#Or to stand there do nothing about the situation (like he did during the cabaret break in)

[acaptainbyanyothername]

Even at his best with a goal in mind, Phineas still has a moment of indecision and weakness—except this time, Spahr is able to break through his own crippling indecision to break the cycle and finally be there for him. They’ve come full circle

[stainandscribble]

Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu

 Red Mill under the Blue Sky

Pairing: Byun Baekhyun/Reader (female)

Genre: Moulin Rouge; rich!Baekhyun; 1920′s!Baekhyun; angst; fluff

Warning: mention of mature situations ;) 

Summary: Baekhyun never thought he would find love through the infamous Moulin Rouge, or that it would be the one place he could love you freely without the judging eyes of the upper classes. Love is not easy in 1920s Paris, but is love easy anywhere? There is only one thing you know, you love Baekhyun hopelessly and irrevocably, and he loves you just the same.

A/N: requested by the lovely, sweetest @bbyunz​, based on moulin rouge and Baekhyun’s solo Bungee. I hope I fulfilled your expectations. 

Word Count: 4154

In the Jardin de Paris, at the bottom of the hill at Montmartre neighbourhood, a bright red mill stood out in between the other buildings, demanding attention with its vibrant colour and eccentric exterior. Above the entrance to the garish establishment, large metal letters spelt out its name, Moulin Rouge. The Red Mill, for it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Byun didn’t doubt that was the intention of its owners. Moulin Rouge had become infamous in Paris, and Baekhyun didn’t doubt that was also the case for the rest of France too. The bright scarlet façade clashed with the crisp blue of the sky above it, making the building stand out even more during clear days like today. Looking at the red mill, Baekhyun would not have guessed that this was the building the city of love called The Bastion of Pleasures. It didn’t look pleasing to the eye, but it was a novelty, and it was the mill at the entrance that was one of the reasons for the establishment’s notoriety. That, and the women employed in the cabaret.

Young Monsieur Byun, that was what people called Byun Baekhyun, heir to an orient trading business and an expert in oriental imports. He had been sent to France by his father a year short of attending university to learn the French language and now, years later he was attending the prestigious Sorbonne, studying for a degree in Orientalism. He had become an expert to the Parisian socialites, helping them choose authentic China and silk fabrics, among many other goods, all from his family's import business of course.

But behind the posh and rich heir, he had become fascinated by the revolution, a movement started in the middle of the last century, a step towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of Joseon.

That was how he ended up at the cabaret Moulin Rouge. And Baekhyun loved it. The thrill of doing something that in his own country would be uncalled for was exhilarating. Some days, he wished he was an artist or a poet. It was not that he could do neither, of course, he was excellent at both thanks to his extensive education. Yet, he wished sometimes that he could live off of the fortune he had and do as he wished, writing poetry, painting watercolours on rice paper and attending the cabaret.

Most importantly, in those senseless daydreams, he could love you freely.

You had met when he had come to consult you about some of the costumes you were making for a Moulin Rouge play. The settings were meant to be inspired by the Orient, it was meant to be exciting, exotic and beautiful all at the same time, and you needed help with the designs. As an orientalist, Young Monsieur Byun had visited you in your seamstress room. He was in awe of the detail you had put into the costumes and was glad to help you perfect the designs. Weeks later, he was back in your workrooms, inspecting the finished product, as well as the set of the music hall stage. Your rooms were not far from the Moulin Rouge, and so on his way back he visited you and your fellow seamstresses. He had liked your costumes and had given a good word on your behalf to the owners.

That was how you met and then proceeded to keep on meeting, each one ending with you smiling a bit brighter, his smile cheekier and cheekier.

----- 

Monsieur Byun often thought that it would have been easy; falling in love with one of the dancers. However, Monsieur Byun was not a man who took the easy way. He had remained unmoved by the dancers’ charm, flirtatious nature and womanly shape. He was an orientalist, coming to Paris from Joseon, and he had no desire for the boisterous women of the cabaret, notorious for their cancan.

Instead, he had taken the hard way. He fell in love with you.

It was a hopeless love. Hopeless in more than one way; because not only had he fallen for you head over heels, irrevocably and explicitly, but also because there was no future in which he could continue to do so. Your love was fleeting, not because the feelings disappeared, but because in this world, neither in France nor Joseon, could you love each other freely. It was a secret romance. Something forbidden.

A hopeless love.

You had always known it would not last, but nothing lasts and so you loved him the same way he loved you.

A mere seamstress could never marry him. He was classes above you, not to mention that he had no doubts his father had already chosen a merchant's daughter for him, one that was from Joseon, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight though, he could spend in your arms, naked and wrapped in the soft sheets of his bed with you listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

It was a peaceful night. He had sneaked you into one of his smaller residences, where no servants could spy on the two of you. You had drunk dry red wine and enjoyed a baguette along with some camembert and red grapes. It had been a simple meal by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have wanted tonight. 

In the middle of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its glory, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their clothes, you had been kept busy by the constant repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by the upper and middle-class women. You didn’t complain. it was good work, and it was always extra money- something you could never have too much of. 

Baekhyun did all the complaining for you, about how you didn’t have time for him, about how he was feeling neglected; about how you were too pretty to spend the days in a workroom rather than in the garden outside, basking in the sun and undoubtedly keeping him company.  

Finally, your work was done, and you had decided to take the day off and now, at the end of the day spent in Baekhyun’s arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his light breathing felt like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm against yours. The body heat and the warm night had made it impossible to sleep under a duvet, and so you had opted for sleeping under a thin linen sheet. 

“Mon plus cher amour,” He had whispered into the air, my dearest love, he called you. and through the thin veil of sleep, you had responded to his calling, turning in his arms so that you could face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the soft touch sending shivers down Baekhyun’s spine.

“Mon cherie?” You had asked, planting a cheeky kiss on his pouty lips.

“I do not wish to live without you.” He spoke, eyes gazing into yours with such tenderness you were unsure a mortal man could be filled with this much love. Surely, such deep feeling was reserved for a thing more holy than you; for women whose beauty lived on as legend, a kind of beauty captured by poems and songs and prayers. Not you; mortal, fragile, ordinary.

“Don’t say such things.” You spoke, the softness in your voice mimicking the tenderness in Baekhyun’s eyes. His breath hitched, and you could feel the rattling of his heart against your chest, its steady beat matching the rhythm of your own heart.

“They make me love you more.” You whispered, and your lover smiled at your words, his long fingers moving to grab your hand gently, before he brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly, his lips silky like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and robust. His deep brown eyes didn’t leave yours for a second.

Hopelessly, you loved him.

------

The days without him came and went, and finally, after all work was complete, Baekhyun had decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sowing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labours, and you had a feeling it would be sweet. 

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was packed with patrons, their cacophonous chatter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, somewhere deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, sounded around the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganised but joyous. You sat at a table for two, he dressed in a fine black suit, you in your best dress, your hair pinned up in a fashionable style you have seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before you left the house, you could barely believe the woman in the reflection staring back at you was yourself. You wondered if Baekhyun had always though you this beautiful.

“You are exquisite. Never forget that, mon amour.” He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light glowing golden against his skin, making the curve of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more tempting. Your heart skipped a beat against your will. Soon after, the flock went silent, and you were left only with the melody of the orchestra, as the dancers entered the stage. Baekhyun sat in his chair, completely at ease as he sipped on champagne.

The show was exquisite, but no one expected anything less from the great Moulin Rouge. The dancers moved about on the stage in practised harmony. even their more chaotic routines were executed with utter grace and precision. Some dresses were shorter than others, some more scandalous. you had spared no skill stitching in feathers and sequins. Each costume was tailored, each thread perfectly in place, ever colour carefully selected.

“Something like this would never be allowed where I’m from.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear. Even without looking at him, you could feel that his eyes fell on the dancers and his lips turned into a smirk against your ears. You knew he was not speaking just about the cabaret.

“I’m glad it is allowed here.” He whispered when you didn’t respond, and a pleasant shiver went down your spine.

“They look pretty.” You said instead, eyes never leaving the stage. The dancers' span, their skirts twirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience could not stop their noises of awe as they span.

“The dancers?” Baekhyun asked, taking another sip from his flute.

“Pretty women look good in pretty clothing.” You answered him with a nod, a smile playing on your lips when another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience.

“Are those your dresses?” Baekhyun smiled, eyes shining playfully as he carefully took in the colourful costumes, the plumes of feathers, the embroidery on the bodices and down the skirts.

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to make the night even more enjoyable.

“Why are you staring at me?” You asked after a while, the feeling of Baekhyun’s deep brown eyes staring at you had become unnerving as the night went on, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

“I can’t help it. You are like the moon.” He smiled, head tilting to look at you from a different angle.

“Drawing me to you.” He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to hold your one, his long fingers threading through yours.

You remained like that until the end of the show.

When the night was over, and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a playful smile graced his lips, his eyes light with mischief.

“We went to the bastion of pleasures, and yet my biggest pleasure was watching you.” He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, enjoying the blush that flushed your cheeks, both because of the champagne and because of him.

----

Another week passed, and you were once again in his chambers, lying among the soft sheets with a book in your hands as Baekhyun dressed. He was wearing a similar suit to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge; he had changed the jacket to one more appropriate to dinner. His hair was combed back away from his face, and you admired his straight eyebrows and dark lashes.

“How do I look?” He asked, tying a black bowtie in front of the mirror hanging above his dresser.

“Handsome as always.” You told him glancing at his slim silhouette over your book.

“You will be fine, Monsieur Byun.” You said when he turned around and sent him a wink.

“Whatever you say, Mademoiselle.” He smiled, walking over to the bed to bend down. In a flash, his plush lips were on yours, and you melted into the kiss.

Once he broke away to slip into his jacket, he glanced back at you, eyes filled with worry. You could tell there was tension in his shoulders and in the clench of his jaw.

“Enjoy yourself.” You smiled at him, trying to encourage him. Whatever was on his mind was weighing on him a lot. Enough to make him hesitant to tell you about it. It was an unusual occurrence.

“It’s just another business get together. I’m advising teapot purchases today.” He spoke, seemingly talking to himself, and you go up from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso as you proceeded to stare into his eyes. Their warm brown reminded you of fresh morning coffee and chocolate.

“Joseon ceramics have become popular among those rich enough to import them.” He spoke, his arms coming to wrap around your shoulders. Baekhyun buried his face in your hair, and you allowed him the silent moment of peace. He held you tightly against him, and you listened to his heart, sure and steady; just like him.

“Sell a lot of teapots then, mon cherie.” You told him, and he released you, giving you one last farewell kiss.

