#god maybe it's the engineer in me but it's like... i feel compelled every now and then to just find the answer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweetbunnykook · 4 years

Text

Only You (9)

Word Count: 13,197 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack), smut (period sex, cunnilungus, blowjob, throatpie, body worship, mommy kink), brief fluff, toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.

A/N: If you are still reading this series, I wish you the best of luck. Please leave a review if you can and let me know your thoughts. - 🐰

You were every mother’s blessing – kind, caring, intelligent, obedient. She watched you stumble and fall many times but you manage to catch your footing with a smile. Despite your yearning for independence, your mother kept you in her embrace as all mothers do. In some ways, it would be loving; things like helping you choose the venue for your wedding and holding your hand while you inquire about using chiffon instead of silk for your veil. You were such a wonderful daughter that she didn’t wish for a son even when you decided to carve your own path rather than follow your father’s footsteps into medicine and entrepreneurship.

It’s why your mother sits in the parking lot of your apartment complex, dumbfounded beyond belief, teeth gritted. She looks up at your window to see Jungkook staring back down at her, unable to read him. She holds his steel hard gaze, daring him to look away or pull the curtains close.

He doesn’t take the bait.

Pulling the shifting gear and rolling out of the parking lot, she peels her eyes away and takes several deep breaths.

There is no way on God’s green Earth that you fell in love with a middle-class photographer. Of all people, of all the men in your circle, affluent men coming from money both new and old, you couldn’t have fallen for a lowly photographer who doesn’t care about you enough to know his place and leave you be. How could Jungkook not know that you aren’t meant to live like this? How could he be so selfish as to hope for marriage when he could barely afford the ring he wants to slip onto your finger?

Your mother throws back her head and cackles. The only reason you were able to study abroad during college, the only reason why you could walk into an upscale neighborhood and look like you belong there, is because she followed the natural way. She never loved your father, not even once, but he was a good husband and an even better financial asset. Not only did she not have to lift a finger after tying the knot, but she also became part of the untouchables.

There’s a sense of power and invincibility that comes with wealth. It comes softly, like a whisper of wind that keeps a dandelion intact; it’s invisible to the eyes but she can feel it when she shakes hands with politicians, celebrities, businessmen and women, important people doing important things.

It took nearly twenty years of work. Getting close to the Kims, making sure you attend the same school as their children, running into Namjoon when you visit their vacation home, and letting his parents witness what a great wife you would be for him – it was all going so well. Puberty treated you well enough too that she didn’t need to consider getting you minor cosmetic procedures when you graduated high school. Sure, you could lose a few more pounds, but you were healthy and fit to give the Kims, and her, the grandchildren who will guarantee a new generation of wealth and prosperity. Gone are the days when she could only dream about creating the perfect family, respected by the social circle and the general public. You, her lifelong project, made it all come true.

Yet, life proves to be cruel once again.

As soon as she set her eyes on Yori she knew she was trouble. She didn’t object when you stayed out later and wore a bit more makeup than what was deemed graceful for a woman of your age. She knew that if she’d raised her voice, you would be compelled to rebel (it didn’t help that you were as stubborn and thick-skinned as your father). However, she wanted to warn you, just a tiny bit, that Yori is the kind of girl whose eyes strayed to find a new target and you were a hair away from standing right in the middle of that mark. She knew, because Yori had the kind of eyes she had as a twenty-year-old woman who climbed that very same social ladder.

You were such a good daughter, so intelligent and transparent, that she believed you would have the backbone to come into your mother’s arms at the first sign of danger. It looks like you were just as clueless as the rest of the sheep you called your bridesmaids.

A Jeep honks from the next lane as she swerves into the street and bangs on the steering wheel with the heel of her hand, her Cartier bracelets clanking together in unity. The light turns yellow and she stomps on the accelerator, lurching the vehicle forward.

At the end of the day, she knew it was her fault. She could have warned you earlier, planted seeds of doubt in your mind, even pull Namjoon back into your arms if you realized soon enough; but alas, your day was chosen to be one of desolation and misfortune. Her poor daughter, the apple of her eye, the one precious gem of a person who would propel the family into royalty, whisked right away from under her nose.

She shakes her head, tires screaming as she veers into the next semi-busy lane, watching the sun disappear into the horizon as the familiar roads darken.

Letting you mourn on your own terms was the biggest mistake of her life, second to not following her gut feeling and keeping Yori away from you. She knew about this photographer lover of yours who has the face of an angel and seem to follow you like a puppy wherever you go. From a distance, she’d watched you wrap your arms around him and kiss him with such fervor in a public space she felt bile rise for the first time looking at you – her most precious creation acting like a hussy for all to see.

The boy seemed to be in love with you as much as you depended on him. She waited until you would be sick of him like the ones you took to bed after the wedding night (yes, she knew about your shameful conquests). She waited countless nights, praying that you would come to your senses, that you won’t refuse her advances, until months later she sees you living with him and sharing meals and completely forgetting about her. Yes, she had been mainly focused on making sure the investors haven’t pulled out and that you still had a name for yourself after the wedding. It wasn’t an ideal response as a mother because you needed help and she knew you’d throw a hissy fit but you must understand that while you had been taking men to bed, she had been busting her ass saving what’s left of the family pride.

The Kims also attempted to salvage your reputation, but they won’t do so at the cost of Namjoon’s name. The true reality is that parents will only care for their own blood in the end.

It’s why she finds herself confused and drenched with sweat when the car halts in front of the white villa lined with jasmine bushes. There’s a new gate installed, probably to keep away reporters during the first few weeks after the wedding incident hit the papers, and it momentarily angered her that she must now ask an intercom to enter a space that should have been a gift to you from the Kims.

Her hands tighten around the steering wheel with the intent to squeeze something warm and pulsing. She still remembered the day Yori knelt on the floor of your dressing room and she still remembered the strands of hair that squeezed her fingertips as she tore the whore’s flower hair clip off her head. The yelling, the panic, the uproar, the whispers that came from the guests – it was humiliation to the tenth degree.

Wiping the bead of sweat off her temples with the back of her hand, your mother hushes the engine and places the key in her coat. She steps out of the vehicle and marches up to the gate and buzzes in, huffing when her heels wobble on the cobblestone steps.

A few heartbeats later, Yori’s voice pours through her ears and reached into the crevices of her scalp like a dull headache.

“Hello?”

She leans forward. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause before the gates click open and the stone stairway up to the front door reveals itself with a moist gleam. The garden sprinklers die down just as she steps onto the platform and makes her way up to the front door where Yori is leaning against, one hand on her stomach, the other hand tucking her fringe away from her face. She notes that the knitted silk dress, tied above the swell of her belly, is from the latest Prada collection.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she smiles. “Come in. Welcome to my home. I apologize for the mess…I had a baby shower earlier today and help is gone for the rest of the week.”

Your mother wanted to rip that smug grin off her face but she kept her eyebrows still and her lips soft.

“Excuse my intrusion.”

She walks into the spacious living room, eyes quickly glancing at the stacks of presents on the couch and the empty bottles of sparkling water and champagne sitting on the coffee table. She can recognize, just from the color of the boxes, that the gifts were not cheap. Had you married Namjoon, this would have been your palace.

“I’m in the middle of decorating the nursery. If you don’t mind…” Yori says, not bothering to look back as she makes her way up the stairs. She didn’t have to turn around to see that steam is coming out of your mother’s ears. “Can you help me with unrolling the mat in the hallway? I can’t bend over very well.”

Your mother trails behind in place of answering, watching Yori’s hip swing side to side as she makes her way up the stairs and then turn to leer down at the older woman. It’s a bit laughable, Yori thinks, as your mother pretends not to ogle at the stacks of Tiffany blue boxes tucked beside the living room couch like shoeboxes. Her face flushes when she meets Yori’s eyes once more but she doesn’t comment as she follows the young woman into the hallway just a few feet away from the stairs. Her head turns at the smell of fresh paint to see the nursery on her left, the door left open as if the room expected her arrival.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Yori fixes her fringe once more. “He needed to attend a conference in Ginza. I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

“There’s no need.” She leers at the stacks of presents next to the crib. More aquamarine boxes, all neatly stacked according to size with the smallest at the top.

The younger woman leans against the tall, heavy vase next to the wall leading into the hallway to the East wing. “If you say so.”

There’s no reason for your mother to be here. It should be you instead, coming back to tie loose ends and perhaps inquire about Namjoon’s injuries if you cared enough. Compared to your mother, you didn’t have much of a backbone when it comes to relationships and it makes it so easy for men to take what they want and go. It’s what made you a bore, what gave Yori the power to pull Namjoon right into her bed and have him calling her name like a prayer.

“Did you forget basic manners?” Your mother finally snaps, beady eyes darting from side to side to admire the nursery that could have been a snapshot from a furniture magazine. “Not even offering a glass of water?”

Yori only smiles, motioning to the unrolled mat slumped against the wall, adjacent from the staircase.

“I assumed whatever you wanted say would be quick as you came uninvited. You’d probably think the water is poisoned even if I offered any way.”

The older woman glances at the rug – no doubt imported from Dubai with its elegant coloring and silk touch – then walks over to it before tracing her fingers around the rolled edges. She shouldn’t have accepted to do such demeaning housework but given how she pulled into the driveway unannounced and that the woman is heavily pregnant with no help around, it was only fair. She may have left behind her patience with Jungkook but not her manners.

“Why did you have to pick that day to tell her?”

Yori’s eyebrows raised just slightly before falling back down to its former position. She puts a hand over her stomach and walks towards the giant vase again, rubbing her fingers over the cool lacquered surface. Namjoon’s parents had a thing for porcelain she just couldn’t wrap her head around.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you wait until the marriage ceremony to tell her you were screwing her husband?”

“Husband?” She cocks her head to the side with an incredulous widening of her pupils. “Last time I checked he only had a fiancée he rarely saw who ran away with some pretty photographer the first chance she got. I’d say that’s far from married.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Answer the question,” she looks down, chin trembling. The world is falling apart, her dreams are nothing but a pebble in quicksand, and you no longer cared. “Please.”

Yori watches, in a way one watches a fly buzzing around a piece of fruit, the older woman bring her hands together in front of her like it has taken all her energy to ask such a question. Maybe for a moment she considers telling the woman the truth. She considers telling her that you broke her heart first, that you had the world succumbing to your every need, that your mother’s greed doesn’t only belong to her but you too because you made Seokjin your lap dog while Namjoon promised you a future. She considers telling her about the night she saw you laying like a swooning damsel in distress as Seokjin – the only man she had to beg for attention – suckle your tits like you were getting paid for it. She considers telling your mother that her daughter is the two-faced whore here, not her. She considers telling her that you touched what belonged to someone else first.

But what difference would it make? What would it change? The baby is still due in a handful of weeks, Namjoon is set to take over the company once he gets his shit together and his nose heals, and you’re perfectly happy with a new and exciting boyfriend of yours. The truth doesn’t set anyone free, it just makes sure the shackles aren’t too tight.

Yori turns her moist eyes away towards the living room downstairs. She walks over to the railing, resting her wrist on the copper before she stares down at the half-eaten cake on the coffee table with utmost disgust, as if she can still smell the overly sweet frosting with too much blue and pink dye. Catching her voice, she brings the smile back onto her face.

“I picked that day,” she turns her head, just slightly to catch your mother’s expression. “Just because I wanted to watch her look as pathetic as you do now.”

Your mother’s lips part, hands falling to her sides.

“It just happened. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s…all?”

Yori chuckles, her empty gaze falling back down to the cake. “That’s all.”

Years of planning, years of giving you the best education the country has to offer, years of making sure you never have to suffer as she had, years of shaking hands and kissing the ground the Kims walk on, only for this girl without new or old money to come and…

Before your mother can think, she lunges forward and grabs Yori by the ends of her hair, twisting the locks around her wrist as the younger woman gasps and shrieks. Her swollen stomach hits your mother’s side as she screeches and uses both hands to grab at her taught hair, pulling away to place as much distance she can. The heel of her ankle catches the edge of the first step and she watches the older woman’s eyes widen as she slams, back first, into the steps and then bounce off the next step as her jaw and skull slams into the copper pipe railing. Yori’s stomach hits the corners of the last several steps before the swell of her belly squeezes inwards, the final gurgling scream ripping out of her throat as her vision turns black and the house falls in silence.

It all happened so fast. Your mother watches with her hands over her ears, chest pounding and bracelets clattering as her limbs turn cold and her knees buckle.

Her eyes widen, more and more, as the pool of blood around Yori’s head expands until there lays maroon halo around her crown. She’s lying flat on her stomach and it takes another moment for the trembling woman to realize that, in the silence save for her own labored breathing, the bump is no longer there.

“Oh my god…”

Curling over to the side, your mother’s jaw falls open and the remnants of her early lunch spills over one of Yori’s shoes ledged between the railing and the first step. She empties her stomach until there is nothing left, her knuckles white as she grips the railing for support. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she descends down the staircase, back pressed against the wall and eyes darting from the body to the tinted windows with burgundy curtains tied to the side. When she reaches the body, she trips over Yori’s limp feet as she quickly dashes to the living room to draw the curtains close, her neck craning from side to side as she finds any opening where an imaginary eye might witness the ultimate sin. It was only when she finds herself in the kitchen, washing her hands that she realized she had, in fact, stolen two lives.

Yori, and the baby who never had the chance to see daylight.

…

You’re sitting in a bathroom stall, turning over the small flash drive between your fingers when you hear the clattering of heels against polished tile and the sound of handbags slumping on the counter. One of the women walks into the stall next to yours, undoing the tampon wrapper as if she were scouring for the winning lottery number written on the string.

“Did you see Jin with her again?” The woman outside of the stall says and you recognize her by voice. She works for the accounting department and regularly walks into your office for weekly reports.

“I was keeping an eye of him. It’s annoying that they work together now so he’s always all over her.”

No doubt this conversation is about you.

“Tell me about it. I bet they’re fucking, you saw how he looked at her.”

“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” The toilet flushes and you can hear her shrugging her skirt back up to her thighs.

You hear a gasp. “Oh my god, you’re right. It’s that young guy who keep bringing her lunch, right? She didn’t break up with him?”

The stall opens and both women are in front of the counter. You’re stuck in your seat, not knowing whether to kick open the door or to interrupt the conversation but with Seokjin’s flash drive in your clammy hands, you struggle to even breathe.

“They’re still together. Looks like that photographer dick is too good to give up for the office hunk.”

They laugh like hyenas – that high, shrieking kind of laugh that makes their red lipstick bleed onto the corners of their mouths.

“They’re so out of her league. What do they even see in her? She’s painfully average. The only thing she’s got going on is a good wardrobe.”

You keep your head lowered when they walk past your stall as if they could see you. They pull on the paper towel lever until they can rip a generous piece and wipe their hands.

“She’s rich. She’s probably only working here because it keeps her humble or some bullshit like that. You know how girls with daddy’s money are, thinking they’re doing charity for working like the rest of us-”

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation, glad that your face no longer feels hot but you’re angered all the same. Jungkook’s visits, for this reason, had made you nervous in the beginning because you know they’ll talk and come up with their own little villain fantasy about you. It doesn’t bother you as you keep work separate from life (something Jungkook had been interrupting much to your discomfort) but hearing it in person ignited the kind of angry tears that has you cursing at yourself for letting yourself be disturbed by it.

You grab your handbag off the hook, place the flash drive back in your pocket, and unlock the stall before pushing the door open. You wash your hands in haste as the air had become suffocating in the aftermath of the two women. Wiping your wet hands down your black slacks, you let your wavy hair down and let it frame your face to hide your flushed cheeks, making sure that your eyes are no longer moist and your nose isn’t pink. What a way to end a workday.

When you arrive back at the office, most of your coworkers are gone except for the new interns organizing papers for tomorrow and the occasional workaholics making coffee in the makeshift cafeteria. You just hope you won’t run into the two women if they choose to swing by for whatever reason but, thankfully, it was never a common occurrence. They never did above the bare minimum any way.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when you slump back down your office chair, squeezing your nose bridge as a wave of exhaustion wracks havoc in your pulsing head.

“There are some more sandwiches in the fridge, please help yourself if you’d like.” A student intern says as she carries a crumpled file under one arm, peering from above your divider.

“Oh!” You exclaim, your head darting towards the room Sora left in a mess before turning back to the girl. “Thank you, I’ll help myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She gives a short nod before leaving, the glass door squeaking as the office once again is filled with the sound of coffee machines whirring and papers shredding.

The USB flash drive sits heavy in your pocket as you wave goodbye to the last person leaving your department with a cup of coffee. She nods, smiling, and pushes out the heavy glass door and you silently hope she won’t forget to return the mug before leaving the building. You listen to the clacking of her heels fading before turning back to the work computer still logged into your account. The saturated blue screen is harsh on your vision and you find yourself squeezing your eyes shut, turning to look at the clock on the wall momentarily to keep yourself grounded.

Jungkook can call at any minute as your shift is coming to an end.

Maybe it would be easier to do this with your phone turned off but knowing him, he would worry enough to drive over to make sure you’re safe.

Within the gray walls that surround your cubicle, you should feel secure. Yet, some part of you wonders if he would suddenly appear behind you and wrap you in his arms before asking you what you’re up to. In this nightmare of a scenario, you can also feel the antagonizing gaze of the two women.

Looking back down at the USB, you’ve come to realize that you have bigger things to worry about. Some part of you feels just as disgusting as a cheater taking off her ring in the presence of another man.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

You’ve rehearsed the same mantra in your head at least a hundred times within the same hour (before you had the unfortunate chance to overhear that unpleasant conversation) and it sickens you that this is a phrase that Namjoon would have used to justify his time with Yori. It’s a cheater’s mentality – a cowardly way of shifting responsibility away from themselves without considering the consequences when the truth comes to light.

With a sigh, you pull the flash drive out of your pocket and flip the black casing open until the lid hangs off its hinges to reveal the silver end. You look around once more, taking a deep breath, and push the end into the appropriate slot of the system unit. The USB flashes a neon green light, pulsing as it loads, before it dims and a small ping pulls your attention back to the screen.

The file explorer window expands, showing a ZIP file among an array of photos that had you squinting to observe. You jolt straight from the seat as your phone rings. Cursing under your breath as you note an incoming call. You’re just about to turn back to the screen when you recognize that the number flashing across your screen isn’t Jungkook’s but your mother’s. She never called at this time and if she did, she would have texted you first to make sure you weren’t in a meeting.

Just as you reach for the phone, it stops ringing and you contemplate turning it off. But something tells you you should have taken the call. When the phone rings again, causing you to flinch, you let it vibrate twice before swiping across the screen.

In exactly five minutes, you will regret ever picking up the call. In ten minutes, you’re running for your life.

…

Jungkook paces back and forth with his thumb between his teeth. If he bit his nails any shorter, he would pierce through skin. Your voice still rings in his ear as you cry into the phone, your tires screaming through the speaker as you speed through the streets back to the apartment. He’s sick with worry, wondering if you crashed into a tree of if you decided – on a whim – to handle this situation yourself. Because you called him immediately after you left work, he has a feeling you wouldn’t do anything stupid but today has been especially unpredictable.

First, your mother coming to meet him. Second, the same woman pushing Yori down the stairs and threatening you to take care of it. If he’d heard you correctly, the old wench even mentioned she would make his life a living hell if you don’t head over immediately. Some mother you are. It pisses him off to no end that you had to live with her for half of your life but it makes him even more upset that you’ve been hiding your mother’s behavior, throwing excuses about how much she worries when she’d call in the mornings and leave voicemails that you delete without listening.

He changes into a pair of jeans and an old university sweatshirt that is a bit too tight on the cuffs. When he hears the sound of your heels clack on the other side of the door, he barely had the time to wrap his head around such a God-given opportunity.

As soon as the door swings open you’re falling into his arms, wracked with sobs as he engulfs your entire torso in his arms. He presses your head further below his neck, reaching behind you to grab his coat off the hanger and wrap it around you before kicking the door close in case a neighbor passes by. You can’t bear to lift your head, trembling as your teeth chatter and your pupils are wide with fear. He’s never seen you like this – not even during the wedding night – and it makes his insides squeeze as if someone had reached in him and pressed a hand against his organs.

“I-I don’t know w-” you sob, “I don’t know w-what to do. I can’t breathe. Jungkook-”

He hushes you softly, threading his fingers through your hair with his thumbs curling around your ear. He tilts your head up towards his gaze, watching your tears trail down your face and onto the coat. Between gasps, you’re wailing, your throat tightened to the point that even his name sounds like nails on chalkboard on your lips.

“Noona, you have to breathe for me. Inhale,” he brings air into his nostrils as demonstration, “and exhale. Can you do that for me?”

You nod, swallowing first before you mimic and close your eyes. Jungkook brings a hand up to your chest, digging underneath the coat to feel it pounding against your ribcage.

“Keep breathing, noona. It’s going to be okay, keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over the chiffon and you find yourself leaning your forehead against his chest in exhaustion.

You wish you could stay in his embrace forever. Locked inside this warm and unassuming apartment, away from your mother, away from the past that has now resurfaced in the worst way imaginable – you wish you can curl into his arms and never leave. That…or you just want the world to swallow you in a deep well and leave you to starve.

