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loganwritesprobably · 28 days

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Ball, Day Two

This is part two to a fic written by @frillsinadress , featuring Sabo and her OC Cornelia which you will be able to find here Tags/Warnings: Cornelia/Sabo, smut, RA members doing RA things, somnophilia mention, cum stuffing, remote control vibrator, public sex, unknowing participants, edging, begging, penetrative sex, raw sex, rough sex, overstimulation, praise, cream pie, aftercare

Word count: 3346

“Are you ready for day two?” Sabo asked, offering his arm to Cornelia. Sure, she was as ready as she could be given the morning they’d had.

After the shenanigans of the previous night, Sabo had taken it upon himself to up the ante for the second day of the event. Cornelia had woken up with him already fucking her, in immediate ecstasy. She’d had to shove her head into the pillow to avoid disturbing the surrounding rooms. He filled her up not once but twice, and then handed her a period cup to insert. “It’ll keep everything in there.” He’d told her, and Cornelia had been so turned on she hadn’t even wanted to complain, nevermind tried. She inserted it, spilling as little as she could manage, and then they’d gotten ready for the day. On day one, they’d worn beautiful jewel tone blues and on day two they’d chosen to change things up a little.

Cornelia’s dress was floor length, with a skirt with less volume than the day before. The bodice was black, beads painstakingly threaded along it to make it shimmer just slightly in the right lighting and adding texture to the inky black fabric. The straps sat wide on her shoulders, widening the lower you looked with a deep v to the very bottom of the bodice so her chest and a small amount of her stomach were visible, the back solid to keep that hidden. The skirt was floor length, sliding along the floor as she walked, almost giving the effect that she was floating. The skirt was a solid wine red in colour, with two layers of black chiffon on top so that the two colours blended, making the red a far more subtle pop of colour.

Sabo’s suit matched in colour, with a black plain shirt beneath an ornate red waistcoat, black as the base colour with red elaborate damask patterned stitching covering the majority of the garment, and a black velvet collar to break up the pattern. His tie was also black with red detailing, matching the waistcoat he wore, a solid black velvet pocket square sitting in the bottom right pocket of his waistcoat. To reduce how garish his outfit looked, his trousers were a simple solid black, a golden chain clipped to his belt with a pocket watch on the other end, sitting in the left pocket of his trousers.

They looked nothing short of ravishing.

It was easy to get lost in the luxury of the event when the pair reentered the ballroom. It was like nothing Cornelia had seen before, and some small part of her wished there were more chances for her to have this, that she could enjoy this luxury just a little more often. If this was her every day, it would lose that special feeling - but maybe just every now and then. A guilty pang ran through her body, but the feeling of Sabo squeezing her arm brought her back to the moment, and she focused on their mission.

The first dance was easy, they fell into the steps together, spinning around the dancefloor. By the time they’d joined the masses, the room was already brimming, so they didn’t have to worry about being too early to distract themselves. That also meant Sabo wanted to start his game.

The cup wasn’t the only thing Cornelia was wearing. Sabo had given her a special pair of underwear, with a pouch for a vibrator to be inserted, and he had the remote control to pair with it. The remote sat in his trouser pocket, opposite to the pocket watch, and it felt heavy like lead, he was so aware of its presence, eager to tease his girl. Just not yet.

They separated to mingle with guests, asking subtle questions to get the information that they needed from the nobles present. It was almost too easy, they gave away secrets so freely when they believed you were one of them. That you’d agree with them, and their practices. Perhaps this was an approach they should take more often.

Cornelia was about to head outside for a breath of fresh air when the Duke from the day before approached her. “Your highness, I’m blessed to have found you again.” He began, taking Cornelia’s hand to kiss her knuckles. “Duke, I feel rather lucky myself to have encountered you.” She also felt quite lucky that last time she saw him, Sabo was distracted by a conversation with a lord, unable to see her with the familiar man.

“You looked like you were headed out for the gardens, might I accompany you?” He asked, offering Cornelia his arm to take, and she did so, the feeling of eyes on her back sparking both dread and excitement in her gut.

Cornelia allowed the Duke to guide her out into the gardens, the same place they’d found themselves the night before, and seeing the bench where Sabo had eaten her out made heat pool in her abdomen. Now was not the time.

She and the Duke walked leisurely around the gardens, arm in arm, discussing art and politics and any manner of other things, whatever Cornelia could manage. He praised her for her desire to come out despite her poor health, and her resilience across the two days of the event, and though it wasn’t true Cornelia couldn’t help enjoying the praise. It was nice, he was so genuine. The vibrator didn’t whirr to life even once, leaving Cornelia feeling.. Well, quite suspicious. She’d been so sure her interaction with the Duke could provoke Sabo.

As they approached the ballroom again, she spotted Sabo standing near the doorway, hands in his pockets. They made a brief moment of eye contact before the vibrator started, thankfully on the lowest setting Cornelia coughed to cover her soft moan, and allowed the Duke to lead her to a bench. “Is your illness rearing its ugly head, your highness?” The Duke enquired, hesitating to sit beside her, lest he somehow make it worse. “Ah, yes. I’ll be alright, I just need to take a moment to rest.” “Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked, partly looking like he wanted to flee for help. At that moment, the vibrator stopped, and Cornelia breathed a soft sigh of relief. “No, I’m quite alright. The feeling has passed. Escort me back to the ballroom?” She asked, holding out her hand for him to take, and the Duke helped her to her feet and did just that.

Sabo was gone when they reentered the room, nowhere to be seen, and Cornelia had to take a few deep breaths to contain her frustration. She wanted to scold him, even if this was the very game that she had agreed to just hours before. In front of the same guy? That was just unnecessarily risky, but then he’d always been someone who’d liked a game of risk. She’d kill him when she saw him.

The Duke insisted on a dance, and Cornelia couldn’t find a way to refuse him. It was fine, she could manage. They stepped onto the dancefloor as the next song began, and for the first few steps she struggled to find her footing, always concerned the vibrator would start again, or she’d trip and make a fool of herself, but the Duke held her steady thankfully seeming to chalk everything up to her fake illness. They turned around the floor, stepping in sync, and Cornelia for just a moment was able to forget what Sabo could to do her, what he was inevitably waiting to do again. But that moment did not last long, because as soon as she settled, flowing around the dancefloor, the vibrator clicked on again, this time at a higher setting than before, and Cornelia almost collapsed, only the Duke’s strong hold on her keeping her on her feet.

Once again, he guided her away to find somewhere to sit down, and Cornelia was starting to feel a little ashamed. She shouldn’t need to be guided around by a man she’d just met, but she also hoped that it was driving Sabo insane, seeing someone else’s hands on her. She allowed him to help her sit, then watched as he rushed away to get her a glass of water. It was once he was gone that she spotted Sabo across the room, a shit eating grin on his face, hand still in his pocket. He dialled the vibrator up for only a moment before turning it off entirely, and Cornelia sighed in relief, shuddering slightly. Despite her being thankful that the feeling had stopped which would allow her to compose herself, she also was growing increasingly frustrated over her lack of orgasm - shit she wanted to cum.

Sabo had disappeared again when she looked up, and the Duke had reappeared with a glass of water, which he handed to her with a smile. “I’m not sure if it will help, but I wanted to at least try, dear.” And while she appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t appreciate the pet name directed at her. He was just a little too comfortable. Cornelia sipped the water in silence for a long moment, desperately searching for Sabo to come help her. Where was he when she needed him? “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Duke, I need to powder my nose.” She finally said, giving up on the idea of her useless boyfriend swooping in to save her. Giving the Duke the half empty glass, she smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, then swept away to find a bathroom. She really couldn’t handle being trapped with him for any longer, and it wasn’t really helping with their mission.

In the bathroom, Cornelia took a few minutes to calm herself down, sitting down to use the toilet reminding her that Sabo’s cum was still stuffed inside her which caused another wave of need to roll over her, and despite the temptation to touch herself to relieve some of the tension in her body, Cornelia knew that would ruin the game. The tension is half of the fun. With some water splashed onto her face and her bladder emptied, she was ready to go again.

Only to collide with Sabo immediately upon exiting the bathroom.

He wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from falling, a smirk on his face. “Hey gorgeous.” He greeted, and Cornelia rolled her eyes, allowing him to help her back to her feet and pushed up her glasses. “Where have you been?” She hissed at him, elbowing him roughly in the ribs. Sabo coughed, but laughed all the same, leaning in to whisper against Cornelia’s ear. “Why? Have you missed me sweet thing?” Which made Cornelia’s cheeks tint pink, pushing him away. “Because I got stuck with that Duke and couldn’t get away.” She corrected, not as harsh as she’d have liked to have sounded. Sabo’s hand trailed over her thighs, only a feather light touch over layers of fabric, but he may as well have set her on fire. “Good thing you’re back with me now then, where you belong.” Cornelia had to resist the urge to jump his bones, or punch him, both were viable options in the moment.

Without another word, Sabo took her hand and guided Cornelia back to the dancefloor for the start of the next song, easily stepping in amongst the crowd, guiding her until she caught up. “You’re the worst.” Cornelia admonished, struggling for a moment before he fell into step with her partner. “You love me.” Sabo replied, winking at her, and yeah maybe she did but that was beside the point. They danced together with ease, and when the music shifted from one song to the next, Sabo didn’t let her go, simply continuing to twirl around the dancefloor together, smiling all the while. So, it caught Cornelia off guard when the vibrator clicked on again. He’d not even moved his hand. Which was what revealed to her that he’d had it in his hand all along, pressed up against her back.

It clicked on, and it started low at first, Sabo’s arms around her continuing to guide her in their dance, and she was glad he was so strong because after just a few minutes he increased the setting by two. She’d yet to feel any higher than the third setting, and she almost dreaded finding out how it’d feel, if this was how three felt - but it had eight total levels. They continued their dance, with Cornelia making more mistakes than she had since they’d first started practising, distracted by the vibrations sending pleasure straight to her clit. She stumbled around the floor as Sabo increased the vibrations again, then again, then again.

By the time a third song began to play, Cornelia’s legs were trembling and Sabo was practically dragging her across the floor, Cornelia’s face buried in his shoulder to avoid showing others her pleasure. “You’re doing so well for me princess. Just a little longer, and don’t you cum.” Sabo whispered into her ear, lifting her up to spin her around before lowering her back down to the floor. It was becoming increasingly harder to follow that last instruction, to stave off her orgasm. Before she knew it, the vibrator was buzzing at its highest setting, and she had to physically bite down on Sabo to stop herself from making any noise.

As quick as it had started, the vibrations stopped, just before she could cum, and Sabo pocketed the vibrator. He couldn’t be patient for any longer, he needed to be inside her now. He uttered a few soothing words, as if she were unwell, to ease the suspicions of people nearby, and guided Cornelia away from the masses toward their room. Oh he was going to ruin her - he’d been so patient and now it was time for him to fuck her like she deserved.

It wasn’t easy to guide Cornelia to their room, her legs were still shaky, and she couldn’t speak again just yet, which quickly caused Sabo to cave and scoop her up bridal style, sweeping past the Duke from earlier - there was no time for him right now, Sabo had a princess to fuck.

He kicked the door closed the moment they were inside, roughly throwing Cornelia down on the bed. She was more aware now, and instinctively spread her legs for him so Sabo could have access to her to do whatever he wanted to do. The first step was for Sabo to grab the lube, pouring some on his fingers before pushing them inside her to retrieve the cup from inside. Then, nothing could have stopped him from coating his cock in lube and thrusting inside her.

He’d pulled Cornelia down to the edge of the bed, with her ankles on his shoulders as he stood in front of her so that she could comfortably lay down and he could still fuck her how he wanted. Maybe, if after this, she was up for more he’d flip her over onto her hands and knees and fuck her like that.

“You feel so fuckin good, sweet thing.” Sabo groaned as he bottomed out inside her, condom never even considered. He didn’t give a shit, he just needed to fuck her. Cornelia’s responding moan was all Sabo needed before he started slowly rocking against her, starting easy so that she wouldn’t cum too soon - after all, where was the fun in that? It didn’t take long for Cornelia to start whimpering his name, begging him for more. “Plea- please.. Please Sabo.. need it- ah- need you to fuck me-!” She whined, desperately rocking her hips to try to get more of him, eager to feel him rutting against her g-spot, to have him fuck her the way she knew he liked best - dirty and fast.

“I suppose.. Since you’ve been such a good girl for me today.” And that was all it took. Sabo took both her heels in one hand, bending her legs toward her head to give him more space, and knelt on the bed with one leg. He let her legs rest over his left shoulder, then without warning began to pound into her, grunting and groaning, his hat long since having fallen off, and his suit becoming unkempt and crumpled. It was worth it for that perfect look on her face, eyes rolling back and mouth hanging slightly open in an ‘o’ shape as she gasped and moaned for him.

Cornelia came almost immediately, having been so needy for hours already, and taken so close to the edge once already before. But that didn’t stop Sabo. He wanted to finish too, and since she’d done so well for him, he supposed she deserved at least two orgasms. He reached first up to his mouth to remove his glove, fabric taken in his teeth to tug at it without stopping his movements, then reached down to rub her clit. In response, she borderline screamed, already so sensitive after the day they’d had and now she was touching her so insistently, eager to make her cum for him just once more. Sabo himself was nearing his climax, but he couldn’t stop until she did. “Come on doll, I know you can give me one more.” He urged, angling himself to thrust directly into her g-spot, his fingers still rubbing harsh circles on her clit. Cornelia whined and moaned, writhing and desperately gripping the sheets beneath her, her hair wild and glasses on the brink of falling from her face.

“Cum for me, princess, cum on my cock and I’ll fill you up.” And that was all it took for Cornelia to come undone again, clenching around Sabo’s dick as it washed over her, eyes rolling back so far all he could see was white and her back arched so prettily. He wouldn’t have been able to hold on any longer if he’d tried, so Sabo’s orgasm quickly followed, flooding her with cum for the third time that day.

The two took a long few minutes in silence to calm down, letting their hearts slow and their breathing even out. In that moment, Sabo regretted not using a condom because he had no idea how to pull out without making a mess of her dress. He glanced around, looking for something to use or a way to do this without ruining the dress she’d loved so much. Cornelia didn’t seem to sense his turmoil, still floating in post-orgasmic bliss, when it occurred to Sabo that his pocket square might just be able to save the day. He pulled out, using that to prevent mess, then instructed Cornelia to hold it while he helped her out of her dress.

Once she was gloriously naked, and sadly lacking in bite marks or hickeys (a job for another time), he guided her through to their ensuite and gave her a wet cloth to wipe up while he started the shower with hot water, making sure it was a comforting temperature without being scalding, then carried her in, sitting her down on the shelf installed in there - rich people things. He wiped away her makeup, washed her hair and her body, using the fancy soaps that had been left in the room for them, then let her continue sitting there after he’d turned off the water so he could moisturise her too. Sabo pressed a tender kiss to her lips with a warm smile. “You okay, dove?” He asked her, hoisting Cornelia back to her feet. “Yeah,” she agreed with a nod, “just enjoying the princess treatment.” He playfully swatted her ass then wrapped her up in a fluffy, heated towel, allowing her to finish drying herself off independently while he did the same for himself. “You enjoyed it?” He checked, because he could never be too sure. “Yes, idiot. And we got what we needed, so I’d call that a successful mission.”

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#one piece #fanfic #writing #loganwritesfanfics #one piece sabo #one piece x oc #one piece oc #sabo x oc #one piece fanfic

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decaflondonfog · 1 year

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by wand or by knife

rated m (for a v short fade to black moment), <1k

[honestly idk i had this idea and i'm in the trenches due to a long fic that doesn't seem to want to end and this just happened! it's probably pure nonsense]

SIMON

When Baz asked me not to make any plans for today, I didn’t question it. There’s always something going on. A family dinner to celebrate a holiday I never even heard of, drinks with friends I forgot existed that he somehow keeps in touch with, sporting events I am pretty sure are made up until the moment we arrive. I never question it.

Baz could ask anything of me. I don’t know how to say no to him.

I wouldn’t want to, either.

BAZ

I have been doing weird things for Simon Snow for ages now. I’ve decided that at this point it would be weirder to stop.

The idea lodged itself into my brain last week. We were wrapped around each other like we always are: curled up on the sofa together like a creature that separates into two every morning but needs to return to its natural form at night to survive.

The film was rubbish, if you ask me. Simon would probably agree. But he’s easy to ready when it comes to mushy stuff. I always notice when his eyes get all bright and big like that.

I don’t know yet if I’m a grand gesture kind of guy, but I do care a whole lot about making him happy.

SIMON

There are scones for breakfast. When I ask where he got them, he avoids the question and starts talking about research with Penny. When I ask again, he tells me not to worry about it.

That’s not a very Baz thing to say. And they’re just scones. Nothing to be suspicious about, really. Except… they taste exactly like the ones back at Watford.

I put half a dozen away easily, and wash them down with tea he keeps refilling.

It’s a good morning.

BAZ

I tried to remember what I was wearing that day, but I can’t. It was winter, then, so it’s not like it matters, really. It’s too warm for jumpers.

Simon has told me before how much he likes the green shirt, so I go with that. This is not the kind of thing one dresses up for but I don’t know how to not make an effort.

SIMON

That fucking green shirt.

“Simon, come on, I wanna get going.”

I’ll get him going all right.

He’s got the top three buttons open. The green makes his eyes pop, his skin all lovely white marble, peppered with stark black hair. I want to lick all the way from his collarbone and down his sternum. I want to pop all the buttons off on that bloody shirt.

He wouldn’t forgive me for the latter, but I think I can get him on board with the former.

“Snow, for fuck’s sake, now?”

We’re always late when he wears that shirt. It’s not my fault.

“Si— oh, bloody hell, well, don’t stop now!”

Whatever it is we’re doing, we might be late.

BAZ

He’s a bloody demon.