“Don’t miss me too much, mon plus cher amour.” He called out, making his way out of the room, and you could not help but smile at his retreating figure.

-----  

The dinner was a dull affair. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and loved to gossip, as they always did. Usually, Baekhyun had stayed clear of the ladies gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the gentlemen, but tonight he had found himself in the middle of the gossip. Not because he was particularly interested, but because he was the subject of it.

Standing around the room, numerous gentlemen conversed, some women also preferred to stay clear of the host’s wife, considering she was a ruthless gossip and could run her mouth like no other.  Unfortunately, Baekhyun was making his way to his business partner, Monsieur Park, when he heard the conversation.

The group sat on plush sofas, a small hardwood mahogany coffee table sat in the middle, home to a fine tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus flowers painted in red for decoration. It was one of the models they carried last summer. Ironically, it was not a higher-end set.

“I heard he took his mistress to the cabaret last week. I wonder who she is.” One of the ladies spoke, her shrill voice piercing his eardrums. From her dress, Baekhyun could tell she was one of your clients. A similar dress, although green, rather than the acrid salmon colour this woman was wearing, was displayed in your shop window. He could recognise your handiwork anywhere now.

“Cannot be high standing that is certain.” Another woman butted in, and Baekhyun wanted to stop listening. Yet, somewhere deep inside, morbid curiosity kept him still, listening to those women insult you, his blood boiling under his skin.

“A Frenchwoman and a man from Joseon. In public!” The woman in salmon had screeched, and Baekhyun had to stop himself from cursing.

“How are you, ladies?” He put on a smile instead, walking straight into the women’s conversation, halting their gossip.

“I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame.” He turned to look at an older woman, sitting between the two who were talking about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into an upstanding family, I must make sure she brings only the best to her new home.” She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically upward, as she did her best to look at him with disdain.

“I hope you will be satisfied with the quality of our goods.” He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile still present on his lips, as he had no doubt anger peaked through his eyes. You always said you could tell he was angry when you looked into his eyes. He would have said something more, but Chanyeol had come to his aid, his jovial spirit lighting the mood surrounding the women.

“Ah, Monsieur Byun, I was looking for you.” He spoke, his deep voice filled with happiness as he did his best to steer Baekhyun away.

He took him off to the side, passing the shorter man a glass of scotch. Chanyeol’s large frame towered over him, shielding him from the view of the gossips.  His large hand came to clasp Baekhyun’s shoulder, squeezing him in reassurance.

“Young men are young men no matter where they come from. Do not listen to old gossips.” Chanyeol’s deep voice became a murmur, and Baekhyun had though his friend sounded more as if he was growling rather than speaking

“Thank you Chanyeol.” He muttered, drinking the scotch in gulps, too frustrated to sip the liquid. He found the burn of alcohol a good distraction.

“Better to love one woman than hate one woman.” His friend spoke, his equally brown eyes soft when they looked down on him.

“Any news from my father?” Baekhyun asked, changing the topic from one unpleasant thing to another.

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Chanyeol reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

“If he knew,” Baekhyun spoke, his heart beating frantically against his chest, making him dizzy before Chanyeol interrupted.

“You would be on a ship back by now, and that merchant’s daughter would be waiting for you at the docks.” He finished for him, drinking the rest of his scotch in one gulp, before going to refill their glasses.

 As the evening progressed, Baekhyun received more and more requests for imported ceramics. The requests ranged from tea sets to plates and bowls. By the time the dinner finished, his notebook was filled with names and catalogue numbers.

When Baekhyun returned to his home, he had discarded his coat and untied his bowtie. A few buttons of his white shirt were now undone, revealing his golden collarbone. He sat on the sofa of his living room sipping on more scotch from a crystal glass. You had discarded the book when he arrived and chose to sit beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, more luxurious than you would ever be able to afford. You knew he had it custom made.

Apart from a greeting and a few quick kisses, Baekhyun had stayed silent. Despite the alcohol he consumed, the stress you have seen on his frame had not lessened. You watched from the corner of your eye as his jaw clenched and relaxed.

“Are you ready to tell me now?” You asked him, turning his chin towards you. His eyes immediately fell to your lips, before looking up into your eyes. He had always thought they looked like sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and unexplored. They hid your heart, and so they shone like precious stones, reflected light like the stormy waters of the sea. Deep, so deep he lost himself in them and found himself in them too.

“I’m worried about my father.” He murmured, his angelic voice broke, heavy with uncertainty.

“We had known about your father from the beginning. We knew how this would end before it begun.” You told him, pressing your palm against his cheek, allowing Baekhyun to lean into your touch, basking at how warm he felt against you.

“What if I don’t want this to end?” He asked, and this time, you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises.

You pressed your other palm to his cheek, and you kissed him. Passionately and without inhibition. Whether the ending was coming, or if it was already here didn’t matter. You loved him. You loved him hopelessly.

Baekhyun turned violet under your touch. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips with bruising force to yours, and when you grabbed at him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something that reminded him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his.

-----  

Days passed in colourful monotone. You woke up in his bed, went to work and attended Moulin Rouge in the evening. Each evening was spectacular; each evening was the same. Moulin Rouge had become a place you had grown fond of. There, Baekhyun could sit beside you in public, show you off as a lover. Not many people paid attention in Montmartre, too focused on the idea of freedom and liberty. You shared their desires, shared the hope that one day the world would be easier to live in. You and Baekhyun fit in. The Bastion of Pleasures was an easy place to be in.

After one of the shows, when you had finally gone back home to rest, an unexpected guest made his appearance.

Chanyeol had come in one evening, just as Baekhyun rested in your lap, your voice soothing him to sleep. Chanyeol had come in with a letter. You could tell it was from Baekhyun’s father. The characters were unfamiliar, rendering you illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents.

“Not good.” Baekhyun had risen from your lap, and as he read over the letter, he paced. Chanyeol had sat down beside you, his figure looming over you. You were not uncomfortable, resting in his shadow was a familiar feeling by now, but the expression on both of the men’s faces was making you uneasy.

“By the end of the following year, he wants you to return.” Chanyeol told them. His deep voice rumbled through the room, and his warm brown eyes looked down at you, and them at Baekhyun with such sorrow, you couldn’t make out who was more upset at the news.

“I understand.” Baekhyun stopped pacing and called out for one of his help to bring them some cognac.

“To one more year.” He toasted once the alcohol was poured into crystal glasses and handed to the three of them.

With a cheeky smile, you raised your glass, toasting with him. Reluctantly, and with a withered smile, Chanyeol raised his glass, the amber liquid glistening in the dim light, before taking a swig.

------

That night, you lay wrapped in Baekhyun’s arms, a cool breeze wafted through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you gazed up at your lover.

“Let us leave. Run away.” Baekhyun muttered, his eyes shining in the darkness of his room, more serious than you ever saw him.

“And go where?” You asked, entertaining the idea.

“Anywhere my father doesn’t find us.” He told you, and you pressed closer to him, further into the security if his arms.

“Italy?” You asked, thinking of places too far away for the Byun business to chase you down to.

“Britain?”

“French Indochina?” You kissed him, a small smile playing on your lips.

“I don’t care where we go, I’ll love you anywhere.” He spoke, his voice soft, and now more than any other night, you knew he loved you.

Baekhyun had been ready to leave everything to be with you where his father could not interfere, and you were ready to leave with him.

“Let's go anywhere then.” You conceded, pressing a kiss to his lips, whispering words of love into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, steady and reassuring beside you, and despite the chill of the air, you were warm.

Love was hopeless sometimes, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 15

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual mentions

A/N:  hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

    - I think we suffer from the same thing, then … Sir. - her lashes fluttered slowly and Sebastian wondered if time had stopped moving and she was perhaps the only person who held that control.

    - Fuck it. - his hands flew to the sides of her face, grabbing her close to him so he could connect his lips to hers. Y/N fell down onto he couch, losing balance at the sheer veracity of the kiss. He swiftly turned her around so she was laying on top of his chest. The kiss seemed endless and every time it felt like it ended, he would kiss her again some longer some shorter. Her hands slid up and down his blazer, stopping at the top so she could pull it off him and throw it somewhere in the living room.

As his hands climbed up her torso, reaching the bottom of her sweatshirt until the lift binged. Y/N’s heart stopped as she pushed him off her, eyes widening as she saw Gwen walk into the entrance followed by her newer bed acquisition. The heiress paid barely any attention to the two of them, instead grabbing her bag from the hook. 

     - Try to be back by 5, we have that cabaret meeting, remember? - Sebastian spoke up before Gwen could return to the lift. 

     - I’ve already told you that I won’t be caught dead in a cabaret. - she rolled her eyes, lowering her dark sunglasses to the bridge of her nose. - Ask Y/N to go, she probably has nothing to do. 

     - It’s not Y/N’s job to ...

     - It’s okay. - Y/N softly placed her hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, trying to diffuse the fight that was surely about to begin if he decided to speak back to Gwen. She guessed he didn’t know to what extent she always got what she wanted and so, she thought that maybe her long and thorough knowledge in avoiding blow outs with Gwen could help him. However, Sebastian calmed down due to her soft touch and not because she decided to avoid a fight. She seemed to have that effect on him. - I’ll just fill in for Gwen, I have the free night. 

    - Are we done? - she whined like a five year old before jumping back into the lift once Sebastian dismissed the situation. Once the lift doors closed and the arrows above blinked the down, Sebastian wrapped his hands around Y/N’s waist effectively pulling her from the couch onto his lap. 

    - Where were we? - he questioned, pushing the hair away from her face that had inevitably moved out of place during the heavy make out. Her cheeks heated up as she moved her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, inhaling the smell of bergamot and pepper of his cologne. Sebastian always seemed to smell good in an intoxicating way that made her want to wrap her whole being around the scent. - Cuddling works too. 

   - We can’t do this. You know we can’t do this. - there was really not much force or containment left in Y/N and characters she used to loathe for their infidelity suddenly became sympathetic in her mind. Suddenly Y/N understood Anna, Cecilia, Constance and their passions for it seemed that once your heart made a decision, your mind couldn’t really argue it. So there she was now, out of arguments, out of reasons not to be in his arms, wrapped in his aura. She had lost all the reasons. Why should she be allowed to give into her passions when Gwen herself constantly did despite her impending marriage? Why should Y/N always be in the right? Was there even something known as right or wrong or was everything shades of greyness? - One of us must have self control.