“We have to tell the police.” You tremble. You can’t imagine the repercussions, not to mention the heartache of seeing your mother behind bars. She’d rather hang herself than end up in prison, you know that much. You’d sworn to your father before his passing that you’d keep her safe and you’re already thinking of running away.

“Noona…”

“We do. We…I have to. I-I mean it was an accident,” you’re suddenly peeling yourself away from him, bringing your hands up to rub your face. “They’ll give her m-maybe three or four years at most, right? If it was an accident it won’t be…”

Jungkook comes up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing up and down. You’re shaking again, tears streaming even quicker than before and the nausea is causing you to falter from side to side.

“Kookie, I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do, I’m going crazy. I don’t know what to do.”

He places his forehead against the crown of your head, staring into the distance. You feel his fingers tighten around your arm before he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his weight upon your collarbones.

“Do you trust me, noona?” He whispers.

The fridge hums in the distance. You nod.

“Yes…I trust you. With my life.”

When he doesn’t reply, you turn your body, slowly, as if you were anticipating a monster and not a man, until you can look up at his face. He’s rubs his thumbs over your tears and moves down to your chapped lips, swollen and pink from your incessant gnawing. Your lips part just slightly as you exhale, keeping your eyes locked onto his loving eyes. He looks so angelic under the kitchen lights, the yellow bulbs blurred by the moisture in your eyes to form a halo around his long fringe. His hair is parted in the middle to form a curtain around his structured face, casting a shadow over his eyes in the semi-darkness. You can’t see him clearly with the lights behind him but you can sense his confidence, his reassuring grip on your cheeks; he’s no longer the boy from the night before but a man who is willing to keep the promise he made to you.

“I can help you.” He whispers softly once more, his voice lowered. “If you take me to the body…I can help you, noona.”

He holds your gaze, his thumbs still rubbing softly over your cheeks as if to coax the words into your skin. The implication isn’t lost on you but your body reacts first, fingers shaking as a fresh wave of sweat prickles down your back.

“W-What do you…” you trail off as your breathing grows heavy. Jungkook puts a hand on your chest once more as he did before, rubbing softly over your chest to calm your pounding heart.

He holds you close, breathing in your skin once more as his own eyes sting with unshed tears. Fate is a terrible thing and for every moment of bliss with you, he must pay the price; except, this price is a new opportunity to secure you by his side and earn your mother’s silent approval. It’s okay, Jungkook thinks, he can do this for you. He has the resources, the will, the strength, the plans – the only thing he can’t predict is your mental well-being in the aftermath.

Will you lose respect for him? Will you still love him? One thing he was sure of was that this was the only chance to keep your mother from arranging a marriage partner for you. He must go through it to not only save your sanity, your mother, but your answer when he puts one knee on the ground and opens the velvet box he keeps on top of the fridge for the perfect time. Oh how the universe responded so quickly to the day’s worries.

“Back then…when you said you would…”

Kill

“…You would do that for me. You really meant it, baby?”

Jungkook brings your head back under his chin and keeps you there, rocking from side to side as if to lull you to sleep.

“I meant every word. I’m not afraid, noona, not if it means I can protect you and your family.” His eyes darken as he tangles his fingers into your hair, twirling the ends of your waves between his fingers. “You love me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then I need you to listen to me.”

With great reluctance, he pulls you away and holds your palm in both of his larger hands. Your eyes are closed, whether from fatigue or concentration he doesn’t know until your brows scrunch when he speaks.

“Call your mother when I tell you to and tell her you’re on your way over. If she asks why you didn’t answer her previous calls, tell her you had an emergency at work. Reassure her and make sure she doesn’t touch anything more than she’s probably already touched by now. Don’t mention that I’m coming with you, understand? She might panic and bring attention to herself if there’s any witnesses.”

You nod continuously, creating a mental checklist. Call, inform, excuse, reassure, move.

“And noona?”

You look back up into his eyes.

“You…you won’t hate me after tonight…would you?”

How could you fathom it? With his warm, sincere stare and willingness to walk to the ends of earth for someone as plain and unlovable as you, you should be on your knees worshipping him. You don’t understand how he can think of you hating him when he had so willingly put his entire life at risk without reluctance. You aren’t asking him to fetch a forgotten carton of milk at the corner store. You’re asking him to clean up the mess your mother made, a mess that can tear your entire world apart, a mess that has nothing to do with your boyfriend who has no boundaries to prove his devotion.

You shake your head. “I could never,” you breathe.

You hold him this time, letting his body bow towards your trembling figure as he breathes in the scent of sweat and perfume on your neck. You give him a moment of peace. You wanted him to remember this touch as after this night is over, you don’t know if you’ll be the same person. You don’t know if he’ll be either.

He goes over the plan once more and leads you to his car. When Jungkook straps you into the passenger seat and turns the ignition key, you curl your fingers around your shaking knees. He notices your anxiety and takes the closest hand in his before letting your palm rest over the gear shift. He places his own hand on top of yours, gripping tightly when he shifts and maneuvers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road before unclenching.

The sky is pitch black and the moon stalks from behind. You count every tree, read every sign, tense at every sign of a police car passing by, and sniffle when your burning eyes refuse to calm. You don’t register where you are until Jungkook lets go of your hand on the shifting gear and undo his seatbelt. You’re inside the garage of his studio, surrounded by wires, cardboard boxes, plastic bins, and office supplies. When you grasp his arm, letting out a small cry, he hushes you instantly, bringing your hand up to his lips to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“I’ll be quick, noona. I just need to get some things, okay? I’ll be right there-” he points to the very back of the car – “in view.”

You swallow, nodding before uncurling your grip from his arm.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint for Jungkook not to coo at your desperation. He missed this dependency of yours (he had only seen it during the wedding night and the necklace argument) and for once he wonders if he went a bit too far with his role as the sweet and needy boyfriend. He’s not acting in a way that he doesn’t want to but he is guilty of dramatizing some of his pleas and affectionate touches. He knows, in his head, that he is a man. He’s stronger, taller, capable of committing a crime and not just cleaning its aftermath, and will eventually be the father of your children. He’ll tug his collar open to expose his vulnerabilities, but he will show you his strength too. Tonight is a blessing from the universe that will, finally, keep you where you belong: at his side, looking at him, and needing only him.

You watch as Jungkook swings open the trunk of his car and load three large plastic bins and pile photography equipment – tripods, developer fluids, camera bags, lighting equipment, and even a small monitor. And then you see the last box of supplies: rope, black plastic bags, gloves, masks, bleach, towels, and tape. When his eyes meet yours, he flashes you a small smile between his labored breaths, the kind you’re used to seeing after you make love to him and he’s spent, sprawled on the sheets with an arm over his perspired forehead. The car jolts slightly as pushes the back door shut and hop back into the driver seat, adjusting the temperature in the car, muttering something under his breath, and latching his seat belt back on.

He keeps both hands on the wheel. “Noona…make the call now.”

You’re frozen, hands clasped together on your lap.

“Kookie…”

You’re having doubts. He can see it in the way you can’t even bear to look at him. He digs through your pocket and presses your cell phone on your lap. When the lockscreen awakens to the photo of you two, you feel your heart anchor to the bottom of your stomach.

“I-I can’t do it.” You shake your head. “We have to go to the police. I can’t live without you, I can’t live without mom, we’ll get caught and I-” You press your hands to your face, your hoarse sobs lodged deep in your throat before it rips from your chest in the kind of wailing that makes Jungkook’s own heart squeeze. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Yori either e-even if it means my family…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

He sees himself in you. He sees himself as the teen boy who let Taehyung drag his scalpel across his father, then his mother, before encouraging him to give it a try. You’re a virgin. Even if tonight worked out perfectly according to his plans, you’d still be a crime virgin. It was your mother who pushed Yori, not you. Knowing how empathetic you are, how tender you are, it might as well be you who pushed the woman down the stairs. He knows your fear all too well and he knows just how quick your hummingbird heartbeat is underneath his coat that you’re wearing. You’re just like him.

“You’re beautiful, noona.” He places a palm over your clasped hands and brings his other hand up to your face, tucking your hair behind your ears and strumming your cheeks with the back of his fingers.

“No one deserves your kindness. It fucking upsets me,” he swallows, allowing his eyes to water, “that even a mother will take advantage of that kindness.”

You sob into his hand, leaning your temple against the head rest. He’s right. How many times have your mother, before Jungkook came into your life, morphed you into something you’re not? The days you spent trying to please her, comparing yourself to other children she would complement to get a reaction out of you, letting yourself be a pawn for when she wanted something from your father that either required money or the right handshake. You still love her above all because she’s your mother but there’s no denying how much it still touches every part of your life from your relationships to your career. Moving away from her and letting her fade into the background was a true feat and it pains you that all that effort crumbled away and you’re left in a bigger mess to clean than before. If only you hadn’t taken the fucking call.

Maybe this was your fault. Maybe, if you hadn’t been such a hard-headed person, she would never had driven over to Yori’s place and none of this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have to get Jungkook involved either, as willing as he is.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Jungkook slouches back into his seat, putting his hands back onto the steering wheel. “Don’t you, noona?”

You nod, keeping your head lowered.

“Then be good for me and call. I’ll take care of you and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ve never broken that promise, not now, not ever.”

Jungkook hopes that’ll work. He’s rather annoyed but not at you, never at you. Why couldn’t she tumble down those stairs too instead of giving you such unnecessary stress? This kind of stain would be terrible for the baby had you been pregnant. It’s tearing him apart watching how different you are now compared to this morning, leaving the apartment in comfort only to come falling into his arms in tears. He came to the conclusion that you’re simply too pure for the world.

Oh how romantic tonight would be if you were honest with yourself all along. Claiming to loathe your mother with the strength of a thousand suns only to act like this when she shows up with baggage. Jungkook can’t blame you for you shared a majority of your life with the wench, but he finds it exasperating that you can’t see how little of your pity people like her deserve. Nevertheless, you wouldn’t be the love of his life if you weren’t so sensitive and caring.

It was with great relief that you mustered the courage to swipe across the phone screen and type your mother’s number.

He clicks open the garage door and the vehicle begins to descend down the elevated lot.

“M-mom? I’m on my way now…c-can you tell me where you are? It’ll be okay…I know mom, I-I’ll be there soon…”

…

You feel eerily calm as Jungkook drives past your mother’s car parked in the front of the gate to circle around the perimeter of the fence. He doesn’t recognize the new gate but he’d climbed over the old ones many times to watch you on the balcony. The metal may have changed but the level of security should be the same given that the villas are built a good distance apart between trees and the residents – people with mostly new money – keep to themselves. Lodged between a large tree and a partial opening in the back gate that is no doubt left ajar by your mother, Jungkook step out of the vehicle and press the door close before coming over to your side.

He’s relieved that you’re no longer in tears but your hands are still freezing cold despite the heat turned to the max inside. Your eyes are wandering and your breaths are labored as you press your body close to Jungkook’s.

Your mother is waiting near the door, her head poking out just slightly in the darkness and you can see the familiar row of bracelets on her wrist. She seems to have aged several years in just the last few months and the reason for her demise is standing next to you.

“Are you insane?” She seethes as she pulls you by the arm into the dark house and keep her eyes on Jungkook whose gaze bore into her skull. “How could you bring another-”

Jungkook barely had the time to secure your grip on his arm when you gasp, flinching back to hit the chess table next to where he’s standing when you see Yori’s pale arm stretched out from beneath a mat. The deep crimson shade of blood had congealed on the marble, partially smudged by the mat above her weighing her corpse down. Deep inside you had hoped that at least the baby could be saved, by some miracle, but the damage is far too great. Accident or not, a police officer finding this scene would not consider a light sentence if you mother decided to confess.

The older woman’s jaw is clenched, no doubt suppressing the panic she too feels hammering inside her as you hang off of Jungkook arm, trembling still. She looks up to your boyfriend and finds herself jolting awake when his eyes are peering down at her. He looks kind, sympathetic, soft, as if he is still sitting across her on your couch, eager to prove that he can be the son-in-law she’s been looking for all along.

“You should head home for the night. I’ll handle the rest.”

She scratches at her bracelets, her nails tugging the gold free from her skin. “B-But…where are you taking her? Anyone will find it if she’s buried in the yard.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer the question.

“Please go home and make sure there are no witnesses. I know you didn’t inform anyone before coming here,” he turns his head towards the body, “so go home as if you were never here. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

It’s evident the older woman is relieved by the way her shoulders slump but her gaze is still firm as she measures her trust into the young man who is in full control of your heart. Your eyes are still on the body when your mother takes your hands in hers and gives a squeeze.

“Sweetheart…” she croaks. She knew she gave birth to such a dependable, obedient daughter. You’re every mother’s dream and she makes a mental note to come back to your apartment with more boxes of food and perhaps make amends. There are far too many misunderstandings and miscommunication; it’s no way for a mother and child to live.

However, when you rip your hands away and take Jungkook’s hand in yours, her face crumbles.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” You hiss, your voice straining. You’ve never spoken to her like this and didn’t think about doing so until you saw the body, the mess your boyfriend has to clean. “You did this to us.”

“Wh-”

“Leave me alone. Please, mom. Get out of here, okay?” Your eyes glisten and you wipe away the droplets before they have the chance to fall. “It’s…we’re putting our lives on the line for you. It’s the least you can do now…so please…”

Between your pleas and Jungkook’s silence, your mother bites the inside of her cheek from saying anything more and turns back the way you came in. You watch her figure recede into the darkness, her shoes clacking softly on the cobblestone path. She turns back to look at you before the door closes and for once, you earn the most genuine apology you’ve ever received and this time she didn’t even need to open her mouth.

When the door falls back into place, Jungkook gives your shoulders a comforting rub and leads you towards the staircase, reminding you to breathe. He feels a bit more relieved that your mother didn’t raise too much of a ruckus. How could she when he’s the one getting his hands dirty? It’s what the perfect son-in-law will do and after this night is over, he’ll no longer have doubts about her approval. She wouldn’t have a valid argument anyway – not when he had just proved that he’s willing to go to the ends of Earth for your family and stability.

You’re too cute, Jungkook thinks, as you breathe through your nose and exhale through your lips. You’re a mirror image of his virgin self coated in blood, panicked but euphoric, angered but more than relieved to be rid of the parasites that kept him in the sewers.

“H-how are we going to do this?” You breathe, looking up the stairs as if you were expecting Namjoon to be standing there.

“I’ll handle the body. You can help me wipe down the stairs, okay?”

And handle it he did. He first fetched the supplies from the car, making sure once more that there are no witnesses while also keeping you within sight. Even without a severe puncture wound, Yori made quite a mess.

The terror didn’t come from seeing your former friend of years lay in a puddle of her own secretions. Nor did it come from seeing how calm and collected your boyfriend is peering down at the body with something akin to annoyance. No, terror came from how easily your mind and body adapted to helping Jungkook. You had no more tears left to shed when he lifted the mat from the body and placed a plastic covering next to her before rolling her body onto it. The sheet rustles beneath her weight and the stench of iron and urine fills your nostrils, prompting you to place your gloved hand over your nose.

Jungkook seems to know just what to do. He orders for you to wipe the railings first, which you do so with the slowness of a snail climbing a brick wall. The smell of bleach kept the nausea at bay and prompted you to focus on the smaller tasks because you can feel your heart already beginning to race with the sound of your boyfriend dragging Yori by the feet to straighten her posture. When you risked a glance back, you catch yourself feeling irked by the way Jungkook places her fingers so tenderly on her flattened stomach. Even when he’s wearing gloves, you catch yourself glaring at his touch on her skin, at the way his fingers brush over the ring on her finger. It makes you clench your jaw harder, pour more bleach onto the staircase, and wipe down each step with vigor.

She’s dead, she can’t take him from you.

You spray the bleach onto the top step, scrubbing with the heel of your palm as your shoulder fights through aches and pressure. You can do this. If Jungkook kept his promise, you must too. You will never find another man who will devote his entire life to you and for that you must not be too forgiving to those who don’t deserve your kindness, not this time.

All your life it’s one person after another coming to take what they want and leave. This is your lesson to finally take yourself back from them all, to come to terms with how much you gave and how little you received, see that Jungkook was the catalyst you desperately needed. It was no coincidence that when the elevator doors opened that very night of your wedding, he was the person standing in front of you. He was meant to be there holding your shoes as he rescues you away from those who would eventually suck the life out of you. He’s not someone you should be afraid of – no – because he’s your savior.

When you turn back again, Jungkook is slipping Yori’s legs into a large, black plastic bag identical to the one she’s laying on. He uses the bag beneath her to fight friction as he slides her body forward, careful not to bend her body before the duct tape comes into play.

And suddenly, your shoulder doesn’t ache anymore. Your heartbeat slows as you take another deep breath, this time through your lips, and watch his shoulders hunch over and forearm veins protrude.

“Kookie?”

He looks up, hair damp with sweat as it falls over his eyes. The lights from the front lawn, as it filter through dark maroon curtains, casts a red glow on your lover’s skin. When he meets your eyes he’s filled with glee, seeing that you’re no longer panicking and your eyes are clouded with a kind of protective apathy that lets him know you’ve gotten stronger. You’re dipping a toe into his world.

“Yes, noona?” He huffs, straightening his spine and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“Nothing will happen to us after tonight…right?”

He physically melts at your saccharine voice. You’re worried about him, about whether he’ll still want you after this and if he’ll want you forever. “Of course not, noona. Are you feeling okay? Do you need to rest?” He asks if he hadn’t been the one packing the corpse into a bag.

You shake your head with a sniffle. “…I’m fine.” You’re not sure what to say, so you rub the cleaning cloth between your fingers and shy away from his eyes. “J just wanted to hear you say that.”

A smile spreads across his face, slow but bright as if he had just heard the most amazing thing. You can’t smile back and instead focus back on the floors and the last few inches of the railing.

You make sure to wipe the decorations nearby, in case your mother left any fingerprints on the lacquered surfaces. She can be rather careless in dire situations. You’re lifting yourself off the floor when something catches your eye: a large crib with layers and layers of blankets and fuzzy cloud and star plushies.

“What kind of bedtime stories should we tell our kids?”

Namjoon puts his head on your lap, sighing in relief when his neck is elevated at just the right position to depressurize the knot.

“What about myths? About the constellations and such.”

You giggle, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Isn’t that a little too mature for babies?”

When he doesn’t answer, you wave you hand in front of his eyes. He squints, chuckling. So this is what marriage life is going to be like – he can get used to it. “You’re right, that is a bit too much. Then…hm…they’ll learn about the types of clouds in the sky and we can go from there.”

“Joonie, I love you, but don’t come crying when our kids prefer mama’s stories over papa’s boring myths and random science facts.”

“We’ll see when we get to that point. Either way, you’re stuck with me.”

Asshole.

A fucking good-for-nothing lying asshole.

Gifting the same toys he promised to give to your future children to the same bitch who ruined your life, your family, and your sanity; they deserved each other, you think, and they both deserve to disappear as if they had never existed. The unborn baby inside Yori is innocent but a part of you is elated that he’ll never experience the kind of fatherhood he wanted. You silently wished Namjoon would tumble down the very same staircase you cleaned and joined Yori in a happy couple’s embrace to…

“Kookie?” You call out to your boyfriend who had duct taped the body in a semi-mummified state and used a shibari knot with his jute rope for easy carrying. He’d dragged the body next to the railing and leaned it against one of the stair planks in an upright position so that after he inspects the house for any evidence, he can bring the corpse easily over his shoulder.

“Yes, noona?”

“Where are we going to bury her?”

Jungkook wets his lips. He can’t possibly tell you the process of disposing a body or else you’ll surely fall back into panic so he gives you the simplest answer he can. “I’ll have to keep her body in the freezer in my studio. I’ll look for a place to burn it soon.”

You nod, swallowing as your throat tightens uncomfortably once more. The waves of anxiety come and goes. Jungkook knows how you’re feeling all too well and he wishes he could just hold you in your arms until tomorrow comes. Much to his distain, he knows you’re partly living your fantasy of making Yori pay for her involvement with Namjoon. You no longer love the man but anyone in your shoes wouldn’t deny there is a sense of satisfaction in seeking vengeance after a lifetime of humiliation that dampened your reputation in both your personal and professional sphere. Jungkook prays that getting rid of Yori will eliminate your mind of their presence although he highly doubts it; you’re not always rainbows and flowers. It’s only natural for you to be curious about taking another life when anger consumes logic. Most of these thoughts are fleeting ,which is why you had surprised Jungkook by your composure. He expected screaming at the very least but all you could do was cry.

He understands.

After he watched the life drain out of his parents, Taehyung had watched him cry for the longest time and when the next day came, it was like the world had turned its back while he washed the blood off his hands. The anxiety was terrible – at least for the first month or two – and then it was as if nothing had happened.

Like he learned before and like you’re learning now, it didn’t take much to get rid of a person. Over time, it just became muscle memory, kind of like making your morning coffee half-asleep. Now that you’ve gotten your first taste of the power, he wonders how you’ll cope. Will you fall into despair and regret it all in the morning? Will you be hungry for more? How will you return his most tiresome display of affection? These are questions he can’t answer. But what he does know is that you finally understand what love is in his world.