I have to bribe him with food to get him in the car.

SIMON

He better not be joking about getting me more scones.

BAZ

This is all a bit of a silly plan. I consider turning the car back and taking him out for lunch.

I don’t, for the sake of romance.

SIMON

He’s fidgety. The soft kind, not the nervous kind. I’ve learnt how to tell those apart. There’s definitely something fishy going on.

The music is on quietly, and the windows are down. His hair is up but little wisps of it escape the bobble, flying around his face. It makes me want to reach over and tuck it behind his ear. He fed just this morning, so it should pull a blush out of him, too. I like it when he blushes.

BAZ

“Wait, are we going to…” he trails off.

Finally. I figured he’d get it like twenty minutes ago.

SIMON

My heart is hammering against my ribcage. I check Baz’s trousers for the potential shape of a velvet box through the fabric of his pockets. Nothing, though. Not one thing. No ring.

Why else do people bring their significant others to the spot of their first kiss?

BAZ

“Come on, Snow,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

SIMON

I find the place before he does. I didn’t think I’d remember it, but I do. I remember the flames, and the way his lips felt on mine. They feel just as good now, but it’s nice to be less confused about it. And less worried he’ll incinerate himself into a pile of ash, like an idiot.

BAZ

I pull my wand out of my pocket, and then his present. I pass it to him without a word.

SIMON

“I thought you said I was not allowed near knives,” I tell him.

I had a small accident in the kitchen, a few months back. I’ve not tried any knife tricks since then. I have no clue why he’s handing me a pocket knife now.

BAZ

“Come here,” I ask him. He does. I twist him around so he’s bracketed by my body, between the tree and I. “Step forward.”

“Is this a weird vampire thing? Wait, Baz, are you finally turning me?”

“Shut up, Snow.”

He’s still laughing, but it dies down when I mutter the spell and aim at the tree.

The carving is a little wonky, but I’d never used that spell before. His mouth is open and he looks vaguely like he may cry.

He traces the shapes with his fingers when I finish.

SIMON

S+B.

Baz is a romantic fool. I love him so much it hurts.

You’re ridiculous, I want to say. But I’m too scared I’ll cry if I open my mouth.

“Your turn,” he whispers, kissing behind my ear.

BAZ

He carves the heart around the letters like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Perfect, magical, incredible Simon Snow.

SIMON

“I love you,” he says.

And then he kisses me.

#fuck christ #what am i doing #truly unhinged behaviour #to just type a fic and post without even rereading?#apparently that's what i do now #snowbaz #[insert keyboard emoji here]#by wand or by knife #ficlets

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queen-scribbles · 2 years

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All the relevant 7s for whoever you'd rather talk about for the DA ask game👀

lol you’ve unlocked the method for getting me to talk about the maximum number of my children possible, congrats! :D

Essentials -How do they dress in their downtime, while fighting, in formal settings, etc.?

Trinne in downtime is either comfy trousers/shirt/boots or a simple but pretty dress. She likes to wear dresses, so definitely figures out something stylish but comfortable(as possible) for formal situations, and for combat, she starts out with what’s basically the mage Hawke starting armor with a shirt underneath and progresses up to armor after she learns the arcane warrior spec(faves are the green elven set in DAO and the Golem shall in DAA), and she does like the balance of comfort and protection the the mage Warden blues.

Rahna and Sigi are both in the most comfortable thing possible for downtime, which usually means a shirt stolen from their respective boyfriends, trousers, and high odds of bare feet. (If Rahna’s wearing one of her own shirts rather than one stolen from Alistair and later Jowan, there’s probably little flowers embroidered around the collar/cuffs) They’re both rogues, so light leather armor for combat, though Rahna will go up to heavier leathers when she isn’t wearing Warden blues. Sigi tries to stay as unobtrusive as possible. In formal situations, Rahna’s probably wearing a dress with trousers or leggings hidden underneath just in case she needs to fight and/or run, but Sigi would be in more formal shirt and trousers unless there’s absolutely no way to get out of wearing a dress.

Astrid wears simple but well-tailored clothes for her downtime, flattering colors, comfortable, very pretty tops and usually trousers but sometimes skirts. She really liked the Fugitive’s Mantle armor(minus the giant gear on the shoulder lol), but those robes got ruined during the qunari invasion, so she tends to go for either heavy leather or light chain mail chestpiece over trousers/shirt for combat now. Formal situations can get very formal for her(Viscountess of Kirkwall and Princess of Starkhaven), so she wears a lot of velvet with flowing skirts in rich colors--red, blue, green, gold trim on almost everything, lots of embroidery or lace.

Tighe is in a loose shirt, probably half-unbuttoned/tied, trousers and no shoes whatsoever as often as he can get away with it for downtime. Keeper robes for combat and more formal situations, unless Josephine makes him wears one of the more Inquisition-y formal outfits. (He likes the blue one better than the red, in that case. Goes with his eyes)

Levyn is in shirt, trousers, boots and a lightweight jerkin for downtime(probably with charcoal stains on his hands/arms from sketching), hair either in a v loose ponytail or possibly down entirely. Formal situations he likes the sable-tone Inquisition set, with the deep grey-black jacket and lighter sash, black boots. For combat, regular shirt and trousers under a leather coat/duster with fingerless gloves and armored boots, like this or this

Life-Did they ever work a normal, everyday job?

Trinne no bc Circle mage and then immediately Grey Warden lol.

Levyn.... little yes, little no. He’s me playing Jowan as the Inquisitor, so in the gap between Redcliffe and the Conclave, he spends some time as a wandering healer/guard(?) for refugees, and he tries not to use magic for any of it unless he has to, then settles in a village, so he sort of has some normal job experience?

Rahna, Astrid, and Sigi yes bc city elf and farm girls, lol (Rahna’s done all sorts of mundane, boring jobs to scrape up coin, Astrid and Sigi help with chores, running the house, do errands for the neighbors, that sort of thing)

Tighe’s the First for his clan, which is a normal, everyday job for a mage in Dalish culture, but idk if it would be considered “normal” by anyone outside that culture.

Party-How did their [romantic] relationship progress? If they’re a canon romance option, is their story different from the way the game presents it?

OKAY SO.

Rahna and Trinne both romanced Alistair, went pretty much by the book, only neither of them got to have a happy ending with him in their canons. :)) For Rahna he sacrificed himself killing the Archdemon, for Trinne he became king and broke up with her. (I love him, I do, Idk why this keeps happening)

Rahna I spent 660k words writing her grieving, healing and crawling through an insanely slowburn friends to lovers arc with Jowan that I think took around 220k to get to their confession of feelings? Yeah. That was agony. Sweet, sweet agony.

Trinne in OWaP canon eventually falls in love/ends up with Harvey(and yes, that makes her laugh, considering he drove her up the wall when they first met xD)

Astrid rival-manced Sebastian, went pretty much like the game, only I had him nearly die i nthe Arishok fight :), leading to their feelings confession and a more open development of their relationship over act 3, and they got married before he reclaimed Starkhaven, despite the whole “I would offer you no less than a prince” (Astrid’s counter was basically “Yeah, I fell in love with Sebastian, so he more than enough for me <3″ and he wasn’t really going to argue with that)

Sigi friend-manced Fenris, was this really slow, quiet progression of realizing how much they enjoyed--wanted--each other’s company, how even when they butted heads they respected each other, to some light testing-the-waters flirting, then more serious flirting when that was well received. They are both very stubborn, very proud people(Red Hawke FTW), so there were so many times after That Night one or the other almost said something but backed off at the last second, one of hte most notable being after she dueled the Arishok. Their romance is very quiet, a lot of just enjoying each other’s company, doing their own thing but Together, and they’re both extremely snuggly sleepers.

Tighe romanced Cassandra bc he fell head over heels pretty much immediately(well, immediately after they got past the “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now” thing), also he’s a sappy romantic and loves a challenge, so when she said she wanted romance, wanted to be swept off her feet, he went “GAME ON” and hunted down poetry books and lit candles and went all out bc that’s the only way he knows how to do things.

Levyn romanced Josephine, and tbh it was probably even slower burn than it happens in the game. He didn’t realize he actually loved her as much as he did until the duel with Otranto. He enjoyed her company, appreciated her kindness, but hadn’t realized it was love until he almost lost her. (There was some added drama with him telling her at least part of the truth about who he is, but that didn’t really change the course of the romance, just added flavor to a couple spots)

DA2-What did they name their Mabari?

Astrid named hers Storm, Sigi named hers Grizzly

DAI-What are your Inquisitor’s first impressions of Hawke?

Tighe and Astrid are very similar, personality wise. He’s a bit goofier than her, but they’re both tender-hearted and have a savior complex that’s largely born of people constantly asking more and more and MORE of them, so they do vibe pretty much from the start. Tighe’s knee-jerk first impression is that she’s sad. OR maybe more wistful? (Missing her family, he finds out later, but Varric asked, and he’s her friend, so she wasn’t going to say no. She should have said no) He can tell she tries her damnedest and takes it personally when that’s not enough. Expects too much of herself, and he wonders if that’s just how she is, or because everyone’s spent so long building her legend she’s afraid of letting them down(both).

Much as I want to have Sigi in the same canon as Trinne and Levyn, I can’t bc that would mean picking between a Fenris-romancing Hawke and romanced Alistair in HLtA, and since this Inquisitor is JOWAN and Alistair is in love with his best friend(sister, really), I did not want to put myself in that position. xD The Hawke for him is a Templar-supporting warrior who had rivalmanced Anders and executed him /cough so Levyn was, uh, fairly wary of working with her.

#dragon age asks #trinne amell #rahna tabris #astrid hawke #sigi hawke #tighe levellan #levyn trevelyan

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taiinted · 2 years

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FIRST MEETINGS MEME A meme for first meetings and introduction threads, aka a ‘What you will notice about my muse first’ cheat sheet. Repost, don’t reblog. Bold what applies. Fill in details. (Please do not remove the credit + blank meme link)

tagged by: No one. tagging: @demonstigma @khozmoh @captainperoxidespike @maliignant @absentmotive @count-v-dracula @conzierge ( Moa ) @lunatempus @itsagentzero @blccdharmonyx @hellsurvivr @nxthero @dhampirslays @creelsclocks @perfectanguish @townwxtch and anyone else who sees this.

blank meme: x

GENERAL APPEARANCE

Sex: Masculine. Feminine. Non-Binary. Notes: He is masculine in a sense but he is attracted to feminine fabrics/ items like lace/ velvet/ silk and fruity scents. He is never seen without makeup ( dark eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, black nail polish ) it is a part of his image and he will never change it for anyone.

Race: White ( ethnicity: Australian, Romanian, Italian )

Complexion: Ashen pale/ pale olive

Height: 6′0

Body Type: Endomorph. Mesomorph. Ectomorph. Other / More Details: Previoulsy a mesomorph before he decided to build up his muscle mass and increase his exercise regime two years ago. He has a high metabolism which means he needs to consume a extensive amount of calories.

Body Build: Small. Medium. Athletic. Muscular. Soft. Curvy. Voluptuous. Other / More Details: .

Body Hair: None. Shaves/Waxes. Trims/Grooms. Untamed. Color: Dark brown. Notes: Morgan since he was badly burned in a tree house fire when he was eleven years old is unable to grown any hair on his chest, the backs of his arms and hands

Head Hair: None. Buzzed. Short. Medium. Long. Very Long. Asymmetrical Cut. Color: Dark brown

Eye color: Crimson red

Scars: Several long lacerations cover his back that run down from the length of his spine to to his bum from when he was whipped during his sexual assault. One long claw like a scar above his left eye. Burn scars on his hands, wrists and left side of his chest, no body hair grows in these places. H e is still highly self conscious of the burn scars on the back of his hands and always wears leather fingerless gloves to hide them, even in hot weather but is slowly coming round to the idea of removing his gloves when in a public setting and perhaps one day he will be able to walk down the street shirtless. Two on his neck.

FASHION

Fashion Style: Vintage. Traditional. Casual. Artsy. Vibrant. Geeky/Nerdy. Tomboy. Sporty. Trendy. Preppy. Girly. Bohemian. Elegant. Formal. Grunge. Punk. Rocker. Gothic. Other:

Color Palette:( For Example: neutral colors, bold colors, only black, etc) Red, black, white, burgundy, ox blood.

Typical Clothing: Leather jackets, fingerless gloves, white t-shirt, red checked shirt, leather trousers/ ripped black jeans, combat boots.

Piercings: N/A

Tattoos: Black wolf sleeve tattoo on his left arm. Cluster of dark red roses tattoo on his upper left thigh. Red rose tattoo with thorns dripping in blood on the right side of his chest. Tribal green sea turtle tattoo on the back of his right leg. Hummingbird watercolor inspired tattoo on his left thigh. Snake tattoo on his middle left hand finger. Red, black hearts on some of his fingers. Single rose tattoo behind his left ear. Cluster of bats on his right ear.

Other Information: Wears gloves outdoors on most occasions to conceal his burn scars but he is slowly not wearing them.

EXPRESSION

General Facial Expression: Highly expressive. Always has a unsure, somber expression on his face when he thinks no one is looking. There are times where he is known to scowl and become hostile this happens when he is trying to figure out if you are friend and foe but mostly he is very welcoming to strangers

Default Body Language: Brooding, but relaxed

General Movements: (Example: Do they have a limp? A unique walk?) Has a long, loping stride

NOTABLE FOR RP

Presence: (Example: Are they a calming presence? An antagonizing one?) Approachable but guarded, has been known to be a target to those who are intolerant of his hybrid status, gives off a caring vibe

Appearance: (Example: Tidy, Unkept, etc) Somewhere between unkempt and tidy. His clothes are always immaculate and vibrant but on his sad days he tends to grow a slight beard.

Scent:Black cherries, strawberries ( from his moisturizing cream, always applies it regularly on his burn scars ) mixed with blood, menthol, peppermint cigarettes and coffee. He always has a constant lingering smell of sulfur on his skin that he tries to mask with strong red berries scents.

Voice Description: Deep, but at the same time honey like with a sultry, seductive quality to it. Has a strong Australian accent running through it. Becomes more gravely and distorted when revealing his demonic voice.

Accent: yes / no.

Anything else to add? He’s friendly but known to be quite hostile to those he deems dangerous.

#/ Tearing me asunder / --- INTROSPECTION ---#/ Black wolf in the snow / --- QUEUE ---

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pranaliahuja12 · 1 year

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How to Rock the Latest Kaftan Dress Trends: 6 Styles You Need to Know

Following their initial popularisation by the Ottomans of Turkey, kaftans have hopped to the top of the list of the latest fashion trends. In the 1970s, kaftans were very popular in Hollywood. Recently, they have made a huge resurgence. Bollywood seems to have fallen head over heels for kaftans. You will find a fashionista flexing in a kaftan dress everywhere you look. Free-flowing silk or cotton dresses that let you forgo trousers are comfy all day and make you appear like a million bucks are what everyone loves. These kaftan dresses are appropriate for every occasion, including cocktail brunch or a relaxing Saturday with your significant other.

Trending Kaftan Designs:

Velvet Kaftan:

The ultimate luxurious clothing you must have in your closet is the velvet wholesale kaftan dresses. Dressing up in a kaftan in deep hues like black, maroon, royal purple, or cobalt blue will make you look regal. To increase the impact, ensure that the sleeves and neckline are embroidered. It is the ideal attire for baby showers, launch parties, and wedding receptions. Pick this velvet dress if you wish to channel your inner regal queen. You will draw attention; we can guarantee it! Style Tip: Pair your kaftan with alluring brick red lipstick and statement silver or diamond earrings.

Silk Kaftan:

You may dress up in a silk kaftan while attending events with your friends or work events. You can dance till you become breathless without feeling uncomfortable if you are wearing a short silk kaftan with flowy sleeves. Silk kaftans are available in metallic hues and abstract designs, and some designs are available with embroidered yokes. Girl, don't be afraid to attend a party in this trendy short dress. You will have a stunning appearance! Get your hands on exquisite silk kaftans of high quality from kaftan wholesalers in Mumbai. Style Tip: Consider wearing it with pearl danglers, a hairdo, and a statement clutch.

Kaftan Wraps:

Take it from us: kaftan wraps will be the ultimate fashion statement! Favourites include short kaftan wrap dresses made of cotton or chiffon. Simply put, kaftan warps are super stylish and comfortable. Not to mention, wearing a kaftan dress in the summer will keep you cool and comfortable because the fabric is breathable. Style Tip: Put on long danglers and a pair of sandals to look edgy.

One shoulder Kaftan:

The one-shoulder kaftan dress has recently gained popularity. You can show off a one-shoulder georgette kaftan at cocktail events, in the city's club, or even during a family picnic in the evening. Style Tip: Strappy stilettos are a must when wearing this. Don't forget to wear light eye makeup and an intense lip colour like red or purple.

Embellished Kaftan:

If Royalty speaks your fashion language and you love to look royal, then you are destined to wear a full-length, embroidered kaftan dress. It sounds nice, doesn't it, a flowing gown typically embellished with silver ornaments and beadwork? Select a kaftan dress with embroidered or ornately decorated sleeves. It will look incredibly glitzy if you add a belt to tighten it at the waist. A long kaftan with embellishments is preferable to flaunt your beauty and style! You can find a unique collection of kaftans from kaftan dress wholesale suppliers. Style Tip: Given that it is an embellished kaftan dress, keep the accessories to a minimum. You can put on transparent block heels and vibrant lipstick with this dress.

Chique Formal Kaftan:

Choose stylish yet formal kaftan dresses instead of always wearing suits and skirts for work. We would only wear these outfits if we could! Who wants to spend the entire day in sticky trousers? Look stylish and sophisticated in a V-necked dress whilst sitting through extended meetings. You can still wear a kaftan dress for a change if you work from home while giving your pyjamas a rest. Style Tip: Pair It with golden hoops, mules, and a vintage leather belt to tighten the waist.

