#and put your hat on flipped on the wrong side while rapping with the most atrocious flow italy has ever had the disgrace of hearing

[swallowtail-ageha]

Shut tue fuck uppppp you are not a gangster #raisedinpoverty you live in the center of the city and your parents give you a weekly allowance

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 6

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she tells Eileen, and the girl glances over at her. Makado thinks she can detect a little more life behind those dark, sullen eyes, and she offers up a faint smile.

“Yeah?” Eileen asks, and Makado nods, gives her a little shrug.

“Yes,” she says. “I guess - I guess in a way I was always too nervous to.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve seen horses,” Makado says. “They’re enormous. What if the horse you’re going to ride doesn’t like you? It could bite you, or kick you, or -“

Eileen is laughing. Well, maybe not laughing, but it’s definitely a giggle. Definitely a smile, at least. Makado will take it. “No, I’m serious,” she grins. “Horses freak me out! They’re so huge, and -“

“But they’re so gentle,” Eileen says. “The horse I liked to ride back at my grandfather’s place, his name is Dragster, and -“

Makado is laughing too hard for her to continue. “Dragster?” she manages to choke out. “The horse’s name was Dragster?”

“Hey, it’s a good name for a horse!”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Tell me about Dragster, then. Would he like me?”

“Of course he would,” Eileen says. “He likes everybody.”

Makado makes a wry face. “I don’t know, there’s something about me that just rubs horses the wrong way.”

“I thought you said you’d never even seen a horse.”

“I imagine there’s something about me that would rub a horse the wrong way.”

“Have you ever even, like, been close to a horse, or -“

“Okay,” Makado confesses. “Maybe I haven’t. But even so -“

“Can you two quit it with all the horses?” Fitzroy groans. “Ever since Eileen woke up it’s been horses, horses, horses -“

Eileen gives him a scathing glower and Makado rolls her eyes at him. “Yes,” she agrees. “Because you’ve been such a great conversationalist.”

“Whatever,” Fitzroy grumbles. He mutters something under his breath and Makado feels a little spike of anger prick at her, but before she can say anything Eileen reaches over and kicks Fitzroy in the ankle. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For getting us into this in the first place, you shit,” she tells him. “If you hadn’t decided it’d be a fun idea to pick on - “

Makado feels incredibly weary all of a sudden. She lets the bickering fade into the background and instead reaches down, flips her radio to transmit.

“Peter?” Makado asks. She frowns and then pulls out her radio, checks the battery level and the connection. The battery’s fine but the connection screen shows her direct link with Peter was cut. She curses and then switches over to the general channel. “Makado to Peter,” she says. Fitzroy and Tyler look over, then away again.

“Makado to Peter,” she repeats. “Come in please, our link got severed.”

She takes her finger off the call button and waits. With a repeater down, reception will be spotty but at short distances like this Peter should still be able to hear her.

The seconds stretch like taffy. All that she can hear on the radio is squirrelly bursts of static, nothing like a voice or a call.

She can feel the kids’ eyes on her; the static isn’t exactly quiet or innocuous. She counts to ten, slowly in her head, and then at the end of the count clicks the radio off and slips it back into its holster, and then rises from her chair and runs through a quick full-body stretch. “Alright, Mak,” she mutters to herself, eyes flicking over at the kids, voice barely audible. “Hey, guys,” she says, forcing herself to sound bright and cheery. Just like a tour group, she tells herself.

They all look exhausted, Eileen most of all. She’s stopped clutching her wrist so tightly but Makado can see it in her eyes, she just wants to be home in bed and treating this like it was a bad dream.

Makado’s been worried about her. She wasn’t talking much, even when Fitzroy tried to engage her, and even though Makado had gone and sat next to her and Eileen had seemed like she’d been receptive, leaning over on Makado’s shoulder and falling asleep almost immediately while Makado had spoken quietly into the radio to Peter, she’d woken up soon after and gone and sat by herself, staring into space. Makado felt a twinge of dormant maternal instinct somewhere deep in her psyche, looking at the tall, lanky girl. She hadn’t had to take care of her little sister for years, but old habits die hard. She’d rolled her eyes at herself inwardly and then  went over and sat next to her and pestered her and got her to tell her all sorts of things, like how summer school was going (awful), how her mom was making her get a job at the movie theatre for pocket money (yuck) and how her lame-ass dad was taking them all camping in August before school started again (groan).

Makado had felt a little like she were sitting with someone dying of frostbite, trying to keep them from falling asleep, but Eileen had seemed to warm up after a while. She was a horse girl, clearly, and after Makado had found out what her favorite animal was there was a wealth of conversation to dig into.

Makado groans to herself and clears her throat.

“There’s been a change of plans,” she tells them. “I’m going to have to go out and help Peter with something and I’m going to need you all to stay here and sit tight.”

“You’re leaving?” Tyler asks. He looks so young and so scared. They’d been doing alright there in the shelter for a while, now that things had slowed down and the convulsions wracking the Pit had diminished, but Makado knew that that situation could change at the drop of a hat. No point telling them that, though.

“Yes,” she says, “but only for maybe ten, twenty minutes. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I’m not abandoning you. Promise.”

Fitzroy nods; Eileen doesn’t look like she cares one way or another. “What if something gets in?” Tyler asks.

“Nothing’s going to get in,” Makado assures them. “Look,” she says, pointing to the door to the elevator enclosure. “That’s solid. No window, sealed along the cracks. Nothing will be able to see you or smell you from outside.”

“What about the elevator shaft?”

“Those doors take a lot of strength to pry open,” she assures him. “And anything that’s going to be able to wriggle its way past the elevator stuck in the shaft up there is not going to be physically able to open them. It won’t be big or strong enough.”

Fitzroy gives her a blasé look. “Are you just telling us that to make us feel better?”

“No,” she says, giving him a dangerous look. “I’m serious. That elevator door isn’t going to budge. This exit door, take a chair and prop it under the handle once I’m gone if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll knock shave and a haircut when I get back, that way you’ll know it’s me.”

They all look at her with complete incomprehension in her eyes. “No?” she asks. “Shave and a haircut?”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eileen murmurs. Makado makes a face at her.

“Thanks for making me feel old, guys.” She raps it out on the wall. “That. If someone knocks that on the door, let them in.”

“Oh.”

“See. You know what it is, you just didn’t know the name of it. Fitzroy, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” he says. Makado rolls her eyes.

“Over here, please.”

Acting like it’s a tremendous burden, Fitzroy gets up and saunters over to her. She leans in close to him. “Look,” she says. “We got off on the wrong foot. I was never going to charge you with anything, I told Peter to take you guys up to the surface and kick you out. We’re on the same side here. Okay?”

Fitzroy stares at her. He has acne scars on his temple and he smells like bodyspray slowly being consumed by several hours’ worth of sweat. His eyes, though, Makado notices, are wide and blue and concerned looking. He has honest eyes. She finds it somehow surprising. “Was that pool really acid?” he asks her softly.

“Yes. The bulb that ranger station is – was in -  that’s essentially a stomach. All that was acid. If Tyler had fallen in he probably would have died or at least been severely hurt.”

“And you aren’t going to charge us for that?”

“Fitzroy. Roy? Do you have a name you prefer?”

“I usually go by my middle name Robert.”

“Robert, you’re a kid. Kids do dumb shit. I’m not going to ruin your life over something where nobody got hurt.”

“But –“

“I’m not the bad guy,” she tells him. “I think after today you’ll probably have learned your lesson.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He looks like he feels a little better.

“I want you to take this,” she says, pulling out her emergency transponder.

“What is it?”

“It’s a rescue beacon, essentially. You break that seal there and then this will come off and there’ll be a button. If you press that, this thing will start screaming for help and somebody will get down here and help you. If me or Peter aren’t back within…let’s say forty-five minutes or so, turn that on.”

“Why not sooner? Or right now?”

Makado thinks about it for a moment. “Because everybody is very busy helping people who need it. Right now, we might be stuck down here, but I promise, I am going to get all of us out of here. Let them help other people first.”

“Okay,” he repeats. He puts his hand around the beacon and puts it into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Remember, twist it to break the seal and then press the button.”

“Easy,” he agrees.

“Yeah.” She squeezes his shoulder lightly. “You’re doing great. This will be over soon.”

“Really?”

“If everything works out, yeah. Now I really need to go. Remember to prop a chair against the door when I leave, alright?”

“Okay.”

And then Makado is running a hand through her curly brown hair, gathering it into a tight ponytail. She slips her helmet on and is out the door without giving the kids any time to doubt.

 * * *

 Even though Peter’s conscious mind is frozen, his instincts kick into overdrive as that giant hand descends on him. He snaps his leg out without even thinking about it and digs the cleats into the tender, vulnerable flesh at the heel of the copepod’s palm, and it makes a loud, angry chittering noise, its multifaceted mouthparts working furiously. Peter tries to pull his leg back in time but he can’t move quickly enough before its fingers snap shut around his ankle and it lifts him bodily from the ground and he dangles there, wiggling back and forth. The thing’s grip is tight and uncomfortable and he can feel his ankle bulge in its socket as its fingers squeeze, shifting lightly to get a better grip on him. Its other hand comes up and grabs at him but he twists and it plucks at thin air, then pulls back.

Makado’s voice has gone quiet; not even the faint hiss of static that undercut their conversations earlier is audible. The earpiece is still screwed tightly into his ear so that can’t be the problem, but the familiar weight of the radio in its side holster is no longer present. It must have fallen out when the copepod picked him up.

Peter has never seen a live abyssal copepod in person. He’s heard stories, of course – any ranger who’s worked the Flesh Pit has – but the copepods have an aura of myth around them despite being demonstrable, understandable creatures.

Nobody knows why they have hands. Even the scientists can’t figure it out; extraordinary evolutionary pressure, one of them had told Peter one time, when they’d ended up sitting at the same table in the cafeteria. The depths and challenges of the Pit forcing them to scrabble for any sort of generational advantage they could find. The older rangers and the miners, the ones who worked in the deepest areas of the Pit, where the copepods could usually be found, whispered of stranger explanations, though, but these were usually so outlandish that Peter found them easy to dismiss.

An entire three-day period of ranger training and orientation was dedicated to abyssal copepods. Everything else in the Pit could be put down with gunfire. True, some things like an amorphous shame or a shamble could take quite a bit of punishment, but if you shoot at a copepod there’s no guarantee it’ll do anything. Peter remembers watching the bits of video they’d played that first day, footage of copepod attacks on mining and exploratory trips deep into the Pit. He’d found it hard to believe the footage was real. The copepods had moved so quickly and had been so coordinated, popping up on one side of the dig site and causing a commotion as a distraction while three of them swept in from behind and snatched up four people, one of the copepods, the largest, carrying off two miners at once. The rangers there on the security detail had opened up on the copepods with the automatics they’d had but it had done nothing, the copepods had simply covered their vulnerable faces with their hands and let the bullets sink into their thick flesh or bounce off of their hardened, nacreous exoskeletons without any noticeable effect.

Earl, the grizzled ranger leading the class, had paused the video there and ushered them all outside, and they’d all walked down in a tight little group to the very middle of the Lower Visitor Center, right in the atrium, where, suspended from wires and perfectly preserved, was the only fully intact specimen of abyssal copepod that had ever been recovered from the depths of the Pit.

The thing had, Earl told them, crawled up the gullet, digging its hands into the flesh of the pit wall, leaving a trail of bloody pockmarks behind it like footprints. And then it had levered itself onto a ledge, a bony outcrop near the surface, where the sun had been shining, and it had laid there and died.

“Why?” someone asked, and Earl shrugged.

“We don’t know much about these things, about why they do the things they do. So I can’t tell you why exactly,” he drawled, “but I can tell you what I think. I think it knew it was fading. And it wanted to see the sun.”

The copepod plucks at him again with its free hand and again Peter twists out of the way. It keeps snatching its hand back after it misses, a telltale indicator that this copepod has run into rangers before. Maybe a miner with a taser, a ranger with an ESD gun, some experience in the past that let it know that humans can hurt it.

Electrical discharges tend to be the best way to deal with copepods. An ordinary taser, the kind the police use, won’t do more than tickle it, but every ranger station carries a rack of overpowered high-voltage tasers that would fry a human to a crisp but will knock out a copepod. Peter’s never had to use one, never fired one except for that day in training when they had to qual on them in order to pass. He’d hit five out of seven shots and that had been good enough. Hit a copepod with one of those, Earl had said, and that’ll put it on its ass long enough for you to take your knife and shove it right there, tapping the diagram of the copepod’s head between its eyes. “Its brain isn’t there, but a primary nerve is. Hit it just there, right in the center, dig the knife around in there, and you’ll paralyze it for the rest of its life, which will probably be about half an hour. Then just walk away.”

