of his best clients, and the nicest of them. A 50-year-old wealthy business owner, he didn’t like the fly-by-night escorts or sex workers. He liked more refined things, so hiring a “Sugar Baby” sounded more up his alley. All his friends had them, though they called them ‘mistresses’. He supposed that’s what he was? Howie mostly gave small gifts of flowers, jewelry or clothes. Nothing big like an apartment or a car. Not that Jimin cared. His current clients all gave him nice things; he often hopped from apartment to apartment in the fancy cars they gifted him. He didn’t think so much on it and went to the bath. 

He heard the door open when he finished showering. He looked in the mirror, combed out his wet hair. 

“Jimin? Where are you?”

“I’m here!” he called out, fixing his hair and grabbing a hair dryer. 

“Morning, love cub,” Howie appeared in the bathroom doorway, smiling at Jimin fondly. In his business suit still, he made Jimin drool. Jimi lied catching the attractive ones. It made the sex easier to enioy. “Had a good sleep?”

“Yes.” Howie kissed his temple and wrapped his arms around Jimin’s waist. “I thought we could go to that brunch place today? The one with the strawberry danishes and that iltalian coffee. I know you like those.”

Howie smiled, “We’ll do whatever you want.” Jimin felt his hand slide down the back of his robe, making Jimin shudder. “But I’m not very much in the mood for danishes right now.”

Jimin giggled cutely, the way they all liked. “Then what do you want instead?”

He stood behind Jimin and slowly untied his robe. He awed at Jimin’s naked form underneath, clearly not expecting it. “I want a little slice of you,” he said in his ear, slipping off the robe and smoothing up Jimin’s arms. 

“Howie…” he turned around and put his arms around his neck, “I’m still a little sore from last night.”

“Then I’ll be gentle. Maybe I can give it a few kisses to make it feel better.”

“I’d like that.”

Jimin took his hand and brought him to the bedroom. He kept his eyes on Howie, maintaining the sultry gaze that charmed him. Howie liked innocence that slowly turned seductive the longer they went. His other client John liked shy wallflowers. Another named George enjoyed flirty kittens and Steve liked smoldering tempters. Jimin fell backwards onto the bed and Howie removed his jacket. 

“Do you want to use the bullet?” Jimin asked, “I cleaned it last night.”

“Not this time, love cub,” said Howie, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “I think,” he lifted Jimin’s legs up, “I’ll stick to more natural pleasures this time.”

Jimin bit his bottom lip and watched. Howie started at his knees and pecked down to his inner thighs. Just as he reached the center, a knock came to the door. 

“I put the Do Not Disturb sign!” Howie called out. “We’re a bit busy!” 

Nobody answered, but knocked loudly again. He grunted and looked to Jimin, “I’ll be back, love cub.”

Jimin slowly sat up, his body stiffening at the third knock. He knew that knock too well. As Howie walked to the door, Jimin reached for the clothes on the chair nearby. Howie will send him the rest no doubt, if his wife doesn’t toss it out first. Thankfully, he always kept an emergency wardrobe in the other places. He’d been zipping up his jeans quickly when Howie finally opened the door. 

“Helen?!”

“You lying son of a bitch! Where is he?! Where’s your little boy toy, huh?!” 

An angry wife. There’s always an angry wife. Jimin pulled on his t shirt, and grabbed his shoes and bag. Helen Barnes, a skinny blonde, charged into the large room and spotted him. Her eyes instantly narrowed. 

“You!” she ran to him arms outstretched but Jimin dodged her. “You little whore!”

“Helen! Helen, please! People will hear you!”

“Wait until I catch you! You’ll wish you’d never been born!”

Jimin ran out of the room quick as a flash. Helen chased after him, screaming harsh and cruel words at him. Jimin pushed passed other guests and nearly ran into a maid’s cart. The elevators ahead opened up suddenly, and he darted into them and pressed the doors closed. Helens beet red face glaring and shouting instantly fell behind the golden elevator doors. He’s not out of the clear yet. She can catch another one. He can get out through the pool area; the shuttle bus pick up/drop off is on the other side. Pressing himself to the opposite wall, he took deep breaths. 

‘Whore’. ‘Slut’. ‘Home-wrecker’. He’s been called every name in the book. His customers are usually married with three or four kids. Sometimes the wives know and sometimes they don’t. When they don’t know, they go into hysterics once they find out. Honestly, he didn’t understand why they’re surprised. Most of his married clients say their wives ignore them or they married for financial/societal reasons. Rarely did he have an unmarried client; those people have time for dating and meeting new people. He forgot about this when he finally reached the lobby. He slipped through the crowd unseen on his way towards the pool area. Glancing at his watch, the next bus leaves in five minutes. He dashed through the pathways leading to the pool, where more people swam and enjoyed the sun. Any other time, he’d be there swimming or sunbathing.  

“Come back here!” Helen’s voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Her screeching voice made him run even faster. His thighs and legs burned from the run, but it’s not his first time. “You dirty little slut! How dare you get with MY husband!” 

“Your husband was the one getting with me!” he shouted back at her, coming upon the fence separating the pool from the rest of the land. 

He heard her growl, her footsteps charging after him. Jimin hopped over the white fence and nearly skidded down the hill leading to the golf course. He didn’t stop running. Helen might be stopped by a fence, but not her friends. They always brought friends. Just as he reached the shuttle station, two other women appeared shouting at him. He saw the city bus at the end of the street. He could already see the driver getting back onto the bus. The two women ran right on his heels and he felt one grasping for him. He pushed his limits up until he reached the bus, letting the doors shut behind him and the driver steering off the road. He recognized the driver right away. 