Esika World is a leading kaftan manufacturer in Mumbai with diverse collections in wholesale. Their ethnic collection is vast and has numerous fashionable and aesthetic apparel. Browse through their Kaftan wholesaler's collection to get your hands on incredibly stylish and beautiful outfits.

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flowerwrites06 · 4 years

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break my mind’s eye IV — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

Three days passed since their reconciliation and it felt as if the layer of ice around them finally melted into a somewhat comforting warmth. Mornings rose with an innocent conversation on their jobs except Jungkook tried to keep things discreet while they were eating. Nights ended in peaceful slumber, on the few occasions where Belle would sleep on his chest or Jungkook hugged her from behind.

The heavy pit in her stomach elated soon after a couple of decent sleeps. Especially now that the designing process for the Spring Line was almost over. Madame Saitos’ dresses were incredibly rare because each piece of clothing was handmade save for a few trips on the sewing machine. Which is why the designing process comes with a time restraint to ensure that the most raw ideas spewed onto the paper. Of course tweaks here and there would always be required but that time limit created some of Saito’s most prestigious fashion museum worthy designs.

Since Belle designed around half of the finalized line, she would handmake her own designs and the news alone could keep her happy for the rest of the year. After losing an opportunity to see her designs on the runway a tear almost jerked in her eye getting that chance again.

Secretly though her favourite design she made this month was the satin white suit for her ever fashionably selective ‘boyfriend’. Belle saw the kind of suits in his wardrobe, burgundy velvet, black with golden vectors, silk deep blue and over half of them were Saitos’ original designs. She knew that this suit had to match the standard of his entire wardrobe.

This morning Belle stood in front of an ironing board, briefly smoothing out the textures of the newly designed trouser ensuring that minimal pressure was placed. Glasses slightly slipped down her nose with her hair in a loose bun. Her body draped in a fitted black long sleeve tucked into a khaki green midi skirt and a short scarf tied around her neck.

The woman had enough time out of her work schedule to showcase the suit himself. Especially since ‘Jeon Jungkook preferred private deliveries’ as Saito would say with a playful roll of her eyes.

From what she observed Jungkook came back to the mansion for a lunch time refresh and almost right on the minute, the sound of a car stopping rung in her ears. Something fluttered in her heart knowing whose footsteps grew louder as the corner of her lips curled up when the familiar male showed himself, a small smile directed towards her.

Jungkook muttered a few words about the car to one of the guards before walking towards her while the pants now laid out on the ironing board neatly. “You’re working at home?” Hands dug into his pockets, eyes flickered down to the soft white pants.

Belle smiled with a bright glint in her gaze before turning around and grabbing the open box. “I wanted to give it you properly but—” Partially bandaged fingers hovered over the fabric of the freshly ironed jacket folded with care inside the box. “Do you want to try it?”

Something jolted inside him seeing the woman look over at him that he couldn’t quite describe in any sentence. But he nodded nonetheless. Shrugging off his own blazer, Jungkook kept a close eye on the graceful way she brought the long back suit out displaying it in front of him first. The corners of his lips instantly curled seeing the familiar winged design on the back, similar color to the whole suit except it had a sheen like texture that glistened when brought into the light. A design that resembled one animal he admired the most next to dogs. “Phoenix wings?”

The girl nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. It’s the first time I’m making a suit for you so–I wanted it to be personal.”

Her voice had turned so sweet in the past few days that Jungkook could melt by the sound at this point.

Belle walked closer and draped the blazer around him, letting his arms into the sleeves before it perfectly lay on his shoulders. As distracting as the measuring session was the woman managed to make the fitting as close as possible. “Is it comfortable?” When the male agreed, she felt a sense of accomplishment burst through her. Saito had her make and mend suits all the time when she was not named a ‘designer’ but somehow knowing this one was done well allowed for a tiny celebration in her belly.

Jungkook watched her beautiful eyes light up, that strange jolt sparking inside him again which he ignored for the time being. “I want to give you something too.” He glanced down at the magnificent blazer before looking up at her.

“What is it?” Belle watched him carefully shrug off the suit so the entire outfit could be placed neatly for the event it’s meant for.

Gentle hand wrapped around hers, Jungkook led her upstairs to their shared bedroom.

Once they reached the area Belle was made to wait on the bed while the male rushed into the walk-in wardrobe. The only thing she could make out properly were the sounds of rummaging through clothes and slight slamming of something wooden. Then his figure appeared again holding a small deep red velvet box in his hand. As soon as her eyes reached the object, her heart hammered before her mind could even catch up. It didn’t take an expert to assume what might lay inside the box as she had seen many like it for one particular occasion.

“I know it looks daunting.” Jungkook reassured as if sensing the thoughts rushing inside her mind. “A lot of deals tend to have paper contracts which we will get at some point.” He padded closer before kneeling down completely in front of her while she sat on the edge, his arms brushing against her knees. “But for now—I want to give you this. As a promise that I’ll never pull the rug from under you…ever. This agreement is as solid as the pillars of this mansion. Nothing will ever happen to it.”

Like a thin paper ripped out from her eyes Belle faced her true reality staring down at the now open box, showcasing a glimmering diamond ring. Growing up the woman had been one of those people who believed marriage was a sacred bond. A promise that two people would stay loyally and happily together till the end of their comforting days. Jungkook showed no sign of being disloyal nor did Belle feel any deep sense of unhappiness in these few days. Looking at the truth behind the veil seemed naïve in this situation knowing it would only make their ordeal miserable all over again. She couldn’t afford to be miserable now. Taehyung was getting better, taking his medicine and moving to become a better man and she had to stay strong to ensure that happened. He deserved to come out happier from all this just as much as she did.

So she smiled down at the male seeing a comforting shine in the ring now. Perhaps a sign of hope rather than some sensationalized sacred bond. “Which finger should I put it on?”

Jungkook chuckled, pulling the ring out and gently taking her left hand. In no manner of hesitation the ring was softly placed on her fourth finger fitted to near perfection. “I borrowed one of your rings to get the fit.”

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered. Her hand absentmindedly reached out to caress the skin under his white collar feeling a slight warmth. Leaning in, Belle pressed a tender kiss just on the corner of his lips before pulling away.

His breath choked in his damn throat feeling her soft lips; his hands almost wanting to caress every inch of her skin and forget about the rest of the days’ work. Though Jungkook respected that Belle understood they couldn’t. No matter how amazing the idea sounded. He merely let out a slightly shaky sigh before giving the beauty a smile. Unfortunately he had to look back at the watch knowing there was a meeting looming in the next half hour almost leaving an empty feeling in his gut. “I have to go back to work.”

Belle nodded, snapping herself back to reality. “I have to go too.”

Hesitantly unlocking their joined hands they both went to their separate locations for the rest of the work-day.

Another two days went by in a blissful rush as Jungkook and Belle grew friendlier towards each other to the point where they would even share laughter through jokes from work or childhood life. Belle found out that his mother worked at a magazine company in Beijing while his father ran the investment companies in the US. They were very hands-off parents when he was growing up so his aunt practically adopted and raised him which is why his personality differed greatly from his father. Though his tactics in this business were heavily influenced by him.

Jungkook discovered her parents had been more fond of a son than a daughter so she had to jump through a lot more hoops to be good in their eyes. Eventually it never worked, Taehyung took care of her most of her life so far. That is until her parents were killed in an accidental explosion at their place of work which led to her older brothers’ downfall. Belle’s uncle and aunt tried to take care of him from time to time while she worked at the boutique until at some point they grew tired of babysitting a drug addict.

The two never really had a person to truly share mixed feelings about their upbringing. Even if Belle had Taehyung, he would always somehow reel back and tell her that their parents loved them both equally. Which she knew fully well was not true no matter how much it felt comforting to believe it.

Though the deep conversations usually faded back into playful serenity again now more comfortable with each other’s presence than ever before.

In came the day of the garden party.

Belle dressed herself in a baby blue midi dress, the overlay adorned with the same colored flowers on a sheer material trailing down to touch her knees, crème colored hat to finish it off. The second event she was going to with Jungkook but this time no sense of dread passed through her nor any stress. In fact the woman wanted to see Jungkooks’ aunt wearing the gorgeous dress she chose for the occasion. And Jungkook wearing his own custom made suit.

A similar routine where she walked down the stairs while the white-suited male gave some instructions to the guards possibly about keeping an eye on the mansion while they were away. Then he turned to face her once she reached the center of the living room, a soft smile immediately tugging at the corner of her lips.

The extremely aware corner of her mind now buried itself under all the elation developed through the past few days. Some part already knew that this was a ruse. Jungkook was successfully gaining everything he asked for without barely lifting a finger and Belle truly had no valid choice to disagree. Though if that thought swirled around in her head for too long, it would start aching and this whole experience could fade into torture again.

Perhaps there was a comfort in pretending that his hand intertwined with hers radiated comfort rather than entrapment. The guards bowing to them and leading them into the car showed a sign of protection rather than no means of escape. Jungkook might think the woman a pawn but that did not mean she was one.

From where she sat in the car shoulder pressed to him and hands still linked, Belle imagined herself to sit at the far end of the chess board rather than the front as a mere pawn.

Once they reached the garden party the couple was welcomed with a vibrant burst of nature, people in colorful dress and bright suits floating through the bushes like pixies. Occasionally a photographer or two flashed their camera towards them but hardly anything intimidating like the previous event. Eyes almost immediately flickered over to them when they walked out of the car. Holding Jungkooks’ hand actually provided some kind of comfort knowing she was not alone and exposed to all these people.

Bushes shaped to represent different safari animals, crowds of pink, white and red roses all around coupled with fragrant jasmines and chrysanthemums. The garden looked almost endless from the sides. Belle noticed the large cherry and peach blossoms, little petals falling gracefully and a gorgeous mansion to pull the whole picture together. The building adorned a taupe sandstone with golden detailing similar to Jungkooks’ estate except aged a bit more.

“Darlings!” Boyoungs’ voice rung in her ears as the woman bounced towards the couple wearing a royal purple midi dress with some matching wrist gloves and a floral hat to top it off. Purple tinted lips stretched out in a bright smile, hugging the both of them with the same enthusiasm.

The older female led them to the main table where her husband sat with a few other family friends who welcomed her with an intrigued smile. Sitting under the shade of the laced line umbrella provided some cool away from the warm sun while they were served tea.

Boyoungs’ eyes immediately flickered towards the shining diamond around Belle’s finger and a small gasp caught in her throat. “Oh you proposed!” Her announcement ripped through the entire group and onto a few others outside of the umbrella as a rush of cheer passed on like a infection.

Belle merely smiled with her gaze fixed on the rose tea while Jungkook chuckled nervously. She hoped they would not ask for a romantic proposal story but they all seemed to just pat the young male on the back. Some of the ladies asked what kind of cut it was which the girl gave an answer from observation. It didn’t take long for her to realize that most of these people were probably arranged to marry. So the idea of any romantic story would be useless to them even though Belle and Jungkook were supposed to be a ‘love’ marriage.

Somehow the lack of her own froufrou story made it easier and harder to sit at the table. Belle politely listened to stories of awkward marriage arrangement along with an attempt to sound less hostile towards each other. For a minute she prided in being so good at pretending that her marriage was happy and full of light.

Though the pretense became exhausting really quickly. Her posture began to falter as her rose tea reached the end of its fill and the shade from the sun created cloud over her mind.

“Excuse me.” Belle spoke as gently as she could to the crowd. “I’m going to take a stroll.” She smiled getting up from the chair, chest feeling a little constricted.

Jungkook watched her in slight concern when she excused herself. Truthfully nothing about this conversation comforted him either. The whole idea of marriage, especially one that came from a business arrangement didn’t spark happy stories and it was a situation that some attendees at the table could relate to. The only thing he could do as a sign of comfort was touch her hand lightly which she squeezed in response before he watched her walk deeper into the gardens.

A couple of minutes passed and Jungkook grew tired of the conversations bubbling between his family friends so his eyes wandered to other attendees. Eventually his eyes set on one particular male, simple black suit with a silver necklace around his neck and blue lens glasses over his eyes.

Excusing himself from the table politely, he walked over to where the other male had been examining the jasmines. A few colorful pixies rolled in front of him and giggled when he gave them way until finally he was able to come close to a more reassuring face. Well second most reassuring to the one that just glazed through the gardens on her own.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of nature.” Jungkook smirked standing next to him.

“Well a lot of my supplies come from plants.” He shrugged, eyes merely scanning over the flowers and trees not really focusing on anything in particular.

“Technically they’re my supplies but sure.” He dug his hands into his jacket pockets, attention trailing and silently searching for a familiar blue dress. “Anything to report?” It was a regular, almost absentminded question at this point whenever he saw the male since he was responsible for most of the sells around this area.

Hoseok took a generous sip of tea before wincing as he stared at the decorative cup. “Rose tea tastes like piss.” He cleared his throat, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Everything’s fine so far. Clients are rolling in payments from all corners, some even paid in advance to ensure secrecy.” He placed the tea cup on one of the vacant tables before looking out in the gardens again. “Except a few regulars like Kim Taehyung still hasn’t paid.”

“I told he already paid all his previous payments.” Jungkook shook his head, brows furrowing.

“What about the one the five days ago?”

The younger male had to connect the dots for a few seconds as his forehead knitted. “Five days ago? He’s been in rehab for almost a fortnight.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it’s working. I remember all my sells.” He rolled his eyes a little. “Well I kinda just give it to Taehyung instead of sell.”

“You do know I could kill you for doing things like that, right?” Anger bubbled right up to his throat except not directed towards Hoseok.

“Hey you’re the one who told me to give younger clients a break.” He defended.

“I know.” Jungkook had the strong urge to tell him that Taehyung already paid the biggest price of all strolling around the cherry blossoms. “Don’t sell it to him anymore.” He ordered simply.

“What?”

“If he asks again, send him to me. Don’t give him anything.” He seethed the last word spotting Belle now as a bright suited man walked up to her. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the familiar face even from this distance.

Hoseok stared at the male quizzically. No client ever received this kind of special treatment even to send some kind of a message. Hell if he wanted to send a message, Taehyung would have been dead in a ditch somewhere for police to scrap him off. Yet Jungkook wanted to keep the man alive for some reason. “Why—”

“Just…” Jungkook sighed trying to push his frustrations even though he wanted to explode right there and then. “…Just do as I say.” Eyes flickered back over to Belle again who was now conversing and smiling with the man causing a small twinge in his chest. “I’m trusting you to do this for me, Hobi. Alright?”

The older male still looked utterly confused but nodded nonetheless. “Of course, man. You’re the boss.” He pressed his lips together. “Now can you tell where they put the whiskey?”

Jungkook glanced around the party before leaning into him. “Ask the server with the blue flower on his breast pocket. They usually bring in secret batches for more important guests. The password is periwinkle.”

“Is that some kind of fancy slang for penis?” Hoseok winced.

He stammered already imagining Belles’ reaction to that statement being far more dramatic than his. “It’s a shade of—just go.” Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as the male rushed to find his source of sanctuary.

Boyoung was definitely on par with the seasoning of fashion since a garden party was the absolute perfect way to create inspiration for spring design. Granted this years’ line finished in its designing process, there was no reason not to take in the sheer amount of beauty. How ethereal would those peach blossoms look on a silk kimono or chrysanthemum detailing on a wedding dress. So many colours and designs all around her Belle had the strong urge to twirl like a little child in pure happiness.

But to keep up a decent appearance she merely smiled watching the cherry blossoms fall gracefully down to the ground. Hand held out the woman managed to have one land on her palm. That was when a voice spoke from behind her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She turned around to see a man with a wisteria shaded suit and a charming plump lipped smile. His chocolate brown hair parted to the side with eyes that expressed both kindness mixed into a little intimidation. “It is.” Belle smiled at the male before glancing back at the scenery again.

He took a small step forward. “I’m Kim Seokjin.” He stated holding his hand out which the woman accepted kindly after a moments’ hesitation. “The owner of the Sangria House.”

Belle only heard a few rumors about the Sangria House much like a person who evaluated life in a brothel based on assumptions and fiction stories. From what she knew, it had the mixture of a teahouse and a brothel but that was pretty much everything. Either way she smiled knowingly trying to be polite even though the girl had no intention in admiring a neatly dressed pimp too much. “Kim Belle. Nice to meet you.”

“With the murmurs I’m hearing, it seems Kim will be turning to Jeon very soon.” Seokjin smirked, glancing over his shoulder towards the flowing pixies all over the garden.

The woman tried to maintain the smile despite her prior momentary peace in the garden now being diminished. “Maybe not that soon.” She mumbled.

“Why do you say that?”

Her heart leaped slightly, the sudden urge to just spew out her whole situation in hopes that Seokjin would never be in her line of sight again. But the woman knew better to keep quiet especially since these attendees would probably not be that helpful nor would they find her ordeal abnormal. “I have a lot of other responsibilities right now.”

“Ah yes the new and coming designer for Saito.” Seokjin nodded, gaze lowered to his feet for a moment before looking over at her again.

Belle smiled politely feeling a sense of pride towards her workplace. Saitos’ outfits were rare so it was hard hearing about them from just anyone. Except from the way this man held himself and the reputation of the Sangria House, she knew Seokjin was not just anyone.

“You know, I had been wanting to order a few new dresses from Madame Saito as a refreshed décor for my angels.” Seokjins’ request lingered in the light breezy garden. “Maybe I could personally order you as my designer.”

A chill rushed down her spine either from the breeze or the fact he said ‘my designer’. Still the woman sighed lightly and smiled. The opportunity to create a contact was a literal dream come true. But the man did not know her designs nor did he see how she worked. Which gave the unsettling assumption that Seokjin was asking on his mere personal interest just by looking at and talking to her.

“Darling!”