Love isn’t just about a ring on the finger or a baby in the crib. Love has to hurt. It has to infest your dreams and turn them into nightmares, wreak havoc on your heart, rip off the magnet in your moral compass. It’s why the human heart is caged behind ribs – it can hardly be tamed.

…

As the car lurches behind trees and between unpaved roads, Jungkook notifies your mother about what to do next. It would not raise suspicion for her to leave the country for a few weeks, especially since she had been traveling to speak to investors abroad. It would take some of the burden off his shoulders too; your mother is a cunning woman who fears losing money more than losing you so he had no trouble alluding to her demise if she disobeys. While you look away, he quickly sends a notification to Jimin to make sure the older man will take care of the rest. When he receives an immediate response back, his shoulders slump in relief and he pockets the phone back into his jeans.

When he takes your hand in his again, the other gripping the wheel, you give him the smallest of smiles through the silence.

Three is a crowd. The body folded and hidden in the rear space between his photography equipment makes your head turn every now and then to make sure it doesn’t escape somehow. You’re exhausted beyond belief but Jungkook is here, his palm over your hand on the shifting gear once more, to keep you grounded. The night feels like it might go on forever.

The streets pass by in a blur – nightlife still alive and pulsing with neon signs – and there’s a kind of peace enclosed in the car that you can’t find anywhere else. It’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook has always been and will always be there for you. Whether to take you from somewhere or bring you to some place, he’s the only person in your life left that you could depend on. As he expertly drives through tight alleyways where gas station surveillance cameras can’t reach him, you’re dozing off with your head against the window.

“We’re almost there.” He says while running his thumb over your knuckles. There’s blood on his shirt and your neck but you’re too tired to care.

You awaken with a gasp when Jungkook swings the door open; he had been careful not to wake you but you feel enough residual adrenaline to jolt awake at the smallest of sounds. It takes a moment for you to recognize the inside of his garage, the bright LED lightbulb hanging above causing you to squint as your eyes adjust.

Unaware that you’re awake, Jungkook quickly moves to the rear of the car and swing Yori’s body over his shoulders, tightening the ropes around where her neck and feet are to secure his grip. He carries the wrapped body towards the door next to the shelves and kicks it open to reveal several more stocked shelves before coming to a halt at the buzzing freezer. With a free hand, he lifts the lid open and removes several bags of seafood and miscellaneous food items you can’t quite make out before rolling the body inside the interior. He places the bags on top of the body and latches the freezer shut, securing it with a combination lock from one of his bins.

When he steps back and shut the storage door before turning, he’s surprised to see you standing in the doorway, your hair a mess, his coat hanging loose off one shoulder.

“Do you remember the night after you took my engagement photos? The ones at that same house?”

His brows scrunch slightly in confusion as he nods. There’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks as you breath in and out from your lips, a puff forming in the chill of the garage. You’re half-asleep, the exhaustion resting well deep in your bones but you can’t bring yourself to find your way towards his bed.

“I left my bedroom door open for you. I-I watched you from the balcony and waited for you to come back.”

Jungkook’s lips part, something foreign stirring in his stomach as the coat weighs down your shoulders and you don’t stop it from sliding down your arms, letting it pool around your feet. You don’t know why you wanted to confess but it felt right. It felt right to confess to something that isn’t about being an accessory in a crime.

“Why didn’t you say anything, noona?”

You close the distance, putting both of your hands on his chest, over the blood stains on the university sweatshirt. He exhales loudly when you bring him down to your level by a tug of his collar, your lips just a mere centimeter apart.

“Because I wanted you then just as much as I want you now.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between your lips, slamming your body onto the car behind you as he brings one of your legs over his waist to press himself against your heat. Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck and he listens to your squeal as he lifts you fully off the ground and lets you wrap both your legs around him this time. You break the kiss and pepper sweet kisses over the mole on his neck and the smears of dried blood that caked onto his sweatshirt.

“I love you so much,” you whisper, moving your head to the other side of his neck to suckle on his warm skin and feel his pulse through the jugular.

Jungkook quickly throws open the door to the studio and steps into the darkness, his memory allowing him to lead you towards the bathroom without his eyes adjusting. Your eyes burn once more when he reaches behind you to shut the bathroom door close and turn on the yellowed lights with the back of his elbow. When your face comes into view, he sits you on the counter next to the sink and pushes his tongue back in your mouth, your name leaving his lips with a whimper.

He’s terribly hard against your thighs, his length straining through his jeans. You tug him forward by the belt as you break the kiss once more and let him rip open your blood and bleach-stained blouse.

“God, you’re so beautiful, noona. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

He moans as you press the heel of your feet up his erection, his voice muffled by skin filling his mouth as he takes the top your left breast spilling from the brassiere on his tongue. You arch to chase the heat of his tongue, back of your head leaning on the mirror behind.

“My good boy…such a good boy…”

The effect your praise has on him is immediate. Jungkook reaches behind his neck and pulls the sweatshirt over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. You watch him unbuckle and tug his belt free from the hoops before unclasping the front of his jeans. Impatient, he circles his arms around you to undo the brassiere, leaning down to kiss the indents on your skin as you slip your blouse off your shoulders and pull the straps down your arms. The coolness of the counter causes a hiss to leave your lips and Jungkook drinks in your state of orgasmic delirium like an aphrodisiac.

It’s a blessing for you to have worn a less difficult pair of pants to shimmy out of. With a short tug, Jungkook slides the waistband of your wool slacks and cotton panties down your ankles. When he pauses, chest rising and falling steadily, you follow his gaze to see a streak of blood in the middle of the light pink fabric.

In the time between your mother’s call and your boyfriend dumping your former best friend’s body in a freezer, your period makes an early appearance. The streak of blood is bright and vibrant, unlike Yori’s blood that oxidized into a deep maroon shade on his tanned skin. Jungkook tugs your pants down your ankles but takes your panties into one hand, his doe eyes coming to rest on the blood before something snaps within him.

He throws the fabric on the floor and hooks his arms beneath your shin, prompting you to gasp as he spreads your thighs apart. He stares down at your dark pubic hair before tracing two fingers up your slit and into the curls. His fingers reappear with your blood, seeping underneath his short nails and the crevices of his nailbed.

“Can I taste you, noona?” He breathes, chest rising and falling even faster. His cheeks are flaming red, the flush reaching his earlobes as his lips part for more air. He feels like he can’t breathe, seeing how beautiful, fertile, and red you are for him.

You’re hesitant, the blood reminding you of what you just done – what he just done – yet the burning in your belly proves that you want this just as much as he does. You barely had the chance to nod before Jungkook pushes his face into your pussy, his tongue lapping the blood on your vulva and clit as his nose buries in your trimmed curls. You taste metallic, as if he’s sucking on a penny, but it’s light and the syrupy texture allows him to take all of your juices in his mouth. When his tongue draws circles around your clit and he presses his lips around the nub like a suction, your fingers immediately grasp his hair from the roots, begging his tongue to fuck your weeping pussy.

Jungkook laps your folds like a starving puppy until you’re arching for him once more, thighs trapping his head where it belongs as your cum gushes out of you with traces with red. Between your blood and your juices, he can’t decide which one tastes better. The metallic tang disappears, leaving a fragrant aftertaste that he can only indulge when he inhales through his nose after swallowing what remains on his teeth. When your knees twitch, Jungkook pulls back to come up for air, watching your expression as your eyes fall to his wet crimson lips, the mess reaching his chin and jaw.

It takes a minute for you to gather yourself together and in your exhaustion a slow but soft smile reaches your lips.

“Does it taste good, baby?”

“Heavenly,” he whispers as he traps your body between his arms and gives you a taste, twisting his tongue deep inside your warm mouth. Your hands stroke the contours of his biceps and triceps, core aching as he groans when you lick your remainings from his chin.

You can tell he’s tired, having to do most of the manual labor. He winces as you knead his shoulders and it makes your chest ache. Even when he’s hurting, he takes care of you first. Your precious boy.

“Turn on the shower for me.”

Jungkook is aching to be inside you but he obeys, turning away to step inside the shower and twist the silver handle lodged into the tile. You stand behind him, moving away just slightly when the water – steadily turning hot – sprays over his hair and onto your breasts. Just as he’s about to turn around you circle your arms around his waist and reach into his jeans, palming his throbbing cock before pulling his jeans and briefs down his ankles. He steps out of the tight fabric, watching the remnants of Yori’s blood spiral down the drain as you kick the fabric in front of his toes.

The shower hose is harsh on his head but he can’t seem to pull away, one arm holding onto the wall for purchase, when you cushion your knees with his wet, blood-stained jeans. He can’t get any harder watching water drip from the ends of his hair down to your erect nipples, sliding down between the valley of your breasts and onto your soft stomach.

You’re delighted to see his cock twitch, taking your bottom lip under your teeth as you look up at him.

“You want mommy to take care of you, Kookie?”

He nods, exhaling as his abdomen clenches.

“You want to cum all over mommy’s tits, yeah? Make me proud?”

“Unng…” He moans in response, hips bucking forward to slide his leaking tip across your lips. He whimpers when you pull away, your smile twisting when his stomach clenches again.

You massage his firm thighs, gliding over every ripple of his muscles and over to the patch of pubic hair above his cock. When you pass your hands over his belly button, you stretch a palm up towards his face.

“Spit.”

The mole beneath his lips appear as he gathers as much saliva as he can produce on his tongue and spits into your palm. There are some traces of blood in your palm but you pay no attention to it as you place your saliva-coated palm over his cock and make a fist around the length.

“Mo-mmy,” he throws his head back, the shower head coming down his flushed pecs. Your fist begins to move slow but tight around his hardness. “It feels so good. Fuck…unng, mommy…please…”

Jungkook can cum just from your warm breath hitting his leaking tip but he doesn’t. When you lean forward and take his entire length in your mouth, tongue stretched as far as you can as you press your nose against his pubes, his jaw drops. You’re warm, wet, and fuck, so tight.

His other hand combs through your hair, reaching underneath the nape to pull your head back until your half-lidded eyes can watch his skin glisten.

With your hands back on his thighs, Jungkook expects you to move. What he doesn’t expect was you to tighten your throat before swallowing with his entire length in your mouth.

“Fuck!”

You gag around him but repeats, breathing through your nose before letting your whimpers and cries vibrate his cock. He’s about to lose it, his tightening grip causing your scalp to burn.

“You’re so pretty, mommy,” he pulls his length back just slightly to let you suction him back inside. When his entire length is warm and pulsing in the back of your throat, you swallow once more and begin moving up and down, your eyes closing as Jungkook backs your head to the tile and fucks your mouth at a steady pace.

“Wanna cum in your throat, all over you, inside you. God, you’re so perfect.” He chants, abdomen clenching when your throat tightens just right over his pink tip.

You hum, hands trailing behind his thighs and up to his firm cheeks to push him forward. His grip tightens once more when he whimpers your name, over and over again, his cock driving into your mouth with a vigor that’s bound to leave your throat sore in the morning.

The first spurt of his warm cum hits your uvula and you cough just as he slides out of your mouth and pumps himself into his fist. Watching his creamy cum dripping down the corner of his mouth intensifies his high, prompting him to burst onto your shoulder blades and over your wet breasts. He doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath before he pushes you down onto the tile, moving away the wet jeans to a corner before finding safety between your legs. His arms, on either side of your head, allows him to prop himself up to lead his tip towards your entrance.

He’d forgotten all about cleaning the blood on your neck when you’re spread for him, your hands cupping his face in admiration. Your eyes and nose are still puffy and red, but he knows the blush on your cheeks come from your need to have him deep inside until you can feel him against your cervix.

“I love you, noona. So, so much.”

You hiss slightly when he pushes inside, your snug velvet walls engulfing his cock and keeping him where he belongs. His body bows in servitude to the goddess that is you.

“I love you too,” you huff, brushing your fingers over his sculped cheekbones and mandible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You let him take you there despite how painful it was to bear him pounding into your walls with the intent to ruin. You’re not sure how long you lay on the tile, how many times he came inside, how sore and painful your insides will be when he’s done. It was never-ending – how Jungkook muffles your wails and whines, how he pumps his cocks while pressing your shoulders down to bury himself deep, how exhausted you are by the time he’s pushing his cum back into your swollen hole. The last orgasm triggers tears to seep from the corner of his eyes which Jungkook kisses away as he reaches up to the shower cloth and waits for you to fall limp before running the soapy cloth along your body.

You’re freezing cold despite the hot water still coming down onto your boyfriend’s body and, from there, onto you. He’s quick to clean you up and wrap you in the same towel he had laid over you the first time you used his studio shower. You can barely move as he carries you to the bed and lays your damp body on the fresh linen. You can hear the sound of him ripping open a thin menstrual pad and placing it in a pair of fresh panties he fished from the shared armoire closet. He slips the panties up your legs, lifting your hips to pull the fabric over your buttocks, flashing his usual charming grin when you murmur a thank you.

He pulls the towel from your body and squeeze out as much water as he can from your long tresses, careful not to tug. It wasn’t ideal to him that you’ll be sleeping with wet hair but you’re beyond exhausted and, to be frank, he is as well. At least he’s heading to bed satiated.

Jungkook slides under the blankets and brings your body closer by your waist. He groans into your neck, his body immediately softening as the warmth of your skin and the blanket brings him the peace and comfort he craved.

“Kookie?”

“Hm?”

It takes a heartbeat for him to sense your sudden anxiety. “…I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” He manages to ask although sleep is weighing heavy on his eyelids.

“I don’t know.” You murmur.

Jungkook is too tired to remember if you said anything afterwards for he falls deep into slumber. As for you, your head won’t let you sleep despite your body pleading for rest. Every part of you can feel Yori’s heavy body in the freezer just several feet away. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about tonight or if tonight should have happened in the first place but in Jungkook’s arms, you can’t find the smallest ounce of pity for the woman.

You close your eyes, snuggle closer into his firm chest, and try your best to pretend nothing will change. You try to forget the flash drive sitting in your bag, the possible evidence your mother may have left behind in the villa, the corpse in the garage. Most of all, you try to forget how Jungkook looked at the bottom of the staircase, slipping the corpse inside the black plastic trash bag with such ease that makes you wonder if he had done this before. He surely must have, that voice inside of your head says but you wave it away.

I don’t know.

You lied to him. For the first time in your relationship, you lied without guilt. You do know why you’re scared and it’s not because after tonight every knock on the door will cause your heart to pound.

No. It’s because you know your boyfriend – your sweet, loving boyfriend who cries watching romantic comedies on Sundays – is truly capable of murder.

#bunny:fic #yandere bts #yandere fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan angst #bangtan smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #only you #chapter 9 #I did not follow the outline I made for this chapter LOL this was an unpredictable chapter even to me

607 notes · View notes

aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Text

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #bo sinclair imagine #written

144 notes · View notes

willidleaway · 3 years

Photo

OK, let’s talk about Deltarune Chapter 2. Right off the bat two things:

Toby Fox could have been charging 20 USD for this or asked people to pre-purchase the remaining chapters to play Chapter 2, and I’m frankly very surprised (if delighted) that he didn’t.

Soundtrack’s bopping. If you don’t feel like playing two free chapters of a game, which by themselves will give you nine hours of a brilliant time in an absolutely insane world filled with mad characters that all still manages to hold together somehow, I can still recommend giving the OST a listen and then a buy if you are so inclined.

And with that and the spoiler-free lead image out of the way, let’s actually (largely incoherently) talk about Deltarune Chapter 2 below the Read More line. Spoilers galore, including for a bonus enemy ...

OK, so this guy is still a card:

But some non-positive observations to begin with: the Castle Town is nice to look at but maybe a bit uninteresting for the moment, since it’s a completely separate Dark World from the main underworld of Chapter 2. It seems perhaps like a decent hub world for people who haven’t replayed the previous chapter and need some refreshers, especially with the dojo challenges. But some of the other mechanics associated with the Castle Town like recruiting, fusing items, and so forth are as yet unclear. But perhaps it hints at more interaction between chapters through the Castle Town.

And that’s all the non-positive observations I have about Deltarune Chapter 2. It’s not even a negative observation, just taking note of potential seeds being planted for the remainder of the game.

Now. Now now now now now.

I don’t know how Toby Fox manages to continue coming up with such a diverse array of antagonists all so ridiculous and insane in their own special way, but he continues to outdo himself. And not only is Queen insane but so is literally everything that happens in Cyber City and then in Queen’s Mansion, like the layers of truces across Queen and her quasi-willing peons:

and indeed, ye Triumphant Returne of Rouxls Kaard, absolute card:

But the madcap side of things doesn’t mean there isn’t real attention to fleshing out everything introduced in Chapter 1, in tandem on both the narrative side and the gameplay side. As far as the latter, we can (finally) get party members other than Kris to undertake at least basic standard non-magical actions on their own that don’t cost Tension Points, which is very much welcome. But at the same time managing TP well is even more important than before. A lot of careful grazing makes certain fights a great deal easier, in a way that I didn’t really notice for most of Chapter 1 (with the possible exception of Jevil, who I still haven’t successfully pacified). The attacks are correspondingly far denser and often don’t leave too much margin for error, but as someone with minimal hand-eye coordination I still had a reasonable time completing Chapter 2.

Well, except for one particular enemy.

oh god this fight used up every single recovery item I had

Spamton NEO is an interesting enemy, arguably more so than Jevil, and I’m not just saying that because I managed to spare Spamton but still haven’t had any success with Jevil. For one, finding the pieces of the key for Jevil’s cell is straightforward, whereas finding the Empty Disk for Spamton is itself a nightmarish dodge-fest. But more importantly, you actively have to seek Jevil out in Chapter 1, whereas your first encounter with Spamton is actually mandatory as part of the main story and then you optionally follow up on Spamton’s lead later to be able to face off against his NEO form.

Perhaps relevant to the forced nature of Spamton’s introduction is his relevance to Deltarune as a whole despite his bonus boss status. Compared to Jevil’s dialogue, Spamton’s babblings seem far more directly tied to the central themes of Deltarune around choice or agency, or rather a lack thereof (in stark contrast to Undertale’s general ethos). Jevil mostly just wants to wreak mischief and chaos; Spamton is fuelled by a need for freedom, to no longer be a puppet of ... something. And facing him in this way obviously clearly affects Kris, whose own free will is in real question ...

Oh yes, it seems now we’re really getting into the real core of Deltarune’s story, with all of the lore about the Roaring and more talk of the Knight leading up to this ending. But are Kris and the Knight one and the same? Or is Kris a puppet of the Knight? Or ... is it even the other way around? (No idea if that makes any sense but it sounds like a cool thing to throw out there.)

And another thing: this staticky smile ...

I would guess that’s Chapter 3′s boss once we actually go through this new Dark World, but why does this static remind me of the static you see behind Spamton’s glasses in some of his creepier shop dialogue? Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but there’s certainly an embarrassment of riches to over-analyse, even around Chapter 2′s bonus boss.

And I haven’t even talked about every other character being amazing. Susie of course continues to undergo really positive development, but Noelle seems to get the bulk of the attention honestly—we not only get her to finally interact with Susie, but we also learn more about her past as well her family, both about her lost sister (strongly implied to be named December) and her mother. The latter we get not only through more dialogue with her father Rudy but also in an implicit sense through her interactions with Queen, which may well mirror her fractious relationship with an overbearing mother.

Ralsei’s characterisation doesn’t try to expand as much, instead continuing to detail what’s already been planted throughout Chapter 1—his rule of the Castle Town, his awareness of the danger posed by the potential dark/light imbalance, and so forth—but nothing quite as revelatory as with Noelle. It doesn’t mean I can’t try my best to ship Kris with Ralsei though ...

Anyway, fluffy boys and mean girls aside, it’s also nice to see characters like Berdly—who seemed like a completely incidental one-note gag character in Chapter 1—get fleshed out with reasonably compelling (although obviously insane) motivation and backstory, and one wonders which other characters may get this sort of treatment in future.

Speaking of other characters as well, how cute and/or cool are all of the new enemies and enemy-adjacent characters???

Part of me suspects Tasque Manager in particular is actually carefully engineered to break the Internet. But my favourite is Swatch, who gives off weirdly Tuxedo Mask-esque vibes to me:

And an additional bit of speculation: I strongly suspect we’ll see some persistent things across the chapters that aren’t necessarily linear in progression. When I brought Spamton’s shadow crystal to Seam, they basically chided me for not having Jevil’s crystal (for god’s sake Seam it’s not for lack of trying), but then said this:

Is it possible that the game’s keeping track of certain global things outside of any of your individual saves, and some of these certain global things might not just have to do with optional bonuses ... ? Is it possible that some of these certain global things may enable cross-chapter nonlinear gameplay to accompany all of the other Castle Town mechanics introduced in Chapter 2?

Or do I just not want to replay all of Chapter 2 if I manage to pacify Jevil?

Time will tell. How much time?

Only time will tell on that front too, I guess.

Overall: Chapter 2 of Deltarune is another spectacular episode in Toby Fox fleshing out this unbelievable yet somehow credible world in his madcap way, and you can bet I will be watching for future chapters with great interest.