“Morning, Jimin,” the curly-haired woman smiled. “Another wifey situation?”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed, pulling out change from his bag. 

Great. He’d lost another client. Losing and gaining clients is really part of his job, but Howie is one of the nicer ones. He took a seat and pulled out his phone. Scrolling down the list of names, he picked out a name written beside a star. Dialing it, he waited patiently. 

“Dr. Goldstein’s office, how can I help you?” a clear woman’s voice said on the other side. 

“Yes, may I please speak to Dr. Goldstein? If he’s in?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Mini.”

He heard her hesitation. “I’ll transfer you. One moment, please.”

He scoffed. He didn’t need some receptionist judging him. Now that he’s been busted, he doubted he could go back to Howie’s “love nest”. He’d need a place to stay until he found a better arrangement. “Mini? Is that you?”

Jimin put on his sweetest voice, “Hey John. How are you?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you,” he almost heard the smile in his voice. “You?”

“I wish I was doing better, but I’m not.” Pout. Put on a pouty tone. 

“Aw, what’s wrong with my Mini?”

He told him half the truth. Clients never liked hearing about other clients. They liked thinking Jimin is solely theirs even if they know it’s all a lie. It always is. Being a Sugar Baby is business. You exchange your time for money and nice things. It’s the best job Jimin’s ever had. When he finished telling John about his mean roommate, he heard the man awe. 

“Well, you have the key to our special place. Why don’t you go stay there for a bit and I’ll come see you after?”

Jimin sniffled, though shed no tears. “What about Martha?”

“She’s on a trip with her sisters. She won’t be back until next weekend.” He paused, “It’ll be just you and me, my little cherry blossom.”

He giggled, “I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll come get you around six.”

He agreed and said goodbye. John’s second apartment is down in Manhattan. He thought about convincing John to take him shopping tomorrow. He’ll be needing some new clothes after Helen gets done ruining what she finds in the room. John never minded. They never did. As long as Jimin modeled underwear and swimsuits they did not complain. Men are such easy creatures; being a man himself made it even easier. People are like books to Jimin. He found reading them incredibly easy. He looked to the young woman sitting across from him. She’d heard his conversation. He can tell by her side glances towards him. She shouldn’t talk. He noticed her freshly applied makeup and messy hair tied in a bun behind her head. She’d changed heels for a pair of flats; her white shirt did not cover the hickey on her neck. Secretary by the looks of her outfit. By her imitation handbag and scuffed shoes, she doesn’t come to Northern Canopy Hotel to stay. Somebody brings her but doesn’t take her back. It must embarrass them arriving at the office together. People will talk. Seeing her stiff sitting position and high head, she’d hate people talking about it. 

She’s no better than him. Jimin focused on his phone instead. He got a few texts from friends and his mother called him, though he didn’t bother calling back. She’d be sleeping by now. She always worked night shift on the weekends. She used to tell him it’s part of being in the A Squad at Laguna. Laguna Gentleman’s Club, that is. She’d taught him all he knew: reading men, knowing what they want, and how to give it without giving too much up front. She didn’t judge his work either. Her job is similar concerning her regular patrons. Only difference is no dates or sex. He’d call her when he knew she was awake. He saw new emails too, though did not open them. He’d check them later. He only focused on getting to the apartment to sink back into bed. His muscles ached and burned from the running; his heart finally began settling in his chest. The chasing is always the worst part. 

He reached the apartment by two. It’s not the biggest of places, but he deals. He stepped into the lounge area, setting his bag on the couch and heading into the large kitchen. He realized there’d be no food in the fridge, since John only stocked it when Jimin stayed over. Shutting the door, he ordered take out instead. As he waited for his food, he pulled up the laptop John gave him. He’d need to catch up on his homework now that he’s got time. Just because he attended a performing arts school did not mean there’s no class work. His dance scholarship paid for most of his tuition, though not all of it. It did not cover school books, supplies or equipment he might need. For dance recitals, he’d need to pay for his own costumes and rent out a personal dance space to practice outside class. These things added up when he figured in personal finances. Sugar daddies only pay so much and what they paid for is up to them. He knew his beauty and flexibility only got him so far.

Jimin’s day started off a bit rocky, though he’d hoped by the time he finished classwork, it’d be better. Then he finally checked his emails and saw ‘Noah Byers Scholarship Program’ in his inbox. His body flushed into a cold sweat when he opened the email. 

‘Dear Mr. Park, 

As of August 16th 2019, we’re notifying you of a change in your scholarship funds. Due to recent financial changes in your application, The Noah Byers Institute is decreasing your scholarship fund from $4,000 per one semester to $2,000 per one semester-’

He stopped reading. How could they do that? How can they just change the amount that way? Yes, he’d put that he worked in John’s office making a decent wage, but that’s not enough to pay for the entire tuition. His school costs $5,700, an amount Jimin definitely cannot pay on his own. There is no way John or any of his other clients will pay for the rest. He’d managed paying off most of the past term on his own. With classes ending and fall semester starting soon, he’d need the other half. He only joined Sugar Babies to make enough money for his supplies, books and costumes. He nearly slammed the laptop closed and folded onto the couch. What will he do now? He’d need to raise his prices, but he’d need to talk with Marion about it. He’s worth it. He’s one of their best workers. If not, there might be a richer client in need of some company. Jimin calculated everything in his head and by the time John arrived, he no longer felt like going out. What the HELL was he going to do? 

****

“I can’t change your prices, baby. It’ll take weeks for them to go through and even then you’ll still be making relatively the same amount. You know we get a percentage of what you make. It’s how we stay above ground.”