Belle heard a familiar voice call out as a flash of white strolled towards the two of them. Immediately a more genuine smile tugged at her lips when Jungkook stood, arm gently wrapped around her waist.

“Mr. Jeon.”

“Mr. Kim.” Jungkook’s fingers gripped at her dress for a second before smoothing it down. “I hope you don’t mind if I whisk away my lady for a minute.” It wasn’t really a question from the sound of his tone and when he was already pulling her away.

“Think about my offer, Ms. Kim.” Seokjin smirked.

Belle could only get the chance to nod before she felt herself being led off towards the mansion.

“Bit of a rushed interaction.” Belle remarked as they walked into the majestic building Jeon Boyoung called her home. Instead of crème, the mansion adorned a dark wooden interior with antique hand-painted portraits of what she assumed were ancestors of the Jeon family including a modern one of Jungkooks’ extended family. The large painting was the first thing people saw when they walked in, Jungkooks’ aunt and father sitting on chairs while their spouses and children stood on the far ends.

She could easily see the mixture between Jungkooks’ parents from his mothers’ soft round eyes and small pouty lips to his fathers’ sharp jaw and intimidating brows.

“You looked like you needed a bit of rescuing.” Jungkook replied simply with a shrug following her gaze up to the portrait.

“Oh yeah he was definitely ‘talking’ me to death.” Sarcasm seeped through her tone as she walked forward towards the wide entry hall having the strong urge to scream and see if there was an echo.

“Believe me that’s his superpower.” He tried to explain as well as keeping up with her slightly excited exploration. “Seokjin got his company to the highest ranks of the elite through his eloquence. Hell he even convinced me to invest.”

“So you invest in brothels.” Belle turned around to face him now, not really caring what he did in his work since it all could be listed down into a category of inappropriate. “Did you get good discounts?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sangria House is not just a brothel.”

“Yes yes don’t think a girl working alone in the city hasn’t heard that before on the streets.” She raised a brow. “Let me guess…it’s a respected establishment with highly trained employees who get paid a fair wage. Did I forget to mention the highest bidder gets to take away a novices’ virginity? And the fair wage only exists if you’re a full-fledged angel. Oh and they get to wear pretty dresses.” Belle gave him an advertisement happy smile before walking carefully backwards.

“You’re telling me you’ve been recruited into Sangria House before?”

Belle shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m sure every person who looked unemployed enough has.”

Jungkook kept glancing behind her to check if it was safe enough to be walking like that. “Guess fate wanted you to come to this place one way or another.” He smiled.

“Ah so you did get a few investor gifts.” She turned back around walking towards the flight of stairs. “What were they like?”

His eyes trailed down her body when she bounced up the stairs feeling a quick tremble. “I’ve experienced better.” Jungkook quickly caught up to the woman and grabbed onto her hand to keep her close to him for a few more moments.

Belle smirked up at him trying to back away cheekily before her back hit the wall. “I think he had a good offer.” She muttered averting her gaze a little.

“Really?” He tilted his head placing his palm on the wall next to her head. “Do you have to wear a pretty dress to come with it?”

She playfully slapped his chest. “Not that kind of offer.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but admire her every little movement as if he would lose her if he missed a second.

“He wants me to design some dresses for his angels.”

“Are you going to agree?”

Belle shrugged soothing the place she slapped lightly. “He’s ordered from Saitos’ before so—should be a good contact.”

Jungkook only hummed in response.

“What?” The corners of her lips curled up already sensing what made the man look so uncomfortable at the prospect.

“Nothing…”

“Alright, I’ll just go back and talk to him again.”

Before Belle could prance down the stairs, Jungkook hooked his arm around her waist and pressed her back against the wall. One free arm leaned next to her head while he leaned down with a small smirk. “Everyone’s been talking to you today.” He brushed away the loose hair from her face before his arm wrapped around her again, making sure no space escaped between their bodies. “Maybe I just want you to myself for a minute.”

“I am an independent woman, Mr. Jeon.” She teased with a faint smirk. “You’re going to have to ask nicely.”

Jungkook smiled as she played with his sharp collars. “May I—please have you all to myself for a minute, Ms. Kim?”

Belle hummed, taking her hat off and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just for a minute.” She acknowledged in a whisper.

All he needed was her say and his lips magnetized onto hers, tasting the brownie she nibbled on earlier. Palms rubbed over the soft fabric of her blue dress to her bare arms and the back of her neck, sliding down to where he could feel the curve of her plush peach. Almost a week had passed since they last touched each other in this manner but Jungkook burned up so much, he could surpass a furnace. Kisses trailed down to her jawline.

Pausing on a soft patch of skin on her neck he bit onto it humming in satisfaction when she gasped lightly. Jungkook could listen to those sounds on a record player if he ever wanted to find peace when she was away. He couldn’t help her squeeze her whole body a little to ensure that this wasn’t all a dream. But the heat radiating together told no lie.

Soon frustration seeped in as the clothing around her felt too restricting causing his hand to sneak under the skirt of her dress. A satisfied sigh brushed against her lips feeling how warm her bare skin felt against his own almost lulling to a transient relaxation. Like nothing could go wrong at this moment.

“We can’t do that under a minute.” Belle giggled, noses nudging against each other as they intoxicated themselves in each other’s breathy laughter.

“I just missed touching you.” Jungkook whispered feeling his mind far too blurry to care about putting up a wall and sounded more calm about this situation. He loved feeling her against his skin. So much so that he had rub his hand up her hips, torso and breast after sneaking out of her skirt. Every crevice drove him insane.

Her core pooled at the firm brush against her body, lightly touching her nipple before he gently grabbed her by the neck. Eyes closed unable to focus on anything else in the hallway even if she tried, her lips practically parting on its own for Jungkooks’ tongue to explore her mouth once again.

“Jungkook! Belle! Aunt Boyoungs’ calling!”

Jungkook groaned under his throat making Belle chuckle at how desperate he got from a few naughty touches in their momentary privacy.

Fixing her dress to make it look proper again, the couple walked out holding hands towards the party with a new air of joy around them.

Patience had always been one of this strong suits. A trait many men of his stature lacked so when he excelled at it, respect for him shot up through the roof. So why was it that he could not keep his hands to himself whenever Belle so much as stood next to him? Merely a day passed since the garden party and Jungkook had already kissed every part of her face whenever he got his chance in the morning.

It didn’t help that the woman had a talent in noticing when someone was literally trembling to feel more of her. She got ready wearing nothing but a thin, satin robe causing her slightly plump thighs to peek out of the clothing. The man had to physically turn his head away so he could focus on putting his tie on without looking like a toddler doing it for the first time. Even then he still pecked her temple and cheek when he stood behind her.

Even when she finally left for her work, her small goodbye kiss lingered on his lips for most of the afternoon which meant he had to space out for a few seconds during meetings before finally answering any questions or making any demands.

Then a call rung in his phone while he sat in a car on his way for a check-in at the warehouse.

Hoseoks’ name appeared on the screen.

Heart sinking down to an abyss, Jungkook answered the phone. “What is it?”

A sigh passed from the other side of the phone. “He came back again. I’ve sent him to you now. He’s on the way to the mansion.” Hoseok sounded just about as helpless as Jungkook felt when the two quickly ended the call not wanting to waste any more time.

Postponing the check-in, the driver took him straight back to the mansion a little quicker than he was legally allowed to but they reached before Jungkook could groan in frustration. He wanted to get the whole situation over and done with. Dealing with client was already frustration as it were on a normal day but now more than ever he wished he didn’t throw away his pack of cigarettes already.

Not that it was his fault anyway since Taehyung decided to ruin the entire deal in less than a month.

Once inside the mansion Jungkook saw the hooded man on his knees with four guards surrounding him in front of the dormant fireplace. Shrugging off his blazer he slammed it down onto the floor before stomping over to him. He spotted the mans’ blood shot eyes and chapped lips, skin glistening in sweat. When he finally stood before him, a deafening silence lingered in the air.

This was what would have happened. Taehyung on his knees ready to accept his bloody fate for taking advantage of his long trained patience. The man had the shaking urge to continue with that plan. It almost worked until he remembered the soft linger on his lips again. “How long have you been taking it?” He asked in a grim tone.

Taehyung hung his head, lips pursing together.

“I asked you a question.” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth, feeling his final nerve being tugged at.

“Couple of days.”

“A week is not a ‘couple of days’” His fingers curled up into tight fists. “And you had the gall to ask for more? Did you even finish it all?”

“I—I didn’t ask for that much.” His voice was meek under his breath.

Jungkook scoffed turning around for a moment to catch his fiery heaving. “You didn’t ask for that much.” He repeated the statement in his own mind and felt the lava flooding past his control. When it reached the peak of the volcano, one of his fists swung across Taehyung’s face, a crunch sound touching his ears.

The male cowered on the floor, hands over his nose as blood trickled through his fingers and his eyes looked more bloodshot than before.

“This isn’t a buy and sell anymore, Taehyung!” His voice echoed throughout the walls of the mansion. “Do you even realize your little sister lives here now? Because of you!” Jungkook spat watching Taehyung struggle to get himself back up again. “You think she’s here just so you can continue scrapping drugs for free?!”

“You’re the one who made the deal in the first place!” He shrieked through his hands.

Jungkook grabbed at his hair, forcing him to look up at the male. Blood drenched him from his nose down his neck but it only angered the man further. “I only made the deal because I thought you’d do anything to make sure your sister was safe. Even if it meant facing the real world without anything numbing you out.”

“Jungkook…” He heard a familiar murmur from behind him almost making his stomach jump up to his throat. Before he could turn back to see, the floral dressed figure already padded closer to the scene, eyes flooding with tears.

Despite the ache in his heart, the male still let go of Taehyung roughly to limp back onto the floor. “Tell her.” A growl sneaked within his voice. “I want you to tell her what you did.” He gestured towards the woman.

Belle hesitantly walked and knelt down in front of her brother as he tried to get up again. Her hands held onto his shoulders just until he was on his knees as well. A sob caught in her throat seeing the blood smeared on her older brothers’ face. His blood drenched hands attempted to hold her somehow but only ended up staining her skin and some of the lighter flowers on her black background dress. “What happened?” She whispered.

Taehyung lowered his head, biting down his bottom lip to conceal a small sob.

“Tae—” A little annoyance flew straight to her head thinning her patience to near nothingness but to be the cool headed one in the volcanic pit made from the living room, she kept her voice calm. “Tae, please answer me.”

“I couldn’t—” He sniffled, gripping onto her arms. “I couldn’t do it.”

She pressed her lips together as the tears jerked out of her, streaming down her light berry colored cheeks. Immediately the woman shook her head before wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Jungkook argued. “He had a responsibility.”

“And you made a promise.” Belle met his gaze with a subtle tremble in her tone, getting off the floor. “Addiction isn’t just going to go away.” Her voice rung soft in his ears as she padded closer to Jungkook instantly melting away most of his fury. “You could’ve done the absolute worst to me, it was still going to take time.”

His eyes twitched a little feeling the ache on his knuckles a little too prominently, desperately wishing he took a small puff of a cigarette prior to this meeting. Jungkook glared back at Taehyung who already looked like he was going to pass out from the one punch before he looked at Belle. Everything felt so much better in these few days. He saw her smiling more often and playing around that now watching her face drenched in tears and her neck streaked with blood made his chest clench in immense pain. “He’s going to stay here from now on.” He declared struggling to keep his voice steady. “We’ll have nurses and guards looking after him until he gets better. There’s no chance of him sneaking out anywhere.”

Belle watched the male gesture towards his guards who grabbed Taehyung firmly and led him towards another room through the hall next to the bar. Silence plunged back into the room as the woman tried to meet Jungkooks’ gaze again. Even if she tried to form them, no words managed come out of her. She did not know whether to be thankful or just more exhausted about this whole ordeal; the ring around her finger now felt heavier than ever.

Jungkook walked towards the bar. With a loud sigh, the male practically threw a glass onto the table before roughly pouring some golden liquid to the brim and taking a generous swig.

In small hesitant steps she stood behind the counter. Grabbing a cloth and drenching it under a tap, Belle wiped off any residue of blood on her neck and arm.

“How’re you so calm about this?” Jungkook asked solemnly.

Who knew that simple question could cause a thick lump in her throat. “I’m not calm.” Fresh tears gathered at the brim of her eyes while she cleaned out the towel again. “I’m just tired.” She sniffled feeling an invisible but heavy weight on her shoulders that she couldn’t get rid of even if she wanted to. “Really tired.”

Jungkook watched her from over his shoulder trying to drink another sip to get rid of that ache in his chest again. A few maids walked out of Taehyungs’ new room with some old sheets and bloody cloth, bowing to the two of them quickly before excusing themselves. Once the room only consisted of them, he pulled out another empty glass.

“I don’t drink.” Belle muttered, standing next to the male in front of the counter.

He turned back towards the small fridge behind them and reached inside for a plastic bottle with some red liquid inside. “You like cranberry juice?”

She nodded after a moment’s hesitation. The right corner of her lip twitched a little as Jungkook filled her glass up halfway. “Thank you.” She whispered, gently holding the crystal before taking a shy sip.

Jungkook sighed leaning on his elbows against the table, eyes scanning the now empty living room. “I’m really tired too.” He murmured. “It’s not really 9 to 5 job like it looks, you have to—mold it with your personal life and let it run you until finally…” He held up his glass. “This kills you… Fun old life, isn’t it? Violence, alcohol and—”

“Sex.”

“Not really getting much of that lately.”

“Don’t expect it tonight either.” Belle took a more generous sip. “Maybe next time beat people up in a warehouse like all the normal crime lords.” She gestured towards the empty space in the living room. “That was the second time.”

He looked at the empty space again with an added annoyance before hanging his head, scoffing. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

She had a tiny smirk curled up her lips before leaning to press a warm kiss on his cheek. “That’s what you get for punching my brother.” She whispered. “Too bad though.” Belle looked down at her outfit. “I really wanted to show you something.”

Jungkooks’ eyes immediately trailed down her form again, fingers twitching. “Showing me something isn’t technically sex.”

“Nice try.” Belle patted his back before leaving him in own heated mess to go upstairs. “Good night, Mr. Jeon.”

Once again he was left watching the beauty walk away from him and all he could do was take in every inch of her body and every strand of her hair until it drove him mad. If the alcohol didn’t kill him, she might just.

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#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts mafia au #jungkook mafia au

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mistocore · 2 years

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hey!! id love to hear your misto hcs if you havent shared them already and want to ofc :•)

oh u have no idea the can of worms ur about to open !! here i go !! here comes the autism !!

Mistoffelees has been dancing since he was 8 years old! After Bustopher and Jenny met, fell in love and planned their life together, Misto met Victoria as a child. They watched a tape of Jenny, playing Clara from The Nutcracker in her debut ballet. Mistoffelees from there fell in love with ballet. He STILL has the same tape and watches it occasionally. It makes him cry a lot ;; so it's a special occasion.

His favourite thing about Tugger is his drive and optimism for his future! He's happy to be with a strong-minded person.

His favourite band is Mazzy Star :-] He loves gentle, shoegaze-y music and classic rock. He also loves Slowdive, Sonic Youth, Morphine and The Velvet Underground.

He takes VERY good care of his physical health. He has very toned legs and a well-built upper body (obviously as he’s a dancer), and clocks in at about 5′9 :-]

His coffee order is a green tea latte espresso infusion, or he just takes it black with a bunch of packets of sweetner.

Despite being so passionate about dance, he always feels like theres something more to life than what he signed up for. He’s very paranoid he’ll dance his life away with no time for the true fun in life. He has an insecurity about loosing his youth to his art :[

His hobbies other than ballet include: old cinema, theatre (viewing, he loves going to plays), board games, old cars (he drives a dark green, morris marina which he works on with his dad!), entomology, gothic literature + writing poetry !!

He doesn’t drink much alcohol but his drink of choice is usually fancy artisanal gin with lemonade or very fruity blends of liqueurs. He also drinks just straight diet coke sometimes with a lot of ice !! He’s an ice eater. Kinda guy who bites his ice cream.

He has an incredible relationship with his parents and sister. He treaures them close.

Victoria does step on his toes a lot, metaphorically. Often pestering him or watching his every step when he dances. Mistoffelees finds this tedious, but goes with it as he knows that she’s very versed.

His favourite season is autumn. He loves walking and kicking up leaves, feeling the drizzle upon his umbrellas and sitting in cafes during storms. He loves a gloomy day.

His favourite food is truffle chocolates. One’s that are so rich they melt in your mouth and indulge every sense! He loves ones with berries, champagne and coffee flavours. He can;t eat them as often as he wants though! They’re little treats.

His favourite meal is sourdough pizza with roasted cherry tomatos, olives and mushrooms :-]

He played the violin as a kid! As a mandatory instrument in his primary and secondary school! He can’t remember a lot of it, but still has his old instrument!

Mistoffelees’s favourite movie is Notting Hill starring Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts ;; He’s a sucker for a romance

His idols are Carlos Acosta and Erik Bruhn + His favourite ballet is Giselle !!

He is bisexual

Mistoffelees is quite awkward. He doesn’t really know what to do in many social situations. It takes a lot for him to fully open up.

He's quite a plain jane when it comes to fashion. Mostly because he's in the ballet studio in sweats and a v neck 24/7 !! But I think he starts to dress a little more outside of his comfort zone ! He would wear sweater vests, slouchy flannels, courduroy trousers. Stuff like this!!! (the second guy is actually a qt idea for how i picture my misto):

There’s probably more in my brain but !! this is all i got :-] if any pop into my head ill edit

#i love my misto SO much #black sheep #asks #au

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thestylesplash · 2 years

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Sparkle and Shine - December's Style Not Age

Sparkle and Shine – December’s Style Not Age

Happy Boxing Day! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas Day. What did Santa bring you? I got a fantastic new electric acoustic guitar, jewellery, gloves, hat, socks, slippers and some yummy vegan treats. After a delicious lunch (cooked by Pete) and a glass of fizz, I had to have an afternoon sleep! I’m trying to be more energetic today. I was quite tired after driving to Cambridgeshire and…

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#40 plus style blog #40+ fashion blog #Boohoo sequin striped kimono jacket #Love Rocks multi coloured hoop earrings #over 40 fashion blog #over 40 fashion blogger #over 40 style blog.#The Hippie Shake Magic Time gold sunglasses #V by Very black velvet trousers #White Ribbon Boutique gold ankle boots

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amphtaminedreams · 3 years

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Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart.