  - Well, angel ... I hope you’re not expecting me to be the prudent one because I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. - Y/N pulled slightly back to look at his eyes. Eyes couldn’t lie as they were the window to the soul and the soul is too pure to be filled with lies. His eyes were softened, looking at her as if he had stated the most mundane fact in the whole entire universe, as if he had told her it was rainy outside, no big deal. - Besides, what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. 

   - Maybe you’re right. Maybe we ...

   - Mr Stan? - they were removed off their daizy daydream by a voice getting closer and closer. Yet, this time, none of them were fast enough or caring enough to separate from each other and as such Amelia walked in to her employer sat against the couch with one of his employees on his lap. Y/N cowered under her gaze, swearing mentally as Sebastian got up. - Your one o’clock meeting is here. 

   - Thank you, Amelia. - he cleared his throat before turning his head ever so slightly to look at Y/N. - I’ll see you tonight, angel. 

The handmaid nodded, bitting her lip as he left before her gaze shifted to Amelia who had a slightly hidden grin in her face, something she couldn’t exactly read. Was she gonna tell Gwen about the situation she had found? Was she gonna lecture her that the position was not something she should’ve been in with a married man? 

   - I must say, Miss Y/N, you’re quite the little box of surprises. 

   - Please don’t tell Gwen. - she rushed after her into the kitchen. - I know it’s wrong but I ... I really tried. 

   - Miss Y/N, it’s not up to me to judge your choices. Besides, I’ve always thought Mr. Stan needed a softer influence to get away from whatever manners his father taught him. 

   - But it’s wrong ... I’m such a bad person. - Y/N plopped down on one of the high chairs. - How would Gwen feel if she knew?

   - Well, how would you feel if it was someone else he was engaged to and not Miss Gwen? - Y/N rubbed her neck at the question. Was she only feeling bad because she knew Gwen ever since they were children? Would she have jumped into the affair without a thought? Was she that bad of a person. - People aren’t good or bad, Miss Y/N. No one is purely good and no one is purely bad.

   - I can’t explain an affair. Why would I do this? Her family raised me and could possibly kill me. How do I thank them? I kiss her husband to be in her home. Oh god, I’m a home wrecker ...

   - Now, now, Miss Y/N. You can’t be a home wrecker if those two never really wanted to be in a relationship. You can’t destroy something that isn’t there. 

Even with that Y/N spent the rest of the day wallowing in pity over feeling rather attracted to the mob boss. How could she not feel attracted to him? Not only did he appeal to her most primitive part but also to her modern side. Being next to him meant she was constantly protected, if no one dared to shot at him no one would shot at her. On the other side, he was absolutely stunning, well built and probably the nicest man she had ever met. True, she didn’t exactly know his mob persona but she didn’t exactly knew most of other mobsters business persona. 

She tried to busy her mind by considering what to wear to a cabaret. In the first place, she didn’t even knew that cabarets existed anymore and the only place she had ever heard about a cabaret had been the musical cabaret. What did people even wore to a cabaret? With that thought in mind she opened her wardrobe looked at the various dresses Gwen had handed out to her over the years. What was suitable to wear in a cabaret even? Did you dress like if you went to a nightclub? Maybe she should dress classically. Classic dresses were the most she had on her wardrobe due to Gwen having quite a few for cocktail parties and other high class gatherings but Y/N had always had a favourite one. It was an Elia Saab dress Gwen had gotten from one of her father’s associates. It was made of a short white sheer fabric which had been embroided with white flowers. It had always been one of Y/N’s favourites growing up as it reminded her of something a princess would wear, it was magical.

She grabbed the hanger of her wardrobe, pacing over to the bigger mirror with it. Once her reflection was seen in the mirror, she placed the hanger over her shoulder, playing with the fabric as she watched it in the mirror. It looked beautiful and the mere sight of it made her forget she was about to attend a business event with the man she was absolutely smitten with.

The time seemed to speed up faster and faster as Y/N gotten ready and before she knew it, it was time to go to the cabaret. Did she know what to expect? No. Was she nervous? Yes, but not entirely for the reason you’d expect her to be. She closed the door of her bedroom, face turned to the door.

   - You better not be trying to run away. - she moved her gaze from the door, noticing Sebastian at the end of the hallway. - Because it would be a pity not to show up to that meeting without such a little pretty thing like you on my arm. 

   - Am I your accessory now? 

   - Angel, anyone standing next to your is the accessory, not the other way around.

Sebastian had always believed Y/N was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever come to see in his whole life but the dress and jewellery always took her to a level that the mob boss didn’t think humanly possible. If he said he wasn’t rather prideful of parading her around as they walked into one of the cabarets he’d inherit from his father, he’d be lying. She still did not understand why out of all places he and his associates decided to have a meeting in a cabaret.

She was quickly introduced to most people before being sat by Sebastian’s left, a place that was usually reserved for either the wife or partner of a mob boss. Y/N had been used to setting the table back at the Forrests and that was something that had gotten engrained in her mind as Mr. Forrest took it particularly personal on keeping sitting etiquette. She wondered if Sebastian cared about it. Y/N soon realised that the meeting was about to become private as some of the associates got up. 

  - Stay here. - he mumbled against her ear. - I better not hear about you wandering around. 

  - Or what? - Sebastian was a controlling man and he was certain that Y/N’s natural born curiosity was something hard to keep in control. However, this was a mob spot and he didn’t want her wandering around. 

  - I’ll spank you, angel.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld​ @sarge-barnes-sir @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying

[bad-rper]

The Hostess

The capital's shadow gradually distanced with each heavy boot falling into the dusted cobblestone path. The bustling murmur of Trade District was barely a whisper beneath the trees. Now only the chirping of wildlife and the whistle of breeze filled his ears. Still, no matter how far he walked, the words stuck to Gladeriel's mind.

Every day the comments would get more blatant, the actions careless. It was normalizing for everyone but himself. As if his own mother had been forgotten from this world, erased from the thoughts of all to only still live in his mind. No, that wasn't quite right. To them, she had never died at all; never existed in the first place to ever leave this world. The blade on his back, the knife in his pocket, he himself--all might as well be forged by a nameless smith.

But why did he entertain this? He carried the cigars. He carried the dagger. He carried her. Yet, when he stepped out that store, all mention of her perished. Was this a front, a strong face for the public? Or were these remnants a quiet lie to his own children? Was this what two years after thousands could really do?

But, to Gladeriel, it was barely over a month.

The worn leather pack over his shoulder clinked and rustled with its bare necessities. This was likely no final parting; after all, he promised her to say goodbye if he did. Still, for now, he could not stomach another vapid disregard or ignorant slight. Would never want to disrupt Saeteth Duskthorn's quiet life.

Though he had but one main road to follow, he still felt an unnatural pull to that inn coming into view. The fluttering in his chest rose again and his stomach writhed. The other worm burrowing through his conscience of late: that hostess. He knew she was in there. And he was prepared this time.

'Hostess'. Not a great approximation to the kaldorei term but close enough as Common would allow. More-so a practice in the days of castes and luxury, Gladeriel still came across a few lounges or cabarets strewn about Kalimdor even prior to the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Hardly did he participate unless he was being treated by another. After all, a hostess only offers conversation and attention for your coin purse. 'A whore without the point,' as he would tell him.

That is what made these sensations so suspect. Above anyone else, Gladeriel knew better than to fall for a cabaret girl. Much less one he spent only a few passing sentences with. There was something more to this woman. If she was even a person.

The tavern floor was patronless as usual--still recovering from the former poor management if the barkeep was to be believed. That very man, K, stood behind his charge, polishing a glass meticulously as usual. The men exchanged a silent nod. Until he entered his sphere, the eccentric bar tender would not further respond to his presence.

"Oh, hey, you're back!" the chipper voice greeted Glade from his right. Whether due to his previously high-strung emotions or the atmosphere of the room, Gladeriel found his dry mouth exceedingly hard to swallow. "Mm," he grunted in acknowledgement. The bright smile plumping soft cheeks beaming back at him did break a smirk onto his own face--though it could still be chalked up to nervousness. Regardless, he would have to keep the enthusiasm up if he was to get anywhere. Exceptionally grumpy patrons were usually a red flag to these girls, even if they were being paid.

"Lara, right?" he asked, removing the greatsword from his back and leaning it against the overlooking banister.

"Yes! You remembered!" she grew giddier the more he approached her seat. Her spot was nestled into the corner amongst the other seats, allowing her to entertain multiple guests at a time, should she need. Her chair, in particular, was lavished with cushions, ribbons, and satin. The others were made of comfortable wood, at least. "Sooo... Here for fun?"

It was the nicest way to ask if he was intent on paying for her time. In response, he began to dig through a pocket of the satchel for a 'gift'. For these services, one rarely pays with literal coin. Drinks and items are bought from the house and the servicer gets a cut of the earnings. Outside gifts are welcomed but the time they buy is up to the host's discretion.

What Gladeriel pulled from the pocket had been swiped from his father's place. He could place no sentimental value to it so he hardly cared if his dad did. A necklace of sorts with a crystalline charm dangling from a thin, silver chain. The charm had scintillating, blue liquid within and exuberated warmth. To any kaldorei, it was very apparent that these were blessed moonwell waters. Silver eyes wide, Lara gasped at the production of the charm. "Is this for me?" she asked astonished behind her gloved fingers, "It's so pretty!"

Gladeriel nodded, silently indicating for her to dip her slender neck so that he may fasten it. He struggled to keep his hands steady, that blade burning in his pocket. The moment the bauble touched the bare square on her chest, there was no telling what would happen. After what seemed minutes of clasping the chain around her, he at last pulled his hands back.

Intently staring upon the charm, he watched as she twiddled the delicate thing happily between her fingers, admiring its beauty. "This is so sweet!" she exclaimed, though deaf to him, "Thank you!" His eyes twitched further open as she gently let it down onto her clavicle. And...

Nothing. Idly, it twisted back and forth, illuminating her tan skin blue about it. Even if the thin glass was that much of a container, Glade had rubbed droplets of the vassal along its chain prior. A typical demon or other holy-avoidant would have some adverse reaction, usually including burning. Yet, the situation still remained dubious. Even if she was not a manner of alluring demon, she could still be a malicious mesmer.

As she prattled on about how special this was--despite it being nothing to either of them--she pulled out a small hand mirror and turned from Glade's view. This was his opportunity for his second test. Reaching into the bag again, he grabbed a small trinket.

What seemed to be a tiny bar inset with crystals was much more useful than its size. The bar itself was made of thorium, enchanted to draw in magical energies. The gems themselves were empty mana crystals. In the presence of mid-to-high arcane or fel levels, the crystals would fill and illuminate.