PS: I finished Chapter 2 of Deltarune to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now—

look expiration dates are important okay

#undertale #deltarune

30 notes · View notes

lucky-clover-gazette · 2 years

Text

not gonna lie, the amount of hype surrounding windwaker compared to like. playing it. is not what i expected (i'm halfway through hd)

it just feels kind of empty? and i really really REALLY dislike what happens to tetra. it's genuinely hard carrying on with the adventure and just leaving her in the castle. there's never been another time in a zelda game where i've thought "god i wish i wasn't playing as link right now," which sucks? and the king of red lions is such a waste of a companion character. i like FI more, somehow. the combat is kind of oversimplified with the onscreen commands for "parrying" so victories feel unearned. the great sea is nothing compared to botw hyrule and some of the sfx, especially link's noises, grates on me.

i sit down to play windwaker and always end up wanting to play botw instead, which is the weird part of coming at the series without nostalgia goggles. i played botw first. playing twilight princess was fantastic bc it's SUCH a unique experience compared to botw and felt more compelling and streamlined than the controls and story in ocarina of time. skyward sword hd was good to me partially bc my expectations were abysmally low. i had pretty high expectations for windwaker and honestly so far i can find things to love (link's expressions and the art style, dragon roost island music) but in general it just feels a lot more hollow than a lot of video essayists express.

and yeah i know the story is special to a lot of people and a meta commentary on the success of the franchise or whatever but just like with skyward sword, i find it still pretty basic despite it being unique compared to the other games? again i'm guessing it's a nostalgia thing, but it's not like i had nostalgia for twilight princess, which ironically has my favorite story and makes its subversions in really subtle self-aware ways, and seems to really CARE about each and every character. god, i hate what they did to tetra in windwaker lol.

i also think i can kinda pinpoint why the open world in windwaker feels like a repetitive chore and i've spent like 1500 hours in the botw open world, storytelling is so much more possible and encouraged in botw. it's about the journey more than the destination. windwaker has repetitive locations that almost always have things to help link on his quest. botw world is just like, yeah there's a shrine, but just EXPLORE for the hell of it! learn about the world, tell your story! find 900 koroks and in that process become intimately familiar with every inch of the map! you don't need a fish to fill out your chart and tell you about the one (1) Thing to Do in the area. the game teaches you how to observe, how to innovate based on what you know of nature and the physics engine, and doesn't make 95% of what you're doing NECESSARY, which imo makes it all the more special to do.

link's character in botw has this profound feeling of wonder and experiences healing through nature after trauma. he grapples with identity and purpose in a way other links haven't, even if that's up to the player to observe in flashbacks and realize with the kind of gameplay that's encouraged. windwaker link is more of a coming of age story and just feels less meaningful so far to me personally, and it's even more annoying bc the main female character is both sidelined (and whitewashed which what the FUCK needs to mentioned more bc that's bullshit) in favor of link's story. maybe the second half of the game will change my mind, i hope so!

#windwaker hd #windwaker

3 notes · View notes

exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?” Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.”

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything.

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her.

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

Tag List:

@itsshelbygates

@quixoticcat

@pluckastarfromthesky

@flirtygerty

@sadbean18

@nialeesato

@the-fall-guardian-fox

@thechangingcolourswithinthewoods

@lazy-girl82

@bvbwestfall

@badedum-badaboom

@originalsoulcollector

@avengergirl130

@madison-e-mallory

@thecrazytealady

@ladyzombiielove

@mysingularitybts

@drunkinthemiddleoftheday

@imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl

@littleladdty

@the-witchers-whore

@hearteyesmotherclucker

@thecrazytealady

@mauvette268

@hearmecallinyou

@nijiru

@mauvette268

#twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #carlisle cullen #carlisle #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen x you #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x y/n #edward cullen #edward and bella #Emmett Cullen

658 notes · View notes

iwillgetridofyourangerforyou · 4 years

Text

The Good Doctor Kuseno

More questions than answers Possible Spoilers ahead!!

@gofancyninjaworld has a few excellent posts about this already please read them if you’re interested. These posts are well researched and provide a different perspective than my own. I recommend that everyone consume different perspectives to help inform and diversify their own. I also reference a few of them in my post here.

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/612670463398772736/when-cancel-isnt-an-option

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/612685729355759616/what-about-if-the-mad-cyborg-was-created-by

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/190986677872/the-nysh-forward-the-following-meta-has-been

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/187738207032/so-conflicts-of-interest-with-whowhat-else#notes

https://gofancyninjaworld.tumblr.com/post/184129389540/how-to-grow-old-and-stay-mad

What do we actually know about the good doctor?

As Fancy Ninja noted:

He claims to have been chasing ‘that cyborg’ for longer than Genos has been.

He used to be angry over some injustice.

He’s not afraid to take up arms in person.

He’s a skilled scientist/engineer, specifically he “likes to dabble with mechanical engineering”

He’s deeply invested in Genos. Seemingly in both the literal and figurative sense.

Additionally and significantly, He’s not a monster.

Why is 6 important? I mean, if Garou teaches us anything it’s that the lines between Human, hero, and monster are not as clear as we may have initially assumed. And yet, Monsters truly exist in this universe and their existence is significant. (It's also notable here that we have seen a few instances where monsters appeared as the humans they were before they consumed monster cells only to reveal their identity later, but for the moment this seems to be unlikely of Kuseno.) One of the possible interpretations of this fact is that despite his past anger and continued obsession with hunting this cyborg he still has something within him that keeps him human. I’m not sure exactly what that is in this case because if I’m honest, I’m not super certain what makes humanity human in general, in OPM or otherwise. Aside from that, we know fairly little about the good doctor. We know almost nothing about his past.

What he tells us:

“When I and Genos first met, we didn’t have a single ally. It was as if the pair of us were lost and alone fumbling in the darkness… I dived into research with all I could, trying to come up with some way to fight back at the forces of evil... and yet our troubles were just beginning, because me and my boy-”

vs THis:

What does Kuseno have to gain from all his tireless effort into Genos?

Despite my reservations about Dr. Kuseno I’d be remiss to fail to admire his work on Genos. Kuseno has done an incredible job with Genos’ upgrades. The aesthetic and humanizing touches he’s given Genos are so, and I cannot emphasize this enough, important. He has a human looking face and hair. Kuseno has even been aging Genos appropriately over time, he can even eat food normally. (And we all know he’s been keeping Geno damn hot in the process) The things that he’s done to humanize Genos is sincerely one of the most compelling arguments that Dr. Kuseno is a truly good bean. But he’s not off the hook yet.

When he says that seeing Genos reminded him of his youth when he was righteous and feared nothing always charging in without thought of consequences and I have to wonder, what consequences did Dr. Kuseno experience in his life that changed him? If he’s experienced so much in his life why is he still walking the path of vengeance and promoting that path for Genos? Even if he’s not promoting the path for Genos but merely ‘supporting’ Genos on his path wouldn’t you think someone who was so similar in their youth know better than to fuel a revenge mission? But I’m not particularly apt to believe Dr. Kuseno is merely going along with ‘pushy’ Genos. He definitely has his own motives here and we’re not very clear what those are yet. For this I recommend reading Ninja’s conflicts of interest post to get some different perspectives on his varied motives. One possibility is that he’s effectively living through Genos. There is a scene in Season 2 of the anime where Dr. Kuseno is standing in a beam of light talking about his quest for justice in his youth and Genos stands under Kuseno obscured in shadow. That image made me shudder. Now the care and attention Kuseno gives Genos feels much creepier, like a doll to be dressed up and played with. I hope that’s not the case.

Who is this Dr. Kuseno and what is his relationship with Genos? Fatherly? Or Patronizing? And what are the ethics and implications of allowing Genos such extreme body modifications.

I love a found family as much as the next person, but I find it slightly suspicious that a doctor that just happens to be an expert in cybernetics arrives in time to save Genos’ life after his village was destroyed by a CYBORG. So, we’ve learned that Kuseno was chasing the mad cyborg before Genos was so maybe that explains the convenient meeting but that makes me wonder, when and how did the Cyborg’s trail go so cold that neither Kuseno or Genos seem to know where it is at the moment (or maybe Kuseno knows something more about this and is hiding it from Genos)? We’ve also since learned that even though cybernetic components are relatively commonplace in this world modifications over 30% are extremely rare. ‘Enhancements’ as extensive as Genos’ are almost unheard of and extremely risky, including a risk of madness. How did Dr. Kuseno become such an excellent doctor of cybernetics? I couldn’t have just been overnight? Learning takes trial and error and mistakes. God knows Genos has given that man more than enough trial and error for a lifetime but what about before Genos?

Ninja noted that in all of the lab frames Dr. Kuseno stands a fair distance away from Genos. I immediately think of the anime Dororo from 2019 and the way Jukai handles Hyakkimaru, who is likely not less dangerous than Genos in context. Jukai is genuinely fatherly and close, only teaching Hyakkimaru to fight once it became clear the boy would not walk a different path. In the lab Kuseno is cold and distant and the atmosphere is draped in shadow. The contrast between Dr. Kuseno’s behavior toward Genos in public verses in the lab is notable. I don’t really know what specifically to note about it, except that it reinforces for me that the two men barely know each other, which is disturbing given that Genos has known Dr. Kuseno probably longer than he’s known anyone and Kuseno was effectively Genos’ guardian. How much does Genos really know about the man who holds his life in his hands if Genos didn’t even know Dr. Kuseno had a battle suit? What else is Kuseno hiding or omitting? At the same time Dr. Kuseno notes seeing a new side of Genos at Saitama’s apartment. Does Dr. Kuseno know Genos as well as he thinks he does when he says things like “you remind me of myself in my youth.” ?

Genos believes he isn’t good enough and never will be good enough. Intentionally or unintentionally Dr. Kuseno feeds into this insecurity. Does that mean he’s responsible for Genos’ insecurities? No. But it is a piece of the troubling looking puzzle connecting the two of them. Unfortunately, when Genos goes to see Kuseno it’s often in defeat so he didn’t get much meaningful encouragement from the doctor. Even in victory, after G4, Dr. Kuseno doesn’t give Genos much encouragement. “There are still areas where we can improve you” even after getting a completely new upgrade neither Dr. Kuseno nor Genos seem to be satisfied. We consistently see Kuseno chiding Genos for being reckless and begging him to be more careful and to stay alive at the very least. Perhaps Kuseno is more concerned about losing his investment than the psychological health of his charge? Kuseno is more of a scientist than anything else and it's difficult to fault him for his excellent skills but can you imagine how actually damaging it is for a growing human to literally be a never fished project in the eyes of the person who should be loving you unconditionally. We all need to grow and change constantly, but there is a difference between acknowledging a person’s strengths and weaknesses and only acknowledging (in any meaningful way) a person’s failures. It’s a habit Genos has made for himself but unfortunately, even if not intentionally, Dr. Kuseno may have helped build that habit. Ever since Genos’ family died everything in his life seems to be reinforcing the ‘not good enough’ narrative. Not good enough to save his family, not strong enough to protect anyone. Every victory is shallow and meaningless in his mind because his eyes were set only on the final goal of defeating Mad Cyborg. Which is, likely as not, unattainable.

Genos may see Saitama as his mentor but he is dependent on Kuseno for his growth making Kuseno far more practically his ‘mentor’. There is an important part of a typical hero’s journey story when a hero must move past the teaching of their mentor and grow on their own. This is a fundamentally important stage to help the hero see that they are ‘good enough’ they have the tools they need to succeed. Sometimes this transition is painful, think back to Iroh refusing to speak to Zuko while they were in the fire nation or when Jukai refused to help Hyakkimaru anymore. Both Zuko and Hyakkimaru were angry and devastated, but it was in the end a vital part of their progress. I fear a mentor who is either not willing or not able to allow them to surpass them.

Whether through compliance or malice the system created by the relationship between Genos and Dr. Kuseno is one where Genos relies heavily on Dr. Kuseno. If Genos is compromised he could put Dr. Kuseno at risk but the battle suit indicates that Dr. Kuseno may be more prepared to deal with risk than an average scientist. But if Dr. Kuseno is compromised that could put Genos in an early grave. Regardless of the scientists intentions Dr. Kuseno is holding Genos back. Since Genos’ latest upgrade in the anime we’ve learned that Genos used to have safety restrictions on his parts but when we first meet Genos he is about to self-destruct his own core. So what were the safety restrictions for? The practically seem more about preserving an investment than protecting the human being. Garou’s story seems to indicate there is an important part of the path for one to push their limiter is possibly to get to the brink of death itself (probably not the only way) but possibly Genos’ safety restrictions have been holding him well below his limiter for ages. Maybe he can’t break his limiter because of his cybernetic body but I honestly don’t think it’s so cut and dry. (Also I find it sad and notable that when Genos is about to self-destruct he apologizes to Dr. Kuseno for letting him down. Genos wants to live badly, but he’s so deeply self-destructive just the tip of the iceberg of emotional issues Genos is battling. When he apologizes to Dr. K, even though he’s the one who would lose his life! It’s like he’s so afraid of failing the Dr.’s expectations again he’d rather die.) Genos needs to be able to repair himself. I’m desperately afraid that the practicality of complete cybernetic repair will render Genos dependent on someone forever.

We already know that Genos would do anything to get stronger but what has ‘doing anything’ looked like for him? What does it mean for him? I don’t really know how you can take one look at this guy and deny he’s already made painful sacrifices to get stronger. It looks like he’s willing to sacrifice his dignity, youth, life, respect, independence, joy, all sensual pleasures, and much much more for his goal to be stronger. That goal servers a purpose and that purpose was given to him by Dr. Kuseno when his village was destroyed ‘defeat Mad Cyborg’. But what will his goal for ultimate strength be without the purpose that will almost definitely be taken away from him. Even if it isn’t and he accomplishes it what will he do then? Will the sacrifices be worth it in the end? Will he be able to rebuild a new purpose and a new life for himself?

#genos #opm #meta #one punch man #Forgive me I don't know how to make links look nice on tumblr rn #dr kuseno #kuseno #saitama #demon cyborg #cyborgs #How and why did he recognize the parts that Genos brought him #What does this mean?#“Somehow or other I ended up supporting Genos?#And yet Genos directly attributes his survival from the Mad Cyborg to the good doctor?#Before the doctor mentions that he’s been tracking the Mad Cyborg longer than Genos #and inquires how Genos’ search is going?#Is Dr. Kuseno is responsible for the creation of the Mad Cyborg?#Does Dr. Kuseno actively puts Genos at risk to gather useful data?#Was Mad Cyborg was destroyed already?#and does Kuseno know this?#Is he hiding that information from Genos to keep Genos hungry and desperate?#making him easier to manipulate.#If Dr. Kuseno and Bofoi are rivals and genos could be dangerously caught between them in the future?#I did a lot of research for this post because it’s a really dicy topic I have a lot of conflicting views about #I also have a bag full of internalized resentment I'm working through so please don’t look in there.#one punch man webcomic

56 notes · View notes

gayenerd · 4 years

Text

This is a 2017 interview done by a fan for the fansite, Green Day Authority. It’s super disjointed and fan interviews never ask tough questions, but eh.

Recently, we asked Green Day's management if it would be possible to get an exclusive interview for GDA, our first ever. After some coordination, it was agreed that I could interview them in Omaha (a show I had already planned to attend). I found out on Wednesday afternoon that I would be interviewing them on Saturday, but fortunately, I had already been preparing a list of questions in case it worked out. Before I go any further, I'll tell you that I had a LOT more questions on my list than there was time for. So, if you're wondering why I didn't ask something in particular, it's probably because we ran out of time. That is the only thing I would change about my whole experience if I had the opportunity. The arrangement was that one of the tour managers would meet me at the back entrance of the arena before sound check. After going through two layers of security, that's exactly what happened. I was the only non-crew person in sound check (!) and it simply felt surreal to be in that position. I enjoyed it greatly but was, of course, also thinking about how the upcoming interview would go. I wanted to represent GDA and the fan community in a way that would not leave a bad impression while also getting some good discussion from the guys. After sound check, I was walked back to a room with a couch and a few chairs. I was able to get comfortable and had some help to set up my recording equipment — thanks again to Lauren Banjo and Daniel, my son, for helping me get exactly the right device for recording the interview. In just a few minutes, in walked Billie, Mike and Tre. I have to say that, in all the times I've seen them, they have never looked better. They seemed relaxed, happy, and bursting with good health. They all sat down, and we got started. Aside from running out of time (though, to be honest, it would have taken hours to work through all my questions), I'm reasonably pleased with the way it all turned out. The guys were so incredibly nice and seemed to be totally engaged in the moment we were all sharing together. They really thought about their answers and seemed to enjoy the discussion. Here's the first installment of the interview — we talked about music, touring, and special shows. I did you all a favor and removed a lot of my rambling when I was asking the questions. Enjoy! "J'net: Guys, you work so hard, and we see how hard you work. During shows, you give so much of your emotion, yourselves, and your life energy to what you do. What keeps you going and keeps you so passionate about what you're doing? Mike: You said it, 'passion.' We only know how to do this one way — give 100%. It's just driven into us, I guess. Tre: It's the way we're wired. Mike: The music moves us the same way with the energy from the crowd. Billie: I agree. We love what we do. I think there've even been times when I thought, 'Maybe I'll take it easy tonight,' and then as soon as you hit the stage, it's just 'All systems go!' It's just a natural response for me. Really no other way to explain it. Mike: I always think, 'I don't know if I'll always be able to give what 100% is today, but I'll always give 100% of what I have to offer.' I don't think these engines know how to run any differently. J'net: Well, it's awesome. Your fans appreciate it so much. I wish you guys could just sometimes sit out in line, y'know? We get in line as early as we can and we compare notes ... "Well, we're driving from Kansas City as soon as the show's over..." Mike: You guys should film some of that. We never get to see it, it's cool! Film some of that interaction and maybe post some of that stuff too, it's rad! Billie & Tre: Yeah! J'net: [thinks to self: challenge accepted!] I'd be glad to do that, yeah. I mean, everybody would, even the people who know how to do that [technical stuff] … like Billie, he's pretty good with all the Facebook Lives and Instagram. Billie: Yeah, I'm getting pretty awesome — Billie Joe Zuckerberg! J'net: Right … 'Now where's the off button?...' Billie: Thank God for two young sons, man! They can tell you everything. Mike: I have to call my wife [laughs]. My wife's still young, she knows how to do that shit! J'net: Music is an emotional experience, and some of your songs are so emotional. Do you ever feel overcome by the emotion when you're performing, or are you somehow in performance mode so you can rise above it? Billie: I definitely go there. Like that line 'I'm like a son that was raised without a father,' — that's a button-pusher for me. Also with Forever Now, and also lately with playing '21 Guns' acoustic … when I get emotional is when I hear people singing along — when I hear voices that loud. I think with Green Day, we create an atmosphere that's as close to a European crowd that you can get — with people singing along, almost like a soccer anthem. And I love seeing people who are normally self-conscious when they lose it. I try to push people to just lose it when they come to our shows. Some nights, people are so pent up with energy, they don't even know that they have inside them. And I try to get people to dance like no one's watching and sing like no one's listening — just go for it! J'net: Do you have favorite show moments that you like to think back on? Billie: Smashing my guitar against the Subaru just the other night was pretty fun. [laughs] That's a first. I've never done that before. Mike: There are favorite moments of each show. We go backstage after the show, and we talk about all the rad things that happened. Billie: There's so many different things that we see going on in the crowd. There was a guy that was like an ex-hippie that was in the house the other night, I think in Portland. He was in the back, and I could see him just dancing and singing all night long. He was probably about the same age as my brother — about 65, and it was fun to just watch him. That's the kind of stuff I like to remember. " Watch for the next installment of the interview! We’ll also be sharing more of the audio from our favorite moments.