He made it sound extremely simple. Peter thought it was kind of sad, thinking about one of the enormous copepods, trapped there in its own body, unable to move, waiting for something to come by and eat it, or maybe for it to suffocate, unable to make its lungs breathe.

Peter reaches upwards to his hips and unsnaps his holster. The service pistol practically flings itself out and Peter fumbles with it for one heart-stopping moment before he gets a good grip on it. If he’d dropped it…

The copepod is drawing its arm back again for another swipe at him. Peter points the pistol at it, taking a moment to line up a shot at its head. The head is just as armored as the rest of its body, but the eyes aren’t, although that shot, hanging upside down in the thing’s grasp, would be one in a million.

The copepod’s eyes shift as he points the pistol at it and then it drops him. He lands heavily but scrambles to his feet as quick as he can. He sees the copepod cringe back, covering its head with one of its hands, the other blindly groping for him. He dodges a swipe and then turns tail and runs, his cleats digging into the floor of the trail and popping free with wet sucking sounds. It takes the copepod a moment to realize he’s booked it but once it does it screeches, sounding like a bucket of nails fed into a wood chipper, and takes off after him, pulling itself forwards on its powerful forearms, its frilled steering vanes beating uselessly against the fleshy ground.

 * * *

 Makado strides down the corridor boldly, one hand on the butt of her service pistol. She’s already sealed her helmet, just in case. No matter how hard she tries she can’t seem to get rid of the bubbling knot of trepidation, tensing in her stomach as she makes her way closer to the Organ Trail. A triocanth is one thing, nasty enough but easy to deal with, but an abyssal? Peter must have been mistaken.

But no, whispers a little voice in the back of her head. Wishful thinking isn’t going to save you.

She’s checked her pockets a dozen times on the way down but she doesn’t have anything that could properly deal with an abyssal copepod. The things are massive, cunning, angry tubes of pure rage, and if you were going to try to take one down without cheating and zapping it with an electro gun you’d have to use one of the big forty-mills they keep in the LVC for emergencies. Makado’s seen the plans, seen the contingencies, even though her clearance wasn’t high enough. She’d laughed at the time. ‘Organized assault by more than fifteen abyssal copepods?’ Give me a break.

Now, though, with the lights flickering and the floor throbbing to a sickly beat, she isn’t so sure.

Alright, Mak. Think. How are you going to take out an abyssal?

She still has no ideas five minutes later when she reaches the point in the corridor where Peter must have ran into that triocanth. There’s a great gout of bacterial fluid there on the grated floor, still wet and dripping, and huge spots of rust where it melted into the steel. She curls her lip; even though the closed-system suit prevents her from smelling it, she knows exactly what it would smell like, sulfurous rotten-egg stench mixed with a horribly biological rot-like odor, like week-old vomit.

There in the fleshy wall, she notices, is the slit that Peter must have seen the copepod reach from; it’s large, but it wouldn’t be large enough to let the copepod come all the way into the corridor without a great deal of squeezing and stretching. That must have been why all it did was reach out and grab the bacterium, she realizes.

For about the third time since she started her journey, she tries to call Peter again on the radio, but with even less hope of a response. Clearly something’s happened; she hopes it wasn’t the abyssal making off with him, but she forces herself to be realistic.

She reaches out to touch the rough-pink edge of the slit in the wall and notices her hand is shaking slightly. She makes a fist and then punches the side of the wall, hard as she can. Her  knuckles leave four little divots in the flesh that fade quickly.

“Alright,” she says out loud. “I’m going to go and I’m going to fuck up that abyssal cope –“

Her words catch in her throat as what she thought was a weirdly-shaped skin tag opens a set of six multifaceted eyes and looks at her. “Uh,” she starts, reaching down to her hip for her pistol, but the triocanth bursts out of the wall, propelled by its well-muscled, springlike tail, trailing slime and venterial lymph like a comet, and has wrapped its tentacles around her neck and constricted her arms to her sides with the rest of its wriggling body before she can even think.

 * * *

 The copepod roars behind him again and Peter ducks; another chunk of flesh with five puckered divots punched into it sails past him and slaps wetly into the wall of the corridor. Peter twists around. “Will you stop throwing shit at me?” he asks the copepod, which responds by digging its hands in again and lunging forward another seven or eight feet, but the sizable lead Peter’s amassed still puts him far ahead of the thing on the trail, close to the exit up to the Campground and the lower gastrointestinal zone. The thing pauses there and once again Peter reflects on the lumbering bulk of it, the banded plates and armor, the hands twitching with what he interprets as repressed rage. It’s getting tired, he guesses; at the start Peter was lucky to have gotten away from it before it was able to snatch him up again and disarm him but the thing was wary of his pistol, even though it wouldn’t really have been able to hurt it. He hasn’t shot at it yet, not wanting to have to, not wanting to reveal that the gun he holds loosely at his side isn’t an electrical stunner but just a puny .45 that wouldn’t hurt the thing if he didn’t nail it square in the face.

The copepod makes a fist and slams it on the floor repeatedly before it flexes and lurches itself another few feet forward. It’s such a human gesture that Peter pauses for a moment and watches it, watches the way its eyes glitter, locked on Peter’s, watches the way its sides heave with the vast gulping breaths it’s taking. He shakes his head eventually. “Fuck you,” he tells it, and then turns and jogs upwards, into the light.

 * * *

“Goddam,” Makado keeps muttering, trying to flex her arms and break the triocanth’s hold on her but it’s no use, the thing is basically all muscle, it’s much stronger than her. It seems to have figured out by now that it can’t bite through her faceplate, after a few minutes of slobbering over her and leaving scratch marks on the reinforced glass of the visor, its three serrated teeth flexing with the effort, and now instead has settled for trying to crush her. She’d only just managed to slip one of her hands up around her neck before its whiplike tentacles had laced over it, but the extra space her arm gave her was enough to let her continue to breathe.

The triocanth’s dull eyes, arranged in two tripled sets on either side of its face, regard her. “Goddam,” Makado repeats. She opens her holster and starts to take out her pistol but the thing’s tail won’t let her move far enough to get it all the way out. She makes a face, straining against the triocanth, and it shifts minutely, enough to let the pistol free.

The triocanth reels back and then strikes her in the face, leaving a smear of venom on her visor, as well as a hairline crack that she eyes with trepidation. She can feel her hands shaking as she angles the pistol up, rotating her wrist carefully. She can’t tell where it’s pointed, if it’ll hit the triocanth if she pulls the trigger. She thinks it will but she also doesn’t want to shoot herself.

It pulls back and batters itself into her helmet again and the glass shatters; Makado shuts her eyes just in time but she still feels several shards dig into the skin on her cheeks and her chin. She pulls the trigger.

 * * *

 When Peter hears the gunshots his head snaps up, away from the map readout on his wrist. “Mak,” he breathes. He’d slowed a little when he’d reached the well-lit corridors above the organ trail, following the map and taking a shortcut back to the elevator enclosure.

There are three different trails she could be down; he picks one at random and sprints down it, careening off the walls when he overbalances, when his cleats stick in the metal grates and don’t come up as quickly as they ought. He’s tired and out of breath but he makes it down to the end of the corridor and turns the corner and finds Makado, limp and prone, the triocanth still wrapped around her, its head inclined downwards and covering her face. “No,” he finds himself saying without any conscious bidding on his part. “No, no no no no no,” he says, pulling his pistol out of its holster and training it on the triocanth. He reaches down gingerly and takes ahold of the recessed groove on the rear part of its exoskeleton, expecting it to whip around and go after him, but the triocanth just lays still. Peter frowns.

“Pete?” Makado asks, and Peter almost falls to his knees he’s so relieved.

“Holy shit, Mak,” he says, putting his gun away and rolling the triocanth off her. He looks at her, laying there, smoke still rising from the barrel of her gun, shards of glass still dug into her face, and she smiles at him and it is truly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I came to get you,” she says breathlessly, sitting up, glass pouring from the inside of her helmet. She pops the quick release and it comes apart in two halves. She lets it clatter onto the floor. “I came to get you,” she repeats, “when your radio went dead.”

“I came to get you,” he tells her, “when I heard the gunshots. I thought you’d died, laying there, I…”

He trails off. Makado is bleeding from a cut on her chin and he watches as she picks a tiny shard of glass from her cheek, lets it tinkle to the floor and then through the grate and down onto the flesh below. He holds his wrist screen out to show her. “Look,” he says. “I have a map. I know the best way –“

Makado doesn’t look at the screen even once. When he leans in closer to show her, she leans into him, and then she reaches up and puts her hand in his short-cropped hair and then she kisses him, and her lips are warm and soft and her teeth nip at his lips lightly and her tongue darts into his mouth for only a moment, running along his teeth and gums before it’s gone, and the kiss feels like it lasts forever but it’s over in only a moment and when she pulls away from him Makado is smiling so hard her cheeks are starting to hurt and Peter is looking at her like he loves her and he opens his mouth to say something stupid so Makado leans in and kisses him again and this time he puts his arm around her and she still smells like peaches and her shoulders are soft and trembling slightly and he can feel her chest heaving as they press together and he can feel her breasts against him and he’s having trouble thinking.

And then there is a sliding, scraping noise behind them and Makado opens her eyes and speaks the words ‘holy shit’ directly into Peter’s mouth, and then she is scrambling away, tugging on Peter’s arm, for at the end of the hallway the copepod has just pulled itself into view and is sitting there, staring at them malevolently, tucking its arms in and trying to squeeze its bulk into the hallway proper.

“You weren’t kidding,” Makado breathes. Peter is only just now regaining proper brain functions and he keeps looking at Makado like he’d still like to keep kissing her even in spite of the copepod and Makado can’t help but smile at him and reach over and squeeze his hand very tight for just a moment. “We’ll do more of that later,” she promises.

The copepod reaches up and knots its fingers into the metal grille covering the ceiling and pulls itself another few feet into the hallway. Peter whips out his pistol and aims it at the copepod and again it sees and cowers back, covering its face. Makado whistles. “This one’s smart, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t shot it yet,” Peter says. “I don’t think it knows this is just a pistol.”

“I have an idea,” Makado says. The copepod rocks itself side to side a little. If it gets a couple feet forward it’ll have moved the largest bulging section of its exoskeleton into the hallway and it’ll be able to pull itself along freely, but for the moment it’s still stuck. Makado leans down and picks up the dead triocanth, grunting under its weight. “Help me with this fucking thing,” she says, and Peter takes it by the tail, trying to still keep the gun trained on the copepod, which is now peeking through its fingers at them, and between the two of them, Makado leading the way, they stagger closer to the copepod. After a moment it puts its hand down and watches them carefully, its arms retracting with their telltale pneumatic hissing noise, putting its hands on the inside of the corridor. “On three,” Makado says, “we toss this thing at the copepod.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

She counts to three, heaving the dead weight of the triocanth back and forth between them to build up momentum, and then they toss it. It sails through the air and lands just in front of the copepod, which looks at them and then at the triocanth. “Now back off,” Makado says to Peter from the corner of her mouth.

They take a few steps backwards; the copepod reaches out and prods the triocanth gently. A few more steps; the copepod takes the triocanth in both hands and, with a ripping noise like fabric tearing, twists off the triocanth’s head and starts to eat it.

Makado and Peter turn and break into a jog. “I can’t believe that worked,” Peter tells Makado.

“Me neither,” she says. “Be glad it did. You know how to get up?”

“Yes,” he nods. One of the old evacuation shafts, the ones they put in when they were concerned about acid overflow. We can climb up and seal it after us and that’ll put us into Bronchial.”

“Lead the way.”

It takes them ten minutes or so to make it back to the elevator enclosure. Makado raps shave and a haircut on the door and Fitzroy takes the chair down and opens the door and practically falls over with relief when he sees Makado and Peter. “Did you get worried?” Makado asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “There were these noises –“

“We can talk about it later,” Peter says. “Guys, we have to go right now.”