As of right now, they were dull. At times, due to the subtle work of the enchantment, one would have to get the detector close to the source to divine any reaction.Yet, as he peered into his hand, drawing it closer and closer to the hostess, not even a faint twinkle came from within. Perhaps inert? It had been some time since Glacies crafted it for him.

"There's a 'no touching' policy, honey," came a soft chiding. Glade nearly shot up at the sudden stroke to his hand. Having been so focused on the crystals, he barely noticed how close his fist had gotten to the hostess' bare leg, peeking from the slit of her skirt and winding far to the floor.

With a quick shake of his head, Glade began to pull his arm away. Before he could make it to the bag's pocket again, he felt the velour softly grasp onto his wrist. Their gaze met before he had time to make any sort of excuse. "But..." her eyelids lowered, glancing off bashfully, "I could ease that a little. For you." Suddenly, between the cracks in his fingers, Gladeriel noticed a light aglow.

"How about a glass," the manifested maître d'-slash-bartender told them, rather than asked.

There was no surprise that K was some manner of arcanist, judging from the crystals' lavender glow as opposed to green. After all, it was during Glade's first stay here that he managed to 'poof' away the kaldorei's inebriation. Whether that was a manner of enchantment in the first place, anyways. Regaining his arm and composure, Glade sat upright and tucked the trinket away, watching the glasses that were about to be distributed to the two with no input regarded from either one.

What was to his surprise is that there was no long exposition on the origin or creation of the drinks. Without word, he simply set them on the table and proceeded to produce yet another cup from the nothingness behind him to begin cleaning. Two whisky glasses, sloshing around with some amber liquid. It looked astonishingly like a normal liquor. Glade dipped his head in appreciation as he took his own cup, glancing to Lara to witness her bringing her own to her lips. He tilted it...

And tilted it.

The glass was practically tipped upside-down over his tongue before he noticed there was no actual spirits inside.

"I said I would give you glasses. Not drinks. Simple glass hollowed around the rim and filled with liquid. Looks like the real thing, doesn't it?" K began his ramblings, "It's not. Not this time. False. Fiction. A fabrication. Totally made up. You can drink all you’d like but you won't get a drop. It will always stay empty. And so will you." Glade lifted his head, expecting to meet eyes with the proprietor, glaring at him for his perceived infraction. Instead, that stare was upon the hostess herself.

"That's a dirty trick, K!" the hostess pouted, setting the glass back with a huff. The outsider watched on as the two continued to exchange their stare, as if transmitting messages unseen. Finally, K walked off and Lara stood in unison, her resting a hand on Glade's shoulder.

"Looks like my shift's over," she lamented, pushing her full lower lip outwards, "Next time you come in, drinks are on me, okay?"

Despite the sweet suggestion from between her smiling lips, it was her hanging silver gaze from her full risen height that brought rise in Gladeriel. The sudden rush of blood. The tingling across his chest. The inexplicable shortness of words and breath. "Y-yeah..." the words toppled from his mouth in the way his gelatin legs would had he been standing.

Stretching her smile thin, the tall woman bent over to tag the man's cheek with her painted lips. They felt cold against his heated face. The heels clicked to the distance, him left sitting paralyzed with the teal frozen seal on his cheekbone. These sensations were not instilled by infatuation or desire. Love or lust.

It was fear.

He would be sleeping in Lakeshire that night.

[natalie-hemstock-project-one]

Critical And Contextual Awareness

Your second project is based off the theme of identity. Your first task is to initiate some research to inform your critical and contextual awareness.

Identity? Identity is where have different types of identity for different things, such as: social identity, ethnoliguistic (language) identity, ethnic identity, cultural identity, LGTBQ+ identity, gender identity and human identity.

How do artists and photographers often explore the characteristics that determine our personal and social identity? Artists and photographers explore identity into their work by including the different aspects that make up those different types of identity and then it is up to the viewer to decide what identity the artist or the viewer is trying to put across; such as social or personal identity. With that, once the viewer has picked out the certain characteristics of the two different identities they then can make the judgment on whether its social or personal.

What is personal identity? Personal identity is something that develops over time as a person grows and learns more about the world. Alongside that, as the person grows that person also keeps the identity they have grown into; as they may have been given that identity when they were born (like their name; which in some cases may change if that person no longer thinks that name fits who that person is anymore, or their eye colour) and things that they grow into (like the TV shows they watch, the music they listen to or the people they talk to) all of these; and many other things, all add up to make someone’s personal identity.

How do identify yourself culturally?  I identify myself as a non religious, socially awkward, white British female.

What situations would you need to prove your legal identity? The situations that you would need to prove yourself is when you are buying alcohol and you don’t look over the age of 18; so the cashier knows that you are legally allowed to buy the alcohol., when you are catching a flight and you have to go through security; so the guards know who you are and not somebody trying to sneak in without a ticket, when you are at the hospital; so the doctors and nurses can see your medical history and update it or when you are at a hotel that you have booked; so that the receptionist can put you through to the correct room.

Research Task

Claude Cahun:

Composition

1. Identify and describe relevant Formal Elements (Line, shape, form, texture, colour, light etc.) 

This photographer; Clade Cahun, used diagonal lines on the hat of the subject that lead the eyes all over the subject’s head; so the viewer is left wondering if the subject has much hair under the hat or is it just part of the costume. Also, in this photograph there is the rule of three with three small balls on the coming off the subject’s hat, leading the viewer down to the rest of the photograph. Alongside that, there is also the use of contrast as the photograph is in black and white; which helps the subject to stand out more.

Meaning

1. What is the image communicating?

The photograph is communicating the fact that there are people out there who hated the all of the thongs that the subject was doing and the subject is expressing through their face that they have had enough of the sort of things that the haters are doing to the subject and others like them, but the subject and others like the subject are going to try to carry on resisting all of the things that the opposes are doing to them.

2. What ideas/issues are being explored or expressed?

The ideas/issues that are being explored and expressed are the facts that the subject is not happy with what is happening in the world because they may be being told that they want an equal society; but then they are being oppressed because they are different from everybody else, since they like doing other things and want society to move forward and except new things so other people like the subject can know that they are excepted in society. However, because of the time and who was in power at the time, the things that the subject wants to change isn’t going to happen anytime soon because they wanted to keep things in the ‘traditional’ way of life.

Context

1. What made the work important?

The subject’s face makes this photograph work importantly, because you can see all the annoyance in the subject’s face about everything that is going on with what type of society the subject is in.

2. What makes it different?

The outfit and the makeup make’s this photograph different because in modern day society you don’t see that type of style anymore because the times have changed; along with people’s dress sense.

3. What was going on in the world at the time? World events/society/politics (Keep it relevant)

During 1934; which is when the photograph was taken, there was a lot of hate towards people in Cabaret Clubs; as this was before the Second World War (1939-1945), and in Germany 1934 Hitler was in power and wanted a more ‘traditional’ right winged way of life because he and others who were similar to him in a way believed that this Cabaret Club way of life was unnatural. So, he closed down and un-legalized this way of life after he got into power in 1933 in hopes to discourage people altogether from moving forward and have the times changed. Once Hitler had closed down the Clubs in Germany other right winged governments may have thought that it was a good a idea to follow him down that route. However, those who worked in the Cabaret Clubs in France; where this photograph was taken (Paris more specifically), were obviously not happy about this and annoyed that this was happening; even after the First World War, which the French were not so best pleased with, as they had lost a lot of homes to the war and the fact that they were already annoyed with Germany for ‘starting’ the war.

4. What was going on in the art world?

In 1934 Germany there was a lot of Nazi Propaganda going around to help Hitler gain even more support and power. Whereas, in France at this time there were traditional paintings going being painted and abstract paintings were being painted by Pablo Picasso.

5. What was happening culturally?  Music, film, TV etc.

In 1934 The Great Depression (1929-1939) was still at large so there were many people unemployed. Alongside that, in Germany people were being to turn to the more radical groups; such as the Nazi’s, because they were desperate in what they needed (even if it meant going back on what Stresemann had done for Germany just before he died in 1929). So, this allowed Hitler to grow even more powerful than he was before; also this allowed to him make himself the Führer, so which meant to the other people around Europe to try and stop him from getting more powerful and doing something that will have dramatic effect to everyone. People did this by trying to present some of the things that Hitler was against; like the photograph above, to the rest of the world to try and prove to Hitler that this is the time to change and come together and Cahun uses this photograph to try help fight Nazism along with other people who were using culture to prove to the fact that what Hitler has planned is wrong.

Materials

1.  Analogue or digital?

This photograph was taken on an analogue camera.

2. Colour or B/W?

This photograph was taken in black and white.

Diane Arbus:

Composition

1.  Identify and describe relevant Formal Elements (Line, shape, form, texture, colour, light etc.)

The Formal Elements used in this photograph are: simplicity; as the two girls are in the centre of attention and there is nothing drawing the viewer away from looking at the two girls. Another Formal Element that is used in this photograph is contrast; as the black material of the dresses stands out more as the white background helps the viewer to look at the main subjects of the photograph.

Meaning

1. What is the image communicating?

This photograph is communicating the idea that even though these twins are identical there’s something different about the two of them; for example one of them could be happy with the idea that someone taking a photograph of them (as they are smiling) and want to look happy, whereas, the other sister could  probably not be happy with someone taking a photograph of them as they may be camera shy or confused about the idea of a camera; if the twins came a from a poor family and their parents (mother) had handmade dress for them as they didn’t have a lot of money, so they probably didn’t know what a camera was. Also, it communicates they are an (unknown) important people that will help shape the world for future generations.

2. What ideas/issues are being explored or expressed?

In this photograph the photographer; Diane Arbus, took their photograph because they were outsiders; as the photographer liked to take photographs of people who were casted as outsiders. As the photographer liked to take photographs of people who were deemed as outcasts, she may have chosen these twins to prove to the people; who were not seen as outcasts, that even though these twins may be young and be deemed as outcasts in your eyes, they are still human beings no matter what.

Context

1. What made the work important?

I think that the thing that made this piece of work important is the fact that nobody is that sure on how the photographer; Diane Arbus, became aware of the event that the Twins were attending; a Christmas party for twins and triplets, and the fact that now it is also known as the tenth most expensive photograph.

2. What makes it different?

This photograph is different because nobody really takes photographs of people like the twins and in that position and the fact that this photograph became the inspiration for the twins from The Shining.

3. What was going on in the world at the time? World events/society/politics (Keep it relevant)

During the time this photograph was taken; 1967, there were a number of things going on around the world

4. What was going on in the art world?

During the time that this photograph was taken; 1967, there was a lot of Pop Art going about in the world as it was popular at that time. Alongside that, there was also a lot of minimalistic art going on at this time; as it was popular with the range of artists that were creating this type of art along with the Pop Art.