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out.

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway.

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

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wickedapostate · 3 months

Text

Nazari physical description, it's under the cut cause it is 700+ words. I got into the nitty gritty here folks

Nazari is a Qunari trans woman, she is 7'2 with what would be considered a lean athletic build by Qunari standards, and a fit (not body builder) build by human standards. She has deep bronze skin that almost is metallic in some lighting.

She has many scars: One across her face, starting right next to her left (artists right) eyebrow, narrowly missing her eye, going across her nose, and ending just a bit after that. Right under her left horn (artists right) she has electrical burn scarring from getting hit with a bolt of magical lightening, it covers the left half of her forehead and stops just above her eyebrow. On her upper right (artist's left) bicep she has two scars which form an X from a dagger. On her left palm there is a horizontal scar of a cut from a sword. She also has some scars which are generally covered by her clothes. All but the burn scars are old ones and appear so.

She has a rectangular face with highly defined cheek bones and hollow cheeks, average sized forehead with two horns, mirrors of each other, sprouting from her hairline. Her nose bridge has a nook in it, and is slightly crooked due to being broken in the past, her nostrils flair out wide, and dipping down somewhat. Her eyes are long horizontal ovals, the upper lash line flairing up just a bit at the outer corners, her irises are storm purple, and scalria is white. She has thick white eyebrows, they've been given a once, not twice, over with tweezers; she also has two sliver steel hoop piercings on the inner side of her left (artists right) eyebrow.

Horns. Honestly I don't know how to describe them. I'm sorry, you're gonna have to rely on the art I've got. Tbh, the Crowesn picrew one is the best reference I've got and what I want her horns to look like.

Her ears are somewhat pointed, coming in at an angle. She wears two sliver colored small hoop earrings on each ear lobe, and has an industrial piercing in each ear, the same color as the other two.

Her hair is thick and curly, reaching down to her butt hanging loosely and with volume. Thick strands reach around her horns to frame, and hang over the right (artist's left) side of her face, lightly obscuring her eye. She has a very slight widows peak. Her hair is well moisturized and in heavy light appears shiny. It is cloud white naturally. HC time that Qunari (the lineage) don't often have noticeable body hair due to their dragon blood and also cause the only qunari we see with more than hair on their heads, eyebrows, or eyelashes, is Bull with his facial hair. All of this to say she doesn't have noticeable body hair.

A sleeveless layered top, the under layer is a elegantly patterned deep purple toned turtle neck, the top layer is a v neckline that slightly pops out around the neck in a dark violet velvet. It is tucked into black trousers held up by a belt, the sides are cut out and stitched back together with black cord in an X pattern, a move to make the pants fit better on herself. The pants are tucked into caff height black leather boots which have had it's straps dyed purple-ish.

On her hands she wears partial gloves made up of sliver chain and a portion of cut out lace, it covers the flesh beneath the thumb. On her right (artist's left) wrist she has a leather cord wrapped around with a clay charm of half a dragon tooth attached to it. Around her neck she has three necklaces; the longest reaches the middle of her chest, it is a steel locket on a steel chain, inside is a pressed herb, native only to Par Vollen, a momento her mother gifted her. The next longest hangs to the top of her chest, six colorful wooden beads on a scrap leather cord, gifted to her by a child she helped free. The last is nearly a choker, a plain fine sliver chain.

One last detail is that she keeps a steel flask in her right boot which is usually full of high proof sprirts just as good for fire spell components as it is for getting drunk.

The mentioned picrew

My current best reference of her. By myself

#nazari mercar #oj&c #.txt #.png

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noir0neko · 4 years

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salt and salvation- jjk

“The sea is emotion incarnate.”

genre: mermaid!au w/ fluff, angst, v light smut | 11.8k words

req: hi! i’d love a mermaid!au with jungkook x reader! the reader hates the beach but one afternoon runs into an injured jungkook there and falls in love? i love mermaid aus but honestly this could apply to any supernatural/mystical au you want! thank you in advance if you do do this request! thank you!

I hate the ocean.

Everything about it.

I hate the salt that seems to weigh down the air. I hate the granules of sand that get stuck in between my toes. I hate the froth of the water and how it collapses against the land like it's trying to swallow the earth whole. Like it swallowed my mother. I hate the wind and how it always seems to make my clothes rustle as I try to slip quietly without being seen or heard.

Like it’s doing now.

I try to pull my cloak tighter around me to quiet the sound. Why did my mother have to leave me her beach house when she died? She knew I would have loved the quaint cabin in the woods. The one with the big roof made of dark timber logs and windows painted by her hand. But she had left that to no one, and therefore, it reverted back to the Duke, with his stupid long face and slithering stare. I had tried to locate the cabin multiple times since my mother’s death, but no matter how many times I waded along the pier and into the thick woods behind it, I could never find it. Almost like it vanished like she did.

The sea probably swallowed that, too. I think, bitterly, not looking out at its vast expanse next to me as I walk on towards the sea cottage.

The property had been inherited by my mother through generations of noble women. When she fell in love with my father, though, a peasant farmer from across the border, she was denounced of her titles and forced out of the Duke’s estate. Not before she seized the deed to two very secluded properties: the beach house and the cabin. They were far enough from town to be acceptable to her still doting mother, but not far enough that gossip didn’t spread and damage the family name.

The problem with the beach though, much to my chagrin, is that everyone else wants the land my mother's property sat on, despite the name that owned it. Merchants want it to build a port and extend the current pier further down the island's coast to encourage trade. Nobles want it to build an estate with a view of the water to impress their wives, mistresses, and rivals. Even the Red Revivals want it, to build a new pleasure house that would allow for ultimate discretion and easy access in and out of the establishment. I don’t want it at all. But it is the last thing of my mother’s that I have.

And I will happily tell the Duke’s son, Marquess Savoa, where he can stick it if he asks me for my price again. He has been courting me for the better part of two years about the property, ever since it came into my possession. He had started out pretending like he didn’t want it, following me into the woods at night when I tried to find my mother’s cabin and talking to me as if we were old friends. Part of me knew I was still here at the mercy of his father, especially living alone as a young woman. But another part of me wanted to scare him away so he, and everyone else, would leave me alone.

When my mother died, it was almost as if all of her “indiscretions” against her household were forgiven. I received letters from aunts and uncles I never met, welcoming me back to the Duke’s estate and into the family fold. They said that family was so important during these trying times, and they would see to my education and manners, even though it was well past the time. I burned all of the letters or flung them over the small cliff by the cottage and into the sea, pretending the wind was my mother’s laugh as she read them below the waves. Where were they for the past near two decades of my life? Where were they when my mother died and before they found out I was alone?

I had been taught to read, to write, to do arithmetic and to dance. My mother taught me and my father in tandem, both of us giggling behind her back when she’d chastise us for not paying attention. I don’t know where my father is now. He left after my mother died on what he told me was a visit to see his family, and never returned. Part of hopes the sea swallowed him too. That would be easier than thinking he left me of his own free will. Until I truly was, I thought I knew what loneliness was when up alone as a child. But I didn’t. Part of me feels like I still don’t.

I almost turn back around when I see a shape standing near the door of the house, tailcoats blowing in the wind and a hat resting in his hand. I roll my eyes and steel my breath, watching him knock on the door and call my name again, as if trying to rouse me from the sleep I’m not in.

“I hope you don’t make a habit of coming around at this hour.” I grumble, staying at the bottom of the porch stairs. He turns around and looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. Another unfortunate thing about this property: because everyone wants it, everyone knows where it is. And that I am its only resident.

“There you are!” Marquess Savoa exclaims, bowing slightly for pretense.

His shock blonde hair glints off the moonlight, tan face and dark lips turned up. His green eyes are swimming with expectation, excitement, and nerves? I look him over, taking in the black of his coat and trim length of his trousers, neatly tucked in to long boots with shiny silver buckles and a white undershirt billowing slightly in the wind. He looks more kept than usual, despite the jittery twitching of his hands.

I thin my eyes at him. “What can I do for you, Marquess?”

He waves his hat at me. “We are too well acquainted for titles.”

“I didn’t know we were well acquainted at all,” I say, flatly, hoping he’ll get my hint and leave. He is here to give the same speech he always is: we are friends, I want to impress my father, what can I offer you? Please let me see inside?

He doesn’t get my hint.

“Such fire!” He exclaims, holding his hat over his heart in mock hurt. “I surrender.”

The marquess always does have a flare for the dramatic. Some days, when he would walk with me in the woods and teach me about the different types of trees and flowers, I would allow myself to admit that I didn’t mind it. I would allow myself to let him pick my favorite flowers and put them in my hair and say sweet things to me. But right now, with another failed search under my belt and the stench of the ocean clinging to my clothes, I want to push him off my porch and board my door.

He climbs down the stairs with his long legs, pocket watch chiming against the inner silver of his coat rhythmically with every step. As he approaches, I can see the pink of his cheeks, the pearly white of his teeth, the perfect line of his eyebrows. He is a fine man to look at, especially with the moon reflecting off every shiny buckle and belt, and I hate that the thought crosses my mind. Unfortunately, for all of my experiences, I still remain a romantic at heart.

“I have another letter for you,” he says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a neatly folded creme envelope with my family’s deep purple seal. I sigh inwardly, forcing a smile to my lips as I take it from him.

“Thank you,” I say, not letting our fingers graze during the exchange, “I’ll reply soon.”

He gives me a knowing smile, as if he can see right through me, then regards the sticks in my cloak and slightly frizzy hair with disdain. “You went without me? Did you find it?”

I shake my head, swallowing back the tears of frustration that rise in my throat. I have been looking for nearly two years. When will I be able to let go? When will I admit to myself that I won't ever find it. That the Duke probably tore it from the ground and used its beautiful amber wood to build a stable house.

“I asked my father about it,” Savoa pipes up, and I can’t help but feel a slimmer of hope rise in me before he continues. “He said he never remembered claiming a wooded estate. And that, if he did, it was probably removed or the deed returned to the family.”

Another thing about the marquess, his iron honesty.

I always told him that it didn’t serve him well in court.

He always replied he was only honest around me.

I didn’t know if I believed him.

He seems to sense my defeat and annoyance, because he hurries on. “I will continue looking for it though. We can go everyday, if you like. My education is over, Father rarely allows me to sit in on business matters, favoring little brother, and I know how to ride,” he rushes, out of breath. “I could bring you a horse! I could teach you. Every Lady should know how to ride.”

I can see the regret on his face as soon as the words come out of his mouth and I slam back into reality. No matter how handsome or how thoughtful he may be, the marquess and I are from two very separate worlds, and even he subconsciously understands that. He steps closer to me and I can smell the fine lotions and soaps of the estate on his skin. He wants to fix me. To take my “wild” and “uncivil” upbringing and groom me into a pleasant, silent, noble woman.

“I’m not a Lady,” I reply, meeting his eyes indignantly.

“I didn’t mean that,” he backtracks, hanging his head like a sad puppy. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think a Marquess is supposed to apologize,” I say, trying to make my tone flippant as I look beyond him at the house. It looks eerie in the night, with the moon shining through its windows and blue wood shimmering, almost iridescent. I stare up at the slats, unsure of how I never noticed it before, the wood seeming to sparkle blue and purple and jade, like the glitter of sugar candy or the scales of a-

“Marry me,” Savoa’s voice comes crashing into me almost as hard as the waves on the cliff side. I refocus my gaze on him, still standing in front of me, a small box lined with velvet and trimmed in gold between his palms. My stomach bottoms out, unsure of how I can navigate this situation on my own.

Mother? Father? House? Please help.

“Do what?” I sputter, ungracefully.

“Marry me,” he repeats, more firm and sure. I think back to the times I had gone into the main square on errand, listening to the gossip that the young peasant and Lady’s alike whispered, pretending they thought I couldn’t hear. They always talked about how handsome Marquess Savoa was, how he would never deface his name by consorting with those below his station, how he would marry a Princess or another Duke’s daughter and the world would be as it was meant to.

He opens the box in his palm and my eyes widen as I look at it. The ring is pure silver, glowing with small, almost clear purple and green gems weaving in a beautifully intricate pattern atop the ring with diamonds glittering around the back. Purple, for my house. Green, for his. And the pattern, like lavender. My favorite flower. How conveniently that worked out for him.

And how bad it worked out for me.

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. How to say anything.

I can’t say no. I can’t say yes.

The wind lashes at my cloak, the midnight fabric coming unlaced to reveal my simple, pale pink dress underneath it. The marquess reaches forward and catches a strand of my dark hair in his fingers, still holding the ring in the other. I watch him in silence, begging him to take it back. Willing the universe, the gods, to let me wake up from this nightmare already.

They don’t.

“Marry me,” he repeats for the third time, eyes pleading. “We can keep the cottage for ourselves, we can join our families, we can search for the cabin in the woods and when we find it, we can stay there and I will pick lavender for your hair, and our children’s-”

“Savoa,” I cut him off abruptly, correcting myself and rushing on. “Marquess. I-I’m flattered by your offer. And I have come to know you as a dear acquaintance, but… I can’t.”

“You can’t?” He asked, the puppy look filling his face once more.

“These letters,” I explain, holding them up, “did you ready any of them?”

He shakes his head side to side, light hair brushing his forehead. Maybe in a different life I would have married him. Maybe we would have grown up together and been promised to each other before we could walk. Maybe I would run my fingers through his light hair and let my lips run over his perfectly bronze skin. But not in this life. And not on this island.

“My family,” I start, treading slowly, carefully, “they’ve been looking for a match that would be most advantageous to the family since my mother passed. I got word a few weeks ago they found a young man from across the Delta. He’s to be here any day to ask for my hand.”

“Across the Delta…?” He trails, “another foreigner? Haven’t they defamed your family name enough?”

His words sting, but I brush them off, shrugging. “I suppose not. They would rather embrace the reputation and turn those notions into something positive.”

He studies me, wetting his lips and blinking. “But I haven’t heard a word of this.”

“I hope not,” I reply, tucking the letter back into my pocket before he can ask to read it. “My uncles would like to keep it a secret until it is sealed, in case things don’t work out. None of us want another situation like my mother’s on our hands.”

The words taste wrong in my mouth, like ashes, and the waves seem to crash even harder against the cliff. I swear that Marquess Savoa’s stare is full of suspicion, but before I can examine him, it falls into hurt. He was never good at hiding his feelings, another quality that didn’t serve him well at court.

Luckily, that was one realm that I succeeded greatly in.

“Well,” he starts, closing the box with a snap and trying to mask his disappointment behind false cheer, “I hope to meet him soon. He’ll arrive at the estate within the week?”

“Yes.” I lie, wishing I hadn’t.

“Until then,” he almost whispers, turning around and climbing the rocks alongside the cottage to the main road, no doubt to where his carriage waited. I take in a deep breath, trudging up the steps of the house with thousands more pounds of weight on my shoulders. I sag with my back to the door once I enter, the fire I stoked before I left still burning lightly. Throwing off my cloak, I pull the letter from my pocket and immediately feed it to the flames.

I don’t know what it says, but definitely nothing about a mysterious foreign suitor.

Adding more peet to the fire, I sit at my desk and draw a piece of creamy paper from the cache, positioning my quill over its blank surface. I don’t know what to say. Or how to even begin. How does one talk to a family that they’ve never met?

I write out my best attempt at redemption, seal it with thick purple wax and place it in the small box outside, marking it as full for pick up. In the morning, the page boy would come, he would deliver the letter, and I would wait for a miracle.

---

Two days later, the miracle didn’t come, but the letter did.

I had refused to go back into the forest for the past few days, tired of feeling disappointed and hopeless. I just sat in my cottage, desperately trying to think of a way out of the lie I had spun. I could say the engagement fell through, that my family would never admit to it to save face. I could say my family had only tricked me into believing there was a marriage to get me back to court. I could say a million things. But the worst one was that I could marry Savoa and that all of those excuses would push me into that.

His matrimony would give me anything a proper girl could ever want: money, status, and noble children. It would put to rest all of the sneers and jibes by the town girls and court women. I could be reunited with my family and build bonds that would allow me companionship. It could pull me away from the wretched sea and further inland, with the trees and fields of blooming lavender.

I think of the marquess, ring in hand, expectant eyes, and a pool of dread fills my stomach. He is a great man, just not for me. I would never be an equal to him, never anything more than a girl that he saved. His charity case to try and catch his father’s attention. No matter what he says, he would always consider his marriage as a debt to me that I would need to pay by servitude and obedience. He wants me as a noble lady, not as a woman.

I groan, shaking the thoughts from my head and breaking the wax seal open with my fingers. I recognize the elegant script of my aunt immediately, the tall and flowing letters seeming more alive than usual. Her excitement at my engagement is palpable. The letter explains her pleasure at me finding a match, especially one I claimed as royal from across the Delta. I told her the connection was made through my father, who had worked on his estate farms for some time, with my mother making an initial introduction on a trip across the small sea. I said we had been communicating through letters since then, and he recently asked for my hand, saying he was coming across the Delta to meet my family and wed me. When writing, I felt ridiculous, fraudulent, like whoever had received this letter would see right through my facade.

Luckily, this aunt did not.

I told her my suitor would arrive on the shores in three days, one from now and that it would be my honor to present him. She ate it up, declaring she would arrange for a gathering to celebrate both my return, and my marriage. She couldn’t wait to meet us.

