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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

bullseye, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Are you the insufferable, cocky, absolutely-no-good-for-anyone female equivalent of a fuckboy? Maybe. Okay, yeah. But guess who decided to come along and interrupt your conquests? Jeon Jungkook. What now? Complain to your best friend Kim Taehyung all day or fucking do something about it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; Taehyung getting shitfaced lol; you're a cocky asshole and so is Jungkook, welp; schemes; smut (fem reader, making out / dry humping in public, cowgirl, m-masturbation, edging / orgasm denial, penetrative sex, so much kissing); non-idol!BTS; (secretly pining) fuckboy!Jungkook x bisexual, fuckgirl!reader; ft artist, best friend!Taehyung; mostly reader's POV with a short JK's POV

yes, it's purple-haired Butter JK

now playing – 마.피.아. in the morning by itzy

“Are you kidding me? Fucking Jeon Jungkook, again?”

“You need to calm down,” Kim Taehyung said, patting your shoulder and handing you a mojito.

“What I need is a fucking bow and arrow to shoot down this fucking pest!”

“I know you were the archery champion in high school, but that’s still a weird thing to think,” replied that baritone voice, pushing you into a chair so he could sit down as well, observing you violently chugging down the entire mojito in your rage. He seemed highly amused, looking a bit like a young French socialite in a black beret, loose tan dress shirt, and black slacks with black loafers. Gold accents because Kim Taehyung was that bitch. “Never ceases to impress me that you can do that.”

You pulled the glass from your lips, ice and mint clinking. “This is the third girl I’ve been dating that he’s just–” You flapped a hand in the general direction of the crowd at the bar, completely ignoring Taehyung’s comment about your record-breaking skills of draining cocktails. “–unashamedly making out with when clearly I’m right here.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, far too crass for how drop-dead handsome he was, but it seemed that he didn’t care. “I doubt he knows you’re here or that you’re dating them. And to make it fair on him, you were casually dating them all at once, so technically, no one is at fault here,” he added.

You narrowed your eyes. “I wasn’t–”

Taehyung gave you this look.

The look of ‘shut-up-you-know-I’m-right’.

Being your best friend, he had a right to do that.

“Shouldn’t you be mad at the girl anyway? Being faithful and all that, which, by the way, you are not.”

“Dating is not the same as being in a relationship,” you argued.

“Mmm, so fucking them is not indicative enough that you should be less of a fuckboy.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” you muttered. “I’m a woman.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “The general term still stands because you’re a class-A asshole.”

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying not to bolt home and buy a bow and arrow online to shoot, not Jeon Jungkook, but Kim Taehyung, because he was testing your last nerve with the truth.

“Again, why are you not mad at them?” Taehyung reoriented the conversation with a sweep of his arm when you opened your eyes, prompting your gaze to shift and witness Jeon Jungkook with his tongue down a pretty girl’s throat. This cheeky bastard was even wearing a leather jacket and white shirt, just like you. The only difference was that you wore a leather miniskirt and he wore black jeans with rips in the thighs, but both of you were wearing heeled black moto-style boots.

“Because he’s the denominator in this equation,” you snapped, smacking your glass on the table.

“Please do not make math references. My brain is not made for that.”

“Fractions? Tae, seriously, are you defective or–”

“Maybe he’s doing it to piss you off.”

“Well, I am pissed off!”

The bar was very loud with music and noise. Your shout was still clearly heard. Neither you or Taehyung seemed to care that people turned to look at you two and shake their heads.

Taehyung shrugged. “Then he succeeded.”

You clicked your tongue. “Why, though? I didn’t do anything to him. He just started popping up stealing my girls. What if I switch back to chasing dick and he takes them too?”

Taehyung snorted. “I doubt it. You’re just continuing on this train because you’re stubborn.”

As usual, he saw right through you.

He raised an elegant hand and tapped his lips. “Maybe he likes you.”

You gave Taehyung the most disbelieving, fiery, indignant look that you had ever produced in your life.

“Or, he doesn’t,” he hastily corrected. “Let’s face it, sometimes I don’t even like you and I would murder for your dumb ass.”

You tapped the melting glass of icy mint onto the tabletop.

Menacingly.

“If you think about it,” Taehyung began tentatively, scooting his chair slightly away from you with your flaming eyes boring holes in the back of Jeon Jungkook’s head. His hair was dark violet now so you could spot him easily, pinning your (not yours, but you know, that was your prey at one point) girl against the back wall of the bar. “He always goes after your target. He wants you to notice something.”

You watched a YouTube video once about making your own bow and arrow. It didn’t seem that difficult, all things considered. Sharpening a long stick with a knife and–

“Stop thinking about murder.”

You jerked your head back to Taehyung and his honey-brown curls framing his amused expression. You glared in response.

“I’ve never interacted with him a day in my life,” you frowned, abandoning your homicidal tendencies for the moment. “What does he want me to notice?”

Taehyung gave you a pained look. You returned with a black stare. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“He’s a fuckboy. You’re the female equivalent of a fuckboy. What do you think he wants?”

“My body count?”

Taehyung slapped his own face, muttering under his breath. “… be part of your body count.”

“Sorry, what?” You raised your voice over the bass. “Can’t hear you over the music.”

He raised his head. “I don’t know. Fight him. See what happens.”

“I’m not gonna win a fistfight.”

Taehyung looked ready to fistfight you.

You stood up, dragging him by the arm. “Come on, wingman. I need another drink. I’ll buy, since you got me the last one.”

Taehyung laughed, loud and full, yanking his arm out of your grip and clapping a hand around your shoulders, pulling you to him so your body knocked into him. You grimaced, now forced to walk side by side with him, not seeing the looks shared between the patrons witnessing you two together.

“Now we’re talking. I wanna get trashed.”

“Cure for a broken heart, am I right?”

“Mine’s shattered,” Taehyung chuckled, rubbing the left side of his chest playfully, but you couldn’t help but notice the hurt in his eyes. It was his idea to go out tonight and assist you with getting laid but, one, you didn’t need assistance and, two, he had recently broken up. It was pretty obvious he just wanted you to buy him drinks and have an excuse to do something.

Which was fine with you, until Jeon Jungkook showed up holding your previous eye candy.

Hmph.

Whatever, you had a Taehyung to nurse back to health with an obscene amount of alcohol.

Two hours later, you were standing in the men’s bathroom, holding Taehyung’s beret with one hand and his hair in the other as he vomited loudly into the toilet.

“Sup.”

The guy looked in the stall and then looked at you.

“You’re not supposed to be here…”

You raised an eyebrow. “You wanna hold his hair?”

The guy slunk away at your dismissive tone.

Taehyung tapped your thigh and you patted him on the head soothingly. He flushed and coughed.

"S... sorry," he croaked wetly.

You chuckled. "Wash your mouth, ya nasty."

He got up and you straightened his clothes in an almost maternal fashion.

"Need water, I think..." he winced, stumbling past you to the counter. You followed him to make sure he didn't hurl in the fucking sink.

"I'll be right back. Don't do anything crazy."

"Heh, that’s you," he slurred as he put his hands under the tap to wash up.

You plopped his beret on your head and sauntered out of the men's bathroom, unbothered by the stares and the people trying to catch your eye. It took you no time at all to waltz to the counter and obtain the water, striding back to the men's bathroom with the tall glass.

Only to run into you-know-who.

The girl sputtered your name in surprise as if she hadn't met you in this very bar a couple of weeks ago.

You completely ignored her existence, narrowing your eyes at the smirking face of Jeon Jungkook.

There was no denying his attractiveness. His purple hair was a little messy now, curling around his high cheekbones and large brown eyes. The dim light of the bar cast strange shadows over his chiseled jaw and shapely lips, curved into a devilish grin. He had a mole and red lipstick residue underneath his lower lip.

You had a strong urge to douse him and his leather jacket with your giant glass of water.

Taehyung was the one who found out Jungkook's name for you. You sent him on the mission after the first time this little shit started meddling in your business.

At this moment, you remembered that.

You pointedly looked away, walking past Jungkook, knocking into his arm forcefully and on purpose, annoyed that he seemed pretty strong under that jacket, muscular and lean. Whatever. You had a large bear cub named Kim Taehyung to take care of. You didn't have time to waste on Jeon Jungkook.

"Hey."

You stiffened at the deep, silvery voice. Of course. He had to have a sexy voice too. Bitch.

"You should apologize."

Your eyes flickered to the glass of water. It was pretty cold in your hand. You raised your chin back up, facing towards the bathrooms.

The choice was easy.

You continued waking and raised your free hand to flip Jeon Jungkook the bird, off to deliver the water to your best friend.

Some guy at the urinal screamed as you entered the men's bathroom but you completely ignored him, only focusing on Taehyung, who was gripping the corner of the sink, turning not to pass out, pallid face dripping and looking green.

"Drink this and I'll take you home."

"Ugh, thanks for the other day... sorry I wasn't the best wingman... I ended up making you exorcize my demons instead..."

You laughed, jabbing a toothpick in the steaming fried chicken. You and Kim Taehyung again, hanging out in the afternoon at the local chicken spot.

"It's cool. I know you needed it."

Taehyung frowned. "If you knew, why did you play along?"

You shrugged. "You would've done the same for me."

He smiled and popped a piece of crispy chicken in his mouth. "Yeah, if you ever had a serious relationship for once."

You glared. "This is a non-judgment zone. Shut up."

He chuckled. Then he leaned in and you grimaced, catching a whiff of his chicken breath. He was wearing a pinstriped shirt and neglected to button the first two because he was too hot to bother with some stupid buttons. You weren't going to say you could relate, but you were wearing a loose black sweater dress that was bordering on flashing your panties, so, maybe.

"I heard from a little birdie that you had a run-in with the bane of your existence."

You raised an eyebrow. "The tax man?"

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "No, the other one."

Now it was your turn to roll yours. "Oh, right. The Dark Lord."

Taehyung gave you a weird look. "Is that a movie reference or..."

"Harry Potter, ever heard of it?"

"You're such a nerd."

"That's not... anyway, so what?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "He spoke to you."

You narrowed your eyes. "Where do you get your information?"

He fidgeted. "Uh... a reliable source that chooses to remain anonymous."

Your eyes became slits. "Who."

Taehyung stick his tongue out at you. "The whole point of anonymous is you not knowing!"

"Who are you, fucking Rita Skeeter–"

"Stop with the weird references!"

"For fuck's sake," you hissed, causing a mother sitting at a table near yours to chastise you, covering their kid’s ears. You frowned, lowering your voice. "Alright so what? He opened his mouth; nothing original came out." You jabbed another piece of chicken.

"Well? Feel any tension? Sweet romance? Unbridled fury?" Taehyung piped, greatly interested in your two-second interaction with Jeon Jungkook.

You chewed, huffing. "I had a big kid to take care of. I didn't give a shit."

"Hey, I'm not a kid!" he shot back.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you’re more important to me than poking his pretty eyeballs out of his head, so I didn't even reply."

Taehyung paused, mid-chew. "Really?"

"Yes, I didn't say–"

"No, that I'm important to you."

Taehyung was doing that thing where his big brown eyes went all sparkly and sentimental. It was making you uncomfortable. Bad with feelings and all that. The only reason you tolerated it was because Taehyung had been like this ever since he was that dorky weird kid you defended from bullies in elementary school. A folding chair was involved and you might have watched too many WWE TLC (tables, ladders, chairs) matches as a kid, but hey, those bullies didn’t bother Taehyung ever again, did they?

You got sent to detention for the rest of the year and anger management counseling appointments, but Taehyung remained your friend throughout the whole ordeal and for years to come, tolerating your poor life choices so… worth?

You reached over and shut his open mouth. "Of course, you are, that's why I'm not calling you a disgusting pig for chewing with your mouth open."

"Oi, that's bullying!"

"You bully me all the time," you snorted and the same mom made a noise of distaste that you pretended not to hear. "Like now you keep bringing up the spawn of Satan."

"You're also the spawn of Satan, by the way."

"Yeah, and you're my guardian angel and he ain't got shit, so I’ve already won this war."

Taehyung laughed nervously.

"Er, yes... totally..."

Another day, another conquest.

Well, you had to find the prey first, but that wasn’t going to be hard.

“You’re a chronic asshole.”

“Thanks, Tae. You sure you don’t wanna come?”

He rolled his eyes at you as you shrugged on one of his black dress shirts. You checked the tag. Silk. Damn. Kim Taehyung was a fancy bitch. He leaned against the closet doorframe as you fitted your black leather corset-style belt at your waist to cinch it in. You often raided Taehyung’s closet and paired it with your accessories. Did he enjoy your fucking in his clothes? Probably not, but you always returned them cleaned in the proper way, so he couldn’t complain.

He did anyway.

“No, I don’t. Let me sulk.”

“Ah, yes, moody starving artist, I’ll let you be,” you snickered, slinging the waist bag over your shoulder, wearing it across your chest instead of your hips. You lightly punched him in the arm and he pretended to topple over exaggeratedly. “You going to paint today?”

He shrugged. “I think. Dunno what media I want to use.”

“Just use a bunch of different ones. Your mixed media stuff is amazing,” you replied, waltzing out of his bedroom, past his messy studio with a blank canvas balanced on a wooden easel in the center of absolute chaos of paints. You helped him organize them once, but Taehyung often was too in the zone to pay attention to neatness.

“When’s the exhibit? I want to drop by,” you commented, seeing the line of his works safely wrapped up, leaning against the wall.

“Um… next week, Thursday through Sunday,” Taehyung replied sheepishly, cheeks flaring red at the mention of his own art exhibit. He was humble even though he was talented. “I’ll text you the address. Don’t show up looking like a high-paid escort.”

You tucked your feet into your heels and raised an eyebrow.

Silk black men’s shirt worn as a dress, belted at the waist to show off your curves, bare legs out, toned calves standing out due to your sleek black high heels.

“Who, me? Never.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Text me if you need a ride.”

“You got it.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You tapped your nails on the bar, having already finished your peach mojito.

“Fucking Jeon Jungkook, again?”

You needed to invest in a bow and arrow, like, yesterday.

Shoot right between his pretty eyeballs. Dude even pulled back his long, deep purple hair into a smooth ponytail with wispy strands framing his sculpted face. Was that damn eyeliner and mascara making his eyes look sharper, sexier? Fuck, he even knew how to make himself look even hotter.

Not as hot as you, of course.

“How does he always know where I’m at?” you muttered under your breath, turning away to look at the bartender and order another mojito. Watermelon. It seemed interesting. Fuck it, you were going to focus on drinking rather than the thorn in your side, Jeon Jungkook and his black dress shirt halfway buttoned and his tight-fitting black slacks with sleek oxfords. The bartender slid your glass in front of you, a gradient of pink to transparent with a little sprig of mint on top. It was a pretty drink.

You reached into your waist bag to pay, but the bartender stopped you.

“The gentleman over there paid for you. A gift.”

Oh? Maybe a potential for the night. You shifted your gaze to–

Oh.

“Tell him to fu–”

But the bartender was already off servicing other customers on this busy night.

Shit.

You know what? Fine. He put himself up as the target. He wanted to play this game.

And you never missed a bullseye.

You tilted your head to survey Jeon Jungkook out of the corner of your eye, making his way over to you, bringing your drink close to your lips. He stopped right next to you. The colorful lights of the club made rainbows dance across his lightly tanned skin and his dark lips, curled into a smug smirk.

“Hey.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

Drank.

Mmm, fuck, that was some deliciously smooth rum. The watermelon was a refreshing addition to the mint too. You probably weren’t meant to drink it all at once, but you were glaring at Jungkook who was pointedly watching your throat swallow and it was aggravating you more and more, the entire drink disappearing in record time, leaving nothing but ice and mint.

You smacked the glass down on this table with a hiss.

Jungkook purred your name with that deep, silvery voice of his. His eyes flickered down to your exposed collarbones and then back up to your face.

You clicked your tongue.

Then you turned away from him dismissively, walking past him, knocking into his arm forcefully and on purpose.

But instead of letting it happen, Jungkook shifted his weight and slid to block your path. You stopped, eyes darting up to narrow at that conceited little brat’s face. Now you could smell his cologne, fresh, sensual, a mix of pungent dragon fruit and black coffee.

Hold on.

You inhaled. Yup, no mistaking it.

That was your perfume.

Jungkook grinned as the realization hit you. How did he know what perfume you used?

“The fuck you want?” you growled.

He licked his lips slowly. He ticked his chin, taunting you.

“Finally got you to talk to me,” he purred, chuckling.

Alright, you were past causing actual bodily harm these days – jail being your primary reason – but that didn’t stop you from staring down Jeon Jungkook and his self-satisfied smirk with your signature tapering of your sharp stare.

You just stood there.

Menacingly.

He bit his lower lip, exposing that tiny mole underneath, shivering under your gaze. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, almost innocently, but there was no chance in hell that he was.

You quirked your head, lifting your chin defiantly. “Absolutely fuming,” you replied acidly.

He took a step towards you, closing the distance, so close you could feel his warmth, your breasts brushing against his chest. Now people were whispering around you two, sensing the tension between you and Jungkook. The similar outfits, the same violent energy, the same predatory aura.

As if the fox had confronted the wolf.

“What’s there to be mad about when we play the same game?” Jungkook drawled.

Cocky. The fox was so damn cocky.

“You’re just nibbling on my leftovers,” you countered, stepping forward so you pressed against him, burning body heat to burning body heat. “Which makes you the scavenger.”

Jungkook leaned down, dark brown eyes glittering with amusement.

“Then why so angry?”

His lips ghosted over yours, breathing in your exhale.

“I’m just a pest, right? A mere annoyance in your eventual victory.”

His lashes lowered, arrogant smirk reaching his dark eyes.

“Play your ace. Let’s see if it works,” he purred in the deep, sexy octave of his.

Shut up.

A low snarl rumbled in your chest.

“Shut up, Jeon Jungkook.”

You gripped his belt and yanked him to your body, rolling your crotch into his, your lips colliding with that maddening smirk, alcohol, dragon fruit, black coffee, flint igniting the dry wood, devouring his lips hungrily, his hands sliding up your sides, and his smile.

Triumph.

Shit.

You couldn’t give two fucks about Jeon Jungkook and he was into it.

Like the impossible enigma, he couldn’t figure you out but he was drawn to you anyway. The whole world was your plaything, and you treated it as such. There was something exciting about you, the thrill too irresistible to avoid when you made your presence known. Always you and that teasing smile, never getting serious, making everyone hesitate to take it farther with you. Who could blame them with your borderline brash attitude and ease of moving from one to the next?

That and your friendship with Kim Taehyung, who was a whole damn tiger next to your wolfish nature.

At first, Jungkook was intrigued.

As time went on, he became frustrated and annoyed.

What gave you the right to ignore him?

You picked up guys far less attractive than he was, not that he was that vain but, seriously, he was right here! Waiting to be caught. He didn’t try to interfere at first. In fact, Jungkook wasn’t even the sleep-around-and-mess-with-feelings kind of guy. But the more he watched you, the more impressed he was, seeing the way you charmed your way into everyone’s hearts, the way you focused on them for that moment, making them feel like they were the most perfect creature on Earth before slinking to the next, leaving them with a pining heart and lost in fantasies of what-ifs.

And, yeah, you were hot.

What was Jungkook going to do?

He could do nothing.

Or he could befriend Kim Taehyung, get under your skin, and make you notice him.

Not a scheme, per se.

Kind of a scheme.

Alright, definitely a scheme.

In Jungkook’s defense, your best friend Taehyung was all for it. Taehyung was the one who came up with all the ideas, informed him of your location, and the names of the girls you were after.

“Give her a taste of her own medicine. She needs a reality check.”

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t really want to let you go now that you were in his arms.

“Silly pretty boy.”

You had his chin in your palm, pressing your thumb against Jungkook’s lower lip, opening his hungry mouth to tease him with your tongue, tracing his soft lips and thrusting in, his low moan filling your lungs. His hands on your waist tightened, pulling you closer even through you were already in his lap, murmurs and eyes on you, but neither your nor Jungkook cared, used to this by now.

You were, after all, making out in the club.

The chair scraped against the ground as Jungkook firmly placed your thighs on either side of his, thrusting upwards into your core, letting your feel his rapidly growing hardness with every one of your kisses. Your hair feathered his cheeks and shoulders as your free hand toyed with his ponytail, twirling it in your fingers, smirking into his lips with his gasp from you grinding back down on his crotch, rolling your hips into him.

“Thought I was the bane of your existence?” Jungkook taunted under you, squeezing your ass through the silk and meeting your movements, staring into your eyes with his. So dark, so smokey, so fucking sexy, almost like looking into a mirror, because you too wore similar makeup, maybe a little darker and a little more of a flick to your eyeliner. “Just going to kiss me to shut me up?”

You wouldn’t be surprised if the other clubgoers were eagerly watching now, waiting to see what was going to happen between you and him.

“I don’t need to be on your mouth to shut you up,” you mused, tugging his ponytail back and kissing down his neck, tongue tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling him shudder under your lips and teeth, lightly nipping at his skin. Tracing circles, gentle kisses, relishing in his gasps and his tightened grip on you, letting your breath linger for that extra second, that extra what-if, kissing back up his neck and onto his jawline, murmuring his name sweetly, tip of your tongue curling around his earrings and bouncing them, sighing softly in his ear.

“Can’t claim my leftovers when my leftovers are you, now can you, naughty boy?” you chuckled darkly, pressing your breasts on his hot chest and your clothed pussy on the tip of his stiff length, rutting against it, making him hiss your name.

“I have no intention of being leftovers,” he growled into your ear.

Your eyes flew open as his lips transfixed to the space under your ear, sucking hard, forcing you to squeeze your thighs at the attack on your erogenous zone, sparks of arousal flinching through you, soaking your panties. You gasped, hips bucking into his needily, barely processing his words, his tongue flicking against your throbbing skin, lips and teeth, and then his mouth was moving, traveling up your earlobe, nipping at the curve, your eyelids fluttering, clutching his purple ponytail tightly.

How did he know? Did he ask your previous conquests to spill the information? There was no time to think, his hands traveling up your back, clenching fistfuls of your shirt and digging his nails into your back, your body responding and squirming against him, the quiet whine of his name escaping your lips and drifting right into his ear.

“J… Jungkook…”

He groaned, turning your head forcefully, him kissing you this time, just as ravenous, just as powerful, basically simulating sex in the middle of the fucking club with the way your hips were twisting into his and he was thrusting back against you, breathless, whispering in your mouth so only you could hear his words resonate in your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, you turn me on so fucking easily, I just have to have you,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours, capturing your lips again and again. “There’s no way you’re any good for me, but I don’t care, fuck.”

You snickered, eye to eye, trapped in those expanding pupils and his heavy pants. “They say the same about you, Jeon Jungkook.”

You felt him smirk. “Nah, not me. No one calls me the spawn of Satan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because I do.”

Jungkook’s tongue licked your lips, making your shiver in delight. “That was special treatment. Just for you.”

Hold on a second.

Through your hazy buzzed brain, you began to piece the puzzle together. With each part falling into place, the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes grew and grew, seeing you fill in the missing blanks. Your eyes widened and you curled a finger around his ponytail, yanking roughly to pull his grinning face away from yours. You jerked back, but his strong hands held you in place.

Wispy strands of violet framing that devious expression.

“Taehyung,” you breathed, venomous.

Jungkook had the audacity to cock an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

You were going to kill Taehyung. That little shit! Taehyung was no idiot, so he must have planned this somehow. He always telling you to get serious and stop messing around. That’s why Jungkook always knew who you were dating, where you were, and what you were wearing! Did Taehyung recruit Jeon Jungkook to trick you? Fuck! He was dead meat, scheming against you like this!

Jungkook brought you out of your homicidal tendencies with a soft drawl of your name.

“For the record, he was helping me out,” he murmured, pulling you to him, pressing your chest to his. You narrowed your eyes, his hard cock still throbbing against your panties. “I want you.”

He lowered his face, breathing hard.

“Not just like this.”

Your eyes widened.

“I said I’m not going to be leftovers.” Looking deep into your eyes, holding you tightly. “I’m not going to let you throw me away like the rest.” Every inhale making your body rise into his touch, his deep, silvery voice saturated with lust and determination. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me as much as I am in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but…

Jungkook gave you this look.

The look of ‘you-know-you’ve-already-lost’.

You could sit here and pretend, but you were also grinding back onto his dick right out here in the open, clutching his purple hair and his pretty face. His hard body was tucked snugly in your thighs. That smug little smirk. Shit, shit, shit.

Jeon Jungkook got you and he got you good.