5. What was happening culturally?  Music, film, TV etc.

At this time in history, there were many things going on, such as: The Hippie Groups, The Beatles, The Vietnam War,  The Rolling Stones released their first magazine and many other groups trying to change the world.

Materials

Analogue or digital?                                                                                This was taken on an analogue camera.

Colour or B/W?

       The colour of this photograph is black and white.

Jono Rotman:

Composition

1. Identify and describe relevant Formal Elements (Line, shape, form, texture, colour, light etc.)        

This photographer; Jono Rotman, uses colour in this photograph to draw the viewer into the subjects jacket, so they can look at the subjects different items that he wears on his jacket. Also, in this photograph, Rotman uses portrait framing as it is a portrait of the subject.

Meaning

1. What is the image communicating?

This photograph is communicating the fact that there are mob members do exist and they don’t always have to come in pristine suits and clean faces, but in leather jackets and dirty faces. Also, this photograph communicates the fact that some mob members are not as better off as other members in other groups.

2. What ideas/issues are being explored or expressed?

The ideas/issues that are being explored/expressed are the fact that mob groups are still around and will be around for awhile and that some mob groups don’t really go around doing the ideas that mob groups are perceived to do. Alongside that, there’s also the fact that not all mob members look like what people seem to think mob groups are supposed to look like.

Context

1. What made the work important?

I think what made this photograph work is the fact that the photographer, Jono Rotman, was a member of the Mongrel Mob. Rotman’s history with this group allows people to note that people can come from all sorts of backgrounds and can still become successful in the career that the person has decided to go down and that is what made this work important.

2. What makes it different?

What makes this piece of work different is that people don’t normally take photographs of the people who are in a gang or a mob because it is either the photographer doesn’t want to start anything between the mob or the gang or to get involved with them or the fact that the mob or the gang may not want any publicity so they can stay out of the limelight if they are in trouble with the police.

3. What was going on in the world at the time? World events/society/politics (Keep it relevant)

In 2015; when this piece of work was originally published, there were many things going on the world such as: The World Striking A Deal On Climate Change, ISIS Terrorists Strikes On Three Continents, The Refugee Crisis Roils Europe and amongst other things that were going on around the world.

4. What was going on in the art world?

In the art world there were also things going on such as: The Art Basel in Miami Beach Stabbing, Helly Nahmad’s Accursed Modigliani, Taubman Family Feud and many other things that shaped the current modern day art world.

5. What was happening culturally?  Music, film, TV etc.

Culturally in the world; in 2015, there also stuff coming out in the world such as: The Broadway Revelation: Hamilton, The Murder Mysteries: ‘The Jinx’ and ‘Making A Murder’ and The Return Of The Jedi: ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’.

Materials

1. Analogue or digital?

This photograph was taken on a digital camera.

2. Colour or B/W?

This photograph was taken in colour.

[threetimesrule]

Paris - Shouldn’t this have burned down by now?

This place has been the epicenter of most of the major European conflicts; from the Romans to the Nazis.  How did the city manage that distinction?  I’m not quite sure.  Why hasn’t it been burned to the ground like 15 times?  I’m not sure about that one either.  But what I do know is that Paris is amazing!  I mean like really amazing.  Heck, they have crepes everywhere.  Nutella ones!  Oh sure they have lots of other redeeming characteristics, I’m sure, but we’re talking Nutella crepes here people.  Big ones!  Oh and huge Nutella containers too.  Like embarrassingly large, even by American standards.  It’s as if Costco had a “single item for life” contest and all of France won, then chose Nutella as the prize.

But think about this, Paris is so cool that no one DID burn it to the ground.  They could have, probably hundreds of times.  Like Sundsvall…  "Phew, we’re done building.  Where’s the matches?“  But they didn’t because it’s too cool.  You’ll get lost there and won’t even realize you’ve been missing for three hours.  Actually maybe that’s why they didn’t manage to burn it down.  "Where’d I leave those matches?  They gotta be here someplace.  Leaving for Moscow you say?  Now, you say?  But I was looking for my… alright, alright.  Geesh, he’s real angry for such a little guy.”

Either way, bring eye drops because there are corners in this city where you won’t even want to blink. [Check out the Northwest corner of Pont d'Arcole at sunset.]

If you haven’t been to Paris, you should.  If you have, you probably loved it.  If you’re one of the few who found no redeeming characteristics to it at all, then you’ll probably like Detroit or something. [Try the Northwest Corner of the Dix Avenue Bridge at sunset… breathtaking!]

Montmartre -  

You’ll always know how to find this place because you can see Sacré-Coeur sitting atop its “mont” from basically everywhere in the city [The Basilica is astounding by the way; take the time to check it out].  But when you arrive in this number 18 neighborhood (or “18th arrondissement”, if you like to speak all classy… or French) you’ll know, because it feels a little different than the rest of Paris.  Like small town charm with big city style.  It’s the part of town where all the major artists, painters and writers lived during the 1800’s and it almost feels as though in any moment one of them might pop their head around a corner and draw you near some lily pads.  On top of all this (pun intended), you’ll occasionally find yourself in the middle of a set piece from the movie Amélie.  Could be worse.

Atop the Arch de Triomphe at night, on the hour – 

This is a really picturesque view of the city by day or night, but there’s something extra special about this view in the dark which really brings it to light (pun intended again – two for two).  At night, you’re not only granted a view of the city lights, the traffic, the buildings and streets spreading out like a star [Place de l’Etoile] but if you stand, on the hour, looking toward the Eiffel Tower, you’ll be treated to a very beautiful trick played on every epileptic in the city.  It’s like someone at the Eiffel Tower decided to host an hourly rave.  It’s really cool!  And Beautiful.  Still, the best part about the top of the Arch de Triomphe at night?  It’s dark.  Get your romantic make-out-session on!

Napoleon’s Tomb (and Les Invalides) - 

This whole place is the 1880’s equivalent of buying a corvette.  It’s needlessly massive.  His tomb is massive.  The dome is massive.  His manhood… well.

Sainte Chapelle - 

Even if you don’t like stained glass, you should really see this place.  The windows are nearly floor to ceiling, with most of the original glass.  Original glass!  This place was built in 1248.  This glass be old!  Like “your grandma yelling at you to be careful while you sit on her plastic covered furniture” old.  Like “I’m pretty sure I can smell the Serfdom” old.  Like “remind me again how somebody didn’t burn this down” old.  

Luxembourg Garden - 

Aside from the fact that these gardens are beautiful, the people are smiling, the fountains are bubbling and the architecture is exceptionally romantic.  This might want to be the first stop in your Parisian adventure.  You’ll immediately feel like you’re in Europe.  You’ll just get it.  As hard as you may fight it, you’ll lose yourself in a moment.  Heck, for a solid second I was a baguette and brie away from involuntarily giving up my citizenship.  It’s awesome.  Go here!

Les Arènes de Lutèce -  

You like wifi?  Are you a gladiator?  This is your place.

Rodin Museum -

There’s something about this little museum that is really relaxing, even if you can’t quite put your finger on why.  Hell, The Thinker still hasn't figured it out.  Speaking of Hell, Rodin’s Gates of Hell is there too.  That’ll straight mess with your brain.  Consider yourself warned.

Musée D'Orsay -

Built in an old train station, this museum - full of some of the most prolific Impressionism paintings on the planet - is the highlight of any trip.  Except mine.  Get there early.  The length of the line gets real dumb real quick.

The Café Le Saint Séverin  - 

All of the rest of the stuff listed here has been pretty touristy.  But this place is the complete opposite of that, which is surprising because it’s hidden smack dab in the middle of a really touristy area.  Here’s what you do: find Saint Séverin (a medieval church plopped down in the 5th arrondissement), walk around to the back of it and sit down at the café.  Voila!  There’s nothing quite like dining on French cuisine, sitting underneath the stars, next to a medieval church, in the middle of a fairly quiet street in Paris, and feeling like you belong there, to really make a trip worthwild.  Sitting in this spot, the whole world could pass and you’d just be happy that you made it to Europe.  I’d recommend going here after a long day of touristy crap.  It’s a great capper.

         Side note:  This is Saint Séverin part Deux.  In 1448, during the Hundred Years War, they burned Saint Séverin to the ground.  Guess they found the matches.  Or more appropriately, the match cord.

If you still have the time… do ANYTHING other than this…

La Belle Epoque -

One thing is for certain… actually I should step back.  You know how we all have one side of the family?  That one part of the family that when you talk about in public, you talk real quiet?  Because you know that you’re gonna talk about “that” side of the family?  And you know how the fashion in the 70’s makes everything about that already creepy or embarrassing group of people even worse?  This Cabaret is where those people get work.

...even with this please chose Paris over Detroit.

Great Books to Pick Up Before Your Visit:

Guide Book of Choice - Let’s Go Paris

Secondary Guide Book of Choice – Formmers Paris (get a newer print, the older one’s for your mom)

Lonely Planet French Phrasebook - Important phrases for any situation, like: "I didn’t know I had to declare this" (“Je ne savais pas que je devais déclarer cela”), “drug addict?” (“un drogue?”), “No, I don’t take drugs” (“Non, je,ne touches pas à la drogue”)  "You are very nosy" (“Vous êtes vraiment indiscrète”), and “Are the archduchess’s socks dry, completely dry?  (“Les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont-elles sèches, archisèches?”)

Paris from the Ground Up by James H.S. McGregor – A pretty cool book to read before you go, but there’s really no need to take it with you.  It’s not a guide book as much as a book about how the city came to be and why.  (Seriously…it should have been burned down like 15 times.  This book proves it.)

The Greater Journey: American’s in Paris by David McCullough – this is a good book to read even if you’re not going to Paris, but it sure as heck will make you want to visit.  McCullough tells stories about the American artists and intellectual revolutionaries who lived in Paris back in the day.  But he does it in a way that you may actually want to read about it.

[jaeminlore]

Moulin Rouge! // Min Yoongi

-

the prompt: do you think you could write a yoongi x reader fic? Something with a situation/plot like Moulin Rouge?

words: 6636

category: moulin rouge au

disclaimer: all references and rights of moulin rouge go to it’s original creators.

author note: right so I watch the whole movie and there are like 7 different angsty plot twists. i skipped only a few. anyway this is a lot like the movie since it was fresh on my mind so i hope you don’t mind that. I also took a few things that I wasn’t comfortable with writing out. I hope you guys enjoy this because it’s my longest scenario yet at 6k+ words.

