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smoochkooks · 5 years ago

Text

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed.

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

Park Jimin

Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

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mamapamanderson · 4 years ago

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One on One Time | Mother and Son

Who: Pamela & Blaine Anderson ( @blaineandersonsub )

When: Tuesday 2.23.21

Where: On Campus Cafe

What: Pam and Blaine have lunch to catch up.

Pamela Anderson

It was no secret that Pam adored her son and it was a matter of time before she was jumping onto the opportunity to spend some one on one quality time with him. With her handbag clutched in the crook of her elbow and her heels hitting the floor and filling the small space with the sound of her presence, she approached Blaine with a smile and opened her arms for a much needed hug. "I know I just saw you yesterday, but I was missing you already. Come here, anak."

Blaine Anderson

Having his mom back meant everything to Blaine. He loved his dad, but he'd always had a special connection with his mother. When he noticed his mother approaching with outstretched arms, Blaine stood from the table he was sat at and moved to hug her tightly, letting out a soft laugh. "I was missing you too, mama. I'd be wrong not to see you as much as possible while you're here."

Pamela Anderson

As soon as he was in her arms, she wrapped them tightly around him, bringing him in close as her hand cupped the back of his neck and her nose nuzzled into his perfect hair. "Well I would hope so, it's been too long since I've been able to see you everyday. You kids grew up way too fast, I was just telling your father on the phone." Reluctantly, Pam pulled away from Blaine, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling as she took the seat in front of where he was sitting. Pulling her purse holder from her purse, she hung it to the edge of the table beside her and hooked her handbag right on it, smiling at the satisfaction the little contraption gave her. "Okay, so what kind of place is this? What will you be ordering for your Mama?"

Blaine Anderson

Blaine smiled softly at the nuzzling, followed by the kiss to his forehead. "I actually have to agree with you on that one. Feels like just yesterday I was leaving for college," He said, gaze following his mother as he slid back down into his chair. "Oh, you spoke to dad? How is he? Where did work send him this time?" He asked curiously, unable to stop the chuckle as he watched her hang the purse holder on the table next to them. It was always nice to see his mother getting so happy over employing small, innovative things like that, he could tell they brought her some level of joy. Getting to see things like that also gave him potential future gift ideas. "It's a sandwich and coffee shop. I got us two coffees, some water and a chicken and cranberry on ciabatta with tomato soup. It's on the healthier side of the menu, but it's one of my favorite combos here."

Pamela Anderson

"They have him somewhere in Singapore right now," Pam responded absentmindedly as she looked over the menu, just to see what they had. It was a normal thing for them, Mark going off on his business trips. At first Pam protested him traveling so much, but she grew accustomed to it and wasn't going to complain about how it was the reason she was able to live so lavishly. She never wanted for anything and for her that meant success. Especially if her kids got to go to a school as lavish as this one. "That sounds lovely, anak," she said with a brith smile, leaning over to cup his face with the palm of her hand. "Thank you. So we didn't really get to catch up yesterday at the pool. I want to know everything. Who have you been sceneing with? Spending time with? Is there a special someone?" She continued, giving her son a wink

Blaine Anderson

Blaine nodded, smiling over at his mother as he leaned into the touch on his face. After a moment, he sat up straighter, maintaining the smile as he listened to her talking about his dad, and then his food choices. "Of course. Only the best for the best mom ever to walk through the gates of this campus," He teased, though the affectionate look on his face proved that he meant it, because he absolutely did. However, he hadn't been prepared for that next line of questioning, but he maintained the smile on his face as their food was brought over and set in front of them. "I've been scening with Queen Max and she actually has me under orders Monday too, I helped Miss Mercedes unpack so I guess that counts, and then I did a scene with Sir Sebastian. However, I can't say I haven't enjoyed those experiences. As for someone special, no. Not yet anyway," He smiled, quickly grabbing his cup of water to take a sip after the waitress had left.

Pamela Anderson

Pam always had a close relationship with Blaine and she was just happy it could carry on over to when he was grown and away from home. She loved all of her kids, she really did, but there was a special bond she had with Blaine, ever since he was a baby. It was why she dug in a little deeper when asking him about his time at the academy. She was concerned with Princess and Carter's progress, but was far more invested in Blaine's. Pam pulled back, scrunching her face right away. "There is someone walking around here calling themselves Queen?" She asked, before shaking her head and taking a sip of her own water. "I see. I guess we really are among the rich and entitled, hah?" It was so like Pam, to be judgmental right away before meeting someone. "I'm just happy you are meeting people and doing scenes. I was worried about you when you first come here. You'll find someone special." She reached out and covered Blaine's hand with her own. "Because you are the most special person I know."

Blaine Anderson

"Yeah, I thought it was a joke at first, but nope. However, someone else uses Fire Lord as a title, so I guess people are just really into the unique titles here," Blaine smiled down at the table, drumming his fingers on the side of the cup. Adjusting to the new title usage was a little hard to remember at first, but he quickly caught on, as he did with most things. "I was concerned when I first got here, because I hadn't seen Princess or Carter in so long. But once I got over that hurdle, it was easy from there. Speaking of, would you mind giving me Princess' phone number? I have her in my phone but I want to make sure it's up to date phone number wise," He said, taking another drink of water as he smiled down at the way his mother's hand rested over his. He felt a little wrong going behind Princess' back to get it, but he hadn't spoken to her much since he'd first come in. "Thanks, mama, that really means a lot to me. I've already met a few cool ones, and I know I should be focusing on finding a claim, but... I'm more worried about upholding the legacy. I need to keep my grades up to do that, and I don't want to distract myself." That was at least halfway true, anyway.

Pamela Anderson

Pam rolled her eyes. Not at Blaine but at the way this new generation seemed to be butchering the use of titles. As Blaine went on, it didn’t help her annoyance. “Is Princess still being hard headed?” She asked, her accent thinker than ever. It always came out when she talked about her oldest daughter and she didn’t know why. Kalangitan, that’s why. “Yes, I will send it now.” She reached into her purse to pull out her phone and sent the contact to Blaine. “Focus on what makes you happy.” His father didn’t agree with that sentiment, but his father wasn’t here.

Blaine Anderson

Blaine smiled and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly saving the contact in his phone just to be on the safe side. He'd text her at some point, when he managed to find something actually productive to say. As he slid his phone back into his pocket, he chuckled softly. "I... well, it's Princess. She's never quite been a fan of me, but... I'm working on it. We're kind of stuck together now," He informed, nodding once. When he was told to focus on what made him happy, he paused for a moment, but he new better than to argue. He simply nodded, offering her a small smile. "I will. I might have... exaggerated a little earlier. There is one boy, I guess. But he's taken."

Pamela Anderson

"I can talk to her if you like," she offered, knowing exactly how hard headed her daughter could be. She was the spitting image of her mother after all. As Blaine went on, he captured Pam's full attention. She knew there had to be someone special. Blaine was always someone who poured love and affection, most people didn't deserve it but she would never stand in the way of something Blaine wanted. "He is not pulling on your a string... no, what is the word... Oh. He is not leading you on, was he?" She asked with concern in her voice.

Blaine Anderson

Blaine shook his head quickly, chewing on the inside of his lower lip for a moment. He knew that would just do more harm than good. Not to mention, they weren't children anymore. He had to be able to work things out with Princess without running to their parents for help. "Not really, no. Sorry. I kind of just need some kind of direction, mostly. I want things to be better, but I also know it's going to take time. She didn't just... start feeling this way overnight, and I don't want to minimize whatever happened that got her to this point," He tried to explain, offering Pam a small smile. "She actually got coffee with me when I first got here, so that was a positive," He quickly added, hoping to talk Princess up some so it didn't seem all bad. Then, of course, the part mentioning Sebastian came back, and he really didn't know how to answer. "Well, no. It's mostly me putting myself in this position, you know? It's not the first time I've gotten... feelings for a straight guy."

Pamela Anderson

Pam nodded. "I think she just misses her Papa and doesn't... hasn't figured out how to deal with it," she offered sadly. Pam tried to do so many things to help Princess, even therapy, but none of it stuck. "Just let her know that you won't give up. That none of us will, not matter how much she wants to pull away." Pam smiled at Blaine's effort and just offered a nod. "Well I am glad some progress is being made." Then as Blaine went on, Pam's heart just ached for her son. "Oh, anak," she said with a frown. "I am sorry." She pressed her hand to the side of his face again and ran her thumb along his cheek bone. "It's preparing you. It's all preparing you for finding the love that you're supposed to have. It will work out for you one day."

Blaine Anderson

Blaine nodded slowly and offered Pam a small smile. "I understand," He murmured, looking down at his hands for a moment. "I'll do that. I guess I need to start pushing more, instead of waiting for her to come to me. Thanks, mama," He said, glancing back up as his smile only grew. It felt like everything was starting to make more sense, and he almost wondered why he hadn't connected the dots sooner. "It is getting better, yeah. It was fun, even." When she pressed her hand to his cheek again, he maintained the same smile and nodded once. "Thanks, mama. I appreciate that. Just need to stop making the same mistakes over and over." Except he's not straight, he's just pretending to be. The thought almost made Blaine roll his eyes, but he knew better than to do that while having a discussion with his mother. That was just bound to end in disaster.

Pamela Anderson

"You're very welcome, my son," she offered with a soft smile, pulling back just in time for their food to get there. "I'm so glad I was able to come here and spend some time with all of you. And don't worry about those mistakes," she went on. "It's how we all learn. And how we grow." She pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and rubbed some into her hands before reaching out and dropping some into Blaine's hands. "I'm very proud of you and the man you've become. "And so is your father." He was a little more absent than she liked and wasn't always the kindest to Blaine, but deep down she knew he loved his kids as well. "I can't wait to see what else is in store for you."

#blaine #para: blaine #( my shining star )

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 5 years ago

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thērepōdos (II)

I heard ya’ll like Dimileths~

FE3H | Dimileth | Gen

“You’re doing it wrong, come here...look.”

Dimitri frowns, watching as Sylvain lifts Alexei into his arms.

“The head goes here, look, like this!”

The protocol for a royal baby is clear, even if Alexei himself doesn’t know it yet. Now that a week has passed since his birth and both he and his mother are in good health, the time has arrived for him to be properly introduced to not only the nobles of the realm, but the people of Fhirdiad.

Some traditions are meant to be broken, though.