He knew it too, his hands sliding down and grabbing your ass again, rolling his hips into yours.

“Come on. Let’s fuck.”

“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

Jungkook threw his head back onto his pillows, exposing his straining throat, veins popping out, clutching your hips strongly to rut back against you as you smacked your crotch down onto him, riding him hard and fast, your hands next to his head, his long purple hair a mess even if it was still in the ponytail, sweat glistening on his forehead, moaning loudly with your walls closing in on his hardness. You were too busy fucking the daylights out of him to say anything, but Jungkook had plenty to say, hazy eyes opening and gasping as he viewed your body hovering over him, naked with his hickeys on your neck and breasts, strong thighs flexed on either side of him, his rock-hard cock repeatedly disappearing into your tight, wet hole.

“Fuck, I knew it, I knew you would be so fucking good and so fucking sexy,” he whined, nails digging into your hips and adding more force to your thrusts.

Your clothes and his clothes were all over his bedroom floor.

Your phone was on his nightstand.

Tonight, you sent one text to Kim Taehyung.

I’m gonna buy a bow and arrow and shoot you in the ass.

You screen flashed, indicating Taehyung had replied. One quick flick of your eyes and you smirked.

Oh shit.

Jungkook squeezed your ass, making your return your attention to him.

“Focus on me,” he begged, blown-out pupils. “Only me, please.”

“So needy,” you teased, licking your lips slowly. He groaned under you, mouth opening, his pretty pink tongue lolling out, desperate to be sucked. “If you think you can keep me, you’ll have to last longer than this, Jungkook.”

He swallowed hard at the way you said his name, a mixture of warning and desire.

“P-Please… it’s too good, I-I can’t…”

You redoubled your efforts, roughly slapping your hips into his, enjoying the loud sound and the way your core tightened, constricting him inside you, telling him he couldn’t cum until you did and deliberately holding yourself back, shifting your attention when you felt it rise, denying him over and over, until he was like this, whole body shaking, grasping your ass, sweat on his chest. His right arm, covered in tattoos, looking extra delicious in the moonlight, so fucking perfect with his forearms flexed with tension. You purposefully stared into his brown eyes overtaken with lust, his lips trembling from denying himself his own orgasm.

Jungkook whimpered your name.

On the verge of breaking, helpless at your command.

A sharp throb inside you, wildly turned on by his duality.

You smirked.

“Jungkook.”

You inhaled deeply, sighing in satisfaction with the wave of pleasure, intense shivering pulses running up and down his length, sinking down so he could feel it all, the tight and rough massage of your orgasm taking over, low moan of his name emitting from your throat, and Jungkook followed suit, louder and lewder, eyes rolling back as he shot into the condom with jerking hips, burying the twitching head deep inside you, swelling the latex with thick cum, rocking you back and forth on his length, your juices dripping down and coating the inside of your joined thighs.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck, so good, s-so fucking good…”

You know what, he was right.

It was so fucking good.

You savored it, the ecstasy that seemed endless and overwhelming, squeezing Jungkook between your thighs and moaning, just something about it, so satisfying and gratifying listening to his wheezing gasps and content whimpers, lowering yourself to his face, and he raised his, your hands sliding under his head, giving him what he wanted, light, maddening, carnal kisses, his cheeks, his chin, his quivering lips, whining your name, pleading with you to play with him more, more, tugging on his ponytail and his hands stroking your breasts, rolling your hard nipples between his index and thumb fingers, shaking at your hissing inhale.

“Hey,” you murmured, clenching him between your legs to get his attention.

Jungkook blinked at you, brown eyes unfocused, panting hard. “Y-Yeah?”

“You should apologize.”

The side of his swollen lips quirked upwards despite his fucked-out state. His deep voice was slightly hoarse. “What for? Tell me and I will.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For your scheming and using my own best friend against me.”

Jungkook smirked slyly.

“I’m sorry.”

He lifted you and made sure he had the condom before he pulled out, still semi-hard. You narrowed your eyes. He sure as hell didn’t sound sorry. Didn’t look sorry either, peeling the condom off and crawling over the bed to toss it in the trash before straightening.

“Sounding insincere there,” you remarked coolly, balancing your chin on the back of your knuckles, elbow on the bed, tapping the air impatiently.

“I mean it,” he purred, reaching for the towel beside the bed and knocking the condoms from his nightstand to the sheets. His right hand wrapped around his glistening length, still covered in lube and his cum, toned hips thrusting into his closed fist, grinning with his lower lip between his teeth as you watched him.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Slowly jacking himself off as his eyes roamed over your curves, moaning lustfully, lingering on your legs, clutching the towel in his left hand so hard his knuckles were pale, forearms flexed, the slick head of his cock turning purple-red, emerging from between his closed fingers, throbbing as it was choked by his harsh grip.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jungkook shuddered, stroking faster, making wet squelching sounds, his muscular thighs bulging with effort.

Fuck, he was so damn attractive.

You kept an indifferent look on your face, raising your leg, your free hand sliding down, tracing the outside of your already wet opening. Those hungry dark brown orbs immediately fixated on it, moaning imploringly as you dipped your fingers in it, soft squishing noises as you spread open your soaked pussy, slipping a finger in your heat, gently thrusting.

He gasped your name, begging you.

It made you wetter, seeing his want. He knew it too, brutally fisting his cock, hips quivering.

“Stop.”

Jungkook whined despairingly, pulling his hand away, his stiff cock bouncing from the swiftness of the movement, cutting off his own orgasm. He sucked in a shivering breath, tipping his hips up to you so his glossy, hard length twitched.

You shifted, laying back against his pillows, opening your legs.

Smirk on your lips.

“Mmm, fuck, yes, fuck me with that.”

Jungkook smirked back.

It took him no time at all to wipe his hand and crotch off, ripping open another condom and moaning as he rolled it down, the mere contact of the thin encasement stimulating his sensitive skin. He slid up to you, gripping your knees and spreading you even wider, pressing the tip against your drenched heat.

He whispered your name, like sweet smoke.

“Hm?”

Jungkook leaned down, kissing you deeply as he sank into you, drinking in your gasp at the fullness.

“I’m going to make you feel so, so good,” he mumbled into your lips, pecking you softly.

He was about to retreat but your hands snapped up, tangling into his messy violet waves, clutching his ponytail. Jungkook blinked at you, questioning.

“Not too far away,” you said with a playful smile. “I wanna see that handsome face of yours.”

He bit his lower lip, tiny mole and wicked grin revealing themselves.

“Okay.”

He lifted his hips and plunged fully into you, the connection of your hips making a loud, wet smack.

“Fuck, Jungkook…!”

And you could tell from his elated expression and his furious pace that he was ecstatic at your response, chasing it, chasing you, moaning as you caught him between your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, gaining some leverage and meeting his thrusts, fingers tightening in his soft hair, fuck, so beautiful, the way the pleasure overtook his handsome features, his hazy dark brown orbs shrouded in lust, his pink lip trembling in his teeth, sharp jaw set, but still maintaining a little bit of that cunning exterior that ensnared you in the first place, unknowingly at the time, the side of his lips ticking up, this cheeky bastard.

Jungkook saw the way you looked at him.

He adjusted the position, hitting deeper, swelling inside you, and, fuck, you couldn’t help it, you smirked too because he was so, so full of himself and so were you, insufferable, troublesome, competitive even now, the obscene smack of his crotch hitting your hips, wet and noisy, the squish of your juices smearing against his inner thighs as you wildly matched his rapid, bruising rhythm, your moans blending together, sweet hot harmony, his bedframe ramming against the wall, and, as usual, neither of you caring, far to occupied with yourselves, pleasure snaking between you, up your spine and into your head, mixing with the light buzz of alcohol, a different kind of euphoria from every other one-night stand, because this was Jeon Jungkook and he wasn’t going to be a one-night stand.

His lower lip popped out of his teeth and he gasped your name.

Longingly, breathlessly.

Was he thinking the same thing?

You lifted yourself a little, your hands molded to his head, whispering intensely against his shaking lips.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook. We have all night and the morning.”

Fuck, he had a brilliant smile.

It was actually doomed for you, but you weren’t mad about it.

Eye contact, and he didn’t waver, thrusting deep into you, low moan pulled from his chest, jolting shudders sliding down his shoulders and then in between you and him, his cock twitching and spilling into the condom again, roughly clamped by your tightness, and you were already there, falling over the edge with a soft cry, straining your neck and pushing his head down to you to collide your lips with his, greedy for his kiss, his taste, his whimpers at your forcefulness.

“Jungkook, ah…”

He said your name in the same tone, delicate and possessive, a bullseye right to the heart.

“On one hand, I’m glad you’re finally serious about someone.”

You paid absolutely no attention to the annoyed baritone voice of your best friend.

“On the other hand,” Kim Taehyung gritted out, smacking you in the shoulder blades as you crawled into Jeon Jungkook’s lap, kisses intensifying, a needy whine in his chest, his hands wrapping around your waist. “Really feeling like a third wheel, you two! Stop making out for one goddamn second!”

He threw up his hands as both of you pretended to be deaf.

interlude respect drabble — "how much did you see?" popcorn drabble — "who are they?"

part ii threesome, ft kth — got it bad

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 3 years

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Do you have any stories or figures, etc. (of your creation OR already existent) that you'd like to see adapted into an opera? Who'd the dream cast be and what would it look like, sound like?

I have two stories I wrote in high school that I'd love to see as operas:

For Every Spring--short story about a mother and daughter during the Reign of Terror

Madeleine: Ying Fang

The Mother: Joyce DiDonato

sparse unit set, cross between music of the time period and a quintessential French Romantic style

The Last Testament of a "Monstrous" Condemned Woman-- prison flashback story about rediscovering art, burglary, and murderous arson

The Woman: Marina Rebeka

The Investigator: Gerald Finley

not sure about who to play the smaller characters, it's set at an unspecified point in the mid-to-late 1800s, so look reflects that, sound kinda reflects that but I also envision it as Korngold/Expressionist-esque

(the full text of both stories is below. please keep in mind that these are both at least three and a half years old):

For Every Spring:

March 19, 1794, evening.

“Go on now. Do it.”

The woman’s voice filled her daughter’s ears with that simple command. The daughter was standing with a pair of scissors in one hand, staring into a mirror hung on the otherwise bare wooden wall. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“Mama, how much more can this revolution take from me?”

Her mother could hear her daughter’s weariness and despair, and for a moment, felt pity for her, but steeled herself. “You must do it. There is nothing left for me. But perhaps you could still escape.”

“I don’t want to go without you.”

“You must. There is no way I could escape… the revolutionary leaders know me too well. But they wouldn’t recognize you if you dressed in an urchin boy’s rags and had a dirty face.” Mother glanced at her daughter’s shining blonde hair that went almost halfway down her back again and sighed. “The hair, though. In order to look like a boy, you have to cut off your hair. If they see long hair, they’d suspect you’re hiding something…” She shivered. “And they would investigate, and it wouldn’t end well for you.”

“But what if I pulled it back? Tucked it in under my hat?”

“It could fall down. And if they took your hat off and saw a bunch of pulled-back hair…”

“I know, but other than you, my hair is my one joy left.”

“It’ll grow back.”

The young woman paused. She fell into a swirl of memories: how her father had loved her long golden hair, how when she was little, he would toy with it and tell her it was more beautiful than any princess’s, and finally, how the Reign of Terror had brutally claimed him, just like it was about to claim her mother.

Her mother went on, “Your life is more important…” Knowing her daughter was still hesitant, she took the scissors out of her daughter’s hand. “Now hold up your hair so I can cut it.”

The daughter obliged, but at the same time, a single tear trickled down her pale cheek.

Snip.

The first cut, like a dagger to the heart.

Snip-snip-snip-snip-snip…

In just a few minutes, the deed was done. The girl’s long golden locks were scattered all over the bare floor.

Mother turned her around and gazed into the girl’s eyes. She slowly whispered, “You look just like Papa…”

The tears her daughter had tried to hold back burst forth in her grief, and she collapsed in the middle of the cut-off locks of hair, weeping.

“I lost Papa, and now I must lose you! Why must I lose everyone and everything that brings me any happiness?”

The woman took her daughter in her arms as outside in the streets, people cried, “Vive la révolution! Vive Robespierre!” She said, almost under her breath, “You haven’t lost your life like I will tomorrow. You can make it out of the country, and you will, I know. Don’t stay to see me die, or you will too. Remember the plan?”

“Wear the peasant rags. I’ve done that,” she broke off, gesturing at the clothes she was now wearing. She quickly continued, “Dirty your face in the soot. Take the sack of bread, cheese, and money and leave under cover of night. Tell the guards at the city gates that your name is Raoul, and you’re going to see your sick aunt in Calais. Go to Calais; tell the guards there that you’re going to London to see your uncle. Get to London somehow- stow away on a ship if you must, and start over again. Without your mother who cares for you and wants nothing more than-“ She stopped, momentarily unwilling to recite the last part of the instructions her mother had drilled into her head.

But she took a slow, deep breath and finished,“To go with you, but she must be with you from afar, not by your side.” Her body shook with her sobs.

“Yes,” her mother replied. Now she was crying too. “But take heart, my child, and remember I love you more than the sun and the moon and the stars and the whole world.” She sighed. “Madeleine…”

“Yes, Mama?”

“I wish it didn’t have to end this way.”

“Me too.”

Now it was raining outside, and it was dark. The only light came from the half-moon shimmering in the black sky. It was silent now except for their weeping.

At last, Madeleine said, “It’s raining. See? The sky is crying because of your death.”

“No,” her mother firmly replied, not wanting to hear of any pity. “The sky is not crying- not for me, not for you, not for anyone. It is merely raining, my child. Spring is coming, don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but for every spring…” Madeleine did not dare say the second part of the saying she had heard about spring.

Mama sighed and finished it for her, “A winter melts away.” She shivered and continued, “I am the winter. I have lived a long life, I am old, I am about to die.”

Madeleine wept.

“But you- you are the spring, so young, so beautiful, with such a bright future ahead. Go and live. Do not stay to see me die.”

Madeleine, still crying, sat by her mother, and her mother took her into her arms. They held on to each other, not wanting to ever let go, though they both knew inside that sometime, they would have to let go of each other- forever.

At last, Mother whispered, “Go, my child.” She let go.

Madeleine grabbed the sack and was almost out the window before she looked back at her mother for the last time. She whispered, “I love you, Mama.”

The response, softly spoken through quiet tears, was simple. “I love you too. Goodbye.”

Madeleine slipped out the window.

Some time later, a church bell chimed midnight. “The beginning of a new day, a new spring. Today is the first day of spring,” she thought.

At last, she whispered into the air, to her daughter, wherever she was now,

“For every spring, a winter melts away. But please, Madeleine, do not think about the winter melting… ”

The Last Testament of A "Monstrous" Condemned Woman:

“The Venetian government sent me here.”

The man faced me, with a look that could best be described as a mix of utter contempt and bewildered curiosity, but still managing to be very official, on his face.

“Why? Do they usually do this to prisoners awaiting their imminent execution?”

“No,” he replied very sharply. “They sent me here because even after the questioning and your trial, they still do not understand why you did everything that you did. And your crimes- they are sensational, to say the least. Your trial had the whole city in an uproar. And, mia piccina,” he added with disdain, “that is a very hard thing to do in such a city as Venice. So before you are executed at dawn, they want to know why-why you caused such destruction so heartlessly, why you took so many lives like a hardened assassin.”

“Heartless? A hardened assassin?” I just managed to get out the words. “No, no. You do not understand. The reason I did not talk is because they would not listen. They saw a monster. That is all they saw, just like I know you see me now.”

“Do you not want to preserve your own story before you die?”

His words startled me. And then I realized it: This is my only chance to show them that I am no monster.

“Very well, then,” I replied. “I will tell you everything.”

Without looking at me, he reached into his bag, pulling out a notepad and a pen and setting the pad on his lap. After that, with eyes still averted, he told me, “You talk, I take notes. Begin now, for dawn will come before long.”

“I was born in the English countryside, the only child of a scholar who had come into some wealth thanks to his marriage to the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in all England. Throughout my childhood, I was constantly exposed to all sorts of wonderful thoughts and books and ideas because many scholars would come and share their thoughts on every subject imaginable. My father was always one of the ones who talked the most- he knew so much, and he always wanted to learn more, to discover more-”

“Will you please stop wasting time and get to the point?”

“That was just what I was doing,” I snapped back. “Anyway, he was very ambitious. As time went on, I became more interested in art than anything else. I could not draw, paint, or sculpt to save my life, but I marveled at its beauty, the way some people were just able to recreate something out there in the world, and I wanted to understand how they did it. And there was another aspect of it, too, that fascinated me: there would be scholars that came from Paris, from Rome, from the Netherlands to share these great lost artworks that they had rediscovered, and to tell how they had become renowned for finding these artworks, how the art would be preserved for eternity and so would they, for the simple reason that after all these years, they had found these masterpieces and given them new life. And I? I wanted to do just that too.”

At that moment, I noticed him hurriedly writing, trying to keep up with everything I was saying.

“I can wait for you to finish writing,” I offered.

He nodded, and for several seconds, I said nothing as he finished his notes.

“So what does this have to do with you coming to Venice?” he eventually asked.

“Well, the time came when my father passed away. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, including all of the books in his library. I had never seen many of them- he never let me read them, because they were too precious. But he promised me that when I inherited the estate, I could read as many of the books as I wished.”

“Those books,” I continued, “became my way of healing from the grief. To read the same books that my father had studied from somehow felt like a way of being near him, and that eased the pain. I spent almost every waking hour exploring the library, reading and then reading some more.”

I paused, and a thought shot through me: This is the moment you set down this road of sorrow. I shook it off though, and went on:

“One night, I was browsing through the shelves when I came across a set of eight dusty old books. They were all about Italian artists from the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They had a massive effect on me, but not for the reason you think.”

“Well then, what was the reason?”

“The front cover of each book had a most interesting thing written in it. Together, they seemed to make up a series of instructions for finding a lost artwork. And those instructions were thus:

‘The city of the winged lion has many secrets yet to give up,

Including one by one not older, but younger.

A fire blazing in the Palazzo Ducale

Took the lives of many masterpieces,

And this was thought to be one of them.

But a saint still lives, preserved in that palace,

Old but still preserved, and still preserving,

Francesco’s St. Jerome writes, though he is asleep, and does not die!’

Now I knew enough to know this: the city of the winged lion is Venice, and the fire was the great Doge’s Palace fire in the late 1500s. The “younger” was almost certainly Palma il Giovane, who was the great-nephew of Palma Vecchio, a good enough painter, and who painted extensively for a Francesco, Duke Francesco Maria II of Urbino. It was known that Palma had painted St. Jerome for Francesco, but everyone assumed that the painting had been lost. And as soon as I figured all of this out, I thought, ‘What if this could be the great discovery I have hoped to make?’ You understand, I was very ambitious, and at that moment I resolved to find it, no matter what.”

“Let me get this straight. You pieced together some handwritten sentences, thought overly hard about their implications, and decided to go and do whatever it took to get this precious painting?”

“Exactly.”

“You are British, yes? You are just like Lady Macbeth! You get a hint of an idea, and you murder anyone who stands in the way of you!”

“No. I never planned on murdering anyone, I swear! Now if you would just be quiet, I would get to that!”

Silence. I shook my head, and went on:

“The next day, with nothing but two hundred pounds, a sack of food and water, and the instructions copied onto a sheet- you see, I wasn’t planning on staying in Venice- I left home, and went to London. And from there I traveled on, first to Le Havre, then to Paris-”

“No one needs to know your travel itinerary.”

At that moment, a church bell chimed twice.

“It’s summer, and dawn will be here before too long,” the man advised. “Now I suggest you stop wasting your last hours and skip to you getting to Venice and exactly why you did what you did here. You don’t have much time left to tell your story, you know.” He seemed not so much impatient now as considerate, as if he were genuinely interested in what I was telling him.

“Fine. Anyway, I arrived in Venice, and I immediately set out for the Doge’s Palace. When I got there, it took me forever to find the painting, especially because I had no idea what it actually would look like. No one knew anything about the dimensions or the medium or what it looked like because it had been lost for so long. But everyone was saying that it had been called a masterpiece in its day, that it would be a major find. And that was what kept me going during those hard days and nights of searching. And at last, I found it inside one of the private rooms once used by the Doges of Venice.”

“So you found it. Congratulations. And how did you get here?”

“I wanted to return home, to my books, and bring the painting with me. I was planning to study the painting and only then reveal to the world what I found. But there was a problem, one I had not anticipated.”

“And what was that, mia piccina?” He no longer said it condescendingly, but as if he genuinely cared about everything I had gone through.

“I had no money left, no money to return home, and no way of getting any money, or at least, I did not think I had a way of getting any money.”

I shuddered with remorse now, thinking of where I had gotten the idea.

“Later on, I was roaming the streets, thinking about what I could do in order to get back home. At first, I was thinking of begging, but I thought that was weak. I am not a victim, and I would not allow myself to be weak like that. And then, I saw a jewelry house, with many fine jewels in the windows, the most and the finest diamonds by far I had ever seen! And the store- it was called the Salvadori Diamond Atelier, I believe- was not even guarded! Even though it had all these wonderful jewels worth thousands, thousands of pounds, I tell you!” I cried.

His brows had furrowed, and I knew what he was thinking now.

“Sir, sir, I feel so much remorse for this, it’s true, but when I saw all those lovely diamonds, I could not help but think, ‘This is my way to get money, to go home at last and someday show the world what I have accomplished, and fulfill my ambition.’ And I resolved to steal as many diamonds as I could that very night, so I could sell them for money.”

No, no, no. I cannot bear to tell this… but all of Venice already knows this…and I must tell this…oh God, but it haunts me so much…

My face must have gone pale, because the man asked, “Are you ill? Do you need to rest?”

“No, I just feel so, so guilty and horrified by what I am about to tell you…” I took a deep breath. “But I must tell you anyway.”

“That night, it happened to be a new moon, and the full darkness of the sky covered me. I felt so confident that everything would go according to plan. I would get in, take some diamonds, and leave Venice at once.”

“And indeed,” I continued, “at first, everything went according to plan. There was a door in the back, a very small door, that had been left unlocked. I slipped inside and slowly felt my way into the shop until I found the glass cases. And that was the point when things started going awry: I had found a pin, and since I had been taught how to trick a lock using a pin, I thought that I could simply use the pin, unlock the case, and stuff the jewels inside my bag. But the pin did not work- I don’t know whether the lock was very special or whether I just performed the trick wrong. It wouldn’t open though, so I had to resort to smashing the glass.”

“Let me guess,” he said, looking up from his notes. “Someone heard, and started shouting for the police?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know, because of how concentrated I was on my work, although that is probably it. But in any case, the police arrived, and in that moment, I realized that if I was caught, then I would be arrested and likely never return to England again. And I also realized that there was no way for me to make it to that small door unseen. But there was still another option.”

“What was it?” Now he was leaning forward.

I panicked inside. Please, I want to go back in time somehow, make it so I never did this, so that I never caused so much pain, which I never wanted to do…

“There was a small oil lamp with a flame inside the case, some wood that had broken off the case frame, and a jar of oil. And I realized that a fire would cause confusion, during which I could possibly escape. So,” I shut my eyes and said as fast as possible, “I poured the oil onto the wood, dropped the lamp on top, yelled ‘You will die before you discover me!’, and ran out of the shop, to the streets, and as I ran, I saw the whole building burst into flames and I heard screams, screams of officers burning, burning to death. Those screams, they haunt me still, even after all these weeks in prison and in court. And I smelled their flesh burning, and I relished it at first, knowing I had made it out.” And I realized I was shaking, and yes, starting to feel sick.

“But you seem so full of pain and remorse now,” the man said, confused.

“Just a few minutes later, I ran into another officer. The sight of him made me realize what I had done- I had killed innocent men just for money…” I was crying now, but I knew I still had to finish. So I continued, “At that moment, my conscience overwhelmed me for the first time ever, and I started weeping, just as I am now, and started screaming about how I had burned a group of officers in the Salvadori Diamond Atelier to death. The officer was confused, but I led him there, and showed him- the burning building, the people screaming, the firemen bringing out the bodies of dead officers. And then he arrested me right then and there.”

I fell silent. I have nothing left to say.

The man looked at me. “Do you have anything else you want to tell me?”

Through my tears, I choked out, “No, the rest of the story, you already know it…the trial, my sentencing to death…I just want it all to end. I never wanted any of this, and now I just want it to end, to spare the world any more horror I could cause…You see, the world is right- I am a monster…” Again, I fell silent.