- destinee

-

Yoongi let out a sigh as he sat down in his brand new studio apartment in Paris, France. He had come as a writer, with the hopes of getting his stories and songs out to people. In the city of love, he wasn’t sure who wouldn’t want to read a romance in the city of love.

Albeit, Yoongi had never been in love, and he had no idea what love was supposed to feel like or even look like.

So he sat in front of his typewriter, his mind at a blank as he searched for some kind of love metaphor to begin with.

He could come up with nothing.

With the tap of his fingers against his makeshift desk, he stared at the empty page before him. Suddenly, he heard a loud thump from the apartment above him, followed by a few loud voices shouting in protest.

They kept shouting, and Yoongi was sure he heard some singing mixed in there as well.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get any work done, Yoongi shrugged a jacket over his shoulders and left his apartment.

Hoping to find the rambunctious group that interrupted his stunted inspiration, Yoongi bounded up the stairs two at a time.

When he finally found the door from which the noise was coming from, he poised his fist in the air, ready to bring it down on the moldy wood in a harsh knock.

Before he could, however, the door burst open and Yoongi was suddenly face to face with a man… and a butt.

The man in front of him looked younger, with a large nose and thin lips. He had a makeshift headdress on his head, one similar to a nun’s. He and Yoongi met each other’s eyes, and Yoongi just looked at the butt of the second man, raising a questionable eyebrow.

“Oh! This is Jimin,” the first man said, a cheery smile on his face as he slapped the other man’s backside. “I’m Jungkook.”

“I’m Yoongi.” Yoongi spoke while he peaked around Jungkook. Inside of the apartment were four other men, all dressed in flamboyant outfits and heavy makeup. “What is going on? What were those loud noises?”

“Oh.” Another boy pushed Jungkook back into the room and smiled at Yoongi. This boy was blond, with bow-shaped lips and long eyelashes. Hot pink eyeshadow covered his eyelids, and atrocious violet lipstick painted his mouth. A top hat sat upon his head.

“I’m Hoseok. We’re rehearsing.” He offered the confused man a smile.

Yoongi opened his mouth to reply. However, no words came out. All he could do was stare past Hoseok, at the remaining three boys as they seemed to be bickering.

Hoseok followed his gaze and huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Honestly, boys. We’ll never figure this out before tonight if we keep fighting.”

“Well now that Jimin’s out, were trying to figure out what to do with his part.” One of the boys explained, gesturing to the corner, where Jungkook threw a very unconscious Jimin onto the bed.

“What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?” Yoongi asked.

“Jimin’s got narcolepsy,” the same unnamed boy from earlier explained. “Just falls asleep whenever. We can’t risk him doing that during the play.”

Yoongi crinkled his nose, “What kind of play are six grown men going to perform?”

“Taehyung! Show him!”

The man from earlier (Taehyung, apparently), nodded and ran to a beaten down piano. He nearly tripped over his platform boots on the way.

Taehyung struck a c chord, and then smiled at Yoongi, “The Spectacular Spectacular!”

“We’ll perform it at the Moulin Rouge!” Namjoon, as Yoongi later learned, said.

“Moulin Rouge? Isn’t that a Nightclub?”

“Not just a nightclub,” Hoseok corrected. “A cabaret with the most beautiful dancers.”

Yoongi was still a bit confused, “You’re going to perform a show at a cabaret?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Weren’t you listening? The Moulin Rouge is a place for performers! With the Spectacular Spectacular, we can turn it into the theatre it truly is.”

“Okay…” Yoongi looked hesitant at a discarded script lying in the floor.

“You know what? Why don’t you step in for Jimin?” Hoseok grabbed his own script and ran over to the corner of the room, behind a dark blue sheet hung up by coat hooks.

Before Yoongi could really understand what was happening, he was pulled over to the side of the piano to sit upon the overstuffed bench with Hoseok.

The director of the play, a man named Jin who sported clown-like makeup and attire, clapped his hands and used a rolled-up script as a megaphone. “From the top!”

Jungkook ran to the middle of the small room and began to sing. “The hills are quaking and shaking.”

Yoongi winced at the way Jungkook’s notes didn’t match those of the piano.

“Stop!” Jin said. “Stick to my lyrics, Kook.”

“But they’re long and I don’t understand them,” Jungkook whined.

“They’re artistic!” Jin countered. “They will show the very essence of an artistic bohemian revolution!”

Yoongi rolled his eyes as Jin began to sing his lyrics to the song. Jungkook was right, because even as a writer Yoongi wasn’t sure he knew what some of those words meant.

With a nonchalant sigh and a scratch of his wrist, Yoongi raised his voice above the two bickering men, “The hills are alive with the sound of music.”

The other six boys turned to look at him, including Jimin who had just conveniently woken up.

Jungkook tried out the words with the music, finding they flowed quite well together. “Wow,” he said. “Did you just come up with that?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Sort of. It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Wow!” Hoseok slapped Yoongi on the back. “You should help Jin write the play!”

“Well I have never been so insulted in my life,” Jin cried dramatically, throwing his script to the floor and storming out of the apartment.

Namjoon turned to Yoongi with an exuberant grin, “Looks like you’re our new writer!”

“How will he be accepted?” Jungkook fretted. “No one knows who he is.”

Yoongi was about to protest (because although it was true, he had some pride to protect), when Taehyung snapped his fingers.

“Y/n!”

“Y/n?” Yoongi stood up straighter, curious at the sound of a new name.

“Yes! The top courtesan at Moulin Rouge! If we get you dressed nicely and you read her your poetry, she will surely be impressed and recommend you to Zidler.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agreed. No matter how strange this group of outcasts were, he had found a job. Just as long as this Y/n person liked his writing enough.

-

“This isn’t a cabaret. This isn’t even a nightclub,” Yoongi commented as he followed the now-five boys into Moulin Rouge. “This is a circus.”

It was easy to separate the workers from the guests. Like Yoongi and his friends, there were many men standing around in nice suits, with colored ascots or velvet top hats.

Taehying pointed out a man standing in the middle of the dance floor, laughing a belly laugh with his head thrown back. “That’s Zidler. He owns the Moulin Rouge.”

Yoongi inspected the man a bit more, taking notice of his dirty blond mustache and colorful suit. The ruffles from the scarlet red jacket went all the way down his torso before stopping at his matching trousers.

A large bass drum thumped just then, startling Yoongi. He looked up at the balcony, where a band was located.

The drums kept going, joined by the cheering and jeering of the men around Yoongi. Suddenly, doors from the side of the room opened and women came out by the dozens. Each was dressed different from the next, yet all the same.

Their dresses were the brightest, most eye-catching colors of the rainbow. They began to dance; on the tables, on the floor, with the closest man to them, wherever they felt like dancing, really.

The music got louder, as did Zidler’s voice as he announced his famous dancers: the diamond dogs.

“Why the heck would they be called diamond dogs?” Yoongi asked as Taehyung ushered him to an empty booth.

“Just hush,” Taehyung advised as they sat down. Then he directed his words towards Hoseok, “Do you see Y/n?”

“No,” Hoseok hissed back, his eyes on a scantly clad brunette. “She’s got a special stage tonight, remember? Now listen, Yoongi, I’ve arranged a private meeting for the two of you.”

“Private?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “So get in there and read her the best poetry you’ve ever written, alright?”

“Right.” Yoongi said, licking his lips nervously.

The music began to fade into something softer, and the atmosphere quieted down only a few meters as a spotlight shone upon the ceiling.

Then you descended, sitting daintily on a swing as it lowered to the ground. You were singing, yet for the life of him, Yoongi had no idea what you were saying.

He was too busy looking at you. You wore less clothing than the other girls. Though the outfit seemed more sophisticated: a silver one piece decorated with diamond-like sparkles.

Your hair was curled underneath a velvet top hat, and Yoongi wondered briefly if you were wearing it to mock him and the rest of the men who dressed in their best to come to a cabaret.

Yoongi watched your red-stained lips as you sang. “Who is that, Hoseok?”

Hoseok sat back, a satisfied smirk on his face. “That, my dear Yoongi, is our lovely Y/n.”

-

The stage lights felt hot. No matter how little you wore, you always felt hot. Maybe it was due to the stares of a hundred men, all taking you into their minds with different fantasies of their liking. Maybe it was the altitude of the swing. Didn’t heat rise? Maybe it was just your makeup, heavy enough to keep your pores from breathing.

Whatever it was, you remembered Zidler’s motto: The Show Must Go On.

So you sang. You sang about diamonds being a girl’s best friend. Once you were lowered to the stage that stood on the middle of the dance floor, you dropped onto it and began to dance.

It was your job, and by now you were used to the loud catcalls and the jeers you received from the men. They were welcome, in fact, because the more they liked you the more you got payed.

So you continued on with your little show, pulling boys in with your charms only to push them away right when their curiosity (and something else) was peaked.

Soon Zidler joined you on the stage, and you followed him in the routine you now knew by heart. It was almost time for the dance break, and your costume change.

“Where’s the duke?” you asked Zidler as he twirled you around the stage in a modern-day tango.

The duke was the man Zidler needed to fund the Spectacular Spectacular. If he invested in Moulin Rouge, it could turn into a real theatre, and you could become a real actress like you’ve always dreamed.

“He’s the one beside the blond,” Zidled replied.

You squinted behind his shoulder, finally noticing a blond man talking animatedly to another man, this one with jet black hair. “Are you sure that’s him?”

You feigned a smiled for the crowd as Zidler replied, “Positive.”

The dance number changed, and suddenly you and Zidler were crouched down on stage, hidden by a ton of heavy fans as you switched costumes. “Will he invest?”

“Definitely. After a night with you, he can’t say no.”

You nodded, “So what’s his type? Innocent and cute? Smart and sexy? Smoldering damsel?”

“Smoldering damsel, definitely,” Zidler replied. “Now remember, we’re relying on you. We need this show. With it, you’ll become a real actress.”

You sighed contently, already imagining life on a real stage under real production lights.

Once you were finally dressed, this time in a pale pink one piece and a skirt that swooshed up with every step you took, you stood up with a shining smile and made your announcement.

“It’s ladies choice tonight, boys! And I choose you.” You pointed straight to the dark-haired man.

Without waiting for the duke’s answer, you pulled him out of his chair and to the middle of the dance floor. You placed his hands on your waist and danced with him to the sound of cheers and claps around you.

“Thank you for investing,” you whispered in his ear, trailing a hand up his chest like you always did to the men you danced with. It was a sure way to get the them aroused, especially when you made them think you actually cared about them.