Leaning back against the chair, I blow a low sigh through my teeth. Instead of burning the letter, I clench it in my fist. I have no reason to be upset with her excitement. I am the one who got myself into this mess by deceiving the marquess and writing my aunt in the first place. Throwing on a thick wool cloak and boots, I trudge out my door and into the mid afternoon light. The sun is setting over the sea, reflecting off the froth and blinding my eyes.

I won’t look away. I think, begrudgingly. You can’t have me too.

The waves crash against the shore in response, in challenge. Tucking the letter into my inner cloak pocket, I breathe through my mouth to avoid the salt as I trek down the cliff and towards the tree line. I know I should be staying inside. That I should be devising a plan. But my legs itch, my mind is racing, and all I can think is how desperately I need to be out. Out of the cottage, out of earshot of the ocean, out of this reality and into another one.

I don't notice the body until I am tripping over it, stumbling in the sand. I bite back a scream, looking down to find a boy beneath me, drenched in water and bleeding. He’s on his stomach, face turned away from me, and completely nude. I shove down my embarrassment and kneel down to flip him over, shocked and relieved to find he is still breathing. Shallow, but any breath is a sign of life. And life is good.

I push the wet hair from over his eyes and forehead, noticing how soft the black tendrils are to my touch. His face is more pale than I have ever seen on a human being, especially on this island. He is bleeding from his arm, a shallow cut, but still heavily flowing. His torso is lined with light muscle, planes and ridges quietly defined and covered in flawless skin leading down to his-

“Hello?” I place my hands on his chest, pumping up and down in a steady rhythm.

I can feel his pulse, slow and weak in his throat. I am terrified that I will watch this boy die before me. That I will watch the sea take another victim and have no power to stop it. Inhaling deeply, I place one hand on his jaw and the other over his nose, bending down to place my mouth over his when he suddenly gasps violently, shooting up and nearly knocking me in the head. He looks around wildly, big brown eyes settling on me. His thick, pink lips are wide with astonishment, and when he moves his good arm to push his hair back along his scalp again, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is.

A miracle, indeed.

“Who are you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, still very aware of his nakedness.

“Jungkook,” he replies, voice scratchy, but deep.

“Jung..kook?” I test the name in my mouth, the syllables rough and foreign.

He nods, looking around as if to gather his bearings.

“Do you know where you are?” I ask him.

He nods again. “Dashni Island.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “Where are you from?”

He turns back to me, voice stronger. “From the Delta.”

“The Delta?” I inquire, “do you mean across the Delta? On the mainland?”

“No,” he replies, sure. “The Delta.”

A pirate then. Or an orphan forced to work on a pirate ship. Maybe both. I have heard stories in the main town of ships being unloaded with human cargo, as well as raw goods. The people are usually orphans or servants from the mainland, who are either indentured to estate houses on the nearby islands or who serve for captains aboard merchant ships.

“Where are your clothes?” I ask, deciding to return to the past topic later.

“I don’t know,” he admits, but doesn’t try to cover himself. “I must have lost them.”

I nod slowly, taking the cloak from around my shoulders and handing it to him. He smiles at me, almost as blinding as the sea foam, when he takes it. I stand up and brush the sand from my dress, turning away as he rises and wraps the cloak around himself.

“Your arm…” I say, with my back turned. “What happened to it?”

“Must have scraped it when escaping the boat,” he says. Definitely an orphan or servant, then. “It’s not deep,” he continues. “It should heal quickly. You can turn around now.”

I do so, the wind seeming to slow. The boy, Jungkook, is now standing, his frame tall and lean. His face is angular, yet soft, cut like an angel. His eyebrows are thick and airbrushed on his face like a painter created him. His hair falls over his forehead in wet clumps, the black strands pasted to his skin. Sticking my hand into the space between us, I introduce myself, attempting to calm my rapidly beating heart as his impossibly soft hand shakes mine.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” I ask.

He shakes his head side to side, looking from the ocean to the tree line.

“I have a cottage just up the cliff,” I say, jerking my hand in that direction. “You’re welcome to stay there until you heal and can find work.”

His face noticeably brightens, the lost boy in him perking up. I smile at him and let him follow me back up the rocks and into my home. The stew I put on the fire earlier is still warm and I offer Jungkook a bowl of it while I move into the spare bedroom. I have kept the door closed for months, not wanting to release my emotions by opening it to find what’s inside. Inhaling, I turn the knob and push it open, the scent of must and dust hitting me like a ton of bricks.

All of my mother’s and father’s things are piled in the small space, paintings, porcelain, books on agriculture and art. My mother’s jewelry boxes are full and overflowing, the gems and pearls glinting in the light. I cross over to the armoire and open it, wistfully running my hand over my parents clothes. While my father had taken the majority of his items when he left, there were still a few pairs of trousers and tunics left. Pulling out the smallest looking ones I can find, I firmly close the door behind me and go back out into the main area.

Jungkook is sitting at my small dining table, cloak hanging off one shoulder to reveal the bare expanse of his torso. Despite his looks, he eats slowly and dignified, as if he was raised royally instead of as a merchant orphan. I watch him before he notices me, studying the regal lines of his face and upright posture. An idea flits through my mind.

“Jungkook,” I begin, folding the clothes on the table before him. “What kind of work do you do?”

“My trade… is complicated.” He says, looking intently into his soup.

I sit across from him, waiting for him to elaborate and continuing when he doesn’t. “How long have you been in the Delta?”

“All my life,” he replies.

“You don’t eat like you were raised on a ship.” I challenge.

“Maybe I wasn’t,” he counters.

I study him more and this time, he studies me back. I watch his eyes roam over my face and torso, over the length of my hair and from my shoulders to my hands, which are now placed on the table. A slight smile bewitches his lips, and I clear my throat when I feel myself start to blush. He obviously likes what he sees.

“Were you in the company of merchant nobility often?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, slurping his soup softly.

I hum, forcing myself to continue before I lose my confidence. And my only chance. “What would you say if I told you I had an opportunity for you that can make you money?”

He looks up at me through his thick lashes, lips wet with broth. “What do you mean?”

“I need someone who is - or at least acts, like a royal to go to a ball with me in two nights.”

His eyebrows raise and an almost comical grin consumes his mouth. “A ball?”

I soothe out my dress, trying to sound dignified. “It’s a long story.”

His lips twitch into a smile, the action making my heart jump a bit in my chest. I shake my head minutely, dispelling the sinful thoughts. I may not worship the Gods as I once did, but I know trouble when it crosses my mind. Jungkook takes his lower lip between his teeth, as if taunting me.

Refusing to back down first, I raise my eyes to meet his. His smile broadens, cheeks puffing out to give him a slight baby face. I wonder how old he is, how he learned to eat this way, to talk this way. How he came to be on the beach, naked and alone and hurt. The blood that I can see on his exposed shoulder has dried, crusted and red. Relenting from my staring contest, I get up and soak a rag in freshwater.

“We should clean that,” I say, changing the subject by referring to his wound.

He nods silently, turning sideways to straddle the bench as I sit next to him. He pulls down the shoulder of my cloak further, revealing more of his arm and torso. If I look down, I would be able to see straight down the lines of his body. Expelling those thoughts again, I swallow and focus on his cut, wiping at the dried blood with the rag.

“What happened to your parents?” Jungkook asks.

I try to hide my surprise and discomfort at his question. “They’re gone.”

I can feel his eyes on me, watching my face as I work. He had been bleeding so much when I found him I thought the wound was deep enough to expose bone. But now, as I reveal it, it barely has scratched the surface of his pale flesh. I draw my eyebrows together, puzzled.

“Mine are too.” He says, voice solemn.

I can still smell the ocean on him, salt stuck in his hair and on his skin. He exudes sorrow and something deeper I can’t place. He starts to hum slowly, a wistful tune that makes me feel haunted and enchanted at the same time. It is slightly whimsical, with varying notes and sounds that rise effortlessly from his throat. Shivers go up my spine, and I take my time wiping his arm down, wanting to get lost in his melody forever.

“I’ll help you,” he stops to murmur quietly, the tenderness in his tone causing me to look up at him. Our faces are a mere inches apart and if he leans in any closer our noses would be brushing. The breath catches in my throat.

“You will?” I say, hushed.

He nods, the corner of his deep pink lips turning up in a smile. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest and heat rising to my cheeks. He is looking at me so deeply, as if I am the only person on this planet. I swallow, unsure of what to do with the weight of him. The depth of him.

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my hands and studying the bloody rag. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you will.”

His response makes my knees go weak and I am suddenly very grateful to be sitting. The tone of his voice is impossibly deep, making the roar of the ocean go silent in my ears. I can’t tell if I am reading into his response or if his tone is trying to say more than those four words are. Biting my lower lip, I get up and clean the rag, desperate to get some room to breath and clear my head.

If I am going to pull this off and save myself misery later, I need to leave my heart behind.

---

The next morning, the mail boy gives a curt knock on my door. Before I can get there, Jungkook is opening it, an undershirt billowing in the morning wind and a goofy smile on his face. The boy’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, handing over a large purple box with deep cobalt ribbon holding it together. I peek around Jungkook’s shoulder to take the box, thanking the mail boy swiftly and closing the door.

“You know, you’re going to spur horrible gossip about me,” I quip.

“Oh?”

“It’s not proper for a young, unmarried woman to have men in her home, especially not without male supervision.” I explain.

“I’m a male,” he counters, giving me a knowing quirk of his eyebrow.

“Not the kind of male fit to supervise.”

He hums, the low melody instantly turning me to mush. I don’t know what it is about his voice that makes me forget everything I’ve heard before. The extreme range. The beautiful tragedy in the tunes he chooses. The way his notes flow and rise on one another like he was born a song. Like music is a part of him, like hands or feet. Placing the box on the table, I carefully untie the ribbon and open the lid.

“Wow,” I breathe, unable to help myself.

I place the letter embossed with my family seal aside carefully, and run my hands over the beautiful dress that sits inside. The color is the richest shade of purple I have ever seen, bordering on amethyst, with silk and taffeta flowing to the floor. Small lavender jewels glitter on the bodice, interlacing with diamonds to create an intricate pattern that must have taken hours to weave and a fortune to create.

It makes me think of the ring Marquess Savoa tried to propose with.

Swallowing thickly, I fully remove the dress from its packaging and two boxes beneath it, also carefully tied with purple bows. Picking one up, my mouth nearly falls to the floor when I open it. A gorgeous diamond necklace sits inside, gems gleaming and glittering against the morning light. Setting aside the hefty box with as much care as possible, I unwrap the next one. It looks like a tie, soft purple silk tightly wound in a coil. Pulling it out, I turn to Jungkook, who is watching with mild interest from behind me.

“It’s for you.” I say, extending the sash to him.

He comes closer, head turned to the side and takes the material from my fingers. It’s perfectly sewed and extremely delicate, the silk softer than anything I have ever owned. He flips it around and I can see that on the inside of the sash, there is a golden emblem stitched, it’s of my house sigil. An overwhelming sense of shame washes over me. I have ignored these people’s pleas for my company for years, burned or drowned their kindness, citing their faults. I reached out only when I was desperate for help, when I needed them to back a different marriage than the one to Savoa. I had only neglected them, and they’ve shown me kindness, generosity, and faith.

I pick up the card, thick paper embossed with a seal, and break it open. The letter is from my aunt, wishing us safe travels to the estate in the carriage she will be providing and saying she is excited to watch us dance the first waltz to announce our engagement. I inhale deeply, trying to imagine the steps my mother had taught us in my head.

“Bad news?” Jungkook asks. He had put the sash on, the immaculate and expensive material looking out of place on his chemise.

“Do you know the waltz?” I give him my best hopeful smile.

To my amazement, he nods, pretending to wrap his hands around an invisible body as his feet trace the steps. He is always surprising me with what he knows. With how familiar he seems but also so foreign. An answer to all of my prayers bottled up into one ridiculously handsome package.

“My mother taught me when I was young,” I begin, watching his steps. “But, I’m not sure I remember it all.”

Jungkook moves forward, reaching out for me to practice with. I step back involuntarily, inhaling sharply. His hands linger in the air for a second and he quirks his eyebrows up in invitation. Suddenly, I feel extremely naked in my shift, with my robe coming open. Jungkook licks his lips, repositioning himself in the waltz position and starts to hum to the tune of his steps, as if nothing happened at all.

The low tenor coming from his throat sounds nearly identical to the violins the dance is set to. His Adam's apple bobs up and down when he swallows, only taking quick and even breaths in between his melody. Half embarrassed and half mesmerized, I can’t stop watching him, how he moves and how he sounds. Without thinking, I place the card on the table and step forward into his outstretched arms.

He doesn’t break his hum, putting his arms tightly around my waist and waiting patiently until I settle into my position. The weight of his hands on my hips is deliciously heavy and hot, goosebumps pricking on my skin. He lowers his tone, as if he is encapsulating us with a bubble made of his song. I can see the slight black of stubble on his jaw, the melted chocolate in his eyes. He smells of salt and sand, two scents that typically repulse me. But now, surrounded by it and by him, it feels like I am being called home.

“Were you classically trained?” I ask him, dazed and trying to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart. He slows down his steps, seeming satisfied with my progression, before looking at me.

“You could say that,” he gives me a devilish smile, before breaking away to neatly fold the sash in a pile with the clothes he had worn yesterday. I can never seem to read him, to figure him out. An orphan raised in the Delta? Who can dance and is classically trained? It doesn’t add up. Against my better judgement, I push my suspicions aside, blaming the fact that I’ve been alone so long for my hesitation. I know nothing of character. Of human contact. Besides the marquess. And I don’t know what I classify him as, but he and Jungkook are in a whole other realm of man.

Jungkook looks back and catches me staring, flashing a grin in my direction. Blushing profusely, I turn around and hurriedly put the dress and jewelry back in the box, nearly running to my chamber. I can’t seem to remove my heart even if I try. This is either going to be my best choice or the worst mistake I ever make.

I’ll know by the end of the night.

---

The carriage arrives right before dusk, the sky bleeding from black to purple to orange on the horizon. Jungkook and I had spent the afternoon tailoring one of my father’s old suits to fit him, which mostly consisted of me trying not to look at him so I could try and ignore the heat on my skin and pace of my heart and him making sly comments and jokes about the situation I had gotten us in by lying.

We step out of the door, me feeling ridiculous in my gown and Jungkook looking artfully royal in the suit. It was a crisp gray, dark purple of the sash perfectly complementing both the color of the outfit and his hair. By some miracle, my father’s only pair of clean dress shoes fit on Jungkook’s feet and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride that I am really pulling this off. Two days ago I thought my life was ending, that I would be forced to turn my hand and marry Savoa. Now, I am being escorted to a party being thrown in honor of my engagement to an extremely attractive foreigner. I prayed for a miracle and it came. He came.

Jungkook smiles at the driver, asking him how his night is and if he is being treated well. It doesn’t dawn on me until we are seated in the carriage and it’s bumping down the road that he was talking to the driver in a different language. I stare at him, trying to burn a hole in his apparently incredibly diverse brain. I know he can feel me looking at him, but he decides to ignore me and stare out of the coach’s window, inhaling the ocean air.

The carriage is small, lined with purple velvet on the inside with studded seats and a small glass window on top of both carriage doors. I can hear the horse hooves clomping outside, taking the path towards the estate quickly and efficiently. The horses make me think of Savoa, his comments about teaching me to ride. I’m not his charity case. His little cottage girl that he can fix up and parade to his father. But then, what am I doing? My family is doing the same thing with me. I am doing the same thing to myself.

Agitated, I put my attention back on Jungkook. “How do you seem to know everything about everything?” I ask, trying and failing to hide the bitter awe in my voice. “Where do you come from?”

“I told you,” he replies, clasping his hands behind him, “I came from the sea.”

“Only death comes from the sea,” I bite back, more irritated.

He looks at me for a moment, as if considering my words. My face flushes lightly at my drama, fiddling with a piece of my hair. I feel ridiculous, like I’m a glossed up show pony about to be taken on the course. The dress is open and breathable, but the heavy cloak I laid over it is making me sweat in the carriage.

Jungkook swats the hand from my hair, his fingers impossibly cold but causing heat to surge through my wrist and arm. “Stop that,” he says, voice melodic and teasing. “If you act like you’re out of place, then people will think you are.”

“Such wise words,” I muse, peering at him. “Where did you learn to be so diplomatic?”

“Not here, clearly.” He gives me a teasing, pointed look. The carriage stops and the driver opens the door, giving Jungkook a reprieve from my ire. After Jungkook exits, I step from the coach and let him take my hand into the crook of his elbow.

“If I’m to be your stand-in fiancé,” he responds to my inquiring look. “Then I should at least play the part.” I hate how he can be so humorous, how he can make me smile with a single word from his languid lips.

“An actor too,” I raise my eyebrows at him. “What exactly do you do in the Delta, Jungkook?” I stress the syllables of his name. Each time I say his name, it churns into a sweeter butter in my mouth, so different from when I first fumbled over it at the beach.

“My trade is… complicated,” he repeats his words from the other day, vaguely. “But I can assure you, on a fake fiancé’s oath, I’m rich and powerful.”

Before I can press him any further, we reach the green groves that line the estate gardens, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. Bushes are trimmed into the shape of roses, horses, and deer, leaves floating to the ground in the crisp autumn air. Jungkook holds my arm a little tighter, as if sensing my trepidation. My fear.

“Just stand up straight and pretend you belong here. If you believe it, they’ll believe it too. That’s what I do.” Jungkook whispers in my ear. I barely have time to look at him and register his sage wisdom before the ten foot tall gold estate doors are opening.