While the newly established heads of houses Gautier and Fraldarius were first through the gates, they were not the only ones to receive an invitation. So too did an innkeeper, four professors from the monastery, an opera starlet recently turned noble, two mercenaries and a mysterious hooded figure bearing the emblem of the knights of Seiros.

The ceremony to welcome Prince Alexei is two days from now, leaving every corner of Fhirdiad rife with anticipation. The last time they welcomed a prince was after Dimitri took control of the capital en route to Enbarr, an infamously bittersweet moment for all involved. For years the idea of welcoming a healthy heir to the throne in a time of relative peace remained little more than a wish whispered into the night. The people of Faerghus have become skeptical, hearts hardened by war and disaster. No one is quite so aware of this as the King.

Dimitri remembers his throne being stolen with far more clarity than he does reclaiming it. He was well read long before his arrival at Garreg Mach, devouring any text he could find that discussed the qualities of an ideal ruler. He spent nights poring over philosophy and proverbs- prepared for the crown of his country to weigh on his head and heart.

The crown was deceptively light in the end, though. He turned his head too quickly the first time he wore it and fell into shocked silence as it clattered on the ground at his feet. His instinct was to laugh and crack a joke; he has never been the gentle type, after all. He’s broken more lances than anyone could reasonably count, snapped Mercedes’ sewing needle in half; dented both his armour and crown. Somehow he even managed to headbutt Byleth during their first kiss.

Tradition calls for him to stand on the balcony of their grand palace with his child in his arms, telling Faerghus the name of their future ruler. He has both dreamed of and dreaded this moment, for reasons all too clear to those who know him best.

It’s been a week now and he has yet to hold the baby, convinced beyond all rational doubt that something awful will happen. Perhaps he will bend the baby in two; perhaps he will lift him with far too much force. Byleth has told him more than once that it’s unlikely, but the idea of landing any scratches or scrapes on his legacy is too much to bear. He only ever watches the baby from a safe distance; only dares to touch him by stroking his hair.

He knows Byleth wishes he would hold him and today he has little choice in the matter. It is the King’s job to introduce the world to his legacy and in doing so reassure the people of stability. Even so, his hands shake at the very idea and he can scarcely look his friends in the eye.

Of the Blue Lions, Sylvain was the first to have children-a red haired girl named Isolde, who’s spent the past half an hour peering into the cot with a grave expression. She’s too young to understand the more complicated issues at hand and Dimitri almost envies her ignorance.

Sylvain, who spent so much time with Isolde in his arms that she now gets incredibly upset at being parted from him, was horrified by the prospect of Dimitri being so distanced from his own child. His own scars are different in size and shape. He doesn’t fear holding his child too tightly, but giving them any inkling of rejection. Isolde bears no crest, yet he still calls her ‘princess’.

As per tradition, Sylvain arrived with gifts from House Gautier, among them a gaudy vase that no one in the room has pretended to like. Perhaps most importantly, it is almost exactly the same size and weight as a human child.

“Like this,” says Sylvain, shuffling the vase in his arms. “Look, you need to support the head.”

“This is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing either of you have ever done,” yawns Felix from his spot by the window.

Dimitri glances from the vase wrapped in furs in Sylvain’s arms to the sleeping baby and clenches his hands into fists.

“You can do it,” adds Dedue with a nod.

Dimitri rubs his hands together, taking a deep breath and reaching for the vase. His hands are trembling, his stomach churning. He knows it’s a vase and not the real thing, but it’s difficult to think of anything but either of them shattering on the floor.

He takes the vase into his arms, back straight and shoulders rigid. He can feel it slipping even though it sits stock still. Sylvain takes a couple of steps back, grinning triumphantly at his own success.

“There it is, perfect,” he says, “though...maybe you could relax...a bit?”

“You look like you’re taking a shit,” adds Felix.

Dimitri sighs and passes the vase back to Sylvain. Why was he cursed with such clumsy hands? Why couldn’t he be as skilled with delicate work as he is on the battlefield?

“Don’t worry so much about it,” laughs Ashe, no doubt sensing his tension. “Babies were built to survive new parents!”

“That’s right, that’s right,” says Sylvain, taking the vase from him with little to no effort. “Soon you’ll be bouncing them around and-“

SMASH

Everyone reacts at exactly the same instant.

Sylvain, who tossed the vase up into the air for emphasis, falls into shocked silence. Felix, who took a second to roll his eyes, squeezes them shut altogether. Dimitri takes two steps back, having tried and failed to catch the vase. Ashe flinches. Both Alexei and Isolde cry.

“This...this doesn’t mean anything!” Sylvain drops to his knees to gather the parts of the vase left intact. “Look...see-ow!”

“This is how it’s going to be, isn’t it?” Dimitri murmurs as Sylvain examines his bloodied fingers. “For the rest of my life…”

“No, no,” Sylvain exclaims, “this is just an accident...don’t think too much about it! It was fine until I took it, honestly!”

Dimitri sucks in a deep breath and storms out of the room, away from the chaos. Sylvain flops down onto the floor with a sigh, dropping the shard of ceramic that sliced open his fingers.

“Do you think we should go after him?”

“And say what?”

Felix’s words are sharp, though betrayed by his tone.

“I dunno,” says Sylvain, “that feeling scared is normal when you first have a kid.”

“Did you hesitate to hold Isolde?”

At that, Sylvain’s eyes drop to the floor. Everyone knows that he didn’t.

“Speaking of Isolde,” pipes up Ashe, “where is she?”

~~~~~~

It’s been a while since all of the Blue Lions have gathered at once. Byleth sees Mercedes and Annette at the monastery fairly frequently, while Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix remain in touch via council meetings and the day to day running of the kingdom, but the only time they all seem to be in one place at the same time is at a wedding or a baptism.

Byleth has missed the idle chatter of her students and it’s plain to see that they have missed one another’s company. She acquired a fragrant tea and lemon cakes for the reunion, only for them to lay forgotten in the excitement of updates on one another’s lives. Hours have passed and conversation has barely halted, leaving only Byleth to sit in relative silence. She’s always been something of an introvert and at present there’s a lot on her mind.

Today her son will be tested for a crest and then presented to the people of Fhirdiad. She knows that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering how often crests and their holders have changed the course of history, yet somehow the reality of it is only just hitting her.

Since Dimitri’s ascension to the throne, the topic of crests has been hotly debated. Where before it was a cornerstone of life as a noble, now it is considered outdated at best. It’s certainly true that noble families have continued to have their children’s blood tested, though the results are rarely-if ever-made public knowledge. The practise itself might not have survived were it not for the consequences of using a relic without its proper crest, leaving it as a safety measure and little more. Even so, Byleth feels anything but safe.

She does not want anyone to break the skin on her son’s finger, no matter how gently it is done. She brought in Hannemann for the task in the hopes that she would feel better about it, but her stomach still churns with anxiety. She did not know she had a crest herself until adulthood and that knowledge gnaws at her heart. Would it really matter if none of them knew if Alexei had one either?

She only half listens as Dorothea and Manuela frantically exchange notes on the newer compositions they heard in taverns on the journey to Fhirdiad. Enough time has passed that the war of the three houses has fallen mostly into legend, with travelling bards the world over composing tales of the noble chivalry and grand deeds of the Blue Lions and their allies. One particular ongoing theme (and consequently, ongoing joke) is the valour and strength of Ingrid of house Galatea and her incredible modesty on the matter. Ingrid has never truly known how to respond to the stories comparing her strength and beauty to that of the goddess. Naturally, her blushes only inspire Manuela and Dorothea to repeat them with gusto and their current tale involves a certain knight falling from the sky.

“...and next, next the beautiful stranger opened her eyes….”

“Oooh!”

Annette leans in closer, as if she’s listening to a secret. Ingrid blushes furiously, though tries to hide it from view.

“...she asked the innkeeper to listen closely and he crouched at her side to hear her whispers…”

Byleth has heard this story before. During a raid on a number of bandits, Ingrid fell from her horse, crashing through the roof of the inn. Somewhat miraculously, she escaped relatively unscathed from the impact, far more dazed than bruised. She stayed in the inn for a couple of days at Mercedes’ insistence and, while the true sequence of events was rather dull, the retellings grow increasingly dramatic with each passing year.

Everyone in the room knows this story, yet still wait with bated breath. As such, when Dorothea opens her mouth to whisper the request of the grand lady knight, only to be drowned out by the chaos of the door crashing open, everyone is startled.

The shock is only temporary, though, and quickly transforms into curiosity when it’s Isolde who rushes into the room. It’s certainly true that some present know Isolde better than others, but everyone in the room is acutely aware of two things.

One, that Isolde is nothing if not intelligent. She knows exactly how to manipulate her father into giving her extra dessert or a later bedtime, much to the ire of her mother.

Secondly, that while her loyalties certainly fall with Sylvain, who is easily the softer of the two, she will run to her mother whenever she is truly frightened.

“Momma,” she calls out, cheeks as rosy red as her hair, “Momma! Papa dropped the baby! It broke on the floor!”

~~~~~

By now, Alexei has fallen silent, sleeping soundly in the crook of Dedue’s arm. Sylvain disappeared in search of Isolde, leaving Felix and Ashe to sweep up the broken vase.

“Stupid idiot,” mutters Felix, “leaving us to clean up his mess…”

Ashe can’t contain his laughter. Felix, after all, was the first to grab a broom.

“Don’t you find it nostalgic?”

“Nostalgic?”

“Mhmm,” says Ashe. “It might sound silly, but it sort of reminds me of when we started to restore the monastery.”

Felix presses his lips together and continues to sweep, albeit in completely the wrong direction. It is nostalgic even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Back then, Byleth added restoring the monastery to their list of after school chores. It was difficult to retain morale with enormous gaps in the ceiling. Many of the Blue Lions and their allies continued to clear the rubble long into the night. Felix complained the loudest, but more often than not stayed until dawn.

Ashe can’t keep the smile from his face, even as the door flies open and the Professor rushes in, the remaining Blue Lions and Isolde in tow. Byleth has never been easy to read, but it’s all too clear what’s running through her mind as she crosses the room and stands up on her tiptoes to peer into Alexei’s sleeping face.

“Is that...a vase ?” Annette crouches on the floor and picks up one of the shards, holding it up to the light. “Why is it in a blanket?”

“Baby,” says Isolde, pointing at the mess.

Byleth peers around the room, taking note of every guilty face with two significant exceptions.