“It is a strange thing, life,” he observed. “So many times, good people are driven to do unspeakable things which they never would have dreamed of doing except in the moment they did them. And for that, they are unjustly called monsters, for that one black blemish in an otherwise good life, and they are condemned to eternal damnation in the minds of the world, to be forever called a monster. Most of the time, the condemned do not speak.”

The cell door opened.

“Dawn breaks,” the jailer said. “And with it, your monstrous life ends.”

“-But you have broken the silence. You are very brave and strong to do that. That man will soon realize, like the rest of the world will, like I already know, that you are not a monster.”

“Now I must leave, for the hour of your death has come. Remember, you might die to expiate what the world has labeled you a monster for, but soon, your legacy will be realized for what it actually is. Go. Hold your head high. You have suffered much, but you do not deserve to suffer forever, and you will not suffer forever. Goodbye, mia piccina.”

And with that, he left. I rose, and surrendered to the jailer.

That black blemish he spoke of, I thought to myself as I walked with the jailer, will never be excusable. But it is not everything I am. And the world will know it is not everything I am.

Suddenly emboldened by this thought, I raised my head and held it high.

I know that I will find redemption somehow, for the world cannot truthfully say now that this is all I am. For I have said otherwise.

Now I am ready to die.

#opera #opera tag #stories #notyouraveragejulie writes

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itsthenovelteafactor · 4 years

Text

Vanya and the Phantom

I asked and y’all answered (special thanks to @schizoidwire and @the-aro-ace-arrow-ace and all the people who responded to my earlier post for encouraging me!), so it is time for how The Phantom of the Opera song introduction can be read as a look into Vanya’s self-narrative and also foreshadows future events in a really subtle and interesting way.

I’m channeling my inner Elliot and going into full conspiracy mode. This is gonna be a long one, y’all.

Part One: In Which I Expose Myself as a Former Theater Kid

So, for those who aren’t familiar with The Phantom of the Opera, it was originally a novel by French writer Gaston Leroux back in 1909. In 1986, Andrew Lloyd Webber rewrote it as a musical. For purposes of my analysis here, I am just going to be discussing the musical because 1) the score used in the opening scene is from it and 2) I’ve never read the book. (If anyone out there has read the book and wants to weigh in, please do!)

It’s a very aesthetic show, and draws on a lot of gothic themes and imagery. The plot follows an opera house, and specifically a young chorus girl named Christine Daaé. I’m not going to explain the whole show plot in detail because wikipedia exists, but I will do a quick overview here and point out some things as they relate to things I’ll be discussing later. Also there will be a test after and it will NOT be multiple choice.

The show begins when the opera house is sold to new owners who 1) just want to make money and 2) do not respect the opera house’s resident ghost (who isn’t really a ghost, but we’ll get to that later.) When the Phantom makes his presence known, and freaks out the resident prima donna singer (who will be relevant later) Carlotta, who says she won’t sing under these conditions. It is then that Christine appears. She’s quiet and humble and has always lived in the background, but is incredibly talented. The woman who runs the chorus (also owner of the opera house’s resident braincell) suggests Christine sing the part. She does, and is amazing. Everyone is blown away, and she’s catapulted into instant fame and success.

We later learn that Christine has been studying under the Phantom, who appears to her in mirrors. She calls him the Angel of Music, and thinks that he was sent to teach her by her recently deceased father. He isn’t. He’s actually pretty malicious, and is obsessed with Christine, wants to control her voice, and doesn’t like her dating anyone. Which is a bit awkward when her childhood friend shows up and promptly falls in love with her.

Anyways, Carlotta is jealous of the attention Christine has been getting and threatens to leave prompting the new owners to cut Christine from the program. The Phantom doesn’t like it at all, sends a bunch of letters, things escalate, people are murdered, and the whole first act ends with the chandelier falling from the ceiling and crashing onto the stage (which is done with really cool effects, oftentimes beginning the show hanging over the audience. It’s a BIG MOMENT and one of the most iconic ones from the show. This will also be relevant later.)

Act two takes place a few months later, wherein no one has seen the Phantom. Shock of all shocks, though, he’s not dead. He’s been writing an opera and he wants Christine to star in it. More stuff happens, you learn the backstory of the Phantom (which is pretty sad, ngl, but in no way makes him less of a creep) and the story ends with the Phantom kidnapping Christine and giving her an ultimatum: stay with him forever, or he kills Raoul (aka childhood friend/romantic interest guy). She agrees to stay with him and he’s so moved by her compassion that he lets them both go and disappears forever.

Part Two: Casting the Characters

That’s interesting, Rosie (note sarcasm) but you said this was about The Umbrella Academy? I did, in fact. So, we meet Vanya when she’s playing a medley of songs from The Phantom of the Opera. Since it’s primarily the melodies and not one of the orchestral pieces from her performance later (I don’t think), we can assume she’s just playing it for herself (which is nice! good on you, Vanya).

Maybe she’s never seen the play and just likes the score, but for purposes here, let’s assume she’s familiar with it.

You can tell a lot about a person by the stories they connect with (for example, I like TUA because I like fun sibling dynamics, found family, music, and being sad). And I think that it makes sense that The Phantom of the Opera would be a story that resonates with Vanya. The overlooked chorus girl finds power in music, and, after years in the background, is finally given a chance to show how special she is.

So, yeah. I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility that Vanya sees herself as Christine. There are some discrepancies, sure, but this is Vanya’s self-narrative, which we learn pretty much immediately is unreliable. (Love her, but it’s true.) And if Vanya is Christine, then we can try and tap into her perspective to look at some other characters.

Anyways remember Carlotta (the prima donna opera singer who always got the spotlight and tried to destroy everything good that happened to Christine because she felt threatened that someone might be as good/better than her whose entire personality and role in the story I just summarized, rendering my plot recap useless)? Carlotta is how Vanya views Allison. (Kind of all her siblings, but her relationship with Allison is the most important here.)

Think about the scene in the cabin?

“You couldn’t risk me threatening your place in the house! You couldn’t handle the fact that Dad might find me special!” - Vanya, having a mental breakdown.

This always struck me as an interesting accusation to throw, since prior to this moment, I don’t think there was any indication that Allison had ever felt threatened by Vanya. She excluded her, sure, and wasn’t super friendly at times, but the idea that Allison has been pulling strings to keep Vanya out of her spotlight is new. But that is exactly the role Carlotta plays in Phantom.

Fun fact! At one point in the musical, the Phantom enchants Carlotta so that she loses her voice right before coming on stage.

Part Three: The Phantom of the Opera is there

So based on everything I’ve said so far, the most straightforward reading is then, that Leonard Peabody/Harold Jenkins (who for purposes here I’ll call Leonard) is the stand in for the Phantom, which works... really well. Both in helping to understand Vanya and also because it foreshadows the twist of season one in a really cool way.

So, the Phantom appears to Christine first not as an enemy, but as a friend and teacher, who encourages her to be more confident in her abilities. He trains her to develop her singing ability. While the teacher-student dynamic is actually inverted initially with Vanya and Leonard, from the get go, he is showering her with compliments, encouraging her to be confident in her abilities, and, at least on the surface, supporting her in a way she hasn’t been supported before (he’s a trash human but an expert manipulator).

But, in the play, the Phantom is also very possessive over Christine and her power (er, I mean voice). He also is perfectly willing to kill and/or hurt people who he views as standing in the way of Christine and her success (see the aforementioned Carlotta incident). Which is exactly what Leonard does to Vanya. He kills the first chair violinist to help her get it, and orchestrates a whole master plan to get her to reveal her powers on his terms.

Even the part where he starts “training” her to use her powers kind of resembles the second act of the play. The Phantom wrote a play for Christine and she’s going to star in it, whether she wants to or not.

(One could even make the argument of the parallels between Christine believing the Phantom was sent by her father to teach her and Leonard showing up because of his revenge scheme against Vanya’s father, but I honestly don’t have much support for that.)

Part Three: Two Conflicting Narratives

So, as you might’ve noticed, I sort of have two different threads of analysis going on right now. 1) The Phantom of the Opera parallel is part of Vanya’s self-narrative and in it she mischaracterizes Allison, making her more suspicious of her motivations and 2) Leonard Peabody is clearly the Phantom and doesn’t bother being subtle about it. I hope that I’ve been convincing (or at least intriguing) for you to get to this point, because here is where they come together.

Vanya has this parallel going, but she doesn’t see Leonard as the Phantom. In the beginning at least, he’s her Raoul. If I had to guess, I’d say Reginald Hargreeves is the Phantom in Vanya’s self-narrative (says he’ll train her but wants to manipulate her and keep her locked away for himself, strict teacher who doesn’t really care about her well being, wearing a mask to appear more normal/human... she wouldn’t exactly be wrong). Leonard, on the other hand, is Vanya’s supporter. He validates her, and believes in her, and taker her side when Carlotta and the opera house owners (er, the rest of the Hargreeves children) gang up on her and conspire to keep her out.

This is all building to, of course, the final confrontation. The Phantom says Christine has to pick one or the other. When Allison comes to talk to Vanya, Vanya feels as if she’s been given an ultimatum and lashes out.

And that’s where everything (including this parallel) starts to crumble.

(I honestly don’t know a lot about the other characters and how they fit in. I suppose we could have Five = Raoul if we ignore romance plot and focus on the childhood friend that hasn’t been seen in a while angle? And maybe also Pogo = Madame Giry. Vanya doesn’t really have any friends to be Meg.)

Part Four: It’s All About the Moon

So that is kind of the gist of The Phantom of the Opera as a window into Vanya’s self-narrative theory, but there are a couple of other loosely related ideas I thought I might as well bring up since this thing is already ridiculously long.

Remember how I mentioned the chandelier is like, THE scene from The Phantom of the Opera back in part one, and said it’d be relevant later? Bringing that back now, because I’m going to pull a Luther and connect everything to the moon.

So, to get the obvious out of the way, the moon exploding and the chandelier coming crashing to the stage are similar because something falls, breaks into a bunch of pieces, destroys a bunch of stuff, and creates a powerful and memorable image to close off before an act/season break (the next installment of which begins with a time jump).

Additionally, it’s worth mentioning that The Phantom of the Opera is told out of order. The opening scene shows a grown up Raoul at an auction for the items left behind after the opera house closes, and it switches to the past as the remains of the chandelier rise upwards to the ceiling, Phantom’s theme swelling (it’s a really cool moment, tbh). Following the prologue of The Umbrella Academy, we switch to the present with two images: Vanya alone on the stage, and then Luther alone on the moon. Which has a kind of symmetry that might mean nothing, but is still kind of cool.

(Also the item that Raoul buys from the auction is a music box with a monkey crashing symbols on top of it. Which might mean nothing.)

Part Five: How is she STILL talking about this? (AKA Conclusion)

To be honest, this is more a very tangled “things I noticed and thought were interesting” discussion than a formal essay with any clear thesis. While there is a chance that this was all coincidental and I’ve gone full Pepe Sylvia, the music selection in The Umbrella Academy is one of the things that they seem to be really deliberate about.

I would love to chat with anyone about this theory, so feel free to reach out in the notes or message me! My inbox is always open. Much love, and thank you for reading, if you got this far! ❤️

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cosmicclownboy · 4 years

Text

Malex day 7: AU

If there was a concept Michael could blink out of existence it would be blind dates. Not that there aren't other social constructs that he struggles with he just fails to grasp why this is a thing. Can't he be trusted to find someone through his own volition? It's not like either party usually wants to be there anyway? It's a product of peer pressure and it's just so painfully awkward he ends up nursing a beer at a bar by the end of the evening wondering how in the hell he's going to get out of the next one.

The primary issue is the matchmaker in question because in many ways he is in a rock and a hard place. If he even remotely musters up the courage to tell his sister, Isobel no she's going to become hyper fixated on getting him more dates. And that's the last thing he wants. If he just gets through them maybe Isobelle will realise it's a lost cause and just give up. In the past month alone he’s been on three dates all equally terrible. Lisa who worked in finance drank three margarita's and promptly left their dinner on the sidewalk. Doug, a gym trainer who had the personality of a potato. And Susan an astrologist who despite being career goals just didn't fit. It's almost depressing that his brother who set him up with a coroner for a joke somehow wound up getting him a relationship yet his sister who has a better grasp of him then anyone keeps setting him up with these duds.

By month four he's had it. He cannot do it anymore. "Isobel I love you but if you try to set me up on one more date after this I will Jedi frisby your favourite shoes to the moon" Isobelle has never looked more horrified and scared in her life. "You wouldn't dare not the Dolce with the tulle". "I didn't actually know which were your favourite so thanks for the info drop" He nabs a fry and winks at her leaving her with the mental image of destroyed ankle boots. Hopefully, it means she will stop promptly.

According to her logic, he implied he was open to one last date which in turn creates a loophole that she can have one final try. He agrees only because she shoos away a woman he's spent the last hour flirting with. And if he goes on this last one he can finally know some semblance of peace from his sister. When she calls Alex the man of his dreams and uses the word Adonis as a descriptor he's already planning the ways of which he can fling those Dolce shoes. The last man she said would rock his world gave him the worst orgasm of his life and stole ten dollars from his nightstand. He does not want a repeat of that night. To which she enunciates very proudly that she knows him specifically and if he dares to be an asshole she'll shred his cowboy hat. "When have I ever been an asshole on one of your dates Iz" "Ali" She's got him there but he's still offended. "Ali kept sending back her ravioli because it wasn't hot enough.I'm not sorry I didn't want to stay for another course of oh my god my asparagus is touching my salmon Michael my daddy owns a yacht club Michael". He does his best squeaky imitation of her voice that has Isobel shaking her head grinning. "You know I saw her the other day she was spray painting her poodle, Edguirdia bright pink"

Instead of a gaudy restaurant with an obnoxious french name requiring him to google map the address. He's given one not too far from his apartment. Surprisingly it's in the neck of the village he likes that's quiet and reserved. Michael bites back a small smile when he sees the establishment is quite literally called "a Grillhouse".It's rustic. The chairs look a little battered for wear and the kitchen is so close to the tables that the aroma wafts throughout the restaurant. It's peaceful and the smell alone makes him hungry. If Ali ended up here for a date he's pretty sure the place would wind up condemned within the hour. This Alex Manes already has earned points in his book. The menu has food he'd actually eat at a reasonable price and there's a really old jukebox in the corner that he's itching to get a look at. He drops his jacket at the weathered booth in the corner and it's two steps before he's silently reading each song title in his head.

"There are sixty songs on there. I should warn you that fifteen of them are cutesy bops that his girlfriend likes. Who even pairs ACDC and Foo Fighters with the Jonas Brothers?" The voice appearing out of nowhere takes him by surprise so much so that he jams his foot into the corners of the metal. Whatever curse that was going to fall out of his mouth is quickly gone when he turns to see the face to the voice. God, he hopes this man is his date. Dressed in tight black jeans with a marble looking sweater the man is a vision. He stares a little open mouthed for a minute before he remembers he has to speak.

"He must really love his girlfriend"

"Can't say I relate"

He steps in front of him with a coin and Michael quickly moves curiously wondering at what he'll pick. The first bar of Roxeanne by the Police hangs in the air and he's staring at the man in front of him swaying softly eyes closed and smiling. Beautiful. Adonis beautiful?

"Please tell me your Alex?"

Isobel is so forgiven.

"You're a YouTuber?" He tries not to sound offended or judgy but judging by the smirk and raise of his eyebrows Alex immediately sees through his bullshit.Alex rubs his hands on his jeans slowly debating what to say.

"I got in an accident after I left the air force" He knocks his knee revealing a clank. "At first it was to document the journey and so my buddies overseas could feel like they were with me. But then people really got interested in my life and stuff. I do a lot of different stuff. I show people some of my leg fittings. Do videos with my dogs and sometimes I play music"

"You play?"

"Piano and Guitar"

When Michael winds up pressed to his truck an hour later Alex's hands everywhere and anywhere his mind is blank. He's going to combust or come most likely both. And he's perfectly fine with it if Alex's kissing him like he's the instrument that he wants to play non stop. It's dirty and passionate and soft and oh god maybe he is the man of his dreams.The kisses leave him dizzy but he wants more and more. So he maybe has sex with Alex in the back of the truck multiple times over the weeks. And maybe he falls a little bit in love with him. It does not mean he is willing to give Isobel the satisfaction of knowing she found his person. He refuses. So they keep it sort of on the down-low. Alex is fine with this because the internet tends to hold an opinion on every relationship he's ever had and he wants to have moments for them.

The jig is up after four months when Isobel hears Michael say baby off-camera to Alex in one of his videos to his specialist. He gets an earful mainly I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!! He's not even mad at that point he's just relieved he didn't want her to find out after he's moved in with Alex.And if he's honest he's hated not being able to tell her about him. He thinks Alex feels the same because he's been hassled for the past week in texts from all his friends about mystery guy. First, they release a photo of Michael unboxing his stuff with the hashtag #home and they slowly ease him into being in the videos. Michael's quickly come around to realise it was dumb for him to judge especially when he reads some of the comments in the tags about how much a video affects a person's mental health.

The first video he makes his first on-screen debut is Alex doing weird science experiments with Liz and he spots their dog going for the squirrel. Their second dog, of course, spots the squirrel after he's deferred the first dog and long story short the video ends with all three of them bathing the dogs soaked to the brim.

Maybe blind dates aren’t so bad if it’s Alex Manes.

#malex #malex20

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11 - SBT

Here it is!

The Frenchman hit the hotel after his lunch with Victoria. He left the car to the parking valet and shot to the lift where he found Bastian.

“Which floor, Sir?”

“Cinquième.”

[Fifth.]

“Right, Sir.” The young man felt it. His client felt under the weather somehow. He wasn’t his same confident self. Of course, Bastian stayed away from questioning it or trying anything. He kept to his job and politely obliged.

When the lift stopped and the bell rang, the doors opening wide, Lucien resolutely exited without adding a word. As the doors closed again, Bastian put his hands in his pockets.

“Oh?”

When his hand emerged out of it, a few coins shone in the palm of his white gloved hand. He smiled.

Meanwhile, Lucien had slammed the door shut as he entered his suite. He went straight to his bathroom. He opened the taps fully and let the water flow in a violent and loud stream. He removed his expensive shoes, put them out next to the front door and started stripping naked in front of the bathtub. His eyes were riveted on the water, the chaotic stream creating and destroying bubbles.

His tie, jacket and vest flew out of the way quickly and he stayed bare-chested, crouched down, his chin and his arms on the edge of the bathtub, staring emptily at the water level rise. He couldn't hear his own thoughts if he had wanted to, the bath was too loud. Perfect, that was absolutely the point. Lucien wanted to smother and drown the voices in his head which repeated what Victoria had said.

Bullshit! It's impossible to not feel lonely!

He frowned. Of course it was! That was how he had managed to survive! He had managed to embrace his loneliness and accept it! Victoria was young… Oui, too young to understand, no doubt. And of course such a sacrifice comes at a price! It is far from easy! But he had made it, he had succeeded in ridding himself of that feeling, the impression of a vacancy in his heart where a human should be...

The Frenchman sighed and stopped the water from running. The bath was full. He looked at the bottles standing at the edge of it and found some bubbling gel. He poured some in and mixed it until a thick foam formed at the surface. Lucien finished stripping naked and slipped in.

He let himself sink in slowly, until his back rested against the bathtub. He laid his head back and let his eyelids fall on his eyes.

"Mon Dieu…"

[My God…]

His lips hardly moved and the words slipped between them in a thin thread of air.

Now what?

Well, now there was no loud water to deafen the voices in his head, no walking hard and fast to escape them either. Non, he had to face it all.

Fine.

Oui. Victoria was right, but only partly. Only very partly. There were a few times where he could still feel it, feel that he missed someone. Who? Well, that woman obviously, who else? Well…

Lucien frowned, his eyes still closed.

Now if he was being honest, he was over her. He had put her in that tin box that was under the ground in a parisian park. She didn’t exist anymore. She was long gone. But he couldn’t help it. Each time he felt that feeling of emptiness creep up on him, he would think of her. It wasn’t because he missed her per se, but rather because he had no one to think about and associate that longing to.

Longing.

Oui, sometimes, very rarely though, the Frenchman longed for someone. Someone to hold, or to be held by. Someone to share his days with, someone to make sure his dreams were peaceful.

"Mon Dieu…"

His jaw relaxed.

He thought back of these countless times he had someone to warm his bed. Those were surely happier times. But for some reason, he did not miss those the most, even though they did bring some kind of satisfaction…

"Pfff…"

He sighed. Enough for the bath. He felt himself spiralling down to useless thoughts. The Frenchman washed himself and exited his bathroom, wearing his bathrobe. In his bedroom, he chose a shirt and trousers and put them on. Lucien went to face the tall mirror next to the entrance to fix his cuffs and tie.

He stared at himself, his hair disorganised and still damp. He hated his grey, lifeless eyes and frowned, focusing on the tie.

"Bien…"

[Well…]

He punctuated, as if to turn the page of his mind. He thought back on his mission.

"The target makes himself rare in public, hm? So be it, but I hope I will be able to at least catch a glimpse of him at The Queen Victoria. To that end, I need Richard's suit… I hope he will be fast. The sooner I go to that place, the better. Actually, maybe I can work on its layout first….? Oui, I shall ask Maurice for a map of the building and maybe a list of frequent clients."

He finished with his tie and went to grab his file. The Frenchman then put everything on the coffee table and sat down on the black leather sofa in front of it. He raised his head to see if there were any clocks on the wall to see the time when-

"Oh…"

He hadn't realised it but his living room was massive. It was much more spacious than what he had caught a glimpse of as he had entered his suite the first time. Moreover, one side of it was entirely windowed and he could see a good part of the city from it. The view cut his breath short for a moment. But that wasn't what caught his attention first and foremost. Non.

He stood up and walked to what had caught his eye.

"Very nice…"

He let the tips of his finger delicately brush the black varnished wood before pulling the stool and sitting down. He opened the long black varnished lid and set his fingers on the keys.

A piano was sitting in the middle of his living room and he hadn't noticed it for days…

He looked at his fingers on the white keys. Last time he had seen them like that, the skin was smoother and he could see everything but the age on them. Now of course, it was much different.

What should he play?

What key to press? What hammer should hit the strings of silence?

He knew. And started playing.

{To the reader: Listen to Bard by Brad Meldhau on Youtube!}

The first few notes were shy, he didn't dare push the silence away too hard. He just wanted to fill the void, have the melody and the slightly dissonant harmonies talk to him in a way that words couldn't, even in his mother tongue.

For there are ideas that simply cannot be put into words, they can't be molded into letters and put together into a string like the pearls of a necklace that passes from one to the next. Non. Some ideas cannot be expressed in words but…

But tones, sounds, melodies, harmonies. Those could render those invisible colours of the soul. Non. Music was the only vehicle to take these emotions from within himself and gently blow them out, like he would a fluffy dandelion. Music was the only one who could guide those wordless primitive waves of his insides into the air.

And at what cost did it all come? As usual and as they say in French 'La fin justifie les moyens' : the end justifies the means.

Lucien did not care that he would probably sit there for hours on end, he did not care that the sky went from blue, to pink, to orange, to dark as he still sat there, hunched over the ivory keys that hit him repeatedly. Neither did he mind that his back would not forgive him for this. The strain that he put onto his shoulders and his spine, he ignored. Those could wait and be cured easily with some aspirin. For the pain he was easing now with all this, there was no prescription.

He played relentlessly and it lasted for hours until he could barely see the keys in the darkness of the night. He raised his nose off the keyboard and saw the night city, the buildings standing like black silhouettes only punctuated by yellow-lit windows here and there.

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed before straightening his back and stretching his shoulders. Now he could feel the back pain. But at least his mind and spirit were empty. He could face life again. So he decided on a late night coffee. He would go on foot too, no need to get the Panthera out for that.

The Frenchman took his jacket and exited his dark suite. On his way out he met with Bastian. He signaled him to get closer.

"Va voir Maurice et demande-lui les plans complets de l'intérieur du Queen Victoria pour moi s'il te plaît."

[Tell Maurice I need the complete plans of the layout for the Queen Victoria, please.]

The young man nodded.

"Sure, Sir."

"Thanks."

As he walked out of the hotel, Lucien realised that the city was still pretty busy. Nightclubbers and young people were the faces that he mostly saw as the night was rarely for families with children.

He stopped at a crossway and lit a cigarette, waiting for the cars to stop passing and let him through.