The second part of our interview focuses on the band's latest movie project, 'Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk.' They helped produce it with filmmaker and longtime friend, Corbett Redford. The day after the Omaha show, my son Daniel and I started the drive back home to Tulsa, but stopped in Kansas City to see the movie. We went to a great independent theater there, Screenland at Tapcade, and when it was time for the movie to start, we settled ourselves in for a fascinating evening. There's so much to absorb in this movie, but it's compelling all the way through. There is a great deal of history that is lovingly captured and discussed. We feel we need to see it again and again, so It's good to know that a deal is in the works to distribute for home viewing, and that, according to Corbett Redford, "the DVD, Blu-Ray is being worked on, designed, mastered and readied for manufacturing." So many people were interviewed for this movie that I couldn't possibly list them all. The interviews were often just as interesting, funny, or emotional as the vintage footage of events from the beginnings of East Bay punk. It was a touching movie with many emotional moments (at least for us). Two or three of the people who were interviewed in the movie came close to tears as they were talking about the past and their connection to the famed 924 Gilman Street. For Green Day fans, as well as fans of many of the other bands involved in those early days of East Bay punk, there is rare and wonderful vintage footage that really gives a feel for what those early days were like. The writing by Corbett Redford and Anthony Marchitiello is exceptionally fine — it tells a story that could have been overwhelmingly complex in an articulate, accessible, and moving way. The narration by Iggy Pop, the animations (credited to Tim Armstrong, J. Bonner, and Alex Koll), the cinematography and photographic direction by Greg Schneider, and the hand lettering (credited to Aaron Cometbus) are simply delightful and absolutely enrich the content of the movie. I loved the way some of the newer interview footage had a "distressed" look to be more compatible with the footage it was matched with in the film. As Corbett said when I mentioned this to him, "The distressed VHS happened as our crew filmed EVERY interview with an old VHS camera! So that wasn't an effect, it was real! We decided as a crew that VHS and black and white Xerox were going to be our two main go-to 'themes' - so Greg went and bought a VHS camera, and voila!" There were obviously a lot of eyes on this film making sure that every little detail was as perfect as could be. There's no question in my mind that it was made with hearts full of love. Here's part two of our interview: "J'net: 'Turn it Around' is getting such incredible response from most reviewers and many in the punk community. Do you feel more acceptance coming from the community than you may have felt previously? Is there a partial 'return from 86'? Mike: The spirit of the movie is that it was made by the people in the community, and if you took Green Day out of it, it's still an unbelievable documentary. We basically stepped aside and let the movie get made the way it should be made. We realized that should be the anchor — the beginning, that's the beginning. [We wanted] for people to understand the different ingredients it took to make where we are and … to make the beginning… Billie: For us, when I was talking to Corbett, it was — 'Let's do a documentary that could inspire the next generation to create their own scene and not just talk about how you had to be there.' Because almost every scene documentary I've ever seen has a 'glory days' thing about it, where, with this one, you see the people like Michelle Gonzalez, who's a teacher and an author, and Miranda July, who’s a filmmaker and artist, and there are people who are activists, still playing music and active in the community. We approached it like, 'Let's not turn this into a piss and vinegar fest.' Billie: And if it wasn't for Tim Yohannon, even though we had big differences in the past, we wouldn't have had a place to play because he, with other people, created and made Gilman Street happen - and that I'm super grateful for. So if there's a story that you watch out for, it's what Tim Yohannon has done for the bay area scene and globally also. J'net: And Corbett did a great job realizing the vision of the movie. Mike: Corbett kind of did the impossible. You talk about a bunch of people in the scene — you know everybody's in that scene because we're all latchkey kids and come from some fucked up background, right? So then you have to get all the bands to agree to put their music on it this many years later. We had no doubt that he's an incredibly intelligent person and an artful person, but he fuckin' did it. Tre: He's always been super resourceful, and it's kind of like now he's all grown up. Mike: All we had to do was talk him off the ledge a couple times. I mean, we'd go in his office, and it looked like 'A Beautiful Mind.' There's writing everywhere and he's like (Mike demonstrates hyperventilating). It started off he didn't have a beard, and then he turned into Father Time. J'net: Did the fact that he's so well-respected in the community and such a genuine person help him to get buy-in from the people who participated? Mike: And the other people he recruited, like Kamala Parks and Anthony (Marchitiello) and Eggplant and Tim Armstrong, are highly respected and helping to make this thing. And it's like, 'Wait a minute, this isn't like a Warner Brothers movie. This is people who were actually in the scene making it.' And when they would vouch for him, it became even more helpful." We're pretty sure we spotted a cameo of Mr. Redford himself, but I won't put a spoiler here by hinting where to watch for him! For the same reason, I'm not going to tell you details of my favorite parts of the movie. When the opportunity arises, you should pick out your own favorites, and next time we're sitting in line for a Green Day show, we can compare notes. Bottom line, whether you watch the movie because you're interested in the captivating history of East Bay punk or because you want to see how Green Day got their start or both, you aren't likely to be disappointed. The movie is great entertainment but also left me inspired to be the best I can be at whatever I choose to do. The passion that went into the scene way back then, and into the making of the movie itself, left its mark on me. I hope you'll find that it leaves you feeling the same way.

In part two, we talked to the band about the early days at Gilman Street and the new movie, 'Turn it Around: The Story of East Bay Punk.' "J’net: From there, Green Day has come so far. What were you dreaming about back then, have you achieved it, and do you have any dreams you haven’t realized yet — things you still want to do? Tre: Pizza! J’net: Really? You haven’t had pizza yet? [Everyone laughs — these guys are SO polite!] Mike: Back then it was like, 'Can we get a show? Can we get into Gilman?' That’s a goal. It’s always like a series of goals – like 'Let’s get a tour.' 'Oh my gosh, what would it be like to play that one club there?' Maybe it’s a different town — or Europe! 'Let’s go to Europe and tour Europe!' There’s always another thing to be done. We just like to keep it exciting. Even live — even live, if we feel it's not exciting and not eventful or we're just going through the motions, we'll do something to change that because we like to stay in the moment, too. Life should be exciting. J’net: [to Tre] When you gave the drumsticks to that little kid last night (in Kansas City) … Mike: I did that. But Tre does every night anyway. One of us will always do it." Backstory: In Kansas City, there was a little girl on her dad’s shoulders throughout much of the show, although security tried multiple times to get him to put her down. At one point, Mike’s bass tech came into the security pit and leaned through to hand her a set of drumsticks. "Mike: She was hitting right on the beat with them on her dad’s shoulders! A lot of people know this, but every night Tre hides a pair of drumsticks under a seat. J’net: Do you always know if somebody finds them? Tre: Well, I put a hashtag on them and sometimes they'll go and put a picture with #TreCoolsHiddenSticks if they found them. J'net: I would just want to know — if no one posted, did they get found? I would have to go back and see if they're still there. [laughs] Tre: Somebody will find them. I'll tape them under the seats. Mike: Eventually. Someone will find them — like at an Usher show. [laughs] J'net: Or a hockey game. [Laughter] J’net: I got to go to the Hall of Fame Induction and the House of Blues show. What a show! I was beating up on the people next to me, because every time something else exciting happened I was [grabbing people and shaking them], "Oh my God! Oh my God!" That was incredible. I want to ask how that felt, but I’m sure you all thought it felt incredible. But could you ever have dreamed that you would be there? And what gave you the idea to come out as Sweet Children, and have Tim [Armstrong of Rancid] come out and sing with y’all and … to celebrate it in that way? Billie: I think it was all about 'bringing it all back home,' to quote Bob Dylan. It was like, 'Let’s make this as fun as possible.' Just have a great time and do everything you can … there’s so much tension with a lot of bands that have gone in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that you literally can’t get them to be on the same stage at the same time. And someone will stay home. And for us, it was the opposite of that. I’d rather seize the moment to remember how we got there. You start off when you’re a kid in a band, and it’s the most exciting thing in the world. And it’s so important to inspire people to understand that it IS the most exciting thing in the world. J’net: Do y’all listen to any kind of music that you think would surprise people to know that you liked it? Mike: All kinds of music. I just like good songs. I don’t care if it’s country — or the other night Tre went out to a jazz club, and then Jason and I went out to the same jazz club after they’d left — the same jazz club, and we didn’t even know they went. And we saw an unbelievable band there in Kansas City. Tre: I like German AND Italian opera. J’net: Do you really? Seriously? Tre: [Laughs] J’net: Oh ... but THAT would have surprised people. Tre: No … just the German. [laughs] J’net: Well, I’m the Italian fan, myself. Tre: It’s all Greek to me! Greek music. Billie: I’m kind of an audiophile. I like to go deep with finding obscure power-pop bands... Tre: Billie makes the best playlists. And he’s the best DJ. Billie: I just read this book called Never a Dull Moment ['Never a Dull Moment: 1971 The Year That Rock Exploded,' by David Hepworth] and it’s all about the music that happened in 1971, so I put together a playlist of all [that music]. I like getting into to doing my own … which is funny, because everybody's doing playlists and putting them on Spotify and stuff like that, and I do playlists and share them with my friends. Mike: She's got to hook you up with about a million more friends to share it with. [Laughter] Mike: Yeah, when we hit the playlist side of things, he’s ready. Billie: Yeah, and it’s all kinds of different stuff, whether it's like Joni Mitchell and Linda Ronstadt, to like ... Foghat and T-Rex. It’s fun to listen to. Especially back then, there was a certain amount of — people were uninhibited. If you listen to Marvin Gaye singing 'What’s Going On?,' there’s nothing self-conscious about songs like that and what was going on back then. I think nowadays, music is so much more visual or something. Some of the stuff from the past is just inspiring. J’net: And you have lots of influences, I can hear them in your music. There are little bits that sound like country and little bits that sound like different genres. Did you get that from your family, or was it all around you, or what? Billie: Well, it was all around me with my family — and I think when I was a kid I just always wanted to be the one to listen to something different. So, when kids were listening to Kool and the Gang’s 'Celebration,' I was listening to AC/DC and Van Halen, or trying to be the first in my high school to discover punk rock, and alternative stuff, too. Nobody in Rodeo had a clue who the Replacements and Hüsker Dü was. I was like the only punk kid in my high school. And John Swett [High School] was ... 400 people, 350 at the most. Mike: Is that what it was? I thought it was a little more than that. That’s still a lot of people, though, when you think about it. Billie: Yeah, there's 80 people in that graduating class. Mike: And then there was this one kid in that high school [who was punk]. Billie: And half of them actually graduated. [Laughs]"

This is the fourth and final installment of our interview with Green Day. In part three, we talked to the band about their past goals, and the musical roots of each of the guys. I have also included some things that were not part of the interview itself, or our recording. At the beginning of the transcription below, I knew our time was running out — and during the recording, we were packing up. I was throwing on my “Still Breathing” shirt, as I call it, for my photo with the band. But I just kept talking and asking questions the whole time to make the most of every second. "J’net: So, I have one more quick question, and this is just my own personal thing that I’ve always wondered — when Mike sang the second half of 'American Eulogy,' did you [Billie] write it with that in mind, did it just happen, I mean … was it something personal to Mike, because the way [Mike] sang it and kind of spit those lyrics out, it sounds like it’s very … something [deciding to stop rambling on with this never ending question and let someone answer] … Billie: I mean, I just wrote it and asked him if he wanted to sing it. [laughs] Mike: I think you need to sing to what the lyrics are calling for. I tend to sing ... like a little girl sometimes. [laughs] J’net: Not in THAT song. Mike: Yeah, but I was conscious that, 'This song isn't for singing like a little girl.' Or if it is, it's a little girl with attitude. Billie: If you think about 'Outsider' by the Ramones, and how DeeDee sang the bridge to it, it just kind of makes more sense. It just kind of comes from the band. And what else? 'I Was There' – Mike sang the bridge on that. J'net: Yeah. Well, you [Mike] sing that 'American Eulogy' like it was written just for you. Just made me wonder … Mike: [Hamming it up] Why, thank you! A friend of mine wrote that just for me! … 'Hey Billie, I got an idea! We can go ahead and take five.' J'net: So, I'm getting a sense that it's time for you [Tre] to have your pizza that you've never had before. Any last things you guys want to say to the readers of Green Day Authority? Mike: Just that we appreciate them and that they should be good to each other and look out for one another online and offline. But, we appreciate the hell out of them, cause that's our community. They're fuckin' rad. We'll see [them] on tour. Billie: I think for me as a musician, it's always important to be a fan first. Because I'm obviously a big fan of the people I like to listen to and stuff like that. So with that said, [we're] like-minded and kindred-spirits. Tre: In the words of the wild stallions, 'Be excellent to each other!'" Thus ended the interview proper, though there was more conversation, as I asked the guys to take a quick photo with me (the first time I've ever asked for a photo with any of them ... the wait was so worth it given how the photo turned out). Then, touring sound engineer and photographer Chris Dugan reminded me that I had a t-shirt to show the band. It was from Jack Yates, Omaha-based editor extraordinaire for GDA, who has been taking all my scribblings and making them look beautiful on the site. His vintage shirt was from Green Day's first tour — the band had screen printed it by hand back in the day. He thought they might like to see it, and maybe even sign it for him (which they graciously did). Tre sarcastically joked that it was really only six months old. Mike laughed, and said he still has the original screen print stencil for that shirt. While the guys were signing Jack's shirt, I was throwing on my "Still Breathing" shirt, which you can see in the photo. The guys loved, it which prompted me to tell them that it's from the Woody Guthrie Museum in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I'm from. Mike excitedly told me that his wife's family and Billie's whole family were also from Oklahoma. This prompted Billie to tell a story, which really delighted me. The backstory is that he began to tell this tale at the Tulsa Green Day show back in March, but didn't make it all the way to the brilliant ending. We'd talked about this during the car trip there, and Billie just spontaneously answered our question! "Billie: Yeah, my mom's from Sperry, Oklahoma. Oh, we went — this is a funny story. When we were there, I was trying to find where my mom's house was — it was like, I think, about 15 minutes outside of Tulsa. And we went into a high school, and all the people would talk about was like native burial grounds and stuff like that. So we're just looking for this one in particular. So we went into Sperry High School and talked to the administrators, and I come out and all of a sudden it was like, it clicked [snaps fingers], they were like, 'Oh my God, he's here!' and they run out and one goes, 'You're either … Bruno Mars … or the guy in Green Day!' [Laughter] Billie: 'Bruno! Bruno! Bruno Joe!' Tre: [Laughs] 'Bruno Joe.' Billie: And then they sent me all these hats, because they're the Pirates, so I got all these cool pirate hats." Now, as they were still signing Jack's shirt, and I was still "primping" for my first ever Green Day photo, we had this hilarious conversation: "J'net: Do y'all know about all the mis-heard lyrics in your songs? Billie: Mis-heard? Mike: Misinterpreted, you mean? J'net: No, like people hear them and they think you're saying something else! Tre: Oh, that's funny! J'net: Like, 'Gotta know the enemy … raw ham.' Billie: Raw ham? [Hilarity ensues] Tre: Raw ham. J'net: And, 'Somebody take my pants, I think they're falling off … into a state of regression.' Mike: [Singing] 'Somebody take my pants, I think they're falling off, into a state of regression.' [Laughing] Billie: That's amazing. That's a good one. J'net: And then, my son one day and said to me he hears, [singing ... YES, I sang in front of Green Day!] 'Dump truck! Color me stupid!' Billie: Oh, dump truck! [laughs] J'net: British people hear, 'I wore cologne, I wore cologne' [in 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams']. Billie: Oh, wow … J'net: And in 'Welcome to Paradise' — 'Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken gnomes.' Tre: Scary. Scary. [Laughs] Billie: Nice. I've heard that one before. I think I've seen a meme. J'net: I just wondered if … because when a new song comes out, before the lyrics are published, we're all trying to figure out, "What are they saying? What are they saying?" Billie: Next time we're just going to write them out different. They'll be like just totally different lyrics. Tre: We'll do fucked up lyrics! J'net: Oh yeah, right. That would be great. Tre: We'll get like six-year-olds to say what they think the lyrics are, and then we'll have that be the lyrics. J'net: That would be great! Or me, because my hearing is shot from so many Green Day shows!" This was where our recording ended. At some point during the discussion that continued un-recorded, I told the guys that this (the Omaha show) might be my last show for a while. I said, "A dear friend of mine has a ticket for me to the Rose Bowl show, but I don't know if I'll be able to afford to get there, so this could be it for a while." After that, we prepared to take the photo, which Chris Dugan (the band's sound guy and photographer) kindly offered to take for us — so it wasn't a selfie, after all! Mike suggested that I sit in the chair, and they'd all stand around me. Of course, I can't even express how sweet this was. Then, because I'd been talking to superfan Fran Green in line that day, I said, "Do you know that girl Fran with long brown hair who's always right in the corner of the barricade?" (I motioned with my hands to show where Fran usually stands). And here's how I remember that conversation going: "Billie: Oh, I know her, she's great! She always wants to get up and sing or something, but I really like her energy right there in the corner. Mike: Which one is she? Billie: She has a lip piercing. Mike: Oh yeah! [smiling] J'net: Well, today is her 50th show! Billie: Her 50th really? J'net: Yes, and she's travelling from the 1st through the 27th and not staying in any hotels — just sleeping on the street or in the car. Billie and Mike: WOW. Tre: Sounds like somebody needs a shower!" Finally, my time with Green Day was coming to an end. I thanked them all, and they walked out. Then, as I was about to leave the room, Tre came back with his wife Sara and introduced me to her. She is just as gorgeous and sweet as her online personality seems. We chatted for a few minutes. I told her we love her because of how happy she makes 'this guy' — I point at Tre. To say both their faces were beaming would be a terrible understatement. Just looking at how happy they are together made my heart melt. As they were leaving, Tre stuck his head back in the room and said, "See you at the Rose Bowl." So now, I guess I'll have to find a way to make it to the Rose Bowl. Hope to see you all there! After all this, I was walked out on to the arena floor and asked to choose my spot. I was just dumfounded with the entire barrier to choose from … don't we all wish that could somehow happen at every show?!?! Later, after everyone came in, I couldn't see Fran in her usual spot, and I was just so disappointed, because I thought … knowing the band, they would probably do something special for her if she'd been there. Well, Billie managed to find her on the catwalk, wished her happy 50th and then started singing "Happy Birthday" to her! Hahaha! Tre also gave her an autographed drum head the next night in St. Louis, and I see that she got on stage before her tour was over. The guys are just the sweetest and love their fans so much!

#i did like billie's story about being mistaken for bruno mars lmao #also mike's line about how young his wife is.....#not as funny as you think it is man #yikes #article #interview #articles #green day

6 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #24: Bugul Noz

The Traveler's Masterlist

For: @voxnipop: Hi there! I'm Ariel (Voxni on Kofi). I'm female-presenting agender, and use they/them pronouns. For a brief description, I'm a software engineer and genre-fiction writer. I love learning new languages and skills in my free time. Physically, I am clearly the designated nerd in a family of badasses. Tall, pale, and soft with curly red hair and thick thick glasses. (Compared to the rest of my tattoo-ed, super-athletic family. I love them though, do their taxes for them every year lol.) Always down for a fight to defend my family or friends, but thankfully as a super-soft sweet female-bodied person in the Southern US, most people disengage quickly after that.

In a partner, I honestly want to feel valued and protected. I know my default is to take control and basically be the protector and nurturer, but I'd like someone who reciprocates that care that I give. Intelligence isn't all that important as much as sweetness, and also maybe the ability to cook? I'm living that takeout lifestyle haaaard. Physically, I have a slight preference for larger partners, but I'd be pretty excited to see whoever the match happens with! No preference on SFW vs NSFW, whatever you feel more inclined/simpler to do. Thank you, and hope you hit your goal soon!

You’ve been matched with a Bugul Noz!

In Breton beliefs, the Bugul Noz, or "Night Shepherd"), is a fae-like being who lives in the woodlands of Brittany. He is the last of his kind and is said to be incredibly ugly, which causes him distress. His appearance is so awful that even woodland animals avoid him, and he sometimes cries out to warn others nearby of his approach, so that he won't frighten them and that they’ll go home. He is called the night shepherd because it is generally not safe in forests late at night, when he is most active. The Bugul Noz is not malicious (indeed, rather kind and gentle), he is always alone because of his hideous visage.

Rather than being a spirit to be feared, he’s said to, "fulfill a beneficial office, in warning human beings, by his coming, that night is not made for lingering in the fields or on the roads, but for shutting oneself in behind closed doors and going to sleep. This shepherd of the shades would then be, take it altogether, a kind of good shepherd. It is to ensure our rest and safety, to withdraw us from excesses of toil and the snares of night, that he compels us, thoughtless sheep, to return quickly to the fold."

It was the baleful moaning that alerted you, making the hairs stand up on your neck.

When you first heard the sound, you were spooked but unsure what you could do. You only had your bag, which had a map, compass, and a cellphone that had no service. You’d gone hiking before and never had a problem, but it only took one wrong turn in the woods to lead to disaster.

You didn’t work out much, as you kind of enjoyed being squishy, but walking along hiking trails was your favorite form of exercise because you could take it in your own pace and sit to sketch if you were tired.

You’d gotten lost while hiking during your vacation in France and night had rapidly come upon you. You eventually found yourself in some sort of ravine with a sheer cliff face preventing you from leaving. You followed it until you’d become tired, finding a cave-like cliff hollow to shelter under.

It was then that a gigantic brown bear decided to come back to what you realized was its den, and panicked. It reared up on its hind legs and bellowed at you, and you shrieked in reply.

“Oh, god, please don’t let me die,” You prayed. “All I wanted was a vacation in Europe before I became a serious adult! Please let me live to see the Louvre!”

You heard the moaning again, but it wasn’t coming from the bear. The bear came down from its hind legs and looked behind itself. It stiffened, and then jumped as if startled. The moaning grew louder, and the bear grunted, shying away from whatever it was. Apparently deciding that a fight with whatever it was looking at wasn’t worth it and moved on.

After a moment of waiting for the bear to return, you cautiously stood up. It was still dark out, the stars were clear and bright, but not enough to illuminate the way out.

“Hello?” You called to the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“Est-ce que tu vas bien?” The voice called. It was deep and scratchy, like someone who had a cough.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I don’t speak much French.”

“Parlez vous anglais?” They asked.

“Angl--English! Yes, I speak English,” You replied, relieved.

“My English… not good,” They said in a very heavy regional French accent. “Follow, s'il vous plaît. Lead you to trail.”

“I can’t see you,” You said.