It takes a little bit to get Eileen moving; she’d fallen asleep again and it took a little effort to wake her, but they get the three teenagers up and ready to go, and then shuffle off down the hallway, Peter and Makado in the front, referring to the map as they go. It takes them down about half a mile of halls, including a few detours due to failed stents and, in one case, a truly enormous cloistropod protruding from the wall and making a low subsonic buzz that set Peter’s teeth on edge, but they make it to the access shaft. Makado swipes her card and it unlocks, and then they have to spin the wheel and unseal the door, which takes what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The door opens with a foreboding hiss, and Makado clicks on her flashlight and peers up the shaft. “Alright kids,” she says, her voice echoing in the tight space, “who’s ready for a climb? There’ll –“

Before she can get any further, though, the Pit bucks beneath them and roars so loudly that they all clap their hands to their ears. Fitzroy falls to the ground and Eileen screams but although Peter sees her mouth move he can’t hear her. The shuddering intensifies and again he reaches out as best he can, his face screwed up against the noise, and gathers Fitzroy and Tyler to him and takes them down to the ground while Makado does the same with Eileen, and they all huddle there for the short eternity it feels it takes for the Pit to settle. Eventually it does, and the roar peters out into a low grumbling moan that trails on and on. Peter rises to his feet finally, bringing Tyler and Fitzroy up with him. “Jesus Christ,” he says.

Makado looks shaken. “What the hell is going on?” she asks, and then stops. She looks at Peter and he looks at Makado.

The grumbling in the background hasn’t stopped; in fact, it’s only intensified.

Makado turns. At the end of the hallway, far, far down, a torrent of sickly-looking liquid bursts around the corner and shoots towards them, and buffeted along with it, looking almost smug, is the copepod, its arms tucked against its sides, its frilled rudder-like legs churning the stomach acid as it jets forwards, riding the tide.

“Go!” Makado yells, and Peter pushes Tyler and Fitzroy ahead of him and they clamber up the ladder like the devil were chasing them. Peter goes up next, turning halfway, and sees Makado pulling Eileen into the shaft.

Just as Peter reaches the top and Tyler and Fitzroy pull him up, he hears a scream from below and he turns and stares downwards; the acid is slowly rising at the bottom of the shaft and Eileen has lagged behind. For a moment he thinks the acid has reached her, and then he sees the hand extending out of the acid, clenched around her leg, a pale, translucent hand three times the size of a human’s, and he realizes what he’s about to see. “Don’t watch,” he tells Tyler and Fitzroy, but they don’t move.

“Eileen!” Makado screams. “Hold on! I’ve got you!”

But Makado doesn’t have her. She can feel Eileen’s grip slipping even on the puckered surface of her non-slip gloves. Makado, greatly daring, wedges her feet between the rungs of the ladder and, twisting around, reaches down to grab ahold of Eileen’s other hand.

Eileen is crying, the tears are running down her cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara in their wake, but she stays silent, her eyes locked on Makado’s, even though Makado can see the copepod twist its arm and break the girl’s ankle like it were a matchstick. A shudder runs through her and her hand flies open and Makado watches her fall into the copepod’s grip even as the acid rises higher in the access shaft. She can see it reacting with a bubbling hiss as it hits the sebaceous residue left on the copepod’s exoskeleton, the waxy layer of secretions that allow the giant arthropod to slither through tight veins and arteries at high speeds, but only a small part of her mind recognizes this; the rest of her is too busy watching Eileen, up until the point that she hits the acid and the copepod catches her with its other hand and then it’s drawn her below the surface, tucking her up under its armpit like a parcel. It seems to glance up at Makado as she screams Eileen’s name again, and then it wriggles its body like an overgrown lobster and darts off into the rising effluvial muck below and is gone.

It is only because Peter reaches down and takes ahold of her around the waist that he prevents Makado from jumping down into the acid to try and chase down the copepod and make it give Eileen back to her, ignoring the fact that the acid would already be burning its way through her like wildfire, sloughing off her skin like shucking an ear of corn, ignoring the fact that the copepod had probably already started to eat her.

It takes the combined effort of Peter and Fitzroy to drag Makado up to safety, and it’s only when the three-inch-thick safety shutter seals off access to the Lower Gastrointestinal Zone that she stops screaming Eileen’s name and the tears come, and with her shoulders shaking and her hands trembling, she lets the tears fall on the acid-proof steel until she can cry no more.

Continue with Part 7

Back to Table of Contents

[volganic]

Wardrobe Malfunction

i havent written anything for so long and its volink lowkey based on this so i apologize in advance but its MOSTLY SFW

When it came time to answer the call to battle, it wasn't unsurprising that the Hero had to be at his absolute best in mind and spirit.  However, despite the amount of victories under his belt, Link still found ways to make the most loyal of his comrades doubt the extent of his absolute best.  Having his pride quashed after a near-death experience in the Temple of Souls, Link found something to lay his pride into that went beyond the shiny blade of legends.

Vanity.

Armor locked away in a treasure chest are bound to be worn at some point. Like a key to locked doors, or a new weapon to be wielded, new clothes are just as functional for battle.

The fairy watching Link struggle putting together his latest find was starting to doubt this was even worth wearing.  It hardly looked like any clothes that a hero would wear.  It didn't look like any clothes even any decent person would wear in the first place!  Proxi flew around her companion aimlessly, tripping over her words of caution that would soon fall on deaf ears.  After the fourth time of being shooed away, the fairy knew she couldn't make her point come across the Hylian -- but she knew someone who could.

In a huff, Proxi quickly made a beeline down the long and empty corridors of the castle.  It was near time to be called away for another battle against dark forces, as everyone readied in their quarters.  Luckily enough, the door to a certain knight was cracked just enough for the fairy to squeeze herself through to find him adjusting the last few straps of his sharp gauntlets.  He sure was intimidating with or without his armor.

"Volga!  I need your hel-"

"No," he interrupted coldly, not even sparing her a glance.  "The general will be us calling soon for battle, and I have no time for your games."

"This isn't any sort of game!" she cried, moving up to meet the dragon knight in the eyes.  Despite his cold stare, she continued, "It's Link!"

"What of him?  He should be preparing for battle like the rest of us.  He could not have gotten himself in trouble within the walls of the castle.  I will not repeat myself, fairy, I have no time for games."

"He's not in trouble, but he will be if you don't come talk to him!" she retorted as she flew out of the way from being shooed off again.  Proxi stood her ground and stared him down, adamant that the warrior should pay heed to her words.  "Will you please come speak with him?  He won't listen and he will get himself hurt!"

After a long minute of deliberating whether or not they actually need Link to complete the mission, he sighed in defeat.  "Fine," Volga spat, moving to rise from his seat.  The fairy bobbed in place to make sure that Volga had actually planned to follow her out of the room, quickly heading back to where Link's door had been closed.  She hovered over the doorknob anxiously as the knight took long and languid strides before pausing.  There were some frustrated grunts and shuffling audible from the other side.  Volga passed her a subtle glance in question.

"He's still getting dressed."

Volga didn't need to hear anymore as he rolled his eyes and rapped against the door impatiently.  Surely this was a cruel joke of some kind.  The Hylian was more than familiar with putting on armor on his own, and to call this anything more than emergency for his fairy to come find aid was more than laughable.  

"Link, open the door."  Whatever he was doing on the other side had come to a stop at the sound of the whole doorframe shaking and the knight's booming voice.  After a few seconds of silence, the knight's frown seemed to grow even deeper.  "I will not ask again, open the door now, Link."

He was still met with no answer other than the sound of even more hurried shuffling.

Proxi was quick to move out of the way when clawed hands reached for the doorknob.  She was fast to fly above the dragon's helmet to get a look in the room as the door was pried open with little care, and even faster to head back over to her master's side as he froze in his place, now in full view of an angry dragon knight.  Volga could feel fire burning in his throat as he was more than furious having his requests being ignored, but it quickly died when he laid eyes on the Hylian.

After what felt like an eternity of stunned silence between the three of them, Volga felt the fire burning inside of his throat -- and across his face -- as he realized--

"What are you wearing?!"

It took a minute for the knight to realize that Link had also asked him the same question, nearly missing the flurry of signals from his hands.  Volga pinched the bridge of his nose to bite back a smart comment, giving the crudely dressed hero a heavy sigh.  It was difficult to form the words he wished to say about how utterly ridiculous he looked in whatever god forsaken treasure chest he dug that costume out of.

"I am wearing my armor, if you could not so plainly tell," he hissed, dragging his hand down his face as he looked back down to Link's defiant eyes, now having taken a defensive stance by crossing his arms.  "Whatever you're wearing," he paused to try and decipher the banner of Hylian text currently strapped to his back -- Postman? -- "is not suitable for combat."

"I told you, Link!" the fairy sang, moving to land on his shoulder.  Link kept his frown and uncrossed his arms to sign.  "I am wearing clothes from the era we're being called to.  You should be wearing the armor from that era too!  The black set!"

"Absolutely not," Volga frowned.  "There is nothing wrong with this armor.  Why are you not wearing your tunic that was given to you?  The one that actually proves yourself a hero?"

"It only makes sense to wear something from the era we're visiting, so why not?" he signed quickly, accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders.  "The black set of your armor matches with that of the dragon from that er-"

"And I am not that dragon.  That dragon is of evil intentions, and I am neither good nor evil, nor do I have the intention of associating myself with such dragon," Volga glowered, taking a step towards Link to swipe the hat off the top of his head.  He continued despite the tantrum was throwing as clawed fingers pierced into the leather material.  "If you are going to be the hero, you are going to have to dress like one."

"I still am the hero!" Link huffed, throwing his hands up in the air when he realized the hat was not coming back into his possession.  "I'll be fine!  The outfit changes nothing!"

"It does when it comes to functionality," the knight retorted.  Clearly his point wasn't getting across to Link either.  "What if a moblin were to throw his spear at a distance from where you cannot see?" he asked, moving quickly to move behind him, take a swipe at Link's bare upper leg, clawed gauntlet tips raking across the pale skin to leave angry red lines, drawing a sharp hiss out of the hero.  "Perhaps a Stone Blin with sticky fingers?" Volga reached out for the straps keeping the banner attached to Link's back, pulling him closer to the knight to prevent him from moving too far out of his reach.

"Or what if a Darknut or Stalmaster chose to push you away with their shields before moving to strike?"  A fistful of his shirt was enough to draw a sharp gasp out of Link as claws dug in before he was pushed onto his stomach with a hard shove. The Hylian barely had any time to recover from the shock of meeting the ground before he flipped himself onto his back to argue his point, only to be met with the pointed end of Volga's spear at his chin.

"Goddesses forbid you find yourself unarmored against a turncoat leader.  What a shame it would be to find the hero, dead, to a traitor of all things."

The end of the spear soon met with the tender flesh of the hero's neck as he swallowed thickly.  The air was tense as the images bounced around in Link's head.  His hands curled into fists at the thought, signaling the knight to kneel before him, spear still in hand, to bring his attention back onto him.

"Do not make yourself a target."

Volga drew his spear away from the Hylian's chin and rose back to his feet, offering a hand to help him up.  After a few seconds of reluctance, Link took the clawed hand and pushed himself up off the stone floor.  Despite the cold awakening, the defiance was still in his eyes as he brushed himself off while Proxi worried over the exposed wounds.  Link's eyes softened as he looked up at the knight; lesson learned.

"Very well," Volga chuckled quietly, patting Link on the shoulder, "I see that you have come to your senses."  The knight watched as the hero struggled to reach the straps on his back to undo the bindings of the banner, snorting as he assisted him with the damned thing.  "Though it might not be battlefield appropriate, I cannot say I completely despise it.  Perhaps in some other setting-"

Link paused and shot the knight a wary, but still so curious, glance.  Pink painted over the features of his face, reaching the tips of his ears. "Wait, are you implying-?"

The sound of the war horn summoning them to battle interrupted Link's shaky hand gestures as it echoed down the hallways.  Volga waited for the sound to dissipate before turning his attention back to the Hylian with an affirmative nod.

"That is our cue.  I will leave you to dress.  I will see you on the battlefield."

He turned quickly to leave Link to his own devices, ignoring the sheepish wave goodbye that was given to him as he pulled the door shut behind him.  The knight made his way down the quiet halls before the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps drew him out of his focus, finding the Sheikah general marching up to him.

"Hurry on! We are leaving soon, and I will not wait for stragglers." she spat.  She glared at  him as if it were his own fault that they were still standing around.  "Where is Link?"

Volga scowled at her tone.  He knew better than to argue with her when it came time to prepare for battle.  He bit his tongue and nodded down to the corridor behind him.  "Still getting dressed."

Impa's frown tightened on her purple lips as she nodded silently in thanks, continuing her march down the long corridor to collect the hero.  A small smirk came to Volga's lips as he could imagine that her reaction would be much worse than his when she finds him.  He barely turned into the main castle hallway before he heard three heavy knocks on the door echoing through the air, followed soon by--

"Link? What are you wearing?!"