He crossed the road and continued, a cigarette between his lips. His feet were choosing the path, he was merely following until he found himself in front of a shop. The neon light at the entrance was blinking in blue and pink.

Joe's

He pushed the door and the jingle of a bell rang. Lucien could hear the static noise of a radio further in the narrow shop but it wasn't music, no, the background noise covering the voice was too loud for it. It was sports, some match or competition of some sort.

"Look, who it is, eh? Came back for another map?"

Joe emerged from nowhere.

"Ah, good evening. Non, I am just…"

Lucien had no idea what he was doing.

"Just havin' a look, eh? It's fine, take yer time, I'll just be at the radio, we're playin' New Zealand, see?"

Joe turned his slender silhouette and started walking away.

"Wait."

He stopped.

"Can I ask you something, Joe?"

"O'course, son. What d'you need?"

"We can go at the counter if you'd prefer to have a seat." Lucien suggested.

"Oh, long story time, eh? Roight, follow me."

Given how small the shop was, it only took them a few seconds to arrive at their destination. Joe walked behind the counter and hopped on his tall stool.

"So, tell me."

"I would like to ask you what Victoria likes."

Joe's bushy eyebrows jumped.

"What?"

"Does she have any passions? Is there anything she likes to do outside of her working hours?"

Joe lowered the volume on his radio until it was but a whisper, and pointed an accusative finger at the Frenchman.

"Oi there, listen. You don't touch my little girl Vicky, alroight?"

"Pardon?" Lucien asked in his native language.

"Ya heard me alroight. You lay a finger on her hair and I'll find ya! By God, she's half your age, son! You could be her dad! Go find yerself someone who’s really for you!”

“Joe, non, you misunderstood me, I - oh mon Dieu! I hope she isn’t under that impression too… I just… Argh.."

Lucien sighed and put a hand on his brow.

"Vicky's a good girl."

"I know." The Frenchman answered. "Which is why I am asking you this. I might have offended her and I want to make it up to her."

"What did you do?"

"She said something that was too true for me to hear. So I left her without adding a word."

"Not exactly well mannered comin' from a posh fellow like you, eh?"

He nodded.

"Alroight. Tell you what. She's got a collection of comics that she likes. Here's the next issue."

Joe put a magazine on the counter.

"Get that to her and apologise."

"Merci."

"T's'alright."

"How much do I owe you?" Lucien asked.

"Not a cent. You're doin' it for her, which is enough for me. Now go and I hope she'll forgive you."

Lucien took the comics book and raised an eyebrow to Joe.

"Why?" He asked.

"'Cause she likes you, the poor thing. She's never had friends to have lunch with before, y'know."

"How do you know about our lunch?"

"She came here before you did. Brought me me pills. And she talked. But she's back home now. If you wanna see her, you'll have to wait for tomorrow."

"I see. Many thanks, Joe."

"See ya."

And with the same jingle of the bells, the Frenchman went through the door. On his way back to the hotel, he looked through the window of the restaurant where Victoria worked. The lights were off and it was lifeless. Only the jukebox still shone in a corner of the room.

Lucien went on until he found himself back in the hotel.

"Evening, Sir."

He turned and saw Bastian.

"Bonsoir, Bastien." He answered.

[Good evening Bastian.]

The young man went to the lift and entered right before the Frenchman slipped in.

"Fifth floor, Sir?"

"Oui, s'il te plaît."

[Yes, please.]

The doors of the lift slowly slid shut and they both felt it take off the ground floor.

"Bastien?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"You can call me just L."

"Ah, alright, thanks L."

"Tell me, is there anyone who has the rooms around my own?"

The young man raised an eyebrow at the weird question.

"I don't think so. And in any case, suite 504 is one of the biggest that we have. It occupies almost a third of the floor. The other rooms are much smaller."

"I see. Could you double check for me please?"

"Of course, Sir."

"Merci bien."

[Thank you very much.]

The doors of the lift slid open and the Frenchman stepped off.

"I will be waiting for your answer in my room."

"Alright L, I'll just be a minute."

The Frenchman nodded and followed the corridor to his suite. He entered and removed his jacket and shoes. He flipped one of the switches just to have barely enough light to see. He headed straight to the bar where he found a bottle of what looked like wine. He opened it and poured himself a glass.

Ha, wine.

You can’t call it wine when the cap is a plastic lid that you have to unscrew. Non. Proper wine came in a glass bottle too dark to see the subtle beverage, like black tights on a woman’s slim legs. Barely enough to see its content but more than enough to see its shapes. He drank it and it stung the back of his throat.

He coughed a few times. He hadn’t expected it to be that acidic. What château was that?! Ah, yes, a local cheap one.

There was a knock at the door. Lucien went and opened it.

“Ah, Bastien, alors?”

[Ah, Bastian, so?]

“They are all empty and the house will keep them so for you.”

“Parfait. Thank you very much.”

[Perfect.]

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

“Oh, and Bastien?”

“Yes?”

The Frenchman took a step forward, stepping out of his suite, his feet in direct contact with the carpet of the corridor. He adjusted the young man’s tie and his hat.

“There. That is better. If you want to make it, you have to pay attention to the details, mon petit.”

[My little one.]

“Oh, uh, thank you very much, Sir.”

“L.” Lucien corrected him.

“Ah yes, L.”

“Now, good night.”

“G’night, L!”

Lucien watched as the young man walked as light as a feather back to the lift. He smiled to himself and got back inside his suite.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his glass of wi--whatever that dark, acidic beverage was and went to the piano again. He brought an ashtray and lit a cigarette.

The Frenchman didn't feel like sleeping despite the late hour of the night. Instead, he repeated some pieces that he knew again and again. And now that he knew he had no neighbours, he didn't hold back his fingers.

He loosened his tie and gulping down more of the bitter wine, he drummed his fingers on the ivory keys more aggressively, more passionately.

Non, he wasn't going to sleep that night and God had given him a finely tuned piano. He wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

His fingers slithered, glided and slammed rhythmically as his bare foot crushed the pedal repeatedly.

Soon he closed his eyes. He had tamed the keys, they would come under his fingers when he needed them without him even having to ask in any way or another. He shook his head left and right, his cigarette between his lips.

He had spent minutes that transformed into hours playing. The tie had been thrown away and the shirt had three buttons open as the sweat beaded and rolled down his brow, his eyes still screwed shut. His hair flew after him as his shoulders were jumping in sync with the tempo. The grey and black, wet locks now stuck to his brow or slammed it repeatedly.

And he didn't know it but the sun was rising and the birds were chirping.

Lucien rolled the sleeve of his left arm as it was still playing and then did the same to his right hand.

The sun was rising but his eyes were still closed. The Frenchman would start his day only when his ears and soul would have been nourished enough.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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afterspark-podcast · 3 years

Text

(Extra!) Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen: Transcript

Episode

[This can also be found on AO3!]

[Into Music]

O: Hi folks, we're back! Thanks for joining us.

S: So, if we were going to make Revenge of the Fallen better, what would we do (aside from definitely not killing off Jetfire)?

O: Well, first, uh, let's establish some general rules for this thought exercise: The same basic skeleton of the movie must stay intact, since we are trying to fix it not redo it entirely, um, generally, the same characters should be involved but characters could return from the first one instead. Um, I know in the previous movie review we talked about doing it as a tv show or something but for right now let's pretend that the first movie happened as is.

S: Aside from Jazz surviving.

O: Yeah, because killing him off was really dumb and it happened at the end of the movie anyway, so it doesn't really change anything in the first movie.

S: Yep. So, first off: cast change!

O: Uh, we're gonna remove Devastator, Grindor, Volt, Skids and Mudflap and add returning characters from the first movie, which would be Maggie, Glenn, John Keller, and Blackout by way of- they maybe resurrected him at the same time as Megatron, and Jazz.

S: Yep. Since we've removed Volt, Skids, and Mudflap, we're going to add in Sunstreaker this way we can still exploit the brotherly dynamic that people who are used to G1 would be used to and, you know, using an existing character and relationship dynamic.

O: Right, and Bee's voice box is still intact. He and Sam are actually friends. Sam does not treat him like a fucking dog or some weird possession.

S: Mm-hmm. He comes with Sam to college because at this point Sam kind of does have a target on his back.

O: Yeah, which I think is fair. The Decepticons are still around, we established that pretty early so, yeah, why not?

S: Yeah, and at this point, I don't know, maybe treat it like Sam’s in, effectively, robot witness protection.

O: Yeah. Optimus does not die at any point in this because it would be completely pointless to the story we're trying to tell.

S: Yeah. Sector Seven has been folded into N.E.S.T. and some major retraining on, uh, how to treat the giant robots, maybe, has happened. Simmons has become significantly less of an asshole after getting to know the Autobots.

O: Or at least we would hope-

S: Yeah.

O: You know, because some mutual respect would probably have been earned since, you know, this movie started. Sector 7 did effectively imprison Megatron for decades successfully. They clearly have knowledge and skills that could be useful for, you know, both finding and capturing the remaining Decepticons.

S: Yeah, I feel like the Autobots would still be a bit skeeved out about some of the things Sector 7 did but-

O: They probably would and I think it would have to be handled really well and hence why Simmons needs to be less of a dick.

S: Yeah, though at this point probably all of the Autobot- let's just go with the whole “war criminals” thing.

O: Yeah.

S: Everyone's done things that they regretted in the war.

O: Mikaela is now training under Ratchet. She knows a lot about machines and showed promise at the end of the first movie so let's actually do something with that.

S: And make it so Sam isn't her only friend because that's sad. Like she has Maggie and Glenn-

O: And the Arcees.

S: Yeah.

O: Uh, Maggie and Glenn are now our two tech oriented people on the team.

S: Yup. Lennox and Epps are functionally in the same roles as the movie-

O: But now John Keller is the head of N.E.S.T. operations instead of some random guy.

S: Yep. Then Simmons is their information guy and, I mean, actually John Keller- this could be his job after he retires from whatever the hell he was doing.

O: Right, because it was very much they said Obama in this movie, so it's clear Obama is now the president. He definitely wasn't in the first movie.

S: Yeah.

O: So, similar to Prime you could also pair our main human characters up with their partners. We had a whole breakdown on this but it wasn't really important to kind of everything else but, you know, aside from just Sam and Bumblebee, you could have the characters paired up, too.

S: Ratchet and Optimus would not have partners and would live on base. Optimus runs Autobot operations and Ratchet is in charge of the med bay.

O: But the biggest and most important change is that everyone has friends, hobbies, relationships with each other, and they are an actual team. Yes, catching the Decepticons is important but they have to live, too.

S: It's heavily implied Optimus considers Earth their new home in the movies and that they should be trying to make it home. So Sam still goes to college on the east coast but perhaps somewhere closer to D.C.

O: The where isn't really important just as long as it works out geographically for some of the stuff we mention later and is reasonably prestigious.

S: I mean, considering that we don't even know what the hell Sam is even going for I'm not sure what prestige even matters.

O: I don't even know either but I'm just sort of operating under the assumption of he seems to want to go to a prestigious school.

S: Yeah, so Leo's the only roommate as the others are hardly in the movie at all and don't add anything to it.

O: Now that Simmons is involved in N.E.S.T. there is no reason for Leo to be running the website but if we do really want to drag him along in all this he could be a big conspiracy buff.

S: Yeah, he may be wrong about a lot of things but damn if he's right about those giant robots. This is probably super awkward for Sam and Bee. The bit with the AllSpark still happens at the beginning. Sam still downloads a bunch of junk into his brain but now he hands the fragment off to Mikaela to give to the Autobots.

O: The Wheelie bit is mostly intact, as well, but less horny and more Mikaela's a warrior goddess.

S: Yep, considering that she can kick his ass, she can kick anyone's ass. Sam has his freakout in class but now his professor or someone sitting in nabs him for an internship at the air and space museum because he's- I don't know! Sam- he somehow manages to solve some sort of impossible equation or something.

O: Yeah, uh, Leo maybe can already be an intern by doing something more marketing or advertising based.

S: This will allow them access to the museum without the whole underpants bit.

O: Which was completely pointless.

S: Yup.

S: Alice is now also another intern. She attempts to flirt with Sam but gets nowhere cause Sam is in a committed fucking relationship.

S: Yeah. Alice can now copy other people's appearances and does so with Mikaela based on, uh, seeing her or hearing her and Sam on a video call to each other.

O: Now the movie really splits between the A-plot and the B-plot.

S: The A-plot remains functionally similar to the main movie: The Misadventures of Sam and Co.

O: The B-plot is now the Decepticons are wreaking havoc and the Autobots are spread very thin trying to mitigate as much damage as possible.

S: We're told in the movie that several thousand people have been killed but it doesn't really affect the plot in a meaningful way. Like, it mostly seems like these are just the people who, like, military people.

O: Yeah, not that they don't matter but, again, it just doesn't affect the plot.

S: Yeah.

O: Like, it doesn't change how the Autobots are behaving.

S: Yeah, because the stuff that happens on a ship. That's very contained, that's one ship where as stuff happening in a city center-

O: Several cities. Yeah-

S: Yes, this is a bit wide- bit more widespread and, you know, you're not able to hush that up.

O: But now that's the main reason the group is split up and why Sam doesn't have backup in Egypt initially.

S: Yep, out of the remaining team members Mikaela, Simmons, and Wheelie are the ones who head to D.C. because everyone else is headed somewhere else.

O: But now instead of walking in on Sam kissing another woman, he's kissing “Mikaela” [disguised Alice].

S: Naturally, we get the Mikaela versus Alice showdown that we deserve.

O: The Con's actions during all this stay relatively the same except now it's Soundwave who's in charge of the mission to revive Megatron, still in space, still a satellite.

S: They're still searching for Sam to get the information out of his head.

O: But the Fallen is now the thing they're trying to activate instead of the Star Harvester.

S: To beat a Prime they need a Prime after all.

O: And the Fallen's locked in stasis or sort of, kind of dead or something,

S: Yeah, whatever it is they need the Matrix of Leadership to revive him and they also still need Sam to find both the Fallen's location and the Matrix's location.

O: Same thing happens where Sam's group realizes they need to talk to a very old Cybertronian because neither Bee nor Wheelie can read the text that is stuck in his head.

S: The equivalent of asking someone who speaks French or, I don't know, Esperanto to speak Latin. French would be too close. Wheelie points out Jetfire in a picture. Sam realizes that Jetfire is in the museum and he's, like, walked by this five dozen times-

O: [Laughter]

S: And they all go to revive him.

O: The AllSpark fragment reacts before they see the now very well hidden Decepticon badge.

S: Jetfire's bit is still pretty much the same: they're all teleported to Egypt, the tomb is made out of the Prime bodies possibly in Petra again, still.

O: Yeah the location of it doesn't necessarily- isn't necessarily important.

S: Yeah.

O: Only now the Primes have sealed the Fallen way somewhere else before sealing the Matrix away with themselves to keep him from being reactivated.

S: The race is on for Sam's group to try and find the Matrix while the rest of the Autobots are attempting to deal with the Decepticon attacks and still somehow support Sam's group who only has Bumblebee with them for defense.

O: All without drawing the Cons attention to what they're actually doing.

S: Sam retrieves the Matrix from Petra but it doesn't crumble away into sweaty sock dust this time.

O: Uh, the Autobots and Sam's group converge on the Fallen's tomb planning on destroying him before the Decepticons can revive him, somehow. Maybe it's that Optimus could destroy him. I don't know.

S: But surprise! Soundwave's been monitoring communications and they've been followed so before the rest of the Autobots can get there Megatron gets his hands on the Matrix and resurrects the Fallen.

O: And we discussed going a couple of different ways with this but ultimately we thought it would be interesting if combiners were still important to the final battle, kind of like how Optimus and Jetfire combined. Sort of.

S: It could also be used to differentiate toys from the previous movie and this one.

O: The Autobots arrive! A fight ensues.

S: In order to defeat Optimus, Megatron is willing to make a somewhat literal deal with the devil and combines with the Fallen, so Optimus can be defeated by his or their own hand.

O: Optimus is losing until Jetfire shows up.

S: Seekers, as we mentioned, are absolutely ancient Cybertronians, younger only than the original Primes.

O: And in the novels Jetfire and the Fallen had previously worked together.

S: So to fight the Fallen/Megatron combiner Jetfire and Optimus must- must combine, as well, so now we can still have nifty air fights and, god, I keep wanting to make a joke about plane pants or something.

O: [Laughter] Uh, this all plays out about how you'd expect.

S: Yup. Optimus and Jetfire are better at working together and relying on each other's strengths and knowledge of their opponents. Megatron and the Fallen begin trying to wrestle control back and forth from each other.

O: In the end, Optimus and Jetfire are willing to risk everything to stop the Fallen and Megatron from destroying earth but Megatron is not willing to get himself killed because of the Fallen's mistakes and abandons him.

S: Yep, fleeing with himself, Starscream, and any remaining Decepticons.

O: And the Fallen is killed by, frankly, any other method than having his fucking face ripped off.

S: Yep, the heroes are victorious, the earth is saved, and with a renewed vow protecting the planet from the Decepticons the credits roll.

O: And, yes, I know we didn't really develop the B-plot very much but, again, working with what happened in the movie proper and seeing how we'd improve it. Ideally somebody who actually writes scripts would be able to kind of think of an interesting b plot and tie all of this together. That would be both interesting and a way to further the characters or- and/or the relationships with each other.

S: Yeah, like it would be kind of hilarious if they ended up all being like inter- if the humans all ended up being internet buddies and not actually realizing it.

O: But, yeah, that's our summary of how we would try to fix this movie. Take it as you will we're not even saying we're amazing, we just really did not like the original film.

S: Yep, I mean would this be an improvement? It's a “your mileage would vary” thing.

O: And it also kind of depends on what you like. If you like giant action scenes you probably would like Revenge of the Fallen, I don't know.

S: Yeah.

O: But, uh, join us next time when we kind of get back to our normal G1 shtick otherwise, you know, hopefully we'll see you, like, a year from now and do Dark of the Moon and, uh, uh oh. Wow, I have feelings.

S: Mm-hm. Toodles.

[Outro Music]

#transcript #revenge of the fallen #afterspark podcast #podcast #afterspark

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shibalen · 4 years

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Hi! Can I get a Haikyuu and Demon Slyer matchup? I’m a bi light skinned hispanic girl, Infj sun Pisces and moon Aries, I really love Literature and Art but I hate gym and french. I love going all out on subjects that genuinely interest me but can get worn out very quickly if I don’t like something. I’m working hard to become and artist and when I’m older I want to create a graphic novel. I’d like dates on rooftops or at home pigging out on snacks and watching movies. Thank you! Have a good day!

♡︎ matchup for @mexicansangrita

hello! it's been a long wait but thank you for being so patient with me and also for liking my stuff! i appreciate your support, dear (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

|| kimetsu no yaiba: i match you with . . .

zenitsu agatsuma

• according to your mbti and zodiac sign, you're empathetic, inspiring, intuitive and somewhat of an old soul. your aries moon, in addition, gives you traits such as independence and ambition!

• Zenitsu's quite emotional and he needs someone to try understanding him instead of telling him to just 'deal with it' but still have a good enough head on their shoulder to scold him when he's being unreasonable.

• i feel like you two would be able to build off each other. you helping him have more confidence in himself and him being there as your emotional support, for example.

• he may be a wannabe flirt but when it comes down to it his loyalty for his loved ones runs deep. after meeting you, his womanizing antics gradually fade out of existance.

• you had just been minding your own business on the street, admiring some top-grade brushes from a shop window when this guy with a sword came up to you ??

• his first words to you? you've guessed it: 'marry me'. it's funny though because he didn't hysterically cling onto your leg but instead looked you straight in the eye and said it.

• of course, he went by your looks but also by the bright gleam in your eye as you were looking at those art supplies. you were so beautiful that Zenitsu was convinced you were an angel and it was love at first sight.

• then he cried when you turned him down. it wasn't the best first impression, and Tanjirō had to make him apologise to you.

• but he was set on getting to know you and tried a hundred different methods to get you to notice him. all those conversation topics, flowers and showing off may have come off as obnoxious but you knew from the beginning he had good intentions.

• he has some trouble understanding your personal space in the beginning because you're just too precious and he wants to hold you all the time, but comes around quickly when you say you need some alone time.

• always thinking of ways to make you happy. i'm not joking, you're on his mind 24/7. just wants to make you feel as loved as you're making him feel.

• you're going to get so many flowers because honestly each time he sees one he's reminded of you and immediately wants you to know he's thinking of you (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)/♡

• when he's crying it never fails to cheer him up when you take his hand in yours or pet his hair. he'll melt under your touch.

• Zenitsu goes all out on your dates !! he's a romantic and will do anything to make sure your date is perfect.

• he'll gather blankets, snacks and pillows and bundle them up into a comfortable little nest on a rooftop.

• then you'll lay down next to each other and bask in the sun during the day or gaze at the stars at night. just long conversations and the two of you ♡︎

• he loves listening to you go all out on your favourite subjects. he'll have that silly, lovestruck smile on his face, chin rested in his hands as you talk.

• his great hearing makes it all the better because he can literally hear the passion in your voice. it sends his heart fluttering every time.

• so supportive and encouraging of your dreams, tries his hardest to help you any way he can. you gotta teach him a bit about literature and art first though so he'll know what you're telling him about.

• will be so smug about the stuff you taught him cause he feels so smart now. Tanjirō and Inosuke are getting a bit tired of his constant bragging.

• he understands your hate for training. plus, his two friends get so hyped up everytime it's hard to keep up with them. still, while Zenitsu insists on skipping, you make him go.

• gets 100% more motivated when he remembers he can protect you better if he's stronger. 110% if you promise cuddles and kisses later.

• you're like each others' support when you're pushing through tough assignments. like you cheer him on during training he encourages you through your artblocks.

• when there's time you go out together to buy new snacks in shops, especially after a draining mission. then you bring them back home and pig out.

• Inosuke, crashing through the door while you and Zen are feeding each other biscuits: i HeArD 'PiG oUt' WhAT'rE yA dOiN' wItHoUt Me?!

• all in all a very wholesome relationship ♡︎ Zenitsu knows one day he's going to ask you to marry him for real.

runner up: Kanae Kochō

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

|| haikyuu: i match you with . . .

yachi hitoka

• is this what you'd call soulmates? you and Yachi would definitely have a very depthful connection from the very beginning of your relationship. you'd understand each other on a deeper, almost spiritual level.

• you're both creative, always ready to help and have quite a vivid imagination. you help the other keep their feet on the ground while leaving them room to improve.

• the artistic couple! your common interest is a great icebreaker as well as something that brings you together. the starting point where you start building off from, if i can put it that way.

• it was the beginning of a new semester and you had Japanese literature together. you sat next to her by chance but you'd better believe she freaked out.

• "w-why is such a pretty girl sitting next to me??? does she need to borrow pencil?? what should i do if she mistook me for one of her friends?? AAAAHHH" Yachi exe. has stopped working.

• meanwhile you were just chilling until her stuttering started to worry you. so, you turned and asked if she was okay. girl dropped her whole pencilcase while looking for a pen to lend you.

• you calmed her down though so your first encounter ended well. you bonded over your mutual love for art and literature and formed a friendship quite fast.

• she accidentally confessed her crush on you when she was talking about you with Kiyoko in the gym. funny how you happened to overhear this from around the corner.

• startled, Yachi screamed and everybody came to see what happened. they automatically assumed you two were dating after hearing the story, and neither of you wanted to correct them in the long run, so . . . here we are :)

• always carries around delicious snacks for you in case you haven't eaten properly or are feeling drained from overworking.

• it's so easy to talk to Yachi about anything you have passion for. not only does she learn more about your interests but it also makes her feel special that you think of her as someone you can easily confide in.

• she can also endlessly talk about the things she loves so she's happy you understand what it's like!

• she tries to make you like french more because it pains her when she sees you getting tired out because of it (,,•́ . •̀,,)

• same with gym. she invites you to come see the boys practice after school, hoping you'll find something fun about moving that'll motivate you

• of course, understands if you still dislike the subjects and will focus on making you feel better.

• very shy with physical display of affection at first, still a bit afraid someone will stab her if they see her being even slightly intimate with an actual goddess like you.

• i know you didn't include this in your preferences, but can I just say study dates at cafés? soft music playing in the background as you two sit next to a window, making pretty notes and sharing cake? yes.

• she gives you good luck charms for tests! though you studied for hours beforehand she wants to do everything she can so you're feeling as relaxed as possible. she doesn't want you to experience any stomach aches from anxiety like she has.

• Yachi has surprisingly good ideas for graphic novels. well, the graphic parts. she gets all blushy when you start discussing plot because then she automatically connects all the romantic storylines with you.