“C'est pour le mieux,” They replied. “Come now. Not far.”

“How can I follow you if I can’t see you?”

They were quiet for a moment. “Sing?”

“You’ll sing?” You asked, slightly amused.

“Oui,” They said. “Ça va?”

“Okay,” You said, unsure whether or not this was a better option than the bear. “Lead the way.

The… person… began to sing in French a song you didn’t know. Their voice was coarse, but they could carry a tune, and you could follow it well enough to be able to join them for the refrain.

“Singing est très jolie,” They said during a pause in the song.

“Thanks,” You said, smiling. “I like your voice, too.”

“Merci,” They replied with a happy, sing-songy tone. “Sing alone often. Nice to have… partenaire.”

“Do you live out here?” You asked as you walked.

“Oui,” They said. “Près de.”

“Close?” You asked. “I don’t want to impose, but I’m very tired and thirsty. I ran out of water hours ago. I just want to rest for a little while and have a drink and I can manage.”

They were quiet, and for a moment you wondered if they had understood you. You opened your mouth to rephrase it more simply when they said, “Juste une minute.”

“Thank you. Uh… Merci,” You said.

You followed their humming until you reached a hut made of stones. It looked old, like centuries old. It looked like someone had been keeping it up by replacing the old crumbling stones with newer ones. There was a simple door made of sticks and vines.

“Il y a un puits sur le côté de la maison,” They said. “Water. Must draw bucket. Go in. Sit. I get.”

Inside, there was a small fire inside a stone circle on a dirt floor. There was a rudimentary chair sitting next to it, and a simply carved table next to it with a bamboo cup. At the farthest end was a straw and large leaf pallet that you assumed they used for sleeping. Maybe it was an old man who shunned modern society and made his life out of leading lost people out of the woods. That would be noble.

Well, it was much better than your worst imaginings, which were running rampant in your head at the moment.

There was a thump at the door and you heard their voice again.

“Water,” They said. “Outside. You drink. I wait.”

You opened the door slowly, and there was a bucket sitting on the ground full of water. Though you couldn’t tell in this light, it looked clean enough, and you were too thirsty to complain.

“Where are you?” You asked.

“Here,” They said, though you couldn’t see them. “Go now?”

“Why won’t you let me see you?”

“Ugly,” They said. “Scare you.”

You laughed. “That’s silly. You won’t scare me.”

“I scare toutes les choses,” They said sadly. “Best no see. Get you home.”

“If you say so,” You said. “Okay, I’m ready.”

They began to sing again, and you followed the sound of their voice until you eventually came upon a trail. You laughed in relief and rushed to it.

“Go west,” They said. You heard shuffling, as if they were moving away.

“Wait!” You called. “What’s your name?”

“Auberi,” They said. “Be safe.”

You made it back to the town where you were staying as dawn broke. There had been a search team out looking for you, and they were relieved to hear you were alive and unharmed for spending an entire night in the woods.

You insisted you were fine, but they called an ambulance anyway. At the hospital, you asked the nurse, “Have you heard about someone living out in the forest?”

“Que voulez-vous dire?” She asked. “Did you see someone else out there?”

“Not see,” You said. “Heard. There was a person out there who led me out of the woods, but they wouldn’t let me see their face. They sang a song and I followed their voice out of the woods.”

“Ah,” The nurse said with a knowing smile. “You must have met le Bugul Noz.”

“The what?”

“Night Shepherd,” She translated. “It’s a kind creature that helps keep people and animals safe, but it’s said to be so ugly that it scares everything away from it. Not even animals will go near it if they see it. It is lonely and cries because no one will be friends with it.”

“Is the Night Shepherd real?” You asked.

“It’s a fairy tale,” The nurse replied. “But who’s to say it is real or not?”

A week later, you went hiking on the same trail, with a GPS this time in case you got lost again, and went searching for the Night Shepherd. You tried to sing the song they had, but you could only remember the refrain, so you sang that over and over, hoping it would draw their ear.

After a few hours of nothing, you sat down on a large stone and sighed unhappily. Perhaps you had hallucinated the voice, but how would you have hallucinated a song you’d never heard in a language you barely knew?

“Lost again, petit oiseau?” You heard the rough voice say.

“Auberi!” You said, jumping up and looking around only too see nothing but forest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you?”

“Moi?” They said, sounding surprised. “Pourquoi?”

“I heard a story from the nurse after I made it out of the forest,” You said. “About a creature so ugly that no one would stay with it. Is that you? The night shepherd? Le Bugul Noz?”

They sighed heavily. “Oui,” The admitted. “Je suis.”

“Is that why I heard you crying before you drove off the bear?” You asked gently. “You are lonely, aren’t you?”

They were silent.

“You saved my life,” You said earnestly. “No matter what you look like, I want to thank you for that. Please, can I see you?”

“Je ne veux pas te faire peur.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Scare you,” They said. “Don’t want.”

“You won’t,” You said. “Come out, please? I have a gift for you.”

“Not ask for gift,” They said. “Just want safe.”

“I know,” You said. “But I brought you one anyway. Please? Please let me see you.”

There was a large breath followed by a deep, heavy sigh that blew the low branches around. Then the saplings in the low brush were moved aside as the creature came out into the light.

They were hunched and crooked, with a long neck like a horse, complete with a main of tangled, coarse tan hair. They had three pairs of arms, one of which worked in tandem with their feet to propel their large body forward. They were covered in the same coarse fur as their mane, only shorter and curlier. Their face was flat and revealed a dark hole that seemed to lead to nowhere. They had no visible eyes or ears, but they seemed to hear and see just fine. There was a long tail stretched out behind them that dragged the ground as they walked. You had no way to determine their gender, so you didn’t try.

They were certainly unusual, but you didn’t think they were ugly.

“Not running?” They asked, their head turning in surprise. You had no idea where the voice was coming from, as they had no mouth, just the dark maw in the middle of their face.

“Not running,” You said. “I told you, you saved me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as handsome as a prince.” You reached up to touch them, and they shied a little in fear, but allowed you to put your hand on their neck. You stroked their hair and scratched their skin, and there was a strange guttural purring sound from the maw.

“I’m going to be in the village for another month,” You said. “And I came to France to learn about it’s art, it’s culture, and it’s people. You’re part of that. I think I’d like to spend my month with you.”

They leaned their head against your cheek, and there was an odd hollow whistling from the maw, but it wasn’t so bad.

“Teach you all my songs,” They said. “We sing together, petit oiseau?”

“I’d love to sing with you, Auberi.” You said, laughing and snuggling against them.

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

30 notes · View notes

blake-belladonna-defence-force · 5 years

Note

Sentence Starter: Are you ticklish here with bees? :)

Started out fun. Turned to angst. Oops? 😬😅

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Blake. Please stop pacing.”

Blake snorted. She was still agitated from being arrested. The only reason they hadn’t separated her from her team was because Winter stepped in. Said something about keeping the team together to keep a better eye on them. Blake had never come so close to punching a Special Operative in the mouth. Weiss had looked so heartbroken that Winter had reduced them to criminals like that. Her heartbreak was made worse when Winter had given her a thoroughly disappointed look. Blake had her problems with Weiss and how she handled certain situations but she’d still readily take down anyone who hurt the girl. She considered her to be a sister, after all.

“Hey, we’re free. We’re okay.” Blake inhaled deeply. Yes, they were. But that didn’t stop soldiers and civilians from looking at her like she was a monster. Didn’t stop the hotel reception from looking like they were ready to grab the bleach. She felt frustrated, hurt tears prick her eyes. She had to keep fighting.

“Come here.” She turned to see Yang holding out her arms. Like a magnet to metal, she felt compelled to go to her. Yang gently pulled her down next where she had been sitting and held her. “You have every right to be mad and hurt, Blake. But we’re going to do something. Whatever you need to do to help your people? I’ll follow your lead.” Blake burrowed into Yang’s neck, mumbling quiet a quiet thank you into her skin.

But when Yang squealed and flinched, Blake lifted her head and quirked an eyebrow. Yang quickly muffled the giggle that had escaped her throat.

“Yang?”

“Yes, Blake, wonderful partner of mine?” Blake narrowed her eyes. Yang was sucking up to her. She had the most beseeching look on her face, too.

“Is your neck ticklish?”

“… nooo?” Blake felt a tired smirk grow across her face.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Yang remained silent.

“Tell me, Yang. Are you ticklish here?” Blake danced her finger tips across the sides of her partner’s neck, earning a loud and indignant shriek. As Yang fell backwards, Blake followed, sitting on her friend’s lap as she took delight in the laughter that flowed from her. “What about here?” She shifted her fingers to Yang’s ribs and that seemed to get an even greater reaction. She lightly dug into her partner’s sides, dancing her fingers up and down. Eventually Yang dissolved into a giggling mess, snorting hysterically. Blake felt her heart melt. She had always thought Yang’s snorting laugh was cute. But now it was even cuter than ever and she adored it. She had to get Yang to laugh like that more often. It was so… comforting.

“Gotcha!” Yang laughed as she grabbed Blake’s wrists and flipping them over, pinning them next to Blake’s head as she sat on Blake’s lap in return. Blake stared up her adoringly as Yang continued to snort and giggle, resting her head on Blake’s.

“Gods, I love your laugh.” Blake breathed, voice hitching lightly. Yang opened her eyes and gazed at her as her laughter faded off.

“Oh come on. Nobody loves a snorter.” Yang giggled nervously. Blake shook her head.

“I certainly do. Your laugh is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” She quirked an eyebrow at the woman on top of her. “And the rest of you ain’t half bad either.” She said smoothly, winking up at her.

“Okay. Um. Wow.” Yang ducked her head with a snort. “That was actually… pretty lame!” Yang teased, despite her blush. Blake rolled her eyes.

“The only lame thing here is the fact that I might have to go get my heart checked.” Yang gave her an odd look and gave her wrists an affectionate squeeze.

“What? Why?” Blake grinned up her cheekily.

“Because I’m pretty sure that you stole it.” Yang stared at her before letting go and covering her face before rolling off of Blake and letting out an embarrassed whine. Blake laughed and leaned over her on her elbow, gently using her free hand to uncover her face.

“Okay. I take it back. You’re smoother than most people I’ve dealt with. You win.”

“The only thing I want to win is your heart, love.” Blake poked Yang’s nose, causing the woman to go slightly cross eyed. Blake smiled down at her partner. Yang tried to glare back but quickly failed, and instead poked Blake’s ribs. When that failed, she frowned and tickled Blake’s neck.

“I’m not tickli-“ Blake was cut off by her own squeal when Yang danced her fingers up her back. Yang grinned and brought her into a bear hug, effortlessly pinning her to her body. Blake stared at her partner’s neck in horror before said partner started dancing her fingers up her back. Blake wiggled but it was to no avail. She was well and truly trapped.

“Aw, are you ticklish here, Blake?” Yang cooed mockingly. Blake had no way of retaliation. No way… unless…

She pressed her lips to Yang’s neck to blow a raspberry against it. Yang howled with laughter and pushes Blake away.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

Both girls finally calmed down. They tried to glare at each other to no avail, laughing lightly and Blake rested her forehead against Yang’s.

“Feel better?” Yang asked quietly, a happy smile on her face. Blake smiled back and nuzzled her nose and against Yang’s.

“I do. Thank you, gorgeous.” Yang made an offended noise in her throat as she flushed.

“Have you never seen your reflection? I mean you’re, like, goddess levels of beauty.” Blake felt her cheeks heat up as she ducked away.

“Oh please. I’m not pretty.” She muttered, frowning. She remembered all the times that Adam had suggested that she should wear makeup. That it would make her actually look pretty. Or when he told her she looked better with long hair. Or that girls shouldn’t wear more masculine clothing like she liked to wear. How could Yang think she was beautiful when she had smeared makeup, hadn’t had any decent sleep for days and could definitely use a shower? It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, you are. In mind, body and personality, Blake.” Yang gently guided Blake to look at her. Blake could see nothing that indicated a lie in those beautiful lilac orbs. Just pure, unfiltered adoration and admiration. It was new and thrilling. But it was so far from what she was used to that it was a little scary. But she trusted Yang. Trusted her enough to take a running leap of the edge she had been hovering over.

“I-“ Blake’s voice failed her and she felt incredibly frustrated with herself. “Emotions and communication aren’t really my thing..” she explained weakly. Yang sighed gently.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Okay? I’m not always good at it either. I just want you know that whatever he told you? It was a lie.” Blake gasped and stared. Yang was the smartest person she knew. Of course she’d be able understand what was wrong. The girl had the best grades of their year back at Beacon, could best anyone in a maths competition, was an intelligent fighter and engineer and was so emotionally intelligent that it was scary. Of course she knew.

Blake closed her eyes. The amount of adoration she felt for this woman was scary. But maybe it was time to jump. She leaned over and gently placed her lips on Yang’s, hesitantly kissing her. When Yang froze, Blake was about to pull away, a panicked apology at the ready when she felt Yang smile and curl her hand around the nape of Blake’s neck and kiss her back. Blake melted into her and leaned her arms on either side of Yang’s head, pressing close to her body as Yang’s arms circled her waist. Blake sighed contentedly into the kiss before pulling away, cheeks burning, to see an equally flushed Yang.

“Y-yang? Should I apologise?” She whispered, still worried. Adam had never liked her taking control like that.

“Fuck no. You should do that again.” Yang breathed. Blake felt herself tear up. “Unless you don’t want to. I don’t want to forc-“ “You’re so fucking different from what I’m used to! I don’t deserve you!” Blake whimpered, resting her head against Yang’s. Yang frowned, cupping the back of Blake head.

“Yes, you do. You deserve love, just as much as anyone.”

“I don’t think I know how to be loved, Yang. Not properly.” She watched as tears filled Yang’s eyes.

“Baby…” Yang croaked out. “Let me show you.” Blake let out a sob and nodded. Yang gently pressed a brief kiss to her lips and pulled her into a hug, shifting their bodies so that they could lay properly on the bed, gently stroking her hair and murmuring sweet reassurances into her ear as Blake hid in her neck. Told her about all of the dates she would take her on. Show her the world. That she’d hold her when she was hurting and kiss her until she laughed. She’d always listen when Blake needed her to. That Blake had agency and could say no when she wanted to. That she was safe. Blake knew that was the truth. Yang was her home, her safety. How could ever feel anything but?

When Yang tried to shift away when she had thought Blake was asleep, Blake whimpered and clung to her.

“Want me to stay?” Blake nodded weakly and Yang sighed softly, kissing the top of her head and pulled her closer. Blake fell asleep to the sound of loving words and a gentle hand playing with her hair.

“Love you, Yang.” She slurred as she fell asleep. She didn’t hear Yang gasp. Didn’t see the touched tears fall from her eyes. She barely felt the way Yang’s arms tightened around her. Blake failed to hear the choked, sentimental voice of her partner whispering quietly that she loved her too. So much.

#rwby #blake belladonna #bumbleby #rwby spoilers #fanfic #rwby v7 spoilers #rwby volume 7 spoilers

168 notes · View notes

astyle-alex · 4 years

Text

[FanFic] Start with Why | the Old Guard

Start With Why (Part 5 / 6)

Fandom: the Old Guard Pairings: Background Nicky x Joe Characters / Focus: OT5 + Copley, reacting to Booker's betrayal Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None (well, language, because the team is quite colorful) Total Word Count: 10,288 Chapter Word Count: 1,305

Summary:

The thing about betrayal is that it hurts. Sometimes it hurts too much to see the broader situation clearly. But after Booker's betrayal, the team has to look at themselves and see how every one of them is culpable. Booker may have done the deed, but his measly 200 years makes him a child to the others, especially Andy, and like babysitters are to blame when their charge sets the curtains on fire, the Family needs to ask themselves WHY and accept the honest answers. Why Copley, Why Merrick, and Why something made Booker believe that his choice was the right one for his Family...

-----

|| Read on Patreon | Read on Ao3 ||

-----

Part V :: NILE

Bringing them to Copley feels like leading Dizzy to her first confession— after the bombing that had nearly taken Jay from them.

It was a revelatory experience, one that truly was religious.

It was righteous and important, and now, it makes the first bit of fucking sense out of why she is even there when these god damn world-shaping immortals couldn’t possibly need little old South Side Nile Freeman for anything significant.

Nicky stares and stares like a man standing at Heaven’s Gates.

He is standing in the presence of a holiness he’d come to doubt over centuries of having his Faith tested— more even, Nile could see that he was realizing exactly how his doubts hadn’t been half as deeply rooted as he’d feared.

His tears don’t fall and he stands silently, and his shoulders don’t quite shake, but there’s a clear shudder now and then as an age-old tension in him dissipates.

Watching Nicky almost makes Nile cry.

But watching him hurts less than watching the others.

Joe is praying under his breath, to Allah and the very beauty of creation. His fingers run over the strings connecting their small good deeds to the outpouring of good aftermaths that came in the slight delay of consequences.

He looks at Copley like he can almost understand his brother’s deep betrayal.

Copley believes in them, in a way they haven’t for a damn long while.

Copley looks at them like they could make the sun rise on a whim and for someone like Joe to feel the resonance of that Faith… for him to realize it… He knows the depth of his own doubts would be dwarfed by Booker’s, so for him to see the grandeur in this clearly shows him how easily Booker could connect with Copley over the pain of having lost a family and been unable to see a path beyond the hurt…

But then Andy… Andy can’t keep herself at standing, old girl just falls into a chair like gravity ain’t workin’ right for her.

“Maybe this is the why, Andy,” Nile pushes, talking with the certainty she’s found in this new sense of purpose flooding through her voice.

Andy just nods, too lost in all the memories.

The 150 years or so that Copley has compiled don’t even scratch the surface of the ocean Andy’s sinking through. He looks like he wants to ask for her autograph, but a look from Nile has him nodding with a promise that shows he’s aware she needs time to process.

And Copley… Nile gets why Booker liked him, he’s a good guy at base who wants to do good. He’s just been a dumbass in how he’s been going about it.

But grief can do that to a person.

Not everyone has the strength of Nile’s Mama.

And Copley paired with Booker… bad idea to worse, with extra alcohol. There’s a damn good reason ordnance are not kept near the barracks, after all.

For his part, Copley is a god damn champ.

Doesn’t ask where Booker is, doesn’t blink when a trio of immortals starts to cry and pray and fall. He just states his case for how he values them, for how their work is critical to keeping even the worst of worlds progressing on a more even kind of keel.

Eventually, Andy looks to Nicky.

He dips his head— pleading, not acceptance.

Andy is the one who looks away.

She flings herself up to her feet and actually gets close enough to read the articles that Copley has connected.

There’s a straightness in her shoulders that Nile never realized had been missing, a straightness in her spine.

Nicky looks to Joe— who will not look at him.

But Nile remembers how her parents used to fight. How Mama had this look that was just plain quelling in a certain slant, and yet could burn through any pretense of ignorance in another. Joe knows his Nicky’s looking, and if Joe knows Nicky’s looking, the battle is already lost for him in pretending he could keep his eyes away.

When Joe turns, Nicky tips his head.

Like with Andy, there’s a whole conversation in that stare.

But so much deeper between lovers.

Already, Nile can read so much in this trio’s every tiny gesture.

After another hundred or two hundred or a thousand years… she’ll be just as close to them as they are now among each other.

The thought is only sorta terrifying.

Mostly it’s exhilarating.

She can do so much good with them, more than she ever could with the Marines.

She can see Joe cave before Joe can feel it— though her recognition comes well after Nicky’s ever-stoic and serene expression twitches towards a smile.

“Ten days,” Joe says after spouting off a string of curse words in an older form of Arabic than Nile can interpret. “I don’t want to see that fucking traitor’s face for at least ten god damn frickin’ days. And I want a year off before we even think about the possibility of working with that asshole again. You are all fucking saps and bullies and I hate you all. Especially you, Nile, because you are the most annoying little sister in the whole wide world and my heart overflows with a joy so hot it hurts every time I think of how I’m grateful that you are now my Family.” “I hate how well that sappy shit works for you, jackass,” Nile tells him as she hugs him.

“It never gets any less annoying,” Andy contributes. “The fact that he pulls it off so well just makes him that much more punchable each time it happens.”

Then Andromache the Scythian rounds on Copley.

To his credit, the little ex-spook doesn’t piss himself. He doesn’t even wince.

If Andy kills him now, he’ll die believing that he served his purpose here on earth.

Nile knows Andy is neither cruel enough for that, nor kind enough.

She forgot, briefly, how precious all life is to her— but now she remembers that resolve.

Her ultimatum to Copley is accepted with true grace. Copley says he would be honored, and Nile honestly believes him.

He’ll have to be watched, and he’ll be kept far closer than a trusted confidant could roam, but Nile thinks he’ll earn their confidence eventually.

“Andy,” Nile calls as they head down to the car from Copley’s. “I’m sorry about what I said about you. You’re not a monster. You never were, you just... I was scared… of you and of becoming you because I thought I might forget the me I left behind…”

Andy turns away before Nile first whole sentence is out.

Nile honestly doesn’t quite know what compelled her to keep talking.

“You don’t apologize to Family, kid,” Joe tells her, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“But we will listen to any words your heart must speak,” Nicky adds from her other side, nudging lightly into her shoulder. “Andromache just… gets embarrassed easily.”