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 12

The Flat Five

It’s November, and the culture is telling us to be thankful again, at least from a distance. We’re a prickly, argumentative bunch here at Dusted, but I think we can all agree on gratitude for our health, each other and the music, good and bad, that comes flooding in from all sides. So while we may not agree on whether the best genre is free jazz or acid folk or vintage punk or the most virulent form of death metal, we do concur that the world would be very dull without any of it. And thus, seasonably overstuffed, but with music, we opine on a number of the best of them once again. Contributors this time include Bill Meyer, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Mason Jones, Patrick Masterson, Jonathan Shaw and Justin Cober-Lake. Happy thanksgiving. 

Cristián Alvear / Burkhard Stangl — Pequeños Fragmentos De Una Música Discreta (Insub)

Pequeños fragmentos de una música discreta by CRISTIÁN ALVEAR & BURKHARD STANGL

The acoustic guitar creates instant common ground. Put together two people with guitars in their hands together, and they can potentially communicate without knowing a word of each other’s language. They might trade blues licks, verses of “Redemption Song,” or differently dire remembrances of “Hotel California,” but they’re bound to find some sort of common language. This album documents another chapter in the eternal search. Cristián Alvear is a Chilean classical guitarist who has found a niche interpreting modern, and often experimental repertoire. Burkhard Stangl is an Austrian who has spent time playing jazz with Franz Koglmann, covering Prince with Christoph Kurzmann and realizing compositions that use the language of free improvisation with Polwechsel. This CD collects eight “Small Fragments Of Discreet Music” which they improvised in the course of figuring out what they could play together. Given their backgrounds, dissonance is part of the shared language, but thanks to the instrumentation, nothing gets too loud. Sometimes they explore shared material, such as the gentle drizzle of harmonics on “No5.” Other times, they find productive contrasts, such as the blurry slide vs. palindromic melody on “No6.” And just once, they flip on the radio and wax melancholic while the static sputters. Sometimes small, shared moments are all you need.

Bill Meyer

 Badge Époque Ensemble — Self Help (Telephone Explosion Records)

Self Help by Badge Époque Ensemble

 Toronto collective Badge Époque Ensemble display the tastefully virtuosic skill of a particular strain of soul-inflected jazz-fusion that politely nudged its way into the charts during the 1970s. Led by Max Turnbull (the erstwhile Slim Twig) on Fender Rhodes, clavinet and synthesizers with members of US Girls, Andy Shauf’s live band and a roster of guest vocalists, Badge Époque Ensemble faithfully resurrect the sophisticated sounds of Blue Nun fuelled fondue parties and stoned summer afternoons by the pool. Meg Remy and Dorothea Paas share vocals on “Sing A Silent Gospel” which is garlanded with Karen Ng’s alto saxophone and an airy solo from guitarist Chris Bezant; it’s a track that threatens to take off but never quite does. The strength of James Baley’s voice lifts the light as air psych-funk of “Unity (It’s Up To You)” and Jennifer Castle does the same for “Just Space For Light” during which Alia O’Brien makes the case for jazz flute — Mann rather than Dolphy — with an impressive solo. The most interesting track here is the 11 minute “Birds Fly Through Ancient Ruins” a broodingly introspective piece which allows Bezant, Ng and bassist Giosuè Rosati to shine. Self-Help is immaculately played and has some very good moments but can’t quite get loose enough to convince.

Andrew Forell  

 Better Person — Something to Lose (Arbutus)

Something to Lose by Better Person

Like any musical genre, synth-pop can go desperately awry in the wrong hands. The resurgence of all things 1980s has been such a prevalent musical trend in recent years that it takes a deft touch to create something that taps into the retro vibe without coming across as smug. Under his Better Person moniker, Berlin-based Polish artist Adam Byczyowski manages to summon the melancholy vibe of 1980s classics such as “Last Christmas” by Wham!, “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin, and “Drive” by The Cars, reimagined for the 21st century and set in a run-down karaoke bar. This succinct and elegant half-hour set pivots around atmospheric instrumental “Glendale Evening” and features three Polish-language tracks — “Na Zawsze” (“Forever”), “Dotknij Mnie” (“Touch Me”), and “Ostatni Raz” (“Last Time”) — that emphasize the feel of cruising solo through another country and tuning into a unfamiliar radio station. There’s roto-toms, glassy synth tones, suitably melodramatic song titles (including “Hearts on Fire,” “True Love,” and “Bring Me To Tears”), plus Byczyowski’s disaffected croon. It all creates something unexpectedly moving.

Tim Clarke

 Big Eyes Family — The Disappointed Chair (Sonido Polifonico)

The Disappointed Chair by Big Eyes Family

Sheffield’s Big Eyes Family (formerly The Big Eyes Family Players) released the rather fine Oh! on Home Assembly Music in 2016. Its eerie blend of folk and psych-pop brought to mind early Broadcast, circa Work and Non Work, before Trish Keenan and James Cargill started to explore more experimental timbres and themes of the occult. Bar perhaps the haunted music box instrumental “Witch Pricker’s Dream,” Oh!’s songs cleaved along a similar grain: minor keys, chiming arpeggiated guitar, spooky organ, in-the-pocket rhythm section, plus Heather Ditch’s vocal weaving around the music like smoke. The Disappointed Chair is much the same, enlivened with a touch more light and shade, from succinct waltz “(Sing Me Your) Saddest Song,” to the elegant Mellotron and tom-toms of “For Grace.” “From the Corner of My Eye” is stripped right back, with an especially affecting guitar line, plus Ditch’s vocals doubled, with the same words spoken and sung, like a voice of conscience nagging at the edge of the frame. It’s a strong set of songs, only let down by the boxy snare sound on “Blue Light,” and on “The Conjurer,” Ditch’s lower register isn’t nearly as strident as her upper range.

Tim Clarke

 Bounaly — Music For WhatsApp 10 (Sahel Sounds)

Music from Saharan WhatsApp 10 by Bounaly

The tenth installment in Sahel Sounds’ Music For WhatsApp series introduces another name worth remembering. In case your attention hasn’t been solely faced on the ephemeral charms of contemporary Northwest African music in 2020, here’s the scoop: Each month, Sahel sounds uploads a brief recording that a musician from that corner of the world recorded on their cell phone and delivered via the titular app, which is the current mode of music transmission in that neck of the woods. At the end of the month they take it down, and that’s that. This edition was posted on November 11, so set your watch accordingly. Bounaly is originally from Niafounké, which was the home of the late, great Ali Farka Touré. Since civil war and outside intervention have rendered the city unsafe for musicians of any speed, he now works in Mali’s capital city, Bamako, but his music is rooted in the bluesy guitar style that Touré championed. Accompanied solely by a calabash player and surrounded by street sounds, Bounaly’s singing closely shadows his picking, which is expressive without resorting to the amped-up shredding of contemporary guitarists like Mdou Moctar.

Bill Meyer  

 Cash Click Boog — Voice of the Struggle (CMC-CMC)

Last year, Cash Click Boog made a few very noticeable appearances on other people albums (especially on Lonnie Bands’ “Shred 1.5” and Rockin Rolla’s First Quarter) but his own Extras was a minor effort. This Californian rapper was always a dilettante at music, but that was his main appeal and ineradicable feature: you always knew that he’s always caught up in some very dark street business, and he appears in a booth once every blue moon, almost by accident. He is that sort of a player who always on the bleachers, yet when they let him on the field he always does a triple double or a hat trick (depending on a kind of sport).

Voice of the Struggle was supposed to be his big break, the album in which he would expend his gift for rapping while remaining in strictly amateurish frame. Sadly, Boog has chosen another route, namely going pop. He discards his amateur garbs almost completely and auto-tunes every track. If earlier he was too dark even by street standards, now almost all the tracks could be safely played on a radio. The first eight songs are more or less pop-ish ballads about homies in prison, tough life and the ghetto. By the time we reach the last three tracks where Boog recovers his old persona, it’s already too late. The struggle remains but the voice is gone.

Ray Garraty 

 The Flat Five — Another World (Pravda)

The Flat Five musters a great deal of Chicago musical fire power. Alt.country chanteuse Kelly Hogan, Andrew Bird collaborator Nora O’Connor and Casey McDonough sing in Andrews Sisters harmonies, while NRBQ mainstay Scott Ligon minds the store and Green Mill regular Alex Hall keeps the rhythm steady. The sound is retro —1930s radio retro — but the songs, written by Ligon’s older brother Chris, upend mid-century American pieties with sharp, insurgent wit. A variety of old-time-y styles are referenced — big band jazz, country, doo wop and pre-modern pop — in clean, winking style. Countrified, “The Great State of Texas” seems, at first, to be a fairly sentimental goodbye-to-all-that song, until it ends with the revelation that the narrator is on death row. “Girl of Virginia,” unspools a series of intricate, Cole Porter-ish rhymes, while waltzing carelessly across the floor. The writing is sharp, the playing uniformly excellent and the vocals extra special, layered in buzzing harmonies and counterpoints. No matter how complicated the vocal arrangements, no one is ever flat in Flat Five.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sam Gendel — DRM (Nonesuch)

Normally, Sam Gendel plays saxophone in a classic jazz style. You might have caught him blowing dreamy, airy accompaniments on Sam Amidon’s last record, for instance, or putting his own spin on jazz standards in the solo Satin Doll. But for this album, Gendel experimented with ancient high tech — an Electro Harmonix DRM32 drum machine, some synthesizers, a 60-year-old nylon-string guitar —t o create hallucinatory fragments of beat-box-y, jazz-y sound, pitched somewhere between arty hip hop and KOMPAKT-style experimental electronics. “Dollars,” for instance, laces melancholy, Latin-flavored guitar and crooning with vintage video-game blips and bleeps, like a bossa nova heard dimly in a gaming arcade. “SOTD” dances uneasily in a syncopated way, staccato guitar runs paced by hand-claps, stuttered a-verbal mouth sounds and bright melodic bursts of synthesizer. “Times Like This” poses the difficult question of exactly what time we’re in—it has the moody smoulder of old soul, the antic ping and pop of lush early 00s electronics, the disembodied alien suavity of pitch-shifted R&B right now. The ringer in the collection is a cover of L’il Nas’ “Old Town Road,” interpreted in soft Teutonic electro tones, like Cluster at the rodeo. It’s odd and lovely and hard to get a bead on, which is pretty much the verdict for DRM as a whole.

Jennifer Kelly

 Kraig Grady — Monument of Diamonds (Another Timbre)

MONUMENT OF DIAMONDS by Kraig Grady

The painting adorning the sleeve of Monument of Diamonds is entitled Doppler Effect in Blue, and rarely has the cover art’s name so accurately described the sound of the music paired with it. The album-length composition, which is scored for brass, saxophones and organs, consists almost entirely of long tones that Doppler in slow motion, with one starting up just before another peters out. The composer, Kraig Grady, is an Australian-based American who used to release albums that purported to be the folk music of a mythical land called Anaphoria. Nowadays he has no need for such subterfuge, since this lovely album holds up quite well on its own merits. Inspired by Harry Partch and non-Western classical music systems, Grady uses invented instruments and strategically selected pitch intervals to create microtonal music that sounds subtly alien, but never harsh on the ears. As the sounds glide by, they instigate a state of relaxed alertness that’ll do your blood pressure some good without exposing you to unnecessary sweetener.

Bill Meyer  

 MJ Guider — Sour Cherry Bell (Kranky)

Sour Cherry Bell by MJ Guider

MJ Guider’s second full length is diaphanous and monolithic, its monster beats sheathed in transparent washes of hiss and roar. “The Steelyard” shakes the floor with its pummelling industrial rhythms, yet shrouds Guider’s spoken word chants with surprising delicacy. “Body Optics” growls and simmers in woozy synth-driven discontent, while the singer lofts dreamy melodic phrases over the roar. There’s heft in the low-end of these roiling songs, in the churn of bass-like synthetics, the stomp of computer driven percussion, yet a disembodied lightness in the vocals, which float in pristine purity over the roar. Late in the disc, Guider ventures a surprisingly unconfrontational bit of dream pop in “Perfect Interference,” sounding poised and controlled and rather lovely at the center of chiming, enveloping synthetic riffs. Yet the murk and roar makes her work even more captivating, a glimpse of the spiritual in the midst of very physical wreck and tumult.