• "so in this rainy scene i was thinking they could have a more intimate moment, maybe even kiss. what do you think?"

• Yachi, who has kissed you before, internally: k i s s i n g y / n kissing y/n KISSING Y/N I N T H E R A I N ᗒ////ᗕ

• sometimes these conversations can drag out as she tends to accidentally get stuck in her little fantasy world, oops—

• hand holding though is common while you're doing every-day activities like reading or walking. but also during dates like movies or rooftop lunches. her hands are very small and warm and the way they fit in yours is perfect ♡︎

• an extremely cute, loyal relationship, one where you can laugh over the smallest, silliest things but also share the most meaningful debates. you bring out the best in her, and Yachi won't fail to make it up to you !

runner up: Kōshi Sugawara

found such soft gifs for this matchup, i'm so happy~ i hope you enjoyed this, and thank you for requesting. stay safe and remember to be kind to yourself ♡︎

#len's matches #kimetsu no yaiba #haikyuu #matchups #anime matchups

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luciousmafloy · 5 years

Text

First Love [pt. 1]

Luka Couffaine x Reader

my first story! yay! i hope it doesn't suck!

Soo, a few things you need to know:

1. English is not my native language so i'll probably do some mistakes lmao

2. your character is a German who moved to paris

3. french is written in english and when your character speaks german i will write it in german with the translation after it

4. i will 'use' the villains for my story not in chronological order- i hope you don't mind and understand what i just wrote lol

5. yeet

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

your pov

i stood in my new room. it wasn't fully decorated but it already looked comfy and cozy. i sat down on my grey couch and picked up my phone to text my friend f/n.

we were in Paris now for only three days and i already miss her like hell. on of my fears is that i won't make any friends here. That would suck.

"the food is ready!", i hear my mom shouting for me and my little sister.

even though we are germans my parents speak french with us, so we can improve our french. i think i'm good at the language but i'm not perfect. my sisters french isn't that good so my parents sent her to a special school, where she'll learn the language. she dumb lol. no, my sister is actually really smart. She once won a math competition in 5th grade. I could never. my math is horrible.

anyway , i walked down the stairs and sat down on a chair. It's weird that the house where we live now is our new home. it feels a bit strange, but i will get used to it by time.

"s/n, your bus will drive at 7:35 please get up tomorrow timely"

my sister gave my mom a no-shit-sherlock look and i started laughing.

"fine", she said.

"when you want to improve your french, you have to speak more than one word", i told s/n.

"i can speak french when i want to", my sister said.

"it doesn't matter. Stop it please", your mother interrupted us. she hates when we argue like that, but i can't help it.

after dinner i went to my room and turned on the tv. I found nothing interesting to watch so i decided to watch the news. I need to know at least a bit about my new home town.

the friendly red-haired news lady told something about akumas and ladybug and chat noir.

i already knew the heroes of paris, they looked pretty cool in their animal-like costumes but doesn't the spandex feel weird on their skin? when i meet them, i could ask them this. but no, probably not, that would be weird.

they showed an interview with the akuma victim. the victim was a sweet man who sells ice cream. friendly and genuine persons like him get akumatised too? okay, that is scary... i hope i won't get akumatised, i don't wanna hurt people.

after watching the news, and texting my friend f/n about this strange akuma stuff, i found a funny show to watch for the rest of the evening.

~ the next day ~

my alarm clock played my favorite song at exactly 7:15 am. my sister had to get up earlier than me, because she has to take the bus to get to school when i can easily walk to school.

i stayed a few minutes in my warm bed but after my mom yelled at me i got up and ate breakfast.

"and? excited for school? hell, even i am excited, for both of you!", my mom says to me while she drank her tea.

"yeah, but i'm scared. what when they all think i'm weird and avoid me?"

i'm definitely not the person who just wanders to people and strikes up a conversation with them. nope.

i'm the kind of person who stands alone and watches other people having fun, and then feels bad about themselfes.

"then you have to come ouf of your comfort zone and talk to people"

"ja, weils auch so einfach ist", i mumbled. (yeah, because it's so easy)

"oh, don't be a sissy. now get up and change your clothes and brush your teeth. you have to go in 20 minutes!"

"yes, mother", i said while saluting and pretending her to be my boss.

i walked upstairs to my room and picked out my favorite clothes. i feel a bit confident when i wear them, maybe it'll help me.

after brushing me teeth and doing my skin care routine i grabbed my backpack from the floor and walked downstairs to my mom.

my dad has already left for work, he always leaves early and comes back late.

"mama, ich hab wirklich angst", i said to her. (mom, i'm really scared)

"das schaffst du schon. wenn du heute keine freunde findest, dann eben morgen. versuch einfach ganz normal zu sein, dann kann nichts schiefgehen"

(you got this. if you make no friends today, you will make some tomorrow. just try to be normal then nothing bad can happen)

i smiled at my mother. she is good at cheering me up, that's one of the many reasons why i love her so much. even though she can get pretty strict sometimes.

"thanks, mom. i needed that"

my mom gave me a hug, i felt good. i love hugging people, but i'm often too shy to do it.

"oh my- i have to go now if you want to be on time!", my mom said nervously.

i think she is more anxious than me. anyway, i said goodbye to her and left our house.

i think i know the way to my new school. my parents walked the whole way with me yesterday and even if i don't have it memorized, then why does google maps exist?

on my way i put on my earplugs and listened to my favorite music. music really helps me calming myself down. i was so nervous. the students in my home town didn't really liked me. i had some 'friends' yeah, but without f/n i wouldn't have survived all my school years. i really miss her and i hope i find a f/n in paris.

when i walked into school i looked around. there were many students chattering and having fun, even though its the first day after school holidays.

i checked the time, 10 minutes until the class starts. i better search for the classroom.

with my schedule in my hands i walked up the stairs, looking for my room. i felt a bit lost, there were many students and it scared me.

"hey, do you need help?", i heard a sweet voice saying behind me.

i turned around and saw a small girl, with blond short hair and the biggest blue eyes i've ever seen.

"ähm- ah, yeah. i-i can't find my classroom"

great. why can't i form a single sentence to a stranger without stuttering?

"well, can i see your schedule?", the girl asked smiling. she is really nice.

i handed her the schedule i just got yesterday and bite my lips.

"ah! we're in the same class! juleka come here, it's the new girl!"

a girl with dark clothes came up to us. she looked like the complete opposite of the girl before me, but the fact that they are friends or maybe a couple (who knows?) is super cute.

"hi", said juleka and stood beside the sweet girl.

"that's great! we're gonna get along just fine, i know it! i'm rose, that's juleka and your name is?"

rose and juleka started walking and i followed them.

"i'm y/n. it's nice to meet you guys"

i really hope they will stick with me today. and tomorrow, i hope they are going to be my friends, because they seem really nice and i don't think i will meet other people so easily and fast like that.

"madame bustier told us that you are german! but your french is so good, i didn't even notice a accent. do you already like it here?"

rose talkes a lot. it's cute.

"thank you and yeah.. it feels weird to live here now, but i like it"

rose smiles. "that's nice to hear. look, we're here, our classroom!"

rose opened the door and i walked in behind juleka. there were a few students already here.

i noticed a girl with blue hair who was talking to another girl with brown hair. in front of these two sat a boy who listened to music.

"you can sit behind juleka and me, if thats okay?", rose asked me.

juleka already sat down on her place and looked calmly out of the window.

"yeah, yeah. that's good"

i walked up, but a girl with blond hair stopped me.

"look sabrina, the new german girl is here. they clearly don't have clothing stores in germany, when i see what you are wearing", she said and her friend faked a laugh.

"why do you care about my clothes?", i asked her.

"they look horrible, just like marinette's", the girl shrugged.

"chloé, just because no one except you can afford designer clothes doesn't mean you can pick on us!", the blue-haired girl shouted angry. i think she was about to slap chloé or something because her friend held her back.

chloé simply turned away and started to whisper with her friend.

"i'm sorry about that, but- that's chloé", marinette said to me in a sad tone.

"oh, it's fine. it's not your fault", i told her.

marinette smiled and the girl behind her leaned forward. "hi, i'm alya"

"and i'm marinette, it's nice to meet you. madame bustier has told us about you"

honestly, why are they all so nice? is this some kind of fanfiction or what-

"name's y/n", i smiled.

then a boy entered the class, causing marinette to stare at him. ah, someone has a crush. alya sent me a knowing smile, while she rolled her eyes. i just giggled and walked up to my place behind juleka and rose.

"i heard what chloé said, i'm sorry. she is like that with everyone", rose sighed.

"it's okay. i'm just glad not everyone here is like her"

"me too", agreed juleka.

"i hope she will drop that mean attitude", rose said.

a woman walked into the room and was instantly greeted by every student. it was madame bustier, she looked friendly. i hope she is as friendly as she looks like. "ah, y/n i see you've found a place to sit. but you are alone, how about you take a seat with rose and juleka?". everyone turned to me and i felt uncomfortable.

"ähm- yes, madame?", i said while grabbing my backpack and standing up to sit next to rose.

the class laughed, even madame bustier giggled. "you don't have to call me madam, y/n"

i nooded and said a quiet 'okay'.

what a start.

#miraculous #miraculousladybug #luka couffaine x reader #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #juleka couffaine #ml juleka #ml rose #miraculous x reader #ml x reader #miraculous imagine #miraculous imagines #fanfiction #x reader

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indomitablemegnolia · 5 years

Text

He growled, his eyes rolled, I had finally pushed him onto his uncomfortable place; "My imagination, my wants, my needs are simple; I just hunger to be near you. I would love to just sip coffee and kisses for days; make out like mad teenagers; I want nothing from you; all I require from you, all I ask of you, all I want is for this sliver of a moment, a simple time away from time."

He stopped, a look crossed his face as if something inside was daring him to tell the unvarnished truth; I simply waited for that idea that struck so suddenly his jaw dropped as though he had a revelation, he looked away letting out half a chuckle, finally he came to a resolve; "I realize to rip your attention away, to cast these doubts away is to lay it all out; I finally understand it's my turn to lay it all out bare; I have to be as unashamedly honest, to let you know what my imagination screams: I hunger for you," he raised to his knees crawling over my legs, "I need to touch you; I am lost to it," he crawled slowly up my body, "I want you, all of you;" he locked me in place as his arms braced his frame planted on either side of my head; "your eyes, your lips, your mind," he sighed, kissing me soft, "your heart, your body," he nestled himself between my legs, "sensually," he kissed me harder doing things with his tongue that made my breath leave in a moan; "sexually," he ground suggestively against me "I want bury myself so deeply in you;" he stopped looking a little ashamed, he kissed me, holding me close, "I want you, simply as a man wants a woman; simple, no rules, no expectations, no explanations just simple, basically, I am willing to take as much as you are willing to give." He kissed me softly, slowly, undressing my soul; "I ask you in return, why not you? Why me?" I must have given him that look again, he set his jaw, "Seriously darling, why me? How did you find me acceptable?"

"Simple," I rolled to where he had left my journal, he tried to reclaim it from my fingers, I slapped lightly at his hands, pulling it farther away from him when he reached for it I carded through until I found the dress piece; "Read, I knew you, I loved you well before we met." I pushed the look under his nose, he read, his eyes flairing; he looked up. I nodded, "Yup, I wrote of you long before the possibility of you seemed real. Look at the date." I pointed over the cover at the left corner. "Ages ago, fifteen years; back when I had friends and they spoke to me of their wedding plans; a friend was belabouring the cut of the dress, the flavour of the cake, how the brides maids would behave; but always ignoring the fact that her intended was a jerk, who ended up beating her; I wrote that to satisfy my soul; solidly believing that no such human existed; that I was safe; then there was you."

"How, how, I doubt anyone knew me; I didn't even know me, then." I watched him read it again, "I gather you thought these were impossibilities," he rolled to his side as close to me as possible, that long leg laying over mine like a downed tree; he began reading in that dramatic voice; "I was listening a friends diatribe about trying to find the perfect wedding dress… It has to have a bit of this, or an overlay of that. She was fussing and fawning over the bow details when the Person about to stand opposite of her was of inadequate material. So I started mulling over who, if ever anyone, I would stand opposite. I thought I would fuss over the important things.

Accepting NO less than the sum of all of these traits.

I imagine it like walking up to the service counter a lot like a cosmetic counter, kind of playing paper dolls. I would like him have eyes of green and blue; he must be tall like Clint Walker;" he was holding caressing my journal in one hand in the other he began counting the qualities he possessed; "he would speak with a strong Baritone like Marshall Dillon; he would have the sensibilities of Sargent Tyree, 'no ma'am I don't chaw and I don't play cards'; in essence no conformity and no lying;" his leg began caressing and rubbing where our bare skin touched; he looked to me, "I am sure our current understanding does not count in that" he looked into my eyes as I confirmed with a nod, he counted three; "the ideals of Steve Rogers. Boots and Hat would be nice, Cowboy, Mountie, fireman or other.' Hiking boots, I hope, count," he held up five fingers; "He must love dogs, cats, goats and well most animals except killer whales.' I have a dog, don't mind cats, never met a goat and we will come back to the whale thing; 'I’d like a man who can speak at least one computer language and two audible languages.' Check and check." He held up another completed hand of qualities.

"Someone who gets String theory, science jokes, bad puns and delicious entandre." His eyebrow raised deliciously on the last word, understanding what I was inferring. "Who loves all kinds of music, or at least who can stomach my musical schizophrenia, entailing all of, but not limited to: rock, punk, classical, country, especially older country, psychobilly, regae.' Oh, darlin you know I do;" he kissed my cheek; "The ability to laugh at himself is a MUST, laughing at my jokes…. still a maybe, I know they are bad.' You will have to believe me, but yes, I can. 'He has to enjoy singing and dancing, even if done badly.' I am charmed by your sing along and dances actually when it comes to the dances I am more than charmed, it's more of a turn on, and you know I dont hold back that much either; 'I would like a soul who loves whimsy, doing the funny walk up Market Street, singing and walking in the rain and willing to do the insane and comical, including moving every item in the house to center around a new precious gift.' I never thought about it, but I am game to try, 'I would hope he would like to cook; observe good etiquette, open the doors for me;' at all times, 'he should know the ignition timing for a ‘64 Chevy 283.' Not that exact information, but I like to tinker and grease monkey around in cars; 'I hope he would understand me when I tell him that simple things like a french toast breakfast for dinner using almond extract instead of vanilla, washing my hair or checking my engine fluids, means 'I love you' as well as hand written notes, cards made of glitter and cardboard are as romantic as diamonds in the right setting.' Anyone else I would doubt, but you, you are that anomaly."

"'He has to know how to say things that cut through to the heart of the matter, either romantic, apologetic, inspiring,or just truth and mean every word.' I have left the days of part measures behind. 'He has to like pancakes and breakfast for dinner' more of a waffle guy but I do understand, 'and ice cream in the morning. He has to value my thoughts BUT not weigh them too heavily,' you just watched my transition, 'debate especially HEATED debate is fun (and more than a little sexy),' Sounds fun. 'I would love someone who adored words as much as me, I always wondered if it was hoping too largely to hope for someone who could pick up my favorite books and know the passages that strike my very innermost being, maybe read them aloud to me with the longing and emotion I myself read them with,' Oh what a fun game that will be. 'Money wouldn’t hurt but neither is it a must, it is not important to me, neither are looks, according to most I do have an odd taste in beauty anyways.' Odd taste? I must probe that later, 'Most of all He has to take me as I am because I can’t change myself for anyone else. I was 12 the one time I tried to be someone else, I have never wanted to be anyone other than what life has shaped me into. He has to appreciate my laughing snort, my funny ugly toes, and the fact that I will laugh when he trips or falls, stubs a toe, or any other slapstick comedy-esque routine injury that doesn’t involve blood…He has to find my oddities, eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the fact i wear oversized thermals as my sexy night clothes, t-shirt and ripped sweats, flirty dresses and sparkle jeans as sexy as fishnets and a bustier…. But most of all He has to laugh with me, love me even when he’s mad at me and not mind a lot of residual radiation…. Until then I don’t care to even think about bows, bustles, frocks or hoops, I want a hero, anything less would be completely inacceptable and uncivilized' god I love how you laid it all out exactly like playing paper dolls."

He kissed me long and deep, "So, you think I stack up pretty nicely do you? The ideals of Steve Rogers and the voice of Clint Walker. So, you like cowboy shows?" I nodded, "eyes of green and blue, so, then k mmm I assume for you this has been oddly easy for you?"

"Not in the least, I have to trust in hope, and we are not on speaking terms, I had to trust that you were not some figment, some dream, I had to trust in the universe; just this once. Too often, especially of late, hope has dangled dreams just beyond my fingertips simply to pull them away, just as I almost touched..." I sighed, still mourning the loss of my last dream; "so, when you appeared I assumed this was another hard lesson to be learned. You made that easier by being you." I pulled him down to me kissing him sweetly.

He sighed, finishing reading, "Damn darling. I am stunned. How did I make it easier by being myself?" His eyes got glossy and he drifted away.

"The cupcake, I didn't even think you were truly real until you did the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen personally." I kissed him sensually with a subtle roll of my hips; I pressed hard to him, it was his turn to let loose such an erotic sound, half moan, half growl. He pressed me hard down feasting on my soul. He almost let himself run with the moment; he slowed fingers soft, lips cajoling; slowly he edged to a stop, pulling away.

"Where did you go?"

His music changed again, Billie Holiday singing kiss me once, god, his smile, "I imagine recapturing that first kiss, no stumbled step just a surrender; you naturally, fiendishly moving against me; god, that first kiss we shared, the laugh, it wrecked me." He tucked my hair back behind my ears, I cuddled my cheek into his palm. "I want to see in your eyes, when that simple truth, that in this give and take, that you give yourself to me freely, that you take equally greedily; not because you have to, or because I asked you, but because you want it too. I want that mad passionate love. Mostly, I want you, any way you will give, the only way I get you."

He pressed me back into the bank of pillows, "Now, of course, for such a gem, I offer all that I am," I moaned as I felt his weight settle into my body. "I offer you freedom; a pure and total freedom; freedom from the drudgery of that other everyday life." He laced his fingers through mine, kissing each fingertip. "I offer freedom as an abstract ideal. I can't offer a freedom from pain." He ran his hands delicatly over my body, lingering in places "I offer you a freedom from responsibility, from guilt, from regret; momentarily a freedom from sadness. I offer you moments of pleasure, moments to be happy. Oh, I can offer you pleasure likes of which you have never known."

I rolled my eyes closed, pleasure already making my soul free. "No, please, don't close your eyes;" my eyes snapped open, "I need you to look at me." I let a slow breath out, "I want to see the realization in your eyes that I am offering you my love." Slipping along the deep V in the robes neck, his skilled hands teased my flesh, his deft tongue pulled my eyes. I felt so very alive, his fingers moving at a slow, a tantalizing pace, pressing the edges of the robe out, exposing more of my flesh; I was already drowning in lust and need; his eyes holding me captive. "Ah there it is, all of me is what I offer you, all of you is all I ask of you."

I had been so lost in this feeling I had forgotten to be self conscious, I notice finally, his fingers caressing some of my scars, angry red welts I have never let anyone see. I stopped breathing but then I saw his motion, his revrence, "Gods, you see them and you are not revolted?"

He shook his head, then I watched his lips caress the welt that transacted my sternum. "Nope, not even a little. All of you, it's all I ask of you."

"Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life." God, did he, the man's kisses were amazing I felt his hands his tongue, both working in unison; I gravitate toward him, longing for, wanting to use my hands in such a delicious spell; thirsty for more contact. My awe apparent in my voice, as he pulled away, almost a whisper, "wow," I smiled. He was magnificent.

"Well, my sweet you never really defined, 'really, very good,' for me..." he kissed me almost in passing, "maybe we can work that out together." He kissed me, soft, asking, "or you tell me your favourite food."

"Chinese." I giggled,

He laughed, oh, that gorgeous marvel of deliciousness, pulling me to my feet, starting a sweet waltz, "I do love a good chinese dinner," he danced me in a soft circle, he buried his nose in my neck kissing at first; his tongue lightly licking, "I want you, I need you in the purest ways, the longing in my bones howls to be near you, to be with you;" he pulled me closer his hands, his lips, his tongue becoming more insistant; my arms slid along his wide shoulders caressing his neck my fingers playing with the soft curls there, he started with soft bites. I gripped the robes lapels, "I want bring all of your senses alive;" his hands began to move over the thick terry cloth, soft, looping circles he traced in the opposite direction of his tongue; pulling him closer, I let out a breathy sigh. My breath hitched, I slid my hands under his robe, sliding along his silky skin; "tell me sweetheart, total honesty, tell me how you feel about what I said."

"Hmmm, nerves, I never knew I had, are all on fire; I am lost on this ocean adrift on sensuality and revrence; I want more, to be honest no one has ever told anything like the intoxicating words the dreams you have been laying at my feet; like Yeats; I feel as if this is not one of those times hope isn't playing me for a fool. I am no longer unsure, afraid; we are alive in a way that I have never experienced; alive, I am having trouble making up my mind which I want the most; I crave your words, but that sweet haunting revrence of your touch," his hands moved with more intent, beginning to grip pulling the robe, holding me close, his lips with intention, I moaned unashamedly, living in the friction of his fingers using the terry cloth to excite, "mmm, the trailing fluidity of your hands creating punctuation for your crafted sentences, natural aphrodisiacs. Oh, those words followed by the delicious brush of your hands; oh, feeling, that feeling." Duet of the flowers started as if by Devine intention; "Apt moment for this particular aria, the quiet end of one flower, my fears, and the resurgence of beauty in this; these moments."

Kissing me breathless he bent me back taking advantage of the parting robe, his lips feasting along the edges of the terry cloth; I sighed, I bucked, I strained backwards, shuddering gasps escaped. "I love how you react instantly, honestly, you senses on edge, your shiver at my voice, your bend to my touch."

His revrent hand glided up my neck, dipping his thumb between my lips; words were pulled from me; "The way your touch softly glides, fingertips delicately trace the furrows, the hollows for those words to sweetly flow." I licked his digets, caressing the pads with my tongue; "the texture of those large, luscious, calloused hands, each of your fingers touched with just the perfect roughness; each finger pressed softly, trailing against my aching, hungry skin. The gentle veracity, the keening desire, your lingering breath weaves our tale." As I spoke I have been licking and kissing his glorious chest running my hands fore the skin of his shoulders.

His hands traced soft but insistently along my body over the robe; his lips sweetly asking for more. "Oh, sweet darling, please believe me your words flow so deliciously, just keep talking and I promise I will only follow your lead."

His sweet asking pushed me to a bold move; I traced my hands from his chest to his abdomin, his delicious breath hitched then shuddered his hands stilled; "Your kisses craft slowly flowing paragraphs; long languorous passages; savory, sensuous stanzas of will and want;" I found his sash and pulled it slowly, determined, it came loose, his robe falling open; he half moaned, half sighed in relief; my hands grew bolder at his reaction, my eyes skimming along, what can only qualify as the most beautiful specimen of human male I had ever seen, complete with perfectly bleached white jockey shorts, "the hushed whispers of the soul allows the movement of our bodies to create the chapters of our own perfectly written novel. Your eyes spoke to me of the extent of your will, I am shaken;" his hands now bold, reciprocated, pulling my sash, my robe fell open, I shivered, my soul had been standing here naked for a while, finally phisically I matched, dropping my arms letting it slide from my body; the steps to our dance had turned to soft swaying; he pressed our bodies close. His breath sucked in through his teeth, mine left in a gust of a sigh; "though, I confess not disappointed." He hooked his foot behind my knee and pushed; with a squeal I landed on the soft duvet, his weight delightfully covering me. I giggled.

"For long moments there, I could not speak," his lips soft on mine, his words an echo of my soul, "the fate of the world could have hung in the balance of my one uttered syllable and I would have been unable to even whisper acknowledgment." His hands revrently sliding mine gripping along his warm delicious frame; "I wish I could say sorry for falling over you, but you are just so delicious, this communication, so honest like blatant souls." I giggled as his fingers tickled, turning quickly to a hiss of air between my teeth, his lips caressing the scars lacing my abdomen, shocking myself I didn't try to push him away, instead I continued letting my lips kiss every piece of skin it found. "The more I get, I just want even more; tell me more, please, just keep talking."