Marion, busty with thick hair, sat at her desk across from him. She didn’t own Sugar Babies, though she worked as a worker’s counselor. She took charge of clientele, prices and wages. She told him when the company started, the workers did not have proper presentation. The owner controlled everything and they did not receive equal cut in their earnings. He’d laughed when she told him a group of gold digging escorts unionized for equal pay, fair wage, and client freedom. Then counselors appeared. Now, Sugar Babies are protected by people like Marion, who regularly check on them and process clients through the system before giving out contracts. Jimin nervously sat and watched her type at her computer. If he can’t change prices, then she must have another solution. 

“So, what can I do instead? I really need to finish paying for my classes, Marion, or I can’t come back next year. Dancing is…Dancing’s the only thing I’m really good at and love to do. If I don’t finish my classes, I won’t be able to move on to bigger and better things. I want to be a professional dancer, but I need experience like everything else.” 

“Can always go back to Korea. Don’t they have those k-pop training companies over there? I saw that segment on Channel Ten.”

“They do, but that shit is torture. Dancing alone is enough for me.” He pushed orange bangs from his eyes, “Just help me, Marion. There’s gotta be a big contract out there. You know, some rich CEO or a senator, someone big and powerful who can pay.”

She hesitated, overlooking his anxious face and shaking knee. “There is one contract we haven’t been able to keep closed, but…” she typed on her screen and examined it, “I don’t know if you’re up for it, baby. He’ll pay you a lot, but he expects much more in return.”

“Don’t they all?”

“I mean it, Jimin. This guy’s the real deal, big spender and super wealthy. Others tell me he doesn’t like messing around.” 

“Then why hasn’t anyone taken him?”

“Guys who come back to me say he’s a bit…demanding. He’s got all these rules, they say. It’s off putting.” 

“He’s got rules, so what? They all do. Like ‘don’t call me after nine’ or ‘don’t wear underwear around me’.”

“It’s not like that though. It’s different stuff.”

“How different?”

“They don’t say and we’re not inclined to ask the man himself.” She clicked on the screen and a paper rolled out from her printer. She handed the page to him, “This is the contract and where you’re supposed to go. He’s taking interviews at his office in the city.”

“Interviews?” Jimin laughed. “He’s doing interviews.”

“A lot of people want him. It’s not uncommon. I can send them your name and number. They’ll get in touch with you.”

He looked over the page. They usually didn’t give a picture; just basic information and what the client is looking for. “Namjoon Kim,” Jimin read, “26-years-old, CEO of Gemstone Enterprises-Oh shit, wait, Gemstone Enterprises? THE Gemstone?”

She nodded, smiling at his shock, “Yup. Those guys own the entire world far as I’m concerned.” 

“He’s kinda young to be a CEO.” Not that it mattered. Gemstone put their hands in everything: business, politics, technology, industry, etc. They might not stick their name on it, but people knew by the quality it’s Gemstone. He’d dated CEOs before, though not one from Gemstone. “He’s Korean too. That’s a plus.”

“Yeah, not some tired, old white-dude who likes twinks.”

“Right.” It’s a young, rich, powerful asian dude who likes twinks. He looked down the page: “CEO looking for companion. Must be male, between the ages of 20-24, and must have a minimum of 2 years experience in the field. Must be able to handle instruction and constructive criticism. Promptness, cleanliness and knowledge in proper social etiquette are required-Required?”

“Told you. Demanding.”

“You will be required to attend social events and be available 24/7. You will be properly compensated in any extra fees. Terms and conditions may be negotiated should you be hired.” He nearly laughed, “This guy isn’t joking, is he?”

“Nope.”

“And what’s this about instruction? Is it like a BDSM thing? Master and slave situation?”

“Honey, I have no idea. I just pass along the job contracts. You going for it or not? I need to know now so I can send them your application and paperwork.”

This Namjoon does sound a bit tough, but they all are. He’s sure it’s a sort of sex play. He’s met ‘doms’ who ask for a lot. It normally didn’t work out once they tried changing his lifestyle choices. Nodding, he met her eyes again, “Yeah, I’ll take it. It’s worth a shot, right?”

“I’ll let them know.”

He needed a miracle somewhere. He thought about his scholarship fund again and his heart sank. If this guy really does work for Gemstone, then he’ll be loaded. It’ll work out better once he gets hired. Jimin is positive he’ll get the job. He’s Jimin. He’ll know exactly what Namjoon is looking for when they meet. So far, he sounds like the dominant type who needs a submissive. He can do that. He can definitely do that. 

*****

He’ll be late. Promptness is one of the first things in the ad, and he’ll be proving he’s the opposite. Jumping out of the bus, Jimin landed in front of the Gemstone building. Several stories high, every department under Gemstone is located in this building. Sleek and modern, the workers in uniforms dressed immaculately; almost as if being perfect is part of their uniform. He caught a few eyes walking in wearing tight black jeans and baby blue sweater. He made sure the sleeves stretched over his hands, giving him the angelic sweetness Namjoon will like. The color alone works wonders. If he wants this contract, he’ll need to be as charming as possible. Once he meets Namjoon, he’ll know what he’s really working with. He checked the directory for the CEO’s office, then ended up in the elevator. He saw a few other handsome young men around the building. He guessed they’re here for the interviews as well. Marion told him he won’t be the only one; lots of other “companions” will be there for the job too. It seemed strange to have an interview done. Mostly people in his profession seek out clients themselves and try to attract them. It’s a business transaction disguised as a relationship. Namjoon clearly focused on the business aspect of it. 