Jennifer Kelly

 Hisato Higuchi — キ、Que、消えん？ - Ki, Que, Kien? (Ghost Disc) 

キ、Que、消えん？ - Ki, Que, Kien? by Hisato Higuchi

Since 2003, Tokyo-based guitarist Hisato Higuchi has quietly released a series of equally-quiet albums, many on his own Ghost Disc label, which is appropriately named. Higuchi's work on this and the previous two albums of his "Disappearing Trilogy" is a sort of shimmering, melancholy guitar-and-vocal atmosphere — downer psych-folk in a drifting haze. His lyrics are more imagery than story, touching on overflowing light, winter cities, the quiet world, and the transience of memories. As the guitar floats slowly into the distance, Higuchi's voice, imbued with reverb, is calmly narcotic, like someone quietly sympathizing with a friend's troubles. These songs, while melancholy, convey a peacefulness that's a welcome counterbalance to the chaotic year in which we've been living. Like a cool wind on a warm summer evening, you can close your eyes and let Higuchi's music improve your mood.  

Mason Jones

 Internazionale — Wide Sea Prancer (At the Blue Parade) (Janushoved)

Wide Sea Prancer (At The Blue Parade) by Internazionale

It’s been nearly half a decade since Copenhagen’s Janushoved first appeared in these annals, and in that time, a little more information — and a lot more material — has cropped up to lend some context to the mystery. The focus, however, steadfastly remains with the music — perhaps my favorite of which among the regular projects featured is label head Mikkel Valentin’s own swirling solo synth vehicle Internazionale. In addition to a reissue of 2017’s The Pale and the Colourful (originally out on Posh Isolation), November saw the release of all-new songs with Wide Sea Prancer (At the Blue Parade), 14 tracks of gently abrasive headphone ambient that carry out this type of sound very well. Occasionally there is a piano (“Callista”) or what sounds like vocals (“El Topo”), but as it’s been from the start, this is primarily about tones and moods. Notes for the release say it’s a “continuation and completion of the narrative set by the release Sillage of the Blue Summer,” but it’s less the narrative you should be worried about missing out on than the warmth of your insides after an uninterrupted listen.

Patrick Masterson    

 Iress — Flaw (Iress)

Flaw by Iress

Sweeping, epic post-metal from this LA four piece makes a place for melodic beauty amid the heaviness. Like Pelican and Red Sparrows, Iress blares a wall of overwhelming guitar sound. Together Michelle Malley and Alex Moreno roust up waves and walls of pummeling tone as in opener “Shame.” But Iress is also pretty good at pulling back and revealing the acoustic basis for these songs. “Hand Tremor” is downright tranquil, with wreathes of languid guitar strumming and Malley’s strong, gutsy soprano navigating the full dynamic range from whisper to scream. “Wolves” lumbers like a violent beast, even in its muscular surge, there’s a slow, anthemic chorus. Likewise, “Underneath” pounds and hammers (that’s Glenn Chu on drums), but leaves space for introspection and doubt. It’s rare that the vocals on music this heavy are so good or so female, but if you’ve liked Chelsea Wolfe’s recent forays into ritual metal, you should check out Iress as well.

Jennifer Kelly

Junta Cadre — Vietnam Forever (No Rent Records)

"Vietnam Forever" (NRR141) by Junta Cadre

Junta Cadre is one of several noise and power electronics projects created by Jackson Abdul-Salaam, musician and curator of the long-running Svn Okklt blog. As the project’s name implies, Junta Cadre has an agenda: the production of sound that seeks to thematize the ambiguities of 20th-century radical, revolutionary politics. The project’s initial releases investigated the Maoist revolution in China, and the subsequent Cultural Revolution of the late 1960s and 1970s. Vietnam Forever shifts topics, to the American War in Vietnam, and tactics, including contributions from other prominent harsh noise acts and artists: the Rita, Samuel Torres of Terror Cell Unit, Leo Brucho of Controlled Opposition and others. Given those names, Vietnam Forever is as challenging and rigorous as you might expect. Waves of dissonant, electronic hum and fuzz accumulate and oscillate, crunching and chopping into textured aural assaults; wince-inducing warbles and needling feedback occasionally assert themselves. Abdul-Salaam’s harsh shout cuts in and out of the mix. The tape (also available as a name-yo’-price DL on Bandcamp) presents as two side-long slabs of sound, both over seventeen minutes long, both completely exhausting. At one point, on Side A, Abdul-Salaam repeatedly shouts, “Beautiful Vietnam forever!” It’s hard to say what he means. An affirmation that Vietnam survived the war? That its people and culture endure? Or that the U.S. can’t seem to shake the war’s haunting presence? Or even a more worryingly nihilistic delight in the war’s carnage, so frequently aestheticized in films like Apocalypse Now (1979), Full Metal Jacket (1987) and Da Five Bloods (2020)? The noise provides no closure. Maybe necessarily so.  

Jonathan Shaw  

 Bastien Keb — The Killing of Eugene Peeps (Gearbox)

The Killing of Eugene Peeps is a soundtrack to a movie that never was, a noir-ish flick which winds restlessly through urban landscapes and musical styles, from the orchestra tremors of its opening through the folky group-sing of “Lucky the Oldest Grave.” “Rabbit Hole” wafts by like an Elephant Six outtake, its woozy chorus lit by glockenspiel notes, while “God Bless Your Gutters” conjures jazzy desolation in piano and mordant spoken word. “All the Love in Your Heart” shimmers like a movie flashback, a mirage of blowsy back-up singing, guitar and muttered memories. “Street Clams” bristles with funk and swagger, an Ethio-jazz sortee through rain slicked streets. What’s it about? Musically or narratively? No idea. But it’s worth visiting these evocative soundscapes just for the atmosphere. It’s a film I’d like to see.

Jennifer Kelly

 Jesse Kivel — Infinite Jess (New Feelings)

Nostalgia haunts the new solo album from Kisses guitarist/singer Jesse Kivel. Infinite Jess is full of that knowing melancholy of The Blue Nile, Prefab Sprout and The Pale Fountains that was so magnetic to a certain brand of sensitive young thing seeking to articulate their inchoate visions of a future steeped in romance and adventure. Think wistful mid-tempo songs wrapped in cocoons of strummed guitars, shuffling percussion and wurlitzer piano fashioned into a catalogue of adolescent radio memories. These tunes are topped by the understated sincerity of Kivel’s voice and lyrics which effectively evoke the place, time and emotion of his vignettes. The production suffers occasionally from a distracting reliance on too perfectly rendered tropes — overly polite drum programming, thumbed bass, blandly smooth electric piano — but the overall effect is oddly beguiling. Infinite Jess closes with a charmingly wobbly instrumental cover of Don McLean’s “Vincent” played on the wurlitzer that captures the poignancy of the melody and serves as a fitting epilog to the record.

Andrew Forell

 Kyrios — Saturnal Chambers (Caligari Records)

Saturnal Chambers by KYRIOS

The corpsepaint-and-spiked-codpiece crowd are still making tons of records, but fewer and fewer of them are interesting or compelling. The retrograde theatrics and cheap pessimism can be irritating enough (I’d rather be reading Schopenhauer, thanks); it’s even more problematic when the songs can muster only the vividness and savor of stiff leftovers from the deep-freezer’s darkest and dankest corners. Still, every now and then a kvlty band that follows the frigid dictates of black metal’s orthodoxy creates a set of songs worth listening to. This new EP from Kyrios is super short, comprising three tracks in just under 10 minutes that pull off that neat trick: when it’s over, you want to hear more. Sure, the dudes in the band call themselves silly things like Satan’s Sword and Vornag, but the tunes are really good. Check out the churning strangeness of “The Utterance of Foul Truths.” Kyrios claims Immortal, Enslaved and Dissection as primary influences, and the band recognizes the stylistic debt they owe to Deathspell Omega (let’s hope Kyrios digs the twisted guitars and weird-ass time signatures, but passes on the National Socialism declaimed by that French band’s vocalist). Stuff gets even more engaging when bleeping and blooping keyboards vibrate at the edges of the mix, giving the songs a spaced-out vibe. “Saturnal Chambers”? Maybe Kyrios has met the astral spirit of Sun Ra somewhere along their galactic journeys into the heavenly void. He liked bleeping, blooping noises and gaudy costumes, too.

Jonathan Shaw

 Matt Lajoie — Light Emerging (Trouble In Mind)

Light Emerging by Matt Lajoie

The second volume of Trouble In Mind Records’ Explorers series is, like its predecessor a cassette that comes concealed within a brown slipcase. Like many other discretely wrapped products, the fun is on the inside. This time, it’s a tape by guitarist who understands that toes aren’t just for tapping. At any rate, I think he’s managing his pedals with his feet. Most likely Lajoie has spent some quality time listening to mid-1990s Roy Montgomery. But since a quarter century has passed, he doesn’t just stack up the echoes. Sped-up tones streak across the surface of this music like swallows zooming close to that sheet you hung on the side of your barn the last time you had everyone over for a socially distanced gathering to watch Aguirre, The Wrath of God. Wait, did that really happen? Maybe not, but if someone were to make a fake documentary about the hanging of the projective surface, this music is suitably epic to provide the soundtrack.

Bill Meyer

 Lisa/Liza — Shelter of a Song (Orindal)

Shelter of a Song by Lisa/Liza

Lisa/Liza makes a quietly harrowing sort of guitar folk, singing in a high, ghostly clear soprano against delicate traceries of picking. The artist, real name Liza Victoria, inhabits songs that are unadorned but still chilling. She sings with childlike sincerity in an ominous landscape of dark alleys and chilly autumnal vistas. She wrote this album while chronically ill, according to the notes, and you can hear the struggle against the body in the way her voice sometimes wavers, her breath comes in sudden intakes. But, as sometimes happens after long sickness, she sometimes strikes clear of the physical, achieving an unearthly purity as in “From this Shelter.” A touch of plain spoken magic lurks in this one, in the whispery vocals, the translucent curtains of guitar notes, though not much warmth. “Red Leaves” is earthier and more fluid, guitar flickers striking out from a resonant center, and the artist murmuring dreamily about the beauty of the world and its transience.

Jennifer Kelly

Keith Morris & The Crooked Numbers — American Reckoning (Mista Boo)

It's easy to imagine Keith Morris as perpetually frustrated. His last album, after all, took on psychopaths and sycophants, and the title of his new release American Reckoning doesn't suggest happy thoughts. There's plenty of bile on these five tracks, of course, but Morris approaches the album like a scholar. The opening verse describes the US as “Machiavellian: the mean just never ends” before referencing Othello and Yo-Yo Ma (the latter for a “yo mama” joke). If Morris and the Crooked Numbers just raged, they might be justified, but they'd be less interesting. Instead, they use a wide swath of American musical styles to thoughtfully consider racial (and racist) issues in our contemporary society. “Half Crow Jim” turns a Southern piano tune into a surprising tale about the fallout from slavery. It's a sharp moment, and it highlights that the only disappointing part of this release lies in its brevity. Morris has said he has more music on the way, and if he continues to mix styles, wordplay, and cultural analysis, it'll be worth a study.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Tatsuya Nakatani and Rob McGill — Valley Movements (Weird Cry)

Valley Movements by Tatsuya Nakatani / Rob Magill

In most percussion ensembles, the gong-ist is a utility player, charged with banging out a note once or twice per composition for drama and ideally not screwing it up. Tatsuya Nakatani works on a wholly different level, transcending the possibilities of this ancient, archetypical instrument with vision and an unholy technique. More specifically, his set-up includes at least two standing gongs, each about as tall as he is himself. He plays them with mallets, standing between, in blur speed rolls that range all over the surface of the instrument. The sound he evokes is distinctly unpercussive, more resembling string instrument glissandos than any form of drums, a full-on high-register wail of sound that he sculpts and roils and coaxes into compositions of incredible force and complexity. He also plays a bunch of other percussion instruments, little drums and cymbals which he layers on top of each other so that when he strikes one, the others resonate. It is quite an experience to see him at it, and if you ever get a chance, you should go. Here, he works with the saxophonist Rob McGill unfurling a single 40-minute improvisation at a studio in the appealingly named Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. McGill is an agile player, laying alternately lyrical and agitated counterpoints onto Nakatani’s rhythms, carrying the tune and threading a logical through line through this extended set. He finds frequencies that complement Nakatani’s antic, nearly demonic drum sounds and knows when to let loose and when to let his partner through the mix. The result is a very high energy, engaging adventure in sound that evokes a rare response: you wish you could hear the drums better.