“Where’s Dimitri?” she asks.

~~~~~

There are very few paintings of King Lambert in Fhirdiad, though not through any sort of misfortune. In truth, he was far more interested in practising his sword arm than sitting down for a portrait, and as a consequence his likeness was captured only once.

The portrait of King Lambert sits pride of place on the wall of the heroes gallery, one singular floor of the palace dedicated to preserving the legacy of notable citizens of Faerghus. There are statues of Loog in every corner, portraits of long dead and largely forgotten kings, dusty tomes detailing the history of the land. To be placed in the gallery is one of the greatest honours in the country and Lambert’s portrait is the brightest of all. The artist captured him perfectly, from the sharpness of his jawline to his gleaming armour. He appears dignified, noble…

...and not at all as Dimitri remembers.

Dimitri remembers only his final moments, an image that so often drowns out the rest. When he tries to remember his father’s booming laughter, he recalls the sound of his final gurgles. When he thinks of his proud form, his mind immediately drifts to the moment it fell still.

He made peace years ago with the knowledge that Lambert was never coming back, but he wishes more than anything that he could remember more of him than the moment of his death.

Dimitri very often visits the painting of his father and it’s there that Byleth eventually finds him. His arms are folded, his back straight as an arrow, staring into the eyes of the painting so deeply that he doesn’t notice Byleth approach until she’s standing beside him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says.

“With what?”

“The silence.”

She stays quiet, as is so often her way, eyes drifting from him to the portrait. She, of all people, should understand. They’ve both been numb for as long as they remember and this past year has brought wave after wave of emotions to the surface.

Today they are duty bound to present their son to the kingdom and promise the very thing neither of them remember. Who are they now that there’s no battles to fight?

In the end, Byleth says nothing at all and instead links her fingers through his.

She doesn’t let go, not even as Hanneman pricks their boy’s finger and casts his blood into the flames, revealing the Blaiddyd crest.

She doesn’t let go as they stand on the balcony, waving to their subjects and declaring the arrival of an heir to the throne. As far as the people of Faerghus are concerned, the baby’s mere existence is a victory.

They don’t need to know how badly their king’s hands are shaking; they don’t need to know about the tears in their queen’s eyes as Hanneman’s needle broke his skin.

From this distance they can’t see the dents in his crown, nor can they tell that the bundle nestled in the crook of Dimitri’s arm contains nothing more than one of Isolde’s dolls.

The real heir to the throne is fast asleep in his nursery, as blissfully ignorant of the celebrations in his name as he is the battles that won him his birthright.

That, in itself, is the true victory.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth #dimileth

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mxune · 6 years ago

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A Soft!Lucio headcanon I somehow made. [LONG POST!!!]

(Tumblr decided to crash the first time I uploaded this post so I had to redo the whole damn thing, I hope it's still as good! ;;)

The thought came to me while my friend @kittenwoogle and I were discussing random Lucio headcanons spouted from a meme I found.

How would he deal with an MC who wanted to have a baby?

[LONG POST!!!] This is my first text post so I'm absolutely clueless as to how 'under the cut' works, thus my warning. So I apologise to all you passers by, having to scroll this far down.

I wrote this for a female MC as I'm not so sure how else to write this sort of thing, so I apologise to all gender neutral and male MC's! ^^''''

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

If you ever had the thought of bearing a child with him, he'd be quite hesitant at first, thinking:

"But... Mercedes and Melchior? Camio? Our cats? I thought those were our kids..." In which you'd have to reply to him, saying it isn't exactly the same.

He'd definitely try to understand why you would want to have a child, but it'd take some time as his first initial thoughts would be:

"What if they grow up to betray me?! Or become uncontrollable little brats?! What if...

What if they..."

And then his mind begins to wonder off to the time he had killed his father and almost his mother, which sparked a bad memory for him. But you comfort him and reassure him that he's changed and whatever happened in the past stays in the past.

"Every parent is different." You tell him,

"Even the most cruelest of souls can change."

He accepts this grudgingly and eventually sees the positives of becoming a parent overtime.

He would occasionally note that he would want to have a little boy, not that he'd mind having a little girl, but he always wanted a "Mini me" to carry on his legacy. I can guarantee he would cuddle with you very carefully, maybe even resting his head on the baby bump as he tried to listen for any sounds or movements.

The moment you tell him the baby could hear him, good luck trying to get him to stop talking to your baby bump. He'd sometimes kneel down eye-level to your stomach and say:

"You're going to grow up to be nearly as daring and charming as your ol' Papa here.~" As he softly pats your stomach, beaming with pride.

He'd also tell you about all the renovations he's going to do to the palace to prepare for the 'new born heir'.

"The whole city will remember this day, the Whole. Damn. City."

He'd prepare an announcement party the moment he knew you were pregnant, but it'd be so grand and over the top that you'd have to tell him to tone it down a little as it was only supposed to be a mere announcement, not another ball. (Not that you'd mind of course, you'd dance with him either way.~)

He'd speak about converting one of the extra rooms into a 'baby wing', maybe even build a whole new wing altogether, as long as it was close enough for you to see to the baby if they ever needed anything (you'd probably just tell him that cribs are a thing, and he wouldn't need to think about making a whole new room until the baby was old enough to sleep on their own).

Also might I add?

This. Man. Is. Stressed.

He'd think since you're the one giving birth, he'd have no worries, but boy was he wrong-

"Are you sure you're okay doing -insert daily task-?"

He's so confused as to why you seem perfectly fine, his mother always told him she was in total agony for nine months because of him, yet you seem to be doing absolutely fine?

You reassure him by telling him that his mother probably told him that out of exaggeration and that each pregnancy is slightly different, to which he suddenly becomes woke about everything his mother had told him in the past about being pregnant.

He still insists you stay in bed though, and if not in bed then within his wing.

That way he knows for sure that you're safe and protected in the hands (well, paws) of Mercedes and Melchior.

He probably also makes them follow you around everywhere just incase. (This man has never dealt with anything like this before, please help him-)

He knows that even with a pregnant spouse, this won't stop his daily duties so he always hates the fact he has to get up every morning and take care of the city while you're here in bed.

The sudden realisation that you're going to give birth to a child with both of your genes combined hits him in shockwaves.

"So, you're telling me , they could have my hair?! Even your eyes?" He asks while he's cuddling your stomach, staring down at your bump, occasionally looking at you to confirm that this was actually happening.

You would laugh at how innocently excited and proud he seemed as he looked at the baby-to-be. He'd definitely had wished he understood what having a child meant sooner because due to the beliefs his mother gave him about pregnancy and fear of what they could turn out to be put him off parenting completely.

But your smiling face just confirmed that what he was doing was the right thing and that he could never regret this.

Now, for the most fear inducing part of the whole process....

Delivery.

The day of your baby's delivery is the day poor Lucio almost gives himself a heart attack. He had completely forgot about how loud a woman could scream whilst giving birth, yet he stayed by your side the entire time, having you grip his metal hand for support. This man was sweating even more than you were by just seeing you in pain, his brows constantly furrowed. Between contraptions you tried to reassure him everything was going to be okay but he was having a very hard time believing you. Luckily though, the birth was completely successful!

And the biggest sigh of relief escaped from his lips as his well-known grin returned.

"I'd expect no less from my beautiful countess.~" he'd proudly admit as he wiped a few strands of hair away from your eyes.

All his inner doubts fled out the door as he saw the fresh little baby cradled in your arms, screaming their lungs out nonetheless. But at this point, he didn't care. He was too busy staring mesmerized at this little thing in your arms, thrashing it's tiny limbs about and squinting as their eyes adjusted to the light.

He was right, they had his hair. Tiny blonde strands sticking up and curling out in every direction. And as their tiny eyes opened ever so slowly, he could see flecks of colour that resembled your eyes identically.

He couldn't believe it. He felt his eyes stinging and before you knew it, he was in tears.

You asked if he wanted to hold the baby and his eyes widened, the sudden realisation hitting him.

.....He can't.

"Wait here-" he began as he hurriedly rushed out the door, leaving you baffled for a few minutes.

He then returned as soon as he left with his entire left arm covered in cloth and soft wrappings.

...

"Can I hold them now?"

If you thought Lucio wouldn't say "Come to Papa." Atleast once to this child, then you're dead wrong.

Infact he probably would say it more often than not, especially if you're having a rough day or he just wants to hold the baby, taking extra caution not to accidentally scratch or harm them even with his metal arm covered.

Mercedes and Melchior are very curious of this new little human joining the family, their snooters giving the baby little sniffs here and there, earning giggles from the newborn which never really bothered either of you as Lucio trusted they wouldn't harm them.

He will most likely have requested for a 'baby proof' arm to be made which just consists of soft squishy fabrics that cover all the sharp areas of his gauntlet so he doesn't need to wrap it in cloths every morning (a very tiresome but rewarding process for the poor Count)

You saw a completely new side to this man, cradling the sleepy child in his arms as he hushed them to sleep, slowly pacing around the bedroom until they had fully dozed off.

You had helped him to see things in a different perspective and he loved you all the more for it.

[hopefully this posts successfully! I'll be editing bits and pieces as I go]

#first arcana headcanon #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana lucio #count lucio #soft goatman #he's trying okay-

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breg21 · 7 years ago

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Danny Phantom. The Ties That Free us-Chapter one

CH. 1! I am so excited for you guys to read this. This is the endgame for the series. Better buckle up, because trust me, there will have plenty of bumps along the way. Thank you for coming along on this wonderful journey with me as we discover just who Danielle and her family really are as characters and the stories they hold. It's been one hell of a ride. Without further ado, I give you: The Ties That Free Us. Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Nickelodeon does.

Summary: Five years of peace. Something that Danielle never knew that she could have. But as the years passed, Danielle realized she wanted one thing: To pave her own path and the choices ahead. One filled with ghost fighting and the glory that came with it, the other a normal life with family. Which one would she choose? A life of living up to her dad's legacy and the burden that comes with it, could she even live up to that? Or does she want a life that she was denied the first two years of her life? So many choices, so little time. But then all her questions and fumblings in her head were put to a halt.