Finally coming to the top floor, the first thing he saw was a portrait above a row of chairs. In the center sits a stern man with greying black hair looking down at Jimin. He felt slightly intimidated by the painting. Dark eyes stayed locked forever in a cold stare that gave Jimin chills. Next to him stood a much younger man. His features much softer, he didn’t carry coldness but indifference. He’s handsome for sure. Broad with long limbs, he’s most likely much taller than his elder. He’ll tower over Jimin for sure. His straight posture and stone expression showed his professionalism even in paint form. 

“Isn’t he hot?” a short blond came up next to him. “I get so many daddy vibes from him.”

“I’d say more ‘sir’ than ‘daddy’. Men like him don’t want to be related to fathers.”

“How would you know?”

Jimin noticed the physical distance between father and son. They’re not painted on the same level nor showing affection. In almost all family portraits, there’s touching and laughing. There’s nothing but coldness here. No. Namjoon won’t like being called ‘daddy’. ‘Sir’ suit him better. “I can just tell. I can always be wrong.” He’s usually not. In the father’s mind, his son is a servant awaiting orders, not an equal or a loved one. Jimin left the other companion and the painting for the front desk. 

“Hi,” he smiled at the woman behind the desk. Her stunned face told him his charming look is working. “I’m here for an interview with Mr. Kim?”

The young woman shook her head, then smiled, “Of course, yes. Interviews. Name?”

“Jimin Park?”

She muttered his name while scrolling down a page, then nodded. “Ah yes, Mr. Park for 10am. You’re just in time. He hates tardiness. It’ll give you time to fill this out,” she comprised a few papers and stuck them to a clipboard. 

“Um, you didn’t get my application? My counselor should have sent it to you guys.”

“Yeah, we got it. These are just confidentiality and consent forms. There’s also a few personal questions.” She paused, but said, “The last section is totally optional to answer, by the way. It gives him a little idea of what he’s getting in return for the money.”

Jimin heard the tone in her voice. Again, not the first one. He took the clipboard, nodded to her and left. He took a seat by the double doors and began signing the papers. Everything sounded pretty basic. A lot of clients asked for discretion in their relationship. Consent usually is for sexual purposes, so Jimin’s theory of dominance is correct. Not that the paper mentioned this at all. It sounded so professional and formal. The final few pages caught him off guard. Sexual interests and experience. It asked for number of partners, when he first became sexually active, the date of his most recent medical check up, and other things. He squirmed once it came to his interests. 

“‘Do you take a dominant or submissive role during intercourse?’ I guess submissive…” Jimin whispered to himself and circled it. “‘Below are listed various sexual activities and preferences. Please check whichever apply to you.’” He read through the list under the header. They started off with basic things before getting into the kinky stuff. Jimin didn’t mind most of what is listed since he’s done it before. If this is what Namjoon likes, he’s in for a treat. 

“What company are you from?” the blond reappeared next to him, a clipboard on his lap. He wore suspenders and shorts. He kept a schoolboy type vibe that made Jimin sick. He’s trying too hard. “I’m from Little Angels.”

Little Angels. Ugh. The cheesiest and sleaziest of them. “Sugar Babies.”

“Wow, really? That’s cool. I’ve never met a Sugar Baby before. You guys are real top notch, huh? Bet you make thousands.”

“I suppose.”

He makes a decent amount for a record like his. Sadly, not enough to cover what his scholarship won’t. The pair went back to their clipboards; the blond idly chatted throughout, making small comments about this line and that phrase. Jimin finished his papers right as the doors opened. 

“He’s crazy!” tall and lean, the man stood before Jimin and the Little Angel. “Don’t even bother with this one. He’s absolutely ridiculous…no cursing or drinking…what kind of bullshit is that?”

They watched him go towards the elevators. “What do you think he said?” asked the Little Angel. 

“Dunno. But he can’t be that bad.”

A minute or two later, Jimin returned to the desk and handed the secretary his clipboard. Nerves bunched up in his gut. What if Namjoon didn’t like him? What if he really is crazy? Jimin is sure he can handle it. He’s handled outlandish requests before. As long as Namjoon compensates, he’ll do it. The scholarship paid off the rest of the current semester, which is ending. Next semester won’t be fully covered. If Namjoon really is that rich, he’ll have to fight for a decent allowance. It’s never ‘pay’ or ‘wage’ with clients. ‘Allowance’ makes it sound less official. 

“Mr. Park?” an older secretary came out of the office, “Mr. Kim will see you now.”

Jimin nodded and followed her inside. There’s the antechamber where her desk and workspace is, but behind the second set of doors is his office. Jimin gave her a nervous glance, but she comforted him. 

“Don’t worry. He’s not crazy. He’s…particular, but there’s nothing wrong with that.“

"Any advice?”

“The oldest one in the book: be yourself.” She patted his back, “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”

Jimin timidly opened the door, already turning on the shyness. Though he isn’t sure if he’s acting this time. The office is pristine from top to bottom. Not a spot on the carpet or furniture; not a speck of dust on any picture frames and plants green and fresh. He’d have thought he’d walked into a museum with how clean it is. Natural light from the wide windows filled the room, and Jimin spotted the desk sitting in front of them. Jimin paused. The folders in an open cabinet are organized by colored tabs, though that’s expected in an office. It’s the desk. Most desks are cluttered with papers. Namjoon’s are in a small basket underneath a whale-shaped paperweight. All the pens and markers are in a cup; the computer is perfectly placed not to catch glare from the light. Everything is perfectly symmetrical, he noticed. 

“Uncouth…late…” the man at the desk muttered to himself as he wrote on a sheet of paper. “Definitely not what I need.” 

“Um,” Jimin coughed, “Mr. Kim?”

“Come and sit down,” he said, not looking up at him. 