“I heard that, you pretentious holy fucker,” Andy gripes loudly, starting the engine with the threat to drive away without them. The others scramble to catch up, and as Nile slides into the backseat, and falls asleep almost immediately, she notes that what she’s feeling is all the awful stress of… everything since her last day in Afghanistan sliding softly away.

She died in Afghanistan, and that will haunt her (and her birth-family) forever, but she is not, and will never be, alone.

It’s something she did not realize she was so uncertain of until finding real connection to this collection of ancient, damaged idiots and really felt them pulling close as her new Family.

Nile falls asleep feeling safe and warm and more hopeful than she has in decades.

- - - - -

|| Read on Patreon | Read on Ao3 ||

#fanfic #the old guard #nicky x joe #Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova #nicolo di genova #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #nile freeman #sebastian le livre #james copley

2 notes · View notes

evalinkatrineberg · 4 years

Text

Questions

A/N: This is the product of challenge 3 side RPs done with @hugo-stanton and @arin-schreave . I feel compelled to mention that Evalin has definitely NEVER read 50 Shades of Grey before. With that, I’ll leave you to it!

I really didn’t have much of a clue as to what was going on. The note, once again, had arrived while I was out of the room - probably when I had been in the library studying, or perhaps when I had been out running, or talking to Idalia, or doing other tasks that demanded my attention. Regardless, all I knew was that my maids were now getting me ready for someone to take photos of me this afternoon at the beach. I couldn’t help but wonder why photos were only being taken now, so far into the Selection already, but perhaps it really wasn’t my place to question this. There must be a good reason, anyway.

The other question I had was how appropriate my appearance was for the setting of these photographs. Grace had insisted that I needed to wear heels to this photography session, but I was having trouble discerning a logical explanation for her assertion. The photos were to be taken on a beach, after all. Grace must have never tried to walk in a pair of heels in the sand, because it was near impossible to do. I had managed to take all of three steps before stopping dead in my tracks and leaning down, undoing the thin straps of the heels and deciding to just walk barefoot with them in my hand until I found this photographer.

The other issue with my appearance at the moment was the fact that my hair was completely down, loose and unbound, the wind tossing it every which way, specifically right in my face. A few strands kept finding their way to my lips, which led me to believe that my makeup was probably wonderfully smudged already. The whole look was rather impractical. That was fine, though. I supposed I just had to get this over with.

Shielding my eyes from the sun, I caught sight of someone - a man - crouching by a log, holding a camera up to his face. Deciding that he must be the photographer, I dropped my hand, tucking the same loose strands of hair behind my ears for the umpteenth time and looking down at the sand as I walked, intent on avoiding stepping on anything sharp. I really didn’t need to bleed in front of another man while I was here. Once was more than enough. I didn’t need to make that a habit.

“Hello,” I called as I approached, offering the photographer a small wave as my eyes flitted between the sand beneath my feet and his face. Something about him was unsettlingly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place what it was.

It’s probably nothing.

The photographer lowered his camera, looking up at me and rising to his feet with a smile on his face. “Hi, Evalin,” he began, extending his hand towards me. “I’m Hugo.”

So he knew my name, then. Funny how some people were good with that sort of information, whereas others had only learned my name after a few weeks of us living under the same roof. Hugo probably met a lot of people in his line of work, though, I figured, so he had probably had to get good at memorizing names.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hugo.” I shook his hand, offering him another smile before pulling my hand back and leaning down to put on my shoes, not dropping his eye contact as I did. My fingers fumbled with the straps. Damn them for being so tiny. “Sorry about this - sand and heels don’t mix, apparently!”

Hugo simply shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at my shoes. “Oh, you can leave them off if you like. I imagine they’re not very comfortable.”

“Oh.” I had to laugh at that. He was right, of course, but his answer still surprised me a little nonetheless. I wasn’t about to argue with him, though, so I placed my shoes in the sand, quickly making a mental note of what they were near. There was the log, and a small grouping of rocks. It shouldn’t be too hard to find this spot again. “Okay, yeah, that’s a lot easier for me, thank you!” Looking at him once more, I clasped my hands together in front of me. “So, is there something in particular you want me to do right now? I don’t really know how this works.”

I didn’t even know what I was doing here, to be honest. Was this something I had signed up for? I had no memory of doing so, but maybe I had signed some paper or another without even thinking about it, distracted by the million and one other things I had to do. The policy proposal was demanding most of my mental focus at the moment. I didn’t feel like it was as far reaching enough as it could be, or far reaching enough to make much of an impact at all, but I couldn’t come up with a solution that would rectify that before the damned thing was due. I could only hope that what I had come up with was satisfactory enough to keep me around here for at least a little while longer.

Long enough to receive another kiss from Arin, maybe.

God, I was the hopeless one, wasn’t I?

I snapped back out of my thoughts as Hugo nodded, smiling at me. “Why don’t you sit down on the log and we’ll take it from there?”

I was pretty confident in my ability to do that. “Sure.” I smiled back at him, brushing the wrinkles out of my dress once I had taken a seat on the log. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable chair, but it wasn’t too unbearable. I could handle it. Still, chatter might be a welcome way to distract myself, and it seemed like Hugo might be a better conversationalist than some of the other people I had been talking to recently. It was worth a shot. “So, what got you into photography, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Hugo took a few steps backwards before taking a seat on the sand, crossing his legs like a pretzel. He began to fiddle with his camera, instantly drawing my attention to the device. It looked nice, though I didn’t know the first thing about photography, so I could have been very incorrect about that. I was willing to bet that he was adjusting the settings, though, to account for the lighting of the beach. “My aunt used to be in the film industry,” he finally answered, “so that’s where it came from, I think.”

“That’s so cool!” I responded with a smile. Had his aunt worked as a camerawoman, then? I was close to recommending that he talk to Indie, since that seemed right up her alley, but something had me biting my tongue, keeping my advice at bay. “You’ve been doing this for quite a while, then?” I asked instead.

“A few years,” he replied with a shrug, lifting his head to look at me once more.

“Oh.” I inclined my head slightly to the right, narrowing my eyes at him ever so slightly, as if I could pull the answers I sought out of him with my vision alone. Most of the Fives I had met had begun pursuing their craft at a younger age, in their early teens, mostly, in order to perfect it by the time they were young adults. My own mother had done just that, based on the stories of her childhood that she’d shared with my siblings and I. How had he made a living before finding photography? He looked young enough, sure, but definitely a good few years older than me. Maybe he just looked older than he actually was, though.

My curiosity got the better of me. “Did you have another job before this, then?”

Hugo shook his head, looking at me with an expression that showed me that I had just caught him red-handed. So, he hadn’t, then. Interesting, indeed! “Does being a student count as a job?”

I was only growing more confused with each answer he gave me. He had had enough money to go to school for photography, or at least that was what I assumed he had studied, and yet he hadn’t held a job before then? That was practically unheard of for a Five. I could only imagine the reaction my mother would have when I shared this story with her.

I laughed a little at his response, then, pushing my own prying questions aside in the interest of being polite. “I’d argue yes, but as a student myself, I think I’m a bit biased.”

His camera was already up, the shutter flashing, as he captured his desired image. Still, he continued the conversation nonetheless. “What are you in school for?”

“Biology, actually.” Maybe I can use this as a segue into my own questions. “What about you - what did you study?” Perhaps he was simply an insanely wealthy Two or Three - a lawyer, or an engineer, perhaps - who had discovered he had a passion for photography, and had picked it up as a hobby. I was interested in why the palace would hire him, then, as opposed to a Five who did this sort of work to make a living, especially since Princess Mélanie seemed so sympathetic to the plight of the lower castes, from what I had seen and heard of her work.

“Arts,” Hugo answered, snapping another photo before continuing, “but some strings had to be pulled to make that happen, so I’m not sure how fair it is I had the opportunity.”

“Well,” I began, unsure of how to respond to that. All I knew was that I could not allow myself to frown, even if it was only in consternation. That would not look pleasing in a picture. I shifted my position a bit, doing my best to keep my face down and hidden as I considered my next words. “If that’s your passion, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to pursue it.”

I wholeheartedly believed that statement. It was actually somewhat related to the policy proposal I had saved in my drafts on my computer, though different enough that his experience couldn’t be used as an example of how my proposed policy could be beneficial to Illéa as a whole.

Once again, Hugo shrugged. “I’m happy enough,” he reassured me, smiling as he pulled the camera away from his face.

“That’s good.” I nodded back at him, my smile falling a bit and my eyes narrowing as I considered his words. Happy enough, but not happy. What was holding him back from that last bit of contentment, then? Did he really feel so guilty about studying the arts in university that it kept him from being completely happy?

The sound of waves crashing against the short pulled my attention away from him then, and I turned to watch them roll in, and then flow back out, pulled by a force none of us could see. As if in response, some strands of my hair flew out from behind my ears, blowing in the direction of the waves. I smiled a bit as I pushed them back where I wanted them to be, though it was starting to get on my nerves. Despite that, I could hear the shutter of Hugo’s camera, and decided it was best to keep my negative emotions at bay for the time being. Maybe I needed more sleep, or maybe just more time to relax, but either way, I shouldn’t take it out on Hugo, or the photos. He had been nothing but kind, no matter how confused his tales of his life left me.

I heard him standing up, and before I could fully drag my attention away from the waves, he had already made his way over to me, his hand held out towards me, palm upwards. “Why don’t we go down by the water?”

I placed my hand in his, feeling a faint blush form on my face at the touch. His hands were smooth - practically uncalloused. This man hadn’t done a day of hard labor in his life, and he definitely had never played a string instrument, that much I was almost one-hundred percent certain of. Who was he?

I pushed that aside yet again, instead offering him a, “Thank you,” as I rose to my feet, shaking my head as I looked back at the water. “That’d be nice. It’s been so long since I’ve actually been to the beach. I don’t know why I haven’t come down here sooner.”

“It’s pretty nice down here,” he agreed, looking out at the water himself now. He pointed a finger off towards the expanse of beach that lay to my right. “If you go down that way maybe ten to fifteen minutes, there’s a little lagoon.”

I followed his finger, squinting as if that would somehow magically bring the lagoon into view. It was definitely too far for me to see. It was foolish to even try. Still, maybe I could incorporate it into some of my morning runs, if I could find it. It’d be nice to shake up my route a little bit, anyway, and dipping my feet in the water would probably feel really good after running in the dry, Angeles heat. “I’ll have to keep that in mind, thank you!” Turning to him then, I smiled, and asked, “Are there any razor clams around there? Those things used to scare me like nothing else whenever I went to the beach as a kid.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. Maybe scared wasn’t the right word - startled was more like it. As a child, I had somehow managed to convince myself that being hit by the water those stupid little clams squirted into the air whenever somebody got too close would hurt like a bee sting, or being hit by a water balloon. I had often clung to my father’s arm whenever one of my brothers called out that they had found some razor clams, doing whatever it took to circumnavigate my way to the ocean, just to avoid being hit by the clams’ water. It was so silly of me, but I had been a rather skittish kid.

Hugo sucked in a breath before answering. “Gosh, I don’t know. I’m not the right person to ask. That’s more Arin’s thing.”

Arin had a thing for marine ecology? I raised an eyebrow, remembering the questions Reggie had asked me in the library all those weeks ago. Was that somehow related to this new revelation about Arin’s interest? Hell, the fact that he had actual interests outside of running the country was news to me. I chucked a bit as I stepped into the water. “Really? Interesting! I’ll have to keep that in mind then.”

Wait a minute. How does Hugo know that?

I narrowed my eyes at the photographer, furrowing my brows. “How do you know him?” If he had only been a photographer for a few years, he couldn’t be the one responsible for most of the royal photographs I had seen prior to coming here. He shouldn’t have had enough time to build up such a casual rapport with Arin - comfortable enough to call him by only his first name, with no title or honorific.

Who the hell was this guy?

He shot me an expression that was somewhere between sheepish and guilty as he admitted, “We’re cousins.”

Oh, maybe that’s why his face looks kind of familiar, then.

My eyes went a little wide, and I covered my mouth with my hand for a moment, trying my best to hide the shock that was undoubtedly still evident on my face. Once I had taken a second to compose myself again, I pulled my hand away from my face. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I had no clue!”

“Why are you sorry?” His confusion was written all over his face. Unlike his cousin, he wore his emotions openly, it seemed. “If I ran into one of your cousins, I wouldn’t know who they were unless they told me.”

I looked around for a moment, attempting to come up with a response. “Yeah, but…” I trailed off. My family isn’t famous, or royalty, and I don’t have any cousins. I couldn’t blurt that out without thinking. I had to learn to stem the flow of my words before they seriously got me in trouble one of these days. So I looked at him again, offering a small smile and waving my hand through the air. “Never mind,” I decided, turning to look down at the water as it lapped at my feet. It was a lot colder than I had expected it would be.

Hugo didn’t respond, instead taking a few steps backwards and fiddling with his camera again, which now hung around his neck. I looked back over my shoulder at him. Maybe I should try a new topic of conversation, then. “Have you lived in Angeles your whole life?”

He shook his head, his body going still as he lined up his next shot. “No, I was born in France, actually. Have you lived in your province your whole life?”

For someone who had supposedly grown up abroad, he didn’t have much of a discernible accent, at least not to me. Then again, maybe I was just used to my grandfather’s thick Northern Swendish accent. There were times that I could barely understand what he was trying to say when he endeavored to speak English. Hugo didn’t seem to have that difficulty, though. He must have had a great education, then.

I nodded in response to his question. “During the school year, yes. When we were younger, though, my parents would send my siblings and I to Swendway with our grandparents for the summer. They still have this little cabin near Tromsø, but they don't like to live there year round because of how cold it gets. It’s fun in the summer, though, because the sun never sets.”

I could feel my smile growing as I spoke, the memories of my childhood summers flooding back all at once. My grandfather loved to take my siblings and I out on a little sailboat he had docked at the local marina. We’d all do our best to distract him so he didn’t realize how late it was getting, and then whenever he did realize, we’d inform him that we couldn’t possibly go to bed yet, because the sun was still up. He’d always chuckled at our mischief, but I was sure he must have gotten tired of it after a while. Yet, neither he nor my grandmother had ever reprimanded any of us. I missed those summers. It had been ages since any of us had been back, thanks to the ongoing conflict with Swendway. It wasn’t exactly the safest place for an Illéan to travel at the moment, much to my own disappointment.

A new light shone in Hugo’s eyes once I had finished regaling him with the tales of my summers past. “That must be beautiful. I only ever visited Swendway once before…” he trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

What had happened when he had gone to Swendway?

I tilted my head a bit to the right, keeping my smile in tact as I asked, “When?”

“I was a teenager,” he answered, his own smile reappearing now. It wasn’t much of an answer, seeing as I didn’t know how old he was, but I assumed that that had to mean it was before the relations between Illéa and Swendway had taken a turn for the worse.

“Me too,” I replied, laughing a little, “though I guess that’s not saying much in terms of how long ago it was. We stopped going once my older siblings started heading off to college. Timing got too complicated, and all that. So it’s been a few years.” Or so that was the reason my parents had fed me when I was fourteen. It felt like a safer explanation to give him, somehow. “Where in Swendway did you go?”

“Geirangerfjord,” he answered smoothly. A hint of hesitation crept over his face then, and in a more tense tone of voice, he added, “and Stockholm, of course.”

“Naturally,” I replied, nodding. It only made sense that he had been to the capital of Swendway. My own father had grown up there, mostly, thanks to my grandfather’s job. It was a lovely city, based on what I had been told by both my father and his parents, with cobbled streets and some buildings over hundreds of years old. Now, though, I could understand why visiting there could be a point of contention. I’d better change the subject again. “Sounds like you’ve had the chance to travel a lot!”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I have, and I’d love to go back.”

“Me too, one day,” I agreed, looking up at the sky and gesturing around a bit with my right hand. “I’ve got other things to do first, though.” I looked back at him then, laughing a bit, though it felt more forced than it had before. There was so much to do at this point in my life. Weren’t you supposed to gain more freedom as you grew up? It certainly didn’t feel that way to me.

Hugo laughed along. “I think we all have a lot we want to do.”

“Of course,” I replied smoothly, flashing him a joking smile as I turned to face him more, gently kicking a little of the water in the process. “We just need a time machine to do it all.”

“A time machine?” He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing the slightest bit as he looked at me.

“I mean, there’s just so much to do, and so little time to try and do it all,” I attempted to explain. It was an age-old problem, I had supposed, but maybe it wasn’t as relatable as I had thought. I cleared my throat, looking up at the sky, holding my left hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun. My hair tickled the bare skin of my neck as the wind blew it backwards this time, out of my face. That wasn’t my main concern as I took in the rapidly darkening sky, though. “Are those storm clouds?”

He looked up as well then, nodding once as he took in the sky. “Looks like it. That blew in quickly, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I frowned as I made my way back out of the water. In Carolina, it wasn’t uncommon for storms to pop up and then dissipate within the span of a couple of hours, especially during the summer, but I hadn’t seen that happen here, yet. I had a feeling we were in for a long afternoon and evening of much needed precipitation. “I think this will actually be the first time it’s rained since I’ve been here.”

Hugo glanced down at his camera, a frown forming on his face. “Maybe we should head back.”

“Yeah, that seems like the best idea,” I agreed, already making my way up the beach towards my shoes. “Your camera looks very nice, and I’d hate for it to get damaged.”

“It’s just a thing, but I’d love it if it didn’t get wet,” he called after me, following me up the beach. So, he wasn’t incredibly materialistic, then. Each word that came out of his mouth was like another piece of a puzzle, but instead of the pieces coming together to form a clear picture of Hugo, none of them seemed to quite fit together.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Entirely understandable.”

“Well,” he began, his pace speeding up as he attempted to close the distance between us, “if we’re quick, it won’t be an issue.”

A bit ironic that that’s coming from the guy who’s trying to catch up with me, isn’t it?

“Good thing I like to run, then!” I replied with a laugh.

Hugo just made a face at that. “I don’t run. Speed walking is the most you’ll get from me.”

At this point, I had kind of figured that out, but I laughed anyway as I looked at him over my shoulder once again. “Ah, but you’re tall.” It was true. He couldn’t have been more than an inch shorter than Arin. “That makes up for the speed difference.”

“I’m pretty sure multiple people would disagree with you,” he replied with a small laugh.

I raised an eyebrow, my chest still rising and falling with silent laughter. I hadn’t met his entire family yet, but they didn’t seem like giants compared to him. “What, are you a stop and smell the roses kind of guy?”

He waited a few seconds before responding, and then settled on, “I’ve never had anyone say that about me, but I guess I am.” With that, he began to hum thoughtfully, his mind no doubt embarking on a small journey of self-reflection over a sentence I hadn’t even thought about as it had flown out of my mouth.

I offered him a reassuring smile. “Nothing wrong with appreciating the small wonders of life! Sometimes it’s nice to just be able to take your time and really enjoy something.” That was quite possibly the most hypocritical thing to ever come out of my mouth. “Though, it doesn’t seem like many of us get to do that anymore.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, glancing over his shoulder to check on the clouds, which were blotting out more of the sky now. We really needed to get a move on to save his camera. Yet, he turned back to me, and asked, “What do you take your time on?”

I pursed my lips, mulling it over. What did I take my time to enjoy, anymore? Sure, I enjoyed my studies, and could easily lose myself in the details of them, but it was still something I did in part out of necessity, and not entirely for fun. “I used to like watching ballets,” I admitted, attempting to remember what it had felt like to watch one, years ago when I had in high school, “and taking time to enjoy every detail that went into making the production as a whole so breathtaking, but I’m afraid it’s been a while since I’ve done that.” I too turned to look up at the clouds now, rubbing my right forearm with my left hand. I didn’t know why admitting that one detail about myself had left me feeling so exposed - vulnerable, even - yet I found myself half tempted to find an excuse to run away from the conversation.

“Angeles has a pretty fantastic ballet company, if you ever have the time to go.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a grin, something sparking in his eyes as he spoke. “You could have Arin take you sometime.”

Bold of you to assume that I “could,” have Arin do anything he doesn’t explicitly want to do himself.

Despite the fact that I was beginning to wonder if Hugo and I were in fact referring to the same person when we said, “Arin,” I found myself smiling at the idea. “I would quite like that, if he ever has the chance. He seems pretty busy, usually, though.” When he’s not drinking, or kissing girls. “Not that I can blame him! It’s just difficult to get to know someone when you’ve only accidentally bumped into them twice, and been on one date that was more a series of unfortunate incidents than it was a date.”

God, why was I telling him this?

He raised an eyebrow at me. “I don’t catch what you mean, sorry.”

That was probably for the better. I waved my hand through the air as best I could while still holding my shoes. They bounced against each other, the sound of them knocking together hollower than I had thought it would be. “Don’t worry about it! The ballet sounds lovely, and I really hope I get the chance to go at some point.”

“Just ask him,” he reiterated, flashing me a reassuring smile, “it can’t hurt.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a nervous laugh. Maybe he was right. Was it worth the risk, though, was the question holding me back.