“I’m interested as long as you like what I do,” he replied. Then, to your surprise, he grabbed your hand off of his body and held it high in his own before he began to lead you around the dance floor.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” you answered him, smiling as he led you around the room.

He was a good dancer, you had to admit, and it was great fun when he spun you around and picked you up depending on the beat of the music.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you heard your signal that the song was coming to an end. “I have to go now.”

With a twirl, you spun out of the duke’s arms and kept spinning and dancing until you fell back on your swing.

With a flourish of your hand, the swing ascended back towards the rafters, and you tipped your head back as you began to sing once more.

It was hot up there again. Perhaps it was the feeling of coming down after a rush of adrenaline. Perhaps it was the harsh feeling that suddenly crawled up your throat. That must’ve been the reason you were suddenly falling off the swing.

Luckily, another dancer caught you and began to carry you out of the room.

As you drifted in and out of consciousness, you could hear Zidler begin to laugh and clap, making the crowd think it was all a part of the show.

The show must always go on.

-

You felt a cold washcloth being pressed against your forehead.

That familiar harsh feeling crawled up your throat, and you were never so thankful for having a handkerchief in your palm. You brought it to your lips and coughed before dropping the handkerchief to the ground.

“Do you think you can get up, love?” One of the dancers asked. “The duke is still expecting you.”

“I’m fine,” you said, pushing yourself into a sitting position. Despite the momental vertigo in your head, you stood up. “Let’s turn me into a smoldering damsel.”

Zidler gave you a worried look as you began to change into a red dress.

You smiled at him, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

-

Yoongi and the boys walked upstairs to what was called “The Elephant Room.”

In retrospect, it was an actual elephant-shaped building, with a bedroom in the body of the animal.

“Convince her!” Taehyung whispered before the five of them all scurried up to the top of the elephant, where Yoongi was sure they would be eavesdropping.

Yoongi sighed and walked around the room that was dressed in pink and orange hues. Yoongi slapped the bangles that hung from the walls, contemplating which writings he should recite to you.

He heard the door open and close. “Hello.”

Yoongi turned around, and his eyes unknowingly widened as you walked towards him. Your dress was long and red, with a slit down down your left leg.

You gave Yoongi a sultry smile and turned your back to him, drawing your hair all the way to one shoulder. “Unzip me?”

Yoongi stared at your low cut dress and the smooth line of your back. “Uh, okay.”

With his eyes anywhere but you, he reached out and pulled the zipper down, revealing some black lace underwear.

What is going on..? Yoongi averted his eyes as you undressed fully (save for the lingerie), and made yourself comfortable on the bed in the corner of the room.

“Thank you for investing,” you said, tracing the patterns on the sheets with your finger.

Yoongi nodded, finally you were getting down to business.

“Okay,” Yoongi said. “So can I start the poetry reading now?”

“Of course you can.”

He furrowed his eyebrows as you suddenly stood up and placed both hands on his chest, pushing him back towards the bed.

Yoongi felt the back of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto his back, hitting the soft mattress with a loud thump.

Before he could stop you, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Your nimble fingers flew to his dress shirt and you began to unbutton it.

“Stop!” Yoongi protested, watching you in alarm. He pushed you away from him and rolled off of the bed.

Then, he began to speak, his heart beating erratically from panic. He recited a few lines from a rap he had been working on, hoping to just get this appointment over and done with. “Like those dead leaves there that have fallen and are flying, my love is collapsing without strength. Your heart is only going further away, I can’t grab you. I can’t grab you any more. I can’t hold on more.”

-

You sat up on the bed, confused as to why he had rejected your advances.

This is what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Even though you were confused, you listened as he recited his lines.

Wait, he wanted to actually recite poetry? You were under the impression that that was a code name for some new kink he had thought of.

The duke turned to you and continued his piece. “Over there, the autumn leaves that look like they’re at stake. Seems like they’re looking at us. If our hands touch, even if it’s all at once, it only seems like it’s going to be crumbs.”

You were mesmerized as he suddenly turned his poem into a rap. His rapping voice was deep and confident, with an air of desperation about it as he continued to sing the tragic song. He looked you in the eye, and it seemed he had something to prove to you, although you could not understand what.

When he finally finished his song, you stared at him and smiled. “I think I’m in love with the duke.”

“Duke?” He frowned at you. “I’m not a duke. I’m a writer.”

“What?” Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh no, you have to leave!”

“What? Why?” Yoongi asked as you pushed him towards the door.

As if the timing couldn’t be any better, the door suddenly swung open, pressing Yoongi against the wall.

You smiled at the scrawny, mustached man who walked in. “Duke! I’ve been waiting for you.”

Just like that, your luster was back in full swing as you grabbed the duke by the collar and began kissing him.

With your free hand, you gestured for Yoongi to get out of the room. You kept your eyes open during the kiss, averting your eyes toward the door.

He nodded, and slowly moved towards the door. On his way, however, he ran into the umbrella rack, as he was too busy watching your signals.

The duke pulled his lips off of yours and almost turned around, but you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer to you, faking a moan as you kissed him.

“What was that?” he mumbled into your lips.

“Nothing,” you assured him, slipping your fingers into his hair.

Yoongi was unable to leave now, being blocked by the door. So instead, he hid behind the refreshment table. He hid his head behind the bucket of ice and champagne.

“Oh, Duke,” you faked a moan. “We can’t do this tonight. We must wait till the opening night. We have to make it special.”

“Why?” The Duke seemed both aroused and confused as you pushed him out of the room.

“Trust me!” You said, inwardly panicking. “It’ll be better this way.”

You began to feel hot again. Perhaps it was the rush of dancing with one man and then kissing another. Perhaps it was the fear that the writer would be caught.

You closed the door behind the duke and turned around, glaring at the writer. “Why didn’t you leave? You could’ve gotten caught and then this whole thing would’ve been ruined!”

Yoongi went to open his mouth, “I’m sorry, I was just…”

Whatever he said next, you didn’t hear, for the heat crept up your neck and into your head, until you were suddenly falling against his chest.

-

“Woah,” Yoongi spoke, watching as you drifted in and out of consciousness. “Y/n? Are you awake?”

He picked you up and laid you on top of the bed before crawling beside you to check your pulse. “Y/n?”

Finally, your eyes began to flutter open. Just in time, because the door opened again, and Yoongi turned to see the duke with an angry look on his face. “Is this why you kicked me out?”

All of a sudden he was pushed off of the bed by you. “Of course not! We were just… rehearsing!”

“Rehearsing?” The Duke rose one bushy eyebrow.

“Yes!” Yoongi said. “Rehearsing for the play!”

“You see, you inspired me so much that I called up my writer and told him we had to rehearse immediately.” You lied easily.

“Where are the other actors?” The Duke asked.

“That was excellent!” Hoseok jumped around the corner, having come from the second floor to save the couple’s hides. He clapped his hands. “One more time, from the top!”

Zidler entered the room next, his eyes full of confusion. Yoongi watched as you raced up to him. “Ah, Harold! You’re hear to watch our pop-up rehearsal!”

“Pop-up…” Zidler finally seemed to notice the look in your eyes, for he nodded and looked at the duke. “Yes, they are so very excited for this play. Pop-up rehearsals everywhere, you know?”

“Alright.” The Duke sat down and crossed his arms over his head. “So what is the play about?”

Everyone looked in Yoongi’s direction.

He stuttered. All he could really think about was you. Although it was funny, the feeling inside of him wouldn’t leave.

“It’s about a penniless sitar player, who falls in love with a courtesan.”

“Oh really?” The Duke questioned.

Yoongi stared into your eyes and kept going with the pitch. “Yes! But she has already been promised to the evil maharajah, who doesn’t love her the way the sitar player does. They will be separated, but the penniless sitar player will play a song, just for her, and it will bring her back. It’s about love overcoming all obstacles,” Yoongi finished, still staring at you.

You returned his soft smile, an unknown feeling in your heart. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so.

The duke began to clap. “I love it.”

And so Moulin Rouge had a show.

-

Yoongi sat on the window seat in his apartment, staring at the Moulin Rouge. Certainly, you felt the same spark he did after that pitch, no?

He could see the elephant room from his perch. The lights were on, and your silhouette tempted him as it paced back and forth in front of the balcony.

He made up his mind fairly quickly, having never been one to think much before he acted upon his thoughts.

After grabbing his coat and shoes, he sidled out of the door into the welcoming Paris breeze.

-

“Hello,” he greeted you casually for someone who had just snuck into the elephant room.

You turned around, startled, but not angry upon seeing the handsome writer. “Oh, hello. I’m afraid I never got your name.”

“It’s Yoongi,” he said. He walked over to you, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?” You rose an eyebrow questionably.

Yoongi stared at your dark red lips momentarily before looking into your eyes. “Did you mean what you said earlier? You told me you fell in love with me.”

“Of course not,” you scoffed, smirking.

“Oh,” he mumbled, inwardly cursing himself for being so naive. “It just felt real, is all.”

You turned towards him, a pity-filled smile on your face. “I’m a courtesan, Yoongi. I’m paid to make men think what I say to them is real.”

“Right,” Yoongi said.

“It’s not you,” you assured him. “I can’t love anyone.”

“That’s terrible,” Yoongi decided.

“Living on the street is what’s terrible,” you countered.

“Don’t you want to feel love?”

“Love is a game,” you spoke. “And I won’t play if you won’t pay.”

Yoongi frowned.

“Besides,” you continued. “Aren’t you bored of love?”

“No,” Yoongi offered you his own smile. A soft, hesitant one. “Love is everything. It lifts us up. It gives us strength.”

“Love turns people into fools. Watch, you’ll become mean.”

“No, I won’t.” Yoongi followed you out onto the balcony.

“A-And I’ll become an alcoholic!” You said, avoiding the man’s thoughtful glance.

His voice was low and soft, “Instead, we could be heroes. Lovers, for just one day.”

You stayed still as he walked closer to you. He grabbed your waist and gently pulled you closer to him, until you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. “What do you say, Y/n?”

You felt a shiver of pleasure run down your spine, and you nodded slowly. “Just one day.”

He kissed you then, with the tenderness of a lover. Any dominance that you were used to from your many clients was gone, replaced by the gentle push and pull of his soft lips.

The two of you pulled away at the same time, wearing matching smiles. You smiled at him, “You’re going to be bad for business. I can tell.”

-

Zidler passed the contract across his table, into the possession of the duke. “So sign here, and you’ll help us turn the Moulin Rouge into a real theater!”

The duke frowned, “Yes, about that… I have my own proposal.”

“Anything,” Zildler said.

“I want Y/n all to myself. She will have no clients but me. If I find out she is with other men, I will make sure the Moulin Rouge never runs again.”