It’s odd seeing the painted man in person. He’s not as skinny as the painting; a bit bigger and wider in the shoulders. His hair isn’t black but a medium brown parted on the side. His skin is darker, more bronze than honey in the light. He finally finished evaluating the previous interviewee, then looked to Jimin. He stopped. He’s gorgeous. Much more gorgeous. He’s softer and smoother. He had lips Jimin can kiss for hours. The light behind him made him shine. Jimin thought he might be dreaming. His navy suit is perfectly tailored to his frame and size, not bunching up or stretching too far. He pulls it off so well. He’s…not a daddy. 

“You must be…” he consulted the file in front of him, “Jimin?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m Jimin.” 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Namjoon.” 

“Nice to meet you.”

Namjoon read over his application and the papers, then said, “So Jimin, you work for Sugar Babies Escort Agency, right?”

“I do.”

“I heard your company has a reputation for being the best and prestigious. I got a lot of your…colleagues?”

“For lack of a better term, you can call them that.”

“A lot of them applied for the advertisement I sent the different agencies. I’m rather impressed by them.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He looked at the papers again, “You have three years of escort experience. That’s a lot of clients in such a short amount of time. You’ve had twenty official clients, but you put a plus symbol. Why is that?”

“Well, my agency doesn’t do only long term contracts. We sometimes do single dates like going to special events or fancy dinners. I have more single dates, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted the full number.”

“Are you ashamed by the number?”

“No. I’ve had 45 different clients in total including the single dates.”

“Were those primarily sexual?”

“It sometimes got sexual, but not always. I charge extra for that.”

“I see.” He continued reading, “You’re a dance major at Ivory School for Performing Arts?”

“Yes,” he smiled, pushing hair from his face. “I love dancing. I’ve been doing it since I was eight when my mom put me in tap dance lessons. I can dance tap, ballet, contemporary, ballroom, and even latin dance. I also know traditional dances too if you’d like me to perform for you one night.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“Well, I mean if I get the position. I can sing too.”

“So it says. Performance Art schools aren’t cheap. You use the money you make to pay tuition?”

“Well, my scholarship was and I used my paychecks to pay bills and things I need for my classes.” 

Namjoon sensed his hesitation. “They stopped paying?”

“They lowered it. Considerably.”

“Which is why you accepted this contract, right?”

“You want me to be honest or feed you a cute lie and a smile?”

“Honesty is best.”

“I need the money.”

Namjoon studied his face. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“You’re welcome?”

“Not many people have been honest with their intentions. They all tell me they took it because they think I’m handsome or they think they can make my life better or whatever. You’re the only one who told me what you really want.” He made it sound so awful. “Not that it’s bad. If you do get the position, I want there to be honesty between us both. Maybe even…trust…”

“I understand.”

“You don’t smoke, do you?”

“No.”

“Drink?”

“Socially, yes.”

“Drugs?”

“Once, but I’m not crazy about them.”

“Good. You’ve gotten all your tests done recently like your portfolio says here,” he noted. “That’s one hurdle we can avoid. Social media?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Not my thing.”

“Hm, private person.” Jimin can tell already. 

“Yes.” He finally put the papers down, “Jimin, I’m the CEO of a big company that specializes in everything from auto-industry to environmental research. I have a busy schedule from morning until night. I work a lot of the time and even sometimes take it home with me. I don’t have much time for socializing other than special events I’m forced to attend or when friends of mine wish to see me. Dating isn’t really my forte and I can’t stand most people anyways. So far, you’ve failed to bore me.”

“That’s great. Thank you.” He tried sounding as unsurprised as possible. 

“A friend of mine suggested a…” he searched for the proper word in his head, “A special friend to accompany me. I can’t pick just anyone which is why I’m conducting these interviews. One of the things you’ll realize  is that I’m a particular man who likes things a certain way. I like everything clean and neat. I take my schedules seriously and I make lists for everything. I like order, Jimin. It keeps my world going. I need someone who can handle that. Can you?”

“I can. You’re not my first, you know.”

“Obviously.” It didn’t sound hurtful. It’s a fact to Namjoon. He passed Jimin a vanilla folder, “In there is everything I expect from you.” 

“Am I getting the position then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

Jimin opened the folder and saw more documents. One paper discussed allowances and “special’ requests that can be negotiated for money. The other was a list. At the top in bold letters read: House Rules. “Rules?”

“Yes, I comprised a list so that we understand one another.” 

Jimin read the first one: “‘No admittance into the office, at home or in the company’. “Why?” 

“People talk and I don’t want them getting the wrong idea. I like to keep my work and private life separate. I’ve managed to convince my superiors these are intern interviews.”

He continued: “Do not step into my side of the apartment without my permission. I will know if you have.’ Wait…your side of the apartment? Am I living with you?”

“Yes.”

That excited him. No more apartment hopping for him. “Hm, okay.” He read the rest of the list. Namjoon demanded Jimin:

Not to swear. 

Not to drink heavily. 

Not to do drugs. 

Not to watch TV or take calls after 9pm. Jimin noted that this is the new age: nobody watches television anymore. People have phones and texting. Still, Namjoon insisted the rule apply. 

Never go anywhere near his bonsai plants unless allowed first. “You have a garden?” 

“It keeps me sane. Keep reading.” 

Do not touch anything that is not his own. 

Do not disturb Ana during her cleaning. “Ana?”

“The maid. Her services come with the apartment, and she needs to focus on her work to keep my apartment clean. She can’t have you bugging her.”

He is supposed to be notified whenever Jimin goes out and must be back before midnight. “What if I go out to a club?”

“Then let me know you’ll be late and how long. I’d like to know where you are at all times.”

“What if I go out with another client?”

“That’s Rule #17: I am your only customer now. There is no business with others allowed unless you talk to me first. I need to make sure you stay healthy and clean of diseases.” 