He returned. "Suprised I'm back?"

Danielle sighed, giving a long roll of her baby blues. "Surprised? Nah, not really. Annoyed? Definitely."

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12969270/1/The-Ties-That-Free-Us

"I'm gonna need you to stop the traffic light on Elm and Maple."

No answer.

"Aunt Jazz?"

No answer.

"Aunt Jazz!"

Her voice finally tore through the intercom. "Yeah yeah, I'm programming it as we speak. You are such your father's daughter. I don't have to do this, you know."

Was she serious right now? They were literally in the middle of a high-speed chase, and she chose now to be in a cranky mood. Danielle knew wedding planning was a hard job to do, but her parents weren't so stressed when they did it. Then again, they had a wedding planner, but Aunt Jazz had insisted that she and Uncle Roy did the whole thing with the family members’ opinions weighing them down, even though Nana and Papa Manson said they would happily pay for a planner.

With her anger seething under the surface, Danielle did her best to remain calm. But she knew it broke through some. "This is your job, or at least part-time!"

"Then I don't get paid enough."

That's it, I'm talking to uncle Roy about this. Sighing, she patted the D on her chest off, ending the conversation. Rolling her eyes, Danielle continued sailing through the sky, cutting through the hazy summer breeze that caressed her skin as she flew in the opposite direction that the wind was pushing for. Buildings blurred, blending into one another as she zoomed past.

Shoving her conversation with her aunt to the back of her mind, she honed in on the car. Danielle sighed in relief as the streetlights froze on red, halting all cars in additional to the one she was trailing. Good. This should be easy enough.

Car horns honked in confusion as people started exiting their vehicles to find out why every stoplight had turned red. Upon seeing Danielle soaring through the sky, mumbles of understanding briefly caught her ear as she passed the cars. She quickly ignored the cheering that started as citizens assumed her heroic duty.

She pressed the D on her chest thrice to contact everyone. "Okay, I have them in my sight. Mom, dad, I'll be sending them your way, so be ready." Both Danny and Sam mumbled something in agreement. Speeding up, Danielle easily increased momentum as her eyes locked onto her target—a sleek, black 2004 Mercedes. She turned invisible and without a warning, overshadowed the driver.

She quickly glanced to the side to see the passenger side occupied with a man with a ski mask; from what she could see from his hands, he had pale skin, greasy brown hair from the little tuffs that pushed out at the end of the mask, and ratty old clothing. His hand clutched the handle of the car door, hanging on as the car continued to swerve between lanes.

She kept peeking between him and the road to see him loosen his grip on the handle to try to open the door, only to be met with the friction of the lock as it resisted to release the door open. The adrenaline that surged through his body only intensified as everything blurred past his window, his possessed friend driving unbelievably fast.

"Let me out please, I didn't want this in the first place; all I wanted was to save my little girl.”

Danielle looked at the masked man in confusion, only taking her eyes off of the road for a second. "Little girl?"

Even with all other cars stilled on the street, Danielle was still having trouble not crashing into other people. She really preferred flying over driving.

"My 7-year-old daughter was diagnosed with cancer about a month ago. My wife and I don't have the means to pay for her hospital bills so this shmuck," The masked man pointed the body that Danielle was now overshadowing. "Told me that if I helped him with a job that he would give me enough money for my daughters treatments, but I never wanted any of this. Now I'm not sure if I will ever see her again after this. Or my wife for that matter."

Poor guy. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. Just how the world goes. Change of plans.

Danielle could see the guilt building up in his eyes as he continued to talk more to himself than anything. "Gosh, this was a mistake. I wish I could turn back time and take it all back."

Danielle once again looked at the man with the sparkle of an idea in her eye. she pressed the D on her chest and signaled her uncle Dan. "Hey, Dan Dan, you there?" Glancing in the rearview mirror, Danielle could see traffic starting up in small quantities.

Great.

A low growl could be heard over the intercom, making her force back a chuckle. "I told you not to call me that. What do you need, pipsqueak?"

Another car was successfully avoided. She gave a light tap to the gas with her foot. She was pushing sixty, but she needed to make it to her destination before traffic started completely back up. They wouldn't listen to the lights for long, no one ever did in Amity. With ghost attacks being an average thing, everyone was pretty numbed to travel laws. "I need a clock reversal in about ten minutes. Also, tell Dad and them to hold back. Plans have changed. I'll take care of it, just have them do the usual clean up of the city after."

"You know, she's not going to like that."

She rolled her eyes, trying to keep a steady steer with the wheel. This guy’s muscular hands were a pain to control. "Yeah, well unlike the rest of us at the moment, she has the time."

He sighed, but seemed to relent. "Fine, but you owe me. And don't think pizza can buy your way out of this mess like it used to. Nothing in Amity compares to authentic Chicago."

Another car passed, only this one had been driving in her lane and missed her by a beat— and yes, she was in the wrong lane, but if people would listen to the stupid lights, that wouldn't have happened—idiot.

"Stop drooling and get her here. And make it fast!" Danielle yelled as she nearly hit an oncoming charter bus.

The passenger, who was frozen to his seat the entire time, became animated once more. He even ripped his mask off, not caring that she would be able to identify him now.

With that, he yelled, "What the heck! I thought a superhero would know how to drive properly!"

She shot him a warning glare, getting a glimpse of his soft structured cheeks, clean chiseled jawline, and oddly crooked nose, before returning her eyes on the road ahead of her. "Hey, I'm trying to help you out here, could you dial back the criticism just a bit."

He didn't look at all convinced as headlights reflected off of the windshield. She thankfully dogged it at the last minute, however, and she could see the relief sag into his shoulders.

With a slight scowl she added, "Besides, I do know how to drive. I was just taught by my Grandpa, that's all."

That relief was short lived as she did her best to swerve past the remaining traffic on the streets as more moving cars showed up. While keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she shifted the upper portion of her body out of the window.

She shouted to the sea of cars, "Come on, people! Ugh, you’d think people would recognize a red light!”

Just another normal day in my life. I wonder how grandma's doing in New York, I hope she's doing okay.

Realizing that she should focus on her task on hand, Danielle tried not to laugh as he gave her a sideways glance.

Out of nowhere, he said, "You have a lot of anger issues. You know, my therapist told me that when you're under stress it's best to— Oh sweet Mother Teresa!"

An oncoming eighteen wheeler was about to make a collision with them head-on. Danielle placed her hands on the dash of the car, causing it to phase through the oncoming truck narrowly escaping death.

With his back glued against the leather seat, and feet firmly planted on the floor of the car, he cracked his head to the side just enough to look at Danielle with eyes opened in fear. Breathing in a sigh of relief, she said, "Woah, that was close."

Danielle shifted her eyes to the passenger to see a look of frustration on his face, eyes screaming at her as he stilled against the car seat.

"Why didn't you just do that before?" he said.

She swiveled the car, just slightly out of spite; she may have been helping him, but he couldn't comprehend the hardships of her job.

"Do you know how much energy it takes it takes to temporarily shift an entire car to another dimension?! No? Then zip it!"

Sending a sharp glare to her, he grumbled out, "You know, your bedside manner could use some adjusting."

"That's not what your mom said last night!"

Danielle heard the all too familiar voice of her youngest brother— he looked to be around fifteen, maybe sixteen if she had to guess— from the future as he kept pace with the speeding car. A time medallion hung largely around his neck. Danielle somehow smiled out of her annoyance. "So, if you're here Speedy, that means Lily is too?"

"Ten-four, big sis! Why aren't you breaking?"

She did as requested, putting pressure on the break, but instead of the car coming to a rolling stop, the petal wouldn't budge. It wouldn't allow her to slow down the car so much as a couple miles, no matter how much weight she put on it. Her eyes snapped to DJ's, fear contorting her face.

Oh, no.

"Uh kid, we have a problem."

Still keeping pace, and yelling over the rapid wind that pressed against them, he tried his best to reassure his sister. "Don't worry, I got ya. Your ride is nice, but it's a bit heavy for my taste."

DJ quickly became a green blurred circle around them as piece by piece the car slowly was dismantled; as each part was removed their speed slowed down, until all that was left was the frame and the two people hugging in the front seat.

Danielle, who was too busy consoling the crying adult in her arms, did not realize that they were now stilled. She awkwardly patted his back and shushing him over his shoulder as snot soaked into her suit. "It's okay, it's okay. We'll do everything we can to help you and your family out."

Tears and snot now ran down the man's face as he pulled back from the embrace. "She's my whole world. I would do anything for her."

DJ just looked at the two in confusion. "So um... You're welcome?"

Unbuckling the seatbelt that still remained strapped around her torso, she floated over to her younger sibling. Stepping out of the one man's body, she easily made a wad of ectoplasm, tied him up, and kept him close in case he woke.

She then turned to her brother. "Hey Speedy, before you take off, I think we're going to need you to do your magic.”

His crystal eyes that matched his sister’s widened in horror, his weightless steps easily propelling himself backward several feet. "Oh no... Every time we do one of those, you punch me way too hard."

She scoffed at DJ's cowardliness. "Come on twerp, you can take it."

"I'm so telling on you to Mom and Dad."

"Yeah yeah, just hurry up before the police get here."

DJ was much better at possessions than she was. Even though she could move the body, it never came naturally to her like it did to DJ, and even like her father. The problem was, DJ got too into it, relishing in his power, so she frequently had to knock him out for him to be able to separate from the body.

The former bank robber, Danielle had yet to catch his name, came stumbling from the leftover car, still shaken. "Wait, why the heck is he grinning!?" the man asked in total fear of the smirk on DJ’s face. He did enjoy overshadowing a little too much, in her opinion.

DJ quickly overshadowed the raggedy man, making him float ominously in the air just as the police showed up. "I am OVERKILL and you will all bow before me, puny humans!"

She didn’t understand why DJ idolized her uncle so much.

That was the moment that the police decided to arrive. They had always done their best to protect the town as a whole but there were just some things everyday people—with or without ecto guns—could handle.

Danielle looked on for a moment as the police had surrounded them, circling almost the entire block, with their weapons at the ready. "Aim!"

That's when she took her queue, jumping in front of the officers before they could move their weapons.

Using her best heroic voice that her dad had taught her, much to her mom's embarrassment, she called out, "Wait! This ghost has clearly possessed an innocent man. If you fire upon him, you would be hurting someone who had nothing to do with the crime that was committed!"

DJ looked to the people below him as he flew just a bit higher, in the unlikely case they started to shoot at him. "Silence, puny hero! Or else you will feel my awesome might, the likes of which your tiny mind could not begin to comprehend!"