I licked my hungry lips, surreptitiously making sure they had not fallen off completely. His glorious mouth drifting revrently over my scars, resting and reveling in my hungry skin; the things he was doing his hands, lips and tongue were deliciously driving me wild, he wasn't kidding about waking every one of my senses, "Oh, I watched as your eyes spoke, I was drowning in those green seas of desire; now, hearts, souls slowly burn. Gods, now I admit freely, it is you that I want; it has always ever been you, believe it always will be you." I gathered his robe pushing down his shoulders, running my fingers light over his soft skin, letting my nails lightly trail, his growl played across my skin. "In fact, I will fan the flames, I want to let them burn, right through my skin, right through the heart of me. I want to burn in this sunspot moment."

Our eyes locked, the look in those fathom deep depths stilled my breath; will and want and something more simmered deeply; he pulled me close, our bodies pressing sliding conforming to eachother; his mouth moved along my sholder, his tongue tracing lightly the length, gripping softly pushing my face to the left; his lips taking full advantage of the opened space. Legs winding, my hands growing even bolder, gripping his bum, his fingers danced across my skin, they flitted, butterfly soft over my breasts; I arched off of the bed, my breath shuddering; I clutched at his shoulders; we melt together, like two links remembered and fused again together; "we thirst, hunger, want, need, crave … lust. How wonderful to be alive." I kept the words from flowing, but how will hurt when we are through?"

He slowed, pulling lightly away, as if reading my mind, "No one knows the if's, when's, or how's, we should just bask in the is;" his breath coming in deep billowing pants; keeping in complete contact; "I need to know how far I should go."

Panting, I try to quip, "I dont know, how far do you think you can make it in this storm?"

He laughed, delicious feeling rushing over my senses, my bare skin. "You know exactly what I mean, do we, you and I, go all the way, no regrets; we will just fall asleep together when the night is burnt and tired, and I want, I want, I want... you, I have wanted you, I want to finish this day feeling your pulse pressed against mine just so we know we are both alive, in this beautiful second. I want… I” he took a breath; "but to hell with what I want, if you wish we can just sip coffee and kisses, until the storm is past."

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer with every ounce of sexuality I had, in a very Lauren Bacall style; I angled my head seductively, stretching an arm over my head saying rather with a bored tone, "Here I thought my laying naked and panting in your arms would have been a clear indication." I yawned, "Take me to bed or lose me forever." God his laugh, "I want it all, if we were at a restaurant I would be ordering the lobster with out checking the price, or even looking at the chicken." I ebbed away losing steam, I wound up to let loose one of my nervous, inane topic traversing tirade.

He pressed his finger to my lips, "Shhh, yes, I know you are nervous, but seriously listen. You hold the power, be that hurricane you showed me, that amazon queen."

He nuzzled and kissed my neck sending delicious butterflies dancing through me. I hummed a solitary note of praise, "Gods, the way you see me, I. .." I trailed off as he worked deliciously on the sensitive nerves where shoulder meets neck, I went slack, I clung to him.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose this is the continuation to the last part.

@keeper0fthestars. @pedeka @writernotwaiting

@sweetfairy1 @fromthedeskoftheraven

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margridarnauds · 5 years

Note

6, 7, 10, 21, 23

THANKS AVERY

6. Answered here

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in.

Let’s have the SALT. (Mandatory disclaimer that my own personal feelings towards the SHIP does not inherently extend to the shippers, that I ship many dynamics that some people would call “abusive” given the ongoing debate over what “enemies to lovers” means, and that some dynamics here are things that I might have shipped under other circumstances, but things just...didn’t work out that way.)

Cats - I hated Plato/Victoria before I even knew that it was POSSIBLE to hate a ship that much. I always went with the Plato = Macavity theory to get that little skeavy dudebro off my girl. (Also, I’ll be honest, the whole “mating dance” thing is...such a fucking weird sequence anyway. Like, my ship preferences aside, ALW WHY DID YOU HAVE TO HAVE A SCENE WHERE THE CATS FUCK?)

Pirates of the Caribbean - Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth.

Harry Potter - Ron/Hermione. I never saw it, tbh, and they seemed to be pretty bad for one another, even in the books. The films just took it up several notches.

OUAT - Captain motherfucking Swan. I hated that smug, greasy little motherfucker so much. So much.

Star Trek Ds9: Jadzia/Worf. THERE. I SAID IT. Both sides brought out the absolute worst in each other, leading to an absolute trashfire of a ship that obliterated all in its wake. AND THEN WE HAD TO DEAL WITH THE FALLOUT OF THAT. EVEN AFTER THE SHIP WAS *DEAD*. Don’t mind me, don’t mind me. I’m cool, I’m cool.

Carmilla - Tbh...Laferry. Never my thing. I know that her character development’s a BIG part of Perry’s arc and I fully embrace character growth, but it just. Left a bad taste in my mouth. And the way shippers used to treat Laflashdrive shippers back in the day. As if shipping a nonbinary character and a flashdrive somehow makes it hetero. (#LetLafBeaRobotfucker2k19).

Les Miserables - You know what? While I’m on the Salt Train...

Enjolras/Grantaire. Now, there are plenty of ships that are probably more deeply annoying to me, but none are as prevalent as this one. And I might like them a lot more if they WEREN’T so prevalent. But as it is, it’s like a black HOLE that’s devoured the fandom, so that you’d think the entire fucking novel/musical is about these two. And. Maybe I shouldn’t talk given what I ship, but it isn’t even like they’re THEM at this point, they’re just two generic white guys in an “uwu” relationship. And I’m not speaking for EVERY single thing given that I have neither the time, concentration, or will to read every. Single. Thing. Made about these two, but it’s something I’ve noticed, though I’m not saying that I haven’t enjoyed SOME things made about them and the whole “You believe in nothing.” “I believe in you” is...good content.

It’s like...you’re walking in the woods (there’s no one around and your phone is dead) and you see a brightly colored pink tree. At first, it’s great. A pink tree! You’ve never seen one of those before. You wander further into the woods, and there’s another! And another! And soon enough, you’re surrounded by pink trees, in a technicolored horror realm. Where’s the sky? Where did you come in at? You think you remember seeing the sun once, but NO, it’s another fucking pink tree blocking your way. There is no God, there is no ground, there is only a technicolored nightmare blocking your every move, drowning you in visions of Barbie-esque horror.

Terra Nova - Skye/Lucas. WHY GOD WHY? Look, we KNOW I have terrible taste in ships, some of which have...questionable dynamics. BUT EVEN I CAN’T GET INTO THIS ONE. There’s no...mutual spark between the two of them, just Lucas creeping on Skye and Skye trying to get away. Also, since I’m here...Skye is estimate to have been born in ‘32-33, making her approximately 16-17 by the time the plot kicks into gear. Let’s be very generous and bump her into 17-18. Lucas? 2124, making him...oh, 25. Not the WORST age gap I’ve ever seen in my lifetime...but....questionable. Very questionable. And I know the series wants to have us believe that people grow up faster (see: The fact they actually think Maddy’s old enough to GET MARRIED. TO A SOLDIER. WHO IS REALISTICALLY IN DANGER OF MAKING HER A WIDOW,) but NO. Like, at my CURRENT AGE, with less than four years separating me from that age gap, I can’t see it. That is still at least 7 years of experience in the “real world” that she doesn’t have. He still saw someone with THAT MUCH of an age gap with him and WANTED something, whether or not she wanted it or not, and tried to PURSUE that something while calling her “sister”. Like, I can’t stop anyone from shipping it and I have a firm “ship and let ship” mentality, but....EW. EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWeWEEWEWEW.

B5 - I’m in the same boat as you as far as...on one hand. Byron/Lyta makes me want to vomit, but also...our Teep OC does owe her existence to her weird, hetero white goth uncle.

Star Wars: Han/Leia. Because, as we all know, cornering a woman before you kiss her is the love story of the generation. Han would have been better with Luke and Leia with Holdo.

The Pirate Queen - Tiernan/Gráinne. I. Hate. This. Ship.

His Dark Materials - Torn between Ruta Skadi/Asriel and Lyra/Will. Tbh, leaning towards the latter because while the former is AWFUL and signifies the quite frankly terrible writing decisions that distinguish the second and third books, at least it didn’t involve a badass, feral girl child becoming a dainty, submissive 50s housewife in the body of a 12 year old. “Oh, Will, I’ll do whatever you say, I promise. I won’t use my awesome powers unless you say I can, you’re so fantastic, Will.” Gag me. Also...they’re twelve. This doesn’t HAVE to be an epic, tragic romance, and the fact that their “kiss” (WHAT THE FUCK PULLMAN, WHAT THE FUCK, I’M NOT A PURITAN BUT WHAT THE FUCK) is the key to saving the universe? Really? Basically, they should have been friends.

1789 - Danton/Solène. (I KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT I WOULD SAY, BUT NO. MY HATRED FOR THIS ONE MANAGES TO OUTSHINE IT.) “But Rachel,” you might say, “You’ve been very, very open about preferring anything to Ronan/Olympe” and that’s TRUE. But the Toho version managed to push my hatred of this one with The Scene, AKA “Go back to the kitchen, Solène and let the menfolk take care of this.” The French version didn’t even really have it as A Thing, he was just a customer. And the amount of time Danton spends with Solène is always directly proportional to the amount of spinal surgery she’s going to have. Now, I can’t exactly BLAME the two Japanese productions for doing what they did, because they have to appeal to a Japanese audience in the way they see fit. It’s an ADAPTATION of 1789, not a tour of it. But that doesn’t mean I have to LIKE it. And. Like. You know there’s no way THAT one’s going to end in a way that’s good for Solène. Either (1) he’ll set her aside for his family or (2) If they SOMEHOW stay together...the Reign of Terror’s looming.

Also: Danton/Charlotte. No. No. Just. No. There are so many reasons why. But no.

Ace Attorney - Maya/Nick. WHY SWEET MOTHER OF HETERONORMATIVITY WHY?

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

We’ve both discussed a lot about how...DIFFICULT it can be to write fic for something. There are a lot of things I love dearly but just don’t have it in me to write fic for. Ace Attorney is an obvious one, Mozart l’Opera Rock, Elisabeth (though I’m trying to work on that one), Les Miserables, Star Wars, Star Trek, B5....a ton more that I could mention but it would honestly take too much time. Words hard, reading still hard but slightly easier.

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

The first thing I ever wrote, when I was five years old, was (very heteronormative) fanfiction for The Stinky Cheese Man, where he finds The Stinky Cheese Woman, which now, of course, I recognize as my own attempt to write myself into a narrative from which I’d been excluded. Or something. I think my mom still has it buried someplace, lurking...

Also, @theocraindora at some point managed to get me to write at least one full Carmilla AU during the second season, when we both must have been about 17-18-ish, if my math’s not too dubious, and that was the first thing I ever actually finished for a long time, even though it didn’t ever meet my personal standards for publishing and is likely to stay buried. For awhile, at least.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

Since I talked about PLP’s tragic backstory, time for something happier. Paradise Lost, which I’m actually pretty damn happy with because it was my first time working with something that’s not a historical piece, and it was honestly a treat working with Mira’s voice. I think that Mira really “clicked” for me as a character here. Like, “Yes, this is why she’s like this, this makes sense.” There are some times where you can really feel a character’s voice when you’re writing and you can get things out, and this was one of those very rare times for me. Not saying that it’s going to happen NEXT time, but this time, it was rather relaxing.

It was honestly one of the smoother writing experiences I had? Like, it only took me about a day or so, from when we exchanged PMs to publishing it, which is pretty impressive, all things considered. I’m still not tossing out doing anything more with this world in the future, tbh. That and Goosefic were probably two of the easiest to just...get out. (WHICH. 92 HITS. GOOSEFIC HAS 92 HITS. THAT IS INSANE FOR A ONE-SHOT IN A SMALL FANDOM. HOLY SHIT.)

(From your other ask!)

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

I’ve been WRITING fanfiction since I could hold a pencil and make scribbles. When I was younger, I could write that kind of thing easily, the shame came later.

Finding out that fanfiction EXISTED...was probably when I was about 9-10 and found Balto x Harry Potter crossover fanfiction. Which. In hindsight. Was pretty horrible, but my young self was CAPTIVATED because Balto and Harry Potter? In the same universe? IT WAS LIKE MAGIC.

Astonishingly, I did not read M rated stuff until I was at least 15-16-ish. I kept myself remarkably sheltered and only looked into it when I became curious. And got over my weird hyper-religious phase.

When I was about 12-13, I started to toy with writing myself, writing my own OC crossovers for Phantom Manor (the gother, European version of Haunted Mansion that was my special interest for. Ages). Carmilla when I was 17-18 was one of the first things I wrote a full, complete Thing for, even if I never published anything for it. And from there, I’d try to write things for both The Pirate Queen and Dracula, though both projects proved to be too ambitious and I ended up cutting them off, tragically, but they gave me the confidence I needed to get into 1789, which I DID publish something for finally, on the day I was taking my GRE because. Well. I had something else I feared more than a flame.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

I don’t know if this is one thing or five separate things in a trenchcoat, but here you go.

I love how we can explore things that could never be explored in canon, for one reason or another; I love that we have an experience that we can filter according to what WE want, including trigger warnings, which is honestly a godsend to me. We talk a lot about the transformative nature of fanfic, and it IS, but also, the level of empowerment that comes with being able to take back a narrative that says “hey, you’re not supposed to be in this narrative” or “You’ll like what we put out and you’ll stick with it” or “Well, if you don’t like it, create your own” and say “Okay, I will.” And, obviously the comments are lovely, having that kind of instant encouragement, and in the small fandoms in particular, it’s VITAL, but I also don’t feel like they’re inherently mandatory or that readers should feel FORCED. But I do love that, no matter what, something you write can connect with someone from the other side of the world. Like, people can argue all they want about fanfic being valid or not, but MOST people who want to be professional writers never get that. And when you stop and think about how we’ve been changing the narrative for as long as we’ve had oral stories, that this is how storytelling was ORIGINALLY done...that’s very humbling.

#janetcarter

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ellie-valsin · 6 years

Photo

Okay, you guys know what this means, right? (Other than the fact that I will surely end up arranging a trip to “visit family” in Tokyo in January 2019.) That’s right, it means that Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812 will be getting its first post-Broadway production in Tokyo next year!

Congratulations to the show, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t going to make every earthly effort to get there to see it. Because my husband does still have family living in Tokyo, we’ve been there a number of times and I’ve been lucky enough to see several Broadway-style shows there. Let me give some straight-talk insight on what to expect from a Japanese production; those who are offended by straight-talk may stop reading now. ;)

-The company producing it: Toho Stage. If I’m being totally honest, this fact has kept me up half the night worrying. To be fair, they have produced plenty of what I would call “legit” musical theatre, including, coming soon, Fun Home, as well as everything from South Pacific (I know, whut) to Secret Garden. The problem is that they also produce tons and tons of Bway flops and Euro-pop musicals, which is mostly my personal experience with Toho. (Anytime a French musical is licensed in Japan, I know before even looking that it will be with Toho. No exceptions.) And they are usually veeeeery loose adaptations of those shows, so I am a bit concerned. But probably I’m worrying for nothing on this point...We’ll see.

-The staging: Japan does many musicals, both old and new, American, European, and Asian, but when it does first run versions of recent Broadway musicals, it usually makes some attempt to replicate the staging, stage design, and/or costumes. You see much more slavish imitation productions out of Shiki musical productions than out of Toho ones, but that’s because Shiki holds the rights to every Disney musical ever, and Disney is very particular about such things. When Toho puts on Les Mis, they do have an exact replica production of whatever’s playing in other countries, because Cam Mac is similarly particular about it--however, I’ve also seen them change many production designs for other shows. It all depends on who’s granting the rights and what restrictions are placed on those rights. The Natasha, Pierre rights holders would be very wise to insist on a similar production to the American one, imo, but then again, I really can’t see any of the immersive stage designs working in the theatre that Toho uses...Not because the stage couldn’t be adapted to, say, the A.R.T. configuration they used in Boston, but because I don’t think the interactive elements/jokes would go over that well with typical Japanese audiences (I think the majority of Japanese musical fans would be very uncomfortable with it).

Whatever the stage and costume design, I imagine it will be beautiful, since I have always been impressed by that aspect of every production I’ve seen there, whether imitation staging or new staging.

The only thing that worries me about the staging is, well, the stage--or, more precisely the theatre. Toho’s usual theatre is huuuuge compared to your standard Bway theatre. We always knew this would be a problem if this show toured, since most touring houses in America are also huuuuge, but I always secretly hoped they’d go back to a tent format and do sit-downs in big cities that way. I...don’t think a tent is what Toho has in mind. We’ll have to wait and see, but I will say I don’t think I’d want to be in the back of the balcony on this one.....

-The casting: Yes, they will all be Japanese, except for the Koreans they hire. So, in that sense, yes of course it won’t resemble the diverse ensemble from the OBC. On the other hand, I am quite confident they can find a girl who can look and act the part of Natasha, since most of the female leads I’ve seen in musicals there are quite ingenue-typed sopranos. They will also make a killer Anatole.

Also, I forgot to mention: it will likely be double-cast, meaning there will be two separate actors or actresses cast for each of the most demanding parts (in this case, probably Natasha, Pierre, Anatole, Sonya, and maybe Helene), and they’ll rotate their schedules throughout the run. This is typical of Japanese musicals, and should be interesting.

-The singing: Compared to the OBC, it will most likely suck. Japanese musical theatre voices are trained to sound a bit different from contemporary Broadway voices, so they usually already sound pretty different when singing regular Broadway scores, but this one? I predict that this’ll be baaaad. But you may say, ‘everyone in the OBC sounded “different” from a standard Bway voice, why couldn’t that work for the Japanese, too?’ to which I say, well, it’s a different kind of different. The OBC had distinctive voices, interesting voices (which, personally, I feel like we’ve been missing more and more on Broadway in these past 10-20 years), but they were hitting very specific notes, often weird ones, since it’s Dave after all. ;) Not only have I not seen proof that the average Japanese musical singer can sing a score of this complexity (I’ve never seen them do Sondheim, for instance, though I know it does exist), but they seem to be mostly trained to do a sort of “Rodgers & Hammerstein” style of singing in which everyone attempts a pretty classical musical theatre sound with lots of vibrato and a woman’s break occurs very low, that is, the head voice is used where often the original show belted the notes (see: the painful rendition of Evita’s “A New Argentina”). High belting is not even a lost art in Japan, because I’m pretty sure it was never found to begin with: clips from shows as disparate as Aida, Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and Wicked have made this clear to me, and certainly every experience I’ve ever had mixing Wildhorn with Japan (Scarlet Pimpernel, Jekyll&Hyde, etc.), or even the more poppy French musicals in Japanese. Does every actor/actress belt flat? No, of course not--but plenty of them do. New contemporary musical theatre continues to move into the realm of American Idol, producing beltier and beltier music, so it’s only bound to become a worse problem over time...

But anyway, even with bum notes and heavy vibrato being consistent annoyances, will that really affect Nastasha, Pierre, which is not really an example of the “belt it higher/longer” Wicked school of musical writing? Well, of course it will, sometimes. Don’t expect anyone who can tear into Maria Dmitrievna in Japan. Don’t expect Natasha will be able to powerfully slam those top notes in her “argument” scenes. Don’t expect the end of Dust & Ashes to sound great. And certainly don’t expect to get a reliable “PETERSBUUUUURG!!!” out of anyone (though one might say that for most actors working on Bway, too ;)).

And even if they somehow find a miraculous cast hidden away somewhere who can sing the shit out of the notes, there will always be:

-The translation: This shit will be difficult as all hell to translate. Between Malloy’s own writing style and Tolstoy’s text, I really don’t know how it will be done. I’ve attempted it myself, so I’ve already seen the challenges first hand... Japanese is acknowledged as one of the most difficult languages to translate English lyrics into, mostly because the structure of the two languages differs so greatly: in Japanese, you can usually express pretty much any of the same ideas you can in English, but you usually can’t express them in as few syllables. When my husband and I made a project of translating “No One Else,” it proved almost impossible to fit every idea expressed in the English lyrics into the translation without running waaaay too long to fit the meter. This is usually solved for in professional Japanese musical translations by cutting out whole lines from the original libretto and taking, say, two lines to translate one line of English text. It can also be solved by pretty much ignoring the English lyrics and just making up some different ones in Japanese that fit the meter and don’t sound too out of place thematically. These methods work fine for shows that were lyrically insipid to begin with, like the Euro-pop musicals (yes, Romeo & Juliette, I am looking at you), but on Dave Malloy’s libretto??? Why bother if you have to do a hack job to make it work...? There’s a reason Sondheim is so infrequently produced in Japan......

Now, for many of you, the translation will not affect your life in the slightest. For my husband and other bilinguals, it will be excruciating to listen to. He already gets annoyed enough listening to Japanese Les Mis...I don’t know how I’m going to get him to listen to a translation of lyrics he actually loves to death in English. ;)

Anyway, if it sounds like I’m very wary of this production, that’s because...I am. It’s scary not only because it’s a Japanese production, but also because it’s the first production post-Bway, and nobody knows quite what sort of adaptation to expect. I’ll try to keep the faith, while still keeping it real... The good news is that you all will likely be able to judge it for yourself, because Toho usually puts out at least a cast recording for its musicals, and sometimes even a DVD of them!

And will I be attending, in spite of my serious concerns? Yeah, duh, if I can swing it. XD I can already tell you there will be tears at the end, which is one thing I fully expect them to get perfectly right. :’)

#Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 #npatgco1812 #great comet #dave malloy

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crasherfly · 3 years

Text

I Ducked My Second Hurricane

“Boy, you’re just like a bad penny.”

The woman next to me on the plane nervously laughs. She’s kidding, but not totally. As we anxiously awaited take-off from MSY in New Orleans, we had exchanged travel stories- I shared that this was my second hurricane I’d had to duck while on a trip, and that the flight had been delayed today due to tornados in my home state.

“If anything, I have good luck! If the flight wasn’t delayed, many of us might have been standing in security as we watched it take off!”

This relaxed her a bit, but not much. I’ll admit it didn’t do much for me either. Until the plane took off I wasn’t going to celebrate. You hear stories of people getting bumped from flights at the last second for some whim or another- usually the airline making room for extra crew trying to get home. When I entered the plane, I found an off-duty crewman sitting in my seat and it took everything I had to keep my voice from wavering when I asked,

“Excuse me sir, are you in 10C?”

He checked his voucher- no, he was in 10B, his mistake. More nervous laughter as we agreed to just swap seats. No one would care, he said. I hoped that was true. I didn’t want to get tossed just for being in the wrong seat, but he was in uniform, I assumed he would know. It didn’t end up being an issue.

Getting to this seat had been a day’s worth of work and a weekend’s worth of worry.

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

I thought I was well prepared. I was sitting in a jazz club Thursday night when a musician broke the news to the crowd that a hurricane was projected to come our way. “This next one is dedicated to Ida” he quipped. Some folks, like me, were just confused, but most got real quiet. I noticed that by the end of the musician’s song everyone was on their phones. By the end of the band’s set the bar was almost empty.

My guess? Most of those folks, like me, headed straight back to the hotel to devour all the news they could about the storm’s path and make an informed decision on how to leave. At the time it was only projected at category 2 but the path seemed pretty unshakeable- a direct hit for New Orleans. Within an hour of hearing about the storm I had a flight booked out for Saturday, dissuaded at the last second from waiting until Sunday after reading about the actual expected time of the gust winds advancing ahead of the storm.

I did my best not to think of it again until Saturday. I visited the Riverfront. I picked up more beignets than was healthy. I drank a lot of coffee. I spent hours at my hotel loft, either sitting on the balcony, soaking up the air conditioning inside or taking shower after shower to wash the sweat and humidity off my body. I walked up and down the full length of Bourbon street almost ten times, stopping to listen to music, picking up food that seemed interesting or having an occasional drink. I went on a photo walk with my Fumos. I even entered a couple of clubs for a quick drink and to watch the mess of humanity trying to get their fill of revelry before the storm.

The vibe of everywhere I went was that of barely contained nervousness. The strain on the local workers was already palpable even upon my arrival Thursday (before news of the hurricane existed). Covid’s toll was written all over the faces of the drivers, doormen, servers and hoteliers I interacted with. These folks were dog tired as it was. The hurricane pushed it to a new level. My barista Friday morning asked me if I had a way out of town yet. I said I had. She wished me luck with grim undertones. My server at the high-class seafood restaurant, Antoine’s, quipped as he brought me the check “I’d bring the wheelbarrow out too but they’re already using it for sandbags”. The desk agent at the hotel didn’t question me when I told her I was checking out early, only replying in a small voice “We understand, take care out there.”