“My clients aren’t dirty. I’d have been tested positive by now.”

“The rule still stands,” Namjoon said firmly. “If you sign the contract, you are becoming mine exclusively.”

“What about my other clients?”

“I’m sure they’ll find other pretty boys to cheat on their wives with.”

“A thing you don’t need to worry about, I’m sure. You’re not married and you don’t have children.”

Namjoon sat frozen in place. He clearly hadn’t expected the response. He wanted Namjoon to see he’s not an airhead. Men like him don’t waste their time with bubbly idiots. “How would you know?” Namjoon asked. “I can be married. I’m old enough to have at least one child if I started young.”

Jimin examined his face again, then smirked. “If you were married, you’d have a ring on your finger. If you had children, you’d have pictures of them on your desk. You don’t have either of those things.” 

“I could have taken off my ring and hidden the pictures. I did say I like a private life.”

“If you took off your ring, there’d be indents in your finger. Like mine,” Jimin put down the papers and removed one of his rings. He showed his finger to Namjoon. Around the bottom were two red lines left by the ring. “See? This ring was my grandma’s. I wear it all the time so whenever I take it off, it leaves these lines. You don’t have those lines. I know you don’t have children because your lifestyle is too busy for them.” 

“Hm, very astute. You’re right. I’m not married or have children, so living arrangements shouldn’t be difficult.”

“I have contracts with those men too.”

“I’ll buy you out of them.”

“How will I pay for personal expenses and school things?”

“I think the allowance I provide will be sufficient enough. You’ll be living with me, so you won’t have too much to worry about personally. For school, you’ll have plenty of money for the things you need.” 

“How much?” 

“It’s on the other page. Finish the rules please. I want to make sure you understand everything.” 

A small meal-time schedule: breakfast is between 7am to 9am. Lunch is at noon. Dinner is 5pm when he comes home. “Why lunch? You won’t be home anyways.”

“It’s part of the schedule.”

“How will you know I stuck to it?”

“I’ll know.” 

Jimin eyed his curiously. The man who walked out hadn’t lied. He read on the list to its second page. They sounded quite specific for rules. Most “rules” he gets from clients aren’t enforced or even remembered. By the look and sound of Namjoon, the elder man will make sure they’re followed to the letter. Then Jimin read the very last one:

“Don’t get attached?” he glanced up to Namjoon, “What does that mean? You do know that this is a relationship, right? There is bound to be attachment.”

“Minor attachment. I don’t want you thinking this is more than what it is. Things can change over time, and I’d rather there be no…feelings…left in it.”

“How the hell will you keep out your feelings?”

“Language, please Jimin.” 

This is absurd. It’s like living with his grandmother all over again. He’s a grown man, not a child. There’s even a bed time set up for him. A part of him wanted to tell Namjoon he’s unbelievable and leave. He can manage with his other customers. Yet, he thought about his scholarship and school. He needs the money quick. Seeing the insane amount Namjoon is offering a month, Jimin will have no problem.  None of his clients can dish out whatever money Namjoon puts down. He’s buying Jimin out of contracts with them, and all of them are already wealthy men. He supposed it’d be nice not worrying about an angry wife or disappointed children. Namjoon is handsome too. He can handle that much. He looked down at the words at the bottom. “Do not fall in love” are the exact words. Seeing Namjoon’s firm demeanor and attitude, he won’t be. 

“What are the punishments?” Jimin asked, going to another page.

“I’m sorry, punishments?”

“Yeah. If I break a rule, what are you going to do? Is it a verbal warning? Spanking? Edging? Humiliation? I’m not big on humiliation, but I don’t mind the others.”

“Wait, no. These aren’t sexual. I just like things orderly. I suppose you’ll get a verbal warning, but that’s pretty much it.”

He found the page listing Namjoon’s sexual preferences. Nothing out of the ordinary. Jimin noticed he liked very vanilla things. He wondered if Namjoon is afraid to show his sexier side or if he’s never bothered changing the script. Maybe he can ease him into new things. 

“Speaking of sex,” Namjoon said, “We’ll be having it three times a week on date nights. Those are on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Jimin nearly laughed, “You schedule your sex?”

“Why not? It’s nice to know about it before it happens.”

“Because sex is more meaningful when it’s spontaneous.”

“Well, that’s not gonna be important anyways. It’s just sex. You’re allowed free to pleasure yourself whenever you want, but intercourse is on date nights only.”

“Because you’re too busy to let me pull down your pants and blow you?”

Namjoon let out a throaty cough and his ears turned pink. “It’s not that. I like things done that way and that’s that.” 

“Is there at least a safe word in case I don’t like what you’re doing?”

“King Crab.”

“King Crab?”

“Yes. It’s a type of crab.”

“I know, just an odd one, that’s all.”

“Everything about me is odd to other people. Why should my safe word be any different? If you really don’t like it, we can change it to something else.”

The stab hurt him. Jimin saw it in the way he held up his face and quickly offered an alternative. “King Crab is fine. I was only saying it’s odd. It doesn’t mean you’re odd.”

Namjoon stared at him a bit longer. Jimin felt hot under his attention. Did he always look so intently at people when reading them? He turned up the charm by giving a small smile on his lips and eyes. “You’re hired.”

“What?”

“You’re hired. When can you move in?”

“Um…now? I’d have to get my stuff from my client’s apartment, but other than that, I’m okay with now.”

Namjoon nodded and Jimin spotted it. Right in the middle of his cheeks were small dimples. Jimin hoped he might give a wider smile to see them more, but he didn’t. He imagined Namjoon never smiled much. It’s a shame. He’d like seeing those dimples. 