Jennifer Kelly

 Overmono — The Cover Mix (Mixmag)

Mixmag · The Cover Mix: Overmono

It’s a really weird time to be advocating for club music of any kind, but Overmono’s Everything U Need EP out recently on XL again showcases what the fraternal duo known better as Tessela and Truss do best: melding thoughtful percussion patterns with these airy, gliding synth melodies that work at home just as well as in the club (theoretically, anyway). It’s not just original material they do well, though; whether it was the Dekmantel podcast a few years back or their live cassette from Japan or this mix for Mixmag, Ed and Tom Russell also have a knack for pacing in their sets. This one features stuff from the new EP as well as three unreleased tracks (not counting the Rosalía remix, which remains one of the year’s most addicting) and names both old and new — listen for DJ Crystl’s 1993 jungle jam “Deep Space” sidled up next to Smerz’s new skyscraper “I Don’t Talk About That Much.” If that sounds like everything you need, lock in and let Overmono do the hard work. Truly, they do not miss.

Patrick Masterson

 Pole — Fading (Mute)

As Pole, Stefan Betke’s work has always been both comforting and disconcerting. The amiotic swells and heartbeat bass frequencies generate a warm human feel in his music despite their origins in serendipitously damaged equipment. Fading, his first album in five years explores Betke’s reactions to his mother’s dementia and reflects on the nature of personality, memory and soul. Building on his trademark glitchy beats and oceanic bass tones, the eight tracks echo a consciousness unmoored by the fog of unfamiliarity that smothers and distorts but never completely submerges awareness. “Tölpel” (slang for klutz) evokes impatient fingers tapping out the guilty resentment of the forgotten and the frustration of the forgetful. The title track closes with a woozy waltz punctuated by recurrent sparks. Fading is a deeply felt work; somber, reflective, stumbling towards understanding and acceptance, alive to the nuances and petty nettles of grief and above all beautiful in its ambivalence.

Andrew Forell

Quakers — II: The Next Wave (Stones Throw)

II - The Next Wave by Quakers

After eight years of silence following 2012’s self-titled debut, Stones Throw production trio Quakers (Portishead’s Geoff Barrow as Fuzzface, 7-Stu-7 and Katalyst) dropped the 50-track beat tape Supa K: Heavy Tremors out of nowhere in September and now, just two months later, are back with another 33-track behemoth that allows a litany of emcees to shine. Calling this The Next Wave is a bit of a stretch when you consider many of the voices on here are from guys who’ve been in the game for years or even decades (Jeru the Damaja, Detroit’s Phat Kat and Guilty Simpson, Chicagoan Jeremiah Jae, etc.), but even so, the dusty grooves and Dilla loops prove perfect foils for many of those who hit the mic. My favorite might be Sageinfinite slotting in with the organ grinder “A Myth,” but even if you don’t like it, everyone’s in and out quick. If you’re burned out on Griselda, give this a go for 1990s vibes of a different kind.

Patrick Masterson   

 Rival Consoles — Articulation (Erased Tapes)

There are deep pockets of silence in “Articulation,” ink black stops between the thump and clack of dance beat, sudden intervals of nothingness amidst limber synthetic melodies. London-based producer Ryan West, who records as Rival Consoles, layers sound on sound in some tracks, letting the foundations slip like tectonic plates on top of one another, but he is also very much aware of the power of quiet, whether dark or luminously light. Consider, for instance, his closer, “Sudden Awareness of Now,” whose buoyant melody skitters across factory-sized fan blasts of whooshing sound. The rhythm is light footed and agile, pieced together from staccato elements that hold the air and light. Like Jon Hopkins, West uses the glitch and twitch to insinuate the infinite, chiming overtones and hovering backdrops to represent a gnostic, communal state of existence. “Vibrations on a String” may jump to the steady thump, thump, thump of dance, but as its gleaming plasticine tones blow out into horn blast dissonance, the cut is more about becoming than being.

Jennifer Kelly

  Sweeping Promises — Hunger for a Way Out (Feel It)

Hunger for a Way Out by Sweeping Promises

The title track bounds headlong on a rubbery bassline, picking up a Messthetick-y blare of junk shop keyboards. All the sudden, there’s Lira Mondal unleashing a giddy screed of angular pop punk tunefulness, her partner in Sweeping Promises, Caulfield, stabbing and stuttering on guitar. In some ways, this band is straight out of late 1980s London, jitter-flirting with offkilter hooks a la Delta Five or Girls at Our Best. In others, they are utterly modern, lacing austere pogo beats with lush, elaborate vocal counterpoints. “Falling Forward” is a continuous rush of clamped in guitar scramble and agile, bouncing bass, anthemic trills breaking for robotic chants; it’s a mesh of sounds that always seems ready to collapse in a heap, but instead finds its antic balance just in time.

Jennifer Kelly

Martin Taxt — First Room (SOFA)

First Room by Martin Taxt

Sometimes a room is more than a room. In the matter at hand, it is a space that proposes a state of mind and a consequent set of experiences. It is also the score for a piece of music that extrapolate that state into the realm of sound. The cover of First Room depicts a pattern of tatami mats that you might find in a Japanese tea room. Martin Taxt is a microtonal tubaist and also the holder of an advanced degree in music and architecture (next time someone tells you that some good thing can’t happen, remember that in Norway you can not only get such a degree; you can then go ahead and present a CD that shows your work. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in our society.). This music takes inspiration from the integrated aesthetic of the tea ceremony, using carefully placed and deliberately sustained sounds to create an environment in which subtle changes count for a lot. The album’s contents were created by mixing together two performances, one with and another without an audience. Taxt and accompanist Vilde Marghrete Aas layer long tones from a tuba, double bass, viola da gamba and sine waves. Their precise juxtapositions create a sense of focus, somewhat like a concentrated version of Ellen Fullman’s long string music, and if that statement means something to you, so will this music.

Bill Meyer

 Ulaan Janthina — Ulaan Janthina II (Worstward)

Ulaan Janthina (Part II) by Ulaan Janthina

Part two of Steven R. Smith’s latest recording project echoes the first volume in several key aspects. It is a tape made in small numbers and packaged like a present from your favorite cottage industry; in this case, the custom-printed box comes with an old playing card, a hand-printed image of jellyfish, an old skeleton key and a nut. And Smith, who most often plays guitars and home-made stringed instruments, once more plays keyboards, which enable him to etch finer lines of melody. The chief difference between this tape and its predecessor is the melodies themselves, which have begun to attain the evocative simplicity of mid-1970s Cluster.

Bill Meyer

 Various Artists — Joyous Sounds! (Chicago Research)

Joyous Sounds! by Various Artists

It’s been less than two years, but Blake Karlson’s Chicago Research imprint has already made its presence known both in the Windy City and beyond as fine purveyors of all things industrial, EBM, post-punk and experimental electronics. There were two compilations released within days of one another toward the beginning of October, and while Preliminaries of Silence veers more toward soothing ambient textures, Joyous Sounds! is more upbeat and rhythmic (Bravias Lattice’s “Liquid Vistas” is a beautiful exception). My favorite track is Club Music’s “Musclebound” (not a Spandau Ballet cover, as it turns out), but the underlying menace of Civic Center’s “Filigree” and Rottweiler’s pummeling “Ancient Baths” sit alongside merely unsettling fare like Lily the Fields’ “Porcelain” well. If you’re not already aboard or just have a Wax Trax-sized hole in your heart, you have a lot of work ahead of you with this label’s consistently superlative output.

Patrick Masterson

  Kurt Vile — Speed, Sound, Lonely KV (Matador)

Given John Prine's passing from COVID-19 this year, the new Kurt Vile EP might be received as a tribute to the late artist, with extra significance coming from Prine's appearance here. Four years in the works, Speed, Sound, Lonely KV offers more than just tribute, though. Prine's guest spot (if you could call it that) on his own “How Lucky” certainly makes for a moving highlight, the two singers fitting together nicely as Prine's gruff tone balance's his partner's smoother voice. Vile also covers Prine on “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness,” and he adds “Gone Girl” by Cowboy Jack Clement as he takes further cosmic steps.  

His two originals here complete the record, and, mixed in with the covers, draw out the lesson. Vile's entire EP blends the country influences with his more typical dreamy sound, the guitar work bridging the gap between a songwriter's backing and something more ethereal. Nashville, it seems, has always suited Vile just fine, and hearing him embrace that tradition more immediately adds an extra layer to his work. Putting a cowboy hat on his previous aesthetic puts him opens up new but related paths for him, and the five tracks here could play on either a Kris Kristofferson mix or a laid-back indie-rocker playlist. Either way, they'd be highlights on an endless loop.

Justin Cober-Lake

 WhoMadeWho — Synchronicity (Kompakt)

Danish trio WhoMadeWho — drummer Tomas Barfod, guitarist Jeppe Kjellberg and bassist/singer Tomas Høffding — make enjoyable indie dance music that suffers somewhat from lack of personality and a tendency toward a middle ground. That may be due to an effort to accommodate a roster of Kompakt-related collaborators including Michael Mayer, Echonomist and Robag Wruhme. While there’s nothing bad and some pretty good here, the individual songs flit by, pausing briefly to set one’s head nodding and feet tapping, before evaporating from the mind. “Shadow of Doubt” featuring Hamburg’s Adana Twins has the kind of driving bass that anchored New Order hits but also, unfortunately, the unconvincing vocals only Bernard Sumner could get away with. More successful moments like the eerie piano riff and jazz inflections of “Dream Hoarding” with Frank Wiedemann, the arpeggiated house of “Der Abend birgt keine Ruh” featuring Perel and miserablist Pet Shop Boys inflected closer “If You Leave” do stick. Synchronicity might work well on the dance floor, but it doesn’t quite sustain at home.

Andrew Forell

[badbangtanimagines]

Eight Little Scouts : A Bad Bangtan Fic - Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

A horror fic for halloween, inspired by the poem Ten little Indians and Rooster Teeth series Ten Little Roosters.  Gender neutral main character so anyone can read it.

Warnings: Character death, graphic (most graphic one), brief mentions of vomit.

(Y/N) = Your Name

Four little scouts, all liked to drink tea

You walked down the stairs, eyes cast downwards. You’ve lost four of your closest friends, and soon you were going to lose another, or even die yourself. You were so close to finding out who the mastermind behind all of this was, but you weren’t sure if you really wanted to know.

You weren’t looking where you were stepping, to wrapped up in your thoughts, and tripped over V’s body. Jin quickly hurried down the rest of the stairs to check on you. “Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I think.” You got up and tried to walk but winced in pain. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

Suga tried to offer you to lean your weight on him but you looked at him skeptically. You didn’t want to believe Suga was the killer, but evidence pointing to him for every single death. He’s the one who stabbed Rap Monster. He was the only one who could have moved the bag that V tripped over since he was downstairs at the time. He was alone when Jimin was strangled. He said J Hope shouldn’t throw up. The only thing you weren’t sure about was the playing of the speaker, since you didn’t see him with a phone or anything to operate it.

You smiled as politely as you could. “No I’m fine, it’s not that bad.”

“You should ice it at least.” Jin suggested. 

“No really guys. I’m okay. Let’s turn off that stupid speaker and find Jungkook.”

Jin and Suga looked at you doubtfully but after once again insisting you were fine they headed to the speaker that was left in the dining room. Jin turned it off and you sighed in relief. Jin put it in one of his costumes many pockets. 

Now that I Need U wasn’t blasting, you could hear faint thuds coming from the living room followed by a soft cheer. The three of you looked at each other confused until you heard a “Bulls-eye!” called followed by dinging. You realized Jungkook must have been in the living room using the Kim’s electric dart board.

You quickly limped to the living room, mourning silently as you passed Jimin and Rap Monster’s bodies. Sure enough, there was Jungkook pulling out the darts of the dart board. He glanced at you, Jin and Suga as you entered the room, but other than that ignored you as he got ready to throw them again.

“Have you been in here the whole time?” You asked.

“Yup.” He said nonchalantly. 

You looked at him dumbfounded, then at Rap Monster on the ground, then back at him. You couldn’t believe he would stay in here with his leader’s dead body. The smell of blood was so strong you wanted to throw up. A dart embedded itself into the board. “Bulls-eye!” the board announced again.

“So J Hope?” Jungkook asked as if he was talking about the weather. 

“The advil he took, it wasn’t advil.” Jin informed.

“Where’d it come from?” Jungkook asked, scoring another bulls-eye.

“Upstairs bathroom.” Suga responded.

Jungkook threw another dart, another perfect score. “Funny.”

“Excuse me?” Jin asked. “Suga and I just watched J Hope throw up blood I don’t see what’s so funny about that.”

“Why didn’t Y/N watch?” Jungkook asked pulling out the darts.

“Jin and I carried him into the bathroom since he couldn’t walk.” Suga said. “If I was Y/N I would have stayed out too.” 

Jungkook played with the darts in his hands. “Didn’t Y/N go to the bathroom upstairs?”

You’re mouth fell open. “You think I did it?”