My Saturday ended with an impromptu Tarot reading. I was in an occult curios store when a woman called out that her reader had an opening if anyone was interested. I turned around and said I was. 30 minutes later I was in the back room of the store with the tarot reader, an upper-middle aged man with a kind face and a soft voice who used a French variation of the deck.

Most of the reading was expectedly vague. I’ve studied Tarot so I’m fairly familiar with most of their implications. I didn’t draw anything too dire, except a few reversed pentacles cards that implied I wouldn’t get the new job I’d applied for- and one fertility card that couldn’t possibly come true even if I tried, ha. When the reading wrapped up, my reader asked me what it was I wanted to know.

“Well, does this have any implications for my evac tomorrow?”

The reader laughed. He had every right to. I knew it was a dumb question to ask a scrier- these folks don’t work in specifics. Scrying and divination- be it cards, palms or crystals- is an art of approximation and reflection. Asking a reader a question that specific is like asking a meteorologist to guarantee a forecast- the answer will never be better than their best guess.

“Well, let me tell you a story...”

The reader told me of his travels to France and Morocco, of being stranded in foreign countries where no one spoke his language or the law was nonexistent. It was very entertaining, but it didn’t do much to make me feel better. His mishaps were due to missed flight connections or delayed plans. There wasn’t much correlation to my situation as it stood.

“So if you’re stuck here, well, what will you do?”

“I guess...I’ll...just be here?”

“Exactly.”

Not gonna even pretend that I wasn’t saying “okay, fuck this” in my brain at that moment. In retrospect, maybe, MAYBE the reader had a point about “abiding in the moment”. I can say that now, because obviously, I got out ahead of the storm. But in the moment- and the ensuing day after- a combination of urgency and luck was what would carry the day- or break it for many others.

Back at my hotel Saturday night I packed my bags. It didn’t take long- I had barely had time to unpack them. I shed everything I didn’t think I’d need and left a pile of food and drinks on the table- 4 bananas, 2 bags of chips, a full chocolate bar, a box of graham crackers, a 6 pack of lager and 8 cans of carbonated water. The next morning I decided to pack my leftover beignets. Some things just can’t be left behind.

With bags fully packed, my car scheduled for pickup and my flight pre-checked, I figured I was pretty well set. I stayed up late on the balcony watching the last partiers on Bourbon Street as they weaved through intermittent downpours. I checked the forecast before going to bed and set an alarm to check it again at 6 AM. Both times, no change. I figured I was good to go.

I was almost very, very wrong.

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

My Saturday started off chill enough. I walked down from my Bourbon Street loft to Du Monde’s for their world famous beignets and coffee. I listened to a jazz band play as a wolfed down a bag and then carried two more bags back to my hotel.

I had packed the night before so I had some time to sit out on the balcony and watch the hurricane preparations begin. A few bars were open and some tourists ambled, but not many. Every day since my arrival the volume of Bourbon Street and gone further and further down- from being so loud I doubted I could ever sleep (let alone think) to being unbearably quiet.

I checked out of my hotel at 11. The lobby was filled with worried people desperately trying to find flights or cars. I switched off my earbuds so I could pick up the whispers. No flights left anywhere. 3 hour wait times to talk to Delta. No gas left in the city. No rental cars left either. Highways were backed up for hours. Flights at MSY were already cancelled for the next day. If you didn’t have something, anything, booked, you weren’t getting out.

As I waited in the lobby I checked my flight excessively. So far, no changes. It didn’t occur to me to check the status of the inbound flight that my own would rely on. I’d later learn that at that exact moment my plane was grounded in my home destination due to tornadoes in the area.

My car arrived and I tossed my bags in. My driver, a small woman with a voice of gravel and the cynical optimism of a “seen-it-all” native, immediately laid on the horn to force the car in front of us out of the way. As we barreled down Bourbon Street she confirmed it all- highways were useless, no gas left in town, and I was lucky she’d taken my fare at all- I would be her last trip to the airport.

“Don’t panic, hun, but we’re going to be all over the place on your map. We need to take backroads if you want any chance of getting to the airport.”

I thanked her for giving a fuck about whether I made it, though in retrospect I could see it was self-preservation. She wanted off the roads worse than she wanted me at the airport.

Even on the way to the airport I was still optimistic. She asked me when my flight was, I told her it was at 2, she agreed I’d likely make it out on time. We chattered away about the stuff drivers and fares normally talk about- family, home, how the trip went. Then my phone buzzed- my flight was delayed 2.5 hours. I said as much to the driver- and she didn’t have much to say the rest of the drive.

As we careened in and out of backroads traffic the New Orleans mayoral address came on.

“The next 72 hours are on you. If you are here, we will not reach you before then. Have enough food and water to carry yourself at least that long and expect power outages...”

It sunk in that if my flight canceled, this would be it. Any food or water I had was back at the hotel I’d just checked out of. I had no other evac plan, no idea where to go if I was stuck at the airport. Based on my driver’s accounts, I may not even be able to book a cab. I was at a loss- 72 hours wasn’t even the issue at this point- I didn’t know what I’d do after the next 4.

As I was sussing this all out I heard a squeal of tires to my left, followed by a SMACK and CRUNCH. I nearly jumped out of my seat. My driver lurched forward, gripping her wheel with both hands. In the rearview mirror, her previously knowing eyes had given way to fear for the first time that trip. We both craned our necks to see behind our car.

“It was the guy behind us.”

“Looks like a T-bone.”

“Jesus, if I hadn’t just pulled forward 3 feet...”

“Tell me about it. That would have hit me square.”

“Do we stay to report it?”

I didn’t reply. Of course, I didn’t want to stop, even if it was the “right” thing to do. Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything more. My driver’s eyes narrowed and her foot leapt from the break to the accelerator. We lurched forward into an opening of traffic and left the accident behind us in the rearview mirror. Her eyes returned to their concentrated look of determination- airport and then home was all that was on her mind.

In the silence, I wondered if she might not just drop me somewhere and tell me to figure the rest of the way out before. Drivers had done that to me before- not for being a bad fare- just ‘cuz sometimes its easier to cut losses when the traffic is bad or the conditions are unfavorable, rather than forge ahead on a rough trip. I decided to pipe up.

“Thanks for...well, I’m going to leave a big tip.”

I tried to laugh but it came out wrong and forced. Thankfully, the driver was forgiving.

“Thanks, hun. We’ll get you there, don’t worry.”

And I didn’t for the rest of the trip. We made it to the airport, a trip that was supposed to take 20 minutes taking nearly an hour, but we made it. I dropped her all the cash I had in my pockets and left even more in the tip on the app.

With 4 hours until boarding, I stepped into the security line just shortly after 12:30.

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

When I arrived at the TSA line there were about 6 rows of people snaking toward two security checkpoints. The lines moved at a snail’s pace but moved nonetheless. I hopped in at the tail end of the line that only got longer and longer as I moved up.

We all hear about those wait times in excess of 2 hours for airport security, but experiencing it- especially in a crisis situation- is intolerable. With just two working security checkpoints for thousands of people, it was clear that TSA was either unable or unwilling to process people faster. I began to worry what would happen if TSA decided that enough was enough- that they either were unwilling or unable to process the throngs of travelers safely and securely. Would they shut down the airport? My feet started to burn with the urge to get the through the line as fast as possible- nothing felt more imperative than getting through the security checkpoint. As the crowds grew, other people in line mirrored the sentiment. It’s as tense of a situation as I’ve ever been a part of. The energy- anxiety and even hostility- was damn near palpably psychic.

Men and women in blue uniform shirts ambled about- seemingly considering the opening of additional lanes and then inexplicably shutting them down, leaving agents standing around with nothing to do but watch the swelling crowds- many either locals or ragged tourists with little more on them than a single backpack, most having opted to take advantage of free luggage checking offered by most airlines.

An older officer with gray hair pulled back into a pony, faded arm tattoos and thick glasses sauntered back and forth as he patrolled the crowd. Questions were constantly hurled his way- “are you opening up another checkpoint?” “why are there so few of you?” “can there be a priority line for those with an immediate departing flight?”. All the questions were either ignored or responded to with aggressive indifference.

People began cutting in line, many because their flight was issuing a last call for boarding, a few, like the cargo short wearing middle-aged white guy in front of me, just because they had the courage to do so without fear of reprisal.

“What do you think man, should I try and hop the queue?”

“I don’t know. The TSA seems pretty grumpy today, I wouldn’t chance it.”

“I mean, why not. I’ll just pretend I know someone else and slip them some cash. You coming?”

“Nah. I have 2 more hours until my flight boards. I don’t need to risk it. Good luck to you-”

Before I could even finish my response, Cargo Shorts hopped the queue and approached a couple who were near the front of the line, whispering to them beneath his mask, his hand already in his pocket fishing for cash. Before he could finish his proposition, the gray haired guard boomed out-

“BACK OF THE LINE, SIR”

Cargo Shorts turned in disbelief.

“But this is my party-”

“DOESN’T MATTER- YOU CUT, YOU GO TO THE BACK”

Cargo looked to the couple- they just shrugged. He looked back to me and I pretended not to see him. I wanted no part of it. The line now snaked all the way up the escalators and out the doors to the drop-off curb. If I got sent to the back now, there was a real chance that 2 hours wouldn’t be close to enough time to get through again.

Cargo Shorts gave up surprisingly quick. My guess is he ended up paying someone else off further back and out of view from the TSA instead of going to the very back.

Others with more honest stories tried and had varying success. Two young women waded through the line, speaking in a language I couldn’t pick up, showing their flight time to people to signal their need to pass. Most folks let them through without much resistance. I did the same. They made it about another ten or so spots ahead of me before they stopped, one of them pointing out the window at a plane that had just ascended from the runway. Based on the dejected tones of their speaking and the time they had showed me, it wasn’t hard to guess what they were talking about. They had just watched their plane take off without them.

Countless others in queue would do the same before my time in line was over.

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

Sitting at the Delta gate, I charged all my electronics to full and stuck close to my seat, which featured a charger- a commodity that was quickly becoming quite valuable as people began to fret over their remaining batteries.

The gates themselves were eerily quiet. Almost no airport employees were in site, the few that did pass through carrying dollies of water or other supplies to an undisclosed location. All the shops and restaurants were closed up tight. Airline agents didn’t man the gate desks until mere minutes before boarding- likely in an attempt to duck the inevitable swarms of people looking for flights.

The airport issued an evac order around 3:30 ordering everyone who did not have a confirmed flight to leave the premises. No additional instructions were offered for where to go. The gates grew even quieter as people began to filter out- flights either leaving or canceling.

I tried to research online where to go in the event my flight was cancelled but gave up- no clear directions seemed to exist no matter where I looked. I had assumed I could ride the storm out at the airport, but with that no longer a possibility, I began to give way to a sense of nihilism about it all. Either my plane would arrive and take right back off, or I’d be screwed. There was no better way to put it. My best hope was that Delta would issue a travel voucher to a recommended safe hotel since I was technically a “Distressed Passenger”, but without a gate or telephone agent, I had no way to be sure. So I waited.

It was one of the longest hours of my life. I can think of a few other places where time passed slower- an operating bed, a dentist’s chair, an emergency room chair, a jail cell (don’t ask)- and while the airport gate doesn’t quite rank with them, it comes up as an easy runner-up, especially as the latest reports rolled in that Ida would likely push close to a category 5 storm- the worst that had hit the state in 100 years. Worse, maybe, than Katrina.

The updates came at a crawl. 4 different people in my life were tracking my plane and texting me about its progress. Several others were offering to drive down if needed. I reported back with any change- the appearance of a gate agent, the arrival of crew, announcements from other airlines.

Finally, the plane arrived and deboarded. No one arriving looked all that thrilled to be here. The minute the gate opened everyone in the waiting area was on their feet. The agent informed us they would need to take additional checked luggage or delay the flight due to a lack of overhead bin space.

People couldn’t get their bags to the front fast enough.

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

20 minutes later I’m on the plane next to the local woman from New Orleans, laughing at being called a “bad penny”.

In retrospect, my luck was extraordinarily good. I booked a plane at the perfect time. My driver was resourceful enough to get me to the airport. I dodged a car accident. My flight was delayed long enough to get through security. The weather pattern at my home destination cleared up in time for us to take off without delay. My plane had more than enough crew to make the return flight home because it was the very last plane to leave and Delta wanted to get all its staff out on it.

As the plane began to take off, I felt equal parts relief and guilt. The crewman the next seat over spoke with hushed tones-

“I’m glad I’m getting out. When we met the gate agent to get our vouchers, she was sweating bullets. Pretty sure she’d been crying. Said half of TSA didn’t even bother to show up today. It’s a miracle anyone did.”

I got out ahead of what might be the storm of the century. A lot of folks didn’t. A lot of folks couldn’t afford to. Even folks who did everything right- planning exactly the same way I did- didn’t make it out. And others still willingly stayed behind because the infrastructure demanded it. Airports, highways and hotels don’t run themselves. I can’t imagine how more people didn’t abandon their posts.

This morning I woke up to silence, which was a bit of a shock after two days on Bourbon Street where the noise is constant. I drove over to pick up coffee, parking and hopping out to pick it up at the counter. Everything felt muted- from the people to the traffic. Returning home, I commented on this- that the noise of the past 3 days- from Bourbon Street, from the evac at the airport, from the emotional distress of...just...everything...left my senses feeling rather dented.

It’s good to be home. But it’s hard to express that. Folks are thrilled I made it out and have welcomed me back with open and grateful arms. I warn them that my reaction to being home isn’t indicative of my gratefulness- of course I’m happy to be back and safe. But it feels so much more complicated than that- it’s beyond simply mourning a vacation cut short- that doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s dealing with the fallout of having participated in the beginnings of an event of mass trauma- and like a bullet whistling by your ear- narrowly dodging the worst of it. Yes, I’m unscathed- but I feel a good deal older for what I witnessed.

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

I didn’t experience a hurricane. It’s important to clarify that, I think. Just as when I tell people about my time with Hurricane Matthew, I am quick to note how minor my brush with it was- I rode it out in a reinforced hotel room and the storm passed in less than a day. I spent that day eating reheated pizza and watching cable. I went to Disneyworld the very next day.

But I did experience the stress of an evac. I witnessed the trauma of people who were left behind. I participated in the shared fear and uncertainty of a populace in the face of a natural disaster they could not anticipate or control. And as I watch the news now and see the same streets I walked not even 24 hours ago under threat of decimation- my heart feels tight. It was almost me- yes, but also, I remember the faces of the people who lived and worked there- even down to the consistent homeless faces I saw on my hotel’s block the two nights I stayed- I want them all to be okay and there’s nothing to be done for that now.

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

Thanks for reading this. I know it probably seems excessive, but as a person who largely processes stuff internally, it felt important that I get my experience down on “paper” before it started to elude me. Partially I did this to process- and partially so I could have something to refer to when I go to my next therapy session (oh you know this will come up big time).

But also because I wanted to note the efforts of the local people who helped me get out of the city- and to help others who aren’t there empathize with the people- both local and tourist- who tried their best to leave but could not. There are no deserving victims in this situation. In most cases, it was luck that decided who left and who stayed. In the remaining cases- the deciding factor was usually privilege.

I’m going to be okay. I’m beyond stressed out and feeling deeply raw and ragged. But I’m also thinking ahead to my next trip. New Orleans was a wonderful, magical city and I desperately want to return- but I’m also thinking about other places too. Traveling alone offers a rare opportunity to learn about yourself- who you are, what you enjoy, how you want to be seen, and what you prioritize when you’re not worried about appeasing someone else’s schedule. It also can lend you a tremendous amount of self-confidence, which I could certainly use. So I’ll be giving it another go, regardless of the bad experience this time.

I’m watching a live camera feed of Bourbon Street as I write this. I can see my exact hotel balcony from the camera. It’s a surreal thing to think that I could be on that balcony right now, weathering the storm. The more macabre side of me will continue to watch the feed just to see what might have been.

In the meantime, if you see a good, reputable cause collecting resources for New Orleans, consider helping them out. They needed it before Ida. They’ll need it now more than ever.

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master-riku · 6 years

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[Bungou Stray Dogs] 55 Minutes Part 4

Disclaimer: [ In no way are my translations perfect. Far from perfect. I’m using this to help me study. Please keep in mind that future translations of this project may change previous translations in order to fit better with the story. The project’s progress depends on the translator’s time! Thank you! ]

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On the same day, 16 minutes ago.

On Standard Island, a large-scale city floating on the sea, tourists arrived on a pier.

A man wearing a black mantle over his entire body shows dislike for the sun.

Concealing his face, he wears a black cloth over his mouth. Only his eyes are exposed which are strangely sharp.

There is another person wearing glasses; a young woman with honey-colored hair that reaches her shoulders.

She seemed to be a young and very talented woman who wore a black business suit and sunglasses.

"We entered the island safely," She said.

"Of course, there isn't a place that Yokohama's sea breeze can reach that we cannot enter. We're the Port Mafia." The man cloaked in black replied. Upon entering the island, they were given the labels of "general tourists." However, the procedure was cleverly counterfeited.

Changing their careers, manipulating their photographs, and passing confirmation by dangling money or showing violence; everything is possible with the Port Mafia's strength.

The sharp-eyed male has a name: Akutagawa.

He is an ability user who is bound to the Port Mafia.

The woman with honey-colored hair goes by the name Higuchi. She is an administrative assistant to Akutagawa.

"Number of enemies." Akutagawa asked while narrowing his eyes.

"It is estimated to be four people," Higuchi responded competently. "They are traitors to the Port Mafia who tried to invade the Port Mafia's banks last night. The traitors attempted to steal money from the safety deposit box, but they were found out and escaped. One of our members was an accountant who was assigned to manage the bank; they were killed during the escape."

"Insurgents?" Akutagawa laughed a bit.

Reddish blood slowly spilled from his mouth. "Those who rise against us, whether it is from disobedience or circumstance, will not have to wait for long to become a corpse. This is who we are. This is the meaning of our existence."

"I agree," Higuchi nodded. "I don't think that the bank robbers knew they infiltrated the Port Mafia's banks, but as soon as they gained information on the murdered accountant, they ran away to the island without taking the money they robbed. They must have thought they could escape the Port Mafia's revenge by coming to this island because it is an extraterritorial jurisdiction."

"Ignorant fools," Akutagawa's smile was colder than a snake's, and the exhale he made more sinister than an evil spirit's. "But, I congratulate their idiocy. They played an important role by giving the Port Mafia a reason to demonstrate the length and intensity of our revenges. I'll scatter their organs and make their screams long and breathless."

"There's no enemy that can stand before Akutagawa-senpai!" Higuchi exclaimed passionately.

Akutagawa nodded while clenching his jaw.

"Let's go forward, Higuchi."

"Yes," Higuchi said while following Akutagawa. "Oh, by the way, Senpai."

"What?"

"There is this world class resort on this island. Is it not important to rid of mental and physical fatigue? After the mission, the two of us should go sightseeing, visit the beach, and more!"

"No."

Akutagawa started walking away.

"Senpai, in the evening, there seems to be masquerade balls that are held at the central square. Would you like to join me? Just the two of us."

"No."

Akutagawa did not turn around and continued walking.

"Senpai, before we begin our mission, we need a base. In fact, we have a room secured under a false name at the high-class hotel, but it's only one room. We could take a break there first."

"Do you not understand 'no'?"

Akutagawa continued to walk down the stone pavement without slowing down.

Higuchi stared up at the blue sky with a defeated look.

"...I know..right..."

After parting with Dazai, Atsushi headed towards an area called the "engine depot."The island was roughly divided into residential areas, experimental districts, tourist areas, and engine depots. The residential area was where the managing staff lived on the island. The experimental district was where power-generated facilities and various experimental examinations took place. The tourist area has music auditoriums, accommodations, beaches, and shopping districts. And the engine depot is a part of the island where the necessary facilities to sail the "ship" are lined up. It is said that the "Jewel Truffle" that Atsushi and the others were meant to protect is kept in a safe room located deep in the engine room.

Atsushi walked passed modern Berlin buildings to head towards the Security Gaurd section. The clock tower that can be seen beyond the townscape had a different design engraved on it from the British side. Even from a distance, the time could be read; it was 11:27.

Atsushi gazed at the surrounding cityscape from the clock tower.

"Hmm....the buildings in this neighborhood have a different atmosphere then from a while ago..." Atsushi murmured while staring. "The buildings' walls and frames are square-shaped, they look like building blocks. A-ah, that shop's sausages...they look delicious....hm?"

Atsushi stopped walking. On the other side of the large sidewalk, in a recessed part of a building, there was a group of three tourists who were sitting down and talking.

They were a strange group of three. They were not enjoying any sightseeing, nor were they looking at a map, the three people were talking to one another face to face near the wall.

Atsushi could not hear well due to the distance, but a few words were carried by the wind: "I forgot," "At an important time like this?" "What should we do?"

Atsushi tilted his head. Did the tourists leave something behind? They did not appear to be officers on this island. One of them was a bald man, the other looked like a tired office worker, and the third was a boy who looked a bit younger than Atsushi. Just by the tone, they seemed as if they were in some distress.

Did they lose a map? If they're lost, he should help them. It was on the way towards the three strangers that Atsushi realized they were in trouble for a slightly different reason than he had expected. As he got closer, he could hear their conversation clearly.

"It wasn't a difficult conversation. Weren't you the one who said that boss? You said, "At most, I only remember how to count up to 12-column digits, and all the names of every woman I slept with up till now."' It was the middle-aged man wearing a business suit that wore a tired expression that gave the troubled voice. His hair was thin and his body looked as if he had insufficient exercise. He was a man who has worked with money as a middle-level manager for twenty years.

His expression invited sorrow.

"That's what was said... That's what I definitely said. Is there something wrong?"

The complaints came from a muscular, bald-headed man with a frown on his face. He was taller than Atsushi by a head, but shorter than the Detective Agency's Kunikida.

"I'm the boss of the bandits. So, you all need to support the boss's every action with full effort! If the boss forgets the 12 digit cancellation code, then make up for it somehow, and show me how it's done!"

Atsushi stopped for a moment. It wasn't because the bald-headed man who forgot how to count to 12 digits had such a defiant attitude, but of course because he heard the word "bandits."

—— I received information from Scotland Yard that three thieves are aiming to steal an item --

He remembers when the captain spoke those words when he was talking about the treasured truffles.

"The boss is amazing! So cool! If something were to happen to me, I'd be safe with the boss!"

It was the third person who spoke in a very vibrant voice. His face was bright, but he was dressed poorly. His eyes shone with trust at the man called boss. He was probably younger than Atsushi by 2 or 3 years.

" Fuhahahaha! That's right, boy! Give me more praise! I'm the leader of the bandits; the reincarnation of Kaitou Thief: Arsene Lupin!"* (Kaitou Thief is a popular term in Japan for Magical thief. A very popular character that has kaitou thief qualities is Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon. Arsène Lupin is a fictional gentleman thief and master of disguise created by French writer Maurice Leblanc.)

The boss laughed in a way that made his pectoral muscles burst.

"Of course the boss's greatness is something to behold, yes," The middle-aged salary man lowered his head tiredly. "But, no matter how low I bow my head to the Earth and worship the boss, I can't stop the surveillance cameras unless I have the 12-digit cancellation code."

"The surveillance cameras, you say? Work together and do something about it!"

”There's nothing that we can do!　I'm going to cry!"The middle-aged man gave a sorrowful voice.

"Or, you know, it's okay to use that. You know, that roundish thing you brought. Where you do...something like...this."

"The mouse."

"Yeah, the mouse. And when you push it, it does this sort of.."

"A click."

"Yeah, a click! WELL, IF YOU UNDERSTAND THAT MUCH, HURRY UP AND DO IT!"

"Boss is amazing! Let's do it!" The boy with sparkling eyes said.

"You're already 43 years old, are you sure it's okay to cry out in public?" The middle-aged man lowered his head.

There was no doubt about it. Atsushi hid himself behind a tree located near the sidewalk and pulled out a mobile phone from his bosom.

"Kunikida-san" without waiting for a response from the other, Atsushi whispered in a loud voice, "It's Atsushi. I found the three-person bandit group."

"What?" Kunikida breathed behind the receiver. "Where are you, right now?"

"Uh..." Atsushi looked around. "I'm close to the Engine Depot, it's next to the white art museum."

"As for the bandits?"

"There is a really incompetent boss, a young boy who admires his boss a lot, and a very pathetic middle-aged man."

"....Pathetic...What?" Kunikida sounded confused.

"Uhm, well...They seem to be trying to disable the surveillance cameras or something."