And he wonders why I hit him so hard.

Danielle zoomed to her little brother, punching him right out of the man's body as he dropped safely to the cushioned car seat DJ had been floating above. "You just made this so much easier, Overkill!" Danielle quickly threw DJ to the ground.

The hero's voice was becoming too much, even to her own ears, but she wanted to sell it. If they weren't convinced, they would be in deep trouble. She was beginning to understand why her mom hated it so much.

She yelled to him, "It's over, Mr. Overkill!" If I say that name one more time, I will put some force into my punch. "I have been waiting to capture you for a long time. Now, taste ghost justice, you fiend!"

She gave DJ a knowing smile as he just froze in place, eyes narrowing as he laid crushed up on the seat. "Really...?"

Danielle wasted no time in taking out her Fenton Thermos and encased her speedy brother inside.

One officer out of the bunch walked up to Danielle, almost no color dampened his face, it was almost as if he had... seen a ghost. Heh, I'm too much like my dad.

The way officer’s adam’s apple bobbled up and down while he tried to force his words out was hilarious. "Thanks again, Danielle. Normally, we can handle these sort of issues but I have to admit we had no idea that man was overshadowed. Thank you for your service."

Then the man that Danielle hadn't possessed began to stir on the car seat. His head swayed a bit before he shifted from his resting spot against the seat. His hand flew to his head as he tried to steady his surroundings. "Ugh, what happened, and why do I smell like Axe? Wasn't I just-"

Before he could continue, Danielle interrupted, using the same voice that she had used on the officers. "Yes, we know. This foul man came to your door with a plan to rob a bank, and the ghost overshadowing you made you agree to this man's criminal plan. But worry not proud citizen, you are free from his tyranny and can go back to your normal life. Now come with me! We must make sure he did not leave any unwanted side effects."

Gosh, I sound like an extremely patriotic muppet.

Danielle took the man back to Fenton Works where Lilith and Tucker were waiting for her, Tucker stood uncomfortably in the corner, while Lilith sat on the couch with a face void of emotion. The rest of her family was still out, doing their usual rounds after something like this happened to make sure every citizen was okay.

Danielle could tell that she was definitely masking her anger. "So sis, who is he?"

Well.

I'm in trouble.

She strode over to Tucker, shielding herself behind her boyfriend, who stood several feet away from her younger sister.

Her lips fell into a sheepish smile. "He's someone who could use a break. I promised I would help him and his family."

Pushing herself from the couch, Lilith stalked over to the two, arms crossed and eyebrows raised: the very embodiment of fear itself. "So, what do you want me to do? I can't just rewrite today, otherwise this whole scenario will just get time tangled."

Tucker's body stiffened as Lilith neared them, but immediately relaxed under Danielle's touch as she began to rub little circles in the small of his back. It was the little things. "Yeah I know, also find a better name than time tangled. But what I need you to do is go back and alter his crook buddy’s memories to make sure that when the police interrogate him, he doesn’t remember this guy here..."

She paused for a moment, eyes going to the man awkwardly standing at the entryway of the door. "What's your name by the way?"

Danielle watched as heat flooded his face, eyes went to the blue carpet of the house, his messy brown locks shielding his face. He refused to meet anyone's gaze. "It's Mattaniah, Herington the third." The toe of his shoe started to dig an invisible hole into the floor.

A few dry chuckles left her boyfriend's lips. "Wow, did three generations hate their kids that much to name them Mattaniah?"

His head snapped up, but he still wouldn't set his eyes on them. "It has a very old meaning to it, but yes it's very ridiculous."

Danielle moved out from Tucker's protective shielding. "Anyway, we need his friend to think he really was overshadowed."

She watched as Lilith sighed, shaking her head in defeat. "Fine, we'll take him home first and I'll go do the rest myself. Don't think I'm coming back too often though. We like to help out when we can—we're family after all—but protecting the city is your job as of right now. I'm not even conceived yet."

He looked at Danielle and Lilith, finally meeting their eyes. Confusion overtook his whole expression. "Why are you two doing all this for me, for my family?"

Danielle smiled, clapping him roughly on the back. "Well Matthan, Matten-" Her mind became a jumbled mess as she tried to say his name correctly. She failed, miserably. "You know what, I'm just going to call you M. We're very big on second chances in this family." She pushed him towards her sister.

Lilith opened a portal to go back in time but before she does she looked back at M, a secret grin overtaking her lips. "Just don't blow up any fast food places and we'll be good."

"Fast food places?" he said in confusion, looking back to Danielle for an explanation, who didn’t respond.

Lilith shrugged, looking between Danielle and Tucker, shooting them a wink in a play. "It's an inside joke. Now come on, let's get you back to your family."

Danielle walked into the man's home, to see the place he was living in was not exactly glamorous. The house was old and almost looked condemned, with wooden boards that hung from the ceilings; some had scratches woven into the aged planks. In one part of the apartment there a large wall decorated with exposed brick, and chipped pieces fell effortlessly to the floor. It was absolutely disgusting.

"Wow... this is....um.... a nice home."

Danielle's hesitant smile held no genuine warmth, even though she pushed all her energy into it. It was half done, and it settled wrongly on her lips. In truth, even she knew it fit in an uneasy way, without the use of a mirror. Oh well. Never have been the best liar.

A weak smile spread on his lips, guilt swelling his eyes. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better. It's falling apart from all fronts, but it's what we got. It didn't always use to be like this but..."

The edge of Danielle's mouth turned down in a small frown. "What happened?"

He sighed. "I used to be the head of a large computer company, then one day there was some weird computer malfunction. I thought it was nothing, but when my company investigated, it said that I had been embezzling money from the company since near the beginning, but I never did anything of the sort. They threw me in jail, and when I got out I found out my company was bought out by Vlad Masters of all people, at a dirt cheap price."

Anger constricted her eyes, making them narrow in tight slants as her mind began to race. Of course Vlad had ruined this man's life. Now the monster was up in space and this guy had to live with what he did every day. She wanted to help more than ever now. She knew what it felt like to be manipulated by Vlad.

His squeaky voice was hollow. "Now because of my criminal record, no well-paying job will hire me. It's hard to think how one little computer error could change my family’s life so much. But if there is one thing that has been keeping me going, it's my girls at home. It just hit me that much harder when we got that diagnosis though. Please just promise me that if you tell her about helping us you won't give her any false hope."

They don't deserve this. No one does.

Danielle glanced around to see cobwebs and what she thought might have been specks of mold. This time her lips turned up into a loose warm, heartfelt smile. "Listen, I know a great charity that would help. Actually, I have their card, take a look." Handing him a card, he gave it a once over.

Reading it aloud, his eyebrows rose in confusion. “Sam Fenton Charities. Helping people in need of homes.” His eyes went up to meet hers. “Your mom has a charity operation?”

"Hey, um, yeah. She’s been doing for years now. She really loves to give back to people. I’m sure the staff would be willing to help repair and help get you on your feet."

His eyes shifted as pondered her offer. "I don’t know…. What about paying them back? I don’t know how we’d ever be able to do that.”

Placing a gentle hand on his upper bicep, she offered again. "Please, it wouldn't be a problem. It’s a non-profit, so it doesn’t charge period. If you want to pay back, you can volunteer. My mom opened this charity to be able to help people.”

He scanned the room, seeing the scattered remains of garbage littering the floor. "I don't know. It seems too good to be true." Out of nowhere, a piece of ceiling crashed down; Danielle let it phase through her to the floor while giving M a sly look. "I'll let the girls know.

After Danielle waved goodbye to her brother and sister after the portal closed, she transformed back to human, and started to shuffle her way to the stairs that led back up to the kitchen.

With each step, she didn’t want to admit the worries that today held. It had been so easy for DJ to do what he did, and while she was proud of what he— what they— had accomplished, it made her pause. Would she be able to do something like he did so easily?

Another thought struck her.

Did she even want that?

Oh well, another thought for another day.

Woot woot! First chapter completed. I hope you guys enjoy! And while Lilith and DJ won’t really show up much in this story, they will only play one big part later on. Please leave a review if you could. Love you guys!! Shout out to my beta reader, silente faery.

#Danny Phantom #dani phantom #danny fenton #Dan Phantom #sam manson #Tucker Foley #fanfiction

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Mr. Mercedes Director Jack Bender On The Show’s Peacock Move and Future

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Mr. Friendly’s Frosteez has a new driver scooping ice cream for the kids and smiley-faced tennis balls for the older crowd. A certain 2003 Mercedes-Benz S 600 sports a new color. And Mr. Mercedes has a new home. The Stephen King detective series will be getting a second life at Peacock. While Mr. Mercedes season 3 ended with a vague tease the serial killer at the heart of the series may be starting anew as the Supreme Electronix co-worker who took him out, Peacock is keeping the series exactly as it originally ran before Audience Network was shut down.

Based on King’s New York Times best-selling Bill Hodges Trilogy, the title character owes a debt to classic detectives. Brendan Gleeson brings a grizzled annoyance to his obsession over a case which will never go cold. Harry Treadaway’s serial killer Brady Hartsfield, aka Mr. Mercedes, the title character of the series, made an unexpected departure, but left Lou Linklatter (Breeda Wool) the keys to his wheels and some of his fondest memories.

Mr. Mercedes sticks fairly close to the Bill Hodges Trilogy source material, which explores the evils of the human mind, rather than supernatural suspense. A good portion of the books takes place in Brady’s head but the TV series’ opening scene, the crime which tortures the now retired detective, was based on a real event. In 2011, a woman drove into a crowd of people at a McDonald’s hiring event in Cleveland, Ohio.

Director Jack Bender is used to the twisted worlds of television. He started as an actor appearing on such shows as All in the Family, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and The Mod Squad before moving behind the camera. Best known for his work on the groundbreaking fantasy series Lost, he also brought the groundbreaking comedy Ally McBeal to screens, and directed episodes of Game of Thrones. Bender spoke with Den of Geek about his work with Stephen King, the world of detectives and killers, and where the Mercedes is parked now.

Den of Geek: Does the move to Peacock come with changes?

Jack Bender: Mr. Mercedes was done originally for three years on direct TV for the Audience Network. Peacock has picked it up in their infinite wisdom to show the first two seasons. And then, sometime in the near future, hopefully, once the show has a terrific audience, they’re going to play season three. We did three seasons. And nobody has asked me at Peacock to make any cuts or changes, so I trust they’re showing the show in all its wonderful weirdness and twisted humanity.

Will there be any further production on it if it does well?

