#james thorne

People was useless when were in love so they created a pill that prevents that. It's free but obligatory to take. Police control the streets and are allowed to arrest those who didn't take it. People are happy now, they insist, as in the streets dull citizens walk or travel from their houses to their works with anything in their heads but their equally dull lives.

But the rebels always existed. Because it's fine if you choose not to love but they can't force you to feel absolutely nothing. The underworld, they say, is full of criminals and bandits. Full of smoke and fights. They tell stories in schools so kids from very young age are discouraged to be part of it. The pill is the salvation if you don't want to become one of them.

James Thorne looked at himself in the mirror after swallowing his pill. He felt nothing, as always happened. Just another day and the same emptiness inside him, like he was missing something. Only he had everything he wanted.

Maybe he should visit that girl. The same girl he always visited although she didn't live in his neighbourhood anymore. She was now downtown. She was part of the underworld.

The underworld that was full of outlaws and full of love.

The tall Irishman drags his strained body to the bar and drops on a stool, his robe half-open and his messy hair still damp at the temples. He looks far too happy for a man who has ruined his life at a blackjack table 24 hours ago — in fact, he looks like he is having the best weekend of his entire existence. He might be exhausted, but the faint daze in his blue eyes cannot be overlooked.

"A single whiskey." He mumbles to the bartender, pauses, and then adds, "Actually, make it double." "Rough night?" The man behind the counter asked, in quite an absentminded fashion. James can't help but huff a quiet laugh in reply. He is about to reply when a voice cuts in behind him, echoing in an amused lilt. "Don't listen to him. He's thriving." James doesn't even need to turn around. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

Amos slides on the stool beside him with a casual stroll, as if he not only owned the bar but the entire building. His white robe hangs loose, unapologetically so, and his jet black hair is a mess, though it still manages to look stylish somehow. The expression on his face is bright with his usual infuriating and effortless charm. One gesture is enough for the bartender to understand his order. He looks almost alive. "James," He grins like they didn't part ways hours ago under very... steamy circumstances. "You're—"

"Don't." James cuts him as he pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously fed up with his best friend's antics. Of course, said best friend doesn't shut up.

"Glowing. You're glowing, sweetheart." "I hate you." Amos laughs, entirely too pleased with himself. "No you don't." When the drinks arrive, James downs half of his in one go while Amos doesn't touch his yet. Thing is, he's too busy leaning back and stretching like a cat that's had exactly what it wanted. It's only after a silence heavy with implication that the Irishman opens his mouth. "...So." Amos lifts a brow. "So?" "... We won't talk about it back home, right?" Amos smirks into his glass. "You mean talk about the prostitution thing, or the sex marathon you're having with that gorgeous woman named Rose? Lucky girl! I can hear you give her the best of you from my fucking bedroom." "Sasha? Shut the fuck up. Just for one time in your fucking life." "Absolutely not." Surprisingly, James lets out a short laugh despite himself, then shakes his head. No matter how vividly he denies it, causing trouble with his chosen brother is the closest thing to sheer happiness and carefree life he knows of. After ordering two bottles of champagne, one for each of the girls they are banging, Amos reaches into the pocket of his robe to pull out a black card. "The pretty blonde lent me hers." He simply explains, glancing down at the credit card. And then he stops. Just fucking stops. Of course, James notices immediately. "...What?" Amos doesn't answer at first. He's too busy staring at the card with his soul-sucking black eyes as if it has just insulted him. A black, matte and immaculate card with a name engraved in silver. Von Bismarck.

"Amos?" James calls, frowning. "You good, man?"

Very slowly, Amos lets out a long exhale. Then, out of nowhere, he starts to laugh for real. The sound is sharp and delighted, miles away from the polite and forced chuckles he usually makes. "For fuck's sake, what a clever stealthy bitch."