Zidler sighed. “Agreed.”

-

It didn’t take long for you to open up to Yoongi.

Since you were the female lead of his show, the two of you were always together during rehearsals at the Moulin Rouge.

Unfortunately, the Duke was often there as well, forcing you to hide your love behind the stage and above the rafters so you wouldn’t breach his stupid contract.

Yoongi quickly found the solution to this, claiming you needed private rehearsals with him a few hours a day. These times were rarely spent rehearsing. Instead, the two of you would talk and kiss and fall further in love with each other than you had the day before.

One day, the duke came and sat beside you, hoping to ask you to come over to his place that night.

Before you could answer, Yoongi saved you by walking over. “Say, Y/n, I’m thinking of changing the script around a bit. What if the lovers meet up in the penniless sitar player’s humble abode?”

You found yourself smirking, “That sounds like a great scene to add.”

Within the next hour, Yoongi had found you alone behind the stage. Without a warning, he spun you around and pressed his lips against yours playfully.

You giggled against his lips, pulling him closer to you by his collar. “Hey, Yoongi.”

“Hey,” he whispered, eyes shining. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before he backed away, “I have to go work on more scenes, but i just wanted to see you for a bit.”

You smiled at his words and waved as he left.

You didn’t see Zidler on the stage, trying to distract the duke from noticing the two of you.

“Y/n!” He snapped, catching up to you a few minutes later. “You’re supposed to go to the duke’s house tonight. Why are you with him?”

Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Do you have any idea what will happen if the duke finds out and your contract is breached? Break up with the writer.”

You began to feel hot again. Perhaps it was the thought of breaking it off with Yoongi. Perhaps it was the fear of what would happen to him if the duke did find out.

“Harold, I—” You fell against him as you fainted, once again.

Zidler picked you up and took you to one of the couches backstage. “Call the doctor,” he informed one of the actors, who nodded in obedience and ran off.

When the doctor arrived, he had horrible news for Zidler. “I’m afraid Miss Y/n is dying.”

Zidler felt a hiccup in his throat. “No. She can’t be.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“She can’t know,” Zidled informed the other actors. “The show must go on.”

With the understanding that you weren’t going to wake up any time soon, Zilder found the Duke and informed him that you wouldn’t be coming tonight.

-

“Where were you last night?” Yoongi asked you as the two of you sat on his bed.

Your hands were in his as he looked for answers in your eyes.

“I was sick,” you told him.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Yoongi rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. “I know you had to see the duke.”

“I’m not lying,” you insisted. Then you sighed, “Yoongi, we have to end this. Everyone knows I have to sleep with the duke before opening night, and you’ll be too jealous.”

Yoongi pressed his lips together, thinking. “How about I write a song for us? It’ll be for the end of the play. It’ll be to remind us that no matter what happens, we’ll remember that we always love each other.”

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, hesitant.

“Come what may, Y/n. I’ll love you until my dying day, alright?”

You looked back at him and closed your eyes in contentment as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Alright, Yoongi.”

-

You performed Yoongi’s new song with Taehyung, the male lead of the Spectacular Spectacular.

The duke watched the final rehearsal, ready to announce his rating on the finished product. He kept cutting glances to Yoongi, and he was smart enough to notice the looks he gave the lead actress. “I don’t like it.”

“What?” You looked at the duke. “Why?”

“It’s unrealistic,” he answered. “Why would the courtesan go for the penniless sitar player when the maharajah can give her everything she wants?”

“It’s about overcoming obstacles,” Yoongi spoke, defending his play, and essentially himself. “It’s about true love and how it has nothing to do with money or titles.”

The duke crossed his arms over his chest. “I want it changed. Change the ending, and have the courtesan marry the maharajah instead.”

“That’s impossible! The play is tomorrow!” Yoongi said.

“Then you better get to it,” the duke snapped at him.

“Duke!” You faked a charming laugh and began to strut towards the greasy old man. “Why don’t you let them have their dream, yeah? We all know it’s impossible. Let them have this one, alright? We can have our own ending tonight.”

The duke gulped, taking your obvious bait. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” you breathed, giving him a seductive gaze. “I’ll be there.”

-

“It’s to save your play and the Moulin Rouge, Yoongi,” you consoled your lover. “It doesn’t mean anything and you know it.”

Yoongi shook his head and held you closer to him. “I don’t want you to sleep with him.”

You could feel his tears as they fell onto your bare shoulder. “Yoongi, I’ll be alright, okay? He’s waiting for me—”

“No.” Yoongi buried his face into your neck, “Don’t do it. Please.”

You ran your fingers through his hair comfortingly. Truthfully, you despised the idea more than him. But it was for something bigger than you. This was for the Moulin Rouge’s dream of becoming a real theatre. This was for your dream of becoming a real actress. This was for Yoongi’s dream of becoming a notable writer.

“I love you,” you kissed his cheek fleetingly, and then you were gone.

-

As soon as you arrived at the Duke’s house, you regretted it.

You regretted it even more when he led you out onto the balcony for a sloppy make out session. Because from the balcony, you could see Yoongi, walking home in the rain.

How could you sleep with the duke while you were in love with the writer?

“I’m sorry,” you spoke. You pushed the Duke away and gathered your discarded clothing. “I-I have to go.”

You ran out of the duke’s home, towards the home of your lover.

-

As soon as Yoongi opened the door to your knocking, you jumped into his arms. “I couldn’t do it. I love you, Yoongi.”

He hugged you back, the fear of you leaving him for the duke dispersing as he held you in his arms. “We can leave.”

“What about the show?” You asked.

“Who cares about the show?” Yoongi asked. “It can just be us, forever.”

You agreed and ran as fast as you could towards Moulin Rouge to pack your things.

Zidler met you in the dressing room. “The duke isn’t very happy with you right now.”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled. “I’m leaving with Yoongi, for good.

“The duke said if you didn’t complete the show and stay with him a full night, he would find and kill Yoongi.”

You gasped, “You’re lying.”

“I’m not and you know it. You know what he is capable of.”

“Yoongi loves me, Harold. We’re leaving. It won’t matter once were gone.”

Zidler placed a hand on top of your shoulder. “You’re dying, Y/n. You can’t go on much longer.”

“Another trick,” you spat, although the obvious evidence told you differently. Your fainting has been happening more often than nought lately, and you couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been coughing up blood into your handkerchief.

“The doctor told us the other night,” Zidler said. “Yoongi will be hurt either way, Y/n. It’s best if you send him away.”

“He’ll fight for me,” you countered.

“Not if he thinks you don’t love him. Hurt him to save him, Y/n. Because if he comes to that play, the duke will have him killed.”

You stayed silent.

Zidler lowered his voice into a comforting tone, “The show must go on, Y/n. You know we can’t afford to love in this business.”

You closed your eyes tightly, preventing any tears that had formed from falling. “I know.”

The show would have to go on. You would have to be the best actress you had ever been, and convince the love of your life that you no longer wanted anything to do with him.

-

You went back to Yoongi’s apartment with no bags to pack and no smile on your face.

Yoongi sensed something was off immediately. “What’s wrong?”

You looked down at your feet. “I just talked with the duke and decided to stay with him. He offered me everything I’ve ever dreamed of as long as I never see you again,” you lied.

Yoongi blinked. “What are you talking about? What about everything? We were going to run away.”

“Yoongi, the Moulin Rouge is my home.”

“There’s something the matter,” Yoongi concluded, grabbing both of your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “What’s wrong, Y/n? What’s the truth?”

You met his gaze and spoke clearly, a bit of venom in your words, “The truth is that I choose the duke.”

“No…” Yoongi trailed off as you began to leave. “Y/n!”

You didn’t turn back in the fear that he would see your tear-stained face.

-

Yoongi sat against his headboard, feeling angry and sad and horrified all at once.

Hoseok sat beside him. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Yoongi. She loves you. I know she loves you.”

“Go away, Hoseok,” Yoongi snapped.

But the seed of doubt had been planted, and Yoongi found that he couldn’t stop wondering what if. So he returned to the Moulin Rouge one last time.

-

The Spectacular Spectacular was in full swing when Yoongi arrived.

He stood in the corner and watched his play being performed. Although the ending was not to his liking, he found he couldn’t look away.

Still, he was angry at you. He was angry that you would choose the duke over him, after the pure love he had devoted towards you.

So on an impulse, he strutted up to the stage during the final scene, where you would kiss the maharajah.

You noticed him too late, as the crowd had already taken notice of the strange man in the black coat. Yoongi walked right up to you and extracted a pile of bills from his pocket before throwing them at your feet. “I owe you nothing now, and you mean nothing to me. Thank you for curing my ridiculous obsession with love.”

He began to leave.

“Wait!” You called, completely forgetting you were in the middle of a performance. “Like those dead leaves there that have fallen and are flying, my love is collapsing without strength. Your heart is only going further away, I can’t grab you. I can’t grab you any more. I can’t hold on more.”

You had recited the first poem he had ever said to you. This caught Yoongi’s attention, and he turned around on the spot.

“Forgive me,” you spoke as he began to walk back towards the stage. “I’ve always loved you.”

Yoongi began to run at this, not caring a bit for his dignity or his pride. As soon as he was in front of you, he tackled you in a hug and pressed his lips to yours.

-

You felt hot again. Perhaps it was the thrill of the show. Perhaps it was the heavy costume. Perhaps it was being in the arms of your rightful lover. Perhaps it was the prickly feeling on your skin whenever Yoongi kissed you.

You fainted anyway.

Yoongi caught you, just as the curtains were closing, signaling that the show was over. “Y/n? Darling, what’s the matter?”

You struggled to stay awake, let alone answer him.

“Help!” Yoongi shouted. His voice sounded fuzzy to you, as if your ears were clogged with water.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you forced out. “I–I’m dying. T–That’s why I lied to you. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”

“Shh.” Yoongi pressed his head against yours as he hushed you. “You’ll be alright.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “Hold me. Please hold me.”

Yoongi obeyed, pressing you against him. “I love you.”

He began to cry, so you tried to comfort him. “Yoongi, you’ve got to go on.”

He sniffed, “I won’t without you.”

“But you’ve got so much to give,” you croaked. “Tell our story, Yoongi. Promise me. That way I’ll always be with you.”

“I promise.” He nodded. “I promise.”

He kissed you again, and when his lips left yours, he could see the last bit of life leave from your eyes.

You were dead. And the crowd behind the curtain cheered still, for they knew not what tragedy had occurred.

-

So a year later, Min Yoongi sat down at his typewriter and typed the opening words to his romance novel, Moulin Rouge:

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return.“

~the end~