He checked his watch, “Ah, it’s almost noon anyways. I can have my driver take you wherever you’re staying to get your things.” He took a card out from his jacket pocket, “Give this number to your clients and explain the situation. They can get in touch with me personally.”

The words ‘my driver’ and ‘explain the situation’ sent shivers down his back. The suddenness of it took him aback. “You sure you don’t want to maybe go out to dinner or have a chat somewhere first? I can’t just move in like that, can I?”

“We can have dinner tonight. It’s Wednesday after all.”

“But what if you don’t like me?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, you’re officially my sugar baby.”

Jimin laughed. When Namjoon quirked an eyebrow questionably, he said, “Most guys just say ‘boyfriend’.”

“Fine. You’re officially my…my boyfriend, now. Yeah. Definitely.” 

Why did the idea of being attached to Jimin bother him? 

[random-imagines-blog]

Vampire Heart {Marius De Romanus Oneshot}

Requested by: @horselover1994 Wordcount: 2355 Summary: David introduces you to his obsession.

The underground organization known as the Talasmasca was very much a secret - which was perfect, because keeping secrets was one of it’s sole functions. You had been roped into it when you were arrested for breaking into the archives of a little-known library, looking for information on vampires. Why had you been looking, they had asked you, once you were seated in front of the council. “Small girls may have big imaginations, but I know I didn’t imagine what I had seen when I was young,” was what you had answered. The council only had more questions so eventually, you had to tell your story. What had happened when you were young, what you had overseen, what you had experienced - it was a hard story to swallow, but they had been able to confirm the event that you had come across. “Sometimes, I still get those goosebumps when I am walking around at night.” You told them, looking at your hands rather than the people seated at the table. “I know there’s something still out there, and I need the information, the proof.”

“Luckily you found us then,” The man who had introduced himself as David had said, standing up from his chair. The rest of the council nodded in agreement, and then departed from the room to let David explain to you exactly what the Talamasca was. Even with his explanation, it blew your mind that there was a secret society that kept records on creatures such as werewolves, witches, spirits and especially vampires, which was David’s specialty. You listened as he told you a brief story about the one vampire who always seemed to slip through his fingers, who was a bit of an obsession to him. Marius De Romanus. A tour of his office showed off the paintings of one vampire, and you could feel why David was so intrigued. He was absolutely beautiful, and your heart seemed to want to escape your chest and fly off to find him.

“I feel it too, David, what you feel for Marius,” You admitted to him one day. “I - I can’t explain it but there’s something...” You looked at one of the paintings. He had his finger to his lips in this painting, in a perfect pout that made you lick your bottom lip. “Thank you for showing me these.”

“You’re welcome,” David said, his eye twinkling with excitement that someone else shared his infatuation. When you left his office, you were looking over your shoulder once more at the painting that was still on display. One more step and you wouldn’t see it anymore - and now it was gone. That painting was all that you could think about during the tour through the different offices and libraries, and to your own nook. You were new, so an office of your own would have to wait.

-

The library was full of interesting books, but hardly any of them mentioned the vampire Marius. What was strange to you was that you had come here to find some information on the vampire that had attacked your family, but he had disappeared almost entirely from your mind in exchange for the handsome vampire whose portrait you saw for only a moment. “Please, please, anything, just a tidbit,” You said, pushing your hair out of your face as you went through one of the many tomes.

“Don’t work too hard now,” A friendly voice came up from behind you. Entering the library was David, with a conflicted expression on his face. You didn’t appreciate the break but knew that you needed it, so you slid a bookmark into the book and closed it slowly.

“It’s hard not to - so many resources at my disposal,” You said with a grin. “To be honest, it’s hard not to get sidetracked.”

“I understand that,” David said, nodding. He came up behind you and looked at the title of the book that you had been reading. “Interesting, that one. You must remember your purpose however for being here. Other research can wait until you’ve finished.”

“You’re right,” You sighed, admitting defeat. “How are you today, David?”

“Tonight,” He corrected. “I was wondering if you would like to join me at an event tonight. It is rather fancy dress, but I’m sure we can find you something appropriate.”

“I didn’t know the Talamasca had fancy dress parties,” You said, snorting at the idea of the stuffy-looking librarians you had met dressed up in cocktail dresses. David shook his head, an interested smile on his face as he thought of the same thing.

“Not the Talamasca. The Vampire Lestat.”

-

This was a once in a lifetime offer, so of course you took it. The Talamasca had it’s connections to Lestat through the vampire Jessie, who had once been one of the researchers in the secret organization. David had promised to introduce the two of you, as well as Lestat. He was known to be a bit of a drama queen, so you made sure to dress up enough that he would have no issue with you. Velvet and lace, a choker to protect your neck, your hair styled to perfection. And a spritz of perfume to hopefully hide the smell of the human blood pumping through your veins.

“We won’t be the only humans there,” David said when he had come to pick you up, in equally gothic attire. It wasn’t all that odd to see him like this - the man was almost always dressed in black on a day to day basis. But he had worn his good glasses, which made you realize that he was trying to impress someone.

“You think that Marius will be there?” You questioned, stepping outside of your home and locked the door behind you.

“Well, there is always a chance,” David said, blushing as he was caught. “It’s going to be a grand affair, many vampires, many ... interesting ones.”

“Oh no, we’re going to be the most boring ones at the party,” You teased.

The man in glasses laughed as he escorted you to the car that was taking the two of you to the party. “You have no idea how right you are.”

You weren’t used to fancy parties. Sitting in the couch in your pajamas with a big book and Netflix playing in the background was more your speed. Or even having a few friends around with pizza and a good old game of Cards Against Humanity was the most rambunctious you became. So what you walked into was something that you didn’t know how to prepare for.