Multiple people I hardly recognize rush forward from the estate doors, their purple cloaks billowing in the wind. I see the dark waves of my mother’s hair on one woman, the round shape of her face in a man, the gait of her stride in a set of twins. With a start, I realize, these people are my family. They hurry towards me as diplomatically as they can, embracing me in deep hugs and giving me kisses on the cheek. We exchange introductions hurriedly and, the aunt that I have been exchanging letters with, who has a round face and solid build, pushes me towards the estate with a rush.

“The festivities have already started.” She says excitedly, taking my arm into her elbow and leaving Jungkook with my three uncles. “Oh! We are just so happy you’re here, dear!”

They pull me towards the estate, my stomach twisting in knots. I can hear the sound of violins and organs playing, a beautiful and upbeat melody that reminds me of my mother’s bubbly laugh. If she could see me now, what would she think? The doors to the estate are pure and solid gold, buff guards opening them before us and allowing us inside. There is chatter, music, and the smell of food wafting through the entry hall and I can’t help but gape at the estate’s interior.

Lining the walls are hundreds of intricately hand sewn tapestries and more gold everywhere I look. It’s bordering on gaudy and excessive, even the stone and brick of the walls seeming to glitter with flakes of gold. I immediately feel out of place again, thinking about Jungkook’s words to me as we entered the gates. Throwing a look behind me, I see him easily making conversation with my uncles, probably divulging more of his mysterious past to them than he has to me. As if sensing my gaze, he flicks his eyes to me and gives me a smile, all sweet with a hint of that Jungkook deviousness I have become so fond of.

We turn down the main hallway and walk to the left, the sounds of celebration getting louder. Is this the life that Marquess Savoa leads everyday? Is this where he goes to after he ambushes my forest adventures? To a waiting party full of women and wine and dancing? Why would he ever want me over that? From the few men I have made acquaintance with, that seems to be their greatest dream.

“We are about there,” my aunt stops and turns to me, pinching my cheeks and looking me over. My uncles bring Jungkook up to my side and arrange us in a position very similar to that of matrimony; with his hand atop mine and our elbows just barely touching. I feel like royalty being introduced to society for the first time, all dressed up and paraded. Part of me loves it, after being alone for so long. Part of me feels like a fraud.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says when my family falls behind us to allow us to enter first, his voice quiet and sincere. “Don’t be nervous.”

His words send more butterflies into my stomach, swallowing deeply as we continue to approach the ballroom. There is heavy light flooding into the hallway from the open doors and I feel the warmth of Jungkook’s hand like a fire of its own. We round the corner and into the space, the amount of people and smells and sensations completely overwhelming me. I blink, going deft from the rushing in my ears. The people closest to the entry turn, looking us over and studying our faces, our postures, our clothes. I stand up a little straighter, walk with a little more confidence, and smile a bit when I hear the hushed whispers of women and men appraising us.

The whole room is gold and silver, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with strands of diamonds and pearls. The food is plated on gold, the silverware shiny and clean. The floors are a beautiful patchwork of tiles and large banners of the Savoa house line the walls. Everything is so bright, even all of the women’s dresses catch the firelight and sparkle luminously, like a thousand suns. More and more people turn, parting for Jungkook and I as we make our way to the center of the room. This is when we dance, this is when I am truly put to the test.

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat, inhaling deeply. Jungkook had reminded me well, he said he would lead the way, but there would be no hiding it if I screwed up, if I turned wrong or stepped on his feet or fell on my face in front of all of these strangers. Dancing with your mother as a child is very different from dancing with a man in a crowded ballroom.

Surveying the space, I don’t see the Duke anywhere, unsure if this display is for him or for the pleasure of my aunts. I don’t see the Marquess either, a surge of irritation coursing through me. I didn’t persuade Jungkook into doing this and dressing up and coming all the way here so the marquess could just decide not to attend. I was under the distinct impression I would never hear the end of his platitudes and be forced to accept his proposal if I didn't silence him with this charade. I huff under my breath, the sound turning into a sharp gasp as Jungkook circles his arm around my waist and pulls me in closer.

His grip is strong and sure, yet light like a butterfly, making me completely forget about my annoyance with the marquess. I don’t understand how Jungkook can be so many different things at once. Strong, yet sensitive. Devious, yet kind. Beautiful, yet tragic. I don’t comprehend how I have known him for so little time and yet I feel as if we have been in love all of my life. In love.

I look at him, his dark eyes glittering and a small smile gracing his thick lips. He smells so much like the ocean and I am baffled by how little it bothers me. How the sea has seemed to become something less evil with him, something more peaceful and more human. He licks his lips, my eyes following the blessed movement. He has completely and utterly enraptured me in just a few days' time, my feet easily following the rhythm of the music and of him as we move. We quickly fall into sync, as if we are one body and one soul coming together as he softly hums the melody of the waltz.

He moves in closer when he brings me up from the final dip, his breath on my face before he seals my fate with a light kiss on the cheek. I close my eyes, the feeling of him on me melting my core and igniting my soul. The music slowly fades as people clap and I part my lips, ready to be kissed for real. Everything in me is screaming that I need him, that I have to have him. That he is the best thing the ocean has ever given me and I long to taste the sea on his tongue.

His breath brings shivers up my spine, voice hot and low.

“We can’t kiss. Yet.”

I open my eyes, completely dazed as he brings us into a fully erect position and bows.

I curtsy back, stunned and with only half of the brain cells I had before. The feeling of his lips on my cheek has left a mark on my mind, like a brand. His words burn and solidify in me like wax, the anticipation of what could be so palpable and tangible between my fingers. A servant offers me a flute full of sparkling liquid and I take it while the party resettles and Jungkook is pulled away by an uncle to talk more, a million things on my mind. As soon as I finish the flute, a servant hands me another one, my dress feeling too tight and my skin feeling too warm. Before anyone can stop me, or rush to meet my acquaintance, I hurry through the crowd and out the ballroom doors.

Everything looks so much more rosy and sweet than it did before out in the hallway. The ornate walls lined with tapestries and gold that seemed like too much when I first came, are now so impressive and respectable. The floors, a slab gray stone, are so colorful and filled with fun patterns for me to jump over. I meander down the hall, the opposite way from where we came in and try to calm the inhuman racing of heart and fever of my brain. I think about Jungkook, the solidity of his hold, the surety of his step, the softness of his lips, and the steadiness of his voice. I don’t know how I wander so far from the main event, but next thing I know I am standing on a terrace at the end of the hall, overlooking the gardens and basking in my thoughts.

Everything is so perfect here. Every detail tended to and no expense spared. I bet each blade of grass is trimmed to the exact same inch, to ensure precision. No wonder all of the girls in the village looked at me the way they did. This estate was a far cry from living in town and the prospect of living here, or even spending a few hours here, is probably all they pray to the gods for. The night air is cool and refreshing, my tight lungs opening slowly with every breath.

“You’re missing your party.” A voice comes from behind me.

I turn around, startled, and instantly start to sober. The marquess is behind me, his head tilted to the side in question. The black suit and combed hair does his frame such sweet justice. I can see the lines of his torso and arms through the waistcoat, the tan of his skin contrasted with the crisp white of his shirt and white of his hair. He wears a golden brooch with his family sigil on his lapel, directly above his heart.

Marry me. I hear him say.

Swallowing thickly, I face my back to him and place my hands on the terrace railing.

“It was too warm in there. And besides, you’ve been missing it too.”

I feel him come closer to stand beside me, tall and confident, looking out over the gardens. He stays quiet, a rare occurrence for him, and I can count the times I wished to sew his mouth shut, but now, in the night, at this party, at his home, the silence feels too thick. I find myself wanting him to say something, anything that will break it. That can puncture the wound between us like a clean hot knife.

“He seems very foreign.”

That's not what I was hoping he would say, the tension continuing to rise. “Yes, he is.”

“And that’s what you want?” He asks.

I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that I am practically engaged to another man, but I answer him honestly.

“I don’t know.”

I just met Jungkook. I don’t know who he is or where he comes from. Besides the Delta. I don’t know his family or his mannerisms or his preferences. But I know Savoa’s. And something about that, the familiarity amongst all of this unmarked territory, is so comforting. For a moment, just a moment, I fall into it. The comfort of not having to be someone else.

“The ring… the lavender.” I begin, looking at his side profile. Strong slope of his nose and cut lines of his jaw. His face was built stronger, more fierce than Jungkook’s. If I hadn’t known Savoa better, I would think he was as stoic as a rock. “It was beautiful and so incredibly thoughtful.”

He turns to me, a slight smile etched on his even lips. “I designed it myself.”

“You have exquisite taste.”

His eyes roam my face, the strands of my hair, the diamonds at my neck, the purple length of my dress. “Not exquisite enough.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks, inhaling sharply and shifting away from him. “You’ll find someone who can appreciate all you have, and more.” I try to sound reassuring, but it sounds so patronizing from my tongue, like I am lecturing him after I broke his heart.

“I don’t want someone else,�� he states, plain and factual.

“We come from two very different worlds,” I reason, “regardless of where my family comes from. I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t learn the ways of court life. I wasn’t groomed to be a lady. And you were raised to be with one.”

“And Jungkook wasn’t?”

“Jungkook…” I sigh with frustration, running my hands over my face. “That’s different.”

“How?” The marquess asks, closing the distance I had put between us.

I open my mouth to reply, but then shut it. I don’t know. I don’t know how it's different. Because I think Jungkook was raised as an orphan? Because he had worked for his life? Because he had suffered? Like I had? But the marquess didn’t know any of that. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know. He just understands me,” I end up saying, lamely.

“I understand you. I understand you more than you know.” Marquess Savoa counters, placing his hands on my upper arms so he can turn me to him. I can see something burning in the green of his eyes, like wildfire, barely kept at bay beneath the surface. I’ve never been this close to him before, and I can see a small scar on the side of his cheek, a white line that so obviously sticks out from the rest of his skin. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Had I really been looking?

“How would you feel if I kissed you?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

He does it, leaning in to place a featherlight kiss on my lips. It’s barely a graze, just the slightest touch, like the whisper of the wind. He smells smoky, like firewood. The opposite of Jungkook, who smells of salt and wet clean air. Savoa is still holding onto my arms, his grip slackening and sliding down to my wrists as he keeps his lips on mine.

My stomach turns, but I can’t tell if it’s from the marquess or not.

I would be able to tell with Jungkook. The thought bubbles to the surface without me allowing it to, causing me to stumble away until my back is against the terrace railing. I can feel the cool night air on my back, smell the flowers and green grass from the gardens below. Savoa just stands, looking at me with slight confusion on his face, as if the kiss didn’t feel how he thought it would either.

I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one.

Licking my lips, I push down the rising blush on my cheeks and hurry towards the hall, noises of the ongoing party ringing in my ears like a war drum.

“I… I should get back.” I stutter, awkwardly stammering away.

I scurry back down the hallway, focusing on the click of my shoes instead of the rushing of my brain. I focus on the smell of roasted pig and toasted pastry. I focus on the intricate tapestries and golden torches lit with burning fire. I focus on everything and nothing at the same time, willing my mind to quiet and everything around me to get louder.

Well, not everything.

I slam into a warm body, hands immediately going out to steady me as I trip backward. It’s Jungkook. His hair artfully disheveled and sash off kitler on his gray suit from the impact of my body. I can feel the warmth of his hands on my arms, so different from the way Savoa’s felt. I can feel his lips on my cheek, kindling a flame in me that Savoa never could.

“Gods,” I say, out of breath. “I knew I smelled the ocean.”

“Aren’t you island people supposed to like… worship the sea?” Jungkook’s lips tilt in an infuriatingly handsome smirk. “You always say it like a curse.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. “My mother drowned in it two years ago. And my father disappeared across it and never came back.” I say, honestly. His gaze intensifies, taking my hand in his. I can see the sorrow in his eyes, but no pity. Nothing but support and understanding. I fall harder for it. In the dim glow of the candle-lit sconces and the shadow of the moonlight, he looks devastatingly handsome. His skin seems to sparkle in shades of blue and purple, reminding me of the cottage under the moon. He looks ethereal, like he has transcended this world and stepped into a different one.

“Would you like to go home?” He asks, softly.

Home. The cottage. A place that never felt like home before this.

I nod, letting him take me under his arm and lead me back down the hall to say our farewells and show our appreciation. The ball room is buzzing with laughter and music. I can see the Duke, an obnoxious smile taking up the bottom half of his face as he flirts with young court women. He is gulping wine from a golden chalice, wife nowhere to be found. Just like his father, the marquess’s younger and more favored brother stands at the other end of the room, talking animatedly in a war uniform with another set of young women. The apple fell about as far from the tree as it could get with Marquess Savoa.

“We were starting to worry!” One of my aunts says in a shrill tone, pulling me from Jungkook with a wink. “It’s all set up.”

“What is?” I can barely say before I am being pulled by my aunt to the front of the ballroom. I can’t see Jungkook, looking around for him wildly as my aunt holds me firmly by her side. I pretend to be interested as she introduces me to some of her court friends, who discuss my beauty in relation to my mother and nothing more. Suddenly, the band stops abruptly and the crowd turns to the orchestra.

All of the musician’s are waiting, poised and ready for the music to begin once more. To be directed into a melody. Standing in front of them, his lean frame tall and dignified, is Jungkook. He looks completely at home on stage, in front of hundreds of watching eyes. He finds me quickly in the crowd, throwing me his signature devilish grin before he begins to speak.

“I never thought I would have the opportunity to be here,” he says. “To meet the woman of my dreams and fall in love.” He pauses for effect, the entire crowd hanging on his every word. Some girls, that I recognize from the village, turn to look at me, half in jealousy and half in amazement. Clearly one of us had underestimated the other.

“I want to dedicate this song to you, my soon to be wife,” Jungkook continues, the words burning lava through my core. My aunt holds onto my hand so tightly I lose blood flow to it while she dabs at her tearing eyes with a handkerchief. The music begins slow and steady as Jungkook gives the signal, a sharp raise of his artful hands.

He begins to sing. And the room goes completely silent and still. He sounds like one of the gods, his voice so incredibly soft yet powerful. I don’t know how he pulls such a deep sound from his throat, gliding over the notes in a dance even more entrancing than our waltz. I can feel myself falling harder with every sound from his lips and I no longer care. I let myself get lost in listening to him. I let the sound and sight of every other guest go away until it is just us. Me and him. He always has this uncanny ability to make me feel as if I am the only person he sees. I have never felt less alone in my life. I could have him and only him and be the happiest girl on the Earth.

I can barely hear the loud eruption of claps as he finishes, barely feel the release of my aunt’s hand from my arm. I hardly register the quick goodbyes I make and the walk from the ballroom to the carriage. All I can hear is Jungkook’s voice, playing like a loop in my brain. He sounded celestial, paradisiacal. I could hear nothing else but his voice my entire life and be satisfied.

I keep my head on Jungkook’s shoulder the entire ride back from the estate, feeling as if I am floating above the ground as we disembark and walk towards the cottage. When we reach the landing, Jungkook sits on the step, but only to take his shoes off. He looks dazzling in the night, looking up at me through those thick lashes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, the sound of my own voice guttural compared to his.

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, a hint of mischief in his tone.

I smile at him, bending down to slip the heels from my feet. A few days ago, the idea of a midnight walk along the beach would have repulsed me. But now, with Jungkook at my side after such a magical night, I couldn’t think of anything more I wanted to do. To keep me from cutting my feet, Jungkook takes me amply into his arms and carries me down the cliff side, like we are a newlywed couple. I feel giddy, short on breath and full of life.

“Your voice… it was…” I can’t find the words, at a complete and total loss.

“I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.” He says defensively with a smile, pretending to hear pity and disgust in my tone. I giggle, giggle, like a little girl, inhaling his scent as it effortlessly mixes with the sea.

Once we reach the sand, Jungkook sets me down, brushing his hands over my cheek and sending shivers down my spine. He holds my hand and walks me along the shore, my feet bare and the sand deliciously cool on my feet. The wind whistles through my ears, the waves lap at my ankles, and Jungkook’s presence is radiating heat through my body. I am on with the gods, high on champagne and the sound of Jungkook’s voice in the ballroom. He truly is inhuman. I have never met anyone like him in my life.

He stops and turns to look out at the ocean and I look at him. His hair, so beautifully black and soft, waving in the breeze. His skin, flawless and glowing in the moonlight. His frame, the lean build of his body beneath the suit and my family sash on his broad shoulders. His long legs in the trousers, cuffs wet with sea water. His feet and ankles shift as the water slides over them, sparkling and glittering blue and purple and jade. I get hit with a damning sense of deja vu, but I don’t have time to think about it before he’s there.

Jungkook kisses me. My stomach completely flips and turns and I know it’s from him, his passion, and his hunger and his heat. His lips hot and brimming with desire; hands two burning masses on my side, nose and hair and cheeks barely grazing my face, yet setting me ablaze.

And gods, I can practically feel my lungs emptying air into him. I can feel my heart speed up incredibly fast, then slow to a languid pace, as if I am giving him my loyalty, my love, my life. His hands clasp around my waist, the pressure deliciously sweet on my spine. My knees buckle at his touch, but, as if expecting it, Jungkook’s arms catch my fall, my fingers hooking under the waitband of his trousers for purchase. His lips are everywhere, running through my veins and stopping the blood in them like lead.

I want to open my eyes, to see him, but I can’t.

Screw my heart, he can have it.

All I feel is him. I don’t even need to breathe when he’s kissing me like this. He can have my air, he can have my blood, my balance, my life. He can have whatever he wants. He can have the ocean and the forest and the desert and the sky. His tongue snakes along mine, the air getting caught in my throat.

My eyes pop open. I can’t breathe.

I unhook my fingers from his trousers, trying to stumble back to find he won’t let me. He’s still kissing me, his hair on my forehead and leaving cuts in its wake when he moves. I can feel his torso singeing my skin through my purple dress, the fabric billowing smoke between us. I attempt to say his name, but all that comes out is a cough.