Well, we talked about that and that is, potentially, in the offing but at this point there’s no commitment. David Kelley and I have had conversations regarding what season four would look like and some of our younger cast who would come back and what the story could be, because there is some story left there.

Stephen wrote three books, but we definitely have something in mind for a season four if the stars were to come together and we would do it.

Is that why the Mercedes got the yellow paint job?

David Kelley invented that. It was Holly’s way of getting over the trauma. It empowered her. First of all, she wanted the Mercedes and she didn’t want it to be ruined by the nightmare that it was used for by Brady Hartsfield. Although that was always Hodges’ argument, “How can you have that fucking thing around? It killed all these people.” Her argument was, “No, the Mercedes didn’t kill people. It was a weapon. Brady killed people. My memory of the Mercedes is my aunt had pride in it and used to take me for drives. So, it’s my way of healing.”

It’s interesting because Stephen King supposedly, and we’ve gotten very close and I never asked him this, but I think after the van hit him when he was out jogging that day and, as you know, it was very serious, practically every bone in his body was broken. Eventually, he bought that car and beat the shit out of it with a sledgehammer. So, I think it’s a very similar act of, “Fuck you, I’m alive. And goddammit, you’re not going to ruin this for me.”

Every horror fan in the world held their breath when he was hit.

Oh, yeah. It was just horrible. Did you ever read his extraordinary book? There’s a great book he wrote called On Writing, which is autobiographical. It’s the greatest book on how to be a writer and how to write and very specifically what he does, what his oeuvre is, what his process is. You hear the story of some amazing books and how they came to him and how he stuck with them, et cetera, et cetera.

I’m very fortunate to have crossed paths with Stephen, and I’ve got another couple of projects in development with him. It’s just a real gift to not only have him as a friend, but somebody who trusts me with his material.

I love the references that you throw in, like having Treadaway’s character be a Ramones fan. How does the legacy of King play into the creative process?

Well, when David and I were developing the show, it was my thought that: I love the use of music, but I don’t really like it when shows just plug the song in over the montage. Look, everything is manipulative in art. It’s just obviously manipulative. It’s like, “You want me to feel emotion now,” or, “You want to make some comment.” So, I said, “What if Hodges is such a train wreck when we start the show there are only two things: He’s got a lousy relationship with his daughter, with his ex-wife. He’s a man on his own. Now, thanks to David, who invented Ida, he’s got a friend who he gets closer with, Ida Silver brilliantly played by Holland Taylor. But I said, “What if the only two things he takes care of are his vinyl collection and his tortoise that he bought for his daughter when she was little?”

Now, that was autobiographical. Nothing else in the show is. I actually bought, for our daughter, when she was about six-years-old, an African spur-thighed tortoise who was only six-weeks-old that we named Federico Fellini until we found out it was a girl and we changed it to Federica. Then, we found out no, in fact, it’s a boy. So, it has become Fred. So, I said to David, “What if Hodges has that tortoise?” David loved that idea. He became a part of the show, as did Brendan’s record collection.

I wanted to do little drops in there like we used to do on Lost, little Easter eggs. Obviously, Harry Treadaway seeing Pet Sematary, because I had this image of Brady driving in his car. And when he goes out on those computer calls, he has to be Mr. Straight and be a little buttoned-down good worker, but when he gets in his car, he fucking lets it loose.

It was great working with Harry on that because when we were first doing it, and it was early on in the shooting, Harry was kind of singing the song well. He’s got a nice voice. I’m going, “This is weird.” I said, “Harry, you’ve got to fucking stick your finger out the window and screw everybody and sing loudly. Just be Brady.” And then he let loose and he was brilliant. So, that’s where “Pet Sematary” came from.

Weaving songs, both Brady’s character choices in the songs that came from Brady’s world along with Hodges’ world was definitely part of the language of the show season one, and then it continued through season two. People really dug that. Very eclectic choices of songs. It was part of the language and it said something about their characters. I always wanted them motivated in what they would listen to.

What was your involvement on HBO’s The Outsider?

No, I didn’t do The Outsider. What happened was Stephen gave me the book and I was developing it with Richard Price and the company. It was one of those Hollywood stories where somehow things got derailed. So, from afar, I was an executive producer, but creatively, chose to have nothing to do with it.

Do you approach a Stephen King detective story differently than a regular detective story?

Well, that’s interesting. I think everything I do I approach differently. See, I first got to know Stephen on Lost because he was such a fan. And then I joined and exec produced and directed many of the episodes for the first two years of Under the Dome. We were talking about finding something to do together, and one day in the mail came these two massive Manila envelopes, which were the galleys from Mr. Mercedes. I went, “Oh, my God.” And he didn’t tell me it was coming.

So, I read it and I loved it and said, “Yeah, I want to do it.” That was the beginning of this. But what I thought was so interesting was not only was Stephen King writing in the detective genre, and definitely he was using the detective metaphor all the way back to Chinatown and period detective stuff, is that it’s kind of a hat rack that Stephen hung the story on, which is the retired detective and the one case that got away. That’s kind of a standard detective trope, but in Stephen King’s hands, it becomes something very different. What I always saw the show as being was Stephen King writing about the monster inside the characters, as opposed to the monster outside the characters, which I loved. I said, “If I get lucky with the right cast,” and boy did I, “and I convince David Kelley to write it.”

I had worked with David all the way back to Ally McBeal and a bunch of things. I said, “David, nobody writes twisted better than you.” Big Little Lies hadn’t come out yet. I don’t even know if they’d shot it. I said to David, “When you write dark and twisted, nobody does it better.” I said, “You’re going to dive into these characters and it’ll still have heart and humanity, but they are really people who have been twisted by the world and their genes and everything else.” David wrote it.

In fact, when we first started and I said, “Stephen, I want to do this, but there’s this one actor who’s born to play Hodges. I don’t know if you know him. He’s this Irish actor named Brendan Gleeson.” He said, “Do I know him? I love him.” We mentioned all his movies and that became our dream. His agents and managers said, “Brendan’s not going to do a series, blah blah blah.” There were some people in Hollywood who said, “No, he’s not well known enough. What about this person, that person?” Well, as fate would have it, we got Brendan and let him be Irish. He’s just brilliant.

Also true of Harry Treadaway. I was convinced by our casting director to look at his film and he just was brilliant. Our whole cast was. We ended up, I mean, just with some extraordinary luck with Jharrel Jerome, who went on to win an Emmy. Justine Lupe, Holland Taylor, Kelly Lynch, Breeda Wool. I mean, it’s just a great great cast. I always felt that the success of this show lay in the performances. I very much wanted to frame it, stylistically, directorial, to take time for those performances, which we did.

What does Hodges owe to the classic detectives like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe?

Well, I think Brendan would say there has been, all the way back to Chinatown and Jack Gittes and Nicholson. I think Brendan, like all great detectives in film history and in novels, they’re all wounded people. He found the wounds in Hodges, the flaws in Hodges, played them all the way from him. Not being able to take a leak first thing in the morning, episode one, and looking like shit from the night before falling asleep in his Lay-Z-Boy.

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I think that the Stephen King character of Bill Hodges will stand the test of time as one of the great detectives because he’s got real depth, real flaws, and real humanity, like all these people, and a lot of scars. And Brendan shows those very bravely and with heart and humor.Mr. Mercedes will stream exclusively on Peacock beginning Oct. 15.

The post Mr. Mercedes Director Jack Bender On The Show’s Peacock Move and Future appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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utgleekshq · 5 years ago

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Have you seen Finn Hudson on campus? Rumor has it that the twenty-two year old junior from Amarillo, Texas was born on April 1st and is currently studying Communication And Leadership in the College of Communication. His friends will tell you that he’s KIND and FUNNY, but they also say he can be SHORT-TEMPERED and GULLIBLE, so be careful. His endgame is Hudrose and fortunately for us, his role is CLOSED and unavailable for auditions.

If there were ever one thing that Finn Hudson aspired to be, it was to be a good man. Raised by a single mother, Finn had always been told stories about his father - a man that had died a war hero - and those stories inspired him. He wanted to not only make his mother proud, but he wanted to live up to his father’s legacy. Everything he did was to ensure that his father’s memory wouldn’t be forgotten, that his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing. Known as the kind boy that would step in when he saw a kid getting bullied, or the kid that would help unload a single mother’s car full of groceries or the neighbor that would shovel the driveway for the old couple that lived across the street, Finn made sure that everyone knew he was his father’s son - that he was good. And one way to prove that you were a good man in Texas? Football.

Football had always been a big part of Finn’s life, as he had participated in Pop Warner when he was old enough to hold a football, but it hadn’t been until the end of elementary school that Finn started to think about it seriously. Even at ten years old, Finn was a couple inches shorter than the other boys and with a natural talent and affinity for seeing the field, the coach knew that he had something special in Finn, and so the coach encouraged Finn to continue playing football when he entered middle school. And, though he was no longer in Pop Warner, his old coach became his mentor and role model, a positive male influence that he could look up to and ask questions that he honestly couldn’t tell his mom - and when he was taking the field of his middle school’s football games, it was his old coach that was standing by the sidelines and by the time he entered high school, everyone in his town was wondering if this guy could make it all the way.

One of the things that came with playing football, Finn found, was popularity. In middle school it hadn’t been that huge of an issue but in high school? It was a game changer. Girls were looking at him differently, guys were being nicer, and teachers were willing to look the other way when he answered a question wrong in the middle of class. And it only intensified when he helped bring a state championship for his school in his sophomore year, becoming a celebrity of sorts that was quickly getting requested for interviews for the local television stations and newspapers, and with all of this popularity, Finn still retained the same ‘good guy’ persona. Instead of sleeping around, Finn enjoyed dating and committing to someone before taking that final step, and that only made people like Finn more - he wasn’t a stereotypical jock. He was just a good man. A good man that was being wooed by the University of Texas, Finn’s dream school - it didn’t matter to him that they only offered him a partial scholarship, as he knew he always wanted to be a Longhorn.