Everything was dark, which is what you had expected. The only lighting in the whole place were candelabra and a large chandelier with twinkling crystals catching the lights of the candles within, illuminating the area with a dull yellow light. “It’s beautiful,” You said, looking around at everything. There seemed to be a nature theme along the more macabre, like skulls with rose petals scattered around them, vines leading from the inner walls to the outer where a garden glowing with moonlight was adorned with a still pool, showing there was not even a breeze.

“Well, it is designed by Lestat. He’s got interesting taste,” David said, keeping close to you. The seats were made of velvet, and though most were red, some had animal print. The details on the chairs and couch were leather, which you felt with your hands as you sat down to catch your breath. A woman paler than the stars themselves came around with a tray with wineglasses, one of which you accepted after smelling it to be sure it was not blood.

“Right, so where is the mysterious rockstar?” You asked David, sipping on the red wine. You may not know much about wine, definitely not a connoisseur but this tasted delicious. It took a minute to realize that the sounds were the buzz of other conversations, not of David’s voice, and when you looked up at him, you saw him staring intently in another direction. You followed his eye line to see the man from the paintings, standing there in the flesh.

The vampire’s eyes flickered from David’s to yours, and then stayed on you. He had a glass in hand, and he raised it in a toast. Completely hypnotized by seeing this person who has been on your mind for months, you raised your own. David stepped forward, but a small clique of vampires crossed the room between he and Marius. Once their line had departed, Marius was nowhere to be seen, not even a shadow of where he had been. Completely gone.

“Have you met him before?” You asked David, since the both of you continued to stare at the empty space.

“Once. Months ago,” David said back, clearing his throat and finally looked away.

“I think you should introduce us.” You said, without really thinking, then stumbled to explain yourself. “It would be a good excuse to talk to him again, I mean.”

“Why would you need an excuse to talk to me?” A voice came from beside you. It was more accented than you had thought it would be. The short haired vampire that you and David had been staring at appeared by your side, with hardly a breeze to give evidence to his movements.

“Marius,” David breathed. “You’re here.”

“I was invited. Though the music - is not my taste.” The vampire looked straight at you. Quickly, but in a motion that seemed effortless, he took hold of your hand. It surprised you just how cold he was. This is the closest that you have been to a vampire since your horrible encounter as a child. “I am Marius. I do believe David has told you about me.”

“And shown me your portraits.” You said at David’s expense. It was worth it to see him start to turn pink, although it did worry you how many of the guests here turned to look at him when the blood rushed to his face. “I am y/n, pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Appreciate the night with me.” It came out more as an order than a request but you were more than happy to obey. With his hand still holding yours, the two of you left the party and went out to the grand courtyard, where the moon showed it’s full face. It was a perfect night, with not the slightest chill from the wind. Everything seemed so still, that a breath felt like you were desecrating the place. You kept your lips shut, not wanting to ruin anything with the sound of your breathing. It was very obvious that the vampire next to you was not even pretending to inhale or exhale.

“How are you finding our city?” You asked, unable to handle the stillness any longer. Marius may have eternity to stand around and enjoy the nights, but you had a very human schedule.

“It is very showy,” Marius said, surprising you with a smile. His fangs were slightly noticeable, but that was because you were looking for them. He was alive much too long to feel any sort of insecurity, and so when he caught you, he smiled wider, giving you a better view. “Do you want to feel them?”

“Pardon?” You asked, eyes wide. You caught your horror and laughed it off, hoping you didn’t offend. “I’m not the type who wants to live forever.”

“That is not what I meant,” Marius said, raising an eyebrow. “We are able to bite without turning. As a Talasmacan, I would thought you would know that.”

“Is it that obvious that I am ... one of them?” You asked. If you were to answer his offer, you weren’t sure of what you would say. A yes might stumble out, in a move to attempt to please him.

“Yes, and no,” He said, walking in a circle around you, taking you in from every angle. “I know you are because you came with David, but you are not like the rest of them. You do not seem to see me as a study subject, am I wrong?”

“No,” You said, sighing your relief. You did believe that the Talamsca was full of stuffy people who tended to look at the vampires, werewolves and unknowns of this world as beings, not as the humans that they once were. It was an honor to study around them, but not to be one of them. “You are not wrong. But I must ask, why do you taunt David like that? You know that you are-”

“His obsession?” Marius laughed. “I am well aware, he has been following my life for most of his.” He looked up towards the moonlight, which only showed off the beauty of his face. No painter had gotten him just right yet. There was something about his jawline, his smile, his eyes that they could not capture. “I am more interested in you than in David.”

“Why?” You asked, staring at him. “He knows much more about your vampire culture than I do.”

“Culture?” Marius laughed at the word you used. “No, no. It is not about that. You remind me of someone that I knew long ago, in the beginning of my vampire life. Or unlife, I should say. Someone that I had fallen in love with before my heart had completely turned dark.”

“You still have hearts?” You asked, shocked, then blushed at your interruption. “I’m sorry, please, continue.”

“If we did not have hearts, what would the hunters put their stakes through?” Marius asked with a grin, like it was a funny joke. You laughed nervously, hoping you didn’t offend. “You look exactly like them. You smell like them. I was drawn to you. I feel as if...”

“As if what?” You asked, breath caught in your throat.

“As if I may have another chance.”

“Marius-” The way that he looked at you then, under that moonlight, made you stop speaking for a moment. It was like you had forgotten every word that you knew, save for his name. His eyes - they sparkled with such a longing that it took your breath away. But you eventually found it, swallowed, and continued. “You know that I’m not that person, right?” You questioned.

“I know,” Marius smiled. “But that does not mean that I will not love you.”