Jungkook pulls back from me minutely and I take the space to my advantage and push him roughly, falling to the sand without him holding me up. His lips are an unnatural blue color, his skin whiter than the foam of the sea, and his exposed arms, neck, and face seeming to glitter in the morning light; purple, blue, jade. Like the scales of a mermaid.

I convulse in the sand, unable to fill my lungs with air. Jungkook watches me with mild fascination, his eyes the color of dark amethyst and his neck pulsing with power. His words come rushing back to me as I look at him, every single time he tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. Every time I only saw what I wanted to see.

I came from the sea.

My trade is… complicated.

We can’t kiss. Yet.

I’m told I’m a beautiful singer.

Water begins pouring from my throat, mixed with blood and mucus. My eyes fill with tears, Jungkook’s figure blurring as he kneels down beside me. His eyes look… remorseful. Sad, even. Like he feels sorry for doing this to me. For entrapping me with his beauty, with his siren song. Maybe if I hadn’t been so desperate, I would have seen it. If I had said yes, if I hadn’t lied. If I hadn’t told this lie.

Jungkook brushes a piece of hair from my face, his hand wet and sticky, like he’s just come from the water. I writhe, my body finally shutting down and my brain giving in. I would die just as my mother had, drowning in an ocean. I would die with the waves and with them carrying my body out to sea. I would die with the wind and the sand and the froth. With Jungkook.

“You were right,” Jungkook says before I go, his voice broken and beautiful and melodic, like a siren's call, “only death comes from the sea.”

---------------

a/n: I’ve never written anything mermaid before and I had so much fun doing it omg thank you for the request @celestialgguk! Sorry, not sorry, for the length, I really wanted to flesh it out and I didn’t intend it, but the story turned more angsty than I thought in the end and took me fOREvER to finish. Sometimes the story just goes where it’s meant to. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! <3 Much love! Requests are still open for anything, not just BTS stuff. Also, the beautiful quote at the beginning is by Christopher Paolini.

~Admin Eggplant

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aliceinknittingland · 3 years

Photo

Glutton for punishment.

I recently acquired a rather fabulous pair of black velvet trousers on ebay.

So I’m designing a very simple v-neck (top down, in the round, magic loop, raglan sleeves) in Noro Silk Garden sock yarn. Wool, silk, polyamide and mohair to go with it.

In black.

Yes.

Black.

A knitter’s curse 😂

Wish me luck… https://www.instagram.com/p/CWIjJGHIZHH/?utm_medium=tumblr

#knitting #Hygge #Sock yarn #Noro silk garden #Alice in Knittingland

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

Text

Night Out

[[Fairly sure @korrolrezni came up with this and I am very sure they wrote some of the dialogue. Just some fun, really.]]

Something was wrong with Gerry’s closet. He didn’t notice, at first, and even when it became obvious things were going missing he assumed he was somehow misplacing them at first. It happened. Gerry wasn’t the most diligent with laundry.

But when his favourite sleeping shirt disappeared and he couldn’t find it anywhere in the apartment, he knew something was up. His closet seemed to be eating his clothes. When he looked closer, he realised that the reason it had taken so long for him to actually notice was because they were being replaced. He found himself pulling out a pair of black jeans only for them to not, in fact, be black. Instead he found himself holding something striped, sunflower yellow and bright red. He frowned at them for a long moment, unsure what he was expecting to happen. Maybe for the colours to fade back to black. They didn’t. He put them back in the closet and got them out a moment later. Now they had big green polka dots on orange. He sighed.

“Subtlety is really not your strong suit, Michael,” he mumbled into the empty room.

There was no answer, but Gerry still felt like he could hear the laughter like a distant tinnitus.

He shook his head and left the trousers on his desk. He was used to Michael’s shenanigans. Usually it at least showed itself when it decided to fuck around with things. Gerry actually hadn’t seen it in a while. Clearly, it was making sure he didn’t forget about it even if it didn’t grace Gerry with its presence. As if Gerry could ever forget about it.

Gerry still tried to ignore whatever was happening with his clothes. He just went about his life. It wasn’t the first time Michael tried to get to him with its reality-bending-shit. Usually, it considered Gerry’s reaction - or lack thereof - too boring to continue, eventually. It was a game, of sorts, and Gerry was determined to not let this get to him, either. His life was weird enough. Accepting a capricious closet really shouldn’t be too hard as long as he kept himself from thinking about it too much. And ever since Michael had become a reoccuring aspect of his life, Gerry had become decent at that. He was confident this would just end in Michael giving him a disappointed pout again, complaining that he was no fun. Gerry grinned at the image. It was a surprisingly cute expression, in a very wrong way.

Gerry was running out of clothes that did not have clashing colours and patterns. Even when he had stopped putting his clothes in the closet, they eventually shifted into garish button-ups and equally horrible trousers. It was getting, if not annoying, at least slightly inconvenient. Okay, maybe Gerry was also starting to get a little annoyed. But he wouldn’t let it get to him. Gerry went shopping.

He wasn’t necessarily surprised that, once he got home and reached into the bag, he did not pull out the black clothes he had bought in the shop. But he was a little irritated as he looked at the shirt that looked like it was made from multiple horrendous shirts. Looking at it too much hurt, and he couldn’t quite pin down which sleeve had what pattern, colours seemingly shifting as his eyes tried to focus on it. But they never had the same colours or patterns, no matter how long Gerry looked at it. The same seemed to be going for the rest of the shirt, one side different from the other, different from the collar and the back and at the same time never the same. It was a nightmare to look at.

He looked at the trousers instead, feeling like he had gone cross eyed from staring at the shirt for way too long. At least the trousers seemed to be shifting less, but maybe that was him. They had some sort of wavy pattern to it in what might be yellow, or maybe blue, Gerry couldn’t tell. Which probably wasn’t a good sign. This needed to stop. Gerry wanted his clothes back. He started changing out of his clothes and into the atrocities he had just brought home, sure Michael wouldn’t skip on the opportunity to show up and tease him about it. Gerry didn’t need to face the mirror to know he looked wrong. He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Fine, Michael. I caved in. You can stop this…whatever you’re doing, now.”

Gerry didn’t even hear the door open, but he knew Michael was there even before it spoke up, “Ah! You gave up so quickly!”

It took a moment for Gerry to figure out where Michael’s voice was coming from. Gerry was fairly certain that was business as usual, but he couldn’t be sure about it. The thought slipped from his mind when he finally found Michael’s grinning face to his left, closer than it should for Gerry not to notice at first. It was difficult to tell, but Gerry was fairly sure, somehow, that it was taking him in. Gerry had already forgotten what he was wearing in the underlying confusion Michael always brought with it. But he remembered, now.

“What exactly was this all about?”

Michael’s impossible grin went a little wider and Gerry was still fairly sure it was still not looking at his face. “Colour.”

Gerry crossed his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Colour? All of this to…what, see me in colour?”

Now Michael’s nightmarish eyes dragged themselves up to meet his, making Gerry squint before the mess of bright colours calmed into something less painful to look at.

“Worth every second,” Michael said, amused, as far as Gerry could discern.

Though it always sounded amused, he guessed. Maybe it seemed like a more specific kind, one Gerry couldn’t quite place but could feel. He let out a deep sigh, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was ridiculous, which, of course, was very much like Michael.

“You could have just asked, you know.”

Michael snickered its strange laugh and ran one of its hands through its twisting curls. It had started doing that recently and Gerry was still unsure if it was aware of it, purposefully calling him out on his habit, or if it had simply picked it up subconsciously. It sure made for a very strange view, fingers looking sharp enough to give it an impromptu haircut. Then again, its hair didn’t really behave or feel like hair, either.

“Where would have been the fun in that?”

Gerry shook his head and laughed. He gently bumped it with his elbow. “You’re unbelievable.”

Michael was back to letting its eyes wander over him, expression still unreadable, though Gerry thought it looked somewhat alert?

“Well, how do I look?” he asked, letting his arms fall back to his side and turning around.

Michael made what Gerry assumed was an appreciative noise. It sounded a little bit like a trill. When he looked back Michael looked…soft. Felt? Gerry wasn’t sure. Neither was he sure what exactly he meant with soft. It looked very put together, as far as he could tell. It seemed…agitated? But in a good way. A smooth way?

“Adequate,” it buzzed after a moment, and Gerry understood it was excited . Its hair twisting and twirling into little….hearts? betrayed its word choice. That was new. Michael always seemed to find new ways to express itself and Gerry was rather fascinated by the motion for a moment. Definitely hearts.

He grinned, looking back at its face. “Adequate?”

“Very adequate.”

Gerry was unsure whether he imagined the heart shapes flying through its eyes. He laughed, head a little light from looking at its eyes so intently. He assumed this was one of those cases where Michael avoided saying what it actually meant. Sometimes Gerry wondered if it did it on purpose. It was never clear on how much it could really go against whatever it talked about as ‘its nature’. Gerry guessed its hair and words not quite matching probably fell into that vaguely defined confusing nature.

“Where did my clothes go?” he asked after a moment. It was difficult to remember what had brought him to this, as it always was when Michael was around. But Gerry usually managed, to Michael’s impressed disappointment. “Do you have them?” Gerry added before his mind got all hazy again. It was usually easier to keep track while talking.

Michael instantly broke his focus with its seemingly unrelated comeback, eyes going bigger, “Do you want to see me in black?”

Gerry frowned, unsure how they had come to this point in the conversation. He shrugged, knowing thinking too much about it would only give him a headache. He had never seen it in dark clothes. It might look interesting.

“Hm…sure.”

Michael put one finger to its lips in what was probably a thoughtful gesture. Gerry knew what was coming when it started to flicker and shift and he lowered his gaze, having long since learned that watching when Michael changed its form - and he guessed clothes, too - would just give him a migraine. He waited until the suddenly more intense, popping static calmed down again before he looked up.

Michael was, indeed, wearing all black, but that was the last thing that made Gerry’s eyes widen. It was wearing a bat sleeve, v-neck blouse, cropped and tied at the waist and velvet flare trousers. The black plateau ankle boots and black ribbon tying Michael’s hair into a ponytail really added to the overall look and Gerry grinned, trying not to laugh. Of course. What had he expected from Michael ? Obviously it would find a way to make an all black outfit as eccentric as its usual attire. Somehow, it looked so very fitting and Gerry’s shoulders were shaking with bit back laughter, more at how Michael had managed to be utterly surprising yet again than the actual outfit.

Michael threw its hair back at Gerry’s reaction, grin wide and self-satisfied. “What? Deliciously handsome?” It winked, or maybe one of its eyes glitched into its face for a moment. “Of course, that’s why you are shaking at the mere sight of me.“

Gerry burst out laughing, then, and Michael’s echoing, layered laughter soon joined him. It took a moment before Gerry managed to calm down, some chuckles still escaping him. “You’re going to be the end of me, Michael.”

“In a good way?” Michael giggled, brushing Gerry’s hair behind his ear, uncovering the lovely blush the laughing had left him with.

Gerry grinned up at it. He wasn’t sure if the boots were actually making it any taller, or if Michael was distorting its height on purpose, as it sometimes did. “In a very confusing way, probably.”

Michael looked satisfied, one long finger twisting a strand of Gerry’s hair around it. It let go for the hair to stay in a perfect ringlet. It leaned it close, thumb tracing Gerry’s jaw.

“Since we’re all dressed up…how about we go out?” it purred.

Gerry cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? What do you suggest?”

It pointed at the open door that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Gerry followed the motion with his eyes, but he couldn’t see a lot, mostly neon signs and faint music.

“What’s that?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“That’s unfair.” Gerry mock-complained. Michael knew he could never say no to such a question. He could already feel the urge to find out whatever was behind that door. Gerry had been like that even before the Eye, but it did seem to be even worse now. He sighed, giving Michael a nod and taking its outstretched hand. Michael grinned and pulled him through the door.

It was loud and Gerry was disoriented, which wasn’t necessarily new. While he was comfortable enough to use Michael’s doors by now, it usually still left him a little light headed. But it wasn’t just that, this time. There were lights and different kinds of music everywhere and it took Gerry a moment to make sense of his surroundings. An amusement park. He raised an eyebrow. “Is this the place you mentioned last time?”

“The time you didn’t want to leave your apartment, yes.”

“I was tired.”

Michael laced their fingers together, its own looking as human as they ever got, though they still felt heavy. Gerry knew that if he looked hard enough, he could still make out the long and sharp digits that shouldn’t be able to fit between his own fingers at all.

“You are boring when you’re tired.”

He looked up at it. “I’m always tired.”

Michael was closer than it had been a moment before and when Gerry looked down he saw that it had provided him with some holographic pink plateau boots. Trying to figure out if they matched with anything he was wearing was a thought he decided to not bother with. Michael’s face was suddenly in front of him.

“Thankfully, you’re not always boring.” It grinned, wide. “I do like when you get all cuddly.”

Gerry blushed a little, mumbling, “Thanks, I guess.” He looked away, trying to change the topic. “So, where to?”

Michael straightened up again. “Wherever you want to go.”

Gerry thought about it for a moment. It all looked and sounded overwhelming, too many colourful lights and different smells. He had never been in a place like this without it being work-related. He had no idea how to navigate it for fun .

He frowned, unsure. “I think…I could eat.”

Michael nodded and started walking, pulling him along. They walked around for a while and Gerry got himself something to eat along the way. He was surprised to find his wallet in his pocket, though the vendor seemed so utterly confused looking at Gerry’s ever-shifting shirt that he could have probably managed without paying, had he wanted to.

The vendor wasn’t the only eyes they drew as they casually made their way along the streets in-between booths and rides. It wasn’t new. Gerry had drawn eyes long before he started occasionally walking around hand in hand with somebody that towered over most people and also, if looked at too closely, looked somewhat removed from human. Still, he was fairly sure that part of the glances they were getting now were due to their attire. As somebody who was rather used to such looks, Gerry could just feel it.

He wasn’t necessarily bothered by it. His surroundings provided enough distraction from that strange awareness that he was wearing something quite outside his comfort zone. Gerry had never been to an amusement park outside of work-related instances. Well, instance. The memory put him somewhat on edge at first. He felt Michael’s hand tighten around his own and his thoughts scattered. He gave it an apologetic smile.

“You should try one of the rides,” it said.

“For distraction?” It was probably not a bad idea. Gerry guessed that’s why people came to these places in the first place.

Michael grinned. “For fun.”

Gerry rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Lead the way.”

The rides were fun. And it did make it significantly more difficult to get hung up on whatever paranormal entities might be on the loose within the amusement park. The clinging unease subsided as they went from one to the next.

Michael didn’t seem too impressed by the rides themselves, but it seemed to take joy in how obviously it added to the light-headedness of the people sitting close, how uncomfortable they seemed the moment they sat down. Some even forgot to gawk at their attire once Michael was sitting right next to them.

The only thing that did seem to genuinely make Michael buzz excitedly next to Gerry was when they approached the house of mirrors. Gerry rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, you are predictable, you know?”

“Were you expecting me to ask you to go in there?”

There was something in its voice that made Gerry think for a moment, consider where the catch might be. “No, I thought the choice would be too obvious.”

“Then I subverted your expectations.” It squeezed his hand in barely-contained amusement.

Gerry chuckled. “There’s no winning with your word-twisting…”

It took very little time for Gerry to get lost within the mirrored halls, all reflecting distorted versions of himself and sometimes somebody else, sometimes nothing at all. He was fairly sure they were not all supposed to work like this. Michael followed him closely, thought it seemed more distracted than usual, which probably had something to do with the occasional distressed noises reaching Gerry from fellow people walking around the labyrinth. Michael often bothered the people around them a little - even when, as far as Gerry could tell, it wasn’t actively trying - so he let it slide. It was clear that it was doing it on purpose this time, but maybe people would simply get out thinking of how impressive the house of mirrors is. People were weird. Some were surely enjoying this right now. Michael was certainly looking like it was having a great time whenever Gerry looked at it, and it did make him smile, although somewhat guiltily.

Gerry did stop when he saw a door in one of the mirrors, one currently being approached by a wide-eyed person whose hurried steps betrayed the urge to get out of the maze. Gerry knew where this was going, hand coming to grab Michael’s wrist, forcing it to stop next to him.

He sighed in mock-exasperation. “Really, Michael? On a date?”

Michael looked at him, but only with one of its eyes. The other was still trained on the door in anticipation. “ You already had dinner.”

Gerry shook his head. He knew it didn’t kill them anymore, just let them wander until close - sometimes beyond - the breaking point and released them again. It had been the best compromise they could manage, and Gerry had made peace with it. But that didn’t mean he necessarily wanted to watch the next victim open the door. That would be a rather sour end to a pretty nice date.

Personally, Gerry had had a very different end in mind. As ridiculous as Michael’s outfit seemed, Gerry had caught his eyes lingering on its velvet-hugged hips, the bit of exposed not-skin that looked so much paler in-between all the black. Even when Gerry caught it shifting from the human pale colour Michael usually stuck with. Maybe the actual ridiculous aspect of Michael’s get-up was that Gerry was into it.

His hand slipped from its wrist, coming to rest on its waist instead. Michael’s other eye focused on him, too, then, a curious glint in it. Only for a moment. Maybe Gerry had imagined it. The tips of his fingers slipped underneath its blouse as he leaned in, still a bit too short to properly reach Michael’s ear.

He knew it still heard him when he mumbled, voice low, “Let’s go home. I haven’t had dessert yet.”

It seemed to lose its grip on itself for a short moment, something like a shiver running through it. Gerry gave it a knowing grin, eyes half-lidded as he followed the line of whatever was going for its spine in that moment downwards. It could be quite predictable sometimes. The smug grin on Gerry’s lips only grew when the door previously in one of the mirrors in front of them appeared behind them and Michael pulled him through it, an anticipating grin on its own lips.

[[Michael’s outfit was actually sent to me by my abovementioned friend and you SHOULD gaze upon it.]]

#gerrymichael #michaelgerry

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