Something wet landed on my arm then, prompting me to stop where I stood, only a few meters away from the palace doors. Rain. When was the last time I had felt the rain on my skin? May, maybe? Definitely sometime before I had come to Angeles. That felt like so much longer than only a little over a month ago.

Beside me, Hugo had stopped as well, looking up at the sky as a few drops landed on his face. A stop and smell the roses kind of guy, indeed. That much was painfully obvious now. I looked away, revelling in the feeling of the rain on my own face. Without even thinking, I wandered a little further away from the doors, walking in a small circle as I looked upwards at the clouds. I had never noticed how much I had taken something as simple as the rain for granted.

“As much as I’d love to stay out here in the rain, my camera wouldn’t.”

I spun around to look back at him, my skirt swirling around me as I did, only to find him staring right back at me, a small smile on his face. “Right, of course.” I felt myself begin to blush again, though I was doing my best to convince myself that the blood wasn’t rushing to my face simply at the thought of him watching me as I was lost in thought. I walked over towards the doors, intent on getting the door for him, since he was holding something valuable, and I only had my shoes in my hands, which I should probably put back on now, anyways. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the rain, and I got a little distracted.”

“You can stay, if you like,” he offered, shrugging and then laughing a little. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your chance to see the rain.”

I shook my head as I reached for the door handle. As much as I would have liked to stay in the rain, I knew it would be a poor decision to do so. “I appreciate it, but I shouldn’t. I’m afraid there’s other things I should be doing instead.” A certain policy proposal was still sitting on my laptop, having undergone only one round of edits thus far. I really wanted it to be as good as I could possibly make it, if only to make a lasting impression on whoever was judging our proposals. Maybe they’d put in a good word for me. That’d be nice.

“Well, then hopefully it rains again sometime when you don’t have things to do.”

I looked down, attempting to hide my frown at his words as I opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open with one hand for him to grab. What did he mean by that? Did I really seem that obsessed with the rain? It was probably nothing. I was probably overthinking it. “One of these days, maybe.”

I let go of the door once I felt that he had grabbed it. “Thank you,” he said from behind me. I turned to face him then, watching him shake his head like a dog in an effort to dislodge some of the raindrops that lingered in his hair as the door closed shut behind him.

I brushed my fingers through my own hair, smiling a bit as I watched him. What an odd man. Still, he was rather nice, and that was very much appreciated. “Well, I know that didn’t go exactly as planned, but thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he responded, smiling as well. “I really appreciate how willing you were to help out.”

I felt my smile widen a bit, even as I slowly began to back down the hallway, clasping my hands in front of me. “Right, well, I should probably get going, but thank you again!”

“Have a good rest of your day, Evalin.” He turned to head down the hallway in another direction, looking over his shoulder at the last moment to add, “I'll see you around.”

“You too!” I turned away then, intent on making it up to my room and changing out of my slightly damp dress as quickly as possible. My thoughts kept flitting from Hugo’s words, to the advice he had given me about asking Arin to take me to the ballet, and then back to the work I should undoubtedly be doing instead of thinking of all this. Maybe I could multitask, though - write Arin a letter, and then get some work done as I waited for his reply. Yes, that seemed reasonable.

As soon as I was changed into a dry, more casual dress, and no longer wearing heels, I began drafting my letter to Arin. A letter seemed like the way to go - it was more polite than just barging into his office unannounced, that was for sure. Plus, it gave Julia the time to braid my hair as I wrote, which was probably for the better, since my hair had gotten more unruly than usual, after getting wet. I smiled down at my letter after finishing, looking it over briefly for any spelling errors.

Your Highness,

You never did get around to giving me your book recommendations. We should rectify that quickly, I think.

Sincerely,

Lady Evalin

PS - I have some questions about local marine life, if you have a moment or two to entertain them.

Hugo’s comments about Arin being knowledgeable about marine life had stuck with me. It would be kind of nice to see Arin speak passionately about something other than his woes or his own moral dilemmas. Seeing him so enthralled by my notes in the library had been fun, for sure, but that had been more of my passion than his. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a topic that got him talking like my work got me talking.

Satisfied with my letter, I smiled at Christina, beckoning her closer with a hand gesture. As she approached, I folded the letter in half, smiling at her again before handing the letter to her. “Could you please take this to the prince?”

Christina raised an eyebrow back at me, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “The prince? Why, of course, Evalin! It would be my pleasure.”

I laughed a little, drumming my fingers along the top of my computer and saying a quick, “Thank you! I knew I could count on you,” as she departed.

Julia had just finished with my hair, and I had barely even gotten my computer booted up when Christina scurried back in, stopping beside me and placing a small, folded square of paper on my keyboard. Her grin was infectious, and I found myself chuckling as I unfolded the letter.

Evalin,

What kind of book are you looking for?

P.S. I’m not an expert on marine life but if you’d like to ask me I’ll do my best to answer.

-Arin

I had to snort a little at his formatting. What fool put the post-script before signing his name? Still, it was nice of him to offer to answer. Pulling out another sheet of paper from my desk drawer, I quickly scrawled a reply, before folding it and handing it to Christina to repeat the process again.

Arin,

I believe you said you could recommend some books on history?

The marine life part came up in a recent conversation where I asked somebody about whether or not there are razor clams on the beaches here, and I was advised to ask you.

Thank you in advance,

Evalin

Mentioning Hugo by name felt wrong, somehow, as if admitting I had spoken with Arin’s cousin would somehow put Arin on edge. I knew it was ridiculous to think that, but I still couldn’t help but feel like I should be careful about dropping names.

Christina returned with Arin’s reply in a matter of minutes. It appeared I wasn’t going to get much editing done on my proposal, at this rate.

Evalin,

“2024: Wallis’ War” might be an interesting place to start. It gives you a peek into what life was before Illéa.

As for razor clams, no. The furthest south you can find them is about 20 miles north of the Angeles and Sonage border.

-Arin

I quickly wrote the name of the book down on a post-it note, and then pulled out another paper to write a reply.

Arin,

I’m assuming I’d be able to find this book in the library? It sounds quite interesting! Might I send some light reading your way while I’m there - only if you’re interested, of course!

Ah, sad about the clams!

Thank you for your reply,

Evalin

I truly wasn’t sure where I had even planned on going with the line of questioning about the razor clams. Was I going to drag him out to the beach with me, to watch me laugh as they squirted up water? How ridiculous! It was probably for the better that they weren’t native to this area.

Evalin,

Yes.

-Arin

I assumed that his reply was to both of my questions. It looked like I was going to the library, then. With a small sigh, I closed my laptop, rubbing my hands on dress once before picking the post-it note with the book title off my desk. Life before Illéa. It was such a strange concept to me. Obviously, I knew Illéa hadn’t been a country since the dawn of time, but 2024 didn’t sound like it was that long ago, if I was being honest. It was only six years before my father was born. Had he been alive before the creation of Illéa? I frowned, wrinkling my nose as I realized that I’d never thought about that before.

It didn’t take me long to find the book once I got to the library. Despite the gargantuan size of the palace library, it was still organized using the same system as every other library I had been to during my lifetime. The book itself seemed decent in size - not huge, but thick enough to keep me busy for a couple of days, for sure. Once the book was safely tucked under my arm, I made my way over to where I expected the scientific journals to be. Arin had seemed somewhat interested in my notes, the last time we had spoken. Maybe he’d enjoy some of my the work I had helped publish under Proctor.

I knelt down, immediately finding the first two articles I had contributed to. Those were the two I had expected to find. Both of them - one with a red cover, and the other with a blue cover - contained the results of experiments that Proctor had come up with. I had merely helped her with the analysis and by proofreading her findings, once she had written them up. I was almost surprised to find the third, though. It’s black cover caught my eye just as I was about to turn around and stand again. That journal contained the results of an experiment that I had come up with, that I had practically begged Proctor to let me run in her lab, under her guidance, of course. It hadn’t been a success by any big, discernable margins, but having her say yes to my proposed experiment had still been one of my proudest moments to date. I quickly snagged that journal off the shelf too, stacking the three journals on top of the book Arin had recommended me.

I debated just heading back to my room, and having Christina just run the journals down to Arin’s office along with another note. It wasn’t like they were particularly heavy - they were rather flimsy, as a matter of fact. Yet, I still felt a pang of guilt about making her run what would likely turn into yet another chain of messages between Arin and I. It was probably just easier for me to bring him the journals myself.

I stopped outside the door of his office, taking a deep breath. He had seemed so adamant about not wanting me in his office the night we had drank bourbon together in the hallway. Maybe this was a bad idea. It was too late to turn back now, though. I knocked three times, staring at the door as I waited to see if it would open.

“Come in!”

It seemed he wasn’t going to come get the door, then. With a small frown, I juggled the books in my hands, shifting them so they were held up by my left hip and arm, opening the door with my right hand. Arin was sitting at his desk, his head down, pen in hand.

Oh, crap. I just hoped whatever he was working on wasn’t classified, or super important.

I kept my voice soft as I spoke, taking care to close the door as quietly as possible. “Hi,” I began, tossing a timid smile in his direction, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I came by to drop off the reading I mentioned to you earlier. There’s three different articles in these journals that I contributed to, and since you seemed interested in my notes and textbook the last time I saw you, I thought you might be interested in these, too.”

At the sound of my voice, he looked up, his eyes going wide for the briefest moment as he shot to his feet so quickly I thought he might knock over his chair. “Evalin,” was all he said, brushing his hands on his pants.

I felt my own eyes go wide as I laughed a little at the speed with which he had risen to his feet. It was rather entertaining how startled he always seemed to be by my presence. First in the library, now this. A small part of me hoped it would become a consistent pattern.

“I’ll be sure to be clearer about when I’m coming by next time, I suppose.” Taking a moment to shuffle the books I was holding, I tucked the book he had recommended me under my arm again, and then held the three academic journals out towards him.

He seemed a bit fidgety as he made his way around his desk, coming to a stop in front of me and taking the journals from my hand. What had he been working on before this? What had I interrupted? I was more curious now, seeing his reaction, than I had been before.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you in the middle of something too important!” I was being genuine, in the sense that I had had no intention of disrupting work that required his utmost attention, but I also kind of hoped that by saying something, I might be able to get him to explain his nervousness, a bit. I had to wonder why he was acting so on edge as it was. He had been the one to tell me to come in, after all. Regardless, it was still fun to see him caught off guard yet again. “I could just go, if you’d like! I just wanted to drop these off for you!”

He looked down at the books that were now in his hands. “Um, thank you.”

“No problem!” I laughed a little again, more nervous this time, but then shook my head. He hadn’t asked or told me to leave, after all. I looked over his shoulder towards his desk, narrowing my eyes at the papers that sat atop it, as if I would somehow be able to make out what was written on them from this distance. “What were you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh,” he began, glancing over his shoulder at his desk before turning to face me again. “Nothing interesting.”

Fine, then. I supposed he was entitled to his secrets.

“Ah okay, just curious! Wanted to make sure I hadn’t interrupted anything important!” I’d already said that, hadn’t I? Shoot! I must have looked like a total fool, desperate for attention.

“Nothing that can’t be done later,” he reassured me, nodding at the journals I had given him. “Besides, this is much more interesting, I’m sure.”

“Ah, it may be!” I offered him a sheepish smile, hoping I hadn’t completely misread his interest in my notes in the library that day. Was he actually genuinely interested in my work, in what I was studying, or had he just been looking for an excuse to kiss me? Perhaps I was a bigger fool than I had thought. Still, the hole I had dug myself was too deep for me to climb out of now. “I only assisted in the articles my professor published in the first two, but I actually came up with the experiment in the third one - the journal with the black cover. I practically had to beg her to let me run it! I bought her coffee, did her busywork, ran her scantrons - anything to get her to say yes!” A small laugh escaped my mouth as I reminisced about those few weeks. Proctor had to have known what I was doing. I was terrible at deceit. I wore my true intentions all over my face every time I interacted with someone, I was afraid. She had still given me the go-ahead in the end, though, so I supposed that all’s well that ends well, and all that.

“That’s dedication,” Arin acknowledged, raising his eyebrows. He then turned away for a moment, setting the journals on his desk in a neat pile, aligning them just-so, similar to how he had carefully placed his book on the library table all those days ago. I was so fascinated by his near obsessive precision that I almost didn’t hear him add, “I’m not sure I’d have the same level of persistence.”

The corners of my lips tugged further upwards at the compliment. He was really feeding my ego today, it seemed. “I was really passionate about that experiment. I thought it’d be the greatest thing since sliced bread, I swear.” I chuckled a little at my own joke. I had come damn close to letting that experiment consume me, if I was being honest, practically living in Proctor’s lab for a couple of months. I would likely never do that again, I realized, my smile falling as I let the thought sink in, even as I continued rambling. “We didn’t think it all the way through, though - like how hard it would be to apply what we did in the lab in an actual human body - so there’s still a lot of future research to be done.” Future research that I likely won’t be allowed to assist in, despite coming up with the original idea. I’d brought that upon myself though, ultimately.

“What’s it on?” He asked, leaning back against his desk.

“Cancer research,” I answered without thinking, my eyes darting between him and the journal for a moment. Was it worth attempting to explain it to him? Looking back at him again, I decided to go for it. “The theory behind it was that maybe if we removed the gene in cancer cells that codes for their rapid reproduction, and inserted the gene that codes for apoptosis - spontaneous cell death - maybe we could stop or slow the spread of the cancer.”

He blinked. That alone told me that there was no way he had completely understood what I had said, but he nodded along regardless. “You think it could work?”

“In theory, yes. In actuality, probably not,” I admitted, shaking my head. “It would be extremely difficult to target individual cells within a person’s body. One solution I proposed to my professor was that maybe we could introduce some virus cells that would only target the cancer cells - like HIV targets immune cells only, kind of - and see if that would kill off the cancer cells. I’d bet actual money that she’s working to put her name to that idea right now.” Even though, once again, I was the one who came up with it. I laughed a little wryly, wondering how I had put up with Proctor’s behavior for as long as I had as I gazed at the journals.

Arin simply nodded. “Well, that’s a shame, then. It could so a lot of people good.”

“Yeah,” I replied, looking back at him then, “that was my hope.” With a shake of my head, decided to change the subject, flashing him a closed-lipped half smile. “But back to your previous point, about persistence - you mean to tell me that there has never been anything you felt like you would do whatever it took to achieve?” The concept of someone not feeling that passionate about anything seemed impossible.

“Anything I want to do will always be on the back burner,” he replied with a shrug. Right, I hadn’t considered that. Maybe that’s why he was so insistent on finding a wife, after all - he needed someone to relieve him of some of his workload, so he could pursue something he actually enjoyed, for once. That would likely be good for him, if I was being honest. He continued, oblivious to the thoughts churning in my mind. “At least for now. So, I find it's not efficient to focus on it too much.”

I offered him a sympathetic smile, close to offering him my help so he might be able to explore his own interests. Something held me back, though. That might be too much too fast. He was a hard nut to crack, and I didn’t feel like ruining what little progress I had made in getting to know him. “That makes sense. I tend to get the same way with work.” I gestured towards the journals I had given him, a single laugh escaping my lips before I added, “I think I saw my professor more than I saw my parents when we were running those experiments. Though in my case, I still definitely wanted to do them.”

“Well, you should try being employed by your parents. It’s interesting, to say the least.”

Ah, right, that. I hadn’t considered that, and yet, now that he mentioned it, I couldn’t help but wonder if we had more in common than we thought. I angled my head slightly away from him before admitting, “In a sense, I am. My professor and my father are co-heads of the biology department at my university, and both of them have to sign off on any students working in the labs, and place them in a position that corresponds to their interests. I just got lucky that my father and I aren’t interested in the same subfield.” I shook my head, looking down for a moment. Okay, maybe I had been wrong. Maybe we weren’t as similar as I thought. I met his gaze again, adding, “I can’t imagine how it must be for you, though.”

He shrugged. “I can’t imagine how it would be otherwise.”

I frowned, narrowing my eyes at him with curiosity as I inclined my head a bit to the right. “I take it you’re not someone that deals in hypotheticals, then.”

“Hypothetically, if anything was different then I wouldn't be me.”

A simple enough answer, and one that I could get behind, I realized as I shook my head. “No, that’s fair. I feel the same way.” I should say something more, to show him that I understand. The only example that was coming to mind, however, was the conversation I had had with Proctor the day before I had left for Angeles. Was it worth the risk to mention it? I bit my lip, attempting to come up with a way to word it that wouldn’t sound incriminating. I may not like Proctor at this point in time, but I didn’t want her ideas on the caste system to get us both in trouble, somehow. I would not let that woman take me down with her. “My professor asked me once what I would want to do with my life if I could choose absolutely any path, regardless of how realistic it was, and I swear it was like my mind just shut down. I just can’t really imagine being anything other than myself, you know?” I shook my head again. He must have thought that I was insane.

“I’m sure I could imagine it if I really tried,” he admitted, “but there’s no point in wasting time on impossible things.”

“Agreed,” I said simply, nodding once before biting the inside of my cheek. “But in a sense, everything is theoretically impossible, until it’s done. I mean, that’s how most technological advances are made, but that’s different, I suppose.” I shrugged, glancing back up at Arin. I was rambling again. I needed to figure out how to stop myself from doing that. It was getting out of hand. Exhaling through my nose, I decided to continue regardless. “It’s a shame that the world exists in nuanced shades of grey instead of clear-cut black and white. It’d make some things so much easier.”

“Grey is a perfectly wonderful color,” he replied with a soft smile.

I mirrored his expression, turning his words over and over again in my mind. “I suppose I’ll have to search for more pleasing shades of grey, then.”

For whatever reason, Hugo’s advice popped back into my mind at that moment, maybe because Hugo seemed like the kind of person who could see the hidden beauty in anything. I could hear his voice clearly, urging me that it couldn’t hurt to at least ask Arin if he would take me to the ballet. Was it worth the risk - to get my hopes up, only to have him potentially shoot them back down? Or maybe Hugo knew something about Arin that I didn’t. He was Arin’s cousin, after all.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

I looked back up at Arin, my head still inclined slightly to the right. “There was something else I wanted to ask you as well.”

He blinked once, a look of surprise flashing across his face. “What?”

Here goes nothing.

“Okay, well, I’m kind of spitballing here, but,” I stopped mid-sentence to take a deep breath, attempting to pull myself together, “theoretically, if I asked you to take me to the Angeles ballet - if you had the time, of course - would you say yes?”

I really was terrible at hiding my intentions, I realized yet again, as I smiled up at him with a glimmer of hope that he might say yes. My nerves got the best of me as I watched him tense up, and then let out a sigh.

Oh, no. It had not been worth it. Why had I thought it was a good idea to take Hugo’s advice? I had thought it was ridiculous the first time I had heard it! I should’ve trusted my instincts.

“Evalin,” Arin began. I felt my heart drop in my chest. “That’s not really my sort of thing.”

I knew my face had fallen, and I scrambled to cover it up before he noticed, in a vain attempt to save any shred of my pride I had left. What had I been thinking? I nodded once, my mind reaching for words that felt completely foreign at the moment. “Understood. Just thought I’d throw it out there, but, uh, forget it, I guess!”

“Sorry,” was all he said in reply, dropping my gaze.

Oh, God, what had I done? The little progress we had made towards getting closer was all falling to shreds right in front of me. I was such a fool.

I shook my head, offering him the best impression of a reassuring smile I could muster up at the moment. “No, no need to apologize! It was a silly idea to begin with,” I lied, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at my own stupidity. I never should have gotten my hopes up. Arin wasn’t someone I could count on to not let me down. I should’ve known as much by now.

“Maybe you could see if Safiya would want to go with you,” he offered, glancing back at me. “That’s up her alley.”

I was pretty sure Safiya was away for the week on some trip or another, if I remembered correctly, and the thought of asking her was borderline mortifying, considering we weren’t very close, but I offered Arin a small smile regardless. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Pointing over my shoulder at the door with my thumb, I added, “Anyways, I should probably get going. I’ve still got some work to finish.”

Arin nodded, pushing himself off his desk, to his feet. “Oh, yeah, of course. I shouldn’t keep you.”

We had really reversed our roles over the course of this conversation, it appeared.

“Right.” I slowly began to back towards the door, sliding the book he had recommended me out from under my arm and into my hands, holding it in front of me as I took another step. “Sorry again for interrupting. I’ll see you around, then.”

“It’s fine, really,” he reiterated, quickly walking towards the door himself. I stopped dead in my tracks, watching him as he made his way closer to me, brushing past me as he closed in on the door and opened it. “Don’t worry about it.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, offering him one last smile and a nod as I walked towards the door. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something else, but then clamped it shut. So this was it, then. What a rocky conversation this had been. I just smiled at him one last time before quickly making my way down the hallway, not waiting to hear the door close behind me. I just needed to get back to my room. I just needed to lose myself in this proposal that was due soon. That was the best use of my time. The least I could do was make sure I sounded more intelligent on paper than I did in person.

The proposal couldn’t be any worse than that conversation had been, at the very least. I had that much going for me. Now I just had to hope my idea for the policy wasn’t as silly or fantastical as the ideas I had had during that conversation.

#selectionoc #((to quote swendie/my own typo...NUGO))

6 notes · View notes