But going from celebrity athlete to second-string wasn’t something he expected - at least not from the way the recruiter talked. While he was able to get some touches, he knew that he wouldn’t really be able to start a game until his sophomore year - at the least - and school? Well, school was tough. Tutors were a constant in his life, and with so many distractions - like pretty girls and parties - Finn found it difficult but what he didn’t find difficult was being a natural leader. It was why when the president of the fraternity had graduated, he had thrown his hat into the ring - because he knew he’d be able to make it good and help get rid of the negative connotations that people had about fraternities - and well… he figures that if he’s not going to get as much playing time as he wants, the least he can do is enjoy being in college, right?

SECRET:

Tackling isn’t something that Quarterbacks typically do, and it’s with good reason - something that Finn definitely learned the hard way. During a game in his junior year of high school, Finn threw a ball that was intercepted by the other team’s star Tight End - and the only obstacle between the Tight End and the endzone was Finn, so Finn did the only thing he could think to do. He tackled him to keep him from making the touchdown. But while Finn rose to his feet when the referees blew the whistle, the other kid didn’t and he was rushed to the hospital where they later found that he suffered spinal damage, effectively paralyzing him. It’s something that haunts Finn to this day, to the point where Finn is afraid to make another tackle, and whenever he has the time, he makes sure to go and visit the dude to talk football and shoot the shit - and he even gets him tickets to the home Longhorn games - because even if he didn’t do anything wrong, he still feels insanely guilty.

CONNECTIONS:

Blaine Anderson: Flunking a class wasn’t exactly something that Finn liked, especially considering that he was the star quarterback - or he should’ve been, anyway - so when he was forced to retake his Algebra 102 class… he was a little sour, to say the least. Why did he need to be in a class, again, when it was just going to have the same result? Sitting next to Blaine, though, proved to be beneficial. He could see how smart the guy was, and he was able to see that Blaine actually understood math, so he decided to see if Blaine wanted to study with him. But study as much as he could, Finn knew he wouldn’t be able to get nearly as good of a grade as Blaine so he asked him to do his homework for him - or at least give him the answers so he can transfer them to his own paper in his own writing - and when Blaine refused… he offered him money. Surprisingly, that seemed to get Blaine interested and since then, he and Blaine have an arrangement - Blaine does his math homework, and Finn pays him.

Rachel Berry: There were a few regular restaurants around campus that many of the students frequented, and there was one that Finn enjoyed in particular. It was nice and quiet and cheap - at least compared to some of the other restaurants - and it was a good place for Finn to go and get lunch when he wasn’t in the mood to get bombarded by football fans. Walking into the diner, though, he saw Rachel sitting by herself, and he could hear the waiter ask if she was sure if she wanted to wait for her date, as it had already been thirty minutes. Sensing what was happening, Finn approached Rachel and acted as though he was her date, apologizing profusely for being late, and when the waiter left, Finn just offered a smile and introduced himself. From there, the two have developed a friendship and they celebrate their meeting by going to the same restaurant once a month.

Sam Evans: After spending most of his freshman year on the bench, Finn knew that sophomore year would be his year - but when word came that the coach had signed on a kid from Tennessee, one that had already been called the freshman phenom? Well, Finn wasn’t having it. As far as he was concerned, the QB 1 position was his and his alone, so when it was time for that first practice, Finn made sure that Sam knew just how he felt about him, especially when the guy kept trying and trying to be friends with him. Sam just makes Finn strive to be better, and it’s because of him that he’s spending more time conditioning and practicing his throw - wanting to show the coach that he was the QB 1.

Quinn Fabray: From the moment he saw Quinn during his first summer practice, he knew he was hooked. Almost as if she were an angel that had descended to Earth, Finn knew that he had to approach her and he did - and surprisingly, she seemed drawn to him, too. He found her to be intoxicating and beautiful, and he loved spending every second with her - and he made sure to listen to her whenever she spoke, making sure she knew that he valued just being there with her - and he loved what they had. Of course, they broke up a few times - simply because Finn wasn’t the type of guy that liked seeing the person he was dating flirting or fooling around with others, even if they were casual, but currently they’re on an ‘on’ switch - Finn’s just ready to move on from being casual to actually being boyfriend and girlfriend. After all, they’re juniors in college now - it’s about time that they start getting serious, right?

Mercedes Jones: Even before he was a student at the University of Texas, the recruiter had told him that if he were going to be a Longhorn, he was going to need a tutor. It wasn’t really news to Finn, really, given the fact that he knew he wasn’t the smartest guy, so upon arriving on campus, the team was quick to get him a tutor - Mercedes Jones. And frankly, Finn couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was Mercedes really nice, but she didn’t laugh or giggle whenever he said something stupid - unlike some of the tutors he had in the past - and she didn’t make him feel stupid. It’s why, even now as a junior, she’s still his go-to tutor.

Santana Lopez: Though they’re both presidents of their houses, Finn actually knew Santana before they were voted into their positions. Through football, greek parties and even Puck, Finn had met Santana and while he knows she doesn’t view him in the kindest light, he can’t help but think she’s awesome. She’s gorgeous, that much is obvious, but she’s also a girl that says what she wants and he knows that really, that’s something that not many people these days do. Of course, now that they do work together for joint parties, Finn has gotten to know Santana a little bit more and he can’t help but feel like she’s not as harsh as most people seem to think - and that maybe it’s all a facade.

Noah Puckerman: Riding the bench his freshman year wasn’t fun, but it was made bearable by sitting next to Noah Puckerman. The two were freshman, dealing with the transition from star of their school’s team to warming the bench and waiting for their team to be so far ahead that the coach could afford to send out rookies, and they quickly bonded with one another to the point where they’re now each other’s best friends - something that helps tremendously on the field, as their chemistry translates into more completions and more touchdowns. And while they sometimes butt heads - over Puck’s friendship with Sam, over Puck flirting with Quinn - at the end of the day, Finn knows that Puck has his back.

Sebastian Smythe: Having arrived early on campus his freshman year due to summer football practice, Finn had forgotten that he was going to get a roommate… until he arrived at his dorm a couple of weeks before classes started to find Sebastian Smythe practically shoving his stuff into a corner. Try as he might to get on the guy’s good side, it didn’t seem like there was any way for Finn to make friends with the guy he’d be living with for the next year until he heard Sebastian asking around for entertainment for a party he was throwing for the New Year - and he had his in. Suggesting Puck and his band, Finn was extended an invite to the party - and after a successful party, he’s glad to know that he was able to help Sebastian out. But now that he’s president of his frat, and Sebastian’s parties were legendary, he’s trying to convince the guy to join his frat - as he knows that Sebastian will only make their parties all the better. And the better the parties, the more money they bring in.

#male #all #taken #takenmale

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danielcadequinn · 5 years ago

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Read an excerpt from Not Sorry! Now available in the Prophecy of Magic boxed set! https://books2read.com/PoM-NOLAWars1CD Chapter 1 Who knew life after death could be so entertaining? Or exhausting.

Had someone told me I’d be spending eternity hunting supernatural beasts, I never would’ve believed them. Especially since I became one.

Just past midnight, I’m waiting in the forest preserves outside Chicago. About a half mile from Lake Arrowhead, this used to be Cook County, Illinois until being overtaken by the neighboring nation of Zion more than thirty years ago. Fortunately, an underground coalition rose up years later, eventually freeing them from Zion rule.

Gods, I hate that place.

After the last civil war, what was left of the country broke into three. Chicago is now part of what we call New America because it’s all that’s left of the former United States. They merged with Canada, and now included most of the bordering states surrounding the North American continent. Up until thirty years ago, Zion ruled most of the south and Midwest before major cities like Chicago and New Orleans fought back. There were many casualties of that war, and I was one of them.

Still sitting in the woods, I’m tired of waiting for my dinner. I’d much rather be out hunting for it. My contact said to expect my prey to show up around midnight, yet it’s ten past. Damn humans.

Staring out into the night, I glance up at the flickering streetlight shining down on the parking lot just outside the trails. Humans don’t really come out here anymore, and the woods are mostly filled with monsters like me. Well, not really. There are no monsters like me.

I pull out a leather-bound notebook from my inside jacket pocket. It holds the names of every vampire that’s not supposed to be here. One by one, I hunt and kill them all, then cross their name off my list. All while searching for the one who turned me.

After the secession, the city of New Orleans and other neighboring states was later renamed NOLA and declared a safe-haven for supernaturals like me. The DSI, Department of Supernatural Investigation, is a secret human group that actually knows about metas. They made an agreement with NOLA, that any vampire found outside its walls is fair game, mostly because our blood lust is uncontrollable and often becomes the very thing that destroys us.

Human lands had been safer since the treaty until vampires decided there wasn’t enough blood in NOLA and started migrating back here.That’s when DSI hired me.

I refused to leave New America, knowing what I stood to lose if I did, so I was allowed to stay under one condition: never feed on a human. I never wanted to be a vampire and I’m a survivor, so I learned to cope.

Girl’s gotta eat.

Since then, I’ve learned that I’m particularly good at two things: Killing vampires and holding a grudge.

Flipping through the worn pages of my notebook, I get to the page with newest names. Ever since the witch queen left to try and stop a supernatural war, all the heathens have crawled out from under their rocks. This latest batch of vamps has been helping the Zions in their human trafficking ploy. Something that’s gotten completely out of hand the second they heard Chicago’s witch savior had skipped town.

Ravenous now, my stomach rumbles as I inhale a trace scent of blood in the air. They’re coming.

With my gaze fixed on the entrance of the parking lot, I close my eyes and listen, focusing on the sound of a car rumbling down the road. It’s still at least a mile away, so I have a little time.I step behind a huge oak tree and wait as a car pulls into the lot. A blonde vamp gets out of a Mercedes, pulls out her cell phone, then makes a call. “Where the hell are you? You’re late. Fine. I’ll wait, but just this once. Next time, you’re out.”

I’m not sure which name this is, with two females on my list, but I don’t really care.

And I’m hungry.

While the vampire is mesmerized by her phone, I move between the trees until I’m standing a few feet away. With a grin, I lunge out from the woods and attack, knocking her to the ground.

“Annaliese.” She says my name as the color drains from her face. I’m not surprised that she knows me. Every vampire here does. They fear me, as they should. “I swear.” She pleads “It’s not what you think. I’m not...”