"What do you mean disable the surveillance cameras?"Beyond the phone, there was a sound of Kunikida turning pages in his notebook. "There is an underground passage in the museum, and it is connected with other facilities on the island, and..."

Overlapping Kunikida's voice, the three bandits were speaking.

"Eeyy, you're sluggish!" The boss shouted at his two subordinates. "My power is amazing when reflected on surveillance cameras! For the people who want to see, I'll show them!"

"Uh, uhm, wait a minute - boss?!"

"Let's go, it's time to steal!"

All three people stood up and gradually began to advance to the darker side of the building.

"Kunikida-san, it looks like they're starting to make their move!"

"Don't lose sight of them," Kunikida ordered hastily. "Keep surveying them from afar. "Along with the number of guards we have, we will time ourselves and surround them. I'm on my way!"

Atsushi ran after the three people keeping silent.

Before long, the three people were already behind the art museum. A lawn was spread on one of the areas, and sprinklers watered the other side.

The three people then unexpectedly went off the road and took a turn towards the building's entrance gate, suddenly vanishing from Atsushi's view.

They did not see Atsushi when they turned around the corner, nor did they look back once.

You could say that Atsushi was lucky. Atsushi hurried following the crooked thieves' path.

However, Atsushi's luck ended there.

"-?!"

It was a dead end, and no one was there.

The building's outer walls created a cavity. To the left and right were just white walls. There was also a wall ahead. All the walls were flat. There weren't even windows or gutters to enter in.

Atsushi grabbed his mobile phone with trembling hands and made a call.

"Kunikida-san."

"What?"

"I lost sight of them."

"WHAT?!"

It was strange. He was only a couple of seconds away from the thieves until he lost track of them. The walls were as tall as 4 stories. Even if you boasted any physical abilities, you couldn't do tricks to rush up these walls without leaving a clue behind. However, if in the case of a special power....

"It couldn't be..."

Atsushi placed both hands on the other side of the wall. Lowering his head, he gazed at the wall closely. Footprints were easy to leave on this side where soft grass grew, and Atsushi could clearly see the footprints he himself left.

Oh, he found theirs.

There were footprints that belonged to three people. Two of them belonging to adults, and one belonging to a child. They were the footprints belonging to the thieves, and even though the foot prints were placed in front of the walls, they continued forward without any missteps, and then...

They faded into the wall.

"Kunikida-san," Atsushi spoke on his mobile phone. "The other party seems to have already invaded the museum."

"What? Did you find the people you lost sight of?"

"No, but their footprints have disappeared straight towards the deadend, although the details are unknown..." Atsushi cut off his sentence and breathed, "There might be a person with an ability."

"An ability...?" Kunikida breathed over the phone. "There's a possibility someone possesses an ability?"

"Probably," Atsushi said while thinking. "From the looks of the footprints, it must have been an ability that goes through walls."

"Thieves that can slip through walls...!" Kunikida struck his tongue. "Shit, if that's true, we have to reconsider our entire security plan! We're headed there soon, but it will take us at least 5 minutes to arrive. As it is, you are the closest! Do whatever you can, enter the building and chase after those thieves!"

".......Yes!"

Atsushi gazed at the wall.

The building's entrance was located on the main street. But he didn't have time to go back to the entrance.

The walls were the height of four stories, and he had no clue where he should start grabbing. It's impossible to climb such a place in a mathematical second. One must use a special power.

Atsushi closed his eyes and began to breath.

He envisioned a tiger.

It was a white tiger. It had a huge oral cavity that can swallow humans, and strong limbs like steel melded together.

It's forelimbs were like big tree trunks, and its leaps could jump over a valley. It was a white tiger of violence, completely opposite to his weak self.

As the night cooled the earth, the weakness stored inside him, and a violent ferocity reared itself.

There was no other tiger like this anywhere in this world. It only existed inside him. Arrogant and timid. Proud and Ashamed. The more he tried to conceal his weaknesses, the more the tiger appeared on the other side.

Atsushi's hair was standing. His skin became wavy, and his bones began to grow abnormal. The tendon of his legs started to elongate, and his growth extended into his boots and clothes. A white coat sprouted out like a living thing and covered his legs. A voice like a beast leaked from Atsushi's throat.

The gait undoubtedly belonged to a tiger.

It's position was similar to that of felines' with it's knees bent. The long lower limbs sprung like a coil.

Firmly digging it's nails into the ground, it looked like it was standing on its tiptoes.

Atsushi jumped.

In one leap, Atsushi was halfway up the wall, and in one leap he was facing the building's white walls laterally. The wall's materials broke under his nails while he jumped, and he continued to jump to the opposite walls as he went further up.

While kicking against the walls, the tiger made a zigzag while rushing up them vertically.

If it was an ordinary person watching him, their eyes could not catch up to Atsushi's high speed as he rushed up the wall, and made one last jump before making a semiturn in the air and landed on the building's rooftop.

"......hu...."

Atsushi stopped gasping for air.

He then quickly explored his surroundings after using his tiger's ability to reach the rooftop.

Apart from the wind turbines that were used for the wind power generators lined up, it was a flat and empty rooftop. He needed to find a way down to the lower floor.

And he found exactly what he needed.

There was a colonnade from a huge exhibition that extended from the first floor and continued to the atrium. From the roof's edges, numbers of banners with museum events written on them hung below one another.

Atsushi jumped over the handrails.

In an instant, gravity pulled Atsushi down. He fell through the air. Giving a scream of despair, the tourists from the first floor noticed Atsushi from his commotion.

Atsushi twisted his body in the air and grabbed onto one of the banners. Immediately after, the shape of his wrists changed into a tiger's arm. The tiger's nails created an irritating sound as it tore through the banner vertically.

Ripping through the cloth, Atsushi used his power as a brake, and then landed onto the first floor. Immediately, he rolled forward using his knees and shoulders to disperse the shock.

Raising his head, the faces of many tourists stared at him startled. "Haha....I'm causing trouble." He smiled bitterly to suppress the awkwardness.

From there, he then ran towards where the thieves were headed.

At that time, his mobile phone began to ring. It was Kunikida. "I got in touch with London." Kunikida seemed impatient. "I know the thief’s true ability."

"Really?"

"There was information in Scotland Yard's Special Ability Criminal Department. The name of the bandit is "Nemo." He is a giant with a bald head, and he's stolen from all over the world and is wanted."

Atsushi quickly recalled the thieves' faces. It must have been the unreasonably optimistic man called "boss."

"As you've guessed, he has the ability to go through walls. Furthermore, anything he happens to touch - whether it be equipment or friends - can also pass through the walls. However, he cannot go through walls that are more than 5 centimeters. From there, we should be able to narrow down the invasion route to some extent."

Atsushi replied in agreement and once again turned to look forward.

He clenched his backteeth while running.

As expected the other party had an ability.

The thief "Nemo" had a very deceivingly careless behavior, but he is a formidable person.

Rather than going down the stairs, Atsushi kicked off from one of the walls and reached the 2nd floor in 10 seconds. It was already confirmed that there was a passage leading to other facilities in the basement.

He just needed to find the thieves after that.

However, there was no need to because suddenly, the thieves jumped out before him.

Atsushi was surprised, but the thieves were even more surprised.

Suddenly, before their eyes, an ultrafast youth appeared. Everyone's mouths hung open.

There were fireworks scattering in Atsushi's field of vision.

"Oou!!" The thieves boss's voice was projected clearly. "This island is pretty interesting. Look at that, Gab. That boy came from out of nowhere."

"That was amazing, boss!" The boy called Gab said enthusiastically. "There's bound to be extraordinary things happening whenever boss is around!"

For a moment, Atsushi wasn't able to move.

Of course it was painful crashing into the wall, but it was the matter of making a sudden encounter that left him unable to react immediately.

"Hey, boy. You're pretty interesting. Are you a tourist? How did you do that? Do it again."

"No, no, boss. How ever you look at it, it's really suspicious!" The middle-aged man in a business suit interjected. "It's not a speed that an ordinary person should possess... with that, if the person belonged to the guards then..."

Atsushi stiffened. This was bad.

"Are you an idiot?! There's no such thing as an organization using impoverished children for security! He must have entered in one of the artillery's set up and by mistake he blew himself away in one of the art museum exhibits!"

"I've never known such a person to do that...." The middle-aged man weakly said.

Atsushi stood up while supporting his staggering feet with his hands.

He had to make time for Kunikida and the rest to arrive and give aid. There were no clear chances of winning in a battle, so he had to stall for time by conversing with them to prevent them from leaving.

"Uh-uhm..."

"Huh?"

Somehow, After uttering just one word, the boss reacted.

"I...." Atsushi's head was spinning at a high speed. He had to somehow draw their attention. Anything would be okay.

His head kept spinning, and his mouth kept moving.

"You....You lost something!"Atsushi shouted.

"Hah?"

The boss scratched his neck.

"I'm an ordinary tourist with no special features, and you seemed to have lost something, and you seemed to be looking for it, so I followed you!" Atsushi's head was shaking as he rocked back and forth. He didn't know what was what.

The middle-aged man seemed to smell foul play as he watched Atsushi. "Boss....please, he seems really suspicious."

"Hmm, but the amazing and great phantom thief does not judge an opponent in an unreasonably doubtful manner."

The boss then turned to face towards Atsushi with a sturdy look. "So, what's the item that I lost, boy?"

"What?" Atsushi had not thought of anything beyond his plan, and unintentionally stared in puzzlement.

"Like you said, the thing that was lost..."

"Aa...ehh?" Atsushi was weak when it came to adlib. When trying to come up with contents and act and talk at the same time, it exceeded his mental tolerance. As a result, he becomes defenseless.

"T-that is...you, you should know that the best, don't you?!"

"Ha?"

All three bandits scratched their heads at the same time.

Atsushi wanted to die a little. However, he couldn't stop anymore even if he wanted to. He had to stall for time.

"When you lost it, you....you didn't notice it, but you certainly had it once." Atsushi was embarrassed as he continued to speak, his head was spinning, and he felt like he was going to die. Even if you know that you are on the road to hell, at least you only go through that road you chose once. "What's wrong? The thing that you valued so much, you lost it!"Atsushi spoke faintly. He didn't know what it was. Please, someone stop him. He was about to die in shame. Rather, someone kill him.

However, the boss's carelessness was beyond Atsushi's.

"Ooooh!!!" Atsushi's disorder was suddenly drowned out by the boss's cry. "You're absolutely right, boy! I gave my entire life up to become the greatest phantom thief! And yet, nevertheless, even now..!"

Watching the boss's exaggerated grief, Atsushi became a little calm.

"Boss! Please, calm down, boss!" The middle-aged man panicked and began to shake him. "Boss, even now, you're enough! You are desperately thinking of nothing else, but what else to steal! Stop talking on the spur of the moment already!"

"Oh...what?" The boss's lamentation quickly stopped. "If that's what you say...I guess you could say that."

"Hey, hey, you shortie!" The youngest colleague stepped forward with excitement. "Didn't you just try to trick our great boss? We should tie you up and throw you in the middle of the ocean, you white-haired bastard!"

Atsushi began to sweat. It seemed like everyone was being cautious now, and he didn't really remember how it all became like this.

"I am the great phantom theif's pupil! I am Gab of the swift wind! If you can dodge this dagger, then dodge it!" The boy took out a blue shining steel blade from his bosom. The drawn dagger was made to be concealed in one's pocket.

Alarm bells started ringing in Atsushi's head when he saw the cutlery.

"Wait, wait," Atsushi reflexively stepped away. "Let's talk this over, again!"

"It's useless!" The boy started rushing towards the center with the dagger.

He had no choice, but to fight.

Atsushi's tiger power began to pour into his arms, and instantly his forearm muscles began to bulge explosively. The tiger's hair blew out from under his clothes, and the sound of a tree twisting could be heard as his fingers turned into huge tiger nails.

Knives or bullets could not go through the tiger's hair. If he could prvent the dagger with his arms, he had a chance of winning.

Atsushi's train of thought stopped; however, when a piercing scream cried.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, WHAT IS THAT? IT'S SCARY. I'M SCARED!"

The boy retreated and fell on his butt.

".....Uh, pardon?"

"What is with that arm! Don't get any closer, stop right there! The hair just grew out of nowhere! Ahhh, I'm scared! I'm traumatized, sorry boss, but can I go home?!"

"Ahhhh, isn't this what I've been telling you, boss?!" Said the middle-aged man with a miserable face. "We shouldn't have brought Gab along! Of course, Gab's an excellent follower....but look at him, he loses his nerves so fast! He's the best pupil only because the other ones quit!"

"Eh."

Was that so?

Atsushi's eyes became tiny dots. Should he just advance?

"Well, I guess it can't be helped. So, you go, Bilgo."

"M-M-M-M-M-M-M-M-ME? That's impossible! I'm only a technician! Technical support is my job! I disable surveillance cameras and extract security codes! Fighting is not in my contract." The middle-aged man called Bilgo lowered his head like a small animal and retreated.

"This is...."

Atsushi raised both his arms and shouted. "This is different from what I imagined!" His soul was crying.

"No matter how you imagined it, it's no longer a problem, since we can complete the request." A low voice resonated in the corridor. "Well done, Atsushi."

"Kunikida-san!" Atsushi shouted.

Behind Kunikida, armed security guards from the island came along.

"The head of the serial group of thieves, Nemo." Kunikida said out loud while reading his notebook. "While having a powerful ability that allows you to go through many walls, because of excessively irresponsible and reckless plans, your robberies fail every time. You exhaust your relationship with your subordinates, where only the people remaining with you are amateurs who have barely any work experience.

While repeatedly failing at your robberies and being captured, your nature of going through prison walls has been a repeated offense. The number of times you have made a jail break has been 89 times. While it's impossible to call you a master thief, we can honor you as the jailbreak king."

"Guuu...uuunu.." The boss's face stiffened. "Oi, you bastards, do something!"

"S-sorry boss, somehow I was careless."

"I'm nothing but an engineer. For that reason, I surrender, so please consider my case."

The young boy was crawling on the floor while the middle-aged man raised both of his hands in defeat towards Kunikida.

Atsushi finally caught up with the situation. Apparently, Atsushi had thought that originally the robbers were 100 times worse than they actually were.

"Atsushi, please contact the client- the captain." Kunikida narrowed his eyes. "We can finally pull the curtains over this fun game of tag with these pleasant thieves." Kunikida took one step as the circle of security guards surrounding them also narrowed gradually. "Boss...boss! I'm sorry...I'll hold them back, so please run away!" The young boy said in a hurried voice. The boss gave no response.

He merely stood there on his thick legs while glaring at his surroundings. "Escape on my own?" There was no hint of impatience in his voice. "The great mysterious Lupin neither had an ability nor a subordinate, and he still performed thefts that, even now, are too difficult for me, and, so he remains in the hearts of people. I knew long ago that I couldn't be like him."

The boss's eyes stared quietly at a point in the air. His eyes grabbed hold of something from far away. "I'm different from Phantom Thief Lupin. Because of that, I have to hold onto something that he doesn't have, keep it in mind, and lay a foundation to ascend into becoming a great Phantom Thief.”

Atsushi noticed something suddenly. The boss was slouching just now. His face was hard, a shadow from a light fell from the ceiling's fluorescent light. "My ability is the ability to slip through objects less than 5 centimeters in thickness - in other words, if they are objects of a certain thickness, it means that they can stay in an overlapping state without interfering with my body."

Atsushi watched.

Something was coming out from the boss's thick chest. There was no sound, and something fell through the boss as if his body did not exist. It was about 5 centimeters thick. The width was as big as a book, it was a square metal plate. Something fell through the boss's body. Atsushi and the others were surprised; their reactions were delayed.

"I definitely will not abandon my subordinates!"

"Bo-!" Kunikida shouted. "Bomb! Get down!"

A flash of light filled the corridor.

Atsushi took off quickly with the tiger's reflex. Kunikida took the security guards and pushed them down; they all lay on the floor together. Fierce smoke and wind blew through the area.

"Geha....ha.." Atsushi coughed in the smoke as he got up. The strong sound of the explosion pierced Atsushi's ears and rung to the center of his brain. Because of the white smoke, he couldn't see what state the corridor was in.

The boss applied his ability of going through walls, and reversed it. He slipped and hid the bomb in his body. No physical examination or observation could find out if he had a bomb inside him with the ability. That is probably how he brought some work tools to the island as well.

Even so, there were no major bruises or pain. Atsushi quickly inspected his own body. He wasn't bleeding from anywhere. If it was detonated nearby, then this small damage shouldn't be possible.

”Damn!　It was a distraction!" Kunikida yelled from the other side of the smoke. "They probably ran to the other side of the wall!"

What Kunikida said was right. He had checked where the thieves were last, and no one was there. There was only the cold floor.

They escaped.

"I'll go after them!" Atsushi shouted back to Kuninkida. He explored the wall by hand due to his vision being blocked by the smoke. The underground walls were thick. If Nemo had escaped with his two subordinates, he should have had his eyes on the wall's thickness beforehand. Fumbling around, Atsushi immediately found something. It was an automatic side door. It's a door painted in the same color as the wall, but it seemed like the thickness was thinner than the other walls that he had touched. There was a high chance of escaping beyond this door. However, it was locked, and it would not open even if you pushed or pulled it.

"Kunikida-san! They might be beyond this door!" Atsushi cried while the smoke was fading. "Please tell me how to open the door!"

"It's probably a security door for certification ceremonies." Kunikida came running furiously. "Use the silver coin on the door's certification board."

Atsushi then remembered the silver coins that were given to them when entering the island. They had an identification transmitter built-in, and they should be able to open places where tourists couldn’t go.

Atsushi took out the silver coin from his bosom and in a hurry brought it close to the door. However, a dull electronic beep resounded, and the door did not appear to open. "Show it to me!" Kunikida approached the door. "...This is strange. I can't even open the door with my silver coin."

"Please, back away." One of the guards came close. "No one is allowed to enter that door."

"......What?" Kunikida turned around and looked back at him. "What do you mean?"

"The destination is a special confidential area, and only people with permission can go in. Please get away from it."

"Get away?" Kunikida's eyes narrowed in anger. "Hey, we were hired to catch the bandits who are running away as we speak. Are there any other secrets or things that need permission? If you're so obedient, open it and catch them!"

"We are not given the authority to enter as well." Somehow, the situation was becoming suspicious.

During the initial explanation of their duties, there was no word about the Detective Agency being unable to enter an area. Even with this situation, it was not the time when thieves were escaping now. "WE'RE MAKING NO PROGRESS. Atsushi, contact the captain! Hurry so we can have this door open and enter inside!"

"The captain also has no authority," The security guard said without expression. "If you need confirmation, you're free to call him."

Atsushi took out his mobile phone. Even though they were underground, there were radio signals. Looking through his phone, he pressed the captain's contact. "Kunikida-san," Atsushi said while listening to the phone. "I can't connect to the captain."

"What?"

No matter how long they waited, the client was not picking up the phone, however...

"Hey, do you hear something?" Kunikida said while looking around. Atsushi started to hear the sound as well. It was a strange electronic sound -- the sound of a chalmera ringing from ramen stalls.

"It's the captain's phone that's ringing..."

"From the other side of the door?" Kunikida said while touching the wall. At that time, the door opened automatically suddenly.

"Hugh!?" Kunikida said in panic.

Beyond the door, there were soldiers.

They weren't just soldiers. They had large automatic rifles with bulletproof equipment. There were more than 10 of them. One could not see their expressions because their faces were covered with bulletproof masks. "Beyond this point, you are prohibited from entering this area. Leave immediately."

"What did you say?"

"Leave, you have only one warning. If you do not obey instructions, then it will be considered appropriate to use firearms.” They hoisted their automatic rifles; their black muzzles shone dully.

More than 10 fully armed soldiers pointed at Kunikida and were ready to shoot at any time. The intimidation the soldiers emitted was the equivalent of plunging headfirst in a Lion's mouth.

However, Kunikida did not change the tone of his voice nor was he frightened. "I also have a warning, and I'll say it once. We are a detective agency who was assigned to capture thieves for a client. Even if this island is an extraterritorial property, there are extraterritorial laws for pointing a gun at a general member of the public, and don't think that I will allow you to threaten one." Kunikida's entire body emanated a murderous aura. The opportunity to capture the thieves was being blocked due to irrational reasons, and it seemed like he was considerably angry.

"Hoho, this person has a backbone." An unexpected voice came from behind the soldiers. "Everyone, rescind your weapons. There's no use trying to threaten this person with a gun." As soon as the hoarse voice ordered the soldiers, the soldiers pointed their guns down. They moved perfectly like a machine.

When the soldiers moved aside and made a clearing, an old man dressed in a military uniform appeared.

He was a small old man. When surrounded by strong soldiers, his stature stood out even more. He had a mild expression and a fluffy gray beard running down his wrinkly face. If he were not wearing military clothes, he looked like he would belong in the country side as some teacher.

"You're the head of this group of soldiers?" Kunikida asked in an angry voice. "We are pursuing thieves, and I would like you to allow us to enter this area."

"Well, if you aren't a young man with a considerable spirit. If you trained with a battalion, you would make a good soldier." The old man laughed with eyes similar to that of a teacher's. "However, I cannot approve of this entry, unfortunately-- but, if it's the case of a gold coin then..."

"You possess silver coins that are given to the general staff. Besides that, on this island, you must be in possession of a gold coin for confidential areas. If a person enters this area without a gold coin and information leaks outside, then he or she can be immediately shot to the death. This is the island's absolute code of conduct. The leaders of your country have signed a consent form."

Atsushi stared at the silver coin in his hand. Certainly, ordinary tourists received copper coins. In other words, there were many places that could be entered depending on which coins: copper, silver, and gold in order.

"However, let it be known, out of respect for your sense of justice, that the thieves have been caught."

"Is that so?" Kunikida said surprised.

"The inside of the confidential area is strictly guarded by surveillance videos, and the amount of soldiers in here is incomparable to the ones outside, so be relieved."

Kunikida glared at the man for a few seconds before slowly speaking. "If that's the case, let us confirm from the client. Would you please give me your name?"

"There is no name to be given. I am called 'Colonel' by everyone here."

"Colonel...You're certainly a military employ."

Atsushi once again looked at the old man's face. Although he had the expression of a school teacher, there were some white wounds that have faded in the old man's face if looked at closely. His shoulder width was solid, and was indicative of having been forged in the past despite his small size.

Suddenly, a wretched smell came through.

Atsushi's five senses become sharp when using his tiger ability. He is able to pick up sounds and smells that no one can usually notice. The tiger's senses must have stayed when he had transformed.

The tiger's nose caught the smell when he had sniffed. He had smelled this scent many times after entering the detective agency, but still he could never get used to it. It was an unpleasant scent, it was....

"It can't be..."

Atsushi darted quickly without thinking. He forcibly shoved himself through the confidential area blocked by the soldiers.

"Hey, what are you doing!?"

Ignoring the soldiers' shouting, Atsushi looked around the area. There was another corridor that continued from the entrance. There was little difference between the place and its interior.

"Get away from the door! Do you want to be shot dead?!" The soldiers' warnings were ignored by Atsushi.

Atsushi's eyes then caught onto a color.

There was a red color within the confidential area. The red stretched tightly in the corridor, and scattered from the wall to the ceiling. It was definitely the source of the unpleasant smell. "That is...!" Atsushi's eyes widened. It was no mistake. There was a brilliant red on a white wall, and a body lying in the center.

There was blood and a corpse.

"Get down!"

Atsushi was brought down by a soldier. Forcibly pushed by a firearm, Atsushi staggered and fell on his back.

Kunikida ran to him.

"Hey Atsushi, are you ok?"

"Kunikida-san...." Atsushi said dumbfounded. He saw it for a moment, but there was no way it was a mistake. "There was a dead body."

"What?" Kunikida widened his eyes. "It couldn't be...was it the thieves?"

When Atsushi instantly smelled the blood, he had also thought that, however...

"No..." Atsushi raised his head. The image was burned into his mind.

"Well....did you see it boy?" The old man called Colonel gave a shrewd face. "As I said earlier, the information in this area is confidential, and there is a code of conduct that we cannot abandon regardless of what the situation is. It's too bad...it won't be easy for you to go outside."

"What? Atsushi, what did you see?"

Blue clothes resembling those of a repairman. A tired face. The sound of a chalmera ringing from a ramen stand. With a faint voice, Atsushi spoke.

"It was the client....the captain is dead."

#55minutes translation #my translation:55 #bungou stray dogs #bsd #55 minutes #very dead #will always be very dead after huge projects like this

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