"What?" James insists, "What is it?" The billionaire turns the card between his fingers as he smiles, his eyes glinting with something dangerously close to admiration. "That blonde upstairs. Heaven." The Irishman raises a brow, cautious, "...Yes?" "She lent me this to pay for the drinks. It's my fucking credit card." As James blinks in surprise, the German prince tilts the matte card just enough for the light to shine onto the silver letters of his name. Recognition hits almost immediately. "Oh, fuck me, it's not what I think, is it?!" "Yup, she's the one who stole my wallet." Amos finishes for him, amused. To be perfectly honest, James' sweaty body tenses a little under the robe as he waits for the anger to strike. For the cold, deadly rage he knows his best friend is capable of, but nothing comes. Instead, Amos just shakes his head and smiles... Fondly. "Eh... You're not mad." The tall Irishman states. "Should I be?" “Sash… you don’t even let people breathe wrong around you. And now some girl steals your money and you just let it slide?” He stares at him, genuine confusion written all over his face. Amos just shrugs, " I don't know, mate. I like her. She's interesting." "Well, Amos Von Bismarck finding someone interesting is quite new." He gulps down the rest of his whiskey. "I know." Amos simply replies, though there's a faint fondness beneath the dry humor. Something that lingers in the way he looks down at the card, like all of this means more than it should. Like she does. Time stretches softly, though the silence gradually grows heavier and the prince's smirk fades away from his handsome face. When Amos moves again, he leans and rolls his shoulders. His dark gaze, dazed with the remnants of cocaine he took and the post-sex haze, drifts somewhere on the wall. James soon sees how his fingers tap idly against the marble of the counter, as if he knew his best friend was weighing something in his mind. Something he's done hiding to one of the very few people he genuinely cares for.

"You okay?" All he gets for a reply is an absent hum before, a few seconds later, Amos drops in a very casual tone: "I have to tell you something." The Irishman snorts lightly, "That sounds very ominous." But he stops when he notices it doesn't make Amos laugh, " Alright. Go on, then."

One long inhale. One longer exhale. Amos doesn't look at him, he's still staring at an invisible stain on the wall opposite them. And as he does, a faint smile play on his lips, detached and absent.

"I kill people." James let out a tired laugh, not buying it "Yeah, alright."

A little silence hangs before Amos finally turns his head. "For money." The handsome Irish wants to laugh again, but the words land wrong. They don't sound like a joke, not like the other controversial things the German prince usually says. James' smile begins to falter, "... Sasha, you're coked up. Don't say such things." But Amos doesn't laugh. Nor blink. Nor smile. "I'm not joking, Andrew. I'm a fucking killer." And suddenly, the neon lights feel colder.

It had become a strange tradition to meet up in London at the club they all like and compete in the Halloween Costume contest each year.

“Fine.” The German grumbles and agrees that his beloathed frenemy was right, this only slightly modified natural splatter did look better than his attempts to copy Bale's bloody Bateman look.

Rose and James had begun the tradition and Rose being a designer usually won, but they had money and a competitive streak for the ages resulting in wanting to win or at least their partners winning.Amos and Eva were tied for fourth place and neither could bear the humiliation. Even Jack placed ahead of them because the judges found him sexy now that he's bulked up.

“Do you want me to get you some flour for yours?” the German asks waiting for his revenge by doing exactly what the Mexican witch did by ‘helping’ her get ready.

The woman shook her head and produced the white powder that’s to make her tan have a deathly pallor to it. “Hev, told me her foundation color, found an even whiter one. Didn’t think it even existed.”

She was to go as a rather sexy rendition of Morticia Addams with her dark hair looking far darker and falling down her back so straight one could forget it was usually wavy. Eva doesn’t plan on winning, her Yankee is the one who’s costume should win, he looked a lot like the character, the unnamed projectionist in Pearl. Eva was supposed to dress up as his murderer, but she didn’t like the outfit and chose to not match him instead.

Besides last year they went as Leia and Han to fulfill that nerdy fantasy of a teenage Jack. Still she had lost because even as sexy as it was and despite the real gold in the clothing, it is pretty difficult to beat a fashion designer, her husband, Heaven and other people. This is why they’ll resort to bribes, just to keep things fair.

“You know that’s just work, Róisín,” he said gently, pink tinging his cheeks in a way that made her grin widen.

Chuckling, she slipped her arms around his waist. “But you know who I mean?”

“Mia.”

Rose frowned. “I thought she had a French name?”

“She goes by Amelie online. She is part French though.”

“Ahhh, that’s it. Well do you think she’d be willing to put some clothes on for some photos for me?”

“I can ask her.”

Rose squeezed him, pressing a kiss into his shoulder blade. “Thank you.” Leaning over she sniffed the sauce he was making. “That smells so good.” But as she reached for the spoon he lightly slapped her hand away.

“Please, I don’t want to have to call the fire brigade tonight and I’m hungry.”

Sticking her tongue out she moved away and started on the washing up.

“I hope she says yes. Hev might even like her too, if she’s French.”

Inspired by @call-sign-shark’s portfolio and bts moodboard for her oc Heaven and with thanks to @justrainandcoffee for letting me borrow Rose and James, and have the time of my life playing Mia in this fashion AU 🤭

Read more of Rose and James » HERE «

Read more of Heaven and Amos » HERE «