“I don’t really care,” I say before baring my fangs. “You’re not supposed to be here, and I’m starving.

”Without another word, I sink my teeth into her neck while she thrashes in my grip, pinned down against the pavement beside her shiny luxury car.

“Please.” Her shrilled cry echoes through the still night air, but there’s nobody around to hear her. I stop just short of desiccating the girl. “Stop.”

Killing her wouldn’t be much fun if I did.

Pulling my fangs from her neck, I retract them while swallowing the last of her blood that’s still drizzling down the back of my throat. I let out a sigh and sit up, straddling her waist. I stare into her silver eyes that are dimming with each passing second.

“Any last words… Is it Gina or Renee?”I reach to my side and pull out a sharpened stake from my utility belt, ready to get this over with. She isn’t putting up much of a fight, and I’m super bored.

“What about your family?” she blurts out.

My eyes grow wide. “What did you say?”

“And Mar… I mean, I know who turned you.”

It’s no secret that the very reason I became a vampire assassin was to get my revenge on the one who sired me, but very few knew the reason behind my rage.

Before getting turned, I had a lot to live for. I was a mother. A widowed single mother with a very young daughter who had nobody else but me after my entire family was slaughtered during the last war. But then I was turned. I couldn’t control my bloodlust after that, so I couldn’t be her mother anymore.

Alexis was the reason I refused to leave. Her family–my legacy–they’re the reason I’m still here, and why I fight for humans against the very thing that stole everything from me.

Abandoning my own daughter was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, save for watching Alexis die. I never even got to say goodbye. Instead, I’ve been singularly focused for more than ninety years, searching for the bastard who turned me into the monster I never wanted to become.

“What do you know?”She’s pale, hardly any color left in her clammy skin. “Let me live, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I can get you what you’re looking for.” She gasps for air, typical for a dying vampire. And while her body can regenerate if she feeds, she won’t get very far like this. “Please.”

I debate in my head if I even want to save the bitch. As another two cars near the parking lot, I decide to pause a minute to consider my options.

“Fine.” I growl while I grab her beneath her armpits and drag her off into the woods, hiding her body behind some trees so I can deal with the other two vampires that are coming to meet her.

I drop her body to the ground, sit on top of her once more, then lean into her face. “Don’t say a goddamn word. Do you understand me? If you want to live, you keep your mouth shut while I go eat your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” she mumbles. “Give me some blood. Please. Just a little.”

“No.” I groan as two cars pull into the parking lot. “Remember what I said. I’ll kill you and your entire family if I hear so much as a peep. Got it?”

She nods as I stand up and move back toward the parking lot, leaves crunching beneath my feet as I run.

Peering out from behind one of the trees, I watch two people get out of their cars and look inside my girl’s Mercedes. Talking amongst themselves, they get nervous since they can’t find her. Clearly, I don’t have much time before they run, so I have to make my move now.

From out of the shadows, I lunge for the guy first. He’ll be the hardest to kill. Not because he’s a man, but because he’s the oldest.

“Vampire hunter.” He groaned as he sees me rushing toward him. “Renee, run.”

“Renee.” I smile at the girl like she’s my arch nemesis. Reaching for her before she takes off, my fingers grip her throat like a vice. With one swift motion, I bash her head into the pavement, so hard, the ground cracks below her.

I kind of love inflicting pain on my victims.

“Sorry,” I say sarcastically, watching her squirm on the ground. “Not.”

Her buddy gasps at the sound of Renee’s skull cracking.

She’s not dead, though. Yet.

Next on my list, Stevie, I think is his name, tries to run. I prefer to give my prey delicacy names. We’ll call Stevie here, Ceviche. Because I’m going to absolutely love sinking my fangs into his raw neck while he flops around like a fish.

Quick on my feet, I reach out and grab his grimy T-shirt enough to pull him back to me, close enough that I can now get all my strength behind me.

Ceviche’s feet slip in an icy puddle, so I take advantage of his clumsiness and shove his shoulders forward, bouncing his head off the passenger side window. Glass shatters everywhere, and the insect’s head starts bleeding, making me even more hungry. If that’s even possible.

While Ceviche tries picking himself up off the ground, I keep hold of his shoulders, forcing his head into the side of Gina’s car, leaving a nasty dent.

Pity. It was such a pretty car, too.

His friend tries getting up, but I hop on top of her, shoving her shoulders to the pavement before baring my teeth and sinking them back into her neck. I drink just enough blood to keep her out of commission, and long enough for me to go back and kill her friend.

For a quick second, I stare at the tramp beneath me, deciding what to name her. It only takes me a second to decide not to change her name. Because I knew a Heather once who was a traitorous bitch, so I’m going to kill this one in effigy.

In the name of all backstabbing Heather’s everywhere.

While Heather is sedated, I return to finish off Ceviche. He’s getting to his feet shakily with one hand on his head. Dark streams of blood run past his fingers enticingly, trailing out of his blond mop of wavy hair. To a human, he’d probably look pretty disgusting. But since I’m a vampire who drinks from other vamps, he looks like a big ass bloodberry milkshake.

My hunger is seriously getting the better of me.

But for now, I just want to satisfy a different kind of bloodlust. I’m pissed off at people who ruin other people’s lives, like these parasites. And the one who ruined mine all those years ago. So while perhaps I don’t have to be as brutal as I’m about to be, I feel no pity.

Girls just want to have fun.

“Here, let me give you a hand.” I wrap my fingers in his hair and pull hard, lifting him straight off the ground, nearly six feet of bloody helplessness. Grabbing his leg with my other hand, I spin him around and toss him into the nearest streetlight.

Gods, I love the strength I have.

The loud snap of his back hitting the wooden pole makes me happy. Guess he won’t be running away again. Definitely won’t be running any captives into Zion. And that makes me ecstatic.

On my way over to the heap of blubbering vampire lying on the ground, I notice a large crack running along the pavement.

“Step on a crack, break Ceviche’s back.” I sing and skip my way closer, then give the fissure a good hefty stomp and watch as a new pothole sinks into the parking lot.

Okay, so I’m a little worked up. Should probably expend some energy. Losing my temper wouldn’t be good for anybody here, me included.

Me raging on vampire blood isn’t a pretty sight.

I dart over to where Ceviche lies on the ground and grab his hand. Lifting and pulling back, I swing the huge lump of asshole around and toss him as hard as I can into Renee’s car. The door caves in and the wreck lifts up on the two opposite wheels, finally tipping over onto the roof.

“Yo, Dracula Barbie, sorry ‘bout your car, girl,” I yell over my shoulder. “I scratched it a little.”

Peering into the upside-down wreck, I giggle when I see one of his arms and his head have detached from the rest of him.

“Shame. I wasted a perfectly good asshat.”

I’m surprisingly winded as I stare at Ceviche’s broken body, though I’m also impressed with my masterpiece, effectively having dismembered the vamp. Inhaling a breath, I crouch down and plunge my favorite stake into his chest, since he’s not really dead until I do. My black soul sings as his eyelids flutter closed and the last glimpse of life drains away.

Don’t feel sorry for Ceviche or his friends. They’ve been helping the Zions kidnap innocent girls, forcing children to become brides and breeders for the Zion vermin. And feeding off the captives, of course. There’s no love for them—Stevie got exactly what he deserved, as will Dracula Barbie and Heather, who are next on my list.

I catch my breath while strolling over to finish Heather off, who’s still lying beside the grass, barely breathing.

Not really hungry anymore, I hover over her and stare for a minute, wondering how any woman could do what she’s done, vampire or not.

Heather glances up at me and stares. Guilt. Remorse.

Good.

“So disappointing.” I pull a stake from my belt and step over her, then crouch down. “Any woman who would betray her own sisters they way you have deserves an agonizing death.” I pull up with little effort, then gleefully press the stake into her heart. “Tell Lucifer I said hey.”

She gasps for air; her red hunter eyes dim before what’s left of her fades away. Her skin turns a chalky grey and shrivels before finally desiccating.

Since it’s easier to get rid of two bodies at once, I drag Heather’s corpse and toss it on top of Ceviche’s, who’s lying on Renee’s car. I strike a match then drop it, watching the vampires’ bodies burn and crumble into nothing but a pile of ash at my feet.

From my inside jacket pocket, I pull out my little black book and strike out their names from my list. Ready to strike out Renee’s, I stomp back into the woods to find the girl who has a lead on my sire.

When I get into the woods, however, the ungrateful hussy is gone. I don’t know if she’s still alive, if someone’s killed her off, or if she recovered somehow and skedaddled. It’s more likely than not that she’s still somewhere in the woods, so I begrudgingly stalk into the forest preserves to find her.

Miles and miles of woods later, I come up empty-handed. That’s what I get for not killing first and asking questions later.

Incensed now, I trudge back to the parking lot and raid the vamps’ cars, taking anything that could be of use to me later. The first two cars are a bust except for some pot.

The Mercedes belonging to Renee, however, has the girl’s cell phone with several names I recognize. Luckily it didn’t get all smashed up like Ceviche. So I pull out my cell and call my contact to let him know one got away, but before I can even dial the number, my cell lights up in my hand.

“DSI needs you to go to NOLA and retrieve something. If you do this, I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“What do you want?”

“We need the witch back. Things are out of hand, and the country won’t survive without her.”

“First of all, that witch went to NOLA to stop a war, what makes you think she’d care about yours? And second, you know as well as I do that if I step foot in NOLA, I may as well sign my own death certificate.”

“What if I could protect you?”

I laugh out loud. “From a nation of angry vampires? Doubtful.”

“I know people, Erhardt.”

Shaking my head, I stand silent for a minute before answering. There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t go to NOLA and just as many why I don’t want to.

Before I can finish my own thoughts, he drops a line so tempting, I can’t say no.

“What if I could give you the answer you seek?”

“Which is?”

“I know who turned you.”

“Don’t toy with me, human. And what’s going on tonight? You’re the second person to say that and not tell me the answer. Now I’m losing my damn patience. I know I said I’d never eat your kind, but if you’re pulling my leg, so help me, I’ll rip you to shreds.”

“I’m not, I swear. We’re desperate here. We need Adrien, and you need answers. Win-win. I know someone, a voodoo priestess, who can give you them. Give us what we need, and we’ll give you what you want. Do we have a deal?”

Staring up at the flickering streetlamp, I contemplate my options. I can’t imagine going to the supernatural mecca of the world and leaving there alive.

Here in New America, my country, I’m secretly revered as the guardian who rids their nation of bloodthirsty heathens, but to the vampires seeking refuge in New Orleans–the community that I refused to claim–I am the traitor. So while the idea of going to NOLA isn’t appealing, completing my quest is.

Then I can get someone to stake me, and put an end to this miserable vampire existence once and for all.

“Fine.” I relent. “I’ll go to NOLA. Two weeks. If you don’t get me what I want by then, I’ll make sure you never see your girlfriend again.”

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