Jungkook gave you a look like he couldn’t believe you’d ask that. He threw the dart without looking away from you. Yet another bulls-eye. “Of course I do. You’d be the only one who would even think about that because you’re so obsessed trying to figure out what all our music videos mean.”

“That’s not true!” You insisted. “I’d have to be stupid to not understand what’s happening in No More Dream.”

Suga let out a small laugh. “Guys, can we stop arguing? Three of us are going to die soon, can we make the most of it?”

“How?” Jin asked.

Jungkook threw two darts at once, one getting a bulls-eye the other a 20. “Let’s play darts. We can’t do much, the tv’s chord are cut. Plus our phones are still missing.”

You just knew trying to show off but you decided it might get you on his good side. You pulled out Jungkook’s darts and then grabbed the other 3 remaining ones for yourself. You handed him his and offered him a smile. He took his without looking at you and immediately threw a bulls-eye. You slumped your shoulders and frowned. You tried your best but barely made it into the board and scored a 3. 

Jungkook laughed, not a mocking laugh but a genuine one. “Here, let me show you how to throw it, okay?”

 You nodded and Jungkook explained how he was throwing. He pointed out what he was doing then fake threw the dart a few times before actually throwing it. When you tried to do what he did, you did better, but you looked so awkward trying Jungkook laughed again. He stood behind you and guided you how to throw the dart.

Jin rolled his eyes. “Are you really flirting right now Jungkook? You think Y/N’s the killer what’s wrong with you?”

“Either Y/N or Suga.” Jungkook corrected as you threw the dart. He cheered and gave you a high five when it landed much closer to the bulls-eye then before.

Suga looked over to Jin who had his arms crossed. “You know, no one has questioned your loyalty.”

Jin looked at him shocked. “What?”

“You were in the kitchen when I put down my knife. You could have grabbed a knife then when you were making popcorn.” Suga said.

Jin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, actually now that I think about it, Jin was in the upstairs bathroom before Y/N got here.” Jungkook said looking Jin up and down.

“What about Jungkook?” Jin asked. “No one’s wondered about him.”

You looked back and forth between Jin and Jungkook. “No offense but I think one of you two are going to die next.”

“One choked on his ego, and then there were three.” Jungkook recited.

Suga nodded. “Yeah, you two have really big egos.”

Jin scoffed offended while Jungkook nodded in agreement. You turned to Jungkook and tapped your finger on your chin. “I don’t know, he has a lot of alibis. The only thing I’d suspect him of is the speaker blasting I Need U as J Hope was dying. I mean, Suga turned it off. Jungkook was the only one down here to turn it on. But that’s not really proof for killing.”

 Jungkook smiled appreciatively. “Thanks Y/N. Sorry but you still don’t have a lot of alibis so I can’t really clear your name though.”

“You’re the one that dirtied my name.” You reminded.

“No, I think it was you being absent for Rap Monsters death, your bag tripping v, leaving Jimin, and the pills being in the bathroom you used.” He listed off the reasons on his fingers.

You pouted at him and he just laughed and went to grab the darts. He offered you yours but you shook your head. “Why don’t you show us your weird moves.”

Jungkook smiley brightly. “Alright.”

You stood off to the side with Jin and Suga as Jungkook got ready. He turned around, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he knew where the board was. He did a flip, throwing the dart as he moved. Even though he didn’t get a bulls-eye you were still surprised that the dart made it onto the board.

“Wow Jungkookie! That’s so amazing!” Suga marveled.

“Didn’t you do this like a year or so ago?” Jin asked not impressed.

Jungkook looked at Jin like a kicked puppy. “Yeah I guess I did but...” He looked down at his hand that he was throwing it with, the one bandaged up. 

You frowned at Jin. “Jungkook, could you throw it leftie?” You asked. Jungkook thought for a second before switching hands that he was holding the darts in. He tossed it left handed. It wasn’t a bulls-eye either but it was close. “Wah, Jungkook you’re so cool.”

Jungkook beamed at you. “Thank you Y/N!” Jin crossed his arms, and Jungkook noticed. Jungkook’s smiled wavered, but he quickly smiled again. “Jin-hyung, do you want to try?”

“I’m good.” Jin said. “I don’t care about darts.”

“Why not?” Suga asked. “I mean, obviously no one cares the dart world cup or what ever, but it’s kind of fun to do with friends.”

Jin shrugged. “It’s just... repetitive.” 

You snorted. “And doing the same dance over and over again for hours as you practice isn’t?”

“That’s different.” Jin said shaking his head. “Darts are... primitive. Music is making a difference in the world, and I do it for my loving armies.”

Jungkook frowned and looked down at the ground, shifting his weight on his feet. You felt bad, Jungkook was having fun playing darts and Jin was being a jerk. Annoyed, you pulled off Jin’s Jack Sparrow hat and walked up to Jungkook. You put it over his eyes and turned him towards the dart board. He seemed to get the hint and threw one. 

You, Jungkook and Suga all laughed when the board called out a one. “How close was I?” He asked.

“You barely made it on the board.” You laughed.

Jungkook laughed harder. “Spin me around.” 

You nodded and spun him, instead of doing the logical thing of staying where you were, you put your hands on his shoulders and ran around in a circle with him. You were starting to get dizzy so you let go. You were about to around to keep spinning him with just your hands but you heard Suga gasp. You whipped around and Jungkook lifted his hat to see what’s wrong. You all stared in horror as Jin shakily brought his hands up to the dart piercing his throat.

“Don’t pull it out!” You called too late. Jin dropped the dart on the ground and immediately started coughing as more blood entered his windpipe. You wanted to look way but you couldn’t. He fell to his hands and knees as he coughed up blood. You watched as Jin drowned in his own blood.

“Why did you stop spinning me!? I thought I was facing the board” Jungkook asked.

“I didn’t! I was going to keep spinning you! I was getting dizzy, I wasn’t even looking! I didn’t even align you or anything why did you throw without the okay?!” 

 Jin fell to his side, still coughing. You closed your eyes and looked away. Your own throat hurt at just the thought. Slowly the coughs got weaker and then stopped all together. When you finally opened your eyes, Jungkook was staring at you with wide, pain filled eyes. 

“It’s really you huh?” He asked meekly. 

“Jungkook, no it wasn’t me!” 

“I didn’t want to believe but... you used me to kill Jin. Why couldn’t you just do it yourself Y/N?!”

“Jungkook I swear on my life it wasn’t me!” You pleaded.

“Shut up!” He said. “There’s no way I can believe you now! You mean to tell me Suga planned that you would spin me around and make me kill Jin? Bullshit Y/N!”

You looked around and noticed Suga was gone. “Where’s Suga?”

Jungkook scoffed. “Don’t act cute Y/N, you wrote it yourself. This is where we run from you, one of us will die in the progress and then the other kills you.” 

“Jungkook no, you have to trust me, I swear I didn’t... please.”

Jungkook just shook his head slightly, not breaking eye contact as a tear fell. He then made a break for it. He flicked off the light switch as he ran passed it.

and then there were three.

[captainvictoryboat]

Behind The Scenes 3 (18/21)

Author’s note: Okay, guys I actually finished my BTS 3 rough draft!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FINALLY! I have been working on this for months, like since I started posting BTS2, I have been writing BTS 3 (yes, that long). Now I just have alot of editing to do, so I still have alot to do. Sorry for any errors and sorry for any cultural and environmental inaccuracies. (if I was inaccurate about anything please correct me, I did my best to try and research some stuff and all, but there is only so much I can grasp)

Genre: Fluff (Jungkook)

Word count: 3934

City: Kuala Lumpar (3rd day)

Summary: Despite y/n’s current mood, she and Jungkook still go out on their “two year anniversary” date. 

Other parts: HERE

This is my GIF. I made it based off of this scenario series.

You lay in bed staring up at the ceiling just listening to the rain hit the large window besides you. The weather in Malaysia seemed to represent how you felt at the moment. Somehow you knew that it was the third day you all were in Kuala Lumpar even though you couldn’t recall anything of the last few days. Ever since Singapore, all you could remember was the feeling of being empty.

In actuality a few things did occur over the past days. You didn’t at all eat, drink or even speak and it terrified the maknaes. The three of them even turned to Jin to try and get some advice from him. Your days had been filled with V, Jimin, and Jungkook taking turns trying to get you to react to something. At night, Jungkook stuck by your side reassuring you that nothing was your fault when it came to the girls, telling you how much he cared for you and how much you meant to everyone. The only times you weren’t in his sight was when he would have to shoo away a drunk Suga that kept coming to your room to try and talk to you. When it came to Suga and Jhope, they were almost as bad as you. Suga wasn’t eating, even in public. He drank at all hours of the day making good use of the flask Jackson got him. He even drank during the concert. He was so drunk during the second Malaysian concert that he almost passed out and he was taken off stage. As a way to not make the fans feel too bad and to not schedule another concert for the next night, V took over Suga’s parts. It was fun for ARMY and things just barely went by smoothly. Jhope was opposite of Suga in terms of energy. He took too many pills and he was starting to go crazy. He was starting to say thing that weren’t making sense. During the performance, he was constantly off beat and slurring his lines and replacing them with random lines and phrases. Rap monster made the decision to have his mike turned off and Jhope was forced to lip sync through most of the concert. Despite all the dancing and running around on the stage he did, he never ran out of energy. After the concert, Rap monster had noticed he was trying to take more pill, pills Jhope nicknamed “happy pills”. Rap monster had to stop him in front of everyone backstage and you all rushed to the hotel so that Rap monster could force him to take some downers and try to even things out. Both Jhope and Suga were put in Minho’s room so that Minho could look after them and Jin had offered to help look after them if they got out of hand.

However, for you this was the first moment in days where you actually felt like you were “coming to”. You continued to watch the heavy rain. After about half an hour, the sun started to break from the clouds and the rain started to lighten up a bit and you yourself couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit better for some reason.

You could feel Jungkook rustling next to you. It took a while but eventually he was “awake”. You could feel his eyes on you, but you tried to block him out and kept looking out the window.

Jungkook got up and propped himself over you, examining you much closer now. “Morning Jagi.” He smiled sweetly in his soft but low morning voice. His fingers gently moved your strands of hair out of your face.

You looked up at him. His hair was sticking up at all angles and you saw a smile grow on his face. He surprised you and he dropped down on you giving you a tight hug. “Finally you look at me.” His voice vibrated into your neck. “Please don’t be sad anymore baby.” He whimpered.

His reaction threw you off. His use of the word “sad” was rather odd when you couldn’t even say “sad” was the correct word to what you were currently feeling. Maybe you were sad and you just didn’t even know because in the moment you were in more so in a daze. But then again, now that it was brought up, “sad” wasn’t exactly the worst word to use. As you filtered your emotions, you lifted your hand up and lazily patted his back. “Jungkook... you’re heavy.” Was all you managed to say.

You knew he was smiling without even having to look at him. “Finally you said something!” he slid his hands under your back and kissed the side of your head. Again, he did something that took you by surprise. He flipped onto his back, bringing you along with him. He kept his hands on your sides to keep you on top of him.

“Is this better?” he asked.

You gave a tiny nod, curling up in his arms, appreciating the effort he was putting in.

For a long moment, he stayed quiet and you were glad he was. You could feel bits and pieces of the last few days rushing through your mind and it was a lot to take in.

You only still lay on his chest hearing his heartbeat while his fingers lightly traced figures on your back. For the first time you felt like you were having a genuine moment with Jungkook, a moment where you were glad you decided to be with him.

“Jagi?” his voice was soft

“Huh?” you grunted.

“Do you feel any better?”

You just shrugged at him.

“Do you want to talk about it? What was it that made you so upset?”

You let out a heavy sigh and sat up, still staying on top of him. “I’m just… I don’t know.” Your voice was weaker than you anticipated now that you actually tried to speak. “Nothing makes sense…” You didn’t realize how hard it was for you to talk.

Jungkook sat up also “How so?”

“These last few days, I think I have just been replaying everything in my head. like trying to see where I went wrong. And I just- I don’t get it. I don’t grasp how anything is really happening, how any of this is actually real… I look back at everything and nothing seems possible… Like Jin, he was so – sweet. Like he was like so chill and understanding and well, like, he’s actually not! He’s like not! He’s a fucking asshole! And he has a kid no less, like how does he even get away with that?!? How does no one know?!? And like what life does that make for Jinjin, you know? And just, ugh, like I just I hate Jin. And then Namjoon... In the beginning, I thought he was the most normal person, but… I don’t know how he is even real! Like how the fuck is he an actual human being?!? Like he is a crazy ass mother fucker and I despise him! I hate him with every ounce of my soul because I am so scared of him… I hate him! I fucking hate him! Absolutely fucking hat-te h-him!” your voice cracked. Jungkook grabbed your hands and pulled you closer. “And then there is you. When you and I first started talking you were cool, but then I really got to know you and you were such a piece of shit!” you said poking his chest aggressively, tears already forming in your eyes. “You were so cold and manipulative and I hated you just as much as I did Jin and Namjoon…”

Jungkook grabbed your hands and brought them to his lips giving them kisses. “Y/n I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You pulled your hands away and wiped your eyes. But then you grabbed his hands again and traced the veins on his arms as if to comfort him from your harsh words. “But knowing you more… you aren’t that bad. Not perfect obviously… but I like you. I actually really like you. You have your good sides… And Jimin, he was an ass with me since the moment he laid his eyes on me, but he goes through s-so much.” Again your weak voice cracked just thinking about Hiro and what he does to Jimin, and how now you were betraying Jimin after what he’s done for you. You still felt horrible. “I really hated the four of you all for a long time. Tae was okay I guess. He’s been nice, but I hated that he always sided with you guys, even when he didn’t want to…” you let out another sigh, letting all the built up anxiety out of you.

Jungkook tried to pull you closer, but you still had more to say. “A-and for the longest time Yoongi and Hoseok were my go to guys. They were the only ones that ever cared about me… They were the only ones th-that made things bearable. I-I thought I knew them, but I don’t! Like how could they do what they did to Aiko and Meihui?!? And, like don’t they care about me? Why do they never have time for me? Don’t I mean something to them? Even now, should they be the ones here with me instead of you? Shouldn’t they be the ones that were happy that I “finally looked at them”? Huh?” As if you were back in Singapore, you began to cry hard. “I don’t know anything anymore! It just doesn’t make sense! Nothing makes sense!”

Jungkook comforted you though your “little” breakdown. He held you tight as he said, “Don’t worry Y/n, I care about you. I care about you so much. You can always come to me.”

You wiped your eyes feeling as though a weight was taken off your shoulders. Again you stayed in his arms and it was the first time in a long while that you felt safe with him. That’s when it hit you. As of right now, Jungkook was the only good thing in your life. And you even had Jimin that you felt you can turn to. Even if it hurt you to hurt Jimin, Jungkook was your only real emotional escape at this point. Maybe if you balanced things out well, you could find a right way to tell Jimin everything one day.

“Y/n, I hate to say this, but I never cancelled the pans I made for the date…”

“You didn’t?”

“No, but don’t worry, we don’t have to go. I don’t give a fuck what Namjoon says.”

“… No, we should go…” you really didn’t want to go, but the last thing you wanted was for Rap monster to get mad.

“No, it’s okay. We can do something else and just say it’s for our “anniversary”.”

“…No… you planned it, we should go…”

Jungkook looked down at you. “Baby, are you sure? You’ve barely been out of the room in days. We really don’t have to do this.”

You grabbed his hand, your thumb gliding over his fingers. “Let’s just go with it. I don’t want to be in any more trouble.”

-

Not even two hours had passed and the intense rains returned and along with it came two stylists. Jungkook had informed you that they were going to help you both get ready for your “anniversary” date.

“Is this really necessary?” you asked nervously.

“Not really, but I had wanted you to feel like a princess today!” He smiled. He went ahead and opened the door for them.

In came the two stylists that had worked on Jungkook and Jimin the last few nights for the concerts. They both held their rain coats and were followed by a bellboy who rolled in a rack of clothes protected by a plastic sheet cover. “Hello!” they both cheered as they made their way into the room.

Jungkook greeted them first. “Hello! Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice. We really appreciate this!”

You came up after him, attempting to hide the depressed feelings that still consumed you. “Hello! Yes, thank you so much!”

The stylist that did Jimin’s makeup was the one to quickly take charge. She removed the plastic covering from the rack to expose about fifteen different dresses, one black suit, and many bags and boxes that were organized under them.

“Ok Damia, what is the game plan?” The second stylist asked.

Damia thought for a moment as she looked between the three of you and the rack of dresses. “Ok first, Jungkook, you go with Zara so she can do your makeup and help up fix your suit. I’ll get started on Y/n and Zara when you are done with him, you can help me with Y/n’s hair.” She said with much determination.

Jungkook walked off with Zara to the bathroom while the bedroom was where you got ready. Damia came up to you and pulled you closer to the rack of dresses. “Ok, so before we do your makeup, you pick out your dress for the night!”

You looked at her a bit in shock. “I-I can choose whichever I want?”

“Yes! Then we can pick out the shoes that match the dress!” she smiled.

You looked through all the dresses, only barely touching a few because they were too precious to be ruined by your hands. You noticed that all dresses were short cut, only barely reaching the knee. It made you a bit upset because you had basically sworn off dresses and skirts ever since Osaka, but the last thing you wanted to do was have a tantrum on Damia, who was being so generous with you, and ruin a night that Jungkook had planned for two of you. You looked at all the dresses and you were mesmerized by their different colors and fabrics and styles. Of all of them, there was one that stood out to you. Your heart was stuck on a cute red dress with thin straps. Compared to the other tight-fit dresses this one looked the most comfortable but just as elegant as the others. “…I like this one…” you said softly, pointing to the dress.

“Oh, that would look so great on you! I know exactly what shoes you can wear to go with it!” From under the dresses Damia rummaged through various shoe boxes before she pulled out a pair. “These would be perfect!” she exclaimed as she pulled out a pair of black heels. “And I know just the earring to go with this too!” Next she pulled out a pair of gold earrings. “Oh, Oh! I just thought of the perfect make up for you! Let’s get started!”

Damia pulled out large boxes from under the clothes and pulled out a portable mirror with lights within the frame and a huge case of makeup. “Don’t worry y/n, I’ll take good care of you!” she said cheerfully.

Damia, in comparison to the other stylist who did your makeup those many months ago, was so gentle and the conversation between the two of you was so pleasant.

Since Jungkook only had one suit to choose from and Zara already knew how to do his makeup, he was done in a flash. He came and sat on the bed and watched as Damia continued with your makeup and Zara began working on your hair.

As Damia worked on your eyes, Jungkook couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “Jagi you look so amazing already!”

“Aw, miss y/n has such a cute boyfriend!” Zara grinned.

“Ha, I know!” you smiled warmly.

After finally being done with your makeup, Damia and Zara let you go off and change into your dress. When you stepped inside and got a full look at your face you almost wanted to cry. Damia had done such an amazing job on your makeup and Zara had given you a beautiful updo, even accenting it with a thin gold headband. You couldn’t stop staring at yourself, you felt like a walking art piece.

You carefully put your dress on and once again stood in amazement. Your faded collarbone scar was not enough to break your spirits. You felt more overwhelmed as you slid your heels on. You hadn’t seen yourself look so good in such a long time. There was not a visible bruise on you, your makeup was on point, and magically the dress faltered your body so well.

As you stepped out, Damia and Zara were all giggles over the great work they did and Jungkook was in awe over you.

You deeply thanked both of them, bowing to them and giving them hugs before they started setting up to leave.

You made your way to Jungkook who sat still on the bed. “So, what do you think?” you asked shyly.

“You look… beautiful.” Jungkook finally said. “No! You look more than beautiful. You look stunning… gorgeous… breath taking!”

Your face got hot as Jungkook jumped up from the bed and pulled you close as he continued to throw compliment after sweet compliment at you. “Jungkook stop.” You giggled. “You’re making me so shy right now.”

“Jagi, I can’t help it, you look so amazing.” He whispered.

Before leaving, Damia and Zara walked up to you for one more thing. From behind her back, Zara pulled out a little white box that housed a thin gold chained necklace with a small and simple gold heart pendent. “Don’t worry about returning this little thing, consider it an anniversary present gift from us to you!” Damia smiled.

-

A very nervous Minho navigated the rainy streets of Kuala Lumpar to reach the restaurant. With the help of Jungkook and Google maps, he brought the two of you to the restaurant just in time.

You were about to make a run to the entrance to avoid the rain, when Jungkook pulled you back into the van. It was only after doing a video update and, in a not-so-subtle fashion, giving the restaurant a shout out, did you and Jungkook make a run for the restaurant.

“So that’s how you got us a reservation on such short notice, isn’t it?” you asked as he handed the umbrella to the doorman.

“Well it was either shameless advertising or we were gonna be having this date at a McDonalds!” He laughed.

Reaching the highest floor and opening the door to the restaurant was like walking into a different world, a very elegant world. Even the hostess was dressed so beautifully. Her black dress made her gold hijab and gold jewelry pop out and gave her a simple yet sophisticated look, matching the rest of the restaurant.

Looking past the hostess, you could see the other patrons. They were all gorgeous and their attires equally so. You couldn’t help but immediately feel so underdressed in comparison to the other women who were practically wearing red carpet gowns. Your simple necklace did not compare to the precious metals and rocks the other men and women wore.

Jungkook pulled you close and whispered, “Let’s go to our table.”

You two followed the hostess to a table by the surrounding window that allowed for total view of the city.

You were suddenly self-conscious of your scar and possibly bruises on your back as you felt judging eyes follow you. Still after the hostess left and the waiter took your order, the anxiety didn’t leave you.

“So, what do you think of the place?” Jungkook’s question broke you out of your thoughts.

The waiter returned with the bottle of white wine that Jungkook ordered and your glasses were poured.

“Huh?” you looked about the restaurant again, still feeling eyes on you. “Um, yeah, beautiful, so beautiful...” you trailed off with a slight frown.

“Well I could say the same about you.” he said reaching for your hand across the small table.

You gave him a fake smile.

“What’s wrong?”

You hated that you couldn’t be believable. “… I don’t think I’m dressed right… I feel people staring…” you whispered.

“Well good! People need to see us!”

“But a bad staring!”

Jungkook looked about the restaurant to the people who couldn’t care less about the two of you. “Of course they are staring at you. Look at you! You look… stunning!” He said lovingly.

You could feel your face heat up again and you took a sip of wine to hide your smile. You took a look out the window. The city lights were so beautiful. It all felt like a dream. Jungkook being so sweet, the two of you in such a fancy restaurant, and just being in such a city. “This must be a dream. Hell, I even feel like we are moving right now.” you said softly.

“Baby, we are moving!” He laughed. “That’s the whole sky dining experience! We are slowly rotating to get a 360 view of the city.”

“Oh shit!” you said in wonder.

When the food came out you were amazed by the presentation and every single bite was to die for. Course after course was better than the last.

Over the course of the dinner, you and Jungkook had a bit too much wine, because the two of you were in a buzz by the time you finished dessert. By now he had moved to your side of the table so that both of you could have the same view of the city.

“Hahaha, I don’t know… but this dinner was fantastic! I’m so glad you brought me here.” You said giving his upper arm a hug.

Jungkook gave your hand a squeeze. “And I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Suddenly, the sounds of two cellos filled the dining room and your attention was drawn to the center of the floor. A cello duet began to play Canon and the sounds filled the room ending all conversation and stealing everyone’s attention.

“I love this song.” You mumbled as you swayed along with the movement of the bows.

“Let’s dance then!” Jungkook suggested.

“What?!? No!”

“Yeah, why not? What is music if you can’t dance?”

You laughed “Baby, this is not music you dance to.” You caught yourself by surprise. This was the first time you genuinely call Jungkook by a pet name.

The celloists continued their lovely performance for a few more songs, but sadly they were gone from the room too soon.

“So, what else do you have planned for us tonight?” you asked.

Jungkook frowned and lean in close to you. “Well, unfortunately, I didn’t get to plan anything else because the evil dickhead made me pay for the damages and I didn’t have enough to pay for anything as great as this…”

“Ah ok.”

“But I did tell Minho to drive us around the city. So if there is anywhere you want to stop and visit, we can check it out. Like I said, tonight is just you and me… and a little bit of Minho.” He laughed.

“That sounds fun, but will Minho really do it? He seemed so nervous driving us around… or driving in general… Actually, he’s nervous almost every time I see him. Why is that? Shouldn’t he be used to all this?”

“Eh, Minho is a bit… different. According to Tae, Minho’s got some anxiety issues or something like that and that’s why he didn’t make it as a real nurse.” Jungkook explained.

“Ooh!”

Suddenly, you heard a ring of Jungkook’s phone. “Oh he’s here! Now let’s go take a look around the city!”

Okay, so what do you guys thinks of this whole Y/n and Jungkook and Suga thing so far? Have any of you changed your minds of who she should be with? Do you guys think Suga even actually has any real romantic feelings towards y/n?